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shallyouobeyme · 6 months

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From the Outside

Part 1 (you're here) | Part 2 (Coming soon)

Platonic!Yandere Batfam x Neglected Batsib!reader (GN)

Summary: You were living your life as a stranger in the house you were supposed to call home, an outsider in a group of people who were supposed to be your family. So you do your best to keep yourself distracted from your situation and go on with your life. But just how long will you be able to keep on with that?

! Minors Do Not Interact !

Requested by @sol565

TW: Not much in this one, neglect (obviously), loss of relatives, car crash (mentioned), cancer (mentioned), swearing, coming up to Yandereness in the next chapters. I'll try to proofread and edit once I finish the whole thing.

Last night you dreamed of your family again. It was a pleasant dream, one that had you wishing to keep on dreaming even after you were woken up by your alarm. All of you were sitting at the dinner table, enjoying Alfred’s excellent cooking. The room was filled with happiness and joy, the kind of atmosphere that has you reminiscing about that day for ages. In your dream you felt so weightless, Damian was sitting opposite you as he listened to you talk about your day, an anecdote of you leading to laughter filling the room. Your mother ruffled your hair from where she was sitting beside you and as you smiled up to her you felt filled with love. Around the table, the Waynes were actively interested in the conversation and Bruce was asking you a question leading to a cheeky comment from your left side. You knew what was said, but you couldn’t understand the voice. Confused you looked to where your father should be sitting but only a distorted shadow figure looked back at you.

It opened whatever would be most akin to a mouth and a blaring sound echoed out of it. Your eyes flew open as you slapped your bedside table to grab your phone. 7 A.M, time to get up. This dream had been haunting you for a few weeks now, the idyllic family dinner turning into an unpleasant reminder of your situation. At first, you had woken up in a cold sweat and slightly fearful from the end, but by now you had grown very accustomed to it. Just another part of your day to get through.

You accepted to pay the mental price for the opportunity to see your mother again, if only during the nights.

Another look at your phone to check the notifications and you got up and got dressed. Given the time you knew that you still had enough time to join your adopted siblings for breakfast, but even Alfred's amazing pancakes and french toast could to move you into the kitchen. Deciding to just nap something from your friends during lunch break at school, you grabbed your bag and jacket before quickly making your way through the manor. Like almost every morning you silently prayed that you wouldn’t come across anyone on your way to the front door. Eighty per cent of the time you were lucky, fifteen per cent you were just ignored and the other five per cent you found yourself stuck in painfully awkward small talk with the people who lived on the same floor as you. People who were supposed to be your closest friends and confidants. People who weren’t that. People who were more akin to strangers.

Today you were in luck as you managed to slip out of the giant house you hated to call home without having to talk to anyone. Getting onto your scooter, you made your way to the school, enjoying the air in your face through the helmet and the feeling of freedom that only came to you on rare occasions.

The school was still fairly empty when you arrived - as was expected - so you had the honour of walking through the empty halls like you owned the place. A sentiment that some of your schoolmates even believed. You wanted to tell them that you had no need for your Guardians money, no interest in his family’s name or his family’s reputation. Bitter thoughts filled your mind, leaving a taste of anger, of disappointment, of anguish on your tongue. They weren’t helped by what you saw when you stopped in front of the trophy showcase. There were pictures of some of the best former student-athletes that had attended the school, and the most recognizable was a picture that was proudly displayed right on eyesight. It was at a sporting event that had happened some twenty to thirty years earlier, one that was still held bi-annually. The winners of different disciplines were smiling proudly into the camera, arms around each other.

Taking the spotlight was a man that every proud Gothamite would recognize as a young Bruce Wayne on one side, a different boy who people tended to overlook based on his less noticeable features and the lack of fame he had, and in the middle of both of them stood Bruce’s former best friend. Your mother. Your late mother.

She had been a beautiful, stunning, talented woman. Everyone who had ever known her told you that. You tried to take some solace in the fact that they told you how alike the two of you were, both in looks and in personality. It did nothing to quell the underlying pain though, the pain still boiling inside you, pain that over the years had turned into anger. You weren’t angry with your mother, of course, you knew that she had not chosen to fall sick, that she had not chosen to succumb to cancer. She had loved you with all her heart and only ever wanted you to be happy. This is why, when your grandparents died in a shooting shortly after her diagnosis, she put it in her will that after her passing you were to be taken care of by her lifelong friend Bruce Wayne. After all, he already had kids and he was rich, just like she and her parents had been - money and estates that now waited on you to turn 18 to take charge of - and he’d be surely able to give you the life and the love she always wanted you to have.

Sadly, your mother had not known Bruce quite as well as she had believed she did. She had no idea that he spent his nights as the infamous Batman, or that the kids he adopted had been turned into fighting machines - sometimes even killers. She had no idea that he was not the amazing, loving and attentive father figure she had wanted you to have. Not even close.

You suppose he had tried at one point. When you were a young child, grieving the loss of your entire family and everything that you had known, he had taken you in like one of his own and assured you that from then on he’d protect you. Back then you had believed him. After all, your mother had told you so many great things about him, why should she lie. And with elder brothers and sisters, a Butler who made sure you had your favourite foods whenever you felt sad and a man who tried his best to be the father you never had. They did lots of work to spend time with you and to pay attention to you which would ensure you wouldn’t notice their weird habits and absences. But of course that couldn’t work forever. After a few months, you found out about their best (and somehow at the same time worst) kept secret and as you walked through the Batcave by Bruce’s side everything changed. He didn’t directly offer to train you, but he did insinuate that it was an option, though you declined. You couldn’t see yourself hurting others. You wanted to help like your mom had helped, by volunteering, bettering the world peacefully. Bruce had assured you that that was a completely acceptable decision and that it wouldn’t change anything. But he had lied. Perhaps knowingly, perhaps not. Maybe some of both.

Once you were aware of their second life, they didn’t put in the effort to pay enough attention to you to make you unaware of their secret. At first, they still spent time with you, but over time it seemed like you were blending into obscurity like a special bottle of champagne that was planned to be open on a special occasion only. Just that the bottle was usually remembered after the occasion had passed in annoyance. You weren’t. And as you phased out of their minds and into oblivion, you made peace with your place in the family. An outsider, a stranger inside their house, just waiting until the time had come for you to finally live your own life.

Of course, you knew you could have it worse. You had enough money to fulfil every wish you had as long as it was material, always had something to wear, something to eat, and somewhere to sleep. The only thing you didn’t have was love. But especially in Gotham you knew that you got away rather luckily with that, so while you were deeply angry towards the people who had promised to treat you like family, to love you, you also tried to just get on with your life.

It would have been easier if it wasn’t just so hard to look at your so-called siblings as if you didn’t resent them for the way they treated you, compared to one another. Somehow showing any interest in you or attempting to spend any time with you was a chore, but somehow Jason and Cass could have a little book club, Jason and Dick could go out for lunch at a cat-cafe, Steph, Cass and Tim could have Spa-days and all of them could have an occasional movie night together. It wasn’t explicitly stated that you weren’t welcome, but you had seen how they acted when you were with them compared to how they acted when you were hiding behind the door listening in. They seemed so much happier without you. As if your mere presence ruined the mood. So you started rejecting their invitations to join and it only took one of two attempts of them to stop asking completely.

You might have been able to cope better with the obvious dismissal of your existence if it had been because you hadn’t been part of the family when they had forged their close bond, but somehow, even when Damian joined, acting like a complete asshole to everyone around him, they managed to include him and when he warmed up to them he joined their close group.

So your newness surely could not have been that big of an issue right? Even Damian, completely new to the family and surely aggressive towards all of his pseudo siblings, seemed to know you were less than the others since he didn’t even bother to insult you, instead opting to ignore you. Completely. A glance spared, looking you up and down, and he had decided you were not worth it and his opinion seemingly still hadn’t changed. Sure by now you had talked with him a few times, but you could say the same about the fucking mayor of Gotham so you were sure that did not really count.

Sometimes, you lay in your bed at night, wide awake, wondering just why you were worth so much less in their eyes. What you had done wrong. Two answers usually presented themselves before you. Either it was because you weren’t a vigilante, something that you might even have been willing to accept, or it was… you. Just you. And for some reason, that was the answer that seemed more plausible to you. Maybe you were just unpleasant to be around, not fitting enough for their family. Not interesting enough, not Wayne enough.

And so you were cursed to live your life like a ghost in what is supposed to be your home. Going in and out every day, just waiting for the day to come when you could move into the penthouse your grandparents had bought you before they died, which would become your legal property in just a few years. You’d start anew. Maybe one day, after a long time and probably a lot of therapy, you’ll be able to start your own family. One that you’d promise not to fuck up like Bruce had. Until then though, you’d go on like always, spend as little time in that Manor as possible and try to distract yourself from your reality.

You really did spend very little time at the manor. For one, no one in that house cared when you left or when you came back except maybe Alfred, but even he either knew that you could properly use the freedom or he was too busy to care. Probably a mix of both. And along with that, you had started a very active life outside of your family. You had a lot of friends, though you were not ready to call any of them close friends, always knowing about how many of them were after the publicity of your actual and current family name and the money and fame connected to it. But they were nice enough and they distracted you so you didn’t mind. Especially because you used said popularity to help the people in town. You managed to get a lot of your friends to volunteer alongside you in different homeless shelters, though a lot of them tended to post dozens of pictures which made you feel a bit icky about them trying to profit from helping others, but you knew you couldn’t complain because it did help the shelters. The shelters told you so themselves.

Most of your ‘pocket money’ was donated and the rest of the time was spent doing different activities, be it arts, sports, parties or just wasting the day away. You did your best to cram as much into your day-to-day life as you could to keep you from thinking too much. To stop you from thinking too much about how messed up you were now, how you couldn’t even confide in any of your friends, how you didn’t even really manage to call them your friends, because you couldn’t allow yourself to let anyone close to you anymore, because you knew you weren’t worth it, because you knew you’d be disappointed and hurt again.

These dark thoughts were kept inside, slowly eating at you like termites, while on the outside you kept on being the happy-go-lucky Gotham personality that people loved to follow. Though you didn’t post a lot on your own social media, your friends and people around you did, which the public loved for some reason. And so you kept up the act, because what else could you do? Let people know you’re hurting? So they could ridicule you for your rich people's problems? Or keep out of the public eye? And have to face the lonely darkness that was your life? No, you’d rather keep on pretending like you had been for years now. Even if it meant being a piece of entertainment for other people who could turn on you at any second.

The day at school was mostly uneventful, only a short moment of passing by Damian ruined your mood as your classmates did their usual shtick of asking if that wasn’t your brother and you trying to shrug them off, after all, how do you explain that your brother treated you like air not worth breathing? So you changed the topic by announcing that you’d go help out at a local shelter after school and asked if anyone wanted to join. Some excused themselves but a few agreed, which led to a group of five of you coming into the shelter a few hours later after some mandatory selfies so keep your friends placated. There was a bit more traffic inside than usual - a few people definitely not in need of help - which was probably because one of your friends posted your plans on their socials. That was something that you had to begrudgingly accept. You couldn’t afford their anger, so you made a compromise with them that they could post stuff like that, but that they couldn’t post the exact location (which in your opinion was just common sense, but it seemed not a lot of people shared that).

Ignoring the people only there to see you or be near a Wayne, you focused on helping those who needed your help, though aware of the effect you could have on the shelter business, you helped out in the kitchen where people couldn’t see you. You didn’t mind, you liked cooking and you and the fellow kitchen staff had a sort of harmonized rhythm. It even helped you get lost in thoughts that didn’t make you wanna cry, so when you got interrupted in your flow, you almost jumped in shock. One of the organizers had tapped on your shoulder.

“Y/N, there’s a man outside that wants to talk to you,” Marcus told you and nodded towards the door to the front.

“They still haven’t left? I’m really sorry Marc, if you think it’s better if I leave, then I will,” you sighed, annoyed by the turn of events.

“No, it’s not a fan. At least I think, he’s- well, he claims to have something really important to talk to you about. He gave me this to show to you, said it’ll show you he’s serious,” Marcus shrugged and held a picture out to you. It was an old Polaroid of a young couple smiling into the camera. Your breath hitched.

“Is he the guy in the picture?” you asked with a newly found seriousness.

“Yes, at least he looks like it. Is the woman-”

“Yeah, could we use the office? Only if you’re okay with it, of course.”

“Sure, no problem, go ahead, I’ll bring him to you in a minute.”

“Thank you,” you earnestly smiled at Marcus as you made your way to the door that led to the office. You were used to being nervous, but not quite as nervous as you were then. This could change a lot of things, everything if it was what you imagined it to be. You looked at the picture in your hand again before sitting down behind the desk and putting it down on the desk. There were steps behind the door coming closer, so you took a deep breath as you wiped your hands on your pant legs. The door opened and in came a man who looked just like the guy from the Polaroid. He seemed familiar, not just from that snapshot of the past, but something in his face rang a bell in your memories. You mustered him, trying to keep a stern exterior as you didn’t know if this was going to be what you thought it would be.

Marcus gestured the man to sit down on the other side of the desk, before giving you an encouraging nod and closing the door as he left.

“Hello,” you greeted the man, hands intertwined before you on the desk.

“Hello,” he responded alike and you could feel his curiosity burning through you. Had you misinterpreted this? Was this just another weird fan?

“This picture,” you looked at it again before sliding it towards him, “how do you know my mom?”

A/N: So, what do y'all think? Let me know in the comments or in my inbox ❤️ Also, I'd appreciate feedback on the title as well, not sure if I should change it or keep it.

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nayziiz · 10 days

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Come Home | LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader (she/her)

Author's note: I'm trying something a little bit different with shorter form fics, so please send through any requests or feedback. These one shots will likely not have a second part unless it really speaks to me to continue with it. Thank you!

Masterlist

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky of Monte Carlo, she sat alone in the cosy living room of their apartment, her fingers anxiously tapping on her phone screen. It had been several weeks since she last felt the comforting warmth of his embrace, his familiar scent wrapping around her like a protective shield against the world's chaos. Work commitments and race weekends had kept them apart for longer than either of them had anticipated, and with each passing day, the ache of his absence grew more pronounced.

The apartment felt emptier without him, his laughter no longer echoing through the halls, his belongings neatly tucked away in drawers and closets, waiting for his return. She longed for the simple pleasure of having him home, to share mundane moments that held a special magic when they were together.

After a particularly exhausting day at work, all she craved was the solace of his arms, the reassurance of his presence. She had tried calling him several times throughout the day, but each attempt went unanswered, his phone seemingly out of reach. Anxiety gnawed at her insides as she imagined all sorts of scenarios, her mind spiralling with worry.

Perhaps he had gotten caught up in meetings or encountered unexpected delays on his journey home. Or maybe his phone had died, and he was currently en route, completely unaware of her attempts to reach him. But as the minutes stretched into hours, her concern morphed into a deep-seated fear, a nagging voice whispering worst-case scenarios in her ear.

Unable to sit still any longer, she rose from the couch and began pacing the length of the living room, her heart pounding against her chest like a caged bird desperate for freedom. Every passing second felt like an eternity, each unanswered call a sharp stab of disappointment.

But just as despair threatened to consume her entirely, the familiar sound of keys jingling in the lock filled the air, and her breath caught in her throat. With trembling hands, she rushed to the door, flinging it open to reveal the silhouette of the man she loved, his tired eyes lighting up at the sight of her.

Before she could utter a word, Lando enveloped her in a tight embrace, his arms providing the sanctuary she had been yearning for. In that moment, everything else faded into the background, leaving only the two of them, tangled together in a silent embrace.

“I'm so sorry I couldn't get back to you earlier,” he murmured against her hair, his voice thick with emotion.

“You’re home, that’s all that matters,” she assured him.

“I’ll always come home to you, baby,” he told her before pressing a kiss on her forehead.

And as she melted into his embrace, she knew that no matter how far apart they may be, they would always find their way back to each other, their love serving as a guiding light through even the darkest of nights.

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dolldefiler · 1 month

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[This is a mix of an anon request and an idea from @xxweepingwillowxx]

C/W: Rape

Plop. Plop. Plop.

The only way you’d feel the passing of time would come from the neverending leaky faucet. The sound of hell. Every once in a while, you’d hear my footsteps. I’d come either to deliver food or bury my shaft into your traumatised holes. Nothing else.

One day it’d all stop. Fresh air. Sudden light. The sounds of the outside world. Were you finally free?

No.

I’d drag your bound, feeble body up the stairs, cruelly laughing at every bump and turn you’d experience. You’d be ready. Ready to become your kidnapper’s live-in sexdoll, instead of a basement cum dumpster. I’d drag you through dark, unfamiliar halls, relishing in your fear of the unfamiliar. Would you have preferred staying down in that timeless basement?

Past creaking floorboards and musky walls, I’d throw you through the bedroom door, watching you land painfully against the bed frame. I’d shut the door, watching you wince at the sharp squeal of the rusty hinge.

I’d wheel in an old tv and your phone, attached to some device. What day was it? What were these things I’d wheeled in? I’d flick the tv on, and settle myself above you, sliding my cock into one of your dry fuckholes. You’d groan in pain and hatred, as per usual before I punch you and tell you to focus on the show. A live telecast of your grieving family, desperately begging for information. You’d freeze. I’d grind into you faster. How long would it have been since you last saw their faces?

I’d call your name to get your attention, softly at first before slapping you sharply. I’d ask you if you’d want to talk to them. The way you’d nod frantically, like some eager puppy would make me groan as I feel your asshole tighten around me. I'd whisper my name and address into your ears, the identity of your captor, before wishing you good luck.

Before you know it, I’d gag your mouth, your shocked, vulnerable state ridding me of your resistant personality. The phone would ring and reality would set in. You’d struggle furiously, life injected into your broken rapedoll of a body. On the television, you’d watch your mother pick up her phone. Her eyes would widen and she’d scream something unintelligible to your father. The crowd would quieten. She’d pick up.

And hear the pathetic squeals of a broken little fuckdoll. The opportunity of a lifetime, your last chance for freedom… and you’d waste it sobbing into your gag. I slam my cock harder and faster into your unwilling fuckhole, as your mother desperately screams into her phone. The sound of her pleading for you to speak, the image of her tears… fuck, I’m sure it’d break you. I hope it breaks you. Your face would be wet with angry, desperate tears. In that moment, all that would separate you from ever seeing your family again would be a single chunk of plastic.

I’d cum loudly as I end the call. I’d throw your phone aside, tearing the device off. Your mother would call back but she wouldn’t be able to reach your phone. No one would. You’d be lost forever in the confines of your kidnapper’s house.

This would be your first night in my bed. You’d have so many more to look forward to.

#rapedoll #rapekink #rapetoy #r@pe fantasy #r@pe kink #dark kinks #rough kink #bd/sm sadist #r@pe play #r@pedoll #r@petoy #cnc kidnapping

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mrs-illyrian-baby · 17 days

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Omega Ours - Part 1 | Alpha!Cassian x Alpha!Nesta x Omega!Reader| Short Series 2.7k

After fighting your way out of every potential mating offered to you, your village sends you off with the High Lord. Rhysand, tired of dealing with the Alphas living in the House of Wind, gifts you to Cassian and Nesta in the hopes that it'll settle all three of you down.

Warnings: 18+ sexual content, language & themes. Omegaverse dynamics including Alpha & Omega and the sexist assumptions/implications that go along with it, heat/heat cycles, forced proximity, d/s themes, only one bed (and only one chaise), lots of tropey tropes! No use of YN but liberal use of pet names.

Divider by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources

Cassian & Nesta - from Pinterest

Created for @polyacotarweek - prompt 5 faveourite tropes (Omegaverse, only one bed, forced proximity, sort of insta-love)

Part 2 will be posted on the 13 (Free day!) follow @illyrianlibrary for updates ❤️

Part 2 | Masterlist | Poly Fics | Cassian

The only way to describe the couple stood before you was - handsome.

The High Lord and Lady who’d brought you here were beautiful, elegant. But this couple could only be described as handsome, strong, Alpha.

You knew them, of course. General Cassian of the Nightcourt and his mate, Lady Nesta. Lord of Bloodshed and Lady Death, they’d called them in the camps that circled the Illyrian villages like pilot fish on a shark.

“I’ve brought you a present,” Rhysand drawled, pointing at you. “Well, it’s a favour and a present. The last unmated omega of the season. She's from the Western Isles, I thought it might help to tamp down your behaviour if you two had a project.” He grinned and you turned to look at Nesta and Cassian again.

It was true, you’d rejected every mate offered to you, bitten some of them, in your desperation to get away, and that’s how you’d lost your freedom. Fighting the boys from the village was one thing, fighting an Illyrian was another. They’d hauled you into the camp in front of the High Lord on his last visit and demanded compensation.

Rhysand, ever flush with jewels and gold, had paid them and then had a set of cuffs and leathers made for you. Nightcourt black velvet, red stitching and silver buckles. But restraints were still restraints, no matter how soft they felt against your wrists and ankles. He’d had new clothes made for you as well, traditional sheer panels of matching blood red that hung in gossamer curtains down your legs, pooling around you as you were forced to your knees in front of the Lady and General.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Nesta studied her nails, her air bored but her eyes kept flickering towards you.

“Come now, Nesta, we both know you and Cassian caused quite the stir the last time you were both in heat.”

You were right then, you could smell it on them anyway, that raw power and strength that designated them as Alpha.

“Still - you want us to take care of your problems?” Nesta huffed.

“Of course not, she’s a gift, for you and Cass, if you happen to tame her enough that she stops mauling my men then that’s a bonus.”

You looked between them, it was undeniable how attractive they were. Better than the mud caked idiots from the village at least, but you still railed against the hand that dragged you back to your feet.

Cassian kept his hand under your elbow, pinching your cheeks with his other hand. “Come on, Nes. She’s cute, isn’t she?” He angled your face up towards his mate.

Nesta shrugged one shoulder and you snarled, snapping at Cassian’s fingers.

“Feisty,” he gave a deep chuckle, “I like that, that’s how Nes and I got together.” He hauled you over his shoulder, your legs and arms dangling, the panels of your dress slipping dangerously.

“Put me down!” You beat your fists on his back.

“Should have thought of that before you tried to bite me,” he teased, jostling you.

You scowled at Nesta, who followed, laughing, through the halls of the palace and then tried using the only knowledge you had about the Illyrians. You reached out and grabbed his wing, squeezing as tightly as you could.

He growled back, the sound travelling up through his chest into yours, vibrating your very core.

“You want to play rough? Good.”

Cassian shouldered a heavy door open and suddenly the sweeping corridor was gone and a dark, warm room wrapped itself around you.

The walls were an oxblood red with thick velvet curtains that lay heavily in front of the eternally open windows. The soft jasmine breeze that circulated through the house was mixed with the cleaner scent of mountain air and the crackling of a fire, rich and inviting.

The general set you down, his gaze travelling slowly down your figure. He clenched his jaw and then instantly turned to his mate, cupping her cheeks in his large hands and kissing her roughly. She growled in response, leaning into his embrace and allowing him to lift her against his body. You watched as he carried her across the room to an open archway, almost hidden behind a large tapestry, and then they vanished again.

Tentatively, as much as you could with the thin chain connecting your ankles, you crept across the room to the curtain, now brushed back and curling heavily on the polished floor.

Nesta and Cassian were tangled on the bed, the heady scent of their arousal lay thick in the air, the bedsheets already rumpled as if they’d been interrupted before, the room in disarray.

On both bedside tables there were stacks of books of various genres, a pitcher of water on one and dagger on the other.

“Either come in or go,” Nesta groused from the bed, hair messy, one of Cassian’s hands still tangled in the long golden-brown strands.

“Play nice, Nes.” The general laughed, biting at Nesta’s earlobe. “You can join us or you can sleep,” he said over his shoulder.

Sure enough there was a small chaise made up with blankets at the end of the bed. You shuffled over, and fell heavily onto the soft cushions listening to the sound of their love making. Each grunt and moan made you press your thighs together harder. Each stifled sigh had your hands twitching, itching for something more. You may have rejected every attempt at a mating, but you weren’t completely without feeling, without desire and needs and lust.

You lifted your hands to cover your ears, the chain between them digging into the bridge of your nose, and fell into a confused sleep.

You awoke to the sound of moving bodies and cloth dragging on the floor.

“She’s asleep, let her rest, Cas.”

“What if she’s cold?” The footsteps came closer and you tensed on instinct. The steps stopped, but a gentle weight floated down on you, a large cotton blanket, awash with their scent, settled.

“I’m going to wash,” Nesta’s voice faded as she walked away but there was no other movement.

“I know you’re awake.” His voice was loud in your ear, closer than you’d expected and you jumped again, almost sliding from the chaise. Cassian’s arm caught you, tight around your waist and his bareskin was so warm against your own. You cracked one eye open and looked around the room as best you could with his wings blocking out the faint candlelight.

His arm was speckled with tiny scars that twinkled against his tan skin, the hair that decorated his forearm was as dark as the long tendrils that brushed over his shoulders and this close, his chin almost resting on your own arm, he smelt heavenly. That mixture of his own scent and Nesta’s even stronger in his proximity and, no doubt, enhanced by their earlier activities.

“If you want, you can borrow some clothes.” His voice was a sleepy rumble and you resisted the urge to let your omega instincts take over and push yourself back into his chest, seek out that warmth, that comfort - but you didn’t respond.

The sound of running water in the other room stopped, replaced with the gentle pad of Nesta’s footsteps and then she was in front of you. Surrounded by them again you had to fight back every urge to give in to her wicked mouth, her lips plump and kiss bitten.

“We’ve left you some things on the chair, choose what you will. If you want to join us on the bed, you can.” Nesta moved away taking Cassian with her and you assumed from the gentle rustle of sheets they were back in bed.

The chair that sat opposite their grand fireplace was strewn with clothes, silky looking negligees and billowing linen shirts, some cotton leggings and a pair of woollen socks.

Waiting a moment, hoping they weren’t looking, you rose from the chaise and rushed for the chair. The translucent dress the High Lord had had you wear left your skin cold and bare, exposed and vulnerable. Cassian’s shirt was a welcome relief, covering your body from view, although the two slits in the back for his wings did feel slightly odd. The socks were warm and fluffy, long enough to reach almost to your knees. Redressed, you turned to return to your chaise and tugged the blanket up to your chin.

You didn’t really want to spend the entire night there, but you also refused to give in to the ridiculousness of the situation. No one chose your mate, or mates, for you and you’d rather sleep on the tiny chaise that allow anyone to take that choice from you.

Thankfully, Nesta and Cassian had turned away, the Illyrian’s large wings spread over the bed,. Shielding his mate from view? Or stopping her from following you around the room with her silver stare? You weren’t sure, but you were grateful as you closed your eyes.

