#i need to cleanse my soul and wash off my sins

[eelnoise]

incandesce

zoro x afab!reader an: just some lovesick drabble because im weak in the knees for my big stinky boy. he's so cute and i wanna just snuggle w him so bad 🥺 cw: fluff :) wc: 1.1k @bby-deerling @kaizokuniichan @themushroomofdeath

The flash of the morning sun hits Zoro’s face like a white-hot light as he descends from the crow’s nest, freshly exhausted from training. Squinting in the daylight, he looks upon the deck below as it comes into clearer view – silhouettes of the crew fade into focus, and quickly does he scan the scene for a brief headcount. A slight warmth fills his chest, and not from the tide of day washing over the ship.

You’re not among them. You’re still asleep.

Zoro’s boots hit the deck with an audible thud, and heads turn to greet him. He offers a sleepy ‘good morning’ nod before heading right in the direction of the women’s quarters. No one stops him, nor are any words exchanged. They all know where he’s headed, just as they know why you tend to sleep in.

It isn’t often that he gets this opportunity – to join you for a nap. Most days he retires from the watch far earlier than any of the women awake, sometimes avoiding his own bed all together and simply napping in the nest. The odds are in his favor this time, and he means to take full advantage of the very limited time he can have with you. Only you.

No sooner does he creak the wooden door open that his heart skips a beat beneath his ribs. You’re there, just as he hoped you would be, softly snoozing beneath the sheets. Your hair is folded wildly about your face and the pillow beneath your head, and your lips are slightly parted with just a speck of drool glistening down your chin. Zoro can’t help but find you endearing, and seeing you in a deep, restful sleep does something to soften his stoicism. 

He almost can’t bring himself to wake you, as the sudden shift on the mattress always causes you to stir – though you’re never soured by it. Never once do you make him feel unwanted or loathsome, always welcoming into your arms or by your side when he needs you most.

And, while not the most affectionate man, Zoro relishes in the love you give him. The good-willed and honest devotion that you deem him worthy enough to receive makes his head spin. Somehow you had latched onto his sin-soaked soul, cleansing it in your soft, practiced hands and invigorating him in ways long forgotten.

Memories that ache - that wear him down with the weight of the past, present and beyond - they all seem to slip away when he’s next to you. You’re his anchor, reeling him back from the somber reverie that so frequently plays in his mind. A light that burns bright even in the darkest of places, and somehow he always finds his way back to you. Zoro knows that real worth is wordless, actions speaking emphatically over all else.

And you show him that worth.

His worth.

Zoro kicks off his boots, practically tiptoeing his way around the bed to it’s open side – and though he knows it’s fruitless, he does make an attempt to slide in next to you as carefully as he can manage to. And you stir – as if right on cue, the sudden weight pressing into the mattress that rolls you against his chest. 

A sleepy hum of acknowledgement befalls your lips, a small - yet simple - gesture of welcome to the man now aside you.

A hint of a smile etches into the cooks of his mouth as he returns the gesture with a hum of his own before curling his arm around your middle and burying his face into your hair and breathing in deeply. Your body is warm to the touch, and with it comes elation. Oftentimes he appreciates that you had cast the first stone, releasing him from the nigh-torturous, unknown feelings that he couldn’t possibly have navigated alone.

Zoro clings to you, as if magnetically attached around your body. His thumb drags along your tummy, up and down in a soothing yet natural response to being with you. He murmurs a throaty “Good mornin’” against your ear that makes you shiver with longing. Far too little do you get to indulge in his embrace, and though you’re not as tired as he is, you aim to enjoy the time regardless.

“Morning,” You reply, twisting your head just enough to see him and allowing your hand to fall atop his and entwining your fingers together. “How was watch?”

“Same as ever.” He whispers into you, feeling that familiar tranquil serenity blossoming within him. Zoro squeezes your body against him and moves some of your hair out of your face to place a series of pecks to your cheek before trailing up to give you a soft, tender kiss to your lips. 

It hadn’t been easy, learning to love – but with you there, ready and willing to guide him at his chosen pace the whole way through his strained emotions. Not once in his life did he expect to feel this way, a man of action and ruthlessly devoted to his dream and to his course upon it. Zoro once saw life as just that – his own. A narrow pathway in hindsight, one fit enough for just himself at the end of all things.

Though now, the path had forked, widened, and along it do you walk beside him. Every decision, every step, every pinch of ash left in his wake has your name written upon it in dark, permanent ink. Zoro thinks with you in mind, acts with your face at the very forefront of his synapses. He’s grown to adore you, both body and soul.

Part of it terrifies him still. The thought of losing something more precious than words can explain dives deep into his core. In love, there is fear. Fear of loss, fear of weakness in life’s most pivotal moments, fear of losing one's sense of perception. 

Though, there’s also hope. Hope and happiness and support and all else that comes with devoting your very essence to another. Seeing you smile or laugh brings him a peace that borders on inexplicable. The feeling of your hand on his bids him well wishes, each kiss a reminder of sanctuary. Every tangle between the sheets when he makes love to you renders him spellbound - the saccharine, honeyed taste of your skin on his tongue mixed in with those sighs and coos of pleasure that only he can hear, a song that only he can make you belt, it makes Zoro’s head spin with just the thought.

To Zoro, you’re beyond compare. No single person in his life comes even toe-to-toe with you, and as you snuggle against him, he allows himself to feel vulnerable. You’re his safehaven, a blessing in disguise that nabs him by the heart and never fails to lull him into a rejuvenating respite. 

You’re home.

You’re his.

#one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #roronoa zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro fluff #zoro x reader #one piece scenario #x reader #zoro x y/n

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Salvation - A Luca Changretta/Reader One Shot Story.

So my darling @zablife put this in my brain, and it was going to be smutty, but it took a much more tender turn in the end. I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless.

Words - 1,034

Warnings - Brief mentions of violence.

In Luca’s world, his status dictates he acts as judge and jury, but not often executioner. Usually, it’s another to squeeze a trigger, send a ballistic of hot lead into somebody, their final lesson learned in never crossing the men who loom like reapers within the shadows of the New York underworld.  

Until the code of omerta is forsaken so badly, he has no choice but to execute vengeance, when it’s on a level so personal, there’s no one else but him to bring down the final blow. For omerta, any bond is pushed aside. Friendship, blood, oaths, everything.  

And it never gets easier.  

The weight of it pushes down on his shoulders, the deed trailing along after him, like a restless phantom vying for attention, swirling dark as it flits through his mind. It casts its shadows, seeds itself, an implanted haunting no exorcism will ever remove. The stains of blood can be washed away, cleansed by soap and water. Stains of the soul take a much deeper scouring.  

For the wages of sin is death, so says the holy book. He knows it’ll come to him eventually, unless he’s particularly fortunate. It shan’t be the sacrilege of breaking omerta that ends him, though. He knows whatever reaper comes for him in the end will be nothing less than his own wages of sin have earned him. 

He examines his hands again in the car, although it was a gloved hand that pulled the trigger and sent his own blood down to check in at the gates of hell. They only contain the usual brandings, no blood to mark the deed, nothing outward giving it away. If his appearance matched the carnage in his brain, he would look as if he’d been launched headfirst into a blood-filled vat, dripping sanguine, no skin left without the slick wet of a crimson stain.  

He feels like he is walking through clay as he enters your home, feet heavy, limbs turned to stone and concrete. Luca Changretta is nothing if not a pillar of strength, but as with anything, if the pillar is subjected to blunt force trauma too many times, it begins to show cracks.  

It’s always you who patches them up again.  If anybody has a chance of banishing the phantom, it is you.

He moves through the house wordlessly after removing his coat and hat, his feet upon the stairs echoing through the hallway. Slow, heavy footfalls, his shoulders drawn up as you stand at the bottom to view him, biting your lip nervously.  

“Want me to bring you a drink up?”  

He never means to bite your head off, show his fangs like an agitated viper, but it does happen. When the tall Italian turns at the top to look down on you, though, it’s with a softened face. “Please, doll.”  

A little pang of worry nestles itself in your chest, his voice even quieter than usual. You knew he wouldn’t walk away from that particular hit unscathed, the damage being on the inside. It’ll be like a feral cat scratching against the inside of his skull in the days to come, sore, repetitive, vying for release.  

After all, it isn’t every day a man has to put a bullet in his cousin, after discovering he was a rat. 

Knowing he needs a little time, you wait downstairs until after the sound of running water has ceased, giving him a slither of peace before padding up, a large whiskey in your hand. He hasn’t bothered switching the lights on, some of your candles over in the corner lit instead, the room bathed in a dark gold glow.  

He seems to have been taken by the storm of his thoughts, not immediately registering your entrance into his calming space, a wounded, green gaze finding you eventually as you pass him his drink, seating yourself on the side of the tub. Your hand reaches for his face, cupping his cheek, the dark stubble grainy in texture against the soft of your fingertips.  

A sigh sweeps over your palm as he leans into your embrace, your thumb skimming his lips, a kiss pressed as finally, he smiles. “Thank god for you.” Leaning forward, he shuffles to the centre of the tub, the water whooshing around the narrow, muscular form as it cuts through it, Luca jerking his head back. “Come hop in here with me.”  

It’s usually you who lies between his long legs, legs you once coined sexy giraffe legs and made him laugh until his stomach hurt, a rarity for a man usually so taciturn, so quietly still. Your place now is to be the bearer of support, the bolster rod knocked in behind the great pillar to prevent it from toppling, ready to take the weight and repair the damage.  

His head rests between your breasts, eyes falling shut, long legs jutting out of the water where he’s bent them at the knees to make room for you. The steam rises from his skin, and you watch it curling up through the air while your fingers weave into his wet hair, nails combing through the raven strands and swirling over his scalp.  

It’s a practice he’s always found soothing, and you know he needs it, needs something to counteract all that is sharp and screaming in his mind. Your presence alone is tonic enough, but for him, it’s your touch which truly pours healing elixir over the emotional wounds lacerating him deeply. Your fingertips begin to squeeze and rake, easing the tension pulling tight over his head, a soft, relaxed grunt rumbling his throat.  

Your caress moves to his neck, the muscles hard and unrelenting, tension cording every muscle. It leads to his shoulders, your hands working with diligence, stroking, kneading and pinching until you feel them begin to become malleable. He feels it leaving him, the exorcism that is the pure brilliance of your love banishing all that hangs heavy upon him, the phantom chased away, shrouding itself from your light.  

“Feeling any better?” 

He lifts his chin, turning his head, the smile finally reaching the green twinkle of his eyes, picked peridot in the candlelight. “Always am whenever you’re near.” 

#luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta x reader #luca changretta x you #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #luca changretta fic #luca changretta fanfic

[minzis]

The Devil Has A New Lover

Art Credits: colin_3dart

✞❘༻An obsessive König one shot༺❘✞

✦❘༻My first time attempting to genuinely write so if it’s not the best be mindful of that! Semi graphic? A bit suggestive as well König is a bit of a perv in this so… About 5.8k words give or take.

✦❘༻The german in this is fairly rough I tried my best in researching properly for it so if there’s any mistakes in translation let me know.

✦❘༻I’ve had ‘Take Me To Church’ on repeat while writing this so take that as you will. Lowkey fulfilling my own obsession with obsessive/yandere König tbh.

✦❘༻ ─────•~✞~•───── ༺❘✦

Your finger flicker off the match, his bloodied clothes engulfed in bright flames. It seemed to have extend to your aching heart, tainting your soul a deep black. A color that used to only suit König alone. A fire that endlessly burned torching your skin on more then one occasion.

The flames dancing and crackling like a broken song similar to the one that played so beautifully every time he kissed you, every time he touched you. Lifted and held you in his arms as if he was some knight in shiny armor. How well you fit into his hands, molded into a pure perfection of his own making.

A gaze that burrowed beneath your skin like a fatal infection. One that had already picked you apart and pieced you back together more times then you’d ever know.

You knew from the beginning what type of person he was, wether it was subconsciously or not. Everyone knew how he was always a moments away from his next nervous breakdown. He was a terrifyingly beautiful force to be reckoned with on the field.

Death was this man’s best friend like a shadow that followed him even on the brightest of days.

The way he killed with his bare hands would’ve been enough to damn his soul for an eternity. A weapon in his hands only made him evolve into a worsening form of himself. He knew no amount of cleansing or repenting would save him.

Everything about him wasn’t normal, he was never normal. But by god did he make the devilish acts feel like a degraded version of heaven. His actions showed that he was some form of nasty demon but his touch was that of a saint. The voice dipped in honey, brewed in ecstasy. It was beautiful, and he made it feel beautiful. The blood on his hands that never truly washed away.

He had to be some sort of drug that constantly intoxicated you from the pretty skin he left marks on to the veins he lit on fire. He filled every sense in ways no normal man could ever hope to achieve. They could never be him, ever amount to him.

Sometimes you wondered if the feelings you had for him scared you more then the man himself. Why did the devil make evil look so enchanting? If you held him surely you’d be dragged down with him by the many sins he committed on the battlefield.

You’d feel the many ghost that haunted his thoughts, the innocent, evil, and everything in between. Maybe that’s why you enticed him so much, the ghost’s screams who sounded less prevalent when he was near you.

His life an endless cycle of what was, never a moments thought of an after or before. He was a mere animated corpse with a heartbeat. That’s why they loved him so much, his soullessness.

There was no mission too evil, even if he was damned to hell for eternity not even the devil could stop him. He was who they sent on the missions nobody dared to considered, the hushed ones hauled off in the dark. The ones that leave you awake on a cold summer night praying you’d simply forget it all but they’d forever haunt the deepest parts of your mind.

Like a chained dog thrown a bone when his existence was needed but never wanted.

He hoped on many countless night that on one of the dreadful missions a stray bullet would find its way embedded into his skin, or a simple slip up that left him bleeding out on the floor. Maybe that’s why on some missions he wouldn’t wear his bulletproof vest just to test his favor with death. He didn’t care how painful it was just that he was relived from this horrid existence people dared to call living. He was never truly living to begin not with what he’s done.

Just a dead man walking.

Karma was going to come for him it was only a question of when.

But then there was you, the new sergeant on the force who was known to have worked her ass off. And of course you were a fucking sniper, a hell of one that even the men who disliked you couldn’t mouth a word.

Something about it pissed him off, you were what he wanted to be. What he should’ve been and you were damn good at it. You were kind, too kind. How odd that you could hold such a level of optimism and humanity in a job like this.

How easily your peers flocked to you, people enjoyed your presence. A refreshing one compared to the one he brought every time he entered the room. Silence always fell over the laughter, eyes stuck to him like he was something unbearable to be around. He was respected through fear not his achievements.

Glances and words that were a coldness whenever it came to you. It was even more aggravating that despite it all, it was you that kept him up late at night.

The last thing he thought about before he went to sleep and the first he thought of when he awoke. Day in day out it was all you. No matter what he did you never left, he had to see you every damn day of the week. Nearly 24 hours a god damn day.

You were who he yelled at the loudest, punishments the made no sense compared to the fuck-up. Yet you still smiled at him, tried to laugh with him. Treated him with kindness and respect that wasn’t out of fear but admiration.

Why? What made him worth even being allowed in your vicinity.

A mission arose eventually like they always do. A two man job, one he sure as hell didn’t want to go on. Nobody’s hand raised, nor any voices raised to be his partner and everyone suggested you. How thoughtful? He was damn near seething when he had to approach and inform you of it. He practically threw the papers on your desk, “Ready in twenty Mäuschen.”

Your eyes searched over the papers in confusion before looking back up at him. You almost expected his words to be a weird sense of humor he had, but his eyes read he was far from joking. He narrowed his eyes at you like a predator stalking it prey. It was honestly quite terrifying how small he made you feel from a single glance.

You weren’t sure if you were supposed to smile or form some bullshit of a sentence that he’d rather not hear. You nodded your head shuffling the papers together, by time you had gathered your thoughts enough to look back up he was long gone. A sigh fell out your mouth as you slumped back in your chair, head resting in your palms.

It’s fine right? I mean sure he has an obvious distaste towards you but a mission is a mission. Wether he possibly hated you or not his work ethic wouldn’t allow him to let his personal feelings get in the way. If that’s what he even felt if anything at all, distaste or hatred? It’s all the same when it comes from him.

Shouldn’t you just give up? Call it quits? It’s been almost a month or two now since you’ve joined the team and he showed no signs of changing the relationship between y’all anytime soon. Let alone allowing you any type of close to him especially anything beyond a coworker type bases. It was obvious he only tolerated you cause he had to not because he wanted too.

What was supposed to be an in and out minimum contact mission ended up going completely haywire, nobody was supposed to get hurt, not on your side at the least.

Sure you’re on the field but never in immediate danger sure as hell not trying to save that monstrous of a man. A sniper, mere specter of the battle watching it unfold, finger firm on the trigger as König commanded your every move.

It was a bit of a surprise how well you flowed together. Synchronized movements with yards between y’all, moving as one. From the looks of it you’d almost have assumed you two had worked together for years but you two accomplished what would have taken some weeks of practice.

You trailed his every move through the scope becoming his eyes from the sky, the light blooming in the dark as his passion for blood seeped from him.

You weren’t sure if you should call it a passion or an obsession. Bloodlust even? He wasn’t just killing for the purpose of the mission he was doing it cause he enjoyed it. Yet for the most maddening of reasons he made it look beautiful.

Often or not people tend to forget the devil was once an angel, written out as this demonic being so atrociously evil. The devil dresses in ethereal dripping in sins so intoxicating you’d be fooled into falling for the fallen angel. He makes evil look heavenly as if there would be no price to pay for taking his hand.

Make no mistake there will always be a price to pay for dancing with the devil.

Something about it was enriching, exhilarating of an experience. To be tempted by the devil, by him. What did it make you? A craving coursed through you like a toxin as your watchful eyes admired him from afar. What you don’t know can’t hurt you right? It shouldn’t matter if you kept it to yourself. Just spectating like you always have would’ve been enough.

But like they always say careful what you wish for.

If it weren’t for the extensive training you went through you probably would’ve never seen the glint in the distance. Brief and quick you knew it all to well, the glare of a sniper. Within the brief thought process your finger pulled the trigger immediately downing the other sniper. They weren’t aiming at you though. Before you could fully understand the situation König’s voice rung out over the radio.

“Verdammter scheiß,” he cursed out through the radio, your hand immediately clicked too your own.

Your eyes searched the field where he had just been and he was nowhere to be seen. “Sir where are you, I took out the sniper but I lost sight of you?!” Your panicked voice called for him as you hurriedly gathered your gear. Leaving the sniper behind you rushing down from the spot you had been at. Slipping out the small pistol you carried along your belt.

You shoved through the trees towards where you assumed he had been. Overlooking the field from your current position it was damn near impossible to see him now with the cover of darkness. You cursed to yourself beginning to rack your brain for whatever the fuck you were gonna have to tell your team on why only one of you came back. Let alone your own personal feelings that lingered past the depths of a simple coworker relation.

It was your job to watch him the only reason you were brought along in the first place was to watch over König from the tree line assuring him cover as he infiltrated the building. “König you’re gonna have to tell me where you are or we’re both fucked,” you huffed at the radio as the dread clawing at you.

His voice cracked back over the radio, “Side building.” A hissed followed after the information as you worried over how much time there was before the loss of blood would kill him. You attempted to brush any of the thoughts out and focus on finding him first.

Sprinting through the shadows for cover, occasionally scanning the area. Your movements were quickly and fluid downing whatever men that managed to evade König’s wrath. It was fairly easy to locate the man considering the bodies he left in his wake.

“König?!?” You yelled as you darted around corners in search of him. A soft pained groaned echoed nearby in response from beside you. Your eyes immediately shot over to the sound only too find the man slumped up against a wall. A sizable pool of blood beside him a grim expression grew on your face at the sight.

The man was painted in the crimson decorating his entire uniform in it and for once it was mixed with his own. He could hardly tell the difference between what blood was and wasn’t his own.

There were no words as you rushed to his side searching for the wound on his body. It was what he was longing to feel. His body draining of its life. He was content with having died then and there but how could he when someone was so desperately calling out for him?

Someone who he had never shown an ounce of kindness too. Such a worried expression painted on her face, for a demon like him? A man who thought he didn’t deserve nor thought to ever receive such kindness, such warmth.

He grunted loudly choking harshly on his own blood, his eyes burned through his hood at the woman before him. He hadn’t spoken a word as you tended to the bullet that ripped a hole midway through his abdomen. The bleeding was a large amount staining your hands a dark red.

The thought had made him sad, his soiled blood tainting your skin. That’s not right your hands should be cleaned, cleansed of him. He feared his monstrous blood would only infect yours like a deadly disease, he was only dragging your soul from heaven.

