#or whatever he’s supposed to do I’m not really religious
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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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no offense to the man whose funeral i was attending but the baptist denomination’s method of ‘telling you you’re awful and horrible and there’s nothing you can do about it and no amount of effort or self-change will make the slightest difference or improve your life for thirty minutes straight and then tacking on at the end that if you believe in god it’ll all be okay!!!’ really ain’t the positive message that they think it is
#it just screams ‘be miserable and don’t do anything but believe in god’#‘but make sure you’re miserable about doing so instead of celebrating or rejoicing in his glory or whatever you’re supposed to do’#‘idk haven’t read a bible since i was like 12’#like bestie this is how you get people to kill themselves actually#also learned helplessness is not the positive trait you think it is#‘well i’m just telling them to do that SPIRITUALLY-‘ oh? you never said. once. just told us we all deserved to be tortured for existing.#didn’t even make a face tho and just kept my damn mouth shut#funeral ain’t the place i’ve got more decency than that#didn’t know the guy he was my boss’s dad#no comment on him rest in peace#homeboy the pastor on the other hand#we got beef now#he doesn’t know it#but we do <3#also i REALLY don’t think you should be doing that spiritually either#since you know. mind and body being intertwined and all that.#anyway i’m curious what the suicide rates in your denomination are compared to other religious groups#Just Curious No Reason :)
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to hell with it
pairing jung wooyoung x f!reader
word count 5k
genres angst﹒smut﹒teeniest bit of fluff here and there
warnings 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, all lowercase bc she was supposed to be short and vibey and… that just did not happen, mentions and use of weed, very strict parents, lowkey fuckboy wooyoung lol, lots of kissing, marking, scratching, wooyoung has a fascination with reader’s tits lol, nipple play, no real foreplay, unprotected sex, cowgirl and missionary style, dacryphilia, exhibitionism kinda, quite a few references to religious-ish themes, unrequited love in a sense? i got carried away im so sorry
summary you could draw several heaven-hell parallels from this moment in time, from the way wooyoung buries himself inside of you, and you always return to the idea that he’s straight from hell.
more ok… like i said… i got carried away oopsie 😝 this was a request from my lovely wife of 20+ years @juyofans <3 i’m sorry if i strayed too far from the original idea,,, it just happened ok 🙇 also a huge thank u to @bro-atz for betaing for me i LOVE U SO MUCH!! that’s all lets keep this note short and sweet :P reblog if u enjoyed!
@atzhouse
“shit.”
the curse slips from your mouth so naturally upon the discovery that your stash is completely finished. you rummage through the drawer one more time in case you might’ve missed something, but alas, you’ve run into the worst possible scenario. no more weed.
it’s not like you were dependent on it. but it was the end of a long week and it happened to be one of those days. an edible, a long rip from your bong, or a hit from a blunt wrapped with your pretty pink rolling paper sounded like fucking heaven right about now.
you still lived at home, though, and your parents had no clue that you dabbled with marijuana, so you had to keep everything hidden in your room. unfortunately, it was just too expensive to get your own place in this day and age. and despite the fear of getting caught deeply instilled in you, you were extremely desperate.
and well, desperate times called for desperate measures…
“hey, wooyoung…” you speak into the receiver.
your relationship with the guy was complicated. it had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with you. he’d been your plug for a couple years now, and his pretty face made it really hard not to develop a crush. every time you bought from him, you always tried to get a lot at once so you could space out how often you saw him to make things easier on your heart.
the two of you went to high school together, and the first time you reached out in regards to your secret habit was awkward. to say the least. all of your friends had purchased something from him at least once or twice, so they assured you that he was the real deal. but you had only ever mooched off of them and didn’t have the faintest idea what you were supposed to say or do. (what with having dictators for parents and the lot.)
you remember sending him a dm in the most cryptic way possible. he laughed it off, thinking about how cute it was that you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into. but, like every other occasion in which you’d spoken to him, he had a girlfriend at the time. the first time it was haeun, then there was jisu, and it was kind of hard to keep up with the names after that. his patience was endearing, though, and it always left you wanting more out of your conversations. (which is, understandably, what attracted you to the guy.)
he was definitely not a one-partner, commitment type of guy, and that’s all you could ever want out of someone. you thought keeping distance to halt any feelings from growing was the smartest decision. if you didn’t get close to him, it would help squash whatever flame burned beneath your chest.
but now it was time for that little crush to unearth itself, as it does whenever you see him.
“hey, y/n, what’s up?” you can hear the smile in his voice, the one that has your insides melting and your panties nearly dropping to the floor in an instant. it’s almost cocky, like he was expecting your call. and he probably was, all things considered.
“um…“ you stop yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and biting your lip, tilting your head back. “are you free to do a drop right now?”
the digital clock on your nightstand read 9:28 PM and your parents wouldn’t be home for another hour or so, having left for the movies a little over an hour ago. (that was the only reason why you were even thinking of pulling something as idiotic as this.)
not even were you just not allowed to have boys over. you weren’t allowed to have people over period, at least not if your parents were out. in spite of being a grown adult, they still managed to enforce strict rules and curfews on you. you were breaking so many by making this fucking phone call.
Do Not Think About Talking To Boys Under Our Roof.
“yeah, actually. i have to do another in the area so that works out perfectly. i can be there in ten.” he answers and that stupid smile pops into your head again.
Absolutely No Strangers Allowed In The House Without Us Present.
“okay cool— wait, you remember my address?” your brow scrunch together, the confusion boiling up inside of you. he snorts, some shifting audible in the background.
No Alcohol Unless We Are Present, Absolutely No Drugs Allowed.
“yeah? why wouldn’t i?” he asks so nonchalantly, you almost miss it. “i’ll be there soon, babe.”
he ends the call before you can even say anything, still holding your phone to your ear. your jaw hangs open and heat begins to bloom behind your cheeks. this was exactly why you were avoiding him as long as possible. jung wooyoung was a natural flirt, and you were very delusional.
this was fine, right? all you had to do was exchange the goods and money, then send him on his way. it would be like nothing ever happened, like no one was ever here. your parents would be none the wiser and you could finally relax. it would be just like when you were sneaking around in high school, having him drop when you didn’t have a car—
fuck.
you could’ve just met him somewhere instead, huh? you didn’t have the issue of being car-less anymore. you could’ve told your parents you were running out to grab some things from the store and hid it in your bags in case they were home before you. could’ve done literally anything else except act this irrational.
This Is An Honest and Trustworthy Household — No Lying Will Be Tolerated.
maybe, subconsciously, you’ve been wanting to see him in this setting again. there was a thrill in breaking your parents rules. you supposed something special, something exciting sparked under your skin all those times you snuck into the backyard to meet with wooyoung through the side gate. but right now, you’re pacing inside your bedroom. this wasn’t the time to get poetic and reminisce about being a schoolgirl with a crush.
you were bulldozing through just about everything on your parents’ list of Do Nots and you feel like you should be more anxious about it. for some reason you’re less afraid of pissing them off. you’re entirely too concerned with looking good for wooyoung, and you don’t even hear the shrill sound of your phone ringing.
wooyoung’s contact lights up the screen, sending all sorts of panic signals to your brain. you severely underestimated how long ten minutes was, and also how long you’d been standing in front of the mirror gawking at yourself like a damn fish out of water. this was embarrassing. you were better than this, god, you were so much better than to lose yourself like this over a man. but jung wooyoung somehow made all rhyme and reason escape you like he was some sexy version of the pied piper.
before you realize it, your feet have carried you down the stairs and to the front door. on the other side stand wooyoung, his backpack slung over his shoulder. he’s dressed in a red zip up hoodies and some baggy jeans. his hair is longer than when you last saw him, long enough to have some of the strands tucked loosely behind his ears. you think you’re entranced by his visuals alone, and then he opens his mouth.
”told ya i remembered.” his words drip with that charisma that sucks you in further, deeper, into the chasm you kept trying to avoid.
”uh— c-come in,” you usher him into your house and up the stairs into your room, just in case. “my parents aren’t home, but i don’t know if my neighbors are watching or something. and just in case they get back earlier, it’s easier to hide you in here than anywhere else.”
wooyoung nods with a snort, eyes wandering around the bedroom you’ve had since you were two years old. he’s never been inside of your house before, much less inside of your room. it’s very you; various posters littering the walls, makeup and skincare products cluttered around your vanity, comfy-looking sheets.
Definitely No Boys Allowed In Your Room.
“you know, y/n, i was pleasantly surprised when you called,” he shrugs off his bag, setting it on the foot of your bed, dragging his finger along the footboard. “i was starting to miss my favorite customer.”
just about everything but standing right here sounded ideal to you. if there were miraculously a sniper stationed on the roof of the house next to yours, you hoped you were in his line of sight and he would take you out. it was as if he knew. he knew exactly what his effect on you was, and that was absolutely perfect, now wasn’t it?
“your— huh?” you’re sure you sound stupid, especially so when he laughs, unzipping his backpack to take out what he was here for. the smell alone practically recalibrates your system and reboots you. wooyoung notices.
”we’ve never smoked together, have we?” he asks, pulling out the tube he was looking for. it’s about an eighth, which is less than what you usually buy from him, but you’re in no position to complain. you shake your head ‘no’ as he hands it to you, before pulling out another and doing the same thing. you raise an eyebrow at him.
”this is—“
”no, i know,” he purses his lips with a nod, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth and swiping across the bottom one. “consider it a gift, for being so loyal to me all these years.”
you guffaw in disbelief. what the fuck?
”wooyoung, you can’t possibly—“
”just let me smoke you out this once. that’s all i ask in return,” he seats himself on the edge of your bed. “and we’ll even use my stuff. you can save yours for later. i’ll make it worth your while.”
you would be cutting it really close to the time your parents were supposed to be home. but he was so tempting. and you were so weak. so, so pitifully weak.
”okay…” you let yourself say. you let yourself divulge just this once. “but, remember—“
”yes yes, your parents. do you think this is my first rodeo?” he laughs, pulling out a little plastic baggie that appears to have pre-ground weed in it. almost like… he was anticipating this? when he reaches into his backpack for what you assume is wraps, you jump to grab your pink rolling paper. you’d been so excited to use it, you weren’t going to let this opportunity go to waste.
batting your lashes at him is the only way you know how to convince him, though it doesn’t really take much convincing. your rolling skills still weren’t the best, despite doing this as long as you have, so you watch in awe as wooyoung does it. his fingers move expertly, and you have to blink away the thoughts threatening to overthrow the sane ones that have been struggling to keep afloat.
wooyoung fishes for the lighter in his pocket, red like the color of his jacket. he lights the blunt and holds it carefully between his fingers. you think he’s going to take the first hit, but then he’s holding it to your lips, gesturing for you to do it. “ladies first.” he throws in with that obnoxiously attractive laugh of his. you hesitantly follow his lead, sitting beside him, then inhaling and filling your chest.
your exhale isn’t as graceful as you hoped it would be, a couple coughs coming out of you, but it was a strong hit. he rubs his free hand up and down your thigh to soothe you, hitting it himself. he’s definitely a lot more experienced than you, in what he does and how he does it, breathing it out into the atmosphere. your room is a little foggy now and you have half the mind to crack open a window, however, you’re hyper aware of his hand on your thigh. and you don’t want it to go away.
If Any Of These Rules Are Broken, You Risk Being Kicked Out.
it’s calm for a few minutes, just the two of you rotating the blunt in comforting silence, his hand still branding its place on your thigh. and then his thumb starts to move. it circles into your bare skin gently, kneading mindlessly. you almost let out a whine, but you catch yourself, concealing it as a cough instead.
“you like me, don’t you, y/n?” wooyoung asks, puffing out a thick white cloud and pouting. “that’s why you buy a lot from me at once. that’s why i sometimes only see you once a month.”
the question catches you so off guard, you almost grab the pink blunt by the spark. he sets it in your ashtray, conveniently placed on one of your bedposts. you stare at him blankly, because how fucking perceptive do you have to be to figure that out? your crush was probably a little more than obvious, sure, but the avoidant tendency you had couldn’t possibly be linked to that. not unless he truly knew you like the back of his hand.
he leans back onto his palms with a snicker, carding his fingers through his hair. the way he’s positioned allows you to glimpse at a bit more of his chest from the partially unzipped jacket. the only thing you see is that it’s bare, and your brain short circuits. it was already frying itself when he called you out, now there wasn’t a single functioning cell up there.
“i’m high like sixty percent of the time, i see everything. i know everything.” he answers your unspoken inquiry. and well, that may be true, but it’s not like you’re doing much to refute with the way you’re ogling at him. (you were a horny high, unfortunately.)
“what—“ you swallow, suddenly all too aware of how close you’re sitting, of how his grip on your thigh is a little more primal. “what if i said no? what then?”
“i’d think you were a liar,” he smiles, that fucking smile you can picture in your head even through a phone call. “and i don’t like being lied to.”
“so it’s a good thing i haven’t said no yet, right?” you breathe, voice entirely too stable for the situation. his hand rises higher on your thigh, the tip of his index finger brushing under your shorts. you glance down at it, eyes already heavy lidded as they observe the way it drags across your skin. fuck.
“mhm,” he hums, gauging your reaction to his touch. “it’s very good.”
you’re losing your patience the longer you sit there, tortured by wooyoung’s hand searing on your thigh. your heart seems to beat faster and you feel like you can tell with the rise and fall of your chest picking up in speed. his lips on yours is all that you want, all that you need, and under this spell (the intoxication swimming through your bloodstream), you’re willing to accept the consequences that may come with it.
a gasp escapes you when his nail scrapes along the side of your leg with the pressure of a feather. it’s overwhelming, to say the least. you want more and more and more, and then so much more until you can’t take it, but part of you is still insecure that he’ll leave you strung out on a clothesline if you indulge. you’re beyond thinking about the repercussions if you’re caught. you’re focused on the repercussions of being hurt if you give in.
but enough is enough.
placing your hand over his own, you slip it under your t-shirt where you’ve been braless this entire time. wooyoung’s eyes widen and you grab one of his hoodie strings, yanking him closer to you. your noses brush and your eyes meet, a silent ask for permission to finally play into what you’ve both been waiting for.
you don’t really give him a second to rethink it.
your lips connect in a rough, messy kiss that has you believing in the existence of a god. one that’s granted what you’ve been dreaming of for years. maybe after this you’ll start praying before bed again, especially if it always rewards you this well.
his mouth slots against yours like it’s the missing piece of a puzzle, your tongues tangling and your teeth nearly clashing. wooyoung’s hand on your chest regains its own control, squeezing your breast and flicking his thumb over a perked nipple. his other hand grips your waist, pulling you onto his lap. your knees dig into the mattress, hands cupping under his jaw and then entwining in his hair.
you sigh into his kiss, obsessed with this length on him. you’re sure he feels the same when he groans after you tug on it, deepening the kiss if possible. the sigh turns into a moan when he guides your hips into a circular motion, grinding you down on him to create a bit of friction and get the ball rolling.
he knows you don’t have a lot of time, maybe an hour tops, but fuck he wishes he could take his time with you. he wished he could explore your body and learn every single thing you liked and didn’t like, and use it all to his advantage. his senses are heightened so he’s keenly aware of your every sound, of each whine that escapes you.
wooyoung’s mouth travels from your own, along your jaw, and down your throat, nipping and sucking so he leaves his mark on you wherever he can. your lips part with a soft moan when he finds the sensitive spot on your neck. his hand is still in your shirt, kneading and massaging your tits like it was second nature for him.
your high has reached its peak, and you’re starting to get light headed from how good everything feels. if he didn’t touch you where you needed him most soon, you feared you might finish prematurely, and after all that you’ve been through to get to this point, you really cannot handle that tonight. thankfully, he seems to read your mind.
“i would love to make up for lost time, but i don’t think we can right now,” he pants into your skin, hands everywhere but somehow nowhere all at once. “let me just—“
“stop yapping and just fuck me, wooyoung, you’re wasting precious time,” you groan, going straight for the zipper of his jacket. you push the red material off of his shoulders in one go, practically pawing at the button of his jeans. he laughs at your impatience, but knows you’re right.
“well, when you put it like that, i don’t feel bad for the disgusting things i wanna do to you,” he teases, helping you pull your shirt over your head. “gonna fuck you so good, you’re gonna wanna see me more than once a month.”
the call out is crazy, but you don’t have the mental capacity to argue with him, head tossing back when he takes one of your tits into his mouth. you scrape your nails down the expanse of his chest and abdomen, a reprieve to the static buzzing throughout your body with wooyoung’s lips all over you. his teeth sink into your collarbone and you nearly lose your sanity. this was it, there was no going back now that you’ve fallen under his spell.
his skilled fingers make quick work removing your shorts and you’re so beyond restless, that he has a bit of trouble getting them down your legs. he stills your hips firmly, practically scolding you when he says, “sit still, pretty, i’m not going anywhere.”
it’s a weird reaffirmation, and in a way it calms your erratic mind. you finally let go of those reservations and allow yourself to submit to these feelings you’ve harbored for years. the heat of wooyoung beneath you is enough to make you squirm again, needing him inside of you before you start crying. (though judging by what he’s said so far, you think he’d like that.)