It was only as you were falling asleep that you realised you were snuggled into the shirt, inhaling Cassian’s scent, and by then it was too late, you were tumbling into your dreams.

The next morning Cassian and Nesta were gone, but someone had left a tray of food, a pot of tea and a stack of books on the table. The doors to the balcony were open and the jasmine wind blew the curtains back so invitingly you couldn’t resist.

You were halfway through one of the books they’d left, something by Sellyn Drake that had far more smut in it than you were anticipating. A slice of buttered toast was stuck halfway to your mouth as you stared transfixed at the page, when the door opened. Cassian held the door for Nesta, taking a long sword from her hand and placing it on the table that was perpetually strewn with weapons. His own sword and daggers followed and the two of them began to strip out of their leathers.

There had been a rumour that Nesta trained alongside the Lord of Bloodshed and the Shadowsinger, trained with other women as well, but you hadn’t thought to believe it until now.

Her leathers were tight against skin, a sheen of sweat making her sparkle, her long hair was tied up in what was now a messy ponytail and, most surprising of all, she was smiling broadly at Cassian. He returned the smile, cupping her cheek and pulling her in for a kiss, his hands wandering down to the buckles and clasps that held her fighting leathers together.

Cassian looked equally as powerful, his own armour dark against his tanned skin, his tattoos flowing under the leather before appearing again at his collar bone and trailing over his shoulders towards the vast wings at his back. You set the book down slowly, the lust filled scene already had you feeling hot under Cassian’s shirt even before they appeared.

The movement caught his eye and he turned, taking Nesta with him and pinning her against his chest. They way they looked at you, like the most delicious prey, had you pressing your legs together. You wouldn’t give in to this, especially not when it was exactly what that smug prick of a High Lord wanted.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he cooed, “Would you like to join us?”

It was Nesta who held her hand out, crooking her finger to coax you forward. “We’re going to bathe, the tub is large enough for three, come.” It was more a demand than a question and, though you longed to see how far down Cassian’s tattoos went and how Nesta would look covered in bubbles, you resisted again.

With a shake of your head you went back to your book, trying to ignore the sound of them together through the wall.

You fell into a rhythm, the three of you. Nesta and Cassian continued as they were, training, working in the library and attending meetings, and inviting you to join them whenever they were together.

Your nights on the chaise were becoming increasingly uncomfortable, but you refused to be worn down by their requests, preferring to stay silent and read alone either on the balcony or by the fire. No amount of reading could drown out the sound of their love making, though. If you could call it that, judging by the bruises both of them sported proudly and the way their headboard banged against the stone wall.

Despite your protests their allure was difficult to ignore, their playful banter, the care and attention they showed each other, even the way they whispered in bed, dissecting the day's events and, on a few occasions, discussing you.

This only happened when you were pretending to sleep heavily, breathing slow and steady as you wished for dreams to take you.

“Nes, did you see the way my shirt fit her today, rolling up her thighs-” Cassian had made a deep, guttural noise, only to be shushed by Nesta.

“Yes, Cas, stop, she’s right over there.” Nesta hissed in return.

“I know, God, she’s so fucking close, don’t you think she smells good?”

“You know I do.” The sheets rustled and you heard Nesta whimper as a wave of arousal flooded you. They could smell you, you knew it and you couldn’t stop it.

Sleeping in their room, bathed in their scent every day, surrounded by their things, it was like a huge nest and the longer you lingered here the more you wanted to give in and climb into their bed, to be between them and allow them to care for you.

You knew something had changed when you woke up drenched in sweat. As usual, Nesta and Cassian had already left the room, your breakfast arranged in its spot, clothes laid out for you. They’d started adding some new things, items that smelt like neither of them, clean linen and lavender, but you were still drawn to their items the most. Perhaps, it was the way they smiled when they saw you cuddling into one of Cassian’s shirts or standing on the balcony in one of Nesta’s dresses. But you refused to confront that feeling.

Despite your long, cold, bath you still felt hot and uncomfortable. It was mid way through stripping off your linen trousers that Nesta reappeared. She moved with a preternatural grace that you were sure existed well before her sister’s ascent to High Lady. A smoothness to each turn of her hand, or extension of her arm, she made walking seem like a dance and you were transfixed.

Nesta stopped as soon as she saw you, her nostrils flared, almost imperceptibly.

“Are you okay?” she asked in that cool, silvery voice.

“Yes,” your voice felt hoarse. You barely spoke and had gone days without saying anything to either of them, merely existing in their presence. But now, locked by her gaze, there was no escaping.

“You seem -” she weighed her words carefully, “unwell.”

“I can assure you, I’m fine.” You took a half step towards the balcony doors, hoping the breeze would cool your skin.

Nesta hummed, surveying you from head to toe. “I’d feel better if you got into bed.”

You knew this was as persuasive as Nesta could be, a simple request made in the lowest of tones, an argument not worth having.

“I-”

“The bed.” She crossed the room swiftly and turned you towards the large, velvet draped bed that took up a large portion of the room. Since your first entrance into Nesta and Cassian’s suite, you’d done your best to avoid even looking at it. Now there was no escape.

Your hands were shaking, a tingling heat rising from your spine and coiling in your stomach. On this occasion, just once, you’d listen to her. “Fine.” With great difficulty, you pulled the shirt over your head and dropped it to the floor. You were so tired. When had you become so tired?

Nesta’s deft fingers grasped your chin, holding you still so she could look at your pupils, large and frightened. “Get in bed and go to sleep,” she insisted, and you obeyed.

Part 2

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moonit3 · 5 months

Note

Yandere! Backroom entity, could you make a yandere of any backroom entity or level? Please?

(I've never seen any Yandere backroom fic, maybe you're the first. It can be any entity or you invent your own, it's up to you!)

anons always have the brightest ideas for yandere writings. like would i have thought of audiente something like this? never, so that is why i have to thank this anon to come with this amazing idea.

THE MONSTER, THE WANDERER AND THE FARMHOUSE

➥warnings/notices: yandere, exophilia(?), liminal spaces(?), gn! reader, poisoning, drugs, obsession, acid, blood, reader is chained and cuddled by the entity, fluff(?).

➥ yandere! entity x gn! reader

➥ synopsis: trapped in a world that you don’t understand, you find yourself in a farmhouse in middle of nowhere with the presence of someone you can’t comprehend.

the recent disappearance of people around the country has raised drastically in the last decade and the government gives he same answer when someone goes missing, ‘there is no trace to lead to an investigation’ and unfortunately, they are right.

none one seems to understand how more than thousands people can simply vanish from existence, almost like they never exist in the first place. it’s creepy, scary and made those who remain become paranoid to even leave their houses, after all, it’s the only place they feel safe. however, they were wrong, this was a false sensation of safety and security. that’s why you have joined the static of the missing people.

yellow and molded walls that never seems to end, an old moist carpet and those irritable electric sounds that reminds you this isn’t a dream. nah, this the place you’ve been living for the past few days and despite walking for uncountable miles, it appears this place has no ending nor escape that will lead you to freedom, almost like this is a no end labyrinth.

if things couldn’t get worse, the food and almond water (where did those thing come from? you don’t recall it) are almost gone, meaning that you would have to go find more of it throughout the yellows walls or starve to death. yet, you aren’t going to give up that easily. you are going to survive this place and will find a way home to see your family again, but also to tell everyone what happens to those who simply vanished.

walking for even more hours, you find a wooden door. it’s look older than you and there is a unfamiliar smell coming from inside, could it be this path might lead to freedom? carefully, you turn the knob to see what is behind and of course, it’s only show a long hall that lack any source of light inside.

there is no way you are going inside. you are desperate to going home, but this looks like a trap to kill you instead of a ticket to escape this world, so you close the door and step away from it. too scared to be lead to a dead end, probably death. you continue to walk towards the unknown, hoping to find another way out of this.

okay, maybe getting through that door would be better choice in some possibilities. but you are happier you didn’t as this new place seems to be more safer and nice.

a farmhouse in the middle of the nowhere, surrounded by trees and grass from all sides with a small vegetable garden close to the house. did someone lived here? by the way the interior is decorated and the smell of flowers seems like it, yet no one is there. your only company is the wind.

you should’ve question yourself if the food was safe, maybe someone has poisoned before you arrive, but your stomach beg to devour the mini cake that was set in the table. the taste didn’t really matter as you wanted to stop the feeling of hungry and that what you did, the whole cake was gone in less than minutes and you couldn’t feel guilty because it.

what if someone was waiting to eat it later? oh, your body began to feel heavier. why are your vision becoming blurry? black spots began forming in your vision and it didn’t took much time to you succumb to the weird sensation, making you unconscious as your body hit the floor.

the smell of baking awakes you. someone is cooking and you are laying down on a bed? your eyes widen noticing it. someone must brought you here and the chain locked on your ankle is a way to proof it.

what? you try to remove the chain away, a failed attempt as the iron is too strong to be destroyed by a weak human like you. also, you immediately give up in trying as there is someone standing in doorframe, watching you.

a tall pitch-black figure stares down at you. its appearance reminds of those weird drawings around the yellow molded walls, warning to those who arrived about the dangerous being that live around in this world. it claws are huge, the emptiness eyes don’t blink and you can hear a soft melody coming from it lips, whatever is this thing, it looks like it will kill you.

“ha ha…” you try to get away from it, pushing yourself against the wall and closing your eyes as a way to pretend this isn’t real, just a mere nightmare that you will wake up soon, but then you feel it claws on your face….is this thing caressing you?

slowly, you open your eyes to find the huge creature kneeling to your height and having it shape claws touching your face in the gentlest way possible, almost like you are made of glass. you can’t tell if this thing is happy, the lack of a mouth makes it emotions almost unreadable, but the human-looking eyes shows kindness and compassion by the scared state you are.

the entity leaves the room for a brief moment before coming back with a piece of a pie and hand it to you, its look delicious and its smell good. the eyes stares at you, waiting for you to do something with the food.

“do you want me to eat it?” the thing nodded at your words, surprising you as he could understand what you are speaking while the non-dangerous anomalies you’ve encountered failed to do so. “okay, thank you for the meal.”

eating a piece of the pie, your eyes sparkled by the taste and you couldn’t help but eat more of it. the entity, in the other hand, watched you devour the food with his eyes gets smaller, analyzing your expressions and happy noises you are making while eating the food it has made for you. being so focused on the meal, you didn’t notice the thing approaching you at first, only feeling its hand touching your shoulder when you have the devour the entire food in minutes.

you can hear purring coming from it despite the lack of mouth, getting closer to your face and patting your head repeatedly.

the humanoid form get closer to you, changing it hand position to your face and making you stare at it. the empty eyes, almost human like, staring deep down at your soul as your head is forced to tilt to the side under it touch.

you can feel something fall over your clothes, its the black stuff that composes the entity’s body, “H-HEY!” you try to remove it away, but the weight of the entity’s body is too heavy to move it as it lay next to you, putting it arms around your body, bringing you to lay down on the bed along with it.

the head of the thing snuggles against your neck, not letting any centimeters separate the two of you as it is trying to remove any distance between your body to it. the entity doesn’t move, it stay still next to you as you try to get away from this place, but for now, you should just take a deserved nap.

closing your eyes, you could feel the entity stare at your with emptiness eyes one last time before your world faded to black. it’s look happy to have you in their arms.

@moonit3 writings

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thelargefrye · 6 months

Text

GODS … mature one - shot | pt. one

pairing : emperor!san x princess!f!reader

genre : slight historical fiction, mature, dark, arranged marriage, second chance, slow burn, eventually smut

word count : 3.5k

warnings : language, blood / body gore, death / murder, hints of dismemberment, san is evil, name calling (stupid girl)

special birthday suffering tag : @sanjoongie please accept this as an early birthday present from your braincell

note : inspired by san's performance video that literally wrecked all of us. none of are safe from his power and this proved it. also this was getting a little too long so i decided to split it up into at least two parts

after your life is unrightfully taken from you, you take this second chance as a way to finally survive and make a difference for yourself. you were tired of being a prisoner and feeling unwanted.

the dining hall was empty except for you and a few guards and servants. not another soul sitting at the long dining table despite it being able to sit twenty people easily, if not more.

it bothered you that you ate alone. every meal, breakfast, lunch, and dinner was by yourself. honestly, a lot of things bother you, but you were never allowed to say what was on your mind. it bothers you that you eat alone, that you have no one to talk to, that your family willingly gave you up to some demon emperor. what bothered you the most is that your "husband" never even gave you the time of day and that you were forced to listen to the maids whisper and gossip about you.

you saw the look of pity in their eyes.

you don't want their pity. you've never wanted anything but freedom for the last three years you've been trapped in this palace.

you were supposed to marry someone who loved you. have a big ceremony and live happily ever after. instead... instead you were taken away from your family by emperor san and forced to marry him. you were a pawn to him in order to gain control over your kingdom.

a prisoner forced to spend the rest of her life trapped in a loveless marriage and life.

you do your best to push down the negative thoughts as you eat. not wanting to get choked up on tears and cry. you didn't want anyone to see you cry.

especially not these gossiping maids.

"i heard the emperor went to the brothel last night."

"again! does him and the princess not spend nights together?"

"of course not. his highness isn't interested in the princess. their quarters are on completely different sides of the palace. i'm surprised he hasn't killed her, yet."

"i am too."

you try your best to ignore them.

when you've finished eating, you get up from the lonely dining table and exit the room. the maids have their eyes casted downward as you walk past them, acting as if they hadn't just been talking about you. your personal guard, mingi, follows you down the hall.

you remember when you first arrived at the palace, san introduced you to mingi and explained how he will be your personal guard.

"don't try anything stupid, mingi has orders to kill you on sight if you do," san's words still haunt you. mingi wasn't here to protect you, but to watch over you and make sure you never tried anything stupid.

when you return to your quarters, you take your usual seat by your window. the window that overlooks most of palace's entrance and the palace wall that keeps you trapped. too high to climb and too far to even try to attempt to make a run for it. like san purposely chose this room for you as a way to mock you. to let you know that you will always be a prisoner.

still, you can't help but wonder if one day you'll be able to be free and live happily.

however, that will only remain a dream until san crushes it as well like he done to all your other dreams.

"ow," you hiss out, finger immediately coming to your lips to try and stop the small prick of blood. you guess that's what you get for getting lost in your thoughts while attempting to work on your embroider.

you look down at the small cloth with the flower design slowly being sewn into it. embroidering was the only thing that kept you sane in this prison. you're waiting for the day san takes this away from you as well.

"princess, are you alright?" a voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you look up to see one of the other guards, yeosang, coming into your room.

"i'm fine. just pricked my finger," you say and he nodded his head.

"the emperor is here to see you," he says before stepping aside to let your husband enter your room. he walks in exuding so much power and authority and you hate it. you hate him for how much control he has. you're forbidden from entering the west wing – his quarters – of the palace, yet he's allowed to come in the east wing and even your room without having to ask. you hate it.

"girl," he begins, never has he addressed you by your name. always just 'girl' or 'stupid girl' when it comes to you, like you weren't of your name let alone your title. "pack your bag, i'm sending you back to your home kingdom for a week. you'll be leaving tomorrow morning."

his words take you by surprise. you'll be... returning home? after three years of being away from your family, you'll finally get to see them?

"r-really?" you ask, standing up and completely forgetting about your pricked finger.

"what are you deaf, girl. i'm not going to repeat myself," he says with an annoyed huff and turns to leave.

"wait!" he stops in his tracks at your voice, but he doesn't turn around to look at you. "why am i going? is everything alright?"

"when did you ask so many fucking questions? be grateful i'm sending you there in the first place," he doesn't say anything else before he takes his leave. the door to your bedroom slamming shut behind him and you immediately flinch at the sound.

"are you ready, princess?" yeosang's voice catches you off guard as you look up at the palace you had been trapped inside for three years. being in the front courtyard gives you a completely different set of emotions knowing that you will be away from this place. even if it is for a week.

you asked yeosang if san was going to come, but the guard completely avoided your question. you're not surprised he's not showing up, but it still hurts nonetheless.

then something else hits you.

"where's mingi?"

"he's had some last minute orders from the emperor," yeosang says, keeping his answer vague like always. "come, princess, we have a long trip ahead of us."

you don't say anything but instead silently climb into the carriage. once you're settled inside, the carriage begins to move and you can't help but look out the window watching as you leave the palace.

you couldn't help the smile that painted your lips knowing that you were finally getting to return to your family. you knew nothing could ruin this moment, not even your ruthless husband.

yeosang let out an exhausted breath as he ran towards the palace. the guards standing at their post immediately recognized their fellow soldier, even with his beaten and bruised body.

"yeosang!" the handsome guard recognizes the deep voice from anywhere and he immediately falls into mingi's arms. collapsing from his injuries, no longer able to stand. then mingi realized something as he and some other guards helped his friend. "where's the princess?"

yeosang looked at mingi with tearful eyes before he shook his head and mingi felt something in stomach twist.

"where's the princess, yeosang?"

"i couldn't... i couldn't– bandits ambushed us... i tried, mingi, i really did, but they–

yeosang couldn't finish his words due to how choked up he was getting, but mingi understood what his friend was trying to say.

"where is she?"

"she's in the forest," yeosang answered and mingi immediately set out on his horse with his best friend and fellow guard, yunho. the two were deep into the forest before they finally came across the carriage you had left in.

the entire carriage was destroyed, the wheels broken off and the main part crashed into a large oak tree. bodies of the driver and some others were laying, scattered around and blood was everywhere.

"mingi..." yunho is attempting to be strong as he watches his friend make his way towards the carriage door. it too had been broken and destroyed and the two guards noted how all of your luggage was gone. "those bandits took everything."

mingi ignored his friend in favor of opening the carriage door. however, instead of being met with an empty carriage, he was greeted with something worse.

"fuck!" mingi has to pull himself away from the carriage. tripping over the tree roots as he bends over and vomits. the sight in the carriage burned into his eyes even as he blinks. yunho watches his friend with concern before he's watching him breakdown and sob. tears running down his cheeks and snot running down his nose and over his chin from how hard his was sobbing. mingi's throat burned from when he threw up.

yunho looked between mingi and the carriage before taking several steps towards the carriage. mingi's voice repeating "oh god, oh god, i'm so sorry. please forgive me" is like a broken record in the background. and then yunho reaches over and opens the door and the sight within makes his whole being shake in terror.

when they arrived back to the palace, mingi carried a bag with him as they reached the throne room. san was sitting on his throne with his usually bored expression; however, mingi and yunho entering caught his attention.

"what's wrong with you two?"

"your highness," yunho begins, voice shaking as he starts to talk. however, yunho doesn't know what to say. he's at a loss for words.

"well? what the fuck is wrong you both?" san asks again, standing up and walking towards the two guards. mingi doesn't say anything except hand the bag over to him. "what is this?"

"your highness, the princess's carriage was attacked by bandits. yeosang managed to make it back, but..." yunho says, finally finding his words. he continues after a moment and at the same time san opens the bag. "the princess did not make it. we brought back... what was left of her."

the image of your body laying in the carriage burns in yunho's mind. he had never seen something as horrific before during his time as a soldier and especially done to an innocent woman like you. you did nothing wrong, just someone trapped in a situation you had no control over.

san says nothing as he looks inside the bag, letting the contents settle into his mind before he's carelessly dropping the bag onto the ground in front of his feet.

"oh well."

you can't help the scream that rips through your throat as you thrash around your bed. your covers flying everywhere before settling either back onto your bed or in the floor. your heart is beating rapidly in your ears and your eyes scan the room around you.

you couldn't help but let out another scream as your door is thrown open and in comes mingi with a concerned look.

"what's wrong, princess?" in any other moment you would have found his voice a comfort. but in this moment, you couldn't even find the proper words. the only thing leaving your lips were sobs as tears ran down your face.

it had felt so real, you thought as you curled yourself into a ball. you felt like you had actually died. alone in that forest as those bandits... no. you don't really want to think about it anymore.

"princess y/n?" mingi speaks again earning your attention as you look at him with tear-stained cheeks and glassy eyes.

"i... i had a nightmare," you said as you wiped away your tears. you hated yourself for crying in front of someone, mingi especially. "sorry."

"ah, its alright, princess. just gave me a scare is all," he says before he's bowing his head towards you and leaving.

when the door closed behind him, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. your hands instinctively come up to your neck, feeling a slight ache course through your body. you try to push back the feeling as your stood you and made your way to your ensuite bathroom to get ready.

you remember when you first arrived how you had at least three handmaids to help you get ready, only helping you because they were afraid of san. however, once they realized san didn't care about you, they stopped doing their duty and showing up. only one continued to be loyal to you, yeri.

but then three months ago you found out that yeri only remained by your side because she wanted to try and get close to san. she knew she was a pretty woman and san went after any pretty woman. after she got what she wanted she too–

"princess y/n, what are you doing running your own bath?" the familiar feminine voice snaps you out of your thoughts. standing up from the the edge of the tub, you're surprised to see yeri standing at you bathroom door.

"what are you doing here?" you asked, a little surprised to suddenly see her in your room.

"hm? what are you talking about princess? i'm your handmaiden, i'm suppose to be here," she answers and something feels unease as seeing her settles in your stomach. something wasn't right.

you vividly remember the night you found san pinning her to the wall and her words that were meant to bring you down. "wouldn't you rather someone who could properly please you, your highness? someone much prettier than your ugly and boring wife?" you remember who she tilted her head to the side in a flirting manner, even twirling her hair as the word left her mouth a stabbed your heart.

you remember how san only smirked at her before continuing to have his way with her. right there in hallway and in the east wing – "your" wing.

you had thought she was a friend, but when you heard those words you immediately knew she wasn't. you trusted her and she betrayed that trust. she didn't care. she was like everyone else.

"here, princess, let me finish–

"stop talking," you cut her off, voice as cold as you could make it. you couldn't stand looking at her. "is this some sick and twisted joke to you?" you ask, glaring at her. yeri's face is immediately covered in confusion and she opens her mouth to say something. "get out. i don't need you to do anything for me."

"but princes–

"i said get out!" you've never raised your voice, but the longer you looked at her the more you realized that she was able to easily get what you could never have. san's attention.

you could have sworn you seen yeri's fake persona fall for a split second from your new attitude before she's turning on her feet and rushing out of the room.

you let your anger subdue before you're turning back to the tub and quickly turning off the water before it begins to overflow into the floor. because honestly that was the last thing you need right now after just waking up.

you allow the warm water engulf you and you let out a sigh as you sink into the water. your hair placed carefully on top of your head as a way to keep it dry, knowing it was going to be a pain to do if you got it wet. the ache and soreness in your body was still there all around you. your neck, wrist, arms, stomach, and legs all had a type of ache to them that you never experienced before.

maybe you should visit the palace doctor later, you think before you let your eyes close. however, once you close your eyes you are immediately brought back to your nightmare. the screams of the driver and other servants ringing in your ears, the carriage door ripping open and those bandits standing there and their swords shining despite the darkness of the night.

you suddenly open your eyes again in order to make sure you were still in your bathroom. eyes darting around the room as if those bandits would also be here. its only after several minutes does your heart rate calm down before you can even will yourself to get out the tub.

the water had grown cold.

"princess, are you alright? do you need to see the doctor?" one the maids ask when she notice you keep repeatedly rubbing your wrists and neck.

"i... i think i just slept wrong," you say in an attempt to brush her concern off.

"alright, princess, but if it gets worse please let someone know," she says and you nod and thank her before she's going back to her place with the other maids in the dining room.

"i heard she dismissed yeri this morning, yelled at her and told her to get out," one of the maid's said in a hushed whisper.

"really? that's surprising considering how much the princess liked her."

"i say yeri deserved it because of how she has been trying to sleep with the emperor."

trying? as if she hadn't done it yet? how is that possible when she did sleep with san three months ago?

the unsettling feeling reappears as you continue to think about yeri and the nightmare. something just wasn't clicking.

"excuse me," you say and one of the maids immediately come over to you.

"yes, your highness? what's wrong?"

"what... what month is it?"

"august, your highness."

"a-august?" your shocked by her answer. it was august? that was three months ago. how is this possible?

"p-princess are you alright? you look ill," her voice sounds far away as you begin to lose focus on the things around you. everything becomes blurry and you're quick to stand up. chair scraping along the floor before tipping over and falling to the floor.

you begin to walk away, ignoring the maids calling after you and even some of the guards, but you ignore them all. this was just some sick joke from all of them. from yeri, to mingi, to the maids, to san. you were supposed to be in october and spending a week with your family. not in fucking august with people who hated you.

you don't have time to comprehend anything else before your falling to your knees and passing out in the middle of the hallway.

after you had passed out, you had woke up in your bedroom with mingi, yeosang, and the palace doctor surrounding your bed along with a young maid.

the maid was the first to notice you awake and she immediately collapsed at your bedside with tears welling up in her eyes.

"oh, princess, i'm so glad that you're awake! we were all worried sick about you!" she said and your eyes moved from between her to the two guards and then the doctor.

"how do you feel, your highness?" the doctor asked and it took you a moment before you actually answered him.

"i'm fine," you answer despite how your body still aches, you force yourself to sit up. the young maid is quick to adjust your pillows for you as you do.

"you all can leave," you add on looking at the guards and doctor. mingi and yeosang as hesitant to follow your orders, but the doctor does so before giving you instructions to take it easy for the rest of the day. he also said that he would make sure your meals are delivered to your room and that he'll come back later.

when the three males leave, you are left alone with the maid. her doe eyes looking at you with concern as she keeps a watchful eye on you. that's when her name finally comes to you.

"yunjin..." you say trailing off as you remember that she was with you in the carriage. you remember watching as the bandits grabbed her by the hair and dragged her out of the carriage because she tried to protect you.

"yes, ma'am? do you need anything?" she asks, voice hopeful and waiting to help you. you remember she began working for you when hongjoong – san's advisor, had found out that you had no one helping you. you know he only assigned yunjin because he took pity on you like everyone else here.

however, yunjin followed you around and listened to every order you gave her. at first you were worried that she would be like yeri, only using you to see the emperor. as if you see him on the daily. but then you learned that yunjin was a devoted servant to you.

"is it... really august?" you asked her, still not able to wrap your head around everything.

"yes, princess."

what if... oh god, what if you did actually die that night? does this mean you are given a second chance? a second chance to survive and to make sure that you and yunjin and the other servants don't die.

but how were you going to do this?

and then you hear loud cheers and noises coming from outside and you have to force your body to crawl out of bed and over to the window. then you see him.

san walking through the gates and into the courtyard, a small army of followers around him. following him around like he was some god. then it clicked inside your brain.

if you were going to survive then you would have to gain his favor. deep down you know san was probably the one behind the "bandit" attack. so getting on his good side would get him to call off the bandit attack.

you were going to win over your ruthless husband.