Anytime you asked a question or spoke it was only met with a meek glance from his side. You quickly learned to read the emotions within his eyes. “Dammit you scared the shit out of me you know?” You whispered yelled your complaints making haste on stuffing the wound with the bandages you had on hand. At least so could make it back too some form of safety without worry of him bleeding out before then.

You motioned for him to stand up as you hurriedly helped him out of sight and to a near by building. It was funny to him someone of your size practically struggling to keep him up shuffling together through the building. Nether the less getting him back safely.

A loud grunt fell out your mouth as you searched for something he could lay on. You found a nearby table shoving the mess of items off it. He groaned half hazardously sitting down on the thing as you glanced around before finding a med-kit to properly treat his wound.

You had panicked eyes as you flipped through your brain for the shit you half listened to during basic medical training. Your shit memory never doing you good as parts of the information blurred out. Especially considering your new position and usually if ever directly in the middle of the combat.

You muttered multiple sorry’s after every sound he made his hand occasionally slamming at the table signifying you were more then likely doing something wrong. Your attempt was surely not the best but decent enough to keep him alive before a evacuation team could get too you.

In truth it did hurt like hell but it wasn’t something he hadn’t been through before. He probably could’ve stitched it himself but you were desperately offering your help. Soft gentle hands that were steady but a shaking voice as you made apologetic comments towards him. For once he thanked having always worn his hood cause you would’ve seen the nasty look on his face.

He was smiling, fucking smiling. He was enjoying this. You helping, tending to him.

It was a pretty damn sight to as you sat bent down looking over his abdomen. Hand pressing tenderly at his skin before pulling the needle through making up a half decent stitching job.

You’d occasionally glance up towards him sending this man into a frustrated frenzy. You shouldn’t look at him like that not this close. That worried glassed over look in your eyes. You were trusting him too much, what if he decided too just grab hold of you? He could couldn’t he, snap that pretty neck with ease. Could you be anymore naive?

That made him sick didn’t it, a freak of nature probably. He understood long before he wasn’t going to be save, the thoughts he had flooding in his head. What he was thinking of you, what he wanted to do too you. Yet here you were blessing his body with care and stitches made from nothing but pure kindness and compassion with a reassuring smile.

Maybe it was then when your fate had been decided, when he decided you were going to be his. The angel that was made just for him, just how he was made for you. You weren’t just any angel. You were his angel, his saving grace from the hellish life that threatened to drive him right off the edge.

It was almost like a light switch in his changing behavior, it’s was rapid. Too quick that it should’ve been a sign then but you were happy excited even. It’s what you had been wanting, he was finally accepting towards you.

For you it was a new friend made but for him it was a vast difference. As if his world had stopped turning only to revolve around you. The gift bestowed upon him by god, had it been some apology for casting him out? Surely it was why else where you so kind to him?

“I brought us both coffee,” you’d exclaim with a soft smile offering him the large cup that looked like a small in his hands. That means you feel the same right? It had to be the little favors you did for him and nobody else. Feeding his deranged fantasy of the love between you.

Bits of small talk you’d offer rambling about whatever crossed your mind as he hovered over you. He’d simply listen to everyone taking note of anything you’d mentioned you liked or hated that would randomly pop up on your desk or at your doorstep. A soft look in his eyes that’d narrow if another man even dared to look your way, which was more often than he could handle.

The occasion praises of adoration you’d spew as he’d showed off the knife tricks he’s taught himself over the years. Your praise alone was enough to fulfill him. Tricks that seemed to always fascinate you. He would continued to do anything you asked of him if it made you happy in any sense, all you had to do was ask. Over time he began to realize your focus never on the knife but his hands. Eyes darting around after every flip and flick. A small perk of a smile on your face, lips parted slightly as you shamelessly stared at the man.

And by gods did he use that to his advantage, you need something of a higher self? Oh but of course but his free hand will mange to find its way to your waist squeezing every so gently. He needs by? “Entschuldigung,” he’d whisper in that gentle tone as he pressed his hands at your sides moving you himself.

Eyes that went wide as you’d give a quick apologetic nod unable to form a proper response at times. A soft shudder that followed every time despite the seemingly endless amount of times you just so happened to be in his path. Your sweet voice echoing desperately in his ears on the few occasions you would apologize.

‘Oh I’m sorry.’ ‘My apologies sir.’ ‘Sorry sir.’

As if he wasn’t the one planning every action down to the bone just cause he knew it’d get a rise out of you.

‘Haven’t you been taught not to play with your food?’

For you it never applied to him, a brushed of his hands as you put your gear on insisting it would make it easier on you. He’s happy to help he’d say. Smiles, he was all smiles under that damned hood of his. It was almost impossible how far the man could smile but you could debate the sheer size of the man was simply impossible. Nearly twice your size, at the very least a foot taller. Like always you’d gracefully accept his helping bounder-less hands, only ever further indulging his desires. He was having fun with this, with you.

Seemed to understand and know everything you liked. That new song you mention unable to find it again, “Oh you mean__?” He’d tilt his head as you as you’d scoff in surprise. “Yeah actually, how’d you know?” he’d only ever follow up with a shrug walking away as you chalked it up to some funny coincidence.

It never would be though cause he already knew that about you, every core details you ever posted, wrote or tweeted about. If it was public he found it, he knew exactly who you were and it only depended his affection. Despite the man’s age he was not stupid by any means especially technologically wise, it was a terrifying level of understanding.

Stalking every corner of your socials, hell even old ones you forgot about that were assumed to be deleted. Every photo or video you’ve ever posted he had seen them all, downloaded and saved. That nice little folder for you on his personal computer named, ‘Engelchen.’ It was mostly for him to gawk at on the days it had been too long since you last posted anything new. There were a few other uses for the photos he stole found of you.

A handful on his new phone he bought just for the times he’s deployed for a long period of time unable to access his computer. He wouldn’t dare to have them on his work on, what if others seen you? He couldn’t have anybody else’s greedy eyes on what was his.

Probably why on a deranged night he broke into your apartment, that day that photo you posted and it had garnered a bit too much attention for his liking. He tired to talk himself out of it multiple times, it should’ve only been for his eyes alone. He was growing needy, possessively dangerous.

“Mien engel, warum hast du das getan?!” It drove the man mad. It was this uncontrollable craze he’d never felt before. Anger and adrenaline flooded his veins as he found himself in your living room. Shouldn’t you be a lot more careful I mean an open window? Seriously?

It was so obvious you need him to protect you, care for you and be that knight in shining armor for his angel.

His soundless footsteps treaded through the rooms, his head tilting as he knelt down in-front of your bed. Your sleeping form entangled in the sheets, a peaceful expression that was just as he imagined. He reached his gloved hands over your face brushing the stray hairs from your eyes getting a clear view. He couldn’t bring himself to feel your skin with his bear hands, he wouldn’t be able to control himself then.

He stared a few moments more before tearing through your dresser digging through the drawers finally finding what he came for. That damn outfit you wore in the god forsaken photo, simple solution. You can’t wear something you don’t have right? So he’ll just hold on to it for you! Until he knows for sure you’d only wear it with him, and him alone. A few other keepsakes as well.

It was only after that late night he spent at your apartment that it had truly worsened, out your sight of course. He knew better than that. His hands that began to kill all for your protection, or jealousy it was all the same to him. Persistent recruits who suddenly returned home on short notice only for their photos to later be plastered on their hometown news. Even friends you’ve know for years, he knew the look of a man’s lustful stare better then anyone. Cause it was the same look he followed you with.

He kept track of everyone you’ve ever mentioned making a mental note to fill himself in on any information he could find on them. Occasionally using his rank to pull background checks on someone’s presence that really ircked him. It was never hard to find information anyways. It didn’t matter what he had to do all that matters is making sure you only seen him.

König’s face was painted in a bloodied smile at the sight of the man’s fettle attempts at defiance. The blood poring from the finial cut along his throat. He preferred to do it slow. Painfully slow edging the various men to their deaths. What they dared to do? Trying to take something that was his. The first time he talked to you in front of him he tired to leave it be. What if his death upset you, Oh it upsets you?

It’ll be perfect, you slumped crying in his arms as he soothed your cries. Being there right when you needed it. Arms that you found comfort in when you rushed to his office when you made discovery of the death. Having no one else to turn too, it pains him more than anything to cause you such suffering. But it was necessary measures, to ensure you seen just how perfect he was for you. How much you needed him to care for you.

It was enough of repeating occurrences that you began questioning the nature of the sudden disappearances. All men who attempted to flirt with you. “I can talk to them and scare ‘em off for you, ja?” he suggested when you half heartedly complained about them. Surely not, could he have? It didn’t make sense to you, or was it that you didn’t want it to make sense.

The same man who took you out on heart throbbing dates, that left you with a fluttering feeling. They were perfect in every sense, exactly what you’d imagined that perfect teenage love story you missed out on as a kid. It was the first time you’ve ever been show such a level of devotion. Not the man who cluttered your gallery with the photos you had taken of or with him, he made you happy.

Someone who you were falling head over heels for, accepting that seemingly darker parts of him that didn’t bother you. Who knew they were this dark? He’d never do anything to hurt you, not on purpose at the least. He said he wanted to be with you build a life together. Brought you little gifts during works hours despite the list of rules discouraging dating ranks higher then you. It made you feel like a love sick school girl all over again, excitement that only filled you when he was around. How he’d swear to come back in one piece if a mission forced separation between y’all.

Your body was still damn near motionless as you felt your body go stiff at the images. You should’ve minded your business, why’d you have to be so damn nosey. König had just brought you back to his house for the first time after one of your dates together suggesting he could make dinner for you. You sat at the bar near his kitchen as he said he’d only be a minute. His laptop that has been left open was across from you, you tilted your head a bit in curiosity as the photo on it looked familiar. It would’ve been better if you hadn’t know.

It was of you, at first a giggle left your mouth as you began clicking through the said photos. Recent ones of you two doing various things, mostly you though. A smile was beaming on your face at the sight, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. It was cute how he kept these goofy photos of you two. Your hand miss clicked as you accidentally exited out the previews of them causing your smile too immediately fade.

There was more, to many too have been all taken recently. Why was there so many? You began to feel sick as you scrolled down. “Oh my god…” you choked out as you clicked on photo after photo ones you’ve never given him. Shivers went down your spine as footsteps sounded from behind you.

It was him wasn’t it?

“I love you,” is what he had said but why were they laced with such venom, and why did it feel so unsettling. You should be overjoyed right? Someone gave a shit, how he loved and cared so deeply. Yet the words left you in a cold sweat, veins coursing with this thing he considered love.

That’s why his computer was filled with photos, painted in his love for you. “Du bist wunderschön,” your eyes darting along the screen in a slow aching feeling after each click of the next photo. Mouthing running dry as a nasty taste flooded over your tongue.

It was fear, pure unbridled fear.

Every word was dripping in terror, what were you supposed to say? It made you sick, those twisting knots in your stomach. Your hand crept over your mouth as you tried to hold back the sudden wave of nausea. This was the first time you had feared the man before you.

Sure he’s done some odd shit before but this? This was only showing the beginnings of the man’s sheer lack of sanity. “You love me too right?” He spoke with that same reassuring tone but it suddenly made your skin crawl.

Confusion flooded judgement as you tried to process what was even happening. Love? You loved him right you always have. But at the same time it feels terrifying to love a man like him. His eyes looked over you in anguish as you doubted what words you were going to say next.

Your eyes dared to say as if you didn’t and it showed in his that it wouldn’t be an answer he’d willingly accept. “I love you too,” the words simply fell out your mouth, wether it was the truth or not had long been gone. It hadn’t mattered if you did or not he would show you anyways.

His hands moved to hold your cheeks as he shushed you the tears beginning to pool in you eyes, assuring you it was fine. “It was you wasn’t it?” your voice broke as you began to understand what he had done. That it was only acts of love, why he had blood on his hands in that name of his love for you. His gaze was simply deranged in itself. He did not understand nor want to understand why this could be so wrong, why it made you sick to your stomach. How it made you consider the idea of run away from him.

Not like you’d get far anyways.

He wiped are your tears as he explained how this wasn’t anything to worry about. He even suggested deleting all photos if it made you that upset, he never meant to hurt you. “I didn’t know this would upset you my love,” his eyes wore a saddened worried expression, hushed sorry’s as he soothed your worries.

I mean maybe he’s right you know, simply being irrational it was all photos you’ve publicly posted so it wasn’t necessarily private information. Definitely not the hardest of things to find. You keep photos of your favorite idol plastered all over your bedroom walls, now isn’t that the same thing? It’s fine you love him and he loves you it shouldn’t matter if he has a few photos of you. It’s not like it’s some stranger with these photos, it’s him your lovable sweet König.

“It’s okay,” a mumbled of words you made in a stupid belief that this man wasn’t borderline criminally insane. How he didn’t mean any harm no not him, sweet König wouldn’t do that. He’d never lay a finger on you, the man practically praised the ground you walk on like some goddess offering him salvation.

What’s a few photos if it means loving him? Nothing that’ll ever compare to the drug of his love.

This shouldn’t be so appealing you shouldn’t be wanting this, craving for him. Heart and mind were claiming their own reasons as to why you should and shouldn’t. He cares for you maybe he cares too much? A few bodies isn’t anything new, you’ve killed with your own hands before. Is there really any difference between what you and him do? The reasons are just slightly different.

Similar times to when you pitied Eve for the blame she had taken as her teeth sunk into temptation of the devil. He lies decorated it all your known desires. He’s terribly good at what he does isn’t he?

Your hand reached out at the disheveling flames, hovering over. It burned and stung like the same feeling his love for you gives. Its strange, you almost thought you were crazy yourself, probably would be too anybody else. But they’d never understand the relationship you two had. Nobody ever understands what the devil chooses to take and leave.

“Mein Schazti, what are you doing out here? You’ll catch a cold,” König spoke from the doorway, you turned to face him as his hair hung with wet droplets. The scars he boar on his face or else where along his body, each a different life that was taken and fought till their last breath. You glanced back over at the clothes that had turned into mere ashes of what was.

How many times was this now? Covering for the being before you, the man that replaced your shadow. Creaked his way into your life seeping through the cracks like the devil on your shoulder. He knew everything there was to know about you. Wether it was sone sick part of you the enjoyed the affection he gave you. You were okay with it, choosing to love him in every sense. Nobody could ever love someone like you the way he can is what he said.

“Nothing my love just getting rid of some old clothes is all,” a gentle reassuring smile following your words. He looked down behind you humming at the sight. He lifted off the doorway taking a few steps towards you before placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

For better or worse you were forever his, as he was yours.

#könig #könig x reader #könig mw2 #cod x reader #könig x you #könig call of duty #könig fanfiction #könig x y/n #call of duty #könig cod #könig modern warfare #obessive!König #minzis suga

[sorcerous-caress]

If you have the time, could you do a Wyll request with a durge!tav who is waaaaay too selfless to balance out the violent parts of their brain. Like Wyll is about to take a massive hit and tav just pushes him out of the way, taking the damage and bleeding out on the ground but they just offer a smile to Wyll in return. They don't know how to express that it makes them feel less of a monster when they do this stuff.

Into my arms | Wyll

[Angst, comfort, themes of indirect self harm/destructive behaviours, getting better together, Durge Reader, Nb!Reader]

[ part of the Wyll's Week event]

To bleed is to know you have a soul.

Oh, how reassuring it was, the sight of your own life essence escaping your veins. A cleansing shower of red that washes away all of your sins.

All of your father's sins.

To be bathed in your own blood, to bear the scars of every arrow and sword that you dived in front of, it's proof to the world of your innocence.

Your companions, your friends, the people who accepted you for who you are, you can't fail them.

So you closed off your walls, built a fortress of steel and enchanted the bricks to deflect all of your emotions and urges inwards, on yourself instead.

To protect the ones you loved, to spare the world of your cruel heart.

If your brain craves for blood to be spilled, it will be yours. A member to dismember, will come from you.

Wyll was the most vocal out of your other companions about his discontent with your ways of indirect self-flagellation masquerading as selfless kindness, your constant sacrifice of precious parts of you until you hoped nothing will remain.

“I am grateful for you sparing me from that arrow, truly,” Wyll sat down next to you just as Shadowheart bid her goodnight after healing your wounds, “but why put yourself in front of me? Why tempt death constantly by using yourself as a shield for me, for all of us.”

He sees the way you look at him, at all of them. As if they were something precious, as if they were doing you a favour by giving you a decent treatment. A stark contrast to how hollow your gaze becomes whenever you glance at a mirror, face your own reflection with disdain.

You would carve out your own flesh to feed them if you had to, it was written in your soul clear as day. And that notion was far too scary for Wyll's brain to comprehend.

You haven't given him a reply, merely smiled. Too tender and sweet of a smile for someone who's ready to sacrifice their own body for him, for someone who already did countless times.

He isn't blind, he is far too familiar with this kind of overcompensation. The idea that if you let the world punish you enough, drag your limbless form through the mud and dig deep, then maybe just maybe salvation will be an option.

An attempt to balance the scales of fate, the unfair hand you were dealt in this life, the child of a slayer god. Bathed with blood and adorned with carcasses since the day you were born, not that you had any choice in the face of your ever so doting father.

Where is he now? Wyll wonders. Where are any of the gods? When they turned their backs on him that damned night, when he begged on his knees for a devil to deliver what the divine couldn't care to.

They only reared their ugly head when it suited them, and yours seemed to only send you the best of gifts after forcing your own hand to rip something equally as precious from your world.

The campfire flame cackles at both of your miserable states, your joint desperation for approval.

Wyll tries to offer you what he cannot give himself, to be the person he needed most that night.

Reassurance.

“You're not a monster, you don't deserve to bleed just because.” He tells you the word he repeated to himself once before, “you don't have to be strong for us.”

You can be weak

Be weak and drop the weight of the world from your shoulders, be weak and fear death for your life is worth living. 

Be weak and cry when you get hurt, stay down when you fall, hug yourself when you crumble. 

Please be weak.

“Let me have your back, be your sword and shield.” The campfire light reflects off of his horns, he just like you, already paid the price.

The bandage around your waist where the arrow struck is still fresh, you wince as you try to get closer to him. Before you could force your body to move again, Wyll himself closes the distance, leaving his seat and kneeling on the ground in front of you.

“Please.” You see your reflection in his eyes, “promise me you will at least try, depend on me, on all of us.”

The words are dry in your mouth, his lips look especially lovely as he pleads his case.

So many words unspoken, so many thoughts swirl around your brain.

I can handle it.

It's my fate.

It's what I deserve.

I rather die than watch you get hurt.

It claws at my skin every second demanding I give in.

You deserve more than I can afford.

I'm death incarnate.

I should be hurt.

I can't handle it.

Then your mind blinks away, a blank state as you feel his lips, those same lovely lips, kiss your bruised knuckles.

Then, emotions.

You almost forgot you had them, almost forgot you deserved to feel them.

You cup Wyll's face gently with the same hand, hold him tenderly.

“I promise,” you vow, “I will try. For you, I will do anything.”

#♡Wyll #♡angst #♡Wyll'sWeek #♡comfort through trauma #♡comfort #tw self destructive behavior #tw sh #wyll x reader #Angst #Comfort #durge reader #nb!reader #bg3 x reader #bg3 angst #baldur's gate 3 x reader #Wyll's Week #Wyll'sWeek

[lydiablack-m]

Rain |L Lawliet x Reader|

Pairing: L x Reader

Warnings: Angst, death, major spoilers

Word count: 1k

A/N:  English is not my first language so I’m sorry for any mistakes. You may read this imagine in the original language here

Sharp rain lashed the windows, it seemed as if the sky had opened and the water from the heavenly springs, rested for thousands of years, broke out of the darkness at once and headed to earth in an endless stream to drown, wash away the sins of humanity, cleanse the souls of people or destroy them.

Everything came down to a dead point. The investigation stopped after the capture and death of Kira. All the accumulated material of evidence and clues collapsed because of the one line in the Death Note: "he will die in 13 days."

The networks that L tightly wove around Light became entangled, and the feeling of approaching danger was getting stronger and stronger over us every day.

L was more silent than usual, his antics and brilliant guesses on the case disappeared. This damned God of Death did not give any useful information, all L's attempts to get her to talk, to ask about the notebook ended in failure. L grew more and more gloomy, it was as if a death mark rose over him, becoming brighter every day, he himself seemed to felt it.

I opened the last message again, as if something new might appear in it, but the same brief words were shining on the screen.

"Y/n, come to the roof. We need to talk."

I put the phone in my pocket and headed to the stairs. The rain beat relentlessly through the panoramic windows, it felt like this building did not exist at all, every step was easy, as if I was walking through that gray air outside, as if it cost me nothing to push off the ground and take off now. My head was spinning from the monotonous sounds of falling drops and aching, inexplicable anxiety.

