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perlelune · 6 months

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no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | iii.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

After a few weeks, you’re forced to acknowledge you were wrong about Coriolanus.

His mere presence assuages your hurt, and none of his actions bear a hint of impropriety.

He’s simply being a friend, comforting you and supporting you in a time of need.

His visits grow more frequent.

You’re amazed he even finds time between the University and his apprenticeship with Dr. Gaul. Still, Coryo never misses tea time with you, sometimes even bringing books and sweets. You’re thankful for the time he spends doting on you, even if you hate keeping him from his studies. You know how eager to succeed he’s always been.

But you can’t deny you missed the feeling of having a brother, of having this person who cares for you, looks out for you and protects you unconditionally.

And while you’re aware Coriolanus isn’t your actual brother, having him besides you helps alleviate the weight of grief and loneliness. Being with him makes you feel closer to Janus. You’re also solaced by the knowledge it’s what your departed brother would have wanted.

There is one person however who isn’t too keen on the rekindled bond between you and Coriolanus Snow.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him,” William notes, tracing the lines in your palm.

You’re both lying on the couch in the sunroom, your back against William’s chest, fingers interlaced with his. Sunlight spills from the stained glass in the ceiling, painting your fiancé’s brown curls in bronze hues.

This is a moment of tranquility you’ve longed for, a sliver of calm amidst the storm and chaos wedding planning has turned out to be. You reckoned it’d be easier than it has been. Instead, it seems nothing ever goes right. Between incidents with the cake, your wedding dress somehow being lost by the store, and the venue perpetually being booked…you’ve grown disheartened and exhausted by the entire process.

It’s almost like some higher force is trying to prevent you marrying William. It’s ludicrous, of course. But the ceaseless string of bad luck is beginning to drain your hope that your wedding will happen before the year ends.

You and William even had to push back the date. There was no choice as hurdles kept emerging.

So you bask in your fiancé’s presence, soaking his warmth and familiar smell, reminding yourself why you’re going through so much trouble. Marrying William is worth it.

“Yeah. He’s my friend,” you state casually.

“Your friend. Baby…” There’s a brief pause during which William appears deep in thought. When he speaks again, it’s with a softer tone. “At the risk of sounding jealous, the way he’s looking at you…are you sure that he knows that?”

His words make you sit up straight.

“William,” you admonish, taken aback by his preposterous insinuation.

Coriolanus’ a gentleman. He hasn’t made any moves towards you and he wouldn’t. Sejanus trusted him and you trust him too.

Scratching the back of his neck, he sighs.

“I’m just saying. We’re getting married soon, and everything’s been so…tumultuous. I just want to make sure that you won’t…”

You search his forest gaze. Shock fills you at the doubts you find lurking there.

“That I won’t what?” You give a light punch to his chest. “Get cold feet? William, are you mad?”

His shoulders slump. “I know your parents wish I was from a great house like him.”

William looks away and you put your hands on his face, drawing his focus back to you.

“It doesn’t matter what my parents think. I love you.”

He smiles, that beautiful sunny smile that blows a warm breeze through your chest every time.

He grabs your hands and kisses them.

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

“William, you’re good and kind and caring. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.” You hold his eyes. “He’s just a friend, I promise you. You…You’re my future.”

William studies you, love and devotion illuminating his features. His lips then collide with yours. He nudges you down on the plush beige upholstery, humming low in his throat.

When his hands find their way below your skirt, you push against his chest.

He immediately stops.

Your hot, rapid exhales mingle as you steady your breath.

“You know I’d rather we wait for our wedding night,” you mutter apologetically. It’s not the first time things got hot and heavy between you and William and you slowed them down. You know how frustrating it has to be for him and you commend his patience. “ I know it’s old-fashioned but I…”

He quiets you with a tender kiss on the forehead.

“No, it’s okay,” he says, holding hands with you. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I got carried away.” Pink dusts his cheeks as he adds, “You just smell so good and you’re so beautiful.”

A smile breaks across your face. “You’re not too bad yourself, pretty boy.”

He tilts his head and laughs.

“How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself when you talk to me like that?” He bites his lip, his lids dipping to half-mast. “Can I at least get another kiss?” he whispers suavely.

“Hm, we’ll see about that…” you mumble, closing your own eyes.

“Apologies, hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

Coriolanus’ sharp inflection shatters the spell, making you leap away from William.

Heat nestles in your cheeks as you rise to your feet, hastily smoothing the wrinkles in your dress. Your fiancé clears his throat and runs a hand through his tousled locks.

“No, we’re…William was leaving,” you stammer, struggling to meet Coriolanus’ stark blue gaze.

William’s brows squeeze together at that. But you shoot him a glare that pulls a deep sigh from him. He nods and pulls you to him one more time.

He kisses you but you note it lasts much longer than usual, his fingers curling around your waist possessively.

Embarrassment flares inside you that this is happening right in front of your friend.

When he releases you, you’re breathless.

“Coriolanus,” William greets stiffly as he brushes past the blond.

“William,”Coriolanus replies, his tone somehow icier.

Once your fiancé has left, a weary exhale floats from your mouth.

“I don’t understand why you two can’t just get along. You both matter to me.”

Coriolanus smirks. “Oh, princess. You wouldn’t understand.”

“What wouldn’t I understand?” you inquire, blinking up at him curiously.

His tight-lipped smile expands as he gauges you.

“Nothing.”

You scrunch your nose, displeased by his answer. He’s always so cryptic. A chuckle peels from his lips at your sour expression. His knuckles sweep over your cheek.

“There should never be a frown on such a pretty face.” He digs inside his satchel before retrieving a slim, leather-bound book. He places it in your hands as you gape at him, puzzled.

“Here, I brought you this. This will cheer you up.”

You examine the book. Surprise mingles with elation when you notice the words on the cover. The engraved letters spell out a familiar title. It’s one of your favorite books from when you were younger. It bewilders you that he even remembers. As if no time has passed.

“Oh my god! How did you…” An excited squeal leaves you. Then your voice lulls to a whisper. “It’s a first edition, Coryo.”

“It was printed and bound before the war,” he explains. “It wasn’t easy to dig up.”

Your brows rise. “An antique. You shouldn’t have.” You cradle the book against your chest. “You’re too good to me.”

His mouth quirks lopsidedly.

“Anything for you, princess.”

You both sit down for tea, cakes and macaroons. Time flies as you chat about everything and nothing with your friend. As always, you do most of the talking as he dutifully listens, only interjecting to ask you to elaborate on a particular point.

No matter what you jabber on about, his interest never appears to wane.

You eventually land on the matter of your wedding planning. You share all the troubles you and William have had and Coriolanus hums in response.

“I’m very sorry to hear that.” He sips from his cup of Earl Grey. “How…unfortunate.”

He then pauses, seeming to ponder something. “I have a proposition.”

Your brow arches in question.

“Clemmie is throwing a party tonight. Let me take you, get your mind off of all this.”

Your lips part. Clemensia? A party? None of it sounds enticing to you.

“I’m not sure…” you trail off, your eyes finding the floor.

“What better way to cheer you up than a party, princess?” Coriolanus’ voice mellows as he adds, “You can’t stay cooped up here forever.”

Words falter on your tongue as your eyes swell with unshed tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concern oozing from his gentle tone.

You shake your head.

“You’re crying,” he insists, reaching over the table to lift your chin.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says sternly. “Talk to me.”

His unwavering inflection nudges you to admit, “I’m just scared.”

“What are you scared of, princess?”

You suck in a shaky breath.

“Every part of this house, every nook and cranny carries a memory I have with Janus.” You glance about the sunroom. Here alone you can count so many hiding spots from games you and your brother played when you were kids. “It’s easy, keeping him close here. It’s just that…”

“You’re scared to move on,” Coriolanus finishes for you. His thumb glides over your cheek, collecting a tear you didn’t realize had spilled over. “But you have to.”

“Sejanus wouldn’t want you to wilt away in this house like one of your roses.”

You mull over his words. You suppose he’s right but you’re still not convinced. Parties like the kind Clemensia is fond of hosting aren’t exactly your scene.

A lame excuse flows from your lips.

“I don’t even know what to wear.”

“Then I’ll choose for you,” he replies without hesitation.

“What?”

“Let’s go to your room.”

Before you can protest, he seizes your hand and drags you upstairs.

“Wait, Coryo…”

He ignores you, making his way to your room with brisk strides you can barely maintain pace with. Once he’s there, he rummages through your closet. You let him do it, half-skeptical, half-jaded. Most of these garments weren’t picked by you anyway, but by your mother based on whatever fashion trend raged in the Capitol at the time. And those trends change every other season. You since long gave up on trying to keep abreast of them.

“Hm, this one is perfect,” he announces, drawing a red number from the closet.

You gape at the dress he chose. It’s a slip satin dress the color of blood. The waist is cinched with a thin belt and the lace sleeves, adorned with embroidered flowers, flow elegantly.

It’s beautiful, radiating a timeless elegance…but the neckline is low, displaying more cleavage than you’re used to.

Your cheeks warm. “Are you sure?”

“Just trust me. Try it.”

Your eyes bulge but you relent, something about his tone curbing your impulse to argue. “Okay,” you quaver.

Trying not to squirm beneath his intense stare, you grab the dress from him and slip behind the wooden divider screen.

Chewing on your lip, you peek above the folding screen.

“Maybe you could…get out while I change?” you suggest while fumbling with the lace strings of your day dress.

Coriolanus casually sits on your bed, his crimson coat pooling around him. He leans back and spreads his large hands over your bed sheets. A small smile dances along his pink lips.

“I won’t look, I promise. Don’t you trust me, princess?”

“I do but…”

“But what?” he challenges, cocking his head in question.

Stumped, you come up short of a decent answer. “Nothing,” you mumble.

You shed your clothes quickly to try on the red dress. The whole time, you can feel the weight of Coriolanus’ unnerving scrutiny on the other side of the wooden screen.

He gives you a sluggish onceover when you step out from behind the screen. Your skin prickles as you shake.

“Hm nice, twirl for me.”

His blue eyes sparkle when you do as he says. He gets to his feet. He slowly strolls towards you.

Once he’s in front of you, he also arranges a few wisps of your hair in a way that he likes.

“Gorgeous,” he lauds when he’s done.

He tilts your chin up, his gaze corralling yours.

“See? All you have to do is to trust me, princess.” His deep voice dips to dulcet tones. “Just trust me and, I promise you, everything will work out exactly the way it’s supposed to.”

“You came,” Coriolanus points out, that signature smirk of his adorning his lips.

“I promised I would,” you defend.

He snorts. “I’m glad. Saves me the trouble of having to drag you here myself, princess.”

Nervous laughter peals from your lips at his strange joke and the intent way his eyes rest on you. For a while, he doesn’t say anything, drinking in the sight of you in the crimson dress. The very same one he picked himself.

He then loops your arm around his, bending near your ear to whisper,

“Let's re-introduce you to everyone.”

You look around yourself, curious as you’ve never been to Clemensia’s house. The atmosphere is more intimate than you expected. The only source of dim light in the Dovecote’s sumptuous living room emanates from candelabras scattered all about, the wobbly candlelight casting twisting shadows over the damask walls. The crackle of the logs burning in the gigantic fireplace mingles with the soft piano tune filling the living room.

“Coriolanus, did you bring a ghost to my party?” Clemensia jests when she sees you. Her expression then turns serious as she studies you. To your utter surprise, she wraps her arms around you and hugs you. You freeze, too stunned to return the gesture. The two of you were never close, the opposite in fact. It all stemmed from the way she and her friends ostracized you and your brother in school. Maybe it’s all water under the bridge now that you’re older. “Oh, you poor thing,” she laments. “I’m here for whatever you need, okay?”

You nod stiffly. “O-Okay.”

Coriolanus hardly conceals his amusement at the interaction, mirth swaying in his cobalt orbs.

He and Clemensia keep introducing you to people. Some you recognize; some you don’t.

It makes you realize how much you missed.

After a while, faces blend into each other. You end up nodding and smiling to most of the small talk, your attention span dwindling by the minute.

Eventually, you decide to retreat to the bar to take a break. The barkeep nudges a drink your way and you thank him quietly. You swirl it in your hand, your thoughts drifting. Maybe this is what a return to normalcy must feel like. Slightly strange and overwhelming.

You gasp as Coriolanus appears at your side. “Are you alright, princess? Too much?”

Your startled reaction draws a chuckle from him.

A slow exhale drops from your chest.

“A little,” you confess. “But…I’m glad you took me. A change of scenery is nice.”

It occurs to you that you haven’t had time to wallow in your sadness, too caught in conversation with other people. However frivolous the topics, it did keep your mind off of things. No thoughts of dead brothers have crossed your mind tonight.

It might not be much but it’s a start, you suppose.

Coriolanus’ brow curves teasingly. “See? This is why you should trust me.”

“Don’t push it, Snow. You’re on thin ice.”

A laugh bursts from his chest but, as he peers down at your drink, all humor vanishes from his face. He swipes it from you and sniffs it.

“Hm, what’s wrong?”

A frown puckers his forehead.

“Who served you this drink?” he rumbles.

You shrug. “I don’t know. It was just…brought to me.”

“There’s something in it.”

“What?” Ice spills in your veins. “Oh my god.”

Your mind whirls as you peek at your surroundings, paranoia creeping in. You wonder who could have done this and why. Just to mess with you? Or maybe even worse…

Your gut sinks. Thank god Coryo put a stop to whatever awful thing could have happened to you.

He puts his hand on your arm reassuringly. “I’ll bring you a clean one.”

“T-Thanks,” you stutter. “Just nothing with alcohol in it, please.”

“Of course.”

He returns with a brand new drink in a jiffy.

“Thanks for looking out for me,” you beam before taking a sip. You were starting to get a little parched.

“Always, princess.” He grins at you while you take another sip.

A wave of queasiness suddenly hits you.

The room starts to spin around you, blurring into crooked shapes and colors. You try to stand but your knees buckle instantly.

If it weren’t for Coriolanus swiftly catching you you’d be a heap on the floor.

“Coryo…I’m not feeling so good,” you slur, struggling to speak. Cotton seems to fill your mouth, the mere act of forming words demanding great effort.

“It’s okay, lean on me,” he says, slipping his arm around your waist.

“Head…heavy.”

“You’re alright. Just hold on to me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good girl.”

In a daze, you stagger along as he escorts you through a series of hallways and up a flight of stairs. You grow so weak that you slump against him. With ease, Coriolanus hoists you in his arms, carrying you bridal style the rest of the way.

You fall onto something heavenly soft that sinks under your weight. Like fluffy clouds.

Your thoughts collapse, muddy and haphazard as you blink up at the ceiling. An antique chandelier hangs from it.

“You just need a little bit of rest.”

Coriolanus’s voice is warped, disembodied almost.

“Rest…” you echo.

But as soon as your eyes begin to close, the feeling of your dress hiking upwards tugs you back to consciousness.

Befuddled, you look down. You’re welcomed by the sight of Coriolanus wedged between your parted legs, hands clasped around your thighs. His waistcoat and white blouse are gone, exposing his pale, broad chest.

“Coryo, what is happening-”

His soft lips cover yours, stifling your protests. His tall frame pins yours to the bed. He purrs against your lips, framing your jaw when you feebly pivot your head to the side.

When his lips free yours, your mouth still tingles with the forcefulness of his bruising kiss.

He returns to the space between your thighs.

You lie back, your bones like jelly, as you feel the delicate material of your panties sliding down your legs.

Your brows twitch. “Coryo…”

His blue eyes glow strangely in the darkness. A chill slithers through your core.

“Shh, don’t worry about it, princess, just sleep.”

You want to move. You feel you have to. But you can’t.

“I…”

The syllable dies in a sharp gasp as Coriolanus’ cool tongue drags down your slit. Long fingers spreading you open, he traces wet circles around your bundle of nerves. He rasps against your center and the vibrations rock through your core. Your breath hitches. Your chest tightens. Heat builds in your stomach as he makes you dangle off the cliff of pleasure. He soon adds a finger and you cry out.

Coriolanus pumps in and out of you, gauging your expression as he grazes a particular spot that has your toes flexing. You writhe over the sheets, eyes blindly rising to the ceiling.

You clench around his finger, your cunt clinging to him reflexively.

He sinks a second digit inside you and you whine, back arching at the abrupt stretch.

Short, chaotic breaths rush through your lungs as he works you open. His slow, meticulous drags have your chest rising and falling rapidly.

Your legs quake as the coils in your belly grow unbearably tight and hot.

He stops as you’re on the cusp of your undoing. Your boneless frame sags onto the sheets.

He leans back and you hear the rustle of his pants coming undone. You get a faint sense of wrong trying to pierce through the haziness, but you can’t grasp at it.

Still, your fingers stretch towards the edge of the bed, your body rolling to the side. The meek attempt is interrupted as Coriolanus yanks you back onto the sheets, snatching your wrists and pinning them above your head. His frame drapes over yours. The scent of roses coats your senses.

“We’re not done, princess,” he murmurs, his warm breath caressing your face.

A painful pressure starts prodding your entrance. He grunts, hovering above you as he pushes past your tight ring of muscles.

You feel as if you’ll tear as more of him buries inside you. Every second is agony, your core burning at the blunt intrusion.

A sigh of pleasure floats from his mouth when he reaches the hilt of you. He stays there a while, seeming to bask in the feeling of you around him.

When he starts to move, your eyes flutter open. He sets a steady pace right away, thrusting inside you as if his life depended on it. Wordless screams rip from your throat. He releases your wrists, his long fingers latching onto your waist instead.

Each of his slow, deep thrusts sparks warm tingles through your body.

Sweat collects between his brows as he grunts in pleasure.

“I knew you’d feel just perfect around me,” he rasps, delighted.

His cadence quickens, his hand digging bruising grooves over your hip. Choked moans spill from your throat. His other hand crawls beneath the thin satin of your dress, fondling your breast and flicking your pebbled nipple. His hands feel everywhere at once and that sense of wrong rolls over you again.

“Ever since I saw you in this dress, I’ve been dying to fuck you in it,” he confesses, lust bleeding in his fevered tone.

The mattress squeaks as he relentlessly rams into you.

A uniquely sharp thrust has your slick walls tighten around him. His cock stirs, a throaty moan pouring from his chest.

The repeated friction against your soft spots has you seeing stars.

A feral glint bounces in his blue eyes as he admires your panting form, lost in the throes of pleasure. Strangled shouts escape you as another wave of pleasure crashes over your frame.

His pace slows, sloppier than before as his cock twitches between your walls. His eyes roll back as he sighs, tension draining from his muscular frame. Hot ropes spill inside you, overflowing until you feel the warmth dripping along your thighs.

Your mouth wobbles, silent tears streaming down your face.

Coriolanus cradles your face, kissing away each of your tears with tender brushes of his lips.

“Shh, don’t cry,’ he mumbles. “It’s okay, princess. I’ve got you.” His cock stiffens inside you once more. He lifts you and snaps his hips viciously into yours, drawing a broken whimper as he bottoms out. A lopsided smile blooms on his lips when he begins to move inside you. Helplessly, you lie back as he takes you again.

“I’ve got you, and I’m not letting you go.”

#dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x reader #hunger games #tbosas #tbosas fanfiction #dark!coriolanus snow x reader

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maririna · 3 months

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✧˚ · .Cat Got Your Tongue?

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ Dr. Ratio x Reader

> In which you bring home a stray.

Word Count: 1.7k

Mari's Note: So I had this dream with him and a cat and I felt compelled to write something with it lol. Surprisingly, it came out sorta cute than I thought <3

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

"No. Absolutely not, I would not agree to such a proposal."

"Aww, why not?" You raise its paw waving it as if saying hello towards a certain grumpy lover while you support the feline with your free hand, keeping it close to your chest. "I think it'll be beneficial to keep it."

Minutes prior to your arrival, you had overheard high pitched whines directing from a secluded alleyway that was surrounded by stagnant puddles as a result of the dreary rain that just occurred.

Discovering the source, you were met with a surprising sight of a cat in a box, finding solace in the warmth of a battered newspaper, eyes wide and seemingly clueless from the situation it was in. You ofcourse had fallen in love and before you came to your senses, you were already in front of the door with said cat.

It's rather unusual for you to make a grandiose request to Veritas, being satisfied with what you have and had been given, you are never used to asking for anything more. Perhaps it was intuition that struck you and you decided to stick with it.

"What a preposterous idea. I do not need some creature's mouth to feed." Veritas sighs, his hand rubbing his forehead. "Such a despicable thing would have the potential to create chaos and disruption to my work and research."