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peachesofteal · 9 months

Text

Which Witch

Painting by Joseph Tomanek Thank you to the lovely anons who's beautiful brains helped create this story. Part 1 - Part 2 here John "Soap" MacTavish/witch!reader 13k words - AO3 You do not need to read Mermaids to enjoy this fic, but it exists in the same world and for the full experience, I do recommend it. Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. Mature and dark themes. Fae!AU. Brief blink of smut. Blood Magic. Fae Magic. Violence. Killing. Human Sacrifice. Angst. Tenderness. Protective Johnny. "I'm not beat up by this yet, you can't tell me to regret, Been in the dark since the day we met, Fire, help me to forget." - F + TM

Johnny presses the heel of his boot into the cheek of the being on the ground, his eyes glazed with a vacancy he has seen more times than he cares to count, or remember, the bleakness of his irises meaning only one thing: the end of their life.

“Was it worth it to ye?” he spits, and the male shudders beneath his sole, twisting pathetically, a half attempt at getting away. Blood sputters and pools, lamely leaking from his body, drenching the air in an earth rich scent.

It does not matter, there is not where for him to go, nowhere for him to flee. He will be lost to the 141, just as almost every other being is this castle has.

The echo of his brother’s power, Gaz’s light magic, rips through the room and shudders down Johnny’s spine as he appears in the hall, his boots leaving red marks on the marble floor, remnants of lives spent squelching with each step.

“Where’s Ghost?” Kyle’s voice booms across the distance, and Johnny jerks his head northward, to where Simon is ransacking the library like a madman.

He is a madman, Johnny thinks, shaking his head, didn’t even stay to see the job through before he went tearing through those books.

He cannot fault him, his brother is a being possessed, tortured by his own heart, a heart that beats for a creature that does not even know he exists. He is miserable, and brutish, and half the time almost unbearable to be around, and Johnny really, really hopes it all comes to an end soon.

The being beneath Johnny’s heel gurgles, rubied ichor slipping down his face towards the floor before he spits and glares upwards at Gaz and himself.

“Mercenaries.” He snarls, and Johnny can feel him trying to pull a sliver of power, a desperate and feeble attempt that fails before he chokes again. “That’s all ya are. Mercenaries with no code, no honor.” Gaz rolls his eyes in a dramatic motion, rotating his neck before a dagger born from the shimmer of suns materializes in his hand, and the male on the floor whines in fear.

“Yes, yes.” Gaz sighs impatiently, and then in a blink has the point pressed to the being’s neck, right below where his pulse hammers. It sears his skin, burning away at the flesh slowly, filling the air between them with putrid smoke, the smell of incinerating sinew stinging in Johnny’s nostrils. “But how are we so different from you, then?”

“I don’t kill for money.”

“Just for sport.” Johnny follows up drily, and the male has no argument. His fighting rings are known throughout the realm. In the closest town over, one can make a fair amount of profit, or lose their freedom, if you knew where to look.

“As if you’re so appalled by it, MacTavish.” The being hisses, and Johnny stills. His power thrums in his blood, reacting to tense state of his body, churning in his mind, ready to strike. Chaos readies itself, pulsing deep, ready to blow this entire castle to the Netherworlds. “I know where ya’re from. I’ve heard rumor of what happens on the Isle, with it’s-“ Johnny’s magic bursts forward, twisting around Gaz to seek its target, tearing into the very essence of the male on the ground, ripping into the being’s own celestial connections and shredding them to pieces. The magic and rage combined electrifies Johnny, filling him with a heady power that pulses in every pore, every neuron existing in his body, and it’s a well fought effort to shove it down, to not give into the intoxicating feeling of the craze, the lust for battle and blood. He pulls and pulls the threads from the being’s crumpled form, draining him dry with each breath until there is no fight left, until he’s nothing but a carcass, an empty shell, eyes stuck wide in horror.

“Shite.” Johnny murmurs, finally releasing his heel. There’s not much left beneath it, just ropes of blood and bone, the body obliterated by the concentration of Johnny’s magic, dark red rivers seeping across the polished stone floor. Gaz chuckles darkly.

A ripple of power echoes towards them, and at the end of it, Price looms, arms crossed, mouth turned down in a huff of irritation.

“Job’s done then?” He motions to the pile of remains between them, Johnny nodding the obvious answer. Gaz’s dagger disappears, light seeping through his skin before it’s swallowed whole, tucked away for safekeeping.

“Simon’s finishing up the last bit.”

The three of them venture towards the library, a massive room with ceilings that stretch towards the moons, and shelves built from top to bottom. There are books of every kind here, books from every realm, even. Grimoires, from the witches in the mortal realm, and lost texts from its human inhabitants. Heavy volumes of history from the Netherworlds, sacred texts from a faraway realm that only Simon has been to. Books bound in human skin, books bound with being skin, books that only appear to those they choose. Books that possess their own spells, even if they’re not inherently magic. Books that contain the ability to give any being a gift, so long as they are willing to receive it. Johnny breathes deeply, filling his lungs with the scent of leather and paper, papyrus, and cloth, holding onto it for as long as possible before his lungs deflate with a whoosh. The taste settles on his tongue, and he tamps down the urge to start pulling volumes towards himself, eager to flick through them and devour what lies between their pages. He craves it, the knowledge, the magic that sits sleeping in this room. The bedlam that swirls in his bloodstream melds with his desire for new puzzles, new knowledge, and it creates a double-edged sword that only his brothers seem to understand. Maybe it’s because of his mum, and the deep, ravenous love of books that she had and instilled in him, the balance of his love for chaos and his love for puzzles lending well to learning, or maybe it’s because he’s lived too bloody long, walking the worlds with his brothers, seeking new truths like they were meals to feast on.

This is where they find Simon. He’s got a female sorceress of some kind, the one they were looking for in the first place, kneeling, in the middle of the room, arms pressed down to her sides, her eyes wild with fear. Johnny can smell it from here, the rank stench of her terror, the scent of her dread as the being in front of her walks in a tight circle, his eyes fixed on her quivering form.

“I cannot perform it.” She protests, and Simon makes a great show of sighing, like he’s tired, or exasperated. “That magic, it’s not of Faerie. We do not practice it here. Please-“ she sobs, and her desperation tugs at Johnny, just a bit, even though his sympathy is slim for this creature who cries pitifully in front of her soon to be executor.

“Simon.” Price intones from where he stands, a distance away, and her eyes flash to him, relief scrawling across her features as she mistakes John for one who may be kind to her, for a being who may help her.

She doesn’t know, that they know. That they’re fully aware, of the terrible things she’s done for the once ruler of this land, that they know the extent of her cruelty, her thirst for blood and pain.

Price crouches in front of where she sits on her knees, and cups her face between his palms, rubbing a placating thumb across her cheekbone.

“Tell us, love.” He encourages. “Tell us about the song. And perhaps, we’ll let you go.” It’s a lie, but she doesn’t know that, and it’s painfully obvious when she swallows, eyes darting between the four of them before settling back on Price.

“It’s blood magic.” She croaks. “The only way to capture the song is with the magic of blood and bone. I told him.” Price turns to Simon, who nods his affirmative. “There are few who still practice it.”

“Where?” Price urges, still soothing her with his touch, his words soft and reassuring.

“In the mortal realm.” Gaz rubs an exasperated palm over his face with a sigh, and Simon’s power pulses around the sorceress, tightening like a vice. She yelps in a panic, words rushing free like floodwaters. “There is a coven! There is a coven left, that still practices in the mortal realm, and they have a spinner, a blood spinner. She’s a witch, that-” She continues to babble, giving them everything, anything she had, where she believed they were located, what kind of witches they were, how long they’d been practicing. She gave and gave, until there was nothing left to say, and then she stared up at Price, with wistful hope on her face.

Hope, that dies, as she feels the slipknot of Simon’s power, twisting with torsion around her neck.

“No, no. You said… you said you’d let me go!” She cries, and Johnny feels his rage lash out inside him, distaste curdling his stomach. He can’t help but correct her.

“Is that what you told the mothers of the children ye slaughtered all those years? That you’d let them go? After ye sold them to fighting pits? After ye watched them die, and did nothing?”

“I wa-was only doing what I was told.” She sobs, flinging herself onto the floor in front of them. “Please!” Her fingers dig at her neck, clawing and scraping, but it’s pointless. The 141 has long had her in their sights. “Please… plea- please.” She moans, fragments of her life slipping through their fingers as it drains away, her body growing limp and her existence becoming futile by the moment. “I- ‘m sorry.” She tries, but it’s far too late now.

It's far too late.

The tavern is packed. Every one and thing inside gives them a wide berth, their eyes jumping from Simon, who walks in front, dark gaze glaring from behind the skull mask and hood he dons in public, to Price, who casually strolls behind him, hand in one pocket, the other swinging by his side, free and available, should quick intervention be needed. Gaz stands at the bar, flirting with a striking female who is leaning towards him, her lips parting to reveal shiny, sharp golden teeth.

That’s odd. What’s a Harpy doing all the way out ‘ere? If Gaz is taken aback, he hides it well, instead slipping her a note that more than covers the cost of a round, and then points at the table where they’ve settled.

“Bit out o’ place.” Price comments, and Simon grunts.

“It’s curious.” He agrees, and they all track Gaz on his way back, watching him until he plants himself on the bench, casual grimace lining his lips.

Simon shifts restlessly, and they all can feel the hot singe of his power, the frustration lurking in the air. Waiting as he hedges.

“If it’s true-“

“At what cost?” Price cuts him off. They hold a silent conversation with their eyes, arguments and counters flowing back and forth between them. Price is the natural voice of reason; he’ll convince him it’s a bad idea. The thought sticks in Johnny’s mind uneasily, souring as he turns it over. What if this is real? What if there is a chance? To end this madness?

Johnny was no fool, he’s seen the change in Simon, year after year. His fear and confusion, anger and dread starting to seep from his skin, coloring everything around them, affecting them all in different ways. His Nereid was at the end of her rope, and so was Simon.

“All I want, is a chance, Johnny. A chance to know her, without standing in the shadow, for her to know me. To hold her, to tell her she’s not alone.” He confessed, years ago, in the dark of an empty wing in his too big house. “I love her. I cannot give her up, I won’t allow her to die.”

He had returned to their realm frantic, distress wracking his body, seizing his power and twisting it until it nearly suffocated all of them where they stood. It took hours for Johnny to calm him, to get him to explain what had happened, for him to realize why Simon had been so distraught. His Nereid had nearly failed her task, botched her own hunt, and Simon almost stole her away in a moment of blind panic, without even stopping to consider that she might die as soon as steps foot in Faerie.

“What you’re asking, Simon, is a massive undertaking, it’s-“

“I’m not asking. I’d never ask this of you.” He snapped, magic fizzling through the air above Johnny’s head, explosions of grey and black lighting with power.

“Do ye truly believe we’d leave ye alone to face this? To spend a year in the mortal realm, as a merc, without us? Your brothers?”

“It is not merely a year, Johnny. It could be two, or three, or one hundred. I cannot take her until I know how to sustain her, and we’re still not closer to the answer.”

“I’m with ye Simon. Just as you’ve been with me through difficult times. I won’t turn my back now.”

“And neither will I.” Price booms from the doorway, the two of them whirling to where he stands with Gaz at his side.

“Sign me up. You know how I feel about mortal females. And their food.” Gaz gives them an impish grin, flourishing a set of light daggers and then lowering himself in a mock bow, an ode to his bloodline and ridiculous family. Johnny doesn’t say anything, but he watches how Simon’s shoulders ease, how he releases the breath he’s been holding, before giving them all a nod.

“I will go.” Johnny declares, and Simon’s eyes crinkle with relief. The sooner we get this all done, the sooner we can return home for good. Johnny was tired. They had been in the mortal realm for nearly a decade, coming back to Faerie now and then when something needed attending or when Simon had a lead. And now, with Simon desperately searching for the final piece of the puzzle, the end of all this finally felt close enough to taste. The only thing left outstanding was, how to get his blood to sing the Nereid’s song.

“I fancy a field trip myself.” Price relents, sigh expelling from his lungs with vexation. “Could use a change of scenery. Better than bloody Verdansk.”

“Or Las Almas.” Gaz mutters and Johnny protests.

“I liked Las Almas.”

“You just like Ale and Rudy.” Gaz ribs him, and Johnny laughs full throated. He did a soft spot for the two Vaqueros. They were smart, cunning humans who excelled in battle and cared for their community. Rare traits to find amongst the greedy, swamp like mortals that mostly roam their world. He respected them.

“Aye.” He agrees. The table goes quiet for a moment, words on the knifes edge, waiting, watching, until Simon clears his throat.

“Very well. We will go together then.” Price echoes him, while Gaz nods readily.

“Together.”

“It’s not optional anymore.” Your aunt’s voice vibrates through the speaker of the phone. “Your coven is your family.” She prattles on, unaware you’ve put the phone down and walked away from it to stack a few books together on the table.

“She’s nuts.” You mouth to Jet, who weaves between your legs before hopping up in front of you, rubbing her face against your fingers, seeking a scratch behind her ear.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.” You sigh, and you swear you see Jet roll her eyes, right after you roll your own.

“You need to spend time with your coven. You can’t spend your entire life holed up in that shop with your familiar and your books.” Why not? You don’t say that, of course, lest she hex you through the phone, or worse. She doesn’t understand. You have a deep affection, a pure love for your connection to your power, for your magic, but that love did not extend to your coven, who were mostly still stuck in the darkest ages of time, who’s desire for power had pushed them to extremes. When you don’t respond, she bites out her directive before hanging up. “You must perform your duties. You’ll be expected on Samhain.”

And then the line goes dead.

You sigh, and Jet meows, like she sympathizes. Like she feels your pain. Maybe she does. You’re not sure. She is your familiar, but you don’t speak her language. You don’t know how she actually feels.

But you do know she dislikes your aunt, nearly as much as you do.

“I know, I know.” You give her another rub of your fingertips under her chin before pulling the stack of books towards you and carrying them through the back to the front of the shop.

Your day passes quietly. Mortals come and go, browsing the books in the front room, some choosing to stay and settle in the armchairs or the nooks with plush cushions, curled up with their selections for hours. There are places to tuck away here, corners between shelves where you could allow yourself to get lost in another world if you wanted, with no one to disturb or bother you, except maybe Jet. The black cat patrols the front room with high scrutiny, jumping to and from different heights while she ensures nothing is amiss in her domain.

You keep yourself busy with your daily tasks, organizing, counting, compiling, all while trying not think too much about the demand of your presence at Samhain.

You don’t want to go.

But you also don’t think you’ll be able to get out of it. You had already managed to dodge Lughnasa, and a fully body shudder rips through you when you recall the efforts of matchmaking that were done on your behalf before the festival had even started.

Not like anyone wanted to be matched with you to begin with. Not when there were effortless beauties by the dozen, witches and warlocks waiting with bated breath to be paired together.

Crazy, evil old hags. Crazier than the full moon herself.

By the end of your regular business hours, the store is empty, and you’ve settled yourself in the back room, the one that stays locked, the one where you keep all the things you don’t want the general public to see, ancient books bound with skin, grimoires with spells to summon demons, to kill lovers, to resurrect children. Books with magic of blood and bone, written by ancient witches from your own coven. Stories that come and go as they please. Stories of gods and monsters. Books that could open doors. Books that could trap you beyond those doors, forever. Banned books, by some’s standards.

Books you’re really not supposed to have but can’t help but collect. Your desire to absorb it all, learn it all unyielding, no matter how much information you consume, and it's become more than your livelihood now. The bookstore has become a place where others can come if they need something that their coven cannot provide, a place a witch can find a spell that’s long been forgotten, a place where answers can be found, if you knew where to look.

A safe place, for yourself, and for others.

A dangerous place, to some, and a dangerous place to you, at times. A place that made you known in magical communities, a place where you could be found.

And to your coven, nothing was worse.

Secret practitioners of blood magic, they were extremely closed off to outsiders. They stone walled others, refused friendships in magical society, kept to themselves as much as possible. It was their tradition, the only way they could survive and continue their practice, their devotion to blood, water and bone keeping them alive longer than others, keeping them young and fair when their counterparts aged and withered, kept them practicing for the entirety of their long lives.

And who would want to give that up?

You hadn’t been asked to be born into this complicated web of magic, hadn’t asked to become an orphan either, the loss of your parents forcing you into your aunt’s hands at a young age, where you learned all too quickly that your magic was different from other young witches, that you had been blessed with your coven’s ultimate gift.

Blood spinning.

Jet meows, leaping from the floor to the table to sit in front of you on her haunches, jet black fur shining under the dancing light of the candles. There are no lamps in this room, the bulbs too bright or too offensive for the books, some who’s pages don’t even show themselves unless they’re lit by magic.

You keep the flames in here lit by your power, day in and day out. Wax drips onto the mantle that sits over the fireplace, forming sand like castles on the wooden beam as the candles burn, staying in perfect stasis while the flames never go out.

You cast your magic out, just slightly, enough to straighten a shelf that was haphazardly arranged earlier, and then you wave a finger over a flame, just enough that it lightly heats your skin.

Fucking Samhain.

You can already feel the insistent pressure that will certainly be coming after today’s conversation, the demands of your participation in the Divination ritual and gods know what else.

Don’t these bats know you should stay home on Samhain? That’s when the Others get through.

You shiver.

You’re just about to ask Jet what she wants for dinner before you lock up when you hear a clattering smack, the sound of the broom that always stands so astute by the front door falling to floor, and your blood freezes in your veins.

Jet hisses.

Company’s coming.

“Hello?” A male voice calls, accent unusual to your ears, ricocheting past the shelves to where you sit in the back, hunched over a dusty tome. “Is anyone here?”

“I am!” You yell, standing up too fast, knocking into the heavy wooden table with your hip and letting out a hiss of air through your lips. Ow. Shit. That’s going to bruise. “I’m here, sorry.” You push away some hair from your face as you appear from the back room.

Oh.

Fuck.

There is a beautiful man standing in the front of the bookstore. A stunningly gorgeous, perfectly formed human being with crystalline blue eyes and a smile that practically beams. His hair is cut into a mohawk, a unique style that you don’t see too often, and his eyes glimmer with something mischievous, something wild. His bone structure reminiscent of the gods you grew up learning about, his face open, and handsome, watching you from where he stands, bolts of setting sunlight streaming in from the glass door behind him, framing him in the orange and pink goodness of dusk.

Just looking at him sets your body alight.

“H-hello.” Gods.. Get it together. It's just a guy. You've see plenty of mortal men before. His lips quirk, and you try not to look too closely at them, their sweet shape, perfectly pressed together while he cocks his head.

“Hello.” Jet meows by your feet, sharply, and you frown at her before looking back at the man.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a book.” He starts, stepping closer, eyes roving over the floor to ceiling shelves that line the front room.

“Well, this is a good place to do that.” Wow. You wish you could pull the words back into your mouth as soon as they slip out, but you can’t. All you can do is cringe and try not to melt into floor. Smooth. So smooth. He doesn’t seem bothered by your obvious statement, and he smiles at you, again, nodding his agreement.

“It’s well… it’s a rare book.”

“Oh?”

“And I’ve been told, you’re a purveyor of such rare and curious books.” Your skin feels warm under your sweater, and you try to beat back the feeling of the heat by taking a deep breath.

“I… have some books. That are considered rare. Or unusual, yes. It depends on what you’re looking for?”

“It’s a grimoire. Of the Ulster Cycle.” You cover your suspicion with a cheeky smile, before shaking your head. What could a man possibly want with that?

“I don’t have anything that old here.” The lie slips through your teeth with ease.

“Oh, my apologies. I was told ye were a collector of sorts. The bloke I spoke with said there was a rare books room an’ everything.” Something prickles along the back of your neck, and your magic flares to life, zinging through your veins like fire.

Magic. There’s magic in here with you, magic that is unlike yours. Magic that hovers above the surface, like it’s waiting for something, waiting to strike.

Is it his?

Like he can sense it, he tenses for a split second before relaxing, and offering you his hand.

“I’m Johnny.” You stare at his waiting gesture, poised on the edge of a decision, uncertainty hanging in the balance.

Something is different here.

Something is strange.

But the way he looks at you, like he’s really looking at you, seeing you, noticing you, soothes the wariness in your mind, the strong beating of your heart drowning out your more cautious nature.

Still, you’re not one to give your birth given name to anyone outside the coven, whether they be friend or foe.

You've seen someone learn that lesson first hand.

“My friends call me Fern.” It’s not a lie, your friends, what little you still had, do call you Fern. Have called you Fern ever since you were all children, when you were more interested in laying on your back in the woods and staring at the clouds through the trees, then you were learning basic spells at anyone’s house. Strange, they used to call you. Odd. Weird. Their parents, bless them, had instructed their children not to be cruel to you, but the nickname had persisted, and then stuck, until it was what you were calling yourself all through Uni and afterwards.

“Fern.” He echoes, a ripple of something you cannot name crossing his face before it smooths, and he releases your hand while giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s lovely to meet you.” The heat on your skin comes surging back, and your magic simmers inside your veins. You’re staring, up into his eyes, two perfect blue swirls of sea and sky, like you’re in a trance, unable to look way for a long moment before he’s clearing his throat and you’re blinking yourself free.

Odd. Your brain warns.

Enchanting. Your heart sings.

“Sorry, I uh. Don’t have your book.”

“It’s alright. Mind if I had a look around?”

“Sure!” you gush, over enthused, and then run your palms down the front of your skirt.

Calm down. He’s not here for you. He’s here for a book.

You try not to track his every move as he browses, instead staring at the blank computer screen at the front check out desk, clicking the mouse intermittently and shuffling some papers back and forth mindlessly while you sneak a look every now and then.

He’s fit, wide back snug in a t shirt and jacket that hangs loose over his hips, denim notched just right below his waist. You can’t help but stare when he reaches for a higher shelf, and his shirt rides up to expose a flash of his midriff, honey cream skin on full display that makes your mouth water, just a bit.

Jet meows loudly, and then makes an exaggerated point of licking her paw, pointing it in the direction of the clock that hangs over the door.

Welp.

“I’m actually closing up here, in a minute, is there anything-“

“Sorry to keep ye.” He turns, and you force your eyes away, the intensity of the eye contact too much, the pull of him practically overloading your senses.

“Oh, you’re not. I have other work to do, I just like to lock up.” You don’t know why exactly, but it feels like you’re stalling him. Like you don’t want him to leave. Jet jumps from the floor to the shelf behind you, and she growls as the man, Johnny, who takes a step away from the book he’s studying towards you. “Jet!” you admonish her. Johnny breathes a soft laugh.

“Smart, locking up, cannae be too sure about what’s lurking out there.” He jerks his head towards the door, and then flashes you another smile. It makes you dizzy.

“Uh, I do have some rarities, if that… if that’s something you’d like to come back and see.” What? What did you just say? Did you really just-

Johnny visibly brightens, like you’ve made his day. Like you’ve made him happy or given him a gift. The feeling warms you from the inside, trilling in your heart until it’s beating double time, and your magic is practically singing in your soul.

He tells you he’ll come back then, that he’d like to come back, and you nod numbly as you wave goodbye.

What the fuck was that?

Two days later, the bells that hang from the front door jangle and chime to announce his arrival, and the butterflies swirl in your stomach as you walk up front.

“Good evening.” He greets you, and you have to snap yourself to attention after nearly getting lost in the whirled sea glass of his eyes. “It’s Foxglove? Or… Sage?” Your eyes widen and then close to slits before glaring at him. “You’re named after a plant, right?”

“It’s Fern.” You deadpan, and he chuckles, lips splitting to reveal unnaturally white teeth.

“My apologies, Fern.” He does not hide the way his eyes trace you up and down, from your black boots to where your two times two big, button-down shirt is parted to reveal your clavicle. “Are ye well?” He asks, and you try to stutter out a response.

“Y-yes. Thanks. Yourself?”

“Aye, thanks. Excited to see what secrets you’re keeping.” He raises an eyebrow, and you gulp. Where has the air gone? Why does it feel so warm in here?

“I uh. Yeah, well. Let’s… it’s this way.” You punctuate the rambling sentence with deflated inflection, and his lips press together like you’ve amused him.

You pull your magic under the current of the atmosphere in the hallway to wrap around the lock and spring it free, allowing the door to open before the two of you and step inside. The room itself is a marvel, deep burgundy walls with more floor to ceiling bookshelves, and a giant table in the middle, it’s top carved from an ash tree far older than you. The candles dance in your presence, and you feed the wicks just a small sampling of magic, allowing them to gradually brighten so Johnny can see better. Mortal’s eyes were not known for being so sharp.

“And these are all…?”

“Varying. Some very old, storybooks about monsters and fairies and mermaids and such. You know, fairytales.” You laugh, but he doesn’t, only nods thoughtfully as he reads along the spines. “I’ve got some… old magic books. From when people thought witches were real. And some old religious texts. Nothing crazy, not museum worthy or anything.”

Definitely a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“When people thought witches were real?” He turns, voice laden with skepticism, and something heavy sinks in your belly.

“Yeah, you know. Old pagan beliefs, that kind of stuff.” You try to play it off but can’t escape his gaze, can’t escape the way it feels to have him staring at you, reading you like an open book.

“And you’re usually in the habit of lying to customers?” You stare him, bewildered, your mind racing to come up with something clever, something snappy to throw him. Nothing comes. “I can feel you.” He explains, like it’s normal, or natural. Like you’re both speaking the same language. “Can feel ye from across the street, actually. Didn’t know little plants could hold so much magic.” He teases, lighthearted and sweet, but your fingers tighten into fists.

“I-“ you start, but abruptly stop when words fail you, and your chest tightens with panic. You internally scream at yourself, the strange feelings from when he first stepped foot in the shop coming back to haunt you, to teach you a lesson.

“Hey, hey.” He croons, and you stare at him vacantly, mind scrambling a mile a minute. “It’s alright. I mean ye no harm, Fern.” The way he says your nickname feels like a bite, like a mark against your skin, the word singed with some sort of magic, something flavorless that you cannot taste, yet you know it’s there all the same. You realize he’s staring at your hands, which are open now, pushed out in front of you like a barrier.

“What are you?” you challenge, and his lips twist.

“I’m no threat to ye.”

“Sounds like what someone who is a threat would say.”

“I promise, 'm just a low-level Wielder. You have more power in your pinky finger than I have in my entire body.” A Wielder. That explains the weird feelings. It’s an old term, one used to describe those born into magical families without marginal power. Wielding witches or warlocks usually have enough magic in them to cast minimal impact spells, some charms and enchantments, things of little consequence. “I ah, work in the military. I don’t practice.” He admits, and that takes you by surprise.

