#it barely makes sense in ENGLISH let alone LATIN

[qqueenofhades]

Okay I think it's incredibly impressive that you know so many languages, I'm barely able to speak two, let alone over five. Anyway, I'm currently working on trying to learn Russian (which would be my third, after English and Spanish) and while I can read cyrillic to an extent, I'm struggling a lot with vowels- I have to read every word basically letter-by-letter, and with the vowels there's a lot of 'yeah that kinda makes an e sound, close enough' which is enough for me to SORT OF get it but not really. Do you have any tricks to work on memorizing different letters or remembering which specific sound vowels make, or is it really just a thing that requires you to drill it over and over again until you've memorized it all?

First, I would hasten to stress that I do not by any means speak five languages (truly, I wish). I speak two (English and enough French to get around in France; my reading French is much better), and I can read/understand three more in varying degrees. But thanks.

As for Cyrillic vowels, truly they are the devil, especially the E-sound. It's pretty hard for an English-speaker to distinguish between the approximate sound Е and Э, much less the total confusion of ъ and ь (whereas ы, just for funsies, is more like y, ё is yo, and ї is yi). For someone coming from the Latin alphabet, you are probably just going to have to memorize them/repeat them until you start associating them more easily (cheat sheets are also helpful). I would say that another good example to remember how to distinguish between the initial E-sounds is the name of the city of Yekaterinburg, in Russia. This is written as Екатеринбург in Cyrillic, but "Eee-katerinburg" would not be the correct pronunciation (and "Ekaterinburg" would be something of a misleading transcription/romanization, so we write it as "Yekaterinburg" to come closer to the actual pronunciation). Because you remember that initial English-looking E is actually pronounced as Ye, that makes more sense when seeing it written out. If it was written as Экатеринбург, then we would say/write "Eh-katerinburg." Basically, think of the Cyrillic backward E as "E with no extra sounds", which again is confusing for an English-speaker, since the forward E is supposed to be that one and then it isn't.

(Please note that I am obviously not a native Russian or Ukrainian speaker, so this is only just what I have found helpful in learning it as an Anglophone. But yes.)

#anonymous #ask

[shelivesinhermind]

Bride of Denmark Part Two

Read on AO3 here :) 

Emma’s brother left with the dawn, and she was alone. Five sunrises had passed since she arrived in Jelling. With her brother by her side, the reality of being alone in a strange land had been in the distance. As she watched the sun crest on the horizon, she felt a weight settle in her heart. The dukes parting words echoing in her mind. “Take heart, little sister”, her brother had said. “I will return to visit in a years time.”

Emma was grateful she had dutifully taken up her mother’s native tongue. She shuddered to imagine being left in a place where no one understood her. With her English broken, the only other languages she knew were French, Latin, and Breton. Any future king would be glad to have a wife so well learned. Accept, if her betrothed thought highly of her, he had yet to show it.

Harald had barely spoken to Emma beyond the exception of formal occasions.  She did not know what to make of him. Considering things could be worse, she did not complain. Besides, they had nearly two years before they wed. Surely, they would warm to one another.

Being in Denmark so far was very different from the frozen halls and endless shores of Normandy. Although, the windy coastline was a thing they had in common. The people of Denmark were just as wild as the land. Over the last couple of days, Emma had met many of them—farmers, merchants, and shop keeps. Even the lords and nobles that resided in Jelling resembled the pagan savagery of the peoples. She admitted to herself it was a bit a shock at first; now she felt an unbridled curiosity to walk the hills, feel the sun.

The hall was empty as she descended the stairs, the great fire pit in the middle crackling the only sound. Another thing she liked about Denmark—when the weather was agreeable, its people liked to be outside. Growing up in Normandy, she hated being inside all the time. She seized the opportunity to be outdoors and explore.

While she had yet to make an opinion of her betrothed, his younger brother had been kind. During the many dinners they had spent together, Canute had hinted at some special places for her to visit. Even talked with her about his duties, where he traveled. Emma liked hearing of all the places he had been for someone still young.

With her brother gone, her feet could not stop wandering. She walked until she could hear the water. Making her way up the river, and turning into the forest, she found her destination. The little body of water was near a cove. Rocks lined the pool, and trees hovered above, letting in streams of light. The steady trickle of the river water now a still serenity.

Emma sat on the edge, slipping her feet from her shoes to swish through the water.

“I was hoping you would come here.”

Startled by his words, Emma nearly slipped on the rocks. Canute was there, his hand on her arm. “I apologize, I did not mean to scare you.”

Her feet were fully submerged now, the edge of her skirt getting wet. She offered him a small smile, shuffling to plant herself back on the rock.

“Thank you for telling me about it.”

He sat next to her; elbow cocked on one knee. “It is one of my favorite places to come when I need to think.” Picking up a pebble and throwing it in the water, he asked. “Surely you had some favorite place in Normandy you liked to visit?”

She paused at this. “I must admit, I was not allowed to go many places.”

While the duke had been in Forkbeards court, he had tried to get him to assign Emma a lady’s maid. Forkbeard had only laughed. “If she is to live in Denmark, she must not be followed like a child.”

She continued, “Or at least not without someone to accompany me.”

Canute looked at her seriously. “Would you feel more comfortable…if you had a maid?”  

“No, no. I quite like it, actually.” Perhaps the wildness of the lands had taken root in her. Emma only wanted to run through the forest, swim in the river, and let the wind tangle her hair.

As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Canute stood. “Come, I want to show you something else.”  

He led her down a path to an opening in the trees. There in the center stood two stones—one large rock right next to a smaller one. Hills framed the stones, a fine example of the spirit of Denmark, Emma thought.

“My great-grandfather and grandfather erected these stones. The markings represent family and the acceptance of Christianity in Denmark.” His voice held a reverence, laced in honor. Emma could instantly tell he held great regard for family and heritage.

“Is that what you wish, for everyone to accept Christianity?” She instantly remembered her many days in chapel: the echoing of hymns as the congregation sang in harmony, the elaborate stain glass and altar, the prayers and communion. The stuffiness of it all she never cared for, but to her there could be beauty in the idea. She also knew there were those who would force their god on others. In her heart, she felt it was everyone’s own journey what path they chose.

“I want for everyone to live in unity with one another—both Pagan and Christian.”

Emma knelt by one of the stones. The wind picked up, twirling her hair around her face. Even though these savage lands had accepted the Christian god, the mysticism of past ages still remained. The engravings on the stones etched its history.

When she turned back to Canute, he was looking at her differently—like she was a forest nymph that had emerged from the trees. Her heart fluttered at the intensity in his stare. She had never been looked at like this before.

Then suddenly, like a spell had broken, he shuffled on his feet. “I can escort you back, if you wish.”

She silently followed beside him, wondering what other little hidden places she could find all to herself. Canute reminded quiet, content to walk beside her and continue to let her take in her surroundings.

Hoof beats sounded up the path, and Harald appeared on horseback with a retinue of other men.

“Brother!” he called. “We were just heading to the training yard. Care to join us?”

Canute stopped and looked at Emma, clearly torn on what to do. “Can you make it back on your own?”, he asked.

“Oh come brother”, Harald scoffed. “We aren’t far from town; nothing will eat her here.” He laughed, and soon the others joined. “Although, she is tiny enough, I might be worried an eagle would snatch her up.”

Canute moved toward his brother, the intent of his next words clear. Emma was not one to let others speak for her, she had had enough of that for her tentative years. She whirled past Canute, stood between them.

“Can I join you?”

She almost giggled at the sudden shock on their faces. She supposed all these gruff men weren’t used to a girl speaking to them directly. If she was to stay here, she was not about to let her choices be taken like before.

She looked to Canute. “Of course, you can”, he said.

Harald gave them both a look—one that said he was keen on a secret. Emma did not care. If he was to be dismissive of her, then she would take kindness where she found it.

The training yard was further up the path, away from the forest, and in a field. Wood posts marked the fight ring, racks of weapons held axes, swords. Beyond she could see an archery target yard.

She perched herself on one of the many barrels that sat around the ring. The men readied for whoever was to practice.

“It has been a while since you fought, brother”, Harald called for Canute. “Let’s see if you can still keep up.”

As they made their way to the ring, Canute looked to Emma and winked. Her heart skipped two beats, and she had to bite her lip to hide the smile that threatened to surface.

The two circled each other, taking decided strikes against one another. Canute moved with precision, while his brother attacked like a wild animal set on catching a kill. She watched them fight, but it was not her betrothed she looked at. She watched Canute, and for the first time saw how striking he was: black hair shaved at the sides and braided down the middle, he was broad shouldered, beneath his shirt revealed the beginning of chest hair, and his eyes held a kindness she was beginning to cling to.

No, Emma was not watching her betrothed, not when the most handsome man she had ever seen was in the same ring.

#canute x emma #emma of normandy #king canute #vikings: valhalla #fanfic

[catchmewiddershins]

GUYS I JUST SEXILY FINISHED MY LAST EXAM WHOOO IT'S HALF TEN AM IMMA GO HOME

#🕰️ sunwise #AND I FLICKED THROUGH MY NOTES AFTER AND I THINK I DID OK #i missed out a couple of bits in my translation #and in one if my essays i mistook a point #i thought he said he was reckless WHEN he was afraid not when he WASN'T #bcs they phrase things stupid in ancient rome #'that recklessness which never leaves you so long as fear is away' #how was j SUPPOSED to remember that #it barely makes sense in ENGLISH let alone LATIN

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 || helmut zemo, bucky barnes and sam wilson x reader

(this is a sequel to 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭-𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞, I recommend reading that first although it’s not 100% necessary... it would make this make a lot more sense though)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : it was just a matter of time before he upped the ante, all four of you knew that, but taking you all on a vacation specifically for this was a bit over-the-top.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 7.9k (hoo boy)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : smut (foursome/group sex + a scene that’s just zemo/reader, cockwarming, d/s dynamics, brief oral f receiving, a touch of dubcon/cnc but it’s very subtle and the reader is 100% consenting), established zemo x reader, sugar daddy relationship, ‘sir’ kink (with zemo), ‘daddy’ kink (with sam), orgasm control/denial, overstimulation, creampie, praise with light degradation, possessiveness (but also sharing, lol), exhibitionism/voyeurism, choking, brief anal mention, once again technically cuckolding but not in the typical sense, slight corruption kink?, too many robes, latin sokovian (or as I like to call it, serbukromanian), also assume that whenever the reader and zemo are alone they are speaking sokovian even though I write the convos in english for the sake of simplicity

thank you for being my beta @nsfwsebbie​ !!

                   When your Baron told you he wanted to take you on a vacation, you immediately assumed it would be to the mountains or some European city full of history and culture.  Instead, you were a bit surprised to hear he was interested in a beach resort, a private villa he had purchased in French Polynesia.

And then you found out he wanted to bring Sam and Bucky along too… and you were simultaneously more and less surprised.  More, because who brings tentative coworkers one barely gets along with on a romantic vacation?  Less, because of course he would do this.  Of course he had plans to dress you up in the tiniest bikinis he could find and show you off to the men who had already become pawns in his perverted game of social chess.

Not that you minded; you were the Queen of the board and it didn’t bother you if it was what the King wanted.

~

You spent the first night in the villa alone with him, which you appreciated.  It had been a while since you two had some real quality time together, and you were craving him more than ever, in every way.

After a beautiful day spent swimming in the crystal blue ocean and enjoying the sights your new temporary home had to offer, you took a shower and tried not to get too excited about how you might be spending the evening with him.  But, of course, you were only a few minutes into washing the saltwater off your body when you began to imagine his tongue on you, god that man could use his tongue to destroy you any way he wanted: with his words, with his kisses, or perhaps best of all with it tasting every inch of your cunt.  It was amazing how he could get on his knees for you and still have all the power.  He liked to make you keep eye contact with him while he did it, make you beg him to let you come, whatever it took to remind you that you were thoroughly and properly owned.

And you loved every second of it, you loved being helpless to him.  He made you feel so safe that being vulnerable with him by now felt like no risk at all.  You could remember early on when your fears and insecurities made you more hesitant to submit to him, and it was only with gentle patience that he coaxed you into it, never pressure or anger.  You weren’t a virgin when you met him but, sometimes it felt like you might as well have been since you were so inexperienced and undersexed then.  In fact, he was the first man, the first person other than yourself to make you come… and he made you come more ways than you had known possible.

Okay, so maybe the plan to not get your hopes up wasn’t going so well… you were already struggling to keep your hands from between your legs. Frankly, you would’ve already done it if you didn’t know that touching yourself was against the rules.

You’d gotten so used to taking care of yourself while he was in prison, at which point he obviously suspended that rule, and it was a hard habit to break at times.

You emerged from the bathroom in the fluffy robe you found on the door, smiling when you saw him lounging on the bed in a matching one, reading Анна Каренина (known by the West as Anna Karenina).  He looked contemplative, as always, and you always thought he looked especially sexy in his reading glasses.  You slipped into the bed beside him, resting your head on his chest as he found a position where he could read comfortably with his arm around your shoulders.

“You must’ve already read that book a thousand times, Helmut,” you sighed.

“And it gets better every time,” he mumbled back, turning the page.

You pouted slightly, nuzzling into his shoulder, and he chuckled.  “Is my little lutka in need of some attention?”

You nodded, and he kissed the top of your head softly.  

“Why don’t you keep me warm while I finish this chapter, hm?” he offered, and you involuntarily clenched your thighs together at his words.  He phrased it like a question, but it felt more like a gentle demand, and you were happy to agree either way.

“Yes, sir,” you hummed as you sat up and straddled his legs, undoing your robe and opening his to wrap your hand around his half-hard cock.

He reached his full potential with only a few slow strokes, and you found yourself absent-mindedly licking your lips as you saw the way your fingers just barely met with your thumb and imagined how your body would be pushed to its limits to take him.  Good thing you were already dripping wet even though you’d just been in the shower.

You indulged in rubbing your pussy over his shaft for a moment, enough to coat him in your wetness, before you lined up his tip to your entrance and sunk down onto him with a sigh, feeling like you could never tire of being stretched open by his thick cock.  

When your hips met his, and the tip of his cock brushed against the deepest parts of you, you had to bite your lip to suppress a whimper.  After so long apart, you were still readjusting to taking him and being on top didn’t make it much easier.

Honestly, you really weren’t trying to move; you just found your hips rocking slightly, seemingly of their own accord.  You moaned under your breath as your clit rubbed against his body, but you were pulled from your trance with a whine as he slapped your thigh.

“No moving, draga, I think I made myself clear,” he reminded you sternly.

“Yes, sir,” you breathed.

You were pretty sure that at some point, you were a patient person. But you couldn’t imagine that now, not when all you could think about was how amazing it would be to just ride him right there, memories running through your mind and making your inner walls ripple unintentionally.  He either couldn’t feel it or didn’t care, stoically continuing to read even as you were struggling to stay still.

Your plan was to be good for a while and then hope that you could convince him later… but you know what they say about best-laid plans, so you ended up cutting straight to the convincing pretty fast.

“Can I move yet, sir?”

“It’s hardly been a minute,” he frowned.

“Please,” you sighed, just barely moving your hips without even meaning to.

“Not yet,” he asserted, sounding a bit annoyed, but you needed this more than anything.

"Please let me move, please; I just wanna ride you so bad,” you begged.

He sighed, clearly irritated, and just when you thought you’d made a grave error, he finally put his book aside and looked up at you with a grin.  "If I had known you would be so whiny, I would have had you keep me warm with your mouth.”

You opened your mouth to respond but let out only whimpery moans when he ran his hands up your body, toying briefly with your nipples before wrapping a hand around your neck and pulling you down into a rough kiss.  Moaning into it, you couldn’t hold back any longer and started to rock your body atop his, savoring that perfect drag of his length along your walls that you’d missed so much.

Before you got a chance to really set your pace, he grabbed you tight and rolled the both of you over, pinning you under his weight as he fucked you in that way that was somehow rough and slow at the same time, moving his kiss to your neck and holding you down by your wrists.

“Fuck, th-thank you, sir,” you sighed, your cheeks warming when he chuckled against your skin.

“You really are too sweet, draga,” he whispered.

Your arms wrapped around his neck while your legs did the same to his hips, keeping him deep inside you while his lips and tongue teased your collarbones, his fingers interlacing with yours.

He spent the entire night somewhere between making love to you and fucking you within an inch of your life, making you come more times than you could count, only taking breaks from fucking you to eat you out like a starving man (and one time for a quick drink sometime around 3 a.m.).  It was no wonder, then, that you passed out just a few moments after he finally came inside you, sleeping soundly in his arms until well into the morning, nearly noon in fact, when the sun was streaming in through the massive window.

After a relaxed breakfast of champagne and fruit (the native pamplemousse was unlike anything you’d ever eaten before), Helmut encouraged you to shower again and meet him at the pool, which was a bit surprising since he normally liked to have you keep his come in you as long as possible.  “Our guests should be here this afternoon,” was his only explanation, and you had a few ideas about what that meant, all of which made your gut sink in an oddly pleasurable way as you were filled with anticipation.

“Wear that bathing suit I bought for you, the new one,” he added finally as he stepped out onto the back patio.

~

It might seem silly to have a pool on a property right by the beach, but on days like today, where the ocean water was just a bit too chilly, you were thankful to have the heated pool to take a dip in.  Honestly, you were a little surprised that Helmut didn’t make you swim in the ocean to see your nipples get hard through the tight black bikini, but then again, they were already getting there just from sharing a pool chair with him.

He was lying against the cushioned chair; your body sat between his spread legs as the back of your head rested on his chest.  And, this is entirely unrelated, but you really liked how he looked in the round sunglasses he had on.

You hummed contentedly as you reached up behind you to touch him, rubbing his shoulders and pecs.  You wiggled a bit, slowly, and imagined how it would feel if he got hard right against the small of your back.

"Mm, what's gotten into you, lutka?" he purred, rubbing your arms.

You rolled your eyes playfully.  "You know the effect you have on me, don't act surprised."

Just before anything exciting could happen, Sam and James entered through the fence, apparently already having changed into their swimsuits; you wished you had thought to wear sunglasses so they couldn’t catch you ogling their muscular bodies, but instead, you just tried to keep your cool as you waved hello.

“Welcome!” Helmut called out, both of you getting up to greet them properly.  “I hope your flight was alright…?”

“Yeah, it was great,” Sam nodded, “thanks.”

“You really own this whole place?” James added, glancing around.

“Yes, would you like to have a swim?  I hear it should be warm enough tomorrow for the ocean, but until then…” Helmut trailed off.

Sam went right ahead, diving in and smiling wide when he popped back up.  That man had such an infectious smile, you thought he should charge people to see it or something because you felt spoiled seeing it for free.

James jumped in behind him but seemed a little surprised when he returned to the surface to see you back in your chair with Helmut.  “Care to join us?” he asked you.

“Um, no, I already swam a bit this morning,” you remembered, suddenly shy, “I think I’ll stay by the pool a while longer.”

“Aw, I was looking forward to getting to know you better,” he pouted, and everyone else raised an eyebrow at that statement.  “Um, verbally, I mean,” he added, cheeks flushing slightly.

“What would you want to know?” you asked, sighing as you relaxed against Helmut’s chest.

“Well, what’s your story?” he shrugged, swimming up the edge of the pool to hang his arms over the edge.

“I… suppose it’s a rather short story,” you realized, “I was born in Sokovia, but my parents were immigrants.  I was a bit of an ugly duckling as a child, I think.”

“You look like quite the swan now,” James winked, and you hoped Helmut wouldn’t notice how much that affected you.  

“Oh, thank you,” you mumbled.

“Which reminds me, that’s a cute bikini you have on,” he complimented.

“Do you like it?” you hummed coyly.  “Helmut picked it out.”

“Why don’t you give them a better look, darling?” Helmut prompted, and Sam swam up to hang over the edge too as you stood up and fought the urge to cover yourself with your arms.  The Baron motioned his finger in a circle, silently instructing you to twirl so they could see the back, and you did though you felt a bit self-conscious about it.  Finally, once you were sure they’d had an eyeful, he let you sit back down in his lap.

“Cute, isn’t it?” he cooed as his fingers travelled slowly up your sides.  “It’s Chanel.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Sam dismissed, unlatching himself from the edge of the pool and falling into a backstroke.  “This is weird.  I just wanna swim.”

“You didn’t think this was seriously a free vacation, no strings attached, did you?” James shot back, getting up out of the pool and shaking some of the water off of himself before sitting down in the chair beside you two and letting his eyes wander over you.  “So, Chanel, huh?” he prompted, and you nodded.

“Helmut says I should only wear the nicest things,” you explained, sitting up slightly.

“Why does it matter?  You’d look beautiful in anything,” James cooed, and you felt a little dirty for how much you liked his attention.  Good thing you liked feeling dirty.

“And a rare wagyu steak would taste just as good served any way, but you wouldn’t put it on a paper plate, now would you?” Helmut countered.  “Well, maybe you would…”

James rolled his eyes but brushed off Helmut’s insult, returning his attention to you.  “I guess I’m just… hungry enough that it doesn’t make much of a difference.”

You reached up to trace your fingertip over the silver chain dangling off of his neck, biting your lip as you hooked your finger around it and pulled him closer.  “Are you hungry enough that you don’t mind that it’s another man’s meal?”

His blue eyes went wide for a moment before glancing down to your lips and back up to your unwavering gaze, your brow raised as if a challenge while his furrowed as if he were considering accepting it.

“If he’s willing to share…” James whispered back.

“Then kiss me,” you requested softly, pulling him closer by his dog tags one more time until your lips met.

The way James kissed you was… difficult to describe.  Gentle, but with this edge of intensity— like he was restraining himself, like there was so much more passion teeming beneath the surface.  You wanted to bring that out if you could; you wanted to see how far you could push him until he lost it.

As James carefully ventured his tongue into your mouth, only to pull back and nip your bottom lip with his teeth, Helmut kissed you too— on the back of your neck, that spot that always made you wet and desperate right away.  You moaned, and you couldn’t be sure exactly who it was for, but James sure decided to respond to it either way, tilting his head more to let his kiss explore you deeper.

Helmut’s teeth dug into your shoulder right as James nipped at your bottom lip like they had somehow explicitly coordinated to make you desperate; your right hand reached up to weave into James’ hair, your left squeezing Helmut’s wrist at your side.

The kiss ended just a moment too soon, and there was a delay before you blinked your eyes open to look back at James, who seemed quite proud of himself.

“Touch me,” you pleaded in a whimper.

“Where?” he asked, somewhat innocently.

“Y-you know where…” you mumbled.  

He grinned wide, all trance of innocence gone.  “I know, but I want you to say it.”

“My cunt,” you whispered, and he snarled just a bit at the word.  “Please?”

“Of course, which one do you want?” James prompted with a grin, showing you his hands as your eyes instantly gravitated to the metal one.

“I think you know which I’m going to choose,” you mumbled shyly, and he smirked as he reached forward with the vibranium arm to brush his fingertips over your stomach, moving down to the top hemline of your bikini bottom.

You just barely gasped when the metal digits swiped over your clit and began to rub gentle circles, almost too slow as if he wanted to tease you… which, of course, he did.

"Do you like the way he touches you, draga?" Helmut whispered.  His voice in your ear was like honey on your tongue, like honey everywhere.

"Yes, sir," you nodded, looking down at James' hand buried into your bikini.

"Hey, tell me you like it, too," James protested, "I'm the one doing it after all."

"I like it, James," you repeated, looking up at him.  "I… don't have a title for you.  Should I call you something when you touch me like this?"

"You can just call me Bucky from now on, okay?  I think we're well past close enough now for that."

"Okay, Bucky," you sighed, watching the way his jaw clenched when you called him by name, "please put your fingers inside me."

"Both?"

"Yes, please," you breathed.

"But my fingers are thick, they're hard metal, and you're so small and delicate…"

"I want them to stretch me out, just please—"

A loud moan of shock jumped out of your mouth when he pushed the fingers in all at once, and though it reawakened some of the soreness from when Helmut had fucked you the night before, it felt wonderful enough to make your back arch up from the strong body behind you, his erection now digging into your hip.

It was certainly loud enough to get Sam's attention, who suddenly appeared beside the chair while he towelled off his chiselled chest.

"Damn, what are y'all doing to her over here?" he wondered aloud as if he were concerned for your health.

"Just playing with Zemo's little doll," Bucky answered.  "She's really fucking tight, can barely fit two fingers."

"Wait, move over, let me see," Sam insisted, making Bucky pull his fingers out and Helmut holding you more firmly as Sam slipped his hand into your bikini as well, poking his fingers at your entrance before pushing them in.

His fingers were even thicker and longer than Bucky's, just by a slight margin yet enough to make you mewl and arch your back as your eyes fluttered shut.

"Fuck, yeah, you were right," Sam breathed, and you felt more hands running over your body but you couldn't even tell anymore whose they were; you knew one that reached to pull up your bikini top and expose your breasts was Helmut's, because only he would be so bold, but the fingers teasing your nipples, the rough palm running up your legs… they could've belonged to anyone, and that realization made your clit throb.

"Okay, okay, that's enough. I was here first," Bucky mumbled as you felt Sam's fingers slip out and the metal ones push back in— not to mention the thumb reaching up to circle your clit slowly.

He wasn't just exploring you this time; you could tell he had a mission.  The way he instantly curled into your spot, the way he moved quickly yet deliberately, all made your thighs begin to quiver.

Helmut kissed your ear, gently tilting your head to access your neck better where he began to suck hard enough to leave a mark, mumbling something in Sokovian about how good you were being for him and his guests.

You loved being good, and the praise made your hips lift a little so you could rock yourself onto Bucky's fingers; the three men chuckled proudly.

"Feels that good?" Bucky pressed, and you nodded quickly.

He fingered you even faster, harder, and you cried out.

"Ohhh fuck, Bucky!" you gasped.  "Bucky, I'm gonna come!"

"Oh no, you're not," Helmut groaned, giving you a quick spank on the inner thigh as you whined and jolted.  "James, take your fingers out."

"Do I have to?"

"You do if you want a chance to fill her with more than just your fingers…"

That worked right away, Bucky pulling back as you pouted at being empty again.

“Let’s take her inside, and we can continue this there,” Helmut suggested, and Bucky lifted you up into his arms as the Baron led the group back to the master suite.

The convenient thing about bathing suits is that it takes so little time to get naked, which is why the second the patio door was shut, Bucky and Sam were stripping as their hard cocks bobbed up against their stomachs.  As if that weren’t overwhelming enough, Helmut stepped away for a moment (which left you feeling more alone than usual) just as the men began to help you strip; Sam untied the back of your bikini while Bucky knelt and pulled down the bottoms, leaving you feeling exposed as you were totally bare before them.  Bucky smiled up at you and kissed along your thighs while Sam grabbed a handful of your ass and growled a bit under his breath.

When you looked over at Helmut, you saw he had actually dressed in his robe rather than stripping, nearly making you whine with disappointment.  But you couldn’t focus on that long as hands moved all over your skin, both of them still just slightly wet from the pool, and you shivered for both of those reasons.

You gasped when Bucky suddenly licked a thick stripe right over your folds, and if it weren’t for Sam’s arms holding you up, you might not have been able to stay standing.

Looking down at where Bucky was devouring you, he looked back up at you with a lot less dominating intensity in his eyes than you were used to seeing.  Not that you minded; after all, no one could do what Helmut did as well as he could, but maybe Bucky could do something different, and it would be just as enjoyable.  His tongue lapping at your clit was certainly wonderful so far.

Sam guided one of your hands back behind you to stroke his cock, your mouth falling slack, which he took advantage of by turning your face and capturing you in an open-mouthed kiss.  You heard your moans stifle against his tongue, felt his cock flex a bit as you smeared the precum you found at his tip.

“I think that’s enough for now,” Helmut interrupted, and everyone turned to look at him.  “Darling, come here,” he instructed with a curled finger that pointed to the bed, “hands and knees.”

You nodded and pushed the other men away, taking your place on the bed and looking up at him as he held your jaw gently.

"How long has it been since you had another man inside you, lutka?" he asked lowly.

"I can't even remember,” you admitted, “it's been so long…"

“Are you willing to try it?” he asked gently, no hint of domination or pressure in his tone, and you found yourself searching his eyes for the right answer.

“What do you want?” you asked him instead of answering.

“Draga, I’m asking what you want,” he reminded you, but you were afraid he would be hurt if you showed interest in the other men.  Sure, previous evidence indicated that wasn’t an issue for him, but your gut instinct was to deny your attraction.  So, you compromised. 

“All I want is you,” you answered first, “but…”

“But?”

“But is it awful if… if I want them to fuck me, too?”

He smiled, kissing your forehead.  “No, I don’t think so.  Only as awful as it is that I want to watch them fuck you.”

You looked up at him and smiled back, brimming with gratitude that he was so gentle with you.  It was fascinating how he wielded complete control over you and yet never used it against you.

“I have one rule, draga,” he added firmly, “you cannot come for them.  You only come for me.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And stay on your hands and knees, so I can always get a good look at you, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

He kissed you one more time before pulling away and sitting back in the chair in the corner with his ankle over his knee, looking at Sam and Bucky expectantly.  Every chair he sat in seemed to look like a throne as soon as he was in it.

“Well, get on with it, then,” he instructed, motioning to you.  The men looked at you and looked at each other before some kind of silent agreement took place and Bucky stepped up first.  Sam sat down to watch you as you felt Bucky stand near the bed behind you, flesh and metal fingers running over your back until you shivered.

Then he pressed his cock against you, coating himself in your wetness, and that made you shiver, too.

You braced yourself as he lined himself up, whimpering slightly as he pushed his cock into you as well as hearing him moan lowly.  The hand at your waist tightened as he hissed in a breath through his teeth.

"Fuck," he breathed, holding you still so he could fill you completely.  “S’tight…” he slurred.

“How does it feel for you?” Helmut asked you, raising an eyebrow as he examined your expression, your mouth fallen slack, yet your brow furrowed.

“It feels… different,” you stammered your answer.  You gasped loudly as Bucky started to move, and yes, this was very different.  His cock was curved differently and though it didn’t exactly reach any new parts of you (you were sure Helmut had already touched every part of you physically accessible), it did stroke them in new ways.  

He gained speed rather quickly, clearly too on edge himself to stay patient, and you didn’t blame him although it sent you moving faster toward the edge than you would’ve liked.  At first you wondered if it would even be a challenge to keep from coming like Helmut had demanded… you chided yourself internally for ever being so hubristic.

His legs pushed yours apart, spreading them wider, and he began to really fuck you in earnest, fast and needy and each slam of his hips against your ass harder than ever.  “O-oh fuck,” you choked, forcing your eyes shut and scrunching up your nose for a second when he slammed the tip of his cock right into the deepest spots inside you.  This position left you with nowhere to go, put your whole body on display for him along with giving you no escape from his onslaught of pleasure.  Worst of all was that you were pretty sure he wasn’t even trying that hard to make you feel good, and yet feeling used like that only turned you on more.