“god, i need you so bad,” you whine, lips locking with his once more. you speak the words into his mouth and they hold all the subtlety of an excavator, desperation hanging off of each syllable. “please…”
you can feel, rather than see, the conniving smile that graces his features, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. he’s dangling your desire in front of you like a ball of yarn with a cat, the bed of his nails dragging along your hips slowly and tortuously. you reach down to cup his erection through his boxers and that’s what spurs him on, dropping his mischievous act in favor of gifting you what you’ve been asking for so nicely.
wooyoung pushes your underwear to the side, kicking off his boxers so he’s bare for you. part of you is way more excited than you should be to fuck him raw, for the first time nonetheless. he leans back slightly and watches as you hover over his cock, sitting on it gently. he’s definitely on the longer side, longer than the other guys you’ve been with— not that there were very many to compare him to. he fills you up just right, tapping that sweet crook of your pussy when he sheathes entirely.
the moan that breaches the sound barrier fights itself from deep in your chest, tickling his ears and forcing out one of his own. his grip on your hips tightens as you begin to move. it’s more of him moving your body for you, not that you’re complaining at all. less work for you.
with each bounce on his cock, your bed squeaks and it wouldn’t be such a problem if you didn’t also hear the front door open downstairs. your eyes widen almost comically, meeting wooyoung’s with a fear so intense that it nearly scares him too. gratefully, he’s been in this situation before. he holds a finger up to his lips to shush you, simultaneously flipping the two of you so your back is flat on the bed and his feet are planted on the floor.
you’re glad you had the clear mind to lock your door when you came up to your room. you don’t know if it’s because it’s wooyoung, or maybe you’re just into it, but you feel yourself getting more turned on as he continues to fuck you despite your parents being home. he covers your mouth with his hand, rocking his hips into yours with a purpose. his free hand slithers between the two of you, thumb rubbing calculated circles into your clit.
”take it,” he rasps into your ear, nipping the lobe softly; a contrast to what’s tumbling out of his mouth. “take it like the good girl you are.”
at that same moment, there’s a knock on your bedroom door. wooyoung doesn’t stop, in fact, he speeds up his pace, pushing your thigh to your chest so he plunges deeper into your cunt. he’s evil, pure evil.
”y/n, are you in there?” your mother asks.
”y-yes,” you gasp, willing your voice to stay steady. “i was getting ready to go to s-sleep.”
“you sound off… are you feeling okay?” she expresses her concern and you look to wooyoung for help.
you bite down harshly on your lower lip when he leans down to suck on one of your tits instead, still very roughly snapping into you. he urges you to say something anyway, so you can at least get them to leave you alone. “y-yes! i’m fine! i was just looking f-for my pajamas!”
he laughs lowly so only you can hear, gazing at you through his lashes and whispering, “should we tell her they’re on your floor?”
your mother doesn’t question you any further. ”okay… goodnight, sweetheart.”
”goodnight!”
her footsteps get quieter as she walks away from your door. the shit-eating grin on wooyoung’s face contributes to the growing ache in the pit of your stomach more than it pisses you off. unfortunately he just had that effect on you. it was hard to be mad at him when he made you feel like you were lit ablaze, fire burning all the way to the tips of your fingers.
“look at you, sweetheart,” you hate that the pet name has you clenching around his length. his lips trail down your body, worshiping it like you were his own personal goddess. “you’re taking my cock so perfectly.”
if you could scream, you would. you’d be as loud as possible so your whole block knew who was fucking you this good. you’d chant his name like a prayer, which was ironic considering he was, in a sense, more like an incubus. you could draw several heaven-hell parallels from this moment in time, from the way wooyoung buries himself inside of you, and you always return to the idea that he’s straight from hell. the way he lures you in, like the serpent with eve in the garden of eden. he has you turning your back on all forms of reason.
but this inebriation, this sweet poison coursing through your bloodstream as applies practiced pressure to your clit, has your whole being soaring. you could care less about the trouble that comes with it, especially when it has your back arching off of your mattress and into his chest.
your lips pry open in a silent moan when he presses up against that same spongy nook in your pussy. tears well in your eyes as they roll back, spilling down the sides of your cheeks. wooyoung kisses them away and fucks into you harder, inching closer and closer towards what you’re already on the precipice of.
having gone nonverbal after nearly getting caught, it requires so much energy for you to croak out, “‘m so close, woo, so so close…”
he hums approvingly, back at your mouth now. his lips mold with yours so smoothly and your fingers tangle in his hair so easily. you want this forever, to be his in more ways than one. but after tonight, you don’t know how likely that is to happen, and you’ll let yourself be satiated by this one time.
you’re lost in the sensation of his kiss, disappearing in the feeling of his dick sliding in and out of your cunt without restriction. and maybe this would’ve been so different had you not been high. maybe this wouldn’t have happened at all had you been sober. your vision is hazy and your head is clouded, but you’ve never felt so liberated.
wooyoung grazes his nose against yours, a stark contrast in the behavior he’s exhibited tonight. even as he does so, his lower half is still pounding into you without mercy. and for some reason, that tenderness is what has you slipping through the cracks. your orgasm washes over you with no warning, crashing and colliding into your being almost violently.
the fluttering of your walls around his cock has wooyoung finishing right behind you, lashes skimming the tops of your cheeks in butterfly kisses that prolong the climax of your release. it’s much more intimate than you expected, your heart swelling and your body shivering with its implications. he slows his pace to something steady, something that just metaphorically holds your hand through your orgasm.
as you recover from the weight of it all, you realize that you’re still crying. wooyoung attempts to swipe away your tears with his thumbs, but when he notices that they aren’t stopping, his eyebrows knit together in confusion. he slides out of you and back into his boxers, scouring your bedroom floor for your t-shirt. he sits you up gently and cups your jaw in his hand.
“what’s wrong?” he asks, uncharacteristically serious. you’re used to him being playful and joking about everything, so for him to show genuine concern about your emotions means a lot. a lot.
“i’m okay— i’m fine, i’m just being weird.” you dismiss his worries though, since it’s true. he doesn’t owe you anything and you don’t want to guilt him into anything just because your crush is a little heavier than the schoolgirl crush he’s made it out to be. he shakes his head. he’s not having any of that.
”no, you’re upset about something. don’t water yourself down like that.” you don’t like that this is fueling your delusions, don’t like that you want him so much more than you thought you could. and maybe you could’ve stopped yourself, had you not looked at him. your gaze traces from the beauty mark under his eye to the way his hair frames his face.
“i want something i can’t have,” is what you settle on, swallowing down that bitter pill that you’ve been avoiding tonight. “and i think i’m finally coming to terms with it.”
wooyoung searches your expression for thicker substance, as if that will hint towards a clearer answer than what you’ve given him. he finds it in that painfully sad smile of yours. he finds it in the heartache swirling in the pools of your irises. you know he didn’t mean to lead you on. it’s not his fault, really. you understood what you were getting yourself into. none of the blame can be placed in his hold, because it doesn’t belong to him.
”i should go,” he says after a long stretch of silence. “before either of us get into any trouble.”
you watch as he dresses himself quickly and exits through the window, taking your heart along with him. but it would be okay. you wouldn’t have to see him for another month anyways.
at least, that’s what you tell yourself as you reignite the blunt sitting in your ashtray.
© yunhoszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.
#atzhouse#ateez#ateez x reader#ateez smut#ateez wooyoung#ateez jung wooyoung#jung wooyoung#jung wooyoung x reader#jung wooyoung smut#wooyoung x reader#wooyoung smut#yunhoszn
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My God's Bane (Astarion x F!Tav)
Tav no longer recognizes herself while Astarion finally comes to terms with his feelings towards her.
AKA I wrote my own leadup to Astarion's confession scene :3
CW: LOTS of angst, religious conflict/crisis, mentions of past physical, emotional, and sexual abuse (Astarion), mild depictions of gore
Word Count: 9,437
He liked to think that he had a talent for reading people at this point. Most wear their emotions clearer than they believe. Even when they hide behind a quiet, joyful, or indifferent mask, everyone slips, shows their hand so to speak, and that’s when he strikes.
However, when it came to the leader of their ragtag band of weirdos, she was easy. She slipped the moment they met, when he cornered her about killing one of those brain creatures outside the nautiloid crash. She all but ran to his supposed rescue, not thinking twice that the man before her could pose harm. It was as simple as breathing back then, to betray that small boundary of trust when he held his blade to her throat.
Her heart was on her sleeve, and she extended it to every wayward soul they encountered. With remarkable speed, she was able to secure new adventurers for their mission. She made vows to the tieflings and druids alike, intent on restoring order despite the limited time they had. Whether foe or ally, she sought the safety of all involved – such is the way of a valiant paladin. It was an inconvenience, honestly.
Ever since they arrived at the Shadowlands, though, Tav’s personality changed.
Their first day in the darkness brought them to battle between the Harpers and their arachnoid escort. The towering bastard had to go and cast Sanctuary constantly, leaving the rest to pick off the weaker cultists until they could find an opening past his defense.
Tav had swung the final blows, her blade illuminated in a holy light that was nearly blinding against the shadows. The drider fell, and joined his fellow Absolutists as bloody road markers.
She was an excitable kind of person, cheering and hollering with the smallest of victories, giddy with triumph whenever her enemies fell. Add Karlach into the mix, and Astarion was positive that sleep would evade the camp that night, the two warriors whooping into the night, drunk off wine and adrenaline.
But, as she had stood over the vanquished drider, Tav was silent. He could not make out the emotion that crossed her face; reverence – or perhaps mourning, as he watched Tav kneel to close each eye the spider possessed.
Astarion knew he was the only one to witness it. The others were engaged in conversation as the Harpers so graciously invited them to their little hideout, in the form of an abandoned inn. When Tav stood from the ground and turned, she froze upon seeing him standing there, eyes wide with panic as she fumbled for words to say.
All she managed was a desperate, “Please don’t tell the others.”
He didn’t understand why, at the time, he had allowed her to place such trust in him.
The same night, when everyone was gathered around the campfire, joking and sharing stories over whatever meal Gale managed to throw together, she stared into the flames until one of their companions pulled her mind back to the present.
“An actual drider,” marvels Wyll, “It would have been magnificent if it weren’t so grotesque. Wouldn’t you agree, Tav?”
“Hmm?” She hummed, eyes transfixed on the bowl in her hands.
“The drider,” Wyll tried again, almost in disbelief that she had not heard him the first time, “What did you make of it?”
Her spoon circled the bowl for the umpteenth time, the sound immensely grating to Astarion’s sensitive hearing.
“Him,” she muttered.
“I’m sorry?” Wyll asked.
“What did I make of him? He’s a person, not an ‘it’,” she corrected with a huff of offense. “That poor man...”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to pity the creature,” admonished Shadowheart, “It is only fitting that one be punished for failing their Goddess. Really, we were doing it a favor.”
There’s an unwon arrogance that Shadowheart tends to mince her words with. Usually, he would find her quips amusing, but he wished she would have read the obvious tension.
“He’s not a creature!” Tav slammed the bowl into the dirt in front of her. The metallic clang of the spoon against ceramic rang out into the stunned silence of those around the fire.
“He was hurting! Desperate to be seen after Lolth’s rejection... and all it got him was a tadpole from another cruel Goddess!” Tav’s hands clenched into fists, brow furrowed as her eyes focused once again on the flames, “He didn’t deserve to die. I could have-- I mean, we could have done more!”
“I do not understand,” said Lae’zel, “Why do you show such sympathies for the weak?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” chimes in Karlach, and though Astarion assumed she would start on another lecture about friendship and unity, Tav did not let her finish.
“I’m afraid I lost my appetite. Good night,” she said, her meal abandoned as she stomped off to her tent.
Karlach sighed, shaking her head at Lae’zel. The githyanki had not moved, still perplexed by the situation around her. An uneasy quietness quickly descended upon the group, broken only by Wyll bidding them goodnight. A chorus of muttered ‘goodnights’ followed as they began to disperse.
Considering it an outburst of exhaustion, Astarion left Tav to stew in her tent. He wished he hadn’t, for she was no better the next day.
It was normal for her to seek their thoughts while exploring. She’d ask Karlach or Lae’zel for tips after combat, banter with Gale and Wyll, show Shadowheart every damn “pretty” flower she found, and insisted on directing as many vampire jokes as she could at Astarion. It didn’t matter how dreadfully unfunny they were, she always laughed.
Adventuring was quiet now, as she ushered them from place to place, battle to battle, without a break. They found various victims of the curse, most a century old, but some new and with unfortunately familiar faces. It did not matter how long the bodies had been there, Tav grieved each one, tears streaming from her face as she read letters of their last words. While she bawled at their corpses, Astarion brooded, wondering when he had started to miss her laughter.
She was praying more often as well, sequestering herself alone in whatever corner she could find and frantically whispering. Once, when she ceased her incessant prayer, Tav appeared to be locked in some kind of trance. She did not react to sound or touch, the whole of her eyes overtaken by a ghostly, lavender hue. She stayed that way for two hours.
Everyone saw the tears that streamed from her eyes when her mind had returned from its journey, but she refused to answer their questions.
Karlach approached him one night, nearly a tenday after Tav’s original outburst, telling him he needed to figure out what was wrong. He had scoffed at the tiefling; after all, it’s not like he cared about whatever mental issues shared rent with her tadpole. Right?
“She likes you the most, fangs. If there’s anyone she’s willing to open up to, I'm bettin’ it’s you.”
He laughed then, loud and boisterous, to hide the rising tide of excitement and anxiety that Karlach’s words had caused.
“Trying to use me to pry into Tav’s life, are we?” He tsk-ed. Though he smiled, his anxiety had given way to anger. It poked and taunted his deepest fear; that he’s only useful when he can be used. It’s so painfully obvious that’s all he’d ever be, that even sweet Karlach knew it.
But something besides the tadpole lurked around in his mind; why does he feel bad about tricking Tav? That is his whole plan, is it not? Use the strong sword-wielding lady to safely travel back to Baldur’s Gate, she dices this stupid cult and Cazador into pieces, and then he dumps her, finally free from any master’s grip.
He banished the intruding thought instantly, bottled it as deep as it could go, for the looming answer to his question threatened to make him sick. He is undead, a creature of the night, an external parasite that feeds on Tav at night until he can find someone, something, better. His skin is cold as ice and his heart no longer beats. He has no heart to give; or so he tells himself.
“You know that’s not the case,” Karlach had chastised, seemingly offended he could suggest such a thing, “We’re all worried. You can pretend all you want, but I know you are too. You can help her, Astarion.”
Now that was a curious sentiment. ‘Help’ is numerous in its contexts; Cazador certainly considered himself helpful, merciful even, as he watched his new spawn vomit blood and dirt after clawing out of their tombs. The word implies a give and take, and the world is far more eager to collect than it is to provide.
To put it plainly, he had nothing to offer their melancholic leader; he is nothing and has been for a long time. Still, Karlach had come to him, apparently unaware of his obvious lack. Perhaps he should hear her out. Perhaps she saw something in him.
“And just how should I ‘help’?” Astarion asked, condescendingly drawling the question out, rolling his eyes for good measure.
He saw how the edge of Karlach’s lips twitched, how her eyes narrowed, the way her mechanical heart roared to life with a bright spark before settling back into quiet embers. In poetic irony, it seems that he burned her.
“Hells below, Astarion,” she nearly yelled, exasperated, tired, and practically begging him to cooperate. He doesn’t blame her for the outburst. Without the annoyingly bubbly attitude of Tav, the tension between party members had been amplified and pulled taut. They all may very well snap soon.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he dismissed her then, attention focused back on the tome he had in his hands. But his mind did not process the words on the page. He reread the same line damn near ten times before he gave up and went to bed instead.
His rest was anything but; it was fitful and full of sorrow.
It was times like then when he wished he could slumber like every other living creature. When his victims and fellow spawn would speak of nightmares, they told tales of distorted visions and intense fear. His waking hours were already plagued with such issues, he could easily handle the nightmares. But no, instead he was cursed to revel in his own pain during his meditative rest, reliving and experiencing his own terrifying truths on repeat.
That night, he tried searching for something he could do for Tav. Something that the others could not; something to prove his value to her. He did find it. It didn’t take him long at all.
All he had to offer his little troublesome Tav was his body.
And it broke him.
He spent that night with the realization that this is who he is and always will be. A body to be used and used and used and used and used and used and used and u s e d.......
Thankfully, Tav had asked him to stay at camp that morning. Even though he teased her with his usual, “Darling, I thought we had something special,” she could barely manage a smile, and muttered her thanks before flittering about camp in preparation.
It was probably for the best, knowing how useless he would have been with that morose epiphany swimming in his mind. Though awake, the uneasy feeling from the night did not dissipate. His emotions were all over the place, that much he was sure of, but they had always been identifiable. Agony, desperation, emptiness.
Now new and uncertain feelings – gods how he detested the word – seized his chest. Images of Tav pestered him the entire day; the bags under her eyes, the unkempt hair, the dying light of her spirit. Karlach was right, he was worried.
Still, he could not find the source of his worry. He’d spent the last 200 years surrounded by shambling corpses and their victims alike. They slept like dogs, were beaten like beasts, so really, who was he to judge for a bad hair day?
Astarion saw no use driving himself mad about it, after all, he had always warned her that her heroism couldn’t last forever. He spent that day doing what he does best when he finds himself without her company, distracting himself with enough shit wine and even shittier books. He didn’t think his tolerance would be shit too.
Words had soon blurred together, and despite the book’s distinct lack of arcane knowledge, the letters seemed to arrange themselves in puzzles. He slammed the tome shut, opting to sit in the privacy of his tent and will away his growing headache. While his thoughts were no less jumbled, the feelings from before were becoming clearer.
Worry; The presence of the undead made it impossible for him to feed on anyone other than Tav. Even though she always assured him that she did not mind, he felt like he was using her, and for the first time in a long time, he felt bad about being such a devious bastard.
Rejection; He’d never tell, but the absence of Tav returning his superficial flirtations left him feeling empty. He tries to tell himself that it isn’t him, it isn’t his fault, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less to not have her affection.
Fear; He would give his body to her, if it would make her happy. Thousands before her had found pleasure in him, it would be easy for him to allow her the same. He wanted to believe that he’d be selfless, place her needs and comfort above his own; but he knew he could not. He is selfish. Could she want a selfish man?
It dawned on him then, what this cocktail of vulnerability and yearning was. The cause of his worry, the source of his comfort, the reason he felt like an idiot. He lov-
The party had arrived back at camp, and he had stumbled to his feet to meet them, for how would it look if their charming vampire companion was found sulking and brooding in his tent. Karlach immediately shed her armor, talking about how stuffy it felt to be metal-clad. Gale carried a sack with the night’s dinner ingredients in hand and grumbled about the pain in his knees as he knelt to light the fire. Lae’zel, despite her stoicism, appeared happy, covered head to toe in the blood of the fallen.