“The military?”

“Aye.” An impish grin splits across his face. “I like blowing things up. Work with a special ops team, around the world. We’re on leave right now, but. That’s usually what I’m doing.” That’s different. Magical beings usually stay far away from things like government, or military. Easier to remain undetected that way, and it was fairly known that mortals were left to their own affairs, without magical interference. You find yourself asking the question before you can smack your lips shut.

“But, your family must-“ not like that? Shun you? Worry about you? must hate you for that? You’re not sure why you blurted it out, or even where you were going with it.

“My mum’s gone. Da too. Got a few siblings left but, we mostly keep to ourselves.” Oh.

“I’m sorry.” Shame curdles in your stomach, and you grimace. “I wasn’t trying to pry, I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright, happened a long time ago.”

“I shouldn’t have-“

“Fern.” He says quickly, your name laden with the same feeling from before, the richness of some unintelligible power, and you draw a sharp breath. “It’s alright, I promise.” You duck your head in silent apology, and the room stays quiet for a moment before he’s speaking again. “What is this?” He’s pointing to a black book, its spine cracked and writing illegible, to most.

“That’s a grimoire.”

“It looks… old. Like it’s seen better days.”

“It is, and it has.” You don’t elaborate, because you don’t know if you should, or even if you want to.

“Where’s it from?” He pushes.

“Here. It’s uh… from my coven. From a very long time ago.”

“You lot been around a long time?”

“You could say that.” You could say that’s an understatement. There were only a handful of old covens left in the world, ancient powers that slept beneath the skin of their witches, only growing stronger and stronger through their lengthy history and connection to the earth. Dangerous.

He continues on with his inquiries, and you give him as much information as you can, pulling books from their resting places and cracking them wide for his eyes, pointing out little things of interest here and there while he stands in awe, time ticking away until the clock in the hall is chiming for ten pm, and he’s apologizing for keeping you so late as you click the door shut.

“You’re not keeping me.” You assure him. “I live in the flat upstairs. Short commute.” You laugh.

“Well, thank ye. That was a delight. Old books like that, the ones that most do not get to see are… special. I’m grateful to ye, for sharing the collection with me.” He makes your head spin, with how earnest he is, how easy and honest he confesses such things to you. It makes your knees feel weak, makes your throat feel dry.

“Of course. Um, anytime you wanna, you know. Come by and look, I’m here.” You stand by awkwardly, while Jet scowls at you from her perch in the window. Your heart sinks when you realize he’s going to leave now, the knowledge that he’ll step out on the street and possibly never been seen by you again twisting in your soul like a sour edged blade.

“I ah… was going to go for a late dinner, would ye like to join me?” You don’t even process it right away, just nod, numbly, like a robot in front of him. Dinner? With him? You, and him?

“Yeah!” you blurt and then try not to cringe at your over eagerness. “Yes. Yes, I’m hungry so… dinner would be great.”

“Know any good spots around?”

“Uh, yeah there’s a place down the street a few blocks that has a great curry. We could walk?”

“Sure.” He agrees, and then steps outside to wait for you while you lock everything up.

Jet complains the entire time, loudly, and you try to shush her multiple times.

“Oh, stop!” you scold over her meows. “It’s just dinner. He’s nice.” She watches you with keen eyes, green spheres that probably know far more than you, before slinking off to the stairs in the back, taking herself up to the flat. “Goodnight then!” You yell after her, to which she responds with a frustrated growl.

Familiars. You sigh and roll your eyes. So dramatic.

“I lost my parents too.” You tell him one night, a week later. He’s met you after closing, in a park where you like to walk sometimes, and the two of you slowly stroll along the walking path as you trade questions and answers about one another’s lives. It’s somewhat dark, sun already set, but the orange light of a giant jack o lantern that sits in the green space’s center glows robustly and bathes the twilight in autumn hues. “I uh, didn’t want to say anything, because it felt like, not the right time but, yeah.”

“I’m sorry.” He says earnestly and you give him a tiny smile.

“Thanks, I was young. There’s not much I remember about it.” Mostly true. You really didn’t know much, even though you were there. You had the memories in pieces, the woods, the moon, the Fae that took your mother’s life. The spell that ended your father’s. All buried deep in your heart, untouched. Unvisited. You both lapse into silence, and you fight the awkwardness by posing a question, hoping to change the subject without being too obvious.

“How many siblings do you have?”

“I’ve got one sister, who I don’t get to see as often as I’d like. And then, my brothers, who aren’t mine by blood but by we’ve all been best friends for far too long now, living together, working together, traveling together. We’re… very bonded.”

“That’s sweet.” His head tips back with a laugh, before looking back to you.

“Sweet isn’t what I’d call them, but it’s something.”

“They’re like your family then?”

“Aye. Closest some of us ‘ll ever get.” There’s a pang of something in your heart at that, the idea that Johnny has both blood and love, people who have chosen him, who love him. You’ve never really had that, and the concept is practically foreign to you. “Look, there. It's you.” He points to a bush off to the left and you turn to him confused. “Little plant.” He explains, bemused, clearly pleased with himself and his terrible joke.

“Piss off.” You elbow him playfully, trying to push away, and he grabs you, pulling you into his side with a firm grip, half holding you to him in an embrace as he chuckles and rubs your shoulder affectionately.

“Sorry, little shrub.”

“What are ye doing for Samhain?” He asks the following day during his visit to the shop, a week before the dreaded night, and you gnaw on your lip.

“There’s a festival. We burn large pyres and dance in the moonlight.” You tease.

“Nude?” he smirks, and you laugh, nearly dropping the volume you’re shelving.

“No, gods no. Fully clothed, thank you.” You don’t mention the Divination, the ritual that is your own personal hell. “We drink, and dance, and those who have lost loved ones try to find their spirits. There’s also matchmaking, done by the elders. Which I painstakingly avoid.” He hands you another book, and you pop it into place. “Would you… would you like to come?” Why not? It’s not like anyone is going to tell you not to bring someone. Especially not when they need you so badly. He’s quiet, holding another book in his hand, staring down at the cover like he’s reading it. He’s silent for so long you start to worry, start to second guess yourself, start to think maybe, you read this wrong. Maybe, this isn’t what you thought it might be. Maybe he’s-

“I would be happy to.”

“Be watchful of the féth fíada.” The witch who stands beside a roiling cauldron warns, before pressing a mug into your waiting hands. “Something else is in these woods tonight.” You give your beverage to Johnny and then take the second mug from her, before leading him away, down the hill and closer to the fires.

“What’s the féth fíada?”

“It’s the mist. On Samhain, the veil is particularly thin between worlds, you know? Spirits are usually here with us, until the sun rises but…” You sip the cider, spice and warmth coating your tongue. “We, the coven, believe the Others come through at the same time, and use the mist to cloak themselves.” You gesture to the wispy white fog that rolls through the forest like smoke.

“The Others?” He asks, and you nod.

“Yes. That’s what we call them. The Fae.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Thought the Fae were a myth.” You laugh and turn to face him.

“I assure you, they’re very real.”

“Oh? Have ye encountered one then?” You shudder, like you’re cold, frightening memories pooling at the forefront of your mind until you shove them away.

“Once. When I was a child.” He frowns then, head cocked in consideration, faraway look in his eye as he casts his gaze over your shoulder. Like he’s looking for something. Like he’s seeing.

“Were ye hurt, Fern?” Hurt? No. Traumatized? The echo of your mother’s screams ring in between your ears.

“No.” Someone lights a new pyre a second after your denial, orange embers leaping into the night sky with grace, and it draws your attention enough to distract the both of you. “Come on.” You tug him towards where a group has gathered, bodies moving together in tandem with a chorus of strings that sing through the air. “Dance with me?” You ask him breathlessly, emboldened by the sniff of fire whiskey that sits in your cup and he smiles before draping an around your waist and pulling you close to his body.

“I’d like nothing more.”

Your feet are light, moving around one another with an elegance you didn’t know you possessed, effortlessly shifting with the rhythm and time of the music, fingers grazing along each other in tentative, desperately seeking touches.

“You’re beautiful, little witch.” He whispers against your ear, words soft and saccharine, floating on the warm air around you as you sway together in time to the music. His hand cups your jaw gently, tilting your chin upwards until you’re both looking at one another, his blue eyes alight with the reflection of the bonfire behind you, lovely and bright, burning down into your soul like a love spell. “I’d like to kiss ye, Fern.” He murmurs, voice strained and tinged with an accent you cannot place, and you blink while your heart rockets off at superspeed, sending blood buzzing with excited magic through your veins.

“Okay.” You murmur, and he smiles at you like you’re the most stunning creature he’s ever seen, before slowly lowering his lips to yours.

It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed it would be. You’ve kissed some men in your life, some women, but nothing compares to this. There’s an explosion inside of you when his mouth meets yours, the gentle coaxing of the way he holds you melting you into a boneless heap while you breathe him in, his scent practically transporting you to another world, a mossy, emerald-green wood with lush plant life and giant ferns that blanket the forest floor. The feel of him, of whatever this is, mixed with your magic and the magic in the air is a powerful elixir, one that seems to make the world tilt where you stand, gravity disappearing and your body pressing into his as a result. The closer you get, the more you can feel something in him, something strong, something powerful, lurking in the shadow of this moment, waiting. Watching. He tastes like oak and dew dropped grass, earthy and rich and magical, everything wrapping up into one as you practically go limp in his arms when he parts your lips with his tongue and sweeps inside.

When he pulls away he’s still holding you steady, while you stare at him wordlessly, smile tugging at your lips. The world feels quiet, like everything has all but died down, like mostly everyone has left except for you, and him. A second stretches on for a minute, for an hour, and you can’t bring yourself to tear your eyes away from his, your magic arcing wildly through the night sky, snapping and hissing with the overflow of your emotions. You never want this to end. You want this to last forever... you want him in more ways than you've ever known. You want-

"Fern! Fern!" Someone's calling you, over the noise of the night, and you reluctantly step back, realizing it’s your aunt’s voice carrying over the music and revelry.

“I… I have to…” You nod in her direction, where she stands beyond the pyre, at the seam of the forest, sealed mason jar of something in her hands.

“Of course.” He answers immediately, and takes your hand in his, folding his fingers between yours and petting his thumb over your knuckles. He brings them to his mouth, carding his lips over your skin with a gentle kiss, before giving your hand a squeeze and relaxing his grip. “I’ll see ye soon?”

“Y-yeah. Still want to do dinner, on Thursday?” Thursday should be fine, enough time to recover.

“I wouldn’t miss it.” He vows, strong and certain. You hear your name again, but don’t release him, and it’s not until he’s asking you if you’re alright that you realize you’re clutching to him too tightly. Like he’s a lifeline. Like he could save you from this. His free hand moves into your line of sight, and then he strokes a finger across your cheek, eyes worried, face creased with concern. “Fern? What is it?”

“Nothing. I… I have to go. I’ll see you Thursday.” He opens his mouth to speak but you’re already pulling away, releasing him and bringing the cowl of your hood up over your hair, slipping into the crowd without another word.

You stumble around the dancing and celebrating until you break through and reach the tree line, your aunt and another standing in their ceremonial black robes. You swallow a gasp when you see the jar, it’s clear liquid a tell-tale sign of what’s to come.

Divination.

Your aunt’s lips purse when she sees you.

“Are you ready?” No. No, no. Please don’t make me. You take a deep breath to try to steady yourself, clear your mind and settle your magic. No. No, you’re not ready. The forest cracks and chants around you, cacophony of voices screaming and singing at the same time. No, you don’t want this. You don’t want to do this. This is not what you were meant for, you know it in your heart. You do not want to hurt; you were not meant for harm. “Fern.” Her tone snaps like a whip against your skin.

“Yes.”

You lay still for days, after. Unable to sleep, your eyes never close, your mind never settles, the adrenaline crystalizing in your bones as you drag yourself back and forth from your bathroom to bed, over and over.

You wash hands hundreds of times, but you still see the blood stains on your palms, under your nails, splattered up to your elbows.

Your power burns throughout you, magic heating the air with fervor and thrall, chanting voices culminating around you as you seek the vessels in his body and pull, drawing each drop through him and into yourself, ruby ichor spouting from his mouth like a furious volcano, blood dripping from his lips like the hallowed tears of the old gods. It’s everywhere, on your hands, your arms, your face, your neck, the earth. You imbue it with power, pushing your connections with the roots beneath the soil upwards, into the blood while the breeze sizzles and shatters, mist gathering around your ankles like shackles meant to drag you below.

You close your eyes thousands of times, but you still see the face of the man, still see his fear, still hear his pleas, his screams, his cries for mercy as you bleed him dry, scrying for the future with the litres of his blood.

The visions come quickly, splintering through your head with a sharpness that hurts, and you cry out amidst the pain, your mind being ripped into pieces as you scream. There are hands on you, arms cloaked in dark robes, holding you up, holding you steady while your magic vibrates through the ground and into your bones, filling your sight with the future. Clips of death, birth, tragedy echo behind your closed lids, the mineral scent of blood filling your nostrils until you think it will be burned there permanently.

Tears stream down your cheeks, cutting a path through the spray of red that paints your face.

Your cries join the reprise of the man who sits dying at your feet, the force of his life draining through your magic, bending and weaving with the power from the earth and your own blood until he’s nothing but a husk, a desecrated corpse that lays silently as you collapse in front of it.

The visions do not stop. They will not stop for days.

The elders extract the ones that pertain to them from your mind through their own spell, the process nearly as painful as the Divining itself. They hold you down to the ground to get what they want, pinning your shoulders with a bruising grip, cutting your skin to smear their fingers in your blood, holding your head still as you thrash. Their hands hurt. You will wear their marks for weeks.

Your aunt deposits you on your back doorstep in a heap as the sun rises.

No one calls. No one comes.

You lay alone in your bed, eyes peeled wide, seeing into endless futures, broken stories of other worlds, other beings, other places that you’ll never know. Places you’ll only ever read about in books Places that you’ll only see through this horrid act, or your restless dreams.

Your brain fractures into tiny little pieces. Your own understanding becomes non sensical.

You become lost between planes. Lost in your own mind. Lost to the Divination.

Jet never leaves your side. The shop stays shuttered, as it does every year after Samhain, no one coming or going, your lone employee enjoying her annual week after Halloween vacation.

Eventually your eyes close. You sleep fitfully. You dream of the visions, the screams, the sacrifice.

Finally, you regain enough strength to weave a weak spell that helps quiet your mind, and then you truly rest, for the first time in days. You rest, and you sleep until Thursday afternoon, when there’s a rapping against your door.

Johnny.

“Hey little sprout, what’s-“ the words die on his lips when you peek around the door, and the color drains from his face. “Fern.” He whispers.

“Hi.” You know how you appear. Strung out, most likely. Battered. Exhausted. Bruised. You try to fix the top of the knit shawl that you have draped over your shoulders, but it’s far too late. He’s already seen.

“What… what’s happened?”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine.” You try to play it off but it’s pointless now.

“Who did this?” The demand is harsh, and rage simmers in his eyes, fury crackling along his skin and into the air between you. He looks… different, something primordial reflecting in his gaze, something ominous etched in the lines of his face. The question holds a promise of violence, of punishment, and being so close to him in this moment makes your head spin. It makes you feel like the very fabric of this world is tearing apart, ripping to pieces around you as he stands there, an otherworldly feeling swirling in the air between your two bodies. It suffocates you, pushes you into the dark depths of waters that feel all too familiar, like the leftover scars on your mind from the Divination are being ripped wide open and plunging you back between celestial planes.

“Johnny," You manage to choke out, voice rough and trembling. "it’s fine, I- I’m okay. It’s just… the aftermath. Of Samhain.” Your voice breaks, the tenor of your sadness something that’s out of your control, tears caught in your throat. He stares at you, bewildered, a hand raised midair before it falls to his side in a fist, and he turns away. “Johnny?” He doesn’t respond, and you watch the smooth skin of his jaw flex and harden. He stares into the distance, across the street, into the sky.

Looking anywhere but you.

It’s because he can’t stand to see you.

You look awful.

You look monstrous.

You are monstrous.

“No one should ever touch ye like this.” He bites out, his knuckles tensing against the door frame. His eyes are angry, and wild, burning a hole into your clavicle, where your skin sits exposed, healing from a gash. You shift, a little uncomfortable under the scrutiny, and then he snaps his gaze up to yours, face immediately softening, lips parting, expression rife with unease. With worry. “Are ye… are ye okay?”

“Yes. Just a bit tired.”

“If it’s too much, to have dinner-“

“No! N-no, no. I want… to see you. I want to. Just not sure if I feel up to going out?” He understands, nodding sympathetically, brow furrowed with thought.

“I could go get a takeaway?” Your stomach chooses to rumble at that exact moment, and a small smile plays on his lips.

“That would be wonderful.”

“Alright.” He steps just a little closer, close enough for you to get a deep inhale of him, that woodsy, mossy, magical scent, and swoops down to land a gentle kiss to your cheek before pulling your hand into his and bringing it to his lips, eyes slipping closed with a shuddering breath when he presses a kiss to your palm. “I’ll be right back. You'll be alright?”

“Yeah, 'm fine.”

He feeds you until you cannot eat anymore. He plies you with noodles of too many kinds, different cartons that overflow spread out on the coffee table, in front of where you sit curled up on the couch. You’re still exhausted, eyes straining to stay open, and eventually, you’re sinking lower and lower into the cushions, legs sprawled across his lap, his hand smoothing up and down your calf. It’s warm, and comforting, and you swear you can feel little zings of magic moving inside you, lulling you into a peaceful rest, cocooning you in hazy feelings of softness and safety.

Hours later, in the dark, lips press to your forehead. Your body curls against something warm, face flush against the steady thump of a heartbeat. Someone whispers in your ear.

“Sleep well, little witch.”

“Tell me about your magic.” He asks one night, a few days after you fell asleep on the couch, when you’re finally back to your normal self, spending most of your time getting caught up on everything you let slip during your post Samhain recovery period.

Having Johnny around has seemed to help, somehow. He’s been here, every day since, like he’s unwilling to let you out of his sight, showing up in the mornings before you open the shop with a coffee and sweet, a baked treat that two of you usually split as you go about tidying things around the front room. He hovers, his fingers lightly tracing over your skin often, grasping your hand in his, pressing his lips to your palm reverently throughout the day. You’re not sure how, or why, but it seems your magic and mind have taken to having him around, and you feel better, more well than you normally would during the Divination healing process, your head clear and wounds mostly mended.

“What about it?”

“There were many witches, warlocks, magical beings at the festival, but I didn’t feel anyone quite like ye.” A keen observation. You hem and haw, debating how much to truly tell him, debating how to make it sound… less insane.

“There aren’t any witches like me anymore, really.” You say quietly, casting a mournful look to where he sits on the wicker sofa, legs spread wide. You’re both sitting on your flat’s back porch, enjoying the crisp weather that has a chill to it, the coolness of air refreshing against your skin. “I’m a blood spinner.” He gives you a confused look.

“What’s that?”

“It’s like… a special kind of witch, in my coven. We aren’t exactly… the most orthodox of our kind.”

“What do ye mean?” Ah, fuck. You chew on the inside of your cheek, hesitant to break your oath, to betray the promises you made to protect the secrets that rule your existence.

But it’s Johnny.

And you trust him.

“My coven… we’re blood witches. We deal in blood, water, bone. Living things and… such. We can craft spells that affect other forms of life. It’s generally taboo, now. There aren’t any covens left alive that practice blood magic, except us.”

“And what is a blood spinner?” At the same time as he poses his question, he taps his thigh meaningfully, and you rise from the chair that you were sitting in to lower yourself into his lap, edge of your dress sliding down your thigh when he tucks his arm under your knees. His palm skates up and down the back of your leg, and goosebumps raise the hair on the back of your neck.

“Every few decades, a witch like me is born. They call us blood spinners, which is really just a made-up name for someone who’s… connected.”

“Connected?”

“We rely heavily on our connection to the earth, and most of my coven cannot pull on those connections without casting some sort of spell. I can do it… naturally.” You take a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. “I feel connections to the earth, the elements, especially water, so intensely sometimes it feels like they’re a part of me. During our walk the other week? I could feel the trees, breathing. Could feel the grass growing. Could hear the rapid heartbeats of the ducks in the pond. All without using a single spell. Using my magic is not something I have to cast for, like most others. I can just… do it.”

“I’m still not following.” Of course he’s not. Because you sound insane.

“Right, sorry. Most witches perform magic by casting spells. It’s how they organize and harness their power, pushing the chaotic force of it into something that can contain it, regulate it, give it a purpose.”

“But not you.”

“No. If a witch in my coven wanted to, let’s say, cast a love spell, they’d need an incantation. They could do it, of course, because blood and bone are the primary targets of such a spell, but they’d still need one. They’d write it themselves or get it from someone else if they weren’t confident in their spell making. But I… could just do it. Could just manipulate the blood, enchant it with my own power. Straight from the source. No words. No chanting.”

“Just your power.”

“Yes.” You hesitate. Might as well, while you’re at it. “And, I can use blood to see the future.” He stiffens.

“Divination?” You nod, and he studies you before murmuring quietly, “I didn’t know mortal witches could practice Divination.” Mortal witches? What is that supposed to mean?

“They can’t. We’re not mortal.” His eyes narrow.

“What?”

“My coven has always used their gifts to prolong their lives. It is a blessing, and a curse.” He raises an eyebrow in surprise and you shake your head. “Not me, though. Not yet, anyway. I’m still my natural age.” You offer him a toothy grin, and while he nods thoughtfully, his brow furrows in contemplation.

“Well, aren't ye full of surprises, eh?” He hums, and then presses you closer, leaning forward until his mouth is waiting, just above yours.

“Kiss me.” You whisper, fingers clutched in his shirt, desperate for him, for his touch, for anything he could give you.

“Ye never have to ask.” He answers, and then seals his lips to yours, stealing your breath while his hand sinks into your hip, your body heating under his ministrations, your head dizzy with lust and affection for him. He shifts you in one movement, so you’re straddling him, and you can feel the outline of his cock in his jeans beneath you, can feel the heaviness that sits there. You sink down, just slightly, enough that your clothed cunt barely rubs over him, the contact sending little electric shocks through your body, and you whimper into his mouth. “Fern.” He murmurs, and you sneak your tongue past his teeth, lavishing him as much as you can, eager to soak up every piece he’s willing to give. He groans, and your hands drift to his waist, a thumb tucking beneath his skin and the button of his jeans, desperate to touch, to feel, to have him… when his fingers encircle your wrist and pull you away. “We canna’ dove. It’s late.” He says mournfully. Your heart sinks, soul cresting with sadness, and he strokes some strands of hair from your face gently.

Why doesn’t he want you? Were you reading things wrong? Have you done something?

He brings your palm to his lips, kissing you tenderly, and some of the bitterness leeches from your soul, your heart gentling it's disappointment, your dejection ebbing away on silken spun clouds.

“Right. Of course.”

He sighs, like he’s bearing the weight of the entire world, before knocking his forehead against yours gently.

“I’m sorry, sweet Fern. It’s not you, ah just… it’s late.”

“That’s alright, I understand.” You hoist yourself off his lap, and he scratches his head, more so in a way that seems to be a nervous tic than a necessary action, and you shrug. He stands, body held in stasis halfway to you, arm extended like he wants to touch you, grab you, but he’s holding back. You eye the porch door, and he frowns, something uneasy flickering across his gaze. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” you blurt before he can say anything, and he tenses.

“Of course.” He rushes to assure you, and you give him a nod before turning away.

“Goodnight.” You call over your shoulder, before slipping inside your flat and flicking off the porch light.

“You’ve mentioned… you ‘ave books about mermaids?” His fork digs through the container of noodles, lifting a perfect mouthful to his lips after the question, and you nod with your own mouth full of pad see ew.

“Sort of. They’re not really… mermaids in the sense like, Ariel and such.” You’re sitting opposite him upstairs, in the kitchen of your flat, with a window open, cool breeze flowing through your curtains. Your mind wanders to the ancient Greek text that sits on one of the shelves, it’s writing penned by the old gods themselves, words magicked by you to be hidden from most eyes. “They’re different.”

“The Nereids.” He says plainly, and you blink in surprise. “The ones who lure mortals to their deaths?”

“You know of the Nereids?” He nods, scooping another bite into his mouth, swallowing before he continues.

“My mum used to tell me stories about them. Said they were hunters, used blood spells to trap their victims.” You sigh into your wine glass. His fingers snake across the table and then up your forearm, tracing featherlight touches on the inside of your wrist.

“They don’t use blood spells.”

“No?”

“No.” You scoff. “Their magic is much more complex than that. The blood songs are not spelled. They’re naturally occurring. The Nereids do not choose who sings to them.”

“So, it could be anyone.” He muses, and you shrug.

“Yeah. I’m sure it’s pre-determined by something, somewhere. Some magical force but, the mortals… they’ve no idea. It’s not like they choose, to have their hearts ripped from their chest during sex.” Johnny startles on the stool, body shifting in a rapid movement, so quick your eyes almost don’t catch it. “You didn’t know?” It wouldn’t surprise you. Not much is known about the Nereids. You only hold this knowledge because your coven is well informed, due to the length of their lives, and because you possess one of the few texts left that references them in such detail. Both you and your coven hold the truth of what lurks in the sea close to your hearts. Another secret to keep, another truth never to be borne.

But the wine has made your tongue loose and well, you can’t help but give him everything he wants, anything he’s asked. His eyes flash, and he cradles your hand in his, stroking across your palm with his thumb.

Your words flow so easily, so uninhabited.

It feels so free, so right.

“No. Had no idea.” He watches you carefully, dancing candlelight spinning shadows along the walls and across his face. He looks handsome as usual, but something in the way he regards you now feels different. Dangerous. Thrilling. Your thighs press together almost subconsciously, low whirring of need humming inside your body, and your fingers tighten on the stem of you glass as you continue.

“Yeah, they need them… to live. It’s very… complex. The song creates a pull of sorts, I think.” You drain your glass before motioning to the wine bottle, tugging its contents into your glass with a little flick of magic. “It’s pretty sad. They fall in love with their victims for a night, and then harvest the organ and eat it before the sun comes up. It’s what sustains them. The love, the blood, the magic.” You gesture to the bottle and then to him, and he encourages you with a nod. “It all comes from the heart, you know?” You tap your own for reference, finger padding at the skin over your breastbone, over top where your heart beats just a little faster than normal.

“Aye, I guess it does.” He murmurs, fingertips light against your skin. His attention is focused on you, unwaveringly so, and you fidget under the scrutiny. He looks so… ethereal, in the dim candlelight, so otherworldly that you have to blink a few times to make sure you’re not seeing things.

You’re not.