You raise your eyebrows, "Oh? Who said you'll take care of it? I'll fully take responsibility."

"Please?" You press, "The poor thing must have been starving and besides, we need a friend at home."

"Good grief, have you even acknowledged the fact that the Felis catus species possess only an average IQ of 2?" He sighs as you shoot him a pleading gaze, the cat mewling in your arms, unaware of the doctor's insult.

With a hard look, he huffs and finally gives in.

"Fine, only if you were to provide adequate training, necessities, complete supervision and most significantly, establish proper behavior, I may allow your preposition. However!" he halts. "If it interferes with my research and our house conditions, it's out."

You cheer, scurrying your feet to give a peck on his cheek, following with a stretch of your arms for the cat to do the same except it was met with a palm of his hand. "Oh no, no. Not the animal."

You wont lie, having a new family to the household made things livelier, especially on the days where Veritas had been absent due to the Intelligentsia Guild. The cat had quite a calming effect, you were able to indulge into your work and daily schedule without the rush of anxiety on those same days. With dedicating your free time towards bonding and training the cat, you had also set aside its own space in your humble abode far Veritas's work desk and absolutely further from the intricate stone carvings in the shape of your lover.

You also discovered that your new companion is a lovely and polite tom cat.

Veritas so far (and so good) did not seem to mind, letting the animal even roam around the living room frequently since it was a portion of the home that contained none of his papers and nor does he seem to mind the soft meows requesting for attention or inquiries of the food bowl being filled.

You are currently settled down on your couch with your darling joined with you. His eyes concentrate at a book on hand, the gentle sound of pages being flipped by the featherlight touches of his fingers fills the room alongside the occasional soft purrs of your feline friend who is nestled comfortably onto your lap. Its rhythmic breathing soothes you as you hum in content, nothing but peace and tranquility envelopes the space.

You were interrupted from your thoughts with the sound of Veritas’s book slam shut.

“Have you gotten accustomed to the new addition to our household? I am not one who engages nor enjoys the affection and sentimentality derived from owning a domesticated animal, however in your case, you seem to say otherwise.”

“Does it seem obvious?”

You focus on feeling the softness of the cat’s fur as you carefully thread it with your fingers. His ears twitch from your intrusion, eyes shot open like he was not asleep just a second ago, he lets out a yawn, flexing his back into a wide stretch with a flick of a tail. He jumps from your lap to the couch, kneading it. You grin, muttering a totally unapologetic ‘sorry’.

The cat strolls over, a faint purr rumbling from his chest as he begins nuzzling against Veritas's thigh who visibly flinches. You notice his hand almost ready to raise, only to have it actually end up meeting upon the animal’s head which meows in delight, pressing his muzzle to the palm of your significant other’s hand, rubbing against it.

You see him cringe and tense up but you still credit his effort and beam at the sight. To see him be physically affectionate with the animal was unexpected, deep down you assumed he might have disliked the cat. Maybe he is still foreign with the change.

“I guess so, the cat has been very therapeutic to me if I'm being honest,” you add.

He scoffs, "Although that is something I can never relate to," you don't see it, but his eyes soften a bit.

A hand rests on top of your hair, "If it refines your cognitive performance and brain activity then I would have no objections and no reason not to accept the animal."

Veritas removes his hand and you almost miss the warmth. "Regardless, if he does not come aligned with my terms and conditions–"

"I know I know, geez. The cat has been nothing but a sweetheart." You cut him off and pout, "Isn't that right...?”

You pause.

“Uhm…”

Your partner raises a brow, "...are you implying you had never designated a name for him until now?"

You sweat, "...I haven't"

"Ridiculous."

"Well, it's hard to think of one!" you retort.

"Nonsense. You had already established a bond with him, although I would not necessarily care but I assumed it would have been natural to issue him a name.”

“You think of one then!” you puff your cheeks.

Veritas places his hand under his chin, absorbed in thought. Wait, Is he actually considering it?

“I would rather not. I am in no way having the slightest care over it as I deem it not crucial.”

You stick a tongue out to him, so much for having the tiniest belief from your heart in him. You can't help but deflate, feeling dejected that he doesn't fully welcome the cat as you expected.

For the next few days, you have been brainstorming, stubbornly attempting to choose a name, basking in countless research and books.

"Hmm, I don't like any of these." You groan in exasperation, rummaging through the pages of a book for a potential fit of a name, only to prove you no luck. Cursing under your breath, your face falls flat on the surface of a page.

A name is crucial for a pet, one to call out to, to get attached to, and to bond with, he deserves to have one like every other being. You have asked Veritas for any suggestions or if he can at least help but your actions bear no results.

With heavy defeat, you are forced to drag yourself towards the shelves for the cat's lunch. Geez you can't keep calling him just ‘cat’ forever, can you?

You spot the animal mewling over from the corner of your eye, trying to catch your attention to fulfill his hunger but notice something out of the ordinary.

Huh?

You see that he is wearing...a collar?

He tilts his head curiously, looking at you with doe eyes, meowing once more. You don't recall ever giving him one, only toys and cardboard boxes he seemed to like to conceal himself in all the time.

As you take a closer look, you discover something even more odd. A silver metal hanging around the edges of the leather–a name tag.

Your fingers glaze over the tag, feeling the sturdiness of the material, seeing a word engraved on it.

'Archimedes'.

You couldn't contain the smile that goes up to your face, your heart starts to race with happiness and relief. Only one person would come up with a certain name like this.

It seemed perfect for you, to think that he chose this name seems undoubtedly much like him.

"Just so you are aware, I had scientifically engineered the collar to be a precise fit for him, including the exact millimeters alongside taking consideration of the feline's anatomy and measurements."

Following the sound of a voice, you see the man himself, holding a piece of graph paper of what you assume is a detailed illustration of his creation as he carries himself with elegance and confidence.

"I created it to be comfortable, durable, and lightweight. In addition to that, I installed features that can accurately measure his vitals, from heartbeat to temperature with a built-in system that will notify us if there exists any malfunctions to his vitals."

As much as you are filled with joy and gratitude you couldn’t help but feel the need to go for the tease.

"Oh? I thought you didn't want to keep him? Hm?" your tone is mischievous but playful.

You feign being in deep thought, resting a thumb underneath your chin. "Why is there a collar in him which by the way was specifically made for him by you and named him yourself if you wanted to get rid of him oh so badly?"

"Research indicates having a feline cultivates a productive space for effective studying. I am simply experimenting with Archimedes. It would be favorable in my end to conduct my hypothesis if there is a word for him to respond to." He crosses his arms, his eyes suddenly interested in one of his many statues from the corner of the room.

"Right. Whatever floats your boat.”

“That is known as buoyancy.”

...this man.

You lightly flick his forehead, trying to stop him from speaking any further as to save yourself from being trapped into another one of his hours-long lectures.

“You are a dummy, y’know?” Before he could reply, you wrap your arms around him, his body relaxes, a silent invite for you to continue, feeling the tenderness and warmth of his skin. You brushed off strands of purple locks from his face, giving him a loving kiss.

“Thank you, Veritas."

His eyes refuse to meet yours as he is rendered speechless.

"...Idiot"

"...But honestly, Veritas, you should have just opted for a normal collar."

#honkai star rail #hsr #dr ratio x reader #veritas ratio #dr ratio #dr ratio x you #hsr x reader #hsr x y/n #honkai star rail x reader #hsr dr ratio

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stillmonsterz · 2 months

Text

rosebud

pairing: jay x reader, sunghoon x reader genre: smut with plot summary: ever since your mother passed away, your stepfather has been there for you. but when your old crush finally makes a move on you, you find that you want to pursue something different. one night won't change a thing, right? contains: unprotected sex, dubcon, mentions of death, infidelity (?), "humor", piv, blowjobs word count: 8.6k (unproofread) taglist: @belowbun @moon7jay @ui11iane @bambangan A/N: I didn't intend to write this, but here we are. Hope you enjoy it!

You tasted the dish you had made once more before setting the spoon down and closing the lid on the pot. Perfect. Jay would love it. You both worked full-time jobs, but he did so much around the house that you liked to have dinner waiting for him. You were a better cook than him, anyways.

You washed your hands and decided to head to the couch while you waited for him to come home. It was your ritual: when your mom was alive, you, Jay, and her would all sit down and talk about your day before going your separate ways. Your mom had liked to eat dinner alone, so your time to congregate was just when everyone got home.

Your mother had passed away a few years ago, shortly after her and Jay, your stepfather, had gotten married. It was a car crash, a stupid drunk driver. Just the thought of that night made you curl into yourself. Jay had taken care of you after that. Even though you had been an adult for a while, able to support yourself with your job, he had never even mentioned you moving out. He had moved you and your mother to his lovely house in the suburbs, got you whatever you wanted for your room. To repay his kindness, you liked to do little things for him: cook, do the laundry, mop the floors. It was the least you could do.

The breakers in the doorknob clicked, and Jay walked into the foyer. You tried to rid your mind of the hard times, of the grief. When he saw you, his face brightened. “I smell something good,” he said, taking his shoes off and loosening his tie. He had a high-status, forward-facing job, so Jay wore suits everyday to work. You ironed them for him on the weekend, taking care to put them in protective plastic bags.

“I made cream pasta,” you said, relaxing onto the couch. “Your favourite.”

“Oh, thank you, sweetheart,” Jay said. “I need it. Was so busy I didn’t get lunch today.” He walked into the living room and gave you a quick peck on the cheek. “Just gonna go wash up, then we can chat, okay?”

“Okay,” you said happily, washing him dip into the downstairs guest bathroom.

When he came back out, he had loosened his tie so that it hung slackly around his neck. Jay walked over to the couch, tilted your head up, and gave you a long, gentle kiss. He broke the kiss to lower himself onto the couch, settling next to you.

Jay held your hand in his, stroking his thumb over your knuckles. “How was your day?”

You shrugged. “Nothing to report. This guy kept asking for the book ‘Against bad and Good’ by Fyodor Dostoevksy, and eventually I figured out that he meant beyond Good and Evil by Nietzsche.”

Jay laughed. “Was he drunk?”

“Just stupid, I think. How was your day?”

Jay squeezed your hand. “Good, good. I got a lot of work done in preparation for the trip. Had to coordinate with marketing for the proposal, which is always difficult, because marketing is staffed by-,”

“Neanderthals?”

He kissed your cheek. “I’ve taught you well.” You laughed, which earned you an affectionate smile from him.

“I remember when I heard you laugh for the first time after your mom passed,” Jay said, his other hand coming to rest on your shoulder. “It made me so relieved.”

“It did?”

“Mhm,” he said. “That’s how I knew you would be okay.”

You smiled at him, then, and he leaned in to give you another gentle kiss on the lips. He pulled away slowly, almost teasingly. You held his cheeks with both hands and brought him back towards you, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. Jay softly groaned into your mouth and wrapped his arms around your lower back, drawing you into him.

One of his hands strayed towards your chest, and he groped one of your clothed breasts.So it was one of those days. Jay tugged on your lip as he pulled away from the kiss, one hand still lingering on your chest.

“We might have to postpone dinner,” he said, running the side of his finger along your cheek.

“Why? You’re not hungry?”

“I am,” Jay said, “but for something else.” With that, he leaned in and kissed a sensitive spot under your ear, eliciting a gasp from you.

“Bedroom?” you asked.

Jay nodded and lifted you up, holding you bridal-style. As he carried you upstairs, you began unbuttoning his white collared shirt, kissing at the new expanse of skin awarded to you. “I need all the time I can get with you before my trip.”

“Where is it again? Singapore?” you asked before pressing wet kisses on his upper chest.

“Yeah,” Jay said. “Fuck, I’ll really miss you.”

“It’s only five days.”

“And I’ll miss you every single hour,” he said. He pushed the door to his bedroom open and brought you inside. All of your mom’s stuff had been moved to storage, leaving it an entirely Jay space: white walls, creamy bed-sheets, vintage record-player sitting on a side-table, lounge chair. It was still late afternoon, so golden sunlight shone past the cracks in the blinds and cast a shimmering glow throughout the space.

“I’ll miss you, too,” you said softly. Jay kissed your cheek before resting you on the king-sized bed. You pulled your clothes off quickly, not wanting to waste a second. Jay had the same idea, tossing his suit jacket and pants onto the lounge chair.

“Iron those for me later, will you?” He strided over to his nightstand to get a condom. While he did so, you began prepping yourself, sliding two fingers in and out of your warm pussy while you rubbed your clit.

“I will, Jay,” you said. When you saw him approach you, you stopped playing with yourself and leaned down on your elbows. Your mouth watered at the sight of his erect cock.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Jay crawled on top of you and kissed you deeply. His hands ran along the sides of your bare skin, feeling their contours. You had done this with him so many times, but he always managed to make it feel as though he were exploring uncharted territories every time he kissed you. “Do you mind if we do missionary?”

“I’d like that,” you breathed out. You traced your hands along his arms, feeling the taut, tense muscle.

“Good,” Jay said. “I want to see your face.” He gave his cock a few tugs before he slid inside of you with a groan. The stretch was delicious, as usual, and your toes curled as he pushed himself in. Jay gave you both some time to adjust, his eyes closed tightly shut. He owned them and began to move, your creamy pussy welcoming his hard length.

Your hands grasped the back of his neck, stroking the soft hair. “I’ll really miss you,” you said, gasping in between words. Jay’s pace was slow and purposeful, his cock teasing the gummy wall of your G-spot. The bed creaked every time he thrusted into you.

“I’ll miss you more,” he said, driving his cock deeper and deeper into your pussy. “You have no clue just how badly I want you there with me.” Jay’s face was contorted in pleasure, and he dipped down low to suck on your neck.

“No marks,” you whined, trying to push his face away. “I’m seeing Sungyeon in a few days…”

“Just tell her it was your boyfriend,” Jay mumbled against your neck, nibbling the tender skin. He was always like this just before he went away, clingy and needy. “Or a hookup. I don’t care.”

“Oh,” you sighed. How could you argue with him when his cock felt so good? He canted his hips into yours at an even pace. He never rushed a thing. Even the way he gave you hickeys was careful and slow.

Jay pulled out of you, and you protested at the sudden emptiness. “Want to taste you before I go,” he said, pressing kisses from your neck to your breasts to your belly-button. Then he lavished attention on your inner thighs, sucking red marks onto them. His lips smacked against your soft skin, and he caressed your legs gently with his large hands. Sometimes Jay would put on his old rnb playlist when you two made love, but you liked this, too, when you could hear everything.

After he had kissed every square inch of your thighs, Jay gently parted your vulva lips. He pecked your clit, too, which made you giggle. The laughs choked in your throat as he began to lave his tongue over your sensitive pearl, ever so softly. He alternated between flicking his tongue and making a swirling motion. Jay’s hands clutched your waist, holding you in place. Your hands threaded into his dark, well-kept hair, and you let out a moan.

Jay brought you to the brink before he pulled away, swallowing in air. “You taste so sweet,” he said. “So sweet.”

“All yours,” you said.

Jay lifted his head back up so that he was face to face with you. “Come taste how sweet you are, baby.” You kissed him, and he stuck his tongue into your mouth so you could better taste your arousal. Your tongues played hide and seek with each other- when Jay would retract his, you would suck it back into your mouth, and vice versa.

You felt his cock bump the tip of your entrance, and he plunged himself into you once more. You wrapped your legs around him, driving him deeper inside of you. You loved it when his chest pressed against your, when every single part of you felt connected. Jay rocked his hips against yours slowly, lovingly, and you basked in the glow.

After a while, Jay rolled off of you. He planted a kiss on your forehead and held you close, wrapping both arms around you. “Did you want me to finish you off?” Jay shook his head and kissed your neck as he nuzzled into you from behind.

“Wasn’t the point,” he murmured. “Did you want to finish?”

“Wasn’t the point for me either,” you said softly.

You fell asleep like that, tightly ensconced in Jay’s embrace.

–

You hadn’t exactly meant to start fucking your stepdad. It had started even before your mother had passed. Jay would come inside your room to talk, and you welcomed his company. He was funny, witty, and a good listener. Before you went to work in the mornings, if your mother wasn’t around, he would give you kisses on the cheek as a goodbye. Then the kisses turned into pecks on the lips, which turned into long, slow kisses that left your head spinning.

The first time he fucked you was when your showerhead had started to act strange. You had wrapped a towel around yourself and called his name. As he pushed past you to examine the problem, your towel had come loose, exposing everything to him. Jay had taken you on the counter mere minutes later, leaving the shower running and shoving a pair of panties in your mouth to muffle the sound.

For some reason, you had thought that your mother’s death would have killed any chemistry between the two of you. On the contrary; Jay had taken you into the funeral home’s bathroom and fucked you in there. You figured it was a coping mechanism, or something.

In hindsight, nothing about your dynamic had really changed after your mother’s passing. You still talked regularly, you still had frequent sex (frequent enough that Jay begged you to go on birth control), and you still loved to cook for him.

–

You woke up a few hours later. Jay was already staring at you, a soft smile on his face. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he said jokingly.

“What time is it really?”

Jay glanced at the clock on his nightstand. “6:38.”

“Ah, I’ll have to rewarm the pasta…”

“It’s no rush,” Jay said, stroking your shoulder. “Not that hungry anymore.”

You smiled and kissed his nose playfully. “You’re full?”

“For now,” Jay said. “I might need more later.”

“Don’t you dare leave any more marks,” you said. “Sungyeon won’t leave me alone if you do.”

“Are you sure you’re worried about Sungyeon, or her scrawny brother?”

You snorted. “Sunghoon? I’m not worried about him.”

“You told me you had a little crush on him,” Jay replied.

“It’s just a crush. It’s nothing. He probably wouldn’t even know what to do with a woman.” It was a partial lie. You had seen women who definitely weren’t Sungyeon’s friends slip into the Park household. Many of them were repeat visitors, so you figured that Sunghoon probably was good. But what Jay didn’t know wouldn’t kill him.

“Probably not,” Jay said with a sniff. “Kids like that only want one thing, and they’re not good at it.”

“Not like you,” you said.

Jay grinned and kissed your lips. “Exactly. I take care of you, don’t I?”

“So well, Jay.” You started to draw little patterns on his chest. “So, so well.”

Jay rolled you on top of him, hands traveling down to our lower back. “You need me to take care of you again?”

“Please.”

You didn’t get to eat dinner until 10 o’clock.

–

You had Saturday off, but Jay still had work to finish up at the office before he left for his business trip on Monday. You agreed to go grocery shopping together after work so you could have Sunday all to yourselves. Sungyeon was also free, so you decided to go around to her place. She lived a few houses away from your place; you had met her while you were on a jog. Neither of you were the most sociable people, so it was great to have a friend who was so calm and who lived so close.

It helped that she had a cute older brother. He was only a few years older, and he had recently moved back home due to the poor economy. Their parents made good money, but he had wanted to be independent from his parents when he turned 18. You knew all this because Sungyeon told you, not because Sunghoon had ever spoken with you about anything even remotely personal. He treated you like a houseguest. You didn’t mind because you had Jay, but in the brief moments when you considered getting into a more traditional relationship, Sunghoon was always the first person to come to mind.

You walked over to Sungyeon’s house, a two-storied building not at all dissimilar to your own. You clambered up the steps and rang the doorbell.

“Door’s open,” she called, so you let yourself in and locked the door behind you. “I’m in the kitchen!”

You had come over to spend the morning and afternoon watching Marvel movies, and Sungyeon had promised to make snacks. Indeed, when you walked into the kitchen, you smelled something sweet yet burnt. Sungyeon was dropping a pan of partially burnt Rice Krispie squares onto the stovetop.

“How’d you fuck up Rice Krispies?” you asked, grabbing a knife from their drawer.

“Shut up,” Sungyeon whined. “I was trying to be domestic. For you. Because I care.”

“Should have cared about setting an oven timer,” you retorted, cutting a chunk out of the Rice Krispies.

Sungyeon frowned. “Don’t eat that. It’s still hot.”

“Won’t even bother me,” you said. You used the knife to place the gooey treat onto a paper towel and raised it to your lips. One bite and your mouth was on fire. “Ow!”

“Dumbass,” Sungyeon grumbled. You fanned your mouth frantically and she meandered while she got you a glass of water, relishing in your despair.

As you tearfully gulped down the water, Sunghoon walked into the kitchen. He was wearing a baggy gray T-shirt over black sweatpants, and he looked exhausted. He was a serial gamer, so chances were he stayed up playing League or Overwatch with his friends Heeseung or Jake. He looked at you, then Sungyeon. “What’s that smell?”