Tav looked no worse than she had for these last few days, and that ought to count for something. He watched as she removed the outer pieces of her armor, wincing when the harsh edges dug into new and old bruises alike. She picked up a rag and a small mirror, wiping away the blood from the cuts on her face.
The sight of the crimson spilling from her skin reminded him of his hunger. Their quid pro quo arrangement had been forgotten in her despair, and he was desperate at this point for anything she would give him. Blood, sex, shallow praise, whatever she had to offer.
Oh, right.
He had yet to offer himself again, so what reason would she have to keep up her end of the deal?
He downs the last of the wine in his goblet, swallowing the intoxicating substance just as the reality of his situation swallows his hope. With measured steps, he approached her tent, taking quiet yet deep breaths to ease the misery he felt knowing he’ll never be more than this. He opened his mouth to call her name, but Tav released the ties holding back the rainfly of her tent and shut them all out.
That should have been it, but his drunken mind reminded him of his promise to Karlach, and his predatorial hunger lurched at the idea of another night unsatiated.
Once the others were asleep, Astarion snuck into her tent, part and parcel to their routine since she first discovered his true nature. It was easier for him when she was asleep, not that the sharp pinch of his fangs left her totally undisturbed; but to approach while she was awake only guaranteed in his mind that he would end up on his back again.
Tav was facing away from him, lying on her side, a formerly white linen sheet covered her sleeping form. Nothing was amiss as he had stalked closer, brushing the strands of hair away from her neck, his mouth unbelievably dry. He knelt, the perfume of her blood wafting sweetly from beneath her skin, as he placed his hand on her shoulder to steady himself.
She awoke then, the force of her sitting so abruptly pushed him back and sent him stumbling. He had, thankfully, caught himself with his hand before falling into the dirt. Still, he was equal parts annoyed at dinner being interrupted and worried that he was caught.
“Hells, Astarion, you scared the shit out of me,” she whispered.
“And you almost broke my nose,” he chastised; not a total lie, but an exaggerated one, nonetheless.
Tav rolled her eyes at him before letting herself fall back against her bedroll again, “Oh, you poor thing, want me to kiss it better?”
At least she appeared to be feeling better, back to the self that loved teasing him.
“If you’re offering, who am I to say no to the hand that feeds?”
Upon realizing that he would not be allowed to dine and dash, Astarion straddled her thighs, ready to bargain for what he needed. He let his hand rest on her hip, soothing circles through the fabric of her nightwear.
“Yea, s’pose you can’t say you won’t bite,” she said through a drowsy laugh.
He allowed his hand to wander then, down the inside of her thigh, fingers trailing along the seam of her pants, “As if the lady would protest my bites.”
With a kiss pressed to her lips, Astarion silenced any innuendo or proposition she may have made. He did not want to hear it, could not stand the idea of her confirming all the horrid things he thought about himself.
This unspoken deal only served to remind him of how temporary freedom would be. At worst, he would return to Cazador, and the bastard would tell him how lucky he should feel, how there were other mortals dying to be in his position. He wished he could tell him that adding an ‘s’ before ‘pawn’ doesn’t make being a puppet any more lucrative.
She promised that she would not let that happen. She promised to free him from his master’s chains, but what comes after? He would still be bound to the night, doomed to prowl moonlit streets for an eternity. Killing would still be his status quo, whether mammal or mortal, in order to satiate his hunger.
Would she stay with such a monster?
Thoughts he did not want to entertain had barged to the forefront of his mind again, and he knew he needed to move this along. At least with sex, he could force those thoughts away, bottle them back up, and allow his body to numb. At least, this way, he survived another day. At least her body is warm.
At least—anything he can say to himself to justify another night on his back and to ignore the resentment building in his heart.
Her lips had parted in a moan, and his tongue quickly lay claim to her mouth, as his hand finally cupped her sex. She gasped, and as his mind had started to drift off into the numb void, he had been pulled back by the feeling of her hand pushing against his chest.
When he separated himself from her body, Astarion wanted to scream, wanted to shake her; why did she insist on taking the lead? It would be easy with him on top; he wouldn’t have to look at her, to feel her weight on top of him. Must she be so difficult?
“I don’t want to have sex tonight.”
What--
He looked down at her then, saw the flush in her face, felt how her hands fiddled with the ruffled collar of his shirt but harbored no intention to remove the clothing.
“I’m not really in the right headspace for that,” she explained, “Plus, I can taste the wine on your lips...”
“Right, well...” He didn’t know what to say.
Astarion was frozen above her, unsure of what he was supposed to do. Awkwardness had settled over them both, each one terrified of scaring the other off should they move or speak. Until, the dots connect in her head and she practically launched herself upright, almost smacking herself into him again.
“You haven’t fed since we got here, have you? Shit, I’m sorry!” She said as she pulled her hair to the side, exposing the column of her neck.
Any other time, he might have shoved her away, storming out of her tent as his hunger gave way to the embarrassment of it all, his crumbling ego unable to cope. But as she all but dragged his mouth to her skin, urging him to drink, Astarion was thankful that her care outweighed his own pride.
His fangs pierced her flesh, and she hissed at the pain, but did not complain further.
He recalled the conversation they had about what their friends would taste like, debating over who would be sweet and who would be savory. Once he had mused that she would be bland, only if to rile her up, but the depth of her lifeblood had truly surprised him.
She is a winter’s mulled wine, deceptively simple at first yet brimming with spice as she settles on his tongue. Hints of citrus tease his palate, the last taste of summer’s sweetness yielding to the zest of cinnamon and clove. It was gone as soon as it came, leaving its enjoyer to eagerly await the next mouthful.
As he drank from her, he had felt the echo of a memory in his chest, of his younger days scribbling away next to a hearth, of a man who made his heart flutter and his skin burn with want. The man’s face remains obscured, buried under years of torment, but the feeling is there; the rush of something new and exciting; the naivety of first love.
With wild hair and soft eyes that regarded him as if he held the entire world, the elf below him had unearthed a humanity he’d long since forgotten. What a wondrous feeling it was; to release all that had been brimming beneath the surface, to give names to the shadows, to feel again.
Again, her hand pushed against his chest, weaker than before as she mumbles, “O-Okay, I’m starting to get dizzy.”
His fangs retreated from her skin, and as his lips captured any wayward drops, he realized he did not wish to completely part in that moment. Gently, he laid her down against her bedroll, back on her side. He situated himself behind her, basking in the newfound heat that flowed through his veins, and allowed his breath to even out. Tav was already fast asleep when he turned, wrapping his arm around her and cuddled her to his chest.
...
Astarion had made sure to return to his own tent before dawn broke and if Tav had noticed the vampire snuggling her in the night, he was eternally grateful for her silence on it in the morning. He did not want to hear the insufferable taunts and jokes the others would make if the two of them were discovered together. Gale or Wyll, hells, probably even Karlach, would remind him that it’s only natural for two adults to seek out company between their giggles; as if he’s a little boy who's embarrassed about his crush.
But that is what he is, isn’t he? He’s tucking tail and scurrying away because he’s afraid of others seeing that he is capable of feeling. Brazen displays of emotion, especially ones of love, are signs of a weakness to be exploited. Everything he had ever loved had been taken from him, had been hurt because of him. He could love her, he wants to love her, but it would just be placing a target on her back. Another one of Cazador’s endless lessons.
She is safer this way.
For what it’s worth, Tav did appear livelier that morning, bantering with Shadowheart as the cleric healed their bloodless leader, and it earned him a thankful pat on the back from Karlach.
“Ah, I love the taste of Lesser Restoration in the morning,” Tav hummed happily, arms raised above her head as she stretched the sleep out of her body.
“I don’t know why you insist on coming to me,” said Shadowheart, “You’re the one who chose to be a walking blood bank, and I know Paladins can cast Lesser Restoration. Why don’t you heal yourself instead of making it my problem?”
“Because you’re always so charming,” Tav teased, “How do you expect me to resist?”
“Kicking and screaming, I hope,” deadpanned the cleric.
“See what I mean? Our own little ray of sunshine!”
After breakfast, Tav assembled that day’s crew. The idea of a day of physical labor after last night's mental exhaustion made Astarion less than eager to accept her invitation. Still, he had said yes, and donned his armor as he made a quiet vow to himself.
He will always keep her safe in one way or another.
The day’s mission had involved infiltrating the House of Healing to find something that could be used on this Art Cullagh fellow. Astarion had accepted, by this point, to not concern himself with the details and just assist Tav with whatever heroics she found herself agreeing to. They would happen with or without him.
The exterior yielded nothing of value, except one half of a pair of warding rings Tav found on the skeleton of another victim. She was somber as she pocketed the ring and read the lover’s note, but composed herself afterwards, and said a small prayer before pushing forward. He had felt some level of pride and admiration, watching as a new strength kindled inside her. There was inflation to his ego as well, a selfish joy in thinking that his mere cuddles could fix her woes.
He should have known better. Life had never been kind.
They had entered the House of Healing through an antechamber that reeked of decay and spoiled blood. Infirmary beds were strewn about, and of the few that weren’t outright destroyed or flipped over, they looked less than pleasing without a mattress to cover the rusted springs. Rotting towels, shattered wash basins, and an unknown film covered the floors. Voices echoed from the main chamber ahead, so each step further in was made cautiously.
They passed through a door to their right and discovered what used to be a woman as she floated before two of the beds, covered in nurses' attire that clearly didn’t know the definition of sterile. She - no, it - paid them no mind as they had approached, gazing down at the implements and bandages before it as if it couldn’t figure out what to do.
With her hand on the hilt of her sword, Tav spoke first, “Excuse me, ma’am?”
“Don’t call the doctor yet!” came the soft plea of the creature, “I’ve got potions, sutures - I know I can do this...” It turned to address their fellow nurse, yet startled when it saw the Paladin, “Oh! You’re a patient. This is the children’s ward – triage is back that way.”
“I have something else I’d like to ask you,” Tav started, but her words faded off as she looked beyond the nurse in front of her.
Two bodies laid still on the beds, clearly dead, though it was hard to tell if it was from the Shadow Curse or the nurse’s ‘treatment’.
In an instant, Tav drew her sword, resting the blade in a tail stance, voice low with anger as she asked, “What are you doing with the dead?”
The nurse regarded her with confusion as she replied, “Not dead, merely medicated. To ease the pain.”
Tav raised her sword, now bracing her weight in a plow stance, the tip of her blade dangerously close to the nurse’s abdomen, as she snarled, “I asked you a question, creature! What are you doing with the dead?”
Astarion had watched Tav face countless foes since their adventure together began. Even with the most wicked, she had never been so blatantly offensive. In hindsight, he realized that all those foes had been alive; fought them she must, but always done so reluctantly, and always ready to spare a life when able. There, in the House of Healing, did he first witness her true devotion as a Doomguide.
Of course, she had told the group of her deity; was overbearingly eager to share it, in fact. Kelemvor; Judge of the Damned; whose symbol featured a skeletal hand raising balanced scales. Tav wears it on her chest – darkened purple stitched into a solid black surcoat that she dons no matter the armor underneath. She told them the stories of her years as a lone wanderer, proselytizing Kelemvor’s wisdom, performing last rites for the dying, and destroying necromancers.
She was a protector of the living, and a slayer of the undead.
The creature did not answer her question, insisting that the patients were sleeping and to be quiet lest they wake. The last words the creature heard were Tav’s whispered, “In Kelemvor’s name,” before the blade was plunged clean through its body. It collapsed to the floor, trying to speak, but the blood pooling in its throat only allowed for senseless gurgling.
Tav placed her foot on the corpse and pushed it into the heap of flesh as she withdrew her blade. Thick, blackened blood congealed on the metal, and Tav held it in a white-knuckled grip as she stepped over the body and towards the beds.
She took one glance and immediately turned around, tripping on the creature's body as she rushed out of the vestibule, landing on her hands and knees, as her sword skidded across the floor. She did not rise, instead sinking to her elbows as her hands pulled at her hair to the point that Astarion thought she might rip it out.
Karlach rushed to her side, trying to ease the Paladin up as hushed sobs echoed off the walls.
“Hey now, soldier,” said the tiefling, taking hold of Tav’s biceps and urging her to sit up, “Don’t go getting soft on me.”
Shadowheart bypassed the two and peered into the beds before gasping, “It’s Arabella’s parents.”
Another choked cry broke out from Tav as she finally sat back on her haunches, rubbing away her tears with a grubby hand, “I fucking hate this place.”
“We all do,” assured Karlach, “But we gotta keep moving forward; don’t want to have worms forever, do we?”
“No,” came Tav’s hushed response before she stood to her feet. She picked up her sword from the floor, flicking some of the blood off, “Let’s just get this over with.”
Malleus Thorm was an abhorrent sight. Deciding to take the lead after Tav’s second outburst, Karlach interrogated the cursed doctor about his peculiar treatment plan. He spoke of Shar, of darkness, of absence. The victim strapped to the table was catatonic from the aimless carving of the nurses’ blades, though he was soon comatose after the doctor’s mechanical claws dug into his eyes.
Tav was antsy behind her, shifting on her feet, practically chomping at the bit to send the undead man back into oblivion. The battle was difficult, but well won. Tav’s anger and adrenaline combined with Divine Smite proved a lethal combo.
Shadowheart pulled a lute from the corpse of Malleus and held it out to Tav, “I think you might want this.”
Tav took the lute, strapped it to her back and made way for the exit. Despite the exhaustion they all felt and the rush of emotions Tav must have experienced, she stayed silent. No cries, no curses, not one tear to be found. Astarion felt that agonizing mix of worry and sorrow creep around him.
He increased his pace until he was able to fall in line with her, their other party members straggling not far behind.
“Are you alright, darling?” He asked quietly, still not quite ready for his care to be announced to the world.
She only nodded.
...
If he thought their adventures had been quiet before, they were dead silent now. Every fight with another Thorm family member pushed Tav further into despair. Any attempts by their companions to make her smile or laugh were futile. She walked and fought like a zombie, resulting in her near-death numerous times. Lectures about how she needed to mind herself went in one pointed ear and out the other, apparently.
Her silence was only broken by the fits of sobbing that occurred from her tent each night. If she managed to fall into her meditative state, it would end with her lurching forward, gasping for air as she scrambled off into the corner of camp to empty the contents of her stomach.
Karlach had to take over as temporary leader, and if she had her way, Tav would’ve stayed behind. Yet, when the Paladin appeared every morning with her armor and sword ready, the tiefling couldn’t find the strength to not let her tag along.
Astarion also insisted that he be allowed on each mission, even if his skills weren’t useful for their goal. For whatever reason, Tav listened to him more than the others, and would only accept his help when she found herself injured. He had to be there for her, even if watching her suffer wore away at his own sanity. He often found himself looking at the warding ring she had silently given him after their fight with Malleus, and wondered if he would ever hear her laugh again.
Bones, blood, and viscera decorated the entrance hall. The gore was mundane to him, no more unique than a cobblestone street or tavern lights in the dark. The dank and forebodingness of the crypt did not stop him from admiring its beauty. The ruins must have been a marvelous sight in their heyday, brimming with the Lady of Loss’s worshippers as they sought to drown out their sorrow and begged for her guidance amongst the crystalline decor.
Their group split to investigate the various rooms that surrounded the concourse, with him following behind Tav as she investigated the nook to the right. Through the towering archway, he saw that it was no more than a chamber, perhaps used as foyer for those who came to grieve the Thorm family. More bones were littered across its floor and piled in its corners. He saw nothing novel, yet Tav stopped stock still.
“Myrkul...”, she had hissed with disgust, hands clenched into fists that shook in splintering rage.
Peeking over her shoulder, he saw the triangle of femurs that had been constructed in front of the dilapidated desk, a skull perched neatly in the middle. He joined her at her side, casual when he had faced her and asked carelessly, “Who?”
Truthfully, the name and symbol were of no interest to him; a forgotten name from a bygone era, and most importantly, a deity that had ignored his prayers. She looked up to him then, and the dusty air must have been getting to him, because he swore her gaze softened when their eyes met.
“Myrkul Bey al-Kursi, a necromancer and prince who ascended to godhood when Jergal willingly parted with his title,” Gale interrupted just as Tav was about to speak.
Astarion rolled his eyes at the wizard and resisted the urge to pettily stomp his foot against the floor. His look was not enough to kill, but it did have Gale surrendering, hands up in a wordless apology as he had backed away from the two.
“Correct,” Tav said, breaking the tension she didn’t know had occurred, “He was usurped by Cyric, but the Prince of Lies was defeated by Kelemvor.”
Astarion was desperate to keep her talking. He’d listen to an entire history lecture if it meant she’d come back to sound mind. Back to him. “What use would a servant of Myrkul have with some Sharran shrine?”
“It doesn’t matter what ‘use’ they have for it,” admonished Shadowheart, “Lady Shar has decreed that Ketheric must die for his betrayal, and ridding her temple of other disgraces in the process is as much a bonus as it is an honor.”
Listening to the cleric’s devotion was uninteresting at best, and torturous at worst. He almost pitied the poor girl, blindly following a goddess out of fear of what her memories might hold.
Astarion had expected Tav to mirror Shadowheart’s enthusiasm, but instead saw her bristle, hands wringing together nervously. She was unrecognizable to him, the proud warrior now hunched in on herself as she gnawed at her bottom lip. Anxiety was radiating off her in waves; she looked like she might vomit.
His body had moved before he had realized what he was doing, hand reaching for her shoulder to comfort her. When his cool skin had made contact with her chainmail, she recoiled, eyes wide and breath unsteady. Hurt by her reaction, he let his hand fall limply to his side, and gruffly announced that the party should keep moving.