He’s just really so, so beautiful.

It’s late when Johnny poses another question, clearing his throat over the low volume of a movie playing in the background. He lays behind you on the couch, the curve of your ass pressed into his hips, his arm slung over your belly, palm pressed to space above your navel. His breath fawns over your cheek, and he presses soft kisses to your temple in quick succession before you feel the vibration in his chest.

“I was thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“What if… it was someone you knew? The mortal, who had the Nereid’s song. Could you save them somehow?” It’s an interesting question, and you pause for a moment. His fingers stroke the back of your hand, before wrapping around your wrist and bringing your palm towards his mouth, lips pressing a gentle kiss to your skin before pulling you tighter into his embrace.

“I don’t know. I suppose you could, extract the song. You’d have to call it forth because it’s naturally occurring. You couldn’t just… cast a spell. You’d have to summon it, bind it to something, probably yourself, and then pull it from the mortal that way, but then you’d be dooming the Nereid to die. They need the heart, to live. I don’t think I could make that choice.” His hand skates along your ribs, under your t shirt, stroking up and down your skin slowly. Soothingly.

“I don’t think I could either.”

“That’s not what I meant!” You shriek with laughter, chest expanding as you rock backwards, leaning away from him and his devilish smile. His arm wraps firmly around your waist, keeping you close to him, fingers playing across your clavicle while you giggle.

“Aye but it’s what ye said.” He’s been taunting you relentlessly about last night, when you fell asleep on the couch and then proceeded to talk for a few hours, all while you were blissfully tucked away in a dream somewhere.

“Nooo Johnny.” You moan, mortified, and bury your face in his chest. You peek up at him, and your eyes betray you, even though it’s the last thing you want. You cannot hide it, the giddiness, the happiness you feel when you’re around him. It swamps you in glee, exuberance oozing from every one of your pores. Your power feels sweeter, feels lighter, feels more peaceful now than it ever has before.

You know it’s because of him.

You dread that it’s because of him.

Four days later, you’re cataloguing some new arrivals when the front door of the shop bangs open, smacking against the wall, nearly shaking the building, the sound alone bringing you to your feet in a panic.

Your aunt stands in the doorframe, body thrumming with spells just barely contained, anger flooding the space between the two of you.

“What have you done?” She screeches, eyes mad with rage, and you stare at her horror while Jet hides behind your legs.

“I don’t... what’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” She jeers with an acidity that taints the air. “You’ve always been such a foolish child.”

“I don’t understand…”

That male you brought to Samhain wasn’t a mortal, you stupid girl. He was Fae.”

“Johnny? No, he’s… he’s not. He’s-“ He’s not. He couldn’t be. He wouldn’t lie to you.

“Have you not heard? What’s happened?” she spits. She's confused. She must be. This can't be right.

“Heard what?”

“A Nereid has been taken, to Faerie. By one of them.” You laugh nervously in her face, the absurdity of her statement unsettling.

“No, that’s not possible.” Why would a Nereid leave their home? How would they leave their home? They need human hearts to survive, after all. How would that even…

The room spins. Your Aunt continues to scream, going on and on about how stupid you are, how foolish and naïve, how you’re lucky you’re the blood spinner because otherwise, the coven would have already burnt you at the stake. Alive.

But you cannot focus on any of it.

All you can hear, all you can picture, is the horrid replays of those conversations with Johnny.

All you can think about, is how easily your lips spilled those secrets. How free it all felt. How right.

“You know of the Nereids?”

“I didn’t know mortal witches could practice Divination.”

“I suppose you could, extract the song…”

“They don’t use blood spells.”

“You’d have to summon it, bind it to something, probably yourself…”

“It all comes from the heart, you know?”

“Oh, gods.” You whisper, mouth dropping open in shock. Your aunt finally goes silent, the whole room falling quiet as the blood rushes in your ears.

“You’re dead to us. You’ll perform your duties for Divination, when necessary, but outside of that, you’re to be shunned. No one is to speak to you, of you, ever again.” She pauses, glaring at you with contempt. “The jury’s still out, on whether you’ll be tried and burned.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t know… I didn’t do it intentionally.” You don’t even know why you’re trying to explain yourself, why you’re bothering. She won’t listen. No one will care. You broke your oath. You betrayed the thing you were supposed to protect. Your chest heaves, lungs fighting for air as the walls narrow in on where you stand.

All for some stupid attention. All because some guy, someone you thought was just a harmless mortal with a tinge of power, smiled at you and kissed you sweetly. Because he told you were beautiful, and held your hand, and went on walks with you in the park. Because he kissed you like you meant something, like you mattered.

Your aunt stops at the door, casting a parting remark over her shoulder as she leaves.

“Your poor mother, Fern. I hope her spirit never discovers what you’ve done.”

It doesn’t take long, to find him. You thread your power through the city, scrying your magic through every drop on blood on every street, every corner, ever floor of every building until you locate him, sitting at a two top table outside of a pub, a handsome male across from him. They’re speaking in hushed tones as you turn the corner, and you stop for a moment to take them in.

How could you not have seen this?

Those strange feelings, his scent, the shadow of something primordial in those eyes were all trying to tell you the same thing.

This male is not a man at all, but Fae.

You stomp down the rest of the block, urging mortals away, using your magic to push them, to send them scurrying in other directions, just as the one sitting opposite Johnny spots you, mouth dropping into an o of surprise before he’s speaking, lips moving rapidly.

Johnny swivels in his chair, but it’s too late. You’re already upon them.

Your rage, your shame overshadows your hurt, the fear that threatens to drown you, as you stand in front of him spitting mad, your magic swirling around you in violent hues of red and purple while he stares, dumbfounded.

“You tricked me, you Fae bastard.” He stands, hand outstretched in a cautionary gesture.

“Fern-“ He tries, but you steamroll him. He’s Fae. Don’t listen to a word he says.

“You used me!” You hiss, fist unclenching, raising in front of your body like a weapon.

“No, listen-“ The other one, like him, is standing off to his left, watching you warily while you yell, tears wet on your cheeks. He steps closer, coming to stand nearly behind Johnny’s shoulder before Johnny waves him off with a concerned look on his face.

“No! You listen! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Your power throbs through you, biting and gnawing to get out, to strike him down and hurt him, hurt him as he’s hurt you, betray him as he’s betrayed you. Your feelings and thoughts and magic all swirl together, weaving and bending into a chaotic mass of pain and sorrow and anger, surging forward, and then your finger extends, pointing right at him.

In the blink of an eye the air shifts and he drops his glamour, exposing the true strength of his power, the tips of his ears, the mighty weight of the magic he carries in his veins.

Your words die on your tongue.

His hand darts forward, strong fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you close, close enough that he can incline his head above your ear, voice razor sharp, lethal and cold when he whispers in an accent you've never heard before:

“Did ye just point at me, little witch?” You’re stunned for a moment, terror galloping through your heart before your sense of self-preservation kicks in and you wrench your arm away, stepping back as quickly as you can.

“Stay away from me.” You hiss. Johnny hasn’t reverted back to how you know him, with the soft angles and rounded ears, his glamoured state, you now realize, and staring him down is a feat in its own. It hurts, to look at him, and you know it’s intentional, you know it’s the way they operate. They aim to sow fear. To scare. Their blinding beauty is just another means to an end, just another tool for them to use.

Something shifts, and Johnny’s eyes move, the intensity of their gaze wavering as he regards you.

He looks… upset.

No. No he doesn’t. He’s not remorseful. He doesn’t care. He used you. He lied to you. He tricked you.

You step away slowly, afraid to show your back to him, and he takes a half lunge towards your retreating form but it’s too late, you’re too far away from him now, and when you finally turn to run, you hear his voice on the wind.

“Fern, wait!”

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k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9 · 1 month

Text

Lynyrd Skynyrd –What's Your Name

#Lynyrd Skynyrd #Live From Freedom Hall #What's Your Name #Format:#CD #Album #DVD #DVD-Video #Released:#2010 #Southern Rock #Classic Rock #USA

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xhoneywheatx · 5 months

Text

Family

Warnings: None Category: Fluff Summary: How I'd imagine a surprise visit from you and your daughter to Levi would go.

"Oh my gosh!" Hange excitedly cheered your name upon seeing you in the mess hall with your adorable 8-month-old daughter sleeping soundly on your chest in her harness. With a hand securely on your child's back, you waved at her with your other hand after placing your soup spoon in it's bowl.

Hange scurried across the room and gave you her best side hug so as to not disturb the tiny human on your chest. "It's so good to see you here! How've you been?" She bombarded you with questions causing you to giggle behind your hand. You knew why she was so excited. It was your first time being here in the HQ building. You usually opted to stay home and tend to your cute little house with your husband in the Canaleth district with your growing child. You had been a part of the Survey Corps around two years ago, when you first found out about your pregnancy, and took the necessary precaution to hang up your Wings of Freedom for the time being.

You helped out as much as you could, administratively, but when the morning sickness started bedridding you, Levi, as nicely as possible, ordered you to stay home. Since then, you really haven't been around much, only being in around the town you live it to keep your pregnancy as stress free as possible. Your husband was not one to argue with you either.

"I'm fine Hange. So is the little one too!" You looked down at your precious daughter and began to feel her moving around in her harness at the sound of her name. "Oh! She's waking up!" Hange exclaimed slightly lowering herself to look at your baby. She opened her big beautiful eyes and stared into Hange's. "Oh, you got so big KK!" Hange's smile caused your daughter to lightly giggle despite being woken up.

"Does he know you're here?" Hange asked meticulously fixing your daughter's sock that was halfway off her tiny little foot. "He doesn't. Thought I'd bring the baby here to surprise him. He's been so stressed and upset from not seeing us lately." You spoke brushing your child's dark curls out of her face.

"That explains why he's been more grumpy." You and Hange giggled at the little insult. While you two were off in your own world, the doors to the mess hall opened and in came the cadets. Chatter began to build up as they all lined up to get their plates to get the much needed grub after sparring in the heat for the last two hours.

You were so caught up in your conversation with Hange and your baby occasionally babbling as if she were in the conversation that you didn't notice three new faces sitting carefully sitting in front of you with curious eyes. It wasn't until you noticed your baby, now sitting with her back on your tummy, out of her harness, wasn't paying attention to you anymore. You looked down to follow her gaze and was met with piercing green, dark, and blue eyes.

"Oh, hello." You spoke with a smile on your face. The boy with the blue eyes and blonde hair adverted his eyes from your face with a pink blush on his cheeks.

Cute, you thought.

"Hey guys!" Hange greeted.

"S-section Commander Hange.." The boy with the green eyes and brown hair stuttered his greeting. They barely noticed her beside you munching on her own food that's gone a bit cold from how long it's been there. "Eren, Mikasa, Armin." Hange addressed each of the kids before getting up to dispose of her plate, telling you she'd be back in a jiffy.

"W-who are you? I-I've never seen you around here..." The blue eyed boy, you now knew as Armin, asked timidly. After studying their faces a bit more, you realized that they couldn't have been over 15 years old. Such a young age to join- the Survey Corps at that. The thought made your heart tighten a little. You slightly wondered what could have caused these kids to join at such a young age.

However, your thoughts were cut short when... "Yeah! Are you a cadet like us?" The boy with the bright green eyes, now Eren, asked rather excitedly.

"Eren." The girl, Mikasa, warned.

So, she's the protective type, you gauged.

With a smile on your face, you happily spoke up while letting your daughter nibble on her teething ring making the cutest noises in your arms. You felt a little drool on your hand that held her in place, but you ignored it. "I am- well, used to be, Squad Leader Adachihara-"

"Used to be? You were in the scouts?" Eren cut you off.

"Eren," Mikasa started. "It's rude to cut people off." She chastised. The boy went on to defend himself, explaining to her that he's just curious when you chimed back in to diffuse the little disagreement. "It's okay," You held your hand up before continuing. "I got pregnant with my daughter about two years ago. Pregnant soldiers aren't allowed to be in the ranks as a soldier let alone a Squad Leader." You explained.

Naturally, your eyes drifted to Mikasa and you saw a ghost of a blush color her face.

At the mention of your child, the three of them looked down at her, who was lost in her own world wiggling and giggling in your arms, occasionally waving her teething ring around. You noticed Armin's gaze lingered on her for a bit longer than the others, almost as if he were studying her. A few compliments later and you five were engaging in a rather informative conversation for the cadets. You answered as many questions as you could so as to not scare them but prepare them for the world beyond the walls. Hange even threw in a 15-minute spiel about how fascinating titans were before leaving to grab a cup of coffee.

"If you don't mind me asking miss," Armin started. You gave him your name which caused another bloom of pink to dust his cheeks after correcting himself. "... um, where are you from?" You knew the question would come up sooner or later. "Well, long story short, my family has always been here on Paradis. My clan just resides in the Canaleth district. We all have darker skin a curly hair like mine. If you've never been to the district, you'll probably live your entire life without knowing we exist." Your smile grew a bit wider once you read his question a bit deeper. "If you're asking why I look different from you three, I'm not sure, but that doesn't make me any different." You raised your eyebrows at him as he panicked telling you that's not at all what he meant.

During his apology that honestly made you giggle, Hange returned and sat back down with a wide grin on her face.

"Sorry it took so long. I just ran into your husband and Erwin."

You looked down at your daughter who was already peering up at you. "You hear that baby, Daddy's here." You grinned. "Da!" She exclaimed before turning her little head around to search for him. Her excitement warmed your heart. She was definitely a daddy's girl.

"You're married to someone here?" Eren asked, shocked at the new information presented to him. You nodded at him. "Did you know that Section Commander?" Armin asked after Eren. Hange nodded before reaching her hands out to your baby. She began grabbing the air at Hange and leaned over to her saying, "Mmmm! Mmmm!" telling you to let her go. You gave her up and watched as she immediately began playing in Hange's wild hair.

"Who is it?"

Hange looked over at you and winked, causing you to blush. "You'd never guess!" She exclaimed. Eren looked between Mikasa and Armin before looking back at you. "Is it the Commander?" Mikasa asked. He seemed to be a family man. It was the most logical answer to her. At the mention of his name, your nose turned up in disgust.

"Uh-uh." You shook your head before taking a drink of water from your glass. "Erwin is like my brother." You spoke freely, choosing not to address him as the commander. You never did anyway so why start now?

"Is it the weird guy that smells everything?" Eren asked earning a glare from Mikasa at his careless words to describe a higher up. "Mike?" You made a face before shaking your head again. You looked towards Armin who had his gaze set on your daughter again. "Your daughter looks very familiar. She almost looks like Cap-"

"What are you three doing?" A familiar voice spoke from behind your left shoulder causing you to look over along with your daughter and Hange. Immediately, your daughter began bouncing up and down from excitement and grabbed at the air for him.

"Da! Da!"

"Captain Levi is your husband?!" Eren exclaimed causing a bit of attention to land on your table.

"And what of it Jeager? Got a problem?" He asked, narrowing his eyes at the young boy. "Da! Da!" Your daughter was now trying to lean over Hange's shoulder, who was laughing at their shocked expressions as Levi gently scooped him daughter up in his arms and settled her on his hip as she tried her best to wrap her tiny arms around his neck in a hug.

You saw the faint curve of his lips upward at the gesture and planted a kiss on her forehead.

"N-No sir!" Eren exclaimed, scrambling to his feet to give him a salute.

"Get outta here brat. You've pestered my wife and child enough."

You giggled at his brashness. It reminded you of how things were before you took maternity leave. Levi hasn't changed much since you left. Well, at work. At home, he was completely different. Clingy, soft, and most importantly, a little happier.

Eren scurried off with Armin leaving Mikasa to fight back an eye roll at their skittishness. She gathered their forgotten plates and slightly bowed to the table before leaving your little group alone.

"I'll go find them." Hange offered before taking her cup of half-finished coffee with her leaving you and Levi.

"Da!"

And Kuchel.

"What are you doing here?" He asked hearing his voice soften tremendously. No matter where you two were, sparring, in a meeting, or even slicing through 15 meter titans, Levi always seemed to talk to you in a softer tone, expressing his admiration for you this way. You noticed his eyes would soften upon speaking to his squad, Hange, and Erwin, but the look never reached his tone.

It was his way of telling you that you were special to him. The only other person he did this for was Kuchel- who was stuffing Levi's cravat in her tiny little fist trying to put it in her mouth. The action made you laugh a little while trying to contain your blush from his undivided attention. His eyes haven't left you since he sat down, only when pulling something inedible from your daughter's stubby hands knowing she'd put it in her mouth.

"You haven't been home lately," You attempted to hold his loving gaze noticing him taking in your appearance. His beautiful grey eyes scanned your pretty face noticing the little details such as you filling out your eyebrows some, a different lip gloss that had hints of glitter, and the fact that you actually used the mascara you purchased a few weeks ago.

"...so I..." you lost your train of thought getting lost in his eyes. Your heartrate sped up slightly and your breathing became slightly irregular. You were sure the cherry blush on your face darkened to crimson the longer you held his gaze. Unable to withstand the pressure, you adverted your eyes and took a quick deep breath, telling yourself to calm down.

How he still had this effect on you four years later was beyond you.

"Cat got your tongue sweetheart?" He teased, lowering his voice to keep your conversation private considering the number of unwanted eyes on you two following Eren's outburst.

"Levi." You whined, feeling your temperature spiking at the intimate name. He laughed, making it sound more like a scoff to go unnoticed by the cadets and an eavesdropping Hange.

"Ma! Ma! Mmmm! Mmmm!" Kuchel began to whine and wriggle in Levi's arms making grabby hands at you, well... your boobs. She was hungry. Levi immediately noticed this and ushered his little family into his private quarters on the fourth floor and helped you get comfortable before going to find Erwin. After taking much longer than he wanted, he finally found the blonde tucked away in the library nose deep in a history book. From there, he told the commander of the surprise visit where Erwin smiled a genuine smile for the first time in a long time. Not having a family of his own yet, he was happy for Levi and granted him the rest of the day off to catch up on the much-needed family time.

Levi graciously accepted and went back to his quarters to tell you the good news. Upon arriving back and opening the door, he realized just how long he had been gone. You were laying on you side with your breasts exposed so your daughter could eat comfortably, but upon further investigation, he realized that you two fell asleep like that.

With a small smile on his face, Levi locked the door and pulled out a change of clothes and headed into the bathroom to change. Upon putting his uniform in the dirty clothes hamper, he exited the bathroom and placed a pillow on the other side of your daughter, on the edge of the bed, in case she got a little wild during her nap. He then carefully crawled on the bed behind you, pulling your shirt and sports bra down in the process.

He gently pulled you into his chest, leaving a little space between you and Kuchel to give her some space, and buried his nose in your pineapple bun, enjoying the scent of coconut oil and your peppermint shampoo. Levi didn't nap with you two, but instead chose to enjoy the little intimate moment in the quiet.

It was in this moment that Levi forgot what lied on the outside walls. All that went through his head in this moment was how lucky he was to have the God above bless him with the two most important women in his life. It made him all the more excited to give you more children, to live with you for the rest of his life. He was genuinely happy.

#levi x black reader #levi attack on titan #levi aot #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #attack on titan #aot x reader #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman smut #snk levi #snk x reader #hange zoe #erwin smith

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krirebr · 5 months

Text

More Than This 2

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x f!reader, Steve Rogers & f!reader

Word Count: ~6.1k

Summary: Arranged marriages have always been used to solidify business deals among the ultra-wealthy. Your stepfather wants to be in business with Harlan Thrombey, so now it's your turn.

Warnings: Heavy angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, no noncon but some fear of it, excessive alcohol use, explicit language, the slooowest burn - Warnings will be added as needed for subsequent parts. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Part One

Masterlist

A/N: Another part already??? This one has just been flowing right out of me. It occurs to me that I should probably explicitly state that this will have a happy ending! Possibly very far in the future, but it will happen!! 😂😭

Huge thanks again to @paperweight91 for reading so much of this and letting me know when I was on the right track.

Visual references for the ring and dress can be found here.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Even if it's just screeching at me. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Despite your best efforts, the next three weeks went by in a blink.

The engagement ring arrived the day after your disastrous dinner with Ransom. It was beautiful—a round diamond with a smaller sapphire on each side, set in swirling filigree. You wondered who picked it. Certainly not Ransom. Probably someone’s assistant. It felt like fire around your finger.

You’d packed up the small apartment you loved so much. Sorting everything into what you would bring and what would be put into storage – the latter category was much bigger. You sat in your living room, surrounded by boxes, and cried, with Steve beside you and Lola nervously shaking in your lap.

Your mother took you to pick your dress. She sat on the plush couch in the appointment-only boutique and sipped champagne while you tried on dress after dress that the attendants brought you. Her favorite was an ivory satin ballgown with off-the-shoulder short sleeves, a bow at the bottom of the back, and a very wide skirt. She cried when you put it on. You told her it was your favorite too, because you just didn’t have it in you to have an opinion.

The Thrombey clan came into town the week before the wedding. Their time was mostly spent in meetings with Joseph and his team. Meeting the new extended family was to be left for the wedding festivities.

You hadn’t heard a word from Ransom. You’d thought of texting him a few times but couldn’t see the point in it. He’d made his feelings on you and your upcoming marriage clear. Any added effort would just be torturing yourself.

Then, suddenly, the rehearsal dinner was passing without incident. It was a catered affair, held at your parents’ house. Despite being one of the two nominal guests of honor, aside from the initial introductions, you were mostly ignored, as business remained the topic at the forefront of everyone’s minds. Ransom was there, of course, seated next to you, even, but he did his best to avoid you. You were torn between intense relief for the moment and absolute terror for what it meant for your future. When you noticed him quietly ducking out, you took the opportunity to leave as well, hoping most people would think you’d absconded together. The thought made you laugh bitterly.

You spent your last night of freedom snuggled up with Lola in Steve’s guest room. You barely slept.

Now, you sat in a plush robe in front of the vanity in the large hotel suite that sat several floors above the event hall you’d be getting married in in just over one hour. Steve sat sentinel in an armchair near you, already in his tux. People had been coming in and out all day – manicurists, aestheticians, makeup artists, hairstylists, your mother until she’d gotten called away for the pictures they didn't need you for. The female members of Ransom’s family too. His aunt, Joni, had only been in briefly, saying that the energy of the room was all wrong and she’d had to leave. Her daughter Meg had sat with you for a while, but she just kept complaining about how awful Ransom was and Steve eventually kicked her out, probably trying to spare you a panic attack. And then there was Ransom’s mother, Linda. She had been in a few times ‘to check on the progress.’ You’d tried very hard not to get stressed out by her, but she was very… severe, and you felt about a foot tall every time she looked at you. And now here she was, again.

“Darling,” she said, and you tried not to balk at the fact that you’d know this woman for less than 24 hours and she was already using endearments, “you’ll be needed for pictures soon and you aren’t dressed yet?”

You gestured to the two people at the rolling clothing rack who were carefully removing your dress from the garment bag. “We’re about to start putting it on. I’ll be ready soon.”

“Fantastic. Maybe it’s time for Steve to go then,” she cut a glance to your stepbrother.

“Not fucking likely,” he muttered. He’d been stuck to you like glue all day.

Linda’s eyebrows crawled up to her hairline. “I just think that some people might find it inappropriate for you to be in here while your sister gets dressed.”

He stood up and took a step toward her. “I’ll turn around,” he growled.

“Steve,” you sighed. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” It wasn’t. You wouldn’t be, but none of that could be helped.

He looked at you carefully, his eyes flitting over your face. Finally, he nodded, “OK. I’ll see you out there then.” With a quick, reassuring touch to your arm, he left.

Linda watched him leave and once he was out the door, she turned to you and said, “You and your stepbrother are very close, aren’t you?”

Something about her tone made you incredibly wary. “Yes,” you said cautiously, “he’s my best friend.”

“Isn’t that lovely?” she said with a thin-lipped smile that made it clear she thought anything but.

You noted her reaction as you returned her smile and removed your robe. You let the attendants help you step into the dress where they’d pooled it on the floor. They pulled it up around you and you stood still as they fastened and arranged the dress on you. All under Linda’s watchful eye, her arms crossed over her chest. When it was all done and you’d stepped into your heels, you turned to her so that she could give the approval you could feel she was dying to give.

“Well, aren’t you just a dream,” she said. Just as you were about to thank her, she added, “Although, I suppose it would be hard not to be, with all these people working on you, huh?” Her tone was warm and friendly, but you took it as the cut down you knew she meant it to be.

Still, you smiled. “Well, we should probably get down there, shouldn’t we?”

Everyone oohed and aahed appropriately when you arrived at the courtyard space reserved for photographs. Your mother was crying again. Joseph smiled at you, possibly the warmest smile he’d ever given you, and said “Beautiful,” but it was less like a compliment and more confirmation that everything was the way he needed it to be, like he was commenting on furniture. You smiled anyway and thanked him, then moved where the photographers directed you.

This round of pre-ceremony pictures was reserved for the families. Ransom had already done his and then been dismissed, to ‘preserve the big reveal’ you were told. You’d been asked earlier if you wanted to do first-look photos and declined. That had been interpreted as you wanting to have the big moment when you walked down the aisle to him. Instead, you just knew that he wouldn’t give them the reaction they were looking for. You’d rather spare yourself that embarrassment.

The thing about these arrangements was that while they were all about business and everyone knew it, people still wanted the trappings of romance. The big wedding at a fancy venue, awe on the groom’s face when he saw the bride in her dress for the first time, a joyful reception with speeches about true love. It had made you roll your eyes when you’d gone to friends’ weddings, but now that it was your own, it all made you want to scream.

You posed with Linda and Ransom’s father, Richard, a benign smile on your face. And then it was Harlan’s turn. “You look absolutely lovely,” he said to you, kindly. “You’re going to be so good for my grandson.” You responded with that same placid smile. You wondered if anyone had told Ransom that he was going to be good for you. You doubted it. That part didn’t seem to matter.

Next, it was time for your own family. Your mother and Joseph, together and then separately, and then Steve joined you for the full family. Once that was done, the photographers started to dismiss you, but you stopped them. “I want a few with just me and Steve.”

They looked at you and then Joseph and Linda, “That’s not on the list of required shots.”

“I don’t care,” you said, “I want them.”

“Darling,” Linda started, and you wanted to growl, “I’m not sure there’s time.”

“I don’t care,” you said again, “everyone can wait the five minutes this is going to take. I’m the bride, I doubt they’ll start without me. Isn’t today my day?”

Linda took a step back and nodded to the photographers but you could feel her watching you as Steve stepped up to you. “And people think I’m the troll,” he said, low enough for only you to hear.

You smiled, possibly your first genuine smile all day. “You are the troll,” you said. “I’m the sweet one who does what she’s told without complaint.”

He snorted, “Sure,” and turned his head as the photographers directed.