“I made Rice Krispie squares,” Sungyeon muttered. “But they’re bu-,”

Sunghoon was already cutting a piece out of the pan and shoving it into his mouth. He coughed. “Fuck, it’s hot.” He kept eating it despite the apparent pain, wandering back upstairs.

“Two freaks,” Sungyeon said, rubbing your back.

Once you caught your breath, you said, “Maybe we should also get some cereal.”

Sungyeon breathed out a defeated sigh. “Probably the best idea.” You got the bowls and spoons, and she got the cereal and milk. Once you had prepared your bowls, you set out to the living room. Sungyeon accidentally knocked into you, spilling milk over your front.

“What’s up with you today?” you said with a smile, putting your cereal down.

“Mercury retrograde,” she said. “You can go put your hoodie in the wash. I’ll bring it to you on Monday. Get something out of my closet if you want.”

“Gracias,” you said, heading up the stairs. Their laundry room was located conveniently on the second floor, so all you had to do was take a hoodie from Sungyeon’s room and change in the laundry room. When you took off your tank top, you examined it carefully to make sure that you didn’t get any milk on that as well. The last thing you needed was to smell warm milk as you watched your movie. As you looked down at your chest, you noticed that Sunghoon had left his hamper of dirty clothes here. You knew it was his because you had seen him wear every shirt in the pile at least fifty times since you had known him.

“Wow,” you heard a voice say. You turned and saw Sunghoon, standing behind you with his arms crossed. “You hide them well.” His eyes, you realized, were trained directly on your chest, and a faint smile graced his lips.

“I don’t hide them at all,” you said. “You just haven’t been looking.” No way were you going to pass up an opportunity to flirt with Sunghoon. Given your status as his sister’s friend and his casual sex habit, you doubted anything would come of it anyways. You were certain that Jay probably had wandering eyes, too.

“Maybe you’re right,” Sunghoon said. He stepped a little closer and tapped your neck. “Who gave you this?”

You tilted your head. “Why do you care?”

Sunghoon rested his hand on your shoulder, his thumb pulling at the strap of your tank top. “I need to know who my competition is.”

“Didn’t realize there was a competition.”

Sunghoon lifted his hand away, shoving it into his sweatpants pocket. “Then you haven’t been looking.”

You shrugged your hoodie on over your tank top. “I was looking for years, actually. You missed your opportunity.”

Sunghoon scrunched his nose, and you didn’t think he knew how cute he looked. “You didn’t act like you were interested.”

Leaning against the washing machine, you looked him up and down. “Then you don’t know shit about women.”

He leaned in, his smirk growing. “I know a lot about women. You gonna let me show you, or are you gonna dub me?”

You paused, weighing your options. Finally, you walked past him, turning around at the last minute to say, “I’m going to go watch Marvel movies with your sister.”

“Can I join you?”

“Nice try.”

Sunghoon shrugged and started walking to his room. “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t try.”

You shook your head and went down to remake your bowl of cereal. So now you knew that Sunghoon really was interested in you, after years of ignoring you. You wouldn’t let it phase you, though. You had Jay. Sungyeon didn’t even know that you weren’t a virgin, let alone that you were fucking your ex-stepdad. You didn’t know if you could ever tell anyone about your arrangement.

–

When Jay picked you up from Sungyeon’s place, you didn’t dare mention what happened with Sunghoon to you. Normally, you mentioned anything that happened with a man, and Jay would lament about the many women at the office who wanted him. But you couldn’t talk about Sunghoon, not when he had made your heart race like that.

“I was thinking,” Jay began, driving with one hand, the other resting on your thigh, “we could go to this new store. They have these novelty fruits, like blue carrots. Does that sound good to you?”

“Sounds great, Jay,” you said, a little absent-mindedly.

Jay caught the hint of distance in your tone. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

You sighed, hating how it felt to lie to Jay. “It’s silly but…I really will miss you when you go away. This time it’s different, you know?”

Jay squeezed your thigh. “I know what you mean. I’ll be back before you know it, hm? I’ll bring you back some souvenirs, too.”

You leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek, which made him briefly smile at you before returning his attention to the road. “Okay, Jay.”

“Hey,” Jay said. “I have an idea. Let’s go to a restaurant. Right now. Let me take you someplace.”

Looking down at your outfit - shorts and Sungyeon’s hoodie - you frowned. “I can’t go out like this.”

“Please. You look beautiful no matter what you wear,” he said, squeezing your thigh again. “We don’t have to go anywhere fancy, just a place with good food. Someplace we haven’t tried.”

That was how you ended up at a sweet, 50’s inspired diner. You and Jay sat on opposite sides of the booth and pored over the menu together. When the waiter came over, he jabbed his pen at you and Jay. “So, what can I get you and your…”

“Stepdaughter,” Jay said with a terse smile. When you two went out, it was almost inevitable that someone would ask about your relationship. You had developed an unofficial way of answering the question: when you wanted to return to a place, you would say that Jay was your stepdad. When you wanted to try a place out just once, he would call you his girlfriend. It always made your heart flutter when he addressed you as his girlfriend, even though it seemed far too juvenile a term for your relationship.

The waiter smiled and took your orders. As you ate, you couldn’t help the thoughts of Sunghoon from returning. Sunghoon slouching around in his rumpled, baggy clothes, so different from the suits and starched button-ups Jay liked to wear. So boyish and immature in contrast to Jay’s maturity and poise. So bold.

Your food came, and you picked at it. You hated that you were even considering it, what life could be like if you were dating someone your own age, someone who wasn’t so hopelessly entangled in your past. Someone your mom hadn’t fucked.

Jay called your name softly. “Come sit next to me,” he said, scooting over and dragging his food over to the side. You pushed your plate over and trudged to his side of the table. Jay wrapped his arm around you and wiped a crumb from your cheek.

“Are you sure it’s just the trip?” he asked quietly.

You hesitated, then decided to tell a half-truth. “I wish we could be normal sometimes,” you admitted.

Jay took in a sharp intake of breath, looking down at his lap. Then he gave you a small smile. “Me too,” he said quietly. “Sometimes I wish I was 15 years younger, or you were 15 years older. But what we have is something special, something really magical. I wouldn’t give that up for anything, would you?”

“No,” you said. “I wouldn’t.” Not even Sunghoon.

Jay ran his thumb on your lips. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I really am. Being with an old man like me can’t be easy…”

“You’re not old at all,” you protested. “Not to me, not at all.”

Jay laughed quietly and leaned in to give you a gentle kiss. His mouth tasted like the milkshake he had been drinking, and you ran your tongue along his lips to lap up all of the flavour. His fingers gently caressed your neck in a soothing motion as you continued to kiss. It felt so right, so sweet.

Someone cleared their throat. “Excuse me,” the waiter said timidly. “Just wanted to know if you guys were doing all right over here?” HIs eyes were confused, darting between you and Jay rapidly.

Jay pulled away from you and nodded. “Yeah, great, thanks.” The waiter sped away, nearly tripping over his shoes. Jay frowned. “What’s up with him?”

“You told him you were my stepdad this time,” you said.

Jay smacked his forehead. “Damn, that’s right. Shame. The food here is really good.”

In spite of yourself, you laughed.

–

On Monday morning, you watched as Jay drove away. You had given him the best send-off you could think of: marathon sex from Saturday night to Sunday night, and a final, romantic round on the kitchen counter before he left. You sighed and headed indoors to get changed for work.

Just as you were putting your pants on, you heard a knock on the door. You zipped up your pants and buttoned up your shirt as you walked to the door. You glanced at the monitor, and you saw Sunghoon shuffling outside the door, holding something.

You opened the door and Sunghoon waved. “I have your hoodie,” Sunghoon said. “Sungyeon’s busy tonight, but she wanted to get it to you as soon as possible.”

“Did she,” you said, accepting the hoodie, “or did you want an excuse to come here?”

Sunghoon laughed. “You caught me. Can you blame me?”

“Very easily,” you said. “I have to go to work in ten minutes, so you’d better make this quick.”

“That’s enough time,” Sunghoon said. “Just wanted to talk. Can I come in?”

You shrugged and gestured for him to come inside. Sunghoon sniffed the air as he moved further inside your house. He had been over a few times just to drop Sungyeon off or steal a snack before heading back to his place. Sungyeon liked coming over because she thought your stepdad was hot. It was so hard to pretend like you didn’t agree with her. “Did you…”

“Did…I what?”

Sunghoon lingered by your kitchen’s counter. “It smells like sex in here. Most people aren’t linking at 8 in the morning. So…you have a man?”

“Something like that,” you mumbled, embarrassed at having been caught. You had never really noticed the smell, but now that you were aware of it your face burnt. “He…slept over.”

“Nothing serious?” Sunghoon unzipped his hoodie slightly, feigning being overheated.

“We’re not…exclusive,” you said slowly. “But we’ve never talked about finding other people, if that makes any sense? It’s weird. I don’t know.”

“A situationship,” Sunghoon said, snapping his fingers.

“I guess.”

“Anyone I know?”

You winced. “Don’t know.”

“How cryptic. Anyways, I’m not looking for anything serious,” Sunghoon said. “Don’t get me wrong. Just...well, I’ll be blunt. You’re hot.”

You had been by the kitchen table, packing your purse up as you talked, but now your hand froze. Sunghoon continued talking. “I came to you last night,” he said, voice growing lower. “You wanna know what I thought about?”

You glanced at your phone’s screen to check the time. “What, Sunghoon?”

“I thought about how good your tits would look covered in my cum,” he said, “or how’d they look soapy from the shower. I imagined fucking you in the shower, pressing your tits against the glass while I fuck you from behind.”

Your eyes widened. The words were going straight to your pussy, and you hated your body for betraying you. “Sunghoon…”

“It’s so hard acting like I don’t want you,” Sunghoon continued. “Sungyeon doesn’t want me fucking one of her friends, so I’ve had to just pretend like you aren’t one of the sexiest women I’ve seen. I’m so sick of it. I know you want me too.”

“Sunghoon, I have to go.”

Sunghoon sighed and started to walk off. “Fine,” he mumbled.

“But,” you said carefully. He turned around, a hopeful look on his face. You counted the days in your head. You were busy at work today, Tuesday, and Wednesday, but… “Come over on Thursday at eleven.” Jay would be coming home on Friday, so there was no way he would catch you two.

Sunghoon grinned, revealing his darling little fangs. “Seriously?”

“‘Seriously’,” you mocked. “‘Oh, boy, I’m getting pussy!’”

“I’m not even listening to you,” Sunghoon said. “I’m already thinking about all the things I’m going to do to you. If you don’t mind being late for work, I could show you.”

“Tempting offer, but I really do have to go,” you said.

“So hardworking,” Sunghoon said sarcastically. “All right, I’ll see you on Thursday.”

That night, you were pent up, so you decided to play with yourself. When Jay wasn’t around, normally you would focus your thoughts on him, on some fantasy, something you wanted to try with him. But your thoughts kept shifting towards Sunghoon, his slight build, his charming smile, his frustrating indifference, how his hands would feel all over your body. You thought about what he said, about him pressing you against the shower, cold glass pressing against your tits.

When you came, you whimpered his name.

–

You ended up heading to Sungyeon’s on Wednesday after all. Your extra shift had gotten picked up at the last minute, so you decided to spend the evening with her. Generally, when Jay went on trips, you would stay by her. You hated to be alone in your big, empty house.

Sunghoon was nowhere to be seen, thankfully. The things you had said to him yesterday didn’t feel real or concrete. Just a fantasy the two of you had came up with, talking out loud. You snuggled closer to Sungyeon as you two sat on the couch, watching a Spiderman movie. Sungyeon had pulled a large blanket over the two of you.

“What are you guys watching?” Sunghoon asked. You looked up and squinted at him. He was wearing plain clothes as usual, his hair tousled.

“Look at the screen, dumbass,” Sungyeon snapped.

“That’s just Jake Gyllenhaal,” he sniffed. Sunghoon sat down beside you casually. You glanced at Sungyeon, but she was staring at the screen, eating her second, newly improved batch of Rice Krispie treats. You tried to focus on the screen, but Sunghoon’s body was radiating so much heat.

“You’re hogging the blanket,” Sunghoon whispered to you. “I’m freezing.”

“Don’t try anything,” you said in a low, conspiratorial voice. “I already promised you that we’d hang on Thursday.”

“I’m innocent,” Sunghoon said. “Now blanket.”

You reluctantly covered him with the blanket, and after that he was still. Until, of course, he rested his hand on your thigh. Just that touch alone felt delicious. Too delicious. You wondered if Jay was doing something similar on his trip, letting other women touch him. The thought made your stomach churn.

As if by magic, your phone started to vibrate.

“Who’s that?” Sungyeon asked.

“My stepdad,” you said. Jay liked to call you to check up on you. You answered the call there, ignoring the burning sensation of Sunghoon’s hand slowly rubbing your thigh, moving higher and higher. “Hello?”

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said, his voice sleepy and husky. Sexy. “How are you?”

“Good,” you said. “How are you?”

“I could be better. I’m missing you,” Jay said. “What are you wearing right now?”

Your face burned, and you prayed that Sunghoon or Sungyeon didn’t hear it. “I’m at Sungyeon’s,” you said neutrally. “We’re watching Spiderman.”

“I don’t care,” he said. “Go to the bathroom or someplace private.”

You swallowed and stood up. “I have to take this,” you said to Sungyeon. “It’s important.”

Sungyeon nodded and popped another bite of Rice Krispies into her mouth. You didn’t get a look at Sunghoon before you hurried away to the guest bathroom upstairs. Locking the door, you learned against the door. “Oh, my God. You can’t just do that. They almost heard.”

“I’m sorry,” he said in that same low tone. It made your stomach roil in pleasure. “Just had to hear your voice. Now tell me what you’re wearing.”

“Just a hoodie and shorts,” you said.

“And underneath your hoodie?”

“My tank top and…my bra.”

“Which bra? One I got you?”

“Yeah, the pink set you got me for my last birthday,” you said, reminiscing on that particular memory. He had practically fainted the first time he had seen you in it. “I’m wearing the matching panties too.”

Jay’s breath hitched, and you heard a squelching sound. “Fuck. Would you mind sending me a picture? Please?”

He had never asked you for nudes before, so he really must have been hard up. “Of course,” you said, resting the phone down momentarily as you flicked the light on. “I’m taking my hoodie off right now,” you whispered into the phone. “Now, I’m taking my shorts off…my tank top…you really wanna see?”

“Yes, please,” Jay said pleadingly.

Once you had fully stripped down, you flashed a quick picture of yourself on your knees, phone held high. He always liked you when you were in your most natural state, so you figured he would want a casual picture. You sent it to him, anticipating his reaction as you put the phone to your ear again.

“Jesus fuck,” was his quiet response. “So perfect. No one else gets to see you like that, right?”

“Of course not,” you said quickly. “Just you, always just you.”

“Wish I could tear that off of you right now,” Jay said. “I’d rip that thong off with my teeth, eat your needy little pussy for an hour straight.”

“I wish you would,” you said, longing creeping into your voice. “I wish you were here. I haven’t touched myself once since you left.”

“You haven’t?”

Of course you had. “No,” you whispered. “My fingers aren’t as good as yours are…or your dick.”

“Good fucking girl,” Jay said, his voice beginning to crack. “Good. I’ll make you cum over and over again when I get back. I’ll make you cum on my tongue, on my fingers, on my cock, until you can’t think. You’d like that, right?”

“I would,” you said. Your head was starting to grow cloudy, and you dipped your fingers into your panties to deal with the growing need there. Your clit was hot and you were already dripping with arousal.

“Are you touching yourself right now?”

“I am.”

“So, so good,” Jay said. “Can’t wait to reward you when I get home, give you everything a good girl deserves. Gonna fuck you in every room in the house, until you’re begging for me to stop.”

“I’d never want you to stop,” you said, circling your fingers on your clit and fighting back your moans. You could be loud, and the Park siblings were both downstairs.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” he said, and it sounded like he was straining just as much as you were. “Your body will be exhausted but you love my cock so much that you’d just let me keep fucking you. I won’t be able to stop myself. Just a few days without your needy little pussy and I’m already experiencing withdrawal. I won’t even make it past the door, I’ll push you down into the hallway and fuck you on the floor.”

You bit down on your lip hard, speeding up your movements. You were going to cum in record time, but you didn’t care.

Jay kept going. “Going to mount you’re a bitch, fuck you from behind. It’s been so long since we did doggy, I can’t stop thinking about it. I love seeing your pretty face, but I love watching the way your ass jiggles when I grab your hips and just pound away.”

“Close already,” you said quietly.

“Me too.”

“Want you to fuck me like a bitch,” you said. “Want you to use me, Jay. Want you to treat me like your plaything.”

“Fuck,” Jay said. “Fuck, I’m going to. Just wait for me… Ah, fuck, cum now, sweetheart. Fucking cum!”

Your orgasm hit you so deeply that you had to clench your eyes shut and grit your teeth together. Your phone tumbled out of your grasp, and you could hear Jay grunting and panting your name. You hastily picked it up, checking for cracks.

“Did you drop your phone?”

“Yeah,” you said with a slight giggle. “God, that was good.”

Jay sighed. “Sorry to bother you,” he said contritely. The shift in tone made you giggle again.

“That’s all right,” you said. “I missed your voice.”

“I called you yesterday, silly.”

“Miss you all the time.”

Jay laughed as well, the sound filling you with warmth. “I missed you too.”

You didn’t say I love you to each other, never did, so instead you said, “Take care.”

“You too. Enjoy your movies.”

You hung up on him and stared down at yourself. Panties dressed with your own juices, clothes off, body coated in your own sweat. You were in shambles. You bustled about the bathroom, cleaning up quietly. Once you looked presentable, you opened the door.

Sunghoon nearly tumbled into the bathroom, but he righted himself quickly. “Stepdad my ass,” he barked. “‘I-I-I’m cumming! Uwah!’”

“Keep your voice down! And I don’t sound like that,” you snapped. “Why were you listening in on me?”

“You left in such a rush, I came up here to make sure that you were okay,” Sunghoon replied. “I guess you were really okay. Your legs are shaking and everything.”

You looked down at your legs, which were indeed quivering. “It’s none of your business,” you said.

“It is,” Sunghoon said, blocking your path. “You said it wasn’t serious, but here you are having phone sex with him.”

“It’s not serious.”

Sunghoon laughed sarcastically. “So unserious that you say that you miss him when he’s gone, right?”

“Oh, so you don’t tell your boys that you miss them?”

Sunghoon looked offended. “No.”

“Then you are an unfeeling man. Now move. I’m missing the movie.”

“I’ll spoil it for you. Spiderman fucking dies.”

“No, he doesn’t.” You sighed and pocketed your phone. “Look, we’re still on for Thursday, right?”

Sunghoon screwed his lips up to the side. “Yeah, we are.”

“So don’t worry about who else I’m fucking,” you said. “And I won’t worry about who you’re fucking. Okay?”

“Fine,” he said, moving aside, “but you’re a real shameless little slut, you know that?”

“Oh, don’t call me that,” you said, heading downstairs. “It’ll turn me on.”

“That’s why I called you that,” Sunghoon said, smacking your ass as you walked.

Thankfully, Sunghoon left you and Sungyeon alone, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were doing something horribly wrong.

–

Thursday evening rolled around, and you were at your wit’s end. You didn’t know what other guys liked, not really. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t had experience with other guys, but the bulk of your early adult life had been with Jay. Someone you had lived with, who had seen you at your rock bottom, who didn’t care if you wore pearls and diamonds or greasy sweatpants. You had no clue how to impress someone.

You went to the bathroom and followed a makeup guide on Youtube, pursing your lips. It was a pretty cute look. When Jay got back, you’d do it again when you went on a date and he could introduce you two as your girlfriend.

Dolled up in your best lingerie set - a silky robe over a lacy, barely-there bra with a matching pair of delicate panties and thigh highs - you lounged on your bed. You rarely ever used it for sleeping or even sex, because Jay’s room was bigger, so there was a certain novelty in lying around in it at night.

The doorbell rang. You glanced at the clock on your phone: only 10:45? Sunghoon was early. He must have wanted you worse than you thought. The thought made you smile.

You pranced down the stairs, flicked the foyer light on, and opened the door. Instead of Sunghoon’s lithe frame, Jay stood in front of you, holding a bouquet of gorgeous red roses. His eyes bugged out of his head as he took you in. “Sweetheart,” he said slowly, “you look phenomenal. Hah, did you know I was coming home early? I wanted to surprise you.”

You took the bouquet of roses from him, desperately trying to fight the growing anxiety within you. You had never gotten Sunghoon’s number, so there was no way to contact him. You could ask Sungyeon, but it was so late that she’d question why you wanted it. “I didn’t know,” you murmured. “I was trying out the look I was going to do tomorrow.”

