#benches = same as doors & altar

[brummiereader]

MASTERLIST PREVIOUS PART

Uptown Girl (Part Nine/ Final Chapter)

Summary: As the gathering of guests in the small bricked church, wait on your stuttering response. Tommy is also left, holding his breath for the finale of his carefully timed plans to come to fruition. Will things pan out as he intended? Or will fate be the ruling decider over the day's events?

Warnings: Language, angst, violence, mutual pining, use of one racial slur.

Word Count: 5500

Fuck, fuck, FUCK...where are they?! Tommy's panicked eyes darted between the large oak doors to you stood at the altar as your stuttering response torturously echoed back to him.

Hands clammy, ears ringing. His heart rattled furiously against its bony enclosure as a surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins. Forcing him onto his feet just as you let your long awaited response slip past your lips.

" I...don't" your wobbly voice answered, head shaking in unison with the internal thoughts that had spurred on your response as Cal's grip on your fingers tightened, crushing them between the pads of his palms.

Rather poor and homeless, you thought to yourself as your answer settled among the many guests attending the supposedly joyous day. The very same answer, you'd be a fool to deny you hadn't already settled your mind on, ever since the day you learned of the promise your father had selfishly made on your behalf.

A life of hard labor suddenly sounded as peaceful, as comforting as the last rays of summer glittering through the technicolour stained windows warming your skin.

Your willingness to take on the burdens of others had finally made way for something you had shown throughout the entirety of your troubled life. Will power. Backed with a shit tonne of your famously brooding stubbornness, of course.

"Now, sweetpea..." Cal's teeth gritted together, pulling you into him like a flimsy rag doll, limp from hours of play as a sudden dread of fear rolled up your spine, eclipsing your renewed confidence as he made his intentions clear.

" Father, proceed" his head snapped towards the cloaked man, brazenly ignoring your protests and the wave of startled gasps from the members of high society watching from the pews.

"I'm sorry sir, but we..."

"I said proceed, goddamit!" Cal's voice snapped with fury, holding you tightly in place when a bellowing voice boomed from the far end of the small chapel, swiftly commanding Cal's attention.

" Enough!" Tommy yelled, hands clasped fiercely onto the back of the wooden bench in front of him. " You heard her. Now, let her go" he warned, his menacing tone of voice accompanied by the two gloomy shadows sat beside him. Teeth baring as they excitedly awaited to draw the blood of any man who dared to pick a fight with them.

"Him?" Cal scoffed as he snapped his eyes back to you, refusing to accept that less than a month's worth of time spent with a cutthroat gangster was enough to sway your mind from a life of unimaginable riches and titles that he had to offer " A gypsy thief?"

As your eyes turned to Tommy, a watery cloud of unspent tears settled in front of your vision as those present waited on your answer for a second time. An answer you found yourself unable to give under the suffocating sea of eyes, drowning you under the pressure of their stares. An answer you would flee from in a flowing stream of taffeta and lace down the aisle you had solemnly walked mere moments ago.

Running past the lure of Tommy's eyes, you crashed through the church doors and away from the answer he waited on berated breath for.

" I think it would be best if we postpone..." the priest turned to the many guests as the heavy tension you had left at the doors of the chapel in your dramatic departure, weaved its way through the sounds of shuffling feet and hushed whispers.

" Wait!" Cal stopped him as he smoothed back the stray hairs, greased with lacquer that had fallen In front of his darkening eyes.

" She just needs a little convincing, is all" his attention narrowed in on the towering wooden doors, sharply turning on his polished heel with an unstoppable determination to have his way.

Unwilling to sit idle, to see for a second time the bruising damage a private conversation with Cal ended in. Tommy stepped over his brothers, rapidly following after the echoes of raised voices that distanced him from you.

"Hold up, gents" Arthur's long body lurched in front of the exit, stopping the two pompous friends of Cal from interfering in the scrap undoubtedly about to take place.

" By the order of who?" Dicky, the son of the notorious butcher of Bordesley Green spat as a heavy hand settled on his shoulder, a quick smirk of enjoyment flashing across its owners face as he looked to his younger brother. Prolonging the schooling of the self-righteous twat in front of him on just who he was up against.

" By order of the Peaky fucking Blinders. That's who"

Dragging your body outside, you let your gasping lungs inhale the welcome chill of Autumn approaching as you let the weight of your body rest against the hood of one of the many cars lined up along the browning hedgerow.

Finally, it was over. Your refusal of marriage made known to all those present. For if god was your witness, then so were they. And soon the joyful chattering of gossip would rapidly make its way among high society. With tales of Cal's abhorrent temper unmasked under the watchful eye of the almighty and all those attending.

" Please, just a moment" you briefly looked up to the sound of concerned footsteps making their way across the cemented ground as you rested your trembling hand on your heaving chest. But concern was far from what was coming your way.

Within a blink of an eye, you felt the full force of Cal's body slamming you into the car. His fingers wrapping tightly around your throat.

" You little bitch!" he seethed through gritted teeth, releasing the shame, the anger he felt for having been shown up in front of the many noble faces of high society he deemed more important than the sentiments of the woman he was supposedly in love with.

"You dare to show me up? Me?!" he spat, inches from your face as his fingers curled around your throat.

" Cal..." you mumbled, desperately scrambling for air as you watched the dimming rays of sun cower behind the looming frightful sight in front of you.

" Now, we're going to go back in there. And you're going to tell everyone how you were overcome with a touch of the old cold feet. Ok sweetpea?" he squeezed his fingers around the protruding veins of your neck, impatient for your response his ignorance and straining grasp hadn't realised he was delaying.

"No..." you wept, furiously shaking your head as your hands searched for something, anything to hinder him from squeezing the last breaths of life you so desperately wanted to live.

" When will you understand, Y/N. I always get my..."

His damning words were abruptly delayed as you felt his body being pulled off you, his grip releasing from your neck through searing gashes as his nails dragged along your reddening skin.

With dazed eyes, and rattling lungs, you pulled yourself up to the sound of feet shuffling along the gritted ground, bodies grappling in a bloody fight, dulling out the ringing in your ears. Tommy.

"Lard" Arthur noted, pointing at the neatly curled moustache sported by one of Cal's lackeys as he internally weighed up who had the mightiest tash of whiskers out of the two of them.

" I beg your pardon?" the gentlemen's brows scrunched with insult that he, a man of such standing would use a kitchen staple intended for the roasting of spuds on his pampered face.

"To keep the strays in place" Arthur replied, smoothing down his own perfectly trimmed moustache with the pads of his fingers.

" Lanolin" the pompous man turned his head up and away from the gangster and his accompanying guard dog keeping a strong hold on the church doors.

" Beggars can't be choosers" Arthur sniffed as he straightened his tailored suit, raising his chin above his competition. Still bloody taller.

" At least he doesn't smell like Aunt Pols Sunday roast though, ay Arthur?" John sniggered, earning him a sharp blow to the side. The toothpick twirling between his teeth, dangerously close to making its way down his throat from the force of his brothers strategically placed knobbly elbow.

" Fuck off, John boy"

"Stop!" You screamed watching Cal and Tommy throw fists at each other, the flaps of their tailored suits casting shadows under their scuffling feet with every dodge of their bodies.

"Tommy, please!" you tumbled forward, trying to calm the rage within him before he left you with the slaughtered image of a dead body sprawled onto a guests' car as he held the upper hand over Cal. His gun swiftly pulled from its holster, now firmly nestled into the neck of his opponent.

" Y/N, back!" He pushed you away from the line of fire with his free hand. Bloody knuckles staining your ivory gown as his finger squeezed around the beckoning lull of the trigger, seconds from blowing a bullet through Cal's skull.

" Mr Shelby?" A meek voice broke Tommy away from his gory endeavor as you turned in unison to see a veiled woman holding the hand of a dark haired tot, tearfully sobbing through her wobbling bottom lip.

"Can't hear anything" John mumbled with his ear pressed up against the wooden doors as a small crowd of inquisitive eyes gathered around him.

" It's gone quiet" Arthur smirked to his brother, satisfied the grave Tommy had personally dug that morning would soon be filled with the body of the bastard that had delayed his punishment in the back alleys of Small Heath.

" Perhaps an ambulance is warranted?" One of Cal's acquaintances stepped forward before swiftly being pushed back into his rightful place in the newly established pecking order, void of status and wealth but instead, muscle and crazed instability.

" Are you doubting my brother's ability to get the job done, ay?" Arthur squared up to the mumbling man, offended by the mere suggestion that a Shelby, reared from fighting stock would acquire backup to take down one lone man.

" Wha...?" the pompous prick replied, suddenly realising that the only call worthy of being made was that to the foreboding sound of a horse-drawn hearse.

"Alright, alright! Give us some space. Bloody hell" John rolled his shoulders as the many guests pushed forward, eager to see the gruesome sight like the jeering crowds that waited on the ax mans delivering blow from times before.

" Anybody would think they've never seen a scrap before!" John shouted over the murmurs and growing excitement as he looked to his brother.

" Well, brother..." Arthur's smile deepened into a mischievous grin as he pushed the doors open, freeing the crowd like a King would his loyal subjects. " '...'ave at it boys and girls!"

"Tommy? What's going on?" Your eyes darted from the small child's whimpers to Tommy lowering his gun as he released his grip from around Cal's collar.

Plagued with his own childhood horrors, he'd be damned to inflict such nightmares on another innocent mind caught in the cross fire between the affairs of adults, their fragile minds were too young to understand.

" Y/N, meet Jayne. Cal's daughter" Tommy pulled away, resting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

" Daughter...?" Your brows knitted together, your attention pulled back to the sweet girl standing patiently next to her guardian.

" Our Jayne's only surviving family" the sister from the convent informed you as the sound of the crowds footsteps came to a stop, curious by the unexpected change of events.

" Utter nonsense!" Cal straightened the lapels of his suit as he eyed the rosy cheeked toddler from the corner of his eye. Seething with disdain for the image of himself he saw in her.

" Dear god...she's the spit of you" Johnathan remarked as Cal's head snapped away with a scoff.

" Only surviving family? But her mother...where's her mother?" Your curiosity peaked for the small child and the unusual tale her presence brought as you noted the subtle exchange of glances between Tommy and the woman that cared for her.

" Dead" Tommy straightened his back, his eyes snapping to the gulping man whose hidden lies, now held the attention of all those present.

" Found strangled to death in her bedsit two years ago, with her newborn daughter screaming in her bassinet beside her. Cal's daughter" Tommy looked to you as the horror of the childs early life came to light.

"Her murderer stood here, a free man, with us today" Tommy let the darkness that Cal had hidden from his life of riches be known as the sudden realisation that you could have shared the same fate rattled your nerves.

" A troubled life she led, but we are not ones to judge. Little Jayne is in our care now, away from danger" the sister revealed as she caressed the plump cheek of the small child, before her eyes snapped to Cal shuffling away from the growing whispers and stares of those stood watching.

His liking for visiting the back alleys of Birmingham and the service's they had to offer, was now laid bare for all to see. How he had dodged the repercussions of the horrors he had inflicted with the help of his wealth and status, avoiding the deadly drop of the hangman's nose as punishment for the life he taken from a woman few cared for, exposed. His most favourite choice of punishment, brushing down the film of sweat sitting on his forehead, those of the hands he used to squeeze the life from Jaynes' mother.

As Cal's reputation in high society came crashing down around him, so did his body as his widening eyes darted from face to face to the sound of scum and bastard leaving their mouths. All thanks to the strategically placed cane of an elderly woman, intent on seeing him take his fall from grace in a more... physical sense.

" Ever so sorry. Shakey hands" your grandmother looked down past her nose to Cal slumped on the ground at her feet, her fingers as steady as a meadow of flowers on a windless day clutching around the top of her cane.

" Now where in the bloody hell does Meredith think he's going?" Arthur's moustache twitched at the scrambling man, formerly known as Cal, running through the gritted ground away from Arrow House.

" I'll get him" John swiftly pulled out his gun, closing one eye as he honed in on Cal heading for the small pasture of galloping horses.

" Steady on, John! You'll take one of the bloody toffs' heads off" Arthur lowered his brother's revolver as the herd of guests ran forward, keen to see how the day's thrilling events would end.

Stood back, Tommy's eyes drifted to yours. Desperate for your acknowledgment, for you to seek comfort and refuge in him. But as he watched your eyes cast down to your shuffling feet, he was met with the glistening flicker of unspent tears, pooled under your batting lashes. Shit.

" Bloody hell, that horse is as skittish as a Catholic girl on confession day. She'll buck him off" Arthur's eyes narrowed in across the field to Cal precariously sat on your white mare.

" Five says she won't"John put his hand out, keen for the day to not got to waste as he waited for his brother to take the bet.

" Go on then" the two brothers shook on it in a slimy spit-covered pact as serious as any pinky promise.

Gripping onto the ivory mane of your horse, Nelly violently bucked with her hind legs as Cal desperately tried to control her erratic movements. The crowd of people that had gathered by the rickety wooden fence, encouraging the theatrical display with waving hands and hurling cheers until she delivered one mighty kick, throwing Cal off head first into the muddied ground below him.

With a satisfied flare of her nostrils, notorious Nelly gave one last boot into the face of her unwanted rider for good measure before happily trotting off to join the others grazing.

" 'ere" John relented, pulling five coppers from his pocket to a gloating Arthur.

" Five bleeding shilling!" Arthur looked down at the jingling coins in his hand, expecting the feeling of crisp pound notes to warm his fingers.

" Tit" Arthur mumbled, smacking the back of his younger brother's shaved head as the crowd's laughter grew to a roaring thunder at the sight of Cal, muddy and dazed, slumped in the grass feet from them.

Stood away from the crowd, their echos of laughter, their grinning smiles of amusement tapered back to you. Your life had been turned into a circus, on display for the enjoyment of others.

Pulling up the dragging ends of your dress, you turned and leave, running from the laughter of those who would soon be gossiping about the pitiful life you led during their afternoon luncheons in the most prestigious of tearooms.

" Y/N!" Tommy called after you, watching the cascade of tears that you had desperately kept from the peering eyes of others, trickle down your cheeks.

Shit, shit, shit, Tommy thought to himself as he ran after the rippling ends of your muddied dress, suddenly realising he had taken it one step too far in his fondness for a dramatic conclusion.

" Darling..." Tommy's feet came to a stop behind you, his hands gently cupping your waist as you sought solitude behind the small bricked chapel away from the lingering sounds of laughter.

" Go away, Tommy!" You snapped your head back to him as he raised his hands in surrender. Carelessly brazen enough to approach you without precaution like he would with your jittery horse that shared your guarded nature.

" Y/N, I'm sorr.."

"I'm glad you all find this funny. My life, the grand finale to your finishing act" you cut off his intended apology, pulling the netted veil from your head, the pearl necklace from around your neck through frustrated sobs." Would you like me to get up and dance for you all too?"

" Hey, c'mere" Tommy sighed as he tested the waters with an apprehensive step in your direction, unable to withstand the upsetting sight he was responsible for.

" No!" You snapped back, unapologetic with your adamant refusal to be comforted by the day's event and the harrowing fate that could have awaited you if your response had been two letters short.

" No, Tommy. Not this time " you shook your head, watching the hurt of your rejection pull down the corners of his eyes as you turned to leave. Shunning him out like he had done to you without the slightest possibility for reconciliation.

" Don't fret dear, she'll come around" Grannie made her presence known as she turned the corner to see the internal battle Tommy was inflicting upon himself as he watched you leave.

" I'm not so sure, Dowager" he turned back to see the gentle smile, creased with fine lines of wisdom greeting him.

" Call me, Grannie" she placed her cane in front of her, slowly stepping towards a man whose fractured heart had taken another self-imposed blow.

" I'm afraid she comes from a long line of stubbornness, Mr Shelby. Best let that steam cool off, or I'm afraid you may get burnt. And nobody likes the sting of that" she patted his arm, drawing his attention away from you marching down the dusty path his longing eyes desperately wanted to follow after.

"That was quite the finish, Mr Shelby. Are you sure you're not classically trained?" your grandmother teased, earning her the boyish smirk of amusement she had grown fond of.

" Not too much, then?" Tommy's eyes playfully asked as he gave her his arm to take, leading her back to the ruckus you had fled from.

" Goodness no. What's life without a little show, hm?" Grannie giggled as a loud wave of cheers came from the enclosed paddock.

" Seems we're not so different after all" your grandmother nodded to John sat on Nelly riding her one handed like a bucking bronco as Arthur worked the cheering crowds collecting bets.

