#and on god i will make little wooden animals.

[depresseddepot]

I'm going to learn whittling because I need to do some sort of woodworking or I will go insane

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Knight König who, after bravelly defending the castle alone and saving all the beautiful young maidens, is now *gasp* alone with them!! You and the rest of the young ladies are not even married yet and this whole horror of a siege came :(( you had to be locked inside the maiden tower with the other ladies, praying to the gods that someone strong would defend you, and here he was!! The giant knight from the north from whom you were always herded away 'because a brute like him has no business with fine young ladies like yourselves' :((

Imagine König who is for the time being the only male in the small castle, the foe has been defeated but any kind of help will take days to arrive :( During the fighting his mind was on slaying all the enemies to defend the flock of the frightened ladies but now...??

He's the only male among a dozen of maidens!! And these poor does are so scared in their tower on comfy beds of furs with all the supplies...so many warm, soft bodies to keep him warm and 'aid him to help his wounds', so many broad hips and breasts to grab and squeeze for comfort...oh and they are so ready to share all the supplies with him!!

I mean...who's to say that a war hero doesn't deserve something good too? :D

GFDFSSSS first I was like "gangbang medieval style yeehaw let's gooo" but then I had another quick idea (in all honesty writing gangbangs make me blush furiously lmao I'm weak!)

CW: Fear of SA, mention of blood, boners galore, dubcon groping, period typical attitudes, gender roles etc.

Knight!König asking you to wash him (because he was seated next to you at this one feast and now he's obsessed...)

König, who never had time for women because he was always on duty, whose best chances for a wife were an old widow or some soiled woman, whatever that meant... Probably some lowly lady, for a lowly knight like him. His family must hate him because they keep him from having even that: instead, he gets shipped off to this outpost of a castle that houses hundreds of soldiers and only a few women. Even they are kept under lock and key most of the time, and it's no wonder... A man like him shouldn't even be dreaming of dipping his dick in the pretty soft things of the Maiden’s tower.

König, who even to his own surprise, finds himself victorious after weeks of siege. Who's left completely unchecked and alone with a flock of scared fawns, poor does who are now gathering together for warmth and safety. They only have tiny daggers and iron scissors as their weapons against an armed knight, knowing they’re not always safe even from their own men – especially after a battle.

Even the strongest, most valiant knights get tired during a siege, turning into starved animals after a few weeks. A soldier fresh from war is the worst thing, having his cock up after bloodying his sword, they usually need to have a woman as soon as possible. A victorious knight, finding himself winning against all the odds, would surely prefer to fuck every single one of the soft cunts locked up in the women's tower...

So König, who batters the door and orders the frightened women to lift the baulk, only gets screams as an answer. They finally open it when he says he's tired after a fight and only wants to rest for a bit, puts on his most charming smile as the huge wooden door creaks open, and meets the ladies with a wide grin despite having blood all over him, stands proudly in his full height with his sword still drawn, a path of entrails and cut limbs behind him – why are they still screaming? He saved them! He should be given a royal welcome!

König, who finally gets the women to calm down a little when they notice he is not about to rape them on sight, who wipes his sword with one of their finest, freshly dyed wools (rude!). Who sheathes his weapon and smiles again, suggesting that they help him out of his plate and give him a wash – he’s earned that much, no?

König, who eats from their bowls as if he has never even seen food, who gawks at their tapestries with curiosity, who tries to stare down their necklines and catch a sight of those beautiful, round, plush tits. Most women quickly rush to heat the water to escape the possible groping about to ensue, while you are left with the task of getting him out of his armor.

The straps are small and endless, the armor consists of dozens of different parts, and he just keeps on grinning widely while you’re at it, giving you odd compliments and passages of courtly love with his mouth full of food. Some of his ramblings are straight out of a troubadour’s song, but you don’t believe a word he says, especially when his heated stare is fixed on your exposed neck, the collarbones so frail, the cascading wool that reveals your wrists as you try to pry your way under the heavy, bloodied pauldron.

Of course he remembers you, down to the minutest detail because he got to feed and take care of you at last winter's great feast... Someone had fucked up and seated you next to him in their error, and he heedily took advantage of the situation. He even managed to have a grope at you when the lords and ladies weren’t watching because they were so drunk.

He was drunk too, intoxicated by the strong ale and the shy stares you granted him. You didn’t do a thing when he pulled you closer and practically fed you some deer off your shared plate, tried if you'd fancy a date or a sip of wine while keeping you tightly tucked in his lap. He couldn’t get enough of you: your tiny gasp when you felt him grow hard, your whimper when he stole a soft squeeze of your tit… Your shy ghost of a smile as you demurely called him “Sir” and told him to stop before he gets you both into trouble. 

Ever since that night, he has dreamed of you when pulling out his leaking cock. Sinned until he felt embarrassed to go to the chapel and yet again confess that he has defiled himself with his hand and thoughts of you. Ever since that night, he has wondered whether you are giving those whimpers to someone else nowadays…

But here you are, in the tower, taking off his plates and using all your strength to get him out of his chainmail. Why haven’t you been married off yet? Why aren't you making blankets and throws at some fancy lord's castle by now? You have the perfect hips for delivery, it's practically a sin to keep a woman like you locked up in a military fortress…

And polite curtsies and shy, downcast eyes won't save you now, you know that.

How can you say no to a knight, ordering you to give him a wash? “Do him the honor,” he says, while anyone can see he’s already hard.

There’s nothing the others can do but put up a curtain and leave you two to your featherlight privacy. He doesn’t even bother to undress behind it, simply flaunts that monstrous thing between his legs for everyone to see before giving you the honor of strolling to the steaming bath. A soft silence fills the tower as the knight, tall as a legend, hairy as a beast, climbs into the small wooden tub with a grunted sigh.

You, the maiden he picked, can only look in horror as he grows even harder under the hot water. The thick erection soon juts above the surface, the dark curls framing the base of his cock now floating lusciously underwater, the dark hair covering his full balls, too. Either he's just big everywhere or then he's been too busy during the weeks of the siege... The amount of times you've seen him abstain from meat in this castle is ridiculous, and you always wondered if he ate fish because he liked it or because he had defiled himself in his lust.

He's an animal, but having a woman is not a sin as foul as throwing his seed on the ground... And here he is, strong thighs spreading as far as they can go to give room to the astounding erection he’s having just from the prospect of your touch.

The knight leans back in the tub, looks at you with a drowsy, soft smile, and tells you not to be afraid. The thick, throaty voice leaves your knees completely weak.

“Ach so... Have you ever touched one of these before?”

[tojjist]

“At Least” S. Gojo

☆ genre: angst to fluff (kinda)

☆ pairings: Gojo Satoru x f! reader

☆ summary: After Geto left, nothing has been the same. Especially not your relationship with Gojo Satoru. Once you decide to move to Kyoto for good, Gojo is less than pleased. But fate does not seem to want to let you go.

☆ cw: mentions of sex, depressed gojo, not spoiler free, hopping between timelines but like i added non-canon events, smoking, drinking, getting drunk, high school Gojo being a high school boy, cussing, mentions of drunk sex but it doesn’t happen, mentions character death (from the anime), gojo satoru (yes that's a trigger warning).

☆ wc : 5.6k

☆ a/n: this has been in the doing for so long? I've been waiting to have the chance to upload it for maybe a year now smh. Also was originally written for an irl of mine lmao

“Oh my god,” you emphasize each word, pushing the wooden chair away with your knee. “Satoru, is it yours?”

His black pupils, lined with iris the color of morning skies, study your figure from behind the shaded glasses, pink lips quirking slightly upwards in approval of your attention.

“Nah, it's only staying with me for a week,” he stated, watching nervously as you strode over to him. “His owner is away for some business.”

Your attention remained fixed on the pet in Satoru's long, long arms. Your face lit up when a bark escaped the infant animal. “Can I hold it?”

Satoru watched over you carefully, pleading eyes coming in line with his blues. You make it hard to say anything other than an immediate yes, but he tries to stretch out the conversation to his best ability.

“It's 400 yen for 10 minutes,” he muttered, sarcasm dripping from his words. He earned a look of amusement from you; a small victory. He then braced himself for the next part. Satoru bent down, meeting you eye-to-eye, and noticed your breath catching in anticipation. “Or... you can shorten your skirt.”

Your face took no time to grow hot, not giving any verbal answer besides the blank expression you stare at him with. For a second, Gojo let himself think he's the victor of this little challenge he started in his head. But he soon came to realize how grave of a mistake he's made.

You're not flustered, you're angry.

“You're such a fucking pervert,” you fume, eyes glaring daggers. He dares not move, noticing the way your eyes flutter over his face.

“You're truly unbelievable,” the shorter male chuckled, making sure he didn't bump into Satoru's now-bruised arm. “What were you even thinking?”

“I thought it was funny, y'know?” He huffed in response. Gojo's fingers ran through his own bright locks as he took a seat on the wood hung up by metal chains. "Besides, has she always been this strong? Physically, I mean."

Geto stared into the reddish sky of dusk, placing himself into a swing in turn and kicking the air so the swing would start moving. "I don't know. Girls are really full of surprises.”

He never thought, not in a million years, things would come to this. Ever since Gojo's last encounter with Geto after he, well, changed... Gojo became unable to face anyone quite the same way he did before.

How did he get here? How did things escalate to this? Thinking about it, Geto had shown signs of a change in his heart and mind. It was Satoru's fault, was it not? He should have done better. He should have noticed. How could he not have? wasn't he the strongest? Wasn't that his job? How could he be so bad at everything?

How could he fail everyone like this?

“Gojo-San?”

Your feminine voice cut his train of thought. He almost forgot the situation he is now stuck in. He's been doing that a lot: losing himself in thought, mind almost immune to the outer world until he temporarily lost his sense of self. Nothing felt quite the same any more. It was like the world had lost its color.

“Sorry- What's up?” He turned to you. Gojo-san, you called him. When did you stop using his given name? What's with the '-san'? Gojo hadn't realized that losing one person was the first step, and now he found himself deep in the road of losing everyone.

And now he's stuck in the elevator with the girl he had liked for so long. He couldn't find it in himself to say anything to you, to push your buttons like he always did or joke around. When did the world become so heavy? He does not know.

“Are you okay? You seemed off.”

Your face is devoid of any genuine emotion, seemingly expressionless. But your voice is laced with concern. Gojo could only guess you didn't want him thinking you pity him or anything of such. But if that isn't the case, he wouldn't know. He's too tired to bother thinking about it.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm fine,” he smiled in assurance, “Just bothered by, well, this-” he threw his hand in the way of the control panel. The elevator doors have been stuck for almost twenty minutes now. How pleasant.

“uh huh,” you sigh, turning back around. How did you turn so cold?

When the silence stretches, you start a conversation, hesitant at first. “By the way, I got accepted as a helper in a nursery in Kyoto,” you mutter, gaze avoiding his own. “they're expecting me to start work right after spring break.”

Spring break?

Holy shit. It hit him like a truck. That’s barely a week and a half from now.

“Spring break? Why so soon?”

“That’s when the students file back in,” you mumble, fiddling with the watch placed around your wrist. You pause to read the time, then turn to meet his eyes. “I’m leaving in four days to get settled.”

“Oh…” His breath caught, “Train?”

What a stupid question. He knows. Satoru has never been unintelligent, especially in conversing. But now his unintelligence shines through as if it’s his only trait. He’s glad you don’t question it.

“Yeah, I have no other form of transport really.”

“Well, uh…” He hates himself. He hates himself for not doing anything. He hates himself for being so weak and  cowardly, for being unable to keep his friends around him, for shutting everyone he holds close out. But now, he especially hates himself for being unable to feel happy for you, or to congratulate you on the opportunity, “come visit us every once in a while, yeah?”

Your mouth remains shut, only staring at the tall man before your eyes. The silence stretches between the two of you once again, and you don’t find it in you to speak of how you feel.

“You.. you know you could have died, right? We all could have b-but you…” You trail off, thoughts splattered like a spilled pot of ink. Although you seemed unfazed, in your mind you were anything but. Haibara, Riko, and all the losses that trailed and every event that followed has been stressful and nerve-wrecking. And even in the quietness and silence of the general atmosphere, it has been nearly impossible to find peace within yourself.

“Well, I didn’t. What happened had passed. Can you change that? I doubt so. No point in ‘if’ and ‘could’ve’.”

Before you could respond,the lights flickered back on. You grow unsure if you’ve struck a nerve, but that wasn’t what you meant. Gojo’s response had nothing to do with what you said, you were sure he knew exactly what your words were meant for. Why is he so scared of confronting it?

You don’t know. You could never hope to know because you and Gojo Satoru live in different worlds, the man who was only Satoru some time ago. You were worlds apart, yet  Satoru loved to play pretend that he lived in the same world as you, even when he stuck out like a sore thumb. But he was no longer. Ever since Geto left… it’s safe to say everyone has been changing slowly, deforming from their previous lives and personalities. But Satoru flipped, like the head and tail of a coin, he got himself a new face. He turned into Gojo Satoru; the strongest. A soul unalive. A broken boy in an ever growing body. A stranger.

Two days later you find yourself still roaming the campus , searching so desperately for something. Anything. A reason to stay, perhaps? You don’t find it anyway. You have no attachment as this place holds nothing but misery. Or that’s what you told yourself over and over as you packed your things.

Your steps were graceful, walking so cautiously as if careful to not wake someone up. Your fingers find rest on the old, dusty door frame, pushing yourself into the room that hadn’t been used for a good month or so. The classroom looked the same as it always did. Except for the shadow that loomed over it; a gray shade that sent chills down your spine. Or maybe it’s just your imagination. 

Then you spot something rather out of place. You’re sure you’ve never seen it before and although you know it’s none of your business, the way it tugs at the strings of your curiosity is undeniable.

It’s red, poking out of what you’re sure is Gojo’s desk. The gloomy classroom was no fit for paper with a color so vibrant. 

Your heart skips a beat when you glimpse the seat next to Satoru’s. You do your best to avoid looking at Geto’s desk any further. You busy yourself with the task at hand, reaching out for the mysterious paper hidden in the wooden desk. Shivers run up your arm at the texture of the scrunched paper.

You attempt to straighten it to your best ability, strained by his hard work of crumbling it with obvious frustration. you can barely make out the letters of your name in the middle of the paper, outlined by a messy circle. How Gojo of him. A few lines stick out of the ‘circle’, one of them has the name of a steakhouse somewhere in Tokyo. Another has a date, reading somewhere along February. It’s near impossible to make out what the small combination of letters say, especially when Satoru’s handwriting is closer to symbols than a comprehensible language.

The thought of it was so funny it didn’t feel like him at all. Satoru never planned anything. Every breath he took was based on pure impulse. Never would it have occurred to you that he thinks through things, let alone brainstorm.

The thought makes you smile. But the realization that he never asked you out because he changed his mind or everything that happened getting in his way makes your stomach churn unpleasantly. 

You decide it’s probably for the best to never bring it up. It would only make matters worse for both of you. Life ran its course; who are you to try and change it?

“I apologize, but my answer remains. I refuse to take part in this,” you spoke in an even tone. “I have a job and a life away from jujutsu. I’ve made it clear sorcery is not a part of my life anymore.”

"That’s completely understandable,” the old man argued, his voice hoarse with age. You’re pretty sure you hear anger further straining his voice, “but your technique is quite strong. That strength could be of great assistance if put to use.”

“Thank you, sir,” you dip your head, maintaining eye contact with the decaying man. “But I truly apologize. The decision is final.”

“If you ever do change your mind, please let us know. We’d be more than happy to hear it.”

You almost let a sigh of relief escape. Finally he gave up. You end up only nodding your head in response gratefully, retreating from the old man. As soon as you're safe and out of sight, you let your posture drop, eyes rolling back in annoyance. These guys are truly as relentless as ever.

You stopped upon a familiar scent catching in your nostrils. Lifting your head up, your eyes roam around, scanning the room for your friend.

“You look troubled,” Shoko approaches you, taking the cigarette out from between her teeth. “What’s with the face?”

“How is that man even alive,” you look at her, “he’s ancient.”

Your comment earns a light chuckle from the brunette. “I’m glad I never have to get caught up in this bullshit.”

“Blissed aren’t you,” you roll your eyes as you speak. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place, I knew they were going to do this.”

“It’s alright, you’re all done now. Here-” Your friend then lifts the cigarette up, putting it near your mouth. When you don’t show any resistance she, being the bad influence she has always been, proceeds to place it between your lips. You waste no time, making quick work of the drag you inhale, bringing the familiar cloud of toxic chemicals and tobacco into your lungs. Your expression relaxes, shifting into one of relief. Shoko scoffs playfully, muttering that you’re dramatic under her breath before she pulls her cigarette from you, taking in a drag.

“Satoru’s here, by the way,” Shoko didn’t need to look at you to guess the way your eyes snap towards her. She bites back a smile. “He’s calmed down. He’d even seem the same as long as you don’t squint too hard.”

“Good for him,” you mutter, trying to seem as unbothered and nonchalant as your accelerating heart rate would allow. You avoid looking at Shoko, trying to seem disinterested. You know she’d pretend you weren’t gawking at her the second she said his name.

“He’s trying, you know. He’s just as nervous as you are.”

“‘M not nervous,” you scoff, “For god’s sake. It’s been ten years already.”

Satoru is stressed. He's nervous, as Shoko put it. He’d spent so long trying to ignore the past, pretend the past wasn’t at all. He couldn’t confront it. He didn’t want to. Satoru knows what he’s done, he's aware that he hurt you the last time you two had interacted. And that was ten years ago. He even let you leave without so much as a goodbye. How could he look you in the eye and pretend nothing has ever happened?

Gojo didn’t want to face the consequences of what he’s done. More so what he hasn’t. So many things were left unsaid in the elevator that day. They’ve been hanging over Satoru ever since, weighing his heart down and wearing it out.

What if he’s met by another woman? Ten years change a lot as is. What if the eyes that meet his aren’t yours? What if he finds himself talking to a stranger that carries around your name and features? Of all the horrors Gojo Satoru had faced in his life, nothing caused dread to pool in the pit of his stomach like this thought does.

Shoko seems to find something beyond you interesting. You don’t bother to turn to see as the brunette has always been a little in her own head. She’s probably just dozed off.

“Hey, think you can hold this for me?” Shoko muttered once Gojo crossed her sight. She stands facing you, averting his gaze. “I’ll be right back, nature’s calling.”

From his distance, Gojo couldn’t make out what the two of you were saying. He watched as your shoulders shook, presumably in laughter. Shoko then made her away from you, barely sparing Satoru a glance.

Every step he took felt heavy, weights landing on his shoulders as he moved towards you. He watched smoke emerge from over your head. He didn’t know you smoked. And even though he’s not completely sure what you do for a living now, he’s not expecting any nursery to accept a smoker in their team.

His long strides finally arrived, opting to remain a step behind you. Close enough to make his presence known.

The aura was unmistakable, almost as if it could be physically sensed. You freeze in place, the cigarette remaining a few inches from your lips. Even after he changed his perfume to one a lot more manly and appealing, and clearly grew taller judging by the shadow he cast over you, his presence still had the same strength as it did before. If not stronger. Anyone else would say it’s intimidating. But you find surprising comfort in it.

“That’s going to kill you,” his hand  reached from over your head, making sure to not cause any unnecessary physical contact. His fingers slip the burning cigarette  from your grip. You find yourself unable to make a single move in response, only watching his actions unfold.

He took a step, moving closer, dimming the light from the roll by rubbing it against the metal bars, then throwing it off the balcony. “You’re too young to kill yourself like that.”

“That bitch Shoko set me up,” You hiss, regaining your composure. “Will you look who showed up. You’re killing the ecosystem by throwing waste like this, Gojo.”

Although you haven’t glanced his way yet, You were every bit sure his mouth was quirked in the same smug smirk he wore so much when you were younger. You could even hear it in his voice as he spoke, “You haven’t grown at all, have you?”

“Oh shut it,” you chuckle. “You’re still as immature as ever. How you could be a manchild at 27 is a wonder to me.”

27… It felt so weird to say it out loud. Weren’t you just 17 a few days ago?

“Oh, how you hurt me,” he says in exaggeration, his voice conveying anything but the hurt he claims to feel. “That isn’t very nice of you.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” You say. He laughs a little, you do too. But the silence that follows is not that of a joke. He knew what you’re referring to. Maybe he underestimated your last encounter’s effect on you.

The silence speaks for itself. It’s louder than any conversation you’ve had before. What now? What have we become? Is it of any use to try anymore? Neither of you had an answer to the question that began to surface with this interaction.

The questions remain hung in the air, dimming the atmosphere around you. Was this fate’s doing? Or his karma? Gojo has always been told he’s a god, but how could he be a higher form of life when he struggled so much to hold a conversation?

He’s about to speak again when you cut him off, muttering “here-” as you push your hand down the coat you wore. Your tongue pokes at the inside of your cheek as you search for the anonymous object.

You pull out a worn out paper, grown from what could have been a bright red to an orangish shade. His eyes study as you shove the paper in his  direction, eyes avoiding his gaze at all costs.

Seeing your bashful expression made him rather curious, the contents of the wrinkled paper piquing his interest. He hesitates before he pulls the paper from your hand, half-expecting you to bite him.

The letters were scribbles, almost like they’re straight out of some cult’s ritual,  that with the wrinkles of the worn out paper making reading it next to impossible. Still, he could make out just enough to realize what this paper is. His eyes widened behind the blindfold. It didn’t take much to remember this paper, trivial as it may be.

“You found this- how did you even…?” he trails off, confused.

“I guess I did,” You confirm. He’s unsure if you’re proud of yourself for your rather… interesting discovery. It’s bold of you to pull this out ten whole years later. But he can’t deny the relief he feels that at least this means you don’t completely hate him. For once, he’s truly at loss for words. 

But he wouldn’t let a perfect opportunity like this slide.

“Oh, so you’re in love with me? You’re so obsessed with me that you kept this for so many years, what a loyal fangirl.”

Before he knew it, a weight so crushing landed on his foot. He turned off his infinity around you as a sign of trust. But he soon came to regret his rather unsmart decision. Your foot stomped and crushed his toes. It makes him groan in pain, bending slightly forward.

“Tomorrow, at Narisawa in Minato city, 5:30. I’m leaving for Kyoto in 3 days. Don’t waste your chance again, Gojo Satoru. You’re not getting another one.”

“I take it you’ve been in love with me ever since?” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “Say, did you fascinate about me?”

“Hmm..” you hum softly at his childish question, “only a little.” You show no signs of interest in his tactics as you sipped the wine in your hand. Undeniably, Gojo is taken aback by your lack of reaction. He hasn’t known you to be so reserved and smart at keeping him on edge. He couldn’t help finding your new behavior enticing.

Is there anything else you’d like to have?” You nodded your head towards the plates sitting on the table, some empty and some half-full. “Or do you wanna do something else before I go back to the hotel?”

“Hmm? Maybe I could join you at the hotel, actually. Surely it’ll be a lot less lonely with me around?”

You’re tempted by his offer, feeling the heat pooling in your stomach. He looked strikingly handsome today. Maybe you were just really lonely and touch starved, or maybe it’s the way his lips quirk as he teases you that makes your brain a little hazy, inappropriate thoughts floating through it and send jolts to your core. Yet, you set your mind on refusing his advances. You haven’t had a decent conversation since high school, for god's sake.

He keeps his eyes set on you, shining before him. You looked glamorous. He’d lie if he said there wasn’t a certain allure to  your matured looks. The years that flew by changed a lot of things about you two, but his breath still catches in his throat when your eyes meet his dreamy blues. The feelings rush back, memories clouding his train of thought. 

He’s sure he’s going to pay. He didn’t mind it at all, what a small price for getting to spend an evening with you. But you surprise him when you bring up that you had already put your card down, courtesy of having been the one to ask him out. Or maybe this was your way of telling him that you are in pretty good condition, living perfectly well without needing sorcery.

“How’s working as a jujutsu teacher?” you quip, smiling softly. “Utahime says you’ve got some interesting kids in your pack? Two special grades, too. You’re sure a favorite attraction for wonders.”

“You’re still in contact with her too?” he dodges talking about his students, not meeting your gaze. “That’s ironic. Weren’t we friends too?”

A hoarse chuckle emerges from him. But nothing about it leads back to amusement, as it was a joyless sound devoid of life. Almost as if he were mocking you. The dark lenses of the shades sitting on the bridge of his nose served as a shield. He curses himself for being so weak. He's almost thirty but somehow you’ve got him acting like he did when he was 17. 

“You didn’t try to contact me either,” you shrug, not willing to take the blame for your lack of contact. 

“You could have visited then. Even Yaga talked about you every once in a while,” he isn’t too happy and it’s showing.

“All good things, I hope-“

“Don’t change the subject,” he frowns, an uneasy edge outlining his words. “He was enough. You didn’t have to go ahead and leave too.”

“I had to move on, Gojo,” the name felt like a jab every time you used it. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything about it. This is how you drew your boundaries. Calling them by their last names gives you a false sense of satisfaction, convincing yourself that your sorcerer friends are past figures now. Mere acquaintances. 

“-I couldn’t remain hung there forever, I valued my mental health. You grew distant, the atmosphere was growing uneasy every day. I had to cut ties with Jujutsu before I couldn’t recognize myself anymore.”

“Yet you’re here now. Back to square one,” his playful tone was long gone, now replaced by an even, stern one. “Whether you moved away or called us by our last names. It’s a curse you can’t escape. you’ll always end up back in the palms or jujutsu.”

His words held some truth. You know that. But just as he refused to confront this past, you repulsed the idea of your reality. You truly want to believe that you could escape this part of yourself and live a normal life. You couldn’t come to terms with your inability. You held onto your hopes as if your sanity completely depended on it. Another thing that won’t change no matter how much you grew.

“I'll be okay as long as I refuse to interact with this world.”

Once you leave the restaurant, you find yourself wandering through the rich streets of Minato city. It felt as though the night was pulling you further into its welcoming embrace, with nothing rushing you.

“He was only thirteen,” you chuckle, arm linked in his. “It’s unbelievable how bold kids nowadays are.”

“I would’ve done the same thing, honestly,” he smirks, his gaze fixed on the stores around.

“Of course. You’ve got the brains of a thirteen year old.”

Satoru grins at your remark, pulling you into a clothes store. 

“What’s this?” you look around in confusion, noting a woman in a suit welcoming you. The place looked a little too fancy, judging by the display of the items and the lighting of the place.