“I took a red eye here,” Jay said. You placed the bouquet on a nearby coffee table. Jay’s eyes lingered on your chest on their slow journey up and down your body. “God, you’re a work of art.” Jay took his suit jacket off and tossed it to the side.

“You know, Jay,” you began slowly. “I’m actually feeling a bit, uh, tired.”

“Really?” Jay loosened his tie. “You don’t look tired to me.”

“Well, I am, and…”

His lips pressed onto yours and you felt your defenses crumbling. Damn him. “When I said I’d fuck you in the doorway,” Jay said, “I meant it.” With that, Jay used his body weight to force you onto the floor as nicely as he could. Even through his dress pants, you could feel his hard length, and despite your growing horror, it made you feel wet. Maybe, Sunghoon would get cold feet. Maybe he was lying about wanting to fuck you. You comforted yourself with this thought.

Soon, Jay was bucking his hips into your warm, desperate pussy. Your panties had been pushed to the side, your bra was askew, and your thigh highs had been ripped. Your arms held yourself upright as he took you from behind, just the way he said. Worst of all, Jay had left the door swinging open. You were facing outside, and the foyer light was still on. Anyone could see you as he fucked you.

“Missed you,” he groaned. “Missed this pussy. I can tell it missed me, too.” His hands were wrapped loosely around your neck, applying comfortable pressure.

You couldn’t even tell him that you missed him in good faith. You let out a pathetic little moan, your eyes trained on the darkness. To your terror, you saw a dark figure shifting, a phone light illuminating its way. It was coming towards your house.

You didn’t know if Jay saw him, because he didn’t stop. His dick reached inside of you so nicely, but the fear clogged your throat.

The figure stepped into the light, revealing Sunghoon. His mouth was agape, and he stared at you, then at Jay, then back at you, then at your tits. It was humiliating beyond words.

“What the fuck?” Sunghoon asked. “The guy who’s been cucking me is Mr. Park? Your fucking stepdad?”

Jay, mysteriously, didn’t stop fucking you. He merely slowed down, and his grip on your throat moved to your midsection. “And you’re the skinny punk who has a crush on her, right?”

“She has a crush on me,” Sunghoon retorted. “She invited me here to fuck.”

Jay finally stopped, pulling out of you. You groaned, unable to face him. “Is that true?”

You nodded. “Yeah,” you said weakly. “Sorry, Jay. I’m really sorry.”

“We’ll talk about that later,” Jay said. “Are you going to tell anyone?”

“Me?” Sunghoon pointed at himself in this overly ostentatious way that pissed you off. “Am I going to tell anyone that you’re fucking your dead wife’s daughter? Maybe. Why shouldn’t I?”

Jay swallowed audibly. “I’ll let you get what you wanted.”

“Jay!” At your outburst, Jay lightly pinched your side.

“You wanted it,” he said, his voice an irate growl. “You wanted to be a slut and fuck another man, so now you’re getting exactly what you wanted.”

Sunghoon still looked aghast, but from your angle you could see a bulge forming under his sweatpants. “You’ll really let me have her?”

“I will,” Jay said. “You just can’t cum inside her.”

Sunghoon’s Adam’s apple bobbed in anticipation. “Can I use her mouth?”

“Sure you can,” Jay said. “I don’t use it often, so maybe she’ll be a little rusty.”

You hated that they were talking about you like you weren’t around, but you’d be lying if you said that it wasn’t a little thrilling. You watched as Sunghoon shut the door behind him and tugged his sweatpants down.

“How long have you two been fucking?” he asked, lowering his boxers. He wasn’t as girthy as Jay, but he seemed like he was the same length, if not a little longer.

“Don’t ask questions,” Jay said, and you could feel his cockhead bullying its way into your pussy.

“Fine,” Sunghoom mumbled. Your arms were still braced for doggy, so all Sunghoon had to do was thrust his cock into your mouth, guiding it in with his hand. He groaned as soon as the wetness of your mouth wrapped around his dick.

“She’s good, right?” Jay was now returning to his original pace, slamming into you steadily. He felt so good, intruding inside of your walls. “She’s always…known how to use that big mouth of hers…”

“I see why you started fucking her,” Sunghoon said, fucking your mouth slowly. He could hardly talk, his voice airy already. “She feels good.” It had been so long since you had had a cock in your mouth, and you liked the feeling of having both of your holes filled. You briefly pulled away from his cock to spit on the tile. After wrapping your lips around your teeth, Sunghoon pushed his cock back into your mouth impatiently.

“She’s an angel to me,” Jay said with a wry chuckle, and it made you happy that he wasn’t so mad at you that he couldn’t say anything nice. A hand groped at your breasts, Sunghoon’s pale hands fondling your body.

“I’m jealous,” Sunghoon said. “Wanted to fuck her for years.”

“You can be a little rougher with her,” Jay said, and as he spoke you could feel his pace increasing. He put his hands around your waist and started dragging you on his cock harshly. “Like this.”

Sunghoon took Jay’s advice and grasped both of your cheeks, taking control of your head. He shunted into your mouth like it was a pussy, and what was a mildly uncomfortable experience became his cock choking you. Your mouth filled with spit, and it ran down your neck. You gagged against Sunghoon, not only because of the face-fucking but because of the cock fucking you from the other side.

“Can I fuck her…once you’re done with her?” Sunghoon asked, breathing clearly laboured.

“Sure, buddy,” Jay said. Buddy?

Sunghoon grunted and ravaged your mouth with his cock, the taste overpowering your senses. Your pussy was being worn out by Jay’s dick, and the stimulation was driving you insane.

“Gonna cum inside you,” Jay said. “You aren’t even close to cumming, are you?”

Instead of answering, you moaned against Sunghoon’s cock again. Your arms were growing weak from holding yourself up while the two men used you.

Jay’s cock throbbed inside of you, signaling his imminent release. With a final grunt, he came inside of you, filling your pussy with his cum. “Fuck,” Jay said, and you could hear him rising to his feet. “That was good. Your turn, Seungmin.”

“Sunghoon.”

“Right.”

Sunghoon finally let go of your head and pulled his cock out of your mouth. You gasped for air, and saliva dripped onto the floor. Your arms shook from the exertion.

“Hold her arms,” Jay said, pointing at you. “She’s not gonna be able to hold herself up.”

“What, you think I’ve never fucked before?” Sunghoon snapped, taking the opportunity to run his hands over your body. Unlike Jay’s touch, which always brought a sense of familiarity, Sunghoon was explorative, greedy.

“I don’t know what you’ve done,” Jay said, “but you’re just a little boy to me. I want to make sure you’re fucking my girl right.”

“What, are you going to coach me?” Sunghoon held your wrists behind you in one large hand, his other hand working his cock a few times.

“I’m starting to think I’ll have to,” Jay replied.

“Don’t you dare,” Sunghoon said. His cock probed the inside of your walls, and you gasped. It was all just skin and nerve endings, but you could feel the difference immediately. Sunghoon pulled you back so that you were flush against his chest, using his hips to fuck into you cautiously.

“Turn her around,” Jay said. “I want to see her.”

“Cuck,” Sunghoon muttered, but he obliged, shifting you so that Jay saw you. Jay was leaning against the wall adjacent to the door. He had tugged his boxers back on and his hair was completely matted with sweat. His eyes were cold, colder than you had ever seen them, and your lips trembled.

“You can enjoy it,” Jay said quietly. “I’ve always known you were a bit of a whore.”

“I’m not,” you protested. “I’m not a whore…” Sunghoon plunged his cock into you, brushing against your G-spot, and you let out a cry.

Jay’s gaze remained cold, almost analytical. “If she moans like a whore, fucks like a whore…”

The worst part was you were enjoying it. You liked the way that Sunghoon fucked you. He fucked like a rabbit, energetic and youthful. He grunted and groaned like he was merely trying to chase his own pleasure. Up until today, Jay had always tried to ensure that you enjoyed sex, but they were both treating you like a sexy toy.

You matched Sunghoon’s movements, grinding down onto him when he thrusted into you. They had called you a whore, and you weren’t going to turn down that label. You moaned over and over again.

“Is she always so loud?” Sunghoon asked.

“Normally, she is,” Jay said, and a ghost of affection appeared on his face again.

Sunghoon bucked his hips into you a few more times, but you could feel his cock twitching already. “Shit, where can I cum?”

“You’re cumming already?” Jay asked with a slight chuckle.

Sunghoon didn’t respond, instead yanking his cock out of you with another groan. He pushed you so that you were on your knees once more, stood up, and rained his cum onto your lower back. Then he let go of you and crouched back into the floor, breathing in slowly. Once he caught his breath, he looked at Jay. “Your stepdaughter blueballed me for days,” Sunghoon hissed. “I’m surprised I didn’t cum in her immediately.

You were so overwhelmed that you couldn’t be assed to listen to Sunghoon complain anymore. Instead, you slumped onto the floor completely, cheek resting on the tile once more.

“Poor thing is all tired out,” you heard Jay say sympathetically. After that, you entered a haze of half-wakeness and half-slumber. You didn’t know how much time had passed when you felt someone’s cockhead touching your pussy.

What fascinated you was that you didn’t know whose it was.

#enha smut #enhypen smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfiction #jay x reader #enhypen hard hours #sunghoon x reader #jay smut #park jongseong smut #jongseong smut #park sunghoon smut #sunghoon smut #I wrote this with one hand.

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echosbento · 6 months

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AU where Jason lived, but only barely. People know that Jason is alive, tragically injured in a villain attack, but alive. Thing is, they don't know that the second Robin is alive. Bruce tells anyone that asks, the kid is alive, but he never says he's fine because Jason isn't fine, he's traumatized and disabled and angry that he had his choice to be a vigilante taken from him, but he's clear that the kid is alive. People don't believe Bruce though, they think he's in denial, because it's clear to anyone who had ever seen the two together that Batman saw Robin as his son. It becomes common knowledge that the second Robin died, there are even conspiracy theories that he died saving Jason's life, and Batman was too distraught by this to ever really accept his death. So when Tim meets Bats, he too thinks the second Robin is dead, it's the only explanation he can think of anyways, because no new vigilante ever showed up like after the first Robin disappeared. And then Bruce takes him to the manor, and Jason is just sat on the couch, mending Dick's costume because his useless himbo older brother can't keep a costume intact for twenty minutes, and he sees Tim and he gasps all fake dramatic "You're finally letting me meet my replacement?!" And Tim goes through all the stages of grief at once as he realizes he never once even considered Jason being the second Robin, not even after he found out Batman was Bruce Wayne.

The potential, Jason loving Dick but hating him at the same time because Jason was forced into retirment and Dick gets to pick and choose when he wants to be a vigilante. Bruce realizing how few rights permanently disabled people have and deciding to fight to fix it and Jason yelling at him for not caring until it was his family being effected. Jason realizing if he ever loses Bruce's support he's totally screwed because he can't do any of what he used to to keep himself alive anymore, and breaking down because how could he possibly help the people like him when he couldn't even help himself anymore? Jason being obsessively over protective of Tim and every sidekick who comes after him because he's terrified one of them will end up like him and they're just kids they don't deserve that. Jason overworking himself because he's convinced if he just Tries Harder he can get past his disabilities, but slowly learning his new limits and accepting them. Just, permanently disabled Jason man.

#batman #jason todd #batfam #dick grayson #tim drake #disability #injury #bruce wayne #me projecting onto Jason #i'll never forget the day I realized I couldn't do the same work to feed myself anymore #and if my parents decided to stop paying for my lunch again #i would just die #that breakdown was BAD

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lavenderstobins · 2 months

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Wayne Munson Headcanons

Wayne was born and raised in Tennessee but moved to Hawkins when he was older. He briefly moved away but moved back after Eddie came out to him, wanting a fresh start

He was raised as an Evangelical Christian

He's the oldest of three, having a younger brother and a younger sister. His sister died young and Wayne never got over that grief

He had an abusive father, which contributed to his brother acting out as a teenager

He fought in Vietnam and subsequently hates guns as a result

His first job was in a pastry shop, but his father made him quit and get a job as a mechanic

He was very close to Eddie's mother (his sister-in-law) but kept his distance for his brother's sake

When his brother goes to jail for what seems like good, he tries to help out Eddie and his mom as best as he can

When Eddie's mom dies, Wayne feels like he didn't do enough

Wayne took Eddie in without hesitation. He'd been in a longterm relationship at the time and having Eddie with them broke it down, but Wayne wouldn't sacrifice Eddie for anyone

Wayne is the one who introduces Eddie to Garfield

Wayne had a brief relationship with Benny Hammond. He was in love with him, but felt he couldn't risk letting them be in love. He's heartbroken when he hears Benny committed suicide

When Eddie comes out to him as a boy, he does so by mentioning the D&D spell "modify memory" in his explanation. Wayne stays up for hours squinting at the handbook long after Eddie's fallen asleep, wanting to be supportive

Wayne was the one to buzz Eddie's hair, after he came out

Wayne loves fishing. He used to have a fishing group that consisted of him, Benny, Dale, Henry and Earl. Over the years, it becomes just him

Wayne braves a gay nightclub one night when Eddie's at a friend's. He goes a few more times and ends up having a one night stand with Scott Clarke, much to their mutual surprise when they bump into each other at the school

Wayne thinks he's cursed. He thinks the Munson name is cursed

When the mall 'burns down', he starts suspecting Hawkins is cursed, too

He cries when he sees Eddie in a coma after s4

He's suspicious of Steve initially. That quickly changes when he learns Steve was the one to carry Eddie out of the Upside Down

He finds out Steve and Eddie are dating when he walks in on them making out on his couch

He has designated mugs for different things. He brings a Garfield 'gone fishing' mug out with him when he's fishing. He has a snowy Garfield mug that he pulls out in winter

He ends up dating Claudia Henderson sometime after the Upside Down shit is finally over

He treats Steve, Robin and Nancy like they're his kids, too. And Max. Then by the end of the year he's essentially half-adopted the entire Hawkins gang

He has a soft heart and cares deeply about troubled kids. His friends joke that he has a 'waif in need' alert (thanks @pukner)

He doesn't want to get married, claiming he won't marry 'til his boy can marry

He's a man of few words. He's not good at showing physical affection, but he's prouder of Eddie than he could ever say

Calls Eddie 'his boy'

Heavily distrusts the government. Milks them for all he can when Eddie's recovering in the hospital. Lays it on thick with Nancy's help and then winks at her when the government agent bustles out of the room

Loves watching the game on TV. Eddie complains when Steve and Wayne get together for the game but is secretly thrilled about his favourite people spending time together

His clothes get passed around from Eddie to Steve to Robin to Nancy and back again. When Robin shows up in one of his flannels he doesn't even blink

#stranger things #wayne munson #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #steddie #my headcanons

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evilkitten3 · 4 months

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ok so like i know the reason is just. sexism but one thing that really irks me about how the post-timeskip naruto manga handled which characters became medic nin bc it makes absolutely no sense to me

sakura's decision to train under tsunade makes sense, and i love that she got a super strength power up, so no notes there, but the other teams.... yeesh

so first off, team ten. we're told that ino decided to follow sakura into mednin land to keep being rivals with her... despite that at no point factoring into their rivalry at all beforehand. ino never showed any interest in that, nor was the yamanaka clan ever mentioned to have anything to do with healing as far as i can remember. it's like going to art school to stay with your bestie when your goal is to become a dentist. why are you there. find other ways to spend time together. it also kinda goes against her family's whole thing as. the guys who do the torture stuff. and it's barely ever relevant anyway

for team ten, i think the team medic should've been shikamaru, and i think this not just bc i think it makes more sense skill-wise (something about the way the nara clan's various shadow jutsu work just screams "you need good chakra control for this" to me), but also bc i think it would make asuma's death a thousand times more painful. bc shikamaru is a slacker. he's not learning medical ninjutsu bc he wants to, he's learning it bc someone on the team has to in order to stick together. they're all chuunin now; one of them has to be a medic. them's the rules. but he doesn't really care that much, even when he is trying to learn, and he's so used to being smart enough to not have to pay attention in lessons anyway that he's not prepared for classes that require his full focus. and then asuma dies and shikamaru is doomed to spend the rest of his fucking life wondering if he could've saved him by paying just a little more attention to those medical ninjutsu lessons (he could not have (but he'll never know for sure))

team eight makes some sense, since giving the girl who struggles with fighting the healing job isn't exactly out of nowhere, but i do feel it was the lazy choice. kiba already had a sister involved in the medical business, even if she deals more with animals, so he could've started learning from her and found that he liked it. plus kiba's goal is to be hokage, and the current hokage is a mednin, so it's not like it wouldn't support his goal. or shino could do it; would add another layer to his character. hinata works fine but. it's just not a very interesting development imo

but what really gets me is team gai. good freaking grief. out of every single team, team gai was the one with the most obvious choice. bc there was only one choice. lee can't do any kind of ninjutsu, and tenten's only real backstory is that her chakra control isn't good enough for her to be a medic nin. so it had to be neji. canon establishes that every team has to have a medic; this is a policy tsunade got passed even before she became hokage, so no way in hell is she going back on it now.

moreover, neji becoming a medical ninja - especially if hiashi encouraged it - would show some development for the hyuuga clan maybe starting to suck a bit less. bc as a medic, neji would be bound by oath to stay alive for as long as possible. imagine a world in which hizashi came back and hiashi was able to tell his brother that not only was their family starting to change, but his son had chosen a path that would prevent him from ever following in his father's footsteps. it would be the first step (of many) to show that the hyuuga clan was freeing itself from its own bullshit.

also it would've made sakura catching the zetsu pretending to be neji a thousand times funnier. like that's her coworker. they've shared shifts at the hospital together. she's seen neji drink vodka straight from a bottle and then crash on her couch after they got out of a twelve-hour surgery on the fucking dumbass chuunin who managed to step on his own boobytrap. she knows him.

#naruto #naruto shippuden #medical ninjutsu #iryou ninjutsu #haruno sakura #senju tsunade #yamanaka ino #nara shikamaru #hyuuga hinata #inuzuka kiba #hyuuga neji #white zetsu #hyuuga clan #neji should've been a mednin not hinata i will die on that hill

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look-at-the-soul · 5 months

Text

Always with me

(Modern)Tommy Shelby x reader (+Grandma) 👵🏻

Hello beautiful people! Hoping you’re doing well 💞 It took me so long to finish this little story because for some reason I kept thinking it needed something else but couldn’t find what it was, then one day I thought this is it, don’t force it, the main point it’s there… sometimes less is more or so they say. Either way, I hope you like this!

Just to let you know this is part of a series of stories (not linked between them) about my Grandma’s series to honor one of the persons who had the biggest impact in my life and I recently lost. This is a small tribute and a way to cope with her not being around anymore.

Grief and sadness is mentioned but as usual I compensate with fluff and happiness ❤️‍🩹 thank you for your endless support, it means so much.

Word count: 3,602

✨ Inspired by Westlife song “Always with me”

They say that time can heal a broken heart

But I just don't know how this could be true

Everyday I see a picture on my wall

My heart is broken into two

Tommy poured two glasses of wine and headed to the couch, next to his girlfriend. She had been staring absently at the fire flames flicking before her eyes, she didn’t even notice when Frances asked if they wanted something for dinner. But he already knew the answer, it was one of those moments when Y/N’s mind wandered back in time to some memory with her grandmother.

Her energy felt so low, the sadness in her eyes made him feel hopeless, and with the holidays around the corner he knew it wouldn’t help to lift her up, as he knew the days meant so much for her. If only he could find a way to make her focus on something else, a distraction.

His eyes fixed on her features as she brought the glass to her mouth.

“You’re wearing lipstick.” He noticed a subtle tone.

A ridiculous suggestion he made when Y/N asked how to get back on track. Try to focus in small things, the finest details you used to do without even thinking about it. Like using your favorite lipstick, he had said back then.

The glimpse of a smile formed on her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes, so taking both glasses he placed them on the table to then pass an arm behind Y/N’s neck to bring her closer.

“I know it’s not been easy for you, but take your time to heal… it’s okay to not being okay.”

His fingers massaged gently her scalp and Tommy felt Y/N relaxing against him, really allowing him to hold her, not just physically.

“I miss her.” Her voice cracked at the end, and felt Tommy’s hands hugging her tighter.

“I know, love. I miss her too, but you know what? I just noticed you’ve got so many mannerisms like her.”

Y/N’s head moved back to give him a confused look.

“You do, just as you were sipping coffee this morning, the way you hugged Charlie it made me remember every time we visited your grandma and she hugged you.”