" Five shillings says she kicks him off" Grannie turned to the grinning gangster with her hand out, lightening the heavy mood that shadowed above you both.

" You're on"

Sat back at your brooding spot in the bay window of your grandmother's cottage, you watched as the maple tree in front of her house disheveled its crisp leaves from its branches one by one into a high enough heap to jump in to, in a fit of giggles. But laughter had escaped you for more than eight weeks since Tommy dramatically exposed Cal's secret. And although you were safe from ever feeling his heavy hand strike you again, you let yourself slip into your solemn thoughts, relentlessly mulling over what had been unearthed.

Cal was gone. His life ended by Tommy with a bullet through his head. Buried by his hand in a six-foot deep hole in an unmarked grave. His name forgotten for an eternity. No flowers laced in tears sitting beside his earthy tomb. And like everything in your life, you were faced with an unexpected twist of fate.

Arrogantly bold enough to assume you would be his wife, Cal had prematurely signed his estate over to you until you birthed a son.

A child that never came to be, a demise quicker than expected, you were left with his thousands and the harrowing reminder of the young child he had fathered. Jayne.

Relinquishing the hefty sum of money left in your name, you forwent a life of unimaginable riches, and set up a trust fund for the orphaned child in the hope she would be able to carve her own future, free from the ruling hands of greedy men.

But with all matters settled, one still occupied your every waking breath. Tommy.

" Speak of the devil!" Grannie announced, suspiciously in tune with your internal thoughts of melancholy as she turned her head to the sound of a Bentley steadily driving up to her gated home.

" Right on time" she giggled as you flew up from your seat, eyes darting in a frantic panic to the weathered window.

" Into the closest she goes!" she teased as you hurried passed her, making a beeline for your trusted hiding space in the cramped hallway. A spot you had cowered yourself in each week over the past two months.

"Mr Shelby" Grannie opened the door, the gentle autumn breeze bringing notes of whisky and tobacco, with a handful of ribbon tied hydrangeas along with it.

" Grannie" he greeted her, kissing her cheek in a loving familiarity as his eyes searched behind her for a sign of you.

" Y/N?" He sighed, questioning your whereabouts as you battled with a precariously placed broom beside you in the darkened room, the door ajar enough to see the shine of his blue eyes longing for a glimpse of you.

" Indisposed I'm afraid" your grandmother gave the disappointing weekly response he'd become accustomed to.

" In the closest" she quietly mouthed, rolling her eyes as Tommy's darting gaze met yours through the thin line of light. Taking you aback enough for you to stumble into the aged broom with a thud. Oh, bollocks.

" Tell her I came by" Tommy left the bouquet of flowers in the hands of your grandmother, his pining eyes still firmly fixed on the shadow of your body behind the door.

" You have my word" your Grannie patted his hand before he turned to leave with one last glimpse of your batting eyes through the rays of sun shining through the glass-framed door he'd opened.

Never staying for long. Never intruding into your life without your welcome. Tommy would make the long drive to your Grans home in Cheltenham, arriving on the dot at exactly 12.05 every Friday.

Like a delivered telegram, like a small hello. He made it his weekly routine to show you how much he still longed to have you back in his life. How much he missed you.

" No sense in hiding anymore, dear. Your inherited clumsiness gave it away" your grandmother shut the front door, turning to see the irritated pout sitting on your lips.

" For you" she handed the freshly picked bouquet of flowers, you ceremoniously tossed in the bin along with the others.

" My sweet summer child, sit with me" Grannie sighed, ushering you to her favourite armchair beside the window of her garden.

" Before you say anything, it will never work" you stopped the words of advice your stubbornness was intent on ignoring.

" I don't even like him...that much" you started to ramble, releasing the many excuses you had convinced yourself of one by one to your grandmother's stuttering lips as she tried to get a word in. " He's so pig headed, so cocky. So..so stubborn!"

" Stubborn?" your grandmother raised her brow, a pursed smile of amusement for the characteristic he shared with you. " You're more alike than you care to realise, my dear"

" I'm nothing like him. We come from two completely different worlds, Grannie" you crossed your arms, blowing the lock of hair from in front of your eyes as you fell back into your seat like a stroppy child. " God, why won't he just let me be..."

" That's where you're wrong, my dear" Grannie leaned forward, taking your hand.

" I have a confession" she whispered. An urgent enough secret that she felt it best said in a hushed voice to you, the only person within close proximity to her home, if not miles from the nearest sign of life. " We're counterfeits"

" Counterfeits?' you voiced louder than intended as you scooted forward in your plush seat.

" Good heavens, child. Do you want the whole of the county to hear?" she scolded you and your rolling eyes as she returned to her story

" His name was Jack. Known to some as, Jack the lad from Digbeth" she divulged into her past, reliving her younger years through the memories she cherished.

" A strapping stable boy who worked on my father's land. We had taken a fancying to each other, and after a summer's night in 1847 I found myself in a rather troublesome ballooning predicament.

" Grannie..." your cheeks blushed, hearing the details of your grandmother's risky teen years hidden behind the prudishness she had shown throughout her entire adult life.

" Don't think I don't know how my favourite afternoon treat was void of its jammy filling, dear" her brows raised, reddening your cheeks to the same shade of her favourite jelly before returning to the tales of her younger years.

" He asked me to marry him, said we'd run away together and join the fair...a hopeless romantic. Of course, when my father caught wind of our plans, my Jack was banished from the home, and I was quickly arranged to marry into a noble family before my growing secret revealed itself before my wedding night" she finished, feeling a pang of sadness for her long-lost love she'd never see again and the son they shared, your father.

" My dear, we're not of blue blood, not even a hint of turquoise" she wrapped her fingers around your young hands, free from the wrinkles that creased hers.

"You come from the same cobbled streets of the man whose heart and your own you're breaking. Fate brought you together, my child. Best not to piss it off with your shared stubbornness and start off on the wrong foot, dear. Bygones be bygones, hm? She sent you a gentle smile of encouragement as your brain scrambled to reevaluate your life after yet another exposed secret.

A family of commoners. The most freeing of revelation you could have ever discovered. Not only were you free of Cal, you were free of the restraints high society held on you. Free to love and live the way you wanted, with the man you wanted. If you would let your bullheadedness be buried with the troubled past you still held on to, of course.

"Easy girl" Tommy brushed his hand along the mane of your horse, calming her jittery nerves when something, or rather, someone caught his attention in the dark orbs of her eyes.

As the smell of your sweet perfume filled his senses, the sound of your heels clicking along the cobbled stable floor sang in his ears. His hand, unsteady as your horse's temper, rested on her back, fingers rising with each calming, heavy breath she took.

"Am I in hell?" He teased, the curling lilt of his black country accent heard through the small smile of playfulness on his lips as he stood with his back to you.

Slowly approaching, you rested your hand gently on his coated arm as his shoulders relaxed in response to the comforting feeling of your touch. Only for the skin prickling reaction to be swiftly snatched away when you poked him in the ribs shortly after.

"Nope. Still alive" Tommy grunted, a hint of a throaty laugh heard through his wincing breath.

" Hey" his voice pattered out upon seeing your radiating beauty, his eyes had gone too long without gazing upon as he turned around.

"Hi" you quietly replied, apprehensive as to how he'd take your sudden appearance back into his life you'd hidden yourself away from for two months.

"You came home" his lips softened into a loving smile as he stepped towards you, desperate to pull you into him.

" Is it my home, Tommy?" Your eyes lowered, darting with every quickened breath back up to his gaze as he took in the fading sun's glittering film of light on your wind-nipped cheeks.

"Ours" he soothed the redness from your skin as his thumb brushed over the slopes of your face down to your plump lips as an unknowing silence of how things would pan out, settled between your bodies.

" New horse?" Tommy broke the quietness hovering over you both, lightening the mood before a heavy discussion of hurt feelings ensued.

For now, he wanted to bask in the moment as you stood in unison with him. And with your relieved sigh of acknowledgment to the black stallion stood outside the stables, he was reassured to know that you too, welcomed the distraction. Let bygones be bygones, as your Gran would say.

" Moody looking thing, what's his name?" Tommy led you forward for introductions, resting his hand on the slope of your back.

" Tommy. And I ride him every day" the corners of your smiling lips turned into an amused grin as a scoffing laugh loudly responded to your choice of name.

" Tommy, eh? Sorry mate, but we can't have that. I'm gonna have to steal your girl back" he patted down the muscled body of your stallion before guiding your giggles outside to the front of Arrow House.

"Still in tact, I see" you looked up at the bricks of your childhood home, feeling his eyes roam over your face, hand holding you tightly next to him. " Seems you managed fine without me"

" The house hasn't been the issue" Tommy turned you to face him as your hands brushed up his chest, fingers curling around the lapels of his tailored jacket.

" It's me. I've been bored. Got me gardening, it's been that bad" he revealed his newly-founded hobby as your eyes drifted down to the potted flower, miserably limp with a stubbed out cigarette in its earthy soil.

"Goodness, going well I see" an amused smile for the green thumb he didn't inherit from his Aunt pulled at your lips as you felt him raise your eyes to meet him, his thumb hooked gently under your chin.

"No more avoiding me, sweetheart" His fingers brushed along your skin, cupping your cheek in his hand as he searched for reassurance that things wouldn't slip into how the past two months had panned out.

"Especially not in closets, eh?" he teased as you matched his toying smile, closing your eyes as he pressed his smiling lips into yours in a tender embrace.

" I lov.." you both stumbled to give your confessions of loyalty as you broke apart.

" Ladies first" Tommy shot you a wink, his playful response echoing the moments you had spent together in blissful torment of each other.

" I love you" the three-worded confession slipped past the draw bridge of stubbornness you had lowered to welcome him back in.

" I love you too"

Pulled into the warmth of his chest, an intoxicating sense of calm and comfort pulsed through your bodies.

For as the saying goes, home is where the heart is. And your hearts had finally found a home, in each other. Always.

The end.

Thank you to everyone that commented, reblogged and liked this series. Your interactions helped me finish this final, long awaited chapter. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the ending in the comments below! Thank you again, my lovelies ❤️.

Brummie xxx

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[girlkisser13]

hestia cabin headcanons

• logically, it would make sense for the unclaimed demigods to be in hestia’s cabin.

• a buddy system pairs new arrivals with experienced campers from the hestia cabin, helping them navigate camp life and adjust to their new environment.

• every camper regardless of being claimed are given a week in hestia's cabin to get used to camp. a reminder that they are all demigods warmed by the same hearth. they are all family.

• demigods get claimed faster when they’re in hestia’s cabin because she glares at her siblings, nieces and nephews until they claim them.

• hestia is happy that so many are finally feeling the comforts of home.

• her cabin has no counselor.

• instead, she appoints a chosen mortal with clear sight as her champion.

• this person acts as the cabin counselor.

• although they’re mortal, they exhibit enhanced empathy, a calming presence, and a natural talent for mediation and conflict resolution, gifts subtly bestowed by hestia.

• the champion also receives mentorship from hestia herself, often through dreams, visions, or quiet moments of reflection by the hearth.

• this guidance helps them navigate their responsibilities and grow into their role.

• the cabin frequently engages in community service projects around camp half-blood, such as maintaining gardens, repairing cabins, and organizing camp-wide events.

• hestia's champion often leads these initiatives, ensuring that everyone has a role and that the projects reflect the values of unity and care.

• in hermes’ cabin they would always be guests but in hestia’s cabin, they would be at home (at least until they get claimed).

• this ensures that EVERY demigod has a place to come home to.

cabin exterior

• the entrance to the hestia cabin is marked by a wide, welcoming porch with a set of double wooden doors, intricately carved with scenes of hestia and hearthfires.

• large, comfy rocking chairs and benches line the porch, providing a perfect spot for relaxing and socializing.

• the cabin is made of sturdy, warm-toned wood, giving it a rustic yet welcoming appearance.

• soft, golden lights are strung along the eaves and porch, creating a cozy glow that is especially inviting at night.

• they have hanging baskets filled with flowers and vines that add color and vibrancy to the cabin’s exterior.

• stone pathways connect the cabin to other parts of camp half-blood, with lanterns lining the paths to guide the way at night.

• the cabin's lighting, both inside and out, is designed to be soft and warm, creating a comforting and homely atmosphere.

cabin interior

• the walls are adorned with soft, earthy tones and wooden accents, creating a homey feel.

• a large, ornate fireplace sits at the heart of the cabin, always lit with a comforting fire that never goes out, providing warmth and light.

• the cabin has an open floor plan, allowing for easy movement and a sense of community among the cabin members.

• their beds are arranged in a semi-circle around the hearth, promoting a sense of unity and togetherness.

• each demigod has a personal trunk and a small, personalized nook with shelves and a pinboard for decorations and personal items.

• small altars and symbols dedicated to hestia are placed throughout the cabin, reminding the members of the goddess's presence and protection.

• fresh flowers and offerings are regularly placed on these altars, maintaining a connection to the goddess of the hearth.

cabin traditions

• every new unclaimed demigod is welcomed with a special ceremony involving a warm meal prepared by the existing members. this meal symbolizes the hearth and home that hestia represents. the new member is given a candle to light, representing their acceptance into the cabin.

• every sunday, the cabin hosts a communal meal where everyone participates in cooking. they use recipes passed down from their mortal families or create new ones together. it's a time for bonding and sharing different cultural heritages.

• they prepare care packages for demigods on quests or those who are struggling. these packages include homemade snacks, comforting items, and handwritten notes of encouragement.

divider by @plutism

[delightfulcollectivetyphoon]

OK VRO I HAD S GOOD IDEA FOR A FANFIC

Cliff burton x fem!Reader and reader is like a goody two shoes and cliff is a bad boy or wtv but they go to the same church and hookup in the bathroom during service 👀

omfgggg yesssss i like where ur head is at

jesus christ this is way longer than i wanted it to be (thats what she said. actually. what person has ever said that.)

HANG ON TIGHT BITCHES

cws: innocent!fem!reader, kinda douchebag cliff, praise kink, oral sex (F receiving), loss of virginity, lil bit of blood, cliff calls reader angel, p in v, unprotected sex, virginity kink

You were joined at the altar by a tall man with a denim jacket and such long hair that you thought he was a woman. But as he kneeled to rest his hands on the bench, you saw that he was in fact a man. Your mind strayed from your silent prayer, wondering who had allowed him in the church. It was customary for the men to wear suits and be well groomed. Girls wore dresses and were expected to wear their hair up. This is what God wanted. This is how his people acted. This strange man seemed to follow his own rules. Part of you immediately disliked him for his disregard of the church's expectations, but the other part found him fascinating. Daring to walk up to the altar with his shoulders slouched. Mumbling his prayer aloud. The rings on his fingers, one of a ram's head and the other featuring a skull. You hurried through your prayer to go sit back down with your family. You stood, and he tilted his head ever so slightly. His smirk caught your eye, and your breath caught in your throat. After a moment of hesitation, you cleared your throat and made your way back to your pew. When you sat down, your mother gave you a curious look.

"My goodness, what's got you so flustered? Do you feel alright?"

"Uh, yeah... just a little dizzy. Must be from the heat."

You didn't feel alright. You felt...funny. After trying your best to sit through the sermon, you couldn't help it. You stood, smoothed out your dress, and made your way to the bathroom. You were surprised to find the man from earlier leaning against the back wall of the church, hands in his pockets, focused on the priest. He noticed you passing by, and stopped you, holding out his hand.

"Saw you up at the altar. Names' Cliff."

"Oh! Uh...yes! Nice to meet you!"

You ignored his hand and had only gotten one step further when you felt his hand on your shoulder.

"Whoa whoa whoa. You feelin' all right?"

"Yes." Your answer was concise and snippy, getting your urgency across.

He stared at you for a moment, then let go watching you hurry out of the chapel.

In the bathroom, you gripped the sides of the sink and stared straight into your reflection. What the hell was happening? After a moment of zoning out, you noticed your thighs were clenched, but when you relaxed them, an ache crept into your lower stomach, and your clit begun to throb. Fear plagued your mind, unsure of what God would think of your...predicament.

"You doin' okay sweetheart?"

You jumped as his voice came through the bathroom door.

"Um, sir, this is a women's bathroom!" Your voice came out shaky and high-pitched, noticing the throbbing became more intense when he spoke.

"Ya decent?"

"Uh...yes. Wait no! Don't come in!"

It was too late. He was standing in the door frame. One hand on the knob, the other on the frame.

