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irb-pascalito-99 · 8 months

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It Will Come Back

Pairing: javier peña x f!reader

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: infidelity, emotional manipulation, angst, smut, rough sex, physical violence

Summary: Eleven years after sleeping with his best friend’s girlfriend the night before his wedding, Javier Peña returns from Colombia. Despite the town welcoming him back as a hero, his return stirs up some old feelings.

A/N: This is Chapter Two of my fic Lips of an Angel. The whole fic can be accessed on a03.

~Eleven Years Later~

I cover my ears with my pillow to cover up the sound of the blaring alarm clock as it gets louder and louder. Carlos continues to snore beside me, completely oblivious to the intrusion. I push him lightly to try and wake him up, but he still doesn’t stir. I shove him again harder, nearly causing him to fall off the bed as he jumps awake.

He looks around the room in a daze and then reaches over to turn off the alarm on his nightstand. I hear him groan when he gets out of bed, stretching his muscles as he sits up. He turns one of the lights on to find his work clothes and change. I roll my eyes in annoyance when he leaves the bedroom and forgets to turn off the light.

I sigh and turn off the light myself, climbing back into bed while Carlos bangs around in the kitchen looking for something quick to eat for breakfast. A pair of headlights illuminates the bedroom wall as a truck stops in the driveway and waits for Carlos. He lets the front door slam behind him when he leaves.

For the next hour I toss and turn in the bed trying to fall back asleep, finally deciding to give up on the idea when the sun starts to rise. I take my time getting ready for the day. My first appointment isn’t until 10, so I spend time on my makeup and curl my hair.

I decide to dress up a little more than normal today considering how much I still have to get ready, picking out a long flowy skirt and a fitted black short sleeve turtleneck to go with it. I adjust my clothes in the mirror when I hear my phone buzz on the dresser. I see it’s from Carlos and quickly type out my response.

Carlos: Pick me up at 6 today?

Me: K

I check myself in the mirror one more time before heading into work for the day.

—

The dust from the dirt road leading up to the Peña ranch settles when I park the car. The house seems quiet still, so I expect Carlos and Chucho must still be out wrapping up chores for the day.

I get out of the car, the gravel crunching under my feet as I walk up to the porch of the old ranch house. When I walk up the steps I notice a light on inside the house. I go inside to see the broad shoulders of a man I knew a lifetime ago standing in front of the coffee pot on the kitchen counter.

The door makes a sound as it closes behind me, cau the man to turn in my direction. He looks over me from head to toe, a curious look of bewilderment turning to a smile as his eyes reach my face. He mutters my name. I freeze in my spot.

His soft brown curls and mustache remain the same as they were eleven years ago, but there are new lines on his face deep set from the stress he must have been dealing with in Colombia. There are also dark circles under his eyes as though he hasn’t had a proper night’s sleep in years.

“Javier,” I mumble. He leans against the counter with an amused smirk painted across his face. “You’re back.”

“Looks like it,” he grins. He pulls the cup of coffee he just finished pouring up to his lips.

I’m not sure what to say, or what it is exactly that I’m feeling right now. The last time I saw Javier Peña he was sneaking out my bedroom window, now he’s grinning at me as though nothing happened at all.

Javier left town the day of his wedding. The guests filed into the church as expected. They waited an hour for him to show up, and then Chucho arrived. He stood in front of the crowd and explained there would be no wedding. It was the biggest gossip in Laredo until Marco Sanchez left his wife for a younger woman the next year.

Lorraine moved to a nearby town after the failed wedding. Last I heard she had a husband and two kids, a boy and a girl. Life moved on, and Javier became the town hero, going after Escobar in Colombia. The only time he visited was about a year ago. The town was buzzing with talk about our hometown hero coming back for his cousin’s wedding, but I didn’t see him.

Now here he stands in front of me, a new man that vaguely resembles the one I knew. Part of me is so angry that he could just leave like that and come back like nothing happened. Yet at the same time my stomach twists in excitement at the sight of him.

“Is there another wedding I hadn’t heard about?” I ask, trying to remain calm. I push the feeling in my stomach away as I try to focus on the anger instead.

“No, I’m back for good this time.” Javier responds. He places his mug back on the counter and turns his full attention to me. “Sorry I missed yours though.”

I bristle at his mention of my marriage. He must’ve seen Carlos by now. Did he tell him what happened between us that night? I suppose he probably didn’t considering he doesn’t look bloodied or bruised. As if on cue, Carlos and Chucho walk into the house. They’re covered in a layer of dirt and sweat.

“Hey! Did you see who’s back?” Carlos asks when he sees me. He kisses the top of my head quickly and then goes to the kitchen sink to wash his hands.

“We were just catching up,” Javier tells Carlos, the evil grin returning to his face. “Speaking of, you two staying for dinner tonight?”

I bite my lip to fight from saying anything. I do not want to sit through dinner with this man. Avoiding him may be difficult, considering the existing friendship between Javier and my husband as well as the fact that Carlos now works for Chucho, but I’ll find a way.

“Sounds great!” Carlos leaps in. Javier claps his friend on the back, looking at me still as he goes to the fridge to pull out the ingredients for dinner.

—

Javier sits right across from me at dinner. At this point I’m convinced he’s just trying to mess with me. Like he’s trying to rile me up as much as he can before he spills our secret to the world.

His hand brushes mine as he passes me the hot sauce Carlos asked for. I flinch at his touch and then quickly grab the bottle from him. Carlos doesn’t notice the interaction, thanking me and shaking the hot sauce into his sopa.

I have a hard time engaging with the conversation throughout dinner. I try my best to focus on the food, and not the man sitting in front of me.

He acts completely normal throughout the whole thing. He smiles and nods as Carlos and Chucho discuss the ranch. He doesn’t look at me much throughout the meal, but he’s not ignoring me either. The only time Javier seemed uncomfortable during the meal was when Carlos brought up Colombia.

He shifts awkwardly in his seat when Carlos asks him questions about his time there. When he does answer Carlos he keeps the responses brief, providing as little information as he can. It seems odd that Javier Peña, the hero of Laredo, wouldn’t want to brag about his heroics. When Carlos keeps pushing for more information, Javier quickly changes the topic over to us.

“So how’s married life treating you?” He asks. He leans back in his chair and brushes a thumb over his mustache.

His eyes move off of Carlos and scan my face as Carlos jumps into explaining the details of our life. I try to keep my expression neutral, nodding my head along and acting as though I’m listening as my husband rehashes the story behind our struggles getting the house loan approved and my goal of starting my own salon. I refuse to give Javier any reaction. He does not get to know his effect on me.

“We’re thinking of starting a family soon though, so the salon might need to wait for a little longer.” I bite my tongue at Carlos’ remark.

I know Carlos is ready to start a family. He gets so excited talking about it, but I don’t think I am in the same place. The idea of having a child right now, or honestly at all, is terrifying to me. I don’t know how to tell him that I don’t want a baby, especially not when it means putting off the salon to do it.

Javier must be able to see the strain in my reaction, because he looks at me with an almost sad look in his eyes. Is it because he can tell I don’t want it? Or is it something else?

Carlos reaches a hand over and places it on mine. He rubs circles in the back of my hand and squeezes as I tense beneath him. Javier’s eyes fall from my face to our hands. The sad look he has been giving me is immediately replaced with a clouded look of anger. His eyebrows twitch slightly and he clears his throat. He shifts his gaze back to me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was jealous. A piece of me feels triumphant with this knowledge.

“Good for you,” Javier says before standing up from the table. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

I watch Javier’s broad shoulders as he leaves the room, and Chucho and Carlos continue on like nothing happened.

—

Carlos brushes his teeth in the bathroom while I rub lotion on my legs. I can’t stop replaying the interaction with Javier in my mind.

He can’t have been back in town for long, Carlos would’ve said something if he saw him around the ranch. Is he really back for good? Having Javier in Laredo again, after what we did the night before his wedding, is certainly a risk for me. Who’s to say he wouldn’t tell Carlos what we did.

“Isn’t it great that Javi’s back in town?” Carlos shouts from the bathroom, the toothpaste in his mouth causing his voice to sound muffled.

“I guess so,” I respond. I rub lotion into my arms next.

I hear Carlos spit into the sink. He appears in the doorway a moment later with his toothbrush still in his hand.

“What do you mean you ‘guess so’,” Carlos asks. I shrug and put the bottle of lotion back on my nightstand.

“I just don’t know if I trust him,” the content seems to make Carlos even more confused. He goes back to the sink to finish brushing his teeth while I continue. “I mean, the way he left? I know him and Lorraine would never have been happy but, that just seems harsh. Not to mention he never even attempted to reach out after that.”

Carlos turns off the bathroom light and walks to his side of the bed. I get underneath the covers as he comes to join me.

“He had a lot going on in Colombia, and everything with Lorraine…” Carlos says in defense of Javier. He pulls the blankets over his legs. “It was hard for him to talk to anyone. He barely even talked to Chucho.”

“I get that, I’m just saying there’s nothing stopping him from leaving again. Maybe just don’t get your hopes up that he’ll be your best friend again is all.” Carlos takes in what I’ve said and nods.

He kisses my forehead and then reaches over and turns out the lamp. I lay down and shut my eyes to try and sleep, but Carlos wraps his arm around me. He moves his hand to the hem of my shirt and rubs circles into the exposed skin before.

“Did you want to-“ he starts to ask, but I shift away from him and pull my shirt down a bit over my exposed thighs.

“I’m sorry, I’m just really tired, long day. Another night?” Carlos shifts back to his side of the bed.,

Within minutes I can hear the loud gurgling sound of Carlos’ snores. I stare up at the ceiling as I try to sleep, my mind flooded with thoughts of Javi. Javi. Javi.

—

Nearly all of Laredo is gathered in the front yard of the Peña ranch when we arrive. It brings me back to the first time I came here, when I met Javier behind the barn.

It feels strange being at another party for Javier. I know I shouldn’t be this bothered by his presence. He’s been gone longer than I knew him when he was here, but I can’t ignore the feelings that started stirring again the second I saw him.

When I finally was able to fall asleep last night, I dreamt of him. I could feel his hands on my hips, the glorious stretch of him inside me. I woke up gasping for air, luckily Carlos was still asleep. Javier being back is trouble, and here I am celebrating his return.

The second we get out of the car Carlos takes my hand and drags me over to say hello to Javier. There’s a mob of people surrounding him. Practically every single girl in Laredo that isn’t related to the man is by his side trying to get his attention. Carlos pushes his way through the crowd and pulls Javier into a hug. When they pull away Javier pulls me into a hug as well.

A small shiver runs down my spine at his embrace. He smells like cigarettes and whiskey with a subtle musk underneath. I have to fight the urge to breathe in his scent more. Can he feel the way my body yearns to melt into his? His hand lingers on my shoulder after he lets me go.

I can’t hear what he and Carlos are saying over the rush of blood in my ears. What is wrong with me? I see the girls around us whisper amongst each other, passing glances in my direction and Javier’s hand on my shoulder.

I feel my head spinning as it all starts to become too much. I decide I have to get out of there, excusing myself and pulling my arm away from Javier so I can walk away. I don’t go anywhere in particular at first, just away from the crowd and the girls' judgemental stares.

I end up making my way back down the driveway and to the old hay barn. I fiddle with my purse and lean against the side of the barn where nobody can see me. I am royally screwed. I check nobody is coming up behind me before searching through my purse for my secret cigarette stash.

I was never an avid smoker before, but I’ve noticed I started smoking more frequently after Carlos told me I had to quit. He never cared about it before, but now that he wants to start trying for a baby, he’s been on me about things like cigarettes and alcohol. I’m smoking the cigarette behind the barn when a figure walks up to join me. I curse under my breath, about to stub out the cigarette on the bottom of my boot when I notice the figure is not Carlos. It’s Javier, standing in the very spot I stood when I met him the first time. He smiles at me as I try to shift away from him.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says.

I ignore him, bringing my cigarette back to my mouth. I take a drag from it before I cross my arms and lean against the barn. When Javier stands beside me I force myself not to look at him, instead looking out upon the fields illuminated by the moonlit sky. He pulls out a cigarette of his own and looks over at me.

“Got a light?” He asks. I roll my eyes as I pass my lighter over to him. He lights his cigarette and passes me back the lighter. When I grab it from him our fingers brush.

“What happened to the fan club?” I ask, trying to distract myself from the way my heart skips at how close he is to me. Javier shrugs and blows a cloud of smoke into the air.

“Ditched them, you know me all that’s not really my thing.” He motions back to the party and takes another drag from his cigarette.

“I don’t though, not really.” I reply. He looks confused. “I don’t know you. You’re a guy that was friends with my husband when I first met him. You’ve been gone so long… I don’t know you Javier.”

He doesn’t seem to know how to respond. He just watches me as he continues to smoke. I finish my cigarette off and stub out the butt.

“That’s not completely true though, is it?” Javier asks. I snort in response. I can’t continue to run circles around the topic any more. I turn to him abruptly, shifting my eyes from the view of the fields to the chocolate brown of Javier’s eyes.

“What do you want?” I ask curtly. I try to keep myself calm, despite my heart continuing to hammer in my chest.

He seems shocked at my abrasiveness, the cigarette hanging from his lips. His eyebrows pinch together in confusion.

“Did I do something?” Javier asks. I scoff at his question.

What the hell does he mean? Is he really going to act like he has no idea why I might be angry? I thought it was all an act before, pretending nothing was different between us so that his father and my husband wouldn’t catch on, but he makes it seem as though nothing is different at all.

“You’re really just going to act like everything is normal? You’re just going to come back after talking to nobody for over ten years and play town hero?” I move my eyes back to the empty field and shake my head.

Javier puts out his cigarette and moves slightly closer to me. He leans against the barn beside me and puts his hands in his pockets.

“I didn’t realize you were mad about that,” he says. I snort and keep as much distance as I can despite Javier’s advances. “Why are you though? You said it yourself, we didn’t know each other that long. It’s not like I left you at the altar.”

I shoot him a look over my shoulder. Does he really not remember it? I know we were drunk, but there’s no way he was that drunk, right? I want to sink into the ground. Of course he doesn’t remember. Why did I even make a big deal about this?