“You think so?” Surprise washed over her.

Tommy nodded.

“You’ve got lots of things from her, both physically and internally.” He brushed a rebel lock away from her face and looked at her with adoring eyes. “I realized you look so much alike in this photo.”

Fishing his phone in his pocket, Tommy searched for the image he was looking for, a candid image he snapped from Y/N when she wasn’t looking.

“You never told me you took this.” She was surprised by how much she looked like her grandmother indeed.

“If you put them side by side, it’ll be more obvious.” A genuine smile appeared on his lips.

“It’s lovely, thanks. I’ll make a collage.” Y/N leaned in to brush her lips against his. “Do you mind if I go to sleep? I’m exhausted.”

“I’ll join you in a minute, just want to check Charlie.”

“My God, he must be so confused for not having the Christmas tree yet.” Worry was evident in her voice.

“Don’t worry about it baby, I’ll take care of it.” He then joined her in the middle of the hall to give Y/N one more reassuring kiss. Making sure she was upstairs, he called Frances. “Would you help me pack a small suitcase for Charlie and another one for Y/N, leave them by the door so the driver can place them in the back of the car.”

“Of course Mr. Shelby.” The maid nodded.

“Oh and Frances? Make sure to pack yours as well, I need you to look after Charlie.”

Leaving the maid perplexed, Tommy went upstairs.

***

“Since Charlie isn’t cooperating, Frances would you explain why all this mystery?”

Charlie grinned and gave Frances one long and expectant look.

“I’m afraid I don’t know madam.”

Y/N tried getting Tommy to talk, but it was useless. Suddenly he was more interested in the sky than in the interrogation she was making.

“Wow, look at that plane!” Charlie pointed out.

It was until then that Y/N realized of where they were going. The airport.

“Tommy.”

One look and she knew.

“Tom-”

“Just relax, okay?” He interrupted. “For once. All you need to do is get on that plane.”

“Can I ask…?”

“Nope.” He perched his signature Ray Bans against his nose and offered his hand so Y/N could get out of the car.

“Let’s go!” Charlie shouted, leaving them behind.

“Frances?” Y/N tried again.

“Oh Miss Y/LN I know the same thing as you.”

The crew of the private plane greeted them and offered drinks and breakfast, and Y/N still didn’t know the destination. She was worried not being able to take control over the smallest thing, because Tommy was taking care of absolutely everything.

“Fine.” She mumbled leaning against the window.

“Finally! Now we can start our little holiday.” Tommy squeezed her hand. “I know you didn’t feel like celebrating for what it means this time without your grandmother, but Y/N, she would wanted you to smile and be happy.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Wherever you choose to celebrate or not, your grandma will be right with you, in your heart.”

“I know, but it’s not the same without her.”

Tommy wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye tenderly.

“Sweetheart, I don’t want you to spend this Christmas sitting on the couch crying.”

He wanted to compensate for her sadness. And although nothing would her back what she wanted the most, he could try to make her happy. He was right, and the effort meant more than she could express, so with a sigh she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes for a moment.

“Dad! Look!” Charlie’s nose was glued to the window. Frances looking over his shoulder.

That’s when Y/N realized….

“Paris?”

“We’ll always have Paris.” Tommy whispered.

Y/N wasn’t able to hold back the tears any longer.

She knew when she was around six years old, her grandma took her to Paris to visit some family, but the memories were blurred in her mind. Through her grandmother’s eyes she had been able to know some parts of their adventure together. A few photographs but that was pretty much all.

Either way, she felt a special connection to the place and that quote was something her grandmother constantly said, as it was one of greatest experiences she had with Y/N. And they both treasured it close to their hearts.

“It’s time to make our own memories.” Tommy’s voice made her go back into reality. “What do you say?”

She wanted to ask him a million questions, but decided to just let everything flow. In the end he really took care of everything, prepared even the smallest detail of their trip and gave her that reassuring smile that let her know everything would be alright.

As they stepped outside the airport, snow welcomed them, everything was covered in a white layer. But it only added an even more beautiful vibe to their trip.

“I love you, you know that?” Y/N closed her hands around his neck and pulled Tommy for a brief kiss while Frances and Charlie took their seats in the vehicle.

“I do.” He gave another one back. “And I love you too.”

“This is beautiful.” Y/N beamed as they rode through the Parisian streets.

“Actually… shall we stop?” Tommy proposed, while Y/N gave him a confused look. “It’s fine, Frances will make sure the bags are checked in and we’ll go back in a bit.”

Making sure Charlie had the scarf around his neck, Y/N covered her hands with her gloves, while Tommy’s hand wrapped around the small of her back as they strolled around.

“Dad I want to go the carrousel!” Charlie announced excitedly. With his father’s approval, the kid stormed towards the attraction impatiently.

“Bet you were just like that.” Y/N mumbled to herself but loud enough for Tommy to throw his head back and laugh.

“Guess you could say that.”

“Look! Just like Winter!” Charlie pointed at the white horse figure, thinking of their horse back home.

“Just like her huh? Think you can handle this one?”

“Of course, it’s a fake.” Charlie retorted making Y/N smile.

Paying for Charlie’s ticket, they stepped aside to see him riding.

Using her phone, Y/N captured a candid photo of Charlie waving at them, a big smile on his small face.

“What is it?”

“Nothin’ just wish Ruby could be here as well.” Tommy cleared his throat and pretended to be busy with a cigarette.

Y/N knew deep down that fearless man was a sweet man with a good heart who cared deeply of his people.

“I’m sure you’ll reach an agreement with Lizzie later on, she’s still a one year old girl.” Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder to comfort him.

“It’s hard to believe she’ll let me anywhere near Ruby.”

“You’re her father, you’ve the right to see her.”

These holidays had been hard for him as well.

“You know what? I don’t want to talk about anything that might ruin this, you, Charlie, me right here it’s all that matters.” He stated before taking a deep puff of smoke.

“Thank you, for cheering me up.” Stepping in front of him, Y/N captured his lips in a kiss full of gratitude.

“Careful, you might get us arrested and only one of us knows French.” Tommy joked with a sparkle in his eyes. His hands sneaking under her coat.

“I see why you brought Frances then.”

“I always have a plan.” He winked at her.

She could feel a thousand butterflies in her stomach by the way he smiled. “Santa said you’ve been a good girl.”

Y/N blushed. “Oh… and what about you mister?”

“Nah… I’m the bad boy your grandmother warned you about.” Another wink by him and she produced another smile as Charlie ran towards them. “But what you gonna do about it? It’s kind of late now to back down.” He added jokingly.

“She loved you too.” Bending down, Y/N asked Charlie if he enjoyed the ride. “Who wants some hot chocolate?”

“Me! Me! Me!” Charlie shouted.

Tommy groaned. “If you find the button to turn him off let me know.”

“You’re so mean, as if I did the same to you.”

“No, Y/N you turn me on.” Tommy admitted just before Y/N moved her hand to cover his mouth, he was taking advantage of Charlie’s innocence and the mischievous grin on his face gave him away.

Sipping on her hot chocolate cup, Y/N allowed a small glimpse of happiness, it was a beautiful place, the Christmas decoration providing a gorgeous sighting, everyone oozing happiness. The snowy weather made the sighting look out of a Christmas postal.

She was torn between enjoying her favorite season and the grief she carried in her heart. It was her first holidays without her grandmother and her empty chair was definitely evident. She was at a much better place now, no doubt but her absence felt heavy in Y/N’s heart.

Grief is just all the love with no place to go after all.

Noticing the sadness in her eyes, Tommy stopped at a stand, looking for the ornaments they had to decorate the Christmas tree.

“Are you looking for something special?” The man asked.

“Yes… a house ornament.” Tommy replied, feeling Y/N’s eyes on him. “Do you guys want something?”

“A reindeer!” Charlie’s eyes shining.

Y/N took her time studying the ornaments, until one caught her attention.

Following her eyes, Tommy had to swallow the lump in his throat. I have an Angel in heaven, called Grandma. It read. It was the one.

Kissing her temple, Tommy offered his embrace as they waited to get their decorations.

“Dad why did you choose the house?” Charlie asked with curiosity.

Getting a cab for them, he looked at his son. “I’ll tell you later about it.”

Y/N looked the exchange in silence, but also wondering the meaning behind his choice. She’s expect him to choose something with a dark humor behind instead.

“Look Charlie, the Eiffel Tower’s lights are flicking again.” Y/N pointed as they drove in the opposite direction, back to their hotel.

“Okay this is the plan, Charlie you’re heading to bed the second we step into the hotel, no questions. Tomorrow we’re having breakfast and then we’re going to a flea market.”

“Tommy…” Y/N gasped.

“What? You always said you wanted to see the Eiffel Tower and a flea market in that same order.”

“I know, but how do you remember?”

Scoffing, Tommy gave her the look. “Sweetheart, I pay attention.”

“Only thing that sucks is Santa doesn’t know I’m here.” Charlie complained once in front of their door.

With a smile, Tommy opened the door for them, making them both gasp loudly as they saw the huge Christmas tree in the middle, fully decorated with presents wrapped all around.

“Well I might have informed him we would be traveling and changed the address.” He admitted pleased with himself. He wanted them to have the nicest possible holiday. “Why don’t we add our ornaments?”

Tommy took her by surprise, not only for the trip, but for the tree as well, she thought about sneaking around the shops of the hotel to buy Charlie something thinking he wouldn’t get anything, but Tommy thought of everything.

“This is beautiful, thank you.” Y/N wrapped her arms around his torso, feeling so grateful to have him in her life.

“Presents are meant to be open until tomorrow morning though.”

“But Daaad.”

“No buts, off to bed.”

Pouting, Charlie walked towards Y/N. “Goodnight Y/N Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas Charlie, have a good night.” She hugged the boy and kissed the top of his head.

“Night Dad.” He then said. “Merry Christmas.”

“See you tomorrow son, Merry Christmas.”

Watching him disappear, Tommy took Y/N by the hand.

“Want to know why I chose the house?”

“Absolutely.” She brushed the fringe from his forehead with her fingers.

“Because that’s my only wish this Christmas… to build a home with you, Y/N. A proper house; our own title team, we’ve talked about the future, well it’s finally here, in this moment. You made me realize of what I truly want, what I dream of.” Getting on one knee, Tommy showed her an old jewelry box. “I know you miss your grandma terribly and no one will ever fill her place in your heart, but in some way, she found a way to show you she’ll always be right next to you, she gave me this ring, she wanted you to have it and be as happy as she was during her marriage. Will you marry me?”

He looked at her with tears in his eyes, fighting to say the words as emotions took over.

“Tommy…” bending down she kissed him. “Wait a second, this is her engagement ring?”

Taking the delicate piece from the box, he smiled proudly.

“Before she passed away, she gave it to me to propose you with her ring.”

Her head was spinning, her heart drumming against her ribs.

“She did what? When?” Shock was written all over her face.

“Can you please say yes first? So I can get up.” He groaned.

“Yes of course!” She kissed him again, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“When we took her to the clinic, as you were asked to fill the papers with her information, the nurse just left,” he explained as the memories of that day came back to him, “she asked me if I really loved you, to which the answer is pretty obvious. Then she asked me in case something happened to her to go to her house and open the safe to get her engagement ring and keep it until it was the right time to give it to you, she wanted you to have it as she knew how much you’d miss her.”

Y/N sobbed as Tommy’s voice cracked.

“She said to me make her even happier than I was, and the day she walks down the aisle, I’ll be right by her side.”

“I thought it was lost or stolen, as I went through her belongings.” Y/N wiped the tears from the corner of her eyes.

“She wanted you to have it, with a different meaning.”

“It’s the most perfect ring I’ve ever seen.” She looked down at her left hand, the stone shining under the chandelier.

“Just Iike you’re to me.” He pulled his now fiancé for a hug. “She wanted you to be happy, to live life to the fullest. Said you were her favorite grandchild.”

Her lower lip trembled just as his hands came to rest at each side of her head.

“Just don’t let anyone else listen.” They said in unison to what Y/N’s grandma used to confess.

“I know you lost a huge part of yourself when she left. But you have to know that you were right beside her through everything, you enjoyed her in every moment, every visit, dinner and chance you had, you took care of her until her very last breath, and no one can take that away from you. Find peace in that. You loved her as much as she loved you.”

Tommy caressed her face with his thumbs.

“Now you have to keep that promise, and be happy. For her. For us.”

Y/N could only nod. Words were stuck in her throat.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Y/N expressed in a whisper, staring at her grandmother’s engagement ring.

“We’re getting married.” Tommy assured her, thumbs caressing her cheeks. “Eh? Soon to be Mrs. Shelby.”

Y/N blushed. “That sounds promising.”

Taking her by surprise, Tommy grabbed her from the waist to spin her around, making Y/N gasp and hold onto him tightly.

Trying to hold back the tears, Y/N hugged Tommy closing her eyes for an instant.

“What’s crossing your mind?” He asked.

And for the first time in a while, he saw the way the smile reached Y/N’s eyes.

“Thinking how grandma will always be with me.”

****

As usual your feedback means the world to me ♥️✨

Master list

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#that’s what Cill said #tommy shelby x fem!reader #tommy shelby fanfiction #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fluff #thomas shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby x you #peaky blinders imagine #modern thomas shelby

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samkerrworshipper · 7 months

Text

ephiphany | lucy bronze x reader

warnings: homophobia, mentions of overdose, grief, death

You thought you were getting better, or happier at least.

You cleaned your room, or you tried to. You worked out, well you walked into your home gym and then turned around as soon as your foot hit the floorboards. You left the house, or you sat in your backyard for a total of five minutes. All the things your therapist was telling you were for the best, all the right things.

Now, you’re lying on your couch - because yours is messy because clean for you is more about removing any major tripping hazards in comparison to actually cleaning. Everything feels like it’s slipping away from you.

You can’t do much more than stare at the blank wall in front of you, the one part of your living room that you choose to keep blank for this reason exactly. Every single other wall is adorned with shelves, paintings, trophies, photos, but this strip of plain white plaster is completely blank. It’s an island of peace in a room full of noise.

You can’t help but wonder why everything that's led to this has happened, why the cookie had to crumble this way for you.

Lucy’s on the phone in the kitchen, yelling at someone or something, Narla is lying beside you on the couch, absolutely desperate for your attention, something that you are yet to award her, Narla is trembling slightly, she hates when Lucy yells, the both of you do. You can’t help but think of all the bad things, can’t stop thinking. No matter how many of the pictures on the walls that you look at, or the art displayed on the plaster it’s just too much, too much for your brain to handle.

You’ve been trying to tell yourself for weeks now that you’ll get over it, that you’ll be good and happy and everything is going to be fine, because if it isn’t then everything is fucked. Everything you’ve ever worked for or wanted is gone.

You thought life was getting better, you thought you were going to return to the pitch, out of respect for Jonatan you were getting annoyed at yourself that you hadn’t gotten on the pitch yet, because it had been fucking weeks, and all you had accomplished was a messy room and a lot of tears.

Grief sucked.

Having your mom die from a fucking overdose was the freight train that you never expected to hit.

But when it did it was fucking carnage, a fucking wreck that had torn your life to pieces in a matter of minutes.

Maybe you’d hurt her, maybe she’d hurt you, maybe you were careless and didn’t think about how leaving your family would hurt her, maybe your choices had resulted in her death.

She was understanding until you told her you were gay.

She cared about you until you told her you were moving to Barca to be with Lucy.

She was your biggest supporter until you told her that you were so scared of how your father would react that you needed to move so he didn’t find out when you were in the house with him.

Maybe you could’ve been the bigger person, faced your fear.

Maybe, had you stayed and protected your mother from your fathers wrath she would still be alive.

But you left.

And maybe all the ‘hurt people hurt people’

Bullshit is true, maybe your mom only hurt you because of how much your father hurt her. Maybe she was just another example of the cycle of abuse that was so fucked up.

But that didn’t make it any easier, didn’t make it any easier to acknowledge that your last conversation with your mom ever was her screaming at you about how you were going to hell because of who you loved.

It’s been a little over a month or so since you visited her grave.

You remember the woman who had been visiting the grave next to you asking if you were okay, you didn’t know how to answer her.

In a matter of seconds of replying ‘yes’ you were gone, leaving behind a part of you that you never wanted to face again.

You saw the life drain from Lucy’s face as you confessed to her all of your guilt in the car ride back to Leah’s house, where you were staying for the weekend.

Lucy held your trembling body in her arms, holding onto you as tight as she could and promising she’d never let go, and she didn’t.

She could feel you slipping away out from under her, when your shared bed started to turn into a nest of blankets and you refused to let Lucy clean it up, when you made her take down every single photo you had of your family, desperate to remove any traces of them from your life, Lucy watched as you refused to eat anything, watched as your body began to thin and the bags under your eyes only got bigger.

Her therapist told her that everyone had a grief process, everyone processed death differently, but she was watching you kill yourself in the process of greiving your mother, and it gutted her.

In the six years that the two of you’d been dating she’d met your mother once, and that has been as a friend, not a girlfriend. You’d told Lucy about your families homophobic views, but she just couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t comprehend how someone so amazing and loveable could have her whole family turn on her just for who she loved.

You let go of them though, washed your hands of their blood and let them run down the sink. It had been hard for you, losing a whole support system, but you’d worked through it, Lucy had been there for every single step of the way.

But right now, she felt more lost than ever, you were like a ghost in her arms.

When Lucy finally did finish on the phone she walked into the lounge room, to find you bunched up in the blankets on your couch, staring at the same spot that you always seemed to be looking at. The same spot that a month ago had held the picture of your mother and you, from your England debut. It was your favourite picture, the both of you beaming from ear to ear, you’d never felt like she’d been more proud of you then she was in that moment.

It had come down though, a month ago when you’d gotten rid of every single trace of your family that was left in your shared apartment. It had shattered Lucy seeing the very little evidence there was of your family being completely stripped from your house, on every edge of the apartment there was some sort of proof of Lucy’s family, whether it was pictures of her nieces and nephews or little mementos from trips or memories.

Lucy walked around the front of the couch, to spot that there were cold, still tears dripping down your face.

“Baby, everything okay?”

It was hard getting through to you nowadays, you were like a locked up safe, it was hard to get much out of you.

When Lucy realised that her soft tone had done absolutely nothing to penetrate your spaced out mind she raised her voice a little bit, taking a step closer to you and blocking your view of the wall just slightly.

“Baby, you okay?”

Your eyes snapped up to Lucy’s face, your jumper sleeve moving directly up to your face to wipe the tears off of your face.

“She’s gone, Luce.”

Your words were a murmur, hardly pronounced but Lucy caught them.

She slipped onto the couch beside you, opening her arms to you and smiling to herself as you climbed into her lap almost immediately, your arms wrapping around her neck like she was a lifeline.

“She’s fucking gone and I never told her that I loved her or that I forgave her or that I understood her struggles, she’s gone and I-I how am I supposed to live in a world where my mother didn’t love me or want me?”

It was so hard to hear those words leave your mouth, that you felt like you were unwanted, because you weren’t. You’d found a family in Barcelona with Lucy, your teammates were your family and they loved you more than enough, but they weren’t your blood.

“Sweetheart, do you actually believe that those things are true? That she deserved to be told you loved her when she didn’t deserve it?”

Your sob was enough of an indication of your answer and Lucy only held onto you for longer.

“She didn’t want me.”

Lucy didn’t know what to say to that, because she couldn’t lie to you and tell you that your mother did love you or want you, she couldn’t lie to you. Your mother was like a oxymoron of sorts, because in no way had she behaved in a way that was motherly or loving, she had canned you because of who you were, and that was fucking horrible, it sucked.

“I know baby, but I do, I love you so much, we’re going to get through this.”

Lucy wasn’t sure if you would get through this, she didn’t know how many works your body could do this for, how long you could struggle, how much longer you could let yourself be pulled apart by the death of your mother, how much pulling you could deal with before the scars were simply to big for you to be repaired.

She knew she’d lost parts of you since it happened that she might never get back, parts of you that she so desperately missed, which felt horrible, because it felt illegal to miss parts of your lover, but she did, she war mourning her own life with you that had faded away when she died.

Lucy didn’t know if you’d ever be kay, she prayed to every star that you would, that tomorrow, or next week, or next month she;d get a part of her girl back, a sign that you were okay, she was waiting for that, waiting so patiently for a sign that you were still in there somewhere, that your mother hadn;t taken you to the grave with her, that you weren’t just a skeleton walking around anymore.