"Bucky, please, slow down," you whimpered.

"Absolutely do not do that," Helmut interjected sternly.  "Don't let her tell you what to do."

And, possibly just to spite you, he actually fucked you faster.  You sobbed and bit down on your lip, fighting everything building up inside you.

“You’d better not come,” Helmut warned through his teeth, “you’d better not fucking come.  You know how bad it would be for you if you came for another man.”

“Y-yes, sir,” you nodded.

But Bucky was slamming right into your spot, and he knew it, too. He knew how desperate you were becoming, and apparently, he didn’t mind at all that you’d be punished for it.  He leaned down to growl against your ear, “I know how close you are.  Don’t you think it’d feel so good to just let go and come on my cock?”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks as the force it took to hold back your orgasm became painful.  “No, it would only feel good to come for Helmut…”

“C’mon baby, just stop fighting it and come for me,” Bucky taunted, “squeeze me tight with that sweet little pussy; I know you need to so bad.”

He wasn’t wrong, but you blinked with teary eyes up at Helmut and wanted nothing more than to please him and make him proud of you.  “Please, m-make him stop,” you begged, “I won’t be able to hold back anymore…”

“He’s not going to stop until he comes, lutka, and you need to stay strong,” he explained, his voice soothing you slightly.  “You need to be my good girl.  Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered.

Bucky held your hips tight as he pulled your body back onto his cock, and you forced your eyes shut to try to focus on not coming.  No other man had made you come in your life but Helmut, and you had no intentions of breaking that streak.

“Think you can make me come before I make you come?” Bucky challenged.

“I have to,” you answered breathlessly.  “And I want you to come… I wanna make you come so bad, Bucky, please…”

“Mhmm?” he encouraged.

“Please, I want it, please come for me,” you whimpered.

“Fuck, I will,” he promised darkly, fucking you even harder.

Helmut interjected a brief instruction: “Pull out.” 

Bucky nodded a little, breathing heavily as you felt his cock throb slightly, especially at the base where each movement stretched you out even more.  It was so beautifully erotic and you were tensing every muscle inside you to try not to come, which helped speed him up quite a bit since you were gripping him so tight.

“Fuck,” Bucky grunted, “fuck!” 

He pulled out and instantly painted your back with a roar, sliding his cock over your ass as he pumped stream after stream of come onto you.  You sighed happily, satisfied that you had managed to stave off orgasm with perhaps only a few seconds to spare— you’d never been so happy to make someone come before because this time it brought relief that you had done well for your Baron.

Then again, you always felt that way when you made the man himself come, but this was different because you had been moments away from failing him.

Speaking of the Baron, he stared down at you proudly the whole time, kneeling down slightly to swipe his finger through the cooling spend on your back and bring it to your open lips.  “Mm, you really are my perfect little girl,” he mumbled as you sucked his finger diligently.  But he turned his attention away from you to call out across the room, “Sam!  It’s your turn.”

Your eyes went wide.  “W-wait, Helmut, I’ll come!”

“No, you won’t,” he hissed, eyes darkening again, “because I told you not to.”

And Sam was already behind you, taking Bucky’s place who had already cleaned himself up a bit and returned to his seat, letting the Baron pour him a drink which he gulped down in one go.

When Sam pushed into the end of you, your natural instinct was to arch your back up to try to keep him from going too deep, but he growled and pushed your back down again with a strong hand that made you feel so small for a moment.  “No, baby, no running away… you’re gonna take it all.”

“Yes, daddy,” you breathed, yelping a little when he roughly shoved in that last inch.

From then on, he went much harder on you than Bucky had, spanking you and gripping your ass while he fucked you, and the most embarrassing part was how much harder it made it to keep from coming.  It was clear that he realized making you come would give him power over everyone else in the room for different reasons, and he was determined to gain that power.

“Does he fuck you this good, huh?” he groaned.  

“He fucks me better,” you shot back right away, making Helmut chuckle slightly.

“If your plan is to make her switch allegiances, you’ll have to do better than that,” Helmut taunted, and Sam doubled his efforts as one hand pinched your clit and the other groped your breast.  You almost lost it right there but managed to pull yourself together, your whole body shaking with the effort to keep the pleasure at bay.

“Well, if he can fuck you better then why doesn’t he?” Sam continued his leading questions, even though you could barely keep up a conversation at this point.  “Why does he keep pimping you out to us if he’s fucking you right all on his own?”

“Don’t you understand?” you breathed, your head falling down onto the bed as you were almost able to look back enough to see his face.  “This is my punishment.  He knows I don’t want anyone else; that’s why you’re here.”

Sam smiled, perhaps in pity, and yet you honestly had to close your eyes because his smile was so lovely that it could’ve brought an end to your restraint.  “Poor thing, he’s really got you whipped.  I… still can’t believe I’m doing this, but you feel too good to stop now.”

He yanked your head back by your hair for emphasis, making you yelp as he fucked you brutally.  Your toes curled and your fingers dug into the sheets, and you had to close your eyes because the way Helmut was staring at you made this all much too difficult.  Maybe it was just that he didn’t seem jealous at all, or angry; but he didn’t seem like he was getting any excess pleasure out of this, either.  It was… almost neutral, but something burned behind his eyes brighter than maybe you’d ever seen it, his legs crossed and his fingers interlaced as he waited for you to either hold or break.

With the top half of your body fallen limply onto the bed, you reached out above your head and felt Helmut’s hand grab yours, squeezing slightly, and it helped keep you grounded as you held his fingers.

“Oh fuck, ‘m gonna come,” Sam groaned out his warning, “gonna cover this pretty ass in my come, you want that?”

“Yes, please,” you shuddered. 

“Keep begging for it,” he demanded, rushing his words as you felt his cock start to throb against your walls with his impending orgasm.  

“Please come, please come, please come on me, Sam, please,” you chanted, over and over, struggling not to come and hoping that if you could speed him up, then you could make it.

He grunted through his teeth as hot ropes of seed covered your ass; though your body was left wanting, dangling on the edge so close to your release, your mind was satisfied that you had managed to follow your Baron’s rules.

Sam stepped back to admire his work, finding another spare robe to cover himself with as he rejoined the other men across the room.

“Would you like a drink as well?” Helmut offered to Sam, unfortunately letting go of your hand in the process.  Sam was still catching his breath, running his hands over his short hair as if he was processing everything.

“No, but are those cigars up for grabs?” Sam replied, pointing to the ornate box propped open, and Helmut nodded.

“Of course; what’s mine is yours,” he answered, presenting the box and lighter to him.

“Yeah, you can say that again,” Sam added flatly, the three of them all looking at where you were sitting, covered in come and waiting patiently for your next command.

Just as you feared they’d all have their cigars and whiskey and ignore you completely, your Baron knelt down to look at you face-to-face, smiling proudly.

“You did so good for me, darling,” he cooed, and your insides clenched as if you could come just from hearing that.  “You don't think I'm horribly cruel, do you?"

"No, sir," you smiled weakly.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised with a kiss to the tip of your nose as he stepped away to the master bathroom.  

You glanced at the other men— Bucky with his crystal glass of whiskey, Sam puffing at the cigar stoically— and wondered what, if anything, you could possibly say.

“So, how’s your weekend been so far?” Sam asked you plainly, breaking the silence.

“It’s only Friday night,” you realized, sighing as you tried not to imagine how much debauchery the Baron had in store for you.  Right now you were so exhausted that it sounded like too much work; and you were so desperate only for Helmut that the idea of anybody else being involved intimidated you.

Helmut returned quickly with a washcloth, sitting beside you on the bed and placing it gently on your back.

“As pretty as you look covered in come, I’d rather not make too much of a mess,” Helmut explained as he wiped you down with the damp cloth, your skin tingling and your body crying out for more of his touch.

“Will you fuck me, sir?” you mumbled, somewhere between an honest question and a desperate plea.

“Yes, I will,” he answered, making you hum happily, “and I’m finally going to let you come.”

You bit down on your lip, trying not to moan just from hearing that.

“But I’m not going to let you stop.”

The lump in your throat was impossible to swallow, but you tried anyway as he tossed the rag away and circled the bed, standing behind where you were laying limply.  He grabbed you by your ankles and pulled you down to where he needed you, covering your body with his as he kissed the back of your neck slowly.

“I bet you’ll come the moment I’m inside you, draga,” he whispered.  You nodded in agreement, gasping a bit as you felt his cock teasing your swollen, sore pussy.  Just the tip bumping into your clit was enough to make you think you could come right there, you’d been on the edge so long.

But then he pushed into you in one stroke, not rough yet enough to reignite the soreness of being filled by two men already, and your walls started to pulse around him.  A million words swirled in your mind, words about how perfect he felt and how you’d missed him so much and how no one could fuck you like he could, but none of them made it to your mouth where you could only moan loudly.

He wrapped his arms around you, he kissed everywhere he could reach, and waves of pleasure washed over you until tears filled your eyes.  You lost count immediately, coming on his cock over and over as you became a limp, whimpering mess right away.

“You two really did miss out,” Helmut taunted the other men between his own moans, “it feels so fucking amazing to be inside her when she comes.  She gets tighter every time… blyat, so tight I can hardly control myself.”

It was already hot to hear him speak to you like that in these moments, but for him to speak to someone else, to keep you from forgetting that you weren’t alone and that these men had just fucked you and were watching you come right now?  You hadn’t even imagined before what that would be like.

“Please, please, sir, please,” you chanted, your voice breaking until you could barely whisper.

“What is it that you want, lutka?  Do you even know what you’re begging for anymore?”

“I want whatever you want, sir, please,” you cried.  He reached around your body to rub your throbbing clit, and you all but screamed.

“I know you do, beautiful, I know,” he breathed, kissing your back and shoulder tenderly to calm you.  “I love you so much, draga, you know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I love you too, Helmut,” you whispered, “more than anything.  I love being yours.”

“Aw,” you heard Bucky briefly sigh.

“Dude, shut up,” Sam corrected him harshly.

“It’s sweet!” Bucky defended.

“It’s weird; this is all so weird,” Sam frowned.

“You didn’t seem to mind before…” Bucky trailed off.

Two of Helmut’s fingers swiped over your open lips and you immediately sucked them into your mouth with a satisfied hum, the taste of his skin always comforting you.  When he rolled you onto your side, it was so much easier for him to touch you wherever he wanted and it only did more to keep you overwhelmed with pleasure until you worried you couldn’t take much more.  But you kept sucking his fingers, tears still falling which he occasionally kissed away, until he took his hand away to wrap around your neck instead.  You nodded a little to let him know it was okay to choke you, and your loud moans fell to sudden silence when he tightened his grip.  

It made your eyes roll back, it made your walls flutter and your toes start to go numb, it made you wonder if you were going to pass out whether or not he let you breathe again because your body was already ready to give in.

You sucked in a gasp when he let go, sobbing his name as a particularly deep thrust knocked you right into your peak again.  He kept one hand on your neck as the other reached between your legs to play with your abused pussy as he fucked it harder than ever.

“I can’t come anymore,” you assured, shaking your head and trying to push his hand away from your sore clit.  “I— I can’t…”

“Yes, you can, draga, I know you can. Just relax and let me keep making you feel good,” he instructed, somehow both gentle and demanding all at once.

“I… I can’t…” you breathed, nearly incomprehensible between thick sobs, but you were already coming again in spite of your words, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body from the inside out.  He choked you out into silence again, praising you all the way through it.

“There you go, shh, it’s all right,” he soothed, “you’re so beautiful, darling, so good for me, just keep going…”

You reached back to lace your fingers into his hair and tug, which did nothing to deter him from kissing your neck just beneath where his thumb gripped it, same as your hand wrapped tightly around his wrist didn’t stop him from quickly rubbing your clit.

Breath filled your lungs when he let go, and you were so desperate for relief that you felt like you weren’t even in control of your words anymore.

"Please come inside me," you begged mindlessly, "please, I need you so bad, please…"

“Is that what you need?” he groaned.  “You need to be full of my seed?”

“Yes, please, want it deep in me— fuck, Helmut, please!”

He growled and bit your ear lightly, mumbling his promise to fill you up in Sokovian— sometimes you thought he spoke Sokovian when he was about to come because he was so distracted that he forgot English, but you didn’t think that at the moment because you were currently too cockdrunk to think about anything.

His low moan echoed right through your body as you felt his cock flex and throb with each pump of come, just as deep as you’d wanted, and you sighed happily at the familiar feeling, finally relaxing into the mattress.

But perhaps you relaxed a little too soon because he made you come one more time after he’d filled you, whispering something about he wanted to use your pussy to milk every drop from his cock, but after that finally he pulled out, and you collapsed face-down onto the bed, ready to pass out even though the sun was only just beginning to set and you’d slept until noon earlier.

“Well, I think we sufficiently knocked her out,” Sam chuckled.

“‘We’?” Helmut repeated, sounding a bit offended yet bemused as he redressed.

“Okay fine, you did most of the heavy lifting, but only cause you wouldn’t let her come for us,” Sam relented with a frown.

“I swear, I was this close to getting her to break,” Bucky interjected, sighing before taking another slow sip of his (third) drink.

“Yeah, what would’ve happened if one of us made her come, anyway?” Sam wondered aloud.  “She seemed pretty worried about whatever punishment you had in store for her.”

“Nothing too terrible,” Helmut shrugged, “I just would’ve fucked her in the ass.”

Bucky choked on his whiskey as Sam tried and failed to suppress a smirk.

“She lets you do that?!” Bucky blurted out between fits of coughing.

“She lets me do whatever I want,” Helmut replied, “I’m surprised that hasn’t become abundantly clear to you by now.”

“I guess we’re still adjusting to it, that’s all,” Sam explained.  “I don’t know about you,” he looked at Bucky, “but this is new for me.”

“I was born in 1917; everything is new for me,” Bucky frowned.

“Well, this is new for us too,” Helmut assured, “especially her, she was so inexperienced when she met me��”

He paused for a moment to reminisce before glancing at you lying prone on the bed and looked totally fucked-out.

“But look at her now!” he finished.  “She takes it all in stride.”

“Yeah, she’s a trooper alright,” Sam agreed.  “Be careful with her, Zemo, ‘cause I think if you hurt her too bad, Bucky here is gonna be waiting in the wings to steal her.”

“I— what?!” Bucky snorted defensively.

“Don’t think we can’t see you giving her googly eyes, not that I blame you or anything… getting deepthroated for the first time will definitely make you catch feelings,” Sam smirked before taking a puff of the cigar again.

“It’s not like that, I’m just… listen, I guess I’m just a bit more conventional than you perverts,” he frowned.  “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or anything, I just can’t imagine having a girl like that all to myself and letting anybody else lay a finger on her.”

“Not everyone is as insecure as you, James,” Helmut shrugged.  “Women can’t be stolen.  They can only go where they want to.  And she wants to be with me.”

He turned back to ask you if you agreed, but you were already fast asleep.  Smiling slightly, he grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed and unfolded it to drape over you; you instinctively cuddled up under it without waking up, letting out a quiet sigh.

“Goodnight, draga,” he whispered with a kiss to your forehead.  “Rest well, you’ll need it for the morning.”

#baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x reader #helmut zemo smut #bucky barnes smut #sam wilson smut

[seriphimlm]

Binary Stars

Summary: Castiel possesses Dean. 

(Yeah, I’m writing SPN fan fiction now. Mind ya business.)

Binary star system: Noun. Astronomy. A system of two stars in which one star revolves around the other or both revolve round a common center. Locked in the constant chase of hunter and hunted, the two stars spend their lifespans circling around the other’s orbit, never able to touch, always just out of reach. 

---

It started, much like everything else complicated in the lives of Dean and Castiel, with a hunt gone wrong. 

Read on AO3

The sunlight was filtering through the dingy hotel room’s curtains as Rowena examined Castiel with a series of powders, juices, and soft-spoken Latin chants. Dean watched as he leaned against the wall, subtly texting Sam an update on their hunt. Dean and Castiel had been trying to take out a witch just west of Lincoln when she blew a shimmering powder into Castiel’s face. He had spent the following few minutes coughing up a lung while Dean shot the witch between the eyebrows. Unsure what to do, they called Rowena when they returned to the hotel room. She was leaning over Castiel as he sat on the side of one of the beds. 

“It’s bad.” Rowena finally said, her eyes flicking between Dean and Castiel. “You boys tussled with the wrong witch.”

Dean sighed and kicked off the wall he was leaning on. “Awesome.”

“What did she do to me?” Castiel’s eyes calmly tracked Dean for a moment before they flicked to meet Rowena’s gaze. 

“You mean you can’t tell?” Rowena raised her eyebrows and looked away. “That’s not a good sign.”

“Cut the crap, Rowena,” Dean growled. “Can you fix it?”

Rowena sighed. “Aye, the spell’s not built for fixing.”

“Remind me why you’re here, then?” Dean took a half-step towards Rowena. 

“Dean,” Castiel said, stopping him in his tracks with just a word. He turned back to Rowena. “Explain. Please.”

“Well,” Rowena paused as she thought. She pursed her lips, choosing her words carefully. “It was a homemade spell designed to erase an angel’s grace. It starts slow, which must be why you can’t feel it yet. It will continue to get faster and faster as time goes on.”

Dean threw his hands up. “Awesome.”

“You said that already,” Castiel grumbled. 

The two men shared tense eye contact for a few charged moments. 

“You haven’t seen any hex bags today, correct?” Rowena asked, causing them both to look back at her. 

Castiel stood up and moved his eyes around the room before ending on Rowena. “I would be able to sense if there were any present.”

Rowena nodded and hummed her approval. “And the witch who cast the spell is now dead?”

“Yes,” Dean said, stepping forward. “I made sure of that.”

“Lovely,” she said, making it clear that she thought that it was anything but. “She must have been a powerful one then, if the spell is surviving past her.”

Castiel grimaced. “What can we do?”

“Do?” Rowena began to gather her supplies back into her large purse. “There isn’t much that can be done, I’m afraid.”

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Castiel beat him to the punch. “But there is something.”

Rowena sighed. “You’re not going to like it.”

Dean and Castiel both leveled Rowena with steady stares. She closed her eyes to center herself before speaking again, opening them to look at Castiel. 

“You’re going to need to leave your vessel,” she finally said.

Her statement hung in the air for a few moments before anyone else spoke, heavy in the crisp air-conditioned room. Castiel hardly reacted except to blink, but Dean was visibly agitated. 

“No way.” Dean shook his head. 

Rowena laughed drily. “Have you got a better idea, then?”

“Dean,” Castiel cut in, nipping their cat fight in the bud. “I’ve been without a vessel before.”

“So, what?” Dean turned his attention to Castiel. “You’re just gonna find some other holy trench coat to possess?”

Castiel turned his head slightly to look at Dean directly.

“Not necessarily,” Rowena interrupted. “The spell is only affecting Castiel’s physical form. If he were to” —she struggled to find the word for a moment— “exit, the spell would run its course and eventually fizzle out. I don’t see why he couldn’t return after that.”

“And how long’s that gonna take?” Dean asked. 

Rowena made a noncommittal sound as she examined Castiel lightly with her eyes. “Oh, a few days to be safe. These things move faster when the mind isn’t present.”

“So what, right before he starts to rot away?” 

Castiel lowered his chin slightly and looked at Dean. “My vessel, Dean. It’s not me.”

Rowena held up a finger and rooted through her purse as the men had an impromptu staring contest. After a moment, she pulled out a small hex bag. It fit snugly in the palm of her hand. She loosened the string tying it together slightly to create an opening. 

“This will help keep your vessel in working shape while you’re away,” she said, presenting the hex bag to Castiel. “I just need a drop of dear Mr. Novak’s blood.”

As Dean was rustling through his pockets to pass Castiel his knife, Castiel just bit the tip of his index finger with his front teeth. He held the finger over the bag as the blood welled up and finally dripped down. When the droplet of blood hit the bag, a barely-visible puff of blue smoke was created. Castiel ran his thumb over his index finger, healing the small nip. 

“Perfect,” Rowena said as she retied the string, nonplussed by Castiel’s behavior. She passed the completed hex bag to Castiel. “This will keep the lights on while you’re not home. Keep it in one of your pockets until you return.”

Castiel nodded and put the hex bag in the inside pocket of his trench coat. 

Rowena continued, “I suggest that you leave your vessel before you go to bed. There hasn’t been any damage done that you won’t recover from, but that won’t be the case when you wake up tomorrow.”

“I don’t sleep.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “Sometime before whatever it is you do at night, then.”

The group eventually made their way through saying farewells and Rowena left, leaving Dean and Castiel alone. Dean was tense. It was hard for him to think of Castiel’s body as just an empty husk to be filled. 

“Dean,” Castiel said, breaking the silence that fell when Rowena left. “This is a manageable problem. There is no need to worry.”

Dean scoffed. “What, me worry?” He sighed and grabbed his keys from where they were sitting on the nightstand. “Let’s get back to the bunker before you do anything crazy.”

Castiel nodded and followed Dean outside of the hotel room. 

The two men continued in silence as they pulled out of the hotel parking lot. Castiel had come to appreciate silence in his time on Earth, but this particular moment rang with unsaid words. He knew that Dean would voice what he needed to say before too long. This time, he only had to wait for three-and-a-half Metallica songs. 

“So.” Dean said, finally breaking the silence. “You’re leaving your vessel.”

“Yes.” Castiel straightened his back and watched the dotted yellow lines disappear beneath them. 

Dean snuck a peek at Castiel. He nervously bit the inside of his cheek. No one spoke for another few moments. 

“Well, are you gonna ask me or not?”

Castiel replied casually, “Ask you what?”

“To be your new vessel.” Dean snuck another peek in Castiel’s direction, taking time to rake his eyes across his face. “If I can handle Michael, then I can handle you. Right?”

“Dean. I couldn’t ask that of you.”

Dean reached over to turn the music down. “Humor me.”

Castiel gave an angel’s impression of an eye roll. “Dean Winchester, are you willing to give your body and mind over to my cause?”

“Yes,” Dean said. His response was immediate. He looked over at Castiel, lips not fully closed. 

“You can’t mean that.” Castiel didn’t seem to be impressed. 

“It’s better than spending a week as a holy cloud of gas and you know it.”

Castiel moved his gaze in Dean’s direction, not quite looking directly at him yet. He couldn’t disagree. “Your history with Michael—” 

“You’re not Michael.” Dean shook his head lightly, turning back to the road. “Come on, Cas. If everyone was the same as their older brothers, Sam would be blacklisted from about twenty more bars than he already is.”

Castiel didn’t seem to be persuaded. He looked anywhere except Dean’s face. 

“Dean. I do not wish to cross any boundaries here.” He finally raised his gaze to meet Dean’s. “You understand that saying yes will give me unfettered access to your body and soul.”

“Look at me. I get it.” Dean quirked his lips humorlessly into a smirk. “I’ve been a hunter my whole life, I know what possession is.” He paused and sighed, tearing his eyes from the road to look at Castiel, speaking clearly. “I trust you. I’m saying yes.”

Castiel still didn’t look convinced. Dean sighed. 

Dean let out a humorless laugh as he rubbed his thumb on the steering wheel nervously. “Listen, man,” he said, his voice an olive branch. “I could learn how to say it in Enochian if English ain’t enough.”

Castiel finally met his gaze again. “I can remain unobstructive while we share a vessel.”

“I’ve already said yes, no need to keep selling,” Dean said, then hesitated. “So long as I get to stay behind the wheel.”

“Of course, Dean.” Castiel leaned imperceptibly closer to him. “I would never strip you of your autonomy.”

Dean nodded. “Good.” He paused, then echoed, “Good.” He looked back to the road. 

---

The bunker door slammed loud enough to ring through the halls. Dean gave a holler to Sam anyway, in case he didn’t hear him and Castiel come in. 

Sam walked into the room from the direction of his bedroom. “What the hell, Dean?” he said. “You can’t just text me, ‘Cas got witched. Be back before midnight.’ and then not respond.”

“Aren’t you the one who gets on me about texting and driving?” Dean smirked at Sam. “Just being a safe driver. ‘Sides, you could have used Cas’ phone. We got him one for a reason.”

Sam rolled his eyes and shifted his focus to Castiel. “I tried calling Cas, but it went straight to voicemail.”

“My phone stopped working a while ago.” Castiel pulled it out of his pocket. “It no longer turns on.”

Dean grabbed the phone from Castiel and examined it, testing the power button a few times. “When’s the last time you plugged it in?”

“Plugged it into what?”

Dean dropped his hands and looked at Castiel. “The wall, Cas.” He looked over at Sam pleadingly. Sam chuckled. 

“You have to charge it for a few hours every day or two,” Sam said. “I’ll put a charger in your room later.”

Castiel took his phone back from Dean. “I see. I will be more mindful of that in the future.”

Dean walked down the stairs into the main room area, Castiel following closely behind. 

“I’m going to grab a beer, want one?” Dean called over his shoulder as he headed towards the kitchen. 

Sam sat at the table. “Sure.”

“You’re getting one too, Cas,” Dean said, not waiting for a response from him. 

Castiel nodded and sat across from Sam as Dean left the room. 

“I’m beginning to appreciate the taste of beer,” he said to Sam. “The creation process behind it is very compelling.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Sam chuckled airly. “So, what happened with the witch? You look totally normal to me.”

“I’m glad I look normal.” Castiel sighed. “The spell is one that targets my grace, so humans are unable to see what the witch has done.”

Sam frowned. “Are you okay?”

“The damage so far is minimal.” Castiel shrugged. “I hardly noticed until Rowena brought it up. She said that the rate at which the spell devours my grace would increase unless I left my vessel.” 

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “And you’re gonna do that? Leave your vessel, I mean.”

“I have no other choice,” Castiel said. “But my vessel will survive without me until the spell runs its course.” Anticipating Sam’s question, he added, “I’ll be able to return to this vessel in a few day’s time.”

“Huh.” Sam leaned back in his chair for a moment. “So will you just” —he waved his hand through the air nervously— “float around all day?”

“No, I—”

Castiel was cut off by Dean re-entering the room, holding three beers. “Brewski time!” he called, waggling the beers with one hand. He put a beer in front of Sam and Castiel, then took one of the open seats at the table and took a swig from his own bottle. 

“Dean, Cas was just telling me about what happened,” Sam said. He looked back over to Castiel. “Sorry, I’d offer to help, but I have a… history with angels using me as a vessel.” He gave an awkward half-smile. 

“I understand,” Castiel said, returning a small smile in Sam’s direction. 

“You don’t have to worry ‘bout a thing, Sammy.” Dean took another sip of his beer. For some reason, he felt nervous to tell Sam. He pushed it down. “Cas is gonna stay with me.”

Sam smirked and looked down at his beer bottle. “And you’re cool with that?”

“What? Lucifer didn’t wear me to the prom.”

“Dude.” Sam looked up to lazily glare at Dean. 

Dean was sufficiently cowed. “What, too soon?”

“Yeah, too soon.” Sam rolled his eyes and laughed under his breath. “Forever would be too soon.”

“I’m going to leave my vessel before morning,” Castiel noted, gracefully changing the subject. “Would you like to be in the room while it happens?”

Dean stiffened imperceptibly. 

“I’m sure you two can handle it,” Sam said, taking a sip from his beer. “I’ll be down the hall if you need anything.”

“Well,” Dean said, setting his beer on the table and moving to get out of his chair. “What do you say, Cas? No time like the present?”

Castiel’s eyebrows drew together. He looked up at Dean and then back down at his beer. “I’d like to finish this first. It’s pleasant to drink with you two.”

“Come on, Dean.” Sam laughed and lifted his beer in Dean’s direction. “Waste not, want not.”

Dean chuckled to cover his blooming blush. He relaxed back into his chair. “I’m just glad we corrupted an angel.”

---

Dean and Castiel ended up in one of the extra bedrooms, one which Dean liked to call Castiel’s room. Castiel hardly used it. He was sitting on top of the unwrinkled bed covers while Dean was pacing, trying to tamper his anxiety. 

“So, this possession thing.” Dean looked over carefully to Castiel. “Does it hurt?”

Castiel’s eyes tracked Dean’s movements. “What do you mean?”

“The whole...” Dean waved a hand around as he thought of how to word it. “Smoke-in-the-mouth thing. I mean, I smoked my fair share as a teen, but I’m no iron lung.”

The drug reference gave Castiel pause. “The process shouldn’t be painful. It may feel uncomfortable at times as your body attunes to housing a celestial being. You may experience sensations that the human body is not equipped to feel.”

“Lucky me,” Dean said breathlessly.

Castiel nodded. “Lucky you.”

Castiel swung his legs on top of his bed, shoes and all. He leaned against the headboard in a sitting position. Dean bit his tongue when he worried about the dirt tracking onto the sheets. 

“How would you like me?” Castiel asked once he settled. 

Dean tripped on his tongue for a moment. “Like you?”

“My vessel,” Castiel clarified. “How would you like it to be positioned while I’m away?”

A breath escaped Dean’s lungs. Castiel had to know what he was doing when he said things like that. 

“However you want, bud.” Dean flexed his jaw and swallowed. “It’s up to you, I won’t be coming in here until the spell times out.”

Castiel hummed and scooted forward so that he had the space to lie down completely, but he propped himself up on his elbows to keep Dean in his eyesight. He was lying on his back with his trenchcoat puddled around him like an aura. 

“Are you sure you’re willing to do this, Dean?”

Dean walked over to the side of Castiel’s bed. “My answer hasn’t changed since the last time you asked.”

“I’m serious.” Castiel’s voice compelled Dean to look him in the eyes. “I would not think any less of you for changing your mind in the eleventh hour.”

“You’re my friend, Cas.” Dean’s hand reached out to pat him on the shoulder before he realized that it was too far away to reach. For lack of a better location, he patted Castiel’s thigh where it was resting on the bed. “Friends help each other out.”

Castiel furrowed his brows as he watched Dean’s hand touch his thigh. Dean moved his hand back to its neutral position once he noticed Castiel looking. He felt a blush begin to heat his face without understanding why. 

“Besides,” Dean started, trying to distract from the building burning in his cheeks. “It’s a win-win. You get a vacation in Casa Winchester and I get to go a few days without seeing your ugly mug.”

Castiel’s eyebrows drew together even more. “You think I’m ugly?”

“Of course not,” Dean backtracked immediately. “I’m sure you’re, y’know, good looking. For a guy.” Dean would have to change the subject if he didn’t want Castiel to notice his blushing cheeks. “It’s just something people say.”

Dean wouldn’t know where to put Castiel on the traditional 1-10 scale of hotness. He lived on a different scale entirely. 

“I see.” Castiel relaxed his arms and allowed his gaze to trail up to the ceiling. “I never understood human beauty standards. I have a hard time evaluating my vessel.”