“It’s a western brand,” Satoru answers. Looking over at him, you can’t help but smile a little. He looks good tonight. His fancy outfit gave the impression that he’s a model to strangers. “Louis Vuitton, I think,” He furrows his brows, trying to remember the name of the brand stores he’s been to with Nobara and Shoko.

“Prada, sir,” The lady in a suit corrected him. “Can I help you?”

“We’re just browsing, thank you.” It’s a phrase he heard from Kugisaki countless times whenever they wandered into a store. His response makes you chuckle, watching as the lady takes a few steps backwards politely.

You’re soon comfortable, searching through the expensive coats and bags. Satoru watched tenderly. Even though the ten years that passed with no contact whatsoever definitely propose a wall between you, he's glad you're able to feel free. You might nit on the same page, but you two can work with what you have.

You stride back to the “S” shaped velvet couch sat in the middle of the checker-carpet store, where Satoru sat. But he was nowhere to be seen.

You walk around in hesitance and confusion, completely aware of the lady walking always a few feet behind you. Surveillance, you guess.

You find him standing in front of the white counter, taking a black bag with the brand’s name printed onto it in golden letters from the man standing behind the counter in a white shirt with the brand's logo on it.

“Gojo,” you call him, confusion fused into your expression.

He extends his arm to you, trying to suppress any sourness at you calling him Gojo. “Let’s go?”

You nod, eyeing him suspiciously before you link your arm in his. You make sure to flash a grateful smile at the woman by the door as you walk past the reflective glass door.

You almost forgot how busy the world outside is. It felt as though the glass building of the store was sound proof. Now you have to adjust to the noise of the full streets again.

Satoru remains silent for the most part. It’s not awkward, rather just neither of you knew what to say. He expected you to ask about what he bought, which you have considered. You decide against it though as you feel it’s none of your business. You’re not too surprised anyway as Gojo has always been a wealthy man. He could buy the entire Prada chain with half of his monthly spending.

“What do you wanna do now?” He asks. “Wanna go somewhere else?”

You think about going to the club to give the night the best closure. But neither of you were dressed for it anyway. You contemplate your choices. Then you grin at him, and Satoru knows it’s best to fear what comes after

You’re well aware that he has a high alcohol tolerance. While you would be wasted a few shots in. Yet you consumed so many drinks recklessly, thinking that maybe you could beat him in a drinking game.

That’s why he’s stuck to your side now, helping your sleeping body out of his car. Satoru is glad your hotel card was so easy to find in your purse, taking it out as he gets into the lobby.

A few people eye the man, glaring at him and at the way he held you in his arms. But he couldn’t bring himself to think too much about it. His mission is to get you to bed now.

“Satoruuu~” You whine, rubbing your face into the pillow once he sat you on the white bedding. “Stay with meeee”

And Satoru is nothing if not human. Despite what everyone else says. It’s proven now that he had come to face a human flaw like this. He is weak, and you are all but practically seducing him.

“Stop crying,” He mutters. He finds himself smiling sheepishly at the unlikely scenario he found himself in. Tucking you in bed, your face hot due to the drinks you had. He really should have stopped you. “I’ll stay the night, so sleep already.”

He convinced himself it’s for the best. He should watch over you for tonight. No funny business. Deep inside he knew he was just finding a reason— any reason to stay around you for a little longer, heart yearning for the lost years. But he ignored the pathetic feeling, convincing himself it’s for your sake instead.

“But I’m uncomfortableee,” you whine again, hands running down your body. “The dress...”

Did you have to make it so hard on him? Satoru is tempted to kiss you, eyebrows knitted in the space between, eyes looking around the room for any sort of aid.

This is probably a form of invading your privacy, but he sees no other choice. He’ll have to hold it together for tonight.

“nngh..”

Your groan came with an impending headache. Your body moves against the rich covers of the bed, sunlight illuminating your physique.

He stopped in his tracks, feet bare against the gray carpet.

Your form is beautiful, one to compete with statues of goddesses. The rays of light complimented every inch of skin in all the right ways. Satoru had to physically shake his head to stop the flowing perverted thoughts in his head.

Your flinch when you catch him standing near the door, heart beating slightly faster. You thought that you’re alone. You don’t think much of it anyway, muttering a “holy shit” under your breath.

“Good morning,” he casually greets, brushing off the mutual shock, albeit for different reasons. “I made coffee, if you wanted some.”

“Oh... thank you,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes as you sit up straight. “Did you eat anything yet?”

“Not yet, no,”  he says, holding his overly sweet coffee in both palms. “Thought I’d wait until you woke up.”

“You’re a real sweetheart, Satoru,” you yawn. His name slipped past your lips before you could stop it. You busy yourself with stretching your arms. “What a doting housewife God has blessed me with”

His response is only a chuckle, rolling his eyes as he sighs on the edge of the bed. “Well, at least I wasn’t begging a man to spend the night with me”

“Huh?”

You couldn’t remember anything of the prior night. Nothing that occurred after you sat at the bar, specifically. But then you begin to realize, eyes widening at the revelation. You feel dreadfulness landing in the pit of your stomach a little too late. 

He’s shirtless, wearing only his suit pants. And even though you wouldn’t mind the sight any other day, the fact that you are in your pajamas isn’t helping at all.

“Did we...” You trail off, expression darkening. Your eyes meet his own, fear implanted in your pupils. You watch as his expression drifts from confusion to an awkward hesitance. Unsure how to break the news to you.

You don’t know what to expect, not realizing you’re holding your breath. 

“I-I’m sorry,” He sighs, gaze faltering as his eyes look away from you. Your eyes widen further, oxygen becoming hard to consume.

What have you done?

“But- don’t worry. You know I’m not some asshole...” if anything, he sounded chivalrous. “I-I’ll be accountable for my mistake. When do you want to hold the wedding?”

You gasp, face feeling hot. “You piece of shit-“ You groan as your foot reaches him, forcefully pushing him off the bed. “As if!”

He breaks into a fit of laughter, the sound full of genuine delight. “I can’t believe you fell for it,” He manages between the laughter.

“Fuck you, Satoru,” you mutter, a smile of relief breaking across your face. “I can’t believe you pulled something so childish.”

“Why are you so down?” He climbed back onto the bed, reclaiming his spot on the edge. “Are you disappointed? You know it’s never too late to just as-“

“Fuck off,” Your heart is pounding as you send him another kick, less forceful this time. “Say one more word about it and I’ll make sure you don’t make it out of this room in one piece.”

He laughs, asking you to pass his coffee. You reach for his coffee from the bedside table. Your fingers lift the glass mug to your lips, sipping at the hot beverage before handing it to him.

Your face scrunches up at the horrible taste. Too much sugar. Too much milk. It’s a lot worse than you might think.

“Your coffee should be criminal,” you push the mug his way, frowning. Satoru hums in response. 

There’s no awkwardness between the two of you, and he can’t help but cherish it. He feels content, enough to sit a little closer, at least.

Enough to lean in towards you, mouth closing over yours in an ever awaited kiss, at least.

[cherepizza]

Wow it's been more than a month. Didn't realize that. I guess I have something to show but uhh my sketchbook got under heavy rain so paper here it's a little wavy. It's a miracle it had so little damage considering what happened to my other stuff. Also nights proceed to get longer and I wasn't lucky to take better photos. Anyway..

All beacons' religions are based on mythology and existence of numerous gods and spirits inhabiting the world. The closest thing they have to monotheism is a religion formed around the existence of a transcendent all-present force (spirit) which, however, cannot perceive the world and interact with it by itself, only being able to do so by splitting itself into many different "sides". Only sides are able to maintain physical bodies and though they all come from the same source and it the end would become one again, they are treated as completely different entities. There're 8 major sides – 8 major gods, other deities are considered lesser. Aand I'll just leave it there because I'd better wait for the time I have a fine picture depicting gods to have at least something accompany a ton of sentences that would come describing them.

Many religions practices and ceremonies are performed at altars. The most simple home altar is a wooden table, low enough so that a beacon would have to kneel down to perform any ritual. The most common offering is food, other offerings include things associated with a specific god. Watered down alcohol may be poured only on certain celebrations. It's a very uncommon practice and in some households it's not allowed and has to be done secretly. After all, you want your gods to be sober to do their duty.

Living creatures sacrifices are also practiced, but sacrificing other beacons is forbidden (at least on the territory of the forementioned "all comes from one spirit" believers). Animals cannot be sacrificed on wooden altars and it's quite rare for a beacon to a have a stone one at home, so cooking and eating a designated animal or specific parts of it (obviously offering a piece to the gods in the process) on a celebration is usually enough.

An interesting religious thing are these sticks made from wood or bone, always coming in number of 8. If their owner didn't make them themselves, they may have some standard decorations and phrases pre-carved but most part of their sides would always remain empty for the owner to fill. Each stick is devoted to one of the major gods and contains an encarved list of things which a beacon wants to ask for from the deity. An altar is not needed when you have sticks but you should still make an offering if possible.

The sticks also serve as some sort of passport as encarvings may contain information about beacon's place of birth, place of work, profession, number of children and other things like the kind of crop their village grows even if the owner has nothing to do with farming but wants the crop to be protected anyway.

All stick sets are personal and follow their owner to the grave. However, taking copies is not frowned upon. Keeping the original set for yourself and leaving a copy with the deseased is also fine but the ritual of changing sets should be performed by close relatives who wish to keep the original sticks as a memory. Otherwise it might be considered disrespectful.

[iamasaddie]

one more night in Dorne

paring: Oberyn Martell x fem!afab!Reader rating: explicit word count: 1,6k summary: when the Prince came back from his trip overseas, he went straight to the thing he desired most warnings: explicit sexual content; extreme overstimulation; oral F receiving; begging (to stop but you don't really want that); NO USE OF Y/N

Arabian Nights

Like Arabian Days

More often than not

Are hotter than hot

In a lot of good ways

Your body was splayed upon a massive bed covered in the softest silks, and the most magnificent blankets. The thin, almost transparent fabric of the canopy moved with the occasional breath of wind. Heat overwhelmed your body, sun found a way to seep under your skin and travel down your veins even when you were in the shelter of one of the most lavish rooms of the palace. Tired muscles of your quivering thighs were covered in sweat, while your eyelids could barely contain the salty rivers of tears that desired to escape your eyes.

You were in the gentle, but firm clutches of your Prince, Oberyn Martell. The Red Viper. The Insatiable Lover. The Best Cock in All of The Seven Seas. Your royal lover found you first thing when he returned from one of his trips his brother sent him to. You were just finishing cleaning up the kitchens, sweat and grime unpleasantly sticking to you as a middle layer between your skin and the billowy tunic you wore on the particularly hot days. You jumped and were ready to scream when strong hands circled your waist, one strategically going to shut your mouth so you couldn't make a noise, and a low, honey-thick sound of his voice filled your ears. "I think these kitchens look as clean as my dear brother's ass on a wash day. You're done here, my little one."

You didn't reply, and didn't try to fight him when he practically dragged you to his chambers through all the tiny corridors that intertwined like ivy vines. From what you could say, that was 4 hours ago. Sometimes your Prince liked to fool around, play the game of cat and mouse, teasing you to the point where you'd cry out of frustration praying to all the Gods, old and new, so he would just take you already. Today was not that day. As soon as he locked the massive wooden doors - something he didn't do all that often - Oberyn launched himself at you, claiming your mouth and then laying you on the bed. It wasn’t the first time you found yourself between the silken sheets of the man that unknowingly stole your heart but every time it was a thrill. You never knew what would happen, but you were ready to let him do anything his heart, mind, and cock desired. The only thing you were afraid of was that your body was too weak to handle all the strength of his undying passion.

By now you felt as if you were being flayed alive, your body shivered violently, exhausted from pleasure he insisted to give you with his mouth. He loved doing that, usually bringing you to at least one peak before claiming your cunt with his cock (you still gasped every time he slid inside you like you did that first time, when he took everything you begged him to take). Today was different, though. You came four times already, but still he wasn’t moving away. He was growling into your cunt like an animal, the hot swipes of his tongue persistent and insatiable. You’d lost count of the times you tried to pull on his short hair. In your attempts to get him to stop the unstoppable caresses of his tongue, you begged him to just fuck you, moaning how empty you felt without his gorgeous cock, but he didn’t even bother to answer you. Oberyn continued relentlessly abusing your raw flesh, letting his fingers slide inside you from time to time when you were thrashing in ecstasy.

“My Prince, I beg of you. I am going to die. I can’t take it anymore.” You prayed he’d stop, even though the tiniest part of you hoped he’d ignore you once again, and continue using your willing body for his pleasure. “Don’t you want to fuck me? Don’t you want to slide your cock in me? Or am I not worthy of your cock anymore?”

He unlatched his lips from your swollen cunt, showing you his pristine mustache covered in your cum and arousal, and smiled the most innocent of smiles. “Oh, my dear little serpent, don’t be so foolish. You know I want that." Giving you some reprieve from his mouth he still didn't let you relax, tracing his index finger up and down your swollen, drenched lips. "There’s nothing more divine in this world or any other than the feeling of my cock piercing your wet cunt, like the sun piercing the sky. But I have been thirsty for so long that I can’t refuse myself a generous fill of your nectar.”

Your lips trembled, eyes spilling tears shamelessly. He was stubborn, your Prince. You joked once that one day it would get him killed. Maybe it'd kill you first, though.

“My Prince, I can’t take it anymore," you shook your head, calling to his senses. "I don’t think there’s any more liquid left in me.”

Oberyn tsk'd and brought his lips to your skin, and you jolted a little, almost afraid of his touch. He chuckled lovingly, murmuring in your thigh.

“But if there wasn’t, you wouldn’t be wetting these beautiful silks.”

Your whine was pained and pleasured at the same time when he swiped his fingers through your slit, gathering the embarrassing amount of your slick and showing you his glistening fingers as to prove his point. You closed your eyes, unable to continue looking at the still prominent hunger in his eyes as he licked his fingers clean. 

“Give me one more," he whispered, but it didn't sound like a plea, more like an order he loved giving out. "And then I’ll bring you as many glasses of your favorite Dornish wine as you can drink.”

You snapped your eyes open incredulously. As if you'd sell your cunt for a glass of wine, even the best wine in the world. “You'd only bring me wine because you want to torture my cunt with your devilish tongue again. And you need me full of liquids for that.”

He laughed and you couldn't stop from letting out the same joyful sounds yourself. You loved that man, and even though he didn't know that, it didn't take away from your feelings. His smile nurtured you, the way his eyes roamed your body made you feel like the prettiest creature among the gods and mortals. And when he laughed, you felt ready to sacrifice not only part of your body but your whole being to hear that again.

“You knew how selfish I was when you laid your generous body on the Prince’s bed, little snake. Do not become greedy on me now.” He bit the place on your thigh that he was just kissing, leaving the perfect mark of his teeth that you knew you'd treasure and caress when left alone for the dozenth time. “Will you spread your legs or should we find use of those beautiful ropes?”

You smiled at him, your face a bit tired but accepting and grateful for your fate. With barely working fingers you reached out and traced his big aquiline nose, that made his profile more royal than his heritage did. You stopped on his lips and he kissed your fingertips as you just stared in the depth of his eyes. “You know I will do anything for you, my Prince.”

“I know, serpent.” He licked and kissed the bite mark he left on your skin, slowly returning to the place that was burning both from being used and the desire to be used again.

He must have found some empathy inside himself, because this time he wasn't as violent in his movements. His tongue was flat as he swiped it from your entrance and to the top of your mound, either preparing you, or trying to get all of your tastes trapped inside his mouth. The broad licks were exchanged for a more passionate lapping at your entrance, as he curled his arms beneath your legs, pressing you closer into his face. With every thrust of his slick muscle inside your entrance you felt the now familiar burn of desire. With each orgasm he gave you it was easier and easier to bring you to another peak. 

This time, as soon as the tip of his nose bumped your twitching bud of pleasure, your back arched as a sea wave during the strongest of storms. Your moan was hoarse and loud, throat parched and almost as abused as your cunt.

You knew he'd say something about you sounding prettier than the most talented musician in all the lands, if only he wasn't so consumed by licking, smelling, and drinking you up.

Blackness creeped at you from the corners of your eyes, and you squeezed them shut, adding bright colors to the mix. Oberyn's tongue started speeding up returning to your clit and circling the bud with tight movements. He growled in your cunt as he felt your thighs squeezing around his head, deafening him in the most erotic of acts. The vibrations he sent through your sensitive skin and straight to your core were the final straw of not only your sanity, but your conciseness. Your scream was violent, and your back arched so hard that on the periphery of your mind you thought you'd broken your bones. You felt thoughts and senses leaving your body with every drop of liquid squirting out of your core and into your Prince's greedy mouth. You smiled, thanking Gods and your lover for releasing you from the torturous feeling of being awake as your mind drifted into euphoric blackness.

“Oh, well,” Oberyn's eyes were darker than a starless night, puffy red lips curved in a satisfied smirk. Licking his own swollen and sensitive flesh he caressed your sweaty thighs with a gentle touch, not taking his eyes off your rising and falling chest. “Someone leaving the feast is not a reason to stop it.”  The prince whispered to himself, before disappearing between your thighs once again.

________________

hope you enjoyed it, leave a comment if you did!

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tag list (bc you looked interested in the comments <3 sorry if u didn’t want to be here lol): @bearsbeetsbeskar ; @northernwindd ; @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog ; @milla-frenchy ; @worhols ; @djarin-dreams ; @hellishjoel ; @jupiter-soups ; @pattwtf ; @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin ; @wannab-urs ; @ghoulettesinspace

[zombholic]

𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏

“who the fuck moves to tennessee dad!” you threw your hands to your head while having a heated argument with your father.

he said something about his business booming if they moved over there, how he’d be making twice as much as his regular income.

but next thing you knew you were unloading boxes upon boxes into your farm house that was beautifully remodeled you can even say. you chose the room with a gorgeous bay window that showed the entire farm from the backyard, you can say this is the whitest thing you dad ever decided.

after a couple of weeks of still getting settled into your new home, the only neighbor you had being at least three miles away. your dad had hired some help with the farm, he was eager to make it into something beautiful, he was having them buy all sorts of crops and farm animals. yeah, you like animals but if a chicken chased you, you are running for you damn life.

“y/n, come here real quick!” you slipped on your fluffy little slides and made your way downstairs to see your dad sitting down with a couple other people, he made them something to snack on in the meanwhile.

“yeah?” you sat on the arm of the coach “these are our farmers, they’re gonna be here for a very long time so introduce yourself now because they’re gonna become family real soon” he chuckled, you got up and shake their hands, your eyes getting caught on the muscular blonde with a long braided ponytail, her blue eyes and freckled face could’ve ended you right there until you noticed her arms.

“uh.. i’m y/n but you guys can call me y/nn if you want” your handshake with the girl lasting a little longer “well of course miss y/n, it’s great to meet you, my names abby!” a strong southern accent slipped from her lips.

—

every time your dad left for work you took the opportunity to blast music from you room, the songs slipped through the little cracks in the wooden house enough for the farmers to hear. you noticed today was a little hotter than other day so you decided to be a good little help and bring them sandwiches you made with something to drink.

walking outside over to the guys you thanked them for their help and handed them the snack, you couldn’t seem to find abby until you heard noise coming from the stables, entering it you swore you could’ve passed out at the sight of her. the sleeves to her button up rolled up to show off her veiny arms, sweat seeping through, strands of her hair sticking to her face. she was loading hay bells on top of each other, she noticed your presence after you staring at her with goo-goo eyes.

“hey ms. y/n, can i help you with anythin’?” she took her gloves off tucking them into her back pocket, wipes the sweat off her face with her arm, breathing heavily from the labor.

“i um made you a sandwich, you guys deserve a break” you gave her a shy smile before handing her the sandwich and cold water bottle “that’s so sweet of you hun, thank you” she took them from your smaller hands, gulping down the water bottle within seconds. “oh um, did you want another one?” you didn’t it was humanly possible to drink water that fast.

“no no, it’s all good miss, thank you s’much” god you couldn’t get enough of that accent of hers, “did you need help? i can help load them” you walked in front of her and tried to pick up one of the hay bells before miserably putting it back on the ground “no, don’t hurt yourself miss, they’re too heavy” it seemed almost like an insult, you can do heavy lifting as well.

“i can help around my farm as well abby, see” you finally lifted the hay, struggling very very badly to put it on the other ones “if you want to help, miss, you can pick those pretty little flowers” she grabbed the hay bell from you and settled it down “i don’t want your pretty little hands getting all rough n calloused like mine” she threw her gloves back on.

“i can do that” you went over to the small garden that growing the prettiest flowers, getting on your knees you slowly started picking the ones that you thought were pretty, you screamed bloody murder when you saw a little snake in between the flowers, jolting up and running away from it before hitting into something hard.

“oh god miss, what? what happened?” she held your arms with a very concerned look “abby there’s, oh fuck” you coughed a little, hiding your face in her chest unintentionally, you had the worst fear of snakes, didn’t matter how big or small they were, they scared you to death “what? miss? wheres what?” she noticed your distress and rubbed her hands on back “there’s a snake in the flowers, ohmygod im gonna pass out.”

abby had you sit down on the bench near the stable, your knees tucked against your knees as you were afraid of anything else showing up, she bent down and easily grabbed the little snake, a laugh erupting from her “you were scared of this little fella?” she looked over at you, you were tense by seeing her holding that thing.

“yes! please put it away somewhere far!” anyone else would’ve said you were overreacting but a phobia is a phobia.

she came back over to you with the softest smile “let’s get you back inside miss, don’t need you gettin’ a heart attack” she halfheartedly joked, agreeing with her you slowly and carefully walked back inside your house, abby following closely behind you like a bodyguard. turning around went you reached your back door you gave her an embarrassed look.

“i must’ve look so stupid to you, city girl comes to the country and screams at the first thing she sees outside” your comment earned a laugh from her “i can’t blame you miss but i grew up in this area so i’ve seen everything you can think of.” you smiled at her, giving her a small thank you before walking inside.

AUTHORS NOTE: ima drag tf outta this series yall!!

[billskeis]

PLEASE DO ANOTHER POLICE OFFICER! BILL SMUT PLSLSLPLSSLPLSPSLPSLSLPSLPSLPLPSLPLS

ᡣ𐭩 police officer bill p2

now what the fuck did you get yourself into? because there you sat in the interrogation chair, facing the one and last person you wanted to see. sat straight and tall, tapping one of his fingers on the wooden desk of his office, staring at you like some animal. licking your dry lips, you are met face to face with the officer who fucked you silly.

bill kaulitz was his name, and on your last endeavour, he had caught you.. which ended with the both of you encountering some, quite indecent acts that following night. now, he had warned you about committing crimes again, and what would happen if you did.

but maybe you wanted this, maybe you wanted him to fuck you silly, brain so numb all you can think of is how his dick drills into your sore pussy. you miss that feeling, the feeling of fullness. the feeling of his cock all the way in your stomach as he brings a hand to choke your neck.

“dollface, did you hear anything i said?” a voice breaks your consciousness as you jolt within your seat. clearing your throat, you pretend you were paying attention to whatever the fuck he was just saying earlier. “of course i was!”

he hums in disapproval. uh oh. getting up from his seat, he leans over his desk to hover over you who’s sitting down, hands restrained together by the uncomfortable clasp of metal around your wrists. using his thumb and his index finger, he holds your chin making you look directly at him. eyelids lowered, he has this primal gaze that almost has your knees buckling.

“i don’t think you understand the current situation you’re in, dollface..” you swallow hard, damn. did he have to say it in such a dark tone? moving away from the desk, he circles around it’s peripheral, finding his way behind you. he presses his crotch against your backside, clearly hard. dumb little you would’ve thought it was a gun again.

papers and files were pushed off the table, and there you were, bent over officer kaulitz’s desk as he fucks into you for being such a bad girl. clawing at the wood, you attempt to stabilize yourself on the furniture as it shakes and lean with every thrust. his cock throbs inside of you with every moan and whimper that slips out of your mouth.

“b-bill..” “that’s sir, to you,” you bite your bottom lip to stifle a moan as he pumps himself within you, heavy balls smacking against your ass as he relentlessly moves his hips. “s—ah—s-sir.. n’more..” a low chuckle heard from behind you as a harsh smack lands on your behind, a yelp escaping your lips.

“u-ugh.. been such a bad girl.. i literally fucked you the other day, was that not enough for ya?” tears fill your eyes. your cunt hurts from the way he pounds into you, and it doesn’t help that you guys just had sex not too long ago. god wasn’t nice enough to let you successfully escape from your heist, a limp to your walk. now you’d need a wheelchair.

you sob at how thick he fills your pussy, angling his hips to continuously abuse your g spot as the creak of a table and sticky wet squelching echoes through his office. “y-you don’t understand.. i—mmh! needed the m-money.. hahh..” “yeah? then lemme help you out.”

frowning, you couldn’t ask him to do that. what the hell was his problem? a police officer helping a felony? it sounded almost insane but the way he latches his fingers to circle on your clit as he pistons his hips fucking into yours made him sound a smidge more genuine.

“f-fuck!! ‘m gonna cum soon..” “so is that a yes?” you look back at bill, whose hips still for a moment as he awaits your answer. averting your gaze, you face flushes as he can only look down at you with a smirk, “i-i’ll think about it..”

another slap lands on your ass, quivering you gasp in disbelief at the sudden movement of bill. he only looks at you, pursing his lips together as he begins moving again, your cunt walls shaping to fit him better inside of you, “guess yer gunna need a lil’ more convincing, hm?”

a heat firing in your belly as he pounds into you. your pussy sounds filthy, wet and squishy as bill plunges his cock into you with no intentions to stop. you clench around him, close, and without your words bill can see as how fast your orgasm is to come, even making an effort to fuck your hips back onto his.

scoffing, bill can only pull himself out of you, juices leaking out and an empty, unsatisfying feeling flurries within your cunt. “w-wha.. why’d you stop?” “ohoh, look at you all desperate to come now, little slut wants this dick but doesn’t even want my help.” your chest feels heavy, cunt even heavier with need.