His patience wore thin as they descended into the abyss below the mausoleum. Gale and Shadowheart both wouldn’t shut up about the various magical auras they were picking up on. Sensing Shar’s presence in the Temple of Shar? Who could have guessed the dark goddess would have been there? Bloody amateurs.
Tav nearly fell in battle again against the Dark Justiciars that were forever cursed to protect the temple. She was unfocused and reckless, and the shadows had swarmed her after making quick work of the necromancer’s lackeys. To make matters worse, there was still no sign of the devil Raphael had tasked them with killing. There were hundreds of rats, though, and the sight of them left a bad taste in his mouth.
With some convincing from both he and Gale, Tav finally acquiesced and agreed to return to camp for the evening. Night had developed a new, uncomfortably familar cycle by then, with Tav disappearing to her tent before anyone could say anything to her. She would eat her dinner alone. He would pretend he didn’t hear her crying throughout the night.
They found Balthazar the next day, and it was the first time he ever saw pure hatred burning behind her eyes. They barely survived, the undead necromancer’s poison draining their strength while his ghouls beat them with decayed teeth and talons. When the bastard finally fell, Tav stood over his corpse, whispered a prayer, and then carved her blade through the fat of his neck. She stabbed her sword repeatedly into his chest, moving down his torso until he was no longer recognizable; just a pile of oozing sinew and flesh. His hulking, sewn-together abomination was the next target of her wrath, and it too was reduced to a pool of guts and blood.
It was not enough.
She destroyed the furniture, set the bookshelves ablaze, tore down everything the necromancer kept in his makeshift laboratory. The rest of the party removed themselves from the room, watching silently from the threshold as their near-death leader found the strength to take all of Balthazar’s worldly possessions with her.
It would have been sexy as hell if it weren’t so concerning.
She eventually collapsed, falling to her knees, sword clattering to the ground with a metallic clang echoing around the room. Silence followed; stares were exchanged between Astarion and his fellow compatriots, each one wordlessly asking the other what the hell had just happened.
Tired of walking on eggshells, of not doing something, Astarion walked over to Tav and kneeled in front of her. She didn’t notice him at first, eyes shut tight and chest heaving with labored breaths. He reached out again, placing his hand on her knee.
She was startled, but didn’t move away like before. Instead, her bloodied hand covered his own, fingers tracing over his knuckles, inadvertently smearing the crimson against his pale skin. When he suggested they retire to camp early, she finally, finally, met his gaze. Glimmering violet swirled in her irises, no doubt the remnants of whatever magic she called on Kelemvor for. It faded away, leaving him with the woman of his adoration, looking broken and lost.
Clinging to his armor, she staggered to her feet, yet nearly toppled again when she went to pick up her sword. It was instinct really, for him to grab her waist and to keep her upright. He certainly had held her hips in more lascivious situations, but somehow he felt more naked that time.
Vulnerable.
He doesn’t think he can keep this a secret any longer.
…
This last tenday has been punishing, and Astarion carries its weight with him as he searches the encampment for his wayward paramour.
He finds her on the staggered rock where they helped Halsin rescue Thaniel, staring out into the darkness. Her posture is relaxed as she leans back on her arms, legs dangling off the edge where the water beats on the stone below.
The silt crunches softly beneath his boots, and he knows she has heard him approach when her ear twitches. He settles himself beside her, brushing off any stray granules from his armor with a huff of disgust. She giggles.
It must look comical, how quickly his head snaps up at the sound, searching her face for signs of madness. After how despondent she’s been, he expects to find a vessel, a hollow being with the residue of what was a soul, begging to be let go.
Instead, he finds her kind smile, as she now swipes away the remaining dirt from his calf, “Not a fan of sand, I take it?”
For all his prose, there is no poetry, no song, no prayer that could mimic the joy he feels when she teases him. He’s been drowning, his mood anchored to hers, and now she has yanked him from the abyss once again. Is this the feeling all those bards crooned about? That every two-bit novelist dreamed of capturing?
He had long given up on such fantasies, convinced himself that the very notion of love made him sick.
Love.
There’s no use pretending anymore. It is love that he feels for Tav. It’s why he mopes at the end of the night if she dares to speak to him last; perhaps the tad murderous feeling he gets when he sees her acting too chummy with the wizard. It’s the comfort of knowing someone has his back, the safety of her sword shielding him from attack, the promises of freedom sleepily whispered between lips in the night. She is the first breath taken when he surfaces. The sun pales in comparison to the warmth in her touch, though she is just as apt to kiss his cheeks.
She is back and gods, how he missed her.
Gods, how he loves her.
“No, I don’t,” he responds in his bantering tone, “It’s rough... irritating... and it gets bloody everywhere.”
She hums in agreement, gaze falling to the ground before returning to the river. Silence befalls them again, and he finds himself clamoring for words. He wants to confess his love, sing her praises, ask her what the hell is wrong with her. Anything to fill the silence, he refuses to live in the saturnine hellscape that has been the last week any longer.
“Astarion,” she beats him to it, “I want to apologize for my behavior these last few days. I put everyone at risk and going forward I’ll be sure to keep everything in check. Can’t have everyone dying because of incompetency.”
A bit too diplomatic for his liking, and her laughter is much too forced. He’ll need to teach her some proper acting; it’s a miracle she’s survived as long as she has with that disaster of a performance. Aren’t paladins supposed to be charismatic, or is it the weapon that does most of the talking?
“Oh, you were in a bad mood? I hardly noticed,” he states with all the indifference he can muster.
She leans into him to playfully jab her elbow into his side, muttering expletives in an elven dialect he hasn’t heard in ages.
“Seriously, I’m sorry if I made you worry.”
“I’m just glad you’re safe,” he rushes out, hand idly scratching the back of his neck.
The tension returns, though not as overbearing as before, as questions remain unasked and feelings unshared. It’s a bitter push, as neither is used to talking about their depths, and he doesn’t want to pry; yet a sweet pull, as he remains at her side, wishing for the awkwardness to dissipate.
“It’s just...” She begins, and though she faces forward, he catches her sneaking looks at him in her peripheral, “There’s so much going on, I don’t know where to start.”
If he had any blood in his body, he’s sure it’d be racing, his heart thumping wildly in tandem. He thinks she’s ready to talk, and that is half the issue. He thinks, but he doesn’t know; it terrifies and thrills him all the same. He wants to know her – aches for it, if he’s being honest.
But he is terrified, so sure that he’s going to fuck up and ruin the one good thing he’s had in two hundred years. If she rejects him now, shuts him out for good, he’s not sure he can take it.
This was supposed to be easy; she was supposed to be easy.
“It doesn’t matter where you start, I’ll be here for the end.” Shit, shit, SHIT.
“Astarion,” she gasps, hand over her heart, his name melting into a laugh, “That was actually smooth.”
He tsks, “I take offense to that. I’ve always been smooth, you’re just too brutish to notice.”
She laughs again, shaking her head as an enamored smile graces her lips. Her hand brushes stray locks of hair behind her pointed ear and even in the dim glow of the inn’s spell, he can see a blush staining her cheeks.
But then, she sighs, slow and tired as her fingers soothe circles into her temples, “Can you keep a secret for me?”
It’s what he’s been pining for, offered on a silver platter, and how could he not say yes.
He raises his hand to his chest, drawing an ‘x’ over his armor, “Cross my heart and hope to—uh, well, you know.”
Another chuckle escapes her lips as she adjusts her position, angling herself towards him.
She swallows thickly before continuing, “Well, I uh—I talked to Kelemvor.”
“Is that not par for the course for you Doomguides?” He asks incredulously, eyebrow raised and head tilting as he chuckles.
This time, she does not grant him a smile or a laugh, focused on picking at her cuticles and the dirt under her nails.
“I haven’t spoken to him since the nautiloid, I figured the tadpole was interfering,” she says hushed, shame and guilt on the edges of her voice. “I was preparing myself for the worst, but what I got was an impossibility.”
What kind of cryptic bullsh-- She’s been hanging around Withers too much.
Hundreds of possibilities race through his mind. What he knows of Kelemvor is only from what she has shared; while he did not seem to be a vengeful god, they already have one person burdened with a suicide mission. He could live without the blabbersome wizard, but her?
He should have known the universe would only offer him misery, to dangle a sweet treat before him and rip it all away before he had the chance to savor it.
“Did he ask you to sacrifice yourself?” He wants to hear it from her, needs to hear her say those dreaded words so he can make peace before she is nothing more than bones and fading memories.
Her eyes find his, inflamed with tears she no longer has the strength to shed, “I wish he did.”
The pain, the anger, the grief of the last few days resurfaces in her voice, that flare of purple sparking in her irises. Astarion does not often find himself shocked, but the callous and tempestuous storm raging beneath her skin leaves him speechless. Instincts tell him he is witnessing only a fraction of her fury.
Then it ebbs, retreating like the tide, as she takes a deep breath to steady herself.
“I’ve been having doubts, about my purpose, about this path I chose. I expected Kelemvor to berate me for lacking faith.”
Her hands go back to tearing at her cuticles.
“He by no means praised me, but he wasn’t furious, either. He didn’t seem like himself... He didn’t even look like himself. It was as if his passion was gone. I asked him what I should do, and he told me that only I can determine my future.”
“So? What’s wrong with that?” He was genuinely confused by her demeanor. Self-determination, autonomy, freedom; all the things she promised to help him find and keep, yet she fears them for herself.
“Kelemvor has been a part of my life since I was a teenager, I’ve devoted myself to him for the better part of two centuries. I don’t-- I don’t know who I am without him.”
A kindred spirit.
She clenches her jaw, letting out a frustrated huff, “What am I supposed to do? I can’t stay a Doomguide to a god who abandoned his own principles!”
He knows she is bleeding from her nail beds, the lovely scent of spiced wine in the air.
“I took an oath of devotion, to be honorable, compassionate, and honest. I do not fear death of myself nor my loved ones, for death is not something to be afraid of. It is not something one must seek, but it is what one should embrace should it find you,” She explains, “For the last two hundred and fifty-six years, Kelemvor would remind me of these tenets, and commend me for every valiant foe I slaughtered in their image.”
As sweet as the fragrance is, he takes her hands in his; they have seen and caused enough damage for the time being.
“And Kelemvor just... doesn’t care anymore. Every time we saw some poor undead creature cursed by Shar, I was reminded of how he dismissed me, like I was a fool for ever following him in the first place. I was his valiant hero, one his most beloved Paladins, and now what? I’m nothing.”
“You are not nothing,” he replies in an instant, “You are everything. You don't need Kelemvor to be honorable or compassionate, because you already are those things. He was lucky to have someone as devoted as you, but if he wants to toss you aside, then good riddance; it’s his loss, and everyone else’s gain.”
Crimson floods her cheeks again, as she stares at him dumbfounded. He fidgets in the momentary silence, the feeling of actually sharing one's feeling still mildly uncomfortable. But then it dissipates, because she smiles at him and brings their clasped hands to rest over her heart. Its beat is comforting.
“Thanks, Astarion. I don’t know what I would have done without you these last few weeks.”
“Someone had to keep you alive. I know I said you would make a pretty corpse, but that doesn’t mean I’m eager to see it, darling.”
“I’m sure Shadowheart would let you have a nibble if I passed,” she says with a laugh.
“Perhaps, but I don’t think she could compare.”
The steady rhythm of her heart increases under his hands. She adjusts herself again, scooting closer to him so that she can lean her head against his shoulder. Her eyes close as she relaxes into him, and he feels so relieved at knowing her touch could be so intimate yet still so gentle.
“There’s just one thing I don’t understand, Tav,” He says, his thumb softly tracing along her knuckles, “Why were you having doubts in the first place?”
“Oh! Um...” She says, head lifting from his shoulder, “It’s so embarrassing, don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t you dare hold out on me now,” He pleads as he slings his arm across her back, hand resting on her hip and pulling her in close so he can whisper, “Especially when it comes to gossip!”
Sagging against his side, she groans out, “You are the wooooorst.”
He raises his hand to his face, making a dramatic show of clearing his throat before uttering a very sickly sweet, “Please?”
“Okay, fine,” she huffs before grumbling out something unintelligible.
“What was that dear? No one likes a mumbler.”
“Because of you! Because... I like you,” She says, carding her hand through her hair; her walls tumbling and every emotion she’s shouldered alone spilling forth in a maddened haze.
“I’ve seen hundreds of undead, most of whom I gladly sent back to their graves. They were merely the husks of the people they once were. Any soul left in them was but a dying echo as they pleaded for their suffering to end. I thought I was helping,” she says, voice shaking, “But what if I ended the life of someone who just wanted-- no needed-- a second chance? Was I an arbiter of divine justice, or just some glorified executioner? I started to question everything when we met.”
His mind is a whirlwind, thoughts simultaneously speeding yet slow. The half of him that yearns to be known, to be loved, is battling against his ever-present fear that he is not worthy of such. It’s a terrifying concoction, one that has him questioning just how accurate Tav’s description of the undead is. He has no idea who Astarion is; he knows who the elven magistrate once was, but who is Astarion the spawn, besides Cazador’s infernal expectations?
“By no means am I saying that you haven’t suffered, but you are not some hollow corpse, Astarion. Despite everything that’s happened, and everything that has yet to come, you have grown in unprecedented ways. You’ve broken a mold, defied all odds. You’re simply breathtaking...”
He is, isn’t he? No one has given him enough credit; no one has truly recognized the pure shit he has survived through. No one has offered him the chance or the choice to be better. He’s tired of the untrusting sideways glances, the disgusting feeling of some stranger’s eye roaming his figure. He’s always been expected to fall in line, and today he makes the promise to finally live for himself.
“When this is all over, I want to stay by your side, if you’ll have me.”
She looks at him with reverence, like he can pluck the stars from the night sky. He has seen this look before, when she would talk about Kelemvor, and he swears his undead heart nearly beats under her adoring gaze. He has no army to command, cannot turn into mist nor bat; he is practically powerless, and yet she wants him anyway. She believes in him, even though he can’t trust himself. Where he sees nothing, she has found something worth abandoning her god for.
“I don’t think I’ve heard you this quiet before... are you alright?”
He cannot find the words necessary to explain his delight. Even if he did, he doubts he’d still even be able to form them, arrange them into proper sentences. The truth has rendered him speechless.
It doesn’t erase the fact that she sounds hurt, scared even, at the prospect that his silence means rejection. He recognizes the feeling all too well, and if she can overcome its pain to tell him the truth, then dammit, he can do the same. Perhaps he will forever roam darkened streets, but that doesn’t mean all of him must remain in the shadows. He must be honest, expose his own secrets to the proverbial light, and allow her the same choice.
“Oh yes, I’m fine. I just... feel awful.”
He hopes she chooses him all the same.
“Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan-”
#fullofbeeswrites#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#astarion/reader#astarion/tav#astarion#astarion bg3#baldur's gate 3#bg3#bg3 tav#bg3 astarion
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The Serpent Files 🐍
chapters: 5/5 rating: M/E wordcount: 13.9k au: human, the magnus archives
summary: Aziraphale works as the head archivist at Eden Institute. Crowley has been supplying them with potentially cursed artifacts over the years -- until he himself gets entangled in a case that turns him from associate to client...
[ art credit and support credit and 1000 hugs to: @chernozemm my beloved ]
start reading:
“Ouroboros. Yes. The introductory statement is meant to be concise, though, akin to a title. You can describe the necklace in detail in your statement, Crowley. Also, I need you to state your name. It occurs to me I don't actually know it. I mean. I'm not saying I want to know your full name, or anything. Just, all these years– erm. You'd have to state it anyway. For formality's sake. We have a system.”
“Sure. So. Name's Crowley.”
“I… know that part. [sighs] Full names, please, throughout.”
“Ah. Anthony J Crowley.”
“I said full names, please. What's the J stand for?”
“Erm. Uh. Just a J, really. Thought it added a certain gravitas, y’know, flair. Je ne sais quoi. Makes people treat you serious, a J like that.”
“Uh. Alright. Well. Anthony J. Crowley, then. I suppose. Seriously? [clears throat] So. Please start from the beginning.”
“Mmmmhhhh wellll. I’ve been coming to Eden for, what, now, six years maybe?”
“I believe so. Yes.”
“Anyway, not like I go here often. We’ve met a handful of times, you and me, maybe nine, ten? I mean, it was ten times. I know. Uh. Not like I counted or anything. Just, coming here, it stays with you a bit, doesn’t it? All that occult shit. Which is why I come here, of course. I’m – what should I call it? A… supplier. Of sorts. I work with – this is confidential, right?”
“Yes. Internal use only. We don’t give out those files. Your words are safe with me. Erm. Us.”
“Good. Right. I work with the Doomsday Group. Can’t really talk about it much, but you’ve heard of them. Shady stuff, crime, theft, trade, religious artifacts, apocalyptic jazz, all that. Supernatural stuff, too, sometimes. Or claimed supernatural. You know I don’t believe in all that. Well. Didn’t. I didn’t believe in it. Now… uh, anyway. Sometimes we get those weird artifacts, right, apparently cursed, so I bring them to you, to, to check, or verify, or call bullshit. Or to lock them away, or whatever you do with them when you buy them off our lot. That’s how we met. Best part of this shit job, really, if I’m being honest. I didn’t ask to be– hm. Wish I could just– ngh. Confidential, right? Wish I could just be done with them. Run off. Can’t, though. But erm. Forget I said that, alright? Please.”
[pause] “You're rambling a bit, de- Crowley. Or should I, should I call you Anthony now?”
“Hell no. I mean – Crowley's fine. You've called me Crowley for years, haven't you? What, now you don't like it?”
“No, no, I do in fact quite – well, for propriety’s sake, the official documentation, I thought – nevermind. So, Crowley, while the background information on your…job is reasonable, might I politely remind you why you’re here? Please talk less about our personal relationship, or at least only insofar as it pertains to the case, and more about what happened to you since… since you put on that necklace.”