I pushed the iron door leading to the roof with shoulder, and the next second the wind whistled in the doorway. With an effort, I opened it and look around, covering eyes from the wind and small drops.

L stood near the metal tower, which was crowned with a satellite receiver, and looked at the sky motionless.

His clothes soaked through, water was streaming down his face, dripping from his hair, seemed like he had been standing here for a long time before my arrival. It was pointless to call him, for the noise of the rain and the howling of the wind, my words would simply be lost in the air, there was nothing left but to go out to meet the cold streams and the open gray sky.

“The bell is ringing louder than usual today,” he said, still staring intently into the sky, when I approached him.

“I know.”

We looked into the sky of heavy endless clouds, showered with daggers of cold drops, and it seemed as if there, far above us and in the whole expanse of the air dome, the measured beats of the memorial bell could be heard, making the heart freeze and further distancing us from the reality where we are standing on the roof of a 30-storey hotel in Tokyo, waiting for news that the unknown will bring us, closer than ever to destruction.

“Lately, it has been ringing incessantly. Do you understand what this means?” he said tonelessly.

“Yes,” I replied, keeping my eyes on the dark sky.

The rain was lashing at my face in furious gusts, my T-shirt stuck to the body, water dripped from the jeans into the sneakers, but it didn't bother me at all. It was as if the whole moment enchanted me, and I stopped feeling anything but unity with this rain, sky and air, nothing else mattered.

All the future past and present have been reduced to one point, into one vessel of the storm, heralding the end of the days of this world.

L turned and stared intently into my eyes.

“I don't want you to die.”

His voice seemed to come from far away, and it took me a moment to understand the meaning of his words, looking at him with unseeing eyes.

L seemed to understand my confusion and hastened to add:

“I think he's going to kill me and then you, and I don't know... For the first time in my life, I do not know how to prevent it,” he sighed heavily and looked up to the sky again.

“I made too many mistakes, let Light get too close... It's all my fault. I shouldn't have dragged you into this investigation. Now, because of my shortsightedness, we are both going to die. I'm sorry.”

I looked up. For some reason, a painful feeling crept into my heart again, suddenly memorable episodes from childhood began to flash before my eyes, those moments when the soul, as well as now, trembled with delight and at the same time was torn with longing in powerlessness to comprehend this moment of merging with the eternal largess of centuries, as if the ancient secret of life was hidden in these moments and one step, one breath each time was missing to let in this all-encompassing wisdom, to become one with infinity.

“It was an honor for me to work with you, but I consider the opportunity to call you my friend to be an even greater joy and the main achievement of my life,” I said.

As if in oblivion, my lips moved by themselves, but at the same time I was clearly aware that the said was right.

L looked at me somewhat surprised.

“Thank you. You are the only person who has become really close to me, whom I really trust. I'll be glad to die next to you.”

He suddenly seemed so lonely and mournful. His life has always been full of cruelty and injustice, he has always been an observer of it, but he has never lived himself. It's a pity that we won't have time to change anything.

I quietly went over and hugged him. He flinched in surprise, but hugged me back.

“Thank you. If it rains like this in heaven, I'll be happy to be there with you.”

...

Thump.

I fall on one knee, there is an unbearable pain in my heart.

Thump.

He lies in front of me and gasps for air.

Thump.

I am pinned to the ground, but rush closer to him.

Thump.

I grab his hand and look into those eyes for the last time.

Thump.

“I'm sorry...”

Thump...

#death note imagines #death note imagine #death note headcanons #death note one shot #death note x reader #death note x you #death note x y/n #death note x #l x you #l x reader #l x y/n #l death note #l lawliet #l lawliet x reader #l lawliet x y/n #l lawliet x you #angst #death of the main characters #wammy kids #wammy boys #wammy's house #one shot #head canon #death note #ryuzaki #self ship community #x reader #x you #x y/n #f/o community

[goforth-ladymidnight]

A Second Chance

Ch. 5 of (let's face it, I have no idea)

Pairing: Tamlin x Lucien

Summary: Tamlin shares the rest of his story with Lucien (Note: the originally published ending was edited after I slept on it and thought of something I liked better. Hope you don't mind!)

Word Count: 5.3k

Read on AO3, or keep reading below:

Feeling restless and needing something to do while Tamlin was in the bathroom, Lucien took their empty coffee mugs into the kitchen. Ordinarily he would have left the mugs to soak in the sink overnight, but he had to do something. Anything.

Rubber gloves. Hot water. Soap. And scrubbing. Lots of scrubbing. He was no priest, but it was as though he was trying to cleanse the stains from Tamlin’s soul caused by someone else’s sins. It would take more than elbow grease to wash those away, but at least the dishes were getting done.

“Can I help?”

Lucien looked up to see Tamlin standing at the edge of the kitchen, and he let out a sad chuckle. “No. God, no. I appreciate the offer, but… you’ve suffered enough. I can handle a few dirty dishes by myself.”

Tamlin was already rolling up his sleeves, however. “If I can handle Jurian’s messes, I can handle yours,” he said wryly. He tucked his long hair behind his ears and added, “At least let me dry.”

Lucien smiled a half-smile. It was the first time he had seen Tamlin with his hair away from his face all day. He looked good with his hair down, but he looked… better this way. Calmer. More confident. Like he wasn’t hiding away from the world anymore. “Yeah. Okay,” he agreed at last. “Dish towels are in that cabinet there.”

The scene was positively domestic, and the routine strangely comforting. Lucien washed, and Tamlin dried. It was like they were roommates again, even though they hadn’t been half as tidy back in college.

Lucien stole furtive glances at Tamlin as they worked. Those same hands that had once made violin strings sing were now a little rough around the edges, but there was still a certain grace to his movements. His forearms were more muscular, and while his posture was more hunched than it had been as a practicing musician, he looked stronger, somehow. While his experience with that vampire of a woman had drained him, it had not broken him. Since telling his story, the tightness in his brow had already softened, and, although Lucien could have been imagining it, there was a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

As Lucien handed him the last dish to dry, Tamlin murmured a quiet “Thank you”, which surprised him.

“I should be the one thanking you,” Lucien said, peeling off the first rubber glove. “You didn’t have to help, but it went faster this way.”

“Well, you let me talk, and that’s what I meant,” Tamlin said, drying the plate slowly. “So, thank you. Again.”

“Anytime,” Lucien said sincerely, pulling off the last glove. As he set the gloves aside to drip dry, he shook his head and sighed. “I still can’t believe you went through all that.”

Tamlin turned the clean plate over in his hands, as if looking for a wet spot. “Yeah. I didn’t think you would,” he said softly.

“No. Of course I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant…” Lucien turned around to lean against the sink, then crossed his arms. “I can’t believe you went through all that by yourself.”

Tamlin shrugged a shoulder and set the plate aside. “Well, I had Jurian, so…”

That hurt more than Lucien expected. He tried to catch his friend’s eye and asked, “Didn’t you think to reach out to me at all?”

Tamlin shrugged again. “And say what? ‘Hey, Lu, I think the Dean decided she wanted a green-eyed wonder baby for Christmas, so she drugged me and probably raped me, so if it’s not too much trouble, would you please come all the way back from Scythia and hold my hand so I don’t feel like I’m totally nuts?’”

Lucien stared at him. “Tam…”

Tamlin’s face turned red as he turned away, and he ran a hand over his loose blond hair to rub his neck. “I-I just…” He sighed. “I didn’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Why would I get hurt?” He moved closer and touched his friend’s arm. “Tam, I care about you—”

He was startled, and a bit hurt, when Tamlin jerked away, like a skittish street animal. “I’m sorry,” Tamlin rasped. “I’m just—I-I don’t know… I’m confused about some things.”

“I’m not surprised,” Lucien said gently. “You’ve been through hell.”

Tamlin snorted and slowly rubbed the spot on his arm that Lucien had touched. “You don’t know the half of it,” he muttered.

“So, tell me.”

Tamlin made a face and looked away. “I don’t know… It’s getting late, and…”

Lucien’s heart twinged in disappointment as he looked at the clock. “Oh. Yeah. I guess.” He lifted his hands in a shrug and then slipped them into his pockets. “You know… If you wanted to, you could stay a little longer. Unless you’ve got somewhere else to be, I mean…”

“Not exactly.”

Lucien’s heart took a hopeful leap. “No?”

“I mean, I feel like I should be there when Jurian gets home, so…”

Lucien let out a wry chuckle and scratched below his ear. “Well, as much as I hate to admit it, I think Vassa really likes your friend, so I think the phrase: ‘Don’t wait up’ would be the best advice.”

Tamlin huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I think so, too,” he said quietly, then crossed his arms and looked away. “It was just a dumb excuse, anyway.”

Lucien leaned over and tried to catch his eye. “Why? Why do you feel like you have to give me excuses?” he asked gently. “We haven’t seen each other in seven years… This is our chance to catch up.”

That pained, teary look returned to Tamlin’s tired features. “It’s just… you’ve been so great,” he said in a soft, sad voice. “I’m just afraid that… that you won’t like me very much after this. And I-I couldn’t stand to lose you twice.”

“You didn’t lose me in the first place,” Lucien said firmly. “Tam, you were… you were raped. Drugged and raped and God knows what else.” He shook his head. “I don’t think there’s anything you could say or do to change the way I feel about you. And I mean that.”

Tamlin considered this with a tight sigh. “Okay,” he said quietly, gesturing to the living room. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

* * *

It was a beautiful spring day. The sun was shining in a crystal blue sky, the sparrows were chirping in the decorative evergreen hedges, and a soft, cool breeze ruffled the hair on the back of Tamlin’s neck. Unfortunately, it did nothing to soften the blow when he was slammed against the side of a cop car door. Wedged between hot metal and a hard body, his hands were wrenched behind his back as cold metal cuffs bit into the flesh of his wrists.

“Hey, go easy on the kid,” Jurian called out. “We’re cooperating, for godsakes.”

Tamlin grunted as invasive hands patted him down and searched his pockets. His point-and-shoot camera, his dorm room keys, his wallet, all were placed on top of the cop car without a care.

“Ah-ha,” a second cop said, triumphantly removing the folder Tamlin had hidden beneath his jacket and tucked in the back of his pants. “Is this what he took from your house, ma’am?”

Amarantha’s teary voice came closer. “Oh, my god, yes! That’s it. Thank you so much,” she gushed.

Still wedged against the vehicle, Tamlin could just see the Dean accept the bright red folder from the officer’s hands.

She clutched it to her chest as she shook her head. “I just can’t believe a student would try to break into my home like that,” she remarked. “I sometimes take students’ files home with me for review, but I never dreamed anyone would try to steal them.” She gave Tamlin a cold, brief glance, then told the officer warmly, “I don’t know what he would have done with this if you hadn’t arrived so quickly, officer.”

The officer touched his cap. “Glad you called us when you did, ma’am.”

She smiled and touched his arm. “Not as glad as I am. You should be commended for your service. I fully intend to let your captain know what fine men he has working under him.”

Tamlin rolled his eyes as the officer smiled and shifted on his feet like a little school boy. “Much obliged, ma’am.”

“Please, call me Amarantha,” she said sweetly.

Another officer approached her then and said, “Excuse me, miss. The detectives would like to get your statement, for the record.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” she said fervently, then stepped away.

She played the part like a true actress. If Tamlin hadn’t seen her that night in her office, he would have thought this was a different woman entirely. She wore no makeup, her hair was down, and she wore a loose white chiffon robe over her red tank top and leggings. Gone was the cool, calculating Dean who had slipped drugs into his fruit punch, and in her place was a victimized woman whose big house had nearly been robbed by a crazed, obsessed student and his reluctant partner.

The sound of another pair of cuffs snapping closed made Tamlin turn his head the other way.

“Easy there, newbie,” Jurian told the cop holding him. He rolled his shoulders and said, “I know the drill. You don’t have to tighten them so much. Give me a little wiggle room, ya know?”

“Yeah?” the young cop said, tightening the cuffs anyway, making Jurian wince. “And I suppose you and your little friend were just looking for a little wiggle room on private property?”

Jurian grimaced. “Ugh, save the wordplay for when you’ve made a few more arrests,” he complained. “You make me sound like some kind of pervert.” He caught Tamlin watching him, still pinned by the cop car. He sighed and shook his head as he looked away. “And, no, like I told you before, we were birdwatching.”

“Birdwatching,” the young cop scoffed. “A likely story.”

“Well, well, well.”

A buff, leather-faced, plain-clothes officer with iron gray hair strolled forward. As he approached Jurian, he smiled and slowly removed his dark sunglasses.

“If it isn’t my old pal,” he drawled, tucking the sunglasses into his pocket. “‘Birdwatching’, again, eh?” He jabbed a thick finger at Jurian’s chest. “I don’t suppose you have any photographic evidence to back that up?”

Jurian gave him a tight smile. “Officer Attor. Or should I say Detective Attor? Or how about Teddy. How are you, Teddy?”

“Me? Oh, I’m just fine and dandy,” the detective said. “I got a nice fat raise. A promotion. Not like you.” He smirked. “I hear your car got impounded again. What a shame.”

“Damn shame,” Jurian agreed. “Almost as shameful as you cheating on your wife. Or should I say ex-wife.”

The detective frowned. What happened next was too quick to follow, but suddenly Jurian was stumbling back, held up by the young cop behind him, and the detective was shaking out his hand and flexing his fingers.

“Whoops,” Detective Attor said coolly. “My hand slipped.”

Jurian’s tongue touched his split lip, and he let out a wry chuckle. “Yeah, real slippery.”

“Hey,” Tamlin called out, shrugging at his bonds. “Leave him alone.”

“Stay out of this, kid,” Jurian called out, but Detective Attor was already making his way towards the vehicle.

He braced a broad, tanned hand on the roof of the car and leaned in. “You don’t tell me what to do,” he told Tamlin in a low, dangerous tone. “You’re real lucky that the lady doesn’t want to press charges, even though she has every right to.”

Tamlin ground his teeth. He managed to turn his head enough to see Amarantha standing beneath a shade tree, still clutching the red folder as she gave a teary statement to another sympathetic-looking officer.

“If I had my way,” the detective continued, “you’d be taking a cold shower in lock-up tonight. I hear blonds are real popular there.”

Tamlin’s blood ran cold, but the man wasn’t done.

His dark eyes narrowed, and he slowly pointed at Tamlin. “I know you from somewhere.”

Before he could connect the dots, Jurian interrupted him. “Leave him alone, Ted,” he warned.

“Or what?” The detective straightened up. “Are you threatening me?”

“Oh, hell no,” Jurian said lightly. “I just know how this works. I heard what you said. We’re not being charged with anything, but you want to scare us a little, to make sure we won’t try this again. So, you search us, rough us up a bit, give us a warning, then send us on our way. Sound about right?”

Detective Attor chuckled. “You always did like the sound of your own voice.”

Jurian smiled a lop-sided smile. His split lip was beginning to swell. That was going to turn into a nasty bruise later, but he didn’t seem all that concerned. “Yeah. And you always did like picking on people smaller than you.”

“So? You tryin’ to tell me how to do my job, Mr. Private Eye, ‘I Couldn’t Take It So I Quit’?”

“Not at all. I’m just trying to give you a little friendly advice.”

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

“Just this: back off the kid now before I contact the commissioner over a harassment charge later.”

“Harassment?” The detective scoffed and spread his hands wide. “I didn’t touch him. Unless you’re talking about that little mark on your face. You slipped and fell when I wasn’t lookin’… Didn’t he, Officer?” he remarked to the cop holding Jurian steady.

“Yeah, I must ‘a missed that one,” the young cop agreed.

Tamlin felt sick to his stomach, but to his surprise, Jurian only chuckled.

“Oh, no. I meant the paper trail leading back to you when you had my car impounded. Again.”

Detective Attor’s sneer faded, and Tamlin could tell he was thinking very hard about that paper trail. “You can’t prove anything.”

“Oh, yeah? You wanna bet your big fat raise on that one?”

The detective growled, then stepped back from the police car, and Tamlin. “Fine,” he muttered, then snapped his fingers. “Let ‘em loose.”

“Sir… Are you sure?” the other cops tried to ask, but he cut them off.

“I said, let ‘em loose. We’ll let ‘em off with a warning, since they were just ‘birdwatching’, and all that.”

Jurian smirked. “See? I told you,” he said smugly to the officer holding him.

The detective pointed at him. “And you. You need to learn when to stop talking. You always were a goddamn know-it-all.”

Jurian winced as his wrists were freed from the too-tight cuffs. Rubbing them, he said, “It’s one of my best qualities. You just never learned when to appreciate wit. It must be because you don’t have any.”

It took the detective a moment, then he growled and lunged forward. “Why you—”

“Teddy?”

They all turned as one as Amarantha stepped forward.

“Ted, I mean. Detective,” she said with a concerned frown. “You… you’re letting them go already?”

“Don’t worry,” the detective assured her with a kind, overly fond smile. “We’ll escort them away from your property once we’re done here.”

She pursed her lips. “Can I say something to my student first?” she asked.

“Certainly.”

Certainly not, Tamlin wanted to say, but she had already turned toward him. He couldn’t exactly back away, either, since he was still cuffed. The officer holding him had been too distracted by the drama unfolding around them to follow orders, so Tamlin was forced to remain a prisoner for a few minutes longer. As she stepped closer, he leaned back, trying to keep the cloying scent of her perfume out of his nose.

She looked into his eyes, tilted her head, and smiled sadly. “It’s good to see you again, Tamlin,” she said quietly. “I just wish it were under more pleasant circumstances.”

He bit his tongue so hard it nearly bled.

“I want you to know that I harbor no ill-will towards you whatsoever,” she went on. “It is unfortunate that you felt as though you could not come to me as you struggled this semester… I had such high hopes for you.” She sighed and shook her head. “And I am sorry to say that this will have to go on your permanent record. You can make an appointment with my secretary so that we can discuss it further.” She smiled coyly. “Unless you’d like to discuss it over drinks.”

Tamlin’s lip curled. “Go fuck yourself.”

* * *

Lucien barked a laugh, then clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh, my god,” he moaned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt, but damn… Did you really say that to her?”

Tamlin’s cheeks turned pink as he smiled a rather shy smile. “Yeah. It felt pretty good, too.”

“I bet,” Lucien agreed, then clapped his hand on Tamlin’s shoulder. “Why would you think I wouldn’t like you after that? I think I’m even more in love with you now than I was before,” he teased.

Tamlin’s blush deepened as he chuckled and looked away. “Yeah, well…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “She didn’t press charges, but she wasn’t lying when she said it was going to affect my permanent record. I did try to break into her house, after all.”

“Yeah,” Lucien winced. “I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that part.” When Tamlin still looked embarrassed, he continued, “Look, I don’t blame you. You didn’t feel safe going to the police. I get it. That doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“Maybe not, but… that’s not the end of it.”

“There’s more?”

“There’s more.”

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time Tamlin made it back to the University. He could only imagine what his fellow classmates thought when they saw a squad car drop him off, but he decided to ignore their stares and whispers and trudged back to his dorm in stony silence.

He had to walk past the common room to get to his room. He kept his head down, not wanting to talk to anyone, but a familiar giggle stopped him short.

Feyre didn’t see him at first, since the couch she was sitting on faced the television, but she wasn’t paying attention to that either. She was sitting sideways, smiling at someone with short dark hair and sun-bronzed skin, someone whose arm was not-so-casually draped across the back of the couch. Rhys.

It took her a moment to notice Tamlin standing there, but when she did, her smile vanished, her freckled cheeks turned bright red, and she leapt to her feet.

“Tam…” She smoothed the braid over her shoulder. “Where have you been? We—We’ve been worried about you.”

Tamlin’s gaze flicked over her crop top and low-rise jeans, then over to Rhys, who was slowly pushing himself to his feet, like a cat unfurling itself from someone’s lap. “Yeah,” he scoffed. “I can tell.”

Rhys finished tucking in the hem of his shirt. “Feyre was just telling me that you haven’t been sleeping well,” he offered. “I actually just attended a lecture on—”

Tamlin stopped him. “No offense, Mr. Psychology Major,” he said coolly, “but stay the fuck out of my head.”

“Tam…” Feyre chided as he turned to go.

Rhys said quietly, “It’s just a reaction to stress. Don’t take it personally.”

Tamlin turned on him and snarled, “You know what? Fuck you.”

“Hey,” Rhys said, spreading his hands wide. His voice was irritatingly calm. “I’m just trying to help.”

“By fucking my girlfriend behind my back. Thanks a lot.”

“Tam!” Feyre cried. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Oh, so it’s true, then.”

Her face was bright red. “We’re just friends. Besides, you’re never around anymore. You’re always skipping classes and leaving campus to hang around with that guy. If anyone is fucking anyone, it’s probably you.”

Tamlin’s face grew hot as he pointed at her. “You take that back.”

“Oh, so you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?”