“y’know i can’t ask you for that..” “you’re not asking doll.. i’m offering.” he turns your body around to face his and cups a hand around your cheek, stroking away the sweat and tears with his thumb as he places a kiss to your forehead, “s’what is it gunna be? gunna let me help ya? if not, you can leave right now.”

you whine, reaching a hand out to his lower groin, bill quickly swatting your hand away. “‘m serious, y/n.” as you look him up and down, you can’t help but think. it is a pretty good offer, what is there to lose? “o-okay.. i’ll let you help me.”

a smile forms on bill’s lips as he gropes one of your breasts in his hand, thumbing over sensitive bud, “atta girl… whaddya say?” both hands now grasping each of your tips, fondling with the flesh, “t-thank you..” he shakes his head at you, sighing, letting out a little gasp in all of your forgetfulness, “thank you, sir..”

“that’s more like it,” as he pushes himself back into your needy cunt, fucking nice and deep into your cervix.

i absolutely fucking hate this im so sorry T_T

[serenecypher]

Bangtan Host Club Chapter One

Genre: BTS Ot7xf!Reader, Poly!AU, Fluff, Romance, Crack-ish, Eventual Smut.

W/C: 2600

Summary: Tired of your boring mundane life? Become an exclusive member of The Bangtan Host Club™ today and let 7 charming men help you out.

Warnings: This chapter is rated PG13, but future chapters may include Mature Themes.

Disclaimer: Please do not copy/translate or cross-post my work. The tag list is open. just DM or send an ask to be included.

A/N: Here is the first chapter for Bangtan Host Club! Hope you enjoy it. Send me any feedback you have, it would be greatly appreciated. Also, as I said before, the characters of the boys are inspired by the manga and anime Ouran High School Host Club. If you haven't seen it, please watch it. Make your guesses on who plays who in the replies lol

If we are all being honest, you are going through it. 

Chapter 1 >> Chapter 2

You’ve spent the last two hours trudging across the same corridor, smelling the clinical scent of the same floor disinfectant that is starting to make your nose itch, waiting for this damned locksmith to show up. You have managed to lock yourself out of your apartment that you moved in about two weeks ago, by the way, and as your landlord has so kindly bestowed upon you the singular contact, called the locksmith about three times.

There is only one other apartment on your floor and your sweet old lady neighbor has gone to the countryside to live with her grandson for the month, leaving you all on your own. Your day had been exhausting at work already and you had put all your hopes into getting home and numbing the pain away with takeout and binge-watching. You clutch your phone tighter in your hand and decide that this is going to be it. You are going to call the locksmith, and you are going to complain, and they are going to listen and come help you in the next ten minutes. The steps are all clear, so you dial the number again.

It's picked up on the fourth ring. “Hello?” the same gruff voice you’d talked to thirty minutes ago answers.

“Uh, Hi, I had called earlier, about losing my apartment key? Mr. Choi’s building?”, you rush out the words as fast as possible. 

“Oh yeah, someone will be there with you shortly.”, the man replies, you distinctly hear the sound of a baseball game in the background. The man gulps something on the other end and mutters, “You need to relax a little, lady. There is no need to get your panties all up in a bunch, have patience.” He burps and the line disconnects.

“Motherf-”, you whisper to no one but yourself. Did this random guy just try to “little girl” you? What has the world come to? Who talks to other people like that? Isn’t he supposed to be doing a service for you? All men have, is the audacity. This world is a rotten cesspool filled with misogynists and bigots and- oh my god you need a coffee. Right now. 

So you decide to do that, any potential help arriving to get your door opened be damned. You have waited for them to show up for hours, they can wait for a few minutes for you. You make your way down the two flights of stairs and walk out of the building. There is a cafe on this block you haven’t had the time to check out yet and every time you walked past it on your daily morning commute, it was always closed. You make your way to the cafe, bracing yourself against the cool fall wind by pulling your coat closer. 

As you approach the entrance of the cafe, it looks pretty standard. You see a beautiful wooden carved sign that indicates the cafe is open. You push open the door and the sweet aroma of roasted coffee beans and baked items engulfs you like a warm blanket. You look around to see the cafe looks much more posh on the inside than you expected it to be. 

The walls are painted pink, some covered by ceiling-length artsy mirrors. There are a few round tables on the checkered tiled floor, with inviting plush chairs and a flower vase each as the centerpiece. From the ceiling hang off a few ambient lights and ceiling flowers in pink, white, and lilac, making the entire aesthetic of the interior pretty and bright. Some plants that look well taken care of and books on a few shelves, stacked neatly. 

“Are you waiting for me to walk you in, beautiful?” a man’s voice spoke from beside you, pulling you out of your daze. You turn around and face the source of the voice with a stern gaze only to be met with the face of the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on. You open your mouth and close it right back up again as you stare at him. He isn’t just pretty, this man is gorgeous… like ‘I should only exist on the pages of a fashion magazine’ gorgeous. He gives you a dazzling smile and extends his hand for yours, bowing slightly to you.

“Ah! I haven’t even introduced myself to you. That’s on me. I am Kim Seokjin. It would be my pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am the owner of this cafe.” Seokjin, as you’ve learned, looks at you expectantly, his smile not falling once. 

You give him your name and manage to put your hand in front of you. He promptly takes it in his and raises it to his pillowy lips, brushing them on your knuckles with a soft brush. “You have such a sweet name,” he speaks against your knuckles, and looks up to meet your eyes to add, “I feel like I could say it all my life.”

This guy is throwing you for a loop. He is too good-looking and by the looks of what he is wearing, too expensive and- why can’t you seem to look away from his eyes? That thought is enough to bring you back to your surroundings as you feel heat rush up your face. “I wanted a coffee.” You sound dumb even in your head but Seokjin only smiles at you.

“Of course, pretty. Here, let me help with your coat.” Seokjin moves behind you, gently pulling your coat off of you with a hum. Your eyes wander towards the register area of the cafe and lock with the barista behind the counter. He gives you a smile and you can hear violins playing in the background. 

“Feel free to walk in, I will just put your coat away and join you in no time.” Seokjin speaks from beside you, and you nod as you step in and towards the cute barista. His smile widens and it looks like the world’s worth of warmth is on his face. 

“Hi there! What can I get for you?” he asks you, placing his palms on the counter and leaning in. “I am hoping you like sweets so that we can share some.” his giggles punctuate the end of his sentence as he wiggles his eyebrows at you. 

“Um, what do you recommend…?” 

“Hoseok. It’s my name.” he looks at you through his lashes. You feel like you can see his eyes sparkling. A moment of silence passes between you before he is bouncing on his heels and snickering at you. “You are so cute! I am not saying I am the recommendation, silly! I am just giving you my name so I can have yours. We are going to be friends, right?”

You find yourself grinning and nodding as you tell him your name. His face lights up even further if that is even possible, and he recommends to you the name of a few drinks and even more sweet baked goods. He is giggling with you when he scribbles your order in his notepad and adds little doodles around the words. You spy little stars and smiley faces that fill the cover of his tiny notepad. 

“You should go sit, I will send someone with the order to you. Then we can share something and play together!” Hoseok points you in the direction of a table as he is skipping toward a door behind him, which you assume is the kitchen. You turn and walk to the nearest table to take a seat.

You notice there is a little metallic card holder next to the flower vase on the table. You pick it up to inspect it. It's a tiny welcome menu for the cafe, which is not a card but a small flip book. When you turn it over on the front, it reads “Bangtan Host Club™”. Curiously, you flip through the contents of the pages and you notice there are pictures of Hoeseok and Seokjin on the inside along with a small paragraph about their interests. 

That’s strange. Why are the employees’ personalities displayed in such a way? Sure, some places do ‘employee of the month’ type events but this seems like an exaggeration. Maybe this place just does them this way. Still, it feels pretty random to you. 

“Do you like one of us?” A snicker breaks you out of your engrossment. You blink up as a chair quickly scrapes the floor next to you on your left.

“She doesn’t have to pick one of us. She can have more, right, pretty girl?” A voice from the seat chimes in. You whip your head towards it and come face to face with a man with the face of an angel but a smile that tells more about him than it should. You hear the chair on your right scraping the floor next and you turn your head just in time to see a second beautiful man sitting in it with his chest pressed to the back and his legs spread on either side of the chair. He looks into your eyes and a playful smile plays on his lips.

When your eyes linger on him too long, you are met with a complaint. “Stop hogging all of her attention, Hyung! I wanna talk to her too!” You turn your head back to your left and see the man from before, now leaning his elbow on the table and resting his temple on his knuckles. He smiles at you when you turn and he looks an awfully lot like a bunny. “I am Jungkook. He is Taehyung. Now you have to tell us your name.” He lifts an eyebrow at you, tilting his chin down with a grin.  

Taehyung pushes a loose strand of your hair behind your ear when you tell them your name to get you to look at him. When you turn to face him you notice he is leaning in closer to you than before. He simply smiles at you as you feel goosebumps ignite on the back of your neck and arms. “Sensitive, huh?” Taehyung teases as his tongue peeks out of his mouth subtly but enough to pull your attention to his soft lips. 

“She is! She is so shy too. Why don’t you talk to us…?” Jungkook draws out his sentence as you feel him leaning into your left side. If you keep turning your head between the both of them like this, you are surely going to get whiplash but you can’t help it when Jungkook is tracing a finger on your arm where the goosebumps are as if he can sense them under the material of your shirt. 

“Wh-what is going on?” you ask, confused beyond belief at the stuttering of your heart in your chest. 

“Tae, Jungkook, give the girl some room to breathe, please.” A soft voice breaks you out of whatever spell those two had you under. A new person walks around to sit across the table from you. He is so elegant in his movements that you are instantly captivated by him and then he gives you a soft smile that makes his eyes turn into little crescent moons. “Sorry about them, they get carried away sometimes. My name is Jimin. It’s so nice to meet you.”

You feel an air of relief flood your veins at his comforting smile and the way he looks at you so earnestly. You give him a shaky smile. “It's nothing. I am just a little confused.”

“Hyung, I can't believe that you, of all people, are doing this right now. You broke all of the tension we created with her and now she is just confused and not charmed like she is supposed to be.” Jungkook pouted at Jimin with Taehyung nodding vehemently in agreement. 

“If she is confused, what are you charming her for? Just give her some space to be comfortable.” Jimin says with a sense of compassion for you and brings his warm gaze back to you. “Did you order a drink yet? Want me to get you the menu?”

As if right on cue, the door from the kitchen swings open, harder than probably necessary, and a man holding a tray of your order walks out. He is tall, well-built, has a strong gaze, and is absolutely beautiful. He places your order in front of you gently and gives you a nod. 

“Thank you.” You smile at him and he returns yours with one of his own. You notice he has dimples. It makes your damn heart swoon. Then he turns his attention to Taehyung and Jungkook and reaches down to pull the chairs they are sitting on just a little bit away from you like it was nothing to him. 

“Thanks, Namjoon Hyung. I would do that too if I could.” Jimin nods appreciatively at him which is returned in kind with a nod and a gentle smile. 

“What we all should be grateful for is that Namjoon Hyung didn’t pull her whole chair up in the air like that one time with Hobi Hyung.” Taehyung chides which is instantly met with a stern gaze by both Namjoon and Jimin.

“Ugh, who cares about all of that.” Jungkook intervenes and focuses back on you. “I have never seen you before. What brings you here?” he adds and brings the attention of the other three back on you as well.

“I am locked out of my apartment and the locksmith won’t show up. I live on this block. Mr. Choi’s building?” You reply and it surprises you that you had forgotten all about the terrible day you had before you’d entered this cafe. You take a sip of your drink and it feels like heaven down your throat. You feel your muscles losing all the tension they held and you close your eyes for a moment and let the caffeine seep in your blood. “This is delicious.” you mutter mostly to yourself. 

“So you are technically our neighbor.” Jimin says as he leans back in his chair. His unwavering gaze focused on you. “What did the locksmith say? How long will they take?” 

“I don’t know. He keeps saying someone will be there soon, but I’ve waited for more than two hours outside my apartment and nobody came.” You know you are complaining to strangers but you're just so mentally and physically exhausted that it feels nice that someone is listening to you for once.

“I could fix that for you.” Namjoon speaks for the first time since being there and his voice is so deep yet gentle that you think this must be what listening to those online guided meditations your Dad listened to be like. 

“Wait, are you serious?” you question him. 

“Mhm,” he nods. His words soft and almost shy as they come out. “I can help.”

The sense of relief you feel might just be better than the drink you’ve been sipping. You could imagine the warmth of your fuzzy blankets and soft bed. You look up at Namjoon and nod eagerly. “Please, if you really can, I would be so grateful.”

Both Taehyung and Jungkook stand up, grinning ear to ear. “Lead the way, my lady.” Taehyung bows before you and is unceremoniously elbowed in his side by Jimin immediately for his offense. You walk out of the cafe, huddled between the warmth of four men you just met, the jacket you walked in with long forgotten.

[thelastpuppyboygirl]

YES !! YES !!!!!! AHAHAAAA YESSSS !!!!

my personal headcannons for the loveliest of lovely little guys <3333

extra info + flags!!

randy: (pan and agender)

-fibromyalgia for sure, trauma does shit things

-probably needs a cane or something similar to aleviate pain (doesn't think he's ill enough to need one, absolutely is)

-if he gets high please treat him like a fish in an aquarium, probably would hate the lack of control

-flushes really easily, and constantly clammy

-if you put a blanket on his head he'll fall asleep

-narcolepsy

-loves the feeling of a nice, heafty, soft quilt and a hot cocoa on a cold afternoon...

oliver: (trans, gay and demiromantic!)

-has a stuffed animal collection 100%

-probably picks up a million different projects only to put them down, a new hyperfixation every week kinda guy

-him being a stoner is basically cannon but, in specifics he seems like a bong or joint guy to me, would let u smoke the first hit (bc he's nice)

-rollerskate date :]

-glasses to at least semi help his shit 'eye' (optical sensor) and lack of depth perception (they can only do so much though)

karen: (nonbinary, lesbian)

-doesn't particularly care about gender as a concept

-has a bunch of tassles and cords in her house she has braided

-can't keep a plant alive to save her life, has mourned at least 20 house plants, has a fake one (somehow dies too)

-mitski.

-the biggest sweet tooth out of the group

-will lock herself away for hours and hours, sometimes an entire day or two, just creating. only to come out of a hole haggard and exhuasted with her New Horse Drawing.

-hEDS, uses a walker to get around!

Norm: (questioning/bi ?)

-writer (how the hell else wouldn't he go absolutely bonkers all alone, other than having a goal and spite i guess)

-uses coffee to live, but definitely enjoys tea in his free time

-probably learned archery at some point

-whittles little sculptures to pass the time (made karen a little wooden horse sculpture once)

-randomly schedules cook outs/junctions when he's feeling lonely and isolated

-he would absolutely take the will graham route and end up with 20 fucking stray dogs out of a deep empathy and then wake up one day and realize the mess he got himself into.

-grilldad. (duh)

phonegingi: (genderfluid, polyamorous, pan)

-gender? yes.

-sexuality? yes.

-will consume your clothes if you are not careful with your gingi Care instructions. (taking little nibbles is okay as a treat)

-if weed is consumed it basically acts as a horrifically strong catnip, and it will get the zoomies and make it everyone's problem

-purrs

-pays really good attention to detail stuff, and its brain is basically a filing cabinet. but big events are basically a blur

-gets SUPER !! fluffy during the winter and there's an awful period where it's shedding and it's...super patchy and silly lookin

-me and the bitches i pulled by being HORRIFYING and lovely,,,,

bigfoot: (aroace. i don't take criticism.)

-banana,,,

-genuinely pretty attentive and smart

-becomes a painter because he is INSPIRED ! by his friend karen

-absolutely splendid lad

-i wanna live in a world where one of his passions is making and wearing silly hats, please, PLEASE

-karen showed him mitski,,,god help him he's sad now

-knitting,,,he knit giant banana,,,,

[withahappyrefrain]

Tonight You Belong to Me

Summary: A surprise reunion has you and Bob trying for something much earlier than anticipated. Not that either one of you is complaining about it.

Warnings: Strong breeding kink, praise kink, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, creampie, language

✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

Your eyes fluttered at the sound of your pets getting off the bed. It was the one main drawback of allowing three cats and a dog to sleep with you.  

But it also made the bed a little less lonely while your husband was away. 

Normally, you'd ignore the disturbance and go back to sleep. But the opening of your front door, along with the mewls and barks, jolted you awake. 

This wasn't a break in. Someone familiar was here. 

You quickly got out of bed, wearing only one of your husband's T-shirts. The wooden floor was cold against your feet, despite it being in the middle of summer. 

"Hey guys! Shhh, don't want to wake your Mama up," a familiar voice said from the living room. 

As you entered the room, you couldn't help but rub your eyes to see if you were sleepwalking. 

Because by all means, your husband Bob shouldn't be in the living room. He should be several hours away in Fightertown, working on his current mission. Not in your living room, petting the animals you two had adopted over the years. 

Bob looked up, a smile lit up across his face at the sight of his wife. 

"Bob?" Your voice was small as you stepped forward, still not sure whether to believe the sight in front of you. 

He stood up, walking over to you, "I was trying to avoid waking you up. Wanted it to be a surprise." 

You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. The scent of sage flooded your nostrils as your husband wrapped his arms around you for the first time in nearly two months. God how you missed that scent- the clean, clear, calming scent of him. 

"We were given tomorrow off, so I took the first flight out. Rooster was able to help me make it. Only have a little less than twenty-four hours, but I figured it's better than having to wait another four weeks before I could see you again," Bob explained, smiling from ear to ear. You made a mental note to text Bradley thank-you later. 

Deployments never got easier, though it was something you had longer accepted that came with being in a relationship with Bob. You were proud of your husband, that he had been chosen for such an important mission. But you would be lying if you said you didn't miss him, didn't worry about him every hour of the day. 

"It could be just an hour and I wouldn't care," your voice cracked as he rested his forehead against yours, "I missed you." 

Bob nodded his head, closing the gap between your lips and his. You were thankful he had his arms around your waist. It was always the first kiss back that left you breathless, knocked the wind out of you, made you feel like you were floating. 

"Well now I'm here to do whatever you want," Bob told you before pressing a kiss to your temple. 

"Anything?" You ask, a coy smile forming as you fiddle with the collar of his khaki uniform. 

"Anything." 

You pressed your lips against his jaw, your fingers twirling the curls at the back of his neck. God you loved it when he went without gelling his hair. 

"I take it you'd like to go to bed, though not for sleeping," He said with a sly smile. 

Over the years, Bob had become more bold. It was never a question of not wanting you. He wanted you the moment he first laid eyes on you. But Bob, ever the gentlemen, never wanted to make you uncomfortable, never wanted to assume. 

Which is why it took three dates before you two shared your first kiss. It was also why you had to literally drag him into your apartment to indicate you wanted Bob in a more physical way. 

But now, all he needed was a slight nod from you. That was all it took for him to wrap his arms around your thighs, picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom. 

You always forgot how strong he was. The man was able to do two hundred push ups, it made sense. But it still took your breath away how easily he could pick you up and toss you around if he wanted to. 

Not that he would. At least, not without your permission. 

As your back touched the mattress, your hands reached out, trying to hold onto your husband. 

"I have to close the door," Bob chuckled, "Otherwise our lovely animals will think it's a sleepover for all." 

"Yeah, we've established that neither of us are into being watched," You grinned, "Though, you definitely get off on the thrill of getting caught."

Your husband blushed as he closed the door and began unbuttoning his shirt, "I do not-"

"Need I remind you of the time you insisted on doing it in the bathroom when I went to visit you on base during your last mission? Or how for our first anniversary, you took me back to the library we met in and-" 

The salacious stories were cut off by Bob pressing his lips against yours. You sighed into the kiss, happy to feel his body on top of yours again. 

Your hands gripped the white undershirt he was wearing, desperate to pull him closer. The burning desire you had for him was nothing new. It always felt like this when he came home after being away. You would be genuinely surprised if you two left your shared bed for the next sixteen hours. 

"Robby," You whined into his mouth as you wrapped your legs around his waist. 

Bob's hips grinded against yours. You knew damn well what that nickname did to him, how it made him absolutely putty in your hands. Always had, always will. 

"Whatcha need darlin'?" He asked, sliding his fingers underneath your (his) shirt. 

"Want you to put a baby in me, Robby," you whined. 

Bob's hands stilled as he looked up to you, his eyes darkening. 

It wasn't the first time you two had talked about having children. In fact, you both had agreed that once he got back from his current mission, you would start trying. In the time Bob's been gone, you've gotten off birth control. Something he was very aware of, as it was one of the details you used when you two spoke over the phone, trying to get each other off with just your words. 

But was there anything wrong with starting early? 

Bob didn't think so. He also didn't need to be told twice. In record time, your clothes were removed and for once, he wasn't fumbling with his belt. 

His lips latched onto your neck, biting and licking as he used his hands to spread your thighs apart. 

"Gonna taste you first, okay? Then I'll put a baby in you, promise darlin'," He assured you as he moved down your body, settling in between your thighs. 

You opened your mouth, ready to tease Bob about how babies were made. That comment died in your throat, a moan replacing it as soon as you felt his tongue lapping at your folds. 

It was no surprise that Bob was precise and quick with his fingers. It made sense, considering his role as a WSO. You just didn't think those skills would translate to the bedroom. 

Early on in the relationship, you were proven wrong. Very wrong. The way he angled his fingers so it hit that spot with every thrust had you falling apart in record time. Even his tongue, fuck, you missed his tongue. 

All you had to do was look down to come undone. Those big, wide blue eyes, the loose curl that had fallen over his forehead, the askew glasses, that fucking smirk you could feel against your soaked core. 

You grabbed fistfuls of his sun kissed hair, your hips bucking into his mouth as you came. 

It hit you like a hurricane. Eight weeks doesn't sound long in theory, but it is in fact, a very long time to go without your husband's touch. Pictures, phone calls, and FaceTimes didn't compare to the real thing and never would. 

Bob, ever the gentleman, continued to use his mouth and fingers on you through your orgasm. He never hid how much he enjoyed watching you fall apart. The way your back arched, how your head fell back, how you grabbed whatever you could find to hold on for dear life. 

He could spend hours in between your thighs to see that sight over and over again. But there were more pressing matters now. 

“Robby,” you found yourself whining, hands extending out to grab onto whatever part of him you could reach. Your vision was blurry, awareness of your surroundings still hazy. 

“I'm right here, I got you," His lips brushed against your temple. 

"I'm gonna put a baby in ya now, okay?" He cooed in your ear. 

"P-please." It was normal to be desperate, near feral-like for him when he came back from missions. 

This was different. 

Bob must have felt the same way. Normally, he'd eased in, allowing you to adjust little by little. A gasp broke from your lips as he entered you swiftly.

A hissed escaped your mouth as your body became familiar with his once again. He always gave you time to adjust to the stretch, practically cradling you while he whispered soft praises. 

"Doing s'good for me." 

"Feel amazing darlin'."

"Gonna make you a mama." 

It was the last sentence that set you off, ignited the near primal urge you had. Your hands clawed at his back and shoulders, desperate to cling onto him, longing to feel him move inside of you. 

Bob's hands trailed down to your thighs, grabbing them and pinning your legs against his hips. The new angle caused a slight thrust.

You arched your back, trying to chase it, your legs wrapping themselves around his waist. 

"Robert William Floyd, I swear to God if you don't move, I'll-"

Your threat went unspoken, thanks to Bob swiftly pulling nearly all the way out and thrusting back in. A near-scream erupted from your lips, one that would get you dirty looks from the neighbors the next day. 

If it was anyone else, you would have wiped that smirk off his face. But it was Bob, your husband, and you loved seeing that smirk adorn his face. You loved seeing him confident and relishing in the effect he had on you. 

Lord knows how long it took him to realize you were absolutely head over heels, completely and utterly smitten the moment you saw him in that library for the first time, on the floor, explaining his ribbons to a student of yours. 

You buried your head into the crook of his neck, your teeth sinking into his skin. Bob groaned at the sensation of your teeth marking up his neck. Normally he'd care, pull you away or direct you to a part of his body that was easily covered by his uniform. 

But right now, visible hickies were not at the forefront of his mind. You were. The whimpers you let out when his cock brushed against a specific spot, the way your fingernails dug into his back, and most importantly, the way your walls tightened as he kept going, pushing you closer and closer to the edge again. 

Yes, the main point of this interaction was for him to come inside you. Bob knew that, he wasn't dense. 

But it would be a cold day in hell when you only came once while in bed with him. 

He hitched one of your legs up higher, enabling him to thrust into you deeper. A high pitched whine fell from your lips, the pleasure from the new angle rushing through your body, adding pressure to that knot in your stomach that was getting tighter and tighter with each passing second. 

A stream of incoherent prattle fell from your lips, begging him to keep going, to not stop. 

“Let go darlin’,” He grunted, “I got ya.”

You opened your mouth, though no sound came out. White hot pleasure coursed through your entire body as your walls tightened around your husband’s cock, clinging to him as if he could slip away at any moment. 

“Oh fuck, sweetheart.” A sense of pride filled you. Bob didn’t curse when he was hundreds of feet up in the air, focused on keeping himself and his pilot alive during the mission at hand. 

No, he only cursed when buried deep inside you as you practically milked his cock. Only you could bring that out of him, no one else. 

“Robby, come inside me,” You whimpered, “Wanna make you a daddy.”

Somehow, despite his brain short-circuiting, Bob began thrusting into you harder and faster than before. You couldn’t tell what was louder, the sound of his skin slapping against yours or the bed frame jamming into the wall with every thrust. You could feel yourself clenching around him still, jolts of pleasure still igniting your body, making it difficult to come down from your high.  

Not that you were complaining. 

His hips began to stutter, the pace becoming jerky and uninhibited. Bob gripped the bed frame, his dog tags now dangling over you. The metal of his tags and wedding ring glimmered against the light from your nightstand. 

With a guttural curse, he came inside you. You always made it clear how much you loved the feeling of him filling you up with his seed. But this time, it felt carnal, prurient, other-wordly. 

For a moment, you two laid there, tangled up as you tried to steady your breathing. Bob got on his knees, gripping onto your thighs. He began to pull out. 

You gasped as you felt him thrust back into you. 

Fuck, he was still hard. 

“Just gotta make sure nothing spills out, okay?” You nodded your head, gripping the bed sheets so hard you would be quite surprised if there wasn’t a rip in them the next day. 

“You’re gonna be such a good momma, y’know that?” His praises set your head spinning. 

“Wantyourbaby,” You muttered, impressed that you were capable of saying something coherent at this point. Bob was too. 

“I know,” He cooed, “You’re gonna look so pretty, carrying our baby.” 