When it was all done, you took a deep breath and tried to prepare yourself as everyone but you and Steve began to make their way back inside.

“You ready?” he asked, concern all over his face.

You shook your head. “Not even remotely.”

He looked over your shoulder. “I know–” he began but stopped for a moment before he started again. “I know that if she had lived, we never would have met, but I still think, sometimes, about how much my mom would have loved you. Just as much as I do.”

“Steve,” you gasped.

He grabbed both of your hands. “You are the strongest, bravest person I know and you can do this.”

Your eyes welled up as you squeezed his hands, feeling like you’d completely fall apart if you let go. “I don’t know if I can,” you whispered.

“Hey,” he said, oh so gently, “all you have to do right now is get through the ceremony. That’s it. You don’t need to think about what comes after. Focus on what’s directly in front of you. Nothing else. Just walk down the aisle and say I do when it’s your turn. That’s it. You can do that. I know you can do that. I wish you didn’t have to, but you can.”

You took a deep breath. And another. And then you nodded. “I can.”

He smiled, big and genuine and still more than a little sad. He pulled you in for a hug, exceedingly careful to not mess anything up, and said again, “You can. I know you can.”

Someone stepped out of the big French doors leading into the vestibule your party was gathering in and waved frantically at you. Another deep breath. “OK,” you said.

He just nodded and guided you back inside.

Joseph walked you down the aisle. It wasn’t your choice, but this day had always been more about him than it ever was about you, so of course he would be the one to walk you. You would have chosen Steve. But you also would have chosen not to do this at all.

The walk was both agonizingly long and much, much too short. Ransom waited for you at the end of it, dressed in a designer tux and devastatingly handsome. You searched his face for anything, but he remained completely stoic, his eyes hard. You had to look away.

There were so many people gathered to watch your life change forever. As you gazed over the faces of the people seated on your side, you weren’t sure you recognized even half of them. You realized with a jolt that this was the most alone you’d ever felt, in this hall surrounded by hundreds of people, all eyes on you.

So much sooner than you were ready for, you’d arrived at the front, Joseph placing you in front of Ransom and joining your hands together. Ransom’s hands were soft and his grasp wasn’t nearly as harsh as you’d expected. You took a deep breath—every other thought since you’d stepped into the hall was to remind yourself to keep breathing—and met his gaze. It was still hard, but, maybe, maybe there wasn’t hate there.

Maybe you just didn’t know him well enough yet to be able to tell.

The ceremony went quickly. You struggled to focus on the officiant’s words. It was like you were in a sort of fugue state. But you repeated after him when you were supposed to. You said ‘I do’ when you were prompted. You played your part.

Ransom did too. You’d half expected him to just not show up at all, or walk out part-way through, or something but he was under the same familial pressures as you, you reasoned. At the end of the day, you all just did what you were told.

Before you knew it, it was done. There was a ring on your finger and one on his. You barely remembered placing it there. You registered the officiant saying “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride,” and stared at Ransom. You expected him to swoop in and take what was his, but he paused. There was a clear question in his eyes. Shocked, you realized he was asking permission. As subtly as you could, you nodded. He gave a barely perceptible nod back and then he was kissing you. It wasn’t chaste, exactly, but it certainly wasn’t passionate either. Open-mouthed, but no tongue, and done quickly, the faintest taste of whiskey on his lips. Everyone applauded.

The processional music started and you began to move without even realizing it, Ransom right beside you. And in that moment, when you had nothing else to focus on, no other immediate job to do, everything hit you. Holy fuck, you were married. This man beside you was your husband. One of your knees buckled and your steady leg caught the edge of your dress and just as you were sure you were about to go down, someone grabbed your hand and you felt another hand on your opposite hip, holding you up. “Wait to collapse in private, if you can,” Ransom murmured to you, dryly, then basically carried you the rest of the way down the aisle.

You were both ushered into a small sitting room off the main hall for a moment of privacy as your guests were moved into the ballroom where the reception would take place and before you would take pictures with your new husband. Once the two of you were alone, you tried to steady your breathing and shove down the panic clawing its way up your throat. You were married. It had actually happened. It was real. You steadied yourself on the bookshelf beside you and tried to think about what Steve had said. Focus on what was directly in front of you. You’d gotten through the ceremony by doing that, so now it was just pictures and the reception. That was all you had to worry about. You could do that. You could.

“You good?” Ransom’s voice cut through your internal monologue and you turned back around to face him where he was standing on the other side of the small room, pasting that fucking smile on your face.

“Yes, I’m fine. Today is just a lot. But I’m fine. Thank you for helping me, before.”

“Well,” he smirked, “I couldn’t have my new wife embarrass me thirty seconds in, could I?”

Your smile went brittle and a small voice in your head chanted fifty years of this but you tamped it down. Pictures and the reception. Pictures and the reception. That was all you had to get through right now.

There was a light knock and then the door opened. One of the photographers peeked in, a camera in their hand. “Sorry to interrupt,” they said. “Just wanted to get some intimate, candid shots, before we go outside for the formal pictures.” Their eyes moved between you and Ransom and you knew they were measuring the space between you.

You shook your head and tried to keep your tone friendly. “No need, just the formal ones are fine.” You didn’t need any more documentation of this day than was absolutely necessary.

“Oh,” they said, surprised, “well, Mrs. Drysdale wanted–”

“Linda can fuck right off,” Ransom interrupted. “We’ll come outside now.” He shouldered his way past them and out the door. You just smiled and followed him, the photographer chasing after you both.

The pictures went quickly, you both seeming to want them over with as fast as possible. He didn’t say much to you, aside from the occasional exclamation like, “Jesus Christ, is this skirt big enough?” when he tried to move around you or pose behind you. The photographers kept trying to get you to look at each other, but when you did, it clearly didn’t give them the result they wanted, so they moved on quickly.

Afterward, you were escorted into the ballroom, where your entrance was met with applause. Your face was beginning to hurt from all the placid smiling you’d done all day.

You blanched when you realized that you and Ransom were the only ones seated at the head table. You wouldn’t have anyone to talk to.

There was still some time before dinner would be served. You could already see people beginning to make their way toward you to offer their congratulations to fill the time. A server appeared at your table and you asked for a glass of champagne. Ransom requested his usual scotch then added, “There’s an extra hundred in it for you if you make sure I’m never holding an empty glass tonight.”

You could see the disaster waiting to happen, so you tried a quiet “Ransom,” as the server left, not really thinking before you said something.

He let out a hollow chuckle. “If that’s the kind of wife you’re going to be, let me tell you right now, this marriage isn’t going to work. I don’t respond well to nagging.”

You took a breath, “I wasn’t trying to nag,” you said, “I just–”

“Ransom!” a loud voice interrupted you. You looked over to see Ransom’s uncle, Walt, approaching your table. You’d been introduced to him very briefly the night before. “Congratulations on finally growing up and settling down,” he said, once he stood in front of his nephew. You felt Ransom stiffen next to you, but his face just had an obnoxious smirk on it. Walt’s eyes briefly cut to you but then returned to Ransom. “Although, she’s pretty young, isn’t she?”

Ransom rolled his eyes, still smirking. “Well, it’s not like I picked her, is it Walt? You got a problem with it, go tell Mom or Grandad.”

You bit your lip at being spoken about like you weren’t sitting right there. But you knew better than to cause a scene, so you quietly said, “Excuse me,” and left the table. Neither of them seemed to notice, locked in a hostile stare-down.

You’d only made it a few feet when someone you didn’t recognize was pulling you aside to offer their congratulations. You smiled and politely nodded through it and when it was done you were grabbed by someone else and then someone else. You crossed paths with Steve briefly before you were both pulled in other directions. You only got a break when they started serving dinner. You got back to your seat to find Ransom sitting alone, sipping his scotch as full plates of food were placed before you. You didn’t have much of an appetite.

You picked at your food and mostly moved it around the plate, while Ransom ate hungrily beside you. Neither of you said anything. After the second course was served, the speeches started. Joseph mostly spoke about the two families coming together and all the opportunities that represented. You wanted to stage whisper to him that it was customary to at least mention the couple at some point, but then he sprinkled Ransom’s name in. A brief mention of how proud he was to be gaining a son like him. You wanted to laugh. They barely knew each other. As if Joseph cared at all about what kind of man he was giving you to. You were finally mentioned at the very end as he toasted his “beautiful stepdaughter and her new husband. To a long and fruitful marriage!” You wanted to break something.

Harlan, for his part, was much more focused. He, of course, referenced all the new opportunities this would bring, it was why you were all here, after all. But he mostly talked about his grandson, how much he loved him, all the potential Ransom had, and once again, how good you were going to be for him. You wondered if you just started screaming right there, what people would do.

As for Ransom, judging by his body language, he seemed to enjoy both speeches just as much as you had. You wondered if the rest of the guests could feel how miserable you both were and just chose to ignore it. Probably.

When the speeches were done and the tables were cleared, it was time for your first dance. Ransom made it clear by the way he stood up that this was the last thing he wanted to be doing. You tried not to let it bother you, it wasn’t like you were especially excited about this either, and kept your head held high as you came around the table to join him. He took your hand to lead you onto the dance floor and you were once again surprised by the way he held it gently when you’d half-expected him to drag you out there.

You hadn’t chosen whatever song you were about to dance to. You could’ve, probably, but you’d begged off of most of the decision-making for the day, unable to drum up an opinion on any of it. So you had no right to complain as the opening strains of “At Last” filled the ballroom, but you had to stifle an eye-roll anyway. Of course, they went for something that romantic, that cliche. They were all lucky you didn’t burst out laughing.

Ransom pulled you in close with a hand on your lower back, as you put one of yours on his shoulder and he took your other hand in his. It all felt strangely respectful, the way his hand didn’t wander from the small of your back and he held you close but not too close, with plenty of breathing room between you. You weren’t sure how to wrap your head around it, what it all meant.

He was a good dancer, most likely the product of formal dance lessons as a teenager, just like you’d had. It made it easy to keep your polite smile in place as all eyes in the room were on you.

“You’re good at that,” Ransom said.

You shrugged. “A variety of dance classes since I was seven.”

He chuckled. “No, I meant the smiling thing.” When you just looked at him, confused, he continued. “Unless you’re much dumber than I think, you hate this just as much as I do. But look at you, that smile hasn’t dropped all fucking day. You’re having such a nice time, aren’t you? Being the good girl they all expect you to be. Can’t ever let them know you’re upset. Oh no, that just isn’t done.”

You nearly tripped, but you had the good grace to keep going. You kept your face pleasant to everyone watching as you gritted out “And what am I supposed to do instead, huh? Glower and glare because I didn’t get what I wanted? Be an asshole to everyone? And where exactly would that get me? We’re both here, Ransom, stuck in this. At least my way of dealing with it doesn’t make anyone else’s life more difficult.”

He chuckled again. “No one’s but mine,” he said, but instead of just irritation, there was a glimmer in his eye, too, that you couldn’t begin to interpret. It was almost like part of him was having fun.

The song ended, fading into the next, and more couples joined you on the dance floor. Keeping your hand in his, Ransom led you back to the table, depositing you there and grabbing his drink, before disappearing amongst the tables.

Ransom didn’t come back. You'd stayed at the table for a bit, for want of anything else to do. When you got bored of that, you wandered through the crowd, accepting congratulations and trying to find familiar faces. You knew there were a few of your own friends in attendance, but you were afraid to face them, knowing you’d see pity on the faces of the luckily single and recognition on those who were already married. You wouldn’t see much of them anymore anyway, with you leaving for Boston the next day. You couldn’t think about that yet. Focus on what’s in front of you.

You were periodically offered champagne from a passing server and you accepted every time, leading to you now feeling pleasantly floaty. It was a nice break from just how very much you’d been feeling the rest of the day.

You arrived back at your seat, without really intending to, to find Steve waiting for you. He was staring into the corner of the room with a disgruntled expression. “I could fucking kill him,” he mumbled.

You followed his gaze and found Ransom with a group of Harvard-looking bros doing shots by the bar. You shrugged. “He’s getting drunk over there and I’m getting drunk over here,” you said as you downed your champagne and began looking around for a server.

Steve sighed your name. “Come on, let’s sit down.”

He guided you to a chair and then sat down beside you. “Where’d you get off to?” you asked.

Steve rolled his eyes and groaned. “Dad,” was all he said. You nodded. For all that he wasn’t in your situation, as his father’s heir, he had many heavy responsibilities and obligations weighing on him. You were both caged in by this family.

“Does that mean you’re speaking to him again?” you asked, your voice free of judgment.

Even so, he grimaced. “Only when I have to.” He sighed and looked at you. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Steve,” you said, sincerely.

He shook his head. “It’s not.” He paused, then, “I wish there’d been a way for me to stop this.”

“Steve,” you sighed. It wasn’t worth talking about again.

Over by the bar, Ransom let out a loud, hearty laugh that carried over to where you were sitting. Steve glared. “You don’t deserve this,”

You shrugged. “It’s what I have, I guess.” Then before he could continue the conversation, you added, “Can we please talk about anything else?”

He looked at you carefully and then nodded. “Sure,” he said, the sympathy in his eyes almost too much for you to bear, and then launched into a twenty-minute explanation of the painting he was working on. You didn’t think you’d ever been more grateful for him. And you hadn’t even thought to ask a server for more champagne.

The conversation only ended when your mother appeared in front of you. Steve stood up to greet her, smiling warmly, and then excused himself, squeezing your hand as he went.

“Honey, we’re going to go. I just wanted to make sure I said goodbye to you first.”

You stood up and hugged her. “You’ll be there to send us off tomorrow, right?”

“Oh, honey, no. Joseph had something come up and you know how hard it is for me to get around by myself.”

You felt the bottom drop out of everything. “You’re not going to say goodbye?”

“Of course, I am, darling. That’s what I’m doing right now.”

Suddenly, only focusing on what was directly in front of you was impossible. You were married to a stranger who couldn’t stand you. Tomorrow, you would be leaving everything you knew to go to a new home where you didn’t have anything or anyone. And your mom wouldn’t even be there to say goodbye.

“Steve would come to get you, you know he would,” you tried desperately.

“Honey, no, I can’t,” she said firmly and it took everything in you not to burst into tears. “Now, come on,” she drew you into another hug. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“Mom,” you whispered, your voice so thick. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Of course, you can,” she pulled back and looked you in the eye. “I know it seems hard, now, but it’ll be easier than you think to keep him happy.” She gently touched your cheek. “All you have to do is listen, and not argue too much. You’re going to be such a good wife and mother. I just know it.”

She leaned forward to hug you again and you went stiff in her arms. Everything she’d gone through – two marriages that weren’t her choice, a husband that was so cold to her and her daughter, a lonely life. And here she was, offering you up for the same fate. You didn’t know how you were supposed to bear this.

“Have a safe flight,” she whispered in your ear and then she was gone. You didn’t watch her go. You just sank back into your chair, ready for the night to end.

A while later, you heard someone call your name. You turned around to see Richard. “I think it’s time for Ransom to call it a night.” You followed Richard’s gaze to see Ransom slumped over in a chair. You almost asked him why he was telling you. Then you remembered that Ransom was your husband now. Your problem, your responsibility. You nodded to Richard and thanked him, smiling at him, of fucking course.

When you got to Ransom, he looked up at you and laughed. “Well, if it isn’t the wife!” he slurred. “We were just talking about you.” You looked over at the men on either side of him, equally drunk, and tried not to feel too humiliated.

The crowd was thinning, but there were still people around and you could feel their eyes on you, so you did your best to keep your tone and face calm. “Ransom, it’s time to go up to our room.”

One of his companions snickered and you were suddenly struck by what might await you in that room. You’d been so focused on just getting through the next thing that you’d protected yourself from thinking about what he might want, what he might demand, once you were alone. But looking at him now, as he struggled to stand up or get any control over his body at all, you hoped that you might be safe for this night, at least.

Steve appeared at your elbow. “Fucking ridiculous,” he mumbled, low enough that it didn’t seem to be for you. Then louder he asked, “You need help getting him up to the room?”

You turned to him to answer, but then you saw Linda over his shoulder, watching you both carefully. You shook your head. “No, you can’t. I’ll be fine. I’ll–” Ransom took that moment to fall loudly back into his chair. He was way too big for you to handle on your own. You sighed and looked around for anyone who might help. “I’ll get Richard to help me.”

Steve looked at you confused. “I can do it.”

“I know,” you said, “but I just can’t let you. It– The way it would look,” you shook your head again.

You could tell he still didn’t get it, but he let it drop. “Ok. I’ll see you tomorrow. And if you need anything between now and then,” he sent a scathing look to Ransom, “you call me.”

You nodded, knowing you wouldn’t, as he squeezed your wrist and left and you went to track down Richard.

After much struggle, you finally got Ransom into the honeymoon suite, Richard retreating as soon as his son was safely dumped into an armchair next to the bed. And then you were alone with him. You just stared at him for a moment, then asked, “Can you get yourself undressed?”

“ ‘fcourse,” he mumbled, then thrashed around in his tux jacket. You put a hand on his shoulder, trying to still his wild movements, then tugged off the jacket. You carefully began unbuttoning his shirt, trying to touch him no more than absolutely necessary, but he still smirked at you. “That desperate to get me naked?” he asked. You rolled your eyes and tried to keep going, but a hand on your wrist stopped you. “Hey,” he said, very seriously. He tried to lock eyes with you, but his kept drooping, as he continued. “We don’t have to do anything t’night. Not if you don’t want.”

You scoffed. “Yeah?” you asked. “Is that you or your whiskey dick talking?” You regretted it immediately, you were so tired. You waited for the insult to land, to see how he’d react, but he’d stopped paying attention, his head lolling against the back of the chair. You finished with the buttons and kneeled in front of him to take off his shoes. When that was done, you stood back up. “Please tell me you can get your own pants.”

He nodded, shrugging off his unbuttoned shirt, and stood up. He struggled with his belt for a few minutes, but eventually got it off, then pawed at his fly until he was able to undo that as well. As he moved to the bed, his pants slowly slid down his legs. You tried not to look at him, but you couldn’t help yourself. Under any other circumstances, you would find him so beautiful. It wasn’t fair. How dare he look like that and treat you like this. Just another aspect of this whole fucking mess that made you want to cry.

He stumbled to the edge of the bed and then threw himself forward, collapsing onto it face down, lying across it diagonally. Almost immediately, he started snoring. You just stood there a moment, watching him take up the entire bed. Fuck. It was fine. It’s not like you were going to sleep much anyway. You tugged his pants the rest of the way off his legs and threw them onto the pile of the rest of his clothes.

You turned your attention back to yourself and stopped, suddenly gripped by panic. You tried to reach behind yourself and begin unfastening your dress, but the line of delicate hook and eye fastenings was too difficult to get without being able to see them. And you couldn’t reach all of them anyway. Oh god, you were going to be stuck in your dress all night.

There was no one to help you. Ransom was out like a light and would be too drunk and clumsy even if he were conscious. Your mom had gone home. You couldn’t call Steve. He would come help at the drop of a hat, but if anyone saw him coming into your room… No. You were completely alone.

Every feeling you’d tried to push down and ignore this whole awful day came bubbling to the surface. You finally cried, your body wracked with sobs. You couldn’t control it. As you did, you still tried to wrestle with your dress, but your panic and sorrow made getting out of it impossible. So you sank down to the ground and just let the tears come.

When you were finally all cried out, you stood up and moved to the bathroom. You took off your makeup and took down your hair, redoing it in the way you always slept in. You brushed your teeth and finished up with your skincare routine. Then you went back into the bedroom and grabbed a blanket off the bed. You moved into the adjoining living room and sank down onto the couch, arranging your giant dress around you. You turned on the TV and settled on a marathon of some procedural crime show you were pretty sure you’d seen before. You couldn’t decide whether or not you wanted the night to go quickly.

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whereisten · 6 months

Text

To Be Forgiven

FT: Suguru Getou & Nanami Kento

Pairing: Suguru Getou x Nanami Kento x reader Genre/Themes: sMUT! Convent (nuns and priests), angst Warnings: Threesome - F/M/M, vampire priests, loss of virginity, praise kink, light BDSM (rope use, spanking) overstimulation, multiple orgasms, oral sex (m and f receiving), rough sex, blood mention, gaslighting, devotion, voyeurism, degradation, dumbification, creampie, character death, vampire priests Word Count: 8.8k

A/N: WELL... this is probably the dirtiest thing i've ever written, and I know its not kpop or nct based so im sorry for that. It was HEAVILY inspired by these two posts: https://x.com/polariae/status/1722684591079673876?s=20 https://x.com/kimmy_art0912/status/1721731893622714594?s=20 (so please take a look to get a good image in your mind before you start reading hehe the artists are amazing) Also, this in no way is meant to offend Christianity or the world of Catholics, the theme is only used for fantasy. Sorry if it's a little messy, i just had to get it out of my system. Dont forget to leave a comment if you like it! Thank youuuu xoxo

Freedom felt good. That’s what you thought to yourself the moment you stepped off the bus and onto the new convent you’d be living the rest of your life in. You’d finished college, graduating as you set out to do and now came the next step: devoting your life to Christ.

Your parents didn’t understand your desire to live this way, but they supported you nonetheless. With tearful eyes, they bid you farewell and swore to stay strong until the next time they’d see you.

You drag your luggage to your room and sit down on your bed, inhaling and exhaling the fresh air slowly.

“Hi! You’re new here!” A woman dressed in her holy tunic stands in the middle of your open doorway, her hands placed in front of her as she smiles.

You smile back. “Oh..yes! I just got here actually.”

“That’s wonderful, welcome to our home, my name is Khadija and I hope I can help you at some point, my room is a few doors down if you ever need anything!” She waves as you nod.

“Thank you, my name is Y/n.”

She nods as well and walks away.

A few days later, you’ve started speaking with other nuns in an effort to gain an understanding of how things normally operate.

“At 8 A.M, we have breakfast together and then continue our studies in our assigned classrooms. Should you need anything, I am always here.” Sister Nancy, your neighbor, walks with you to breakfast. She guides you through the convent and provides helpful information.

While at breakfast you try to get to know her better. “How long have you lived here?”

“Hmmm…time has sort of..run away from me…” she looks puzzled as she stares at her bowl of oatmeal. Almost as if lost in thought, her voice trails off and eventually becomes silent.

“Sister Nancy?”

“Oh! Yes..about 5 years.” She nods and looks back up at you. Once at the end of your breakfast you stand up and bring your trays to the cafeteria where you can toss any trash.

“Sister Y/n..” Nancy says quietly while walking beside you.

“Yes?” You look at her curiously.

“I must tell you..when you study, when you learn how to best serve God here..please be wary..”

“I’m not sure what you mean..” your brows bunch together.

“Well..the priests here are great, devoted and caring..but there are some who..may not have good intentions.”

You place your trays down and walk together in the hall towards your rooms.

“Men of the cloth are always good, Sister Nancy, what do you mean by this?”

“They should be good..but they are not, be careful and stay steady in your faith, do not lose sight of your goal..”

She stops while you continue walking.

“But Sister, who-?” You turn to look at her, but suddenly, she is gone, not even the breeze from her departure surrounds you.

You stare into the hall. “Sister Nancy?” You call out, but it is empty and eerily quiet. You turn back towards your room and bump into a large chest.

“Oh!”

You stumble backwards, but the tall, sturdy figure grabs your arms to hold you still.

“I am so sorry..”

You look up slowly.

The man has long black hair, feline-like eyes and a tempting smile. You quickly look away and onto the floor as your mind starts to desire more than just this embrace.

He chuckles and it’s like angels have started to sing from heaven. “My apologies, I should’ve walked more carefully.”

He finally lets you go.

“You’re new here, right?”

You look back up at him, a strand of hair gracing his beautiful face perfectly as he smiles.

“Y-yes..I’m Sister Y/n..please forgive me for-“

“Ahh no need, Sister Y/n..please continue..my name is Suguru by the way, if you need anything, just let me know..” He steps to the side to let you pass, but never lets go of your wide eyes.

You wondered how such a young man could become a priest. He looked dark and mysterious, unlike any of the other priests you’d seen before.

[The Next Day]

You’re heading to your first class where you’ll be taught by Father Nanami. You sit down in your chair comfortably before looking around to see if you can find Khadija and Nancy. To your disappointment, they aren’t there.

Then, he walks in. The blonde man with small glasses makes your jaw drop. He is just as tall and young as Father Suguru, but he looks stern and serious.

He places his books down and looks around at the class. “Welcome, let us begin, please open your pages to the verse written on the board.”

He sounds just as strict as he looks, no “good morning” or “how are you?” He jumps straight into business.

He is also your personal counselor, but you aren’t sure if you’ll be visiting him often.

Later that day, you go apple picking with Sister Khadija.

“Would you like to tell me of your life before you chose Christ?” Khadija asks, gently picking a ruby red apple from above her head.

“Sure! I was happy..I graduated college and felt I’d done it all..but somehow, I still felt empty. Then one day, I overheard a sermon on the radio..and I felt..I felt this urge, a calling, rather. I felt the need to participate in something much bigger than myself, and so I decided to devote my life to Him.”

Khadija smiles. “That’s very nice.”

“And what about you?”

“Oh..I..don’t quite remember, but yes, I did feel the calling as well.”

You nod slowly, then smile quickly to cover up your worry. How could she not remember?

“That’s great!”

As you’re walking back with baskets full of apples, you turn to her. “I didn’t see you in Father Nanami’s class today, do you have a class with another priest at that time?”

Khadija stops, dropping her basket as her eyes widen. “Wh-who’s class?”

You kneel down and begin to gather the apples that fell out. “Father Nanami..is everything okay, Khadija?”

She dips down to pick her basket up. “I’m sorry, Sister Y/n, how clumsy of me.”

“It’s okay! I-“

“But Y/n, Nanami is not a great instructor..I would recommend another professor..”

She looks into her eyes as your hands touch while reaching for the same apple.

You frown. “He seems to be very serious about his work, I feel I can learn a lot from him.”

Khadija shakes her head. “He..is dangerous.”

You stand up straight and laugh. “Are his exams that bad? I figured he’d be a harsh teacher, but I look forward to the challenge!” You grip your basket and continue walking.

Khadija looks at you with a worried expression. She wished Nanami was a harsh grader, and nothing more, but unfortunately, this wasn’t the case.

[One Week Later]

You step into Nanami’s office to ask a quick question.

“Father Nanami-“

Suguru stands next to Nanami’s desk, flipping through one of his books before gazing up at you slowly.

“Hello, Sister Y/n.”

You nod. “Hello! I’ll come by later.”

“Wait a moment, you can speak with me if you’d like.” He says smoothly before sitting in the chair.

“Oh..is Father Nanami not available today?”