“Because, you left everyone else to pick up the pieces,” I say flustered. I try to move the topic from me and hide my embarrassment over not even being good enough to remember. “I mean Carlos would never admit it but he was so hurt. You were his best friend and you didn’t even bother to call him.”

“I kind of had my own shit going on,” Javier huffs. He pushes away from the barn and takes a couple steps away. “Sorry you had to console your sad boyfriend, but it’s not like I could have called him. What would I have said, sorry I fucked your girlfriend and skipped town?”

I’m shocked when he finally says it out loud, the first admission from either of us about what we did and it’s over ten years later. He does remember. Javier keeps his back to me, his arms folded across my chest. My eyes scan the large expanse of his shoulders. I almost feel the butterflies swell again, but I push them down. He turns to face me again before he continues.

“Besides, it worked out pretty well for you didn’t it?” He has a new look on his face, an angry expression after having been called out on his absence. “You get to play housewife while the rest of us deal with the big shit.”

I scowl at him. Is that really all that he thinks I am? It hurts even more as I realize he might be right. What have I done since he left other than settle into a life with Carlos? Maybe it’s a fairytale life, but it’s comfortable enough.

I never had to deal with the consequences of what Javier and I did. I just ignored them and they went away with him. Now that he’s back, he’s a threat to the life I’ve built, but even worse he makes me question how much I even want it. Javier seems to recognize he hit the nail in the head, a cocky grin spreading across his face as he watches me reel from his comment.

“Fuck you Javier,” I spit.

“Pretty sure you already did sweetheart,” he hums, a sultry tone in his voice as his eyes roam my body once more. “But if you want to try for round two just let me know, I’m all yours.”

I scoff at his remark, dropping my stance as I look at him in shock. I feel my body start to shake in anger.

“You’re pathetic.” I say through gritted teeth. I turn to walk away but Javier grips my wrist and turns my body back to him.

“Is that what’s wrong? You’re feeling neglected because I fucked you and skipped town?” I try to push him away, but his grip is strong.

I open my mouth to tell him to let me go when he roughly grabs my face in his hands and drags his lips against mine. He hungrily kisses me while I remain shocked. Images of his hands cascading down my body flash through my head. When he pulls away he examines my face for a moment before I reach a hand out and slap him across the face.

He takes a step back, a shocked hand gripping the red mark that’s forming on his cheek. Before I have a moment to process what just happened or what I’m doing next, I reach forward and pull his lips to mine again.

He lets me take charge for a moment, still reeling from the slap, but once his brain catches up to what’s happening he backs me against the wall of the barn. The kiss is heated and sloppy. He pushes the straps of my dress down my shoulders slightly and pulls the top down so my breasts hang out. He squeezes one of my breasts in his hand as the other hand moves down to grip my hip.

He pulls his lips away from mine to flip me around, pressing my cheek against the weathered wood of the barn. Then he rips my panties off and shoves them in his pocket. I feel my dress bunch up around my hips, exposing my bare ass to the breeze. Javi slaps my ass hard and I suck in a breath as it stings. He smacks the other side as well and growls.

I wait in anticipation for him to reach his hand around to my clit, but instead I hear the jingle of his belt coming undone. He keeps one hand on my shoulder to pin me against the barn wall as the other undoes god tight jeans and pulls out his cock.

“You want this?” He asks. His voice is rough like sandpaper. I can’t form words at this point so I simply nod in response. I yelp as he shoves his entire length into me in one thrust.

He doesn’t give me any time to adjust, my pussy burning as I struggle to adjust to his size. He grunts into my ear as he thrusts into me hard and fast. His hand grips my hip, pushing and pulling me along his length while the other wraps around my throat.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight cariño. Haven’t had a cock like this in a long time have you?” I shake my head as much as I can. He makes a disapproving tsk tsk sound and thrusts into me again.

The pain turns to pleasure as he continues thrusting harshly into me, his hips slapping against my ass each time he pushes in. He grips my throat hard enough to stop any noises from escaping me while still ensuring I can breathe.

“¿Es esto que lo necesitabas, bebé? You need me to fuck you like the little slut you are?” I let out a whimper, feeling myself get wetter with his harsh language. “What was that baby? Tell me, tell me who’s making you feel this good.”

Javi releases my throat and grabs my shoulder so I can speak. I immediately let out a loud groan as he lets go. Thank god the party is so loud, otherwise I might be concerned someone would hear us.

“You Javi, fuck! Just don’t stop, please don’t stop.” My fingers scratch along the wood in front of me as I fight to grab onto something.

“That’s right, you like it like this. You like feeling like my little whore.” I’m just about to climax when Javi pulls out and flips me over. I let out an involuntary whine as he does. “Ohh, pobrecita, don’t worry. I’ll give you what you want. I just want to watch when you come undone.”

He pushes my back against the barn and shoves himself back inside me, knocking the breath out of me as he does. He watches my face as my eyes roll up and I throw my head back. He grabs one of my legs and wraps it around his hip while he continues bringing me closer to the edge. I feel my body shaking in anticipation as I get closer and closer to my orgasm.

“Who does this pussy belong to, huh? Who makes her clench like this so tight around my cock?” I groan and grasp his shoulders, unable to put together a coherent thought while he impales me. He smacks my breast and asks again. “I said, who does this pussy belong to?”

“You,” I moan. “You Javi, fuck. This pussy belongs to you. It’s yours, yours to do whatever you want.”

“Fuck yeah it is,” Javi brings one hand down so his thumb can rub circles on my clit as he continues his thrusts. It’s too much, but not enough at the same time. His thrusts become more erratic as he nears his own orgasm, panting desperately in my ear as he waits for me to let go first. “Come on baby, come for me.”

He applies a little more pressure to my clit, sending me over the edge as I groan wildly. He grits his teeth as he works me through my orgasm, staving off his own for as long as he can. When I start to come down from my high I go limp in his arms. He quickly pulls out of me and yanks on his cock a couple times before spilling his seed onto the grass.

I catch my breath, the reality of the situation sinking in as I watch Javier do the same. I am not a good person. I adjust my dress to cover myself again, the world turning into a blur around me. I hear the muffled sound of Javi calling my name. I turn to face him as I pull the straps off my dress back over my shoulders.

“This never happened,” I say and then I leave him there, in the spot where we first met, praying the wind doesn’t blow my dress up to expose me as I join the party again.

To Read More visit a03.

#pedro pascal #javier pena fanfiction #fanfic #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #javier peña #javier pena x reader #smut #narcos smut #narcos #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories #a03 writer #a03 fanfic

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celandeline · 8 months

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Summer of Like // Farleigh Start x OC (31)

Farleigh and I fly back to England for Venetia’s funeral. I book us a hotel room a short drive from the church it’s being held at for two nights - the quickest turnaround time for a flight back home. Neither of us want to stay there longer than we have to.

Dressed head to toe in black, we sit at the back of the church. The pews are scattered with people - most of whom I don’t know. I spot some of the Henrys near the middle, and of course the Cattons at the front. I’d sort of expected Elspeth to greet us when we arrived, but so far no one’s spoken to us. Farleigh doesn’t seem surprised at all.

“Do you know who all these people are?” I mutter under the music of the pipe organ so that only Farleigh can hear me.

“James and Elspeth’s friends, mostly.” He mutters back. “I don’t know about those girls over there though.” He nods to our left.

I subtly turn, glancing in the direction he nodded. I recognize a few of the faces - girls from Cambridge that had only pretended to be friends with Venetia because of her family name. None of them liked her really - they just liked her allowance. I scoff louder than I mean to, and a few of them turn to look at me.

“Cambridge groupies.” I say.

Farleigh rolls his eyes. “I think we might be the only two people in this room who actually cared about her.”

A sad longing flares up in my chest, and I start crying. It’s really all I’ve been doing for the past week. I’ve started carrying around travel packets of tissues in my pockets. Farleigh pulls one out of his suit jacket and passes it to me. I wipe away my tears - black streaks of makeup come away with them. I have no doubt I look like a mess.

“Okay?” Farleigh asks.

“Yeah.” I sniffle. “You?”

He nods as the organ swells, the song changing to a proper funeral dirge. My heart sinks as I hear the vestibule doors open behind us. Slowly, Venetia’s casket comes into view, a floret of dainty white flowers placed on top, ribbons streaming down the sides. My vision blurs with tears again, and I pull another tissue from the packet. I loved her. I really loved her.

The congregation begins to sing as the pallbearers bring her up to the altar, where a priest awaits with open arms. A sob forces it’s way out of me, and I’m glad that the organ is loud enough to mostly mask it. Farleigh places a hand on the small of my back, steadying.

“I really miss her.” I say, wiping at my face with another tissue. “I think I’ll miss her for the rest of my life.”

“I know.” He says, and I know he does. I can tell just by the sad way that he looks at me that he feels the same. Probably more, considering that he’d known her for much longer than a year. She was his sister in a way.

I sniffle, forcing the snot trying to run out of my nose back. “I would have loved her.” I say, my voice falling hoarse. “If she’d let me.”

His free hand comes up to brush away a few tears from his face. “I know.”

I pass him a tissue, my attention returning to the front of the room as the priest begins the service. The words float in one ear and out the other. I really would have loved her - I think, since I met her, I’d always been a little in love with her. How could I not be, when she was as beautiful as she was pitiful? She was unlike anyone else I’d ever met. I could talk to her for hours at a time and not get bored. I should have never left her.

My vision blurs, and tears drip off the end of my chin.

“Please stand.”

I rise up from the pew as the organist plays the first few notes of a song. There’s a rustling of pages as the congregation ruffles through their songbooks, and then the singing begins, a dampened chorus. I don’t bother - if I try to sing right now, I know I’ll just end up sobbing. I’m so tired of crying.

“There’s no fucking way.”

Farleigh’s hiss draws my attention away from the altar, and I wipe my eyes. “What?”

“It’s fucking Oliver.” He almost snarls it, staring at the front of the church, where James and Elspeth are sat. I blink a few times, until my vision clears, and tilt my head so that I can see around the people in front of us. Sure enough, a few feet away from Elspeth, a small figure at the end of the pew. For a minute, it just look like anyone, but then he turns, and I would recognize those icy blues anywhere.

“What’s he doing with James and Elspeth?” I whisper.

“I’ve no fucking idea.” Farleigh says, his stare filled with rage.

“You don’t think he’s…?” I trail off, unwilling to even really entertain the idea. There’s no way that he’s still at Saltburn, not after Felix died.

Farleigh just huffs out a spiteful laugh, and shakes his head.

I don’t have time to really think about it before the song is coming to an end, and the priest rises from his seat, his voice booming out over the church. “In the name of the father… the son… and the holy spirit…”

“Amen.” My voice melds with the rest of the congregation. It sounds a lot like ‘I miss you’.

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#farleigh start x oc #farleigh start x reader #saltburn #farleigh start #farleigh x reader #saltburn x reader

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cleverinsidejoke · 11 months

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Part 2

Part 1 | Part 3

I had fun with this one. It's been fun getting this started, writing characters as best I can, and getting this show on the road! If there are any triggering parts in this, let me know and I'll add on a warning.

wc: 1957

The air in the Angel’s Share had shifted. The drunk Bard’s loud singing and boisterous laughter had dwindled to silence. Diluc looked up from the inventory book, seeing Venti sitting upright and tense, hand wavering just by the bottle of dandelion wine, head inclined at a subtle angle, as though listening to the whispers of an unseen being.

Beneath the mountains of Liyue, Azhdaha ceases his cries as the world around him silences as Teyvat’s internal conflict resolves itself. The earth begins speaking again, indecipherable words that Azhdaha is accustomed to, growing louder and louder, deafening to his sensitive ears.

Zhongli hears it too. Even in this mortal form, he is still attuned to the stories Teyvat says, has grown accustomed to ignoring the senseless chatter of the world. The silence unnerves him.

The entities of the Abyss shift in the ancient halls, quieting as something calls to them from afar. The Princess smiles to herself.

In turn, Foul Legacy claws at the edges of Childe’s mind in a poor attempt at claiming consciousness. It settles for a quiet harmony of Abyssal murmurs. It feels strangely calm for the creature. Too human. Almost religious.

Teyvat has been disquieted, in disharmony with itself. It hides it well. Celestia cannot be allowed to know.

The landing lacks the same harshness that pulled you to this strange world in the first place, instead landing you on the ground carefully, as you would a pet or a delicate heirloom. “So this is real, right?” You look over at Gene, collecting yourself. “We’re in Genshin Impact?” They shrug, looking around with caution.

“There’s the Dawn Winery.” you follow their gaze. Sure enough, there it was. You were on the heightened area near the Statue of the Seven, overlooking Springvale. From here, you could see the great city itself, windmills dimly lit by the moonlight. A crisp breeze blew in, rustling the tall grasses around you. With the quiet surroundings and the peaceful atmosphere, Mondstadt felt nothing short of home.

“I don’t care if it’s Buckingham Palace or Disneyland. I want to find someplace to sleep.” It turns out that being transported into a new world after a long day of stress wasn’t the greatest of feelings. You begin a careful descent towards the road, using Windrise as a point of reference.

“Likewise.” Gene follows, taking hold of your arm whenever your footing becomes unsteady. As Windrise grows closer, so grows your need for rest. You’re soon leaning on Gene for support. The gentle breeze fades as you approach the large tree. The Statue of the Seven looms larger than you expected, even stranger to see in real life. Gene takes the opportunity to touch it. The Statue’s light glows violet in turn. A slow transition.

“Let’s just see if we can get some place at the Goth Grand Hotel or the Church. Surely the sisters can’t say no to us. The poor, helpless outlanders.” Slumping over their shoulder melodramatically, you yawn. “It’s getting too late.” The pair of you make your way to the city, with no real plan. Timmy is absent from the bridge. A shame. You rather liked tormenting seeing the boy interact with his pigeons. But it was late, and thus, understandable that he was absent.

“Halt, strange, yet respectable travelers!” The familiar line wakes you up a bit, your head snapping up to look at the speaker. It’s only Lawrence, accompanied by Swan, guarding the gate. Of course it wouldn’t be Amber. It’s not her duty to guard the gate, after all. “What brings you to the gates of Mondstadt so late?”

“We’re only looking for a place to stay for the night, sirs.” Gene continues to shoulder your weight as they speak to the guards. They offer a disarming smile to the men. That same gentle twist of the lips that you’ve become so accustomed to. A smile that practically begs to be trusted.