His hand went down to where your two bodies met, his thumb drawing circles on your clit. At this point, the volume of your voice wasn’t a concern. The only thing you could focus on was that your husband, Robert Floyd, was determined to fuck a baby into you tonight. 

You came again with a cry, Bob silencing it by crashing his lips onto yours. Your hands tangled themselves into his hair, tugging on his locks for dear life as you moaned into his mouth. You could feel your teeth clanking against his, spit dribbling from your mouth. It was primal, something you loved seeing from your usually reserved husband. 

His hips stilled and you could feel his cock twitching as your husband emptied inside you again. Bob’s stamina was impressive and not what you had originally expected from the shy, timid WSO when you two first met. 

“You okay?” Bob asked before pressing his lips to your forehead. You nodded your head, loosening the grip you had on his dark blonde locks.   

He pulled out, your core aching at the emptiness. Not that you felt it for long. 

"Robby!" 

Your hands gripped the bed sheet as his fingers curled inside of you. 

"Can't let any drop escape sweetheart," He reminded you, that stupidly attractive smirk adorning his face as he leaned down to latch onto your clit. 

If it wasn't for his schedule, you would be hoping that it would take some time to get pregnant, since this was how Bob planned to go about it. 

You could always take your time with child number two. 

[blueberryarchive]

𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 & 𝒍𝒊𝒒𝒖𝒐𝒓

♰pairing; preacher!jk x reader x cowboy!jm

♰word count; 4.6k

♰genre; smut, horror, angst

♰tw; dead dove do not eat, drowning, heavy non-con, dacryphilia, oral, penetration, mentions of blood, depiction of religion, gruesome details of death, physical and verbal violence (jk has a serious rage problem), alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of jk wanting to have sex as a teen.

prev//next

"Love. Sweetheart, stay with me a lil' longer, please. Fuck, Jeon, she's dying on me." Jimin bellowed, a halo of violet light outlining his silhouette as dry cornfields passed by the sides of the truck, your body bouncing with the truck's turmoil from side to side.

You looked down and saw your numb leg, the dark hole of burnt skin that Park soaked with a misty liquor. His awake and worried eyes, the dried blood of your lusts on his lips, the new blood that the wound vomited out, covering his hands, becoming thicker and purer.

Your shoulders slumped, your head resting on the back window of the truck. The two men were fighting, but that was just as the murmur of crickets and moths.

The sky was infinite, domed with stars, all subtly arranged in the perfect position. You saw among the sequins of God, all your dresses and the damn heels in which you had to squeeze your growing body. How Miss Texas' adorable smile became a pathetic white plate without emotion.

And oh, you knew that the fall of a star was inevitable, but not even the flame began to die when you were already sunken between the rocks and the soft grass caressing the last spark, your first tears of acceptance. And in the grass, you dozed, feeling sorry for your own useless body, the plastic crowns, the gold, and the memories of the applause.

"No! Stay." A slap brought you back to the hard floor of a barn. The unknown man grabbed your cheeks and choked you with a long, bitter drink of homemade liquor.

The little light came in from a window in the wooden ceiling, the heat emanating from the hay and wool piled in the corner, leaving a strong smell, you groaned before vomiting to the side.

"Fuck, Jungkook. She's not a fucking animal, you're going to make her faint." Jimin pushed his partner. Jungkook swallowed hard. His pale, neat face was dirty with crimson droplets.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Park?" Jungkook pushed him back, and neither of them could believe it, neither the action nor the power in the voice.

"What are you talkin' about?"

"Letting in a bunch of rapist shit-smoking hippies without a fucking cent to pay for their stay."

And then you thought about the rifle the father was carrying, about Sage and the others. A gasp from deep in your chest, the sob reminding you of your pain.

The rifle was pointed at you with anger pooling in his neck that didn't let him breathe. You screamed as you tried to stand up but it was useless, your wounded leg was your cross. Jimin moved as quickly as possible to cover your mouth, squeezing until it hurt.

"What did you do with the others?" Park's voice trembled, and his partner's eyes showed an open, bloody wound that would not close until a couple of demons ran away.

"I shot the boy in the shoulder, the two girls took the car and drove to California. I made them promise not to come back."

"You're a fucking psychopath." Your scream is muffled by the cowboy's fingers.

The rifle flew away in the hay, and the impatient sheep threw themselves to one side when they knew that it was not food they brought but danger.

"Jeon, stop!"

Jungkook was taller and heavier than his partner, so it wasn't difficult to lunge at you, grab your hair, and compress your chin until he felt every tooth. He was sweating with the smell of incense and wine, his thin lips spit in your face.

"It's because of people like you that I want to leave the church and buy a damn truck, pick up every son of a bitch on Route 66 who raises his dirty thumb on the side of the road, and bathe them in acid until they dissolve alive."

You didn't say anything, because you were pure meat in front of him, a mere animal for slaughter if you moved too close…

Two hot tears fell to Jungkook's fingers, and it was as if a flower had opened in his hand. A strange tickling in his throat left him passive, mute. He removed his hat with the respect the pained lady deserved.

"You're the Bell Ranch kid."

"Please tell me you didn't start shooting people in my house." Jimin interrupted, pacing back and forth impatiently.

"Jimin, she's the Bell Ranch kid-"

"I know, it doesn't matter now. You shot her and she's bleeding herself to death, Christ."

"I told you it was just a shot, they'll probably think it was to scare a coyote."

The cowboy crouched down and tucked his head between his legs, the alcohol rising into his veins.

"You're such an idiot, you know?" The father continued, filling the silence.

"What did you just say?"

"You really believe that these people come to enjoy rural life, to feed your chickens and fuck in the mountains."

"I needed the money," Jimin muttered stressed.

"The fuck you needed that money for?"

"To get the hell out of this place." He roared, standing again in front of Jungkook. "I'm sick and tired of Rivermouth and its moribund, corrupt town. It makes me want to throw up just thinking about having to see the fucking faces of the same people at Bee's diner again."

Jungkook furrowed his eyebrows at him, seeing him as if he were a child throwing a tantrum.

"But everyone loves you, you're like a star here."

Jimin laughed, glassy eyes threatening to ooze saline waters.

"Do you know who else was a star in this town? Your dad, little church boy."

"Jimin." He warned you saw how his fists showed through his knuckles.

"And the star decided to have a summer camp for all the children, ended up in a human grill, and everyone thought that your dad fucked children."

It was so fast that you couldn't see Jimin's body fall to the ground, the dust hiding the blows that reverberated from Jimin's skull. The cowboy didn't lift his arms, instead, he let his friend vent until he saw Jimin's silver fang painted red.

Jungkook gasped like a barbarian, his arms trembled before he delivered the next punch and fell next to Jimin, overwhelming moans coming from his chest, stale tears, and babbling that only Jimin understood, but he didn't move.

Jimin closed his eyes, thinking about teenage Jungkook who was trying to get close to the burned body of his father, which Jimin never let him talk about or touch, for the funeral he locked him in his room even after protests and threats. He didn't know if he wanted to protect him, if because he was older than him, he thought about taking the role that that monument of a man had left behind.

He was as attractive as his son, charismatic, and an all-around good man. But his statue began to crack when some young people arrived at the church, a couple who convinced him that he did not need the God for whom he so praised and knelt down. But he was the deity, who with his wings would go far.

He had this idea of encouraging the little ones next to him, elevating them. He closed the doors of the old church, while singing with the children and bathed the edges of the windows in kerosene.

The screams were hellish, no one heard them. No one cried more than the little boy who saw his sister burning on the ground, no one screamed more than the girl whose dress melted into her skin, and no one trusted her father more than the youngest son of Father John I.

Jungkook's younger brother hung from his father's clothes, watching his friends burn with a sense of purpose, that this had to happen for his own good.

And like Icarus, the sun kissed his father's body without Jungkook realizing the changes until very late: the sarcastic laughter in the middle of reading, his constant absence, the misplaced and ambitious gaze.

His mother fell into the abyss. Died sitting in a rocking chair when her body seemed to disintegrate more and more every day. A rosary in hand, a tiresome prayer that licked away her sorrows.

"Come on, we have to think about what we're going to do with her," Jimin murmured, wiping away the trickle that ran down his nose. Jungkook gave him his hand and stood up. Both men hugged each other until the minor stopped sobbing.

The father looked in your direction, determined. You could feel the black socket of his eyes fire just once and not miss.

"We have to chain her before she runs away."

Jimin nodded. There was no time to lose.

A latent pain spread through Jungkook's head until a crown of pure anguish decorated his hair. Two fingers pinched the bridge of his nose as the phone rang incessantly on the other line.

One of the things that bothered him about Billie, was the way time seemed to run smoothly and leisurely through her fingers. It took her forever to analyze things, to choose what she was going to eat, even if it would always be chicken pot pie; and in this case, answer the phone.

The telephone booth where he was was dirty, it smelled of urine, and the windows were clouded with dust. He was still wearing his black shirt and pants, his collar pristine white, his old man's ring on his right hand being moved anxiously.

He couldn't believe what he would do in his free time instead of being with the girl he had decided to marry. But a letter arrived at his office at the church that afternoon, one of the children playing in the park had been sent with it. The letter was a simple piece of paper wrapped and tied with an improvised wildflower as a cord.

I'll be busy tonight. The sheep must be tamed and sheared. J.

When he read the words, he almost dropped the paper on the floor and sent the boy out with a dollar in his hand so that he would promise not to tell anyone.

He spent the entire mass having trouble speaking, gave averted glances, and cleared his throat like a sick man. The drops of sweat clinging to his chest, it was hell.

"Hello?"

"Billie, it's John, sweetheart."

"Why are you not here?" His chest sank as he heard the sweet voice of his girl. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together.

"I must..." his voice trailed off. The last time he lied was so long ago.

It's not that religion made him feel guilty for telling a lie, sometimes a father must lie to people's faces with such solemnity that the devotee can only let themselves fall into the invisible hands of God and lie down on hope for a miracle.

"I have to take care of one Park's ewe. Poor little one it's havin' some trouble, and he doesn't want her to be alone until his show ends." Terrible, one of the worst lies he's ever made.

Silence.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Billie purred, almost in a plea. He sighed, he could see her pink varnished nail tangled in the phone cord eagerly. Trying not to wake her dad's ears with such questions.

Jungkook had her on the edge because he hadn't even kissed her. He knew he was cruel for that. It's not that he has officially offered either, but sometimes a man doesn't lie through words, but by taking her home, by looking into her eyes for a longer time when he gives her the host, by helping her learn to touch herself inside the confessional.

"It's better not to, pet. I'm sure it'll be an allnighter, the thing'll be crying for hours and I know how sensitive you are with animals."

"It's true, you know me so well, Jungkook."

He smiled. "I know, darling." He clears his throat before continuing. "But tomorrow you can come to the parish, and we will feed the pigeons in the morning. How 'bout that?"

One more lie, this time it was not the hands of God but the calloused and bloody hands of the young father. But she just giggled.

"Goodnight, Billie. Say hi to your mother for me."

"'Night, Johnnie. I love you."

A lump in his throat, and he thanked God because after saying that, she closed the call. His tongue turned to lead to say those three words back. He knew he did, he wanted to protect Billie more than anything and make her happy, but there was no need to say it, right?

Jungkook's shirt was unbuttoned, the shaking in his breathing causing an unusual tremor in the sound of the farm. It was a windy night, there wasn't much moonlight, so Jungkook lit several kerosene lamps on the banks.

The wooden tub was arranged in the center, the horses and chickens raising their heads every time Jungkook grunted, bringing more hot water. The sweat falling down his temples and over his broad chest, the steam had him suffocated in that silence, and you showed no signs of waking up at any time.

He approached the hay in the corner where the sheep surrounded your body curled up like a fetus, you slept with bloody clothes and matted hair. Your breathing is as soft as the wool around you, both hands and feet tied with rope.

You looked like a lost princess. A princess who devoured every man in her land, and now she rests peacefully to reduce her satiety. Your dry mouth and the remains of Jimin's blood fell to your neckline, making Jungkook's face boil, because he couldn't believe that his friend had fallen for such banalities. It made him want to take the same lamp in his fingers and drop it on top of your delicate body.

His boot touched your low heels, but nothing. He crouched down until he had his hand close to your shoulder, your skin tender under the shaking flames, curved and soft under the dress you were wearing.

You were disgusting, angelic, so terribly at peace in your state.

Of course, upon his arrival at Jimin's house, the first thing he did was open your suitcase and touch all your belongings. Because, in the end, a woman is her belongings: she is the compact blush that she has worn since she was 19, she is the old leather necklace with the worn-out heart pendant and the empty perfume bottle.

Women feel this need to keep things that don't work or lose their value over time. Something that may have to do with how Jungkook sees them, how it's the opposite for him. How his father and his uncles also saw the women in his life. The brighter, the better.

Women, instead, have their daughters' teeth in their jewelry like yellowish nacre and love the same man from their fifteenth until the memories fade with their bodies.

Jungkook knew you would like something to remind you of home, where you truly belong. Not California, not New York, not even Austin; but Rivermouth, with its disproportionate mountains, the storm clouds filling the sky at all hours, and the same faces transferring from parents to children to grandchildren.

A place where nothing changed and that was the good thing. Even though things might end up bad.

He was sure your body was not leaving that barn, he had come to that decision the same day he saw you.

To recompensate, he decided to find you the most beautiful dress among your belongings, a delicate bow with which he would decorate your neck and a vermilion lipstick.

His hand squeezed your shoulder until you stood up screaming, his hand went straight to your mouth.

"Don't fucking do that, please." The way you looked around made Jungkook understand that you didn't remember anything, it was sad to see the weight lift your pupils towards his and still try to find an explanation. "You need to shower, your stench is making me sick."

He grabbed your bound wrists and dragged you to the edge of the hot water, a round, yellowish sponge and sulfur soap placed on a stool.

"Don't make a noise, you'll wake up Sweet Pea," Jungkook murmured behind you, the heat of his breath on your back.

Sweet Pea was a sheep separated from the others, sleeping between a bed made of hay and old coats. Her bloated stomach writhed with each ragged breath. She suffered with her mouth open and her woolly paws shivering with every squirm of the babies in her belly, she slept painfully.

"Raise your arms." The man behind you whispered, a sharp Swiss army knife cutting through the fabric of your dress like butter. The cold of his hands removing your dress let a gasp leave your lips. "Easy, there."

His tall, sweaty body leaned into your hands, his eyes evading yours, swallowing hard. Your breasts fell light and exquisite, your exposed stomach curved until it reached the plain of your pussy and Jungkook felt like the edge of his knife would slip from his hands as he finished tearing your clothes.

"Let's see the wound." He cleared his throat, sitting on the bench where he had a clean pair of gauze. "Does it hurt?"

"What do you think?" You interrupted, raising your foot to the top of his knee.

"Have some respect. I'm not one of your little friends."

You rolled your eyes as the slender fingers removed the knot from the dirty yellowed gauze. You hissed, leaning your body forward. As a result, you placed your hands on top of Jungkook's jet-black hair, tightening the strands under your fingers in the last turn of the gauze. Jungkook took a deep breath, his fingers trembling gently as he examined the bruised hole.

"At least the blood stopped."

"Do you plan to heal my wound until I starve to death here?"

Jungkook was already getting tired of your words, of that shrill accent, and your lips always a little parted as if waiting for them to fill your mouth with-

"I plan to heal your wounds until I find a grave big enough to put you and all your things in." Your alert eyes made him laugh. He loved seeing the terror in them. Made you look more adorable.

He grabbed the clear liquor from among the hay and wet a piece of cotton. Your left leg was shaking from the effort, and you were weak, surely Jimin was stupid enough to not leave you something to eat before going to enjoy his fame.

"You're crying." Jungkook saw the tears falling to your breasts, you were quick to remove the ones that were flowing with your tied hands. Inhaling and sobbing like a little girl trying to be brave. You were terrified.

God and men knew why the statues of virgins were always portrayed as suffering. He wanted to run his fingers over your face, lick every salty tear, and say more chilling things to you to make you cry even more.

His hand rested on his lap and patted a couple of times.

"I know it hurts, stop being so stubborn."

You left your buttocks on his lap and placed both arms on your chest, covering your breasts. You were a mess, and you hated that you were crying, rivulets falling to the sockets of your collarbones. Jungkook focused on it, feeling thirsty as he cleaned the wound.

A hand rested on your bare waist to keep you from falling, calloused fingers unconsciously caressing the soft skin. Your back rose and fell with each whimper.

"I was kiddin', kid. For God's sake." He frowned, yet you continued. He grabbed the bottle again and grabbed your chin with his thumbs, long gulps of sheer force passing down your throat. "There ya' go. Stop the whining, now."

You coughed as you felt the alcohol melt your stomach with its heat.

"I hate you both. I wish I was dead."

"Me too, pumpkin."

The next step was to get into the bathtub. You closed your eyes as the heat engulfed your body, the steam cleaning your pits after crying your fill. You moaned softly as you snuggled into the soggy sheet.

On the other side was the father, sitting with both legs open while he slowly scrubbed the sponge with the soap. His hungry eyes were behind the whitish walls of hot steam.

"You're a virgin. Right, Father John?" Your light, sharp tongue asked, moving you closer to the edge of the tub.

His gaze went to yours, bold, fed up. He dropped the soap and poured water on your face and hair with an empty can of chickpeas. The slippery hair was easy to clench in his fist, the sponge in his hand rubbing circles on your back.

You pursed your lips as you felt the pressure you caused on him. Well, it looks like it was true.

"Don't you have a little girlfriend? It must be so lonely in this fucking town."

"I'll make you cry harder if you keep talking bullshit."

The foam was sliding down to your breasts, Jungkook tried to be as stoic as possible cleaning the area.

There was something quite submissive about him that brought out your worst thoughts. The worst part was that the alcohol made you dangerously flirtatious and you couldn't keep yourself in check. Not even when your life hung on it.

Between his long, slender fingers, over his broad back, and his soft, deadly voice.

You couldn't take it any longer as you moved closer to his body, the exact curve between his ear and his neck, and inhaled deeply. His hand under the water cleaning between your legs. You could feel his breathing become sharper.

"She gave it to you, right?" You sniffed closer. "You wear it to go see her, but now you have to bathe some shitty hippie you humiliated once in your teens."

"Shut up."

"Unlike your cowboy friend, you are a gentleman. You don't fuck 'em, then leave with your dick wet."

Jungkook chuckled. Silence.

He put the sponge on the bench and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows.

"I think we're done." He smiled.

Your eyebrows furrowed as he kicked off his shoes and stepped into the tub next to you. A heavy hand rested on your face and you could only feel the water entering your lungs, the beat of your screams turning into bubbles among the grayish water.

Out. A gasp, your heart beating a mile an hour searching for air between the hardness of Jungkook's palm.

In. Your body arched, bound hands clawing at Jungkook's arm. The impenetrable darkness consumed you, the sound pressure of the water, the metallic taste in your throat.

Out.

Your purple face, swollen eyes, crimson lips.

"Breathe, breathe." His voice was soft, and his fingers went to your hair to support your weak body. You heard a metallic clinking sound, your eyes burning from the soap in the water. "Open your mouth."

His fingers separated your teeth to make way for his cock, the pulse of his veins massaging your lips. Jungkook hissed loudly, throwing his head back.

"Atta, girl. Open more, I know bitches like you can dislocate their fuckin' jaws."

Your eyelashes fluttered, looking for a way to look into his eyes and ask for mercy. But your eyes burned terribly and the saliva fell in streams from your mouth every time his cock came out and came back in with more force. You could only squeeze his wet pants and clumsily try to shake his thigh to make him realize you were choking.

"Mm."

"Don't trytta "mm" me. This is what you wanted."

For the first time, his cock came completely out of your mouth, drool falling into the water.

His arm supported your body and lifted your top out of the water, revealing how shiny and smooth your ass looked presented to him. The bottle of liquor was right next to you. You heard Jungkook take a gulp and how his forearm chained your neck so you could drink with him. For a few seconds, you resisted until you could do nothing but open your mouth or choke on alcohol.

"Shh, don't cry again." His fingers massaged your wet hair, his face pressed to yours as he slid his cock between your ass cheeks. "Such a crybaby. You're the one popping my cherry tonight, little buckle bunny. Ain't ya' happy?"

"I'm scared, please let me go." Your voice tore through your throat with torture, phlegm building up in your nose.

"No, can't." His cock found your entrance, the sting of the soap lubricating you, and the growl that came from Jungkook's chest made your body tense. "You need me, remember? If it was because of Park, you would have been dead a long time ago."

"I'm scared, please-"

"Shhh."

The lamps were going out little by little, leaving the shadows of Jungkook's body to engulf yours.

When your pussy began to make way and pulse around his cock, he felt sorry for not having done it sooner, for not having taken the first five dollars he stole from his father when he was fifteen and find a whore to fuck, for not having let Mandy, the daughter of his math teacher, suck him last year of school; of not having taken all the divine women in his church and instead of giving them the host, putting his cock in their mouth.

He thought about each and every one of them. He thought about Billie and the confessional, and fuck! How delicious it felt to have all your blood go to one place, leaving you dizzy and stupid like a farm animal in heat.

"Why don't we-" he moaned with tight lips, wetting his face to concentrate. "Why don't we pray, it'll make you feel better, make you less tight."

The lamps went out, leaving only one in the corner outlining Jungkook's profile. From his long oval nose, and swollen lips, from the dying steam.

So what if you said yes? If you intertwined your fingers while that monster attacked you. So what if you closed your eyes and tilted your head to Jungkook's lips to hear his spasmodic voice tell you to repeat after him.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee," he whispered, and you repeated, drowning in tears.

"Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus." You continued.

"Keep going."

The water began to splash out of the tub with each crash against your ass, his arm hugged your waist and your chest. Soft, wet kisses from your ear to your back.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…” You squealed as Jungkook trembled, his moans creating an ethereal song in the barn.

Between his babbling, he mentioned God, you, and all the curses he could think of. It was the birth of a Mephistopheles among the hay and the horses.

"Now and at the hour of our death. Amen." You sighed as you felt your body fall into the water on top of Jungkook's. Your head on his heaving chest, the pulsing pain inside you withering.

Jungkook's heart sounded like the pastures where your memories lie. The warmth of his hand holding you closer to him.

You were angry with yourself because your chest began to hurt and oh, how stupid you were, how stupid your mother had been for having raised you among pretty things and so many compliments.

"I brought you strawberry jam and milk for the night. Tomorrow I'll bring better things." He muttered, hot and his voice raspy.

And oh, how dumb you were for wanting him to wear the same perfume again when he came back.

[cavity-exe]

Kiss me Animal

This has been in my drafts way too long with me very slowly updating it. I haven't written in a long time and this is honestly super self indulgent. I just need more plus size readers with Brian in my life

Warnings- Reader is described to have tits and cunt and is called pretty girl. P in V, praise kink, Brian definitely being ooc and a simp for soft chubby girls, fight me. I think that's it, I tried to make it friendly for all the plus sized girlies to read so if I missed any warnings or unfriendlies just lemme know :3

---------------

It'd been a long day

A really long fucking day, anything that could have went wrong absolutely did. Brian sighed as he kicked off his boots, the soles making a heavy thunk as they hit the wooden floor. He flopped back onto their old couch, arms resting on top of it as his head leaned back. A hand wiped down over his face as he let out a groan recalling all the events that had occurred today.

It was supposed to be a simple mission really, take out two people and wipe up any evidence the two had gathered. This sort of thing shouldn't have even required all three of them, and yet it was the messiest job they'd done in a long while. Tim triggered the back door alarm which could have worked in their favor if they had known where in the house the victims were, they didn't. A chair got taken to the back of Tim's head collectively knocking him out for a bit. Of all things Toby had to be threatened with was a blow torch, the fire of course freaking him out and causing him to stumble into Brian.

Another groan left the man as he shook his head, cringing at just how clumsy all three of them had been. Of course they did what needed to be done, but the drive back was tense as fuck with the other two being royally pissed off about how everything had gone down.

Brian was over the whole thing, wanting to just let it roll off his back and move on with his day. The blonde lazily sat up, throwing his hoodie off and onto a chair as he walked into the cabins little kitchenette. It was almost a surprise to see someone else there, forgetting for a quick moment that it wasn't just him and the other two men in the cabin anymore. He eyed you as you didn't seem to notice his presence, which wouldn't be the first time for Brian anyways. You'd been here for a few months, the operator unfortunately having taken a liking to you and directing you to their cabin of all areas.

Brian's eyes washed over your plump form, it looked like you had just rolled out of bed, hair unkempt and a loose t-shirt falling off your shoulder. His eyes went lower, a tight lil pair of black shorts were hugging your ass and chubby thighs. He hated those tiny little shorts, though you obviously seemed to love them since you wore them so God damn often. Maybe if you hadn't Brian would have talked to you more, no excuses for his mind or eyes to start wandering, though even he knew that was a lie. The man still couldn't hold conversation with you even when out doing work, and you wore cargo pants for fucks sake.

Brian looked off to the side, not wanting to be a creep as he cleared his throat to get your attention. It seemed like that was always his goal though, not wanting to appear as some sort of creep to you. It annoyed him to no end, he was the smooth talker out of their group, if they had to talk to a victim he was the first to go without a problem.

"Hey, how'd it go?". You didn't turn to face him as he walked up to the counter, pouring himself a mug of coffee. Glancing at your face, you almost looked annoyed with the slight pout and furrowed eyebrows.

"It uh, definitely could've gone better, the other two went out to go cool off from it actually". You looked over to him amused, sipping at your own mug with a nod, eyes slipping down him for a brief second before quickly looking away.

"You alright? Look like you been sleeping all day, and doesn't look like it was a good sleep". He let out a soft chuckle, at the grimace that came over your face with a shake of your head.

"Yeah I'm alright, though sleeping would've been much more accomplishing honestly". You sighed out while setting your mug in the sink. Brian raised an eyebrow at that, more accomplishing?

Watching you walk out of the kitchen, his eyes trailed down once again, before letting out a cough to himself and looking away.

This was usually how it went since you started staying with the three of them. Sure the two of you had held a few conversations late at night on the couch, but you just seemed to hold much longer talks with Tim and Toby, Tim of all people? Brian felt like he was honestly losing his touch. With a sigh he rolled onto his back, thick comforter shifting underneath him as he stared at the ceiling. His body shifted as his mind easily wandered to past images of your body, his hand going over his face at how easily worked up he seemed to be lately. Maybe he just needed a good fuck?