"I have no fuckin' clue who you are but the one thing I do know is something's wrong and I have no clue what it is. If you want some help you need to tell me what's wrong."

"I...think I'm sick."

"That's it? You're acting like there's some big crisis."

"Well..."

You covered your face in shame.

"Seeing you up at the altar made me feel...funny."

"How so?"

"My stomach, my lower stomach, you just make me ache. A-and my legs are shaky and...I don't know what's happening."

Tears welled up in your eyes, not missed by Cliff. He could see the drops form in between your fingers. He took your hands and placed them by your sides.

"So you're telling me...you've never been horny before?"

Your blank expression gave you away.

"You've never had sex?"

"I haven't been married."

He stared at you in utter disbelief.

"Well honey, the solution to your 'sickness' is to have sex."

"I can't! Pre-marital sex is sinful! I'm not supposed to!"

He threw his hands up and sighed.

"Look, I'm just tryna help."

You knew that he was right. You were a virgin at 19. Never even masturbated. You probably just needed to blow off some steam.

"Does it hurt?"

"Scuse me?"

"Sex. Does it hurt."

Knowing he was in for a long conversation, he sat down on the counter and flicked his Zippo open, bringing a cigarette to his lips.

"What are you doing?" You asked, horrified.

"Sweetheart, we're sitting in a church bathroom. I'm explaining to you what sex feels like. Let me have this."

You gave him a glare before sitting beside him.

You both sat in silence for a few minutes, marinating in the awkwardness.

"I've heard it can. For women."

"Well it almost always does," he corrected himself, taking his cig from his lips and tapping it on the edge of the sink, "because you're stretching open. No way that doesn't hurt a little bit."

"If it hurts so much, why do people do it?"

"Oh sweetheart, you really are clueless, aren't you," he laughed.

"It's not funny!"

"'S funny as hell, seein' you all flustered."

The throbbing only intensified as he made fun of you.

"It feels good at the end, gets you all spacey and shit."

"So it feels good, but it hurts?"

"Well, it only hurts the first few minutes or so, and then the pain kinda just becomes pleasure."

"Oh."

"Will you help me?"

The question caught him completely off-guard, making him choke on his own spit and nearly dropping his cig on his leg.

"What's wrong?"

"Sweetheart it's just... you're asking me to take your virginity. In a church bathroom."

"I know, and I do feel bad about it, but it just hurts now. I just need...something."

"Oh yeah? Tell me what you need."

"...you."

He stared at you for a few seconds before speaking again.

"Oh sweetheart, you have no idea what you're doing."

"Yeah but...you can teach me, right?"

He flicked his cig in the sink before swallowing hard and trying to ignore the obvious bulge in his jeans.

"Only if you really want it."

"I do, I want it."

"Good girl."

He slid off the counter, taking his jacket off and setting it to the side.

"The thing that's most important is the foreplay. You gotta warm each other up, get ready for it."

You were surprised to feel a warm hand feel it's way up your skirt, rings catching on the material. He left goosebumps on your thighs. You whimpered as his hot breath hit your neck, tongue just barely skimming the surface. A sound you had never heard another soul make erupted from your throat as his pointer and middle finger grazed your center, blocked by your panties.

"Please, do it again!"

He grinned against your neck as he repeated his motions, a bit rougher than last time.

Your hips moved on their own, bumping into his. A noise came from him that made think you had hurt him, when in reality, you had just ground onto the front of his jeans.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?"

"Better than okay sweetheart," he grunted.

You earned another sound from him when he used his pointer finger to move the crotch of your panties aside, grazing your labia in the process. Again, your hips jutted forward, hitting his erection. It was only the second time around you noticed something was poking your center.

"What's that?"

"That's my dick sweetheart. That's what I fuck you with."

"Well, aside from these."

His pointer finger just barely touched your clit, nearly making you yell.

"Please!"

"Please what?"

"Please just touch me, I need it so bad!"

His middle finger rested on your clit, rubbing slow circles.

"Feels so good, please don't stop."

"Wasn't planning on it sweetheart."

"Can I feel it?"

"What?"

"Your...dick?"

"Oh honey, you have no idea how adorable you are."

He grabbed your hand, cupping his bulge with it.

"It's so...hard."

"This," he groaned, "is what happens when men get horny. 'S called an erection."

"You're gonna put it in me?"

"Yep."

You reached for the zipper, before being stopped.

"Nuh-uh sweetheart. I gotta do sumthin' first."

He winked at you before kneeling, becoming eye level with your core. You almost yelled when you felt his tongue on your upper thigh, making it's way to your pussy. It was unlike anything you've ever felt. Like heaven, but better. You snapped out of your trance, however, when you felt something build in your stomach.

"Something...somethings happening! Uh! Cliff!"

He stood, hand taking his tongue's place, rubbing fast circles over your clit.

"'S all right honey, just let it happen."

"Ngh-Cliff, uh..."

"You're gonna cum sweetheart, it's normal, just let it happen."

You're hands gripped his shoulders as you climaxed. Your mouth open in a silent scream, your hips spasming.

"Cliff, Cliff! Uh, please! It's too much!"

You whimpered at the sudden loss of his fingers, your overstimulated cunt throbbing.

"Now the fun part."

He laid his jacket on the floor, taking your hand and lowering you onto the tile. He undid his pants, pulling them down in the front just enough to lift his cock and balls out of his boxers.

"I don't think I can do this."

"C'mon sweetheart, it'll only hurt for a minute, and then you'll cum again. And this time, it'll feel a lil better."

"Okay, just be gentle."

He situated himself at your entrance, taking your hands in his, and making eye contact, pushed the head inside, earning him a strangled moan from you. After about a minute, he felt you loosen the tightest bit around him, letting him slide in about an inch farther. His head hung heavy on his shoulders before lifting it again.

"Shit sweetheart. So fucking tight."

"Deeper."

Over the course of about ten minutes, he managed to work his way inside you.

Your hands were pushing against his chest, nails digging through his shirt. Tears stained your cheeks, leaving wet spots on the collar of your dress.

"I c-can't, it hurts too much!"

"Ooh, I know you can take more."

He slowly slid out, leaving the very tip in. He gave you a minute before working his way back in.

"Doin' so fucking good for me..." he whispered over your whimpers.

Before you knew it, he was fucking you at a brutal pace, bruising your waist with his grip.

He was close, so fucking close. He carefully grabbed your chin and faced you toward him.

"You want me to cum in this pretty pussy? Yeah?"

"Uh huh!" was all you could get out, practically brain dead. Being this close to such a massive orgasm was an entirely novel experience for you, incapacitating you.

"Oh fuuuck, gonna fill you up angel, gonna fill you up so good."

"Please! Please oh my god! Yes!"

He bent down to your ear before whispering,

"Such a fucking whore getting fucked in church, letting a fucking stranger take your innocence. What would your parents think? What would God think, his child losing her purity to a sinner? Huh?"

His questions pushed you over the edge, making you scream. Cliff quickly covered your mouth with his hand, stilling inside you. The feeling of his cum inside you only intensified your orgasm, making you convulse.

He kept his hand over your mouth as he very slowly fucked his cum and your blood back into your hole. He carefully pulled out, letting the aftermath drip onto his jacket. You were still speechless, letting the aftershocks roll through you. He comforted you and left little kisses all over you as he reached into the stall to grab a generous amount of toilet paper, wetting it at the sink and wiping your thighs and lower stomach off.

"That's my good girl, there she is," he cooed as you tried to stand, groaning. Your legs shook violently, sending you back down into his lap.

"Whoa there sweetheart." He laughed.

"Shut up."

You smiled, leaning back into his arms.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Unexpectedly Yours: Part 14 (Final)

Fandom: Ted Lasso (Regency AU)

Pairing: Roy Kent x F!Reader

Summary: Lord Roy Kent still has yet to marry. He hates the notion that marriage is a way to ensure your status in society. You have delayed your debut to society for years because of the same idea. So what happens when two people who hate the idea of marriage are constantly drawn to each other?

Series Masterlist

Today is the day. Your wedding day. Quite honestly, you didn't think this day would be here so soon. You delayed your debut for so long and you were sure you weren't going to be married any time soon. Now, not only are you to be married today, but you're marrying a man who infuriated you in the beginning. A man who frustrated you, still does, but you came to love him and found him endearing, selfless, charming, and kind.

Despite that, you're still nervous.

Everyone is waiting for you. Roy and the bishop are at the altar, both of your families are standing on their respective sides, talking amongst themselves. You're just outside the doors your father watching as you're pacing back and forth.

"Darling, I must apologize, but I don't understand why you're nervous. You said you love him, yes?"

"Yea, I do, it's just...will I make a good viscountess? I know mama's done her best to make sure I know the duties I need to fulfill it's just...what if I'm terrible at it?"

Before your father could respond, Keeley peeks her head out, "Everything all right out here?"

"Wedding jitters, I'm afraid, Keeley," your father responds.

She nods in understanding, stepping out and gripping your hand that isn't clutching the bouquet, "It's alright. I felt the same before I married Jamie. You'll be fine. If you trip or anything, just say the word and Jamie and I will distract them all."

You can't help but snort at whatever nonsense your two friends might have come up with, "Thank you, Keels. I'll be fine."

"Maybe...do you want me to get Roy for you?"

"It's bad luck for-"

"You can stay on this side and he'll stand on the other. The door will be slightly open so you can hear each other."

You nod and Keeley quickly excuses herself to get your soon-to-be husband. Your father steps away to speak with the coachman to give you two some privacy.

"You okay?" you hear Roy's gruff voice through the crack in the door. His hand peeks out and you immediately grab it, "Yes. Just nerves."

"That so?"

"I know you said I would be a great viscountess...but I'm still not sure..you truly want to marry me?"

"Yes. Of course, I do. And you?" you don't see him, but you can tell he looks worried.

"Absolutely," you reply in a whisper.

"Then nothing else matters. Whatever you need help with, I'm there for you as well as Clara. You're not alone in this, Y/N. You'll never be alone in this." Your hand raises as he brings it to his lips and kisses it. You don't see it, but you feel it and it brings you a smile to your face.

"I'll see you shortly?" he asks.

You take a deep breath, "Yes. I'll catch my breath for a moment and be right now."

"Alright...I love you," he says earnestly.

You bite your lip in a grin and reply back, "I love you too."

You hear his steps fade as he walks further up the aisle and back to the altar. Your father joins your side and smiles, "Ready?" he offers his arm to you.

You take a deep breath and loop your arm around his, "Ready."

__________________________

While the wedding itself was a small affair, the luncheon was anything but. All of Richmond's society had come to see you and Roy, the viscount and his new viscountess.

As you two mingled, walking around the gardens of Roy's home, your hand never unraveled from one another's. You kept each other close as friends, family, and others greet you and give you your wishes.

It was odd to hear people now address you as "my lady", but you soon had to get used to it.

Once the wedding cake was cut and guests shovel the sweet dessert into their mouths, you and Roy allow yourselves to rest for a bit on a bench underneath a nearby tree. You lean your head against his shoulder after he wraps his arm around you.

"You know, if someone told me months ago, I would be marrying you, I would've had a doctor check on them."

Roy snorts, "I know what you mean."

You sigh, "We won't end up like the duke and duchess, right? You'll still love me even after I'm old and grey?"

"As long as you continue to love me when I'm a grumpy old geezer."

You pull back slightly to smirk at him, "You're like that now."

Roy rolls his eyes, "You're infuriating."

"But you love me all the same."

He looks back at you with loving eyes, "I do." He leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips. You lean more in to further the kiss, but you hear someone clear your throat and you immediately break apart.

You look to see Cece and Phoebe standing there with huge smiles on your face, "We told you you'd get married and live happily ever after!" Cece exclaims with joy.

You chuckle, "Yes, you young ladies were right."

"I hope I find someone who loves me as much as Uncle Roy loves you, Aunt Y/N!"

Roy groans, "God help me when that day comes."

You snicker and pat your husband's leg, "You still have time, love," you proceed to stand and gather your cousin and niece's hands in yours, "Now, how about a dance?" you look over your shoulder, "Roy?"

"I'll be with you in a bit," he waves at the three of you and watches as you and the two girls head to the dance floor.

Clara then occupies your spot, "Look at you, all lovestruck and happy. Never thought I'd see the day."

"Fuck off," Roy replies with a grunt, but a hint of a smile on his face.

His sister looks out onto the dancefloor, and smiles as you dance with her daughter and your cousin, "I told you, you deserve love and happiness."

"Suppose you're right, but I know that woman won't make things easy for me."

Clara laughs, "She never made things easy for you."

"Yes, but that's why I love her," he watches you move along the dance floor, your laugh is all he can hear above the music. He loves you. Truly. Deep within his soul, he firmly he believes, he was always, and, unexpectedly, yours.

[vivisectedvitality]

"i don't believe in god, so you're the only one to whom i can pray"

cw: prior mcd, brief suicidal ideation

ghost sits in the front pew of a tiny catholic church in russia. his skin prickles underneath his gear, rifle sat next to him on the bench. he shouldnt be here. he shouldnt be sticking his neck out like this when theyre so close to catching makarov. practically at his front door price had said. or was it gaz. he cant remember very many small details right now.

the church has all the same fittings as the one they held johnny's service at. it's much less ornate though. he thinks johnny might have liked this one better. less frills, much simpler than the drawn out affair they'd had in glasgow. ghost sticks his hand in one of the pockets of his tac vest and figets with the warped bullet fragments in it.

his eyes are drawn to a statue to the side of the altar. its of a woman, eyes looking skyward. she's got swords encircling her, something like a halo over her head. he can't remember her name. something about wounds and sorrow. ghost scoffs, fist tightening in his pocket. the shards of metal dig into his palm.

there's a shift in the constant cloud cover outside, and a solitary beam of sunlight shines through a small window behind the altar. it filters perfectly through the stained glass, casting the pew ghost is on in muted reds and blues. he releases his grip on the metal pieces in his pocket and removes his hand from it, slumping in his seat. blessed sunshine. there's something he could worship. after all these weeks, either holed up inside or underground or living under steel grey skies he felt like some kind of prayer of his had been answered.

it gives him an idea. a bad one, but those seem to be the only kind he can come across these days.

ghost pulls off his gloves, one finger at a time, and sets them on the pew. he flexes his fingers and puts them together like he'd seen people do when they were in church, like he'd seen johnny's mother do after he'd told her that her boy would be coming home in a body bag. he shuffles forward and down until creaky knees make contact with creaky wood, and he waits for the words to come.

but they don't. he sits there for long minutes and nothing comes out. the small beam of sunlight dissappears back into the constant grey, leaving him in the half light of the abandoned church again. he drops down to sit on his calves. the backs of his shoes are digging into his ass and the edge of the pew is jabbing into his vest. he should get up. but he doesn't. he can't. if this is it, the end of makarov, what may be the end of ghost himself, he's going to get through to johnny one way or another, even if he has to sit here on his knees for hours to believe in his god.

another idea occurs to him. it's worse than the first. but he's sick of failing, so he tries anyway.

ghost reaches up and pulls his mask off, tossing it into the seat behind him. he regains his earlier posture, kneeling with his legs straight, hands clasped together, looking up through the window like the statue was.

simon opens his mouth. closes it again. shuts his eyes.

"johnny."

his voice is rough with disuse, breaking on the word. he clears his throat, purses his lips. starts again.

"johnny. dunno if you can hear me. all i know you're just dust in the wind now."

he flexes his interlocked fingers, trying to soothe their urge to pull his mask back on.

"i can't pray for you, can't bring myself to. seems selfish, sure but its facts. cause if theres someone up there watchin' then why the fuck wasn't it me instead'a you. man like me ought to croak before a man like you. bloody fuckin' waste otherwise."

simon knocks his forehead to his knuckles and sighs.

"but now i guess. guess i'll trust you to do that. watch my six. always did johnny, always."

he squeezes his hands together.

"we're going after him, soap, no fuckin about this time. we'll get him. i'll get him for you."

his trigger finger twitches.

"help me get him for you. don't let me fall until he does. don't let me breathe my last until his goddamn skull's caved in. please."

part of the weight he's been carrying since that cold day in november slides off him.

"all the shit i do now is for you johnny. woulda left if price hadn't kept chasing the bastard. woulda gone to meet you off the side of that cliff. everything i do is for you now."

he thinks about the mountains of bodies they've gone through to get this close, the rivers of blood that have stained his shoes so badly he's replaced them twice in four months. he thinks about torture sessions that lasted days, men screaming for their mothers in the pitch blackness of underground cells.

he thinks of fights with price he had to be physically dragged away from, about gaz clocking him across the face after simon had said they didn't care their sergent was gone.