———————————————————————

yeah so poll is voting for more big fics but this little drabble ideas has been in my head for a few days and i had a few fiq reqs for grief angst so here it is xo

#woso #woso community #lucy bronze is daddy #lucy bronze imagine #lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze

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boyfridged · 23 days

Text

it's been a while since i posted about it but i do have a whole tag #the worst thing about love dedicated to that theme and i will always treasure the idea (supported by canon) of jason being cursed with accurate memory over the jason-with-varying-forms-of-amnesia fanon. rhato (2011) #3 might be the only good thing written by lobdell in how it aligns with it... jason's fond memory of bruce staying with him instead of going to patrol is a curse to him because it singles him out in a world that has forgotten. in aditf, bruce chooses following the joker instead of going after jay -- and we now know that jay's bitterness irt that matter originated from his expectations built by bruce himself, who was earlier ready to forgo vigilante responsibilities to take care of him... and as i said before, for jay post-res, aditf lasts forever: he's still daring his father to choose him, even if he does not realise it, even if his own identity is too melted into the mask, even if what he wants is bruce sitting on the couch next to him still in costume and not in civvies. he cannot explain it even to himself. and the world in which that was an option- in which there were no repercussions for bruce choosing jason, is long gone. bruce had his part in it. the narrative was already reshaping itself to expel jason early post-crisis, and his death only cemented it-- more than that, bruce's grief did it, it reshaped his own memories of jason as angry, of his expectations as illogical and even petty. jason comes back to a world that others him. and in order to come back to it, he strikes a miltonian pose-- playing the role of a villain since there is nothing else left, no other way to reintegrate himself into this new fabric of universe. but the dissonance between that pose and his memory will only isolate him further, making him hope. hope is a hostile thing for jason todd. so in rhato (2011) #3 he chooses to forget. forgetting does not stick. it never does. the memory will be back and incline him to reach out again, uselessly. the worst thing about love is that he remembers it.

#the worst thing about love

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purplelupins · 21 days

Text

Lamb

|Midnight Mass|

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

Father Paul Hill/John Pruitt x fem!reader

Word count: 13.7k

Summery: An entire life of being a good girl was a difficult cross to carry...especially in a tiny town with 127 residents on a good day. You kept the town fed and spirits as high as you could, but when a new face steps off the afternoon Breeze, things around you start to change; you don't even know you're in the eye of the storm.

Warnings: nsfw, reader is religious, religious symbolism, ideology, explanations and general conversations of religion, age gap (like this man is 80 technically and he watched reader grow up, and can remember reader as a little girl so if that’s creepy to you then go no further), stalking, manipulation, murder (hello have you seen the show?), drinking of blood, hunting of a person, grief, description of animal death, reader is described as blushing, character death, non consensual help showering, guilt and god maybe more but I think that’s it…this is not really a fix it fic

Notes: this is it…the final chapter of Lamb! Thank you all so much for reading…thank you to everyone who has supported me and commented and given me feedback. I love each and every one of you. It’s been a pleasure.

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It was nearly noon when you stirred.

You had expected to awaken in bed, just as you usually did these days when you dozed off; it was not a pillow under your cheek that morning, though. There was a steady rise and fall under your ear, and a security to where you lay. You slowly cracked your eyes open, and took in where you were. Certainly you remembered falling asleep on the couch, but you did not recall laying on Father Pruitt. And yet there he was slumped uncomfortably against the wooden arm on the couch with you pulled over his chest and into his lap like a makeshift blanket.

You had assumed he generally didn’t sleep- either didn’t need it or didn’t choose to. However as you looked down at the peaceful man, you found you were wrong. As you rose your head, those dark lashes of his brushed his cheeks as he lay under you in a slumber. You stilled and stared so as to not rouse him; whether it was out of fear of waking the beast, or manners for not stirring your host, you were not sure.

It seemed fate would come to your aid. Father John’s brow twitched in the same way it used to when he would start to fall asleep during a lengthy conversation after Mass when his hair was grey. His wrinkled face would go lax, and he would slump slightly then catch himself and pass it off as him thinking.

You watched his eyes slowly crack open, then it seemed his senses returned to him all at once as he sat up a fraction a little too fast. You fell a little forward and caught yourself on his shoulder and he caught your waist and your upper arm.

“Oh I’m- I must’ve…-“ he trailed off as sleep still gripped him.

You watched him wake up and laugh a little at the slight awkwardness of it. Then he seemed to finally realize that you too had only just awoken.

“You slept.” He stated, voice thick with tiredness.

You nodded.

“I’m sorry I- well I would have moved you, but I didn’t want to…” he could have stopped there and it would have been true too, “…wake you.” He added.

Your silence made him swallow. Making him nervous was not your intent, though somehow seeing him a little uncomfortable made you enjoy your position a little more.

After a moment he sighed and gently guided both of you to sit up and he pulled at the neckline of the sleep dress you wore. You tilted your head away from him for a better view, and the action itself made his nostrils flare.

So trusting for me…

“No more bleeding. Well done little one.” He hummed.

You waited for him to put the fabric back, which he did after another moment; a gentle sweep of his fingers over your collar bone. Soft and unhurried. Nothing like you had seen and felt from the other men of the island. Rough hugs and claps on your shoulder or an entitled hand on your back. Anything but ginger and gentle.

“Why me, Father?” You whispered suddenly. It was a question that you had repeated over and over until your throat went dry. Why me? Why me God, why me?

John sighed out through his nose. You had always been one to not shy from difficult questions. He could remember your mother chastising you when you would pose such queries to the aging Monsignor at 10 in the morning. He tucked his chin to his chest as he thought then turned back to you, eyes soft.

“Because you were perfect.” He muttered.

Neither Eve nor Lilith. You were neither made from his rib nor from the same soil as he, and John basked in that realization. You were his lamb. A willing and trusting creature who only wanted a Shepard, yet so tempting in its soft flesh and sweet smell.

His words hung in your ears. You nodded- not in understanding, because you did not understand, but because it was a truth he believed. You hoped you would come to understand it, too.

You sat up off his lap, and stretched- the bones in your back popped and your tentons pulled against tissue until you were satisfied.

John watched you unabashedly, a small smile on his mouth at the sight of you.

“I don’t think you know this…but you were always my favourite.” Came his low rumble of a voice beside you.

You settled, and looked over to where he was already turned towards you. “What do you mean?” You asked.

He breathed out a laugh, “It look me a while to remember, but over several months the pieces of my fading mind slowly fell together. I remember always enjoying your company…your dedication, your selflessness and selfishness…your curiosity…so sweet.” John recalled the last twenty odd years following your birth. The birth of a child on Crockett was always a true gift. He had watched you go from smiling and wailing in your mother’s arms to walking down Main Street as fast as your chubby legs could, to you being the last remaining light of the island as you pedalled to the marina with the stiff sea breeze sobering you.

Even in his deteriorating body he loved seeing that little face, in and outside St. Patrick’s. Your wit and comforting nature. The look of regret and apology tugging your pretty mouth into a frown when you would see the filthy floors of the church after a rainy day. How the sunshine of summer mornings would reflect off your face through the church windows. Those dresses you would wear under your warm sweaters; colours of lush fauna, blue skys and spring.

You listened to him, and watched as the good Father seemed lost in thought.

“I don’t know if you remember when my family left…but I was so scared. Independence had always been something I was used to, but something about loneliness…I suppose what I’m trying to say is St. Patrick’s was a home for me.” You returned his thoughtfulness with your own.

John smiled again to himself and patted your hands that sat on your thighs, “And it will always be a home for you…even when it stands in ruins.” He murmured.

You sucked in a breath, and looked away. His stare grew far too intense for you at times.

“Come…you need to eat, sweetheart.” Father John sighed and stood, his hands outstretched to help you up. You took his hands, and let him make you food.

The supplies for the island were simple and repetitive. Nothing fancy. It had been months of similar meals and uninteresting ingredients, but you found that you couldn’t complain. You were alive, and that was what mattered.

“Can I ask you something?” John’s chest rumbled as he spoke across from you at his desk.

You looked up from the book you had been reading- your knees tucked up to your chest in the old chair. “Go ahead.”

The Father took a moment to think of the best phrasing while he put his pen down. This had been something that ate away at him for months, but it had never been an appropriate time to ask it. He prayed this was a corrected time now.

“That night…Easter…you came back. You didn’t look afraid…sad and horrified, yes, but not afraid…” he said, “I was afraid. I was grieving…why were you not afraid?”

You looked away, and thought.

“I was afraid but not…not of what you think,” Your eyes glazed over as you recalled that night. How the church smelled of candle wax and iron and wet wood, “I thought I was going to die that night. I did. And I was okay with that. It wasn’t death that frightened me. There was something else that did.”

He hung onto every word, “What was it, my child?”

You swallowed and finally looked up at him, “You- you weren’t violent. When you first got back to Crockett you weren’t violent.” You shook your head.

Your statement surprised him.

“Well- I - had my limit…Joe- well…he suffered but…I suppose that was a circumstantial thing…for the majority of the time yes I was…fairly docile.” He nodded along.

You felt your throat tighten and your nose prickled, “Then why did they rip their families to shreds? Why did they attack like that…they were possessed,” you said and shook your head, “What scared me and still scares me, Father , is that I think those people were just looking for an excuse to be savage. I knew Wade and Dolly so well and I had to pull a Leeza away from them…their own daughter…are we all just…savages safeguarded by laws and manners and faith? What scares me is that I wonder what they really are capable of. And now that…I’m weaker than them, I would be defenceless. It’s the suppressed urges that scare me.” Your voice trembled.

Father Pruitt hadn’t entirely thought of it in such a way. But once you laid out what the islanders had done in that manner, he found himself a little more horrified.

“I can understand why.” He leaned back and rubbed his brow, “I haven’t…I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

You nodded, “It’s why I run, I can handle dying. I can handle God. But the thought of being torn apart and drained by people I loved is what scares me.”

John regarded you- his cupids now pulled into a straight line.

“I know you’re sorry, Father…it’s not you that scares me.” You said gently. You opened your book and picked up where you had left off; leaving the older man to stew and mull over your answer to his question.

Father Pruitt pulled his messenger bag over his shoulder, and sighed as he readied himself for Mass. The black button-up plus that crisp white collar were back in place from his sweater. He took a quick breath as if to say something, then he seemed to decide against it.

You watched from your spot on the couch, and waited to see if he would give into the itch and say what was on his mind-

“You…you can come. If you’d like.” He tried to say it far more casually than he felt, and it showed.

You stifled a laugh, “To a church full of v-“

“I know…just…I thought you might miss it.” He stumbled a little to correct himself. He missed seeing you there. He missed feeling your glow.

You thought for a long minute. You did miss it. You missed the church, you missed seeing other faces…you missed hearing his sermons and the hymns.

“I do…” you whispered.

“Then come. I promise you will not be harmed, there’s been a steady supply and everyone is fed. I promise you.” He spoke almost pleadingly.

You stared up at him, and clenched your jaw.

John’s chest ached. Too soon. “I’m…I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-“

“Okay.”

The ache tightened, but it hurt so nicely. He looked at you in the eyes, “…okay?” He repeated.

You nodded.

A rush of air left Father Pruitt’s lungs in shock, “Okay. Okay…okay, c’mon, little one.” He held out his hand to beckon you to him.

You stood and padded to the bedroom to retrieve a pair of wool tights and a sweater to have over your dress. When you returned, Father John already had your coat and boots ready for you. It was only a short walk, but the church had always been drafty, and winters were not kind on Crockett.

He helped you into your shoes and closed your coat, “There. Now come along. You’ll sit at the front…no one sits there anymore.” He thought aloud.

But you weren’t listening. You were watching that handsome face as he fretted over you. It was so much all at once how he looked after you. Too much but not enough.

What you didn’t expect was how he took your hand in his larger one and guided you down the rectory steps and out past the cemetery and the rec centre. You had noticed ages ago how many new graves there were, though you never mentioned it.

Father Pruitt drew small, soothing circles along your knuckles and led you up through the back vestibule of the church.

You held your breath and paused in the doorway. The last time you had been there, Erin had shot Bev in the chest. You sucked in a sharp breath suddenly and it hurt your lungs.

You needed to do this.

Closure.

Though you wished that Bev was still on Crockett. You would have enjoyed giving her a piece of your mind now that you weren’t terrified. But alas, she was a long gone pile of dust.

“"When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I shall not be afraid. What can flesh do to me?"…He is with you, little one. If I am not enough then know that He is with you.” The Father bent to murmur in your ear.

You swallowed the saliva that had pooled in your mouth and nodded.

He took that as an invitation to proceed. You stayed with him as he retrieved his green chasuble and slipped it over his head.

“Ordinary time…” you whispered to yourself.

John pretended not to hear you, and continued on. He knew you were reliving and processing what he had put you through.

When he filed out to the body of the church, he placed a gentle hand on your back and pointed to the front pew where Beverly used to sit, “Everyone thinks that spot is haunted by Ms.Keene. I assure you it is not. You can sit there.”

You looked from the pew to him and felt anxiety start to fill you.

John turned back to you and brought his hands up to cradle your soft face.

“I am with you. You will not leave my sight I promise.” With that, he placed a small kiss on your forehead, and released you.

Trust.

You took another shuttering breath in, and out, then stepped out into St. Patrick’s. It was still empty, and your footsteps echoed in the bare building. You looked down at the floorboards, and at the stairs to the pulpit, then finally you dared to look down the aisle to the door. Flashes of Easter make you blink hard to force them away. Now there was no blood, nothing left to portray the carnage that occurred there.

You eyes fell upon the crucifix, and you forced yourself to sit down in the pew. You needed watchful eyes on you that night. Your fear began to bubble up into your throat and constricted it. You needed to not be alone.

You reached into your coat pocket, and clutched your rosary, and you began to pray.

“Angel of God, my guardian dear, To whom God's love commits me here, Ever this day, be at my side, To light and guard, Rule and guide. Amen.” You whispered to yourself.

John still stood in the vestibule, readying the communion when he heard your little voice start to pray. He swallowed thickly at the memory of last muttering that same prayer; clutching at his stomach and screaming for that winged beast to come to him…he might have given into the grief, but John had long since worked through the guilt that did eventually come, contrary to what he told Riley. Instead, he blinked a few times, and began to recite the prayer with you under his breath.

The doors to the church were opened, and your baby hairs stood on end.

“Angel of God, my guardian dear, To whom God's love commits me here, Ever this day, be at my side, To light and guard, Rule and guide. Amen.” You finished and crossed yourself.

There were slow footsteps as parishioners entered, and noticed you. You knew they noticed you by the way conversations stopped and whispers began. You didn’t dare look behind you.

No one approached you, just like your Father had told you. You kept waiting for someone to grow bold and take a seat beside you, but it never came. Even as you all rose for the hymn, and began to sing, you remained alone and untouched.

You sang quietly, and kept your eyes low until Father Pruitt passed you and took his place at the pulpit in front of you. You had to crane your neck now to look up at him, and you found a twinge of pain there in your shoulder from the bite. A cruel reminder.

“Good evening everyone…here we are again as Christmas approaches and the New Year. It’s during this time of year when I am reminded of gifts. Gifts come in so many shapes and forms…at so many times. A shiny new bike, a gift card, a new dress…wrapped up and then torn apart to emphasise the excitement…then there are other kinds of gifts. The gift of seeing a loved one again. A child, a new house, a hot meal. Sometimes a gift can come in the form of a person. Jesus was a gift to mankind…our Lord and our Savour who leads us even though he has left us…” he spoke gently, and you found yourself softening. You felt like you were listening to your Monsignor again. No agenda…no manipulation. Just a man with a collar trying to remind people of God.

“People can be the biggest blessings…we give each other connection, and we empower each other. We can remind each other of better times and push each other to move forward. To recover, to learn, to get out of our comfort zones. To be more pious and to think of God more. People can be reminders for each other just as much as a crucifix…Gifts. Meant to be treasured…” he glanced down at you, and his heart swelled at the sight of you being there, “And cared for. We must nurture and care for those around us who remind us of God, and who push us to be better. We must be selfless for them.”

You listened to him, and rolled your rosary over your fingers. Like little drops of water. The last memory you had of being in church was full of so much fright and anxiety as you tried to get a grip on yourself- telling yourself everything was fine when it evidently hadn’t been. You sometimes wondered what would have happened if you had listened to your gut and left long before Easter. Would you have lived? Or would you have returned to Crockett after to come home only to be devoured at night because you didn’t know about the islands nightly tendencies? Was there any way to escape or were you doomed from the start?

You didn’t stand in line for the Eucharist. You didn’t watch the rest of the flock accept it. But as the final person left to sit down, you heard your name being called gently. You slowly rose your gaze, and met with Father Pruitt standing just feet from you.

“Body of Christ, little one.” He said to you, wafer in hand. You took a moment to catch up with his offering, and when you saw a paper cup in his other hand, you gave in.

“Amen.” You held your hands out to accept it the wafer, and let it dissolve on your tongue.

“Blood of Christ, little one.” He said, holding out the cup to you. You flicked your eyes up to his for just a moment.

Trust.

“Amen.”

You leaned forward, and let him tip the cup’s contents into your mouth. Your tongue was flooded with grape juice.

John watched you proudly, and finished service.

You didn’t stay. You couldn’t. Of course you wanted to see Annie, and to hold Leeza and to look Dolly in the eye. But you couldn’t. The thought alone had your stomach churning with upset. You wordlessly brushed past Father Pruitt as he descended the stairs to bid his parish a goodnight, and he watched you go. You slipped out the back door and ran back inside the rectory and slammed and locked the door.

You ripped off your coat and hung it up with shaking hands, and toed off your boots and yanked off your tights because everything felt too tight and too warm and too itchy all at once and you couldn’t breath.

You turned off the lights and ran into the bedroom and pulled the blankets up and over your head as you tried to find an equilibrium in your breathing. Your ears were ringing and your stomach felt uncomfortable like you had either eaten far too much or far too little.

After a while, you heard knocking on the front door. Your nerves lit up at the idea of one of the islanders being the visitor. Your stomach only dropped further when you heard keys. You knew Father Pruitt was the only one with keys, or so he said. What if this was all a trap? What is he asked you to come that night so he could let the parishioners on you? What if he was lying all along? What if-

“Y/n?” Came that low hum of a voice that you had grown to know. You still didn’t move. What if he had other people with him?

You could hear footsteps coming closer. You pulled the covers closer, and tried to hold your breath.

“Little one, what are you doing?” Came his gentle whisper.

You didn’t reply, staying as still as you could.

He sighed.

“Give me your hand, my sweet girl.”

You didn’t.

“Trust me.”

You slowly moved your arm and released the death grip you had on the blanket to produce your hand to him.

John tutted your palm where little crescent moons were etched into your skin where you had clenched your fists.

You felt him take your hand, and raise it up until you felt him press it against his cheek.

“See? I’m here…you’re okay.�� He whispered into your skin and leaned into your touch. You moved your fingers over his cheekbone and along his jaw, then down over the corner of his mouth and over his Cupid’s bow until you returned to holding his face. You felt the light press of a kiss to your palm, and your breath hitched.

“Come here, sweetheart…”

You very slowly pulled the blanket off your head and turned your head up to peak around the room. It was dark. So dark. You knew he didn’t need the lights on to see you clearly, and when your eyes found his, his gaze were two pinpricks of light bouncing off his pupils.

With his other hand, he coaxed the blanket off you a bit further until your thighs poked out.

“There she is…” he whispered, and pulled on your hand to sit up until he was sitting beside you and guiding you into his lap,“You did so good, I’m so proud of you, my girl.”

Your limp grip on his shoulders tightened quickly until you were wrapping your legs around his hips and locking your arms around his shoulders; face buried in his neck.

John exhaled into your hair as your scent flooded his senses.

“I’m sorry I ran…” you murmured.

“Shh..nothing to apologise for.” He kissed your temple, and pretended to not notice how your legs tightened around him. How close you were.

“I know they want to see me…I just…I don’t think I can…” you sniffled.

“That’s alright…they understand.” He cooed, stroking your hair.

You sighed and suddenly felt so embrasssed for running. You felt like a child.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” He breathed against the crown of your hair.

You shook your head.

“Do you want to come sit with me? I can read you one of those terrible German fairytales.” He offered.

You laughed shakily, “I’d rather go back to the church, Father.”

He laughed with you, and you enjoyed the vibrations it made in his chest. You slowly pulled away from him, but kept your gaze lowered to his chest. You thought you were stronger than that.

His sigh fanned over your forehead, and his finger came under your chin to tilt your face up to his. Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and you could see his face. His breath mingled with yours, and you swallowed it down.

“Come sit with me.” He said gently, “Keep an old man company.”