Though, when even was the last time he got laid? Too long apparantly as he groaned trying to remember before slipping a hand down his sweats. He let out a huff as he wrapped a fist around his half hard cock, immediately an image of those tiny black shorts coming to mind.

He swallowed thickly as he slowly pumped up and down, wetting his bottom lip as he imagined your soft thighs spilling out of fabric. How they dug into your flesh when you sat on the couch across from him. He loved how when you sat down the soft skin of your tummy bunched up over your hip and spilled out of whatever bottoms you had on. He let out a low groan, imagining how soft you'd feel against him, thumb running over the head of his cock, smearing the drip of precum over his member.

His head tilts back against the pillow, a soft wet slap being heard around the room. He let's out a grunt, imagining the jiggle of your ass as you ran in front of him, fuck if only co-

Knock, knock knock

Eyes snapped open at the light rap on his door, an annoyed low grunt leaving him as he tucked himself back into his sweats. Trudging to the door and opening it, about to give whoever it was a fuck off.

"H-hey, um sorry I know it's late."

The annoyed look on Brian's face quickly fell, suddenly aware of how his sweats hugged around his crotch he leaned himself away from the door frame as best as he could.

"Oh no don't worry about it, I wasn't asleep anyways. Did you need something?" He smiled down at you as calmly as he could trying to appear as relaxed as he could. He scanned your body as quickly as he could, fuck you had another pair of those damn shorts? Another color but it didn't matter, you were at his door in those tight lil things with a snug tank top on. He gulped slightly as he watched your chest rise and fall, watching how your flesh threatened to spill out over the fabric. How it hugged your soft sides and hips and waist and holy fuck he could see your hard nipples clearly through it.

"You have a bad staring problem, yknow that Brian?."

Hazel eyes snapped back up to your face that held a small smile. Brian felt his face heat up as he coughed into his fist.

"Fuck sorry, could you repeat yourself? Maybe I'm more tired than I thought". Playing it off with a chuckle as he crossed his arms over his broad chest.

You looked up at him with an eyebrow raised, stepping closer to him and into the door frame.

"I'm not that oblivious, you know that right?" Your hand came up to rest on his chest with a playful smile. Brian had to stare at you for a few seconds, feeling the warmth of your hand on his bare skin had his head reeling.

The next few moments were a blur of you getting tugged into the bedroom, big hands gripping at the soft flesh on your hips. Your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him into a kiss had Brian almost melting, pushing you against his door as he felt you up. Surprised as soft lips moved against his own excitedly.

It felt like Brian couldn't touch enough of you, wanting more of your soft flesh to squish between his fingers. A low groan left him as you tugged at his bottom lip, his hand pulling your thigh up to wrap around his hips. A shudder went through him as you ground yourself against his lap.

Lips trailed down your soft jaw and neck, his hands going lower to squeeze at your ass while he sucked just above your collar. The soft whimpers leaving your parted lips every time he sucked on your skin had him grinding himself back against you.

"Fuck pretty girl, don't know how long I've wanted to feel you like this." He pulled away from your marked neck. A hand was brought up to your face and he let out an amused hum at the warmth coming from your cheeks. You let out a little pant before smiling at him.

"I should've shown up at your door late at night a lot sooner then huh? I guess I just didn't ever wanna interrupt your lil one on one times with yourself." You had a sly smile as you scrunched your nose up at him. Brian dropped his head with a slight chuckle, quickly gripping your other thigh and hoisting you up. He let out a laugh at the the yelp that came out of you.

"What a fucking tease, you knew all this time and didn't even wanna help a guy out? Maybe I should just leave you high and dry tonight then." He gave you a serious stare but it was a fucking lie. There was no way Brian was gonna choose not to sink into your soft form and watch you come undone. Annoyingly you seemed to already know that as you smiled at him.

"Just take me to the bed already, we both know thats not happening".

Brian could have said something sarcastic but did as told anyway, sitting on the edge of the bed so you were perched on his lap all pretty. His hands couldn't help but find place on your soft hips, thick fingers sinking into the doughy skin. His fingers found the fabric of your shorts, tugging them down and off of you, a small smirk forming on his lips at the sight of the pretty little thong you had on underneath.

You rested your hands on his chest, gliding them up and down the bare skin before dragging down to the top of his sweatpants.

Brian had to hold back a groan as you shifted against him. A sigh leaving him as you held onto his shoulders, his own hands tugging you closer as you ground into him. Half lidded eyes glanced up to your face, lips parted and your eyes downcast as you watched yourself move against him.

He felt like he was a in a haze as he watched you, hands gripping onto you like they never wanted to let go. He brought a hand up to your jaw, tilting your head so he could kiss your lips. Brian guided your hand back to his sweats, letting you tug them down to let his cock out. A sigh left him through his nose as you got right back to grinding against him, his cock catching on your damp panties every so often. A low chuckle goes through his chest at the sound of your whines, reaching a finger down to tug your panties aside. Rough hands gripped tightly onto your hips, beginning to guide your movements as his cock slid back and forth between your wet folds, the tip of his cock bumping against your clit every so often.

You found yourself on your back suddenly, head sinking down into a pillow as you blinked up at the blonde. It almost seemed predatory how he hovered over you, flushed lips panting as his eyes raked over your form. His hand almost smacks down onto your thigh with how rough he grips it, watching the fat squeeze through his fingers before moving your thighs apart and moving himself inbetween them.

Brian gulped as he watched your chest rise and fall underneath him, the way you looked laying there had his head racing with too many scenarios of everything he wanted to do to you.

"Please?". Just one word had him almost losing it, he'd imagined himself teasing you until you couldn't take it anymore countless times, but right now he couldn't seem to find the patience. Brian has to almost hold back a groan as he grips his cock, pushing it against your wet hole a few times before finally sinking in. The whine that leaves you has him huffing out a laugh as he catches his breath, grip tight on your hips as he lets you adjust.

It's truly a sight to see for Brian, thighs spread open around him, tank top bunched up on top of your soft tummy, the fabric stretched to the side and letting your tits almost spill out. He watched as your hands came up to paw at his chest, a lopsided grin forming on his lips as you mouthed his name. He didn't need anymore than that to start quickly putting into you, a grunt and a pant leaving him every few thrusts.

"Feel so soft under me pretty girl, fuck, just like I imagined." Rough hands squeezed at your thighs and hips, trailing up to your tummy despite the whines leaving you.

"Really don't understand how many times I've thought about fucking this soft cunt, so fuckin warm and tight and so god damn wet. Do you hear the filthy sounds your little cunt is making for me?." One of his hands left your thighs, coming up to grip your jaw in his hand so you could look up at him, smiling down at you like the cocky fuck he is. It felt like words were stuck in the back of your throat as he fucked you, your mouth opening a few times but no more than a moan leaving you. He grins with a harsh pant, hand leaving your jaw as it reaches down to suddenly tug at your nipple, a yelp leaving you.

"Oh I knew you could still talk, come on pumpkin, wanna hear you. Gotta use your big girl words for me."

The way he was talking to you was certainly doing something to you, talking in that sweet loving tone, his words drawn out, and yet it felt like he was mocking you. A louder moan leaves you as he moves to grip one of your thighs, holding it up against his hip so he can fuck into you deeper.

"Come on, tell me how it feels won't you baby?."

Fast pants and whimpers are leaving you before you can finally get your words to work. "S'feels good! Feels good Brian!."

He can't help but almost laugh at how whiny it comes out, rutting into you faster as he leans down against you.

"Aw atta girl, I knew you could do it pumpkin." The whine that leaves you before hiding your face into his shoulder is enough to make him finally laugh. Still gripping onto your thigh he slows down his pace, feeling himself getting worked up just a little too fast. He leans down just a bit more next to your ear, breathy voice the only other thing you can focus on other than his cock.

"You like when I call you sweet lil names huh sweetheart? Can't hide it with the cute sounds you make everytime I call you something. Is that all I need to do to get you to listen and talk to me hm? Call you baby, pumpkin or tell you just how good you are for me?."

Brian was really just rambling at this point, the slow drag of his cock slipping in and out of your warm cunt had his head feeling hazy. He was barely registering the way your nails slowly dug into his shoulders the more he talked.

"Don't worry baby, you can be my good girl every night." Finally leaning back up, he holds your cheek in his hand, taking a deep breath as he picks his pace back up again. He watches tears well up in your eyes, how warm your cheek is against his hand from embarrassment was going straight to his cock. His lips were on yours suddenly, the kiss messy and wet with drool seeping down your lips. Eyes were half lidded, watching the other before Brian pulled away, thumb coming up to swipe the drool back into your mouth. A heavy pant left him as he sunk his thumb into your mouth, resting it on your tongue as he groaned. He kept it there as his thrusts became short and quick.

"Need to feel you cum around me pretty girl, wanna watch you make a complete mess of yourself." Fingers slipped down in-between the both of you, two fingers coming down to your clit and rubbing in slow small circles. The arch in your back had him speeding up his fingers, grin never leaving his face as he watched your eyes screw shut.

"Fu-fuck, I-."

"Go ahead sweetheart, lemme feel you." Just one more sweet little name was all you needed apparently as you let out a whiny moan, thighs shuddering in his grasp. Both hands came to grip your waist as he grunted, quick curses leaving him before he was spilling into you.

Your hand ran over your forehead and layed above you as you panted, staring up at the ceiling as you listened to the blonde pant beside you. You glanced over at him, arm laying over his chest as he seemed to also be in a daze. Watching his Adams apple bob as he swallowed before glancing over at you too. The boyish smile that formed on his lips was enough for you as you smiled back.

----------------------------------------------------

Comments super appreciated cause I really wanna get back into writing, especially for marble hornets. Also yes this is set in an AU where they work for the operator, I'm sorry but it's easy and I'm dumb for them

[purplelupins]

Lamb

|Midnight Mass|

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

Father Paul Hill/John Pruitt x fem!reader

Word count: 13.7k

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

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

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

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It was nearly noon when you stirred.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded.

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

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

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

So trusting for me…

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

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

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

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

“Because you were perfect.” He muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You looked away, and thought.

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

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

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

Your statement surprised him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do…” you whispered.

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

You stared up at him, and clenched your jaw.

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

“Okay.”

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

You nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You needed to do this.

Closure.

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

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

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

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

“Ordinary time…” you whispered to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

Trust.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trust.

“Amen.”

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

John watched you proudly, and finished service.

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

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

You turned off the lights and ran into the bedroom and pulled the blankets up and over your head as you tried to find an equilibrium in your breathing. Your ears were ringing and your stomach felt uncomfortable like you had either eaten far too much or far too little.

After a while, you heard knocking on the front door. Your nerves lit up at the idea of one of the islanders being the visitor. Your stomach only dropped further when you heard keys. You knew Father Pruitt was the only one with keys, or so he said. What if this was all a trap? What is he asked you to come that night so he could let the parishioners on you? What if he was lying all along? What if-

“Y/n?” Came that low hum of a voice that you had grown to know. You still didn’t move. What if he had other people with him?

You could hear footsteps coming closer. You pulled the covers closer, and tried to hold your breath.

“Little one, what are you doing?” Came his gentle whisper.

You didn’t reply, staying as still as you could.

He sighed.

“Give me your hand, my sweet girl.”

You didn’t.

“Trust me.”

You slowly moved your arm and released the death grip you had on the blanket to produce your hand to him.

John tutted your palm where little crescent moons were etched into your skin where you had clenched your fists.

You felt him take your hand, and raise it up until you felt him press it against his cheek.

“See? I’m here…you’re okay.” He whispered into your skin and leaned into your touch. You moved your fingers over his cheekbone and along his jaw, then down over the corner of his mouth and over his Cupid’s bow until you returned to holding his face. You felt the light press of a kiss to your palm, and your breath hitched.

“Come here, sweetheart…”

You very slowly pulled the blanket off your head and turned your head up to peak around the room. It was dark. So dark. You knew he didn’t need the lights on to see you clearly, and when your eyes found his, his gaze were two pinpricks of light bouncing off his pupils.

With his other hand, he coaxed the blanket off you a bit further until your thighs poked out.

“There she is…” he whispered, and pulled on your hand to sit up until he was sitting beside you and guiding you into his lap,“You did so good, I’m so proud of you, my girl.”

Your limp grip on his shoulders tightened quickly until you were wrapping your legs around his hips and locking your arms around his shoulders; face buried in his neck.

John exhaled into your hair as your scent flooded his senses.

“I’m sorry I ran…” you murmured.

“Shh..nothing to apologise for.” He kissed your temple, and pretended to not notice how your legs tightened around him. How close you were.

“I know they want to see me…I just…I don’t think I can…” you sniffled.

“That’s alright…they understand.” He cooed, stroking your hair.

You sighed and suddenly felt so embrasssed for running. You felt like a child.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” He breathed against the crown of your hair.

You shook your head.

“Do you want to come sit with me? I can read you one of those terrible German fairytales.” He offered.

You laughed shakily, “I’d rather go back to the church, Father.”

He laughed with you, and you enjoyed the vibrations it made in his chest. You slowly pulled away from him, but kept your gaze lowered to his chest. You thought you were stronger than that.

His sigh fanned over your forehead, and his finger came under your chin to tilt your face up to his. Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and you could see his face. His breath mingled with yours, and you swallowed it down.

“Come sit with me.” He said gently, “Keep an old man company.”

You relented and untangled yourself from him.

“Slowly…there you go.” He helped you to stand, and put a hand on your lower back to nudge you out from the bedroom.

Your bare feet were cold against the wooden floors. When you sat, you immediately tucked them under you to warm them; you didn’t want to ask for a blanket, you had been enough trouble already.

John shucked off his coat and hung it while watching you in his peripheral. You were cold.

He walked past you and retrieved a blanket from the closet, and grabbed a book he had seen you eye, then returned to you.

You looked up when you heard Father Pruitt round the couch, and your cheeks went warm when you saw the blanket.

“Sorry…” you whispered and accepted the plush quilt.

“Hush.” He whispered and took a seat beside you, then held his arm out for you to come closer. You shuffled tentatively towards him, and he tsked you before putting the book down momentarily to pick you up and slide you over his thighs. You gasped a little and tried not to be uncomfortable for him; squirming to keep most of your weight off him while he pulled the blanket around the two of you and up around your torso.

“Better?” He asked, leaning away from you to see you.

You nodded, and he hummed before picking the book back up and flicking through to find a spot to start.

You sighed, and still felt ridiculous. But then you remembered the last time you had felt silly, and you had had every right to feel what you did. Terror or embarrassment, it didn’t matter. With that thought, you allowed yourself to settle into his collar which dug into your cheek.

Father John began to read aloud. After several minutes, you felt his free hand leave you and reach up to his white collar, and pull it free. You watched him put it down beside you, then return to undo a few buttons as he spoke. You were transfixed by his hand, and then watched it stop and return under the blanket to your thigh.

An odd sensation filled you then. One that caught you as off guard as when you had compared Father Hill to Jesus Christ. It was something that coiled low in your belly…constricted yet not unpleasant. You shifted to alleviate it, and while it did dissipate, it didn’t disappear.

You tried to focus on the Father’s voice as he read to you. But it felt as if his words went in one ear and out the other- all that was left was the gentle hum that resonated from his throat.

“I liked your sermon, Father.” You interrupted him.

John paused at your comment, “I’m glad you did.”

“Reminded me of the ones you’d give when I was little.” You said.

He smiled, and patted your thigh, then continued his reading.

After an hour, your eyes began to droop and your head grew heavy.

John could feel your heart rate slowing, and your weight leaning into him more. He finished the paragraph he had started, the snapped the book shut and placed it beside him.

“Let’s get you to sleep, little one.” He whispered and worked his hand under your legs and the other behind your back before standing up with you in his arms.

You nestled further into his arms, and protested when he went to let you down at the bed for your nightly prayers.

“Just a few more minutes then you can sleep.” He chastised you, putting your feet onto the floor.

You nodded, and stretched then carefully got to your knees; the Father joining you.

You both crossed yourselves and began to pray.

“Jesus, through the power of the Holy Spirit, go back into my memory as I sleep. Every hurt that has been done to me, heal that hurt. Every hurt I have caused to someone, heal that hurt. But Jesus, if there is anything I need to do, if a person is still suffering from my wickedness, bring to my awareness that which I have hurt and need to remedy. I choose to forgive others and I ask to be forgiven. Remove whatever bitterness that remains in my heart, and fill it with Your everlasting love. Amen.” John murmured beside you.

Your heart ached, and you sobered at his words. “Amen.” You whispered and after a moment you looked over at the man beside you. He returned your stare; the light from the living room outlining his face.

You swallowed, and forced yourself to stand. John followed you up and bent his neck to look down at you at his full height.

“Good night, my sweet girl.” He whispered to you, and tucked a stray hair behind your ear.

“Goodnight Father.” You replied, and sat down slowly. John picked the blankets up, and helped you under. You noticed his hesitation. And you waited.

He stared down at you for a long moment, then leaned over you and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Sleep well.” He whispered just a breath away from you.

You felt that warmth coiling in your belly again, and you blinked more than you should have in an effort to force it away. “Thank you.”

He sighed, and leaned away from you. You watched him clench his hands, and you wondered if he had eaten recently. Just as he went to turn away, you put your hand on his arm, “Father?”

“Yes?”

“Are you…you…you don’t seem yourself, have you eaten?” You asked quietly.

John gulped down some air and looked down, “I’m just fine, thank you. Not to worry.” He tried to reassure you, inching out the door.

It isn’t thirst that ails me, little lamb.

He was never one to brush you off. Which was why is attempt did nothing to smooth you. You sat up, “Have I done something? Did something happen?” You asked.

“No…no nothing. I just…I just need some air.” He tried, his smile tight.

You felt a pang of hurt at his stiltedness, but you didn’t press him anymore. “Alright…goodnight.” You whispered.

He nodded and closed the door halfway.

“So you’re saying you grew up on the Mainland, became a priest…did a little preaching in the cities but said “no thank you.” then came to Crockett in your late 20’s?” You asked as you made yourself a cup of tea.

John nodded from his place at his desk, “It was the 50’s and there were just…so many domestic issues at that time. By the end of confessional I wanted to go home and cry. Crockett was simple and a breath of fresh air. Dull, I know. ” He chuckled.

Your face flushed, “No! No I just…always wondered.”

He smiled, “It’s only natural…I grew up in a non-religious household…Christian but not really practicing…my sister’s passing led me to God. Your curiosity is genuine and fair…who knows where it may lead you.”

You sat down across from him and looked over at his writing.

He peaked up at you and tutted, “Nosey.”

You looked away, and took a sip of the hot drink with a little smile.

It had been over a week now since you had been bleeding out in the cellar. You were completely healed, and truly faced little danger, but both of you refused to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

You didn’t want to go home.

And you weren’t sure if that was a good thing.

“I always wanted to travel.” You mused.

“Where would you go?” John asked you, slowing his writing.

“…I think Spain first. See the Vatican…go down to Italy and Croatia then back up to Germany to curse whoever came up with those grim fairytales.” You smiled into your drink.

The Father laughed at that then put his pen down, “I’m sure you will see all of those places and more.”

Your smile faltered a little. If you could get of that island, maybe. Did you want to get off Crockett? Would it be so horrible if you died there?

Your mood dropped.

Father Pruitt’a mouth sat in a straight line when he saw your smile drop. You deserved more. A part of him wondered if the reason you weren’t fighting to leave anymore was because of him. Was he keeping you there? Clipping your wings?

You hadn’t attended Mass since that night. John didn’t ask you to come, he knew you would go if you wanted to. You prayed together every night, and listened to him talk about God in your private hide away. Where you could ask questions and interject.

“Your family called today?” John asked to change the topic.

You sucked in a breath, “Yes…a short call but it was nice to hear their voices…they want me to come for Christmas.”

John clenched his jaw, “I see.”

“I told them the ferries aren’t running very well. Not a total lie.” You shrugged and took a long drink.

He stayed quiet for a long moment.

“Why don’t you go?” He asked.

You looked up at him and laughed a little, “I think we both know the answer to that, Father.”

John looked away, and down at his pen, “If it weren’t for the…what happened, what would you do?”

“I’d…I’d probably go. Take some time away. Maybe book a ticket somewhere and see a piece of the world that isn’t Crockett shaped.” You thought aloud.

He nodded.

“That sounds nice.” He smiled quickly.

“We all have dreams, Father.” You replied.

You finished your drink and stood to place the cup in the sink. When you went to pass by him to return to your seat, the Father’s hand caught yours.

“Come here.” He hummed and pointed to the paper infront of him, “What do you think of this?” He asked you.

You looked down over his shoulder and saw a paragraph he was writing for his sermon. You pursed your lips, and found that your neck was growing stiff at the angle, so you scooted between him and the desk and sat on his lap to read better. You had grown used to sitting in close proximity to the Monsignor, and simply began to read.

John’s breath hitched at your action and he went still for a moment. Certainly you had both been close, but you had never plopped yourself over his legs before. He knew it was just you gaining comfort around him, which was positive, but the action still had him swallowing thickly. Closeness was still something he was being accustomed to after a lifetime of so little. It used to be so easy to ignore any sort of…feelings such as this, but since his regained youth he truly felt like a young man again, and found himself relearning to temper his humanity.

“Well?” He asked in your ear, steadying his breath.

You shifted a little and cleared your throat, “Um it’s good.” You said, “You might want to rephrase this part…sounds a little “holier than thou”.”

His brows pitched up and he leaned closer to read. He looked over the sentence you pointed to and nodded along, trying to ignore the warmth your body bled into him. It seeped into his skin and heated his veins.

“Good…thank you, my dear.” He murmured from behind you, and you turned your head a little to see him in your peripheral.

“My pleasure, Monsignor.”

He grit his teeth at the name. It wasn’t that it bothered him. There was just something about you saying it that reminded him of himself. He gave you a tight smile.

You went to stand, but he slipped an arm around your waist to keep you there, “Sit with me for a while.” He hummed, but had already begun to rewrite the section. You might have protested…or your might not have. You didn’t know which you would choose if you did have a choice.

With his large hand planted against your stomach, and curling to your hip, you stayed put. You shifted to let him see what he was doing, and rested your head into the crook of his neck. He wore no collar nor black shirt…just a tshirt and cardigan. You reached out and picked up his rosary from the desk, and toyed with it. After a moment, you opened your hand, and placed the cross against the little scar you had from your own digging into your hand on Easter.

“Must’ve hurt.”

You jumped a little at his voice and looked up. Your nose bumped his. You hadn’t noticed he had stopped writing altogether, and had been watching you.

“Not as badly as you’d think.” You whispered, looking away quickly to stare down at your hand again.

You saw his arm move from around you to grasp your fingers and bring them up to his mouth where he placed a kiss over the pinkish scar. You felt your ears grow warm, and you tried to pull your hand away, but he wasn’t done. John stroked his thumb over it, and leaned away from you to relax into the back of his chair.

“We should get you to bed, little one.” He mused.

You nodded, though you didn’t feel very tired.

He helped you to stand, and guided you into the back of the rectory. You both knelt facing the cross above the door, but when you went to hand his rosary back to him he shook his head and took yours from the bedside table. It felt oddly intimate to be using each other’s rosary for prayer, and you found your cheeks warming again at the thought of it.

You heard Father John begin a prayer for the night, and you forced yourself to focus on it. Not on how his voice dipped into a low hum that vibrated in your ears and made your fingertips tingle. You told yourself it was just the proximity of someone you had once admired. Someone who, despite the horrible things he had done, cared for you. Not the warmth that simmered just below your pelvis.

“Amen.”

You blinked and glanced at the man beside you and muttered a quiet amen like you had been listening. When he went to rise, you found yourself still rooted to the spot; John halted his movement and settled back down next to you. He didn’t ask any questions nor made any comment. He was patient for you, and if you needed a moment longer, he would join you.

Your eyes were glazed over as you stared at a chip in the paint on the wall, but your ears were alive with the memory of that song the Father danced with you to.

Hallelujah…hallelujah…

You blinked, and sucked in a breath, then released it slowly through your nose. Father John tilted his head to watch you thoughtfully, and you copied his movement. The dim light from a single lamp in the living room cast a warm glow over half his face; one eye glinting in the darkness. Your gaze met his, and you felt your lungs beg for air when you saw reminiscent of the man he used to be. His face soft and vulnerable as he watched you with such fondness.

The selfish and childish part of you whispered to itself in question, “Did love feel like this?” And your other part wished so badly to say no, but it stayed quiet because it didn’t know…and it let that other half wonder idly.

You repeated that question over and over in your mind. Is it? You didn’t know. Not that you had to wonder for long, not when he bowed his head and pressed his lips to yours…and the question vanished. It wasn’t answered, but when he kissed you again, you had no space for wonderment. His hand came up to the nape of your neck to cradle your jaw, stroking small, encouraging circles there. If they could speak they would whisper, “That’s it…that’s it. I’ve got you.” in your ear.

You timidly brought your hands up to his shoulders, not certain if you were to push on them or tug them closer. Your uncertainty seemed to have an answer when he gently ushered his tongue into your mouth. Your little fists slipped over his shoulders just as they did when he carried you to bed at night, and his hand eased around your waist like he did when he held you in his lap while he wrote.

You let him press you close, and you could feel his lean frame flush against you; he elicited a moan from you that he gulped down.

A precious sound.

Then as you sunk into one another, he pulled away just momentarily to pick you up and ease you onto the bed. The plushness enveloped you and his hand slipped to the back of your head to cradle your skull as he returned his mouth to yours and climbed over you carefully. This time you tentatively licked into his mouth, and received a pleased hum in reply as he allowed you.

You repeated the action as you welcomed him over you, placing your knees on either side of his hips. This time he shuttered ever so slightly, and pressed himself closer. You felt one of his hands move to your thigh, stroking it softly like he cherished it, while his other had his fingers twisting into your hair to hold you in place as he grew greedy, and stoked your pining.

Slowly, John pulled away, pecking light kisses to your lips until he was bracing himself over you.

““He who guards his mouth guards his soul. One who opens wide his lips comes to ruin.”…I would happily let you be my ruin.” He whispered.

You stared up at him, eyes heavy, “And what of my ruin, Monsignor?”

He smiled thoughtfully, brushing hair from your forehead, “You will have no ruin. Sunlight cannot be ruined.”

“And what about nightfall?” You countered as his face inches closer to you.

“The sun will always be shining somewhere…and if not then let me be that temporary darkness that borrows your glow if only for a while.” He spoke against your lips, and kissed you slowly.