"we'll finish the job. whatever state we're in."

" 'n when i blow his brains out i'll think of you."

he blinks his eyes open to find the whole church bathed in sunlight.

[little-diable]

Tangled Faith - Tommy Shelby (1/4)

Okay ngl, I am obsessed with this story, I hope y'all like it just as much as I do. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader, a female pastor, takes over the Catholic Church in Tommy's part of the city, so, it doesn't take long for her and Tommy to cross paths. Even though she tries to stay out of his business, Tommy can't help but notice that something seems off about the woman.

Warnings: 18+, masturbation (m), mentions guns and threats, religious connotations, a lot of tension

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x female pastor reader (2.3k words)

Part Two

Every step she took made a sound so defeating those close by couldn’t help but wonder which demonic power had managed to break down the heavy doors of the holy halls. (Y/n) had her eyes set on the altar, on the heavy stone columns that formed the church into the building that towered over the surrounding houses. Her habit floated around her ankles, making her appear taller, growing in the shadows like Lucifer himself, lurking behind the wooden benches that were now empty but would be filled within the next hour. 

The scent of incense and burning candles filled her nostrils with every breath she inhaled, forcing her closer towards the altar, dropping to her knees right in front of it. With her fingers laced together she spoke a quick prayer, ending it with a cross sign. Her body knew the routine by heart, trusting herself to prepare for the upcoming service, placing down the heavy goblet, filled with wine that no longer tasted of sun dried grapes and fresh Summer, but of older times reminding one of dropping bombs, crying children, and grieving lovers. A stale taste she’d never get used to. 

(Y/n) had taken on her position only a handful of days ago, replacing the old, all too corrupt pastor, at least that’s what she had been told. A woman amongst a crowd of greedy, power hungry men that couldn’t bear being around a woman as strong-headed as (y/n), a foolish mistake those that dared to doubt her standing would eventually pay for, burning in the fires of hell down below. 

“Pastor (y/n)?” Her eyes found the dark ones of a nun she hadn’t crossed paths with yet, eyebrows raised to wait for the woman to keep on talking. “A woman’s here to see you, her name’s Polly Gray.” 

She couldn’t help but notice the slight tremble of the nun’s voice, quivering as if the name she just had spoken was a demonic ritual, unleashing powers those that breathed the same air as she did wouldn’t be able to fight against. Curiosity began to fill (y/n)’s system, studying the young nun for a moment before her gaze flickered down to her pocket watch, “There’s no time for such meetings, service starts in a few minutes. Tell her to come find me afterwards. Invite her to join in on the service.” 

The nun hesitated for a moment, fumbling with her fingers, trying to find the right words to go against the pastor’s command, but no word left the woman, slowly nodding her head before she disappeared within the shadows of the holy halls. A deep breath was exhaled as (y/n) found herself being alone once again, eyes fluttering close as an annoyed “May You give me the strength to endure this place” left her lips. 

……

“I don’t like being told to wait.” A strong, unfamiliar voice echoed through (y/n)’s office, eyes finding a pair of dark ones. A woman by far older than she was was sitting in one of the leather chairs placed in (y/n)’s office, lips enclosed around a cigarette, releasing the blueish smoke one wouldn’t be able to run from. 

“I don’t like being commanded around. Seems like we both have our minds set on things we like and don’t like.” (Y/n) closed the door to her office, finding her way to her desk, plopping down in the all too uncomfortable chair with a tired sigh. “You joined in on the service.” 

“No need to sound so surprised, pastor, I cherish my faith.” Polly Gray’s eyes didn’t dare leave (y/n)’s features, as if she was looking for something, anything she could use to go against the female pastor she had no information on. There was something about the newcomer that screamed of anger, of troubles those that were too focused on their own back and forth with men and women that found pleasure in using weapons couldn’t waste any time on. 

“Speak what’s on your mind, I doubt you’re here to confess your sins.” (Y/n) watched the woman take one last inhale, blowing the smoke out into the room before she stood up, walking closer. The two didn’t break eye contact once, a game that would go on till one of them decided to give up, to back down from a fight that wasn’t fuelled by words, though by the need to scare one another off, to mark their territories. 

“It won’t take long till you’ll find yourself having to decide who you will work for, a decision that will either put you in your grave, or help you and the church financially. We count on your help with whatever we may ask of you.” A humourless chuckle ripped through (y/n), hands toying with the wooden rosary dangling from her neck, the cold cross that pressed against her fingertips like the trigger of a gun. Perhaps Polly had expected her to give in, to tremble in fear, stuttering her words – just like Polly was used to – but whatever was going through (y/n)’s mind was by far more daunting than the other woman could expect, memories so cold even those coming from the lands far up North wouldn’t be able to endure for long. 

“The other pastors may have found themselves trapped in your empty promises and cheap threats, but I’m not them, Polly Gray. Light a candle on your way out, have a good night.” It took the dark eyed woman a few seconds to start moving, slowly nodding her head as she started walking towards the door. The clicking of her heels rang in (y/n)’s ears like machine guns going off, triggering memories she had buried beneath the cold ground, slowly giving into the tantalising call of her name. And with one last glance shared between both women, the door to (y/n)’s office was ripped open and shut with a heavy thud moments later. 

……

With her eyes set on the colourful windows, (y/n) found herself cherishing the silence filling the church. It hadn’t even been twenty four hours since her run in with Polly Gray, a fleeting night she had spent going through old notes, piecing the puzzle pieces together. By now she knew everything about Polly Gray, the Peaky Blinders, and a man called Tommy Shelby, at least the side of the story the church books told her. 

The nuns had warned her of those that walked earth with a dark aura following them, a dark aura only those that were damned could endure, feasting from their hearts and souls. Whispers (y/n) had barely spared any attention, not caring about gang wars, guns, and drugs that were smuggled, not wanting to get involved in battles that weren’t hers to fight. 

But even though she had made it clear to those surrounding her that they would no longer get tangled in the Shelby business, her peace didn’t last long. Heavy steps interrupted the silence, filling the church, walking closer towards the pastor that was sitting on a wooden bench, hands holding onto her black, worn out bible. 

“I have to say, I’m impressed. No other woman has ever managed to say no to Polly Gray’s threats.” The man’s accent grew thicker with every syllable that rolled off his tongue, body finding rest next to her frame. (Y/n) didn’t avert her gaze, kept staring straight ahead as she listened to the stranger alight a cigarette, deeply exhaling. She knew who he was, the one others feared, not wanting to cross paths with the reaper himself.

“Tell me, Tommy Shelby, have you ever read the Romans?” She felt his eyes on her features, studying the woman for a moment before he let go of an emotionless “No, I haven’t”. With her lips pulled into a smile, (y/n) slowly turned towards the handsome stranger, speaking the words she knew by heart. “If you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God's wrath on the wrongdoer. Your threats may have worked on those who have called this church their home before me. Greedy men that were easy to fool, but I find no beauty in weapons, drugs, and jewellery, Mister Shelby. This church is for those who beg for His forgiveness, a forgiveness that shall only be granted if the plea comes from their heart, carried by true intentions. Pardon me if I am wrong about this, but I don’t think threatening a pastor’s life and her church will do you any good.” 

“I’ve been damned a long time ago, I don’t fear God’s wrath.” The man’s head rolled back, blowing the smoke out into the church as (y/n) kept studying him. “It seems like you’ve asked the right questions, you seem well informed about what is happening in our part of the city.” He was undoubtedly handsome, the piercing eyes that reminded her of a life she no longer was part of, the calloused fingers that felt more mental beneath them than any blacksmith in their area. Tommy Shelby intrigued her, pulled into his trap by the danger he exuded, by the tantalising shadow of death that followed him around, old schemes (y/n) was all too familiar with. 

“I know enough to pull away from whatever deal you have forced the other pastors into. This church may be open to you for prayers, confessions, and calls of guidance, but not for the price of another living soul. Now, if you excuse me.” (Y/n) rose to her feet, walking down the hallway till the sound of Tommy cocking his gun found its way to her, forcing (y/n) to halt in her steps. The sound of a gasp broke through the air, two pairs of eyes watching the frame of a young nun flee from this very hallway, finding shelter amongst those that didn’t dare interfere. Slowly (y/n) turned towards the smoking man, staring at him for a few seconds before she walked back into his direction, finding a sick satisfaction in the surprised gaze swimming in his pupils. “You may aim your gun at me, but don’t tempt me with a good time, Mister Shelby, not if you don’t intend on shooting me.”

(Y/n) came to a halt in front of him, palm pressed against the muzzle of his gun, slowly directing it towards the ground. Tommy’s piercing eyes bore into hers, silently communicating with the pastor. She stood close, breath about to clash against his lips with every exhale of cold air her lungs tried to grasp. With her hand finding his shoulder, (y/n) whispered into his ear a taunting, “Find me once you’ve made up your mind.” 

……

Days later, as (y/n) found herself finding comfort in the darkness of her office, staring at the letter that had been addressed to her, asking her to find her way to the Garrison tomorrow evening, Tommy Shelby found himself leaning back in his bathtub. The night was dark, awfully calm, an unfamiliar calmness that allowed the man to find comfort in the warm water that offered him enough peace. It felt as if the water was hugging him, reminding him of how it felt to be close to a woman, and yet his mind hadn’t been able to stop thinking of a certain woman he had crossed paths with days ago.

The moment (y/n) had walked back towards him, eyes carrying an undoubtedly challenging gaze, his mind had painted a colourful picture of her body pressed against his. He had taken a look at the forbidden fruit, getting lost in the appearance that may look like God himself had crafted her with his bare hands, but seeped something dangerous Tommy couldn’t pinpoint. 

His eyes were squeezed shut as his hand grasped his cock, giving his hardening length a strong tug. His thoughts kept guiding him, focusing on her beautiful face, the memories no longer vivid and bright though blurred as if he had woken from his dreams moments ago, unable to remember what exactly he had dreamt of. A heavy groan left Tommy as his fingers picked up their pace, hips jerking to fuck his hand, wondering how it may feel to have her touching him. 

“Fuck,” the word rolled off his tongue as if he was speaking to her, as if (y/n) was sitting in front of him, hand wrapped around his cock, tongue brushing away his drops of precum. Like fingers rolling wooden beads, she’d put her tongue to good work, carefully touching him, allowing him to fuck her mouth with enough care to not hurt her throat too much. Tommy’s heart picked up its beat, roaring in his chest to warn him of his arising high, soon enough he’d cum on his fingers, thinking of her for one last time before he broke through the cloud of lust he was stuck in. 

A string of curses left the man as he came, eyes squeezed shut, hand lazily moving for a few more moments before he let go, sinking back into the warm water. Tommy Shelby had his eyes set on the price, and he’d get his hands on her, eventually.

[bupia]

13 & 41 with secondo 😙😙

SPANKING

"Makes me want to wreck you." “(If you like it), we can go all night.”

There's a smut under the cute, +18 only, please.

(this is Secondo with a Transmasc!reader; praise kink; spanking; dirty talk)

Available on AO3

Day 9 | Day 11

"As we prepare to depart from our unholy sacred chapel," Secondo began, his gaze sweeping over each person present. "Let us not forget..." He paused as his eyes settled on you.

Your allure was undeniable today, a power you effortlessly wielded over Secondo. A simple glance, a seductive expression, and he was entirely under your spell. You had chosen to employ these charms during today's Black Mass with him. Your actions included playful lip-biting, tantalizing lip-licking, and a gaze filled with the promise of pleasure only he could provide – a look he knew all too well.

Secondo briefly averted his eyes, focusing on the chapel's doors. "We must remember..." he continued, but his gaze returned to you. Now, you stood with parted lips and half-lidded eyes, leaving him utterly entranced. "To fuck," he declared, his words ringing through the chapel.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips as Secondo spoke, and you playfully covered your mouth with your hand. Secondo, in his robe, adjusted the collar and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes briefly, and when they reopened, there was a subtle change in his expression, a different glint in his eyes.

"Mi dispiace," he began. "It's time for us to depart and return to our quarters."

With those words, the congregation rose from their benches and began to exit the chapel. However, you chose to remain seated, quietly waiting as everyone filed out. Secondo did the same. As the last member of the group left the chapel and closed the door behind them, Secondo, who had been behind the altar, organizing it, remained in silence.

In the stillness of the chapel, uncertainty hung in the air. Secondo's demeanor was neither angry nor pleased, leaving you in a state of confusion. Sometimes, silence held its own meaning, but deciphering it in this moment was a challenge.

Secondo removed his mitra and placed it on the altar. As he raised his gaze to meet yours, his look sent a shiver down your spine. You were well-acquainted with the implications behind that gaze.

"Will you ask for forgiveness?" he began, his voice measured. "Or do you feel no remorse for your actions?"

"Should I?" you questioned with a raised eyebrow. "I thought this was an unholy chapel, under an unholy ministry. Should I suddenly seek forgiveness for my sins?"

A mischievous grin tugged at Secondo's lips. "What's with this tone, caro?" he asked playfully.

"I'm just curious, Papa," you replied, a seductive edge to your voice. "Do you desire me on my knees, pleading for forgiveness?" Rising from the bench, you approached the altar. "Should I be on my knees right now, hands clasped, saying 'forgive me, Father, for I've sinned'?"

Secondo's eyes gleamed with desire as he listened to your words. It was a departure from your usual demeanor, but sometimes, you yearned for a touch of wickedness.

"That would be quite a sight," Secondo replied with a playful smirk. "But no, I don't want you on your knees just yet," he added, a mischievous chuckle escaping his lips.

As he approached you, his hand gently moved to the back of your neck, guiding your body to lean over the altar with deliberate slowness. "What I desire," he continued in a low, tantalizing tone, "is for you to be a well-behaved boy while I engage with the other siblings. Although, I do understand that can be quite challenging for you, sì?"

"Yes, Papa, it's quite a challenge for me to maintain composure when I'm with you."

"Is that the case, caro?" Secondo asked with genuine interest. "And why is that?"

"Because being in your presence always make me..."

"Let me take a guess," he said with a playful grin. "Excited?"

The smile of his face vanished as you chuckled, your eyes dancing playfully as you looked at him. He raised his eyebrows and waited for your answer. His eyes narrowed and he took a step towards you.

"Very much so, yes," you leaned forward, resting your forehead against the altar.

"You think you can toy with me? You think you can get away with this?" he grabbed your waist from behind. "Oh, caro, you have no idea who you are playing with." He pulled you closer to him, pressing his hardness against your ass.

"I think I can," you replied, biting your lower lip.

"You are incorrigible," he growled, his voice deepening with arousal.

"So are you, Papa."

"I will not tolerate disobedience," his hands slid up your thighs, grazing your skin lightly before traveling further up.

Your breath hitched as you felt his fingertips brush against your inner thigh. You moaned softly as his fingers brushed against the inside of your leg.

"Lift your habit for me, caro," Secondo's voice was a husky whisper.

Your fingers fumbled with the hem of your habit, but you managed to lift it high enough for him. Secondo smiled, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face.

"No underwear, ragazzo?" he whispered as his fingertips brushed against your flesh once more. "I knew you'd be a good boy."

You moaned softly, feeling the heat emanating from between your legs. "I w-wanted to be prepared for you, Papa..."

"Do you?" Secondo's hands traveled down your stomach, tracing a path along your abdomen.

"Yes, Papa," you replied breathless.

"Bene, molto bene," he praised. "However, your Papa is not pleased. I haven't overlooked your actions during the mass, and as a result, you will be facing consequences."

"Consequences?" you inquired, playing the innocent.

"Yes, caro," he replied, beginning to remove his gloves. "Hold onto your habit, stay still, and be a well-behaved boy for Papa, understood?"

"Yes, Papa," you answered.

Secondo reached out and grabbed your neck, pulling your face back toward his. He kissed you passionately, his tongue sliding in your mouth. You returned his kiss eagerly.

Secondo released your neck, his fingers gently brushing through your head as he withdrew. Suddenly, his hand rose, delivering a firm slap to your ass.

"Ah!" you gasped. "Papa..."

"Sì, caro?" he asked, his hand gently caressing your back.

"Mmm..." you whimpered. "Please..."

"Please?" he teased. "Would you like more, tesoro?"

"Please, Papa, more," you requested.

"Let's count together, caro, I want to hear your voice," he suggested.

Secondo raised his hand once more, delivering another firm slap to your ass. Your body tensed up, he placed his hand on your lower back, caressing it gently.