“You have no fucking idea what I’ve been through, all right?”

“That’s because you won’t tell me!”

He considered telling her. He wanted to yell it. He wanted to scream out what had been done to him, but even as he opened his mouth to speak, he realized they weren’t alone.

Kallias and his girlfriend Viviane were sharing a beanbag chair in the corner and staring at him. Tarquin and his cousins were sitting on the opposite couch, their study books forgotten as they stared at him. Thesan was standing by the fridge, letting all the cold air out as he stared, too. When he noticed Tamlin glaring, he spread his hands wide and said, “Hey, I’m just here for the snacks, man.”

Tamlin growled and turned away. “Just—just do whatever you want,” he told Feyre quietly. “Break up with me already. I don’t care.”

“Tam,” she said gently, stepping around the couch to get closer to him. “I do care about you…”

“Yeah?” he said, looking her over. “You cared so much you forgot to put on a bra. Makes sense.”

Her face flushed as she frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re being a real jerk.”

“Don’t worry. It’s just a reaction to stress,” he said sarcastically, then stalked off.

Tamlin was halfway down the hall when Rhys grabbed his shoulder. He shook him off and whirled around. “Don’t touch me,” he snarled.

“Apologize to her,” Rhys said sharply.

“Leave me alone.”

Rhys stepped closer. “Not until you apologize.”

“Back off.”

Rhys squared up against him. “I said: Apologize.”

“And I said: Back. Off.” Tamlin shoved him.

Rhys shoved back.

The next thing he knew, both Tarquin and Kallias were hauling him off Rhys, everyone was shouting, and his nose was bleeding.

Feyre knelt beside Rhys on the floor, who was holding his jaw. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he sat up, helped by Thesan and Feyre. As she put her arm around Rhys’s shoulders, she looked to Tamlin and cried, “What is wrong with you?”

Despite having his arms pinned back by two of his friends, and hot blood surging through his veins and dribbling from his nose, Tamlin suddenly felt very cold, and very, very alone.

* * *

Lucien couldn’t help but stare, too, as Tamlin finished his story.

Tamlin’s arms were resting his knees, and his gaze was distant as he slowly wrung his hands, as if they pained him. “Of course, it wasn’t long after that that the school threatened to expel me if I didn’t get my act together. If my grades hadn’t been so excellent before that semester, they might have. It must be stress, they said.” He snorted. “What a joke.”

Lucien blew out his cheeks, then slapped his knees and got up from the loveseat to pace around the room. “Damn,” was all he could think to say.

“Now do you understand why I left?”

Lucien huffed a laugh. “Yeah. No kidding.” He ran a hand over his hair and stared into the crackling fireplace. “No shit.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tamlin push himself to his feet. “I’m just gonna… you know… get my coat and… and go.”

Lucien dropped his hand and turned to face him in surprise. “Why?”

“‘Why?’” Tamlin echoed incredulously. He spread his hands wide. “Weren’t you listening?”

“Yeah. I was. Tam, everything you told me is a goddamn tragedy. Just because you punched Rhys in the face for not respecting your personal space doesn’t make you a monster. You’re not your dad. You never were.”

Tamlin looked like he wanted to argue, but then his face crumpled and his chin began to tremble. “Goddammit,” he whispered, then covered his face and began to cry.

Lucien went to him at once. “Hey,” he said gently. “Come here. Come on, come here,” he coaxed, putting his arms around him. It was like trying to hug a bag of bricks, but at least Tamlin didn’t try to push him away.

Tamlin’s body trembled as he tried to hold back his tears, but when Lucien refused to let go, his arms lowered, then slipped around him.

“There you go, Tam. It’s okay,” Lucien assured him as his hold tightened. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

Tamlin’s fingers curled into Lucien’s sweater, then his head bowed against Lucien’s shoulder as his body began to shake with sobs.

Tears touched Lucien’s eyes as well as he held his friend and let him cry. Years of sorrow poured out of him like so much rain. And such pain. Lucien wished he could take it all away, but this would have to do for now.

When Tamlin’s tears began to slow, Lucien rubbed his back and murmured, “I’m really sorry I wasn’t there for you, man.”

Tamlin let out a shaky sigh, then sniffed. “It’s okay,” he whispered.

“No, it’s not okay,” Lucien said, pulling away to look into his eyes. “You needed me, and I didn’t know it. I was too busy pretending I wasn’t so goddamn homesick that I wished I’d never left Prythian.”

Tamlin’s face was flushed, and his long, golden eyelashes were wet. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Lucien said softly. “I really missed you.”

Tamlin sniffed and swiped at his nose with the back of his hand. “You mean you missed home,” he murmured.

Lucien shook his head. “No. I missed you,” he insisted, then squeezed his friend’s shoulders. “You, Tam.”

He wasn’t certain how it happened, but it seemed to happen in slow-motion, but in that blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of way. They were standing so close. Closer than friends usually stand. But they were more than friends, and always had been. And in that moment, they both seemed to realize it, too. Emotions were high, defenses were low, and thoughts were nonexistent when their mouths came together.

Tamlin tasted like coffee without any sugar, but his lips were sweet and gentle. Before Lucien could steal another taste, Tamlin suddenly broke away, breathing hard and blushing furiously.

“I-I don’t know why I just did that,” he stammered.

Lucien stared, scarcely breathing. “It’s okay,” he rasped, but his voice sounded somehow distant. Perhaps it was the blood roaring through his veins. Or his heart pounding in his ears. He swallowed hard. “Are you okay?”

Tamlin nodded quickly. His throat bobbed. “I’m okay.”

“Okay.”

Tamlin ran a hand over his hair, then jerked his thumb at the door. “Do—do you want me to go?”

Lucien managed to shake his head. “No.” He swallowed again and managed, “Unless you want to—Um, do you want to stay?”

“Uh… I, yeah. If—if that’s okay.”

“It’s okay.”

“Okay.”

In the awkward silence that followed, Lucien scratched below his ear. “Do… you want to sit down?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

It was almost laughable, the way they squeezed themselves onto opposite ends of the loveseat when there was a perfectly good couch on the other side of the coffee table. But having already sat down, it would have made the situation even more awkward if Lucien stood up to move away now. Tamlin was fragile, as fragile as spun glass. Lucien didn’t want to risk hurting him. Especially after that… that kiss.

He was still thinking about it when Tamlin broke the silence.

“I’m really sorry,” he blurted. “I—I’m… I’m just…”

“I’m not,” Lucien said quickly.

“You’re not?” Tamlin’s brow furrowed. “Not… not what?”

“I’m not sorry.”

“Oh.”

When Tamlin fell silent, Lucien risked nudging him, though gently. “What did you think I was going to say?”

Tamlin rubbed the back of his neck and winced. His face was deeply flushed. “Not gay,” he muttered.

Lucien couldn’t help his smile. “We’re the only ones here, Tam. You can say gay. Because I am.”

Tamlin blinked. “You are?” When Lucien nodded, he asked, “Since when?”

Lucien shrugged. “Since Jesminda, I guess.”

“Jesminda? Who’s Jesminda?”

“This drag performer I dated for a little while: Jessie. Jesminda was his stage name.”

“Oh. Oh.”

Trying to smooth out another awkward silence, Lucien offered, “We met three years ago. It was for some big charity drive, and he was performing. I approached him afterwards and told him I liked his style, then he asked me out for a drink. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but…” He shrugged. “It seems I have a thing for musicians.”

“Huh.”

Lucien smiled to himself when Tamlin didn’t seem to catch the hint, but that was okay. He had a lot to process.

While Tamlin sat back, deep in thought, Lucien decided to keep talking.

“Anyway, I really liked him, but he had really, really expensive taste, and my dad was starting to notice. He was already pissed about one of his sons dating a drag queen, but there wasn’t much he could do about it, except cut me off from the Autumn Corporation expense account.” Lucien shrugged at the uncomfortable memory. “Then, when I didn’t have as much to spend on Jessie’s outfits or take him out to fancy dinners every night, he broke up with me.”

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. But what are you sorry for?”

Tamlin shrugged a shoulder and looked away. “I don’t know. The fact that he only wanted to be with you for your money, I guess.”

“Yeah, well. It’s kind of hard to find someone who doesn’t, you know? Being a Vanserra, and all. And being a Vanserra man who’s only interested in other men only makes it harder. That’s why I don’t date much.”

“Oh.” Tamlin dropped his gaze and slowly ran a fingernail along one of the gold stripes of the loveseat fabric.

“What about you?”

Tamlin looked up, startled. “What about me?”

“Have you, you know, dated anyone since…?”

Tamlin snorted. “Since Feyre broke up with me? No.”

“So you never…?”

Tamlin’s cheeks flushed again. “Kissed anyone?” he said quietly, dropping his gaze. “No.”

Lucien nodded thoughtfully, then said, very gently, “I didn’t mind, you know.”

Tamlin’s fingers curled into a fist on the loveseat between them. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Lucien’s soft smile faded. If he wasn’t careful, Tamlin was only going to pull away again, or worse, shatter completely. “Maybe… it was just a reaction to stress,” he suggested softly.

That got Tamlin’s attention. He stared at Lucien, and Lucien stared back, until all of a sudden Tamlin cracked a smile, and the tension eased at once.

Tamlin chuckled and dropped his gaze as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Lucien smiled and let himself relax against his corner of the loveseat. “It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to,” he offered.

Tamlin kept his gaze averted as he murmured, “What if I want it to.”

Lucien sat up, but didn’t dare move closer. Not yet.

Tamlin continued, “What if it means everything, but it means losing you?”

“How could you lose me?” Lucien said fervently, “I’m right here.”

Tamlin’s eyes were once again wet with tears when he looked up and met Lucien’s gaze. “Outside of Jurian, you’re my only friend, and…”

“That’s not true. What about those people at Annie’s? That giant and that-that waitress. They really seem to care about you, you know?”

A sad smile touched Tamlin’s mouth. “Yeah, but…”

“But what?”

Tamlin’s throat bobbed. “What if it doesn’t work out?”

“What if it does?”

Tamlin didn’t seem to have an answer to that, but at least he didn’t move away when Lucien shifted closer. Nor did he pull away when Lucien reached out and gently covered Tamlin’s hand with his own.

“I’m willing to try if you are, Tam.”

Tamlin didn’t say anything at first, but he did slowly turn his hand over, then curled his fingers around Lucien’s. “Yeah,” he said at last. “Okay.”

#woop woop #new chapter #tamlin x lucien #lucien x tamlin #tamcien #acotar fanfic #my fanfiction #my writing

[4seasonsofart]

Holy Devil With Your Darkened Wings

Vampire Thorfinn x Priest Canute Trigger Warning: Self harm, depressed Canute, religious trauma, suggestive themes Part 1: Sin For Me

Among the most high of holy beings, there are the most dark of all devils. Mankind was never made to stand in the middle of these warring entities. The most corrupted of all mankind are not the ones that hide in the darkness, but the ones that dance in the light. We all have our secrets, and some are best left untold. Even the most holy may be seduced into sin.

A preacher of God lies in the confession box. A cracked bottle of whiskey in one hand and a glass of gin in the other. The mark of the vampire lies on his neck, decaying the skin around it, his holiness fading with it. He prays fervently, like a dehydrated man lost in the desert and abandoned. The words fall off his lips like stones, ones that he used to throw at the glass houses of the unsaved.

"Never allow the lust of mankind to corrupt me, oh Lord." He whispers breathlessly as he takes a despondent swig of his gin. "I will not be seduced by this devil of the night."

He swallows the rest of the whiskey and finishes his gin. He stills for a moment, and without a second thought, he violently slams his head against the confession box. He shrieks out like a hunted animal looking for its kin. He arches his back as he drives his glassware against the hardwood floors of the holy ground. The toxic shards of glass dig into his palms like the thorns of a crown.

His crimson blood slowly trickles over his palms as he lets out a choked sob. He doesn't pull out the shards of hopeless divinity as he tightens his well-worn fingers into the punishment for his own sins. He hides in the confession box. He begs the heavenly being for salvation from the beasts mark on his pale neck.

"I am not worth your salvation; my holiness has been tainted. You gave me your body and blood, and now I am depraved of it. I deserve the punishment! I deserve the death!" He sobs out with his tortured soul as he wraps his lacerated hands around his aching throat.

He pushes his hands into his once-pristine neck as that same human sin flows out of him. He's being cleansed of that night's devil's mark. He just needs to be cleansed. Like the water washing sins away, his blood will wash the mark. He tears his clerical collar away from his cleansed neck as his hands buzz with the holiness that he has regained. He no longer sees any harm but the good that comes from his actions. The booze tastes like the body of Christ, the new blood within him... Christ's blood.

He knows that he must cut the mark out of him! Stop the infection of the satanic offenses on his holy body. First, he must rid himself of the rest of his faults. He must become clean. He must become new.

He unbuttons his cassock only to his chest as he shakily pulls out a pocket knife. "Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven." He mutters under his breath as he makes oddly angelic lacerations of the cross all along his body.

The tainted sin of mankind mixes in with the grounds of holiness. Soon enough, nothing is evil anymore; there is only God, the real God, and the angels above. He finishes his obsessive life of prayers as he digs his split fingernails into the devil's mark.

"How far mankind has fallen." A silken voice of lustful pleasures reaches his ears and echoes across his soul. His trousers tighten instinctively as that foreign feeling sinks down into his core like a soul into hell.

His eyes snap open as he is met with the devils entrancing hazel irises. He adorns a different seductive cloth tonight. A white-laced baby doll dress that barely hangs past his upper thighs. He wears a pair of pink and white stripped knee highs that meet the ends of his— sinful outfit. Canute gulps down hard as all thoughts of his cleansing begin to drift to the dark recesses of his mind.

"So surprised to see me again, my priestess?" Thorfinn purrs out like a content cat that has just reconnected with its owner.

He places himself on Canute's lap without a care in the world as he positions his thighs right outside of Canute's. He hums in an almost heavenly manner as he tenderly begins picking the shards of glass out of Canute. His fangs enlarge again as he takes in the aroma of Canute's intoxicating blood.

He watches as Canute's eyes widen, and he is able to feel his heart rate speed up. He shuts his mouth as he continues to pluck every single piece of glass with as much care as a craftsman has while making their magnum opus. They sit together in such a compromising position. Thorfinn's frigid breath causes goosebumps along his bloodied figure.

"Allow me to be your savior for once, dear." He speaks in such a sweetened tone that no mortal is able to resist.

Canutes irises grow clouded with an unknown haze as his body becomes encased in that same obsidian ooze. Thorfinn presses one of his lifeless fingers against Canute's lips as he gently shushes him. He smirks triumphantly, although Canute's vision is much to hazy to see it. 'Right along with my plan. My mark always works wonders.'

"Who do you belong to?" Thorfinn inquires in such a soft tone as he squeezes his thighs against Canute.

"Y-You..." He trails off as his head hits the back of the confession box.

"Are you mine?"

"I am yours." He finalizes, like the last nail on the cross.

Canute's eyes roll into the back of his head with those cursed words as his body goes limp. Thorfinn's virtuous smile morphs into a gnarled simper. He plants his fangs gently into his priestesses tender skin as his mouth wraps around his neck like a boa constrictor. His tongue connects with the nectar that he has so been deprived of as he moans out gutturally.

"I want to bleed you dry. Wanna make you mine, my sweet love." He murmurs in a frenzied manner as his pupils dilate into crimson gems.

"Thorfinn, hurry the hell up; boss wants us back in the den soon." Torgrim shouts obnoxiously as he lazily bangs on the side of the confession box.

The foreign gooey substance disappears from Canute's limp body as it is left in pristine condition. Thorfinn hisses out in an irritated manner as his delicious meal time has been rudely interrupted. "Tell baldy he can fucking wait! He's got all eternity!"

He begrudgingly detaches his fangs from his lover's neck as he gently peppers a set of kisses over the mark he gave him. He growls out as Torgrim interrupts him again by banging on the box so harshly that the wood splinters.

"Keep your fucking fangs in your mouth, asshole!"

The musky scent of rotted corpses attacks the nostrils of the fallen priest. His soul is at rest in this moment, although his body is shocked awake. The pure amount of malice and demonic energy emanating from everything here makes him wish he had his rosary. He frantically looks around as he realizes his cloth has been removed from him, his injuries healed, his bare body exposed to the elements.

He's isolated, for now. No light streams into the darkness of the barren cave. Only the stench of satanic rituals and the occasional drop of water are felt. He stands up and keeps his legs closed as he stumbles in the darkness. All of the hairs along his figure rise to their peak as his entire body is lined with warnings of the danger ahead. Stalactite and stalagmites make jagged teeth within the confines of this tomb filled with demise.

Impossibly finite rocks dig into his soft flesh mercilessly. The occasional trail of groundwater mixed with limestone and the fluids from the desecrated deceased. Tortured echoes of mortal misery and ecstasy reverberate through his eardrums. He shudders as a frozen draft enters the tunnel he is walking through.

A beastly hiss enters the shell of Canute's ear, one that is much airier than that of Thorfinn. It is fleeting and tortured, as its intensity dies out like a flame on a ceremonial candle. The temperature immediately rises once again as Canutes fight or flight is quelled for a few moments.

"Oi, Priest Canute? What are you doing in the vampire caves?" A familiar voice chirps in.

Canute is startled for a moment and turns around quickly while rushing to make himself presentable. He keeps an iron grip on his legs to keep the cove of his privates covered from this newcomer. He crosses his arms over his chest to hide his nipples and some of the hair that trails shamefully along his stomach downward. He is a man of God; he shouldn't be seen in such a compromising position. Lewd. Horrid. Sinful.

His eyes lock on Garm's crazed gaze as a specially crafted spear still lies in the throat of a now-lifeless vampire. It isn't even twitching or hissing as its puncture wound rapidly rots away. The vampire is soon nothing but dust in the winds of time. His spear, Canute notices, is engraved with many protective and religious sigils that are only made in the highest covenant of witches. Canutes brows furrow as his head lifts away in pure repulsion. 'A vampire hunter? Another disgrace towards the church.'

Garm is still adorned in his alter boy apparel, although it is stained with the devil's sinful blood. A strange glinting is caught within the darkness of the earthen tunnels. A pair of vampire teeth lie proudly off of his ears, like earrings, like he is proud of how easily he kills these beasts. His normally couth and pulled-back blonde hair is now spiked up with gel, as if his hair were now a death trap of its own. The young man quirks a curious eyebrow towards the priest as he uncaps a bottle of the church's communion wine and chugs it down. A few droplets escape his lips and make their way onto his clothes.

He speaks in the most dignified tone that he is able to muster. "Garm, alter boy, is that the communion wine?"

"You mean the Jesus juice?" He mutters off passively as he wipes his mouth. He has emptied the communion wine bottle by now, so he lazily tosses it into the side of the cave wall.

"The utter disrespect you have just shown to Jesus's sacrifice."

"Eh?" Garm chuckles out happily. "So fucking around with a vampire isn't disgraceful? I'm not the one who is currently naked and nearing a vampire den." He points towards the bare figure of Canute as he chuckles.

"How did you—"

He's cut off during his stunned answer as Garm promptly replies. "The church hired me along with Thorkell to protect you. Naturally, I joined that shitty church of yours. Never really understood that Jesus fellow." He trails off as he snaps his fingers and remembers his words. "Vampires leave a sort of residue, I saw some around the church. Next thing I know, I hear you moaning and I see a Vamp banging on the side of the confession box."

Canute's heart rate picks up as his hazy memories fail to fill in the gaps. He does remember Thorfinn. His seducing tongue, his traitorous fangs, his erotic actions. How he— "Wait, did you harm Thorfinn!?" He blurts out suddenly as tears threaten to spill from his eyes. One of his hands moves from his chest towards the mark, it's soothing now in a way. An emptiness fills him, yet somehow, he knows that Thorfinn isn't dead.

"Woah, woah there, didn't know you guys had fucked that much." He snickers unhingedly. "Unfortunately, I did not. He got away from me and took you with him!" His face morphs into a pout as he shakes his head. Canute sighs in relief as one of his fingers gingerly caresses Thorfinns mark.

"Coward! I want a worthy vampire opponent and he keeps slipping from my hands!" Garm angrily stabs his spear into the side of the rock as he grins. "Least I got that one scratching on the side of the box. Didn't put up much of a fight. Froze like a stupidly pathetic deer." He repeatedly stabs the rock to get out his frustrations.

Canute's feet scream for relief, his mind for his church, and his heart for his love. He loves God, always. He gulps as he shakes any straying thoughts from his mind. "Garm... I..." Canute trails off as he everything has gone blank.

His eyes shoot back up towards Canute as a wide grin plasters itself onto his face. "Oh the tunnels, yeah? Let's you get you outta here. Thorkell is just a few turns down." He states in a cheeky manner as he springs up. He taps the shoulder of Canute as he happily trots along, deeper into the network of vampire tunnels.