“The Church or the Headquarters may have a place for you to stay. Do you know anything, Swan?” Lawrence glances at the other man, probing for an answer.

“I’m not sure. I can escort them to the Church if need be.” Your drowsiness dampens the words, your body growing heavy. Soon, your weight is heavy on Gene’s back, unsupported by your consciousness as a deep slumber overtakes you.

The Anemo Archon had become restless. The dandelion wine was left untouched on the counter, the solemn nature of the bard causing some unease in the tavern. Diluc almost preferred the boisterous and easygoing attitude.

Not that it mattered at the moment though. The tavern would be closing in a quarter of an hour. It was time to begin closing. Diluc began by approaching the other patrons, quietly asking them to leave and informing them that the tavern would close soon. Finally, it was down to Venti.

“It’s almost closing time.” The bard remained still, unresponsive. Then he turned, looking up at the bartender.

“The wind carried news, Master Diluc.” Venti’s soft smile is out of place, unmatched with his quiet tone. “Good news.” He seems to have been waiting for someone to ask.

“News?” He couldn’t deny his curiosity, especially if the Anemo Archon thought it was good.

“The Creator has returned, Diluc! The Creator! And, if the winds are accurate, then they’ve brought another with them!” Venti grinned, standing from his chair. “They should have reached Mondstadt by now. Good night, Diluc.”

The influx of information causes Diluc to stiffen. The Creator? But the holy texts had predicted them to arrive much later. Venti pranced out of the tavern, leaving the bartender alone to his thoughts in the Angel’s Share.

Venti allowed the wind to guide him, whispers fueling his excitement. Following the new Anemo footprint of the Creator, he made his way to the Church of Favonius.

You awoke to the sound of idle chatter. Sitting up, you took in the sight of the well lit interior of the Church of Favonius. Gene’s laughter was what rang out across the church, allowing you to get up and track them more easily. You grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around yourself, following the voices.

You had been sleeping on a pew in the back of the church, so it wasn’t all that difficult to walk to the front, where people were gathered and talking. As you picked apart the crowd, you could see Barbara, the sisters, Gene, and Venti himself.

“Oh, Y/N!” Gene waved you over, settling their hand on their neck as they turned their attention to the others. “This is my dearest friend.” folding your arms across your chest, you approach the group, giving an awkward wave. Part of you had hoped it was a dream. The reality was an uncomfortable one to be accustomed to.

“Oh, so this is the esteemed friend you spoke of!” Venti approaches quickly, drawing a subtle flinch from Gene. “Of similar caliber to yourself, Creator?” The final word is what captures your attention. Creator? You had read the stories and Aus. This couldn’t possibly end well, could it?

“Yes. Y/N is from the same realm as myself.” Their discomfort was obvious, in need of something to lean onto. You approach, draping an arm across their shoulders.

“Yep! So… what tales of grandeur are said about you, Gene?” Perhaps if you can find what myths detail them, then you can prevent future danger.

“I’m not sure. I’ve been away for so long…” With a nervous laugh, Gene looks back to the people. Long conversations with strangers, no matter how familiar they seem, had always been a bit difficult for them.

“Do you have any tales, Venti?” You offer a point of conversation to the extroverted bard.

“Of course! I’ll tell you all about it. We’ve even got a whole, ehm... library, for you.” Venti laughed. “I’ll tell you about it when we get there. C’mon!” Approaching the end of the cathedral, opening the entrance to the basement. “Oh, Barbara! Is everything ready down there?”

“Yes, yes!” A rushed voice called back, the stairs creaking. The blonde deaconess exited the basement, curtsying as she spotted Gene. “It’s really you! And your attendant! It’s truly my honor to be present so soon after your descent.” Her words are honeyed, too sweet for your liking. “Um, please come down! We’ve been preparing it for you.” She ushers you down the stairs quickly, the creaking accompanying you.

You’re greeted by the expansive basement, the far ambulatory chambers with statues in the likeness of each archon, another in the likeness of Gene in the center of the apse. The nave has pews closer to the statue, albeit only a few rows. Bookshelves line the walls closest to the front. It is a meager church, unlike what you read about.

“The worship of the Creator is prohibited by Celestia.” Venti pipes up. “In fact, all texts about you were abolished and almost completely destroyed. This is what remains after years of tracking them down.”

“Venti happened to have a collection. After your signs began appearing across Teyvat, the churches and temples opened in secret again. I would say they began happening after the Traveler arrived in Mondstadt.” Barbara smiles sweetly. “You’re more than welcome to come here as much as you’d like.”

“Thank you.” The pleasantries continue as you wander over to the bookshelves, looking for interesting titles and points to research. “The Books of Creation”, “The Heavenly Principles” “Prophecies of the Primordial One”... Each book proves worthy of looking over. Pulling one off the shelf, you begin to read, opening to a note in the beginning. It appears to be a dedicated journal.

The Creator, on their own, is reality. The only god needed to prosper. With their blessings, our nation can prosper. Remember that, Alberr.

You skim through the everyday things, gathering context clues until you begin to read fully.

19.8.

The field tillers are working better than we thought they would. Other nations have expressed concern involving them, but it is a breakthrough that we cannot allow to go to waste.

24.8

Siarri consulted the books the other day. The Creator is due to return from their journey soon. Perhaps they can give us an ultimatum about the field tillers then. I don’t want to give up so easily on the years of work we’ve put into it. It’s worth being outcasted from the other nations.

24.8

Siarri has taken to calling me names.

1.12

The creator is late.

25.1

Khaenri’ah has fallen. Celestia came in with no prior signs of hostility. The archons were there too, fighting with a vengeance. Almost like they were taking something back. Were they upset because their people were inclined towards our ways?

Celestia has been in turmoil since then. Worship of the Creator has been outlawed. Does that extend to the archons? Aren’t they closer to the Creator than us mortals are? Barbatos and Rukkhadevata used to be all for the worship of the Holy one. Maybe the Cataclysm is what caused this change. It caused Khaenri’ah to fall, so I can only imagine what damage has been caused to Sumeru and Mondstadt. What damage it will eventually cause.

We can’t blame anyone. But we can make inferences. I’m going to travel and make as many connections as I can. I’ll get another journal to write that down in.

29.12

To-Do

Buy a new bag journal

Check in with the kids

Document Mondstadt

The journal is gently taken from you, glanced at briefly by the taker, and set aside. “I’m afraid that wasn’t meant to go to the library.” The voice is immediately recognizable. You turn carefully. “Kaeya, Knight of Favonius. It’s an honor.”

#genshin sagau #sagau #genshin #genshin impact #genshin imagines

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iamawrittensentence · 5 months

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i think a lot about how when you're a child growing up in the kind of church I did, the expectation of performance is inseparable from the act itself. and how when you're supposed to hate yourself in order to be loved. like. the idea is that god hates you(r sin), and that he can't *not* hate like that due to his nature. and that you have to change or fight your nature in order to be in his grace. but the idea is not two-sided. the idea that god should or even *could* change isn't even thought of. you have to enter the headspace of god to be loved by him. so you spend every service waiting for the holy spirit to strike, waiting for it to split you open and lay you bare at the altar. screaming and crying is the sound of god of god loving you. the closest you can be to him is when you're broken, incoherent and writhing. and you learn to chase that feeling. but that's predicated on a feeling of safety, of familiarity, of accountability to the other members of the church.

what do you do when you move at 11? every tie severed at once. your grandmother, who was the model for love in your life, the model for *god,* now 999 miles away. you left your*self* 999 miles away. of course, we try again. this is our chance for a new start! all the opportunities we've regaled you with are now right in front of you. take them! take them! take them! come on- take them! listen, you just have to apply yourself. I *know* you're smarter than this, you just have to put the work in.

what happened to the son I knew? you used to be so sweet. I miss the sweeter version of you. the ways in which you are changing are not acceptable, please try again.

We found a church that we wanna try. I promise it'll be like it used to be, you just have to try. come on- we're trying so hard, why cant you just meet us halfway? there's the son I love, keep the big smile!!

its not the same though. it's been almost a year in the new place and you are alone. there feels like a barrier between y'all -*did you just say y'all?* and the world you've landed in. children run in circles in the youth room, playing games you've never heard of. none of these people feel real to you. everything here is so plastic and structured, and you've never seen a church that looks like a school. never been in a church that required a PA system and jumbo screens to see and hear the preacher. lyrics play onscreen as the band plays top 50 christian hits.

you search for the rock hammer typically provided by these spaces and find yourself tool-less. how can this glorified auditorium hold god? they're trying too hard to find him, you think. it feels like they're trying to bring him into the room, but god rushes up behind you when you're vulnerable and tears you open in front of everyone. a divine experience involves pulsing and bleeding, unable to bear the world through the eyes of god, and a team of people to nurse you back to humanity. there is none of that here.

you feel like a failure. you've felt god before, why can't you now? everyone else can. just try, okay? I *know* you're holier than this. where's the son I used to know? You used to be so pious. that's better, big smiles!

you learn that feeling it isn't as important as *doing* it. no one else around you can tell what's going on in your mind, and god doesn't seem interested in snitching. maybe if you go ahead and cry it'll be easier to do it for real next time. you walk into the sanctuary every day with a mix of anticipation, fear, and guilt.

maybe this time I'll be close enough to feel god. do I need to sing louder? are my arms perpendicular enough to the floor? if I reach higher, will I feel him brush my fingertips? maybe I need to memorize the songs. after all, this is the music good christians listen to. maybe if you learn to love the music, you'll love god better. maybe then he'll answer. after all, you love music, so you must just hate god if these songs aren't doing it for you.

it's been years since you've bled in church naturally. you learn to bring your own rock hammer. to break yourself apart on what little of god you have managed to stash away here. no one can know. god belongs in church, and outsourcing is strictly forbidden. so make sure the wounds match. these people are bloodspatter experts. and if you cant match the wounds, cant copy the spatter, well it's an easy fix, really. pulp yourself and paint the scene so thoroughly the only possible conclusion is that you are wounded, wounded, wounded. if you bleed *enough*, no one will bother checking *how* you're bleeding.

or where.

another 999 miles later and you've learned to take it as a given that you're a fraud. maybe one day you'll really get serious and devote yourself to god, but you haven't, so you cant. you're so scarred you can no longer find easy flesh to pierce. every vulnerable part of you has been repeatedly shredded in order to show god your insides. *see, I'm still human! I still bleed for you!* you find that your skull is now used to his rock hammer. it no longer makes the beautiful spatters that made you feel so close to him. the pain is dull, and the blood flows weakly, so much lost you can no longer even bleed.

another church. you continue to throw yourself against the stones, but it feels even more performative now. every room you found god in is now impossibly far away. there is 17 years of distance between you and the living room. maybe one day you'll get serious and devote yourself to your family. two weeks and 45 minutes at a time stands between you and god. you decided to store him there instead of lugging him back and forth just to sit in your room. you keep buying bibles, hoping one will be able to hold him.

you have no idea how happy it makes me that you're reading your bible. actually, I should look at the churches around here, we could go together!

you stop reading your Bible. that stop asking you about it. you stop singing in church. no one notices. you stop begging god to make you love him. and he does.

what now? you find that god is still there, less demanding but no more yielding. it's your turn to sneak up behind him. split him open and inspect his innards. *see how this part bleeds? it's because you didn't honor Me. see how you don't *stop* bleeding? that's because you love Me. you were made to. I Created you in my image.* if the roles were reversed he would relish in this. but it brings you no joy. you thought it would, thought that being able to inflict yourself upon him would make you feel whole again. but consuming just passes it through you. unfortunately, you have to build yourself. you don't even have an Other to build yourself against.

You learn that reacting will never substantiate you, only preserve. you learn to work towards what you want, not run from what you don't. and you learn to stop bleeding yourself to find what runs you, and instead simply... asking. you are still covered in blood.

#from the inkwell

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copias-juicebox · 1 year

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It's a Sin Chapter 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 Part 4

So this is my small story. I have no idea what i want to do with it but some of you kindly showed some interest in reading this. Special thanks to @thatoddgirl1035 and @unrealistici. So please leave me some comments how you liked it or what i could improve. Feel free to contact me to talk about the plot as well since i have no idea where i wanna go exactly. INSPIRE ME PLEASE. lol

So the Main Idea behind this fic is that reader is the child of the local priest of a christian church. And reader has been raised the old catholic cristian way of course with all it's flaws.

This part is sort of just to set the scene and stage. Reader is still a child here and meets a young copia who at this point is still a Bishop. He is of course quite a bit older here than her so expect an age gap for later chapters as well. Reader will be in their mid 20ies in the fic and copia will be in his 50ies.

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x fem! Reader Words: 3000 something Genre: romance, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, SLOWBURN Warnings:runaway girl on the loose, explicit languge, violence, abuse, age gap, smut (in the upcoming chapters blabla)

It was a summer night. What started as a beautiful summer day ended up in a cold and wet storm. The heavy rain and thunder that haunted the small town you called your home was rumbling loud and you just ran. You ran as fast and far as you could. Your town was surrounded by mountains and woods. It was a rather small town, one where you rarely ever saw strange faces around the place. You kept running, barefoot in your nightdress. There was no destination you were going and you just let your feet carry you to wherever they liked.

You felt lost. Utterly lost. At this point you could no longer tell if your face was wet because of the rain or your own salty tears. Everything was a blurry mess. You lost every orientation you had. You felt numb, and deaf running, just running until you could no longer. Not even feeling your feet that must have been aching by now. You just did not feel a thing anymore.

It could have been minutes or hours since you‘ve ran from your parents house. You lost every sense of time by now. Only when your lungs burned did you stop. You stood in the middle of the woods by now. Every feeling of guilt, shame and sadness came like a tidal wave, crashing down on you at once. The feelings you tried to suppress for so long now were overwhelming you and all you wanted was to be swallowed by the wet ground you now broke down on. Your silent sobs became louder but there was no one to hear you. Not with the heavy thunderstorm washing down every vibration from the air surrounding you. You curled up on the ground, hugging yourself as you cried out.

From between the branches of the thick treeline a dark figure stared in your direction and found your crumpled form laying on the ground.

„Hello there little one. Are you okay? Are you hurt?“ a soft, deep voice startled you out of your daze. „Oh I am sorry darling, I did not mean to scare you.“ the voice chuckled. You turned around and came to see a man with a strange face kneeling beside you. Your eyes widened and you rubbed your eyes since his face was all blurry.