Great, Dean thought as he put a few feet of distance between him and the bed. I gave the angel a complex. 

“You’ve got nothing to worry about, man.” Dean tried to backtrack. “Chicks dig the whole dorky, just rolled out of bed look.”

Castiel hummed idly and then lifted himself to look Dean in the eye again. “Are you ready to be possessed?”

Dean had long since gotten used to Castiel’s abrupt non sequiturs. 

“Should I sit down?” Dean moved towards an empty chair a few feet away from the bed. 

“That would be smart.”

Dean carried the chair to the side of the bed and sat in it. It was strange to see Castiel laying down. The only other times that Dean had seen him in this position, he was bloodied from a fight. Castiel moved his arms to lie down completely, turning his head on the pillow to look at Dean. 

“Dean Winchester, will you let me in?”

“Castiel,” Dean breathed. He shivered in anticipation. “Yes.”

It wasn’t like the demon possessions he had seen, where the victim screamed as the demon’s black cloud rushed into their mouth. Castiel closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. A small, wavering tendril of bright smoke seeped out of his mouth. This was Castiel, more so than anything related to Jimmy Novak’s body. Dean’s adrenaline spiked as the tendril began to close the distance between them. It meandered through the air of Castiel’s bedroom like lazy cascading waves on a shoreline. Dean’s mouth opened and he tilted his chin towards the smoke without being aware he was doing so. 

The tendril of Castiel finally reached Dean’s lips. For a moment, it felt like he had used TV static as chapstick. The static feeling filled Dean’s throat. It spread over his head and spilled down his chest as more of Castiel flowed through him. It felt like the borders of his body were being erased, like he was expanding to fill the bedroom. His head was floaty and blurry, as if he was back to being seventeen and smoking Js with other nomads outside of run-down hotels. 

It was as if he had a whole new sense awakened in him. How could you explain sight to someone who was born blind? He felt his thoughts being pushed to the side to make space in his head for another entity. His body went blank for a moment before he scrambled to gain control. The feeling, which had to be Castiel, let him gather it up from the corners of his awareness. His limbs were left feeling like they fell asleep. He compressed Castiel to right at the base of his neck, behind his collarbones. He felt raw energy thrumming in the back of his mind. 

Dean opened his eyes. He hadn’t been aware that he closed them. Sam was banging on the other side of the door. They must have been making noise, even if he didn’t realize it. He stumbled up from his chair and almost instantly banged his shin against the bed frame. 

“Shit!” Dean yelped. The lightbulbs in the room popped in a sharp shatter of glass. He flinched at the noise. 

Sam yelled from behind the door, “Dean?”

“Yeah, give me a second!” Dean responded, traversing through the bedroom in the relative darkness. His adrenaline was still pumping, leaving him feeling tight and thready. He finally made it to the door and opened it for Sam. 

Sam looked different. It looked like someone had taken a long exposure photograph of him while he was moving. There was a glow to his body that made it look like he was radioactive. It made Dean feel like he was burning. He screwed his eyes shut. 

“Dean, are you okay?”

“Cas.” A growl came out of Dean’s throat and he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Whatever it is you’re doing, man, you need to pull up. This is too much.”

“Dean?”

Dean felt the fizzy numbness of his body recede even further. His body felt almost normal. His eyes opened hesitantly. 

“...Cas?” Sam asked, going out on a limb.

“Still me,” Dean said, shaking his head. He could finally look at Sam directly without feeling like his face was melting. He sighed. 

“Are you okay? Your eyes were...” Sam peeked around Dean to see Castiel’s empty vessel laying on the bed. “Is he…?”

Dean tapped the side of his head. “All up here. We’re good.”

Dean stepped aside so that Sam could enter the room. Sam flicked the lightswitch a few times but the room stayed dark. He looked at Dean accusingly. 

“What can I say? I got my go-go juice.”

Sam rolled his eyes and used his phone flashlight to examine the body of Jimmy Novak. Dean followed him and lingered by the bed. 

“He’s still breathing,” Sam said. He hesitated before adding, “Do you think he needs…”

Dean curled his upper lip. “Depends?”

Sam and Dean both stared blankly at Jimmy’s empty body. 

“I’m not opening that can of worms,” Dean finally said. He patted Sam’s shoulder as he moved past him to leave the room. “I’m starving.”

Dean stumbled as he walked down the hallway. He was in the kitchen for just long enough to grab bread, peanut butter, and jelly by the time Sam entered the room. 

“Do you feel any different?” Sam asked hesitantly, lingering by the doorway. 

Dean nodded while spreading peanut butter on a piece of bread. “I feel like I ran a freakin’ marathon.” He ran his thumb on the side of the knife to gather the remaining peanut butter and stuck it in his mouth. “I’m gonna eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, eat another, down a beer, and then crash for the night.”

Sam smiled and huffed air out his nose. That was the Dean he knew. “Is Cas talking to you?”

Dean looked up to tell Sam no, but jolted when he wasn’t standing by the doorway anymore. He looked around the room and flinched again when he realized Sam was a few feet to his side. 

“Son of a bitch, when did Cas teach you to teleport?”

Sam looked confused for a second before realization dawned on him. “Cas took over for a few minutes. He told me that everything is going according to plan. It will take a few hours for you to get ‘attuned’ enough to communicate. Whatever that means.”

“Damnit Cas, I told you to let me stay behind the wheel.” Dean said with very little heat behind his words. 

“He said that would be the only time.” Sam motioned to the counter where Dean was making his sandwich earlier. “He apologized.”

Instead of the half-made peanut butter and jelly sandwich that Dean was making, there was now a plate of two completed sandwiches (cut into triangles) and an opened bottle of one of Dean’s favorite beers, fresh from the fridge. Dean’s stomach growled.

Dean picked up the plate of food and the beer. “He’s forgiven. This time.”

---

Dean woke up and headed to the bathroom on autopilot, his bladder sending alarm bells to his brain. He went through the motions as usual, yawning and scratching his tummy as he relieved himself. When he looked down to make sure that the tank was empty, he felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. His eyebrows pulled together and he touched his cheeks with a free hand. There was no reason why he should be blushing as he takes a whizz. He would have to do some googling later. He filed the feeling away in his mind, and the embarrassment passed as he put himself away and moved to the sink to wash his hands. 

Dean jolted when he saw his reflection move without him in the mirror. He furrowed his brows and looked pointedly down at the faucet. 

“Am I hallucinating?” he asked the empty bathroom. 

His own voice answered him. “If Sam were to walk in right now, he would see you talking to yourself.” Dean’s eyes flicked back up to the mirror. His reflection’s voice was grittier than normal, as if he ate a bowl of gravel for breakfast. “But you are not hallucinating. This is one way I can communicate with you.”

Dean laughed dryly and shook his head, looking away again. “This is weird, man. I feel like Jamie Lee Curtis.”

He had almost forgotten what had happened the night before in his post-hunt adrenaline crash. The reflection, which must be Castiel, had better posture than he’d ever had in his life. It looked like he’d gained an inch in height. 

“I can remain completely dormant if you’d prefer.” Castiel kept Dean’s body still as he spoke, save for the slight tilt of his head. “I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

Seeing someone using his meatsuit would normally make his hand itch for a silver blade, but something about this felt different. 

Dean shook his head slightly. “No big deal. Anything else I should know about beside this whole” —he waved his hand half-heartedly at the mirror— “Mulan thing?”

“I am passively aware of the sensory input you receive,” Castiel said, lowering his eyes. “But I am able to focus my attention elsewhere when you require privacy.”

Dean felt the tips of his ears begin to burn as he remembered what he had just been doing. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “So what, you’ve been busy reading my thoughts?”

Dean’s reflection tilted his head and lowered his eyebrows slightly. Seeing Castiel’s mannerisms on his body made his hands twitch. He had to stop himself from touching the mirror. To shatter it or caress it, he didn’t know. 

“The mind of a shared vessel is difficult to describe in terms you can understand,” Cas shared after a pregnant pause. “There is no branch of human studies that can be used as an accurate reference.”

“You’re an angel,” Dean said, flexing his fingers. “I’m sure you can dumb it down for me.”

Castiel took a moment before speaking, no doubt firing a trillion of his and Dean’s currently shared synapses. “We share subconscious minds in this state, but our conscious minds remain our own. Instincts and emotions are shared before coherent thought.”

Something clicked in Dean’s mind. “Wait, was that…” Dean bit his tongue. He hesitated before speaking again, pointedly not looking Castiel in the face. “Were you embarrassed earlier?”

Dean’s reflection avoided eye contact. “I understand that humans are very protective of their genitalia. I apologize. I did not intend to—”

Dean cut him off. “Okay, we’re not going to talk about genitalia. New rule.” Dean worked furiously to think of a way to change the subject. Finally, “Why don’t I feel any different?”

Castiel looked thankful for the prompt. “Human senses aren’t accustomed to celestial intent. You felt that when I first entered your body. It will slowly become more comprehensible as we continue sharing the same vessel.”

Dean barked out a short laugh to distract from thinking about it too much. “Thanks for the fine print. Anything I should be on the lookout for?”

“Nothing major.” Dean kept expecting to see Castiel’s blue eyes when their gazes linked. Something about making eye contact with himself felt weird. “You were created to house the most powerful archangel in heaven, so there’s no chance of unintentional damage to your body on my behalf.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, bud.” Dean raised his eyebrows at his reflection. “You can be scrappy.”

Seeing his reflection give a small, easy smile was something that Dean hadn’t seen in a while. 

After a small pause, Dean swallowed and cleared his throat, speaking carefully. “Listen, can you—”

As if reading his thoughts, Dean’s reflection changed to Jimmy Novak, trenchcoat and all. 

“Is this better?” Castiel asked, back to his normal appearance. 

Dean’s lips quirked up. It was nice to hear his voice again. “Yeah.” His mouth was a little dry. He tried again. “Yeah, Cas. That’s better.”

Castiel smiled at him before dissolving into Dean’s reflection. Dean lifted his hand and rubbed his face, watching his reflection follow his movements exactly. Everything was back to normal. He nodded at the empty mirror and turned on his heel to start his day. 

---

After a cup of coffee for breakfast, Dean started to become aware of how dirty he was. He never actually had the chance to take a shower after the fight with the witch. Thankfully, she was staying in a classy apartment rather than a cabin in the woods, but still. He probably smelled like an entire gym locker room. He put it off for as long as he could, not knowing how to bring it up to Castiel. He almost made it to noon by reading lore in a storage room before Sam leaned over him to see what the book said and scrunched his nose. 

“Dude, come on. You stink so bad,” Sam said. 

Dean rolled his eyes and stood up from where he was sitting. He gave Sam a shit-eating grin. “I smell like a bed of roses.”

“Sure, maybe one that a dog just peed in.” Sam chuckled under his breath. “Maybe you can ask Cas to zap you clean.”

“I’ll just do it the old-fashioned way.” Dean scooted around Sam and made his way to exit the room. “Kids these days, always looking for the easy way out.”

“Dude, I’m 32!” Sam yelled after him as he entered the hallway. 

Dean chuckled at his own humor as he walked to his bedroom to grab a fresh set of clothes. Once he realized that he needed a shower, everything felt uncomfortable. It would be nice to get under the bunker’s perfect water pressure again. 

He spent a longer time than normal picking out clothes, still putting off having to deal with Castiel possessing him while he showers. Finally, he entered the bathroom he claimed as his own. There was just enough space for the basics: toilet, shower, sink, counter, mirrored medicine cabinet. 

He stood in front of the mirror awkwardly for a moment, unsure how to broach the subject. 

“Cas?” He said to the empty room. 

The mirror didn’t change. Dean wondered if maybe he imagined the entire possession. He clicked his tongue and turned away from the mirror, but jolted when he saw Castiel standing next to him. 

“Holy shit!”

“No,” Castiel answered. He tilted his head at Dean. “It’s me.”

Dean shook his head in shock. “How are you here?”

“I’m not, physically speaking.” Castiel lifted his arms to show off his form. “I’m a visual representation constructed by your mind.” He looked down at himself. “I’m surprised. It normally takes months for seraphim to harmonize with their vessel’s brainwaves enough to present themselves without the aid of a reflection like this.”

“Look at you go.” Dean checked the mirror quickly. Castiel had no reflection. 

Castiel seemed to realize where he was for the first time. “Are you about to take a shower?”

Dean nodded.

“I assume you wish to have privacy,” Castiel said.

Dean felt his cheeks heat up. “Please.”

“I will put my attention elsewhere.”

“How?”

Castiel thought for a moment. “If you’re willing to try, you may be able to create an illusion of something for me to distract myself with.”

Dean hummed an affirmation. He tried to think of something that Castiel would like. He closed his eyes shut and imagined Castiel holding it. 

After a few moments, he heard Castiel say, “The Bible?”

Dean opened his eyes to see Castiel holding a copy of the Bible. It was small and leather bound, with the title embossed in gold. It looked like an exact copy of the one that his dad used to keep in the trunk of the Impala. 

“Yeah, the Bible. You’re an angel, aren’t you?”

Castiel flipped through the pages. He smiled. “Have you ever read the Bible, Dean?”

“Uh, no. I never got around to it, surprisingly.”

Castiel turned the book around so that Dean could see the pages. They were all blank. “Your brain didn’t know what words to add. Try something that you know.”

Dean took a deep breath and closed his eyes, picturing what he wanted Castiel to have in his mind’s eye. 

He opened his eyes to see Castiel examining it in his hands. “What is this?”

“My old walkman,” Dean said. 

It was beat up, with countless chips in the plastic. The wire to the headphones had a kink or two in it, but Dean knew that it would still work. It was loaded with an AC/DC track that Dean stole from the Impala’s glove box when he was 17. 

“This is before I turned it into an EMF detector.” Dean wanted to reach for it, but hesitated. His hands would probably pass right through it. “It’s nice to see it again.”

Castiel looked at it fondly. “How do I use it?”

“Here, put these over your ears.” Dean grabbed the headphones on instinct. They felt solid in his hands. The feeling stopped him in his tracks. “I can touch this?”

“It’s all in your brain, Dean.” Castiel set the walkman body on the bathroom counter and took the headphones from Dean. Dean felt the soft brush of his fingers as he did. “The same brain that is letting you see and hear illusions can let you feel them too.”

Dean licked his lips. “Okay. Awesome. I can handle this.”

Despite feeling anxiety grow in his gut, Dean felt calmness attempting to wash over him. He looked at Castiel. 

“Pretend I’m here physically,” Castiel said, not mentioning the jedi mind tricks he was no-doubt pulling. “Show me how to use the walkman.”

What’s the big deal, Dean? Dean thought to himself. Never taught an illusion of an angel how to use a walkman in your bathroom before?

Dean forced himself to take a full breath. “Okay. Okay.” He shook his head slightly to shake off his anxiety. “Put the headphones on.”

Castiel did. He picked up the walkman from where he set it on the counter. “What button should I press?”

“It should be all rewinded and everything. Just press the play button.” After a moment, Dean added, “It’s the triangle.”

Castiel nodded and pressed it. He looked at Dean with a smile. “It’s working!” he said, a bit louder than normal. 

Dean gave him an awkward thumbs up. “Just close your eyes and listen for a few minutes.”

Castiel gave him a thumbs up back. “I’ll just… um…” He looked around for a place to be while Dean undressed. He pulled the headphones off for a second. “Where should I go?”

Dean suddenly realized that the bathroom didn’t have much room for privacy. He looked around for a moment before lowering the lid of the toilet. 

He pointed at the now-covered toilet. “Sit here. Turn the volume up.” “Okay.” Castiel sat. He put the headphones back on and fiddled with the buttons. He closed his eyes. “I’ll be here.”

Dean just looked at Castiel for a few seconds. This was so weird. He trusted that Castiel wouldn’t try to spy on him, but he was still sitting less than a foot away. He hesitantly took his shirt off. Castiel didn’t react. Socks were next. Pants followed soon after. 

He was standing in front of Castiel in his underwear. 

Right, he needed to turn the water on first. He had to awkwardly bend around Castiel’s knees to reach the faucet handle, but thankfully Castiel ignored the movement. He could almost feel the warmth of Castiel’s imaginary body heat on his torso. He adamantly ignored it, for Little Dean’s sake. 

The water was running. Moment of truth. Dean took a deep breath and pulled his briefs off. He didn’t dare to look at Castiel in this state. He had to bite back a hysterical laugh from the absurdity of it all. 

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it. The thought ran circles around his mind. He’s in your head, don’t think about it. He can feel what you feel, don’t think about it. 

Dean hopped in the shower. He gave a sigh of relief when he finally pulled the curtain back, blocking Castiel from his line of sight. He could pretend like it was any other day. The water hit him like rain. 

He sang Shoot to Thrill under his breath as he washed himself clean. 

---

Thank God that Dean’s tastebuds were still working. If he started tasting molecules instead of flavors, he would have to kick Castiel out. He piled his plate up high with the chicken alfredo that he spent the past few hours cooking. Sam had already served himself a plate of the pasta before Dean added the chicken and was sitting at the kitchen table, reading something on his laptop with one hand while he ate with the other. Dean grabbed some silverware and sat down across from him. 

Without thinking, Dean wove his fingers together on his lap and lowered his head. He sat in relative silence, mouthing something inaudible under his breath. 

“Dean, what are you doing?”

Suddenly, Dean snapped back into reality. He unclasped his hands and moved them from his lap to above the table. He quickly picked up his silverware and started to spike pasta with his fork. “I’m eating dinner, Sammy.”

“No.” Sam laughed. “No, before that. Were you… saying grace?”

Dean felt a blush begin to rise in his cheeks and pointedly ignored Sam’s gaze. “That must have been Cas.”

“Or Jimmy.”

“What?”

Sam slid his laptop to the side so that he could look at Dean directly. “I’ve been doing some reading about angel vessels. There isn’t much out there, but we know that angels leave behind a trace of grace in the vessels they occupy.”

“Yeah, of course,” Dean said, having completely forgotten about that part. 

Sam took a bite of pasta and chewed quickly to continue speaking. “What if the opposite is also true? Cas has been inside Jimmy for years now. He could have picked up on some of his habits.”

“Dude,” Dean said. “Never say that again.”

Sam paused for a second, then rolled his eyes when he understood. “I’m just saying, Dean. This is uncharted territory. Who knows how angels and vessels affect each other? The Men of Letters’ research on them is all theoretical.”

“I’m not going to church anytime soon, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Dean paused. “Are you asking to research me?”

“No. Well, it would be helpful since you’re already here.” Sam looked up at Dean hopefully but shook his head when he saw the look on Dean’s face. “But no. Definitely not.”

Dean rolled his eyes. 

Sam changed the subject. “Good job on dinner, by the way. Thanks for making it.”

“Nesting has its perks.” Dean gave Sam a smile with cheeks filled with pasta. 

---

The nighttime was when it felt truly bizarre. Dean had to lay in bed and try to fall asleep, knowing that Castiel was just a sharp inhale away. He had been tossing and turning for almost an hour. Angels didn’t sleep, so Castiel must have been just watching this all happen. He couldn’t fall asleep if he thought about it. 

“Cas?” he finally voiced into the empty room.

Castiel appeared, sitting on the side of Dean’s bed. He turned his head to look down at him. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean sighed and relaxed into the pillow. “This is weird.”

“How are you feeling?” Castiel asked. Dean barked out a laugh on instinct. 

“Me? Peachy.” Dean pushed himself up into a sitting position. “How’s Hotel Dean? Do I need to call housekeeping?”

Castiel looked out into the darkness, giving Dean a view of his side profile. “You’re the strongest vessel known to man. I am… exceedingly comfortable.”

“Good. That’s… good.” Dean felt embarrassment in his gut from the compliment, unsure if it was his own or Castiel’s. “You aren’t bored?”

Castiel returned his focus to Dean. “I do not find being this close to you boring.”

Dean forgot what he was going to say. His mouth was suddenly dry. He licked his lips and broke eye contact. He could still feel the weight of Castiel’s gaze. 

“Um, what’ll happen when I fall asleep?” Dean had to clear his throat to get his words out clearly. 

“Nothing unusual. I will remain dormant.”

“Would it wake me up if you took over?”

Castiel furrowed his brows. Finally, he answered, “No. It would be less invasive than sleepwalking.”

“I don’t see why you couldn’t take over while I’m getting my few hours,” Dean said carefully, looking back at Castiel. “If I can’t tell the difference.”

“Dean…” Dean could already tell from his tone that Castiel was going to decline the offer. 

He adjusted his position on the bed. “Come on, man. You’ve gotta take what I’m giving to you. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

Castiel looked into Dean’s eyes for a few seconds before responding. “I understand.”

“Just don’t do anything weird.” Dean relaxed back into laying down on the bed. “Take care of my body.”

“Of course, Dean.” Castiel looked away before blinking out of existence. 

Dean didn’t have trouble falling asleep after that. 

---

Sam was walking to the kitchen in the early hours of the morning when he heard sound coming from Dean’s lounge (which Sam refused to call The Dean Cave, no matter how many times Dean threatened to cut his hair off). He changed course to investigate, his socked feet making soft pat-pats in the morning silence. The door was slightly ajar, so he pushed through to see the TV on and Dean sitting on the couch. Sam could have sworn that he recognized the show, from some article or meme that he saw online. Finally it clicked. 

“Is that… Riverdale?” Sam asked incredulously. 

Movement came from the couch. “Don’t be too loud, you’ll wake up Dean.”

Sam was caught off guard for a second before he put the pieces together in his mind. This would take some getting used to. 

“That’s creepy,” Sam said, pointing at Dean’s body. “So, I’m talking to Cas now?”

“Yes.” Castiel turned his attention back to the show. “Claire recommended this show to me. She said that I would find it funny. I’m not sure I understand the joke.”

“Yeah, I don’t think anyone does.” Sam chuckled breathlessly. “Does Dean know you’re making his eyes watch this?”

Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, opening them to meet Sam’s gaze. “He is currently dreaming about being in a high school musical theatre program. I assume that on some level, he is processing the show alongside me.”

“Um…” Sam floundered for words for a moment, suddenly struck by the strangeness of the situation. “Do you want any coffee? I’m starting a pot.”

“I don’t.” Castiel paused. “But bring a cup anyways. Dean’s about to wake up.”

Sam walked back to the kitchen, muttering, “So creepy…” under his breath. 

---

Maybe Dean shouldn’t have been so adamant about taking a case while Castiel and him were shacking up. 

Side note, Dean thought as he struggled to breathe. Find out whether shacking up is only about having sex.

It was easy to feel regret now, as he was being held against the back of a gravestone psychically by his neck. But hey, pobody’s nerfect. Maybe it was Sam’s fault for agreeing to come with him. 

The case was supposed to be a simple salt-and-burn for a ghost that had been spotted a few times in a Topeka graveyard. Just a quick day trip. Everything was going according to plan until… Well, Dean’s neck hurt. Thankfully, they had dug up the grave before the ghost showed up. Double thankfully, the ghost’s attention was entirely on Dean. 

He couldn’t help but smile a little as Sam dropped the lit pack of matches on the ghost’s salty and gasoline-drenched bones. Said smile turned into frightened eye contact with Sam when the ghost didn’t disappear. 

“Dean, something else’s keeping it here!”

“Y’think?” Dean gritted out his words through clenched teeth. He made a snap decision. “Cas, take the wheel!”

What Sam saw was Dean breaking out of the ghost’s psychic hold, thrusting his hand through its chest, and the ghost burning away from the inside out. 

What Dean saw was different. 

He felt brisk air as it hit his exposed forearms, cooler than the warm summer night he had just been in. He opened his eyes to see himself standing in the middle of the countryside in front of a barn. A familiar barn. 

The wind picked up as Dean walked closer to the barn’s doors. The roof started to stutter and creak. The doors began to shake. 

He knew this barn. 

He reached his hand out for the door handle, but the doors opened in a burst of sparks and splintering wood before he could even touch it. The inside of the barn was revealed. 

There were sigils and graffiti painted all over the walls. He knew those sigils. He painted them with Bobby. 

He could make out someone walking over to him from the shadows. 

“Are you gonna stab me with a knife?” Dean asked, holding his arms out. 

Castiel continued to walk closer to Dean. “I apologize for the abrupt change in scenery. This is the first location I could think of to take you.”

“This is fine, Cas.” Dean huffed out a laugh, still coming down from an adrenaline high from the hunt. “This is just fine.”

Castiel smiled contentedly. 

Dean suddenly remembered what situation he had just escaped from. “Wait a minute, if you’re here, who’s handling my body?”

“Still me,” Castiel said, somewhat smugly. “I’m able to multitask.”

“So what’re we doing right now?” Dean couldn’t help but circle around Castiel slightly, echoing his footsteps from years ago. 

Castiel noticed his repetition and watched him idly. “Sam and I are refilling the grave. Would you like to take back over?”

“Nah, I’ll let you handle the heavy lifting.” Dean finally planted himself by the table of various weapons and leaned against it. “How does it feel?”

Castiel tilted his head at Dean. “I don’t experience physical exhaustion like you do. It doesn’t feel like anything.”

“No, not the digging.” Dean’s thumb rubbed against the rough wood of the table. He lowered his gaze slightly, too embarrassed to say it while looking at Castiel. “Do I feel any different than Jimmy?”

Castiel tilted his chin up and inhaled as he thought. “You have a higher white blood cell count than Jimmy. Your cholesterol is higher than his as well.” He paused. “You also have more” —he squinted his eyes slightly as he decided on a word to use— “brightness to your vessel.”

“What, I’m blowing sunshine up your ass?”

“No,” Castiel responded, drawing his eyebrows together. “You’re the righteous man. You’re divine.”

He said it as if it was the easiest thing in the world. The sky was blue, two and two was four, and Dean Winchester was from the heavens. 

Dean scoffed and shook his head. “I’m not divine, Cas. I’m just a guy.”

He heard cracks of lightning. Castiel was no longer looking at him, deciding to move his gaze to something behind him. 

“Dean,” Castiel said, eyes twinkling in mirth. “Look behind you.”

Dean only had to turn his head slightly to see them. 

There were wings growing out of his back. Big and black, exactly like the ones he saw on Castiel. 

“No.” Dean shook his head. “This is all backwards.” He looked back at Castiel. “Am I dreaming?”

Castiel didn’t say anything, choosing instead to close the distance between Dean and him. For a second, Dean thought—

“Dude, you need to get a sleep apnea machine.” Sam laughed from where he was sitting behind the steering wheel. “You sound like an airplane.”

Dean tensed in his seat and checked his surroundings a few times to comfort himself. He was in the Impala with Sam. 

“I was sleeping?” he asked. 

Sam quickly glanced at him, keeping his attention on the road. “I don’t really know. Cas took over to kill the ghost and clean up, but then he just sat silently in the car. It was creepy.” Sam shrugged. “I just said something when you started to snore.”

“Gee, thanks.” Dean rubbed his hand over his face. It hadn’t felt like a dream. Castiel must have done his forehead-touch thing to send him back to the land of the living. “Remind me to stop crashing after hunts. I get the weirdest dreams.”

“Yeah, you love it when I tell you what to do.” Sam checked the mirrors dutifully. “How’s Cas?”

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam. “Weren’t you the one who just talked to him?”

“Yeah, but I’m not the one he’s riding shotgun in.” Sam’s mouth quirked. “What’s that like?”

“It’s great.” Dean adjusted his position in the seat. “There, we talked about it. Can we stop by a store? I need to pick up some protein.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Sure thing.”

---

Dean was lying awake in his bed sometime between day two and day three when he finally asked it. 

The words rang in the silence of the night. “What’s it like needing a vessel?”

In the blink of an eye, Castiel appeared. This time, he was lying in the bed next to Dean, under the covers in three layers of clothing. Dean felt underdressed in his pajama pants and old band shirt. The two men were lying on their sides and looking right at each other. Dean thought about telling him to give him some space, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t physically there. 

Castiel was silent for long enough that Dean started to wonder if he was going to answer.

“It makes me feel demonic,” Castiel confessed. His eyes almost glowed in the dim light. “It should not be the will of heaven to ruin a life just to exist on the physical plane. Having to tear someone from their family, from their entire life. I admit, I feel some semblance of comfort knowing that Jimmy is in heaven.” He lowered his eyes in shame. “But Claire, Amelia. Even those in his life he wasn’t close to. Every human has such an intricate web of relationships and reasons to live. Using them as a vessel erases the beauty of humanity.”

Castiel paused. “Jimmy wasn’t my first vessel.”

Dean looked at him in silence, willing him to continue. 

“She was a young woman. Carlotta Richards.” Dean thought he could feel the phantom puffs of Castiel’s exhales on his cheek. “She left her family as a teenager. They didn’t approve of her.” Castiel looked at Dean meaningfully. “She saw me as a blessing. She didn’t realize she was cursed from the moment she let me in.”

Dean’s mouth was dry. “What happened?”

“The mission I used her for ended and I returned to the celestial plane.” Castiel continued to avoid Dean’s eyes. “Her heaven is beautiful. She spends her time in an eternal Saturday sunset on a picnic with her soulmate.” Castiel finally looked at him. “Dorothy.”

Dean held his breath. He was transfixed, completely and utterly. 

“What else?” 

“You,” Castiel said in a low voice. “This body is no closer to what I look like than yours is. I’m not a man with dark hair and blue eyes. I’m not a man at all. Angels’ true forms are their most personal expressions of the self. You deserve to see it.” Castiel’s voice was soft, so soft. He was nearly whispering when he spoke again, his eyes burning into Dean’s. “I wish that you could see who I truly am.”

Both of them wondered, in that moment, if this would be when it happened. Neither moved. 

Dean finally exhaled. “This is who you are.”

Dean blinked. Castiel was gone. 

He didn’t sleep a wink. 

---

It had been a few days. 

Dean could tell that Sam knew it was time for Castiel to go back. Dean knew too. He was eating breakfast when the man himself made an appearance. 

“It’s time for me to return to my rightful vessel,” Castiel said, sitting in the chair across from Dean that was empty a moment before. 

Dean nodded and finished the last bite of his cereal. “You sure?”

“I’ll do an examination of the vessel before I return.” Castiel watched Dean wipe the milk off his lip. “But I believe so.”

“Awesome,” Dean said. He stood up and brought his bowl to the sink. “Let’s get you back home.”

Castiel disappeared after that, leaving Dean to walk to his room alone. He knocked on Sam’s door as he walked by it. 

“Cas is going back to his vessel, you good?”

He heard a muffled, “Let me know how it goes!” from through the door and continued down the hall. Dean was vaguely grateful that Sam didn’t want to be in the room for it, but he didn’t care to examine why. 

Castiel blinked into existence again when he opened the door to his room. Dean turned on the light (thanking Sam for replacing the lightbulbs) to see him staring at his prone body from where he was standing at the foot of the bed. 