"One!" you exclaimed.

"Uno," he acknowledged with a nod. "Molto bene."

Secondo grabbed your hips, and he raised his hand once again, delivering another firm slap.

"Two-Oh!" you cried out.

"Due," he grunted. "Molto bene, bravo ragazzo."

He raised his hand for a third time, chuckling playfully as he delivered another firm slap.

"Aah-Three!" your voice quivered as you rolled your eyes in pleasure.

"Tre."

He caressed your slightly red skin, placing a tender kiss on your shoulder. Your breath was heavy, and he gently kissed your cheek. He slid his hand down your leg, caressing your skin lightly. His other hand moved up your back, grabbing your neck.

"You're doing great, caro," he whispered softly near your ear. "We are almost over."

Secondo raised his hand once more, and you closed your eyes, anticipating the sensation. He then administered two quick, consecutive slaps.

"Fo-Oh-our!" you whimpered. "Five... Five..."

"Quattro! Cinque! Bravo!"

Secondo leaned in, his touch gentle as he caressed your slightly reddened skin. He pressed tender kisses from your shoulder to your cheek, all the while continuing to soothe your skin with his soft, comforting strokes to alleviate any pain.

"Are you alright?" Secondo whispered, his face closer to your neck.

"Yes, Papa," you whispered back, breathless.

"Did I cause you any pain?" he inquired, gently stroking your head.

"No, Papa," you reassured.

"Molto bene," he said softly.

Secondo pulled away, taking a deep breath. He looked down to between your legs, biting his lip in desire. He ran his fingers through your folds, teasing your entrance. He got on his knees behind you, leaning forward, licking your wetness, making you gasp. Your hand reached for his head as he began to suck your flesh, slowly at first, then faster.

"Papa!" you screamed out. "Yes, Papa! Yes!"

Secondo withdrew his mouth from your core and stood up. He strolled around the altar to face you, using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. As you tilted your head upward to meet his gaze, you noticed a slight smudge of paint on his lips.

"Your punishment is over, ragazzo," Secondo said.

You adjusted your posture and gave him a nod of approval. With a mischievous smirk on his face, he returned to your side, firmly grasping your hips and drawing you nearer to him. He then planted a tender kiss on your lips.

"Now, if you behave yourself for the rest of the evening, maybe you can join me in my quarters later, sì?"

"Is that what you want, Papa?" you asked, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Sì, caro," he began, "so I can fuck you until you cannot walk straight."

[ghostchems]

restroom detour - cardinal copia x female!reader

you're out with your friends at the new local hot spot: the pinnacle lounge. a trip to find the bathroom has you stumbling into something not for your eyes.

notes: 2.1k word count, mdni! 18+! there be smut here. also i just love me some sweet cardi. ao3 link.

You and your friends were chattering away at the bar, drinks in hand. It had been a long work week and you were happy to be out with friends to blow off some steam. The Pinnacle Lounge had seemingly popped up overnight in your town and quickly gained a reputation for being a unique, good time. 

The moment you stepped in earlier that night, you could see why. There were people dressed as nuns and priests, some wearing shiny masks and suspenders, mixed in with those dressed for a night out. The color scheme for the bar was black and gold while the lights shifted from neon green to a bright purple as the night wore on.

The music thumps and you all bop long with it. At this point, you are feeling pretty good as you finish up your second drink. 

“I gotta pee!” You chirp cheerfully, giving everyone a small wave as you walk away. You set your empty glass down on the bar and take a look around.

“Fuck.”

You realize you have absolutely no idea where you are going. A few people bump into you as you make your way around the perimeter of the bar before you come upon a dark hallway. There is a door that looks like it has some kind of fancy “G” on it and you assume it’s the women’s bathroom.

The moment you open the door and step inside no less than ten eyes are on you. They were all wearing cloaks, concealing their entire bodies and were peering out of their hoods at you. It was dark enough in the room that you couldn’t see their faces. You finally take in your surroundings, the low glow of black candles lining the room, the smell of incense flooding your nostrils. Your gaze settles on the black altar in front of you and you draw in a gasp.

A naked woman is spread atop it, a pentagram drawn in blood on her stomach. A man was between her legs, his fingers digging into her hips as he glares at you, his mismatched eyes sending chills down your spine. His face was painted like a skull and he wore a black robe with gold details, his dark hair hanging in his face.

“Uh…uh…sorry!” Your voice sounds incredibly high-pitched as you back out of the room.

You can feel your heart beating out of your chest as you slam the door shut behind you, your feet carrying you towards the end of the hall. A man exits one of the other doors, stepping out right in front of you and you collide with a thud. For the brief second you are touching, you can smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Eh, mi dispiace, mi dispiace.” He mumbles, his hands moving to grip your arms to help you catch your balance.

You look up at him and the first thing you notice are his eyes – the same ones that you had seen in the room. A jolt of fear causes you to jump back from him and he releases your arms, his eyes widening. He is wearing a cassock and biretta and his dark paint around his eyes were somewhat smudged.

“Are you alright, cara?” Copia sounds genuinely concerned, his accent thick as he reaches his hand out to you. You stare at it for a moment then you take another step back. 

“T-there are people in one of the rooms doing weird stuff.” The words spill out of your mouth, your brain too rattled to describe exactly what you saw.

“Ah, yes… the ritual.” He sighs softly, sounding almost annoyed. “No need to be afraid, cara. They are just, eh, partaking in carnal pleasures.”

“But-but the candles and the cloaks and the blood!” 

“How can I explain this to you?” Copia ponders aloud, his white eye glowing in the darkness. He looks around the hallway, his gaze settling on a bench against the back wall of the hallway. “Come.” His hand finds yours, pulling at it gently as he moves toward the bench. You realize he is wearing leather gloves, your eyes falling to the one in your hand, noticing the “G” symbol on it.

You wobble after him, your platform boots clunking as you pull your dress down with your free hand. He settles on the bench, carefully pulling you close to him as your knees touch. His hand still held yours, his thumb brushing it as his free hand removed his biretta. Brown hair spills out from underneath and he smooths it neatly back. His eyes were soft, contrasting with the sharpness of his nose and his dramatic eye paint.

“So, you’ve seen the inverted crosses around the bar, correct?

“Y-yes.”

“Good. I am a member of the clergy that owns and operates this bar. It is meant as a safe space for everyone to come, have fun, be themselves and… partake in sin.” His lips curl into a grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief. You feel a blush creep up your cheeks.

“But not in a harmful way. The ritual you walked in on is very safe, very controlled. It is meant to represent, eh, the procreation of the antichrist.”

You stare at him dumbly, feeling that you are too drunk for this conversation. Copia smiles warmly at you, letting go of your hand and bringing his up to your cheek to caress it gently. “The things  you saw that frightened you are merely decoration to help establish the mood. It’s meant to be fun; it’s meant to be dramatic… it’s meant to be erotic.” 

You can feel heat start to rise between your legs by his words, causing you to squeeze your thighs together. Of course, he notices, and drops his finger to your chin, tilting your head up to look him in the eyes. Your lips part as you shiver from his touch, your wide eyes meeting his duochromatic gaze. 

“Does this make you feel better about what you saw, dolce?” He purrs, inching his face even closer to yours. His smile has turned from sweet to seductive, his eyes shining mischievously. You can only bring yourself to nod and your nose brushes against his as you do so. A shuddered breath leaves your lips as you find your hands find his chest.

Copia takes this as his opening and presses his lips to yours tenderly. You can taste the alcohol on his soft lips, your hands traveling up his chest to the back of his neck. He sighs against you, deepening the kiss as his tongue slips into your mouth as he pulls you in close. His hands start to wander down your sides, settling on your ass before he slips them under your dress. 

You moan softly as he starts to massage it, the feeling of his leather gloves on your sensitive skin sending shivers down your spine. His teeth tug at your bottom lip as he pulls away from you, giving you ass one last squeeze as his fingers drift to pull your dress down for you. Copia then grabs your legs and pulls them into his lap.

He is paying so much attention to you, despite the silence between you both. It’s a comfortable silence as he caresses your legs (and you are mentally patting yourself on the back for shaving them that day). The fear of the ritual you had witnessed is completely gone now, your mind and body at ease as you settle into Copia’s lap.

This was not how you thought your night was going to go but you are not complaining. This was the most you’ve been touched by someone in a long time, having given up on dating a while ago and you weren’t typically one to put yourself out there like this. Something about him, the way he gazed at you, the way he cared enough to explain away what you had seen… 

His fingers start to drift to your inner thighs, drawing small circles as they continue to move up. You swallow thickly, wide eyes looking back at him as your cheeks flush. Your legs spread ever so slightly, allowing him to continue further up your thigh. 

“Is this okay, dolce?” Copia whispers, brushing his fingers even higher. Your face is completely flushed now, the closer he gets to your cunt the more wet it becomes. There is some nervousness buzzing around in the back of your head – despite being hidden by the darkness of the hallways, you were still in a public place. But again… this bar was owned and operated by a satanic organization…

“Yes…please.” 

He pulls your underwear to the side, his fingers dipping into your wet folds. Copia hums in approval, then presses one his fingers against your entrance. You shudder, grabbing on to his cassock and pulling him close. His nose brushes against your cheek before settling his face in your neck, breathing you in deeply. 

“Such a naughty girl.” He growls against you, his finger curling upward, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside you. Your hips buck at the feeling, squeezing your lips shut as a moan bumbles up your throat. You feel him chuckle against your neck then presses a kiss to it as he slips another finger inside.

He starts to kiss, bite and suck at your neck, and by now you are feeling drunk off of him. You can tell by how roughly he’s moving his mouth on your neck that he’s leaving marks all over you. Your lips are quivering now, trying desperately to hold in your sounds which is all but impossible now as he adds a third finger. 

Copia pumps his fingers in and out of you, quickening his pace as he relentlessly presses into your bundle of nerves. Your entire body is trembling, your hips jerking wildly against his fingers. At this point, you’re over being discreet as breathy moans spill from your lips. 

Your hands move to grip at his shoulders, nails digging into them as you squeeze your eyes shut. He’s growling against you now and you can feel the vibration rumble of them down through your chest. Your muscles start to spasm and tense as the rest of your body trembles, a sharp cry rising from your lungs as your orgasm falls over you.

Your chest heaves as you start to come down from the high, feeling even more hazy than before. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips, hovering there for a moment as you feel his warm breath on you before he pulls away. “I am very glad we ran into each other tonight, dolce.” He purrs, bringing his fingers up to taste them. You’re still recovering as your mouth drops open, watching him. “Ehm… why did you walk into that room in the first place?”

“Oh, well…” You feel a pang of embarrassment in your chest as you chuckle quietly. “I was looking for the bathroom.” 

He breaks out into a brilliant, toothy smile. “Tesoro, it’s right behind you — eh, if you still have to go.” 

“I probably should now.” You grin as you swing your legs off of his lap, your boots clunking to the floor. He pulls your dress down for you as you stand and you can feel yourself start to blush again. “Thank you.” You squeak before scurrying to the bathroom. 

Once inside, you do your business while your mind is exploding, thinking about what just happened. What did just happen? You got finger fucked by a stranger in a bar after witnessing a satanic ritual simulating the procreation of the antichrist. Maybe this was a typical Friday night for The Pinnacle Lounge.

Your legs are still trembling from the intensity of the orgasm, wobbling as you make your way to the mirror. There are very obvious red marks all along your neck as well as some black smudges from his eye paint. You think about trying to wipe some of it off, or at least try to make some of the marks less noticeable for a second before you decide… fuck it.

As you wash your hands, you start to panic, thinking that maybe he won’t be out there waiting for you. It wouldn’t be the end of the world but — you really wanted him to be there. There was something about him that just drew you to him. Again, your mind turns back to how sweet he was with you and how handsome he was.

When you leave the bathroom, he is standing near the bench, waiting for you. He looks like he is almost nervous, his cheeks flushed as he turns his biretta over in his hands.

“Dolce, I’ve realized we have, ehm, kind of done things a bit backwards tonight.” His lips twitch into a small smile, reaching for your hand. You immediately place your hand in his and he presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “I’m Cardinal Copia… ehm, will you allow me to buy you a drink?”

[pervertpan]

inspired by @meo-eiru oc, the lovely creepy priest Micah, go check her out!! all of her oc is so good 😩

notes : its been years since i write so keep that in mind, this is mostly for self indulgent and please know english isnt my first language + i dont rlly know about religion

!warning! : implied yandere(?), religious tone, reader is said to be not religious

Micah × Fem!Reader

The little village you moved in is a peaceful and quiet place, just exactly what you need after living in a busy and hectic city. The people here accept you with an open arm, they've been making the sudden change of atmosphere easier.

It's only been a week since you settle down but the lovely old lady that live across of you has been insisting that you need to accompany her to the sunday prayer, you're not the most religious person out there but having nothing to do you let her drag you at the early morning.

You've seen the church a lot from the outside, the white marbled building paired with a small flower garden is hard to miss after all. Inside it's no difference than any other church you've seen, rows of wood benches, a small sanctuary with an altar on top, and of course the holy father itself.

Micah, the village priest, with his sweet face and soft voice that can make anyone fell onto their knees and repent. You give Micah a respectful smile as the old lady that bring you with her greet him warmly, Micah talk to her just as warm.

"Micah, you have met the new resident, Y/N, right? She finally accept my invitation to come here."

"Yes, we've met a couple time before but this is the first time we talked. It's nice seeing you joining us, Miss Y/N."

You give an awkward chuckle,

"Well it's been a while since I go to any church, but I'm happy to finally talk with you Father Micah."

Before Micah can give a proper answer you've been pulled to another villager, you're sure you catch a twitch from the corner of Micah mouth but the talkative fisherman in front of you quickly bury that thought.

The ceremony and prayer goes much the same as it did when you're a child, not like you remembered all the detail of it. As far as you concerned this is more of a chance to socialize rather than an actual religious act from your part, from the conversation before it seem that a lot of the villager regardless of their faith put Micah in high regard.

Hearing the sermon he give you can see why, it feel like Micah dig straight into your soul and drag every sin you've hidden deep inside, trying to put it into light and wash it clean with his words. You can hear the soft whisper from beside you, the old lady seemingly asking for forgiveness from the lord.

When it end, you help her stand up from seating too long, escorting her toward the exit. Just as you both about to go out Micah appear beside the door like a ghost and asking for your time.

"Mrs. Rosewood, I'm sorry but I have to take a bit of Miss Y/N time from you."

You cant help but raised your eyebrow slightly at the demand covered as a request, Micah give her a polite farewell and a wave before turning fully to you.

"Miss Y/N, from our earlier conversation I cant help but assume you're not used to go to a church, yes?"

A seemingly normal question from a priest but you can feel a slight proding in it, you clean your throat and try to school your expression.

"Ah yes, dont really have the time and place at the city."

His smile seem to widen slightly at that, his closed eyes somehow seem to scan your entire being. He put a hand on your shoulder, his hold firm and soft at the same time.

"I hope this place can help you with that and thank you for coming with Mrs. Rosewood, she has been searching for a person to accompany her for a long time. She must be ecstatic with you here now."

He pull his hand and greet you farewell, the shoulder he put his hand on feel heavy, like a sudden responsibility has been put on you. You take a shuddering breath and greet him farewell as well, hurriedly going out of the church to catch up with Mrs. Rosewood.

Behind you Micah watch your every move, like a grim reaper ready to strike. The sunlight making his now open eyes glimmer, an uncomfortably wide smile on his face. He bend down and grab a rose that has been trampled beside the opened door, kissing the bruised petals and broken stem.

[magicamicitia]

Volume 3, Chapter 4 - PART ONE

“I guess I’ll find out.”

The inside of the house seemed as warm and natural as ever. So much so that Sunset found herself doubting Kyubey’s tip for a few seconds. However, despite that creature clearly keeping things from them, it didn’t seem to have ever outright lied.

The sound of a closing lock startled Sunset Shimmer out of her own thoughts.

“What are you-“

Twilight Velvet’s eyes were completely devoid of any life. Even though a smile was plastered onto her lips, her face seemed emotionless. She eyed down Sunset for a few quiet moments before throwing herself forward in an almost animalistic manner.

With little time to react, Sunset Shimmer barely dodged the advance, falling over against the coffee table.

“What did you do to Twi?” Was the first question she could think of.

However, the old woman didn’t seem to be in any condition to understand her words, much less reply to them. Much like a zombie, she slowly picked herself up and turned to face Sunset again.