He had dark circles around his eyes, hair on the sides of his face and a mustache above his lips. It should have scared you but he had a calming aura that put you at ease and you just stared at him with your bloodshot eyes. The stranger smiled softly at you encouraging you to speak. „I.. I am okay.“ you hiccuped, voice small. „Then why are you lying outside in the cold, little one? I don‘t know if you have noticed but it is raining and thundering here and you will catch a cold if you stay here like that, eh?“ the man had said. You stared at the man with big eyes, not knowing what to do so you just stayed still. „Come on now get up. You cannot stay here like that.“ With these words the man extended his hands to you to help you lift you off the ground.

He saw your hesitation and smiled down softly. „I won‘t bite, little one. I swear on the dark one.“ This strange man must be one of the evil people your mother had warned you about. He spoke of the dark one. One of the reasons why you were never allowed near the woods. Because the evil people resided there. In your head many thoughts whirled around. All the bad stories you had heard about these people, doing bad deeds, sinning, sacrificing animals and even humans. It all scared you but yet the man in front of you seemed harmless, offering help even. In fact he was treating you with a kindness you longed for all your life. Against your better judgement you took his hand and let him pull you out of the puddle you sat in. Only then did you realize how bad your feet hurt and how cold it actually was.

„Oh my you are freezing little one. Come on and let me bring you to our ministry. You can have a hot cocoa there. Only if you‘d like that of course yeah? I always find myself feeling much better after a good cup of hot cocoa.“ he said taking off his cloak that he put around your shoulders, wrapping you up in it to keep you from shivering all the time.

He lead you through a smaller passage between the trees and you walked next to the man holding his hand when his voice rang one more time in your ears. „Now would you tell me your name little one?“ It only fueled your internal battle more since you knew you had to be careful. Your parents would probably lock you away in your room for months, making you pray to god for forgiveness. For forgiving you any contact to the evil people from the woods. You were still very young but you were not stupid. „No I cannot tell you my name. You are a stranger and my mama always told me not to trust strangers.“ you tried to sound confident.

The man next to you looked down at you and chuckled. „Ah I see. Well that is not even wrong but tell me why are you accompanying that stranger to a strange place, eh?“ At that you looked down to the ground and stopped walking. The man turned to you and knelt down again. He looked at you with sincerity in his eyes. „You see little one I know you have no reason to trust me and there is nothing I could possibly say that would make you believe me. You are right to be suspicious of strangers for many of them have bad intentions. But we. The place we are going and the people there are not of this kind. I will promise you to bring you back to whereever you want to go or leave you alone should you wish for me to leave you alone. I could even call your parents or the police if you want me to but something is telling me it is probably because of them that you ended up here in the first place?“

You stared down at your feet and kicked a stone to the side of the path. He nailed it. Only a few minutes of talking to this man and he already knew the reason of your flight into the woods: Your parents.

„I see there is truth to what I assumed. Now I am going to ask you again do you want to come inside and warm yourself? I won‘t be mad if you don‘t. But I also want you to know that I will be listening to you if you want to talk.“ he smiled down softly at you easing your nerves a little. Whatever your parents had taught you the man in front of you seemed to be calming you in a way you have never experienced before. It was all very strange especially when he only said so little. „Whatever you decide you should probably hurry. It is not getting any warmer is it?“ he said looking up into the dark clouds. By now he was drenched. Just as you. You decided to trust your gut and took his hand in yours.

The two of you walked a few more meters before you saw it. A huge dark place. Circled by a fence. That must be that „ministry“ he talked about earlier. The house was looming over you. It had an intimidating effect on you, with the dark clouds and occasional lightning striking down. It was massive. The building and the grounds were covering a large area right in the middle of the woods.

He lead you inside where you were met with an odd looking figure. He wore a mask and opened the door for you. When the masked man saw you he looked at you curiously, tilting his head to the side. „Off you go Swiss. Do not scare our little guest now will ya. Oh and start the fire in my office will you?“ the man holding your hand shooed off the masked one. „I apologize for them. They tend to be a little rude sometimes. They are just not good with human interactions. Now let us go to my office. You need to dry and get your cocoa." He said leading you down the hallway, to where the masked one hurried off to.

He turned a few corridors and opened a big door to a big office space. Stepping inside you saw the man from earlier rise to his feet from the fireplace and staring at you once more. You just stared back at him. He was so odd behaving. „Thank you Swiss now please can you ask Sister Helena to bring us two cups of hot cocoa?“ The masked man nodded and left.

„Okiedokie little one you need to warm up now. Here take the blanket and hand me back the robe. You might want to sit closer to the fire, yes?“ he said with his thick italian accent.

When you had yourself wrapped around the blanket and sat in front of the fire for a few seconds you could already feel your cold frozen limbs warming up. You did no longer feel stiff and rigid from the cold. The man draped his drenched coat over a chair and pulled it to the fireplace. Then he opened up his gloves and took them off laying them next to the coat. You noticed the crucifix on them making you realize that indeed these were the bad people you should not talk to. But so far they have treated you with so much kindness you were confused. „Now do you feel better, bella?“ He sat down next to you. You nodded still unsure what to say. „Do not worry, no one here will harm you. You have my word. And after the cocoa you might feel a bit more comfortable talking eh?“ He smiled goofily.

You wondered if you could just ask him the many questions you had in mind. But you feared to speak freely. Your parents never seemed to like when you spoke freely, openly, whenever you had questions. And you had many questions. You were an overly curious child.

His warm smile made you feel secure enough to try though. „What is your name sir?“ A look of surprise flashed over his face. „Oh where were my manners all this time. I did not even tell you who I was. My name is Copia. Bishop Copia. Pleased to meet you, nameless one.“ He bowed down a little making you giggle at his overly silly actions.

It warmed the Bishops heart to see the young girl giggling and smiling genuinely for the first time. She was a cute child not older than 7 or 8 and it made his heart ache knowing that someone must have hurt her deeply for her to run into the forrest under the conditions he found her in. She was in fact lucky that it was him who found her but she did not need to know that. She was safe now and he would make sure she would safely return home as soon as he made sure she felt better.

„Nice to meet you too Copia.“ you answered not bothering with stuff like titles and all. The past few minutes you spent with this strange Copia person you felt increasingly comfortable around him. It made you more confident so you decided to just try to get answers to the thundering questions that formed in your head each time you looked at him.

Playing with your fingers you asked „Can I ask you a question Copia?“ you prompted with a look of uncertainty in a barely hearable manner, slightly scared he would punish you like your parents always do when you ask them.

To your surprise he seemed to encourage you to ask him. „Certo piccolo. Whatever it is you would like to ask please feel free to do so yes? I will answer you honestly.“ „Oh“ you answered a bit surprised „uhm.. are you sure is it not too much?“ you stammered, taken aback by the earnestness in his tone. „Of course little one. It is good to ask questions. You should always question things yes? Proves that you have a brain and are trying to understand the world around you. It only shows you are an intelligent young girl.“ the bishop said in his accent.

„Uh and what if it involves people?“ you asked shyly. „Oh especially if it involves people. You should question their motives and backgrounds. It is a way of self preservation no? To make sure you are not fooled around.“ Just as the Bishop was about to speak once more a knock on the door interrupted you. He got up and opened the door. You heard hushed voices and then the door clicking shut again.

When the Bishop came back to you he placed a cup of heavenly smelling hot cocoa in front of you. „There you go cara.“ He patted the space next to the cup.

He sat back down next to you in front of the hot cracking fire. The hot cup warmed your hands even more and you took a small sip from the cup. The hot liquid ran down your throat and warmed you from the inside. It made you feel utterly exhausted and you felt yourself getting drowsy with each passing second when suddenly Bishops voice rang through the silence of the room once again. „So what did you want to ask about young one?“ You sat up right again hesitating once more to ask your questions.

„Well I was curious. This is a religious place isn‘t it?“ The Bishop raised one eyebrow looking at you. „Yes it is indeed.“ he answered nodding. „But you do not worship god. You worship the devil.“ Once again he nodded but stayed perfectly calm. You expected him to get mad at you to maybe even hurt you or kick you out of this place. Instead he surprised you even more. „I know you probably heard many bad things about this place and us. People usually do not like the devil or those who swore to him. But I can assure you that none of that is true. We are not evil. We do not do evil things in the name of Satan.“ he said nonchalantly, taking another sip of his cocoa as if it was nothing special for him to speak about these things.

„But if you swore to him isn‘t it true that you do the devils work? And the devil is bad everybody knows that. He hurts people and causes suffering and pain.“

Copia chuckled hearing that. „Now now is that what you have experienced? Did anyone in the name of Satan ever hurt you? Caused you suffering and pain? Or did somebody merely tell you these things so that you stay on the ‚right‘ path? Their path?“ He used his fingers exaggerating the word „right“.

That stunned you silent. Indeed no one from the Satanic Church had ever done you any harm. Quite the opposite actually so far they seemed to be ok. But you had merely had one encounter with members of this church now so who were you to judge.

The Bishop cocked his head to the side and looked at you. He was quite fascinated with you. „You are an intelligent little girl I see that. You are asking the right questions now do not let anyone tell you any different. Most people who will tell you that we are doing evil are people who try to control you. Who try to make you their pawn so that you will obey them.“ Copia said with his finger raised. „But my parents always told me to stay away from you people.“ you countered. Copia took a sip from his own cup now. „Ah I see your parents raised you in a christian way and they are very strong believers, yes? Tell me little one do you believe in God?“

You stared at him and answered instantly. „Yes I believe in God and Jesus Christ our lord and saviour.“ The sentence shot out of your mouth before you could even think about it. Years and years of your short life had your parents spent to burn these words into your brain. They were a part of you ever since you could remember. When it came to religion your parents were strict. There was no other way for you than become the good catholic girl that everybody expected you to be.

Copia raised one eybrow at your far to soon answer. „Is that truly your answer or your parents answer from your mouth?“ You gazed at him wide eyed. No one had ever dared to question your devotion to God. „Of course I do. My father is the local priest. How could I not believe in God?“

At that Copia choked his cocoa and set his cup down coughing violently. „Excuse me bella. Did you just say your father is the local priest?“ At that your eyes widened in fear. Only then you realized you just told the devil worshipping man that you were the child of the man that has sworn to fight his church, who has sworn to do anything to wipe them away from this town. Fear consumed you and you froze, your face twisting in horror. „Oh no no no little one do not get scared i will not harm you or your father if that is what you are thinking. It is just you see it makes much more sense now. Your beliefs and your actions and all.“ He said in a calming manner. „You see I have never seen such a young one with such strong beliefs as yourself.“ his face was only a few centimeters from yours now and he winked at you.

A sigh escaped his mouth and he finished the rest of his cup and encouraged you to keep drinking yours. When you did he kept his eyes on you contemplating. You were too young to see but he was watching your every move. He could not help himself but pity you in a way. You must have suffered so much already under the christian church in your short life. The daughter of the local priest. Copia knew you were going to suffer far more under the heavy weight of your parents' church. He wanted to help you but there was not much he could do that would not cause even more damage. Satan, he hoped that once you returned home you would not be punished for talking to him especially. It was getting quite late now and he knew the sooner you were back home the better it would be for you.

„So do you want to return to your family now? I can send a Ghoul to escort you back.“ You stared back at him in horror. „C.. Can you come with me?“ you stammered out. „Well yes of course. Now let us go before it is too late.“

Copia and the Ghoul dropped you off around the corner of the street you lived in. The rest of the way you would have to walk alone you both decided so she would not get into extra trouble at the door. Copia watched from a safe distance as the door opened and your father grabbed your arm rather harshly and pulled you inside and the last thing he saw was your father banging the door shut.

#god i am so shy posting this #cardinal copia #cardinal copia x reader #ghost band #ghost #papa emeritus #myedit #tobias forge #ghesties #papa emeritus iv #copia #ghost sweden #ghost fic #mywriting #papa emeritus fic #copia x reader #my fic #it’s a sin

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detroit-grand-prix · 1 year

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make you better - susie wolff x personal assistant!reader

Summary: There's nothing worse than getting sick when you live alone, far away from family. But someone unexpected steps in to take care of you.

Tags/warnings: Reader/ Y/N perspective, contains descriptions of an (unspecified) illness and references to a gun violence incident, not romantic/ship content.

Author’s note: I wrote this a while ago, right after I had COVID in early February. It was the first time I'd had a symptomatic case of it. I don't get ill often, and I am not exaggerating when I say that I had never felt more ill in my life. I was also living alone at the time, which made the entire experience especially terrifying. After that, I decided to find a roommate.

I wrote this as a way to cope with the whole thing because it was strangely more traumatic than I expected. I've shared it with a few close friends and wanted to keep it mostly to myself, but with all of the requests I've been getting for more Susie-centric fic, it felt like the right time to share it. The illness isn't explicitly named so as to not place it in a specific period of time. The sex/gender of the reader isn't specified, and it is also not romantic or shippy, and that was intentional.

Writing this brought me a lot of comfort when I needed it, so I hope you find it comforting, too.

“Okay, here you go. I have to leave,” a man says, as you swing your leg over the jump seat and slide off of the motorcycle he was giving you a ride on.

“Be good,” he says, as you take one last look at him. He reminds you of your grandfather, for some reason. Your grandfather died years ago.

As you turn around and listen to the roar of the four-stroke engine take off, you look around at the street you are standing in the middle of. It was dark outside, like it was the middle of the night. The only lights are coming from nearby houses, and the sickly orange cast of sodium-vapor street lamps. There was something familiar about where you were standing, like you’d been there before, but it had been a while.

You turn around and notice a large building that looks eerily similar to your primary school. Without thinking, you walk up to the entrance and sit on one of the concrete benches outside the front door, and wait. You’re not sure what you’re waiting for, but you have the distinct, creeping feeling that you are either way too late, or way too early to something.

You hear the sound of a church bell, but it’s oddly distorted and distant, even though it is likely coming from the Catholic church that should only be a block away. It rings four times. That can’t be right. It can’t be that early in the day, and you think you remember those bells being a lot louder, once.

You get up from the bench and walk to the front door, giving a cursory tug at the old brass-toned handle. The door is locked.