“Right. Righty-oh. S’ just, never been in this room before. The tape recorder, all that. I’ve only ever been here as a sort of… co-worker? Nah. You’re not my co-worker, you’re better than that. As a tradesman. So to be here as a client , it feels… surreal.”
“That is understandable. I trust you will muddle through, though.”
“Hey – remember the first thing I said when I came here? Today, I mean.”
[continue reading]
#good omens#ineffable husbands#azcrow#good omens fanfiction#my writing#inefficable#the serpent files
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Salvation
Azriel x Reader
Word count: 3.3k
Priestess!Reader x Azriel
Synopsis: Az visits a temple for a mission but instead finds a curious, flirty Priestess with pretty eyes that he can’t get out of his head. He returns and shows her all the ways a man can be brought to his knees.
Warnings: Smut. Um blasphemy I suppose?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Azriel never considered himself particularly religious. He was far too tainted to seek penitence, too sullied to desire absolution. But lately, he’s been spending his evenings at the temple, drawn by something greater than shame, greater than devotion.
He sought her.
The first time he met her, most of the priestesses had already retired for the night, allowing Azriel to wander, to take in the sacred space he rarely visited. Movement caught his eye behind one of the columns inside.
An angel, his shadows whispered to him. Azriel bit back a smile at the notion. He continued his lazy saunter, feigning oblivion at this alleged angel watching over him. He stopped at the end of the aisle, observing the artwork on the walls. Watching, they whispered. He glanced over to his awaiting spectator.
A priestess peered at him from behind a pillar. She shamelessly studied him, wide eyes taking him in. It wasn’t often that people held his gaze unflinching. She cocked her head to the side. Azriel copied her, amused by her unhidden curiosity, tucking his hands behind his back to appear less intimidating. His viewer stepped forward into the light. Azriel quickly understood what his shadows meant.
She was beautiful.
She approached him, still drinking him up. “Who are you?” she asked.
Azriel inclined his head. “I work with the High Lord. I was assigned on a mission here.”
“I’ve never seen you before.” Her robes flowed around her like water. Like wings.
“I don’t usually… frequent temples.”
As she finally stood before him, he peered down at her, charmed by her informality. She gazed up at him unafraid. “Soldier?”
“Spymaster,” he indulged.
“Are you here for repentance?”
Azriel chuckled. “Do I look like I’m in need of it?”
Her stare travelled down his form then back up before her eyes flashed mischievously. “Most definitely.”
“I thought priestesses were meant to be without judgment.”
“Priestesses can be whatever they want to be,” she retorted.
Azriel hummed in amusement. “And what might that be?”
A delicate shrug. “I’m still figuring that out.”
“You’ll tell me when you know, though, right?”
“Oh, for sure. The first person I’ll inform,” she jested back, her eyes twinkling.
He held her gaze. Before he could open his mouth, she beckoned sideways with her head. Azriel frowned in confusion.
“For your atonement,” she said.
“Ah.”
She turned without waiting to see if he followed. Azriel bit back another chuckle, following her lead through a darkened hall around the corner. She stood before a stone wash basin. Azriel did the same, letting the basin be a barrier between them in the dim room.
Azriel swallowed. “Are you going to bless me, Priestess?” His voice was rougher than he’d intended.
She rounded the basin to stand parallel to him, peering up at him beneath her lashes. “I can certainly try, Spymaster,” she quipped.
Mother damn him.
“Do you bat your pretty eyes like that at all the males who come in here, or am I just lucky?”
She ducked her head.
“Aw,” he cooed lowly. “Don’t tell me I’ve finally managed to make you blush,” he continued, enjoying one upping her at last.
“You know, it’s not very pious to flirt with a priestess,” she said coyly.
“You started it.” A beat of silence. Azriel appreciated the pink staining her cheeks, imagining other things that could elicit such a reaction. He didn’t want to leave. “Is this the part where I confess my sins?”
She laughed, a pretty lilt to her voice. “That’s not really in my jurisdiction. But if you’re so inclined, be my guest.”
He tutted. “Well, if you’re not going to absolve me, why would I?”
“We can trade confessions,” she smiled. “A sin for a sin.”
Azriel hummed. “You don’t strike me as someone who’s sinned.”
She shrugged nonchalantly. “Never gotten the chance.”
Azriel felt a charge pass between them, holding her gaze as the unspoken words filled space. “What are you seeking?” Azriel asked. Damn him, he knew better than to even imply that, and yet—
“Curiosity is a pesky thing.” She touched his arm, and it took all his training to keep his hands at his sides as she caressed him up his shoulder to the top of his back as she walked around him. “I’ll see you around, Spymaster.”
Azriel needed a moment before he finally rounded the corner back to the main temple nave. It was barren, no priestess in sight. But maybe that was for the best because while Azriel hadn’t come to pray on his knees tonight, he would’ve been brought to them for an entirely different reason.
~
A week passed since Azriel met the Priestess, but he couldn’t shake her from his mind. Tonight she’d even become the subject of his dream, looking up at him with those innocent eyes, holding his hungry gaze on her knees before him with her mouth wrapped around—
Azriel jolted awake, overheated and beading sweat. It was wrong, so wrong. But every time he closed his eyes, all he could picture were hers. His shadows slumbered around him, and in the darkness, he caved, no longer resisting the desire. He reached down his stomach for his aching length, fisting himself to the vision of her. His chest heaved as he imagined it was her mouth instead of his hand. It didn’t take long before he reached his release with a shuddering groan.
He lay where he was, hoping it would be enough, hoping this worked her out of his system. He told himself he was relaxed and content. Curiosity is a pesky thing. Her words echoed in his mind, stirring the heat low in his stomach again.
It wasn’t enough.
~
The mission was incomplete. Azriel considered declining going back, resisting the risk of seeing her again. But when Cassian seemed inclined to volunteer, Azriel immediately agreed to see it through.
Azriel lost track of the time he spent circling the temple in the air. He was forced to land when a priestess outside spotted him in the air. Not her—not the angel, but another. The Matron Priestess, she informed him. She smiled warmly and asked if she could help him find anything. He opened and closed his mouth. The priestess with the pretty eyes. That wouldn’t work. “I’m searching for an ancient text.”
“Feel free to come look for it inside.”
Night was beginning to fall; there were a handful of priestesses awake. None of them were her. But as they walked through the temple, Azriel felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Watching, his shadows whispered.
“We keep our ancient texts stored in the archive of our lib—Y/N!” the Matron suddenly halted her stride, turning.
Azriel followed her gaze. The priestess silently stepped out from behind a pillar. There she is.
“What are you doing sneaking around?”
“I—sorry, Matron. I was just curious,” she said, hands behind her back.
The Matron turned back to Azriel, exhaling in exasperation. “I apologize for her, Spymaster. She’s always getting into trouble.”
Azriel resisted the upward tug in his mouth. “That’s alright. She helped me last time I came, actually.”
The Matron’s brows rose in shock. She turned to assess the Priestess. “Oh?”
“She pointed me in the direction of the…library.”
The priestess—Y/N—peered up at him, and the sly glint in her eyes made Azriel grin at her behind the Matron’s back.
“Well. If that’s the case, Y/N can show you to our archives,” the Matron said. Y/N inclined her head and beckoned for Azriel to follow. Azriel thanked the Matron and followed the priestess down the hall.
When they were out of earshot, Azriel addressed her. “Always getting into trouble, huh?”
Y/N glared at him over her shoulder. “The Matron is a cranky old cunt.”
Azriel choked, laughing. “Graciously articulated.”
She continued to lead him through hallways until she turned into a room. Azriel entered, closing the door behind him. Not a library, but a private, candle-lit worship room filled with various artifacts, artwork, and sculptures.
Y/N turned to face him, leaning against a pillar, her hands tucked behind her back. “What’s your name, Spymaster?”
Azriel took in the sight of her. She fit right in amongst the artworks. A vision of piety.
Utterly forbidden.
“Why do you want to know my name?”
“You know mine. Consider this our confession for a confession,” she smirked.
Azriel raked her body with his eyes and then held her gaze. “I’m Azriel.”
“Azriel,” she repeated, and he wanted nothing more than to hear his name on her lips again. To make her gasp it.
“What were you doing watching from behind the pillar?”
She shrugged. “I was sneaking out.”
“Where to?”
“I told you,” she smiled. “Curiosity is a pesky thing.”
Azriel stalked towards her, drinking her in. This temptress. “I didn’t think that was within your province.”
She cocked her head to the side. “We’re not sworn to celibacy.”
Azriel levelled a look. “You mean to tell me, Priestess, that you were seeking… pleasure?”
“Would that be so shameful?”
He shook his head. “No. Nothing shameful about it.”
“Then why do you seem displeased?”
“I don’t like the notion of you seeking pleasure elsewhere.”
She cocked her head. “I didn’t realize I was expected to wait on you,” she breathed.
“Would you have waited?” his baritone voice drawled as he finally came to stand before her.
“Would it have been worth the wait?” She peered up at him.
He braced a hand on either side of her waist. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, you know,” he rasped.
She traced down his chest with a finger. “What are you gonna do about it?”
“Well, I’d hate to leave your curiosity unsatisfied,” Azriel breathed.
Her stare flitted from his eyes to his lips. She leaned forward, rising on her toes as she pressed herself to his body, her hands braced on his chest. She pressed her lips to his once before Azriel loosed the leash on himself, leaning down and capturing her lips with his. He gripped her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. She arched further into him, gasping into his mouth, and it was the holiest of prayers he’s ever heard.
Her hands travelled up his form, cupping his jaw, running through his hair, tugging lightly at the roots. Azriel groaned into her mouth, pressing their bodies back into the column. She gasped again at the impact. Azriel moved his hold to her hips, relishing the feel of her body. He placed a foot between her own, knocking a leg sideways, pushing one of his legs between her own. She ground herself into his thigh, whining softly.
She wasn’t kissing him back anymore, just gasping for breath with her mouth on his. Azriel lifted his head to take in the sight as she undulated on his leg. His leathers were straining as his length hardened.
He hoisted her up, supporting her weight easily as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He kissed her neck hungrily. Her robes had ridden up, pooling where their bodies met, exposing her legs. She released his shoulders to undo the tie at her waist before reaching for the hem. Azriel savoured the sight of her baring herself to him, supporting her as she lifted her robes over her head.
She was left in her undergarments, leaning back against the pillar in his hold and the word kept echoing in his mind as he drank her in. Angel. Azriel lowered her slightly in his hold so that her clothed core massaged down his aching length, letting her heat engulf his hardness through his trousers. Then he slowly lifted her back up in steady repetition; down and back up, relieving some of the pressure. Her arms shook, breath shuddering as he continued to grind her onto him. “Please,” she breathed. “Please.”
Azriel reluctantly set her on her feet, careful to keep her supported at the waist as her knees predictably gave out. He patiently held her as she regained her footing. He sank to his knees, revering the drunk look in her half-lidded gaze. She undid her chest binding as Azriel hooked his fingers through the waistband of her underwear. She nodded in consent, holding his gaze as he pulled the garment down. She stepped out of it, bracing her hands on his shoulders. Azriel tried to school his breathing, to keep his composure as he beheld her, bare and subservient to his heed.
He cupped her knees, prying her legs open and began kissing her belly. Kissing her hips, her upper thighs, appreciating her dainty pants, the scent of her desire overtaking his common sense. He propped one of her legs over a shoulder, kissing along the inside of her thigh, revelling in the softness.
To his eternal satisfaction, she grasped the pillar behind her and swung her other thigh onto Azriel’s remaining shoulder to urge him on. He gripped her waist to hold her up, glancing into her siren eyes in shock and hunger. Her face was contorting in desire.
Azriel finally indulged her, indulged himself, and began feasting on her like the starved man she’s made of him.
She arched forward, crying out. Azriel sent his shadows to wrap around her, securing her to the pillar. They drifted around her languidly, reinforcing the divine image she painted. Azriel found himself lifting off his knees, standing at his full height so she was elevated higher. He suctioned her clit, licking hot stripes into her wetness. She was soaking his face, writhing on his shoulders. His shadows grazed against her breasts, wrapping gently around her neck.
Azriel was groaning into her heat. He moved a hand from her waist to plunge a scarred finger into her entrance, feeling her pulsate around it. He released her from his mouth to watch how his fingers sank into her. Her head was slumped back against the pillar in ecstasy. “Open your eyes for me,” Azriel rasped. He halted his movements until she obliged. “Look at me when you come.” She shuddered but held his gaze as Azriel’s mouth latched back onto her apex, suctioning in time with the motion of his fingers inside her. She squirmed, squeezing around him as she heaved, shallower and shallower until she fell apart. Azriel didn’t let up, working her through her climax until she pushed his head away.
Azriel gently lowered her from where he’d mounted her on the pillar like a monument. She crumpled into his arms. “You did so well,” he spoke huskily. Her eyes closed as she caught her breath, body shaking. Azriel sank to the floor, stroking her hair until her trembling let up. “Let me see those pretty eyes,” he whispered. She obliged, meeting his gaze. “Beautiful,” he murmured, appreciating the lust-blown pupils he beheld.
“You’re beautiful,” she countered hoarsely, reaching to comb his hair back. She sat up, straddling his lap, cradling his face and kissing him sweetly. “Take off your clothes,” she murmured into his mouth, and Azriel exhaled in relief. He hastily undid his leathers, baring himself to her as she did to him. She lifted herself off his lap to allow him to shove his leathers off. She sat on his clothed length and repeated the motion Azriel demonstrated earlier, grinding forward and back. Azriel gripped her hips, halting her to prevent himself from reaching release prematurely.
She pushed him to lay back, helping him remove the final barrier between them. As soon as his undergarment came off, she was lining herself up, letting his length prod her entrance. He immediately held her hips to guide her down, slowing her hasty movement. As soon as he entered her, her mouth parted in an o shape, breathing ceased. Azriel exhaled raggedly as he felt her walls squeeze him, forcing himself to hold back from burying himself. “You’re so fucking tight,” he breathed, still guiding her down inch by inch.
When he bottomed out, he held her down by the hips to let her adjust. “Breath, angel,” he commanded. She inhaled raggedly, relaxing around him slowly. He released her to allow her to move as she pleased. She began to rise herself up and sink back down bit by bit. “That’s it. Good girl,” he said, voice guttural.
She sped up her movement, bracing her hands on his abdomen. It wasn’t long before her walls began convulsing around him, and Azriel watched as she grew less controlled. Her breaths were merely high-pitched whimpers. He guided her hips through the last stretch until she reached her precipice. Azriel didn’t ease the motion. “There you go, atta girl,” he panted. She was squeezing him so well that he knew he was about to reach his own climax.
When she stopped moving, spent and satiated, Azriel braced his arms beneath her thighs, suspending her above him. He rutted up into her at a faster and harder pace, using his feet to drive himself up. She was still fluttering around him as he continued his plunging. She gasped sharply as another climax tore through her, pushing Azriel over the edge. He grunted, releasing into her pulsating heat, basking in the ecstasy coursing through his body. He finally sank back onto the ground. She fell forward, laying flat on his chest as she also caught her breath.
Azriel didn’t mind how long it took, stroking her back gently as they both came down from the high. She eventually lifted herself, first off his chest on shaky arms, then drew herself off his length, nearly collapsing as her knees buckled. Azriel was quick to catch her, sitting upright. “Easy,” he breathed, holding her up. “Are you alright?” Worry laced through him. He’d been too rough, too callous.
She gave him a tired smile. “Yes.”
“Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head no. “You were perfect.” She sat back on her knees, leaning against the pillar. Azriel dressed himself before reaching for her discarded clothes. He helped her with her robes, fitting them over her head and guiding her arms through, letting the fabric fall down her form. Azriel gently secured the tie at her waist and handed her the undergarments which she pocketed. She brought his hands up to place kisses on them. Azriel was kneeling before her on his knees, content to stay there.
“Can I take you to your room?” he asked softly. She looked up, eyes widening in surprise before she shyly nodded. Azriel’s heartstrings tugged at the sight.
She rose, pressing herself to his chest. He bent his head down to catch her whisper of the directions, and damn it if Azriel’s heart didn’t skip a beat at how she trustingly wrapped her arms around his neck, letting him take her weight; her faith in him, how safe she felt. He immediately returned the embrace, shifting her to carry and rise. He left through a window, flying where she directed to a little veranda off the side of the temple. She opened the window, still in his arms.
Azriel walked through the dark room, laying her down in her bed, gently unwinding her arms from his neck. She whispered, “thank you, Azriel.”
Words he wished he could say flooded with. I should be thanking you. I’ve been looking for you. It’s still not enough. Briefly overwhelmed, he settled for bending down and kissed her, reluctant to rise. He pressed deep, only releasing her when he needed to breathe, relishing her happy sigh. “No need for thanks, sweetheart.”
She was already half asleep, beaming at the shadows caressing her cheeks. “What do they whisper to you?”
Azriel spoke lowly. “They tell me you’re an angel.”
She still smiled, eyes closed. “And what do you think?”
I think you’re my salvation. “I’m inclined to agree.”
He remained, knee propped on her bed, watching as she rested. Something in his chest settled at the sight. “You didn’t find what you were looking for,” she breathed.
“Yes, I did.”
She laughed, airy and soft as she fought off sleep. “You know what I mean.”
Azriel bent down and pressed one more kiss to her mouth. “I guess I’ll have to come back and try again another day.”
~
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#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel/reader#azriel#azriel shadowsinger#azriel spymaster#azriel smut#azriel fanfiction#acotar fanfiction#azrielhours
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Drabble: you can see Death's son
pairing | death junior x reader
Warnings: stalking, junior being a little obsessive but he's sweet and innocent, supernatural elements
A/N: Bro I just discovered this short film like yesterday and cranked out this small drabble. It's called At Death's Door (1999), where Cillian Murphy plays as some sort of grim reaper. He doesn't have a name in the film, so I made up Death Junior lol. That's his name now, okay?