You relented and untangled yourself from him.

“Slowly…there you go.” He helped you to stand, and put a hand on your lower back to nudge you out from the bedroom.

Your bare feet were cold against the wooden floors. When you sat, you immediately tucked them under you to warm them; you didn’t want to ask for a blanket, you had been enough trouble already.

John shucked off his coat and hung it while watching you in his peripheral. You were cold.

He walked past you and retrieved a blanket from the closet, and grabbed a book he had seen you eye, then returned to you.

You looked up when you heard Father Pruitt round the couch, and your cheeks went warm when you saw the blanket.

“Sorry…” you whispered and accepted the plush quilt.

“Hush.” He whispered and took a seat beside you, then held his arm out for you to come closer. You shuffled tentatively towards him, and he tsked you before putting the book down momentarily to pick you up and slide you over his thighs. You gasped a little and tried not to be uncomfortable for him; squirming to keep most of your weight off him while he pulled the blanket around the two of you and up around your torso.

“Better?” He asked, leaning away from you to see you.

You nodded, and he hummed before picking the book back up and flicking through to find a spot to start.

You sighed, and still felt ridiculous. But then you remembered the last time you had felt silly, and you had had every right to feel what you did. Terror or embarrassment, it didn’t matter. With that thought, you allowed yourself to settle into his collar which dug into your cheek.

Father John began to read aloud. After several minutes, you felt his free hand leave you and reach up to his white collar, and pull it free. You watched him put it down beside you, then return to undo a few buttons as he spoke. You were transfixed by his hand, and then watched it stop and return under the blanket to your thigh.

An odd sensation filled you then. One that caught you as off guard as when you had compared Father Hill to Jesus Christ. It was something that coiled low in your belly…constricted yet not unpleasant. You shifted to alleviate it, and while it did dissipate, it didn’t disappear.

You tried to focus on the Father’s voice as he read to you. But it felt as if his words went in one ear and out the other- all that was left was the gentle hum that resonated from his throat.

“I liked your sermon, Father.” You interrupted him.

John paused at your comment, “I’m glad you did.”

“Reminded me of the ones you’d give when I was little.” You said.

He smiled, and patted your thigh, then continued his reading.

After an hour, your eyes began to droop and your head grew heavy.

John could feel your heart rate slowing, and your weight leaning into him more. He finished the paragraph he had started, the snapped the book shut and placed it beside him.

“Let’s get you to sleep, little one.” He whispered and worked his hand under your legs and the other behind your back before standing up with you in his arms.

You nestled further into his arms, and protested when he went to let you down at the bed for your nightly prayers.

“Just a few more minutes then you can sleep.” He chastised you, putting your feet onto the floor.

You nodded, and stretched then carefully got to your knees; the Father joining you.

You both crossed yourselves and began to pray.

“Jesus, through the power of the Holy Spirit, go back into my memory as I sleep. Every hurt that has been done to me, heal that hurt. Every hurt I have caused to someone, heal that hurt. But Jesus, if there is anything I need to do, if a person is still suffering from my wickedness, bring to my awareness that which I have hurt and need to remedy. I choose to forgive others and I ask to be forgiven. Remove whatever bitterness that remains in my heart, and fill it with Your everlasting love. Amen.” John murmured beside you.

Your heart ached, and you sobered at his words. “Amen.” You whispered and after a moment you looked over at the man beside you. He returned your stare; the light from the living room outlining his face.

You swallowed, and forced yourself to stand. John followed you up and bent his neck to look down at you at his full height.

“Good night, my sweet girl.” He whispered to you, and tucked a stray hair behind your ear.

“Goodnight Father.” You replied, and sat down slowly. John picked the blankets up, and helped you under. You noticed his hesitation. And you waited.

He stared down at you for a long moment, then leaned over you and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Sleep well.” He whispered just a breath away from you.

You felt that warmth coiling in your belly again, and you blinked more than you should have in an effort to force it away. “Thank you.”

He sighed, and leaned away from you. You watched him clench his hands, and you wondered if he had eaten recently. Just as he went to turn away, you put your hand on his arm, “Father?”

“Yes?”

“Are you…you…you don’t seem yourself, have you eaten?” You asked quietly.

John gulped down some air and looked down, “I’m just fine, thank you. Not to worry.” He tried to reassure you, inching out the door.

It isn’t thirst that ails me, little lamb.

He was never one to brush you off. Which was why is attempt did nothing to smooth you. You sat up, “Have I done something? Did something happen?” You asked.

“No…no nothing. I just…I just need some air.” He tried, his smile tight.

You felt a pang of hurt at his stiltedness, but you didn’t press him anymore. “Alright…goodnight.” You whispered.

He nodded and closed the door halfway.

“So you’re saying you grew up on the Mainland, became a priest…did a little preaching in the cities but said “no thank you.” then came to Crockett in your late 20’s?” You asked as you made yourself a cup of tea.

John nodded from his place at his desk, “It was the 50’s and there were just…so many domestic issues at that time. By the end of confessional I wanted to go home and cry. Crockett was simple and a breath of fresh air. Dull, I know. ” He chuckled.

Your face flushed, “No! No I just…always wondered.”

He smiled, “It’s only natural…I grew up in a non-religious household…Christian but not really practicing…my sister’s passing led me to God. Your curiosity is genuine and fair…who knows where it may lead you.”

You sat down across from him and looked over at his writing.

He peaked up at you and tutted, “Nosey.”

You looked away, and took a sip of the hot drink with a little smile.

It had been over a week now since you had been bleeding out in the cellar. You were completely healed, and truly faced little danger, but both of you refused to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

You didn’t want to go home.

And you weren’t sure if that was a good thing.

“I always wanted to travel.” You mused.

“Where would you go?” John asked you, slowing his writing.

“…I think Spain first. See the Vatican…go down to Italy and Croatia then back up to Germany to curse whoever came up with those grim fairytales.” You smiled into your drink.

The Father laughed at that then put his pen down, “I’m sure you will see all of those places and more.”

Your smile faltered a little. If you could get of that island, maybe. Did you want to get off Crockett? Would it be so horrible if you died there?

Your mood dropped.

Father Pruitt’a mouth sat in a straight line when he saw your smile drop. You deserved more. A part of him wondered if the reason you weren’t fighting to leave anymore was because of him. Was he keeping you there? Clipping your wings?

You hadn’t attended Mass since that night. John didn’t ask you to come, he knew you would go if you wanted to. You prayed together every night, and listened to him talk about God in your private hide away. Where you could ask questions and interject.

“Your family called today?” John asked to change the topic.

You sucked in a breath, “Yes…a short call but it was nice to hear their voices…they want me to come for Christmas.”

John clenched his jaw, “I see.”

“I told them the ferries aren’t running very well. Not a total lie.” You shrugged and took a long drink.

He stayed quiet for a long moment.

“Why don’t you go?” He asked.

You looked up at him and laughed a little, “I think we both know the answer to that, Father.”

John looked away, and down at his pen, “If it weren’t for the…what happened, what would you do?”

“I’d…I’d probably go. Take some time away. Maybe book a ticket somewhere and see a piece of the world that isn’t Crockett shaped.” You thought aloud.

He nodded.

“That sounds nice.” He smiled quickly.

“We all have dreams, Father.” You replied.

You finished your drink and stood to place the cup in the sink. When you went to pass by him to return to your seat, the Father’s hand caught yours.

“Come here.” He hummed and pointed to the paper infront of him, “What do you think of this?” He asked you.

You looked down over his shoulder and saw a paragraph he was writing for his sermon. You pursed your lips, and found that your neck was growing stiff at the angle, so you scooted between him and the desk and sat on his lap to read better. You had grown used to sitting in close proximity to the Monsignor, and simply began to read.

John’s breath hitched at your action and he went still for a moment. Certainly you had both been close, but you had never plopped yourself over his legs before. He knew it was just you gaining comfort around him, which was positive, but the action still had him swallowing thickly. Closeness was still something he was being accustomed to after a lifetime of so little. It used to be so easy to ignore any sort of…feelings such as this, but since his regained youth he truly felt like a young man again, and found himself relearning to temper his humanity.

“Well?” He asked in your ear, steadying his breath.

You shifted a little and cleared your throat, “Um it’s good.” You said, “You might want to rephrase this part…sounds a little “holier than thou”.”

His brows pitched up and he leaned closer to read. He looked over the sentence you pointed to and nodded along, trying to ignore the warmth your body bled into him. It seeped into his skin and heated his veins.

“Good…thank you, my dear.” He murmured from behind you, and you turned your head a little to see him in your peripheral.

“My pleasure, Monsignor.”

He grit his teeth at the name. It wasn’t that it bothered him. There was just something about you saying it that reminded him of himself. He gave you a tight smile.

You went to stand, but he slipped an arm around your waist to keep you there, “Sit with me for a while.” He hummed, but had already begun to rewrite the section. You might have protested…or your might not have. You didn’t know which you would choose if you did have a choice.

With his large hand planted against your stomach, and curling to your hip, you stayed put. You shifted to let him see what he was doing, and rested your head into the crook of his neck. He wore no collar nor black shirt…just a tshirt and cardigan. You reached out and picked up his rosary from the desk, and toyed with it. After a moment, you opened your hand, and placed the cross against the little scar you had from your own digging into your hand on Easter.

“Must’ve hurt.”

You jumped a little at his voice and looked up. Your nose bumped his. You hadn’t noticed he had stopped writing altogether, and had been watching you.

“Not as badly as you’d think.” You whispered, looking away quickly to stare down at your hand again.

You saw his arm move from around you to grasp your fingers and bring them up to his mouth where he placed a kiss over the pinkish scar. You felt your ears grow warm, and you tried to pull your hand away, but he wasn’t done. John stroked his thumb over it, and leaned away from you to relax into the back of his chair.

“We should get you to bed, little one.” He mused.

You nodded, though you didn’t feel very tired.

He helped you to stand, and guided you into the back of the rectory. You both knelt facing the cross above the door, but when you went to hand his rosary back to him he shook his head and took yours from the bedside table. It felt oddly intimate to be using each other’s rosary for prayer, and you found your cheeks warming again at the thought of it.

You heard Father John begin a prayer for the night, and you forced yourself to focus on it. Not on how his voice dipped into a low hum that vibrated in your ears and made your fingertips tingle. You told yourself it was just the proximity of someone you had once admired. Someone who, despite the horrible things he had done, cared for you. Not the warmth that simmered just below your pelvis.

“Amen.”

You blinked and glanced at the man beside you and muttered a quiet amen like you had been listening. When he went to rise, you found yourself still rooted to the spot; John halted his movement and settled back down next to you. He didn’t ask any questions nor made any comment. He was patient for you, and if you needed a moment longer, he would join you.

Your eyes were glazed over as you stared at a chip in the paint on the wall, but your ears were alive with the memory of that song the Father danced with you to.

Hallelujah…hallelujah…

You blinked, and sucked in a breath, then released it slowly through your nose. Father John tilted his head to watch you thoughtfully, and you copied his movement. The dim light from a single lamp in the living room cast a warm glow over half his face; one eye glinting in the darkness. Your gaze met his, and you felt your lungs beg for air when you saw reminiscent of the man he used to be. His face soft and vulnerable as he watched you with such fondness.

The selfish and childish part of you whispered to itself in question, “Did love feel like this?” And your other part wished so badly to say no, but it stayed quiet because it didn’t know…and it let that other half wonder idly.

You repeated that question over and over in your mind. Is it? You didn’t know. Not that you had to wonder for long, not when he bowed his head and pressed his lips to yours…and the question vanished. It wasn’t answered, but when he kissed you again, you had no space for wonderment. His hand came up to the nape of your neck to cradle your jaw, stroking small, encouraging circles there. If they could speak they would whisper, “That’s it…that’s it. I’ve got you.” in your ear.

You timidly brought your hands up to his shoulders, not certain if you were to push on them or tug them closer. Your uncertainty seemed to have an answer when he gently ushered his tongue into your mouth. Your little fists slipped over his shoulders just as they did when he carried you to bed at night, and his hand eased around your waist like he did when he held you in his lap while he wrote.

You let him press you close, and you could feel his lean frame flush against you; he elicited a moan from you that he gulped down.

A precious sound.

Then as you sunk into one another, he pulled away just momentarily to pick you up and ease you onto the bed. The plushness enveloped you and his hand slipped to the back of your head to cradle your skull as he returned his mouth to yours and climbed over you carefully. This time you tentatively licked into his mouth, and received a pleased hum in reply as he allowed you.

You repeated the action as you welcomed him over you, placing your knees on either side of his hips. This time he shuttered ever so slightly, and pressed himself closer. You felt one of his hands move to your thigh, stroking it softly like he cherished it, while his other had his fingers twisting into your hair to hold you in place as he grew greedy, and stoked your pining.

Slowly, John pulled away, pecking light kisses to your lips until he was bracing himself over you.

““He who guards his mouth guards his soul. One who opens wide his lips comes to ruin.”…I would happily let you be my ruin.” He whispered.

You stared up at him, eyes heavy, “And what of my ruin, Monsignor?”

He smiled thoughtfully, brushing hair from your forehead, “You will have no ruin. Sunlight cannot be ruined.”

“And what about nightfall?” You countered as his face inches closer to you.

“The sun will always be shining somewhere…and if not then let me be that temporary darkness that borrows your glow if only for a while.” He spoke against your lips, and kissed you slowly.

That warm constriction in your belly wove and churned until the heat of it gave you made your toes curl in your warm socks, and arch your back into him like he wasn’t close enough. You hadn’t the faintest idea a body could be capable of such want, and you were intent to allow it to run its course.

That fist that cinched your hair tugged when your thighs tightened around him to draw him closer. A gasp pulled from your lips and John pressed his hips into you, and the rough jean rubbed you so suddenly you cried out into his mouth and along his tongue that knew your taste.

You whined and tugged at his shoulders; that feeling inside you becoming overwhelming. You were at a loss for words to communicate what you wanted, and it was as if he could feel your need for something…something.

He slowed his mouth and pulled away just a breath, “Tell me what you want.” He hummed.

Your eyes went wide and you looked away only for him to chase your gaze, and tut you. “Cmon.” He cooed. You might have thought he was teasing you if he had been anyone else. But John Pruitt was staring back at you like your answer to his question would determine the course of the rest of his life.

“I-…I don’t…I don’t know I’ve never…” you stumbled over your confession.

John nodded, gaze locked on you intently, “Of course…I understand.”

A beat passed between you two, and you were preparing yourself for him to pull off of you and tell you that he couldn’t-

“I’ll be good to you…if you’ll let me.” He whispered.

Trust.

You bit the inside of your lip as you thought; he didn’t move an inch.

Very slowly, you nodded, “Okay.”

He grinned ever so slightly, just enough to show those pointed peaks of his teeth. “Okay.” He repeated.

He leaned away from you then, and helped you to sit up while he rocked back onto his heels to give you room. He pulled off your sweater just as carefully as he had when he had undressed you after your attack.

“Arms up.” He murmured and you did as he said for him to tug your dress over your head.

A part of John was wailing at him to look away from you and to let you keep your dignity. Told him to dress you and take you home and tell you that he wasn’t a good person. But John had always had a tendency for selfishness, and he knew you were letting yourself be just as selfish as he. He knew you were likely having the same or similar thoughts.

So when he let himself look at you.

He let himself gorge on your beauty.

Greedy. Gluttonous.

He remembered then when he was on the cusp of priesthood when he must have been just a little younger than you. How his mentors would remind him of the perils of the seven sins, and how they would test him when he least expected it. How he would have to employ the Lords graces to overcome them. But John more vividly remembered how those same priests would overfill themselves at holiday feasts, and how he had caught a few staring a little too long at women and girls during services. It was difficult to fear their words when they themselves betrayed them.

Which was why John felt guiltless as the fabric came away from you.

Because he would much rather fear the true wrath of God than the intimidating warnings of men. And if God disapproved of the admiration of one of his creations, then John would take the punishment if he was granted this one time to fill his senses with you.

Your hands shook. And you dropped your arms back down as he placed the garment to the side. You half expected him to remain clothed, but he remained where he was and shrugged off his sweater, and grabbed the back of his plain shirt, and pulled it over his head.

You stared up at his form- still and curious. John took your hand in his, and placed it on his chest where his heart used to beat. Feeling his skin somehow made him feel so much more human. Like there wasn’t a lifetime between you and different blood in your veins.

He sighed at your touch and closed his eyes when he sunk back down to you and your hand moved along his collarbone to his neck to the nape where his dark hair curled. Your other hand joined, and tugged a little on the tender hairs there.

He took his hands away from you for only a moment to kick his jeans to the floor, then he returned to you- skin against yours and the veil of your underwear between you. It felt so foreign to know what his flesh felt like. Of course you knew he was born to this world just as every other being- bare as a babe. But he had become so superior in his status that the idea that he had calves and biceps and skin and hair under his chasuble took away so much of that inhuman pedestal you had unknowingly put him on.

Heat seemed to radiate between you both, and your skin became sticky against the winter chill that crept inside through minor holes and cracks in the old building. You pulled at him and tried to press him closer but it wasn’t enough. You didn’t know what it was, but your greed that you had so perfectly neglected since childhood seemed to rear its head with the Father against you.

You found your dwindling strength to push him away and he chased your mouth for a moment and you let him- open mouthed kisses from afar.

“F-father I’m- I- I um…” you tried to shift and squirm to get your point across but even you didn’t know what you wanted.

The older man above you watched intently with almost a paternal care as you tried to explain yourself.

“Is there a gluttonous warmth that’s settled in that belly of yours, sweet girl?” He asked with a small smirk that truly caught you off guard. You suddenly remembered that he was not entirely inexperienced such as yourself, and you briefly wondered if he has always been a little domineering, or if his age had snubbed it or perhaps it was an embraced trait with his renewed youth.

Your mouth lay agape for a moment, then you nodded and squeezed your thighs around him. The stiffness you felt there pressing insistently against your clothed flesh managed to intimidate your insatiability, but didn’t curb it.

“Would you allow me the gift of bringing you to rapture?” He asked so softly, pecking a kiss to the corner of your mouth and caressing your cheek while his other hand’s thumb stroked under your bra’s band.

Your poor mind attempted to catch up, but his touch was making your head spin and melt. His purred question had you recalling everything you had been taught since childhood by your family, “Father isn’t…we…it’s a-“ you started.

“You might think that…but it cannot be a sin. Not when you are this lovely and willing…You are no temptation…you are a gift.” He countered easily. Like he had thought about this before in detail.

“What if you are the temptation, Father?” You asked.

He grinned a little at your retort. Always one to keep him on his toes.

“If I am that, then is it not better to indulge in me than an irrefutable sin another time?” He nudged your nose with his.

You realized then that never once had you ever heard him preach the sins of the flesh. Indeed that temptations were made to misguide us, but never specifically that.

You breathed his air, and flushed your eyes between his, “Then bless me, Father.” You whispered before you could tell yourself it was wrong.

John’s breath caught in his throat, and he could almost feel his pupils expanding into dinner plates.

Cheeky girl.

“It was always going to be you…” he mused aloud, looking over your face, “No disobedience like Adam and Eve listening to the serpent… no you are…you are too good. My holy deliverance.” He kissed you so tenderly.

Then he kissed your cheek, and down your neck to your shoulder where he pulled the strap of your bra down. He followed the elastic to your chest and he helped you remove the article entirely. You looked away shyly, but he brought your attention back to him with a finger under your chin.

“There we go…look at me…you’re alright…” he whispered, a slight shake to his hand, “I’m with you.”

You nodded and sighed as you fought to not overthink.

Once Father John was certain you were alright, he kissed you one more time and began kissing your chest. His hands were a little timid and out of practice as he squeezed your opposite breast, though did not fail to make your toes curl as he pulled sounds from you that you stifled late at night and shamed yourself for; Hail Mary’s falling from your lips like breaths. He lapped at your skin as he descended down over your belly where your ecstasy lay tightly wound and molten.

He stopped then, and looked up at you , face a little shy in his want.

“Your fruit is the only harrowed offering I desire to eat…and if that makes me a sinner then I will humbly accept my punishment.” He murmured.

Your face was so warm you thought you may faint. You didn’t know the man with the stiff white collar and slightly nervous disposition could have such a blunt, honeyed tongue.

You leaned up a little then to look down at him as he kissed at the top of your panties.

“What are you…” you trailed off. You had had an educational sex talk with your mother when you were a teenager, and had read mentions of the various acts you could do, but you were at a loss with how Father John seemed to wish to venture further than just your stomach or hips.