Canutes stumbles as his feet are bloody messes. Garm doesn't look back nor slow down his walk. He is oddly excited to be in this situation, despite having lost his kill. "You always talk a lot during your sermons. Not so much now, eh?" He mutters as he looks back at his partners struggle. He rolls his eyes and grabs his hand while pulling him along hurriedly.

"How do you know of this place? You called them 'vampire caves'." Canute inquires hesitantly as he attempts to keep himself decently covered... to no avail.

"Oh, I know my way around here. I go through the vamp tunnels as they're like shortcuts. They connect to all the dens filled with those promising opponents." He giggles maniacally as he bumps shoulders with Canute. "Technically, mortals aren't allowed in this place. Bullshit. Good practice. Always an opponent willing to try (and fail) to cut down the undefeated Garm." He proclaims proudly.

"Oh." Is the only word that is able to escape his chapped lips.

"Oh?" Garm snorts as he comes upon an impatient Thorkell. They have come upon a lightened exit. The lively sound of animals and the content forest in a stark change of pace from the depressing and alluring charm of the tunnels.

The giant looks at both Garm and Canute with a pleased smile as he adjusts the weight of his twin axes over his shoulders. "Look at how spry you two are! We'll surely catch Thorfinn now!"

"You're right, Thorkell! I get to battle him first!" Garm declares as he shoots a threatening glare towards Thorkell. Canute places his weary foot back and this isn't unnoticed by Garm. He tightens his firm grip on the unclothed arm of Canute.

"No fair! I've been hunting him longer!" Thorkell whines softly as he stomps around.

"I found our bait, so I get the first stab at him."

In less than a blink of an eye, Thorkell has one of his axes near Garm's throat. Garm expertly blocks the swing with his well-crafted spear. "Very well. Only one stab. Then, he's fair game for either of us to kill."

Canute interrupts their bickering with a statement. His voice is shaken and once again his dread creeps within him like a vine ensnaring his soul. 'What is wrong? Why must my moods be ever changing?' "Bait, you said? It is highly illegal to use a servant of God as bait for one of those beasts!"

Garm and Thorkell both make eye contact with each other as they have a hearty laugh. "Who says the church has to know?" They both ask in an unnerving unison. They look like cackling hyenas within his shaded blue irises.

"You despicable Vampire Hunters! You have no honor!" Canute spits out in an exasperated manner as his face tints slightly red.

Thorkell does the scariest thing a mortal can do. He goes quiet. He has an outburst of white, hot rage as he grabs Canute and presses him against the side of the cave. The slimey stone digs into his soft flesh so harshly that a quiet whimper escapes his lips. "You, have no honor. You are a priest! A coward! You fight no battle, you only sit upon your mighty hill and past arrogant glances towards us all!"

"You know what they say Thorkell?" Garm snickers mischievously. "The bigger the dick, the better the warrior."

Thorkell casts his glance down towards his private areas and then nudges Canutes legs towards the side forcefully. "I suppose both Garm and I are definitely better warriors than you."

They laugh in a monstrous manner, Canute can't tell which monsters he'd rather be with. He hangs his head in utter shame as his cheeks burn brighter than any flame that has put those unrighteous to death. His back slowly leaks his crimson tears of unholiness as his feet are torn by the roads of the fallen before him. The last drop falls into the depths of the darkness and rolls off as the two men shout about something that Canute is unable to focus on. They drag him to the edge of the tunnels carelessly; he's handled like a common slave. He's forced to stand as he takes a step out into the sun. He hisses in the most excruciating pain that he has ever experienced.

"Little priestess, did you really think that you could escape me?" Thorfinn mutters out in a sweetened manner. He stands nonchalantly near the edge of the darkness. His finger swipes across the edge of the cave as he collects a bit of his lovers blood. He sticks it in his mouth as a pleased moan escapes his plump lips.

"Thorfinn!" The hunters shout excitedly in unison.

Thorfinn gnarls out demonically as he sees his injured lovers state. "You bastards! To hell with the both of you!" He clenches his fists so tightly that his lifeless tissue tinges a brusied violet.

"We'll take you there with us." Garm challenges as his spear ends up precariously sitting on the edge of his lovers adam's apple.

Before Thorfinn has time to react a hand tugs on his shoulder. "No time Thorfinn, I'll let Bjorn deal with those life breathing morons." A strangers honeyed and irritated voice barks.

"Fuck off old man; they're mine."

"No." The word in spoken in all finality. No room for argument.

Canute is thrown towards the ground in surprise as a force of nature falls over the entrance of the cave. A force so strong and mighty that even Canutes soul trembles heavily. It is as if even the stench of death and sex that wafts from the caves is overpowered. It is a beast.

"Good man Bjorn, rip the hunters apart. We must be going." The estranged voice states passively. As if the wild creatures aura was more of a comfort than a fear.

The pleased shouts of the beastly hunters are drowned out as that foreign ooze seeps into Canute's very core. A moment later, it has once again disappeared, and he falls into Thorfinn's arms. He is barely able to see through the haze of his eyes, as the temperature here is more frigid than that of the church. A figure walks up to Thorfinn in this. He can't see; all he knows is that he is in the caves still.

"Thorfinn~" A cheery yet masculine voice beams. "A little birdy told me that you saw the hunters today. Was Garm there?" He inquires eagerly, barely able to contain himself.

"Elisei." Thorfinn sneers flatly. "You've got angel blood all over you."

"Don't avoid the question love~" Elisei purrs out as Canute is detached from Thorfinn momentarily.

"Go fuck yourself!"

"No, I'd much rather do it with you and Garm." Elisei giggles in a crazed manner as his hand gently pats the top of Canutes head. "Prey?"

"I am not going to be part of one of your weird vampire sex orgys." Canute is barely able to see Thorfinn spit on Elisei and Elisei thank him. "Don't you dare lay a hand on him. He isn't prey... he's it."

"Wait, so you saw Garm today and you got to taste the blood of the one?" Elisei squeals as he drags his finger across Canutes neck. "Bastard, you marked him." He states in a desperately pouty tone almost the same as Garm. "No worry, I'll just give him one of my own."

Canute is barely able to make out the shape of this Elisei character. He is about the same height as Garm and has long, shaggy brunette hair. Canute weakly covers his neck as he backs himself into one of the earthen walls. He looks in the direction of where Thorfinn stands with pleading eyes.

"I am going to—"

"You two bitch like dogs in heat." A gruff and gritty voice mutters as a burly arm tugs on Canute.

"Bjorn, you're wings look like they could use some trimming~ I've got a special potion that I could—" Elisei is cut off as well.

"Quiet vampire witch. Lest I rip your fangs from your mouth and sacrifice you to Askeladd." The beast Canute met earlier now one hundred percent confirmed as Bjorn.

"He's mine." Thorfinn mumbles as Bjorn shushes him with one of his wings.

"He is a mortal. He was harmed when you so carelessly left him in one of our tunnels that was explored by humans. He needs a bath and a warm bed. These are direct orders. End of discussion you brat."

Bjorn raises Canute bridal style and carries him within his powerful arms.

"Thank you..." Canute mutters weakly.

Bjorn doesn't reply as he moves to carry out the order given to him. Although, an invisible smile etches across his ancient features.

#vinland saga #thorfinn x canute #canute x thorfinn #thorunte #canfinn #canfinn brain rot hours #vinland saga fanfic #multi part fic #gay #viking gays #alternate universe #vampires #angels #triggering themes #suggestive themes #the plot thickens #will there be another part? #probably #if i have the time #have fun

[dfroza]

Rings of children circled round and sang, “Hosanna to the Son of David.”

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 21st chapter of the book of Matthew:

Jesus, the disciples, and the great crowds were heading toward Jerusalem when they came to Bethphage on the Mount of Olives. Jesus stopped and beckoned to two of the disciples.

Jesus: Go to the village over there. There you’ll find a donkey tied to a post and a foal beside it. Untie them and bring them to Me. If anyone tries to stop you, then tell him, “The Master needs these,” and he will send the donkey and foal immediately.

He sent the disciples on ahead so His entry into Jerusalem could fulfill what the prophet Zechariah had long since foretold:

Tell this to Zion’s daughter,

“Look—your King is approaching,

seated humbly on a donkey,

a young foal, a beast of burden.”

So the disciples went off and followed Jesus’ instructions. They brought the donkey and foal to Jesus, they spread their cloaks on the animals, and Jesus sat down on them. The great crowd followed suit, laying their cloaks on the road. Others cut leafy branches from the trees and scattered those before Jesus. And the crowds went before Jesus, walked alongside Him, and processed behind—all singing.

Crowd: Hosanna, praises to the Son of David! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Eternal One! Hosanna in the highest!

And that is how Jesus came into Jerusalem. The people noticed this strange parade. They wondered who this could be, this humble bearded man on a donkey who incited such songs.

Crowd: This is Jesus, the prophet, from Nazareth in Galilee.

Jesus came to the temple. He drove out all those who were buying and selling. He upended the moneychangers’ tables and the dove-sellers’ benches.

Jesus: It is written, “My house will be a house of prayer for all people,” but you have turned this house of prayer into a den of robbers.

Then the blind and the lame came to the temple, and Jesus healed them. Rings of children circled round and sang, “Hosanna to the Son of David.” But the priests and scribes didn’t understand. When they saw the upturned tables, the walking paralytics, and the singing children, they were shocked, indignant, and angry, and they did not understand.

Priests and Scribes: Do you hear what these children are saying?

Jesus: Yes. Haven’t you read your own psalter? “From the mouths and souls of infants and toddlers, the most innocent, You have decreed praises for Yourself.”

At that, Jesus left Jerusalem. He went to Bethany, where He spent the night.

The next morning, Jesus went back to the city. It was early and He was wanting breakfast, so He stopped at a lone fig tree by the road. The fig tree, disappointingly, had no figs, only leaves.

Jesus: May you never bear fruit again!

Immediately the tree shriveled up. The disciples were amazed.

Disciples: How did that fig tree wither so quickly?

Jesus: I tell you this: if you have faith and do not doubt, then you will be able to wither a fig tree with one glance. You will be able to tell mountains to throw themselves into the ocean, and they will obey.

Jesus: If you believe, whatever you ask for in prayer will be granted.

Jesus returned to the temple and began to teach. The chief priests and elders came to Him and wanted to know who had given Him permission to disturb the temple precincts and to teach His crazy notions in this most sacred of spots.

Chief Priests and Elders: Who gave You the authority to do these things?

Jesus: I will answer your question if first you answer one of Mine: You saw John ritually cleansing people through baptism for the redemption of their sins. Did John’s cleansing come from heaven, or was he simply washing people of his own whim?

The elders knew that this question was tricky; there was no simple answer. If they acknowledged that John’s ritual cleansing was from heaven, Jesus would ask why they had not accepted John’s authority. But if they said he had dipped people simply by his own accord, they would outrage the people who believed John was a prophet.

Chief Priests and Elders: We don’t know.

Jesus: Then neither will I tell you about the authority under which I am working. But I will tell you a story, and you can tell Me what you make of it: There was a man who had two sons. He said to his first son,

Father: Go and work in the vineyard today.

First Son: No, I will not.

But later the first son changed his mind and went. Then the father went to his second son.

Father: Go and work in the vineyard today.

Second Son: Of course, Father.

But then he did not go. So which of the sons did what the father wanted?

Chief Priests and Elders (answering at once): The first.

Jesus: I tell you this: the tax collectors and prostitutes will enter the kingdom of God ahead of you. John came to show you the straight path, the path to righteousness. You did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes did. Even as you saw the prostitutes and the tax collectors forgiven and washed clean, finding their footing on the straight path to righteousness, still you did not change your ways and believe.

Here is another story: A landowner planted a vineyard, put a wall around it, fitted it with a winepress, and built a watchtower. Then he rented the vineyard and left town. When harvesttime came, the landowner sent his servants to collect rent—in the form of grapes—from his tenants. The tenants attacked these rent-collecting servants. They killed one, stoned another, and beat a third. The dismayed landowner sent another band of servants to try to collect his due, a larger group of servants this time, but the tenants did the same thing—capturing, beating, killing. Finally the landowner sent his son to the tenants, thinking, “They will at least respect my son.” But the tenants knew the son was the best way to get to the landowner, so when they saw the son approaching they said,

Tenants: This is the landowner’s heir apparent! Let’s kill him and take his inheritance.

And so they did; they threw him out of the vineyard and killed him.

What do you think the landowner will do when he comes and sees those tenants?

Chief Priests and Elders: He will eviscerate them, to be sure! Then he will rent the vineyard to other tenants who will pay him at harvesttime.

Jesus: I wonder if any of you has ever opened your own psalter:

The stone that the builders rejected

has become the very stone that holds together the entire foundation.

This is the work of the Eternal One,

and it is marvelous in our eyes.

Therefore, the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to people who will tend its sweet fruit and who will give the Creator His due. [He who falls on the stone will be broken to pieces, and he on whom the stone falls will be crushed.]

And so the chief priests and the Pharisees, the teachers and the elders, knew that when Jesus told these stories He was speaking about them. Not believing, they looked for a way to arrest Him—a stealthy way, though. They were afraid to make too bold a move against Him because all the people believed He was a prophet.

The Book of Matthew, Chapter 21 (The Voice)

A set of notes from The Voice translation:

After a great parade, Jesus and His disciples walk into the temple area, and what He sees enrages Him. He sees moneychangers, buying and selling. He sees men sitting on benches, hawking doves to those who have come from the countryside to make a sacrifice. He sees that the salesmen and teachers have turned a sanctuary of worship into a place of spiritual prostitution. This is the place where Jesus came as a boy to sit with the great teachers. It is the place where His Father receives the offerings of His people. It is more than Jesus can take.

Can anyone be surprised at this other side to Jesus? He has turned out to be not just a kindly teacher; instead, He is the Anointed One, not to be taken lightly. In the midst of this scene filled with joy and chaos, there are extremes. Some are beginning to understand who this man from Galilee is—the Anointed—but the rulers are having great difficulty with the disruption to their orderly world.

•

Jesus has just confronted the spiritual leaders of the land with hard reality. They have two choices: they can believe Him and repent, or they can disbelieve Him and call His stories rabble-rousing and craziness. In their minds, the cost of believing is just too high. Everything they have—their positions and standings in the community, their worldviews, their own images of themselves—is at stake. But they can’t openly condemn this popular teacher of the people.

Today’s paired reading from the First Testament is the 1st chapter of the book of Micah:

These are the words of the Eternal One and the visions about the two capital cities of Israel and Judah, Samaria and Jerusalem, that were given to Micah of Moresheth during the reigns of kings Jotham, Ahaz, and Hezekiah over Judah.

Listen, all of you people!

Pay attention, earth and all upon it!

The Eternal Lord gives evidence against you;

the Lord speaks from His holy temple.

Look at this: the Eternal is leaving His home in heaven,

and He is coming down to walk over the high places of the earth.

The mountains will melt beneath His feet;

the valleys will burst open,

Like wax next to a raging fire,

as water pours from the heights.

Eternal One: All of this is happening because of the crimes of Jacob,

the wrongdoings of the people of Israel.

And what is the crime of Jacob? Isn’t it Samaria?

And what is the high place of Judah? Isn’t it Jerusalem?

And so I will turn Samaria into a pile of ruins in an open field.

To make her properly into a place to plant a vineyard,

I will roll her stones into the valley

and bare her foundations for all to see.

I will shatter her images and burn her immoral riches with fire,

and all her idols I will break down.

They came from the earning of prostitutes, servants of other gods,

and they will be used again to pay the wages of another prostitute.

Because of this, I will howl and wail;

this is why I will go barefoot and naked,

Why I will scream like the jackals

and screech like the ostriches as if in mourning.

Eternal One: For her wounds cannot be cured because Samaria’s transgression has reached Judah.

It now has reached the gate of My people, even in Jerusalem.

Do not tell this in Gath. Do not weep even a little.

In Beth-le-aphrah, wallow in the dust as you mourn.

Travel on, you who live in Shaphir, no longer beautiful but naked and ashamed.

You who live in Zaanan, do not come out when the enemy approaches.

Beth-ezel is weeping, “He is tearing you away from His foundations,”

and she won’t be there to support her neighbors.

Those who live in Maroth wait anxiously for good news;

the Eternal sends disaster down to the gates of Jerusalem.

Harness your horses to the chariots, you who live in the stronghold called Lachish;

in you are the seeds of the sin of My daughter Zion;

in you are the crimes of Israel.

That is why you will pay a dowry to Moresheth-gath

when Israel departs for exile.

The houses of Achzib will deceive and disappoint the kings of Israel.

I will send a conqueror again to all of you living in Mareshah,

and the glory of Israel, her treasures and leaders, will come to Adullam for refuge as David once did.

Cut off your hair and shave your heads. Prepare yourselves for slavery

on account of the children whom you pampered and privileged.

Make yourself as bald as an eagle,

for they have been removed from you into exile.

The Book of Micah, Chapter 1 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

The Northern Kingdom of Israel, sometimes called Samaria after its capital city, was conquered by the Assyrian Empire in 722 b.c. The Southern Kingdom of Judah, where Micah lives and speaks, has been spared that fate, but at a high price: the people have lost the power to govern themselves, pay huge tributes to the Assyrians, and allow the corruption of their religious practices because of the Assyrians’ influence. All Israelites suffer under these conditions, but Micah’s attention is drawn especially to the poor and dispossessed; somehow, as often happens in wartime, rich people manage to get richer while the poor are exploited, and Micah is outraged at the way the rulers of Judah have taken advantage of those who had little—and now have less.

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Saturday, january 27 of 2024 with a paired chapter from each Testament (the First & the New) of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about the spiritual significance of the Exodus:

The Greater Exodus of Yeshua....

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After Peter had rightly confessed that Yeshua was the “Messiah of God” (מְשִׁיחַ הָאֱלֹהִים), Yeshua explained that his role as the “Son of Man” would require suffering many things, including being rejected by the elders and chief priests and scribes of Israel, and that he would be killed, but raised the third day (Luke 9:18-22). He then asked his followers to soberly count the cost of discipleship: “If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me. For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will save it. For what profit is it to a man if he gains the whole world, and is himself destroyed or lost? For whoever is ashamed of Me and My words, of him the Son of Man will be ashamed when He comes in His own glory, and in His Father's, and of the holy angels” (Luke 9:23-26). Yeshua then foretold that that were some standing there who would not “taste death” until they had seen the Kingdom of God...

Some eight days later Yeshua called Peter, James, and John to ascend with him upon a mountain to pray. As Yeshua was praying, he was "transfigured" and his face and clothes becoming dazzlingly bright and radiant with Shekhinah glory (תהילת שכינה). The disciples then saw Moses and Elijah in their glorified state talking with Yeshua - a scene right out of the heavenly places! But notice that that the topic of conversation during this amazing meeting was Yeshua's "departure," that is, his death and resurrection -- literally, his "Exodus": τὴν ἔξοδον αὐτοῦ -- which he would accomplish at Jerusalem (Luke 9:31). This is the great connecting point between the revelation of Torah at Sinai (Moses and the prophets) and the revelation of Torah at Zion (Yeshua as Messiah ben Yosef, the Suffering Servant). At Mount Sinai the great vision was given of the Altar upon which a lamb was offered every day and night (קָרְבָּן תָּמִיד) in commemoration of the Passover (Exodus) from Egypt; at Mount Zion the great vision was the cross of Messiah, upon which the blood of the true Lamb of God would be offered as "Messiah our Passover" (1 Cor. 5:7) that delivers us from slavery to sin and spiritual death.

Recall that Yeshua said: "Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. For truly, I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not a Yod (י), nor a "thorn" of a Yod (i.e., kotzo shel yod: קוֹצוֹ שֶׁל יוֹד), shall in any way pass from the Law until all is accomplished" (Matt. 5:17-18). Both the Torah of Moses (תורת משה) and the words of the Hebrew prophets (דברי הנביאים) foretold of the coming of Messiah who would purge Israel from her sins and establish the glory of God before the nations. Amen: Yeshua is the central meaning of all true Torah....

The Exodus from Egypt is the central miracle of the Torah because it prophetically tells the story of the redemption of God’s people throughout the dispensations. Israel’s deliverance from bondage to Pharaoh serves as an allegory of both the salvation promised to Adam and Eve after losing their freedom to Satan as well as the fulfillment of the promises to the Jewish people of the coming Savior of Israel (מושיע ישראל) who would establish God’s kingdom on the earth. Yeshua is both the Savior of the world (מושיע העולם) as well as Israel’s true King and Deliverer. The true Exodus, however, is the one accomplished by the sacrifice of Yeshua as the great Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. The death, burial, and resurrection of Yeshua (יְצִיאַת יֵשׁוּעַ) is the central miracle of the Scriptures, fulfilling the original promise given to Adam and Eve of the coming deliverer who would remedy the curse of death and restore the glory of Eden.