No one was supposed to be able to see him. As the son of the Death, he was granted the gift of free passage, to travel between the realms of humans and spirits, unseen, like a gentle breeze in the wind. In the few years he had lived — albeit not many — he had come and gone, guiding souls to the beyond, and passing unnoticed by the living. It wasn’t until one fateful day near the end of Autumn did that change. It was the day you saw him; a girl, a mere mortal, whose eyes had somehow been blessed upon his image.
He stood, mouth slightly agape, pink lips chapped. He turned around, to see if you were looking at something else, but when he saw no one behind him, he knew without a doubt that it was him you were staring at. Beyond sight, he could feel it in his belly, a churning.
This is not right, he thought. This is not right.
You were at the other end of the trail. It was a park, bare trees stripped of their sunset colors, fallen to the ground all crunched and brown. Green grass spread till it reached the surrounding roads, but there was plenty of space in between, where people were eating at picnic benches or playing with their dogs. You had been going for a run, with sweat beading down your forehead and labored breathing, when you stopped for a break and glanced upon him.
You had given a quick smile, and the world stopped. Who were you? An angel, perhaps, come to steal him away. Or maybe a devil. He could not tell.
“Are you alright?”
Gentle sound, beautiful. It broke him out of his thoughts, and back to your eyes. You were now standing just a few feet away from him.
He didn’t say anything, his lips still parted. He was dressed in all black, collared shirt, dress pants, polished shoes, and a scythe — his father’s scythe, though he hoped to make his own one day. He must have stood out like a sore thumb amongst all these bubblegum shirts and ripped blue jeans and fanny packs and whatever these people had in fashion these days. It was always changing.
“I — do you need help? You look a little lost.”
Say something, he thought. He’d been around humans enough to understand how to speak to them, and his own family very much modeled a stereotypical Victorian bunch. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know how to, rather that he had a lump in his throat that prevented him from doing so.
“I’m sorry for bothering you, sir.”
He panicked. “No,” he blurted out, voice soft. He couldn’t let you leave. He just couldn’t. “What’s your name?”
You paused, then told him. In his mind, he repeated the word over and over again, like a religious mantra. He had always found names to be beautiful. They all meant different things and were attuned to culture and heritage. Even though there might be a million people sharing the same one, it was still yours. Like property.
“And you?”
He thought for a moment. He didn’t really have one. As much as he appreciated them, he had never thought of having his own. To him, a name was something he could not claim. Why should he even have one in the first place? He was always referred to as Son, and similarly, he referred to his parents as Mother and Father. That was enough, wasn’t it?
“I don’t . . . I don’t have one,” he said.
“Ah.” You nodded your head. “Shall I call you Reaper? Or Grim? You know, because of your costume? I like it, by the way. Most people have robes or chains, but this is simple, funeral-ish.”
Robes and chains. Oh, he hated the days when he had to wear those. They were so heavy on him, a personal punishment. The burden of the metal was the burden of his purpose, a constant reminder. And the hood, it always shrouded his line of vision. He was glad it wasn’t as popular as it was hundreds of years ago, otherwise he would be forced to wear it now.
“I’m not the Grim Reaper,” he clarified. “I’m his son.”
“I didn’t know he had one. So you’re Death Junior, then? I can call you that if you like it.”
Junior, he thought. June-e-er.
He nodded his head slowly. It wasn’t much of a name, more of a title.
“You live around here?”
He nodded again. It wasn’t the full truth, but if you were going to be here often then so would he.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you again. Have a nice day, Junior.”
You smiled, again, and picked up your pace, heading down the trail. Within a minute you were out of view, and he felt an odd feeling rise in his heart. This was not enough. He needed more. To at least just be in your presence.
He adjusted the grip on his scythe and followed after you. No one gave him so much as a look, which all the more validated his decision like he wasn’t doing anything wrong. But even if he was, he still found it okay. It was his curiosity, his innocence, that led him to your small apartment, maybe even a hint of longing, an ache.
For the entire night, he watched as you bathed, dressed, cooked, and finally, went to sleep, with the television on in the background. Apart from observing your essence of being, he wondered what it would be like to be there with you. To help you scrub yourself down with soap, take your clothes down to the laundry room and fold them, help you with dinner, feel your embrace in bed.
Junior, he thought again. Maybe it was like a name. A name you had given him. Maybe one day this Junior could be just like you. With you, with the girl who could see him.
Taglist: @shroombloom-rry @madnessandobsession @henrywintersdearestgirl @hllywdwhre @your-nanas-house @ellebelleshelby @meetmeatyourworst @hanawrites404 @Emimurphy2008
#death junior#death junior x you#death junior x y/n#death junior x reader#fanfiction#at death's door#pinguwrites
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𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒
FT. Dio Brando; AFAB! Reader
PLAYLIST ; WORD COUNT: 2.8k
My submission for @dolcezzzza’s cabin collab event
WARNINGS: DARK CONTENT. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI. Vampire Dio, rough sex, marking, Dio’s sexy vampire fangs, extremely dubious consent, creepy Dio, non-consensual touching, noncon themes, gore, religious & sacrilegious themes, Dio being treated as a god, slight soft sex??, implied breeding, implied objectification
SUMMARY: You and your… rather odd friend get snowed in a cabin together in the middle of summer. What you don’t know is that he’s withholding some rather interesting information from you. Just what exactly have you gotten yourself into?
Snow. What a beautiful sight it is when it’s falling from the sky. How gorgeous it can be when the light reflects off of it just right. It’s glorious in its own right, as is life.
Regardless of the time of season, snow perseveres. It thrives at the tops of mountains in the coldest of temperatures, shining brightly at those who seek it out.
Snow is the most enjoyable in a cabin. Where one can do as they please and sit up in their chair with a book and a cup of coffee.
That’s exactly why you and your friend booked a cabin in Lapland, Finland.
Though, for whatever reason, your friend was incredibly sensitive to the sunlight. He claimed that he would simply burn alive if he were to ever come into contact with it. This ‘allergy’ of his was the main problem for you while you were trying to book a cabin. Because how in the world were you supposed to find a cabin with little to no sunlight??
“It’s a shame that Jonathan and Erina couldn’t join us.” You looked up from your book and over at your friend, who was sitting in the dark corner of the room, watching the sunset in disgust. He ignored you completely, his eyes fixed on the window. “Oh. Do you want me to close the curtains?”
“It’s snowing.”
“It is indeed.”
A long, pregnant pause followed.
“It’s summer.”
“We’re in Lapland.”
It always snows in Lapland, he ought to know this by now. Actually, he simply just ought to know better. You were the one that paid for the whole thing, and he didn’t seem to respect that one bit. A part of you wanted to think that he expected it of you, but you shut it down immediately. He was your friend. And as much of a douche bag as he was, you didn’t take him as the type to take advantage of you. He wasn’t supposed to take advantage of you.
Your friend sighed heavily and rose to his feet, retreating further into the darkness. He didn’t seem to be in the mood to talk this over with you. He was acting like it was your fault that it was snowing, when, clearly, there was no way for such a thing to be possible. His attitude towards it was really starting to get on your nerves, especially since this vacation was his idea.
“Dio come back,” you frowned as he left. The sun was now setting, which meant he would want to go out soon. Though, you didn’t know why. You never knew why. He’d often leave in the middle of the night, coming and going without saying a word. “Come now, Dio. We can wait for the sun to set together.” You watched him slide on his coat and reach for his boots. “What are you doing?”
“It’s snowing. I want to make sure I can leave later.” With a huff, he leaned against the wall and forced his boots onto his feet. “I do not wish to be stuck here with some harlot. Especially when-” He cut himself off, avoiding your gaze. It was bold of him to call you a harlot when you were the one with the money.
And boy did Dio love money.
“Especially when what, Dio? Do not forget that you’re the one who wanted to come on vacation with me. I’m not going to listen to you bitch and moan like a child, do you understand?” You placed a hand on your hip, your eyes following his movements. He scoffed and shrugged off your comment, his hand resting on the doorknob. He could feel the cold through the wooden door, and he frowned at the thought. Would he really be stuck here with you?
“Don’t speak to me like that.” Dio opened the door and was met with a wall of snow, one that towered over the doorway and ensured that you were stuck with the blonde. Silence swept over the two of you as you took in the awkwardness of your situation. He was clearly upset, slamming the door shut with a grunt before turning to meet your gaze. “Why didn’t you check the forecast?” He growled. His tone of voice caused you to shiver, and your breath caught in your throat. Why was he so mad all of a sudden? What plans did he have that were so damn important that he just had to leave right now?
“Why didn’t you do it yourself? You’re the one who stays cooped up in his room all day and doesn’t leave until night.” You returned his tone, giving him a frustrated look as you spoke. “What do you even do at night, hm? Flaunt around to get laid? I don’t wanna hear it from you. Actually, I don’t wanna hear anything from you for the rest of the trip. I’m the one who paid for it, so suck it up,” you scoffed and stormed off. Your book was waiting for you, as was your peaceful vacation. You weren’t about to let his mood ruin your day.
You could feel his eyes on you as you walked back to the den of the cabin. They practically bore holes into your back, searing straight through your clothing along with your skin. What you had said definitely struck a nerve.
“I suppose there’s nothing I can do about it,” you mumbled to yourself as you reached for your book once again, taking a moment to admire the beautiful summer snow outside of your cabin. Though, the thought of reading now bored you. In fact, you’d much rather chat with that jerk that you called a friend, but he was in too much of a bad mood to allow such a thing to happen. It was a shame that Jonathan hadn’t come, maybe then he’d be able to help you deal with Dio. Or at least he could help you learn how to appease him.
With a huff, you rose from your seat once again. You wanted to head to the kitchen, but you didn’t overly feel like cooking, so you opted out and headed to the conservatory. The snow made the room look brighter as it clung to the windows, reflecting the setting sun beautifully. Damn that snow, leaving you trapped with Dio. What did he even do at night anyways? Was he some form of vampire?? You scoffed at the idea. Vampires didn’t exist, after all. They were merely tall tales created to scare tourists away from historical areas. Nothing more, nothing less.
Though, there were many times where you found yourself questioning if Dio was even a human. It was all in the way that he acted. He carried himself in a way that simply exuded confidence, far more than any other person you’d met. He was incredibly strong, and way more intelligent than Jonathan. Sure they sound like normal things, making him sound like some random try hard from England, but to you that wasn’t the case.
In your mind, Dio Brando was an enigma, about as well understood as God. No one really questioned his actions, because no one was brave enough to challenge him. And it surely didn’t help that he was as intimidating as he was beautiful. His body looked as if it were chiseled and sculpted by the finest of artists, as each muscle was defined in such a sickeningly gorgeous manner that made him hard to ignore.
Regardless of how you felt, you knew that it would be best to push your feelings to the side. Sure he was hot, but he was also an inconsiderate prick. About the only time he cared about anything was if it affected his wellbeing. Though, you and Jonathan were used to it by now.
The more you thought, the more guilty you felt for getting upset with him. It’s not his fault that he can’t go out in the sun, so why blame him for it? That wasn’t fair of you. It was a low blow, really. Maybe you should apologize—
Just then, a rather loud thud came from upstairs, startling you out of your thoughts. The sun had completely set by now, with the full moon shining brightly in the sky behind you. It alarmed you to hear something so disruptive. And as your panic set in, you made your way up the stairs, praying that you wouldn’t find your friend dead on the floor.
“Dio? Are you feeling alright?” You called out, peeking up into the hallway anxiously. Silence met you in response, only to be interrupted by a loud groan from Dio’s bedroom. “Hello? Dio please answer me-“ You scrambled up the stairs, your eyes wide. All you could really hear was the thrumming of your own heart, as it was loud enough to overpower your racing mind.
“Go away.” His voice rang out and you froze. What was with his tone? Had he injured himself? Either way, it drove you to get closer to his room.
“C-Come on, Dio! The most you could do is let me help you!” You paused. What were you saying? You didn’t care about him that much, did you? Hesitantly, you placed your hand on the doorknob to his room. “Dio?” You were answered with another groan, this one seemingly more strained than the last. It was beginning to make you nervous. “I’m coming in-!”
“Did you not hear me wench?!” He shouted at you, his voice seemingly farther away than before. “I said go away!”
His tone caught you off guard, causing you to shake. Was his voice… wavering? No- it couldn’t be. Dio would never show any form of weakness to you, regardless of how close you are. He knew better than that.
You frowned and glared at the door, lowering your hand from the doorknob with a frown.“Fine! Fucking be that way you dick!” You stomped your foot and huffed angrily. Why did you even bother? All your kindness would do was backfire, so there was no point in trying to be nice to him. But you tried anyways, which upset you further.
The sudden sound of his bedroom door flying off its hinges caused you to scream loudly, pure terror spreading throughout your body and forcing you to freeze. His heavy breathing along with yours echoed in the hallway, his heavy steps echoing loudly within your ears. That strength… it was inhuman.
“What did you just call me?” His voice was low, just quiet enough to be menacing. “Don’t be shy, say it again bitch.” He was behind you now, bent over so his lips could hover above the skin on your neck. This was a side of Dio that you had never seen before, and it frightened you. He was much bolder than usual, his hands wandering along your sides as he waited patiently for you to respond to him.
“I said you’re a dick, a real son of a b-bitch,” you didn’t know what came over you, and your body tensed further when his long fingers caressed your throat. You felt like a woman in a medieval painting, cradled by a monster who was too beautiful to be the same creature as you.
“You know, your veins are really something…” Dio trailed off into silence. It was incredibly hard to ignore his lustful tone, and it took everything you had to not turn around and meet his lidded eyes. His hand tightened around your throat, forcing a whine to pass through your lips. You couldn’t believe this was real. Was he really this close to you? Honestly, under different circumstances, you wouldn’t have minded.
For Dio Brando was simply that divine of a being.
“Your blood must taste as amazing as it smells…” The words caught you further off guard, and if you could, you would have run away and never looked back. But why? Dio was supposed to be your friend, someone you could trust to protect you if need be. You shouldn’t be afraid of him. It just didn’t feel right. Even if he was a monster, it didn’t feel right.
Your instinct, nine times out of ten, was right. And you should have listened to it and run, but as Dio led you into his bedroom, you knew it was over. Lines had been crossed, and each step he took dragged you closer to the point of no return. The regret pooling in your stomach was almost great enough to drown out the pain of Dio’s fangs breaking your skin. His sharp nails tore through your clothing, and he wasted no time in tossing them across the room. With every move he made, a plea escaped you, but you argued in vain. Dio couldn’t have cared less, you knew this.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve dreamt of this moment?” He whispered into your ear, his left hand trailing down your bare stomach at a tauntingly slow pace. It stopped at your core, hovering over it as if to prove a point.
His fingers slipped into you with ease, relentlessly stretching your cunt so that you stood a chance at being able to take him. Horrible things were whispered to you, things that made you tighten around his fingers helplessly.
“H-Hah- Dio- don’t stop, please—“ You grabbed his arm and squirmed, squeezing your eyes shut as you felt your high building up. It was an all too familiar feeling, and it was stolen from you within seconds by the monster behind you.
“That’s Lord Dio, to you, got it?” His fangs grazed your neck at the same time his thumb discovered your clit. A whine escaped you, loud and shameful. You couldn’t even form a single coherent sentence, your mind going fully numb as your hips bucked upwards for more friction.
“Yes-! Lord D-Dio, I- ah-“ His thumb pressed down harshly onto your clit, purposefully interrupting you. At this point, there was no telling what his goal was.
“Now, where were we?” Dio rolled you over effortlessly, shoving your face into the pillows with a shit eating grin. “Ah yes, I was about to make you my bitch.” He forced his cock into the heat of your cunt, a low groan escaping him in the process.
Screams and cries echoed throughout the cabin, a cruel reminder that you were alone with the mythical Dio. Yet you couldn’t seem to drown in your remorse, not when he was making you feel so horribly good. It was almost as if you were thankful that he fucked like the god he pretended to be.
A loud groan left him, and he threw his head back in pleasure. His lips were parted in bliss, sweat coating his forehead as his hair fell into his face.
“My my, you took me so well…” He released his grip on you and allowed you to turn around and look at him. His eyes flickered with lust at the sight of your fucked out expression. It was as if the sight of your beauty had stunned him into silence. Was he just now noticing how gorgeous you were?
“L-Lord Dio…” You shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. His cock was still buried deep inside you, causing a bulge to form on your stomach. It was something you could get high off of.
He leaned in quickly, his eyes shining brightly as he observed you. How many people had he slept with again? And yet, not one of them was able to make him feel this way.
“I could make you a goddess, you know,” Dio whispered, his tone anything but soft. His breathing grew to be heavier than usual, as if he was waiting for you to agree so he could continue blowing your back out. “You would be my queen…”
His hips began to move once more, slower than before so he could feel you better. His eyes didn’t dare to leave yours, his fangs peeking over his lips as he fucked you.
“From now on, you shall be mine. Got it?” His voice was low and quiet, soft grunts escaping him here and there as he picked up his pace. He had reduced you to a whining mess, objectifying you in just about one of the best ways possible.
You thought, at least.
“Let me fill you with my seed, you filthy being,” he called out, his thrusts sloppy and erratic. “Bear my child, give me an heir.”
Rumor has it that what happens in the cold mountains of Lapland is to stay there, forever lost amongst it’s beautiful scenery. No one speaks about what they’ve seen, for they immediately forget once they lay their eyes upon the glorious yearlong snow.
Ah, snow. It gleams underneath the summer sun, as if to smile at its enemies. How beautiful it can be in its perseverance, spreading its numbing cold to the areas around it effortlessly.
Snow is the most enjoyable in a cabin, where one can kick up their feet and read a book beside the fireplace with a cup of coffee.
That’s exactly why you and your friend booked a cabin in Lapland, Finland.