That warm constriction in your belly wove and churned until the heat of it gave you made your toes curl in your warm socks, and arch your back into him like he wasn’t close enough. You hadn’t the faintest idea a body could be capable of such want, and you were intent to allow it to run its course.

That fist that cinched your hair tugged when your thighs tightened around him to draw him closer. A gasp pulled from your lips and John pressed his hips into you, and the rough jean rubbed you so suddenly you cried out into his mouth and along his tongue that knew your taste.

You whined and tugged at his shoulders; that feeling inside you becoming overwhelming. You were at a loss for words to communicate what you wanted, and it was as if he could feel your need for something…something.

He slowed his mouth and pulled away just a breath, “Tell me what you want.” He hummed.

Your eyes went wide and you looked away only for him to chase your gaze, and tut you. “Cmon.” He cooed. You might have thought he was teasing you if he had been anyone else. But John Pruitt was staring back at you like your answer to his question would determine the course of the rest of his life.

“I-…I don’t…I don’t know I’ve never…” you stumbled over your confession.

John nodded, gaze locked on you intently, “Of course…I understand.”

A beat passed between you two, and you were preparing yourself for him to pull off of you and tell you that he couldn’t-

“I’ll be good to you…if you’ll let me.” He whispered.

Trust.

You bit the inside of your lip as you thought; he didn’t move an inch.

Very slowly, you nodded, “Okay.”

He grinned ever so slightly, just enough to show those pointed peaks of his teeth. “Okay.” He repeated.

He leaned away from you then, and helped you to sit up while he rocked back onto his heels to give you room. He pulled off your sweater just as carefully as he had when he had undressed you after your attack.

“Arms up.” He murmured and you did as he said for him to tug your dress over your head.

A part of John was wailing at him to look away from you and to let you keep your dignity. Told him to dress you and take you home and tell you that he wasn’t a good person. But John had always had a tendency for selfishness, and he knew you were letting yourself be just as selfish as he. He knew you were likely having the same or similar thoughts.

So when he let himself look at you.

He let himself gorge on your beauty.

Greedy. Gluttonous.

He remembered then when he was on the cusp of priesthood when he must have been just a little younger than you. How his mentors would remind him of the perils of the seven sins, and how they would test him when he least expected it. How he would have to employ the Lords graces to overcome them. But John more vividly remembered how those same priests would overfill themselves at holiday feasts, and how he had caught a few staring a little too long at women and girls during services. It was difficult to fear their words when they themselves betrayed them.

Which was why John felt guiltless as the fabric came away from you.

Because he would much rather fear the true wrath of God than the intimidating warnings of men. And if God disapproved of the admiration of one of his creations, then John would take the punishment if he was granted this one time to fill his senses with you.

Your hands shook. And you dropped your arms back down as he placed the garment to the side. You half expected him to remain clothed, but he remained where he was and shrugged off his sweater, and grabbed the back of his plain shirt, and pulled it over his head.

You stared up at his form- still and curious. John took your hand in his, and placed it on his chest where his heart used to beat. Feeling his skin somehow made him feel so much more human. Like there wasn’t a lifetime between you and different blood in your veins.

He sighed at your touch and closed his eyes when he sunk back down to you and your hand moved along his collarbone to his neck to the nape where his dark hair curled. Your other hand joined, and tugged a little on the tender hairs there.

He took his hands away from you for only a moment to kick his jeans to the floor, then he returned to you- skin against yours and the veil of your underwear between you. It felt so foreign to know what his flesh felt like. Of course you knew he was born to this world just as every other being- bare as a babe. But he had become so superior in his status that the idea that he had calves and biceps and skin and hair under his chasuble took away so much of that inhuman pedestal you had unknowingly put him on.

Heat seemed to radiate between you both, and your skin became sticky against the winter chill that crept inside through minor holes and cracks in the old building. You pulled at him and tried to press him closer but it wasn’t enough. You didn’t know what it was, but your greed that you had so perfectly neglected since childhood seemed to rear its head with the Father against you.

You found your dwindling strength to push him away and he chased your mouth for a moment and you let him- open mouthed kisses from afar.

“F-father I’m- I- I um…” you tried to shift and squirm to get your point across but even you didn’t know what you wanted.

The older man above you watched intently with almost a paternal care as you tried to explain yourself.

“Is there a gluttonous warmth that’s settled in that belly of yours, sweet girl?” He asked with a small smirk that truly caught you off guard. You suddenly remembered that he was not entirely inexperienced such as yourself, and you briefly wondered if he has always been a little domineering, or if his age had snubbed it or perhaps it was an embraced trait with his renewed youth.

Your mouth lay agape for a moment, then you nodded and squeezed your thighs around him. The stiffness you felt there pressing insistently against your clothed flesh managed to intimidate your insatiability, but didn’t curb it.

“Would you allow me the gift of bringing you to rapture?” He asked so softly, pecking a kiss to the corner of your mouth and caressing your cheek while his other hand’s thumb stroked under your bra’s band.

Your poor mind attempted to catch up, but his touch was making your head spin and melt. His purred question had you recalling everything you had been taught since childhood by your family, “Father isn’t…we…it’s a-“ you started.

“You might think that…but it cannot be a sin. Not when you are this lovely and willing…You are no temptation…you are a gift.” He countered easily. Like he had thought about this before in detail.

“What if you are the temptation, Father?” You asked.

He grinned a little at your retort. Always one to keep him on his toes.

“If I am that, then is it not better to indulge in me than an irrefutable sin another time?” He nudged your nose with his.

You realized then that never once had you ever heard him preach the sins of the flesh. Indeed that temptations were made to misguide us, but never specifically that.

You breathed his air, and flushed your eyes between his, “Then bless me, Father.” You whispered before you could tell yourself it was wrong.

John’s breath caught in his throat, and he could almost feel his pupils expanding into dinner plates.

Cheeky girl.

“It was always going to be you…” he mused aloud, looking over your face, “No disobedience like Adam and Eve listening to the serpent… no you are…you are too good. My holy deliverance.” He kissed you so tenderly.

Then he kissed your cheek, and down your neck to your shoulder where he pulled the strap of your bra down. He followed the elastic to your chest and he helped you remove the article entirely. You looked away shyly, but he brought your attention back to him with a finger under your chin.

“There we go…look at me…you’re alright…” he whispered, a slight shake to his hand, “I’m with you.”

You nodded and sighed as you fought to not overthink.

Once Father John was certain you were alright, he kissed you one more time and began kissing your chest. His hands were a little timid and out of practice as he squeezed your opposite breast, though did not fail to make your toes curl as he pulled sounds from you that you stifled late at night and shamed yourself for; Hail Mary’s falling from your lips like breaths. He lapped at your skin as he descended down over your belly where your ecstasy lay tightly wound and molten.

He stopped then, and looked up at you , face a little shy in his want.

“Your fruit is the only harrowed offering I desire to eat…and if that makes me a sinner then I will humbly accept my punishment.” He murmured.

Your face was so warm you thought you may faint. You didn’t know the man with the stiff white collar and slightly nervous disposition could have such a blunt, honeyed tongue.

You leaned up a little then to look down at him as he kissed at the top of your panties.

“What are you…” you trailed off. You had had an educational sex talk with your mother when you were a teenager, and had read mentions of the various acts you could do, but you were at a loss with how Father John seemed to wish to venture further than just your stomach or hips.

It was no willing education that the holy man had gone through for sexual acts. It had been decades of confessions from islanders and tourists alike back when the island was alive. Some explicit ans some leaving him curious. Tales from visitors he didn’t know who came to spend a few weeks on Crockett and took advantage of the anonymity of the village confessional booth with a young pastor to hear their sins and absolve them before they returned to the city.

It took years, but after a while, he began to piece things together. They made his ears grow hot and his hands grip his rosary a little tighter.

But curious he remained.

Was a woman’s body so wholly splendorous that a man desired deeply to kiss upon her lips where no tongue sat between them? Would she taste as addictive as they said?

“I’d like to kiss you h-here…”he whispered, and so gently ran his index finger down the edge of your underwear where it curved down your thigh, “…please.”

His eyes were wide as he stared up to you; still so unsure but so lost in his desire to think twice.

“…okay.” You managed. Just as lost as he.

His veiny hands ran gentle trailed up and down your thighs, and he peppered kisses in their wake. You shivered and squirmed under the sensations he drew forth, and you wished you knew what to do with them. Were you supposed to moan or tell him what to do? Were you supposed to ask for more? You didn’t know. What you did know was that you wanted his hands to touch you, and that seemed like a good place to start.

It seemed you hadn’t been paying full attention for a moment, though your focus returned tenfold when you felt a warm kiss there against you. You twitched in surprise, and stared down at the man sat between your legs; his dark hair all tousled curls that fell over his forehead and gaze intently immersed in your reaction. He repeated the action, his lips caressing the fabric that still covered you. Your breathing became something you had to actively remember to do when he grasped the undergarment and pulled it down your legs.

With yourself bare to him, you reflexively notched your knees together, though he easily parted them with a little coaxing from his tongue running up your inner thigh.

“Fa-Father Pr-“ you stuttered out breathlessly.

“Shhh…I know…”he whispered against your hip where he kissed and ran a pointed tooth over your skin. He could barely hide the fact that you using his title affected him more than it should have. “Say a Hail Mary with me, sweet girl.” He said.

Your eyes went wide, and the devil in him reared its head for just a moment. He liked seeing you so shocked. But when he began to recite the prayer and you followed his lead, that heathen calmed a little.

“Hail Mary, f-full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed…” you realised the Father had stopped speaking and had begun running his lips down your hip to your pelvic bone, and he tilted his head to nestle his cheek against you for a moment.

“Continue.” He murmured.

You remembered to breathe, “B-blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb-“ you lost any ability to talk when Father Pruitt leaned down and pressed an open mouthed kiss to the delicate flesh between your thighs. You felt the tip of his tongue against you, and his large hands held you firmly in place.

“J-Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” You rushed the end.

John looked up at you and kissed your thigh with a proud look in his dark eyes. “Amen.” He whispered.

Then slow and deliberate, he leaned back down and kissed you again, this time ushering his tongue into the slick pedals of skin. You stuttered out another deep breath, and clutched at the sheets beside you. He lathed his tongue in you and swallowed greedily, rutting himself into the bed while his long legs braced him. His hands began to guide you to roll your hips up into his open mouth and you found that sensitive spot that had your squeezing your eyes shut and your mouth dropping open in sinful gasp.

When your movements became more bold, and your fingers wove into his thick hair, Father John settled deeper into your flesh. He worked his jaw slow and steady. He was an attentive learner and listened to when your breathing stopped and felt your legs shake or your fingers pull him closer into you.

Then like he could hear your mind, he removed one of his hands from your legs and ran his index finger down the curve of your thigh to your entrance when he carefully pushed in; just as careful as when he turned the pages of the Bible. Your body jerked, and you couldn’t help the cry that he pulled from you as he sunk into you to the knuckle.

“How’s that?” He asked you just as breathless as you.

You couldn’t speak, and you found yourself starting to grow far too warm all at once.

“Good?” He prompted, patient as ever, “Tell me if it’s nice, young lady or I’ll have to stop.” He chastised you.

His comment curled deep inside you like his finger as he stroked you and lapped at your tender clit.

“I-it feels go-good Monsignor.” You managed to shoot back.

He grinned and suckled you into his mouth as he pumped you firm and slow. He knew there was somewhere inside you that would make heighten your pleasure, and he slowly teased and touched every inch he could reach until he found that patch of membrane inside you that had you bolting up and pushing his face into you harder.

“S-sorry I’m- I- Fath- Joh-“ you began to babble and try to form an apology as you immediately backed off, but his used his free hand to bring yours back to his head and had you push down again as he sucked and kissed and lapped at your sweetness.

The pressure of his touch had that coil in you start to vibrate and heat up to uncomfortable heights. Your moans came in constant succession, and you found that you couldn’t breathe without making a needy sound.

You were so lost in your own building euphoria that you didn’t see how Father John devoured and held you with such need that he shook and shuttered. A voice in his head asked him if this was for your pleasure alone, or was this his devout need to know what heaven was like when he was surly damned. His hips rocked and ground into the mattress making his ears ring with want.

Your movements met with his and he let you use him to catch that pleasure you had worked so hard for until your body went ridged. A relieved cry tore from your throat and your muscles constricted around his fingers- when had he added another?- and coated his tongue in his prize. You muscles ached from the tension you endured as you rocked against him to ride out your ecstasy. He licked at you gingerly, helping you through it as the blood stopped rushing in your eardrums.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, your eyes lost their glaze and you could look at him. John kissed your thigh, and slowly drew his fingers from you. You winced slightly, and your eyes grew heaviler when he lifted them to his mouth and sucked them clean like he had been waiting for that.

“There she is…” he whispered and kissed you one more time before climbing up your body and nestling his face into your neck. You locked your legs around him and pressed him against you, your breath hitching at the firmness there that prodded at you insistently.

“Wa-was that okay?” He murmured, and kissed your cheeks.

You nodded lazily and laughed a little. So old fashioned at heart, even in his youth. He smiled back, and blew air over your flushed face. He might have been about to say something else, but you tugged him down to your lips before much more than a muffled sound could come out. It couldn’t have been important as he gave into your want and returned your kiss.

It seemed you both grew aware of the heady need that still hung in the air and your joined lips slowed and stopped until you were both simply laying there with your mouths close to one another.

You flushed with embarrassment when a thought crossed your mind- one that belonged in the gutter. Evidently your burning cheeks were observed by the older man, and his eyes grew searching.

“Tell me…” he whispered, and kissed your temple.

You looked away and fidgeted, then subconsciously looked down.

John tracked your gaze, and when it flickered between you, he had a small idea of what was ailing you.

“We- we don’t…” he started, but you shook your head.

“Its not…I- can- can I-“ you fumbled and squirmed.

He stared at you, and felt your hands toy at the nape of his neck.

“Touch me?” He asked, seeing if that was what you wanted.

You couldn’t look at him, but you nodded ever so slightly.

He sucked in a breath to steady himself as he grew lightheaded.

“…give me your hand, sweet girl.” He shuttered and swallowed.

You timidly removed one of your hands from his neck, and gave it to him. The good Father paused for just a moment to check on you, but you bit at your lip and nodded again, and he continued. He rolled a little to the side, and guided your hand down to his waistband. He didn’t take his eyes off you for a moment, and you followed suit in staring back. He helped you slip your little hand inside, and you could feel him pulse against your palm.

Johns breath caught in his throat, and he closed his eyes when you shyly touched him. You ran your hand gently up his shaft, and grew a little more empowered when his hips jerked towards you. Then, you slowly wrapped your hand around him, and his eyes fell shut and his mouth dropped open with a sigh.

You watched him closely, completely unsure of what you were doing as you moved your hand up and back down. You squeezed him slightly, and his head fell into your shoulder with a soft groan. You dragged you hand back up to the tip, and found a wetness there that helped you. It only took a few moments before he was gently taking your wrist and rolling you back under him.

“I’m- I’m sorry…I can’t- please…” he murmured and you nodded again as he took himself out slowly. John braced himself above you, just a few inches away to see you properly, and he sighed. You really were so…so beautiful.

So lovely.

He blinked, and swallowed.

You started breathing deeply when you felt his slick skin against you, and he kissed you again.

“Shh…take a deep breath for me, litttle one.” He said calmly like his own hands didn’t have an elated tremor to them, “C’mon, with me: in…” he took a breath in, and you followed his lead; his eyes held yours in the dim light, and you felt safe.

There was a pressure at your tender flesh that you seemed to crave as your cramped muscles relaxed and gave away to his body.

“And out…” he imitated for you, and you did as he said, though you found it difficult to breathe. The fragile skin slickened, and welcomed him inside you, and you found yourself pressing every inch of yourself against his damp skin to touch, touch, touch.

John sighed and buried his face into your shoulder where your scar was still fresh. He kissed there and scraped his teeth over the unevenness; your nerves were set alight, and you constricted around him suddenly at the sensation. He smiled and kissed again then trailed up your neck to your cheek where he gathered your lips with his again and swallowed your gasp as he pressed himself further until you couldn’t take anymore.

“There you go…such a g-good girl…you alright?” He whispered as he gasped in his own euphoria.

You took a couple breaths then nodded; the stretch that your muscles completed to accommodate him made you ache, but when his addictive kiss coated your lips with his saliva, it ebbed away.

“Deep breaths…there we go just like th-that..”

He started slow. Gentle rocking of his hips into yours as he stroked your thighs and distracted you with sweet encouragement in your ears. Introducing your body to sensations it began to crave and demand. And after a few minutes, your pelvis began to chase his as he moved until he started to lengthen his rocking- drawing further and further out of you and rooting himself inside you like a plant looking for soil.

Your whining in his ear only furthered his chase for pleasure. Your pleas and moans that he savoured and swallowed. Then when one of his hands left you and disappeared between your bodies, you tried to see what he was doing, but your curiosity was sated when you felt him press just above where he entered you, and stroked you so gently. The sounds you cried out into the small, dark room were enough to summon angels and demons alike to bear witness to your willing invasion.

“How’s that sweet girl?” Came his whisper that curled in your ear and peaked your nipples.

“I’m- I-“ you breathed out an attempted response to convey your approval but to no avail.

You could feel his smile against your skin, and you let him touch you like it belonged to him. You rolled your hips to meet his- slow and steady. You began a succinct string of breathless supplications that played in repetitive order in Johns head as he felt you begin to constrict around him. It took his well practiced willpower and patience to remain composed with you. The selfishness in him wished for him to lock his arms around you and take his pleasure from you as if it was something owed, but he knew he was better than that. He was more than the poison in his veins.

For you he would be better.

Then your nails found purchase in the skin on his back as his pace grew insistent, and he groaned a low hum into your neck. But despite the mounting pressure of sybaritism, he kept his hand steady and calm as he helped you meet your own bliss. It wasn’t that he was well practiced or that he knew what he was doing, but he had hearing that could detect every time your breath caught and when a secret gasp would sit in your throat. Just as he had been with priesthood, he was an eager and curious learner, and he was just as dedicated to knowing what your body craved.

John paused for only a moment to readjust you against him; he knelt before you and shifted your hips up to compensate for the change, then his hands gripped your thighs and pushed them down to your torso and guided your hands to hold them. As he slipped back inside you, your swollen mouth dropped open and he crawled back down to you.

“There we go…that’s it.” He whispered, voice shaking so slightly.

So many explicit confessions from his youth had initially made his ears turn pink and his hands shake from the salaciousness; yet now here he was murmuring those same words into your eager ears.

Any Hail Mary’s he might prescribe after having you under him would be hollow. Not when he knew the enjoyment of such tender flesh. You were the epitome of sublime in your chase for pleasure, and he knew he shouldn’t find such carnal desire in seeing you lose yourself. Yet there he was, wanting to savour every moment of your young body falling apart for him to devour.

Your eyes grew heavy and nearly slipped shut. That furnace in your belly was on the brink of combustion, and the good Father only stoked it. So you let him. You relaxed completely and let your mind go blank as he moved you to completion. You could feel your muscles start to tighten around him, and curl to pull him deeper and closer.

Then bliss…

You could barely register your elevated cries into his shoulder as he brought himself closer to you, his eyes crinkling with pride. You rolled your pelvis up to meet his at pleasure overtook you and used you like a marionette to procure every ounce of your deserved euphoria.

Warmth filled your tummy when Father Pruitt went still. He shuttered and sighed low in his chest as he held you tight and filled you.

Your heartbeat pulsed between your chests, and was like thunder in John’s ears. The rush of your blood through veins and your body trying to recover were like music to his ears. John kissed your shoulder, and sighed.

Neither of you spoke…no words to say or sound to make. A mutual silence.

Slowly, he drew away from you, and you found yourself feeling empty. Had you always been so empty?

He lay to your side and pulled you back against him like you used to embrace a pillow on stormy nights as a child.

It was only when he brought your hand up to his mouth to press a kiss there did you both notice that you still clutched his rosary; an imprint of its beads and cross evident in your palm.

“Amen.” He hummed and looked up at you softly.

You faintly smiled and he savoured the expression. A look of fondness.

There was a peculiar feeling inside you, and it wasn’t the way you ached from him or how warm you were. It lasted days as they passed, and only seemed to grow with the more kisses you shared.

When he would run his nose along your neck and hold your hips against him or when he would tilt his head down to you when in the middle of reading and taste your tongue with his if only for a moment.

But also when he would remain calm and honest when his hunger grew. When fear never returned to you. When you both would visit Hassan’s grave at night and he would tell you stories as you readied for bed.

It was the startling question of whether you wanted to stay. And what that would entail. When he had asked you just days ago about your wishes, you had of course wanted to see your family and travel, and in the depths of your heart you still wished to do those and more. But the longer Father John held you, the further those dreams seemed to be.

Would it be so horrible if you stayed? If you lived there forever with John Pruitt and rebuilt your routine there? Would it truly be sinful to alter Gods plan and will and give in to eternal life? Something you had so greatly feared?

Which was why you turned to John one night as he lay beside you. He held you in his arms and was waiting for you to fall asleep before feeding when you sighed.

“Father?” You asked.

He smiled, “You know you don’t ha-“

“Force of habit…forgive me.” You smiled a little too, “I…I’d like to stay.”

Johns brow pinched, “At the rectory? My dear I think we’re past-“

“No I mean…I mean here. On Crockett.” You murmured into his clavicle, and he took a steady breath, “I’m ready.”

He was quiet for a moment, then he nodded, “Alright.” He whispered and kissed your hair.

You thought he sounded pleased. In a way he was. Turmoil had been making his stomach sour as he dreaded that moment. Wondering what your choice would be. But as you said those words into his skin, it was as if a weight had been lifted.

This was his moment to set you free.

You fell asleep on him just as you had often now, and he let himself indulge in your sweet warmth for a while longer.

His last selfish act.

They say if you’re hungry enough, you’ll start to eat your own heart. John’s was gone long, long ago, with only a cavernous need to adore and worship left behind. He knew that one day his hunger would grow too much for his abilities to curb it, and he was not about to let you meet that same horrible fate.

He needed to do right by you.

For you, he would be better.

He knew that having you to hold each day and converse with and grieve with and laugh with would be a paradise, but he knew it wasn’t what you deserved. John hoped you would forgive him one day for what he would do.

But he knew it was what you needed, just not what you wanted.

He slipped from your grasp and found that bag that you counted as your home. He gathered all your little trinkets and books, and found that knife you had long forgotten about. John found his eyes start to prickle as he finished. Your little life in one bag all because of him.

Next, he sat as his desk, picked up his pen, and began to scrawl a note on a piece of paper.

What have I done…

John sighed and continued. His chest ached a terrible pain, and he feared it may fall right out of his chest. Of course it didn’t, but somehow he was certain the pain still wouldn’t have surpassed what he felt then.

He signed it, and folded the paper into his pocket, then he began writing another note entirely. This one he didn’t fold- instead this one would sit atop his desk for the time being.

Then, he picked your bag up and slung it over his back, and moved back to where you lay. It took him half an hour to sit you up gently and slip your coat on without you waking. He knew he didn’t have long. John finished dressing you- socks and boots and all- and hoisted you into his arms.

He forwent his own coat, and cast a look around the rectory to see any last reminders of you. There was only a cup in the sink from you. And he smiled at it.

With you tight against his chest, the Father left the rectory, and strode through the damp grass to the main road. The stones crunched under his boots, and he let his vast memory overtake him as he walked. Memories of seeing you that first morning when he returned. How he had danced with you; how he had looked forward to seeing you. How badly he wanted the best for you, and how poorly that had turned out. He thought of how wonderful it had felt when you finally let him help you…your smile, your kindness, your resilience, your intelligence, your selflessness. He let it all fill him up. John pressed a kiss to your head when you stirred a little, and shushed you until you settled.

His precious little lamb.

You didn’t even bleat as a wolf held you.

A chill brushed your cheeks as you awoke. There was a calm rock that soothed you and kept you just on the edge of opening your eyes. You nuzzled your face further into John’s chest , but something felt off. You sighed, and thought nothing of it until you realized it was your own arm that you were laying on.

And you were cold.

You jolted awake and sat up. Your eyes flickered around in a fright. Under you was a bench, and as you looked at your surroundings, there was water. You were on the Belle.

Alone.

A lump rose in your throat as you pushed yourself up and nearly tripped over your bag that was at your feet. You ran to the railing, and saw that you still weren’t too far from the marina. The next thing that dawned on you was that it was getting light out.

As you gripped the railing, you felt something dig into your hand, and when you looked down, you fought for breath.

“No…” you whispered, “No, no…”

Father Pruitt’s rosary was wrapped around your hand, securing a note to it.

You unwrapped it frantically, and opened the note with shaking hands. At first you didn’t look down at it as you began walking down the side of the boat to look back at the dock. A single tear broke free from your eye when you saw that familiar figure standing on the edge of the platform staring back at you.

You gasped for a breath, and finally began to read. But as you did, you had to fight against tears to see the elegant handwriting.

“Hello little one,

You may not understand now, but I need you to know that you are free now. You had always been sunshine, and you deserved to shine. I have been a selfish man for much of my life, but you would be my one selfless act.

You will find a church with a preacher who reminds you of God and lights your soul. See the world that is not shaped like Crockett Island and breathe in its splendour.

Look for me in solar eclipses, sweet girl; when the moon touches the sun just as you let me grace your glow. You might think of me in years to come as a dark time in your life…and know that I will indeed think of you.

You were a blessing.

You were everything.

Saying goodbye isn’t close to what I want to say, but it is what you need to hear.they say that the worst farewells are the ones unsaid and unexplained. I do not wish to give you any more grief. Which is why I must hurt you this one last time…then no more.

I am with you, sweet angel girl.

Always.

Yours,

John M. Pruitt”

Your head felt far too light at your body far too heavy. You felt bile rise against the lump of grief in your throat.

“John…” you whispered like you had never spoken before. You could barely hear yourself against the ringing in your ears. Then all at once, you realized how bright the sky was, and he wasn’t moving from his place on the dock.

You cried his name louder than you thought you could.

John stood, watching you from the pier.

You screamed his name.

You were terrified for him.

John knew he had to hurt you one last time. Just one. He needed you to never come back.

One more time and then you would be free. John knew better than anyone that grief was just love with nowhere else to go. It was bottled up and leaked out through your eyes and scraped at your esophagus.

“It’s alright, little one…” he whispered, “You don’t need me anymore.”