“Why am I here?” you think. “What am I waiting for?”

These questions loop over and over in your mind, causing eventual panic to build in your chest. You’re not sure why someone - your grandfather, you suppose - would have just left you here. You think about walking back home, you’re fairly certain you know the way, maybe, but there’s just fog in the distance in every direction that makes you unsure of where you really are.

Not knowing what else to do, you lay down on the concrete bench and rest your head against the red brick wall of the building. Someone should come by eventually and tell you what to do, right?

As more time passes, you don’t see another soul. You just hear the distant, occasional peal of the church bells that sound increasingly distant. You’re still not sure what to do, so you do the one thing you know that you can do, even if it won’t help.

You bring your knees to your chest and start to cry.

But then, the scenery around you shifts. You feel someone shaking your shoulder. Their touch is gentle as it coaxes you into the elsewhere. You open your eyes to see a dimly-lit room. It looks like a bedroom, but it’s not your bedroom.

There’s a petite woman with a light blonde bob haircut standing over you. She has a concerned look in her eyes, and her voice is so soft and quiet that it takes a moment to understand what she’s saying to you through the stubborn fog of heat, sweat, and pain that are gripping your senses.

“There we are,” she says, looking relieved once you manage to narrow your focus to her face. “I brought you some water and some more medicine. I know it might hurt to swallow, but do your best.”

She holds out a glass of water for you as she waits for you to sit up, only handing it over once she’s confident your coordination has returned enough for you to not pour it all over your lap.

“Now, hold out your hand”.

You obey, happy to have some instruction as she deposits two red-and-white capsules onto your palm.

You pop the pills in your mouth and go to take a drink from the glass she’s handed you, remembering why she said something about it hurting to swallow. The water hitting the back of your throat feels like a hot knife, and swallowing requires conscious action. It’s difficult. You can only manage to drink just enough to get the pills down before you can't take anymore and start to cough.

“I know,” the woman says, her voice soft and sympathetic. You continue to cough, trying in vain to make it stop. “But we have to get that fever down.”

The coughing finally ceases and you settle back on the pillows you were laying on, and things start to become clear again, even though it feels like your mind is working on a delay.

The woman standing over you is named Susie, and the bedroom you are in is a guest bedroom in her condo.

Susie is your boss. A friend too, but your boss, first and foremost. You’re ill, and she’s taking care of you.

You came to meet Susie when you got a job working for a racing team in a division called Formula E. The team was called Venturi Racing and was based in Monaco. You moved to Nice, France to commute to work. It was a long way from home - a lengthy flight’s worth of a long way from home, but it was the kind of job you’d dreamed of having someday, so you jumped at the chance, packing all of your possessions and moving halfway across the world.

Monaco seemed like an alien world at first, but you settled into your new routine and your job quickly. The team principal, your boss, a formidable, confident woman named Susie Wolff, was the one that wanted to hire you, and you quickly hit it off, developing a sort of mutual trust that you’d never had with one of your bosses before. Before long, she invited you over to her condo for dinner once in a while. You met her husband and her son. Her husband was also team principal for a racing team, albeit one in Formula 1. He was in charge of Mercedes, and they made the chassis and power unit that Venturi used in their race cars.

You worked for Venturi for two years before getting a devastating announcement at a morning meeting in the early spring. The race team was being sold to Maserati, the Italian car manufacturer. They would take over the manufacture of the car itself and the power unit - the engine - severing the team’s tie with Mercedes.

Because of Susie’s own association with Mercedes, it meant that her time as CEO (which she had been promoted to from Team Principal) of the team would be coming to an end. She was an investor in the team as well, and would be selling her stake in the team to Maserati.

You were dumbstruck. New ownership meant a lot of changes would be made. You couldn’t imagine working for another racing team, or if you would even keep your job. Rumors of redundancies and the potential for reorganizing the entire structure of the team were abound, but you carried on with your job, going to London and Seoul for the last two race weekends, trying to act as if everything was normal.

Susie announced her departure to the public during the weekend of the London EPrix.

The team finished the season narrowly as vice-champions, with Edo, one of the team’s drivers, finishing third in the driver’s championship. It was a season worth celebrating, but it was bittersweet, because it would be the last one as Venturi.

But one day, shortly after getting back from the Seoul E-Prix, Susie called you into her office. It was filled with boxes, as she was packing up. She only had a few days left with the company.

“I have a proposal for you. It’s going to sound unusual, but I’d like you to come work for me, just for a while. I will need an assistant to help me coordinate things, since I won’t have one here any longer.”

She had an executive assistant at Venturi that organized much of her day-to-day work with the company. It made sense that she would want the continuity of that aspect of her life, and her current assistant was already slated to stay on with Maserati.

But, your job wasn’t even remotely related to that kind of role. As you opened your mouth to protest, she cut you off.

“I know it’s not the kind of work you do here, and I know it’s not what you moved halfway around the world to do, but it will just be for a while, maybe a few months. I have some… other activities in the pipeline, but things aren’t settled yet. I will pay you what you make here, and then some. I will take care of transferring your visa sponsorship, and take care of the rent on your flat. If you want, after your non-compete clause in your contract ends in a few months, we can see about getting you a role similar to the one you have now in Brackley, should you so desire.”

Brackley, the town in the United Kingdom where the Mercedes F1 team was based - naturally, Susie would have more than a little sway in getting you a job with the F1 team, if you wanted it. Some might see it as some sort of nepotism, given that her husband was CEO and part-owner of the team, but that was the reality of the world of Motorsport. It was all about who you knew, and Susie was a very good person to know.

You didn’t relish the idea of living in the UK after spending two years in the practically perfect climes of the French Riviera, but…

“I’d prefer someone I can trust, and I trust you. I know you’re organized. You do great work around here. My son likes you, and if I can save myself the process of interviewing and hiring someone brand-new, I’d like to. At least give it some consideration, won’t you?”

She gave you the kind, warm smile she always gave you, and you asked for a few days to consider it, which she agreed to.

In the meantime, your department met with the higher-ups at Maserati, asking them questions about their vision for the direction for the team. They assured you that they wanted to change as little as possible, not wanting to deviate from the patterns that made Venturi successful, but something about them rubbed you the wrong way, and you realized that you didn’t want to stay past the transition period.

You sent Susie a message to tell her that you accepted her offer. You left Venturi right after the changeover, telling your colleagues that you were going to take a bit of a break for a while.

Being a personal assistant wasn’t the kind of work you necessarily enjoyed, but your job with the race team made you very good with the kind of attention to detail that being Susie's assistant required. You coordinated her travel schedules and all of the associated arrangements (hotels, cars, meals, special requests), sometimes having to work with her husband Toto’s assistant on the logistics. You responded to requests for interviews and scheduled those, handled all of the other inquiries she received (of which there were a lot) and even helped make arrangements for two keynote speeches she gave at various conferences.

You also handled the smaller, daily minutiae - various errands, making appointments, doing the shopping for the household. You traveled with her sometimes as well when she was giving speeches at conferences or going to events. In just a few months, you went on trips to Ireland, Portugal, and even the United States.

For a woman that didn’t technically have a regular job after leaving Venturi, Susie was shockingly busy.

“You’re a lifesaver”, she told you, more than once. “I know you don’t want to do this forever, but I don’t know how I got on without you.”

Hearing things like that, in addition to the more-than-generous wage Susie paid, made the work bearable, even enjoyable at times. Plus, she was generous and kind in a way that made you feel like you were her friend and trusted confidant, and not just her employee.

By the time the new year had come and gone, you’d fallen into a comfortable routine, until you woke up one Sunday morning in January, feeling a bit odd.

It felt like the early stages of a head cold. It was minor, an occasional sniffle and watery sneeze. You convinced yourself that it wasn’t worth worrying about. The heat in your flat was running at full-tilt, after all. Maybe you needed to tell your landlord that it was time to change the dust filter.

You rarely got sick, and it was bearable when you did, so you didn’t give much thought to it. It was your day off, so you took some over-the-counter cold medicine and went about your usual Sunday. You went to the supermarket to do your own shopping, spoke to your mother on the phone (which was sometimes challenging, just because of time zone differences), tidied up your flat, watched something on Netflix, and caught up on some reading before going to bed early.

It was going to be another busy Monday morning. Susie was due to give a keynote speech over Zoom for some conference, and things had to be prepared for her to travel to London for some meetings for the next week, so things had to be arranged for that. You fell asleep that Sunday trying to make mental lists of all of the things that needed to be done over the next few days.

You woke up with your alarm, and immediately knew that this was more than a simple head cold. Your nose didn’t feel stuffy any more, but your throat felt like it was on fire. You had woken up in a puddle of your own sweat, and your mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls. Your arms and legs ached like you’d gone to the gym, which you hadn’t in… a while.

The thought of calling in sick crossed your mind, but remembering how much work you had to do that day dissuaded you.

Plus, you felt better after a hot shower and chewing on some cough drops while you were on the train to Monte Carlo from your flat in Nice. The brisk walk in the fresh air between the Monte Carlo train station and Susie’s condo on the eastern end of the principality helped, too.

You could have driven your own car in less time, but you preferred to take the train and walk most days. The weather was almost always pleasant, even in the winter months, and the scenery never got old. (Plus, the tiny, narrow streets in the principality were an annoyance to drive around, and finding parking in your own neighborhood in the early evening was often a nightmare. It was easier to just take the train).

By the time you got to Susie’s building, though, you started to feel bad again. You felt strangely winded, and your limbs felt heavy and achy again. You had gotten plenty of sleep the night before, so you weren’t sure why you were so exhausted. A seasonal cold or allergies had never made you feel this way before.

The building’s concierge greeted you on your way across the lobby, and asked you if you were okay. You waved him off, insisting that your windedness was just from the cold breeze. You stood by the elevator for a moment to catch your breath before getting on and pressing the number for the Wolff’s floor, concerned by how hot and sweaty you felt, especially given that it was chilly outside that morning.

You fumbled with the key to their front door for a moment. The door wasn’t unlocking, and you started to panic, knowing that neither Toto or Susie would be in at the moment. Toto would have left for his work week in Brackley last night, and Susie would be out, dropping her son, Jack, off at school. After a moment of struggling with the lock, you realized that you were trying to use the wrong key.

Feeling momentarily sheepish and glad nobody was around to witness your blunder, you unlocked the door, hanging your coat, scarf, and bag on the coat rack in the entryway. You toed off your shoes and left them by the door, before heading to Susie’s home office and starting your usual Monday morning tasks. She had set up a desk for you as well. It was small, but neatly arranged with your laptop, a whiteboard, and baskets for incoming and outgoing correspondences that the housekeeper would leave when she collected the mail. Most mornings, Susie would leave you a still-warm breakfast pastry or the coffee she knew you liked, depending on how cooperative Jack was with getting out the door for school in the morning, and you almost always arrived when Susie was taking him to school. There was nothing waiting for you on your desk this morning, not even a cup of coffee. It was fine - you had no appetite anyway.

You were in the process of cross-checking Susie’s calendar for the day with inquiries in her email when you were seized with a painful coughing fit, wondering how the air in the condo was so dry when it was located so close to the edge of the Mediterranean. That had to be it, right? Or maybe there was just a tickle in your throat. There was no way you were actually getting sick. You got up to get yourself a glass of water and stood in the kitchen, waiting for the coughing fit to subside when you heard the condo’s door close.

“Good morning!” Susie called out from the entryway. She sounded cheerful as she talked, rounding the corner from the entrance to the kitchen. “My goodness,” she said, seeing you trying to contain your coughing . “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said between coughs, trying to get a sip of water down. “Just a tickle in my throat, I think.”

Susie looked at you skeptically. “I don’t know… you don’t look so good. You’re flushed, and you look awfully pale,” she said as she stepped closer to you. You could feel her eyes on you. When the coughing subsided, she surprised you by reaching out to put the back of her hand against your cheek, then your forehead. You knew it was cold out, but her hand felt like ice against your skin. It startled you for a second, but felt kind of good. You were starting to feel a little warm. “And you are definitely running a fever, my goodness. Are you ill?”

“No,” you said. “I mean, not really. It’s just a cold, I think.”

Judging by the expression on her face, she definitely did not believe you. You weren’t sure you believed yourself, anymore. You hadn’t wanted to admit it, but what you had was definitely not a seasonal cold.

“Well, I’m going to take you back to your flat. You need to get some rest. And I won’t hear any arguments,” she said, knowing you were about to argue. “I will be fine for the day, and I won’t have you working while you’re sick.”

You gathered your things, and Susie gave you a ride back to your flat in Nice. It wasn’t a long drive - a half an hour at most, but you still felt bad that Susie was not only taking an hour of her day to bring you straight back home, but also that you wouldn’t be able to do your job today. You had always been a bit of a workaholic, it couldn’t be helped.

As she dropped you off at your building, she implored you not to feel bad, assuring you that she would be fine.

“If you need anything, and I mean this - please, please call me, or send me a message. I’ll come right away.”

You promised her that you would let her know if anything changed, despite not planning on bothering your boss with such things, and trudged up the stairs to your flat. You changed out of your clothes, put on pajamas, and took some more medicine before crawling into bed and falling asleep almost immediately.

You slept peacefully for a few hours, but then, vivid nightmares started coalescing. In one instance, you dreamed of your mother dying. It seemed so real - she was hanging on to the edge of a bridge you recognized from your hometown, and you couldn’t summon the strength to lift her up by her outstretched hand. You watched as she fell into the canal below and was swept away by the current.

The dream was so vivid that you nearly started crying when you woke up.

It was dark outside. You scrambled for your phone to check the time, confirming that you’d slept until just past midnight, somehow.

Other sensations became obvious as you came out of sleep - the fact that you were burning hot and drenched in sweat. On the bright side, the sinus congestion had cleared up, but as a trade-off, your throat felt like it was an open wound, or like you’d swallowed a bucket of rusted thumbtacks. Your head was pounding. You couldn’t ever remember a time when you felt this ill.

You sat awake for a few hours, trying in vain to soothe your tortured throat and quell the vicious coughing and rasping. You tried gargling warm salt water, which helped temporarily. You ate some ice pops that you’d found in the back of your freezer, left there from an awful heat wave over the summer. You took some cough syrup, wincing as it burned like cheap alcohol as it went down. It just caused more coughing, making your whole body feel weak. You couldn’t do anything else other than sitting on the closed lid of your toilet with your head in your hands until it stopped.