#feel like I got a little too poetic here but oh well#not me listening to beautifully orchestrated music while writing this#I’m channeling my inner mozart or something but it’s inspiring for sure#x reader#jojos bizzare adventure x reader#jojo's bizarre adventure#jojo’s bizzare adventure x reader#dio x reader#dio brando#dio brando x reader#jjba dio#dio smut#jjba smut#jjba x reader#vampire x reader#vampire#vampire smut
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Hi!
I really like your blog and I saw that you are taking requests(if you don't, please ignore this), so I wanted to ask if I could request reader taking care of sick Fyodor? Maybe headcannons or a scenario, whatever your comfortable with.
I hope you'll have a great day/night.
hello anon! this is so sweet, though it’s very ironic because i was requested to write fyodor taking care of a sick reader. tables have turned i suppose ^^);; i’m so sorry to have only posted this today! have a great day/night and thank you for requesting ♡
Sick Fyodor with his caring lover
involves -- domestic relationship, biting nails/skin around nails
headcanons
Fyodor will be pretty open about it.
Whenever he’s sick, his routine will change either by a little or just straight up completely if he’s that sick. He won’t deny how he feels when he does fall ill though. He’s aware you’ll know anyway, so why even bother?
"Fyodor," You whisper as your knuckles knock on the open door, catching his acknowledgment. "Is everything alright..? You’ve been walking back and forth to bring water to your office a lot today."
"Mm, milaya." He replied after swallowing what you assumed was water, closing the bottle he was holding. "I’m alright, just a little sick."
"You’re sick..?!"
He’s thankful for your concern… but..
It’s a little… Could intrusive be the right word? Well, no matter, he loves you anyway and he knows you only try to mean well. He’s not a guy so easy to irritate, especially when it comes to you. Although, he does find your force to be a bit meddling.
"C’mon, Fyodor." You quietly beg him, your hand tugging on his arm as you get him to stand up on his desk. "You can work when you feel better again…"
"It is not as bad as you think it is. I’m merely experiencing a small fever."
Replies like that would be how he usually gets a conversation of counters going back and forth if he should lay down in bed or not. But always—they end up in him doing what you ask for. You knew a large part of it was because he let you win over just so it wouldn’t escalate further, which was also a little embarrassing… but you only wanted him to rest! You love him, and he knows that after all.
Fyodor will constantly need to warm up a lot,
Even if the air conditioning isn’t even on, and the windows are closed. Especially if he’s just finished washing himself off, you’d have to have dozens of blankets on the bed in case he’ll need it. Of course, it’s not to say he’d drown himself in the sea of blankets, but he will be cooped up in a lot of them… which makes you really doubt the ‘merely experiencing a small fever’ statement he seemed so calm to have mentioned.
"Fedya," You call, holding a tray with tea and soup in case he feel like taking broth instead. "Are you… oh?"
"…I’m cold." He replied simply, blinking a few times as he sees your confusion as to why he’s so cuddled up with the warm blankets.
Deep down you knew he was probably doing that just to see a reaction out of your constantly concerned face. It always works for some reason—his face acting so confused by your own which was dumbfounded by the sight. But if it also actually gets him to feel better… Well, why not?
Barely shows any reactions out of discomfort,
Even if his temperature would be a lot higher than what can be called a ‘small fever’. Fyodor is a religious man; he knows God will make sure this setback goes away as quick as it can, so a fever doesn’t turn him pessimistic. You still catch small facial movements that express his dislike to his burning temperature, and his coughs with need to blow his nose through a tissue are already enough signs to tell that too. So that’s why you’ll know when and if he’s okay now or not.
It’s a little hard to take care of him, though.
His lack of showing any sign of what he might want does not help with your want to take care of him. It’s not to say he completely ignores when you ask him what’s wrong or what he’d want, but he does discard it a lot… which makes you doubt his replies often.
"Fyodor, you know I’m here for you." You speak quietly as you lay your palms on your lap, "You can tell me what you want, you know?"
"I am alright, milaya. There is less need to worry."
You know he just wants you to calm down and be assured he’s okay… but it’s hard when your lover is sick, isn’t it? If his words won’t get you anywhere however, his temperature and your observation will at least. You just bring his medicine, iron supplements and water when you think he needs it, as well as anything that may come to your mind looking at his state.
He manages to take naps some more.
And it’s a bonus for the both of you. While Fyodor gets the sleep he lacks, you get to smile and watch him, all asleep and out of the thought from his plans. It makes you want to just hug him and kiss his face, but disturbing him would not be a nice welcome. Instead, you take the time to prepare tea for when he wakes up.
His constant nail biting when sick…
You don’t like it. You really don’t at all—but you’ve always tried to just understand. It’s not easy to let go of something you’ve been used to doing, and that doesn’t change even for a guy like him. But sometimes, especially when he’s sick, you just can’t let him bite off his skin and make them bleed longer.
"Fyodor.." You softly call, almost a whine.
"…I’m sorry, milaya."
While he compiles and puts his hands down, you can’t help but worry and stare at his nails and the skin around it, all chipped and bitten. You can’t hold them, but you do place a hand on his cheek to try to distract him for a bit, just to get his mind off the biting. And it’s a warm gesture, Fyodor usually leaning in the touch rather than declining it.
Simple kisses won’t waver, though it is limited.
You’d think he’d be a bit clingy when he’s in a fever… and, well? He would be if fevers weren’t contagious. He’d only smile softly at you rather than to hold you as he usually does, which makes you a little sad. To make up for it (, mainly for your own want as well), you give Fyodor small little kisses on his head in hopes to comfort him. He does like them, but he’s cautious of it.
"I love the way you care for me, milaya. Your kisses are my favorite, and I hope you know that. However… I can’t let you do that often. Not while I’m sick. We can’t have you infected, am I right?"
You know he’s right, so you only do it sometimes. Besides, there’s more to come when he feels better anyway. You’ll be patient for him, yeah?
Speaking of, that is his ‘reward’ for you.
Because he’s less, if not, completely opposed to the idea of holding you while he’s sick… it’s hard for you to just keep your hands off him, even just for a soft pat. But for him, you try, and he sees your attempts loud and clear. Fyodor won’t show it, but he is very entertained by it, and will even tease you about it; pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead while you lean down to put his herbal tea on the bedside table…
"You’re so caring, milaya. I’m delighted to be in your care… yet I do miss holding and kissing you. Though, perhaps I’ll hold back till I’m all better."
Those words roll off his tongue just for you to start mentally picturing the scenario—just to have Fyodor close to you and be pressing kisses on your face, your hands holding his to stop him from biting them, your heart glad he’s all better from a fever…
"…You’re right. I’m here for you to get well, Fyodor."
The extra dedication to take care of him would lock the second his words catch you through it. It also noticeably reduces the kisses you give, which makes Fyodor laugh, knowing you do want to, but hold in so he gets better quickly. And, well, who’s he to deny when him all better will pay for all the hours without a kiss?
⚘
#krei & anon#krei headcanons#bsd dostoevsky#bsd imagines#fyodor dostoyevsky bsd#fyodor imagines#bsd x gender neutral reader#bsd x y/n#bsd fyodor#bsd#bungou stray dogs fyodor#fyodor dostoyevsky x reader#fyodor fluff#fyodor x reader#fyodor headcanons#fyodor x you#fyodor dostoevsky
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hm okay so these are all federation owned islands. the purgatory one USED to be something known as an egg island. however it has clearly changed. this explains why the federation cucurucho cinematic referred to it as a chill place that would be heaven and paradise.
the watcher refers to them being sent there as “they were so kind to send you this way.” clearly the they is the federation. which insinuates the federation/cucurucho had some established conversation with whoever runs this island to send them here. or at least that the watcher somehow KNEW they were being sent here. but here’s the one important thing the federation knew what they were doing to the islanders because elq knew. he was aware of where he was going when he took qq’s ticket, he knew. so the federation very purposefully sent them to this godawful place while they do “maintenance” to the dark matter.
i also am taking note of the religious imagery. cucurucho calling this new island heaven and then the watcher calling them sinners and saying egg island was to be a cute place that they would have loved and specifically “People LIKE YOU do not deserve a pleasant little break from the stresses of your previous island island. so I’VE taken the liberty of changing this place.” so outright stating it knew they were coming relocated AND THEN purposefully changed the calm nature of what this island was into a hellscape as a form of punishment for the islanders because it HATES them. for whatever reason it seems to have it feels like a very passionate form of hate. it called them VERMIN. it fully leads me to believe the watcher knows a lot of information about the islanders and their pasts. or has been fed some information to believe they deserve this cruelty.
the direct contrast of this island compared to their own really strikes me as interesting because obviously they’re imprisoned on quesadilla island but purgatory truly is PURGATORY. in the lore they’ve never had to worry about dehydration, food rotting, etc. all aspects of their lives that they took blissfully for granted. almost as if the federation WANTED them to realize how good they have it. or seem to have it compared to purgatory. and as a reminder purgatory is a place to cleanse your sins so in a way the federation sending the islanders there is a way for them to get them reformed. show them true punishment for all the rule breaking. and get them to a mental state where they’re more likely to obey when they return. to be happy.
this part of what the watcher said was interesting, “i’m sure you’re already hungering and dehydrating. good. whatever makes it harder for you to live.” so again literally stating the whole point of the trials and tribulations is to make them suffer MORE.
the element of a cursed team is the most interesting because that does directly impact the attempt of working together. someone has to lose. someone will lose. “What team is that? Can you figure that out? No.” this felt interesting to me because with the whole thought of a cursed team it seems like you could figure it out easily. i’d say the majority of the audience already has their guesses. but i was thinking about taking this sentence very LITERALLY. they can’t figure it out. because it’s not decided yet. it’ll be decided at the end. perhaps. maybe. who fucking knows. but obviously the threat of all their lives and the eggs is an interesting aspect because that means if theres one cursed team the other two won’t have that punishment if they lose. whichever of the three teams wins gets a “big prize” but the main focus is on this supposed cursed team. because if THEY lose then the eggs are all dead. the probability is very interesting to me. i really wonder why that team cursed specifically and how its chosen.
anyways that was interesting
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An (embarrassingly long) post of my gushing about good omens:
I’m 16, but I’m writing from when I was 12/13 So it’s almost the end of summer, 2019, I remember this moment as clearly as anything. As clear as tasting my favourite food for the first time ever.
I’m layed on the patch of fake grass on the patio, with a couch cushion to rest my chin on. I’m scrolling some good old 2019 TikTok, I see this random cosplay of a demon and an angel. This is where it all began. This was the birth of it all 😂. I didn’t know I was autistic at the time but it was and still probably stands as 1000% my biggest special interest. I just loved this show, the characters, the actors, the writing, and all the crew I researched and I especially grew this strong bond towards the two main characters .
Crowley and Aziraphale were like real people to me for a long time, their story got me through a lot, took me right through 2020 when I had no friends ; when I was stuck in most of the year, It was a perfect distraction.
I am so grateful for Neil, Michael, David and everyone in the fandom. The community wasn’t just about the show and the book, ( and the radio production lol ), it was so much more about how we all felt during this weird weird year, and how we looked forward to whatever new content Neil had for us as it helped us stay grounded in reality whilst also helping us escape into numerous worlds of fantasy. I bought the book, then the DVD, which came with these exclusive prints, that I cherished like a little weirdo and I stuck them on a piece of paper and made it into a poster, I remember tagging Neil on Twitter in which he reposted my stupid little poster and I went straight to tell my aunt who probably couldn’t care less. She did actually really support me in this obsession, she was invested as much as I was in the lives of the actors and booked tickets for me to go to a sort of comic con in Wales to see Michael in person. Me and my best friend at the time, had costumes all set up as Aziraphale and Crowley. It made me feel so special and really I’ve never had that same feeling about any other franchise. I don’t even feel that strongly about dinosaurs, but the feeling is similar. Like I happened to stumble on this perfect thing, perfect to me in a way that I still don’t understand. It just made me so happy, and that’s what I’m grateful for. I can’t believe looking back now we couldn’t see I was autistic because the way I knew every single little fact and tidbit about the show, the production, the references, the costumes etc, it was honestly something that should be written in history books.
So, back to Neil, I read about four More of his books and in doing so, fell back in love with reading for a while, Ocean at the End of the Lane was special to me, I liked how Neil did and still does blend magic with the mundane. It appealed to me. I also became interested in religious history in a way, not so much, but I liked to research the angels and demons that were represented in the show. This isn’t supposed to be an analysis of the show, although that would also be something I’d enjoy a lot. I just want to get all these words out of my head about this chunk of my life that shaped who I was because I was only around thirteen. Everything was changing in my life, I needed this one form of escapism. Thank you Neil, for good omens, it won’t be so special to everyone as it is to me, but I will always love it and I am unbelievably excited for this new season. Roll on that 2019-2021 obsession, She’s back for round two. 🫶😇😈
@neil-gaiman Thankyou :)
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Ah, I hope this isn't annoying, but I couldn't resist! I just read the request for the self-aware au, for a player who is actually a god and I really LOVED the idea!!! So if it's not too much trouble, could I ask for the exact same idea only with Ruggie, Riddle and Ace?
By the way, I love your blog and your work, I love your creativity!! ❤️❤️❤️
Self-aware au
I do not take any responsebility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!
WARNINGS: Yandere themes, religion, obsessiveness, murder, blood, beheading, violence, death
My works are not meant to be taken seriously. Neither am I telling you in what kind of religion you are supposed to believe in.
Riddle Rosehearts/Ace Trappola/Ruggie Bucchi-Player is a real god
God of law and order
Oho, so we are actively trying to make him loose his mind (mhm good plan good plan)
I mean, come on, the Queendom of roses is a place I would rank “third-most-not-so-fluffy-relationship-with-you” and he grew up in there so what did you expect?
Something normal? Ha! You are making me laugh
But here we are, croquette master with a hedgehog in his hand in person, almost dropping his needely friend
But how did he even find out? Well… Leona. Leona and a lot of ink (you catching my drift, right?)
Things were looking south and everything was just so…. so… unruly
Mhm I can see how a God of law and order popped a blood vessel in that kind of situation
And whilst you aren’t some kind of being creating bloodshed and war getting hit by a rule book and whatever kind of abilities you have has to hurt
Also it was giving away who you truly were
I mean, yay? Now you have an (somehow possible) even more obsessive follower…
And they all wonder why he suddenly became so religious
Even if you are a more “chill” kind of entity concerning your field of work (the market of Gods is always having too little workers) he is still like “Nope Trey. Imma go pray to ruler number 168” or something like that
Like I said, religious
But oh dear heavens (u get it heavens in like… ok I’ll stop) someone disrespects you or tries to take his seat as “most devoted follower of the month”
Uh… he was in the mood for a “realistic” demonstration of how the Queen of Hearts would deal with annoyances
Just tell him that you are proud… otherwise I’m not sure that even the hedgehogs would tolerate him and his… rather red behaviour
God of trickery
Hmm… this one is kinda tricky
You see, he is from the Queendom of Roses but at the same time he is not powerful enough to do that much damage… with magic at least
When Ace found out that you were everything but a ordinary student you two were in a rather unhappy situation
I mean, either you make that huge glass thingy behind Riddle trip and fall or you can eat rose bush which it was swinging around like crazy… pick your poison
Ace isn’t the fatest tool in the shed but when you, a magicless student, suddenly used something akin to magic he knew that something was up
And who would have known, maybe if it wasn’t for the bad parenting of Riddles mother you may have hidden this until the day you would go separate ways
But oh well, seems like fate decided it wanted him to be religious
I mean, a God of trickery, something like that is perfect for him!
Not to mention that you are way more approachable than some God of law and order because who would want to follow such a stiff deity? (Jokes on you Ace but Riddle...)
Despite him being on the “chill, man” side I can also see a huge spike in religiousness in his personality
I mean, come on, it’s now literally proven with his own two eyes that God (or Gods) at least exist
You know that meme “he don’t but-YES IT DOES!” that’s him
My man just turns feral when someone dares to take your prescious attention and time away from him
Literally a menace, and not the peaceful kind
Before you know it he is asking you if you can help him dig holes for a “garden project”
In the middle of the woods. Aha. Totally believable
Well, all I can say is that Trey will probably miss the kitchen knife... yeah I would buy a new one and never use the old one again...
You know... Maybe the cake looks a bit red if he were blind and never noticed anything.... It's a “garden project”, ok? Let the man raise his Gladiolus, Aconitum, Lycoris and Chrysanthemum
God of kindness and equality
So we feeding the carnivores today? Sounds like a plan. Not a good one but at least it is one
Ruggie has always been someone who needed to clench his teeth and do stuff other people wouldn't do simply to have his basic needs fulfilled
So imagine you standing there one day, opening up that you are in truth literally the things he had been craving all his life for
Mhm, I am just had he doesn't have rabies. You could have fooled me with how aggressive he becomes towards new people (and also your own little circle to be honest) after finding that out
Here we are, Leona is dealing with his stuff in an unhealthy way and someone needs to step up and bring him down to earth again
But imagine his surprise that you were actually the good of kindness after you slapped our local lion who may or may have not escaped from the Zoo next door back into reality (and out of his doom)
After he spends even more time with you it starts to make sense thought
Even though he is the closest person to Leona which could be used for someone's benefit people still tend to be at least wary of him because... well broken bones hurt, you know?
But here you are, holding out your hand to him, offering him your kindness and friendship
Though you could have said “marry me” because win his eyes that is exactly what you did
And who is he to say no to such an perfect being literally being from heaven (or whatever higher place)
He is scratching, biting, kicking and using all the dirty tricks in the book just to keep you alone, isolated and all for himself
Of course he won't do that in front of you, he isn't a monster! Such a pure and perfect being lime you doesn't need to witness such a thing!