His dark eyes gleamed with tears that once would have been hot against his cheeks as they fell. Grief. Just love compressed with a cork.

You frantically looked from him to the thin white line that was beginning to form on the horizon as the sun rose. You saw him say something, and somehow you knew he was trying to comfort you.

“John!!! JOHN GO HOME!” You cried, anxiety starting to squeeze your throat, “Please!!”

You could see a fond smile on his face as he gazed at you, and he extended his arm in a wave as if to say “See you again old friend.”

Come back soon.

But you knew then that he had no intention of letting you see him again.

He was setting you free.

And John knew then.

He knew that when you finally passed and you drew your last breath, you would feel a spring breeze against your skin and smell fresh flowers and live in the sunlight for eternity.

But with that realization came his own fate. John knew that when he had enough, and he let his body burn, he would only awaken to the scent of scorched forests and stale air.

Much like the smell following the Easter vigil all those months go.

And John realized that he had indeed already been living in his own death all along.

His own personal hell.

And John remembered then how he had once compared you to a person trying to stay afloat in a body of water with nothing but hope to keep you going. But he saw then that you had never been near drowning; you had never been on the cusp of being dragged down into the depths of the ocean.

He had been the one astray.

And John saw that now, as the sun crested over the empty horizon.

So he took a breath…and let it out.

And he let the cold swell of his fate pull him under.

His eternity.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@littleredwritingcat @zaunite-leo @f4er1e-g1rl @purplemotif @vampyre-kin @hamishlinklaters @spacechupss @pansexualpamandabear @ebiemidnightlibrarian @erialuna @nilla-bear @vintageglassheart02 @ethanhoewke @dancingisdangerouss @cherrysugarx @daisychainsinknots @thesoundresoundsecho

[ninchen1909]

The wrong groom II

Pairing: Ivar the boneless x female reader

Word count: ~ 2.700

Warnings: Animal sacrifice, the family abandon the reader

 The words of King Ragnar still echo in your ears, an unknown joy rises in you when you realize that your request has been heard and that you would soon be the wife of Prince Ivar. However, this feeling of happiness is short-lived, a glance at your father shows you that he appears to be anything but happy about your decision. He sits on his throne, a frown lingering on his face, fingers digging deeply into the uneven wood of the armrests, while the corners of his mouth twitch suspiciously. The coldness in his voice makes you wince as he addresses the word to King Ragnar.

"I wish to speak with my daughter in private."

Not a single emotion can be read on his face as he fixes you with his gaze, yet the tone of his voice tells you all you need to know. He is angry. Incredibly angry.

"As you wish. In the meantime, I will seek out my sons to inform them of the changes."

Ragnar gives you a warm, reassuring smile before nodding briefly to your father while making his way out of the throne room, your eyes following his every proud move of his. Only when the heavy wooden doors fall shut and the whole hall is filled with an almost disturbing silence, you turn to your father. He is still sitting on his throne, deep wrinkles cover his forehead and make him look even older.

"Father..."

"Silence!"

Immediately you swallow your words. Never before has your father spoken to you like this, never before has he sounded so disappointed and angry at any of your actions. Your eyes turn towards the floor, but the soft crunching sound of the wooden throne lets you know that your father has risen from it. Just a few seconds later, you can hear his footsteps approaching you. This causes you to lift your head and look at him with feigned confidence. His normally warm brown eyes are filled with a coldness you never thought possible, his whole face contorted into a hard mask.

For a brief moment, you simply look into each other's eyes, and shortly after that , all you can hear is the slapping of skin on skin. Bewildered, you look at your father, one of your hands finding its way to your now reddened. stinging cheek. Never before has your father raised his hand against you. Not ever, until this moment. Tears well up in your eyes, whether for pain or anger you can't tell yourself at this moment. The shock lingering deeply in your bones.

"You ungrateful little brat. How dare you?"

You wince, his frigid tone feeling like a whip is striking down on your skin.

"How dare you embarrass me like this in front of King Ragnar? How can you doubt my decision in front of him?"

Your hands begin to tremble as you remove them from your cheek, yet you try to justify your decision.

"But father, all that mattered was that I marry one of the princes, and that I do."

"You doubted my decision, and you did so in front of the most powerful Northman we have ever dealt with. How can he now believe that I can command our army, and be a fearless reder, when not even my own daughter listens to me and respects me."

"But father, I respect you."

"Don't you ever dare say that again when your actions clearly speak to the contrary. Your mother was right from the beginning, I should not have been so lenient with you. I should have been more strict, more firm."

A brief silence falls over you as your father seems to search for the right words.

"I will tell King Ragnar that you will leave my kingdom this very day."

Your heart begins to pound furiously, one of your hands reaching for the cross pendant around your neck.

"But what about the wedding?"

"You will not marry this prince in the presence of my god. Sigurd I could still have coped with. But not this bloodthirsty cripple. If you want to marry him, marry him before his war-obsessed gods."

"But father..."

But before you can finish your sentence, your father has turned his back on you.

"Go pack your things, I'll let you know when you sail."

Tears well up in your eyes, in a last desperate attempt you reach out your hand to your father, wanting to put it on his shoulders. But as soon as it comes to rest there, he shakes it off in a jerky movement and moves even further away from you in quick steps.

With a heavy heart, you climb the stone stairs to your room, your vision blurred by your tears, but you realize that there is no time to lose if the ship is to leave for Kattegat tonight.

You have already stowed most of your possessions in cloth bags, when all at once the door to your room crashes against the stone wall behind it with a loud noise. Abruptly you turn towards the door.

"(y/n), tell me is it true what my father told me? You want to marry me instead of Sigurd?"

A silent nod from you is all Ivar gets in response. A beaming smile spreads across his otherwise serious face as he approaches you with the help of his crutches. With each step he takes toward you, his smile seems to grow even wider, so that when he finally stands before you, his entire face lights up. This changes, however, when he sees the tears in your eyes. Lovingly, he brushes the remaining traces of tears from your cheek.

"What happened?"

The concern is clear in his eyes.

"My father has decided that I am a disgrace to the family because of my decision to prefer to marry you instead of Sigurd, so I will sail with you to Kattegat as early as tonight."

After your words, the concern in his gaze turns to anger.

"You are not a disgrace just for sharing your desire. I for one am proud of you, and I am honored that I may soon call myself your husband and we will build a life together. You're as strong as Freya and just as beautiful."

His words cause a slight smile to appear on your lips, yet sadness at your father's reaction and words prevails at this moment.

"Thank you Ivar. But I can't really be happy about it right now."

"Of course my love, but believe me, the day will come when you can."

"I hope so..."

Ivar leans his crutch against your bed before pulling you against him in a careful motion, your head immediately burying itself in the crook of his neck as your fingers dig into the soft fabric of his shirt. You feel him press a gentle kiss to the top of your head before resting his chin on the crown of your head.

"Do you want me to help you with anything?"

"No thanks, I'd rather be alone for the last while."

"As you wish my princes, I'll help my brothers get the ships ready."

With a quick kiss on your cheek, he disappears from your chamber. Again, a stifling silence spreads through your chamber, yet this is exactly what you need at the moment.

 Your heart breaks when, you realize that none of your family has come to say goodbye to you, when you find yourself standing in front of the Northmen's ships, a few hours later.

None of them thought it necessary to bid you farewell. With your head drooping, you stride towards the large wooden ship and a short time later, you no longer feel the solid ground of the earth beneath you, but the damp wooden planks of the ship, which is swung back and forth by the waves in slight movements. A gentle arm tightens you  against a firm chest, the sudden warmth making you tremble.

"All will be well, my love."

Ivar presses a kiss to the top of your head as his arm wraps around your stomach a little tighter, giving you reassurance as the boat starts to move in steady motions. With tears in your eyes, you watch as your home becomes smaller and smaller the further you move away from it, as you put more and more distance between you and the people you thought would always love you. But they are your past and Ivar is your future. With these thoughts you tear your gaze away and turn in your fiancé's arms to look up at him. His blue eyes seem even bluer due to the water that surrounds you, a slight smile is on his lips, yet you can clearly see the concern in his eyes. You notice the puzzled looks of the other Northmen upon you as he thoughtfully brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, but you don't really pay attention.

"Yes. Yes it will my love."

You intertwine your hands in his neck and pull his face down to you a little to press a tender kiss to his soft lips. All while King Ragnar watches the both of you with fond eyes.

  Life in Kattegat is a marked change from your previous life, but you try to come to terms with it as best you can. The pain of your family's rejection  still deep inside you, but you try not to let it show. In a few days you will be a princess of the Vikings, so it is time to act like one.

Closely embraced by Ivar's strong arms, you lie next to him on your bed, a matter that would have been unimaginable in your previous life. The furs on the bed give you warmth, the closeness to each other security. You run your index finger over the drawings on his now so familiar bare chest. A light laugh escapes you.

"Why are you laughing dearest?"

His warm voice snaps out of your thoughts, a small smile adorning his lips.

"I was just thinking about how I reacted the first time you undressed in front of me."

The memory of that, elicits a hearty laugh from Ivar as well.

"I've never seen anyone press their hands to their eyes as fast and hard as you did at this moment. And all because of a naked man."

"You are the first man I have ever seen naked, I was just surprised."

"I still don't understand what your God has against people seeing each other naked before they  get married and even after that."

"That way, you're not tempted to perform intercourse before marriage."

Not long ago, all of this made sense to you, but ever since you caught a glimpse of Ivar's muscular body, you've begun to doubt it. Yet, in all this time, he has accepted your desire to wait until your wedding night to do so.

Your answer to his question elicits only an incomprehensible snort before he presses a kiss to your nose and pulls you a little closer to his warm chest.

A comfortable silence spreads in your chamber, which you break only a few minutes later.

"How exactly will our wedding go?"

As always when you ask a question about the Northmen's ways, a breathtaking smile creeps onto his lips.

"We will meet under a large wooden arch in which the writings of the gods are carved, to give us blessing. There, the volva will already be waiting for us to confirm our marriage."

"Volva?"

"A volva is a sorceress, Freya herself gave her these gifts, to help us, the gods often speak to us through them. There are also men who practice magic, the Seidmadr. But women are more skilled and powerful at using these abilities, which is why we prefer a Volva to a Seidmadr."

With a short nod you indicate to Ivar that you have perceived his words. After a brief kiss on the top of your head, he continues.

"Before the actual ceremony begins, we make offerings to our gods. Thus, one sacrifices a goat for Thor, a pig for Freya and a horse for Freyr. The animals are bled and later the meat is eaten at the feast. This is how we make sure the union is in the favor of the gods."

Your stomach turns at the thought of having to watch animals being slaughtered, but you try not to let it show.

"Then the man hands the woman an axe or a sword to show her that he will protect her until the gods call them to Valhalla. The woman does this only if she is a Shieldmaiden, which is not the case in our wedding. Then we testify our love before the gods and ask them for their protection and favor. Afterwards we have a great feast, with food and drink and music."

Your voice is quiet as you address the next question to Ivar.

"And what is expected of us on our wedding night?"

Ivar immediately notices that you are having a hard time asking this question, so is especially happy that you are doing it.

"Nothing is expected of us my love. If you want to consummate the marriage we will, if you don't feel ready we will wait."

Relief spreads through your body as you hear Ivar's words. The pressure disappears from your shoulders as you realize that he is ready to take on everything at your pace. With each day you spend with Ivar, you can understand less why so many people are afraid of him.

"Thank you."

Your eyes meet his, light blue orbs beaming lovingly at you.

"For you always."

A few days later, the time has come. Wrapped in a simple, white, floor-length dress, you stand in your shared room while one of the servants stands on her tiptoes to place a crown of white, yellow and purple wildflowers on your head. Anticipation and excitement mix together in the pit of your stomach as you spin around once, watching the dress sway with your movement. The shy voice of a servant snaps you out of your movement.

"It's time princess."

You give her a smiling nod before grabbing the fabric of the dress with your hands to lift it slightly off the ground. Accompanied by your maids, you make your way to the said place.

Even from afar you can see the crowd, all of Kattegat has come together to witness the wedding of their youngest prince, with the unknown princess from a distant land. Immediately you can feel their eyes on you, some of them still reflecting a certain wariness towards you and your God, others giving you a warm smile. The children give you looks of admiration as you walk past them. But the gaze that is most important to you, beams at you full of dignity and love, his eyes gliding over your form again and again, taking in every detail of your shape.

"You are beautiful, my love."

Are the first words you hear when you finally stand next to him. You notice your cheeks heating up, yet you hold his gaze.

"Thank you, dearest."

The ceremony proceeds just as Ivar had explained it to you, the sacrificial animals are brought up to you. Your stomach turns as they are offered as sacrifices to the gods and their blood is collected in an iron bowl. While words in a language not yet known to you are directed heavenward. Nevertheless, you bravely keep your eyes on the events before you, proving to the last doubters that you have it in you to be a true Viking. Afterwards, Ivar hands you his battle axe and with this gesture promises to protect and honor you until the end of his life.

Finally, the Volva takes the bowl with the animal blood in her hand and sinks her fingers into it, before she spreads the blood on Ivar and you. You feel the blood run over your face in warm, thick streams. Afterwards, you and Ivar seal your love with a long, passionate kiss. The gods and the people of Kattegat are thus witnesses to a long and happy marriage, of a union that will last even in Vallahlla.

[imtryingbuck]

Too Late part two

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader. Fem!Reader x Conrad (whoever you picture)

Summary: part two of Too Late

Word count: 2,613

Warnings: angst. fluff. lies? Steve makes an appearance. 