After that episode, you ran a hot shower to try to get the steam to clear the congestion in your chest, and rinse off the sweat that was now drying grossly on your skin. It helped enough that you were able to go back to sleep for a few hours.

You woke up when you normally would have been getting up for work, but immediately knew you would not be going in today. The guilt was momentary, but you felt even worse than the night before, barely wanting to move. Just as you were about to message Susie to let her know you’d be out again, she called you, taking you a bit by surprise.

“I just called to see how you were feeling,” she said.

“Not good,” you responded, surprised at how hoarse and thin your voice was. You hadn’t talked since she dropped you off at home the day before.

“Oh, you sound awful. Well, I -” she paused for a moment. “I’ll be there in an hour. Pack whatever you need for a day or two, comfortable clothes and that.”

She said it without preamble or explanation. “What?” you asked. “Why?”

Surely she wasn’t expecting you to work… maybe she was going to bring you to the hospital? It wasn’t that bad, was it?

“I’d like you to stay with me until you feel better. You sound absolutely wretched. I was worried about you all afternoon, being all alone when you’re ill. I know you don’t have any family in the area, and I’d hate for you to need help and not have anyone nearby to ask. I can’t make you come stay with me, of course, but I would feel a lot better if I could keep an eye on you. Please.”

It was a tempting offer, and your flat seemed a lot scarier last night when you woke up from the nightmares without having anyone else around. On the other hand, Susie was your boss, and as an adult, you weren’t her responsibility.

“I… don’t want to impose, or to get you or Jack sick,” you said, hoping that would be a reasonable enough excuse. You would find a way to manage by yourself. “Plus, you have that Zoom keynote this week and London next week-“

“Nonsense,” she said. “We have two guest bedrooms. You wouldn’t be imposing at all, and I’m doing the conference presentation from my office, anyway. And you were ahead of the curve on the prep for London, so I’m not worried. Really. Please, let me pick you up.”

She knocked down your objections one by one, and not even two hours later, you were settled into bed in one of the guest rooms of the Wolff’s condo. Susie had supplied you with some cold water and hot tea, and set up a small humidifier on the nightstand. It was shaped like an owl, so you assumed that it had come from Jack’s room. You heard a soft knock on the door and looked up to see Susie coming in. She had a tray in her hands with a steaming bowl, and something else that you couldn’t make out the shape of.

“I made you some soup,” Susie said as she set the tray down on the nightstand. “Well, I heated up a tin of it, really, but I thought you could use something to eat. And, I brought a thermometer,” she said, holding up the device. “I’m sure you still have a fever.”

She turned the thermometer on, and after it beeps a few times, holds it to your forehead. The device beeped urgently, and Susie frowned at the display.

“39.5,” she muttered. “I’ll be right back.”

It was high, higher than you were expecting. No wonder you felt so awful.

She left the guest room and returned shortly after, with a medication bottle and what looked like an ice pack, wrapped in a small tea towel.

“Here,” she said, handing you two small capsules from the bottle. “It’s paracetamol, for the fever.”

She handed you the glass of water she’d given you earlier, and you took the pills with tentative sips. It didn’t make it hurt any less, and you groaned and winced. It was just water, but it still didn’t go down easily.

“Sorry, it hurts,” you whined, your voice barely there at that point. You settled yourself back down onto your pillow.

“It’s okay,” Susie said, quietly. She took the glass of water out of your hands and set it on the nightstand. “I know it hurts, but getting some rest will help.”

She placed the ice pack on your forehead, careful to keep it wrapped neatly in the towel, and it felt amazing on your overheated skin.

“Getting that fever down will, too.”

Susie took your hand and gently squeezed it before she turned around to leave. “I’ll come back in and check on you in a bit. Try and get some sleep. And don’t try to yell across the house if you need something, you can send me a message, okay?”

“Okay,” you said. Or tried to. Your voice was only vestigial at that point. “Thank you, Susie.”

“It’s my pleasure, darling. Feel better.” She patted the top of your hand as she stood up to leave. As soon as she closed and latched the bedroom door behind her, you closed your eyes and fell asleep almost immediately.

That is how it went for two days. You lost most of your time to sleeping. You had more fever-fuelled nightmares. Susie roused you every few hours to take your temperature, to give you medication, to try to get you to drink some water or eat some soup or some ice pops. She said she was worried about you getting dehydrated, and it didn’t help that you could still hardly stand to swallow anything.

She continued to bring you ice packs for your forehead to help with your fever, extra blankets when chills wracked your body, tea with honey, and cough drops that didn’t seem to do much. She brought you clear broth that you tried to drink but the salt stung your throat too much for you to manage getting much of it down.

For the rare moments you were awake during the day while Jack was at school, she sat in a chair next to your bed and talked to you. The conversation was mostly one-sided as you still couldn’t talk much, but she was very good company, and it made you feel better that she didn’t seem to mind spending time with you, even if you were too exhausted and raspy to be a decent conversation partner.

At one point, she brought you a plush toy that looked like some sort of alien cat with tiny wings instead of arms.

“Jack wanted me to give this to you to keep you company.” she said. It’s the first thing that made you smile in days.

On the third day, you had an especially realistic, especially frightening nightmare. It must have been inspired by the news you’d read from the United States about a shooting at a university campus, because you dreamed about the university you used to work for before moving to France. You watched in terror as one of your old coworkers was taken down in front of you. You get shot trying to run away, and the wound you sustain to your hip burned. You swore you could feel the blood running down your leg. It all felt so real.

You bolted upright from sleep for the second time that week, opening your eyes to the darkness of the bedroom, but that time, you can’t help but cry.

Your sobbing didn’t make much noise as you still didn’t have much of a voice, but it was enough to prompt Susie to come and check on you.

You were a little embarrassed as she sat on the edge of your mattress and gathered you into a hug, but the embarrassment was momentary. You let yourself be held as you cry into her shoulder. She rubbed your back with one hand, cradling the back of your head with the other, and told you that everything would be okay, and that you’ll be feeling better soon. She didn’t make you explain, she didn’t ask questions, she just let you lean into her and cry.

There was something in you that broke when you realized how badly you missed receiving this kind of maternal - or really, any, affection. You couldn’t really even remember the last time you’d hugged anyone. You moved halfway across the world, and while you don’t regret it, it feels awfully lonely at times. You don’t get home to see your family much, and your mother certainly couldn’t drop everything to fly halfway across the world to come and take care of you.

It meant a lot that Susie is there for you, even though she didn’t have to be. She’s your boss, but she cares enough for you to look after you when you need it. The realization made you cry even harder.

You’re so thankful she insisted on you staying with her, because you’re weren’t sure how you would have managed to weather your illness, whatever it was, by yourself.

She calmed you down enough for you to go back to sleep, and, by some miracle, your fever broke by the next morning.

Within a day, your throat started to hurt less. Your voice came back, though it was thin and airy. Your appetite came back, and you started feeling human again.

Satisfied with the progress of your convalescence, Susie brought you back to your flat after four days in her guest bedroom.

“Don’t even think about coming back to work until next week,” she said, as she parked her car in front of your flat. "I want you to be at one-hundred percent. We've got a lot of work to do, but I'll be fine until you're better."

You smiled, and thanked her for her kindness before you watched her pull her car away, keeping your eyes on it until it disappeared around a corner. Just telling her thank you didn’t feel like enough, but you’re not sure there is a way to thank her that would have felt like enough.

#susie wolff x reader #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #y/n is not used #my fanfic #my fanfic writing #formula 1 fanfic

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mikrokosmos · 7 months

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J.S. Bach - Orchestral Suite no.3 in D Major, BWV 1068 (c.1730)

I want to say I was listening to this one in my rocking chair next to my books on music. Or with wine and cheese at someone's party. No, I put this on while I washed the dishes. I thought I'd share my old post on this same piece but realized that I'd never written about this suite. And I don't have anything profound or introspective to say about it. It made taking down this mountain if dirty dishes feel like a grand accomplishment. It's a reminder that this music was written for the audience to enjoy. It doesn't have to be treated like music theory homework. That being said, I do like looking at the history of the orchestral suite, which would develop into the symphony. What can we hear from Bach's Proto-Symphony no.3? The Orchestral Suite was a carryover from France's Ouvertures. It would start with a slow section to draw in the audience, and then a lively counterpunctual exercise. After the "heavier" opening movement, the rest of the pieces are light dances, galanteries (minuets, bourrées, courantes, sarabandes, gavottes, allemandes, gigues, etc.). Because the German political elite had a taste for French art, they would have music played during their banquets and parties. Bach had no real interest in this kind of music (which would be a decent income source) because he was already dedicated to writing church music. But what few he did leave behind (we only have four Orchestral Suites attributed to him) sounds like great party music. The Suite in D Major is scored for 3 trumpets, timpani, oboes, violins, viola, basso continuo, giving it a louder sound than the others. The Ouverture starts with the slower grand statement announced by the trumpets and timpani. As you'd expect from Bach, this opens into a counterpunctual explorations of the melodies that developed out of the opening, but with the vibrancy of Vivaldi's fast paced concertos. The ending section cuts back and ends with a more subdued coda. The Air of this suite has stuck in our culture through films and TV, popular for its beautiful melodies. I remember first hearing it in the most ironic example I know; played during the library scene in Seven (or "Se7en") from the 1995 film. The ugliness and depraved misanthropy in the film is contrasted for a moment by the idealized "beautiful music" by an idealized "Great Composer". I thought it was showing the spectrum of human minds, that the "greatest" Baroque composer comes from the same human family as a lunatic serial killer using the Christian "Seven Deadly Sins" for gruesome punishments against his victims. Listening to it now I think it's fascinating that someone could have been touched or moved by the gorgeous Aria without words Bach wrote for whatever party or occasion, and she would have no idea that the same music would be heard again as so many of these festival pieces were back then. The latter dances show off the trumpets to make each one boisterous and lively. Two Gavottes with heavy emphasis on the beat, an upbeat Bourrée, and ending on the always fun and swaying Gigue. Of these dances I think I love Bach's gigues the most because they're always densely woven with his long waves of counterpoint across each instrument to create a dance that makes me think of old pub drinking songs or sailors dancing and drinking at sea. Another reminder that this music is supposed to be fun and enjoyable for anyone, and you can turn your own living room into an 18th century court for fun.

Movements:

Ouverture

Air

Gavotte I/II

Bourrée

Gigue

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queenofcats17 · 1 year

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I would actually like to see Sammy get extremely embarrassed by his parents lmao!

Okay! Sure!

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Sammy tried very hard to keep his work and private life separate. The less people knew about him the better. If he could have, he would have chosen to never be talked to at work by anyone other than Jack. He didn't do small talk and he didn't give out information about his personal life.

Which was why this was his absolute worst nightmare.

His parents had come to the studio.

He'd told his parents about where he was working, of course, but he hadn't expected them to actually visit the studio. They lived in Missouri for goodness sake! It wasn't like they could just drop by on a whim!

"They planned this," he groaned to Jack as his parents happily chatted with his coworkers. The two of them were at a table in the corner, away from the crowd that had gathered.

"Probably," Jack agreed, taking a sip of his coffee.

Sammy groaned louder, resting his forehead on the table.

"Y'know, I always thought Sammy's parents'd be just as prickly as him," Wally was saying. "But you guys are pretty nice!"

"Oh, Sammy's always been like that," Mrs. Lawrence replied. "Y'all shouldn't take it personally. He just values his privacy."

"He's really a very sweet boy," Mr. Lawrence agreed. "He was always helping people out at the church."

"Do you have any pictures of him as a kid?" Norman asked.

Although Sammy wasn't currently looking at him, he knew without a doubt that the projectionist had an enormous shit-eating grin on his face.

"I'm so glad you asked!" Mrs. Lawrence lit up, producing a collection of photographs that she happily displayed to the assembled employees. "This is him in his suit on Easter Sunday when he was 11. He was an altar boy that year for the first time." She held up an old photograph of a young, rather cherubic-looking Sammy in a little suit, staring at the camera with adorable seriousness.

"Oh, he was so nervous," Mr. Lawrence said with a gentle chuckle. "But he did so well!"

"He was a real cute kid," Tom remarked. Sammy could hear the barely contained smile in his voice too.

"And this one is him when he started playing the organ for the congregation." She held up another photograph of what looked to be a teenage Sammy seated at an organ. His focus was solely on the keys and he once again looked adorably serious.

"This is Hell. I'm in Hell," Sammy said, covering his head.

"Aw, c'mon. It's not so bad," Jack tried to reassure him.

"My carefully crafted reputation is in shambles. I am never going to live this down. It is exactly as bad as I think it is."

Sammy was absolutely right that no one present was going to let him live this down. Sure, maybe not everyone would comment on it all the time, but this would be remembered. They finally had something embarrassing to hold over Sammy's head, and by god, they were going to hold it.

The Lawrence parents, either unaware or uncaring about Sammy's dramatic distress, simply continued to share their photographs, commenting about how nice it was to finally meet all of Sammy's coworkers.

#bendy and the ink machine #sammy lawrence #fanfiction #jack fain #wally franks #norman polk #thomas connor

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devilfic · 2 years

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ok but Edward when he was still in the orphanage falling in love with a kid he constantly sees when he goes to church, like a childish and innocent love (I just want edward kid to receive a little affection) 😔

❝first snow❞

plot: life wasn’t all pain, there was you. there was you. pairing: child!edward nashton x child!gn!reader. cw: fluff, light angst, choir boy eddie, mentions of bullying, childhood trauma. words: 1.9k.

a/n: ever since I received this request I’ve just fawned over how sweet it is. here you go, anon

Edward is aware of how timid his voice sounds. It was a reflex, the wobbly authority of it, because he’d learned early on that he wasn’t much of an authority on anything except dodging the older kids’ punches. He could pretend he hadn’t said anything if you turned around and gave him that look he was so used to getting. Meant for squirmy vermin like him.

But you don’t snap at him or look at him like he’s used to. Your eyes are shock-wide and frantic when his words finally settle in: “You shouldn’t be here.” But your eyes shoot up at first, taller than himself (were you expecting someone else?), and when they land on him shivering in his choir boy robe they all but melt. He’d never been looked at like that. Your little hands grip the massive church door a little less tightly and then you smile, “It’s snowing.”