This time, she was ready and managed to tackle down Velvet once she jumped at her once again.

She was strong. much stronger than she should be. Sunset wondered if this too could be the Witch’s power.

“Velvet, it’s me!” She huffed. “Are you in there? Can you hear me?”

Twilight Velvet screamed and struggled as she tried desperately to free herself from Sunset’s grasp. Then, she let out a sharp cry, and dissolved into a dark muddy substance right before Shimmer’s eyes.

“What in the-“

The cry echoed through the room as the walls also began to dissolve. Sunset could feel reality becoming more and more distorted as she struggled to maintain her balance. She couldn’t afford to leave an opening now.

“Twilight!” She called out, to no avail. “Are you here?!”

The Labyritnh seemed to have taken the shape of a very abstract version of an old gothic cathedral. Black ooze dripped down the walls and formed puddles on the ground, and strange cocoons hanged from the ceiling, moving like they were to hatch at any second.

“I’m on the second floor right now…”

Sunset looked down at the altar below her feet. Guests were seated on every bench, but they were faceless. In front of them, two figures were trapped in egg cases. On the right side of the altar, Shining Armor. The left side was empty. And in the middle…

“Twilight!” Sunset cried out.

The guests all turned to face her at the same time. A rumbling sound echoed through the labyrinth as a distorted version of the Wedding March approached from the doors of the church. The gates slowly opened, but before that, a tall figure had already broken through the walls. The song was louder now, as if the creature itself had been the one singing it.

“T…The witch..!”

The demonic bride slowly advanced forward in the hall, as the guests clapped and cheered, their heads still turned towards Sunset. Realization suddenly downed upon her, noticing that the witch was walking towards the egg cases.

In a moment of desperation, she picked up a piece of rock debris and threw it at the bride.

The music stopped.

“Oh, no…”

The witch slowly turned its head in her direction, and with a ear-bleeding screech, all the faceless guests rushed to attack her, as if they’d been commanded. wings sprouted from their backs, ripping open their formal suits and dresses. The way their bodies moved resembled insects more than humans as they crawled up the walls. With no weapon, no magical powers, and no allies, and having drawn way too much attention to herself, Sunset knew her only choice now was to book it.

As dozens of bug-humans chased her down the hallways of the church, there was only one thought in her mind:

“This was a REALLY bad idea!!!!”

[ltwilliammowett]

Stories from the crypt - the raccon

I don't know why, but you seem to be very fascinated by the raccoon. First of all, the little guy is fine, he has found a new home. And secondly, I didn't even notice him in the first few days. But let's start from the beginning, you have to imagine that the crypt had a small chapel with a bench and an altar. Both were very badly damaged because the door was no longer there. The entrance to the tomb itself was embedded in the floor and was not a stone slab as usual, but only a metal door. After about 10 steps you were at the bottom and there were two stone sarcophagi on each side of walls and four wooden coffins in the middle. Three of the sarcophagi were badly damaged and without lids, the wooden coffins also looked very wild, with lots of rubble, bones, clothes, mumia and other rubbish around them. My little furry friend lived in the intact sarcophagus, which I left alone because it was intact, but I didn't see the hole on the back. I couldn't see it very well because the wall was right behind it and it was 10 cm away.

So in the first few days I sorted everyone, took out the rubbish and sifted through the debris, sorted the bones into boxes, checked on the rest of the inhabitants, etc. I was away for a while, and when I came back there was a lot of rubbish on the floor, bags of rubbish torn open, bones scattered around, my things pushed around. At first I thought it was tennies, but they would have done more harm, so it was more likely an animal. But I thought it came from outside and not that it lived here in the crypt. Well, during a lunch break, I saw a fluffy tail scurrying around the back of the closed sarcophagus. So I called the cemetery gardeners, who also came and gave me the number of the hunter. He came right away and after some searching we found the burrow. In the sarcophagus and that's where it had to come out. He couldn't stay there, especially as stonemasons would come to repair the things and replace the metal door with a stone slab, which meant for my fluffy ghost that he would never get out again.

A trap was set up and with a bit of food the little guy was caught quite quickly. With a camera, we checked to see if anything was still living in there - not that our little guy still had babies or anything. But no, he was single. The hunter then re-housed him in a forest and all is well, the raccoon is fine and the crypt is also fine again and will now finally closed. By the way, the cemetery is kept quite wild and therefore there are many animals, besides rabbits, foxes, owls also raccoons.

And if you ask me now what my next assignment is, I don't know. I work in the job on call, without a permanent position, and the same applies to the two maritime museums. I have a permanent job in the chocolate museum since last year. And i have a lot to do there, apart from still getting on your nerves here and writing my book at the same time, and from October I start my bachelor's degree in maritime history.

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippet Tuesday: Blackmail au

First

Next

If he had to answer one more question, Jak was going to punch someone in the throat.

He sat in the same alcove, still out of reach, and glowered at the supposed king from under a curtain of tangles as the interrogation began again.

"What's your name?"

"You already know my name."

"How old are you?"

"Don't know, don't care."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"You can't have him."

"Do you know your father's name?"

"No."

"What's your mother's name?"

"Don't know. Never met her."

"Are you going to come out?"

"No?? I don't know you people!"

"Where is Mar?"

"#$^ off."

"I'm asking nicely, boy. Where. Is. Your brother."

"....go away. Let me go."

And so it went, around in circles again and again. The man they called Damas was getting more and more upset, Jak understood that on some level. But he was past caring. If Krew had told the truth, this was a coward. Someone who had abandoned either him or Mar. Jak didn't owe him anything.

"You may not care about the child-" Damas began, frustrated, and Jak snapped.

"I don't care? I'm not the one who ditched him when Praxis took over!" Jak scrambled out of the alcove and planted both hands in the center of Damas’s chest, shoving him back. “I don't eat so he won't starve! I stay up all night to make sure those idiots don't send him to look for artifacts if they think I'm "busy"! Don't you ever tell me I don't care about him!"

Jak balled up his fists, chest heaving.

Too late he realized he'd played right into their hands.

The man who allegedly sired Jak didn't retaliate after being shoved. Instead, he held up a hand to forestall the reactions of the other Wastelanders, who had been about to intervene. There was something new in his eyes when he looked at Jak now. An understanding Jak didn't share.

"You care about Mar," he said pointedly. Was that gratitude in his voice? Why?

Daxter squirreled out of the alcove and up Jak’s back, baring sharp little teeth.

"No kidding? What part of “he starves himself for Junior's sake” didn't you understand?! You guys got a lot of nerve, kidnapping us and then acting like it's our fault that left Junior without his favorite role model and Jak!"

Damas kept his eyes on Jak’s. "If you had the opportunity to free him from Haven, would you take it? Would you give up his location to people who could save him?"

Defiantly, Jak raised his chin. "And give him to you, you mean? Nah, man. You only get one chance when I get my brother back. If the dog doesn't like you, you're done. I take the kid and we disappear. No one chains us ever again."

Consternation, anger, fear and grief each flickered across Damas’s face in turn -- and across Sig’s. But Jak held firm. Just because Mar was stolen didn't mean this horned king had been a good father before. For all he knew, the guy was just another Praxis!

"Uh. Pal? I don't think you were supposed to say that part out loud," Daxter whispered in his ear.

Sig set his jaw, mouth in a thin, hard, line. "Kid," he said softly, "You don't know the first thing about Damas."

"No," Jak retorted, "I don't. So why would I trust him with something this important?"

Damas turned away. In long, stiff, strides he marched into the antechamber he'd sequestered himself in before. Before sealing the door behind him, he made a vague gesture.

"Sig. Please."

The boys didn't have to wait long to find out what he meant. Sig caught Jak by the scruff of the neck and rather firmly "encouraged" him to follow the Wasteland leader. It did not escape their notice that Sig leaned against the door once it closed, blocking off their escape.

Inside the circular room, benches lined the walls around a brazier and altar. Damas sat on one of these benches and ran his hands over his face.

"I understand your anger," he said dully, "and I do not fault you for it. But I need you to know, here and now, that I did not abandon you. Either of you. You were taken from me."

Daxter reached down and squeezed Jak's shoulder when he noticed him tensing up. "S'ok, Jak," he whispered, "We're stuck here, so we might as well hear him out, right? What if he's tellin' the truth? What if this was just the most half-baked rescue in history?"

Damas twitched as though he'd heard him.

"I would rather the circumstances of your departure had been less...traumatic. But the truth is that I told Kleiver to get you out of that city by any means necessary."

He glanced up.

"I've only known your name for three weeks. Until the ransom message arrived, I believed that you had perished with your mother and other supporters of the House of Mar.”

Jak folded his arms and remained standing. "Ransom again. You can say that word as much as you want, doesn't mean I know what you're talking about."

That got a raised eyebrow and a quick glance at Sig. Sig cringed and shrugged. Damas nodded and took a slow, deep, breath. He seemed to exhale much of his anger with it.

"Almost a month ago," he said quietly, "Krew sent a message to one of my outposts. He said that a young boy, allegedly of my bloodline, had fallen into his "care". And that- that if I did not provide him with a certain "finders fee", as he put it, he would hand the boy -- hand you over to Praxis. I didn't trust him not to take the money and turn you in anyway. Sent Kleiver to make sure everything was on the level."

Jak’s fingers dug into his arms. "I- I don't know you," he argued, "and you don't know me! Why would you do that? What if that computer had said something else?"

Damas shrugged. "Didn't plan that far ahead. I knew it could have been a fool's hope, but how could I risk ignoring it? There aren't that many channelers who can survive dark eco out there. Even fewer who look that much like me. After seeing your face, the blood test was more formality than anything."

"Damas..."

Sig’s voice was soft. Almost wounded.

"I couldn't tell you, Sig." Damas frowned down at his hands. "I promised you- I promised I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize your cover. I would never risk tipping Krew off. You know that."

"For something this important?" Sig demanded, a catch in his throat. “You couldn’t even drop me a message, “Hey, I think Baby Heart might have survived” so I could be ready for something like this?”

"Uh...so...you guys clearly know each other?" Daxter asked uncomfortably, glancing between Sig and Damas.

Damas sat with his fingers steepled against his forehead and didn't answer. Sig only nodded slowly. After an extremely awkward silence, Damas looked up at Jak again.

"You didn't know your mother, you said."

"Nope."

Jak wondered idly if there was a prize for the most uncomfortable conversations ever had. This definitely topped the poor old guy in the cell beside his who had to tell him where babies came from.

"Were- were you in Haven the whole time?" Damas swallowed hard. "How is it that you were only just now discovered?"

Jak’s eyes hardened like chips of granite. "I was free," he said, short and clipped. "We were free. Coastal kids, no walls, no fences. Raised to be a rottin' secret weapon for the sage. He knew what was beyond that transport ring and he just let me walk into a trap. I think-”

He clenched his fists until his nails dug into the skin. “I think he needed me to be old enough to survive Praxis's super-soldier experiments."

Damas clenched own his fists until his knuckles turned white, and Sig cursed violently behind them.

"How old?" Sig demanded. When Jak didn't answer, he repeated himself. "How old were you, Jak?"

It was Daxter who answered on his behalf. "Ei- either thirteen or fourteen. We were never sure, we just know his voice finally broke."

Sig slammed his fist into the stone door and tipped his head back, cursing the Underground, the Baron, and the entire lineage of Praxis in obscene terms.

"I'm sorry." Damas couldn't look at Jak. "Gods, I'm- I'm sorry, boy. If I’d known-!”

He covered his eyes a moment.

“I never got a chance to speak to any of the people I cared about the night of the mutiny. They dragged me out of the city and flew me out to the desert in the middle of the night. I was supposed to die within two days."

He ran a hand across his throat as if remembering an old thirst.

"Praxis bragged that he had "ended my line". He wanted me to think he'd killed you and your mother."

“You’re…really sure I’m this “Baby Heart” person, aren’t you.” Jak frowned.

“There is not a single doubt in my mind.” Damas dragged his fingers down his face and peered out over them. “If I could have gotten back into the city-!”

"They threw you away too, huh?" Jak asked bitterly.

"Runs in the family, it would seem," answered Damas.

He rubbed his chin wearily and leaned back against the wall.

"I know you have only my word to go by when I tell you I would die before letting myself be anything like Praxis-"

"Just your word?" Sig interjected with a very sharp tone.

Damas winced. "You're already upset with me, I didn't want to presume-"

"No, you didn't want to communicate like an adult again." Sig rolled his eye. "If you’d just talked to your partner, I could’ve prevented Jak from flipping out from the beginning. You keep doubling down and I'm not gonna dig you out of the hole you get yourself into next time."

“You told me not to blow your cover while you searched for Mar!”

“I said don’t blow my cover unless it’s an emergency!” Sig made a frustrated wave in Jak’s direction. “I’m pretty sure this counts as an emergency, Daym.”

Daxter snickered, and even Jak had to hide a quick grin at the thoroughly chastised look on the king’s face.

"Love the drama for you, Sig baby," Daxter drawled, "but little ears are present, can you not?"

He pointed to himself.

"It's me. My ears are little. Please stop scarring my mind."

Jak studied Sig’s annoyed posture for a few seconds before turning to him.

"You really trust this guy?"

"With my life, boneheaded though he is," Sig replied immediately, "More importantly, I trust him with yours."

Finally, Jak sank down to sit on one of the other benches. "...Okay, why are you really in Haven?" he asked Sig.

The big man frowned. "I'm...I'm looking for Mar, cherry. Damas was searching this continent, and I was searching the mainland. That was the plan. Playing bodyguard to Krew means I get access to every rumor in the whole godforsaken city."

"So you were actually looking for him? He wasn't forgotten?"

A trickle of guilt squirmed through Jak's ribs. He glanced over at Damas, then away.

"I...uh. Sorry."

"Only a fool would hold it against you, given the circumstances," Damas sighed. As if thinking of Jak's prior outburst, he pursed his lips and asked, "When did you last eat, boy?"

The slightly blank look in Jak’s eyes answered the question a little too well.

"Like...eat what? Anything?"

Jak shrugged and tried to sound tough. "Stole a roll yesterday. And some fruit."

Four grapes, to be precise. Half of them had gone to Daxter, half of them had gone to Mar. And a third of the roll had gone to the puppy.

"And that was yesterday?"

Something suspicious glinted in Damas’s eyes, reflected in Sig’s.

"How much of that did you eat?"

The tips of Jak's ears burned. What did they want him to say? That he was a starving street rat? Apparently that was already obvious. Let him keep what little remained of his pride!

"You...gave it to Mar, didn't you?" Damas asked. His voice caught. "You- oh gods, you only just saw him yesterday, didn't you?"

Flushed with shame for having to admit it, Jak sullenly nodded. He didn't expect Damas to leap from the bench and race across the room to grip his shoulders. Jak tried to pull back, but he was already against the wall.

"Is he alright?" Damas gasped, "Is he hurt? How- how tall is he now? Please, Jak, we- we lost two years of his life-"

Abruptly Damas released him and fell into a crouch before him.

"Two years of his life," he realized, and a guilty wince creased his brow, "...but all of yours. I- I am sorry, Jak. I do want to know what I have missed of your life, I do. I should be asking more about you, too."

"You don't know me," Jak mumbled again. "I don't expect you to."

This time the pain in the king's eyes was that of a fresh wound, not an old grief. He stood slowly and cleared his throat.

"I...er, I'm going to get some trail rations from the Dozer. It's- well, it's not much. But it's protein, and iron. And clearly you need both."

"Huh?"

"Food, genius," Daxter scoffed, pinching Jak's ear, "He's getting us food! Finally!"

Sig caught Damas by the elbow as he neared the door and murmured, "So you know: this conversation is not even slightly over."

"I know," Damas grimaced. "I- no, I know. I just- we'll talk about it later."

"We'd better. We're a team, Daym. You gotta keep me in the loop, no matter how you think I'm gonna react." Sig squeezed his arm affectionately, then let go. "You want me to find a bedroll for the boys? Just need one. Chili Pepper prefers to use Jak's head for a mattress."

"That doesn't suffocate him?!" Damas sputtered, looking back at the two foot mustelid climbing up Jak’s arm.

“Apparently not, but don’t ask me how. I’ve seen those two sleep all of three times,” Sig huffed.