Part 1

Masterlist

Now in the two years since she had left she finally felt at peace, she found herself.

~~~

For close to a year Conrad would visit Y/n in her little sanctuary that sat alone in the woodland area, for those months Y/n didn’t trust him of course she didn’t he was a member of Hydra, the bad guys who spend years and years destroying the goodness that was James Buchanan Barnes, destroyed and killed those that didn’t bow down to them and abide by their rules.

And while yes Conrad decided not to put a bullet in her head like she had asked for him to do, choosing to open her eyes to the betrayal, he chose to give her a second chance in life he was still the guy apart of a terrible organisation.

Even though she didn’t trust him she did have to admit that she appreciated his help, appreciated his company. Every time he visited he brought supplies and food for her, he even showed up once with a van that had a ray of different livestock in the back so she could start a little farm up like she had wanted to do.

Y/n tried, she really did try to not get too comfortable with Conrad but he was just so easy to talk to about everything and anything, she appreciated that he never once mentioned Steven and his betrayal with Natasha. She hated how funny he was, she hated how much she missed him when he left to go back to the monstrous organisation that was Hydra. Hated how he occupied her mind when he wasn’t there helping around the house fixing things and only accepting a nice cold glass of homemade lemonade from her.

She definitely hated how much he looked so attractive when he chopped fresh firewood for her.

She especially hated that.

It wasn’t fair, he was supposed to be the enemy yet he had treated her better in those few months than anyone had ever.

It had been exactly four months, three weeks and two days since Conrad had last been to visit and she hated it. Though she had the many animals to keep her company she had to admit she was kind of going a bit crazy.

Molly the cow would look at her like she was insane when Y/n would be perch upon on the wooden little stool that Conrad had made for her, talking to the cow as she milked her. Y/n swore that one time the black spotted animal rolled her eyes at the woman once.

Y/n walked into the pigpen fussing over the month old piglets that were the most precious little things she had ever laid eyes on. When her leg was knocked she looked down to see Grumpy, named perfectly for his grumpiness, she patted him on his head telling him to hold on for food, chuckling lightly when he snorted in response. The moment she finished putting the food in the trough she heard the unmistakable sound of a car coming up the gravelled driveway.

Nobody had ever come up to where she lived apart from…

“H-he’s back” she mumbled to herself before dropping the bucket with a clank and running out finding herself nearly tripping over her own foot when she had to turn back around to shut the gate of the pigpen.

Running to the front of the house she saw the same car Conrad always came in, her eyebrows pulled together when she saw two figures sitting in the front, as the car got closer her heart started beating faster as she noticed Conrad and another figure she had come to know because of Steve.

“Y/n-“ Conrad shouts as soon as he gets out of the driver side door “-god I’ve missed you” he jogs over to her and wraps his arms around her frame, pulling back when he notices she doesn’t hug him back but is staring at the other person who stands by the car. “I can explain everything I promise”

“It’s nice seeing you again Y/n.”

Two sets of eyes moved back and forth as Y/n paced around in front of them. One was nervous the other didn’t care about her reaction, well lack of one. Conrad went to speak but the other person in the room shook their head.

“Y-you lied-“

“I didn’t lie-“

“You didn’t tell me the truth!”

“Because I couldn’t, I’m sorry Y/n”

“It’s true Y/n. He couldn’t tell you the truth”

The truth being that Conrad was never a member of Hydra but a SHIELD agent. He had been undercover for four years. There were a handful of agents that were sent undercover and Conrad was one of them, the plan was to take Hydra down from the inside.

From what Conrad had said that it had worked, they had successfully captured members of Hydra one by one.

“Bu-but your meant to be the enemy”

“Yet you trusted him”

Y/n’s eyes squinted at the man sat next to Conrad “I understand that I’ve got real bad judgment when it comes to trusting men Fury”.

“I understand your confused but to be honest Conrad never lied to you-“

“I’ve been thinking he’s the bad guy from the moment he kidnapped me!”

“And yet you trusted him enough to let him come into your home”

“I-shut up. Okay so why are you telling me now?”

“I’ll let him fill you in on that. I’m going to go, it was nice meeting you again Y/n, truly. Goodbye”

Y/n watches Fury stand up fixing his trench coat before nodding to both of them then leaving. Taking the car with him. Leaving with a promise, promising her that Steve doesn’t and will never know that she’s alive.

Conrad’s eyes never moved away from Y/n, patting the seat next to him sighing a breath of relief when she sits. “I’m sorry for not telling you the truth about me, I wasn’t allowed to.”

“No I understand, sorry for overreacting”

“You didn’t-“ he chuckles “I missed you”

“I missed you too”

“So I erm I-I told Fury I want to retire and he’s accepted it, bu-but I was wondering i-if you would have me, here I mean”

“You want to say here? With me?”

“I haven’t got any family anymore a-and I feel happy here”

Conrad hated the silence that followed, he was about to tell her that it didn’t matter, that he would still come to visit, that he was sorry for overstepping when she finally spoke.

“We’ve got piglets. They are the cutest things ever, want to come look?”

“”We”?”

“Well yeah you live here now so…”

He moved so fast wrapping his arms around her, bringing her into his chest. Mumbling thank you over and over again.

In a way Conrad went off script when he took Y/n from her shared apartment with Steve, it was Hydra’s plan all along. The plan was to find a way to destroy Captain America. They had heard from a Hydra agent that was undercover with SHIELD that America’s golden boy had a girlfriend but was cheating on her with the black widow. The plan was to use Y/n as a way to get Steve to stop destroying their ‘hard work’. They were going to blackmail him, telling him that they won’t tell Y/n about his straying ways as long as he did what they said.

It was foolproof as the double agent told them that Steve was in love with Y/n.

Even though he had been cheating on her with someone she thought was her friend.

But Conrad knew that Hydra would hurt her just to get Steve to break. And that wasn’t something he could stand by and watch so he told the team he had been in charge of that he had gotten word that it was time to go ahead and kidnap Y/n. He did have to admit that it was admirable that she put up a fight against ten men who were ten times bigger than her, he hated it when Mitch punched her.

Due to having eyes on him he had to act as if the tears that were coming out from her pretty eyes wasn’t bothering him when she watched her boyfriend and friend sleeping together. When the Avengers showed up he couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling as Steve tries to make a pathetic attempt at explaining his betrayal. He did have to force himself to stifle the laugh that tried to make its way out when Natasha had tears in her eyes hearing that she meant nothing to Steve.

Conrad’s heart clenched at hearing that she was pregnant because she had already asked him to kill her, a thing that he agreed to do even if he didn’t want to. But hearing that she had lost her unborn baby made his heart clench even harder.

Getting her out of the rundown facility was easy as his team were to focused on keeping their eyes and guns trained on the Avengers. Getting her to the farmhouse that sat alone in the middle of nowhere was easy even if she was driving him mad when she kept asking him where he was taking her.

Fury found out that it was Conrad that had ‘killed’ Y/n a few months back when he had to meet the man to talk about how the progress was going. Fury was angry. He had met Y/n a handful of times he thought she was sweet, nice, definitely didn’t deserve to have her life to be ended the way it was. That was until Conrad told him the truth.

For the four months, three weeks and two days since he hadn’t seen her it had drove him insane he wanted so badly to reach out to her and let her know that he was thinking about her, that he was definitely coming back to her. Fury made him go no contact with her until the dust settled around them.

Conrad begged Fury not to let Steve know about Y/n being alive or where she was, Nick wasn’t a stupid man he knew that Conrad had clearly grown fond of Y/n. Finding out what Steve had done, he gave the man pacing around in his office his word. Steve would never find out.

“Con! We’ve got a runner!” Y/n screamed trying to chase after one of the pigs who decided to make a run for it. “She’s coming your way”

“I’ve got eyes on her! I’ve got her!” He cheered picking up the animal, who actually sighed in defeat.

“Shes so fast it’s unbelievable”

“I know, she was on a mission to get away” he laughed placing the pig back down into the pen.

“Her mission fail- what?”

“I love you”

“I love you too”

“Gimme a kiss- wait…”

It had been two years since Conrad had joined Y/n at the farmhouse after retiring, in those two years Conrad had confessed his feelings for her, he understood that she probably needed some time since how her last relationship had ended so he was completely shocked when she jumped into his arms and kissed him. Through them two years they lived happily in complete ignorance of the world around them.

“What?” Following Conrad’s eyes looking up at the sky she frowned. “That’s one of SHIELD’s jets Con…”

“I know. Stay close to me okay”

“Obviously”

They watch in silence as the jet lowers on the field just at the back of their home, the door comes open and the ramp begins to descend. They share confused glances at seeing no one making an appearance, when someone finally stands in the doorway Y/n gasps.

It’s been four years to that day since she last saw him. Those four years weren’t kind to him honestly. His hair was longer and he was even sporting a beard. He looked bigger in muscle though his face was slimmer, his once bright blue eyes were now sunken and dull.

“H-how did he find us?” She whispered unable to move her eyes away from him.

Steve Rogers had found them.

And unfortunately was now making his way down the ramp.

Since Y/n had her eyes trained on his approaching figure she didn’t notice the rest of the Avengers making their exit from the jet. Even Loki and Bruce were there.

“You-you made out that you’ve been dead for four years and yet here you are shacking it up with the enemy” his voice was deeper than it use to be.

“How did you find her?” Conrad asked standing in front of her, not liking the way Steve’s eyes moved up and down her body.

“You let me believe that you was dead baby, for four years I’ve-“

“What are you doing here?” She cut him off.

“Fury. He’s not as sneaky as he thinks.”

“Why are you here Steven?”

“I want you back” Steve states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Not happening. Leave all of you”

“Baby I made a mistake-“

“Don’t come any closer Rogers. I mean it” it’s now Conrad’s turn to interrupt him. Steve cocks his head to the side and laughs. But does as the other man says.

“He’s Hydra baby-“

“He was undercover for SHIELD. Please leave now”

“Is that what he told you?”

“It’s what Fury told me. Leave”

“Just come home okay, I can be better please baby I love you”

“I’m already home. Tony, Bucky please get him gone”

Bucky looks at her with an unreadable expression on his face “it’s nice to see you again Y/n/n. Come on Steve she’s happy here let-“

“No. No because she isn’t. She can’t just run away and pretend she’s dead-“

“You was cheating on me Steven. With my so called friend as well. I’m happy here, I don’t want you anymore”

“Natasha meant and still means nothing to me baby, it was a mistake, one that I want to make up for. Please just come home”

“I don’t care, I stopped caring about you and her a long time ago. I won’t ask-“

“Just come home!” Steve shouts cutting her off.

“She is home! Just leave and move on”

Standing there Steve shakes his head slowly before looking back up to Y/n. “D-do you really love him?”

“I do”

“Does he make you happy?”

“He does”

Nodding, defeat and acceptance written on his face. “I really am sorry for everything I did Y/n, I-I never wanted to hurt you, I’m sorry truly.”

Leaving Conrad’s side she walks closer to Steve, standing in front of the man who she loved so much, the man who broke her heart. “I forgive you Steve, I’m happy now. Conrad is a great person and he makes me happy”

“I’m glad. I-I’ll always love you Y/n. Goodbye” Steve says before walking backwards and turning around to walk up to the jet. Everyone all except Natasha nods or waves to Y/n before following their captain.

Watching the jet leave Conrad moves closer to her wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing her neck. “You alright my love?”

“I’m more then alright, come on I’m starving and let’s not forget I am eating for two”

Hand in hand with Conrad she walks into their farmhouse seeing the positive side to seeing Steve again, it felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

At first Steve cheating on her was the worst thing that ever happened to her, but now four years later she was finally happier than ever before with the man who loves her and their unborn baby.

Tags: @imcinnamoons | @pigeonmama | @vicmc624 | @capsbestgirl77

[rdr2stories]

"The Coyote And The Wolf" a Jovier fanfiction.

A 6000 word fanfiction about John and Javier through the games.

"No hurt that Javier experienced from losing a meaningless necklace could replace the hurt John had felt losing his brother."

The small chips of wood laid by John’s feet as he carefully carved out the form of a coyote’s tooth in the small wood lump that he had found laying around the camp. It was a gift he was making for the new kid, or man as he was, the Mexican one. John didn’t know if he liked coyotes but the animal reminded him of the man, he didn’t really know much about him at all, he didn’t speak English and John didn’t speak Spanish.

To be honest he didn’t really care that the two of them didn’t speak the same language because the man could drink, smoke and listen to John venting about Abigail without interrupting, so that is what they did, last time a bit too hard.

They had been at a local town’s saloon, just the two of them, when some big guy had needed someone to shout at and thought of Javier as an easy target. Javier had obviously not understood what the man said, which annoyed the man even more and, in the end, led to a fight, a quite violent one that earned Javier a nasty wound down his cheek, it was sure to leave a scar.

John had to admit that he blamed himself for it, he was the one who had asked Javier to go out full knowing that people tended to pick on him more easily than John, it had been a selfish request. He didn’t know if Javier blamed him as well, he couldn’t tell from the man’s indifferent face, and he couldn’t verbally say sorry either, so from that came the little wood carving that matched the one he had made himself a few hours earlier. His was a wolf’s tooth and together the two carvings were a peace offering.

When he had told Mary Beth his idea she had giggled, saying it reminded her of the friendship bracelets she had made her and Tilly.

Friendship bracelets as if John and Javier weren’t outlaws with more money on their heads than in their pockets, at least in his own case, he didn’t fully know about Javier, he hadn’t said what he had done but surely it had to be something big since he fled his entire country. John couldn’t imagine what he had done that had led him to just grab a bag and run to a country where he in every sense was worse off.

John held the two wooden carvings up. Javier’s was a bit smaller simply due to the fact that the real thing was as well, he hoped that Javier would understand that and not see it as something else. God, it was hard having a friend you couldn’t verbally communicate with.

“Whatever,” John mumbled as he used the tip of his knife to carve out a hole in the blunt end of the teeth and put a thin leather string through each of them, tying them into two necklaces that he stuffed in his pocket for now.

He got up from the stump he had sat on, cracked his back, and brushed the worst wood dust off his pants before making his way back to camp. He found Javier sitting in the middle of the camp, his back against a crate and a cigarette between his lips as he cleaned his gun with a cloth, not even looking up at John as he approached.

“Hey, Javier,” John spoke, finally gaining Javier’s attention and making him look up, showing John the not-so-prettily healing wound on his cheek.

“¿Cómo?” Javier replied unbothered as he removed his cigarette to blow out a cloud of smoke.

“Brother I got no idea what you are saying, just come on,” John replied as he gave Javier a small kick, earning a grunt and a glare but Javier complied, putting his gun back in its holster and getting to his feet before throwing the cigarette on the ground. “Come on.” John began to lead Javier away from the camp, promptly followed by Abigail’s complaining.

“Don’t you dare go too far!” Abigail shouted and John let out a grunt.

“Yeah, yeah,” he merely mumbled, feeling the annoyance of being trapped creep up on him. He was never allowed to leave camp those days for any longer than a mere couple of honors, it seemed that everyone thought just because Abigail was pregnant that John didn’t know how to take care of himself any longer. “Hey, we ain’t going that far,” John spoke as he saw Javier near Boaz.

Javier frowned slightly, unable to understand.

“No,” John spoke as he pointed towards the tied-up horses. “No horses.”

Javier looked between Boaz and John for a second before nodding understandingly and returning to John.

“Alright, come on, we are just going up to the trees,” John said, giving Javier a clap on his shoulder before continuing up to the tree line of the woods surrounding their camp. He didn't know why he felt like he needed to hide their little exchange, he wasn’t ashamed of his friendship with Javier nor was he ashamed of his carvings.

When they finally were out of sight from camp, John halted, Javier following as he let out a small chuckle.

“¿Qué? ¿Vas a besarme o algo?” Javier spoke in a sarcastic voice, obviously making a joke that John did not understand.

John sighed slightly before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the necklaces. “I made these, as an apology.” He held the coyote tooth out for Javier who just looked cautiously between it and John.

“Yours,” John shoved it into Javier’s hands, making it clear that it was a present. “Apology,” he repeated in slight annoyance as he gestured at the wound. “Sorry, peace offering.”

Javier chuckled slightly as he looked at the carving. “Eso es bastante dulce.” He looked up at John, grinning, and gave him a small punch to the shoulder. “En este punto podría pedirte que me besaras.”

John smiled slightly. “You know, I got no idea what you are saying but you seem happy so I guess it is good enough.”

—

John’s fidgeted with the wooden carving hanging around his neck as he spaced out. His mind was running a thousand miles an hour and his chest was aching with anxiety. He didn’t know if he could get himself to do what he had planned, but then again he also knew that he couldn’t stay. His cheek had a permanent red mark just as his ass had for sitting still too long. He was allowed to do nothing, he wasn’t allowed to hunt, not that he was any good at it, he wasn’t allowed to go fishing with Javier, not that he was any good at that either, nor was he allowed to go drink, even though he was quite good at that. He wasn’t allowed any excuse to leave the camp.

He hadn’t been allowed to leave for weeks and taking his frustrations out on the firewood only helped him so much. He needed freedom, he needed to spread his wings and run, so he was going to, but this time he wasn’t just going to run into town, no he was going much further, far far away.

He did feel a little bad for Abigail, but it was her who had insisted on keeping him locked up in camp anyways! Her and Hosea, but he didn’t blame Hosea as much because at least he allowed Javier to sneak booze in for him, booze that Abigail said was a “bad influence” on him.

Javier had always been John’s savior, always been the one to sneak in drinks, smokes or whatever else Abigail had restricted him from. He didn’t want to leave Javier but he couldn’t bring him either, he had thought about it but decided against it. It would be unfair to Javier who was just starting to fit into the gang.

But John knew that Javier would be fine, Javier had made friends around camp, most surprisingly Bill Williamson, when he was sober that was. They worked quite well together, which partly had also been because Javier could put Bill in his place. John wondered if Bill actually liked being brought to his knees by Javier.

The night that John left, he briefly considered waking Javier up to say goodbye but he knew he couldn’t. He knew that he had to leave silently, he hoped that the letter he had stuffed in Javier’s boot would provide enough of an explanation both as to why John ran but also why Javier should keep silent about where John was first headed.

It was a little strange to John, when he had first made the teeth that both the men kept close to them, Javier hadn’t even spoken English, let alone been able to read it, now he read far better than both John and Arthur.

Hosea had been the one reaching Javier and he had learned quickly, picking up any book he could find and following Hosea around camp for hours just in case he found a word he didn’t know.

John didn’t think that Javier had started learning to read English because he liked to read, he had actually seemed like he had hated it, but the constant reminder that his inability to read it had made him less in some people’s eyes had driven him to do it. Now he never read in camp, but sometimes John would see Javier go off to fish with a romance book tugged in his bag.

The memory of what he was leaving behind suddenly made the wooden tooth heavy around John’s neck.

—

“What is this?” The girl in his arms asked as she played with the wooden tooth hanging around his neck, a flirty smile on her face. “A wolf tooth~? For such a big strong man like yourself, it seems quite fitting~”

John grunted, he didn’t feel big or strong. It had been a year since he had run off like a coward and he hadn’t taken the tooth off for a moment. He had kept it both because he liked it, but also because he knew that he was hurting himself with it and he felt like he deserved it. He could feel the shame of leaving Javier behind weighing heavy on him.

“Yeah,” John replied as he took it from her hand and held it up, feeling her fingers tangle themselves into his hair. She wasn’t the first working girl to ask about it, but she was the first that he felt inclined to tell the truth about it to. It didn’t mean that he liked her better than the others, it was simply because he missed Javier. “I made a coyote’s tooth for my friend as well.”

The girl giggled, her free hand roaming his chest. “What? Like a friendship bracelet?”

John shook his head. Back in camp, he used to be so angry when people said that, but not anymore because in a way it did feel like a friendship bracelet, not that he was going to say that out loud. “More in the way we are personality-wise. Black wolves are aggressive, stubborn, impatient, and short-tempered, but coyotes? They are intelligent, independent, cunning when needed, but always reliant.”

“Is that so?” The girl asked as he got up from the bed in the room they had rented above the saloon. She probably knew to stop there, there was a high chance she had heard a lot of similar stories and knew they didn’t end well.

“Hm,” John merely replied, letting out a sigh.

He felt like a jerk, fuck.

—

John had practically made best friends with the newspaper boy by the street corner who probably thought of him as a weirdo for always being the first person to buy the new edition and to specially request as many newspapers from other areas as the boy could get his hands on. It wasn’t a lot.

Every day John would read over the newspapers, searching for anything that even smelled like Dutch Van Der Linde, which was often a sweet soap that seemed weirdly out of nothing just like his crimes.

It had taken him weeks to finally find something, though it smelled more like Arthur Morgan than Dutch Van Der Linde, but it was close enough.

John packed his horse with his tent and the supplies that he had either paid for in blood money or bounty money and sat off.

Up and down mountains, across rivers and avoiding the law in a town where he and Arthur had royally fucked up some years back, he moved along, but when he was suddenly ambushed by what he was sure was an O’Driscoll, he knew he was close. Whether it was intentional or not, Dutch was always close to Colm and his gang.

John went to the nearby town, found the saloon, and went to the bartender, for once in his life glad that the gang didn’t know that drinking could go quietly. With Arthur’s go-happy drunken self, Bill’s “I will kill anyone nearing me” drunken glare and Javier’s eternal drunk teasing, the gang never went unnoticed and the bartender most certainly remembered them even though it had already been a week since he had seen them. The group had come in, gotten drunk, and while half were dancing can can the others were fighting each other. If that wasn’t the Van Der Linde gang, he was about to find a bunch of double gangers.

John got the direction that the group had headed to of the bartender with the promise that he would tell them to come back and pay for a window broken by a guy who fitted Bill’s description.

John searched the nearby area of the direction that the bartender had pointed him to and found the remains of a camp, the littered metal cans, the outlines of tents, the rest of a camp fire and tracks on the ground. Suddenly he was glad that it had rained recently, though he had hated it in the moment because he had been freezing, but now it not only gave him the knowledge that they had left within the last couple of days, but it also gave him the knowledge of where they were going.

John followed the tracks down a dirt path to a bigger dirt road, trying to keep an eye on which tracks were the Van Der Linde and which were just other travelers.

A couple of hours into his search, he suddenly stopped, narrowing his eyes at a smaller path breaking off. He had a strange feeling to follow it. It would be risky, it truly would be, especially because he would not be able to identify the Van Der Linde tracks again but also because there were no wagon tracks leading up that path, just hoof prints.

Yet he did it, he let his eyes leave the tracks and nudged his horse forward into a trot up the road. He already regretted it, fuck he regretted it. His gut feeling had never been worth anything, but he couldn’t turn back now.

The turns that John took led him into more open fields, something that the gang would never like, yet he knew that something was waiting for him. He damn hoped that it was good.

Just as he reached up to fidget with the carving around his neck, something he found himself doing a lot when anxious, he saw something.

By a small river further away stood a person humming to themselves as they threw the fishing line out into the water. John did not need to get any closer to know who owned the silly hat on that person’s head. Javier Escuella.

John kicked his horse in the side a bit harder than he had intended to and sat into a gallop, sliding to a stop just as Javier turned to point a gun at him.

Javier’s eyes widened as he saw John upon his horse, heavy in breath, his eyes holding both relief but also pure terror.

“John?” Javier asked as he lowered his gun. “I thought you was dead!”

“You ain’t getting rid of me that easily,” John replied, noticing that Javier still carried the coyote’s tooth around his neck on the outside of his jacket. Oh what a sweet relief, if he still carried it maybe he didn’t hate John, or maybe he just used it as a reminder not to trust people, just as John had carried his as a reminder of what he had left behind.

His stomach curled anxiously.

“Well get down from there!” Javier spoke with a wide smile, embracing John in a hug as soon as he swung himself off his horse. “I missed you like crazy compadre!”

“You aren’t mad at me?” John asked cautiously as Javier swung his arm around John’s shoulders and led him down to the small camp he had made by the river.

“De ninguna manera!” Javier replied as he gestured for John to sit by the fire. “That lady of yours was going to kill you faster than a bullet if you had stayed, I would have run too.”

“I ain’t sure I got a lady no more,” John replied, watching Javier chuckle.

“Maybe that is a good thing. She doesn’t seem to have become much better, she is tired all the time. That kid of yours isn’t easy.”

“I ain’t sure it is my kid either.”

“Well they sure think it is yours.” Javier walked over to a small bag he had lying by the water, pulled a big fish out of it and put it over the fire.

“Yeah but is it mine?”

“Don’t matter,” Javier shrugged as he sat down next to John. “They think it is yours so for all that matters it is yours.”

“Sadly.” John grunted as he crossed his legs underneath him, his hand instinctively going to the wooden tooth as a moment of silence fell over them. He used to love those comfortable silences but right now when he didn’t fully know where he stood with Javier, he hated it.

“Are you coming back to camp?” Javier then asked as he took the fish off the fire, cutting it in half with his hunting knife and passing half to John.

“I want to,” John replied as he removed a bone from the fish. “But I don’t know if I can.”

“They are pretty mad at you,” Javier said as he picked some meat off the fish. “Arthur has been throwing your name around like it is a slur.”

John made a grimace, ouch that hurt, but it was also to be expected. It was first after he had left that he realized the parallels between him and Arthur and the differences in how they had handled an unexpected kid. If he was Arthur he would probably hate himself too, if he could give Abigail and Jack to that big loaf of muscle he would, Arthur would make a better father and husband than John ever could.

“I am not sure Dutch would let me back in, we got a policy for traitors,” John said as he picked at the fish, not really having an appetite.

“Dutch will be fine,” Javier replied, watching John before handing him a smoke to switch the fish for. “You is his family, he defines your name, at least to some degree.” He grinned slightly,

“Really?” John asked as he handed Javier his half of the fish and placed the smoke between his lips, lighting a match with the bottom of his shoe.

“Sí, when Arthur gets real mad he reminds him of all the good you did.”

John blew out a cloud of smoke and snorted. “Like what?”

“Dunno, didn’t listen,” Javier replied before reaching over to gently punch John’s shoulder. “Come back, I will protect you.”

John smiled slightly. “Like some long-lost maiden, huh?”

“Long lost at least,” Javier grinned teasingly. “Maiden perhaps not yet, but keep growing that hair and you might turn into one.”

“As if you don’t have long hair as well.” John had gotten long hair though, he hadn’t cut it for a time and the ponytail he had gathered it in wasn’t so small any longer. He didn’t doubt that Grimsaw would have him cut it at least to his shoulders if he returned.

“Manly long hair, unlike you princesa.”

“Hey!” John exclaimed jokingly. “I ain’t no princess.”

“Oh, you understand Spanish now?” Javier got to his feet with a smile on his face, throwing the remains of the fish into a nearby bush. “¿Quién diría que un hombre tan malo como tú podría aprender un idioma tan bueno?”

John let out a huff as he looked up at Javier. “I still don’t understand you.”

“Por supuesto.” Javier went over to the fire, kicking some dirt into it and snuffing it out with his boot. “Come on brother, let’s get you home.”

—

John guessed that he should have been happy he was let back into camp at all, but he wasn’t in camp much anyway, mostly because people didn’t really want him there. Surprisingly, he didn’t care that much. He had all the freedom in the world, so he and Javier were often the ones taking the missions that required leaving camp for longer times, not that Arthur was very happy about it, he kept openly saying that John was going to run off again.

For years it became nearly impossible to find John without Javier by his side, they could be counted as one by then. If Javier needed to fish, John joined, if John went into store to buy ammo, Javier joined, and although it was never their plan, they always ended up doing more than what they had left camp to do.

They could be riding on their way back from town and suddenly see a small house, and naturally as the curious people they were, they went to look at it. That either lead to them running away laughing as the owner shot at them them or them helping the owner. They knew better than to leave bodies around for no reason, but they would if it excused them being away for longer, after all they couldn’t go back to camp if the body was still hot, someone might be following them.

By 1899 the wooden teeth that had rested on the mens necks for years had gotten miscolored with use and were even detailed on the outlaws warrant descriptions. They found it hilarious.

—

John was bleeding on Javier’s shoulder, more specifically on Javier’s poncho, the poncho John had once seen a teen try to steal and lost his ability to walk over.

John leaned away from Javier, trying to keep his balance as Boaz trotted through the heavy snow, he didn’t want to get any more blood on the fabric than he already had.

“Lean on me idiota, you are gonna fall.” Javier reached behind him, pushing John’s stomach flush against his back and securing John’s around around his waist.

“I will bleed all over your poncho,” John mumbled. The cold was making him both dizzy and tired at the same time, yet the stabbing in his face kept him awake.

“It can be washed and I don’t think you will survive a fall from a horse right now,” Javier huffed in slight annoyance. “That wolf tooth is a little ironic now, huh?”

John snorted as he rested his uninjured cheek on Javier’s shoulder. “I got a taste of the real thing now, powerful stuff.”

“Like you, strong enough to survive this, as long as you stay on the horse,” Javier reached down, laying a hand on John’s around his waist as he felt the grasp loosen. “Don’t you pass out on me now brother.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” John mumbled before jerking wide awake as Javier pinched the skin on his hand. “Ow!”

“Stay awake!”

“Alright, alright, I am awake,” John said as he placed his chin on Javier’s shoulder, watching the path before them.

Arthur snorted as he followed behind them.

John being bedridden did not at all help his relationship with Abigail who was sitting by his side at every waking moment. It reminded him a lot of the time around Jack’s birth, except he didn’t have the opportunity to sneak out with Javier or even drink. All he could do was lay and either sleep or try to fall asleep and fail due to Abigail’s constant complaining and nagging about how he had reached a new low, as if he had chosen to almost get eaten alive by wolves.

Javier joined John when he could, which wasn’t that often, a lot needed to get done to keep them all alive and Javier was one of the few people still able to man a gun after Blackwater, but when he was around John didn’t mind his bedridden state as much. He did however dislike how Abigail was always present even when Javier was, they never had a single moment alone so Javier never had the chance to slip him some booze to dull the mental pain.

When they had reached Horseshoe Overlook, John had finally been allowed out of bed, he wasn’t allowed to do much, but at least he had been allowed to join Arthur and Bill for the search of some O’Driscolls with that Kieran guy Arthur had captured up in Colter. It wasn’t something big, but it was at least an excuse to get out of camp and away from Abigail’s yapping.

Those missions and the nights were his to enjoy, Abigail often went to bed early so that meant he could drink with Javier.

John had practically laughed when Javier had returned to camp one day from the local town Valentine with a nasty but superficial wound over his face. It seemed that him, Bill, Arthur, and Charles had gotten into a bar fight.

“Trying to imitate me?” John asked teasingly as Javier dumped himself down next to him by the fire, smearing some blood over his face as he tried to remove the dirt Bill’s horse Brown Jack had kicked up.

“I would go for a coyote if I was,” Javier snorted and let out a string of annoyed Spanish curses as the wound began to bleed again.

“Let me take care of that,” John said as he got to his feet and headed to his tent.

“No need.”

“I will do it anyways,” John spoke as he returned with some alcohol, some wipes and a small bandage. “I have gotten quite good at treating facial wounds.” He gestured at his own mauled face before sitting down on a crate by the fire. “Sit.”

“Ordering me around, are you now?” Javier asked but still complied and sat down on the ground in front of John, staying still as the other man grabbed his chin with one hand and slowly began to work on the wound.

John looked down at Javier and the wound right above the scar that was left from one of their first drinking trips. His heart fluttered slightly at the sight of the man looking up at him. Quickly, he looked away, working on the wound the same way he had worked on his own after getting tired of Abigail doing it for him.

He could see the wooden tooth hanging around Javier’s neck and for a moment he wondered. Friendship.

“There,” John said, his hand leaving Javier’s stubbled chin, his fingers already missing the warmth of the other man’s skin. “You will be okay.”

Javier let out an amused huff. “Thank you for saving my poor life.”

—

“Javier, can’t you see it?” John asked as they sat around the fire at Beaver Hollow, the first time in a long time where they were alone, the first time in a long time where they could talk.

“See what exactly?” Javier asked, his voice almost as desperate as John’s as he put down his guitar. He hadn’t played it in a long time but he still held it every now and then. The camp did feel empty without its music but the silence was preferable to the anger that no doubt would rise when the gang gathered around. “A string of bad luck? Why are you acting this way? Explain it to me.”

“Because of Dutch! He isn’t right in the mind. He left me Javier, left me!” John argued, the hand over his chest clenching the fabric of his shirt. “They was talking of hanging me! I was going to die!”

“He had a plan!” Javier argued back. “He was going to get you! Just like he got to me on Guarma! My leg was wounded, I was kicked, beaten, dragged over the ground by a mule! I was caged up but I knew Dutch wouldn’t leave me. You were stuck in prison, of course it was going to take some time to find a way to get you out.”

John let out a sorrowed sigh, his face falling. “You didn’t see it, you weren’t there when they arrested me. He had a chance to save me, he could have saved me, there was a moment… A moment where he could have done something, but he didn’t, he left.”

Javier shook his head. “John, I want to believe you, I do, you know I trust you… But I trust Dutch too, he has saved me several times.”

“He saved me too when I was a kid, I saw him as my father. Javier, this isn’t easy for me to say, I just don’t… I don’t know, it doesn’t feel safe, he has slipped. Have you heard him plan recently?”

“No, but I know that his plans normally work out. I don’t know how he can just change.”

John looked down at the ground, his hand going up to fidget with the necklace. “Neither do I.”

Javier placed a hand on John’s arm, making him look up at him, and gave him a small smile. “We will be okay, we just have to have some faith in Dutch. One last job and we are out of here to Tahiti or wherever he wants us to go.”

John’s heart ached, he wanted to believe that, he really did but he couldn’t. He knew they would never make it to Tahiti. No matter how bad it became between him and Dutch, he knew that he and Javier would be okay. “Yeah.”

—

Friendship, friendship, John didn’t know much about friendship but he knew that whatever the fuck this was was not friendship!

John’s eyes widened, his hand clenching around the wounded shoulder as he watched Javier stand on the other side of the camp, his gun drawn and eyes on the ground, his gun drawn at John and Arthur. His friend was drawing a gun on him when he was wounded?

Look at me! Look at me god damnit! John wanted to scream. He wanted to shout across the camp into the forest and down to Annesburg. Fuck the Pinkertons, fuck the Murfree Brood, fuck the law, he needed Javier to look him in the fucking eyes as he drew that gun at him,

Javier didn’t even have the guts to look John in the eyes or point the gun at him when he turned his back on John and sided with the man who had left John to die. Instead, he was pointing the gun at the sky and looking at the ground like the fucking coward he was, oh John hoped that Javier was looking right down his chest, he hoped that the man could see the symbol of their friendship hanging around his neck and he hoped that it choked him like a noose. How fucking dared Javier wear that when he went against everything it stood for?

Did their years of friendship mean nothing? Did everything they had gone through mean nothing? John did not know what Javier thought of him, but John knew that Javier was no friend of his.

—

The final brick had been laid on the new house and John took a moment to step back and look over the place he could now call home. It wasn’t much, yet, but Beechers Hope was slowly starting to look like a place he could bring Abigail and Jack back to, it just needed a little furnishing and it would be perfect.

It was also nice being back with some of the old gang members, Sadie, Charles, even Uncle. He never thought he would say he was glad being around Uncle, but he was, even though he had been less optimistic when he had run into him back in Blackwater.

He missed the old gang, the old times.

He reached up to where the wooden tooth had hung around his neck for years, clenching the fabric of his collar. He hadn’t worn the necklace since everything went down in Beaver’s Creek, yet the anxious fidget remained and he hated himself for it. Javier had betrayed him, he had chosen Dutch over him, had drawn a gun on him. He couldn’t forgive Javier no matter how much he missed the happy times they had had together.

—

Time had not been on Javier’s side, or maybe it was simply because all the ugly inside was finally starting to show outside. His hair stood out to every side underneath that god-forsaken hat that John had always hated but accepted as Javier’s culture. Now he wanted to shoot it right off.

“Hello old friend,” John spoke as he pointed the gun at Javier in the small storage room. It had been twelve years since he had seen that face and he could happily have gone twelve more. “It has been a long time.” Not long enough though, he only accepted the situation because of the whole Abigail thing and the fact that he might end it just like he had with Micah four years prior. He had been happy he killed Micah, and he would be happy killing Javier too. He had imagined it since he had watched Micah bleed in the snow. The image had made him happy… But at the same time… He couldn’t imagine killing his friend, he always had to remind himself that his Javier was already dead.

“Hello brother, it is uh, good to see you,” Javier said and John had to hold in a scuff, brother? Really? They hadn’t been that for twelve years. “I heard you was coming, took your time no? Come on you aren’t gonna shoot your own brother, are you? We was family.”

That was where Javier was wrong, John was going to shoot the moment Javier breathed in the wrong direction.

“Yeah, we were, then you and Dutch went crazy and then family didn’t mean so much.” His breath hitched in his throat as Javier chuckled, shaking his head slightly. Underneath Javier’s coat was a necklace, a wooden tooth, the coyote tooth that John had carved so many years ago for the both of them, the one that John had thrown in a bag and never looked at again but been unable to throw away. Javier still wore it. How fucking dare he, how dare he wear the symbol of their friendship with so much ease when he betrayed John just as easily?

Javier could rot in hell.

—

“Ah shit, I hope you are struggling with what you are doing brother,” Javier spoke as he lad over John’s shoulder, his speech slurred from the blood running to his head.

Was John meant to struggle? Yes, and John did struggle as much as Javier had struggled turning his back on him, not at all… At least that was what he told himself because the truth was he did struggle, that nagging feeling in the back of his head was telling him that he was killing his friend, but he just had to remind himself that his Javier was gone. This Javier over his shoulder was not the Javier whose chin he had held in his hand, the Javier who had hung out with him even when they didn’t speak the same language, the Javier who had sneaked booze to him, the Javier who had welcomed him back with open arms, the Javier he had loved. Deep inside he still struggled to accept that person was dead and this person thrown over his shoulder was the sorry excuse of a man who remained

“You sold me out, did the life we had mean nothing to you? OW! OW SHIT! You puto!” Javier cursed as John threw the man to the floor in the cell, letting out a snort. Javier could call him anything he wanted, any curse word, any slur, John was done with Javier and the mere fact he dared bring up their old life was insulting. Javier had been the one turning his back on John first to leave him in the mess Dutch had created, now Javier was just angry John had decided to put a knife in that back.

—

The agents stood by the car, waiting for John to hail Javier off the back of his horse.

“Mister Marston, fancy seeing you here,” one of them joked and how John wished to put a bullet in that man's head, he would have had it not been for Abigail and Jack. He didn't even speak as the men went on a long monolog about justice and truth, he didn’t care for it, the only thing he cared for was his family.

One of them grabbed onto Javier’s shoulder and before John knew what he was doing he told them to stop. “Hey, hold on a second.” For a moment he saw something in Javier’s eyes, hope maybe, affection? Something that didn’t matter, he would be hanging from a noose in not too long.

John reached underneath Javier’s jacket and grabbed the tooth, yanking it off Javier’s neck, not even caring to look or be bothered with the hurt in his eyes.

No hurt that Javier experienced from losing a meaningless necklace could replace the hurt John had felt losing his brother.

-------------------

I also appologize to Javier because I don't know spanish so his spanish has been reduced to DeepL. I actually dont know if this is too long for tumblr and if I should put it on ao3 instead but we will see.