Edward blinks. Of course it’s snowing. It’s December in Gotham. It always snows in December.

But by the look on your face, Edward could‘be been convinced it had never snowed before. That snow had been a construct of childhood, like Santa for the kids who got to be lied to about Santa, and that all kids your age knew by now that snow wasn’t real. And then you’d opened that church door and suddenly it was.

The breeze coming in would be enough to make the orphanage’s scary wardens shiver and complain about wanting to go home early while Edward’s fingers go numb for the night, but he finds himself moving closer to you.

You pull the door a little wider and suddenly you’re waving him over, beckoning him beside you. He can see the snow past your head. “You’ll catch a cold.” He tries, a little louder, a warning with experience. “They’ll notice we’re not in service.”

Still, he comes closer.

When Edward is right beside you, he can hear the chatter of your teeth and see your breaths clouding the space between you both. For a moment, he thinks that this might be a trick and turns quickly to catch some burly monster of a teenager before they could shove him out into the cold to freeze to death, but no such thing happens. It’s just you two in the foyer, and the echo of the priest in the main hall.

“Does it always snow like this?” You bypass his warning.

Edward looks out at the white coating the Gotham streets, adults rushing through the light snowfall knowing what would await if they stayed in it too long. Even beautiful things in Gotham were deadly. “Yeah, it’s winter. It always snows in winter.”

Your eyes narrow a little indignantly, “Not where I’m from.”

Edward remembers. Your father, the imposing figure he was, had mentioned a place warm and very far away from Gotham. He also remembered wondering why anyone from such a nice place would move here. Your pristine clothing had told Edward you were from a much, much better place, but he hadn’t had it in him to be as upset about that as he usually would be.

In fact, he finds himself a little nervous standing right next to you. “What’s it like where you’re from?” He asks, as if he hadn’t gone to the Gotham Public Library weeks ago and asked one of the librarians about it after you’d first arrived. The other kids would only ever tell him it was somewhere he’d “never get to go”.

“It only ever gets cold really late in winter, and it never lasts long. Mom had to get me new clothes for Gotham because it gets too cold here and it never snows back home.” Then you make a face and correct yourself, “Back there.”

You hadn’t looked too fond of your new situation upon moving here. Your father had said your family was joyous at joining the church, and yet your face had been filled with grief. As if it had only settled in on that Sunday that you would never be leaving Gotham.

Your eyes start to fog over with the same grief again, and… it’s strange. Edward doesn’t like seeing you like that. He finds himself fumbling for something to talk about that other kids his age would like, something he wasn’t very good at, and settles on a memory, “When the wardens feel generous, they sometimes take us to Gotham Square. They put a really big Christmas tree up and give out free hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. If you sing,” his body had long since accustomed to the Gotham winter, but only now does he feel his cheeks warm under your curious gaze, “they always make us sing.”

“Why do you call them wardens?”

“Huh?”

“You’re from the orphanage, right? Why do you call them wardens? It sounds kind of mean.”

Edward blinks, having never had to think about it. That was one thing the other kids could agree on, “Because they’re mean.”

He should hate it, the flash of sympathy on your face. He doesn’t need sympathy from people like you or Bruce Wayne or anyone. What he needs is a jacket. It’s getting really cold standing by the open door with you.

“You’re a pretty singer.”

Edward actually makes a noise. It’s strained, like the cats that loiter outside the orphanage for scraps that’ll never come, “What?”

“You’re a pretty singer, you have a pretty voice,” you clarify, using the word pretty, pretty, pretty, you’re pretty, pretty, “my mom thinks so too. She said I should sound more like you.”

“Can you not sing?” His voice stutters as does his little, gentle heart. Not used to the kindness.

You shake your head and push the door closed a little, the cold getting too much for you, he thinks, “Apparently, I sound like I’m in pain.” And then, to Edward’s surprise, you demonstrate with a little shriek you call holding a note.

And he doesn’t mean to because it’s impolite to laugh at others (as if it ever stopped anyone from laughing at him), but he bursts into such an uncontrollable fit of giggles that his glasses fog up and he can only just see your mouth turn from an “o” into a smile. He grabs at his stomach to stop the shaking of his laughter but it barely helps.

He should be more worried that someone will hear. But you don’t look bothered. He feels safe right now. Something else he’s not used to.

“See! That’s unfair. You have a pretty laugh too.” You complain, though your tone is playfully annoyed.

“No, I- I don’t,” he wheezes through heavy breaths, “you’re crazy.”

“Am not!”

Edward wipes under his glasses at the small tear forming in his eye, coming down from his fit to see you proudly smiling with your hands now behind your back. It comes out of his mouth before he has a chance to stop himself, “You must have hypothermia.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, confused, “Hippo- what?”

“Hypothermia… it happens when you get too cold. You can get confused.” Edward winces explaining, wondering if you’d catch on that you actually didn’t like talking to him soon, “Delirious.” He tries instead, as if the word would be any more familiar to you if you didn’t pore over books and word puzzles like he did all hours of the day.

“Oh.” You blink, your silence a tiny trigger on a shotgun pointed at his self-esteem. He shouldn’t have confused you, brought you out of the fun. You’d think he was dull now. Like the other kids do. “Is that why I feel this way?”

“What?” It’s Edward’s turn to be confused now. You don’t clarify this time, jaw clenching like you’d said the wrong thing. He worries suddenly that he’d been right on the money.

He steps closer and presses his hand to your forehead on instinct like he would the babies at the orphanage, checking warmth through the night and hoping for sunrise. Out from your mouth escapes a little peep at the contact and he pulls his hand back very quickly, now worried he’d overstepped the boundary. Crossed over too quickly into familiarity, into fondness. Your skin was burning warm. What had you meant by “this way”?

Your mouth opens to form a word when the door you’re leaning on suddenly shuts under a heavier weight. The two of you hadn’t even noticed your mother now standing there, furiously concerned and wrapping her coat around your shoulders, “What are you thinking? It’s freezing outside! I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Edward feels a pang in his heart when your mother cups your cheek, feeling for what he’d felt for moments ago. He gets that nasty little feeling twisting in his heart again. Remembering who you are and who he is.

You have a mother to keep you warm. Why should he worry?

He’s halfway in a turn when your mother suddenly looks at him, and then touches him on the cheek too and he jolts away from the unfamiliar (soft) contact. Her hand retracts with quiet concern, “Are you alright, dear? You look flushed. You both really shouldn’t be out here.”

Edward presses the back of his hand to his own face and notes that she’s right.

You look up at your mother and then back at Edward, “Sorry. It’s my fault. I wanted to watch the snow with Eddie.”

Eddie? You knew his name?

The kids in the home called him that with condescension, because “Edward” was too dignified and full of itself and there was nothing Edward needed more than to be knocked down a few pegs. Of course.

You, on the other hand, said it like a friend. Like you two had known each other forever. Like you knew him too well to just keep calling him “Edward”.

“Well, service is almost over. Shall I escort you both back to your pews?” Your mother’s sweetness is so strange to hear. When she holds out her hand to him, he is too shocked to jump away this time, “You can sit with us if you’d like, Eddie.” She has a glint of out-of-place warmth in her eyes just like you.

Edward wants nothing more than to accept, but the other kids would notice and the warden would drag him by the scruff into the old, rickety orphanage bus and tell him that he’d get no dinner tonight for embarrassing them. His stomach turns at the thought. “No thank you, ma’am.”

“At least come get warm.” She beckons, ushering you both back to the main hall.

Edward follows you, a step behind, until he simply can’t and must return to the pews with the other church boys who watch him with wide eyes. One of the wardens looks furious when she finally spots him off with you. He feels her eyes burn into the back of his head even when he sits down, rigid with his hands shoved between his thighs to warm them up again. He stares ahead, unmoving, not even answering the boys nearest him and their questions about where he’d been.

Edward stares ahead until he just can’t anymore. You’re staring right at him from across the aisle, hands cupped around your mouth as he watches you make out a word: Hippo-term-ia.

It’s hard to pass off his laugh as a cough.

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry

#edward nashton x reader #edward nashton scenarios #edward nashton imagine #edward nashton fluff #childhood friends #riddler x reader #riddler scenarios #riddler imagine #paul dano riddler #the batman #mjwrites

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yume-seca · 24 days

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AO3 is Down

Your body yearns for release as your eyes scan the screen with despair. You mutter out the words you read

"A couple of our servers have gotten a bit overwhelmed, so we're taking some down time to give them a chance to catch up. We'll be back as soon as possible!"

"THAT DOESN'T HELP AO3!" You shout a little louder than you intended. You slam the laptop closed and get up from your chair. The only issue is that your blanket is lodged firmly under your chair wheel and after a firm tugging you spin, slip, and hope for the best as the floor gets a lot closer; a lot faster.

......

"Babe..?"

You hear a concerned but solemn voice as you feel a hand on your shoulder. This would normally be reassuring but who the FUCK is in your apartment?! Your eyes jolt open as you sit up. The room is wholly unfamiliar to you, wood floors and brick walls? A MAN IN A SUIT!

"Did you kidnap me?!" You yell as you start taking a closer look at the possible investment banker. Until your eyes begin to really take in your surroundings. The hair. The suit. The New York loft.

"MATT FUCKING MURDOCK?!"

He smiles at you and waits, as if expecting you to launch into another tirade. Casually leaning back into the chair in front of the couch you're laying on.

"I don't think I ever told you my middle name, but it's Michael. The Catholic church typically frowns upon names like "fucking."

In that brief exchange it hits you. You have died and gone to heaven. Horny heaven apparently, but dying because AO3 is down and then getting an extremely vivid afterlife experience with Mattypoo himself is just about the best post life you could have hoped for. You glance down at his slacks to double check and yes, God did indeed grant him a dick that's about as secretive as Coachella.

He gets halfway through offering you a glass of water before you're off the couch with one knee placed beside his thigh.

"So you calling me babe earlier.... does that mean we have a clothing optional type of relationship?"

That smug smile you've seen on TV pops up like he knew this would be coming. He doesn't say a word, just pulls you the rest of the way onto him. His strong hands guiding your body as you start to feel his hard cock pressing into you.

"We've had sex on every piece of furniture I own, wearing clothes around each other just seems redundant at this point"

He's talking smoothly, but his face looks needier, like he's been waiting for this too. You tilt your head to the side as his lips find your neck. Your mind briefly flickers back to your aloe vera plant that's been going for about a year now. Hopefully someone finds it and waters it soon. But either way, you're certainly glad you ended up in Horny Heaven.

The End

#matt x reader #smut

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andromedaexists · 6 months

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WUPDATE: Desecrate

𝚆𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝟷𝟶𝚝𝚑 || 𝟼 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚜!

HI HELLO GOOD NEWS BABIES MY LAPTOP IS FIXED!!!!

After the chaos that was last week, the fact that I not only got my laptop fixed (with no data missing!!) but also reached 20k in revisions on Desecrate???? Magic.

Now that everything is back in balance, I will be returning to Incorrect Eyes. I just needed to stick with my baby boy Kit while I lost my mind lmao. Kit Beloved has such a tender start to his story that I honestly don't want to leave it, but that's okay! I'll be back!!

We're about 1/4 of the way through this trash draft rewrite, meaning I'm expecting it to be ~80k words. That is 10k longer than Call Me Icarus, and it will only get longer when I truly draft it!! Desecrate is going to be a chonker!!

I will also have another post coming out today, a 6 month update on the release of ΔΆΙΟΣ (the first book in the Call Me Icarus series). It has been 6 months to the day since release, and hoo boy have there been updates!!

OH AND ONE MORE THING I HAVE AN OFFICIAL DAY FOR DESECRATE'S COVER REVEAL!!! Come say hi on 𝚃𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙼𝚊𝚢 𝟿𝚝𝚑, otherwise known as the feast of Ascension in the Catholic Church. This year, we're celebrating the Ascension of Christian Amadeus Michaels, the beautiful main character of Desecrate!

Anyways, snippes for yous!

Kit parks the truck in his driveway, turning it off but not getting out. Benny doesn’t get out for a moment either, but when it’s clear that neither of them are going to say anything she opens the door and steps out into the crisp night air. Kit’s eyes track her movement, watching as she crosses through the beam of his headlights and as she leaves his peripherals. He expects her to go inside, to leave him wallowing by himself, but he’s shocked out of his thoughts when his door swings open. Benny pulls him towards her, her arms wrapping tight around his head and holding him to her chest as she whispers, “Don’t go where I can’t follow you.”

And another one:

They fall into a comfortable routine as they enter the home, Kit throws his backpack on the couch before heading to his room to change and Benny starts putzing around the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything until he hears a loud clatter. Throwing on his oversized cutoff, he rushes out into the kitchen to find Benny standing in the center of the room with a handful of metal mixing bowls strewn around her. Kit busts out laughing, having to stabilize himself on the counter from the force of the laughter. Benny’s pouting where she stands, a beautiful red blush dusting her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. “I was trying—it’s not that funny—Kit~—I was just trying to get some bowls out, you didn’t tell me you booby trapped this place,” she pouts, bending down to pick up the scattered bowls. When Benny turns her back to him to set the bowls down on the counter, Kit walks up and wraps his arms around her waist. He buries his head in her hair and sways her side to side as she giggles before using the momentum to swing her to the other edge of the kitchen. She kicks her legs out in front of her as he swings her around, her giggles growing louder. When her feet touch the ground again, she turns in Kit’s hold and wraps her arms around his shoulders. “It’s really hard for me to make dinner from over here, silly cat.” “Well then it’s a good thing you’re not making dinner, huh?”

And another for good measure:

Pushing those thoughts out of his head, Kit rolls Benny off of him and sits up. He throws his legs over the edge of the bed and stretches his arms above his head, yawning as he pops the soreness from his back. The bed behind him shifts as Benny sidles up to his back, her legs framing his on the edge of the bed and her arms sliding around his waist. Her lips are warm against the nape of his neck, Kit thinks he could stay right here for the rest of his life and never want to leave.

TAGLIST

@lockejhaven @mr-writes @eleanordaze @flowerprose @starlitpage @dogmomwrites @annetilney @ceph-the-ghost-writer @inkspellangel @outpost51 @love-whatit-loves @smol-feralgremlin

Please fill out this form to be added or ask to be removed!