If you thought that Diasomnia is already bad then I would say yes, he is only a teeny tiny bit better than them
Why? Oh well, he doesn't have the magical or physical strength to start a war
That doesn't mean he won't leave you alone
Oh no
You will spend somewhere the rest of the time he exists in a small in the middle of nowhere thinking that everyone despises you
He has a way with words (and sharp, suspiciously red teeth) you know?
#yandere twisted wonderland#yandere twst#yandere twisted wonderland x reader#yandere twst x reader#self aware au#twst#twst x reader#twst riddle#twst ace#twst ruggie#twst headcanons#twisted wonderland riddle#twisted wonderland ace#twisted wonderland ruggie#yandere riddle x reader#yandere riddle rosehearts#yandere riddle#riddle x reader#riddle rosehearts#riddle rosehearts x reader#yandere ace trappola#yandere ace x reader#yandere ace#ace trappola x reader#ace trappola#yandere ruggie#ruggie x reader#yandere ruggie x reader#ruggie bucchi#ruggie bucci x reader
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uhm uhh i started talking about this and then i thought about it too much so i’m writing a post now about dethklok members and their childhood trauma and what it means to me yeah ok sorry it’s long, tw for basically like everything i guess
I really like how aside from animals and forces of evil and stuff each of the boys represent a very specific kind of childhood trauma that makes fucked up adults. And it’s not super explicit in the show but yeah we get into it.
First of all, Pickles is smart. And his entire problem is he’s too damn smart for his surroundings. He’s not book smart or school smart. His family has this plan lined up for him- you go to school, you get a job, you get married etc because that’s what NORMAL people do. But he’s not normal and that makes him not good enough. He’s not an addict because he’s stupid, he’s an addict because the kind of intelligence he has isn’t valued by his family or community, he’s a middle class midwestern average looking guy. He’s supposed to follow a set of rules. Being able to play basically any instrument? That’s not a VALUABLE skill. So he drinks. Cause that’s what you do in suburban hell, when there’s nothing left to do. And in Dethklok, the reason he finds true family is because they’re the ones that tell him in their stupid way, fuck that! We think you��re fucking smart! It doesn’t matter if you’re not good enough for those normie douchebags. You’re good enough for US. Fuck those assholes. You are valuable. I think Pickles represents people that were really devalued their whole lives because they were in the wrong place, with narrow-minded people. If you’re in his shoes, you need to remember, you do have value. You just need to find the family that sees that in you. You aren’t nothing. You matter.
Toki obviously has a lot of religious trauma, but also isolation. He’s made to believe from the beginning, it’s your job to serve. You will NEVER be important. You’re a worker. You lift heavy stuff. You organize. You pray. You lay down and take it because it’s what you deserve. You aren’t god, so you don’t deserve love. You should be seen and not heard. You should be invisible. And he’s so desperate to escape it that he never really gets to be a kid. He’s just a workhorse, and being childish or having fun is something that he can only do in secret, ashamed, his personality just stuffed down as small as possible. And when he finds Dethklok, this family that bullies him, yeah, but they LAUGH while they’re doing it, and they call him lazy, but yeah, they’re lazy too, he just. Wants to be a kid again. And then after he’s kidnapped he fully regresses because that experience fully threw him back in the hole he crawled out of, unexpectedly, back to the place where he feels he should be punished just for existing. He’s a good representation of how exhausting it is to be forced to be an adult before you’re ready. How much people don’t realize they should value their freedom to just PLAY and be SILLY, because not every kid does.
Skwisgaar has a couple things going on. He doesn’t have a dad, but that’s not really the issue. He thinks it is, but really, it’s more like he’s never experienced that people can care about each other without sex being involved. That’s why sex means nothing to him. He’s an endless void of sexual dissatisfaction, because he can’t actually connect with anyone he bangs. It’s just like playing his imagined frets- just energy he needs to get out, one way or another, anxiety and anger that needs any kind of release. Skwisgaar just loves music and being able to play whatever he wants, but also, I think Dethklok are the only people he can really care about, because they’re the only people he would absolutely NEVER have sex with. He’s forced to actually value them as people. He has no choice but to connect with them. He’s pretty narcissistic too, even more than the other members, and I think a lot of that comes from not being given enough attention as a kid. He has to put himself first because even his own mom was never going to. It wouldn’t really fit with the show, but I think Skwis is a good representation of people with sexual trauma, especially people who’s trauma makes them hyper sexual instead of the reverse. And Dethklok is a good family for him because they really don’t care how much he fucks, as long as he can play. His sexual prowess has zero value to them.
Nathan’s kind of fascinating because his trauma is just. One really messed up thing that he saw happen. That’s it. But that’s REAL, like it happens to a lot of people. You just experience one thing that was really horrible and it messed you up for life. You watch one accident or one train crash and it fills your mind so much, replaying over and over, it totally consumes you. He also has visions, which I think is a good metaphor for OCD or other disorders that mostly manifest internally. I think Nathan represents everyone that’s gotten sucked into darker stuff without really understanding why. Or people who are just born with depression or anxiety and there’s no “reason” behind it. And Dethklok LOVES that darkness in him. He’s the king, baby. He releases all that darkness into his lyrics, and because he has that release, in his regular day he’s able to be somewhat normal. He has an outlet that’s actually pretty healthy.
Murderface has my favorite backstory of all the boys, because his trauma is poverty. He lives in a trailer park in New Jersey with his grandparents (great-aunt-and-uncle? i don’t remember but it doesn’t matter.) He says that his big traumatizing event was his parents murder-suicide, but that’s not really what messed him up, he was an infant. He’s messed up because of how his life played out after that, totally out of his control. He had to with his geriatric family that completely didn’t want him. He was bullied in school because his grandma didn’t do laundry. He was gross and rude, because no one taught him proper hygiene or how to talk to people. He was a little shit because everyone treated him like shit. He never had a chance. He isolated himself because it’s easier to be alone, when you’re pretending that you chose to be alone. And he’s the best in regards to his found family arc, because he hates himself so much he fully didn’t realize until the very end of the story, that’s WHY Dethklok loves him. He sucks! He’s negative and bitchy and they need that! He has a home with them. They value his grossness, his whinyness, his bad attitude, how much he just hates everything. He’s such an annoying asshole that it’s actually really nice. He has a perspective that none of them have. He SUCKS. No one else in the world sucks the way he does.
Anyway. I just. Really like them. I really like that they’re all fucking messed up weirdos that found each other and love each other only the way that people who really can’t stand each other do.
#metalocalypse#pickles the drummer#nathan explosion#toki wartooth#skwisgaar skwigelf#william murderface#mtl
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Title: Ungod
Author: AmberXBoone
Artist: Rezal
Rating: Explicit
Pairings: Dean Winchester/Castiel, Dean Winchester/Lisa Braeden (past-mentioned), Castiel/Kelly Kline (past-mentioned), Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy
Length: 40000
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply; Minor Character Death
Tags: Lawyer Dean Winchester; Priest Castiel; Explicit Sexual Content; Castiel is Jack Kline's Father; Religious Rebellion; Church Corruption; Alternative Universe; John & Mary are alive; Lawyer Sam Winchester; Sexual Content in public/semi-public places
Posting Date: November 6, 2023
Summary: Dean Winchester, Esq. never really wanted to be part of the family business. But, here he is, working at his father's NYC law firm, being told to represent some church whose head priest allegedly stole thousands of donated dollars from parishioners. One day, lost and confused, Dean wanders into the church confessional, finding solace in a faceless voice. Later that night, Dean wanders out of a bar with a lonely stranger - only to wake up and realize that the body that spent the night in his bed was the same shadowy figure behind the confessional screen.
Dean soon learns that Father Castiel Novak knows all the church’s secrets and wants to expose Father Chuck Shurley and everyone else there – but after one of the nuns, Sister Isabella, is found dead after knowing too much, Castiel and Dean have to figure out how to lose this case for the church while making sure Castiel isn’t the next victim of the truth.
Excerpt: To the shadow on the other side of the hazy screen, Dean says, “Bless me father, for I have sinned.”
There’s nothing but silence at first, but it’s followed by the sound of a body shifting on the other side of the divider, of breathing that’s unsure and unsteady. “Tell me—” Castiel’s voice is low, breaking as he speaks.
Dean moves closer to the screen, pressing his fingers against it. “Last night, I was with someone I wasn’t supposed to be with. Or more like, someone who wasn’t supposed to be with me.”
“And you feel—guilt because of this?” Castiel is still just an outline in the barely-there light.
“Guilt?” Dean leans forward now, pressing his forehead into the screen. “No. I don’t know what I feel, but it isn’t guilt. Maybe regret.”
“You regret being with this person?” Castiel’s shadow has grown closer now, and just the presence of his body reminds Dean of last night, of the way Castiel was all over him.
“No.” Dean can feel Castiel’s fingertips press against his own, through aluminum mesh that separates them. “I regret that I’m not someone else. I regret that he left because of who I am. Because he found how who I am.”
“Why?” Castiel sighs against the screen, and Dean closes his eyes, remembers the way it felt when Castiel exhaled into his mouth last night, the way it felt when Castiel kissed him.
Dean isn’t sure how to answer that question. He isn’t sure he really wants to admit to last night being something different, something more than what he was used to lately. “I just wanted him to stay—or come back—I don’t know.”
Castiel leans into the mesh, fingers still running along Dean’s. “I panicked. I realized who you are—and I didn’t know what to do, or what to say. I told you that you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I mean, I did, right? At least, you believe we did something wrong? You ran out on me.” Dean doesn’t even know what he’s saying. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be doing any of this. But, right now, he can’t bring himself to care.
“No. Nothing you did was wrong. You were—perfect.” Castiel’s words trail off. “And I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I walked out of your apartment.”
Dean knows that’s a lie. No one has ever told him he’s perfect. Maybe his mother, once or twice. “Did you make up all that stuff about having a kid? About it being his birthday? Didn’t you take a vow of celibacy, or whatever it’s called?”
“No, that was the truth. I have a son. You aren’t my first indiscretion,” Castiel says.
“That’s all I am.” Dean backs up in the darkness, further from Castiel. So many times, he’s been the drunken lapse in judgment, the starting point of a long walk of shame. But he’s never felt like a sin until now.
DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule
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I’m having too many thoughts about about Trigun Stampede and it’s probably nothing, but here we go (beware some very heavy handed religious comparisons/symbolism)
This is somewhere between actual meta/character analysis and fanfic, but whatever:
Nai
You are a child and to the best of your knowledge you are one of the only two beings like you in existence. You are a child and you are told that your creation was miraculous, that you are perfect and the future itself. You are neither Human nor Alien, you are simply Other. You are better than either. Unflawed. You are a child and you see the species from which you were created, a species that was artificially created as a means to an end, live out their entire lives in captivity, in servitude. You are taught they are non-sapient, perhaps even non-sentient, and without free will. You exist to serve too, but you resent this. You resent that you are meant to be like the humans, to pretend that you are one of them. You find humanity contemptible and resent their endless wars and conquest and enslavements and pain (you have had a relatively painless childhood). And you read their scriptures and feel confident in your knowledge of humanity’s failures and inherent depravity. Their religious histories are teeming with injustice, with pain, and war and famine. You are a child, but you are intelligent. If this is what they believe in, what can you do? What Good can they really do? You begin to Doubt.
You discover another of your kind, a third, and she has been taken apart and studied by these humans. You are being raised to love them. You don’t. They love you like a dog loves a bone. You can only destroy them before they destroy you. You are intelligent and full of what can only be righteous fury, and you make them Fall. Your brother resents you, resents the deaths, is terrified and hurt and you have to Save Both of You.
Some of the humans survive. You twist them into their own downfall. You take their scriptures and turn words to weapons. It is an honor to serve you, you are an angel, a god, salvation and creation at your fingertips. Death, too. You are owed this for the depravity you and your kind have been subjected to. (You don’t realize, or maybe you no longer care, what you are subjecting them to.) If your brother will not join you on your mission he will die for it. For the greater good. (Who will survive your greater good?)
Wolfwood
You are a child and you aren’t raised to be nice, but you try to be kind. You protect your little brother. You are smart and strong and independent and you care too much. You are raised to believe in a very present god. No one tells you if he is a loving god or not. His angels and priests take you away and it is an honor to be chosen, to be god’s child of blessing. (It is a relief to be taken so no one else will be.)
You go through hell, you live in purgatory. Maybe it is still hell, your skin no longer feels like your own and your hands are bloodstained and fit only around the grip of a gun. You are not allowed to die. You find out your little brother isn’t either. He’s in hell too, but not with you. The god you serve is not a loving god, nor are his angels kind. You are god’s righteous man and you bear a cross and all of the weight of the blood spilled on it, by it.
You are a weapon and any morals you might have grown into are collateral damage. You would do anything for your family. You have done Everything for your family. They don’t mourn or look for you, the blessed chosen one.
You have free will. There is also a gun to your and everyone you’ve ever loved’s heads.
You aren’t sure if you’re a person anymore. (What greater good requires monsters like you? What god would create demons?)
You follow orders. You don’t believe in anything. You could fill oceans with the blood you have spilled. You are told if you follow this last order you will be free and your family will be safe. You aren’t even supposed to kill him, just lead him to his death. You’ve done so many horrible things, this pales in comparison. And you’re already in hell.
You find him. He’s the kindest person you’ve ever met and he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. He takes on as much hurt as he can, sometimes more. He saves your family without even knowing, and he saves them again when you sell him out. He doesn’t hold it against you.
The first thing you do as a free man is try to save someone. You have decided you care enough to try, just this once. The world still ends. And you still aren’t allowed to die. Better people have already died for you. For your sins.
Vash
You are a child and you love your family very much. You aren’t as special as your brother, as useful, but you love learning and exploring and people. You see the good in everyone. You are terrified when you discover another being like you and your brother, terrified by how she has been treated, by her being a secret, by what else the person you see as a parent might be hiding from you. But you trust her and love her and inevitably mourn her. You are taught to love and serve humans and it is your life’s work.
Your brother makes your world end and says you helped. Everyone you’ve ever cared about except him is dead. You are terrified and you spend the next century atoning for not knowing better. For loving, to continue loving. You are not loved in return.
You do your best to help everyone you can regardless of species. You are special too, it turns out, and bring hope and peace to your people and to the humans, at least for a little while. And you try not to be dangerous. You want to be harmless and you never quite pull it off. You don’t tell anyone the whole truth, but the secrets aren’t enough to keep you safe forever.
You make friends and you don’t have long together. You think you must be bad luck, and you forgive your friend for leading you to your biggest fear. You have to confront it anyways, it’s not his fault. He’s cares about you, but it’s not his job to protect you.
You confront your brother. He destroys everything again and he uses you to hurt people. Again. Your people, humans, what could survive his greater good? You fight back, you win. Kind of. Maybe. A Pyrrhic victory. You are alone and the world hates you for the destruction you tried to prevent. They always do. Why are you the devil when you just want to help?
#trigun stampede#tristamp#trigun stampede character analysis#trigun meta#kind of#trigun stampede meta#trigun#vash the stampede#nicholas d. wolfwood#millions knives#this is very specifically trigun stampede#not the ‘98 anime or the manga#trigun stampede spoilers#trigun rambles#feverdreamsandlucidnightmares
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Harrow the Ninth Reaction - Chapter 37
hmm yeah it is suspicious that the Emperor has to be locked away during the attacks. he gives an explanation, but we really only have his word for it
the Lyctors seem perfectly (and very convieniently) made to be able to enter the River while still defending themselves, which makes me wonder if that was the original purpose of creating Lyctorhood, and the Emperor maybe has some kind of plan revolving around it?
now this guy is quoting fucking Psalms 26 in Latin?? thats different to the quotes from before, the fact that its religious is interesting given this guy is apparently ‘God’ now, but he’s quoting a biblical text. also given Harrow can’t possibly know what he’s quoting 90% of the time, he’s awfully pretentious
Harrow’s eighteen, i’m pretty sure she knows how babies are made dude. at least she definitely knows after you guys nearly had a threesome in front of her on the dining room table
he’s been thinking Harrow and Ianthe are a thing omfg
the mysterious A.L.! somehow i was right that the Annabel Lee poem connected to her. and her having another name, and being dead for ten thousand years, i feel like thats a pretty good candidate for the good old Locked Tomb body. at least, thats my current theory.
‘She was my Adam’ again with the biblical stuff, this guy is seemingly religious, but also thinks he’s God??
and apparently the First House was destroyed via climate change and nuclear explosions. if i needed any other confirmation that its Earth (or some equivalent) then i’ve got it here i think
also he was just a normal person before the world ended, and he was the only one who survived and somehow became an incredibly powerful necromancer. i mentioned waaay back at the beginning of this liveblog that i knew there was a guy named John who had something to do with an apocalypse, but i didn't know if i was misremembering him being actually responsible for it, or if i was mixing it up with the Magnus Archives. and i, uh, still have no clue if that is the case or not from this convo, though i do feel like there's more he's not saying about this anyway (please no spoilers about this, i really appreciate everyone explaining things to me in the notes but i'd like to find out whats actually going on with this specifically while reading)
and A.L. was not a ‘normal human being’ whatever that mean, and the Lyctors are ‘in a very real way’ A.L.’s children … what on earth does that mean? she discovered the secret of Lyctorhood maybe?
well that whole conversation both answered a whole bunch of questions and absolutely nothing at the same time 😂
well okay the dude’s gone past playing parent and just outright told Harrow he sometimes wishes she was his daughter. i really don’t know how much of that affection is genuine
imagine telling someone you view them as a surrogate daughter and they fucking. smash a glass table in response lol. and yeah if its been ten thousand years and you haven’t developed emotional intelligence yet, then i don’t think its happening mate
ohhhh shit she’s telling him about the Locked Tomb. and i suppose there are worse ways this could have ended than him not believing her at all, but i really don’t think she’s wrong, especially since Gideon said she saw her do so/saw the door open in the last book, i think she did get in there somehow
wait i was working under the assumption that it was the Emperor who’d messed up her memories, but its not! did she do it to herself then after writing the letters?
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