Suguru smirks when he senses your unease. “He will be back in about an hour, what is it you’d like to ask him?”

“I-I’ll ask him tomorrow, it really is no problem.” You turn to leave, but he stops you.

“Are you enjoying your time here, Sister?”

He intertwines his fingers in front of him and places his chin on top.

You turn back to him and smile. “Yes..but to be honest with you, father, I’m not sure if I’m worthy to be here.”

He tilts his head slightly, a dark glimmer presents itself in his eyes..or are you just seeing things? “What makes you say that, Y/n?”

The absence of “Sister” from his sentence and the way your name rolls off his tongue makes you shudder, but the feeling quickly leaves you as you clear your throat.

You look to the floor. “I don’t know, it’s probably nothing more than nervousness.”

Suguru leans back. “Of course you are worthy, Y/n. Do not worry, Christ lives through you at all times.”

You look back up at him and return his smile. “Thank you, father.”

You leave and release a deep breath you'd been holding. Something about him made you..unsettled. You didn’t know why, but as you walk back to your room, you shake the feeling off, never noticing his eyes on you from the doorway.

A few weeks pass and you notice that you often see Father Nanami walking about the halls and chatting with other Priests or Nuns. Suguru is hardly ever around, but honestly, you didn’t mind it. The long-haired temptress reminded you of the sin that still resides in your heart. The sin of lust. You couldn’t deny it anymore, and it forced you to visit the chapel more often.

You could resolve this impure feeling if you just prayed and believed in your Lord.

Apart from that, your time at the convent was going well. You bonded with your Sisters, and learned from Father Nanami as well as your Bible.

Some nights, however, you wake up randomly with the doomed feeling of being watched.

“Hello?” You say quietly as you turn your bedside lamp on and peer out into the corners of the room. There’s nothing, there’s no sound. You only hear your trembling breath. There’s a slight chill in the air and it makes you grip your blanket tightly.

This would happen around the same time every night, but you brushed it off to you being nervous. After all, you’re in a new home, surely it would take some more time for you to get used to your new bed and room. You tried to brush off the thought that part of these strange occurrences had to do with your room being just a few feet away from a cemetery.

You couldn’t go back to sleep most nights so you’d stay up and read your Bible until the sun rose.

To make matters worse, you didn’t see Nancy or Khadija as often, you couldn’t talk to them about how your nights had been going.

[One Week Later]

You run into Father Suguru for the first time in a while. He was just leaving Father Nanami’s office when he collided with you while turning the corner.

“Oh!” He laughs, his smile causing his eyes to crinkle. Your heart weakens at the sight.

No. Remain firm.

“I am so sorry, Father Suguru.” You step back and bow slightly.

“It’s alright, Sister Y/n, how have you been doing? You look tired.” His smile falls when he notices how dark your eyes have gotten since the last time he’d seen you.

“Oh! Really?” You rub the side of your neck and look to the floor. “Is it that obvious?”

He nods. “What’s wrong? Are you having a difficult time here?”

You shake your head. “No..no it’s not that..it’s just-“

He steps closer, looking down on you intently with knitted brows.

“You see..I’ve been waking up…in the middle of the night..feeling strange.”

Suguru smiles slightly. “How so, Y/n?”

And once again, you felt anxious about his tendency to omit your title.

“It’s nothing, Father..I’ll be-“ movement behind him catches your eye. You see a nun now down the hall quickly.

Nancy.

“Sister Nancy! Wait!”

You call out, but she doesn’t stop.

You look back at Father Suguru. “I apologize, sir. I must be going.”

He nods and watches as you walk by him.

You run after Nancy who quickly turns a corner. “Wait!” You try to call after her again, but once you turn the corner, she’s gone.

Things were getting weird and you didn’t know why. The sudden disappearances, the disturbing stillness and chill at night, it all made you worried.

That night, you wake up as usual, but this time, you finally see a figure. You aren’t sure if you should feel relieved or frightened at the sight.

You turn your lamp on before turning back to her. “Sister..is everything okay?”

Sister Khadija stands at the foot of your bed with dark circles under her empty eyes. Her lips are gray and her hair is unkempt. You’d never seen her like this before.

“W-what’s wrong?” You sit up in your bed.

She only raises her hand and points to the window behind your headboard.

You stand up and look outside of it, but nothing is there, only darkness.

“Sister Khadija, what’s going-“ you turn back to look at her, but she’s gone.

Goosebumps engulf your skin as the room suddenly feels much colder. You open your door quickly to see if she has gone to her room, but no one is there.

You’re seeing things. You just need to sleep more, that’s all.

You close your door again and climb into bed. You clutch your blanket then reach for your Bible, praying that Sister Khadija is sleeping soundly in her room.

The next night, the same thing happens, but this time with Sister Nancy.

“Nancy-“ you wipe your eyes and focus on her face.

“You have to leave.” She says softly then runs out of your room.

You jump out of the bed and run after her, ignoring the fact that you’re inappropriately dressed in just your nightgown and running through the halls of the convent.

You run fast, trying hard to not lose her this time. You needed answers. Why were they both visiting you at night? What did she mean by “you have to leave?”

But after running for nearly 4 minutes, you finally lose sight of her. You stop and look around in hopes of figuring out which dark, gloomy hall you’re in. The walls are lit by candles, making it difficult to figure out, but you’re sure that you’ve never been in this particular corridor before.

*thump*

Your head flicks toward the end of the hall where a loud banging sound comes from.

You walk towards it and hear it again.

As you get closer, you also hear soft groans and whispers.

Your hand hovers over the door knob. Should you enter? What do you expect to see? Someone that could help you get back to your room?

Without much thought, you turn it and push the door open slowly.

Your eyes widen at the sight.

It’s Priest Suguru on a bed.

You gasp. He’s tied up with thick rope and completely naked. His head hangs low as he watches a nun’s head move on his lower half.

“Slower..yes..just like that.” His intoxicating voice fills the room. You step back and the sound of your foot just barely dusting the wood causes his head to snap up.

You cover your mouth.

His eyes are red and glow in the dim lighting of the candle lit room.

But what’s even more frightening is the blood that drips from the corners of his mouth. His chest heaves as he smiles wickedly. You tremble at the sight of two large fangs in his smile.

“Y/n…” he calls out softly to you. Your eyes refuse to leave his body. Your knees feel weak as a mixture of emotions flood you. Fear, confusion, lust- you become too overwhelmed to speak.

The Sister below him releases his dick from her mouth, causing a ‘pop’ sound to echo. She turns around to face you, her mouth drips with blood and her eyes glow as well. She wipes her mouth with her fist before standing up and walking towards the door.

You stumble backwards, your eyes still focused on Suguru behind her.

And then, the door slams in your face.

You snap out of your gaze, feeling your body experience a shock unlike anything you’ve felt before. What did you just see? Was it real? No, you had to be dreaming. Suguru, a holy man, would never—

The gorgeous sounds of his moans fill your head.

“Stop!” You say to yourself as your eyes grow teary.

You start running away from the door. You had to find your room, you had to repent immediately. How could your lustful mind conjure up such a degrading image of a priest? You’re disgusting, you’re unworthy of the Lord.

You pray you can be forgiven for your sin, but the sudden wetness in between your legs tells you that it may be too late.

———

[One Week Later]

Fortunately, you hadn’t seen Suguru since that night. You still weren’t sure if you dreamt it or not, but you begged God every night that it wasn’t real.

“Are you okay, Sister Y/n?” Father Nanami interrupts your thoughts. You look around the classroom to see you’re the only one still there.

“Oh! Yes, Father, I apologize..I’ll get going.”

“You look tired, get some sleep tonight.” He says before grabbing his briefcase and leaving.

“Yes, Father.”

That night, you tossed and turned. You had vivid dreams of the halls and the people you saw every day. Your dreams were more realistic than ever before.

You then start to dream of that dreaded night..but there is something different.

You feel your wrists are tied to your head board, your legs are pulled apart by large hands as you wiggle on your bed. Your nipples are perky, peeking through your gown, and you can feel your slit leaking.

You look down and see him. His hair is tied up and his upper half is naked.

Suguru crawls over you slowly.

You moan when you see his low gaze on your body.

He lifts your gown up and kisses your stomach with his pillowy soft lips. He works himselfvall the way down to your entrance. You can feel his hot breath fanning it.

“Father..please.” You close your eyes tightly and beg, and with just the sound of this one desperate plea, Suguru licks in between your slit.

Your back arches instantly.

Finally.

His mouth on you feels amazing, you can’t stop moving your hips in an effort to get more from him.

He grips your thighs tightly, pushing them even further apart to lick and suck all parks of you.

Your moans grow louder, your breathing becomes quicker, you’re so close.

He reaches up with one hand under your gown and caresses your breast.

“Look at me.” He demands.

You look down as he drapes your leg over his shoulder and licks at a faster pace.

You lock eyes with his red ones.

“Faster..faster..please..I need more.” You cry out.

And Suguru follows your commands all while watching you writhe under him.

And with one final flick of his devilish tongue, you cum.

Your eyes fly open, you jump out of your sleep while panting.

Another lustful dream.

How could you betray God like this? You can't control your urges, it’s becoming a distraction and a serious problem that needs to be dealt with.

You start to cry quietly and decide that it’s time to get help.

You get on your knees and begin to pray until the sun comes up for only God could banish these cravings and impure thoughts.

———

[The Next Day]

You visit Father Nanami after class.

“Hello..do you have a moment?”

“Yes, come in.”

You close the door behind you and sit in front of his desk.

“How can I help you, Sister Y/n?”

In your time at the convent, you’d never seen him smile, and you certainly didn’t expect to see it today.

He looks sternly at his laptop, awaiting your reply.

You swallow hard, where should you start?

“Father Nanami..I saw..Suguru the other night..he was..he was tied up and in a strange position and he…he was partaking in scandalous activities with another Sister..”

He stops typing and looks up at you over his screen.

“But father..the strangest thing of all is that his eyes were red and his mouth dripped with what I think was..blood..it was..it was terrifying.”

“And yet..you couldn’t look away..could you, Sister Y/n?”

Your eyes grow. Nanami saw right through you and instantly knew of your sins.

“Father..I’m so sorry, I must beg for forgiveness.”

He takes his glasses off and places them onto the desk. He shrugs. “Why?”

You’re confused. “Because..because I saw the devil and had impure thoughts, Father! I’ve sinned, I’m unworthy of being here.” You bring your hands to your face and start to sob in them.

“Shhhh..no need to cry, Y/n..simply beg for forgiveness and do as he says..”

You nod. “Yes, father, I will visit the chapel right away and live as God tells me to, I-“

Nanami chuckles. “No..no Y/n..beg him for forgiveness..”

“..him?” You look up slowly.

“Father Suguru is the one whose image your impure mind has desecrated without reason..surely, you don’t think what you saw was anything more than your lust taking form in a dream? You imagined Suguru as something completely opposite of who he is, and you need ask for his forgiveness as he is the human embodiment of God..we all are, isn’t that right, Y/n?”

“Oh..I see, I apologize for not understanding..I will go to him right away.”

Nanami nods. “Good girl.”

You look to the floor to not see his smirk. But you can feel it in his tone and it’s strange.

You go to Suguru’s office in the evening when everyone is leaving to prepare for bed.

“Father Suguru..?” you say softly, but feel worried as you stand in his doorway.

“Oh. Sister Y/n..it’s nice to see you.” He gives a sly smile.

You nod.

“Close the door.” He sets aside a few books and sits down.

Like before, you find it hard to get started, but know you must in order to become a better Christian.

“Father..I must confess and with this confession I hope that you will not change your perception of me..I-I hope you will forgive me and allow me to continue to grow in this establishment.”

“Sister Y/n..you don’t believe you are worthy of being here, so why should I believe it?”

Your mouth falls open.

A smug look crosses his face. “You’ve come here to ask for my forgiveness, but have you forgiven yourself?”

“Father..I-I don’t follow.”

“What is it you’d like me to forgive you for? For watching..for craving..for..wanting to not only feel the devil but to taste him as well?”

You step back and gasp. “Father! I would never-“

“Oh, Y/n..sure..I’ll forgive you, but I know that’s not the only thing you desire.” He stands behind his desk and holds his hands together in front of him, his grin never leaving his face.

“Father, I only wish to absolve myself of my sins and live purely. It is the goal that I-“

He waves his hand. “Sure..sure..but tell me Y/n..how did it feel?”

“H-how did “what” feel?”

He walks closer to you, making more and more hairs on the back of your neck raise with each step.

“The lust, the desire…the craving..”

“I-I don’t know..it felt..”

“Strange, right?” He smiles widely.

”I’ll forgive you if you’ll allow yourself to indulge in your fantasies tonight.”

“No!” You back away from him.

“My dear Y/n..these thoughts will only go away if you give in for just a moment.”

“So what I saw the other night..was real?”

“It’s as real as you want it to be, Y/n. Tell me..do you want to feel what it’s like to be tied up and at the mercy of another?”

You tremble.

“Hands can roam along your skin, press into your thighs and collect the slick building in between your slit..fingers part it to allow way for my tongue to taste you and draw out your long withheld moans. But I won't stop, not until you’ve really felt me inside, making you the perfect size for me, pushing every breath out of your body. Not until our bodies become one and you’ve cried out to God for release.”

“Father..” you breathe heavily, his lips just inches from yours.

“And with your hands tied behind you, you’ll have no choice but to bounce on me until I’ve said I forgive you..even if it takes all night..you’re mine to control. In every position, in every hour..we’ll gain a brief moment in heaven together..only then can your sins be absolved.”

You swallow hard.

“You watched the devil and you liked what you saw..are you ready to fuck him too?”

Suguru’s eyes become a deep shade of red.

“How can you say such obscene things? What are you?” You stare into his eyes.

“A servant of God..of course…but I’m also the one that can make you feel so..so good.” he places a hand on your neck and tilts his head.

“But you..you’re..”

“Yes..Y/n..go on..say it.” His eyes follow your lips.

“A demon..”

He chuckles and his eyes float downwards. “And you’re as wet as you were that night..so shall we?”

“How can you..live in the house of God?” You look up with wide eyes.

Suguru lifts one corner of his mouth. “You see..I use my abilities for good Y/n..just one night and I shall remove the impurities from your blood, would you like me to?”

You hesitantly nod. He takes you into his arms and cranes down to your neck.

You grunt at the sudden move.

He then digs into your neck, causing you to yelp, your head falls back over his shoulder. The pain quickly turns into a pleasurable feeling as he sucks your blood. Your body relaxes in his arms. He pulls away and tilts your chin toward his to kiss you deeply. It’s your first kiss, so he leads you into it, caressing your lips slowly, mixing your spit with your blood.

Your eyes close as you feel his tongue dance over your bottom lip. You relax more and more into his arms and embrace the feeling of his broad chest against your back.

He pulls away and looks into your eyes. “Do you wish to feel more? Do you wish to indulge your sins and be absolved of them thereafter?”

You nod, feeling your willingness to leave dissipate after his kiss. He smiles.

“Very good, Y/n.” He says before sucking again.

He takes you to a room lit with only candles.

He carefully removes your head cover and dress, then pulls his rope out from a closet.

He ties your hands behind your back, and continues to create intricate patterns across your body, making sure to kiss you every now and then. His cold fingers brush against your skin, sparking fires.

You feel vulnerable, but follow his every move and command as you kneel on the bed.

He removes his collar and lets his holy robe drop to the floor. You stare at his magnificent body causing him to laugh out. “The lust in your eyes is delicious” he puts his hair up in a bun, but a part of you wishes he’d let it stay down so you could run your hands through it.

You turn away in embarrassment. “I’m sorry father, I-“

He turns your face back to his and continues to kiss you. When he pulls away he runs his thumb along your bottom lip. “Are you ready?”

You nod.

He lays down under you, fixes his face between your thighs and begins to eat you out as you cry out his name.

With his hands on your ass, he forces you to move back and forth onto his face. Your ankles are tied to the same rope that binds your wrists, forcing you to stay open.

“Father!” You cry out when you feel the tip of his nose rub against you. You rock your hips back and forth on your own.

More, you need more. That’s all you can think as his tongue explores you.

He groans against you, sending amazing vibrations through you.

“So sweet..your scent has driven me insane since you first stepped foot inside this convent..”

He groans and begins to buck his hips into his own cuffed hand.

He can’t wait to feel you around him, he can’t wait to drain you as you tremble and lose it all to him.

Suguru sucks your clit harder at the thought.

You yell out at the unexpected action and move faster.

Just then, Nanami walks in and stands at the end of the bed to watch.

“You really are trying to let God hear..”

You jump up and look at him, but Suguru digs his fingertips into your thighs to keep you still.

“Father Nanami! Please..forgive me.” You shut your eyes tightly, holding back your tears while cumming all over Suguru’s mouth.

Nanami palms himself through his jeans.

The casual look suits him very well, but you’re still embarrassed to let him see you like this.

He walks over to you, caressing your face with one hand and zipping his pants down with the other. “Shhh..open your mouth and all will be forgiven.”

He rubs his thumb along your bottom lip, gently pushing downward.

You do as he says, doing your best to fit all of him into your mouth. Laying your tongue out underneath it, you push forward and taste the saltiness from the precum leaking out.

Suguru kneels beside you on the bed and watches.

“Yes, good girl, you follow instructions so well.” Nanami removes his collar and shirt now too.

You choke slightly after feeling him hit the back of your throat, but you keep going, bobbing slowly as your spit builds.

Suguru now licks your nipples, eventually biting into one and sucking your blood once more. You groan from the pain, sending vibrations onto Nanami who grunts and curses.

He puts a hand to the back of your head and begins to thrust into you. Tears prick the ends of your eyes, you can barely breathe. If your hands were free, you’d use them to cover a few inches. If you could talk, you’d tell him to be gentler on you. But you take it all, knowing that you’d be forgiven if you bring both men satisfaction.

You moan as you feel your throat become raw.

“She’s being such a good girl..” Suguru smiles wickedly before licking up the blood around your wound.

Nanami finally releases along the bottom of your throat, choking you as tears fall onto your cheeks and your eyes become red. You wish he’d tell you you were a good girl, but the stoic man simply says “Swallow.” And looks down on you through laser eyes.

You do as he says, swallowing every drop and hoping that it will somehow purify your soul like holy water or wine.

He pulls out. “Ahh good girl..” he finally smiles, using his thumb to collect the spit that escaped and putting it back into your mouth. Suguru kisses you to taste yourself as well as Nanami. Nanami caresses his hair and your head as well.

“Am I forgiven, father?” You look up at him with wide eyes.

He looks down at your breasts and neck, aching to bite into you so he can grow hard again.

Suguru then kneels in front of you and begins to cup his hand around his member. The tip is red and dripping with precum, you stare but Nanami grabs your hair to pull your neck back.

“There’s so much greed and lust in your eyes, you’ll have to do much more than that to gain forgiveness.”

He pushes you down so you now face Suguru’s member.

“Open that filthy mouth of yours again.”

Nanami kneels on the bed behind you and begins to eat you out.

His tongue is lighter than Suguru’s, just applying kitten licks, but that somehow makes it hotter. You can’t help but move more in an effort to get closer to his lips.

Meanwhile, Suguru’s head falls back as you take him into your mouth.

He isn’t as patient as Nanami thrusts into you while groaning, causing a yelp to escape you. Your throat, still raw and irritated from being pounded into by Nanami, still closes around him well. He whimpers and places his hand onto the back of your head.

Nanami adds his fingers to open you up more and you throw your head back. “Father!”

“So wet and pretty..this tight pussy of yours needs to be made ready.”

He pushes in and out faster. You pull away from Suguru as Nanami’s fingers stretch you out.

“Slower, Father..please!”

“Focus on me, Y/n. It’s my forgiveness you should be seeking.” Suguru takes your chin in his hand and forces you to look back at him.

Nanami bites into your thigh, sucking harder and faster. You’re shocked to see that Nanami is the same as Suguru, but your focus shifts to the amazing feeling of being sucked from the area closest to your opening.

You quiver and clench around his fingers before moving up and down on them on your own.

Your moans send vibrations onto Suguru, and combined with the sight of your ass being up, he quickly cums in your mouth, leaving you a crying mess as he forces your head down. You choke while feeling the strings hit the very back of your throat once again.

You cum along with him, Nanami continuously pressing into a sweet spot. It feels too good to explain, but you know you’re too sensitive for more.

When he pulls out, you flick your head back to Nanami who continues to finger you.

“Father! I can't take any more.” You beg Nanami to leave your aching opening be.

You collapse into the bed and pant. Suguru laughs

“We’re just getting started sweetheart. You’re ours tonight, then you’ll be God’s forever.” He says as he ties a collar around your neck. He then unties the rope around your legs. He hands the leash to Nanami who sits against the headboard. He tugs you back, wasting no time to grab your thighs and spread you apart over his lap.

He forces you down onto him as you face Suguru. Suguru smiles again then flicks a thumb against your nipple.

In one move Nanami starts to enter you, causing you to squeal and attempt to run from the penetrative object , but he is just too strong.

“You know it’s her first time, be gentle, Father.” Suguru chuckles.

Nanami tugs your collar hard, “how could I forget? This pussy is reserved for God, isn’t it? the blood will be even sweeter if I go harder, don’t you think?”

“Hmm only one way to find out.”

Nanami pulls you down hard, burying everything inside you at once. You lift yourself up while in tears, but he grabs you again.

“Where are you going? You have work to do..take me in as you take God into your heart.” He smirks. “This is the Godly dick you’ve been craving, isn’t it?”

“T-too much, Father Nanami, I can’t take it.” Heated skin against heated skin, fingertips digging into your skin to leave a permanent impression and the way you can’t stop dripping for them, it’s unlike anything you’ve felt before.

You should feel shame, but you don’t.

“Tsk tsk..you need to prove yourself worthy, Sister Y/n..need I remind you of why?”

You shake your head, tears leaving your eyes as you are stretched out. “It’s my first time, father, I do not know-“

“Just relax and move..”

His hands are stable on the inside of both knees. He begins to bring you up and down onto him. “Yes..just like that.”

You’re wide open for Suguru to see, with just rope around your body. You should feel embarrassed, but there’s something building in the depths of your stomach.

Suguru looks you up and down and sucks your neck as you move. His large hands rest inside your knees to help you move up and down.

Nanami’s hand reaches around your waist, his fingertips part your folds and rub circles into your clit.

It feels amazing, you moan louder and bounce faster. “Father! I’m..I’m going to—“

“Yes, sweetheart, cum for me…”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, you want to stay still as you feel your climax rush over you, but Nanami continues to thrust into you.

Suguru releases and begins to touch himself again. “Ahh you taste so good.”

“Does she? Let me try.” Nanami pulls your collar, forcing your neck backwards. He bites in hard, still bringing you up and down on his member.

You whimper at the feeling, but shake soon after, cumming twice with just a few seconds between. You feel dizzy, you might pass out. But you also don’t want the men to stop.

Nanami keeps moving as you cry out, your head falling back even more.

You move faster to get his orgasm, he pushes you forward once he's done sucking, kneeling behind you to rail you from behind.

You feel the collar tighten as he pushes harder, forcing your face down into the bed.

“You should feel shame for cumming before me, the holiest servant of God, what makes you think you are higher than me?”

He pushes even harder, making you cry out loudly. “I’m so sorry, father! I didn’t mean to!” You turn your face to the side to breathe.

Nanami spanks your ass hard, causing a breath to leave you and you clench around him.

“All the more reason for this exorcism to take all night, isn’t that right Y/n?” Suguru looks at your strained arms, feeling himself grow unbearably hard with your sweet blood still on his tongue.

“Yes, father, I will do whatever you wish me to!”

Nanami pulls the collar and spanks your ass again. You grunt and close your eyes, you can’t stop clenching around him.

“More father..please, I deserve this.”

A snicker escapes him and spanks you repeatedly as he fucks into you hard, leaving you gasping for air with each thrust.

Suguru kneels beside him and watches while touching himself.

“I’m going to cum inside you, if you let a drop escape, you will have disappointed God. Do you understand?”

You nod. “Yes father. I will keep you in.” You squeal.

He holds your warm ass onto his pelvis as he cums deep inside you.

“Fuck..so fucking good.” Nanami curses while listening to your whimpers.

He then pulls out and leans down to make out with you. You’re enraptured by his aggressive kiss, it’s as if he wants to take every breath out of you.

Suguru licks up the blood that trickles down your leg and moans. “You were right, Nanami. It’s sweeter than the apples and berries outside.”

Nanami pulls away, watching the string of spit that connected your lips drop onto your chin.

“Then she’s ready for you. You’re welcome.”

Suguru laughs then wastes no more time to enter you.

“Suguru!” You cry out, hoping that he’d give you a moment to recover, but he only laughs harder.

“Come on, Y/n, you’re supposed to be ready for me.”

You cry into the sheets, but Nanami lays under you. He hugs your upper body tightly as Suguru fucks you just as hard as he did.

He sucks your neck, his fangs digging into another vein to pull out your impurities.

Your opening is silky and easy to move in, so it doesn’t take long for Suguru to cum again.

“Ah-ah…father!” You climax with him, seeing stars while Nanami drains you.

Suguru pushes everything inside you as well, cursing as he watches you clench around nothing and shake.

Nanami slides out from under you and leaves the bed. You pant and roll over onto your back, hoping that you’d finally be forgiven and welcome into the convent after tonight.

Suguru unties your rope, allowing your body to be free.

However, he can’t get enough of your blood, sucking your wrist while you gather your sanity.

Nanami then pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his jeans pocket. He sits

on the bed with his back on the headboard.

“Ride my thigh, sweetheart.”

You shakily get on your knees and put your hands together in a prayer position.

“Father..please grant me forgiveness..”

He blows smoke into the air and smiles. “It wasn’t a question. Come over here.”

You do as he says, crawling over his impressively muscular thigh and grinding against it. He watches you through half lidded eyes and the sight makes you clench. Something about his disheveled blonde hair and the cigarettes he presses in between his swollen peachy lips makes it all hotter.

Suguru lays down beside him and smokes his cigarette as well. “Look at her, a whore that thinks she will be absolved of her sins.” Suguru chuckles.

“In all my 300-something years of life I’ve never pitied anyone more.” Nanami takes a drag.

You continue to move back and forth, but a sense of worry crosses you. “Father..I..what must I do?” You whine.

Nanami looks down at his hard member, having grown quickly since drinking your blood.

You hurriedly move over it and grasp it in your hands. You may have grabbed it a little too hard as Nanami grunts. “Careful, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” You carefully align it with your opening, but you’re too nervous to bring it any closer.

Nanami hands the cigarette to Suguru. He swats your hand away and grabs your waist, pulling you onto him with ease. You whimper, trembling as you adjust to his large size once more.