<Prev Next>

[5eraphim]

Thinking about Medic fucking up his captive s/o so bad that they develop psychotic delusions of him being a god.. (Medic would probably just enable it because he loves the idea of his darling worshipping him and obeying everything he says <3)

YOUR MINDDDDD!!! This was so fun to write, thank you so much for the request ＼(^o^)／

(I didn't know if you were expecting a oneshot or headcanons, but I really wanted to write something lewd about this, hope that works for you! Reader is kept gender neutral here ✌️)

Summary: Reader suffers visions of lust for the divine, a secret kept hidden for some time now. But the darker the confession the more painful the penance, especially when Medic is the enforcer. And while atonement is necessary for salvation, the guilt always remains.

Character: Medic 🕊️ (Team Fortress 2)

Rating: X (MINORS DNI!)

Content Warnings: Heirophilia, priest kink, guilt tripping, BLASPHEMY, yandere, mind break, blood, needles (Or whatever the hell you want to call the vita saw), abuse of power, handjob

Word Count: 5k

MASTER LIST

TIP JAR

(Song Inspo- Cirice, Ghost)

"Call upon Me in the day of trouble: I will deliver you, and you shall honour me." (Psalm 50:15)

"The Lord favors those who fear him, Those who wait for His faithfulness." (Psalms 147:11)

Breaking the room's silence, you heard a heavy wooden door creak open, sending a shiver down your spine. All day dark storm clouds covered any sunlight which might've peaked through the glass windows of your homemade chapel domicile, but even without sunset, you knew it must've been hours into the night. And for hours, you knelt on the lightly padded kneeler in front of the makeshift stone table you called your alter. The chapel was humble, hardly more expansive than a garage, but constructed with the utmost reverence to your Holiness. The small space allowed for little more than the altar, a pew, a few kneelers, a foldable wall to serve as your confessional booth, a bookshelf that held all your precious scriptures, and some candles to adorn the place, as well as to provide the only source of light in the room. Once, you kept a bed to rest on behind the pew, but now you slept on the bench, using nothing more than a towel for a pillow and a single sheet as a blanket. It was uncomfortable, but you would endure any discomfort to prove to your divine one that you needed nothing but this to get by.

There was a numb ache in your knees from remaining in this position for so long, becoming harder and harder to ignore the longer you forced yourself to stay in this position. Some candles around the altar burnt themselves out long ago, casting angular twisting shadows along the walls surrounding you. But despite how the serpentine darkness unnerved you, causing you to jump every now and then at an odd flickering shape just out of the corner of your eye, you dared not move. The only sound in the room, save for the steady pattering of rain outside, were the verses of scripture you resited again, and again, and again, murmuring under your breath. At the same time, you nervously fiddled with the beads of your rosary. You tried your best to focus all your energy on praying the rosary, but your mind was restless, and no force of will was enough to distract you from the guilt gnawing away at your conscience.

It was agony to endure this guilt, and you prayed desperately to see your Holy Guardian return soon, though upon hearing his arrival, you were far from comforted. Your vespers halted when the heavy wooden door creaked open, causing you to instinctively look over your shoulder behind you. Your beloved Father was finally home. "Are you still up, my Child?"

You swallowed nervously, unable to formulate any words. All day you dreaded the moment your Holy Father would return home, and now here he was, several paces away. Then, for just a moment, he stood at the door as you watched him remove his glasses to try and wipe away the raindrops. You watched him walk forward, withdrawing his damp overcoat, which fluttered like bird's wings behind him as he ran a hand through his wet hair to push away some of the water. Medic wasn't precisely drenched, but you couldn't help but notice how his damp clothing clung to his body, his broad athletic build clearly visible, even in the low lighting. You were so momentarily distracted by this you completely forgot he asked you a question until he stood almost directly behind you.

"You look unwell, little one. How long have you been here praying?" "I am unsure, Father." The concern in his eyes only worsened the suffocating guilt inside you.

"Sit with me then. Tell me what is troubling you." Medic watched as you attempted to pull yourself up. Still, the tension and numbness in your body were too great, and you stumbled a little, catching yourself on the high part of the kneeler, almost dropping your rosary in the process, which you quickly stuffed into your pocket. While still clearly concerned, Medic smiled gently, using his own hands to help hold you steady as he gently pulled you to your feet. You couldn't help but flush slightly, feeling his strong hands against your shoulders and back, aiding you to walk to the nearby pew. Time must've really escaped you, as standing upright and walking aggravated the ache in your knees. You held onto his hands for balance as you gingerly sat down, your legs trembling slightly, threatening to slacken at any minute. He sat beside you, causing you to unconsciously scoot away a little closer to the corner of the bench, and you bit your lip nervously, feeling your knees touching as he turned to face you slightly. The guilt you tried so hard to keep at bay all day now felt all-consuming. Still, despite the anxiety written across your face, Medic smiled, his eyes gentle and loving. It took all your strength not to wince when you felt his hands around your own. His gloves did nothing to downplay the intimacy of the moment.

"Tell me your troubles, Child. Open up to me, and I will listen." It was too hard to look him in the eye, to see the compassionate affection exhibited by your Savior, which you knew you didn't deserve. But, if you wanted to do the right thing, you knew it was time, to tell the truth.

"Heavenly Lord, I fear I have- um, I find myself troubled by certain, um… These awful visions in the night. Deep while I am sleeping. I see things I don't want to see and think things I don't want to. I feel this awful burning in the night, but when I awaken again, I can't- well, I can't describe it, but I feel so ashamed."

He squeezed your hands a little, causing you to briefly meet his eye, now colored by curiosity, before looking back down. You wanted so badly not to have to tell him what you saw, hoping naively simply confessing to the visions would be enough, but you could tell he wouldn't be content with that. "Oh? And what do you see?"

"I don't want to say… It's embarrassing, and I feel wrong thinking about it now." He leaned a little closer, his voice still gentle but with a definite edge.

"I can see that, but my Child, how can I absolve you of a sin you can't even confess? Am I not your salvation incarnate?" Your head jolted straight up, eyes wide.

"Yes, you are, my Lord! You are my light, my life- I would never doubt this!" Although he remained unconvinced, he could tell you were hiding something, and you weren't about to get out of this until he knew what it was.

"And do you doubt there is a sin so severe I can not absolve you of?" Chewing your lower lip nervously, you shook your head no slightly. Looking at his hands around yours as you spoke in a frail, unsteady voice.

"I see you, my Lord. But, I also see us together, but not as we should be." He said nothing, waiting for you to continue.

"I see us, or rather, I see you over me… I don't know how to describe it, though-"

Medic interrupted in a firm voice. "Tell me the truth." Your shame brought you nearly to tears.

"I see your body over mine- over my naked body… I see your hands stroking my skin and your mouth against my neck and shoulders. A-and everywhere you touch me, I burn, and it hurts, but I can't stop wanting more! We're on the altar bed, and-" Your breath hitched when you felt his fingers moving against your hands as though trying to urge you on, clearly sensing how bad you wanted out. And you couldn't help but fluster and stammer at this smallest, seemingly innocent, caring act.

"I know this is wrong- I don't want to think like this, I swear! But once these- these awful dreams start, I cannot stop them! And all I am so blinded by the image of my body against yours, as we- As we become one, my Lord."

Getting those final words out took so much effort, but now it is over. You told Medic everything.

Your heart wrenched as you saw his expression form into one of an almost pitiful disappointment. "I always feared it would come to this…." He trailed off. He pulled his hands away from yours as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He removed his glasses with one hand, rubbing his eyes tiredly with the other. Medic looked as though he somehow saw this coming, like he was privy to something you were utterly blind to. You pulled your hands back to your own lap as your fingers fidgeted restlessly. Nothing hurt more than letting down your Lord; sitting with this feeling only amplified your considerable guilt. Finally, you forced yourself to look him in the eye. He was already disappointed. You didn't want him to think you were more pathetic than you already felt.

"My Lord, I'm telling you the truth- These awful dreams, these visions disrupting my sleep at night, I can't understand where they come from. I don't mean to offend you; I just-" Your gaze dropped from Medic's face to your hands wringing anxiously in your lap. You no longer had the strength to look him in the eye, summoning all your resolve to force yourself not to cry. After all, what right did you have acting so pitifully before him? You were the sinner after all, yet here you were, cowering before your Lord. Weak, feeble, in need of his mercy and guidance.

"I suppose this isn't entirely your fault… I always knew this was coming. Perhaps I didn't expect this so soon, is all." You snuck a peek up at his face, and to your surprise, he didn't look disappointed as you feared, but something different you couldn't understand entirely. Still, you felt too unworthy to look upon his face much longer, bowing your head a little, facing your lap, trying not to think about how despite the situation, you felt so warm sitting so close to your Holiness, knees only barely connecting.

"Please, Father, I don't understand what you mean." He shifted his weight away from you slightly, leaning against the back of the pew, sighing through his nose, contemplating his following words carefully.

"I thought I noticed how your eyes seemed to follow my hands as I guided you in prayer. Or how some evenings you wouldn't follow my eyes, somewhat- distracted by my lips. Yes, I've always known how the human mind can be swayed by thoughts of lust and decadence… But maybe I was wrong for thinking you were strong enough to resist such… carnal impulses. You were all too aware of the tears prickling in the corners of your eyes.

"But I told you- I never asked for this! You know I'm not to blame here!" All in an instant, you felt a cold shiver run up your spine as you watched all former warmth and kindness vanish from his face all at once as he stared you down with his icy cold, narrowed blue eyes. "You think this absolves you of anything, sinner?" You were about to speak to try and defend yourself, but he cut you off before you got the chance.

"You are nothing but full of pride and arrogance if you think you're somehow holy for merely wishing your sins away! I never thought you were so foolish, so childish, but it would appear I was all wrong about you-"

"Don't say that, please, my Lord, I didn't- I mean no offense, you must believe me! I need you now more than ever! I'm so confused. Please tell me how I can atone for all of this!"

Your hands were clasped tightly as you begged the Medic to show you mercy. You didn't mean to offend him or cast doubt upon your devotion, but you were terrified. You desperately grabbed onto his hands, tears beginning to fall, your breathing erratic. You couldn't think clearly. You were too desperate to somehow prove to him you were worthy. But he continued to look at you coolly, his blue eyes harsh and stern. It was impossible to hold eye contact. Your mind was so wracked with guilt for what you'd done. Thankfully he spoke next in a more level voice.

"Tell me, my Child, and I want to hear the truth. When you think of these dreams, have you been touching yourself as well?" Instantly on the defensive, your face heated as you try to explain yourself.

"No! No- I haven't! I wouldn't do that to you- I wouldn't dare!" He looked at you skeptically, his lips pressed firmly together in a straight line. You could feel fresh tears sliding down your face. "My Lord, you must believe me! I'm sorry I was so greedy- I'm sorry I dreamt such perverse things while you were gone, but you know I wouldn't go so far!"

Unfortunately, he appeared to remain unconvinced. Medic softly petted the top of your head with a gloved hand, he didn't seem convinced, but at least his anger appeared quelled. Once again, you felt so overcome by the shame of your own actions you buried your face in his chest, momentarily forgetting your sense of restraint, unable to think of anything but doing whatever you needed in the name of forgiveness. Murmuring apologies and pleas for mercy between sobs, no doubt streaking tears into his vestments. Over and over in your head, you screamed at yourself. "Why did I have to lose control like that?" "How could I be so weak!"

"Please, my heavenly Father, I would rather die than betray you! I love you more than anything! But, just please, please, please tell me you believe me!"

He waited for you to quiet down a touch before he responded. "I wish I could have my Child. But you've disobeyed me." The moment these words left his lips, your heart sunk like a rock, as you felt frozen in place, unable to believe what was happening. It was like you'd just felt the air knocked from your lungs. You felt Medic's hand continuing to pet the top of your head.

"My dearest child, I'm afraid if you want me to believe you are faithful and to believe you are pure, you must pay." With your head still pressed against his body, your voice mumbled but still understandable, "Heavenly Father, whatever I must do to prove my faith, I will. Without fear and without any doubt." Medic's hand drifted from the back of your head to the side of your face to guide your head up to meet him at eye level.

"You'll do anything?" Without missing a beat, you answered. "Anything."

Medic nodded. "There is a way. I can absolve you of all your sins, but only for a price. If you truly wish to purify yourself of such… carnal thoughts of yours, all your distractions leading you from Holiness. I can forgive you of your perversions and restore your devotion to your Father. But, this will cost you." You could tell he was testing you, but there was no threat of pain dire enough to sway you now.

"My life is yours, My Lord. Do to me whatever it takes to make me pure again." He studied your face briefly, trying to tell if there was any final hesitation, but you were resolute. "All you need to do is obey. Follow my word, and have faith. Believe that I am your God and your Savior."

"I can." And with that, he nodded, rising. "Kneel at the pulpit for me. I'll join you there in just a moment." Eagerly your rose. Whatever ache you felt earlier was forgotten entirely. Kneeling once again before the altar reminded you of your cause. You were to live and serve your Divine Lord; if he wanted you to prove it, then you would. But when you saw the Medic returning, you couldn't help but shudder, all too aware of the fear you tried so hard to silence.

Medic held a kind of insidious instrument in his hand you'd never seen before. Your eye instantly draws to the wicked sharp tip, the awful needle easily the length of your forearm over a shorter yet wicked sharp blade. The hollow bulb at the back of the device made the thing look like some kind of mechanical mosquito, and you were about to be its prey. Your mouth went dry, and you felt dizzy just looking at the thing. Still, you forced yourself to remain as still as a statue, turning your gaze from the device to Medic.

"The price you must pay for your penance will be a blood price." The closer he walked, or rather, the closer the weapon got, the more sinister it appeared. If looking at it was terrifying, the idea of it going inside of you was even worse, but deep down, you knew this was what you deserved, and you brought this on yourself. So no matter how terrifying the punishment, you had no one to blame but yourself. Medic drew close enough to stand right behind you. With his free hand, he held yours, turning it upright, before using his fingers to try and find a vein in your upper arm, right above your elbow.

Goosebumps prickled all across your body when you felt the tip of the needle make contact with your arm. You could feel yourself breathing a bit heavier, your knuckles going while as you gripped the edge of the kneeler with your free arm, your other palm disappearing as you closed your hand into a tight fist.

"Now focus on me, think of only me. Let your God guide you back to the light, it will hurt, but only for a moment, and you'll be restored once it's over. Do you accept your penance?"

It will only hurt more if you watch, you reasoned with yourself, so with your eyes squeezed as tight as possible, you spoke. "I accept." While the initial pick of the needle's tip against your skin terrified you, the feeling of the needle digging into your flesh hurt all the more. The sting was far, far worse than any needle before. It was impossible to keep from wincing or to hold in your yelp of pain as you felt the needle burrow in deeper.

"Steady now. I need you still. If you move too much, we'll have to start all over."

You let go of your grip on the kneeling, biting down on your own knuckle to keep from screaming. If only you had something to hold onto in the hand being drained, but you had nothing but your own fist to tense down on.

"Now I'm going to pull blood. This is going to hurt. Just remember this is for your own good."

It was almost impossible to talk, but through grit teeth, you tried anyway. "Thank you, my Holy Father." And without another word, you felt Medic begin to drain your blood.

He was right. It hurt. The unbearable tension you felt from your teeth and skull all the way down to your curled toes burned like hell. It was hard to hear anything over your heavy breathing and the occasional whine of pain, but that was for the best. The idea of listening to this awful thing as it sucked your life away sounded far worse. How long has it been like this? How much longer would he keep you here? You had no idea, but it was becoming harder and harder to stay still by the second, and you were afraid you wouldn't last much longer.

You wanted to look at the altar, to remind yourself why you were doing all this, to think of anything to distract from the pain, but it was impossible to open your eyes. But instead, you swore you could feel a numbness in your fingertips and in your toes. Your head felt so heavy and tense, and you found yourself wondering, if only for a second, if Medic was done with you all together and if this was your last moment before death.

Then, just as soon as it started, you felt Medic pressing down over where he injected the needle before pulling out in one decisive strike. This was far worse than the insertion, the pain white hot, causing you to arch your back, your head falling back as you screamed in agony. The ache was terrible enough, but the nausea was just as miserable. When you felt Medic's hands leave your body, you slipped forward, panting, your upper body clinging to the top of the kneeler for dear life. It felt like the room was spinning or like the floor was about to give out at any second. The pain you felt before in this spot felt like a joke compared to what you felt now.

"Blessed are you, my Child. You have come to me with your sins, and I send you forth, cleansed and pure again. You have put yourself at the mercy of the divine, and you have been granted forgiveness."