The great story of God's redemption is revealed on two levels in Scripture - one that concerns the restoration of Eden (the universal level), and the other that concerns the restoration of Israel (the particular level). Therefore Yeshua is both rightly called the “Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world” (John 1:29) and “the Messiah our Passover Lamb who has been sacrificed for us” (1 Cor. 5:7). Likewise he is both called the “Seed of the woman,” and “the Son of David”; he is called the “Second Adam,” and the “King of the Jews,” and so on.

God’s redeeming love was present from the very beginning (Psalm 90:3). He is the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world. The midrash states that Adam was created from the “dust of the Temple.” After Adam’s transgression, the Tree of Life was “removed from reach” and guarded by cherubim until the blood that spoke a “better thing than the blood of Abel” was offered for the redemption of mankind (Heb. 12:24). This “better thing” was prefigured in many ways in Scripture: through the martyrdom of Abel, through the Akedah of Isaac, through the blood of the lamb that delivered Israel from the angel of death, through the blood sprinkled upon the kapporet (“mercy seat”) of the Ark of the Covenant, through the sacrifice of the Red Heifer, and most especially through the sacrificial death of Yeshua upon the Cross at Moriah.... Those who trust in the sacrifice and victorious resurrection of the Messiah are given access to eat of the Tree of Life in the Paradise of God (Rev. 2:7; 22:14).

Yeshua “lifted up” is the antidote to the venom delivered through the serpent’s bite (John 3:14-15). "For as in Adam all die, so also in Messiah shall all be made alive" (1 Cor. 15:22). The “new seed” of life given to us in Yeshua makes us into a “new creation” (בְּרִיאָה חֲדָשָׁה) that fully restores the disfigured image of God within us: "Just as we have borne the image of the man of dust, we shall bear the image of the man of heaven" (1 Cor. 15:49).

[ Hebrew for Christians ]

========

Isaiah 53:5 reading:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/isa53-5.mp3

Hebrew page:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/isa53-5-lesson.pdf

1.26.24 • Facebook

from yesterday’s email by Israel365:

עׇזִּ֤י וְזִמְרָת֙ יָ֔הּ וַֽיְהִי־לִ֖י לִֽישׁוּעָ֑ה זֶ֤ה אֵלִי֙ וְאַנְוֵ֔הוּ אֱלֹהֵ֥י אָבִ֖י וַאֲרֹמְמֶֽנְהוּ׃

Hashem is my strength and might; He is become my deliverance. This is my God and I will enshrine Him; The God of my father, and I will exalt Him.

OZ-zi v'-zim-RAT ya, va-YA-hee-LEE li-y'-shu-AH, ZEH e-LEE v'-an-VE-hu, e-lo-HAY a-VEE va-a-rom-MEN-hu.

Exodus 15:2

In the Torah portion of Beshalach (Exodus 13:17-17:16) we read about the miraculous Splitting of the Sea. Emerging triumphantly from the Red Sea, the Israelites sang the ‘Song of Moses’, a heartfelt ode of gratitude. This song encapsulates their profound reverence and thankfulness to God for saving them from certain death. Rabbi Ephraim Mirvis, Chief Rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth, explains that we learn from this song, specifically the line, “this is my God, and I will glorify Him” (Exodus 15:2), how to express gratitude to God for being saved.

But this line also begs the question: How does one truly glorify God? What is the meaning of this phrase?

Rabbi Mirvis first quotes the Talmud, which suggests that we glorify God by beautifying the commandments that we perform. Each commandment is not merely a duty to be discharged. Instead, it’s an opportunity to showcase our appreciation for God and His divine commandments. This perspective urges us not to perform commandments perfunctorily or to just get them over with, but to fulfill them in a beautiful and glorified manner. Doing so brings honor and glory to God.

Many of the medieval commentators offer another layer of interpretation. They suggest that the Hebrew word for “I will glorify Him,” v’anveihu, comes from the Hebrew word naveh which means “a home,” connecting the concept of glorification of God to the idea of building a home for God. This interpretation stems from the aspiration, expressed from the dawn of the Jewish nation’s existence, to create a sacred space for God, a divine abode on earth. The best way to glorify God is to build Him a Temple, something the Israelites aspired to do already as they were leaving Egypt.

However, Rabbi Mirvis prefers the interpretation of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, who takes a more intimate and personal approach to the connection between v’anveihu and building a home. He explains that glorifying God is not limited to building an external home for God, i.e. a Temple, rather glorifying God means making oneself into a home for God. It God means reflecting His presence through one’s very being, both through the levels of spirituality that we attain as well as the acts of loving-kindness that we perform.

This idea is beautifully exemplified in the life of Abraham. When he interacted with the Hittites to secure a burial place for Sarah, they recognized in him a “prince of God.” In Abraham, they saw a person who personified God’s presence through his conduct; a paragon of holiness, spirituality, and loving-kindness.

Thus, Rabbi Mirvis articulates a profound and multifaceted approach to thanking God for the gift of survival. It’s not just about performing rituals and commandments; it’s about elevating them, cherishing them, and allowing them to infuse our lives with beauty and meaning. It’s about creating spaces – both physical and spiritual – where God’s presence can dwell. Most importantly, it’s about embodying divine attributes and being a living testament to God’s presence in the world through our actions, our kindness, and our unwavering commitment to reflect the divine in all that we do. In doing so, we become, like Abraham, veritable princes and princesses of God, carrying His presence in our hearts and minds, and radiating it out into the world.

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

January 27, 2024

He Hath Chosen Us

“According as he hath chosen us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and without blame before him in love.” (Ephesians 1:4)

Although we cannot really understand how God could choose us (same Greek word as “elected”) before the creation of the world, we can rejoice in the fact and praise Him for “his own purpose and grace, which was given us in Christ Jesus before the world began” (2 Timothy 1:9). The preceding verse (Ephesians 1:3) testifies we have received “all spiritual blessings in heavenly places in Christ,” all “according to the good pleasure of his will” (v. 5), “according to the riches of his grace” (v. 7), and “according to his good pleasure which he hath purposed in himself” (v. 9). It must thus all be “to the praise of the glory of his grace” (v. 6).

It is clear from this passage that God’s choice of us was not simply a matter of His foreseeing our choice of Him but was a choice solely by His own will and grace. “Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you, and ordained you, that ye should go and bring forth fruit” (John 15:16). This in no wise lessens our own responsibility to trust in Christ and to believe “the gospel of your salvation” (Ephesians 1:12-13), even though in our finite minds we cannot understand how to correlate these two concepts. Both are true because both are taught in His Word, and both are occasions for rejoicing because they reflect both His love and His omnipotence.

God told Jeremiah, “Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love: therefore with lovingkindness have I drawn thee” (Jeremiah 31:3). Before the world began, God knew each of us and loved us, and prepared to die to save us from our sins and then to draw us to Himself. “Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain unto it” (Psalm 139:6). We can only thank and praise Him, and then seek earnestly to live fully for Him all our days. HMM

[vf-thompson]

Book Review: Content Warning: Everything Will Fuck You Up and It Will be Your Fault

It seems odd that i'm sitting down to write a perfect review of a book that has, as far as a book can screw up a life, sent my own careening wildly off track.

My introduction to Emezi was the diabolical little YA spec fic Pet, which was assigned reading in my Transgender Literature class i took a few semesters ago. i was struggling with my academic workload, and admittedly only read pieces of that book, enough know what was going in class discussions, but shelved it to finish later. i did not realize at the time that i had one of the writer's other books in my possession already, a threatening little collection of poems that my best friend had gotten me for my birthday right before beginning the semester.

It sat on my shelf patiently, biding its time, dreaming its sick little dreams, until i needed it.

i can't tell you how the explosion happened, only that it did. Call it a gas leak, maybe. Entropy did as entropy does. i was separated, overnight, from everything smelling and tasting of home, born on Christian hands and pagan winds into the wild to be taught the true ways of the world. Apotheosis knocked for the third time in my heathen life, and this time i let the sonuvab!tch inside at last to make herself at home.

i found myself in a hotel room, on the other side of a bombing, stranded. This book was in my hands, had made it instinctively into my bag as i escaped the slithering fire that consumed my house and my life. i read the title, read the author's name, realized i had heard the name before. i ached for familiarity, and opened the book.

Everything was inside waiting for me inside, as Emezi warned. i blundered into the bloody-berry red thickets of their serpentine prose, joining them in their dirty, dismal trek up the Holy Mountain. i found, immediately, in her words, a kindred spirit, crimson as my own sin-stained soul. i can only be frankly honest: the poems in this collection seemed to resonate with my own life and its events to a degree that is uncanny, almost abject. The second poem, "christening", tore me open, and i understood, feverishly, wrongly: i too could speak the truth.

i took to my notebook, trying to put my frayed and desperate grief into words, grief at my sudden exile from Eden, using Emezi's words as model. i crafted my own imitative poems in the key of confession and launched them into the sky like a rocket, hoping to explain away the pain with meter and meaning. But like our viperous little narrator, the ouroboros sharing their tale with us, i swallowed myself with my own words, burned up in my own stomach acid, vomited myself out somewhere worse than before. My confessions did not cleanse me; they branded me Barabbas. My attempt to reach for the sky left me falling back towards earth, landing in a black muddy river, washing up somewhere by Bethlehem with venom in my eyes. As the book warns at the top, the urge to explain can often only make things worse when you see the world wrong.

It has since taken me five months to finish a book that is 45 pages long. i can't blame the book. It told me its mission on the front cover, warned me as well as a book can. It told me what was waiting inside: Everything, undiluted, unadulterated. This book blew my mind in the worst kind of way, which is of course the best way, which is of course the only way. Books are here to challenge us, to change the way we see. There is nothing comforting or safe about the work here, blowing past trigger warnings in a way that no edged-out Netflix comedian could hope to touch.

If you can handle it, allow Emezi to take a scalpel to your life, as they did mine. Inside you will find ruminations and meditations on what is means to be a pagan, to be spirit, to be of any faith or no faith, to be less than a man and more than a god and to do-se-do around the black heart of a dying, diseased brain. Big thanks to the bitch who bought it for my birthday, who read it and decided i should too. She's never let me down with a recommendation, and i'm happy to say this book continues that trend. It has been a campfire to sit beside in one of the darkest periods of my life, throwing shadows of hope against the wall even as the cave threatens to collapse down on top of us all.

#poetry #book review #poetry review #akwaeke emezi #religion #writing #bookblr #content warning: everything #queer poetry

[510akland]

2023 … isnt what I thought it would be. Honestly, low key i regret meeting certain people. I wish i never met that man, he really gave me an std and didnt even apologize. I cant believe i was really that comfortable to let my guard down and allow that to even happen. I wish that say i met him i just shoulda went home after my beat friends bday dinner. I wish i never met him. I usually never let my guard down hut i did. And thats my fault, but itll never happen again. Im like a whole new person. I don’t remember who i was before, but i don’t remember being this level of strong. So maybe im a way this entire bullshit situation made me better. Maybe this entire situation didnt. Idk yet. Honestly. I don’t like him, apart of me still cares and i wanna kill that part of me because i dont want to care. He doesn’t deserve that. But I can’t shut off my emotions i can only control my reaction. This entire situation made me feel embarrassed, dirty and violated. Shame on me for even putting myself in that situation. & i wish i never told anyone either .. but that fucking alcohol smh. And even tho it was something i was able to get rid of i was still mad asf. I wanted to kill that man and his kids. I was so angry that someone would do that to me & that fact that i let my guard down!!!! But never again, the beautiful thing about this whole situation is that I can change my reality at any time and moving forward. I have decided that I’m not having sexual intercourse with anyone most likely for the remainder of my life. I’m interested in having healthy connections, but I no longer want to engage in sexual activity. It’s too risky even in a relationship you’re still risking it. 

Prior to June 2021 I hadn’t had sex in six years and I was doing just fine. I think this was a sign from God to stop because that isn’t what I’m here for.  that man and all of them before him were a distraction, in addition to that they were beneath me, and vibrationally spiritually, and mentally. 

I’m sorry to myself I’m sorry to God and I’m sorry to my soul to my spirit. I’m sorry to my body and moving forward. I choose to forgive myself and others, but at the same time I choose to move wiser, and even more cautiously and moving forward, I won’t be listening to family or close friends. I will only be following my own intuition, my spirit, my soul.

I asked that God remove the trace of any, and all men from my mind, body and spirit from my tongue acts that my mind, my body, my spirit be renewed I pray that my soul remains intact and that I don’t do anything that I can’t come back from. I pray that my soul remains intact and I pray that my heart stays hole, and that this situation has not hardened me but just made me smarter more intuitive in my heightened discernment. I pray that I don’t wear this situation on my sleeve, but I leave it in my past. I pray that I don’t cross paths with anyone that is not meant for me, and may God give me the discernment in the eyes to see everyone and everything for who and what they truly are may not be blinded by what I see or what I hear but have clarity to see everything I need to see for what it truly is even if it doesn’t make me happy, may the truth always be revealed to me. I asked that God forgive me for my sins, and may the water wash all over me and cleanse me from head to toe and again from head to toe, and may I always be covered and protected in the spirit of God, and by the all seeing angels. 

[nanamikentoseyebags]

A fall to oblivion

When do these walls cease to clench me in their grip? Can they allow me to breathe? When do I stop living in a daze? Can feelings return?

pairing: suguru geto x gn!reader

content: just imagine that pivotal moment that happened to geto in the shower, but there was a person who could offer that much-needed support, tons of angst, hurt, comfort? swear words here and there, tiny bit of fluff if you squint

a/n: i don't even know what to say lol. just my rescuer complex is acting up again, hope you enjoy <3

“When does it all stop? When does the screaming die down? Can it be silenced forever? When does sanity come back? Can clarity of thought be restored? When does that weight fall off the shoulders? Can only resignation remain? When does that soul-shattering emptiness disappear? Can it be replaced with meaning to keep on going? When do these walls cease to clench me in their grip? Can they allow me to breathe? When do I stop living in a daze? Can feelings return?”

These were the thoughts that were swirling violently in Suguru's mind whilst he futilely tried to shut his mind off. Endless streams of water hit him mercilessly in the face, and then rushed down his naked body, washing away all the sanguinary red reminders of the previous day on their way. Somewhere deep within himself, he hoped that water would cleanse him of all his sins, and drown out all the things he had done. Yet it seemed to him that it was he who was drowning under the burden of the wrong decisions he had made and the weight of dead bodies that were stretching out their cyanotic hands towards him. Trembling, bruised hands of people whose lives he could not save.

“What is 'rightness'? And who decides that? What is the point of all this trying of saving people when you know from the very beginning that you can't save everyone? Why does someone decide who is worthy of salvation and who is not? What is this world where people rejoice in other people's deaths for? What is this world where there is no room for regret and honesty for? Is there no room for me? Or is there no room for them? What's the point of these super powers when they leave you super weak and super vulnerable? Just to be a toy in the hands of others?”

Suguru leaned forward, both hands resting on the cold tiles, trying to find some sort of balance. The weightless streams of water flowing down his sturdy figure felt like an immeasurable weight of the heaven landing on his shoulders, pressing him to the ground with unbelievable force and making it impossible even to stand up straight. His fingertips unconsciously traveled across the damp surface, groping the slightest unevenness beneath them, sending signals to his clouded mind and convincing him that he was still there. His black, blurry eyes were fixed on one spot, almost never blinking. His chest heaved frantically with each of his convulsive breaths.

He was wrestling with his own thoughts, almost losing a battle, unaware that your small figure had appeared in the doorway of your bathroom a couple of minutes ago. Struggling to stay on his feet, he failed to notice how you, stripped of your clothes, quietly approached him from behind, gently wrapping your arms around his torso. Geto only flinched slightly at the sensation of your hot palms on his icy skin, yet his gaze remained fixed on the wall.

"Is everything all right?" was more of a rhetorical question that echoed off the walls of the half-dark bathroom. A question that left no hope of an answer, but one that so desperately wanted to escape your lips. He just exhaled heavily, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to ward off the frightening apparition, somewhere in the back of his mind, hoping you wouldn't notice. But you did, of course you did, just as you'd noticed every little change in his behavior in the past few days. Your arms wrapped around him a little tighter, as your lips touched his silky skin just where his shoulder blades met.

"Guru," the love-soaked name coming from your lips used to always make his heart flutter, now it pierced his body with a thousand sharp needles poisoned by sorrow, "if you don't want to talk, that's fine, just give me a chance to be around, okay?"

Suguru stayed still for a few moments, carefully weighting your words, before his hand came over yours, squeezing lightly, letting you know that he, despite all the things the little voices were treacherously whispering to him in his head, appreciated your presence. You let out a sigh of relief, intertwining your fingers with his, reassuringly kissing his shoulder. Your fingertips gently caressed his hand as you clung to him tighter; trying to give him all the warmth and all the faith you had. You stood like that for a few more minutes, in the quietude that was broken only by the sound of water cascading down your naked bodies. Geto was the first to cut the lingering silence with his sharp yet quiet words, having gathered the remaining strength but not lifting his head.

"I can't do this anymore..." The five words that forced their way out of his lips fired five shots precisely into your chest, into the place where your heart once beat. His hand released yours, finding its place on the wall once again. You shuddered at the harshness of his movement and the sudden feeling of emptiness in your fingers. Hundreds of assumptions rose and fell in your head, with each one getting darker and more unsettling: “Is this the end of us? Just like that? Without any premises?” You didn't know what exactly caused such a change in him but whatever it was, you deserved to know the truth and to hear it from him.

Despite the excruciating pain that was expanding with tremendous speed throughout your entire body, starting with your bleeding heart, you found the courage not to let go of his shivering body, but instead, leaving another tender kiss on his shoulder blade, as you spoke softly.

"Whatever it is, Guru, we can get through it together. I don't know what thoughts are troubling you right now or what exactly happened to bring us to this point, but we can try to make it right."

He hated it. He hated how each note in your voice was filled with regret and pity. He hated that no one in this world seemed to understand what was going on. He hated the fact that he wouldn't let you know. Anger mingled with fatigue. A rancorous mixture of both was seething in his bones, threatening to burst forth and burn every bridge it could reach. But that little common sense he had left convinced him that you didn't deserve to be treated this way. After all, you were not to blame for anything. It was a simple mishap that led you to him.

"There's nothing to fix, Y/n, it's way too late. Everything we believed in-...everything I believed in, it's all ruined. It all makes no sense." His hoarse voice was like the rustling of autumn leaves, echoing through the entire space. He sounded as if he hadn't spoken to anyone in a long time. Which wasn't a lie, for lately a few phrases during the day were the most you could get out of him.

"This girl that we-...that I couldn't keep safe was just a teenager. A girl with her own dreams. A girl who wanted to stay with us and would have, if it hadn't been for my blunder...And those people," he clenched his hands into fists, gritting his teeth, "th-...they were so damn excited. They were laughing, making faces, pointing their fingers at her dead body like...like they were a pack of monkeys in a fucking zoo." He spat out every word as if they were eating him up from the inside.

"So what is the point of keeping protecting the weak when they find satisfaction in the death of others? What is the point of experiencing pain by swallowing these fucking curses, so they can escape the pain? What's the fucking point?" His voice broke into a scream, and his fists slammed into the wall. You flinched, unlocking your arms and instinctively taking a couple of steps back.

Surugu turned to face you, his fist still resting on the spot where it had landed a few seconds before. Your eyes flicked frightenedly from his hand to his distorted grimace of pain. After following your gaze, he chuckled bitterly, unclenching his fist and standing up straight, as much as his exhausted body would let him.

"What if they deserve it? What if all these people deserve to be cursed?” he continued, “what if this is their punishment for all the shit they do? What if we don't have to save them? What is the point of this pretentious nobility, Y/n? I no longer know what is right and what is wrong. I don't know who's right anymore." He could not look in your direction, afraid of your reaction as he stood there in front of you, exposing not just his scarred body, but also his tortured soul.

You took a step toward him, cautiously holding out your hand. His words knocked the ground out from under your feet, simultaneously messing up your thoughts and somehow putting everything in its place.

"It's not like that. You and I both know it isn't," another small tentative step in his direction, "the world is not divided into black and white. There are nasty people everywhere: among ordinary people as well as among sorcerers, but it doesn't depend on what we are, it depends on who we are. You saved so many people who no longer had hope, and you were able to give it back. "You finally took his hand again, gently stroking his knuckles.

"I don't know, Y/n. I tried so hard to do what everyone thought was right that now I feel like it was the only thing I did wrong."

"You never did anything wrong, Guru. I know you feel baffled by all these things, and that's okay. We'll figure it out and get to the other side, trust me. I’ll never give up on you."