It was no willing education that the holy man had gone through for sexual acts. It had been decades of confessions from islanders and tourists alike back when the island was alive. Some explicit ans some leaving him curious. Tales from visitors he didn’t know who came to spend a few weeks on Crockett and took advantage of the anonymity of the village confessional booth with a young pastor to hear their sins and absolve them before they returned to the city.

It took years, but after a while, he began to piece things together. They made his ears grow hot and his hands grip his rosary a little tighter.

But curious he remained.

Was a woman’s body so wholly splendorous that a man desired deeply to kiss upon her lips where no tongue sat between them? Would she taste as addictive as they said?

“I’d like to kiss you h-here…”he whispered, and so gently ran his index finger down the edge of your underwear where it curved down your thigh, “…please.”

His eyes were wide as he stared up to you; still so unsure but so lost in his desire to think twice.

“…okay.” You managed. Just as lost as he.

His veiny hands ran gentle trailed up and down your thighs, and he peppered kisses in their wake. You shivered and squirmed under the sensations he drew forth, and you wished you knew what to do with them. Were you supposed to moan or tell him what to do? Were you supposed to ask for more? You didn’t know. What you did know was that you wanted his hands to touch you, and that seemed like a good place to start.

It seemed you hadn’t been paying full attention for a moment, though your focus returned tenfold when you felt a warm kiss there against you. You twitched in surprise, and stared down at the man sat between your legs; his dark hair all tousled curls that fell over his forehead and gaze intently immersed in your reaction. He repeated the action, his lips caressing the fabric that still covered you. Your breathing became something you had to actively remember to do when he grasped the undergarment and pulled it down your legs.

With yourself bare to him, you reflexively notched your knees together, though he easily parted them with a little coaxing from his tongue running up your inner thigh.

“Fa-Father Pr-“ you stuttered out breathlessly.

“Shhh…I know…”he whispered against your hip where he kissed and ran a pointed tooth over your skin. He could barely hide the fact that you using his title affected him more than it should have. “Say a Hail Mary with me, sweet girl.” He said.

Your eyes went wide, and the devil in him reared its head for just a moment. He liked seeing you so shocked. But when he began to recite the prayer and you followed his lead, that heathen calmed a little.

“Hail Mary, f-full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed…” you realised the Father had stopped speaking and had begun running his lips down your hip to your pelvic bone, and he tilted his head to nestle his cheek against you for a moment.

“Continue.” He murmured.

You remembered to breathe, “B-blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb-“ you lost any ability to talk when Father Pruitt leaned down and pressed an open mouthed kiss to the delicate flesh between your thighs. You felt the tip of his tongue against you, and his large hands held you firmly in place.

“J-Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” You rushed the end.

John looked up at you and kissed your thigh with a proud look in his dark eyes. “Amen.” He whispered.

Then slow and deliberate, he leaned back down and kissed you again, this time ushering his tongue into the slick pedals of skin. You stuttered out another deep breath, and clutched at the sheets beside you. He lathed his tongue in you and swallowed greedily, rutting himself into the bed while his long legs braced him. His hands began to guide you to roll your hips up into his open mouth and you found that sensitive spot that had your squeezing your eyes shut and your mouth dropping open in sinful gasp.

When your movements became more bold, and your fingers wove into his thick hair, Father John settled deeper into your flesh. He worked his jaw slow and steady. He was an attentive learner and listened to when your breathing stopped and felt your legs shake or your fingers pull him closer into you.

Then like he could hear your mind, he removed one of his hands from your legs and ran his index finger down the curve of your thigh to your entrance when he carefully pushed in; just as careful as when he turned the pages of the Bible. Your body jerked, and you couldn’t help the cry that he pulled from you as he sunk into you to the knuckle.

“How’s that?” He asked you just as breathless as you.

You couldn’t speak, and you found yourself starting to grow far too warm all at once.

“Good?” He prompted, patient as ever, “Tell me if it’s nice, young lady or I’ll have to stop.” He chastised you.

His comment curled deep inside you like his finger as he stroked you and lapped at your tender clit.

“I-it feels go-good Monsignor.” You managed to shoot back.

He grinned and suckled you into his mouth as he pumped you firm and slow. He knew there was somewhere inside you that would make heighten your pleasure, and he slowly teased and touched every inch he could reach until he found that patch of membrane inside you that had you bolting up and pushing his face into you harder.

“S-sorry I’m- I- Fath- Joh-“ you began to babble and try to form an apology as you immediately backed off, but his used his free hand to bring yours back to his head and had you push down again as he sucked and kissed and lapped at your sweetness.

The pressure of his touch had that coil in you start to vibrate and heat up to uncomfortable heights. Your moans came in constant succession, and you found that you couldn’t breathe without making a needy sound.

You were so lost in your own building euphoria that you didn’t see how Father John devoured and held you with such need that he shook and shuttered. A voice in his head asked him if this was for your pleasure alone, or was this his devout need to know what heaven was like when he was surly damned. His hips rocked and ground into the mattress making his ears ring with want.

Your movements met with his and he let you use him to catch that pleasure you had worked so hard for until your body went ridged. A relieved cry tore from your throat and your muscles constricted around his fingers- when had he added another?- and coated his tongue in his prize. You muscles ached from the tension you endured as you rocked against him to ride out your ecstasy. He licked at you gingerly, helping you through it as the blood stopped rushing in your eardrums.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, your eyes lost their glaze and you could look at him. John kissed your thigh, and slowly drew his fingers from you. You winced slightly, and your eyes grew heaviler when he lifted them to his mouth and sucked them clean like he had been waiting for that.

“There she is…” he whispered and kissed you one more time before climbing up your body and nestling his face into your neck. You locked your legs around him and pressed him against you, your breath hitching at the firmness there that prodded at you insistently.

“Wa-was that okay?” He murmured, and kissed your cheeks.

You nodded lazily and laughed a little. So old fashioned at heart, even in his youth. He smiled back, and blew air over your flushed face. He might have been about to say something else, but you tugged him down to your lips before much more than a muffled sound could come out. It couldn’t have been important as he gave into your want and returned your kiss.

It seemed you both grew aware of the heady need that still hung in the air and your joined lips slowed and stopped until you were both simply laying there with your mouths close to one another.

You flushed with embarrassment when a thought crossed your mind- one that belonged in the gutter. Evidently your burning cheeks were observed by the older man, and his eyes grew searching.

“Tell me…” he whispered, and kissed your temple.

You looked away and fidgeted, then subconsciously looked down.

John tracked your gaze, and when it flickered between you, he had a small idea of what was ailing you.

“We- we don’t…” he started, but you shook your head.

“Its not…I- can- can I-“ you fumbled and squirmed.

He stared at you, and felt your hands toy at the nape of his neck.

“Touch me?” He asked, seeing if that was what you wanted.

You couldn’t look at him, but you nodded ever so slightly.

He sucked in a breath to steady himself as he grew lightheaded.

“…give me your hand, sweet girl.” He shuttered and swallowed.

You timidly removed one of your hands from his neck, and gave it to him. The good Father paused for just a moment to check on you, but you bit at your lip and nodded again, and he continued. He rolled a little to the side, and guided your hand down to his waistband. He didn’t take his eyes off you for a moment, and you followed suit in staring back. He helped you slip your little hand inside, and you could feel him pulse against your palm.

Johns breath caught in his throat, and he closed his eyes when you shyly touched him. You ran your hand gently up his shaft, and grew a little more empowered when his hips jerked towards you. Then, you slowly wrapped your hand around him, and his eyes fell shut and his mouth dropped open with a sigh.

You watched him closely, completely unsure of what you were doing as you moved your hand up and back down. You squeezed him slightly, and his head fell into your shoulder with a soft groan. You dragged you hand back up to the tip, and found a wetness there that helped you. It only took a few moments before he was gently taking your wrist and rolling you back under him.

“I’m- I’m sorry…I can’t- please…” he murmured and you nodded again as he took himself out slowly. John braced himself above you, just a few inches away to see you properly, and he sighed. You really were so…so beautiful.

So lovely.

He blinked, and swallowed.

You started breathing deeply when you felt his slick skin against you, and he kissed you again.

“Shh…take a deep breath for me, litttle one.” He said calmly like his own hands didn’t have an elated tremor to them, “C’mon, with me: in…” he took a breath in, and you followed his lead; his eyes held yours in the dim light, and you felt safe.

There was a pressure at your tender flesh that you seemed to crave as your cramped muscles relaxed and gave away to his body.

“And out…” he imitated for you, and you did as he said, though you found it difficult to breathe. The fragile skin slickened, and welcomed him inside you, and you found yourself pressing every inch of yourself against his damp skin to touch, touch, touch.

John sighed and buried his face into your shoulder where your scar was still fresh. He kissed there and scraped his teeth over the unevenness; your nerves were set alight, and you constricted around him suddenly at the sensation. He smiled and kissed again then trailed up your neck to your cheek where he gathered your lips with his again and swallowed your gasp as he pressed himself further until you couldn’t take anymore.

“There you go…such a g-good girl…you alright?” He whispered as he gasped in his own euphoria.

You took a couple breaths then nodded; the stretch that your muscles completed to accommodate him made you ache, but when his addictive kiss coated your lips with his saliva, it ebbed away.

“Deep breaths…there we go just like th-that..”

He started slow. Gentle rocking of his hips into yours as he stroked your thighs and distracted you with sweet encouragement in your ears. Introducing your body to sensations it began to crave and demand. And after a few minutes, your pelvis began to chase his as he moved until he started to lengthen his rocking- drawing further and further out of you and rooting himself inside you like a plant looking for soil.

Your whining in his ear only furthered his chase for pleasure. Your pleas and moans that he savoured and swallowed. Then when one of his hands left you and disappeared between your bodies, you tried to see what he was doing, but your curiosity was sated when you felt him press just above where he entered you, and stroked you so gently. The sounds you cried out into the small, dark room were enough to summon angels and demons alike to bear witness to your willing invasion.

“How’s that sweet girl?” Came his whisper that curled in your ear and peaked your nipples.

“I’m- I-“ you breathed out an attempted response to convey your approval but to no avail.

You could feel his smile against your skin, and you let him touch you like it belonged to him. You rolled your hips to meet his- slow and steady. You began a succinct string of breathless supplications that played in repetitive order in Johns head as he felt you begin to constrict around him. It took his well practiced willpower and patience to remain composed with you. The selfishness in him wished for him to lock his arms around you and take his pleasure from you as if it was something owed, but he knew he was better than that. He was more than the poison in his veins.

For you he would be better.

Then your nails found purchase in the skin on his back as his pace grew insistent, and he groaned a low hum into your neck. But despite the mounting pressure of sybaritism, he kept his hand steady and calm as he helped you meet your own bliss. It wasn’t that he was well practiced or that he knew what he was doing, but he had hearing that could detect every time your breath caught and when a secret gasp would sit in your throat. Just as he had been with priesthood, he was an eager and curious learner, and he was just as dedicated to knowing what your body craved.

John paused for only a moment to readjust you against him; he knelt before you and shifted your hips up to compensate for the change, then his hands gripped your thighs and pushed them down to your torso and guided your hands to hold them. As he slipped back inside you, your swollen mouth dropped open and he crawled back down to you.

“There we go…that’s it.” He whispered, voice shaking so slightly.

So many explicit confessions from his youth had initially made his ears turn pink and his hands shake from the salaciousness; yet now here he was murmuring those same words into your eager ears.

Any Hail Mary’s he might prescribe after having you under him would be hollow. Not when he knew the enjoyment of such tender flesh. You were the epitome of sublime in your chase for pleasure, and he knew he shouldn’t find such carnal desire in seeing you lose yourself. Yet there he was, wanting to savour every moment of your young body falling apart for him to devour.

Your eyes grew heavy and nearly slipped shut. That furnace in your belly was on the brink of combustion, and the good Father only stoked it. So you let him. You relaxed completely and let your mind go blank as he moved you to completion. You could feel your muscles start to tighten around him, and curl to pull him deeper and closer.

Then bliss…

You could barely register your elevated cries into his shoulder as he brought himself closer to you, his eyes crinkling with pride. You rolled your pelvis up to meet his at pleasure overtook you and used you like a marionette to procure every ounce of your deserved euphoria.

Warmth filled your tummy when Father Pruitt went still. He shuttered and sighed low in his chest as he held you tight and filled you.

Your heartbeat pulsed between your chests, and was like thunder in John’s ears. The rush of your blood through veins and your body trying to recover were like music to his ears. John kissed your shoulder, and sighed.

Neither of you spoke…no words to say or sound to make. A mutual silence.

Slowly, he drew away from you, and you found yourself feeling empty. Had you always been so empty?

He lay to your side and pulled you back against him like you used to embrace a pillow on stormy nights as a child.

It was only when he brought your hand up to his mouth to press a kiss there did you both notice that you still clutched his rosary; an imprint of its beads and cross evident in your palm.

“Amen.” He hummed and looked up at you softly.

You faintly smiled and he savoured the expression. A look of fondness.

There was a peculiar feeling inside you, and it wasn’t the way you ached from him or how warm you were. It lasted days as they passed, and only seemed to grow with the more kisses you shared.

When he would run his nose along your neck and hold your hips against him or when he would tilt his head down to you when in the middle of reading and taste your tongue with his if only for a moment.

But also when he would remain calm and honest when his hunger grew. When fear never returned to you. When you both would visit Hassan’s grave at night and he would tell you stories as you readied for bed.

It was the startling question of whether you wanted to stay. And what that would entail. When he had asked you just days ago about your wishes, you had of course wanted to see your family and travel, and in the depths of your heart you still wished to do those and more. But the longer Father John held you, the further those dreams seemed to be.

Would it be so horrible if you stayed? If you lived there forever with John Pruitt and rebuilt your routine there? Would it truly be sinful to alter Gods plan and will and give in to eternal life? Something you had so greatly feared?

Which was why you turned to John one night as he lay beside you. He held you in his arms and was waiting for you to fall asleep before feeding when you sighed.

“Father?” You asked.

He smiled, “You know you don’t ha-“

“Force of habit…forgive me.” You smiled a little too, “I…I’d like to stay.”

Johns brow pinched, “At the rectory? My dear I think we’re past-“

“No I mean…I mean here. On Crockett.” You murmured into his clavicle, and he took a steady breath, “I’m ready.”

He was quiet for a moment, then he nodded, “Alright.” He whispered and kissed your hair.

You thought he sounded pleased. In a way he was. Turmoil had been making his stomach sour as he dreaded that moment. Wondering what your choice would be. But as you said those words into his skin, it was as if a weight had been lifted.

This was his moment to set you free.

You fell asleep on him just as you had often now, and he let himself indulge in your sweet warmth for a while longer.

His last selfish act.

They say if you’re hungry enough, you’ll start to eat your own heart. John’s was gone long, long ago, with only a cavernous need to adore and worship left behind. He knew that one day his hunger would grow too much for his abilities to curb it, and he was not about to let you meet that same horrible fate.

He needed to do right by you.

For you, he would be better.

He knew that having you to hold each day and converse with and grieve with and laugh with would be a paradise, but he knew it wasn’t what you deserved. John hoped you would forgive him one day for what he would do.

But he knew it was what you needed, just not what you wanted.

He slipped from your grasp and found that bag that you counted as your home. He gathered all your little trinkets and books, and found that knife you had long forgotten about. John found his eyes start to prickle as he finished. Your little life in one bag all because of him.

Next, he sat as his desk, picked up his pen, and began to scrawl a note on a piece of paper.

What have I done…

John sighed and continued. His chest ached a terrible pain, and he feared it may fall right out of his chest. Of course it didn’t, but somehow he was certain the pain still wouldn’t have surpassed what he felt then.

He signed it, and folded the paper into his pocket, then he began writing another note entirely. This one he didn’t fold- instead this one would sit atop his desk for the time being.

Then, he picked your bag up and slung it over his back, and moved back to where you lay. It took him half an hour to sit you up gently and slip your coat on without you waking. He knew he didn’t have long. John finished dressing you- socks and boots and all- and hoisted you into his arms.

He forwent his own coat, and cast a look around the rectory to see any last reminders of you. There was only a cup in the sink from you. And he smiled at it.

With you tight against his chest, the Father left the rectory, and strode through the damp grass to the main road. The stones crunched under his boots, and he let his vast memory overtake him as he walked. Memories of seeing you that first morning when he returned. How he had danced with you; how he had looked forward to seeing you. How badly he wanted the best for you, and how poorly that had turned out. He thought of how wonderful it had felt when you finally let him help you…your smile, your kindness, your resilience, your intelligence, your selflessness. He let it all fill him up. John pressed a kiss to your head when you stirred a little, and shushed you until you settled.

His precious little lamb.

You didn’t even bleat as a wolf held you.

A chill brushed your cheeks as you awoke. There was a calm rock that soothed you and kept you just on the edge of opening your eyes. You nuzzled your face further into John’s chest , but something felt off. You sighed, and thought nothing of it until you realized it was your own arm that you were laying on.

And you were cold.

You jolted awake and sat up. Your eyes flickered around in a fright. Under you was a bench, and as you looked at your surroundings, there was water. You were on the Belle.

Alone.

A lump rose in your throat as you pushed yourself up and nearly tripped over your bag that was at your feet. You ran to the railing, and saw that you still weren’t too far from the marina. The next thing that dawned on you was that it was getting light out.

As you gripped the railing, you felt something dig into your hand, and when you looked down, you fought for breath.

“No…” you whispered, “No, no…”

Father Pruitt’s rosary was wrapped around your hand, securing a note to it.

You unwrapped it frantically, and opened the note with shaking hands. At first you didn’t look down at it as you began walking down the side of the boat to look back at the dock. A single tear broke free from your eye when you saw that familiar figure standing on the edge of the platform staring back at you.

You gasped for a breath, and finally began to read. But as you did, you had to fight against tears to see the elegant handwriting.

“Hello little one,

You may not understand now, but I need you to know that you are free now. You had always been sunshine, and you deserved to shine. I have been a selfish man for much of my life, but you would be my one selfless act.

You will find a church with a preacher who reminds you of God and lights your soul. See the world that is not shaped like Crockett Island and breathe in its splendour.

Look for me in solar eclipses, sweet girl; when the moon touches the sun just as you let me grace your glow. You might think of me in years to come as a dark time in your life…and know that I will indeed think of you.

You were a blessing.

You were everything.

Saying goodbye isn’t close to what I want to say, but it is what you need to hear.they say that the worst farewells are the ones unsaid and unexplained. I do not wish to give you any more grief. Which is why I must hurt you this one last time…then no more.

I am with you, sweet angel girl.

Always.

Yours,

John M. Pruitt”

Your head felt far too light at your body far too heavy. You felt bile rise against the lump of grief in your throat.

“John…” you whispered like you had never spoken before. You could barely hear yourself against the ringing in your ears. Then all at once, you realized how bright the sky was, and he wasn’t moving from his place on the dock.

You cried his name louder than you thought you could.

John stood, watching you from the pier.

You screamed his name.

You were terrified for him.

John knew he had to hurt you one last time. Just one. He needed you to never come back.

One more time and then you would be free. John knew better than anyone that grief was just love with nowhere else to go. It was bottled up and leaked out through your eyes and scraped at your esophagus.

“It’s alright, little one…” he whispered, “You don’t need me anymore.”

His dark eyes gleamed with tears that once would have been hot against his cheeks as they fell. Grief. Just love compressed with a cork.

You frantically looked from him to the thin white line that was beginning to form on the horizon as the sun rose. You saw him say something, and somehow you knew he was trying to comfort you.

“John!!! JOHN GO HOME!” You cried, anxiety starting to squeeze your throat, “Please!!”

You could see a fond smile on his face as he gazed at you, and he extended his arm in a wave as if to say “See you again old friend.”

Come back soon.

But you knew then that he had no intention of letting you see him again.

He was setting you free.

And John knew then.

He knew that when you finally passed and you drew your last breath, you would feel a spring breeze against your skin and smell fresh flowers and live in the sunlight for eternity.

But with that realization came his own fate. John knew that when he had enough, and he let his body burn, he would only awaken to the scent of scorched forests and stale air.

Much like the smell following the Easter vigil all those months go.

And John realized that he had indeed already been living in his own death all along.

His own personal hell.

And John remembered then how he had once compared you to a person trying to stay afloat in a body of water with nothing but hope to keep you going. But he saw then that you had never been near drowning; you had never been on the cusp of being dragged down into the depths of the ocean.

He had been the one astray.

And John saw that now, as the sun crested over the empty horizon.

So he took a breath…and let it out.

And he let the cold swell of his fate pull him under.

His eternity.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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