“What’s the verdict, Doc?”

Castiel hummed. “The spell seems to have run its course. It should be entirely safe for me to return to my vessel.”

“Good, good.” Dean went over to grab the chair he used before. “Sitting down again?”

Castiel nodded. 

Dean pulled the chair up to the same position, mind only spinning a little bit from seeing two Castiels in the same room. 

“So, what do I do?” Dean asked. “Just exhale really hard, or what?”

Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, standing behind him. “I will take care of it. Close your eyes.”

Dean did. 

The reversal process was the same level of strange. It felt like someone was painlessly turning him inside-out. He could still feel the static over his lips as the white light trickled out of his mouth. He felt Castiel’s grace rubbing against the inside of his skin as it retreated up his body. Dean was glad he was sitting down, because his knees felt like they were made of Jell-O. 

Castiel began to rise into a sitting position as he returned to Jimmy Novak’s body. Dean subconsciously trailed after the white smoke as it left his mouth, closing the distance between him and Castiel’s true vessel. They both inched closer to contact as the cloud that was Castiel transferred between them. 

Dean wasn’t aware that he had been kissing Castiel until Castiel started kissing him back. 

It was like touching the surface of the sun. Dean leaned into Castiel’s body for a moment before pulling away. He felt like he was burning. 

“Woah, I—” Dean fought out a breath. 

Castiel was a deer caught in headlights. He scrambled off the bed and started moving away. 

Dean suddenly realized that he didn’t want him to go. He grabbed his forearm. 

“Don’t leave,” Dean pleaded. 

Dean didn’t let go of Castiel’s forearm. Castiel didn’t say anything. Dean kept not letting go. 

“Dean.” Castiel’s body was tense, like a rubber band about to snap.  

To Dean, It all made sense in that moment. Every hidden glance, choreographed touch, charged moment. Dean couldn’t imagine being content without him. He felt like a puzzle whose final piece had just clicked into place. 

Dean took a deep breath. “Cas, you’re my only happy ending. It’s you.” It was a revelation. “And I want a happy ending. I want a happy ending so bad it hurts.” Dean moved his hands to grip his trench coat by the lapels. “I’ve fought for it. I’ve died for it. I need the sun to set, Cas. I need you to be by my side when it does.”

“Dean,” Cas said. 

“So yes. Of course, yes.” Dean let go of Castiel’s now-crumpled trench coat, leaving his hands to slip and rest flat on Castiel’s chest. “Yes back then, yes today, yes tomorrow. Yes to you every day until I’m dead in the ground. Yes to every day after that.”

“Dean,” Cas prayed. He lifted a hand to cup Dean’s cheek. 

Dean’s eyes threatened to fill with tears, but his eyebrows were set sternly in place. “Please, Cas. I won’t ask you twice. Stay.”

“Yes.”

Castiel was the one who closed the space between them. It was electricity in motion. Their kisses were clumsy, awkward, but neither of them would change a thing as they fell onto Castiel’s bed and the kisses began to deepen. 

---

Dean would scratch the back of his neck as he stood next to Castiel, looking at Sam sitting at the table. 

“Hiya, Sammy,” he would say, getting his attention. “Cas and I are... Well…”

Castiel would interrupt. “Your brother and I are having sex now. We don’t plan on stopping.”

Sam would be caught off guard for a moment, but he would smile and laugh kindly with them at the absurdity of it all. 

“It’s about time,” he would finally say. “You two have been circling each other for a while now. It was either killing each other or…”

Dean would smile and say, “Falling in love.”

“Well.” Sam would laugh again. “I was gonna say making out. But that’s good too.”

Dean would feel embarrassed and lower his gaze to the floor for a moment. But Castiel would grab his hand, squeeze it, and everything would turn out alright. 

#spn #supernatural #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #rowena macleod #i'm queueing this up so when it's posted i'll literally be getting top surgery lmaooo #how queer #anyways writing fan fic is so fun y'all #i had a good time working on this one <3 #but i am not mentally capable of writing smut so <3 #i should probs come up with a writing tag for this blog huh #uhhh #j writes

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Heaven, Hell and You

John Constantine x OFC  (A/n- Just gonna toss in some cheesy tropes to move things along)

Masterlist   Chapter 2

Warnings- Brief mentions of mental health

Chapter 3

John had made several mistakes in his life, though he couldn't determine if bringing Valerie back to his loft was one of them. She'd been eerily silent throughout the car ride, keeping closer to the door with her head cast towards the window as John drove in silence. And even when they'd reached his building, as led the way up to his apartment, she hadn't offered him the slightest pea. He needed her to talk though, so he could decipher what or who she was.

Valerie had to be special. Between his all too life like dreams and her being attacked by a demon trying to escape into their realm, she couldn't just be any regular human. Besides, she'd understood Latin as if it were English, and the only time he'd ever come across that was with angels. Nephilim, it was the only plausible answer. How could she not know though? 

Taking off the whistling kettle from the stove, John filled up two mismatched mugs, both with tea bags he'd been surprised he'd had, leaving room for milk and sugar in one. He had never been the most hospitable, and usually preferred to not entertain guests, but he also supposed that the least he could do after essentially dragging her to his car was try to make her stay comfortable. And of course, get her to trust him so she'd talk. 

After a while, he didn't really note how long it had been, Valerie emerged, wearing what he'd left out for her after offering to let her use his shower. Well, at least half of it, "I couldn't fit in your sweats," she blushed, certainly noting the way his dark eyes had landed on her exposed legs. Her very smooth, toned legs. 

Clearing his throat, John tried to shake off the perverse thoughts, "Its fine," he dismissed, "Tea?"

Nodding stiffly, Valerie relieved him of the cup, only stirring in a spoon of sugar before bringing it to her lips, "Thanks," she smiled, her face half hidden by the ceramic mug, "And um……thank you for everything else too."

"No problem," he obliged, gesturing for them to sit, "Just part of the job."

"The job?" Her brows knitted in question.

"I'm an occult detective," and when she still showed no sign of understanding, he carried on with explaining, "I do exorcisms, investigate the supernatural, that kind of stuff.”

“I….” Trailing off, she tried to make sense of it all, “Exorcisms? The supernatural? That’s,” exhaling softly, John could already see that the little bits he’d given were too much for her, “That stuff isn’t real,” Valerie shook her head dismissively, though, he could see that thing in her frightened eyes, that thing that told John she wanted to  believe him.

“You’ve got a better explanation for what happened back there?” Leaning back in his chair, John crossed his legs at the ankles, waiting for an answer.

Straightening her back, Valerie set the mug down, “Schizophrenia could easily explain that boy’s behavior, and it’s commonly associated with-”

Cutting her off, John interrupted her rambling, “And what about you understanding a language you’ve never learned?”

“Well there’s there’s not a lot of medical research on it, but I assume that a neurologist would suggest a brain tumor, or an-”

Chuckling dryly, John shook his head and folded his arms across his chest, “So you’d rather believe that you have a brain tumor than believe that demons and that stuff,” he quoted mockingly, “Is real?”

Clenching her jaw, Valerie stood abruptly, “That’s bullshit, that’s all nonsense and babble from the bible. Things meant to scare people into obedience,” emitting a dry, husky laugh, she rolled her eyes, “You expect me to believe that there are demons and one of them just knows me by name and decided to come after me. Cause that’s so believable!” 

John stood too, fuming at her stubbornness. To think he’d actually thought he could like her! “If it’ll save your ass then yeah!”

“Save my ass from what?” Her yell was louder than his, and for a hot minute, all sorts of tension building between them, they just stood there, both red in the face, fuming.

“You should be telling me!” Running fingers through his hair, John turned away, walking over to lean on the skin, “You’re the one they’re after!”

“They?” 

“Hell,” he clarified, “And maybe heaven too, I don’t know. Look,” his tone softened as John desperately tried to reason. Despite Valerie being extremely difficult, he still had the gnawing urge to help her. There was just something about her, he just couldn’t put his finger on it, “I know it’s a lot to hear in just one night, but believe it or not, they’re after you. And you’re the only person that knows why,” he sighed when she sat again, the gravity dawning on her just as she really started to let his words sink in, “Look, that couldn’t have been the first time-”

“It was,” she sniffled, swiping at her eyes, “I mean, it sort of was. I guess…..” Swallowing tightly, Valerie continued slowly and reluctantly, “I hear things sometimes…..they say they’re coming for me. Sometimes I see people that aren’t there, but the doctors-”

“Gave you a bunch of pills and told you it was all in your head?” John knew the story all too well, after all, it had been his story too. 

“Sort of,” she shook her head, voice teary and smaller than before, “They said that I was being paranoid at first, and then this doctor that I went to when I was in college, gave me antipsychotics. She said that was delusional and when i graduated, my grandparents had to pay for the records to be suppressed so I could even get this job; no one’s gonna hire a crazy nurse.”

Her story, as little of it as she’d told, tugged at John’s heart. Going through something like that alone couldn’t have been easy and he didn’t want to upset her further, but the more he knew, the better he could help her, “Do you see things too?”

Thinking on it in silence, Valerie eventually nodded slowly, avoiding his gaze, “Yeah,” blinking away tears, “The meds never helped, so I stopped taking them. And now I just try to ignore it, but it’s so scary sometimes,” her already soft voice dropped to a sorrowful whisper, “Gosh,” her voice broke, “You must think I’m crazy.”

Finally pushing off the edge of the sink, John dragged the chair closer to Valerie’s tentatively resting his hand over hers on the table. It was so foreign for him, taking someone’s hand like that and the last hand he held was Angela’s, when they’d tried the whole dating thing, but holding hers didn’t feel half as right as holding Valerie’s and John, for the slightest second, though he could get used to it. If only he’d let himself. “I don’t,” he eventually reassured, causing her to look up at him with wide, hopeful eyes, a couple drying locks falling over her delicate features, “I see them too, when I was a kid, my parents sent me to a mental institute. They tried everything, electrotherapy,” at that, she gasped sympathetically, “Meds, but nothing helped. And I tried to kill myself.” It was hard to avoid the sympathy that welled up in her gaze, and the way she turned her hand beneath his, so she could circle his fingers in a loose grasp. He hated the vulnerability that came with telling someone the truth about himself, but though his mind protested, John came clean in one go, hoping it would help her open up.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, squeezing his fingers, and suddenly, she was the one comforting him, “That couldn’t have been easy, but now you have a second chance, right?” Finally, she was starting to admit that she, at least partly, believed him, “Not a lot of people can say they have that.”

“Right,” just realizing how close they’d gotten, both leaning over the table and hands still locked, John pulled away abruptly, resigning to the back of his chair at the kitchen table, “And I’m trying to make the best of it. But this isn’t about me-” When he caught her staring, frown down-turning full, pink lips, he furrowed his brows, “What?”

“You’re hurt,” as quickly as she stood, Valerie was dropping to her knees in front of him, their position leaving John a little more than flustered, “Let me see your arm.” Without his permission, she was already holding on to his left hand, undoing the cuff buttons of his dress shirt, ripped on the sleeve from the earlier confrontation, pushing it up to his elbow, revealing his tattoo along with a large slash running for about six or seven inches at the top of his arm, “It looks like it’s only just started to bleed through the fabric, but it’s bad. It doesn’t need stitches though. You’re lucky, it’s not close to the vein and not too deep either. Do you have a first aid kit? I have supplies in my car, but…..”

“I brought you here in mine,” he huffed. She was so close, and with her looking up at him like that, wide doe eyes so sweet and innocent and plump lips barely agape, it was kind of hard to think, “I have some things,” he breathed, feeling like he should be looking anywhere but at her face, lest he submit to whatever spell that it exuded, the only one he wasn’t immune to. “But you don’t have to-”

“I insist, you saved my life,” she smiled faintly, “Though, if you’d prefer an E.R, I could go with you, my Id’s in my bag so it wouldn’t take too long.”

“No,” he dismissed,” I mean,” floundering for his words, John fought to uncloud his mind, “I can take care of myself, you should get some rest.”

“Look, I’m staying with you so you can do your job, right? You want to help me because its your job?” Sitting back on her heels, Valerie’s hold on his hand continued, “Well since I’m here, you should let me do mine, please.”

Thinking on it, John could tell that Valerie probably wasn’t going to give up the matter so easily, thus, he submitted, “Okay, there should be some things that you can use in the medicine cabinet, above the sink in the bathroom.”

“Good,” she all but leaped up, scuttling off barefoot into the bathroom, only to return minutes later with John’s beat up first aid kit clutched in her small hands. Setting it down, Valerie pulled her chair even closer, so close that when she sat, one of his knees parted hers legs slightly. And when she leaned over to look over his wound, John could smell his soap mixing intoxicatingly with her natural scent. She’d put her hair up with a tie from her purse, and her eyes were trained on his arm, concentration equally reflected in her steady hands, gently dabbing his wound with Hydrogen Peroxide, trying to bring as little pain as possible, “Does it hurt?” 

“A little,” He returned lowly, slightly wincing, “It did before, but I didn’t notice the bleeding until you pointed it out.”

“Okay,” when she was through with cleaning it, Valerie rummaged through the kit again with gloved hands, looking for an antibiotic cream or powder, searching for a while until she found something satisfactory, “There’s some bruising, it shouldn’t cause too many problems, but it’ll still hurt and we should keep an eye on it.”

We

“Alright, thanks,” John kept his eyes on her, admiring how she worked with a tenderness that he found often absent in other medical personnel. It was like, she cared in a personal way, as if he meant something to her already. He wondered if the treatment was exclusive to him, or if it was just something she carried within her. “So, you’re a nurse?”

“Nurse practitioner,” Valerie corrected, “I work in the ICU at Los Angeles General, most of a doctor’s work for half their pay,” she chuckled lightly.

Without warning, John found himself mirroring her smile, the mood lightening. “So why aren’t you a doctor instead?”

After a moment, she shrugged her shoulders, moving on to wrapping a bandage over his arm, to keep the gauze in place “When I was kid, my mother was an N.P in the E.R, I used to want to be just like her,” Valerie’s face fell, “She always said that I had…..healing hands, whatever that meant.”

By the time Valerie was done, she still held onto his wrist, her thumb tracing circles into his skin, “Can your mom…..or any of your other family see….things?”

As he asked the question, Valerie’s smile, as faint as it was faltered, “No, she couldn’t. I’m actually adopted, and my mom died when I was thirteen.”

“Oh,” his shoulders slumped as John realized that figuring out exactly what she was, was going to be much more complicated than he'd anticipated. Usually, it was easy for him, he could see past the surface, but Valerie, as far as he could see, was perfectly human. And who knew how much her parents, or at least her dad, would know. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it was a long time ago,” her forced smile was enough to tell John that Valerie was done with the topic, and when she moved her hands, starting to pack up everything she’d taken out, “And um, you should take something, for the pain, and try not to get it wet when you shower,” the chair scraped on the worn tiles when she stood, “Thank you for everything but maybe I should see if my dress is dried and-”

“You have to stay here,” John objected hastily, frightening her in the slightest, “I mean,” he tried to broach the matter again, “I mean, it might not be safe for you to get back or stay alone, we still don’t know why that demon was after you, and something else could come just as easily, you really should stay.”

“I couldn’t impose like that,” she shook her head, desperately not wanting to overstay her welcome.

Standing too, John placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, causing her to meet his gaze once more, “You wouldn’t be. Stay tonight, and tomorrow, we can talk about this some more, when you’ve gotten some rest. Please?”

Hesitating for a moment, Valerie weighed the options; go home alone at nearly two in the morning and possibly get attacked by something she knew nothing about, or stay with a somewhat trustworthy though abrasive, handsome stranger and be safe. "Fine, but I have to get my car, first thing tomorrow morning."

"Okay," he determined, "I've gotta take a shower, but you can take the bed."

Giving John's place a sweeping look, she noted his mismatched furniture; a rickety kitchen table with four chairs, a long sofa with a couple worn throw pillows nearby in front of her, and behind her, near the furthest window was a bed, haphazardly made. "Where will you sleep?"

"Couch," he gestured to the sofa behind him, trying to move around her, only for Valerie to grab his bicep, stopping him suddenly.

"You don't have to do that, we can share it," when his expression suggested that he wasn't readily on board with the idea, she offered, "Or I can take the couch, whatever is better for you."

It was weird, sleeping in an unfamiliar bed with a man she didn't know. Valerie had only ever had one, one night stand and even then, she'd been too drunk to care whose bed she'd fallen asleep in. But that night, with John, the alcohol had already subsided and though they'd come close to kissing, she was pretty sure he wasn't interested in her like that. 

She'd been laying beneath his thin covers, pillows wedged between his sleeping body and her annoyingly awake one for nearly an hour and a half, and not once had her eyes felt heavy. Valerie was wide awake. 

The digital alarm clock on her side, with its glowing red numbers told her that it was nearing three am and all Valerie could have mustered up by then was, at most, five minutes of shutting her eyes tightly and hoping for the best. Though, the best never came. 

She laid like that for a while more, that was, until John started fretting in his sleep, mumbling incoherently as beads of perspiration gathered on his brow. "John?" Valerie sat up, shifting to face him, too scared of his reaction to rouse him. "John?" She called a bit louder, her worry building. Valerie had seen people have nightmares before, ex boyfriends or patients during a night shift, but they much unlike the one she was witnessing right then. John was thrashing, occasionally yelling.

When he eventually shot up it was minutes later with wide, disoriented eyes, hands reaching out wildly, and maybe she'd heard wrong, but her name leaving his lips in a babbled cry. It took him a while to settle down, but even when he did, Valerie threaded carefully, "Are you okay?"

Her hand lingered in his shoulder, actually itching to cup his cheek, and John gazed at her intensely in the darkness before speaking again, like he had to be sure she was really there, "Yeah," he swallowed thickly, chest dominated by deep, heavy breaths, “It was just a bad dream. You should get back to sleep.”

Ignoring his advice, Valerie squeezed his shoulder affectionately, scooting closer despite her better judgement, jamming her thigh against the makeshift barrier keeping them apart, “Do you want to talk about it? What was it about?” 

Once again, their faces were too close, and it felt too comfortable, so comfortable that neither John nor Valerie showed any signs of moving away from each other. His throat felt tight and dry, though his heart was slowing with every second that her hand remained on his bare shoulder. Healing hands. She was there, and she was okay. When the word finally fell off his lips, lonesome, quiet though speaking immeasurable volumes in the silence, they just stared at each other, not knowing if to lean in or pull away, “You.”

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea  @luxx-aeterna

#keanu reeves #Constantine #constantine 2005 #constantine fanfic #keanu reeves x reader #constantine x reader #constantine x ofc #keanu reeves x ofc #ff #fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiction #heaven hell and you

[jungcity]

bane of the devil. | vi

genre: vampire!jaehyun [angst | fluff | smut]

pairings: jaehyun x female reader

words: 5.4k

warning: bane of the devil deals with themes of physical, mental, and sexual abuse as well as toxic relationships. which may be upsetting for some readers. you are advised not to continue if you feel uncomfortable to these types of plots.

note: hello, loves! i will probably put botd on hold. to be honest, my laptop is broken and i solely rely on my phone in writing the chapters. i really don’t have a stable internet connection, i only use my mobile data, which is costing me too much money lately during this pandemic. in spite of that, i will still continue to draft the chapters on my phone. and i will try to upload them whenever i could. thank you for reading botd! thank you for all the support and i hope that you, guys, stay healthy during this trying times! sending you lots of love! 🤍

“the ocean is blood

the sky is red

the sun is poison

the demons watched

in the fire that separates

both your souls apart

they bared their fangs,

their horns tipped with blood.

terrifying, they are

but he is their god

and no wrath would compare

to the one that he has

if the world allowed you to

bleed and crumble to dust.”

— bane of the devil // vi

You and Jaehyun. Inside a limousine. Alone.

You would have been a sweating mess if not for the cold provided by the air conditioner. Jaehyun sat, beside you. You fiddled with your fingers, trying to soothe your nerves. Since when did you start being flustered around Jaehyun? Madame Juana’s statement about blocking your heart did not even help, it had only augmented the burden on your already heavy shoulders.

How could someone tell you that? Is it too obvious? Are you too obvious? But you do not even know if you like Jaehyun. Yes, he could make your cheeks heat up, make your heart beat abnormally, but that’s because of his unending bold statements and feisty jests. Not because you feel something for him. Right?

“Where are we going?”

You blinked and shifted on your seat. Jaehyun’s eyes were closed, his arms crossed against his chest. Right. You still hadn’t told him about your plans to become a vampire hunter. In other sense of things, why would you? Do you owe him an explanation? You furrowed your brows at the realizations. If you ever tell him about your plans, he does not have the rights to express disagreement with it.

You tried to rack your brain to remember the long title of the academy. It was Latin, mixed with English at the end. “Vena… Venatri—”

“Venatrix? Academy of the Arcane?” Jaehyun sat up straight, his eyes boring into yours for confirmation.

The name felt utterly fitted to what Madame Juana told you earlier. You nodded. “Yes.”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He hissed. “That is the school for aspiring vampire hunters!” It would seem like he wanted to shout, but couldn’t. Vampires do not breath, yet Jaehyun seemed to be heaving deep sighs, his nostrils flaring. But his exasperation slowly receded as you showed no bafflement. “You know. And you wanted to be a vampire hunter.”

He stared you down, his face too close to yours. Why do you feel as if you were wrong? Wrong for not telling him about your plan prior to the discussion you had with Madame Juana.

You pressed your lips tighter, and tried to break the eye contact. But Jaehyun grabbed your cheeks, guiding you, once again, to face him. His chocolate brown eyes were full of emotions, the first time you’ve seen them convey such feelings. Even so, you still could not name the emotions in his eyes; there was grief, longing, wanting, and disappointment.

Jaehyun finally spoke in what seemed like forever, “You can do what you want, Y/N. But I don’t want to be your enemy.” He cupped both your cheeks, your noses hairsbreadth away from each other. “Can we not be enemies?”

Jaehyun closed his eyes, then you felt his breath as his lips closes by. There was a small part of you that wanted to push him away. He is a betrothed man. But your heart was elevating, wanting to feel his lips against yours. You parted your lips and waited for the kiss.

Only when Mr. Jones rolled down the partition and cleared his throat did you have the strength to push Jaehyun away.

“We have arrived, Mr. Jung, Ms. Y/L/N.” He gave each of you a curt nod. His face did not give away any clue whether he had seen Jaehyun almost kissing you.

“T-thank you, Mr. Jones.” You presented the butler your wide smile, all while trying to gulp down the embarrassment blazing in your cheeks. Jaehyun shut his eyes again, frustration obvious on his face.

Can we not be enemies? Is joining the Academy meant being enemies with Jaehyun already? You didn’t want to be enemies, too. But if that’s the only way to prepare yourself, to make yourself stronger for the danger that lies in the future— you absolutely, without doubt, would prefer being enemies with him.

The door of the limousine slid to the side, revealing a cemented road. Jaehyun was the first one to depart the vehicle, followed by you.

You stared in awe as the Academy came into view. It was located in the distance. From outside the gates you could see the long pathway, adorned with trees teeming with fronds at the sideways. The wrought iron gate was exactly what you would see before entering a palace or a mansion. It looked regal, medieval, and slightly terrifying for your taste.

Mr. Jones had ordered two men to carry your luggages, you would have refused but the butler gave you a silent tap on the shoulder and a kind smile, resulting in you, letting the two men go.

“Welcome to Venatrix: Academy of the Arcane, Miss Y/N. Mr. Jung.” Mr. Jones slightly bowed, his hand stretched towards the entrance of the gate. As if on cue, the wrought iron gate parted and slid on both sides, revealing a better view of the path that lies ahead. From your position, you could clearly see the fountain at the center and end of the walkway.

Jaehyun showed a vacant expression. Not a trace of perturbation could be felt from him. It almost seemed like he did not care whether he would enter a school that trains vampire hunters— trains his enemy.

A certain conscience for the bond you both have, no matter how complicated it is, ignites in your chest. For a moment, it had not felt right to let Jaehyun enter the premises of his nemesis for your sake.

“Mr. Jones?”

The butler turned his head to yours, his slight smile never faltering. As he noticed your eyes glancing at Jaehyun through your peripheral, he nodded his head.

“Madame Juana has already informed the students about Mr. Jung’s arrival, Miss Y/L/N.”

You exhaled. Madame Juana had prepared to travel ahead of you, to inform the Academy about Jaehyun and to smooth things out. More over, to prevent an infighting by the sight of a vampire.

Jaehyun snorted, “No one could kill me inside, Y/N.”

He said no one could. Not no one would. You rolled your eyes and pretended not to hear him.

Mr. Jones stretched his hand out again, the gates behind you closed, locking the old life away. You took a step and walked towards the Academy, towards the life beyond.

The sound of the water dancing in the fountain covered the whole atmosphere. Little insects and butterflies flew around you and back to the flowers as you neared the main building. A sudden nostalgia washed through you, the structure was like a palace, the tips of it could almost pierce the clouds high up in the skies. It reminded you of Hogwarts. Less Voldemort, you hope.

Madame Juana’s dress touched the tiled floors as she hurriedly walked towards you, Lucas trailing behind her. A warm and tight embrace was what she gave you, her smile lively and endearing.

“I’m glad you arrived safe, darling.” She kissed both your cheeks.

“Welcome to Venatrix, Y/N.” Lucas gave you one of his boyish smiles, before taking your hand and kissing the back of it. Jaehyun snorted, but you weren’t certain for it seemed like you were the only one who heard it. Lucas turned his head towards Jaehyun and gave him a curt nod. The latter only stared at him deadpanned.

Before you could say anything, Madame had already wrapped her arms around yours.

“I have so much to show you, Y/N,” she giggled, excitement obvious on her face. Despite being half a millennia years older than you, Madame still gave away the spirit of an older sister as she led you inside.

Different sets of eyes centered on you as you finally stepped inside the Academy. Some were fascinated, but most looked as if they wanted to strangle Jaehyun. He walked with indifference, clearly disregarding the death stares thrown at him by the students. Lucas was right. Vampires and vampire hunters weren’t friendly to each other in spite of the treaty.

Madame Juana led you to the stairs and into the veranda which overlooked the open courtyard below. Jaehyun stayed in the shadows, mindful of the unpredictable sun.

You strayed your eyes away from him and decided to watch down the students below. All of them are clad with a black suit, adorned with a lot of straps; straps around their legs, their waists, and around their arms. The hair of every women were pulled taut in a high bun, but those who has a shorter hair resorted to hairpins. The men has a similar uniform to that of the women’s. They all looked lethal; kicking, punching, and defending themselves against each other.

“Is that what I’m going to wear?” You asked, cheeks slowly heating up by realizing how the suit hugs the body of the women.

“Yes, darling. For easy movements.” Madame flicked her finger as she looked down the students. “Venatrix!” she bellowed. As if on instinct, all the students drew in a halt, their heads tilted up to see Madame.

They bowed then looked straight to their fronts, fist pressed against their chest where their hearts were located, before shouting the words, “Venatrix: steadfast and loyal!”

Complete and pure awe enveloped you as you stared at them. You have never seen such discipline before.

“I would like to introduce to you our new student: Y/N Y/L/N. She had arrived here in the hopes to hasten her determination and skill—” Madame turned her head towards you. In that moment, you felt the urge to tug on her sleeves and plead not to roar your true reasons of joining the Academy. She smiled and held your hand, before turning her head towards the students down the courtyard. “— to help us protect the people. Chances such as this one are rare. I will tolerate no undermining, and belittling. Camaraderie is all I hope for, and camaraderie you will give to Y/N.”

Slowly, all of their heads tilted up to see you for the second time. You have expected to hear whispers of uncertainties to erupt from the students, but none came. They regarded you with fathomless eyes. Then in the blink of an eye, their fist was on their sides, their backs rigid.

“In Venatrix’s hand, and in Venatrix’s grace,” they bellowed once again.

You knotted your brows, unable to determine the meaning behind the words. Madame waved her hand, then the students went back on their training as if nothing had happened.

“That’s their way to welcome and bless a new student,” Lucas explained from behind you.

You craned your neck to see him, and smiled. “I am so fascinated right now.”

“Come, we’ll show you around.” He nodded while placing his hand on the small of your back.

You nodded your head. As you did so, you noticed Jaehyun looking at you through your peripheral. The sun was glaringly bright in the skies. It won’t be pleasant to ask him to join you. Yet you could not leave him behind. The students have given him cold stares and unwelcoming glances.

Lucas and Madame walks ahead of you now. They were too indulged in their conversation to notice you, sauntering up to Jaehyun behind the shadows of the pillars.

“Do you want to stay here?”

Jaehyun stared at you, “I’ll be fine.”

“Just… don’t get into trouble,” you breathed, glancing around for any eavesdropping ears.

“I am trouble embodiment, kitten. What do you expect?”

You glared at him. Jaehyun’s mouth quirked up to a smile, before waving at the distant student from the other side of the building.

“Hi!” he shouted. The student only stared at him as if Jaehyun disgusted every cell in her body already.

You stared at him with hooded eyes, “Can you not show your fangs?”

As if on impulse, Jaehyun retracted his canines. “Girls finds it attractive, you know.”

“Not in a school where students literally trains how to kill you.” Your vapid reply.

“Y/N?” Lucas called for you from afar.

You took a quick glance at him before waving your hand slightly towards Jaehyun, while mouthing the words, ‘Be good’. He only nodded and faintly gave your back a push.

As you walked through the corridors of the second level of the Academy, more and more students have appeared from different rooms. Some of them were carrying thick tomes, some bandaging their fists or sharpening their knives. One thing you have noticed, they do not smile so often. Only pressing their palms against their chests every time Madame passes in front of them. Which gave you the notion that maybe Madame holds a great position in this Academy more than you would have realized.

Lucas seemed to notice your furrowed brows and inquiring looks, for he leaned closer to your ear while walking. “Madame Juana is one of the founder of this Academy alongside Diego Asdalis. One hundred years ago, they met and decided to build a house for aspiring venatrixes.”

More questions formed in your head by his explanation. “I supposed, Diego Asdalis had already passed away?”

“Yes.” The words were delivered with a certain kind of melancholy and dripping reverence for the deceased leader. “Powerful and cunning he was, he still hadn’t escaped the hands of cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, loss for any comforting words to offer him.

“It’s okay, Y/N. I really didn’t meet him.” Lucas chuckled a toneless one, “Madame is the only living person in the Academy who had the chance to meet him. But that didn’t change the reality that Diego was the best venator to ever graced this school.”

“What’s a venator?” It’s the first time you heard the word. Along with venatrix.

“It’s a male hunter. While venatrix—”

“Is a female hunter?” You predicted with a smile on your lips.

Lucas nodded while pointing at you, “Yes! So, you’re going to be a venatrix soon— oh! Here we are!” Then he stretched out his hand to show you something.