#desecrate wip #wip update #writing #writeblr #wip excerpt #wupdate #adult fantasy #religious fantasy #andi writes

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peanutbutterandfailure · 1 year

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GN!ReaderXKaeya-“In Private”

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Being the newest Acolyte of the Church of Favonius, you expected that you’d become well acquainted with all the Knights of Favonius. What you weren’t expecting, however, was the relationship you developed with Kaeya Alberich.

You were new to the City of Mondstadt. Having grown up on the outskirts of the region, you hardly ever traveled into the city. But now that you were officially a member of the Clergy and the Churches newest healer, you were getting accustomed to the hustle and bustle of city life. You were surprised by how welcoming and kind everyone was.

One person in particular was almost too kind.

The first time you ever met the Calvary Captain would have been considered a typical interaction by anyone who knew him, but you were left nervous and blushing. You had been sent by Barbara to track down Sister Rosaria, who was once again shirking off her duties. You searched the streets of Mondstadt with no luck until a helpful shop owner told you she would often spend time in Angels Share with the Calvary Captain. You were hesitant to enter the establishment, having never been in a tavern before you didn’t know what to expect. Will it be full of ruffians and thugs? You wondered to yourself before shaking your head. You were being silly; the Knights wouldn’t allow anyone like that within the city walls.

You nervously pushed the door open and were pleasantly surprised at the atmosphere inside. A Bard by the door played cheery music and a few members of the Adventurers Guild sat in a side room laughing and talking loudly. At the bar were two figures, one you recognized and one you didn’t. The two of them seemed to be involved in some type of drinking game, much to the contempt of the red headed bar tender. You step up behind Rosaria and her companion. “Um… Excuse me, Sister Rosaria?” you say in your usual quiet voice. She doesn’t seem to hear you, so you repeat “Excuse me, Sister?”, but your voice is no louder than before, so you still go unanswered.

However, the bartender has taken notice of you. He taps the bar in front of the pair and says “Rosaria, it seems you have a visitor.” They both turn to look at you; Rosaria rolls her eyes, but her companion raises his brows and gives you an unreadable smile.

“Ah, a friend of yours?” The man asks as he looks you over. One of his eyes was covered in a patch, the other was such a piercing blue and you felt as if it could see right into your very soul.

“Not hardly, they’re just the newest healer at the church.” Rosaria answered him bluntly as she stood from her seat. You open your mouth to explain why you were looking for her, but she held up a hand to silence you. “Don’t bother, I know Barbara sent you to hunt me down.” You turn and watch as she exits the tavern without looking back.

A silky voice speaks up from behind you. “Typical Rosaria, always as cold as her Vision.” You look over to the man that the Sister had been sitting beside. He’s now sitting with his back against the bar, his elbows propped on the worn bar top. One long leg is resting on the rung of the stool while the other is stretched out in front of him. His head is cocked to one side, causing his long hair to hang over his shoulder as he stares at you. His posture, along with the sly smile on his lips, makes him look like a cat that’s eyeing up a bird. “But don’t worry, young Acolyte. Not all of us Cryo wielders are like that.”

He pushes himself off the stool and comes to stand in front of you. You’re shocked when he gently grabs your chin and lifts it so your face is tilted up to his. You can feel your cheeks heat up as he smiles down at you. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. Tell me, what’s your name?” You stutter your name as your face continues to flush, causing him to smile even more. “Oh, so shy and innocent. I’m going to have fun with you…” He trails off, making you wonder what exactly he means.

The bartender speaks up from behind the two of you in an annoyed voice. “Kaeya, please don’t harass the Clergy in my tavern.”

Stepping back from you and letting his hand fall to his side, Kaeya frowns at the bartender. “You always have to ruin my fun, Diluc.” As he turns to leave, he smirks down at you and whispers “I’ll see you around, y/n.”

******

He wasn’t lying when he said that to you. In the beginning, you would only see him if you left the church. You figured his office in the Knights headquarters had a window that overlooked the steps leading down from the Cathedral. You’d be at a shop buying supplies or waiting at Good Hunter for food when Kaeya would suddenly appear next to you. At first, his sudden appearances would leave you stammering and flustered, but eventually you became used to it. You began to expect his companionship whenever you went to the market district, and any time he failed to show up you returned to the church feeling a little disappointed. You really enjoyed his small talk and playful banter.

On several occasions he would even come to the infirmary, asking you to heal the minor scratches and bruises he would get while training. If you were busy with another patient and Barbara would offer to heal him, he’d politely decline her offer, stating “The heat from y/n’s Vision is more soothing to me.”

You were working the overnight shift at the infirmary one night when, at some point after midnight, you heard a loud crash from out in the sanctuary of the Cathedral. You sat down the book that Barbara had lent you and quietly made your way to the door. What if Treasure Hoarders had somehow gotten into the Cathedral to steal precious artifacts? You could fend off maybe one or two, but you’d be no match for a whole group. Once at the door into the sanctuary, you opened it as quietly as you could and peeked out. At first you couldn’t make out anything in the darkness, there was certainly no one moving around. As your eyes adjust, you see the source of the noise. One of the pews has been shoved out of alignment because someone stumbled into it and was now slumped over the back.

You let out a gasp of panic as you throw the door open and rush towards the familiar figure.

“Kaeya! Kaeya, are you ok?” You ask as you reach him. It’s too dark to see exactly what’s wrong with him, but you can smell blood, so you know it can’t be good.

He stirs as you cry out his name. “Hmmm, just the healer I wanted to see.” His voice is soft and weak, and he gives a tiny chuckle at his joke. “Get it? Because I’m hurt? And you’re a healer?”

You ignore him and start pulling him back up to his feet. What you can’t ignore is the blood you feel soaking into your clothes. “Come on, Kaeya. Walk with me.” You have to practically carry the staggering man into the infirmary and dump him on a bed. Your arms are shaking from the effort, but you waste no time. “What happened to you, Kaeya?” You softly ask.

“Guess I bit off more than I could chew with those Mitachurls,” he replies. His eyes flutter open as you start undoing the buttons and fastens on his clothes, trying to locate all his wounds. His bleary eyes focus on you, and he frowns. “I ruined your outfit.”

“They’re just clothes Kaeya. If they can’t be cleaned, they can be replaced.” You tell him. “My main concern right now is working on you.”

He giggles again and says, “I wish you’d work on me.” He flashes you a small smirk. Even wounded and in pain, the man can’t be stopped.

You roll your eyes. “You're delirious from loss of blood.” You say as you summon the healing powers of your element and lay your hands against his bare skin. He lets out a sound that's something between a sigh and a moan, and even though you were focused on helping him, you can't help the flush that creeps into your cheeks at the sound. You slowly moved from wound to wound, making sure each one was healed to the best of your capabilities before moving on. Kaeya's bare brown skin took on a faint flush and became covered in a light sheen of sweat from your heated hands, making it even more beautiful.

The longer you worked, the more of him you healed, the weaker you became. You had to lean against the bed to keep yourself from collapsing, but you wouldn't stop until you knew he was ok. You were so focused on healing him that you didn't notice he had been watching you until you were finished. Releasing your element, you looked from where your hands were resting on his chest to his face. You gave him a small smile and tried to hold yourself steady as you started to pull your hands away and move back to a respectful distance. But Kaeya’s hands were quicker than yours. He gently grabbed your hands and held them against his bare torso. "No," he whispered. "Not yet."

You were too tired to argue, so you returned to leaning against the bed. Eventually you grew too weak from exhaustion and collapsed. You felt bad that you collapsed against his torso, the area you had just healed, but you couldn’t hold yourself up for a second longer and he seemed to notice that. “Seems we’re both pretty beat now, huh?” he asked with a chuckle. One of his arms wrapped around your waist, whether it was to help hold you up or to hold you closer to him you weren’t sure, but you weren’t going to complain.

Your face was pressed against his bare shoulder, and as embarrassed as you were, you couldn’t bring yourself to move away. “I needed to make sure you were ok. Guess I used too much of my power and drained all my energy.” You mumble against his skin. Your lips or breath must tickle because a small shiver runs through his body.

“Y/n…” he mumbles. His voice sounds thick with emotion, which confuses you. You lift your head a bit to look at him, and when you do, you’re surprised when his lips press against yours. You’re so shocked that you don’t pull back, and when his mouth begins to move against yours, you instinctively kiss him back. It’s your first kiss so you really don’t know what to expect, but his lips are soft and sweet.

In one swift motion, the arm around your waist tightens and he pulls you on top of him. It’s so sudden that you let out a gasp; a gasp that he takes advantage of by sliding his tongue into your mouth. His other hand tangles itself in your hair as he holds you close to him, savoring the way your body fits against his. You’re so overwhelmed by the kiss that you lose control of your powers. You feel your element heating up your hands, which are still pinned between your bodies. Kaeya gasps and lets out a moan, then you feel a chill as he reacts with his Vision, counteracting the heat of yours. Hungrily, his hands start tugging at your bloodstained clothes. He’s gasping and panting, your name sounding like a prayer as he moans it softly over and over.

Suddenly it’s all too much for you. Your Vision flares as you find a burst of energy you didn’t think you had, pushing yourself off Kaeya and falling to the floor. You’re shaking your head as he watches, shocked, while you scoot away from him. “I’m sorry, I can’t…. Kaeya I can’t….” With shaking legs, you stand and rush out of the infirmary and into the Sanctuary. You don’t make it far before you feel your legs growing weak once more. Collapsing into a pew with a sob, you lower your head into your hands and send out an anguished prayer to your Archon.

You sit praying in silence for quite a while before you hear soft footsteps approaching. Kaeya stops a few feet away from you and waits patiently for you to finish and look up at him before speaking. “Will you at least tell me why?” He asks you. He made no effort to fix his clothes, so his white shirt was still unbuttoned, exposing his torso. You could see two red handprints on his chest from your small elemental outburst.

You can’t concentrate on your answer with him looking like that, so you bury your face in your hands. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I really, really want to. And it’s not that I’m scared. Well, I mean, I am scared. But that’s not what’s holding me back.”

He comes and sits on the pew beside you. “Then tell me what is.”

“My vow,” you sigh as you lift your head and look up to the Cathedral altar. “I almost died when I was younger, and I know that Barbatos saved my life. When I joined the clergy, I vowed that I would dedicate myself to Him. Mind, body, soul. My whole life would be dedicated to my Archon.” You glance over at Kaeya. “A vow that grandiose tends to become public knowledge. If I were to go back on that now, I’d be shunned, maybe even shamed. I can’t do that; not only for my own appearance, but I also can’t do that to Barbatos.”

Kaeya is silent for a few minutes, but finally he speaks. “Well, Barbatos isn’t just the Anemo Archon. He’s also the Archon of Freedom.” When he sees your confused expression, he chuckles and elaborates. “I believe Barbatos would want you to have the freedom to make your own choices. I doubt he would want you to be forced to stay on a strict path if it no longer makes you happy. I may not be particularly religious myself, but this is what I truly believe. And no, I’m not just telling you this to force you to be with me, that choice is ultimately yours.”

You mull over his words in silence for a while. “You make a good point Kaeya, but-“

“But you’re still worried about what other people will think?” When you nod, he smiles and gently cups your face in his hand. “Well, what if no one found out?” The idea of being in a secret relationship with Kaeya makes your heart race with excitement. How scandalous!

Your eager smile is all the answer he needs. He greedily pulls you to him for another heated kiss before pulling away. “Barbatos is truly lucky to have such a loyal supplicant such as yourself,” he tells you as he drops to his knees in front of you and runs his hands up your thighs. “You’re always worshiping him, but now I think it’s time for someone to worship you.” As his head dips down, you throw yours back in ecstasy.

******

You fully believed that your relationship with Kaeya was the closest any mortal could get to experiencing Celestia. Whether you were making love or just enjoying each other’s company, every second you spent with him was pure bliss.

Kaeya had a reputation around the city, that much you knew. You began hearing everything people said about him not long after the two of you first met. “That Kaeya was such a sweet young lad. And so handsome too! It’s such a shame he acts the way he does, what with all the drinking, gambling, and sordid affairs. Such a womanizer! Oh, dear Acolyte y/n, perhaps you could help him down the right path since the two of you seem to be so well acquainted! An honorable and pious person such as yourself could surely help him!” You hear requests like that quite often from people in the city, particularly from the elderly women. Anytime they approach you with this request, you nod sympathetically.

“Kaeya is my very dear friend, of course I’ll do everything in my power to help him,” you reply humbly, all the while holding back your laughter. If only they knew that Kaeya’s most sordid affair was with you.

Any time you got a request like this, you made sure to tell Kaeya. It became a sort of inside joke between the two of you. He would drop to the floor dramatically, grabbing your hands and crying out “Oh sweet, pious, and oh so chaste Acolyte y/n, please help me see the error of my ways and correct my path through life!” before scooping you up in his arms and falling into bed with you, both giggling. In reality, you knew Kaeya was nothing like the rumors swirling through the city. Yes, there was a reason those rumors got started. But you knew the real Kaeya, not the façade he put on for everyone else.

And perhaps being in this secret relationship with you had changed him. It had certainly changed you.

You’re currently sitting in his dark quarters, only a single lit candle illuminating the space. Wrapped in nothing but a fluffy white blanket, you wait for Kaeya. He’s been on an expedition for the past two weeks, and you miss him terribly. A few hours ago, you received a letter from him saying he’d be returning this evening and to be ready for him. Your heart leapt when his door unlocked and he stepped inside. He looked worn out and tired, but his eyes instantly lit up when he saw you. “You truly are a sight for sore eyes,” he said as he closed and locked the door.

“You look tired,” you say, sympathetically.

“I am,” he tells you as he kicks off his boots.

“Too tired for me?” You ask as you stand and let the blanket drop, exposing your naked body to him.

He lets out a growl at the sight of you. “I’m never too tired for you.” He instantly starts taking off his clothes, and you step forward to help him. Kissing, touching, you can’t seem to get enough of him. You gently free his hair of its tie and press your face into his long locks. Even after being gone for so long, it still smells the same; like windwheel asters and dandelion wine. You grab his hands and pull him to his bed, where you push him down and climb on top.

His hands roam your body as you kiss him eagerly. “I love you, Kaeya Alberich.” You moan against his lips.

“I love you too, y/n,” he whispers back.

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