Suguru lifted his head, now looking directly into your eyes for the first time in a while. His drained face was even paler, as the bags under his eyes could be seen from afar. But in spite of that, he looked like a frightened little boy lost in a supermarket, trying to find his mother. A boy who grew up way too young and was lost in the maelstrom of life.

He could not believe how such a young and delicate person could have so much strength, so much wisdom, and so much love inside. Your words enveloped his being with inviting warmth. Closing the distance between you, his arms wrapped around your small frame. Almost bent in half, he nuzzled into your neck, hoping that your scent and the feeling of your skin under his fingertips would bring him peace. Your arms encircled his torso, letting his entire weight rest against you, as you stroked his back gently, feeling his tense muscles and choked sobs under your palms.

And for the first time in his life, he allowed himself to be weak. He allowed himself to cry out loud, burying his nose in your neck while your hands lovingly ran through his hair. He allowed himself to share that weight for two, to take that much-needed breath.

It was then, when you held him closer to you and quietly whispered words of love into the crown of his head, that you realized that if you had to carry him on your shoulders through an endlessly long, dark tunnel, you would do it. You would both find that strength to reach the light. You would be strong in his moments of weakness, so that like a bright dragonfly he would soon soar into the sky again, gleaming with his huge wings in the sun.

thank you so much for reading <3

tagging some of my dearest moots: @shamelessperfectionhideout @afortoru @vagabond-umlaut @mitsuyeaah @luckimoon @strawberrystepmom @daisynik7 @sugies @sin-and-punishment

#he's my 13th reason fr #geto suguru #suguru geto #geto x you #geto x reader #geto x y/n #geto jjk #getou suguru x you #jjk suguru #suguru x you #suguru x reader #suguru x y/n #geto angst #suguru angst

[yamalegacy]

prompt eleven with mirko 😳

i've already done 11 with midnight but idc, i love buff bunny too much not to do it! and well, considering how it aligns with the godly possessive!rumi hcs, it's way too tempting anyway! so here goes!

prompt: #11 from this list  “I bet you think you’re real cute letting them put their hands all over you. We’ll see how cute you look later when I get you home.”

pairing: mirko (usagiyama rumi) x gn!reader

cw: SMUT. afab reader. rumi is a possessive bunny. brat!reader. dom/sub dynamic. hair pulling, spanking, dirty talking, slight degradation & praise kink (yes, both at the same time, don’t underestimate rumi), fingering, strapon, slight anal fingering. oh boy this really is the filthiest thing i’ve written in a loooong time.

word count: about 3,7k words WOPS I GOT CARRIED AWAY

⚠️ MDNI reminder for minors to not interact with this post ⚠️

   Your phone buzzes exactly seven minutes after you started a conversation with Keigo— he insists you call him Keigo, because Hawks is too professional and Takami is too formal, his own words. Seven whole minutes (yes, you’ve been keeping an eye on the time during the whole conversation). It’s over six minutes later than you’d expected, really. It buzzes again almost immediately, and you make a point to ignore your phone for a bit as you glance at Rumi, on the other side of the bar, over the rim of your glass.

When she arcs an eyebrow at you, visibly losing her patience, you give all your attention to Keigo again and offer him a smile before pulling your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans to check the messages you’ve no doubt received from the Rabbit Hero.

fluffy butt 🐇🤍

i bet you think you’re real cute letting him put his hands all over you we’ll see how cute you look later when i get you home

It’s almost disappointing how predictable she is with these things. Almost. Rumi is way too hot when she gets jealous for it to actually be disappointing. You want to remind her that she is the one who invited you to that bar and who left you alone to get drinks, that she is the one who got distracted by a conversation with Ryukyu, but you decide to leave her on read and see what happens.

From where you stand, you can see Rumi’s internal struggle not to just abruptly cut Ryukyu in the middle of what she is saying so that she can get right between you and Keigo. It’s quite the amusing sight, from her flattened ears to her thumping foot, her attitude reeks of frustration. You can’t help but wonder what will tick her off so much that she will intervene — Keigo has only touched you shoulder and given your arm a light squeeze and Rumi is already seething, so it seems likely just about anything would set her off.

“I can hear her thump from here,” Keigo comments, a lazy smile adorning his lips. “I’m surprised she hasn’t tried to murder me yet.”

You chuckle at his words.

“I think she’s trying to see whether or not looks can kill.”

He leans closer to you (and you know it’s much too closer to Rumi’s standards because you can smell the minty alcohol on his breath), “I sure hope looks can kill. It’d be a lot less painful than her foot up my— well, wherever she fancies shoving it, I guess.”

You don’t even have time to give him a reaction that you can hear heavy footsteps approaching, so you lean away from Keigo just enough to properly look at your girlfriend as she marches over to you. It’s only now that she is right here that you notice she’s opened her leather jacket, revealing one of her favorite crop tops — black, sinfully tight and exposing just the right amount of cleavage and abs to make your mouth water. 

God, her skin always looks so tempting, you want to reach out, to put a hand on her waist, under her jacket, but she grabs you by the wrist before you can even try to move a muscle. Her eyes are fixed on you, and, to your surprise, she doesn’t even acknowledge Keigo.

“We’re leaving,” she says, her tone stern.

“Rumi... it’d be rude to leave so early,” you tell her, smiling at her with all the innocence you can muster (enough to fool anyone who doesn’t know you well), “and you are the one who wanted us to come here in the first pl—”

“We’re leaving. I remembered I have something to do.”

You want to push, to tease, to see how far she’ll go, so even if her tone leaves no room for argument, you open your mouth again.

“But you—”

“Now.”

She tugs are your arm and you follow as she takes a first few steps away from Keigo, only to turn around and face him.

“I hope you choke on your fucking feathers, birdy.”

“Always nice to talk to you, Usagiyama,” he simply smirks and gives her a small wave of his hand, “and I hope something,” he glances at you, “will enjoy getting done.”

Rumi doesn't give you any time to say goodbye to him, or to any of her hero friends, and she drags you out of the bar, heading straight for her car. She doesn't even let you register how forceful she is being that you've already been shoved in the passenger seat.

The ride home is short (too short; Rumi drives way too fast for a Pro Hero who is supposed to set an example for those around her) and awfully quiet. She didn't even look at you, didn't glance your way at least once like she usually does. Rumi's ears are still flattened in annoyance when she opens the door of her house to push you inside.

She kicks off her sneakers and takes off her leather jacket to leave it on the back of chair, then heads to the couch, sitting down nonchalantly, arms crossed under her chest in a way that pushes up her tits. All you can do is stare, unable to form a coherent thought as you settle down next to her.

“You had fun flirting with Big Bird, baby?” she asks, and the question would be innocent enough if you didn't know your girlfriend better.

You move so that you're facing Rumi on the couch, your knee bumping into a strong thigh — and maybe, for a moment, you get briefly distracted by the thought of these rippling muscles on either side of your head.

“Come on, Rumi, you know there was no actual flirting. We were just having fun.”

She leans closer to you, invading your personal space, face so close to yours that all you can see in the harsh coldness in her eyes. You barely have time to blink that one of her hands is at the back of your head, her grip on your hair surprisingly gentle.

“Oh, because you think I don’t know what little game you were playing with him there?” she is nearly snarling at you, and this time, her grip on your hair tightens, deliciously painful, and she tugs. “Why do you think I waited so long to grab you, uh?”

So, she knew? The whole time you spent talking with Keigo, flirting with him and allowing him to flirt to get a reaction from her, she knew? And it still didn't stop her from getting jealous and acting possessive in the middle of a bar, surrounded by numerous other Pro Heroes.

Her grip on your hair tightens once more and she brings you closer to her body.

"I just wanted to see how far you'd take your little game," she explains, words nearly spat through her gritted teeth. "But I couldn't take it anymore. You're mine, understood?" she asks, but the way she pulls at your hair clearly tells you that she expects no reply.

"I thought we agreed that I was my own person?" you smirk, even as she yet again tugs at your hair. "We said we don't own each other even if we're dating, didn't we?"

It is true, it's something you've talked about pretty early in your relationship together, after Rumi admitted that she could get jealous easily, but hated that she got jealous. It led to conversation about acting possessive during sex and marking, and you know that's what Rumi is going on about right now, and not some sort of ownership that she'd have over you because she is your girlfriend. But you can't help it, can't help wanting to push all her buttons and see what kind of punishment it earns you.

"You're playing smartass with me now, uh?"

She tugs at your hair again, forcing your head back slightly, but you hold eye contact, refusing to let her get the submission that she wants from you just now. You've already earned yourself a punishment, might as well make the most of it, right?

"I would never."

You smile innocently and bat your eyelashes at her, even if the pain tickling your scalp is starting to blur your sight.

She lets go of your hair without saying anything, and for just a second, you think she might be too annoyed with your act and drop the issue entirely to move on and do whatever she feels like doing for the rest of the night. But she wraps her strong fingers around your wrist and pulls, her free hand pressing harshly between your shoulder blades to push you down onto her lap, face into the couch cushion and ass up, perched over her thighs.

Well, shit.

The first spank comes unexpectedly fast and hard, you have no time to brace yourself for the impact, and your jeans do little to absorb the shock and the pain spreading through your cheek.

“Shit!” you groan through gritted teeth, trying your best not to get too loud, which is most likely exactly what Rumi wants right now.

“Got something to say, baby?” Rumi asks, and you can hear the smirk in her voice.

“Nope. All good,” you mumble.

A second slap comes, matching the first one in speed and strength, leaving your ass numb from the pain. If there’s one thing you can never expect from your girlfriend, it’s for her to go easy on you.

“All good, you said?”

“Yup,” you whimper pathetically, your voice having none of the bite you wish for. Two spanks, and Rumi already has you trembling over her lap, it’s ridiculous, but you should have seen it coming, really.

She spanks you again, twice, and takes the time to brush the palm of her hand over your sore cheeks, the gesture almost soothing. She repeats the movements again, and again, before stopping to give your ass a squeeze. With each spank, you pant, forcing yourself to swallow the moans that threaten to fall past your lips.

“You’re taking your punishment really well today, baby. Trying to be good for me?” she teases, her hand now comfortably lodged between your thighs, too close to your aching core and yet not nearly close enough.

“Or maybe you’re not hitting as hard as you think you are.”

You aren't sure why you said that, aren't sure what you're doing right now, all you know is that it's dangerous because you're just provoking Rumi — it's always a recipe for disaster in the end.

She doesn't spank you though, but she snakes a hand between her lap and your stomach, pressing her fingers into your skin and pushing up until you put your weight on your knees and lift yourself up enough for her to get access to the button of your pants. Rumi hooks her fingers at the hem of your jeans and tugs, dragging them down your thighs along with your underwear.

She doesn't give you time to adapt to the cool air against your exposed bottom, doesn't let you collect your thoughts or even take a breath, before she is spanking you again. She marks no pause between each strike, just spanks and spanks and spanks. Lost in the rapid fire of her assault on your sensitive ass, you can't stop yourself from moaning — and that's when she pauses.

“Did my baby just moan?”

You stubbornly refuse to respond, clenching your jaw. You know a spank is coming, but you still aren’t ready for the pain.

“It’s okay to admit that you’re just a slut, desperate for me to touch you,” she coos, her calloused fingers gently brushing the raw skin of your ass. “Even if I’m just spanking you, you want me to touch you, don’t you? Because you’re a needy little whore for me, uh?”

Her words cause a shiver to run down your spine, straight to your core, but you press your thighs together and bit your tongue. You’re well aware what she wants you to do, what she wants you to say, but you don’t want to give it to her today. You’ve decided to play, and you won’t back down just because she’s spanking your ass raw. At your stubborn silence, she all but growls in your ear, her annoyance obvious as she slaps your burning cheek once more.

“How long do you think you can resist, baby?” she asks as her fingers trace little patterns on your back, your shirt riding up as her hand slowly moves higher. “How long til you act like the good little slut you are for me?”

You muffle your whine in the cushion, which is starting to feel uncomfortably wet from your tears and drool under your cheek. You hate it, but you can’t give in now. Rumi would be too pleased.

“Just say you’re mine, baby, say you’re my perfect good little slut,” she says, her fingers trailing down your back to settle between your thighs, an inch from where you need her most, “just say it and I promise I’ll fuck your pretty cunt so good you won’t be able to walk.”

She runs a finger along your drenched fold, and you hear her hum in delight. You hate how wet she’s making you; you can’t deny that this is all for her, that it’s the effect she has one you. Met with only silence once again, Rumi harshly pinches your clit between her thumb and index finger.

“Aaah! Rumi—” you gasp, whole body quivering.

“Say it. Say you’re my slut. Beg me to fuck you.”

“Please,” you whimper weakly.

“Uh? What did you say? Didn’t hear you, baby. Stop hiding in the couch and gimme a proper sentence.”

You nearly sob as she tightens her grip on your clit before releasing it.

“I’m your slut! All yours!” you feel your whole face burning at your own word, at the desperation in your voice. “I need you to fuck me! Please... Mirko... please fuck me.”

She chuckles, all too amused to your liking.

“See? Ain’t so hard to be good, is it?”

Before you can register what’s happening, Rumi has hoisted you in her arms and thrown you over her shoulder and is making her way to your bedroom. Your pants still down the middle of your thighs and ass bared, it’s the most embarrassing ever but you can’t even find words to express it; you can feel your arousal dripping down your thighs, sticky and embarrassing.

She tosses onto the bed as soon as she is close enough to it.

“Be good and strip for me, baby. Take everything off.”

You hurry to obey, pushing your pants further down and kicking them off your feet before you start working on taking off your shirt. Rumi’s disappeared into the bathroom, so you sit patiently to wait for her, back leaning against the headboard.

When she comes back, Rumi is dressed, and you take the time to admire her beauty. The size of her strong arms obvious through the thin material of her long-sleeved crop top, the delicious expanse of tan skin of her stomach, her tight abs, the curve of her hips— you notice it only now, the thick bulge hidden under her jeans. You look up at her face, surprise written all over your features, and the smile she gives you is playful, she even wiggles her eyebrows at you.

Rumi unbuttons and unzips her pants, freeing the thickness of her strapon from them before climbing on the bed. She sits, legs spread, and beckons you closer with the simple movement of a finger.

“Suck it,” she demands, “get my cock nice and ready to fuck your cunt.”

You crawl over to her and wrap a hand around the hard silicone as soon as it’s within reach, your lips closing around its head. You circle it with your tongue, lick it, and look up at Rumi’s face, the dildo snug in your mouth. She can’t feel it, but she always enjoys when you put on a show for her.

Long gone is your little rebellious act from earlier. All you want is for Rumi to take you here and now, to have her fuck you until you pass out.

As you take more of the silicone cock into your mouth, she puts a hand on your head, and soon enough, you can feel her tight grip in your hair. You’re almost halfway when she tugs and pulls you away from her cock.

“Ass up. Face down. Now.”

You do as she orders, resisting the temptation to look up when you feel the bed dip next to you. You hear her open the drawer of the nightstand, then the sound of the lube bottle being opened. From the loud clang that follows, you know she’s thrown the bottle back in the drawer rather than bother putting it down.

Her fingers are cold when they press against your entrance, slick with thick lube that she spreads over your folds, over your clit, before pushing two fingers inside you. You grip at the sheets, low moan leaving your lips.

“Look at you, being all good for me now,” she comments, her tone teasing. “Taking my fingers so well.” This time, her voice comes from much closer, and you feel her chest pressing against your back. She kisses your neck and shoulders as she starts moving her fingers, slow and deliberate. “You want my cock, baby?”

You whimper at a particularly harsh thrust of her fingers and tighten your grip on the sheet to try and keep yourself anchored, balanced.

“Yes, please! I want your cock in me!”

She pulls out her fingers, and your cunt clenches around the emptiness. You can’t help but moan miserably. She coos above you, amused by your desperation, of course.

She pushes the thick head of the strapon against your hole, but instead of pushing further into you, she guides it up and down your folds, several time, painfully slow, spreading the slickness of your arousal mixed with the lube. You whine and push your hips back, seeking what she is refusing you. A big mistake, and you know it even before both her hands hit your ass, still raw from the spanking she gave you.

“Don’t try that again, baby,” she warns, squeezing the flesh of your in her hands as she presses the dildo against your entrance again. “You gonna be good for me now?”

“I promise I’ll be good! So, please, please fuck me!”

She pushes into you slowly, just the head, then pulls out and repeats the movement, carefully stretching you. She eases more of the strapon inside you with each move, and while you are grateful for how careful she is being, you wish she would just fuck you into the mattress already.

Finally, you feel her hips against your ass, and she pauses for a moment as her hands rest on your waist.

“You ready, baby?”

“I am.”

The pace she sets is fast, the movements of her hips quick, precise and harsh, almost unforgiving. The material of her pants feels rough against the sensitive skin of your ass, and you suspect Rumi of having kept her pants on merely to torture you that way.

Within seconds, Rumi has you panting and moaning.

“So good for me, taking my cock so well.”

She slows her quick pace to focus on deeper, more forceful thrusts. You can’t even form a coherent sentence, or even words, to respond. And when one of her hands leaves your waist, you clench your teeth and brace yourself for an impact that doesn’t come. Instead of spanking you, she is gentle as she places her hand on your ass. She doesn’t leave you time to consider asking her what she is doing that her thumb is pushing against your hole, and she keeps it set firmly in your ass as she quickens the pace again, fucking into your cunt ruthlessly, her hips slapping your ass with each thrust.

“Fuck! Mirko! Please!”

You’re babbling, unsure if the sounds that come out of your mouth are even the ones in your mind, but you can’t bring yourself to care when all you can feel is your girlfriend fucking you like your lives depends on it. And with each thrust bringing you closer to the edge, you moan, you mewl, you pant, you aren’t sure which, the lewd, wet noises of your pussy overwhelming your senses.

“Look at you, baby,” she croons, “being such a good slut for me, making such pretty noises just for me. So pretty and perfect. And all mine.”

“I’m so close! Please! I wanna come!”

She stills her hips, “then do,” she simply says, punctuating the short sentence with a strong thrust before resuming her quick pace.

It only takes a few more thrusts of her cock and her thumb pushing a little further into your ass for your muscles to clench desperately around her strap as waves of pleasure crash through your body, your limbs quivering from the unadulterated bliss clouding your mind. 

She is gentle as she pulls out, kisses your back as she eases you down onto the mattress and lies down next to you.

You turn your head to look at her, and she is grinning at you as you lay limply on the bed. She caresses your cheek, soft and loving, and shifts closer to kiss you on the nose.

“You did so good, babe,” she whispers, her smile only broadening, “I’m so proud of you.”

Feeling the exhaustion invade your body, you close your eye and focus on enjoying her gentle touch as she runs her fingers along your back and shoulders.

“Let’s get you in the shower in a few minutes, yeah? I’ll have to take care of your ass. I really got carried, sorry ‘bout that.”

You chuckle sleepily at her apology.

“Don’t be sorry, you know I liked it.”

“I do know. I mean, you fucking dripped on my pants, there’s still a spot on my thigh.”

You groan in embarrassment, and you would cover your face with your hands if your muscles weren’t still twitching from your orgasm.

“Just carry my lifeless body to the bathroom.”

“Gimme a break, I’m tired too. I fucking wrecked my hands spanking you so hard, ya know?”

“You really want to compare the state of your hands to my ass?” you mutter, frowning, eyes barely opening.

It’s her turn to chuckle.

“Yeah, okay, no. Just, lemme take a breathe and I’ll take care of my baby.”

#mirko x reader #mha x reader #mha x you #mha smut #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha smut #🐇 usagiyama rumi ( mirko ) #⚠️ mdni ⚠️ #🍌 drabbles & oneshots #i need to cleanse my soul and wash off my sins #at least i didn't write mommy!mirko #which is nothing short of a miracle tbh

[sweetcathedral]

Note: Finally back from my break! Lots of things keep happening in my life that I’ve never expected, so I’m busier than usual, but I have queued up some quick stories for the next few weeks. Although this was inspired by the Are You Am I dresses, it’s more centred around Catholicism that I have a love-hate relationship with. Enjoy!

⚠️: 18+, fem! reader, altar sex, raw, church sex, overstimulation, creampie/breeding

“I don’t think we should be doing this.”

“Cut the act. You’d be fighting me, if you really opposed it,” Sukuna scoffs, admiring the view of your legs spread open—laid on top of the altar. Your ripped stockings, now webs of black thread, running across your thigh, like it’s still trying to keep him from tainting the last bit of innocence you had left. Beams of light fell from the skylight of the church, casting a soft glow on the God that was once loved, but now abandoned and left to be eaten by what he created.

“The hell are you wearing?” Sukuna arched his brow in a grimace expression.