You stared at the painting with veneration. The portrait depicts a man of fine features, his eyebrows were thick, his eyes the color of the skies at night, his lips were full and luscious. At the end of the portrait was the words, ‘circa 1894’.

“This is Diego.” Madame looked up at the portrait, her back facing you.

Diego’s eyes seemed to be looking at you with curiosity. As if he knew your true intentions of joining the Academy. And that he wasn’t entirely certain if he was happy nor disappointed in you.

“He was a fine-looking man.” You covered your mouth as quickly as you could after the words slid out. Madame and Lucas stared at you, then they let out a merry laugh that echoed through the walls.

“Yes, he was, darling. But behind the beauty, he was the most valiant man you’d ever meet.” There was affection by the way Madame stated the words. “I was lucky I had the chance to meet Diego,” she sighed. Then she turned around to the other corner, and the three of you descended the stairs. “Let’s go to the armory.”

You took a perfunctory glance towards the portrait, before letting Lucas guide you away. The three of you veered on your right. Bushes of flowers adorned the pathway. From the distance, you could see the students going on with their training.

“Madame!”

A girl darted towards you and hugged Madame as if she was afraid to let go. Lucas rolled his eyes, but a smile had spread on his lips as he watched the two women. Curiosity wrapped around you as you stared at the woman, her hair was in a tight and high bun, and she was wearing a uniform similar to that of every women in the Academy. But there was a white insignia pinned on her chest— an arrow piercing the center of a circle— the same as Lucas.

“Is she the girl?” she asked, looking at you in wonderment. Madame nodded at her. She trudged the distance between the two of you, hair swaying left and right behind her. Her hand was outstretched to you in an instant, a wide smile etched on her pinkish lips.

“Hi! I am Eva!”

You blinked and swiftly took her hand to shake, “I am Y/N.”

Her next move was unexpected, for she pulled you in a tight hug. “Finally! I am so excited to meet you!”

“Hey! Don’t scare her!” Lucas tried to unwrapped Eva’s hands around you.

The woman frowned at him, “You’re such a pain in the ass, Lucas.”

Lucas ignored her and turned his head towards you instead. “Y/N, this is Eva. She’s the commander of the women here in the Academy.”

“And he’s the commander of the men.” Eva cheekily said, her thumb pointing at Lucas.

“That’s so cool.” You stated, in awe. Certainly, it takes too much training, discipline, and hard work to be one of the commanders. “Is that why you have those?” You pointed at the white insignia pressed to both of their chests.

Eva’s head bowed down and then back to you, “Yes. This is more like a sign that we already are a member of the VHC.”

“Simply put, they are called professors,” Madame chimed in. “But they don’t really teach those boring Algebraic expressions,” she laughed, “Only the history of the Corporation. Strategies how to outwit a vampire and trainings on how to kill them.” Madame went on, her fingers swaying by every word.

“And we don’t really stand in front to talk for hours. In here, we learn from each other. If you have something to share, you could always talk about your sentiments. And vice versa,” Lucas explained with a smile.

“We completely involve ourselves only when it comes to trainings. Such as the archery, fencing, swords, daggers— to prevent injuries.” Eva smiled.

For a moment, all feels too overwhelming for you to process. But you would never deny the thrill that was coursing through your veins as you took in their explanations. Venatrix feels so different from universities. That is expected for an academy which literally takes in and teaches students how to be a vampire hunter, and not how to achieve a certain profession after graduation. But there was a particular divergence by the way the students enrolled here were free to talk about what they know, and to ask about things that they don’t. Some schools does not allow the same freedom for students.

“By the way… where is the infamous vampire?” Eva glanced behind and around you, her eyes searching for the dimpled vampire.

“Oh, the sun isn’t very cooperative today. So he remained inside,” you explained with a small smile.

Eva frowned, “That’s too bad. I’ve heard a great deal about him.”

“Alright, that’s enough Eva. Y/N needs to see the armory,” Madame voiced out.

“Oh! I’m sorry, Madame. I suppose I should get to work, some venatrix needs a little bend today.”

“Go easy on them, Eva. Two venatrixes literally fractured their bones by how arduous you train them.” Lucas crossed his arms against his chest, exuding authority.

“If they don’t learn the hard way, Lucas, they would die in the most dumbest ways once they come face to face with a fledgling,” Eva rolled her eyes. She turned to face you, and gave you one last hug before darting away, waving her hands to the three of you.

Fledgling are the newly born vampires. They are more feral and they require a great deal of pure human blood in the span of twenty-four hours after being turned. Or else they would die, wither and not complete the vampire process. To encounter a fledgling would be like encountering a wild beast. Eva was only right to go hard on the hunters if they wanted to defeat a raging fledgling.

“She would authorize your own training, Y/N,” Madame pronounced as the three of you continued your walk towards the armory.

A trail of sweat ran down your spine, you have no idea if it was because of the sun already at its peak or the thought of Eva bending and breaking all the bones in your body.

“It’s a pleasure.”

“You can drop the pleasantries, darling.” Madame chuckled, “No one, who truly knows Eva, would say that,” she added.

Before you could attempt an answer, the oak door of the armory already opened, revealing rows and rows of weapons; knives, daggers, swords, bows, balisongs. They were hung up on the wall, high enough to be reachable. Several shelves containing of weapons and armors greeted you whenever you look. It would seem as if the whole cavernous room was meant for weapons and weapons only.

Lucas placed a hand on your back, guiding you towards the iron shelves. The edges of different knives caught the infiltrating sunlight through the windows, intensifying its sharpness with a white light.

“You could pick your own weapon, Y/N. Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Madame told you.

You picked up one dagger, its hilt twisted in a spiraling motion, the blade silver, mirroring your face in a blurred image.

Everything felt like a fever dream. Ever since your parents had died, you have dreamed of mastering every weapon in the armory. You have yearned to train yourself, prepare yourself, for the vengeance that whispered to you and for the wrath that pulsated in every cell of your body. That vengeance feels so near, as if you could grasp it at any moment.

But as you think about the toilsome training every student in the Academy has gone through, and is still going through, the fire in your heart could not help but waver. Am I capable? was the incessant question in your mind.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, it was Lucas’.

As if he saw the concern in your eyes, he said, “Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“Thank you, Lucas. That’s comfor—”

You were interrupted by the loud bang of the armory door as it opened. A huffing venator darted towards Lucas.

“What happened?” Madame inquired.

The venator pressed his palms on his knees, breathing heavily. “The… the vampire—”

Without another word, you departed the armory and ran straight towards the second floor of the main building. The sky was dark, the sun nowhere to be seen. Perspiration covered your whole forehead, the sweat dripping down your face, as you ran and think about all the hideous things that could happen to Jaehyun inside the academy of vampire hunters.

Lucas and Madame swiftly trailed behind you, their own brows furrowed. Before you could climb up the stairs, a brawl in the open courtyard drew you in a sudden halt. Jaehyun’s figure was easy to track even in the throng of individuals. He was staggering on his feet, before the venator kicked him right on his stomach, causing him to crumple on the ground.

An alien type of resentment flowed in your veins by the sight. Not because of Jaehyun fighting with a hunter, but because of the hunter hurting Jaehyun. You ran and shouldered your way towards him. Jaehyun is fully capable to land a straight blow towards the hunter. Even in the blink of an eye, he could kill the venator. But he laid still on the ground, acting as if he was in pain.

The venator grabbed Jaehyun’s collar, and it took all your willpower not to fly towards them and push the venator away. Your feet were locked up on the ground, unable to move. He grabbed his collar tightly, his fists turning whites. A trickle of blood ran down the side of Jaehyun’s mouth, but there was amusement in his eyes as he stared at the venator. As if he was fascinated by the hunter’s audacity and bravery.

“In here, vampire, you are not a god.”

You had witnessed how the venator’s jaw tightened by his words. Anger flows freely on his face, his own veins protruding on his temple. No one, in the crowd of hunters, dared to move a finger to stop the fight.

Jaehyun smiled a smugly one. His nose made a long snorting sound, and before you knew it, he had already spat saliva in the venator’s face. Stillness covered the whole courtyard. Your mouth demanded to release a scream, or any sound, but none came. You stared in horror together with the venators and venatrixes spectating the brawl.

The venator who has been grabbing Jaehyun’s collar went stock-still, his jaw pulled taut. The vampire laughed, which intensified the ire resting in the venator’s bones that he attempted to punch Jaehyun right in the face.

You could not watch it anymore. You ran towards them. With all your might, you grabbed the venator’s arm.

Before you could say something, the venator flinched, which caused his arm to hit you right in the nose. You saw the way Jaehyun’s eyes widened as you fell on your breeches to the ground, your vision swam. Shouts filled the whole courtyard, but you could not name the voices. Warm liquid flowed from your nose to the sides of your mouth as you struggled to stand up. Delicate hands held you, helping you on your feet.

It was Madame Juana, her brows knotted in concern. You blinked rapidly, feeling as if you were saved from drowning.

“Venators! Hold Jaehyun! Tightly!” Lucas bellowed, then he turned his head towards the unconscious venator on the ground. “Bring Peter to the clinic! Now! Before he dies!”

Six venators flew to Jaehyun’s side, the two gripping his arms, while the other four guarding him. His fangs were bared, his eyes red. Visions from yesterday swam in your mind. The visions from where Jaehyun fought with the other vampire. He looks as if six venators wouldn’t be able to stop his wrath.

That’s when you came into view. You touched the liquid that had ceased to flow from your broken nose, then you wiped off the blood with your shirt. Panic strikes Jaehyun’s eyes as he looked at you. His throat bobbing up and down. He struggled to release himself but the venators grip was tight. But Jaehyun possesses a Herculean strength, no venators could hold him any longer.

“I’m okay,” you told him.

His eyes seemed to calmed down as they returned to their natural color, his fangs slowly retracted back to its normal form. Then he gave the venators a lackluster gaze.

“Unhand me.”

The venators exchanged glances with Lucas, their commander. He pursed his lips and walked towards Jaehyun.

“Swear that you will not harm anyone.”

Jaehyun hung his head, a chuckle resonating from his throat. Then he tilted his head to stare Lucas down with an icy glare. “Swear that your dogs won’t touch Y/N again.”

“It was an accident,” Lucas stated, trying to placate the vampire’s anger.

“Do I give a flying fuck? Once she ended up bleeding because of these fuckers again—” Jaehyun ran a swift glare around the courtyard and the venators, “— I will burn this whole academy down.”

“That’s not exactly the nicest shit I’ve expected you to say, vampire.”

All head turned towards the owner of the voice. Eva sauntered up towards the scene. Venators and venatrixes parting to give her way.

“Eva,” Madame called out, warning Eva with her eyes.

But she only smiled at the witch, before standing face to face with Jaehyun. She was obviously much smaller than him, causing her neck to crane upwards a little bit. “We could kill you without doubts here,” she warned.

“Try me.” Jaehyun squinted his eyes.

“Jaehyun, please.” You walked towards him, your nose still aching. Gulping down the agitation, you held his shoulder with the hopes to soothe him. “Let it go.”

His tense muscles seems to calm down under your touch. Then a nod from Lucas made the venators release him, at last. He broke his eye contact with Eva, then he focused his attention on you. “Are you still hurting?”

“A little bit. But I’m fine.”

“Y/N, I think we should go to the clinic,” Lucas advised.

You turned your head towards him, “Yeah.” Your feet started to walk, Lucas guiding you towards the clinic. It was located behind the main building, you’ve noticed earlier as you roamed your eyes before entering the armory.

A hand caught your wrist, turning you around. It was Jaehyun.

“I’ll come with you,”

“Jaehyun, Peter is on the clinic. We couldn’t let you near him now that he’s possibly in a coma,” Lucas stated.

Jaehyun did not look at him, he only pulled you towards the clinic. You pursed your lips. There’s nothing you could do about it. Madame Juana signed Lucas to back down, so he formed his lips in a tight line and joined the two of you.

You dare a glance to your back. Eva was dissipating the crowd of venators and venatrixes by bellowing orders. They were quick to get back on their training, as if nothing had happened.

The clinic was the only room in the whole Academy that appeared to be in modernly designs. A girl, uniformed with white clothes, similar to that of a nurse, stood up when you entered. It would seem as if she knew what to do with you already. For she sat you on the bed covered with white linens.

Jaehyun stayed in Lucas’ care, at the sofa in front of the nurse’s table. Madame had gone with you behind the curtains.

“Does it still hurt?” Madame asked, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“It does,” you admitted. Your nose feels as if it was cloven in two. You could feel the swelling of the muscles in it and the ache in your bones.

The nurse smiled and gave you a clean cloth. It felt ice cold in your hand.

“Just press it over the swell for fifteen minutes,” she instructed. Her hands guided your back to lay on the bed. You felt the ache in your head as you oblige and lay down on the sheets.

“Ms. Jane, could you watch her for me?” Madame asked, “I just need to check up her bedroom.”

The nurse smiled, then Madame held your hand. You nodded and then she departed the clinic. Silence once again enveloped the whole room when the nurse walked back to her table. A glimpse of Jaehyun’s pants caught your eyes as the curtain swayed. No conversations, nor whispers, could be heard from the both of them. After a few minutes, the door of the clinic opened and closed.

You turned on your sides, and tried to close your eyes. Jaehyun probably had exited the clinic already. The curtains suddenly rattled. You anticipated to see Lucas’ tall frame, but the dimpled vampire greeted you.

His face was impassive as he took in your situation. Then he sat on the small space beside you, his eyes looking at the floors.

“I tried not to fight him,” he said defensively.

You were out of words to say. However, you have witnessed how Jaehyun had barred himself from attacking the venator back. He could easily knock him out on the ground, but he didn’t. It wasn’t like you have little faith in the venator’s skills, it was only that Jaehyun still possessed an inhuman strength for being a vampire.

“I know, Jaehyun.” Your voice was delivered as a whisper. “I just hoped that you didn’t hit him back.”

Jaehyun snapped his head towards you. “But he hit you!”

“It was an accident. I am alright,” you weakly stated.

“Alright? You have a broken nose, Y/N.”

You sat, then you hugged your knees closer to your chest. “I need this, Jaehyun.” Your lips tightened, “Please, don’t ruin this for me.”

A spark passed through Jaehyun’s eyes. Your words were like a bolt out of the blue. Then he painted his lips a low-spirited smirk. Your breath was caught in your throat by the sight of him. He looked… hurt.

You pursed your lips, then laid a hand on his shoulder. By your touch, Jaehyun bolted upright.

You will hurt, you will bleed, your bones will break. Those are the things the Academy needs you to sacrifice. Jaehyun isn’t the man for patience, but your conscience wouldn’t be able to rest if he keeps on losing his restraint by the sight of you either bleeding or hurting. On top of things, why would he sacrifice his life in his enemy’s ground for you?

“I didn’t mean it that way,” you breathed. You feel wretched immediately, as if you were splashed by cold water.

But Jaehyun had already turned his back on you and departed the clinic without a word.

#neowritingsnet #jung jaehyun au #jung jaehyun imagines #jung jaehyun smut #jung jaehyun scenario #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun nct au #nct 127 au #nct imagines #nct au #jaehyun au #jung yuno imagines #jaehyun smut #nct smut #nct127 imagines #nct 127 smut

[ang1ewond3rland]

scenario # 6 | rollercoaster ride !

prompt ; Leviathan begged Hanako go to on a rollercoaster since they both never tried it before before ending in a interesting way...(I kinda changed the prompt a little)

warning : a little ooc?

[Leviathan pov]

Today I went to an amusement part with Hanako, I had enough money for tickets and It summer vacation so why not doing something new today? We both barely go out and I was in the right headspace to go out too. She seemed to not mind go out as long I translated what was in Latin in English which is a fair deal. I saw so many different type of rollercoaster and I wanted to try it, it seemed so cool.

“Hanako! Koko! Koko! Let's do a rollercoaster!”

“are you sure? I'm worried we might fall...and look like alot of adrenaline too”

“if you're scared I'll be there so let's do it!”

“alright I'm down, you better hold my hand then”

It was rare for Hanako to request things like this, she not fond of PDA but I gently grabbed her hand and dragged her to the like for the rollercoaster. We waited until it was our time, we put our bags into a box before getting into the rollercoaster. I was excited, it was something new for both of us and I wanted to try something new, I was in the mood for it.

after the ride

[Hanako pov]

I giggled a little after the ride was over, it was so much more fun that I thought. I looked behind me to see Leviathan almost in tears and panicking, he was grabbing into my legs so bad. I panicked a little but as my habits of being outside, my face was stoic. I grabbed Leviathan dragging him to a place where there was less people before stepping on a bench to hug him. I tried to calm him down in hope he doesn't sense how awkward I am from PDA and standing on a bench so I could be the same height, I didn't wanted to make him bend over to hug me. He hugged me back like if his life was depending on it. I could feel his nails into my back, which ow but understandable, he having regrets right now.

“There there Levi, it over alright?”

“we never doing rollercoaster ever again, it scary and stressful for nothing!!”

“it understandble, want to go eat a little?”

“fine let's get some crepes...”

I jumped down the bench before dragging him to the restauration area while holding his hand. I was rubbing my thumbs on his hand since I'm not wearing gloves today. I watched over him making sure his anxiety didn't spiked up from the rest of the day, at least he seemed to enjoy the rest of the day and calmed down completely. I went on some rides alone as they liked fun meanwhile he stayed down and supported me (and maybe panicked a little for my safety). At least the rest of the day went well but I can confirm that I like scary rides and he doesn't.

#obey me leviathan #obey me #obey me oc #obey me oneshot #obey me shall we date #obey me otome #obey me game #oc obey me

[silverlightqueen]

Mischief Managed: Slytherin Dungeons

Across the United Kingdom, millions of children attend school every day, studying Maths, English and Science, but deep in the Scottish Highlands, a lucky thousand schoolkids get to study Potions, Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Whilst the rest of us learn names like Shakespeare, Avogadro and Fibonacci, they learn names like Goshawk, Bagshot and Scamander. Whilst we learn how to do algebra, how to analyse poems and how photosynthesis works, they learn how correctly use a Conjuring Spell, how to brew a Draught of Living Death and how to fly a Nimbus 2000. And naturally, school children will always find a way to misbehave, to get up to no good, to make mischief, but when you add spells, potions and magic into the mix? Let’s just say… they get up to more than just mischief. Welcome to Hogwarts.

hogwarts!au, Min Yoongi x reader - fluff, comedy

Rating: PG (profanity)

Word Count: 1.9k+

a/n: please check the masterlist before you read!! here is the third instalment of my hogwarts drabble series called Mischief Managed! I really hope y’all enjoy this, lmk what you think, I thrive off praise lmao x

silverlightqueen masterlist

Quietus (Quietening Charm)

Type: Charm

Pronunciation: KWIY-uh-tus

Description: Makes a target sound quieter. It is the countercharm to the Amplifying Charm, Sonorus

Etymology: Latin quietus, "calm" or "quiet"

Nox (Wand-Extinguishing Charm)

Type: Charm

Pronunciation: NOCKSS

Description: Extinguishes wandlight. It the countercharm for the Wand-Lighting Charm, Lumos

Etymology: Latin nox, meaning "night"

‘Merlin’s beard,’ I mutter when there’s a loud rumble of thunder, the coffee table before me shaking, and I shiver, bringing my knees up to my chest. I know it’s irrational, but storms are terrifying to me – I always fear they’re going to blow the roof right off, and take me along with it. Being down in the Slytherin dungeons isn’t as bad as, say, Gryffindor tower (losers) because at least we’re underground, and less exposed to the storm. But being in the dungeons, we’re closer to the Black Lake, and the Black Lake during a storm is even scarier than the storm itself.

The rest of the school tends to call it the Great Lake, but we Slytherins know that ‘Great’ is not enough to describe the lake, nor its inhabitants. One of the walls of the common room is made of an enchanted and reinforced glass, letting us see right into the lake, and all that live down there. It’s not a rare occurrence to see Grindylows or Selkies swimming past – some of them even stop to have a look in every now and then, and they’ve unsuccessfully tried break through the glass more than a few times. We even had the Giant Squid latch itself to the window for nearly a week. I saw Professor Snape down in the dungeons more than I ever had before during those few days, attempting to get the squid off – he even tried banging on the glass a few times when he didn’t think anyone was there.

But now? There are no creatures in view – they’re likely hiding at the bottom of the lake, out of harm’s way. Instead, the lake crashes against the glass in strong and brutal waves, the loud sloshing of the water and its collisions with the window echoing around the common room. There is no sign of the moon or stars tonight, the only light coming from the bright bolts of lightning that strike the water. The clouds are heavy and thick, and the sky is completely dark, the water raging on beneath it, rising in great angry mountains and crashing together unforgivingly. Watching the lake, I hug myself tighter as though if I let go, I’ll be dragged out amongst the waves, beneath the storm.

There’s a bright flash of lighting, quickly followed by a loud clap of thunder, the sound resonating within me, and I jump at the noise, unable to stop the gasp that slips out from between my lips. ‘Quietus,’ I hear a groggy voice let out behind me, and I jump again, turning to see Yoongi stood at the bottom of the staircase that leads up to the boys’ dorms, wand in hand. After his spell, the sound of the storm and the lake is considerably quieter, and I feel my fear dissipating, my body losing some of its tension as I loosen my grip on my legs.

‘y/n. What are you doing up?’ he yawns, bare feet padding against the cold floor as he heads over to me, arms stretched out above his head. ‘I… I’m a little scared of storms,’ I admit as he drops his wand onto the coffee table and sits down beside me, slouching back against the sofa with a chuckle. ‘I never knew that. That’s cute,’ he says with a grin, and I roll my eyes, completely distracted from the (much quieter) storm now. ‘Why are you up?’ I ask, and he glances at me amusedly before rolling his neck. The aura of sleep still surrounds him, his black locks messy and soft, his eyes blinking and unfocused, his skin radiating warmth that I can feel even from a few inches away. ‘The thunder was loud, so I thought I’d just come and do a quietening charm, and then I ran into you,’ he grins, voice husky and deep, and I nod, a little embarrassed I didn’t think of performing a quietening charm – I guess my fear made me lose my ability to think rationally.

‘If you’re scared of the storm, why would you come sit in the room where it’s loudest? And where you can actually see it?’ he asks amusedly, and I feel even more embarrassed now. ‘Sitting in my room and listening to it is scarier to me because I can’t see it. I can’t prepare myself for thunder because I can’t see the lightning, and I can’t prepare myself for the waves hitting the wall because I can’t see it coming. When I’m here, it’s like I can… brace myself?’ I say, trying to explain as best as I can, and Yoongi nods, his understanding behaviour making me feel… like I’m not stupid for being scared of storms.

‘Have you had any sleep?’ he asks as he rubs his eyes, and I shake my head. At the mention of sleep, I can feel the tiredness wash over me, and I try my best to stifle a yawn, Yoongi side-eyeing me. ‘Go to bed,’ he says, and I let out a gentle laugh, shaking my head. ‘I can’t – I won’t be able to sleep knowing what’s going on out there,’ I say, motioning to the window, and Yoongi raises an eyebrow. ‘We have Potions with Snape in around… five hours, and the storm doesn’t look like it’ll end any time soon. You really wanna tackle Potions with no sleep?’ he asks, and the prospect makes me want to cry, but I shrug. ‘I’ll be fine. I actually enjoy Potions, and I’m Snape’s favourite anyway – he won’t say anything if I have a little nap,’ I joke, and he lets out a deep chuckle.

‘Well, at least get a bit more comfy then. You’re putting me on edge sitting like that,’ he says, and I laugh as I take my arms from around my legs, relaxing my posture to sit back against the sofa with my legs curled up beside me. Yoongi adjusts his position a little too, getting more comfortable, and I turn to look at him confusedly. ‘Aren’t you gonna go back to bed?’ I ask, and he shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest as he rests his head back on the sofa, grinning. ‘What kind of best friend would I be if I left you down here alone with the big bad storm?’ he teases, and I roll my eyes, holding my middle finger up at him as my heart warms.

‘Aren’t you cold in those skimpy pyjamas?’ he asks, motioning to my t-shirt, shorts and fluffy socks (in Slytherin colours, of course), my legs and arms completely exposed. The fire is raging strong in the fireplace, but it doesn’t radiate enough heat to keep me fully warm, and I nod, Yoongi rolling his eyes as he reaches for his wand. ‘Accio blanket,’ he murmurs, dropping his wand back onto the table again, just as a blanket (presumably from Yoongi’s room) flies through the doorway and lands on my lap. ‘Thanks,’ I say as I pull it around myself, and it’s still warm from when Yoongi must have had it in bed a few minutes ago.

‘You should’ve got one for yourself too. Aren’t you cold?’ I ask, looking him up and down. He’s dressed in a pair of loose pyjama bottoms and a thin t-shirt in Slytherin colours, arms and feet bare. ‘Move over this way, we can share,’ he says, and I shuffle closer towards him, moving the blanket so that it covers both of us. Yoongi reaches for his wand, whispering ‘Nox’, and the light above us dims completely, leaving us in the warm glow cast by the fire. We sit in a comfortable silence, both of us yawning, our bodies losing all tension as we lean on the sofa and each other, eyes drooping with tiredness.

But the position I’m sat in is uncomfortable – I struggle to fall asleep in my own bed at the best of times, so sat upright against a sofa designed for good back support (I don’t really know why – we’re at secondary school, not a care home) with my feet tucked beneath me, I’m definitely not going to fall asleep any time soon. ‘For the love of Merlin, can you stop fucking fidgeting?’ Yoongi murmurs, eyes closed, and I let out a soft laugh. ‘I’m uncomfortable,’ I reply, and he lets out a sigh. ‘For fuck’s sake, you’re such a pain in the arse, you know?’ he breathes out as he adjusts his position, bringing his legs up and lying down, his head resting on the arm of the sofa. I’m a little confused as to how this is helping me, and he lets out another sigh. ‘Lie down, stupid,’ he murmurs, and I let out a little ‘oh’ of realisation, slowly moving to lie down in the gap between Yoongi’s body and the back of the sofa.

Our legs are outstretched together and my head rests just beside his shoulder, my arms curled up at my chest, and I can feel myself beginning to drop off again, sat in this comfortable position. But after a few minutes, my arms become stiff, and I don’t want to move them and bother Yoongi again, especially considering he could be asleep in his comfy bed right now, with his own personal space. ‘y/n, you can move if you need to. I’m not going to murder you,’ he whispers amusedly, and I feel embarrassed again at him being able to sense my thoughts. ‘It’s my arms, but I haven’t got anywhere to put them,’ I whisper back, and he lets out another sigh. ‘I swear to God. It’s always something with you,’ he mutters half-heartedly, and I can’t help but laugh. He grabs one of my arms and pulls it across his own body, my limb now fully stretched out, and I feel much more comfortable already, moving my other arm behind me. ‘Thanks, Yoongi,’ I whisper after a few moments, already dozing off, and through my slumber, I hear his deep soothing voice murmur back, ‘You’re welcome, y/n.’

I awake after a couple hours of restful sleep, blinking in the light from the already lightening sky, and see that the storm has already calmed – it’s still raining, but the lake isn’t raging anymore, and I can’t hear any thunder either. I check my watch quickly, the time reading 5.28, which gives me two hours before I have to get up. I drop my arm back across Yoongi’s torso, closing my eyes again, before I realise that my head is on his chest, and my leg is also outstretched across his, as well as his arm being curved around me. And it’s nice – Yoongi would rather fight a troll than let me hug him, so I’m enjoying this rare moment of physical intimacy with him. I look up at his face, his features softened by slumber and his lips parted with a slight pout, and my heart warms at how cute he is. I get comfortable again, letting myself drift back to sleep with a smile on my face and my head on his chest.

#ficswithluv #bangtanhq #bangtanarmynet #btswriterscollective #btsgoldnet #bangtanidx #btspocnet #kwritersworldnet #btsghostie #magicshopnet #bts #bts series #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #bts angst #bts comedy #bts smut #bts ot7 #bts au #bts imagines #bts hogwarts au #hogwarts au #bts drabble #bts drabbles

[nimblermortal]

And I promised y’all a version of my feelings on Nicolò and being bad at English, for which the tl;dr version is:

1. Excellent, what a good trope, more please 2. Biiiiiit -ist in some way though, I don’t know the words for this 3. Very good trope on which I will project all the things

1. Most characters, at least in popular American media, are not allowed to be bad at English because then they wouldn’t be speaking English and Americans can’t with the not speaking English. So the spiteful part of me perks up at this very concept. But it’s also great because it allows exploring of so many other languages, and code-switching, and comparative linguistics, and just. So! Many! Exciting! Things! I would love more instances of characters who are bad at English.

As someone who loves and acquires languages, I love the idea of someone who is bad at this and resents it. I love having a nine-hundred-year-old immortal who kicks and drags his heels because not another language, Andy, please, no. And for these reasons, primarily, I headcanon Nicolò as knowing Ligurian, and Latin that he learned young for church purposes, and some Arabic that he has painstakingly scraped together over the last few centuries, and just barely enough English to be conversational. I’ll... save the bits about how this affects his conversation for point 3.

2. There’s that post going round about how Gina Prince-Bythewood (director of The Old Guard) made a point of asking the actors to use their natural accents and not get dialect coaches, because the way they speak is beautiful. And I know that I latched on to Nicolò as The One Who Struggles because his accent is the thickest. And that’s not really fair to Luca Marinelli, who plays him, because it comes off as mocking his accent. I don’t wish to be rude to the gentleman in question, I just... want someone to put ‘bad at English’ on and he was there, and I sure as shooting ain’t gonna use Yusuf, and the alternative is Booker, with whom I have other quarrels. Nicolò is there as a relatively inoffensive character to project this on, and one who I really enjoy and adore. So I struggle with how to do this in a way that is polite and respectful.

3. Nicolò as struggling with English lets me read so much more into his character. Like, he frequently has very short lines (except when he’s explaining Quynh to Nile), which makes sense if he’s having trouble composing sentences. Yusuf speaks to him in Italian*, but he does not respond in Arabic at any point in the movie. Giving him a language barrier allows me to also headcanon that there’s a lot more going on in Nicolò’s head that he would express if he had the words to do so. It allows me to write him as loquacious in fic, which, if you’ve read this far, you know that I struggle to be concise.

At the same time... my significant other is a quiet person, who lurks around the edges of any social gathering. Part of our getting together was learning to listen to him, and to be listened to. As we got to know each other, he started talking to me more and more. When we are alone now, sometimes I wish he would shut up - but when anyone else is around, he clams up again and barely speaks unless I prompt him. The fact that he speaks to me like this is a gift. The fact that I can project this on Nicolò, as someone who is quiet and whose expressions are muted, makes me love Nicolò that much more. The fact that I can then say that when Nicolò goes home to his family, to the people he loves, and the language he is comfortable in, and once they let him speak Ligurian again he talks their ears off... It gives me a lot of projected comfortable feelings to imagine Nile sitting on the floor studying Latin, and glancing up at the couch in awe as Nicolò just starts dropping a rant in a flood of words that she never expected out of him.