Your hands find his broad shoulders.

You begin to bounce slowly. “Is it good, sir? Can you forgive me?” It’s a genuine question but you can’t help but feel ridiculous after hearing the desperation in your tone.

Nanami’s eyes are focused on the way your bitten breasts move. Your velvety pussy glides onto him easily, but he needs more. More of your blood, more of your essence.

He flips you over onto your back and sucks your right breast as he fucks into you hard, moving the entire bed as you squeal.

“Too big!” You cry out after his animalistic move. He pounds into you without hesitation. Not caring if anyone heard the lewd sounds created by his thighs hitting yours, or the creaking bed hitting the wall repeatedly. The rush of your blood flowing from your tender breast and into his mouth as well as the sight of the muscular man in between your bender, sweaty legs makes you quiver.

“Now this!” thrust “..is how you take dick, Sister Y/n.” He smirks, pounding hard again.

“Oh God!” Your head falls back as you are stretched out. It’s painful, but you cannot escape Nanami. He sucks your breast and places one hand around your throat.

Your nails dig into his back as he drives you crazy.

“Yes, Y/n, tell God how good your sins feel.” He pushes harder.

You shake your head. “It is wrong to feel this good while sinning.” Your tears flow in a steady stream, you feel as though he may just rip you in two.

“Says who?” He grins wickedly.

Your mouth falls open, you don’t know what to believe anymore.

He stops moving, you look down with furrowed brows. “Do you want me to stop, Y/n?” The corner of his lip tilts up slightly as he already knows your answer.

“No-no, Father, please contin- Ah!”

Before you can even finish, he’s back inside your depths again, molding your pussy around him like he will forever own it.

“Open your mouth wider Y/n..” Suguru takes the cigarette out of his mouth and kneels beside your head, pushing his member into your mouth.

He enters your mouth, thrusting in just as deep as he did before. You gag and Nanami smiles. “I much rather hear you gagging like this.”

Suguru smokes nonchalantly as you are ruined by both of them. You feel open and raw, your mind is mush and you are beyond sensitive. Your hips hurt from being open and your arms hurt from being bound before, but somehow you feel amazing.

They both watch you lose your innocence, your purity, and are happy to be at the center of it all. The sorrowful look on your face as you do anything for forgiveness, your eyes wet with tears and your mouth open, chin covered in a mix of spit and their cum drives them both crazy. There is nothing on your mind except how to please them and yourself.

“Cum with me, let us enjoy this moment together.” Nanami squeezes his hand around your throat then rubs your clit with his fingertips again and you both cum.

Your voice becomes hoarse from yelling out their names all night. You press onto his abs as your eyes roll. Suguru pulls out to watch your wet lips overflow with a mixture of cum and spit.

“You fucked her stupid, Nanami.” Suguru giggles.

Nanami pulls out of you quickly before taking the cigarette from him.

“She’s even cuter now, isn’t she, Suguru?”

He sits back and watches as Suguru flips you over and grabs your leash, pulling your neck back as he fucks you from behind like a wild animal, moving so fast, all you feel is a vibration against your sweet spot.

“Mhmm our cute slut..don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll take care of you. Just keep gripping me..fuck..that’s my girl.”

He pushes in and pulls out completely, watching as his dick drips with so much slick.

Nanami blows smoke out and leans back. “Ask the slut a few questions, see if she even knows her own name.”

Suguru pushes back in.

“Think you can just dream of these things and be forgiven, sweetheart?”

“Yes, father.” You grip the sheets beside your head, feeling as though you may lose consciousness at any moment. But the way Suguru makes you feel is too good to miss. You hope you can climax with him just one more time. Your body needs him, your pussy needs him.

“How badly do you want to be forgiven, will you please us all night long, is this pussy ours?”

“Yes, father.”

“You’re good at obeying, aren’t you?”

“Yes..father.”

“If you keep yourself from cumming, you’ll be forgiven, how does that sound?”

Your eyes widen, you look back at him and shake your head. “Sir..I don’t know if I can-“

He thrusts harder and pulls back.

“What was that?”

He leans over you, grabbing both of your wrists in one hand and pinning them above your head.

“Obey..me..Y/n..or spend an eternity in hell.”

“Yes..father I will obey you!”

And this would’ve been possible had his fingers not been playing with your clit, you’re in tears as you try to hold back.

You feel his sweaty abs flex against your back, you hear his low and loud groans.

His hot breath fans the back of your neck.

You can’t possibly hold back.

Then, he bites into you, sucking your neck, drawing out blood to cause even more pleasure. “Father! Please! No more! If you do, I’ll-“

He moves his fingertips faster.

You cum and shake, unable to hold yourself back. Suguru laughs and cums as well, holding your ass fast against his hips.

“Ahh I guess we’ll just have to keep going until she proves she is worthy of forgiveness, Father Suguru.” Nanami smiles.

Suguru falls back onto the pillow while Nanami drags you by the waist and down into the bed beside him.

You hang your head low in embarrassment.

“Why so sad Y/n? We’ve got all night to absolve your sins.” Nanami says as he enters your sopping entrance once more. Suguru lights another cigarette and blows the smoke into your face before kissing you and fondling your breasts.

“Fa-“

“Huh?” He thrusts into you from behind. “Can’t hear you..”

“Father-“ you go weak, your eyes closing tightly as you are overstimulated.

Nanami holds you close, thrusting into your weak body while he chases another high.

“Yeah..sound it out, baby.” He chuckles lowly into your ear.

He bites into your shoulder, not caring just how much blood they’ve taken from you tonight, only caring for the euphoric feeling that comes from it. Blood rushes into his mouth and straight to his dick every time, the ecstatic feeling is just as good..maybe even better than an orgasm.

He moves his fingers onto your clit and you let out a high pitched moan.

You cum again with him, this time ruining the sheets, but he only touches your chin covered in drool.

“Good girl..”

Suguru drags you back over his lap, “Move pretty girl..don’t disappoint God..again.”

He angles you over his dick and slides you down.

You move up and down onto him despite being so tired you might pass out.

Suguru only drags a smoke and hands it to Nanami as they both watch your tired body bounce, your fucked out face, swollen breasts and neck riddled with bite marks.

“Tell us how good it feels.”

“So good..father.” Your hands run down his chest, caressing the soft bricks under his skin.

“Is that why you can’t stop cumming like a slut?”

“Yes father.” Your head falls back, you move faster, the building in the pit of your stomach grows.

“Are you gonna cum again for me?”

“Yes father”

“Beg for it.”

“Let me cum with you father!”

“Why?”

“I wish to rid myself of sin with you.”

He can’t help but laugh.

“Please father, I need you.”

“Of course, Y/n.” He grabs your wrist, sucking hard while still watching your breasts move.

You both climax hard, shaking while still being attached.

You lay down in between them, feeling Suguru’s lips on yours and his fingers inside you, pumping in and out as you squirm from the oversensitivity.

You try to close your legs but Nanami forces them apart by placing them on the outside of his strong hands.

“Tell God how good you feel.” Nanami bites into your thigh and sucks as Suguru bites into your neck. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “So good..” The combination of the two along with Suguru’s long fingers makes you cum so hard you black out.

——

[The Next Morning]

You’re back in your room with your nightgown on.

“What happened..was it real?” You rub your eyes and turn to sit on the edge of your bed.

You feel your body, but don’t feel any bite marks. You don’t feel any difference in your private area either.

“Oh..it was just a dream.” You hang your head low and look to the floor, you then see two feet as someone stands just in front of you. Your head flicks up. “Sister Khadija?”

She wears her nightgown and displays a sad expression. She was the same one who pointed outside that one night, but you never did see her again.

“I told you..” she points outside the window again. You turn to look, “told me what?”

You turn back to her, but she is gone again.

You get up and look outside the window, trying hard to see what she is pointing to. The cemetery that you always prayed over before going to sleep looked the same as always, except..there was a freshly dug grave.

You run outside and decide to look at the headstones and sure enough, the names of the two Sisters you met are there.

Nancy and Khadija.

They've been dead..for 5 years.

“No..no this can’t be true.”

You stumble back, tripping over a pile of dirt and falling to the ground. When you look at the headstone behind you that the dirt has been dug from, you see your name.

Khadija appears. “Sister Y/n..they killed you, just as they killed us and now you are here forever..” she tears up as she watches you cry.

“No..no that can’t be true, they helped me purify my soul, I am good, I am worthy now.”

She shakes her head. “Sister Y/n..a night with the devil will not absolve you of your sins…you know this..”

You look to the ground.

“But..but why did they-“

“No, Sister, the question is why did you?”

Suguru and Nanami fed on your body until you dried out, leaving you for dead, and now..this is your hell.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk au #jjk smut #nanami kento #getou suguru #priest kink #vampire #getou suguru x reader #suguru getou x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #getou smut #nanami smut #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios #nanami kento x y/n #suguru getou smut #suguru getou x y/n

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thegnomelord · 6 months

Text

CH 1: With a Spark It Starts Just Like It Ended

CW: NSFW Blood, gore, cannon typical violence, M reader but can be read as GN, Mage reader, Monster 141 AU, reader is described as having thick fucked up arms.

AO3 3.7k words, more of an intro to what's to come lol.

Old man Abdul had lived a good life. A harsh one. But a good one.

He was amongst the first to grab a gun and raise the fight against the Russians, risking life and limb for the freedom of Urzikstan even as members of his pack bled and died to artillery fire and noxious gas. And he alone had survived to see his country set free of tyranny and chose to stay in the military long after his hair had greyed.

And how was he rewarded for his service?

With a 'promotion' to guard the basement of a conference hall. They even called it the 'Peace House' as if that made his position grander, though in his humble opinion the only peaceful thing happening within the halls above was the lack of physical violence.

"Hey, did you fall asleep on me old man?" Taim, a bright eyed and gap-toothed human private so young he could've been one of his grandsons, asks as he throws down five playing cards on the floor between them. Royal flush, again.

Old man Abdul's eyes are soft with a glare and he throws down his own cards, already knowing he'd lost. "Go fish." He huffs, leaning back into the chair they'd been able to squirrel away.

It was embarrassing to think that boredom could torture him more than the Russians did, but they were only a few hours into their shift and he was already thinking of biting a bullet. Chances were they'd stay down here long after the diplomats up top finished bickering about who knows what...

"Hey," Taim perks up, and from the few weeks he's known him, Abdul knows the glint in his brown eyes heralds something stupid. "How about whoever loses this round takes a shot from your leg?"

He is proven correct.

"How about I throw you into a minefield so we can match?" Old man Abdul responds, his tail wagging from side to side. His tail looks more at home on a rat than any werewolf, the fur there an accidental casualty of a Russian fire mage's spell that had taken his leg off. The prosthetic leg only fitting on his human body isn't nearly as insulting as the warding totem they'd given him to protect against lethal magic after his leg had gone flying.

Taim gulps and holds his hands up. "There's no need for that sir." He quickly adds, clearing his throat and reaching to the floor to pick up their cards and shuffle them.

Taim's warding totem slips out from beneath his jacket, but it's different from old man Abdul's. Not in appearance, with the same materials every mage will make theirs differently, but in feel. It feels different...wrong.

Eyes narrowing he reaches out and holds the piece of faintly glowing rock between his claws. Heat radiates into his fingers, the magic inside pulsing in a steady even thrum like a machine instead of beating like a heartbeat; like something not quite alive.

Abdul had been in combat long enough to know how good a warding totem is with how his body reacts to it.

The shit one he'd been given barely gets the remaining fur on his tail to bristle.

Taim's makes his skin want to melt off.

"Where did you get this?" Abdul asks, tail curling up as he lets go of the totem with disgust clear on his face. "That rock could probably protect you from L3 mage without cracking, maybe even L4." Call him paranoid, but a private getting a totem to protect him from mages rarer than unicorns doesn't make any sense.

"Oh, that-" The young man clears his throat, the totem laying flat against his chest like an insult to life. "Came from up top a few days ago, guess all those terror attacks spooked command and they want to keep us normal people safe." He realizes his words and quickly adds. "-not that I'm calling you not normal or anything sir, it's just that-"

"-You're squishier than me, yes, I know." Old man Abdul rolls his eyes, leaning back into his chair with a huff.

Taim gives a nervous little giggle, scratching at his curly dark hair. "No offence sir. It's just...you know."

"We all look out for our kinfolk first." Old man Abdul sighs, going to wave him off.

His pointy ear twitches and immediately he's jumping to his feet when his sensitive hearing picks up the sound of the elevator mechanism running. No one is supposed to come down at this time, and Abdul already has his rifle raised to point at the elevator doors by the time Taim is able to get to his own feet. The old werewolf doesn't even need to say anything for the young man to stand on opposite side of him, they work together well, both guns aimed at the person revealed by the opening elevator doors.

It's just the janitor.

Taim lets out a small breath and lowers his gun, relaxing as the janitor gives them a small greeting both of them have to strain their ears to hear as a face mask muffles their words.

"That was a bit embarrassing." Taim chuckles weakly, nodding his own greeting and taking a step back so the janitor can push the heavy cart past them. Abdul notes the janitor's hands are thick and large, the veins poking out beneath latex gloves. Murky water sloshes inside the mop bucket, the trash bag filled to the brim and budging.

It's just a janitor.

But like an annoying tick on his ass, something doesn't let old man Abdul relax.

There's a buzz in the back of his mind like the one he'd get when he was being watched, and when he catches sight of the janitor's eyes beneath the wide-brimmed cap that buzzing stops; Instead replaced with a flash sense of wrongness in his bones and the feeling of tar inside his heart and an indescribable scent — like stale beer and burnt grass and deep dark rot — it has his fingers moving to the trigger before the sight of magic melting through latex can make the short trip from his eyes to his brain—

Glowing lines spring into thin air to form magic circles before their eyes.

The warding totems shatter.

'Pop' goes a head.

Both bodies drop to the ground.

"Could have told me there was a dog." Your words scrape against your throat like shards of glass from the disuse, melted latex stretching into long strands as you take off the cleaner gloves and throw them away, your fingers steaming and glowing hot with mana before you hide them away in tactical gloves.

"I-" Taim tries to say but his voice fails him, eyes and mind still blinded by the harsh glare of magical fire.

"Save it." You cut him off, pulling open the lip of the trash bag to dig out your facemask helmet. It's both a full face helmet and a gasmask, scratched up from years of use but still able to protect your head while keeping you anonymous. A shame it can't filter out the stench of burnt flesh, but you've gotten used to it.

Taim's vision clears and the moment his eyes settle on the charred remains of Abdul's head— the hollowed out skull where concentrated flame had burned a hole straight through everything in it's path, the flesh and bone charred black —he's scrambling away as fast as his feet can push him, the shattered remains of your warding totem crumbling beneath his fingers. Bile rises in his throat and he coughs when he breaths in, but his stomach is thankfully empty so he ends up dry heaving.

"On your feet." Your words are hard to understand under your gasmask, but you don't need to raise your voice. The tone you use has him scrambling to his feet in seconds.

"I- I- yes sir!" Taim manages to stutter out, doesn't even have to fake his fear as he stands at attention. He watches you reach into the dirty water to pull out a Handheld Personal Computer and shake off the residual droplets to ensure it still works before putting it in your pocket.

"When is the next check in?" You ask, reaching further into the trash bag to grasp the handhold on the heavy gas canister hidden beneath office trash. You pull it out without much effort, setting it carefully on the ground so you can recheck that the release valve is intact.

"20 minutes sir." Taim responds and he doesn't need to know Arabic to know what's inside the canister when a grinning skull is printed on the metal.

You let out a low sound, and Taim tries not to peer too closely at you. Sometimes he wonders what face a person who burns people alive without a single second of hesitation could have, but then you look at him and he sees that unnatural glow of mana in your eyes behind the darkened lenses of the helmet and he's glad he's met with the emotionless visage of the mask rather than the one beneath it.

"You have 10 to get out before Hell opens up." You say, standing back up and picking up the canister without complaint. "Use the emergency tunnels, don't spook the VIPs."

Taim is human, not sensitive to magic like the monsters are, but even he can feel the latent mana in your veins that strengthens your body. Like maggots at the back of his skull. It makes a second round of bile rise to his throat. "Yes sir."

You pay close attention to him until he disappears down the corridor before going the opposite way. Alone, it is easier to calm the lingering heat in your veins until the eternal engine of mana in your chest fizzles down to embers like a sleeping beast. Can't have your mana mess with sensitive electronics, even if that does leave you exposed on the cams (as if there's anyone alive to watch them)

"Ifrit, status?" The small radio in your ear crackles.

"Moving to the target, encountered and neutralized a wolf." You answer, taking sharp turns as you follow a path you'd memorized beforehand. "No other monsters to report."

You were lucky to run into one down in the bowels of the conference hall instead of at the front gate. Otherwise your espionage mission would have turned into a frontal assault. Not that Khaled would have minded, you were getting paid to send a loud statement after all.

"Good." You don't need to see his face to know he's smirking, your employer wasn't a huge fan of subhumans. "Continue to the objective."

You respond in affirmative, coming to a heavy metal door, locked with a passcode and even a palm scanner; It's all a valiant effort to keep sensitive data safe, but it may as well be cardboard to you. You summon another circle, this time right on the door, biting your tongue. You're not good with 'subtle' but you haven't forgotten what Taurus or Sierra had taught you; first pushing a bit of loose ash magic between the large atoms making up the metal to disrupt the bonds, then a single pulse of fire ignites the volatile ash and has the entire bottom half crumbling into red hot shards.

Molten slag drips down to the floor when you duck down under the remaining half of the door to find yourself in the server room. Steam rises when the cold air meets your hot skin, but you hardly notice as you first head to the ventilation system at the back of the room. It's dark, but you don't bother turning on the lights, the subtle mana in your eyes enough to give you primitive night vision.

"Ifrit to Alpha-Actual, connecting the payload right now." You say, setting the canister down. The ventilation collects the air from the server room to push it through the entire building and then outside, so all you have to do is melt a hole through the exit pipe until it's big enough for the hose on the canister to fit snugly inside.

"And the files?" Khaled's voice sounds in your ear once you're finished.

"Going now." Standing back up you head to the central server. Taking out the HPC you hook it up to the mainframe, watching the screen until it shows 'connection secure'. "I'm connected."

"Copy that." Your eyes scan the cracked screen (which you broke less than a week after getting it), seeing the file transfer start before Khaled even finishes speaking and trying to read and memorize the names of dozens the files but they change too quickly. "File transfer ETA 5 minutes. Sit tight."

Giving confirmation you keep an eye on the doorway. Though you are positioned in such a way that you'd see the shadow of someone coming in before they see you, years of being behind enemy lines and acting as a friendly to your foes has taught you to be careful. Especially when you can't use more than a smidgeon of mana without frying the entire server system.

You are lucky that no-one comes, the remaining guards too busy guarding the diplomats above you to check what's beneath their noses. While waiting you access the public stream to watch the peace talks, setting the sound to the lowest possible setting so you can keep an eye on the diplomats in case you need a change of plan.

"Got the files, you're clear to finish." You're moving before Khaled can finish speaking, leaving the HPC to hang by the cord from the server. "Oh, and remember: Loud."

"You get what you pay for sir." Kneeling down next to the gas canister you check to ensure your gas mask is firmly on and breathing in deeply; It restricts your breathing and makes muscles work harder, but your body is so used to it that it feels like coming back home.

"Letting the gas out now." Even with the gas mask you still hold your breath when you open the valve, the gas hissing as it escapes the canister, the fan right next to you helping push it through the system. You know there's not enough gas to reach the diplomats on the top floor, it's part of the plan, so when the gas pitters out you cast another circle inside the pipe.

The servers around you flicker meekly and crackle with electricity when you use your mana fully; Something intense and suffocating burns behind your sternum for just a second before liquid mana is rushing down your veins into your hands and coming out through the magic circle as copious amounts of ash.

The rotating fan right next to you spews some of your ash right back at you, flooding the server room in magic that has long since accepted your body enough not to hurt you. But even your seasoned stomach feels tight when you breathe in the mixture of ash and toxic gas, the chemicals turning your magic a nasty shade of green, and you make a mental note to change the filter when you're done with the op otherwise the toxified sediment collecting in there will poison you for months.

You can hear the diplomats begin to cough over the livestream in the HPC, but it all feels so distant when you shift and feel cold dog tags press against your burning chest. They're light like a noose around your neck, yet the absence of weight mocks you in a way their owners no longer can.

There's a familiar sting in your bones when your mana reservoir begins dwindling, but it's easy to push through it until the engine in your chest goes into overdrive from the stress the magic puts on your body. You only stop when the burning mana in your veins starts burning small holes in the sleeves of the janitor jacket, revealing bits of your mage marked skin.

Stopping the flow of ash your hands find themselves in your pocket, taking out a lighter. It's one of those old zippo lighters, the exterior is rusted from years of action and numerous initials are scratched into the metal, but somehow it still functions; It's the strange thing about it— the more you use it, the longer it lasts. Stop, and it dies.

"It's a bit like you, firebug."

Absentmindedly you trace the scratched initials in the metal, trying to ignore the hollowness in your chest when the screams beyond the smokescreen of ash start sounding familiar.

"Going dark." You say to them, flicking it open.

One spark is all it takes.

. . .

With Makarov having gone underground like a wanker after his escape from the gulag, Price and Laswell had been stuck with their heads in mountains of paperwork searching for the bastard. Price had known he'd be in for a headache the moment he agreed to let the boys watch a live football game between England and Scotland, but he reasoned they'd all been working hard enough to earn even a small break.

At the very least it gave them all a moment of reprieve from the stress of a possible world war.

It didn't stop Soap from being a bloody muppet.

"Oh fockin' 'ell!" Soap roars and jumps to his feet, growling at the teli where a ref held a red card above her head. "That should've been a yellow! Fock, one more eye and the ref's a right cyclops." He waves obscenities at the teli as if the ref can see them, his tail hitting Gaz every time it wagged.

"Soap!" Gaz groans and stretches one black wing to smack the werewolf over the head with his long flight feathers to stop him blocking the screen.

Though Gaz's wings are hollow, the smack still hurts. "Ow, what's that for?" Soap groans, rubbing the back of his head.

"At least take your defeat with a wee bit of dignity." Gaz smirks, folding his wings.

"Bold assumption he has any." Ghost mutters next to Price, making him chuckle.

“Oh ho! I’ll get me dignity when the bloody ref gets off 'er knees an’ stops blowing the entire game.” Soap turns to playfully snap his teeth at Gaz. "And what's tha-"

The football match cuts out, replaced with a news segment.

"-Oh, what the fock?" Soap grows quiet when the newscaster begins speaking.

"We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you breaking news. As we speak, the conference hall in Al Mazra, where diplomats from over 40 countries had come to discuss peace and trade agreements with the newly reinstated Urzikstan government, burns in the flames of another terrorist attack."

The footage shifts to a drone filming a bird's eye view shot of violent flames spewing from every hole and window to engulf the entire three story building in consuming fire, heavy plumes of smoke rising into the sky like a maw of a hungering beast to spew a storm of ash and cinders down to the ground. The clouds of ash have a sick green undertone to them.

"Shit." Gaz sucks in a breath.

"Mokarov's done hiding." Ghost notes, leaning in to look closely at the screen with narrowed eyes.

"How the fock did we miss this?" Soap asks the question in their minds, turning to look at Price. "This popped up like bloody whack-a-mole."

At that same time Price's phone rings. The dragon quickly fishes it out of his pocket, seeing Laswell's name as the caller ID before he picks it up while the reporter drawls on.

"Price, are you-"

"Yeah, I'm watching the teli." He cuts her off, knowing what she's going to say. Distantly he can hear the same news report sounding on her end.

"Authorities warn citizens to vacate the immediate area as toxic gas has been detected in the air. Military forces are already enroute, but the prospects for the diplomats survival are nonexistent."

Price's draconic eyes focus on the screen when the footage shifts to that inside the conference hall. Two diplomats argue about something Price can't begin to try and untangle, his focus on one man near the back who begins coughing. More follow suit, and even over the screen Price can tell the signs of toxic gas inhalation by the way more diplomats begin wheezing and coughing wetly.

"This isn't the Russians." Kate says after Price has put her on speaker.

"How come? Looks like some terrorist shite Makarov would pull." Johnny says, his tail curled up and the tip wagging occasionally as he pays attention to the screen.

Seconds later plumes of blackish-green smog erupt from the vents above the diplomats, spewing out with such force it knocks the the camera and the man behind it down to the ground. Ash Magic, Price realizes when he sees smoldering cinders drift almost peacefully in the all consuming fog. Seconds later something causes a spark and the volatile ash magic explodes.

"Ash mage." Ghost grunts, "Just great."

"Makarov doesn't use mages." Price says, scratching his beard.

"No, but Al-Asad does." Kate's voice drifts through the silent room as they watch several APC's arrive on the scene, armored soldiers exiting. But without any monsters who can stomach the heat like Price and with the fog of ash so thick it could be cut with a knife, the best they can do is secure the perimeter. "The CIA intercepted his broadcast before it went public, this is just the start."

Gaz hops off the couch, crossing the small distance to tap one claw at the screen. "What is that?" He asks. Seemingly hearing him, the drone camera focuses on where the main entrance of the building had been.

A dark silhouette of a person can be seen in the flames, growing darker and more refined until finally a featureless helmet emerges from the flames, a deep glow emanating from behind the lenses. It's followed by a body, clothes burnt away in some parts but the flesh beneath unharmed. Price can tell immediately it's a mage by the state of the arms — even from far away it's easy to tell the mage marks, the skin turned rough and dark like cooled magma, veins brimming with volatile mana.

Before the soldiers can fire a single bullet you lift one hand up, the dark mage marks turning to bright like fresh lava when mana flows from your chest to your fingers. A magic circle etches itself into the ground in an instant, so large the surrounding buildings fall into it's perimeter.

And with a second motion of your hand everything erupts into an all consuming cloud of ash.

Laswell's voice rings out. "That's Khaled's new attack dog."

Price and Ghost share a look, both know what will happen long before some nervous soldier caught in the ash cloud pulls the trigger. The cloud of ash explodes the second a spark is created in a weapon's chamber, plunging everything into chaos.

Great, a new wanker to worry about.

Price sighs, brows furrowing. "That's trouble all right."

Tag list: @resident-cryptid @diejager @lovingtyrantkitten @lieutnt

Masterlist <- Chapter 1 (you are here) -> Chapter 2

You can imagine the helmet however you want, but it's in the style of the Devtac Ronin helmet.

#centerpieces of the hoard #cod mw2 #x reader #male reader #top male reader #captain john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #fanfiction #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #cod x male reader #cod x reader #monster 141 au #monster cod au #not betaed #next chapter coming soon

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