You looked down at your outfit, not seeing what could be wrong with it. It’s your first time wearing something like this; a silk dress with dainty straps and a raw hemming that looks like it’s about to come undone & sheer opaque black stockings. “I don’t see anything wrong with it, does it look bad?” Sukuna strides towards you, analyzing your outfit, even lifting the hem of your dress as if he doesn’t know what’s already there.

“I will never understand the evolution of clothing in this era,” he cocks his head to the side with a placid look in his eyes. Ah, right. He died a long time ago.

“What did people used to wear in your time?”

“Fabrics that actually clothed them,” he tugs at your stockings and wiggles his finger in them, still trying to wrap his head around its function.

“Hey, stop that, it tickles and it feels weird,” you giggled, pushing his hand away.

“I don’t see any point in wearing it. I could rip this off right now.”

“Sukuna, no! This is expensive!” you bicker at him, clinging on to your dress as he tugs at it like a child does when they want their mom’s attention.

“Just ask Gojo to buy you a new one when we’re finished.”

“Finished?” the sound of threads shredding apart startles you.

You scan yourself like a puppy chasing its tail to see if he’d actually ripped your dress apart. Nothing, but something felt off—looking down at your stockings, you see that there was a large slit running down your leg, exposing your thigh.

"Heh, whoops," he flicks the small shred of fabric off his nails, walking you into a corner. The shadow of the room contrasts his face making his eyes glow a deeper crimson. "Don’t look away from me," grabbing your face, his nails dig into your skin as you try to fight off his grip. Lifting you against the wall, he softly drags his nails along your exposed thighs, teasingly drawing circular patterns the higher up he goes.

"Sukuna," you pleaded softly, his hand now on your neck, lifting you ´til you were on your tippy toes & trying to balance yourself so that you wouldn’t fall into complete suffocation.

"Shh, someone might hear you," he whispers in a low octave. You forgot you weren’t in a closed off area. The two of you were originally sent to an abandoned church to investigate a curse user of the Roman Catholic religion, that is until Sukuna took over Yuji’s body.

Your body jolts at Sukuna brushing his knuckles over your clit. The heat of you traces over the length of his finger through the thin fabric of your panties, stifling a moan. "Don’t be shy. It won’t be your first time sinning in front of a God," he cooed in your ears. He told you to be quiet, but he really just wanted to see you hold yourself back as he evokes your temptations & diminishes your composure. He loves seeing you corrupted, especially when it’s in a respectable church built to honour a God who guides herds of blinded sheep.

Only shame & humiliation wash over you as you avert your gaze from looking at the smaller crucifix hanging over the doorway the two of you came from. He turns to look in the same direction you did, a sly grin stretches from ear to ear. “I have a better idea,” his eyes narrow in defiance as he turns to look at the God overseeing the center aisle.

“I don’t think we should be doing this.”

“Cut the act. You’d be fighting me, if you really opposed it,” Sukuna scoffs, admiring the view of your legs spread open—laid on top of the altar. Your ripped stockings, now webs of black thread, running across your thigh, like it’s still trying to keep him from tainting the last bit of innocence you had left. Beams of light fell from the skylight of the church, casting a soft glow on the God that was once loved, but now abandoned and left to be eaten by what he created.

You released a deep exhale at the feeling of something soft and wet trailing over your inner thighs—Sukuna. The warm feeling eases the tension all over your body and you can feel the heat of your blood pumping in your ears, his face getting closer and closer to where you want him the most. “Maybe we should find a more private setting,” you try convincing him.

“Now why would I want that? Just look at how wet you are down here,” he bites on your panties and pulls them off, revealing a dripping mess. It was embarrassing, immoral, but there was something about how good it feels to be doing something so wrong. The thrill of it sends a rush of adrenaline through your veins, your heart beating against your ribcage. More. “Tell me what you want.”

Everything, but even that thought wasn’t enough. “I want you . . . to take me to hell,” you whisper to him.

Taken aback by the words that just came out of your mouth, he brings himself back with that same sly grin and a soft look in his eyes. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

From one moment to the next, Sukuna drove your sanity out from you until you could think of nothing, but only him. The bold movement of his tongue reaching in to taste you, his fingers teasing around your clit and fondling your breasts, his lips pressing on every part of your skin, leaving wet splotches that are deep enough in colour to bloom into an aching bruise afterwards.

“Sukuna,” you lift the hem of your dress over as you fold your legs to your chest—revealing your painfully aching cunt, glistening with desire. The syllables of his name roll off the tip of your tongue like nectar. “More.”

“You don’t need to tell me,” he pulls your hips towards him, enough for your cunt to be pressing against the thick bulge fighting the strain of his black jeans. The altar creaked, as if in disappointment, at the sudden weight change.

Mesmerized by the sight of you laid on the altar like an offering, he takes his time to soak in the image, burning it into his mind; the burnished oak altar with the scene of the last supper carved beneath it, a warm glow cascading from the skylight of the church and the large crucified God, looking down at the lustful act unfolding in his house of worship. But then the feeling of your hips impatiently bucking at him interrupts his thoughts. “You know, they say patience is a virtue,” pleased at your eagerness.

“Fuck the virtues.”

“What a bold thing to say in a church,” he softly chuckles, the sound of his zipper perking your ears.

You reach for his belt, but he laces his fingers into yours, pressing your hand down. The tip of him brushes against your soft folds, lubricating itself with your juices. Without a struggle, his cock unfolds you, pushing a welcoming entrance open between your legs. Your walls flutter in excitement, pulling him in, as the creaking floors of the church groaned in disapproval.

“Oh, God,” you gripped at the altar cloth.

“You should moan louder for the angels to hear,” he thrusted into you harder than when he entered, the sound of skin slapping bounces off the walls. “Fuck.”

All righteous thoughts were purged out of you, like a soul being cleansed anew at adoration. Demon. It wasn’t your first time with him and it definitely won’t be your last. You can feel your body getting desperate to finish as you began to buck your hips faster.

“Closer,” you held your breath, arching your back.

The sound of his name falling off your lips sends a painful feeling of the need of wanting more. He wanted to strip away your senses to see a side of you that no one else has ever seen, the first to discover you and explore whatever you hid away from plain sight. That is what drove the King of Curses, Father of All Sins, to greed.

Echoes of your panting and moaning became a choir of sultry tones, replacing the familiar sounds of organs and bells in the church. Even though your legs were trembling from reaching your limits, he kept on going, ignoring your pleas and begging.

“Not yet,” he grunts in your ear.

“Please . . . I can’t take it anymore.”

Tears stream down your face as you grip onto Sukuna’s arms. The feeling in your legs were no longer there and you were having a hard time controlling your tremors. Just when you thought you couldn’t reach another climax, your cunt began pulsating rapidly as your body uncontrollably tensed up again.

When Sukuna pulled out, a waterfall of cum spilled out of you and pooled onto the altar cloth, dripping down the carving of the Last Supper. The two of you pant in exhaustion, he’s laying on top of you with his arms wrapped around your head, his hand firmly holding you close to him.

You brush your fingers through his hair, reciprocating the same affection back. “Tell me you’re finished for today,” you giggled.

“I wanna say ‘no’, but that’d mean you’d be knocking on Shoko’s door again.”

Both of you laughed as you teasingly tugged at his ear.

“Should we clean—!”

As he helped carry you off the altar, you looked back at the aging oak and crumpled cloth that had been perfectly fine and untainted—now dented with deep inhuman scratch marks surrounding the faint imprint of where you laid.

#minors dni #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fic #jjk sukuna #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #ryomen x reader #jjk x fem!reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #sukuna x you #sukuna smut #sukuna ryomen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x female reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fic

[whumperooni]

your cult leader post had me hhhhhhhhhh no thots head empty just cult leader!keigo telling me the only way to be saved is to spread my legs n let him rub my little pussy bye

mmm i still need to do somethin' with this concept

but, god, fuck yeah

Keigo in some flowing robe looking like a golden god perched on a makeshift robe. Beloved and adored and followed by a herd of fools. Sleazy cult leader that picks the prettiest girls and calls them into his chamber- tells you that god says you've sinned, that you need to be cleansed by his healing hands.

Being washed and shaved by your mother, having her rub some soft and sweet oil into your skin as she murmurs to you to be a good girl, to listen to Keigo, that he'll surely save your soul.

Being made to walk nude across the compound until you come to his home. Walking in and Keigo taking you by the hand, leading you to his big, big bed with its plush pillows and silk sheets and rose petals scattered all around. Leaning back against his chest and closing your eyes as his hands begin to run over your, squeeze into your flesh. His fingers dipping between your thighs as he murmurs prayers, mantras. Having you cum on his fingers and then on his face- telling you that god has chosen you to bring the savior in the world, that it's Keigo's duty to plant the seed

And being fucked so slowly, so thoroughly- left a panting, trembling mess afterwards that can't so much as twitch a finger, that can only shiver as cum leaks from your cunt

Getting moved into his home and learning that your place is in his bed and on your knees- believing him so sincerely whenever he tells you that a vessel like yourself needs to be constantly bred, pampered and kept safe and away from everyone

Totally filling your head with lies because he gets off so hard to your sweet, dumb supplications. Having the biggest ego and power trip because here he is being worshiped as a god while his flock of chumps serve him, keep him rolling in virgin pussy and money and all kinds of luxuries

It's so fucking hedonistic and hot. I love it so much ♡

#tw dubcon #tw manipulation #tw brainwashing #tw breeding kink #tw dumbification

[lilhawkeye3]

Wash Away My Sins

Rating: G+ |||| Word Count: 1.2k ||| Set during Casino Royale

He finds her huddled on the shower floor. Right now she needs James. Just... James.

A/N: The last twenty minutes of this movie I choose to ignore lmao. Anyways I really love their dynamics. Here's a little extended bit of my favorite scene 💕

AO3 Link

He finds her sitting on the shower floor, water cascading over her shaking form. The handle points far enough away for him to know that her reaction wasn’t due to the temperature of the water that remained colorless as it swirled down the drain, and yet she scrubbed at her hands like a surgeon post-operation. There was no wound to stitch up here. This was an injury of the mind, just as painful but far more fragile.

Bruises purpled and faded. Cuts scabbed over and scarred. Bad memories could forever linger in the corner of your eye.

He makes sure to approach slowly, not wanting to startle her and add to her tremors. He sees her flinch when she finally notices him only a few paces from the glass enclosure. Her gaze doesn’t seek him out though, but instead stays anchored on an invisible point behind him. He takes her silence as consent for him to move closer, and the lack of reaction she has concerns him. He isn’t sure how far under she is, but as he enters the shower and briefly pauses next to her form… she looks like she’s drowning.

He lowers himself to the tiled floor and sits beside her, silently accepting the lukewarm waterfall that immediately soaks through his clothes, painting his suit onto his skin. It’s fitting: Vesper had molded herself to match his needs in the poker den, and now he did the same. His wet clothes clumped against her ruined dress, the brown fabric dark and lifeless, no longer framing her figure but weighing it down.

He undoes his bow tie, completely untying the knot so it hung limp under his collar. It was his way of disarming the weaponized version of himself, the one that met her words with flirtatious comments or backhanded compliments. Vesper was struggling– he could hear the way her breath had picked up in the past few moments– and she needed James, not Bond.

She needed a reminder that they were both alive.

She leans into him, her hand coming up to brace against his arm, a safety rope thrown to haul a tired swimmer to shore. Her nails prick at his skin through the fabric like hail against a window, desperately seeking a way to break inside a secure home. Her breathing becomes more panicked and harsher as the seconds tick on.

James remains silent and waits for Vesper to find her footing in the storm.

“It’s like there’s blood on my hands,” she finally murmurs, voice trembling as much as her fingers do against his arm. “It’s not coming off.”

He knew there was nothing there. In a corner of her mind, Vesper knew that as well. Right now it was drowned out, that little reminder of reason and logic. It wasn’t a flaw or a weakness, in his opinion; she’d kept it together until the threat was neutralized. He was quietly impressed at that, to be honest. She clearly wasn’t a field agent, trained to deal with such high-stress situations that end with one party dead and the other to nurse their wounds.

But she’s come to him, trusted him, to help her. Being coldly snapped back to reality would only do more damage.

“Here, let’s see.”

He takes her limp hand in his larger, rougher one and uncurls her fingers one at a time. He draws them into his mouth gently, as if he can swallow her guilt, gulp down her sins and sorrows and make the burden his and his alone. The clean water hasn’t washed the blood away from her mind, but maybe his grittier soul can scrub it clean.

“That’s better.” He curls his fingers around her hand to secure her firmly against him, but avoids holding it close to his chest—to his heart. One of them must remain uncompromised for now.

Instead, he looks down at her, allowing his eyes to remain on her tear-stained face. He can feel her heartrate has decreased and yet she still clings to him, staring off into nothing.

“You cold?” He asks, barely more than a whisper.

“Yeah.”

“Here.”

He reaches up, turns the water hotter, and she leans further into him, pulling the hand that he holds close to her chest—to her heart. He’s breached her armor. When he brings his arm down, he wraps it around her shoulders to pull her into his side. He can spare the defenses to maintain her foundations. Her hand now clutches his knee, and he cradles her head against his shoulder, stroking her hair to help soothe her. He can feel his own laying flat against his forehead, water dripping down his face and collecting like dew on his eyelashes.

“How do you do it?”

He knows she can’t see his face in this position, but he still keeps his expression neutral. “Hmm?”

She turns her cheek further towards his warmth, resting it against his shoulder. “How do you keep it all at bay?”

The patter of man-made rain filled their ears as he considered her query. Maybe it wasn’t the water that cleansed, but rather had all their public facades leeching away like dye and running down the drain until all that was left were their true selves. He wasn’t sure what would remain of himself in such an aftermath.

“I don’t.” He paused, ruminating over his next words. “It chips away at you little by little.”

He feels her shudder against him and grip his hand tighter, tucking it beneath her chin. “Enables you to take more risks?”

He huffs quietly. “Something like that.” He wouldn’t snap at her for her deduction, not now, and especially not after she’d seen his skills pay off to save them mere hours ago.

“Do you regret it?” Do you regret what you’ve become, what it’s turned you into, goes unsaid, but the ghost of them chills him to the bone. They’re questions he’s asked himself on the worst days but not allowed his mind to dwell on.

“No.” That’s true. He doesn’t. This is his life.

Before tonight, it wasn’t hers.

Vesper nods, the movement so small that he wouldn’t have noticed if her head wasn’t touching his chest. It’s become quieter now, her panting nearly returned to normal patterns and her shaking gone.

“Alright.” Her admission was soft, a gentle apology and thanks rolled into two simple syllables. He responds with another squeeze of her hand before gently guiding her to sit up so he could shift onto his knees. When he offers his other hand, palm up and already cupped to fit hers, she doesn’t hesitate. He pulls her up, steadying her when she stumbles due to her dress sticking to her legs.

She finally looks up at him, a reflexive gratitude slipping from her tongue, and their eyes meet. It’s so unexpected that his mask slips, and while he hurriedly builds it up again, he knows that she sees something.

She says nothing. He’s grateful for it.

“Would you mind…” She begins to ask, then stops, purses her lips, and tries again. “Would you stay for the night, please?” He inclines his head just enough to convey his acceptance and her shoulders slump in relief. “Thank you.”

“Come on,” he says, stepping backwards and out of the shower to allow her room to exit. “We’ll dry off first.”

“Alright,” she repeats, and allows him to lead her away.

He’ll stay and keep watch for the night. He may not owe it to her, but for tonight, he’ll allow himself to be her keeper.

#james bond #vesper lynd #casino royale #007 james bond #daniel craig #eva green #fanfiction #fanfic #shower scene #shared trauma #mutual pining #I say yes lmao

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

Washing the Disciples' Feet (John 13:1-14)

It is supposed that the strife among the disciples as to which was the greatest, led to the incident of the washing of the feet. None of the disciples was willing to perform the lowly duty of washing the feet of others. The service belonged to the youngest, or the one of lowest rank. Then Jesus quietly did it Himself. It was not in a moment of depression that He performed this deed of lowly humility. He was fully conscious of His divine character while He knelt before His disciples washing their feet. It was this consciousness of His glory that made the condescension so stupendous. It would have been no condescension for John or Peter to have washed the feet of the others.

The story of Christ's act of humility is told in very beautiful words. Jesus did not consider His holy hands, too fine for the washing of the feet of the twelve men who sat around the table. Some of us think we are too great or too high in rank among men - to stoop to any lowly service like this. Our thought of our greatness and our dignity prevents us from doing the beautiful things of love. That was the way the disciples thought of themselves. Christ's act of humility is an answer to all such pride and pretension. Never was there any other being of such glorious nobility as Jesus; yet He did not hesitate to perform this lowliest of all service. Some us like to do all our serving by proxy. We will pay a deaconess or a city missionary for relieving the poor or ministering to the sick - but will not do the work with our own hands. We do not know what blessing we miss, in declining to accept such blessed service, nor how much more the service means - when we do it with our own hands. "The gift without the giver - is bare."

Peter shrank from having his Master perform such menial service for him. It was natural for him to feel thus. It was his deep sense of personal unworthiness that led him to exclaim as he saw his master about to perform the lowly service, "Lord, are you going to wash my feet?" The answer Jesus gave bade him submit, though he could not understand what was being done. Someday it would all be clear to him. "You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand." There are many things which Christ does which at the time we cannot understand. They seem mysterious to us. Yet afterwards we shall see the reason for them and find beauty in them. This is true of many of the providences of our lives. At one time Jacob said, "All these things are against me" (Genesis 42:36). But he lived to see that the very things which he thought were against him - were really working for His good. So it always is in the dealings of God with His people. We cannot understand now - but someday we shall know. "The tapestry weavers do their work on the reverse side, looking at the ends and threads, a mystery of tangle and confusion - but not seeing the beautiful picture they are making on the other side. So we are weaving our lives largely on the reverse side." Some day we shall look on the beauty we are unconsciously making in our life today.

There was something generous in Peter's outspoken feeling that he could not allow the holy hands of Christ to wash his feet. It showed his thought of the glory of Christ - and his sense of his own unworthiness. But the answer of Jesus was startling. "Unless I wash you, you have no part with me." It was not merely the washing of the feet to which Jesus referred. Cleanliness is a virtue, no doubt, and a duty as well; but Christian discipleship could not be made to turn on anything so incidental. This word of Christ implies among other things - that no one can be a disciple who insists upon having his own way. Utter self-surrender is the essential condition.

We must put ourselves wholly in Christ's hands, and must do just as He bids us - or we can have no part with Him. It is not ours to reason why, or to make any reply - it is ours only to obey.

Especially must this word of Christ be considered in its reference to spiritual cleansing. Unless Christ washes us - we can have no part with Him. No one can be a disciple, until he has been cleansed, and only Christ can cleanse us. Some people profess to take Christ as a teacher, who yet feel no need of being washed by Him. We must understand that this word is final - that Jesus will receive no disciples who do not submit to Him first to be cleansed by Him. The picture of Jesus with the basin is one of wonderful suggestiveness. He must come to all of us first in this way - that He may wash us.

Peter went then to the other extreme, as his impulsive nature always did. He was wiling to submit not only his feet - but his hands and his head. Then Jesus told him that "A person who has had a bath needs only to wash his feet; his whole body is clean." Bathing is the cleansing of the whole body; and washing is the rinsing off of the dust that gathers on the feet in walking from the bath to the table. There was no necessity for washing Peter's hands and head - he had just come from the bath, and was clean except that his feet had become soiled with the dust as he walked.

But there is a spiritual meaning too. Peter was a justified and regenerated man - he was "clean." All he needed, therefore, now was that the stains of his daily sinning and from his contacts with the world, should be removed. The lesson here is important. Bathing must come before washing. That is, the mere cleansing of daily sins amounts to nothing - unless we have first been received by Christ and justified and saved by Him. The acceptance of Christ as our Savior lifts the guilt from our souls and leaves us free from condemnation. Yet after that, even the holiest need daily forgiveness for daily sins .

Jesus taught the disciples the meaning of what He had done. "Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet - you also should wash one another's feet." We must do all lowly service for each other. We should have in our hearts that love which will lead us into the lowliest service for even the lowliest people.

Then Christ's act was more than one of service - it meant the cleansing of faults, the removing of blemishes of character, the washing of stains gathered in passing through the world. We should seek to rend this service also to each other. We are to help each other to become Christians. We are to seek sanctification, purification, and upbuilding in character of our fellow disciples. Of course, we cannot wash away sins - Christ alone can do that. But we can do something toward making others purer, better and holier. This part of Christian friendship requires great wisdom. It is not easy to reprove the faults of others. We must be careful, first of all, that our own hands are clean - before we attempt to cleanse the stains on the lives of others. We must cast out the beam from our own eye - before we can attempt to remove the mote from our brother's eye.

#J.R. Miller #Devotional Hours Within the Bible #Washing the Disciples' Feet #John 13:1-14 #September 7 #2021