Which is, if he’s anything like Hyacinth, nothing like how it works. But quiet, language-barrier Nicolò gives me a chance to project a whole lot of extra love and insight into those relationships, even before I start getting into the sort of linguistic quirks that I love and invite into my life.

*never gonna stop arguing that this is in fact eleventh-century Ligurian/Genoese/whichever made palatable to our twenty-first century ears

#the Old Guard #Nimblermortals Senf #a tag used so frequently it has become nigh-meaningless #I had a lot more to say on this subject but I sat on myself long enough that I could be polite #and that took long enough that I lost a lot of the bubbliness and forgot a lot of the whims #which is fine #if I sit on myself for another month I may be able to talk about Booker without offending someone

[firexfate]

muse one ~ character + bio

[a/n - hey, everyone! i thought i would make this bio for one of my characters that i roleplay as just for fun, also for people that i roleplay with to see more about the named character. :,) i hope you all enjoy, and let me know what you think, as always. also, yes, yes i changed the face-claim because some people had the same face-claim as i do, lmao, so i did not want anyone to be confused. that’s it for me! thank you <3]

Felicity Grace Hamilton — a patriot, a spy, a survivor.

❝ If I cannot move Heaven, I will raise hell. ❞

— Virgil, Aeneid.

⋆ ╤╤╤ ✯ ╤╤╤ ⋆

┊┊┊┊✧ ┊┊

┊┊⋆┊┊ ☪

┊✭ ┊ ┊

✯ ┊ ✧

✵

╱                       ╲

✵ 𝐓𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 ✵

ɪ. 𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓵 𝓘𝓷𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ⋆

ɪɪ. 𝓣𝔂𝓹𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓵 𝓐𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼 ⋆

ɪɪɪ. 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓽𝓱 ⋆

ɪᴠ. 𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓼 ⋆

ᴠ. 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓯𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼 ⋆

ᴠɪ. 𝓕𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓡𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓹𝓼 ⋆

ᴠɪɪ. 𝓑𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 ⋆

ᴠɪɪɪ. 𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻 𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓼 ⋆

╲                       ╱

- ˏˋ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ˊˎ -

────────────

┊

☪ . ˚

˚✩

- ˏˋ 𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓮 ˊˎ -

Felicity Grace Hamilton

⋆ ᴘʀᴏɴᴜɴᴄɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ⋆

First name: Feh-lih-sih-tee

Last name: hah-mil-ton

⋆ ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇs ⋆

Lici [lih-see]

- ˏˋ 𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻 ˊˎ -

⋆ sᴇx ⋆

female

⋆ ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ ⋆

female

⋆ ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴs ⋆

she/her

- ˏˋ 𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ˊˎ -

⋆ sᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴏʀɪᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ⋆

Heterosexual

⋆ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄ ᴏʀɪᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ⋆

Straight

- ˏˋ 𝓵𝓸𝓬𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ˊˎ -

⋆ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴏғ ʙɪʀᴛʜ ⋆

Nevis, the British Isles [located in the Caribbean]

⋆ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴏғ ʀᴇsɪᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ ⋆

America. Current place depends on the roleplay.

⋆ ᴇᴛʜɴɪᴄɪᴛʏ ⋆

Caucasian

⋆ ɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ⋆

American.

⋆ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇs sᴘᴏᴋᴇɴ ⋆

French

English

Latin

⋆ ʀᴇʟɪɢɪᴏɴ ᴏʀ sᴘɪʀɪᴛᴜᴀʟ ʙᴇʟɪᴇғs ⋆

Felicity grew up to be a Catholic, despite her mother being a Huegenot. She attended mass most of the time, but, of course, this happened less frequently as the war had begun. She is not extremely religious, however, but she believes in God.

- ˏˋ 𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓸 ˊˎ -

⋆ ᴀɢᴇ ⋆

Around her 20s, though it would depend on the roleplay.

⋆ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴏғ ʙɪʀᴛʜ ⋆

04.11.1757

⋆ ᴢᴏᴅɪᴀᴄ sɪɢɴ ⋆

Aries.

⋆ ᴛᴀʟᴇɴᴛs ᴀɴᴅ sᴋɪʟʟs ⋆

Talented musician -- can play the flute, harp, and violin.

Excellent public speaker, her motivation is something that both she and her brother share.

Knows basic defense -- can shoot reasonably well. Felicity had a very unconventional background, especially given who her brother was.

A dancer and singer, she is the patron of most arts.

- ˏˋ 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 ˊˎ -

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- ˏˋ 𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ˊˎ -

⋆ sᴘᴇᴄɪᴇs ⋆

Human

⋆ ʜᴇɪɢʜᴛ ⋆

5’3’’

⋆ ᴡᴇɪɢʜᴛ ⋆

100 lbs.

⋆ ʀᴀᴄᴇ ⋆

White

⋆ ғᴀᴄᴇ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ

Adelaide Kane

- ˏˋ 𝓭𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮𝓼 ˊˎ -

⋆ ʜᴀɪʀ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ ⋆

Dark brown

⋆ ᴇʏᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ ⋆

Dark brown

⋆ ғᴀᴄɪᴀʟ ғᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇs ⋆

Porcelain intoned skin, has a few birthmarks on her cheeks and neck.

⋆ ᴛᴀᴛᴛᴏᴏs ⋆

None

⋆ sᴄᴀʀs ⋆

She has scars and bruises on her back and arms because of the war. Many bring back memories of her past, which were horrifying, to say the least, ones which she would much rather forget.

- ˏˋ 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡 ˊˎ -

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- ˏˋ 𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓽𝓱 ˊˎ -

Prior to the war between England and the colonies with their French allies, her health was normal average. She was a strong character before, especially with losing half of her family members and multitude friends, as the tensions in the colonies had grown. She had grown up too quickly in order to survive. During and after the war, she was never the same. There was both a hidden strength and grief in her eyes, which would be very difficult to extinguish.

- ˏˋ 𝓹𝓱𝔂𝓼𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓵 ˊˎ -

⋆ ᴡᴇᴀᴋɴᴇssᴇs ⋆

She is not very physically strong, and she is not very flexible either. Sometimes, especially due to emotional overload, she takes things to heart sometimes, and she can lose control of her emotions when she gets passionate or angry about something.

⋆ ɪʟʟɴᴇssᴇs ⋆

None. She is physically healthy.

⋆ ᴅɪsᴀʙɪʟɪᴛɪᴇs ⋆

None that are physical or mental. Perhaps, some trauma after the war remained with her still.

- ˏˋ 𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓵 ˊˎ -

⋆ ɪʟʟɴᴇssᴇs ⋆

Some anxiety, or PTSD after the war, insomnia.

⋆ ᴘʜᴏʙɪᴀs ⋆

Fear of small spaces, fear of being alone, fear of losing the people that she loves.

⋆ ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀs ⋆

Her past life in Nevis, in particular when she had lost her mother (Rachel Faucette died in her arms, as Felicity nursed her to her grave). She also feels pained and reminded of the rather rough experiences she had living in New York, mainly that is where she lost a few extended family and friends. The war brought her more horrific memories as well.

- ˏˋ 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 ˊˎ -

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- ˏˋ 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 ˊˎ -

⋆ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ᴛʀᴀɪᴛs ⋆

Kind-hearted

Strong-willed

Goal-driven/determined

Passionate.

⋆ ᴍᴏᴛɪᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ⋆

Duty to country -- Felicity is driven to succeed as she has a country to protect, to fight for her own freedom. She is as patriotic as it gets, and her determination could be seen both as courageous or reckless. She would do anything to keep her country, and the people that she loves safe.

Family - she would give her life up to the people that she truly cares for her, and she would constantly put them first.

Freedom - She wants to be free, especially from the wrath of the British, and their ways. She wanted America to be free from the tyranny of Great Britain, for it to rule itself. She wanted it to have its own government, to make its own decisions. That being said, she is influenced heavily by Thomas Paine’s Common Sense. Moreover, she wants to be free of her own burdensome past.  

⋆ ғᴇᴀʀs ⋆

Fear of being alone.

Fear of tight spaces.

Fear of losing the people they love.

⋆ ʜᴏᴡ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜᴇʏ sᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍsᴇʟᴠᴇs? ⋆

Felicity sees herself as someone who is very determined and cautious. She believes that she is understanding and has a way with different kinds of people. She sees herself being loyal to a fault and a passionate person

⋆ ʜᴏᴡ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛʜᴇʏ’ʀᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴄᴇɪᴠᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀs? ⋆

She is perceived as very passionate and strong-willed, which could be both a good and bad thing, since she was but a woman in a world that is ruled by men. She is rather bold in her manners, but she is fiercely protective of others, and while her mannerisms could be unconventional, she is a truly good person, with a good heart.

- ˏˋ 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓼 ˊˎ -

⋆ ᴍᴀɴɴᴇʀɪsᴍs ⋆

She is very out-spoken and blunt when she is stating facts. She is rather honest, and it may come off a very odd and wrong way. However, she is also very good at keeping her silence, as this was of import as a spy. She is kind to most people that are good, and she is very open-minded and non-judgemental.

She is passionate and fierce when it comes to things that she cares about. She is overprotective when it comes down to people that are important to her. Felicity would never let any harm come to those that she loved, and she would do anything for her own country, for the cause of America.

She can be strategic and rational when she is making important decisions, especially with her work with espionage and of the like. However, strong feelings and emotions can get involved, which causes her to be rather rash. She tends to get angry, sad rather easily and it tends to blind her actions. Most of the time, she uses her mind to guide her, even in dire circumstances.

⋆ ʜᴀʙɪᴛs ⋆

When embarrassed or shy, she begins playing with her hair a lot. Similarly, she can also wring her hands a lot.

When angry or emotional, she paces around the room a lot.

⋆ ʙᴇsᴛ ǫᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ ⋆

Felicity is incredibly resilient, she is a natural-born fighter, hardened by her experiences of the world. Hardships and obstacles were certainly thrown her way, but she continues to move on and live her life the way she can. She is mentally strong and a survivor because of it.  

⋆ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ғʟᴀᴡ ⋆

Felicity is a very feeling person. That being said, the emotions that she feels can be both a blessing and a curse. She could be blinded by the things that she would do, by her hatred or grief. She could be impulsive, incredibly stubborn, and that too complicated matters greatly. She had to learn how to control herself, which was very difficult for her.

⋆ sᴛʀᴇɴᴛɢʜs ⋆

Kind, gentle, understanding

Brave, fierce, relentless.

Protective, intelligent

⋆ ᴡᴇᴀᴋɴᴇssᴇs ⋆

Brash and impulsive

Has some trust issues. ιnтιмιdaтed eaѕιly

Temperamental.

- ˏˋ 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 ˊˎ -

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- ˏˋ 𝓯𝓪𝓿𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮... ˊˎ -

⋆ sᴀʏɪɴɢ ⋆

❝ We do not have the luxury of waiting. Our time to act is now. If we wait, death will be knocking on our door. ❞ —Felicity Hamilton

⋆ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴏғ ᴅᴀʏ ⋆

The peak of day. (She like sunsets).

⋆ ᴀɴɪᴍᴀʟ ⋆

owlѕ, dogѕ

⋆ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ ⋆

Ivory, blue, gold.

⋆ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘᴀss ᴛɪᴍᴇ ⋆

Reading, singing, writing.

⋆ sᴏɴɢ ⋆

She does not have a preference. She knows French and English songs, and she likes to listen and sing them, depending on the occasion.

⋆ ғᴏᴏᴅ ⋆

Any. She is not that picky.

⋆ ɴᴜᴍʙᴇʀ ⋆

12 or 14.

⋆ ғᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ⋆

She loves to talk about poetry, literature, history, and the arts, a romantic side of hers. However, she is very flexible and easy-going, so she would be up to talk about anything and everything. She especially likes to talk about things that she is passionate about, her beliefs being rather important to her.

- ˏˋ 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 ˊˎ -

⋆ ʟᴇғᴛ ᴏʀ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ⋆

Right

⋆ ɪɴᴛʀᴏᴠᴇʀᴛ ᴏʀ ᴇxᴛʀᴏᴠᴇʀᴛ ⋆

A mix of both.

⋆ ʟᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴏʀ ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡᴇʀ ⋆

A mix of both, as well.

⋆ sᴇʟғ-ᴄᴏɴғɪᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏʀ sᴇʟғ-ᴄᴏɴsᴄɪᴏᴜsɴᴇss ⋆

Self confidence.

- ˏˋ 𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 ˊˎ -

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- ˏˋ 𝓯𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵𝔂 ˊˎ -

⋆ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ⋆

Name: Rachel Faucette

Relationship: From the beginning of her childhood, Felicity and her mother had a wonderful relationship. Her mother was a kind and gentle woman. She was the one that taught her French, etiquette, and how to read and write. Sadly, her mother became infected with yellow fever when Felicity was ten years old. Felicity contracted the disease herself and she survived, but her mother did not. She died in her arms.

⋆ ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ⋆

Name: James Hamilton.

Relationship: None. Felicity barely knew her father. He left her mother when she was just two years old, allegedly to spare her from being accused of bigamy. Felicity was bitter about his departure, claiming that he was good as dead to her.

⋆ вroтнer ⋆

Name: Alexander Hamilton.

Relationship: Very good. Despite their bickering and arguments, Alexander and Felicity had a great relationship. They had similar ideals of freedom, and they both showed immense support in the revolution. Their relationship was very complicated given that Alexander was by far more ambitious than Felicity, and yet, they were close as they only had each other, and they only grew closer with every hardship that they endured -- be it starvation, death, the control of the British, or the Revolution itself.

- ˏˋ 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 ˊˎ -

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Felicity Grace Hamilton is the younger sister of Alexander Hamilton. Her story is a rather harsh one. She was born to Rachel Faucette and James Hamilton in Charlestown, Nevis. Her father left them when she was just a baby, and she resented him for that. He was as good as dead to her. She grew up in Nevis, which had become under the occupation of the rising British Empire. They had brought with them many things: missionaries, education, laws, and they had brought with them disease. Yellow fever had broken out in her country, and before she knew it, she and her family were affected. Felicity was the first to get better, and she was the one who nursed Alexander and her mother. They were dirt poor, and Felicity did everything she could to keep them alive, managing to get food and water for them, medicine to keep them alive, despite it. In the end, she nursed her mother to her grave, and Rachel died in her arms. Alexander on the other hand got better.

When Felicity was twelve, she and her brother managed to get on a boat with the help of her cousin which set sail to New York, eager to escape their horrid life and start a new one there. They were met with the British tyranny again. Felicity’s hatred grew of them, rising immensely, as she had lost family members and friends , due to some causes that the British had imposed on him.

When the revolution came, Felicity was sixteen years of age. Alexander went to fight, and Felicity went along with him. On her way there, she happened to befallen on a raid that occurred between the Redcoats and rebels. Only a dagger in hand, she killed two of them, and she was taken to General Washington who was very much impressed with her. She wished to help the cause in any way possible, but Washington would not allow her to fight in the front, considering that she was but a woman. He instead placed her to be responsible as a spy, gathering information. Felicity was a woman, no one could suspect her. She did manage to get some, and to a set of God’s miracles, she did not get caught. She even managed to procure some intelligence which made the French very interested in helping them. She worked closely with both Benjamin Tallmadge, Caleb Brewster, and Anna Strong, being an asset to the camp, even if she assisted the medical tent of the doctors that would nurse the soldiers, all the while participating heavily in espionage. Proving her worth to Washington and the others, she was held in high regard, especially being the sister of Alexander. She made subsequent trips to Setauket, to secure the Culper Ring and continued to fight for her freedom, no matter what the cost, even if strange things were happening to her frequently.

#muse: felicity hamilton #tumblr roleplay #roleplay #rp #turn rp #turn roleplay #{muses} #original character #my characters #amc turn #turn washingtons spies #character bio

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

One Scream or Two? || Leah and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Coffee Plus PARTIES: @phoenixleah and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Sometimes reading can be loud :/

Kaden stood by the door of Coffee Plus, scanning the room, looking for a place to settle in and wait. They had agreed to meet in a spot in the back and there looked like there was one table open to the left. The book was cradled in the crook of his armpit, hidden underneath his jacket like it was some sort of contraband. He wasn’t sure why he was treating it like precious cargo, it’s not like Regan was there to see him with it while she was hiding herself away in the shed and she couldn’t know it was missing either considering he doubted if she spent much time in her apartment at all recently. Even then, it had only been away from her place for at most a whole half an hour. Still, it felt like a dangerous object, something to keep out of sight until the last second. He passed the table where he and Regan had sat on one of their first dates months ago. Date-coffee. It was strange to think back to that, how awkward they were, how sure he was that she was human after the iron had no effect. He huffed out a sad, small laugh at the thought. Who knew he’d end up here, smuggling a banshee book into a cafe trying to find out what curse it might have placed on his fae girlfriend the night after they almost got killed by their possessed friend. All while said girlfriend was hiding herself away because of her banshee powers. He sat and waited, contemplating how absurd it all was in his mind when he saw Leah walk in, giving her a quiet wave to join him. “Thanks for coming,” he said as he pulled the book from out of his jacket. “This is it. There’s something wrong with it. I’m sure of it.”

There were a number of reasons why it was important for Leah to help Kaden figure out this book situation, but two stood clear and strong in her mind. One, acquiring new knowledge on a potentially cursed, enchanted, or otherwise supernaturally affected book was like candy to her as a Scribe. She’d brought a small notepad to take notes on the off chance she forgot anything important. And Two, and more importantly, if discovering the secrets to this book could help Regan be more comfortable and sure about who and what she was, then it would almost be wrong not to try and figure it out. Plus, it was just all so interesting. She walked the familiar route to Coffee Plus like she had many times before, a bit apprehensive about meeting Kaden alone in person for the first time. They’d briefly met at Bea’s party, but there were far too many people there for it to have been a proper introduction. Would he ask for a handshake? Would he discover her for what she was? The last two times she’d met someone at a restaurant for the first time, they left discovering secrets about her that she never planned on sharing. She spotted him quickly and easily, sitting down with a small wave and a smile. “Of course”, she said, her eyes immediately roaming the book the second he took it out. “May I?” she asked, barely waiting for an answer as she pulled the book toward her. She studied the front and back covers intently, her eyes roaming to try and find anything that might clue her into its secrets. “Was this the only book in that secret room?” she asked, not bothering to look up.

“Sure,” Kaden said as he handed the book off to her, his fingers lingering on it as she took it from him. He trusted Leah, despite knowing little about her and not really properly meeting until now. Even despite her views on hunters. She’d helped discover the drug in question that shrank Regan and knew to keep her species a secret. She was close friends with Bea and knew about her resurrection. He had to believe that if she could be trusted with those secrets, she could be more than trusted with this, whatever it was. It didn’t make letting go of the book any easier. It was a betrayal enough to take it out of Regan’s apartment without permission. Sharing secrets that weren’t even his to have… No, that wasn’t what he was trying to do. He was sure this book was cursed or wrong or dangerous. He was trying to help. And if Regan would understand, he would have told her or asked. But that wasn’t the case, so this was where things stood. Not to mention, she had enough on her mind. He needed to find a way to help. This was what he could manage. “There were a lot of other books in the room. Shelves lined with them. None of them were in English or latin or anything else I recognized, though.” His mind wandered towards the moment, the day after when they trashed the room. It was supposed to be cathartic. It was meant to help. The anger released and let go. Instead it was hollow and empty, like the bies skull before it was shattered on the ground. “We, uh, well I threw one of the bookcases and Regan didn’t care, she’d started it, in fact. I mean, not that but the throwing things.” They probably sounded insane. Maybe they were. “Anyway, she didn’t mind that. But when she went to tear the pages, she screamed. Which, in case you haven’t heard it, not fun. And when I picked it up, she looked like--” He pulled his mouth closed, unwilling to voice the thoughts in his head. A monster, she looked like a monster. “She tried to tear it away from me. But that was the last of it. Other than taking it back with her from the cabin. I, uh, I’ve been too afraid to open it on the way here.”

So far, Leah was proud of herself for neglecting to bring up their rather tearse conversation on the internet. Normally, she’d never meet alone with a self-proclaimed hunter, but Regan clearly needed help and answers, and if there were a chance that Leah could provide them, she was going to try. Imagining fireballing Kaden would just have to wait for another day. “If she was telling me about the same book, Regan mentioned it was in gaelic, but I’m not so sure”, she mused, her eyes skimming rapidly through the pages. She furrowed her eyebrows, closing the book once more to look over the cover. “It looks entirely nonsensical to me.” There was a chance she was wrong, of course. She didn’t know enough about Gaelic that she could be sure.  If Kaden weren’t a goddamn hunter, they could have done this at the library and she could have taken a few copies. It would have been much easier to use the journals to do further research after he left. Would he notice if she snapped a few photos? She glanced up at him, slightly amused at his explanation. “Sounds like you two were participating in some good old fashioned destruction therapy, then? Not sure how productive it was to turn her family history into a rage room, but I can sympathize with needing to get some frustration out.” She turned the book over to look at the binding as she spoke, her eyes roaming carefully to catch any hint of an abnormality. “But this was the only book she went… wild over? ... for lack of a better word.” She pressed her lips together, letting out a slow breath through her nose. “When she reacted like that… did it look anything like it does when she, um… screams?”

“If it was in Gaelic it would make sense I guess. Given you know, ban--” Kaden started but coughed to cover up his last word. He almost forgot they were in public. “Well, you know.” It shouldn't have surprised Kaden that Regan had also reached out to Leah about the book. She’d come up with the answers for the Drink Me substance when no one else could. Hell, it was part of why Kaden reached out to her. A book about supernatural things that he couldn’t figure out? She seemed like the obvious choice. At the same time, he was almost surprised that she’d agreed to meet him after discovering what he was. There was a lot of contempt in her words about him, about what he was. He didn’t even fully know why. It sounded like she’d never talked to a single other hunter in her life the way she’d spoken. Still, apparently Regan was important enough to both of them to push things aside. “Nonsensical?” he asked, brows furrowed. “Do you not know Gaelic or…” He trailed off, leaning over to get a better look at the book as if his eyes on the page would help either of them figure out what was on it. His curiosity faded at her contempt. He wasn’t going to leave here without being judged. “Right. She started it,” he snapped back. “The only thing I destroyed was a fucking bies skull but by all means, judge away.” He practically wanted to rip the book away and walk out. He didn’t need this, didn’t need to feel this way on top of everything else going on. It was always like this with bleeding hearts. They spent so much time advocating that monsters were people too that they forgot that hunters were human. He sighed and leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest. This was for Regan. He could fucking deal with contempt for her. “Just that, yeah. Nothing else in the room set her off. And she tore a lot of it up.” He shifted a little uncomfortably in his seat at her next question. “Her eyes went black like when she’s having a vision or seeing a ghost. No black veins so not quite like a death scream, no. Wasn’t that intense.”

Leah pressed her lips together, nodding in understanding. She wasn’t ignorant about the subject of secrets, and thank god Kaden, despite his suspicious past, wasn’t either.  She sighed, shaking her head as she continued to skim the book. “I don’t know Gaelic, at least not fluently.  But I’d like to think I’ve studied the alphabet enough to at least make out a few words here and there.” She knew she sounded over confident in her knowledge about fae and supernatural altogether, but she wasn’t worried it would out her to Kaden as a scribe.  Most thought they were dead, anyway. Her eyebrows raised as Kaden seemed to get frustrated, but she leaned back and let him defend himself. “I was just making an observation, is all. But I sense you’re picking up on my discomfort. I just think… the more things we can keep about Regan’s past, the better off she’ll be when she’s finally ready to learn about it all. But if you’re feeling guilty about something and projecting judgement, Kaden, that’s on you.” She sighed as she listened to his tale of what had happened with Regan, but the more he spoke, the more it reminded her about something she’d read about in the Scribe archives years ago. “Wait- black eyes, but no black veins?  And less intense?”  She sat up straighter, her eyes darting to the side as she tried to remember. Seemingly randomly, she pulled out her phone, scrolling through years and years of pictures to find what she was looking for. “A few years ago I...found a record of something similar” she said, gasping in success when she finally found the photo she was looking for. “I remember it annoying me even then, because, well, the writing in the book just didn’t make sense.” She showed Kaden the picture in her phone that she’d taken. It was a book that’d been kept in her archives for years, although it wasn’t part of their journals. The photo she’d taken was of a page, and though the letters looked similar to the ones in Regan’s book in front of them, it was nonsensical in it’s own way. There was reference to it in one of her journals, but she couldn’t quite remember all that it said. She did remember one thing, though. “I found out later that this book could only be read by fae…” There was no doubt, now, with all this evidence, that this book was connected to Regan’s status as a banshee.

“Sure sounded a lot like judgement to me,” Kaden grumbled. “And I’m not feeling guilty. You’re the one sitting there suggesting I desecrated her family history or some shit, like it was all my decision. But great, good to know that’s not judgement.” It was stupid. He didn’t need her to understand him or even like him let alone approve of his actions. Or Regan’s. That didn’t stop him from being annoyed by the whole thing. He was shocked he managed to keep from rolling his eyes. “Whatever, if it’s not Gaelic what the fuck is it?” he asked. Was she ignoring him by scrolling on her phone? Did she find him that fucking worthless that she coulnd’t even bother to-- Oh. She was talking about books. “You keep photos of records? How many have you kept?” His brow furrowed as she flipped through. Who kept track of books like that? Other than Rio. And maybe a-- She wasn’t, was she? His eyes narrowed a moment, as if squinting could provide him an answer or two. It didn’t. But she did, showing him the picture of a similar text. “Well, then. Guess that means we’re shit out of luck.” He sighed and sat back in his chair, arms crossed in front of his chest. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or what. Or why. No, he knew why. It was another disconnect, another distance from Regan. One more thing he couldn’t touch or understand or know. Another divide and difference between them. Right. “How’d you find out, anyway? About that other book?” He sighed and brushed his hands over the book. “That still doesn’t explain. Why she would-- She never went to hurt me before. Ever. Hell, she’d never go to hurt anyone. Not if she could help it.” The words felt like a pit in his stomach. She couldn’t help it then. Or in the morgue. What if she never-- His fingers gripped the edge of the cover a moment. He decided to flip it open, just to see, just to maybe catch a glimpse of something, anything that could-- AHHHHHHHHHH. Kaden jumped back out of his seat as a wail tore through the cafe. What was it? Where was it coming from? Shit shit shit. He cursed and mumbled to himself as he fumbled to get the book closed. Quickly. “Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, hoping the patrons weren’t staring too closely. Shit.

“Well again, if you’re perceiving a harmless observation as judgement, then maybe you need to look at yourself and figure out why.” Leah shot, sitting up straighter. “And, again, no judgment, but is that not exactly what the two of you were doing? Desecrating a bit of her family history? Therapeutic or not, the two of you will never get back any answers you may have lost that night.” It was not in Leah’s nature to destroy books or paintings or artifacts.  Frankly, she didn’t understand why someone would want to do that sort of thing, rage releasing included.  Information is power, and destroying the past meant that you could not learn from it. It was irresponsible. “I don’t always”, she said, watching him carefully. “Only if they interest me”, she elaborated vaguely, hoping that would suffice. “I’ve tried printing this picture more than once, but it always turns up blank. This wasn’t the book itself, but a reimagining of what it looked like.  Whoever came across the book, for some reason, either couldn’t keep it or chose not too. And they didn’t copy it directly, either”. She sighed in defeat, sitting back in her chair.  Something was playing in the back of her mind that she’d read about the book in her records, something important that she couldn’t remember. “I don’t remember”, she said, her eyebrows uncharacteristically high. “I think it was dumb luck, probably.” Leah thought about it, honestly and truly she did. Because she knew just as it wasn’t her nature to destroy books, it probably wasn’t in Regan’s nature to hurt people. So what had happened between she and Kaden and the book must have been out of her control.  

She was just about to say exactly that, but the shrieks distracted her. Leah’s eyes widened and she stood up quickly, looking around at the other patrons before she sat back down quickly, embarrassed.  It was all she could do not to hide her face once she realized it was coming from their table. It wasn’t until Kaden closed the book with a resounding slam that she realized where the awful noise had been coming from. “Kaden, what the fuck?” she asked, her eyes still traveling Coffee Plus for anymore wary onlookers. She was practically shrinking under the stares. But then, suddenly, the pieces were coming together, and the thought that was lingering in the back of her mind earlier came to the forefront. “A fae book...Kaden, it’s…  we can’t read it, because it’s protected by fae magic. That’s why it looks like nonsense. That’s why it’s… screaming at us…”

Kaden still wasn’t convinced that she was impartial but he was going to let that point lie. Not without another roll of his eyes but all the same. “I broke a skull. And toppled a bookshelf. I don’t think that’s really going to be the deciding factor between getting answers and not. But what do I know,” he said with a small shrug, arms still crossed in front of his chest. “Seems like a lot of books interest you,” he said referring to how many pictures she seemed to flip through. The more he talked to her, the more and more she sounded like Rio. He wondered if they knew each other. They probably got along like peas in a pod. They could chat over books and discuss how much hunters sucked together. Wonder how it would go when she learned he was by all accounts a hunter himself.  “Well that sounds suspicious,” he said, referring to the previous book. “That had to be magic of some kind, right? Books don’t just do that. You know, look like nonsense and cause, you know, what it did.” He then gestured to the current book sitting on the table. Still, it struck him that she was well versed in a lot of this, the supernatural. She wasn’t a witch as far as he could tell. Not a werewolf either, of course, or any sort of beast. She could be fae. The way she talked about banshees was with some distance but that didn’t rule out the rest. Guess he’d find out eventually. Maybe.

“I didn’t know it could do that,” he hissed, under his breath, watching the startled patrons all around him from the corners of his eyes. Shit, well that wasn’t exactly helpful in their goals to lay low. His heart was still pounding in his chest and the scream still rang in his ears, but Kaden was sure the noise had stopped. He kept his hand on top of the book, making sure it stayed closed, almost as if anticipating something to jump out of it and force its way through the pages at any moment. “Uh, in case you’re wondering, it sounded a little like a banshee. Nowhere near as bad, though.” It was a loud scream, but it didn’t have the ear piercing pitch and power that came when Regan screamed. Not even close. Not that the patrons at Coffee Plus seemed to appreciate right at that moment. “Wait, you think it’s fae magic?” His brow furrowed and his fingers brushed along the cover of the book a few more times. Guess she wasn’t fae, then. “That seems too easy. And it doesn’t explain the rest. The, well you know, the anger.” Something just didn’t seem right yet, like there was an answer they were missing. “Are you sure it’s not cursed? I mean, it screamed at us.”

“Well, I run the library, so… I wouldn’t be doing my job right if books didn’t interest me,” Leah said as way of explanation. Kaden seemed to be inching into dangerous territory, and if he thought she was going to reveal herself to a hunter of all people, he had another thing coming. “No, you’re right, it was definitely a supernatural book. The question I have is, how similar are this book and the one here in front of us? If I find more answers about the one in my records, I might be able to help more here, in a way.”

If Leah could have shrunk into herself to hide, she would have. She glared at the book, as if it were sentient enough to control the shrieks that had just come out of it. She huffed out a frustrated breath, though the new information from Kaden was nice. So that was what a banshee sounded like, then… it was too bad she hadn’t been using her phone to record it. “I think that it sounded like a banshee scream to you all but confirms it”, she said with a resolute nod, pulling the book toward her again but being extra careful to keep it closed. “Most cursed books aren’t known for their screaming, but rather for the more subtle effects they have on the reader. This one’s not even giving us a chance to read”, she explained. Pushing the book gently back toward Kaden, she studied him carefully. “There is a chance that it’s connected to her, somehow, and maybe interacting with the book sort of activated it for her? The anger could have been an extension of everything activating. Or, I don’t know, really. If it’s an extension of who she is as a fae, there might be an innate, feral part of her that needs to keep it safe. It might help to encourage her to read it and explore it. Right now she might be the only one who can unlock it’s answers.”

“Oh,” Kaden said, voice small. “I didn’t know that.” Didn’t even know what she did. Made him kind of a shit person, didn’t it? At least he felt that way. Wait, it still didn’t explain how she knew about the supernatural. He sighed and supposed she was friends with the Vurals. Might be hard to keep it from her for that long. He reached and rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe he just shouldn't question it if she was willing to help. Her disdain for hunters still concerned him but there was really nothing to do about it now.

At that moment, Kaden had stopped caring what the patrons of the cafe thought. His eyes were on the book as she spoke, telling him that there was no way for either of them to read it or see what was inside, no way to know why it did what it did to Regan. “So it’s not cursed,” he said, running his hands over the book again. “And not dangerous to her. Just us, I guess,” he said with a defeated sigh. This book could be connected to Regan? A part of her. A part of her he couldn’t touch or even see or be a part of. Another for the pile, he supposed. “It was probably stupid to hope I could help,” he muttered mostly to himself. She needed answers. And he couldn’t give her any. He couldn’t help. Not like that, at least. He was so out of his depths he wondered if he was one step away from drowning. He wondered if he should just stop trying and back off. Somehow that felt like giving up, though. “Sorry if I wasted your time,” he said, eyes finally locking back with Leah’s. “Do you want me to grab you something? Coffee or tea? Least I can do.” Considering this was a bust.

“It doesn’t seem to be” Leah confirmed, licking her lips. Something about Kaden’s defeat was tugging at her heart, despite his proud status as a hunter, and she chastised herself for sympathizing with him. This year more than ever, she was learning that there was a lot more nuance when it came to hunters than she was willing to admit, but that didn’t erase that they were awful people for harming others simply because of their species. Still, it was obvious he cared about Regan- obvious that he wanted to help her and do right by her. “I don’t think it’s stupid to hope”, she countered after a while, leveling with him. “And I don’t think this was a waste of time, either. We might have figured out what this was, right? Even if it wasn’t what you thought… it could still help her. Once she’s ready to learn about it, it could help her a lot.” Maybe Deirdre would be able to unlock the secrets of the book, or at least… aid Regan in doing it for herself. “Maybe...if you know of other Banshees in town, maybe they could offer up a translation of the cover, at least. Regardless, what you’re doing here… trying to help her? That’s anything but a waste. The most interesting answers are often the ones hardest to find.” She slid her phone back into her pocket, knowing she’d spend much of that night scouring the scribe journals for any other records of fae books that might help the situation at hand. His offer stunned her, and she looked up at Kaden, pressing her lips together. “I’m not much for tea or coffee,” she explained, shaking her head. It probably sounded incredibly rude and dismissive, especially considering where they had last left off on the internet. “Perhaps a pastry?”, she offered after a beat, smiling gently. “Their chocolate croissants are to die for.  Especially when they’re heated up.”

Kaden gave her a small nod. “Yeah, I guess so. I mean, at least know it’s not cursed. So. That’s progress.” He wished he felt as hopeful as she did. His fingers brushed over the spine once more before he pulled his hand away to rest by his side. Maybe he should have just let this whole thing lie all along. Hope was starting to hurt at this point. He wasn’t sure he could help or make anything better. Maybe he wasn’t meant to. Maybe he was nothing more than a distraction, something standing in the way of her training. He wasn’t sure where that left him. Didn’t matter right now. The book at least wasn’t a problem. “Yeah, I’ll let D--” Fuck. He was so used to talking about banshees with people who he knew were in the know of the two solitary banshees in town. “I’ll let the other banshee in town know. Or something.” He wondered how much of what was in that book Deirdre already knew and understood. Most of it, he’d wager. He wondered if this book really was important or not. And if it was, how stupid was he for bringing it to a cafe without her permission. Shit. “Well I hope you’re right anyway. That this is worth it.” The other patrons in the cafe sure didn’t think their endeavor was worth it. They were still getting the odd stare here and there, people trying to figure out what the scream was for. He gave some withering looks, hoping it would make them back off but in this town? It was hard to truly frighten people. “Oh, uh, okay.” Maybe he had misinterpreted and she really was only here to help Regan and nothing else. That was fine, he could take the hint. He was about to get up and walk away when she piped up again. His brow furrowed before he gave her a small nod. “Pastry, huh? Take it you’re not a fan of caffeine in that case. Alright. I can grab a pain au chocolat. They are pretty good. Best in town. But you know, they don’t compare to the ones back home. I’ve wanted to try and see if I can make any better. Worth a shot, right?” He offered her a small smile before standing to get their food and beverages. “Thanks, though. I appreciate the help.”

#wickedswriting #chatzy #writing #leah #phoenixleah #one scream or two

[eighthdoctor]

The Priest and the Prison, or: TMA isn’t done with MAG019/020 yet

So I’ve been on a relisten kick. I just did 19/20 today (the cannibal priest one) and noted, at first absently, that unlike most of the episodes, it’s not clear which entity is involved. Unlike MAG005 ‘Thrown Away’, however, 19 and 20 are overflowing with references to entities--just more than one of them. Also unlike ��Thrown Away’, afaik Rusty Quill hasn’t addressed this one in FAQs--which almost certainly means that it’s relevant and not an easy answer of “yeah I hadn’t worked it all out yet”.

But in case that’s not convincing enough, here’s some things which stuck out to me and which point towards a potential outcome:

Entity involvement: As mentioned above, there are many, many entities involved here.

The Spiral: Bethany doesn’t realize what’s going on around her and behaves oddly in ways similar to MAG126 ‘Sculptor’s Tools’. The swirling text on Father Burroughs’s Bible seems connected to the general reality distortion effect.

The Web: Mostly implicitly through the mention of the house on Hilltop Road, which was used by the Web as a halfway home and source of food.

The Desolation: When performing the exorcism and while Ivo Lensik is pulling down the tree that’s connected to Agnes Montague, Father Burroughs experiences sensations connected to burning, including rapid heat and apparently smoke inhalation.

The Beholding: Father Singh lists all of Father Burroughs’s sins in what is evidently an act of Knowing. When Burroughs approaches what seems to be the Oratory, ‘The church’s large round window shifted as I watched, as though it were a tremendous eye that were turning to focus upon me.’ Which is about as Beholding as it gets, imho.

The Stranger: The person Father Burroughs confesses to looks like Father Singh, but doesn’t sound like him and Father Singh is demonstrably somewhere else at the time. Whether this is a NotThem or some other manifestation of the Stranger is up for debate. Breekon and Hope delivered the yellow stole to the Oratory.

The Lonely: Oxford is abandoned when Father Burroughs leaves confession, and when he tries to approach people they vanish. The roads also turn weirdly and the town he is familiar with is alien, much like MAG150 ‘Cul-de-Sac’.

The Corruption: Burroughs’s stole is a “sickly” yellow, the service attendees are ‘fevered, jaundiced yellow’.

The Flesh: Cannibalism. :D Also perversion of religion, per MAG130 ‘Meat’.

Houses: Two houses are present in this episode. One is the house on Hilltop Road, which has strong connections with the Web and also the Desolation. The other is 89 Bullingdon Road.

Bethany’s room is on the 1st floor (2nd for Americans) at the back

On the wall, under the wallpaper, is the word “mentis”, which is Latin for ‘mind’ and most common in English in the phrase non compos mentis, a legal term for someone of unsound mind

But Bethany was living in halls that year, and no one was renting 89 Bullingdon Road, according to the letting agent.

Furthermore Father Burroughs was found in “one of the back rooms” in that same house, sitting in front of the two dead students.

Assorted points of interest:

“It wants your faith.” Plenty of entities are involved in feeding on things from people, but two in particular are associated with faith: The Web (free will & predestination), and the End (...yup). But ultimately here I’m open to persuasion.

Bethany smashes a mirror. Mirrors are associated with the Spiral (MAG47), the Beholding (MAG60), and potentially either the Stranger or the Extinction (MAG147).

‘A man appeared at the door. He was tall and pale, and dressed as an altar server.’ I can list a bunch of people who it’s not (Gerry comes to mind--no bad dye job or tats) but also a bunch of people who it could plausibly be. Idk.

‘It was bright, so bright. Candles covered every surface, each glowing so powerfully that I could barely look directly at them.‘ Other than not the Dark, all I can think is this has something to do with the Destruction (fire) or the Beholding (illuminating everything?) or an anti-Dark ritual??

‘At that moment, the bell rang to mark the start of the mass. It was a single, jarring tone that cut through the air and made me almost double over in pain, so badly did it pierce into my pounding skull.’ I have no idea. The only place I can find bells mentioned is MAG152 ‘A Gravedigger’s Envy’, but that doesn’t quite make sense here. Although it would add in the Buried, who thus far has been missing.

Mark 9:14-19 is the start of a longer story (9:14-29) in which Jesus heals a boy possessed by ‘an impure spirit’. I’m not sure if this is the Web (possessing people is very much in its remit) or the Corruption (impurity).

Other involvement:

Somehow Burroughs gets to 89 Bullingdon Road, somehow the two students are captured, tied up, and killed, someone provides and then removes the scalpel and other tools.

The altar server is most likely this person--if we just knew who it was.

The entire setup feels very much like a ritual, but not for any particular entity, or at least not one of the 14? 8 are explicitly involved (Spiral, Web, Desolation, Beholding, Stranger, Lonely, Corruption, Flesh) and 3 are potentially (End, Extinction, Buried). The only 3 missing are Dark, Hunt, and Vast--and the Dark may be explicitly repelled? At any rate, the whole “take over a person, then ritually mutilate and consume them” seems ritual-y to me.

Gertrude read this statement and deliberately misfiled the second half with the ritual in--”As it turns out the second part of this statement was simply misfiled in the next folder”.

Given that Gertrude has already appeared twice in s5, and that we are now in a world in which multiple entities overlap and collide (see MAG164 and the watchful maypole), and that the timeline for this makes no goddamn sense even by TMA standards, and that Jonny was explicitly asked about the timeline and didn’t answer it (link), and that the house on Hilltop Road is a centre for the Web and a hole to another universe...

We’re going to get an answer on what was up with Father Burroughs and 89 Bullington Road.

If pinned down on it, my current bet is that the Web was experimenting with alternative rituals. Whenever these events happen (2006-2011 is fair game) it’s still contemporaneous with Gertrude investigating and interfering in rituals--although since this one seems to have gone as planned, I suspect she only recognized it as such in 2015, when she escalated to “deliberate non-involvement”. Perhaps this was the proof she needed that leaving the Dark alone would not destroy the world.

#tma #the magnus archives #whoops i meta'd

[baldwin-montclair]

Baldwin’s Nightingale (Part 15)

Characters: Baldwin Montclair/OC

Timeframe: After the S1 Finale, TV Show canon MOSTLY with some S2, Shadow of Night and Book of Life.

Summary: The big day arrives and Alisha finds that the normal wedding jitters may well be justified.

Tag requests: @christi14 @poemfreak306 @pookie-cleary @hofficoffi @stormyheart326 @theshiningc @wonderlander594 @madamquacklemore @thereadersmuse @ateliefloresdaprimavera

The Story So Far

___

The morning had been such a rush of activity and getting ready, Alisha had barely time to panic. Standing in the vestibule of the chapel, waiting, she felt the slowly creeping panic start to set in.

“Woah, some grip!” Nathaniel chuckled at the hold she had on his arm.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Alisha gave him a sheepish look.

“I was kidding,” he assured, giving her hand a comforting pat, “but I can still get you a fake passport and a flight away from here and Montclair if you’ve changed your mind.”

“I haven’t, but thank you,” she took a deep breath, “it’s just stupid performance nerves.”

“You’re a musician.”

“And if all I had to do was play music for everyone in there I’d be fine, public speaking on the other hand.”

The combination of wedding jitters, sneering sisters-in-law, missing Baldwin and whatever was happening with her sudden ability to read Latin had created a constant noise in her mind that she could not quieten.

Their musical cue started up and Alisha took a shaky breath. Nathaniel put his hand over hers on his arm to steady her.

“I can do this.” She whispered to herself as the inner doors opened, revealing her path to the altar and Baldwin, facing away from her as tradition dictated and she could see the tense set of his shoulders.

Gallowglass stood to his side, not bound by the same rule and gave her a smile and an understated bow.

As she grew closer to Baldwin, she noted that his posture softened slightly, still to attention as a soldier but without the tense rigidity.

He had clearly caught her scent.

Still, he didn’t move to look at her when Nathaniel delivered her to his side and took his seat beside Sophie, holding a sleeping Margaret in her arms.

Ysabeau had warned Alisha what to expect. Baldwin’s role in the ceremony was to be as stone-like and stoic as a king and given the separation coupled with the mating bond, his control was most likely severely frayed.

As soon as she placed her hand in his, however, he subtly brushed his thumb across her knuckles. A gesture he’d granted beyond the propriety expected.

The endless swirl of questions and worries seemed to lift from her mind and the nerves he’d sensed were quelled by his decision to put her comfort above maintaining his stony facade.

As soon as the priest began, she knew that her reading proficiency with Latin also extended to the spoken language as well.

She realised that if she focused on the words individually, she had no idea what was being said. Similar to seeing past the script of the letter to the meaning, there seemed to be a connection in her mind she was not aware of, something was translating meaning for her, deciphering unfamiliar collections of letters into...not even English, just understanding.

It terrified her.

Still, she held it together, barely, until the exchanging of rings, and vows, her contribution to the ceremony and tried not to feel too alarmed at the impressed look Baldwin gave her at her recitation of the vows that just the previous night Ysabeau had called ‘sufficient’.

Their kiss was chaste and brief, much less than she needed but definitely more appropriate for the setting and the company.

This was made up for when they arrived at Sept-Tour and he pulled her into a hidden alcove away from the eyes of servants and arriving guests.

It confirmed for Alisha that the restrained contact in the church had been as trying for him as it had been for her.

“My beautiful, brave little nightingale,” he regarded her with a mixture of wonder and admiration when he released her from his kiss.

“Brave?” She questioned breathlessly.

“I know that was not easy for you.”

“Or you,” she reminded, “but it’s done.”

“Still, I am sorry for leaving you here, I would not have done so had it been avoidable.”

“I know,” she gave a reassuring smile and leant up to kiss him again, “ but I did miss you.”

“As did I you, sweetheart,” he sighed, touching his forehead to hers “a few more hours and I’ll have you to myself!”

The last statement seemed more of a reassurance to himself.

“We’ll manage,” she gave him a mischievous look, “and I have a surprise for you, for later.”

“A surprise?” He cocked his head to the side, a look of amusement in his eyes.

“We should go join our wedding celebrations,” she grinned, attempting to make it past him.

Just as she almost made it, she felt his arm slide around her waist and she was pulled against him, her back firmly pressed against his chest.

“Baldwin,” she attempted to reason, as much with herself as him as his lips grazed the skin of her neck, just over her pulse, “this place is full of vampires, and they will be looking for us!”

“I know,” he murmured, “but I have been too long without you and your scent, right here,” he lightly nudged a spot behind her ear with the tip of his nose, “is making it very difficult to care about being discovered.”

“Did the favour not work?” She asked, unable to keep the disappointment in her voice.

“Of course it worked, no one was flayed or dismembered.”

“That’s a relief!”

“Regardless, you will not be far enough from my side for the foreseeable future for that to be a problem.”

“But first,” she tilted her face to look at him, “we still have our wedding reception to get through, then I am all yours!”

“My darling,” he leant down and gently pressed his lips to hers, cupping her face in his hand, “once this is over and we are indeed alone, you will be left in no doubt that you are, in fact, mine!”

The possessiveness of his words made her breath hitch, not helped by the brush of his thumb across her bottom lip and she drew in a shaky breath.

“Guests, vampires, super senses.” She reminded.

The quiet growl of frustration told her he knew she was right.

“As you wish, Madame de Clermont.”

As soon as they emerged, Baldwin stopped and surveyed the room, sensing something.

“Miyako,” he called out to a beautiful - and departing - woman in her mid-twenties, or, she appeared to be.

She stopped and turned back.

“Otōsan,” Baldwin’s daughter gave him a respectful bow.

“Cara,” he smiled, greeting her in the french double cheek kiss tradition, “I am very pleased to see you.”

It was the most unguardedly affectionate she’d seen him act towards a member of his family and it made Alisha’s heart swell.

“I apologise for missing the ceremony, there were,” Miyako paused, “complications.”

Her gaze drifted over Alisha.

“I suppose it is time you were both introduced to one another,” Baldwin admitted with some reticence, “Miyako, this is my wife, Alisha, meet my daughter.”

“Madame.” Miyako bowed.

The greeting was polite, respectful, not cold or passively hostile, as the ones she received from Stasia and Verin.

“Miyako,” Alisha smiled, “it’s great to meet you, Baldwin has such high praise for you.”

“Oh?”

The faintest hint of amusement flickered in the young woman’s eyes as both she and Alisha turned their attention on Baldwin.

“I may have extolled your considerable skill in combat.” He responded, feeling decidedly outnumbered.

“Thank you Papa,” she accepted gracefully, “although much of my ability is as a result of your instruction.”

“Much?” He challenged with good-natured outrage.

“There is something I must discuss with you, but it can keep for a day.” Miyako started, carefully, glancing in Alisha’s direction then back to her father.

“You should both catch up,” Alisha suggested, extricating herself to give them the privacy she sensed Miyako was requesting, “we won’t be needed for some time yet.”

Baldwin looked between his daughter and wife and gave a nod in agreement.

“My office Mimi, I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Otōsan,” she gave him the same head bow and turned her gaze on Alisha, “thank you Madame.”

Alisha wanted to ask the vampire to simply call her by her name, as she had with Christina, but the minefield of vampire customs was still unfamiliar.

She decided that she would ask Baldwin later, if that was appropriate.

“I’m sorry,” Alisha smiled after Miyako left, “that was frickin’ adorable!”

“What was?”

“You! I knew it, total Papa Bear type,” she teased, ignoring his weary sigh, “and it shouldn’t be possible but I think I love you even more now.” She smoothed down his tie.

“Possible or not,” he covered her hand with his on his chest, “I am glad I exceeded your expectations.”

Alisha glanced around the room, realising there was someone missing.

“I don’t see Christina, did you ask her?”

“Of course I did but she declined the invitation, didn’t specify why.”

Alisha frowned before her eyes grew wide.

“Stop,” Baldwin shook his head, placing his hands on her upper arms, “you’re going straight to worry and its not necessary, she’s fine.”

She nodded at his words but her expression was still troubled.

“Alisha, I spoke to her myself yesterday, it was obviously a private matter I wasn’t about to pry into it. Trust me, she’s fine.”

At Baldwin’s words she let out a small exhale of relief.

“Sorry,” she rolled her eyes at herself, “bit of an overreaction.”

“Not at all,” he assured, “I find the fact that you care so much endlessly endearing.”

He pressed a tender kiss to her temple before following after Miyako.

“You met my niece.” Verin stated, making Alisha jump.

“Yes, she seems to be a very competent and self-sufficient young woman.” Alisha answered with confidence.

The first meeting with her step-daughter had gone well and she was not going to allow Verin to spoil that.

“She’s over four hundred, I would be careful not to patronise, given your age.”

“I love your brother, Verin, is that not enough for you?” Alisha asked pointedly.

“No,” she shrugged, “he protects us from all threats and he does so by ruthlessly destroying our enemies. You have bleeding heart written all over you and we cannot afford to show mercy!”

“You think I will stop him acting in the best interests of our family?”

Verin laughed at this but it was a cold, hollow sound.

“Our family is it now?”

“It is, considering the fact that Baldwin saw me fit to join it!”

“Bringing you into the family is the kind of joke I’d imagine someone with his lack of a sense of humour to make!”

“He has a sense of humour!”

“You believe you know him better than I do,” she rolled her eyes, “next you’ll tell me that he can perceive sarcasm!”

“Oh, he can, much better than he seems to,” Alisha argued, “but I wouldn’t worry if you’ve said something in the past you thought you got away with. I’m sure he doesn’t hold grudges.” Alisha noted Nathaniel waving her over to him and Sophie.

“Excuse me, sister!” She gave the vampire her sweetest smile and left to join the witches and other daemons.

Freyja caught her on the way, her expression urgent.

“If you’re going to bait Verin, do not then turn your back on her,” she nodded behind Alisha, “he won’t be there every time.”

Alisha turned to see Gallowglass stand in Verin’s way.

“She started it!” Alisha argued.

“And she could quite easily end it!”

“Would she?”

”Most likely not,” Freyja glanced again at her sister, “but do you wish to test that?”

Alisha shook her head.

“Good,” Freyja gestured to the daemons Alisha was headed for, “go, have fun and smile. I’ll have a talk with my sister!”

Alisha watched Verin stalk off with Freyja following after, Ernst was deep in conversation with Em and Sarah and hadn’t noticed the exchange, most likely used to the family drama.

Baldwin found Miyako in his father’s study, seated in front of the desk, a position he once held but now he was expected on the other side, in Philippe’s chair.

“I cannot locate her, the vampire, Christina Lewis.” Miyako told him as he took his chair.

“Fuck,” he swore after a moment, “where does the trail end?”

“London but I have not yet been able to conduct my own investigation on the ground there yet, I shall go tomorrow-”

“No,” Baldwin replied sharply, “whoever is behind this will not get you too.”

“Were you not convinced that Gerbert was to blame, he is after Madame de Clermont?”

“You can call her Alisha, I know she’d prefer that,” he sighed, “and I believed he was but his purchase of the third fresco property in Venice was simply a means to thwart Knox. Their alliance was always on a shaky ground and when it’s purpose to destroy me failed, so did the ceasefire. Gerbert only acquired the property after Knox showed interest in it.”

“But Guillermo was his creature, was he not?”

“He had no loyalty to anyone but Gerbert did often use him, paying Guillermo handsomely for the service. He was clearly working for someone else when he killed Michael and went after Alisha.”

“Knox?”

“More likely, which is why I want you nowhere near it.”

“If I cannot handle a witch then you did not instruct me well enough.”

“I am in no mood for games cara,” he warned, “if Knox were to harm you I would have to kill him, then how would the congregation stand with the vampires and witches at war?”

“Of course I will not act against your wishes,” she acceded, “but we still do not know the significance of the daemon’s research?”

“We won’t until we look at the drive.”

“You haven’t looked at the data yet?”

“It’s not my place.”

“Papa-“

“Miyako,” he stated in a low tone that invited no prodding, “we have more pressing issues to deal with than the obsessive ramblings of an art historian, finding Christina and-“

“Discovering who killed the orchestra master?”

“Yes.” He sighed.

“Does she know?”

“It’s her wedding day, I think breaking the news that her boss is dead, can wait.”

“Brian Cassidy was found drained two nights ago.”

“I’m aware of the timeline.”

“You are keeping a lot of secrets from your wife.”

“Love, honour and protect, those were my vows. There was nothing in there about full disclosure.” He stated plainly as Gallowglass appeared at the door.

“We have a problem.”

“That seems to be the theme of this day.” Miyako rolled her eyes.

“What is it?” Baldwin asked, shooting a warning look at his daughter.

“One of our tenants, found dead, drained. There’s an intruder on our property.”

Baldwin rose to his feet and left the room, with the expectation that his daughter and nephew follow.

They did.

“Who found him?” He asked as he made his way to the main hall.

“His son, poor bairn’s only seventeen, thought the old man got drunk and lost, told his mother he’d clean him up for the reception. She was at the wedding, he’s in the hall, had to tell his mother her husband wasn’t coming home.”

“Are all our other tenants accounted for?” Baldwin asked bluntly, the commander emerging.

“They’re all in attendance for the reception.”

“Good, then we’re in lockdown, nobody in or out.”

“So we’re hunting?” Gallowglass asked.

“You, me, Freyja, Verin and Stasia will neutralise the threat. Marcus will stay here in case medical treatment is necessary.”

“I can-“ Miyako started.

“You and Alisha will also stay within the walls of Sept Tours.”

“With Ysabeau?” Miyako snorted derisively.

“Yes, with Ysabeau, if she’s within these walls, no-one is getting in!”

Baldwin often surprised Gallowglass, every century or so, with his praise for his step-mother.

“Yes Papa.” Miyako relented, recognising the tone.

“I want everyone ready to go in the next five minutes.” Baldwin ordered Gallowglass and left before receiving an answer.

“Eric, who’d be stupid enough to try this?” Miyako shook her head.

“No idea, but I know that look,” he nodded to the direction Baldwin left, “we’re about to find out.”

Alisha stood when the door to their quarters opened and Baldwin looked up to see her. In the blink of an eye she was in his arms.

“Duty calls, I’m sor-” He started.

She stopped his words with a kiss.

“Don’t apologise, just come back to me.”

“I will.” He promised, pressing a kiss against her temple as he often did, before breaking the contact to retrieve his sword, a gladius, a weapon she recognised from some of Michael’s works.

“Didn’t think vampires used weapons.”

“Old habits die hard.” He explained.

“Then take this.”

Baldwin watched with stunned interest as she lifted the skirts of the dress to her thigh and removed the favour she had worn as a garter.

He placed the sword on the table and took the embroidered fabric from her outstretched hand, only breaking their gaze to read the words embroidered there.

“Bound by my heart to your will,” he recited before looking back up at her, “do you mean this?”

“More now than when I made it.”

“Good,” he exhaled slightly, seemingly expecting a fight from her regarding his orders, “then stay in the fortress, do as Ysabeau says, she will keep you safe. Tell me you understand.” He demanded, wrapping the material of the favour in a spool around his fingers before placing it safely inside his pocket.

“I understand.” She confirmed.

“And?”

“I’ll do as you say, as my lord, my husband,” she lifted the scabbard containing his weapon and held it with both hands, presenting it with a bow of her head, “and head of my family.”

Baldwin took the weapon, deciding that he was going to make the intruder suffer twice as much for keeping him from her for even a second.

“Do not stay in these rooms, it is important to me that you are not alone. Let the people see you, as my representative, speak to them and, if you can, play for them. It always made me feel better and it will help you.”

“Help me?”

“You’re brave but your heart is beating like a drum. You’re afraid but have no reason to be, this is your home now, you are safe here.”

“I know I am, and I know you will be fine too, but worry isn’t logical. When you’re back and safe, I’ll be satisfied.”

“When I return, your satisfaction will be my one goal and responsibility.”

One last kiss and he was gone, leaving her to gather nerves and return to the guests and friends.

———

PART 16

#adow #a discovery of witches #adow baldwin #baldwin montclair #adow baldwin fic #baldwin’s nightingale #adow fic

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

Insānĭa || Alfie Solomons x reader || Part Two

 ↬ Part One ↫        

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested/summary: “Hi luv can you write a Jealous Alfie that’s leads to in ur words good old fashioned rough sex pretty please 😉”

Warnings: swearing, dirty talking, smut, rough sex, oral sex, jealous Alfie getting me on my knees

Author’s notes:

Sooo, I’ve definitely decided to use this kind of titles for fics about strong feelings such as jealousy because Latin is a magnificent, very expressive language that allows you to grasp every single shade of a word and fully understand its meaning

I had to split this in two since it was awfully long: ↠ Part One ↞

Alfie -and Tom Hardy in general- is one of my most remote wet dreams, I truly hope I did a good job with this one ♡

Always remember that jealous rough sex is okay as long as you both enjoy it and you don’t get hurt, otherwise no one has the right to force you into anything, actual violence is never a good thing.  Please, if you’re a victim of any kind of abuse, talk to someone who can help you, nobody should go through something like that alone.

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

Let me know what you think and tell me if this is what you expected  ♡

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

Insānĭa  [insaniă], insaniae  feminine noun I declension 

1. madness, insanity 2. fury, frenzy 3. excess, extravagance 4. profligacy, luxury

[...]

“Oh, c’mon, love, no need to be this irascible! He is a gorgeous man, you can’t deny that” In truth, you couldn’t care less about that eyetie, still you kept using that coquettish tone, knowing how easy it was for you to find his weak spot, indeed Alfie immediately got close to your face, slightly squeezing his menacing eyes. “Are you fucking trying to make me mad on purpose, y/n? eh?” His palms loudly collided with the wooden surface on each side of your legs, his plump lips were now only a few inches apart from yours, his hot breath warming your flushed cheeks as you pierced his dilated pupils with a lustful gaze.

“Maybe.”

That lascivious whisper shattered against Alfie’s mouth a second before you impatiently kissed him, your fists covetously clutched his white shirt collar as he started fondling your back, then pulling you even closer by vehemently gripping the lower part of your pinned hair, while, with a few brusque movements, his other hand lifted your skirt above your hips and took care of your ivory lingerie which was swiftly pulled to one side. “You’re mine” A grave moan erupted from your throat when that indisputable claim hit you, together with the sudden feeling of two of your lover’s fingers plunging deep into your already soaked core. “Do you hear me?” Alfie growled through his teeth again and your foreheads intimately joined to one another, so that he could keep his voracious stare entangled with yours, a mellow grin took form on your luscious face and you pecked his lips with hunger, brutally pulling his hair. “All yours” As his fingertips expertly stroked your insides, your lecherous remark came out in a muffled gasp, lost between the incessant whimpers leaving your open mouth; you desperately clung to his strong shoulders and hid your head in the crook of his neck, sensing a well-known knot dangerously growing in your stomach, until Alfie’s touch abruptly left your skin, causing you to exhale an instinctive cry of protest. You watched him quickly get rid of his shirt, making you even wetter due to the stunning sight of his muscular abdomen, then he approached you again,  unbuttoning your corset with urgency while your bare collarbone was covered in small bites and tickled by his whiskers. Once your voluptuous chest was left exposed, at his complete mercy, Alfie let out a croaky groan, revelling in that aphrodisiac view for a couple of seconds, before his warm tongue assailed your smooth skin, drawing fast circles around one of your nipples as the other was cruelly cupped in his callous left palm. Your breathing hastily became heavier when you felt his lips lingering the area between your breasts and then ruthlessly going down, until he knelt to assault your centre, and you couldn’t hold back a guttural scream, totally overwhelmed by that ardent feeling. Without a chance to stop your movements, you found yourself eager to climax, as your legs widened even more and your fists aggressively tangled his hair, in order to dive his head further between your soft thighs.

Alfie looked up at your figure, astonished by your wild beauty, while he kept devouring you with ferocity, he loved the way your body quivered with blind pleasure because of him, and he knowingly brought two fingers to work along with his tongue, eventually seeing you melt under his touch as frenetic moans escaped your craw. “So fucking sweet” He whined, getting back on his feet as soon as you released, just to luxuriously kiss you again; the taste of your own juices invaded your mouth, your head still spinning from your orgasm, when his hands briefly grasped your free locks, then moving to your bottom, in attempt to pick you up and carry you towards the closet placed next to the door. Goosebumps mantled your burning skin, due to the harsh contrast with the gelid surface of the antique cabinet, but your mind was too dizzy for you to react to that sharp contact, so you just abandoned yourself to your lover’s grip, letting him take off the messy rest of your clothes. Once you were totally naked in front of him, Alfie impatiently pulled your legs apart, tinkering with his trousers for a few moments, before you could sense his throbbing tip rubbing against your entrance, having your hips spontaneously tilt in his direction. All of the air brusquely left your lungs as soon as he filled you with one vigorous thrust, his thick member sank deep into you and he held still for a while, profanities leaving his lips because of that intense delight. Your nails scratched his back multiple times and your legs intertwined behind his back as Alfie gradually increased his peace, he roughly cupped your chin while his other hand rabidly held you in place by your waist, leaving red marks on your flesh. A loud shout erupted from your throat as he furiously reached for a precise spot more than once, so that, prey of your fervent ecstasy, you dragged his face towards yours in order to rapaciously bite his lower lip. “A-alfie” His name echoed through the room and sounded like an unholy prayer coming from you, still that wasn’t enough for him, thus his hips started ramming into yours harder and faster, while he blurted out animalistic noises against your glowing neck. “Louder! Let them hear who you belong to” Alfie was literally growling, still furious about the previous events, he kept mercilessly thrusting into you, producing clamorous thuds with each violent impact, as you threw your head back in pure bliss and continued to scream his name, steadily raising your trembling voice after every lunge. “Good girl, look at me” His fingers grabbed your chin again when he muttered that order with his usual husky voice, and he forced you to move your face enough to capture your irises, blurred by pleasure, with his own, greedy and firm. “Only I am allowed to fuck you like this. Only I can make you scream like this” He never looked away from your half-shut eyes, neither he stopped his frantic movements, while he whispered those arousing words, almost like it was a secret yours to keep; you simply nodded, unable to pronounce real sentences by that time, since you were busy crying out loud, a span away from his nose. Then, all of a sudden, Alfie held both of your wrists in one of his large palms, pinning your arms above your head, against the curtains covering the opaque windows of his office. “I want to feel you tighten around my cock, ‘want you to cum for me again”

His thumb went to ably stroke your clit, but the truth was that his adamant tone alone was enough to drive you over the edge, you finally reached for your second release, as your whole body tensed and your thighs started shaking, still gathered around his solid waist. Alfie slowed down his thrusts while he relished the last sporadic convulsions of your walls, riding the end of his own orgasm and moaning your name with his closed eyes turned to the ceiling. You immediately collapsed onto his toned chest, as he started tenderly rubbing your exhausted shape, both your heavy breaths being the only sound breaking that sudden silence, until you sleepily giggled against his collarbone. “What?” He mumbled while covering the skin of your shoulder with sweet butterfly kisses. “I was just thinking that I’ll never be able to show my face in this office again” 

#peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinders #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders preference #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders headcanon #alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons smut #alfie solomons one shot #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby immagine #thomas shelby imagine #john shelby x reader #michael gray x reader #arthur shelby x reader #finn shelby x reader #isaiah jesus x reader #ada shelby x reader #polly gray x reader

[copias-thrall]

Hulloooooo! Do you have any headcanons about how Copia and Papa 3 would be in bed with each other?

These idiots.

Thirst below

*m/m, really rough sex*

What you have to understand is these two are basically a walking Enemies to Lovers tag.

Copia shows up on the scene and Papa III is hella suspicious. Why is this man here at this Church. There are so many senior clergy members here, why add another? And to add insult to injury the guy isn’t even flaunting his favor. He’s just. Always in his office working or attending to the education of the Siblings. They guy’s just such a square. He’d been expecting to hear poor performance reviews of The Cardinal’s Sibling initiations, but on the contrary—he seems to have … groupies. It’s beyond maddening. He’s determined to show this man how unwelcome he is here at any opportunity. 

Copia himself is wondering how he ended up here. He’s not really the political type, and that’s maybe what landed him in this predicament—he’s pretty much a neutral party who is devoted to the Church and does excellent paperwork. He wasn’t exactly expecting a warm welcome from Papa III, but the level of disdain and vitriol the man directs at him is beyond unwarranted. That man is a spoiled brat, surrounded by yes men, and he wouldn’t know what a Form 38a § G was if it slapped him in the face. Which is what Copia would love to do every time he goes to III’s office to find him there with a Sibling under his desk.

And then the pranks start.

Stupid, little things. Surprising in how juvenile they are. A whoopee cushion placed under his seat pillow in Chapel. A tack on his office chair. Sugar in his salt shaker and salt in his sugar bowl (and ok: after finding the sugar in his salt shaker he really should have checked his sugar bowl, so that one’s on him).

Honestly, Copia had assumed it was the Ghouls or bored first-years. But then one day he has to double back to his office to retrieve a file he overlooked, and he catches III in the act of—well he’s not sure, but there were pulleys involved. Copia saw that his door was ajar—unusual, but not immediately suspicious. The sounds, though, were. Copia had slowly swung open the door—his palm flush on the wood—to reveal III, slightly bent over, fiddling with ropes, the clunk of the metal pulley loud in the relative silence. Perhaps sensing a shift in the air around him, or a change in light, III had turned to look at the doorway and froze. Copia looked at him. Papa III had looked back. They has stood like that—a cursed tableau—until III at least had the indecency to look ashamed. He’d quickly gathered up his … contraption … and scuttled down the hallway, Copia just standing there, motionless and mute throughout the whole.

And maybe that could have been that. The prank war could have ended with Papa III’s embarrassment and the two of them continuing to have a quiet, but markéd, distaste for each other. But Copia did not rise through the ranks on his studiousness alone. You have to be somewhat dangerous if you want to ascend and you’re not of the Emeritus line.

Copia lets III fall into a false sense of security. He barely shows any acknowledgement that he caught him red handed. And Papa III seems begrudgingly grateful that Copia didn’t report him to Sister Imperator; he thinks there’s an uneasy truce. 

But Copia is a patient man. 

The dark solstice is upon them. The shortest day of the year. The time where it is more night than day. It’s not one of their High Unholy Days, but it is a time for new sins and wanton revelry—so one could say it’s an important holiday to the Church. It’s a service III can perform by rote—a few updates to the Latin sermon every year, but basically it’s a boilerplate by now. So he doesn’t really practice it. Just sends it off with his few notes to have it rewritten cleanly.

The service is usually excruciating—the Ghouls and Siblings are counting down the minutes til they can fuck and drink all night; many of the permanent clergy members have heard this sermon for years; Papa III himself is bored with it. Only Nihil, Papa I, and Sister Imperator seem to actually be enjoying the pageantry of it.

This year though, as soon as Papa III gets a few lines in, there’s a hushed tittering in the crowd. III ignores it because: it’s probably just some tomfoolery. He’s more or less spaced out, his brain on autopilot as he sings out the words to the verse. It’s when the murmurings turn into stifled giggles, and he tunes in enough to see Imperator glaring at him, does what he’s actually saying dawn on him.

Oops, I did it again / I played with your heart, got lost in the game / Oh baby, baby / Oops, you think I’m in love / That I’m sent from above / I’m not that innocent /

He stutters and pauses; he picks up the sheaf in front of him, squinting.

Yes.

Oh yes.

His solstice sermon has been replaced with the lyrics to “Oops, I Did It Again.”

He chances a look over to the pew with the Higher Clergy—to gauge from his father and Sister how bad it is—but instead he catches the eyes of an expressionless Cardinal Copia looking deadass back at him. Papa III narrows his eyes and meets The Cardinal’s steady gaze, their white eyes at war. He proceeds to finish his altered sermon with as much pomp and severity that he can lend to an outdated pop song.

His eyes don’t once leave The Cardinal’s.

Afterwards, Papa III is on his way to having a full on hairy conniption. He manages to make it back to his office before he tears off his ceremonial robes in a rage. The Ghouls attending him are surprised and concerned at his uncharacteristic carelessness with his vestments. He hurriedly shoos them out, and then sits down at his desk, panting in ire. He’s not one that angers easily, so he’s unused to the pounding adrenaline. Taking out his aged Scotch—the bottle he really keeps in his desk just for show—he pours himself two fingers (if “two fingers” means the space between his index and pinky fingers) and swallows it down in two gulps, coughing and sputtering at the burn.

It’s enough to take him out of his snit a bit to consider why he’s so angry; it’s not like this particular holiday is of great importance to him, and it’s not like in general he doesn’t find the services tedious. Lucifer, it’s not like doing a dramatic reading of a pop song is out of character for him.

But he would never, never, be so ostensibly irreverent during an important occasion. The heavy eyes of the Church—of his father, of the Sister—are ever on him, watching, waiting. Cardinal Copia made him look like an asshole in front of the whole congregation—and because it’s so on brand, no one probably even thinks it was a joke on him.

And that’s what’s making him incensed: at a time when his tenure as Papa is so precarious, The Cardinal made him look like a buffoon. 

Papa III’s blood boils all over again and his fists tighten. Cardinal Copia crossed a line, may have even done it with malicious intent, and he needs to pay, that Rat.

He takes a generous swig from the bottle before making his way to The Cardinal’s quarters. Unlike III, Cardinal Copia’s office and personal chambers are in the same suite, so he knows there’s a good chance of catching him as he’s changing out of his cassock and into one of those ridiculously tight suits he owns.

Copia has to admit to himself that maybe he took his revenge too far. He was only trying to show Papa III that he’s not a pushover. Given the man’s reputation, Copia didn’t even consider how thrown that man would be at his little switcheroo prank. But there had been a—a what? A sudden slight paleness to the unpainted skin around his face; a moment of panic in his mismatched eyes. He’d continued on with gusto, but there was none of the humor in it that Copia had come to associate with the man. In all honesty, Copia hadn’t expected III to continue (or honestly get so far)—he’d had the correct sermon under his own seat ready to hand over.

This was a Papa he’d expected to linger and joke with his parishioners—instead, III had hustled out of the chapel in a flurry of swirling robes, hardly paying any heed to the Siblings that batted their eyelashes at him in hopes of being one of his chosen revelers. Copia is at war with himself between wanting to apologize and scoffing that the man had brought it on himself, even if Copia had miscalculated.

Everyone knows how pranks can escalate.  

Copia is halfway through the ties and clasps and buttons to get out of his dress cassock when his door bangs open (he hadn’t thought to lock it because he’d assumed everyone was already out on the grounds celebrating). Papa III stands there, panting, with murderous intent in his eyes.

As expected, Papa III finds The Cardinal in a state of half undress (his shapely legs bare and exposed) in his outer office. He’s stopped his ministrations, as if caught in a freeze frame, and staring wide-eyed at Papa. III had come here to really lay into the man, but something about seeing him so caught off guard—like he’s more concerned about changing into his party clothes than how he’s ruined this night for Papa—sets something off on him. Before his brain catches up to his impulses, Papa III is launching himself at The Cardinal, fist drawn back and ready to strike.

But III is a lover, not a fighter. He throws a punch like he’s launching a paper airplane, and The Cardinal easily deflects his attack and—in what can only be a practiced movement—uses his momentum to pin his arm behind his back. He struggles and The Cardinal instantly releases him, hands palm up in appeasement.

“Your Unholiness, please—” starts Copia, but III isn’t here to talk. He goes for Cardinal Copia again, and Copia—expecting another fist—is startled when the palm of III’s hand lands a slap across his cheek. He looks at III, incredulous.

“Did you? Did you just slap me?”

Papa III huffs and raises his chin at The Cardinal.

“Come at me. Bro,” he says in his accented English.

The Cardinal’s mouth drops open, and—before Papa III can relish what he thinks is his victory—Cardinal Copia slaps him hard, right on his cheekbone. Papa is momentarily startled, reflexive tears threatening to spill. When he catches his breath he sees that Cardinal Copia’s eyes are smoldering at him in obvious challenge, so he launches himself at The Cardinal once again.

They both raise their hands to each other, each strike being batted away by the other, until they are both embroiled in very involved, very mature slap fight.

“Stop that!”

“No, you stop that!”

Suddenly Papa III gains the upper, err, hand by gaining a hold on The Cardinal’s wrist; he wrenches it and uses his leverage to push Cardinal Copia on his back onto his desk. The Cardinal goes sprawling, his half undone cassock spreading and exposing his bare legs again. Is he wearing nothing on at all under his ceremonial dress!?

“I see you like to go nude. Let me help you further, dear Cardinal.”

Before The Cardinal has a chance to push him away, III grabs at each side and rips his robes down the middle, belts tearing and buttons popping to scatter every which way, the sound of them skittering across his desk and plinking of the floor now filling the room. The Cardinal grasps frantically at the material, in a vain attempt to keep himself somewhat covered.

Papa III is now panting over The Cardinal, between his legs, and suddenly very aware of the miles of naked skin. Copia is looking up at him with … an unreadable expression. III leans down, gets right into The Cardinal’s face, and says lowly:

“To think I thought of you so chaste. But look at you. Does it give you a thrill? The knowing you could be caught in a compromising position? Or is it the sensation you like, hmm?”

He runs a gloved finger down the sliver of bare chest to where Cardinal Copia is clenching the ends of fabric together with one fist over his crotch. He continues his trail over The Cardinal’s knuckles. His dick gives an interested twitch.

“Even here?”

Copia’s heart is beating fast from the adrenaline; it was foolish of him to forget that he was dealing with a dangerous predator. And now here he is, under him, literally showing his vulnerable belly. Papa III is well within his rights to do anything, take anything, from him. It sets off a tingle of butterflies in his chest.  

While III is distracted with his nethers, Copia uses his other hand to grasp Papa III by the hair. Copia yanks his head down, hard, til their lips meet in a painful smack. He opens his mouth to suck Papa’s plump bottom lip into his mouth, then bites down hard, drawing blood.

III makes an indignant noise, his hand suddenly coming up to grab at Copia’s jaw to hold it firmly in place from further injury. His eyes glare a warning.

“Is that how it is to be, Rat?”

Copia just snarls against the grip.

Papa’s hand slithers from Copia’s jaw to lightly clench around his neck. Copia gasps as much as he can with the restriction, his hands coming up to grab at Papa III’s arm. His ruined cassock falls open completely to reveal that the only thing beneath it is a black g-string. III looks down at it and chuckles.

“What a surprising Rat you are.”

His other hand snakes down between their bodies to yank and pull at the g-string until Copia’s half-hard cock bounces free, betraying his interest in the proceedings. Papa III’s eyes widen as he takes in the girth and size of Copia’s member. Looking back up at Copia with a smirk he says:

“It is no wonder then. Why you are so popular for Initiates.”

“Shall … I  …” wheezes Copia, “Initiate … you too?”

Papa III is studying his face intently.

“No. No, as leader of Church I feel I have been … remiss in my, ah, duties.”

He runs a light finger up the vein in Copia’s cock, which only plumps it into further hardness. With all the blood rushing into either his head or his throbbing dick, Copia is beginning to feel a bit light-headed.

“As high-ranking official, you must be seen to myself. Forgive my negligence, yes?”

Papa III finally lets go of Copia’s neck only to insinuate himself further into the V of his open legs. Copia is momentarily distracted as the air flows freely into his lungs again, and it’s enough for III to start manhandling him onto his stomach. Copia isn’t going to make it easy for the bastard, so he starts to struggle against Papa, who only makes a tetching noise before slapping him across the face.

“Learn your place, Cardinal,” he growls. “This is what is lacking with you, no? You must learn this anew. I am in charge still. You follow my command.”

“When you do any actual leading, I’ll be sure to follow,” hisses Copia.

Papa III snarls at his insolence, and is suddenly on Copia, turning him over in a burst of rage while also tugging his tattered garments free. He pulls the shreds of the cassock away just enough to not be a hindrance, but not enough that Copia has free use of his arms—they’re still caught in his sleeves and now firmly behind his back. Copia has no leverage, but he starts bucking and struggling anyway; Papa just lays a firm hand on the middle of his back and commands him to settle.

Copia huffs; his cheek is squashed into the desk, all his papers are scattered—some crinkling under him—and the edge of the wood is digging into the pudge of his belly. His cock dangles heavy between legs. Copia wishes he had something to rut against—he’s half turned on and III is being a goddamned tease, as usual.

There’s a rustling and movement behind him before he feels the poke of Papa’s hardness against his ass cheek. He tenses.

Papa III isn’t really sure when his anger turned into lust. Or was it always lust—or is it still anger? All he knows is that he has to have this man beneath him. Has to subdue him and assert his authority in some meaningful way. And he’s not immune to the miles of freckles stark on pale skin or the prominent flesh of which he can take handfuls.

He’s been hard ever since he saw The Cardinal’s cock on its way to full mast. So The Rat likes a little dominance, eh? He’s more than happy to show him who’s boss here. He works his cock and balls free through the slit in his pants. He’s going to fuck The Cardinal with his clothes on. He rubs his cockhead into the meat of The Cardinal’s ass, delighting in the jolts of pleasure from the pressure and the visible trail of precum he’s leaving. The Cardinal is trembling and breathing hard beneath him as his takes his pleasure, and it gives him sudden pause, causing him to stop. He’s about to ask Cardinal Copia if he should cease, when The Cardinal looks over his shoulder at him and huffs impatiently,

“Are you waiting for an invitation?!”

Papa III slowly drags his cock from the meat of Copia’s ass to the cleft.

“I was, actually.”

The Cardinal snorts, “Get the fuck on with it, you brat. Is this how you lead, Your Unholiness?”

III growls in frustration at this infuriating man.

“Shall I take you dry, then?”

He spreads The Cardinal’s cheeks and presses the tip of his cock against his hole. Cardinal Copia hisses.

“Ai! If you can’t use spit then there is lube in the top drawer.”

Papa III scoffs. Spit is so … uncouth. Only to be used when absolutely necessary—he is not an animal. He flounders for the drawer and fumbles for the bottle.

“Lonely nights, eh Cardi?”

The Cardinal leers back over his shoulder. “As you say—I am not unpopular with our Siblings.”

“I see. You are like that trike you ride around, except everybody has a go, no?”

“Just what the pot would say to the kettle.”

After removing his gloves, Papa III haphazardly dribbles some lube on his cock and down Copia’s crack—making sure to rub it into his hole. The Cardinal jolts forward—either at the sensation of Papa’s fingers or the coolness of the lube.

“I would not be so mouthy If I be you, Cardinal. I will show you your place and then things between us will be settled, yes?”

“Shall I say yes and appease you?” quips The Cardinal. 

How a man nude and about to be fucked stupid can be so flippant is past Papa. Unceremoniously, he pushes into Copia’s snug ring, exhaling forcefully at his tightness. The Cardinal lets out a punched breath.

“I should very much like your attempts to appease me, Rat,” Papa III says through clenched teeth.

He slides in to the hilt, leans over The Cardinal’s back, and hisses in his ear:

“Will you be a good Rat and appease your Papa?”

The Cardinal lets out a rumbling moan.

Copia is so very full and stretched. He’s no stranger to bottoming, but the Siblings tend to prefer him on top, so it’s been a while. Papa III’s cock feels amazing—just enough to fill him without being obtrusive. Now if only the man will get to it and pound into him hard enough to stimulate his prostate.

“So much … talk. Very little action—just like your leadership,” he says hoping to goad his superior.

Papa III growls and begins to snap his hips into him roughly

“Let’s see if you can handle my big game, hmm?”

Fucking finally.

III drapes himself over Copia’s back, crushing his arms uncomfortably, and boxing him on either side with his arms. Copia hears the man’s panting in his ear and feels the drag of his waistcoat on his uncovered skin. The fill and drag of his cock inside Copia has him shuddering and wishing for some attention on his own dick. Papa is pumping into him fast and hard, but is only really hitting his prostate every several thrusts, which is only a teasing pleasure. With his motion restricted by his own cassock and Papa’s weight, he can’t do much more than grunt out a tempo to each greedy thrust.

“Is this how it is then?” wheezes Copia. “A supple body to masturbate into? No wonder the Siblings come to me.”

Admittedly Papa III is initially enjoying the tight feel of The Cardinal’s body around his dick too much to think of the man underneath him. He’s not one to be rough with his lovers unless they ask him to be, and even then that’s just a game. But The Cardinal is not his lover, this is not a game, and he feels a thrill at the freedom to take out his frustrations on Copia’s body. 

Still. He prides himself on being attentive in the sack, so he slows his thrusts, making sure to pull almost all the way out before sliding back in, though his dick is throbbing with need. He positions his mouth at The Cardinal’s ear to ask:

“Do you think you’ve earned my attentions? Have you learned who here is in charge?”

“If I say ‘yes’ will you touch my cock?”

Papa III is thoughtful for a second.

“No. For that you are to beg. Repent and I will bring you to such lustful heights that you will pray to our Master.”

Despite the lip of the man, The Cardinal is quivering under him. Papa III leans up so he can adjust the angle of Copia’s hips and his thrusts. He does this until he hits the angle that makes the man below him moan wantonly. Now that he knows where the sweet spot is, III starts punching into The Cardinal again, his hands on his hips to drag him back forcefully.

“Is. This. What. You. Want?” asks Papa, making sure to punctuate each word with a hard thrust. The Cardinal lets out a gasping Uhn at each hard jolt. “Shall. I. Make. You. Cum. Just. Like. This? On. My. Cock? Or. Will. You. Beg?”

Papa lets himself luxuriate in the tight feel of the slow drag up and down his cock. He could cum very easily just like this if he wanted—but he’s had years of practice on holding off until his sexual partners cum. The Cardinal is in for a long night if he thinks he can wait him out.

Fuck

If Copia thought the tease of his prostate was bad, this concentrated assault is worse. He can climax readily from a good prostate massage, but this is not that. It’s enough to have his desire flowing and his blood pooling south, but the hill of his orgasm remains frustratingly out of reach. He’s truly at Papa III’s mercy. He can occasionally feel his dick throb inside him, but other than that III shows no signs of getting close. 

Copia squeezes his eyes tighter as he’s jolted against his desk, papers crumpling further. How much longer can he go on like this? He tries for as long as he can, his world narrowing down to the drag of Papa’s cockhead on his prostate and the grip of his hands on his hips. He’s so lost, floating in a haze of near pleasure, that he doesn’t realize his grunts have turned into whimpers of distress. Not until III stops to pet a hand down his head.

“Dear Cardinal. Pride is not the correct sin to indulge here. Will you not let me absolve you?”

His dick is hard and pulsing, and his need to cum is excruciating. And that’s before Papa III begins pounding into him once more. Copia lets out a moaning whine as the white-hot bursts start up again. Before he realizes what it’ll mean, he’s gasping out a pained Please. There’s a slight pause in the man above him—as if he too is surprised at Copia’s entreaty—then a hand snakes under him to give his flushed dick a hard squeeze. Copia gasps at both the pleasure and the pain in the action.

Papa III leans over him again to snarl in his ear, “Now you will pray.”

And pray Copia does as Papa pounds into him and as his clever fingers stroke and manipulate weeping cock.

“Oh sweet, Unholy Lucifer below!”

Papa III had really thought he’d have to torture The Cardinal until the man couldn’t help but cum on his cock, so he was startled when the man gasped out his supplication. He really was appeased.

He’s entranced with show beneath him: The Cardinal is twitching and thrashing and clenching—and it’s making his own cock throb with need. He wonders how hard he can make Copia cum and a sudden burst of desire from his own gut has him purring out a moan. He strokes the man’s cock, making sure to switch it up enough—a slow stroke, then a thumb across his slit, now a squeeze before speeding up—that each change makes The Cardinal jerk in a new crest of pleasure.

III hopes The Cardinal will cum very soon because he would very much like to let himself climax already. As if in answer, Papa feels the dick in his hand get rock hard a second before he feels Copia’s hole tighten vice-like around his own dick (and he subsequently has to breathe out hard so he’s not cumming before he rides out The Cardinal’s climax).

Then The Cardinal is jittering and spasming while yelling, “Ah ah ah—oh fuck! OH FUCK!” The cock in his fist kicks and Papa III can feel the pulsing waves as his cum shoots out and onto the rug; he tries to keep a steady pace through it, but he’s only a man. The Cardinal spends his whole orgasm jerking and twitching, only coming to rest once he’s good and truly milked empty.

Papa releases The Cardinal’s cock quickly so he can grip back onto his hips for the leverage to finally take his own pleasure. He closes his eyes and fucks hard into The Cardinal’s body as he allows his checked desire to wash over him.

“Ah—yes, Unholy Father.”

He lets the pulse and spasm of his orgasm guide his movements as he empties himself in the warmth of The Cardinal’s hole. He allows himself to stay like that for a moment—hands on Copia’s love handles, slightly bent over him, and panting—while he catches his breath and comes back to himself. Beneath him The Cardinal is a mess: he’s covered in sweat that’s dripping down his sides; the black makeup around his eyes is streaked down his face; there’s some torn paper, now moist, sticking to his cheek.

“Good talk, eh?” he pants as he pats Copia’s sweaty flank.

The Cardinal’s head lolls to the side as he attempts to look him in the eyes.

“Fuck you.”

Papa III chuckles. “Maybe next time.”

Copia doesn’t know if Papa III was kidding, or if he was expecting Their Thing to happen again, but it takes Copia by surprise when it does.

Repeatedly.

If III was thinking that he’d cowed Copia, he was wildly mistaken. Their rivalry only intensifies and if you saw them glaring at each other during sermons or Church rituals, you enter their offices at your own risk lest you get an eyefull. (Some impetuous Siblings and Ghouls will try their hand at joining in, but a dual glare from both their mismatched eyes is enough to send anyone straight to Hell preemptively.)

Not even the confessionals are safe. You don’t even have to get far into the Chapel before you can hear their grunts and barbed words.

The Clergy isn’t really surprised by this turn of events. The two men have been eye fucking since day one. Papa Nihil is resigned that even the promising Cardinal has fallen under his youngest’s spell. Sister Imperator just rolls her eyes and hopes they’ll eventually grow tired of each other and work can get back to being done. She’s only one woman.

It’s one day months into their—ok yes—tryst, that Copia realizes that they haven’t been hate fucking in weeks.

He’s lying in Papa III’s bed as the man himself draws nonsense patterns in the sweat on his chest. Copia had come to him after a frustrating day of first-years who seemed to only have two brain cells amongst them all. He’d vehemently expressed his vexation at their almost willful refusal to retain Latin, knowing Papa would take him in hand and fuck the annoyance out of him. What had started as his attempt to berate Papa III for allowing the new Siblings to be so lazy and a good hate fuck to shut him up, had turned into a genuine arrangement.

Copia’s come to appreciate the care Papa III takes with him, even if it is with mock irritation as he calls him “Rat.” He’s realized that III cares about the Church as much as he does, his verbal sparring with the man enough to prove that he knows his stuff. It’s not that the lackadaisical playboy is an act—it’s not—it’s just hiding deeper waters. He’s shocked to find that he cares for this intemperate man.

He turns his head to look at him.

Papa III stills his hand to return his gaze.

“What is it, my Rat?”

“I think I like you, Papa.”

III’s whole face brightens and he sits up, puffing out his chest.

“Of course you do! Everyone likes Papa. I am the bomb dot com.”

Copia scoffs and pushes at his chest.

“I hate it when you purposefully use slang half your age.”

But III just clucks and wags a finger at him. 

“No you don’t! You like me, remember? You said it not 2 minutes past!”

Copia huffs, turning his back on him and crossing his arms across his chest.

“I was perhaps hasty.”

“Aww, dear Cardinal,” Papa coos as he drapes himself over Copia’s back to rest his chin on Copia’s shoulder, arms encircling his middle, “don’t be fussy. I like you too.”

Then, because he’s a little shit, Papa III presses a loud smacking kiss into Copia’s ear.

That night Papa III will go to Copia’s chambers. Copia will be surprised, but pleased to see him. He’ll tell Copia he wants to bottom for him, making the man tremble with nerves and anticipation. The Cardinal will be overly solicitous with his kisses and soft caresses until III has to yell at him to get a move on. 

Papa will have already prepped himself with a plug Copia will enjoy teasing out of him. Copia is a reverent, gentle top—no shocker there—and he will fuck Papa firmly and slowly, taking special care that his dick is not neglected. Also not surprising is that Papa III is a pretty bossy bottom—he’ll direct Copia on when to speed up or slow down, until he’ll take matters into his own hands by manhandling Copia onto his back so he can ride his cock. Copia will cum first—Papa is good with his muscles—but III will follow soon after, thrilled as always at the way his lover twitches and thrashes in the throes of orgasm.

Afterward Papa III will ask if he can stay the night—they don’t spend the night together often, but when they do The Cardinal always spends it in Papa’s sumptuous bed chambers—and Copia will reply that he is always welcome.

Papa will joke that it’s only because no one will be able to find him and he can sleep in, but when the Ghouls see that III is not in his bed chambers, the next place they look is in The Cardinal’s.

Bonus: Post-Coitus That First Time

“Papa, what are you doing?”

“Is it not obvious? I am cuddling.”

“Yes, but why?”

“Is it not customary to cuddle after a good fuck?”

“Stop calling it cuddling!”

“Why? What would you have me call it? A good snuggle, then?”

“Ai, that is worse.”

“… is it because I am the big spoon?”

“It is not—whatever! Why are you doing it?”

“I meant it, Cardinal. This unholy parish is mine. I take care of all my black sheep. Especially when they are good rats.”

*nose boop*

“You are mine now. Stop being so grumpy. Enjoy the serotonin.”

#asks #thar be thirst #cardinal copia #papa emeritus iii #in this fic they are unrelated #I don't know how cassocks work #SA