"I don't feel so good…." You were still slumped over the kneeler. It was impossible to think of anything but the pain. You weren't even proud of yourself for withstanding it. All you wanted was to fall asleep. To wake up to a new day and to pretend none of this happened. Medic must've put the device away as you could now feel both his hands rubbing little circles against your back. You didn't want to think about what he wanted to do with your blood, the terrible needle was gone now, and that was all that mattered.

"Without sin, salvation is empty. You hurt now, but take comfort knowing the pain you feel is all your sin and weakness leaving your body."

You tried to nod, but you were too weak to remain upright. Your head began to bob forward as your body went limp. Fortunately, Medic immediately caught you, keeping you from falling directly to the ground. You didn't even know how you were still awake, but you felt like a rag doll, limp and no longer in control of your body. You could feel Medic supporting your total weight, guiding you back to the pew, laying you down, your head resting on his lap. You felt so terribly cold, curling up into a ball on your side. You were about to give in to the drowsiness all together, but only in turning your head to the side did you notice the straining fabric of Medic's trousers. "You did well for your Savior. Would you allow me to reward you for faith?"

For a second, you considered if this was a trick if Medic were baiting you, giving you one last test of the night. After all, actually seeing your Holy Lord in such a state after dreaming about him for so long, it all felt too good to be true. But to your surprise, when you turned your gaze upward to look Medic in the eye, you noticed how wide his pupils were, the flush or arousal on his cheeks, the teasing half-smile. You realized just as likely as this was a test to see if you really could fight back against your lust. Perhaps this was another test of your loyalty? It was impossible to tell, and you felt a familiar confused fear resurfacing.

"My God, I'm honored, but I fear I am unworthy…." Fortunately, he wasn't offended by your hesitation.

"To indulge in the sins of the flesh would be a mortal sin for any other, but you must know- I am no man. I am your Divine. To service me is an act of Holiness. Allow me to guide your hands." Your mind was caught in a whirlwind of exhaustion and desire, it was impossible to think clearly, but you were helpless to feel the need burning inside you. It was weak, and you didn't have the strength to give in together, but you were ready to take the opportunity while you could. The unstoppable desire to serve and to give everything you had to your Master.

He looked at you with eyes glimmering, shining with love and the faintest smile, "Sweet lamb, your desires are only unholy when you indulge in secret, away from me. But now that I am here to bless and guide you- If it is my mortal vessel you are so taken by, show me your devotion." You knew he was right, and you wanted to give in. You wanted to trust and have faith, but you couldn't help but hesitate. It was almost impossible to remember life before Medic, but you were confident you weren't nearly experienced enough to please him as he deserved. The idea of being put on the spot, of your Lord coming to you of all people for something like this? The opportunity filled you equally with anxiety as ecstasy.

"You are my salvation. My sole purpose for living is to worship and serve you. I owe you everything I have. To indulge myself like this- I don't understand how I could be worthy. I adore you, but am I enough?" Your words had no effect on him. If anything only spurred him on.

"Don't be so shy, my little saint. You've done so well to prove to me your devotion, and now I want you to show it. Take my hand." And with that final command, you obeyed.

You dumbly felt your head repositioned on Medic's lap as he undid his pants, pulling his undergarments down with them enough to comfortably free himself from the restrictive fabric. If you weren't feeling half-dead, you might've had the shame to look away, but now, all you could do was take in the sight before you. You felt like an outside observer, out of body and entirely at the whims of another, but still, you couldn't deny it felt good. Better than good. You were somehow flushed and tingly inside, feeling so pure and yet filled with lust, a sensation you'd never known before, as though your entire life had built up to this moment. All in the service of your God.

Medic was already quite hard, and you watched intently as he took your hand. His glove already pulled off, and you couldn't help but shudder at the skin-to-skin contact. With your hand open, he licked along the length of your index finger before he closed his lips around the digit. You never realized how many sensitive nerves were in your hand until you felt his mouth around your fingers. His skilled tongue wrapped around your fingers, coating each one with a bit of saliva. You felt his cheeks sucking in as he sucked a little harder, the lewd noises making the moment feel all the more erotic.

After he had his fun with this, you felt the chilly draft against the now wet flesh. Though for only a moment as your hand was pulled down to make contact with his warm flesh. He sharply breathed in through grit teeth, using his hand to tightly wrap yours against the shaft before applying a little friction. Even in your current state of mind, you could feel the tension in his body, and you felt so honored and privileged to witness your Holy Master consumed with lust. He was more beautiful than any man, angel, or devil you'd ever dreamed of.

It was hard to keep up, but you did your best to use your slick fingers to massage the flesh beneath his tight hold. You felt a holy kind of pride as you watched his brow scrunch, a breathy moan amid his panting, knowing you were doing so well to honor your God like no one else. Then, despite the vertigo, you forced your head to move, to use what little strength you had left to connect your lips to the wet head of his cock, and to kiss your Master, tongue out, ready to merge. It felt like your lips only connected with his anatomy for a moment before you felt him reach his climax. His breathy moaning and thrusting against you put all your initial erotic dreams to shame. You couldn't believe your Lord allowed you to see him like this, more charming than ever before. Even in your haze, you could feel the warmth of his body against yours.

When you rolled onto your back to lay on the bench more comfortably, you felt as though you could still feel his vitality, the essence within you. You were too numb to sense if any of the mess landed on you, but you were vaguely aware of the sensation of him rubbing around his lap and maybe even on you with a cloth to collect what he could of the mess. You wrapped your arms around yourself, sighing with bliss. With a gentle touch, Medic caressed the side of your face with his four fingers before you felt his thumb tap against your slightly parted lips.

"Swallow. This is the salvation you've awaited."

Your eyes were already shut, and you were thankful his touch was so gentle as he pushed the cum stuck to his finger into your mouth, which you happily allowed to pass your lips as you suckled. Then, finally, he pulled his finger out, running his thumb over your lips, trailing your saliva over them as he stroked the side of your face. But moments before you nodded off, you whispered, "My Lord, will you promise to pray for me? Will you pray I will one day be worthy to receive your grace? That we can become one?"

You weren't even sure if he heard your final words, everything was going black, and your mind was lost in the haze. Before slipping away into oblivion, your last memories were the lethargy possessing your body, his fingers in your hair, a salty aftertaste on your tongue, and the pattering of rain, sounding further and further away.

[beauty-and-passion]

FSS3 Episode 10: Solace

The embodiment of lies isn't an easy Side to understand.

Updates every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

What is FFS3 - Introduction - Season 2 finale - previous episode - next episode

AO3 link for this episode

DISCLAIMER: As said in the introductory post, Fanders Sides Season 3 (season 2 finale included) could have triggering themes/scenes. Please keep that in mind before reading.

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Thomas is driving his car. He looks at the time: he’s a bit late. Maybe even too late. Maybe he should just come back home, call his parents and tell them he won’t come.

Patton appears next to him, on the passenger’s seat: his expression is full of fatherly disapproval. Thomas promised them he would be there to celebrate his grandma’s birthday, he can’t come back now.

Thomas groans. He knows that but still, he’d much rather go back home.

Your brothers are already there, Patton reminds him.

I know, Thomas says. And he’s very happy to see them again and to hug his parents! But his grandparents… he would be happy to see them as well, if only they won’t start talking. And he knows they will definitely start talking.

It’s been years since you came out and told them you’re gay, Patton says. Maybe they’ve finally accepted it.

Thomas rolls his eyes. His grandparents are old, conservative and very Christian. Every time they meet, they always tell him to “find a girlfriend” or to try this or that girl. They really cannot understand that being gay isn’t a mood or a phase.

Patton nods, sympathetically. He knows it’s hard, but they’re still part of his family. They just come from a different time period.

Roman appears in the backseats and leans forward. He’s grumpy. He pouts that, if it wasn’t for them, Thomas would’ve come out of the closet at least three or four years before he did.

Virgil leans forward as well. He adds that they never understood Thomas anyway. They’re just too focused on that old idea of marrying a girl and having a truckload of children. They told the same to his brothers and they still think this is the right way to live a life. They’re old and stale.

Thomas adjusts the mirror to see Virgil’s pout. Then, he notices someone else appearing in the back seats: it’s Anger, who is leaning against the backrest, arms crossed and a sardonic smile.

Thomas is immediately on edge. What does he want? Does he have something to say as well?

Angre just shrugs and tells Thomas he will understand by himself.

The answer and his derisive tone pisses Thomas a lot. He notices a few buildings, but a cross gets his attention: so, he stops in front of a church.

Roman asks what’s going on, Patton reminds him again of grandma’s birthday. Thomas gets out and closes his car: just before the door closes, he hears Anger calling him a coward.

Thomas ignores everything and enters the church. The car sounds, the voices and all other noises disappear once he closes the door. There is just pure silence, while he walks towards the altar. The place is in a comfortable penumbra: the only lights come from candles and tall windows, rays of yellow soft light illuminating the place.

Thomas looks around: there is no one, he’s alone.

He sits on a church bench, closes his eyes and takes a long breath. He feels the irritation calm down, his breath quiets too.

When he opens his eyes again, he notices someone sitting on his right: someone with a black capelet and yellow, glowed hands resting on his knees.

Janus is not looking at him: he’s looking at the rose window above the altar. It represents Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. The tree is between them, the serpent wrapped around it. Eve is giving a red apple to Adam.

Out of nowhere, Janus starts narrating the story of Genesis. How God told Adam to not eat from “the tree of the knowledge of good and evil”. How God made a helper for Adam, someone who was equal to him and not above or beneath him. And how the serpent, who was “more crafty than any of the wild animals”, talked to the woman. How it told her that, by eating the fruit, her eyes would be opened, and she would “be like God, knowing good and evil”. How, once the first humans ate the fruit, their eyes opened indeed.

And once they told God what happened, God said: “The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever.”. And so, he banished Adam and Eve from the Garden.

Janus turns towards Thomas. The serpent was not lying, Janus says. The serpent was telling the truth. And yet, it got the reputation of liar and deceiver. And Thomas himself, despite knowing what’s written in Genesis, used the snake to represent his ability to lie.

Thomas is taken aback by this. He’s a bit embarrassed and tries to apologize to Janus: he didn’t want to offend him or make him feel bad about himself…

Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Janus replies, shushing his apologies. He isn’t bothered by this. On the contrary: he loves his appearance and he loves being a tempter. Being a villain is so much fun! Being a sinner… well, a bit less.

He looks back at the altar. He prayed in the past, he simply says. A lot. If a person is good and righteous, God will chase away their enemies and give them the good things they deserve, right? That’s what religion made him believe.

So you asked for good things to happen to you?, Thomas asks.

Janus shakes his head. Not for him.

Thomas understands and feels a bit embarrassed. He thanks Janus but, again, Janus shakes his head. No need to thank him: his prayers never changed anything, after all. He was young and naive, he needed solace and hope and religion gave him both. So, he trusted it. As a result, no one answered his prayers.

Janus even thought the problem was him. He was the serpent of Eden after all, a representation of the devil, the first original sinner. Maybe that was why no one answered him.

But according to religion, even the worst sinner, if repents, can get a second chance. So if he repented hard enough, he would get a chance too. If he prayed hard enough, God would answer his prayers and give Thomas the life he deserved.

Janus sighs. In the end, no matter how hard he tried, that never happened. No one answered. Despite his prayers, the world was still awful. And the more time passed, the more it showed its twisted, paradoxical face: the face of a lie made of lies, a construct based on rules of nothing. There was no space for the good, beautiful life Thomas deserved to live. There was no space for nothing good, not in this Babylon of chaos and hate.

(His expression becomes more disgusted, his tone gets colder)

And so he realized that, for all that time, he was believing in a lie. Religion was a lie. His prayers have been nothing more than a waste of time. No one would’ve helped Thomas, not in a world where the ones who survived were like the serpent from Eden: cunning, crafty, sinners, liars.

(Janus looks at the altar with a challenging expression. Lights bathe him as well and the shadow of the cross falls on him, like a holy judgment)

He realized Thomas didn’t need prayers and hope. He needed a cold, cynical, merciless sinner. A Side ready to get all of the world’s blood on his hands. A liar who was able to lie in the face of the supreme liar: society itself.

Janus turns to Thomas.

And so I did, he says. I covered all your mistakes and hid everything you didn’t want to know. I lied every time you didn’t want to get caught and I lied every time you were not ready to be honest yet.

Thomas blinks, a sudden realization crosses his mind. Was it Janus who stopped him from coming out? Did he hide his sexuality for years, not because of his grandparents, but because Janus pushed him to do so?

I told you the first time, Janus says. “I don't want Thomas to be disadvantaged in a world where you can die for not following the laws made in the name of a lie.” (ref. SvS) In such a cruel world, being gay is a weak spot and your enemies could’ve hurt you by hitting right into it.

His voice and expression softens.

Thomas is too pure and honest, he adds. In a world like this, everyone would exploit it to hurt him. Even his own family. And Janus knew it would happen, as soon as Thomas would reveal he was gay.

So, Janus postponed that moment as much as possible. Thomas had to be stronger before coming out with his family. He had to be stronger and tougher, so once they hit him, he would take the blow with as less consequences as possible.

It wasn’t too bad, Thomas confirms. He was 19, so he was old enough indeed. And his parents and brothers have been very supportive too. His grandparents were the only ones who had something to say.

Janus examines his hands. Would it be such a big problem to get rid of them?

Thomas gives him a dirty look, but Janus waves a hand.

“Oh, shush”, he says, “They never understood you anyway” (ref. to Growing Up and to Virgil who said the same thing). They’re old, so breaking a leg and sending them to the hospital would be easy even for a weak guy like you, Janus adds. And if they’re out of the picture, you would be much freer and happier. Maybe, you’ll even grow a spine.

Thomas gives him another dirty look.

Janus insists: he’s telling the truth and they both know it. Thomas is too soft, too trustworthy, not evil enough. And those are all beautiful parts of him, but he needs to be stronger. He should raise his voice, ask for some respect. He is his own human being after all, not someone people can step on.

Janus gets up, the shepherd’s crook appears between his hands. He suggests Thomas to give it a try this evening: he is 32 now. He’s an adult. And his grandparents are old enough to finally accept that being gay wasn’t a phase and yes, he still likes men and will like them forever.

Janus turns and moves towards the exit. Thomas gets up too and calls him. But when Janus turns around, he’s no longer sure about what he wants to say. So, he looks at him and asks why. Why does he remember some parts of the Bible so well, even if he says religion was a lie? Why the shepherd’s crook? Why these Christian elements, if everything was just a lie?

Janus smiles at him, the softest smile he ever showed.

Maybe, he says, despite knowing religion won’t help him, he prefers to live with a little bit of denial.

Then, he turns around and disappears.

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END CARD

Janus, Remus and Anger are on a roof: it’s the roof of the house of Thomas’ parents. Janus is sitting on top of the chimney, Remus walks along the drain duct and Anger is crouched on the roof tiles.

It’s almost time, he says. Thomas is going to confront his grandparents about it.

Janus confirms: he convinced him to do it. Now, it’s up to Thomas to finally grow up a little.

Remus suggests Thomas should’ve brought a guy with him and had sex in front of the cake: maybe that would’ve been enough for the old hag to finally die.

Anger laughs and gives Remus a high five: chaos and a bigot dead is the best-case scenario, they should’ve let Remus handle this!

Janus jokes that this is too messy and Thomas would be framed in no time: way better some good old rat poison and then play the role of the grieving grandchild.

Remus snickers, but Anger shrugs: Thomas isn’t good enough to do that, he says. Too pure, too honest. And he knows Janus likes these traits of him, but it’s not enough for the world.

I know, Janus says. He should become more.

Anger stands up, turns to Janus and promises: “he will”.

All three dark Sides look down: the camera pans down, to show Thomas reaching the door and knocking on it.

The last shot shows the door opening on Thomas’ determined expression.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE

I know what you’re thinking: “Look at Bea, always bringing religion”. But it was necessary to address it, for a couple of reasons:

1) to give more depth to Janus’ character. He hates society and we all know that, but why? His playlist gave me this answer, by connecting it to religion. I just worked around it.

Also, I wanted to emphasize the difference between villain and sinner: according to his playlist, Janus *loves* being a villain, but the idea of being a sinner pushes him into a cycle of “I’m a sinner -> I should repent”. He sees them differently, so why not show it? It's interesting and worth focusing on.

2) to show how deeply Janus cares. He adores Thomas and didn’t have enough time to show it in canon. He deserves to show it.

3) to show how he’s growing up, while still pursuing his agenda. He would’ve never been so open in the past so that’s part of his character growth, but as we can see from the end card, this was also part of a plan to push Thomas to react to his grandparents. By revealing a bit of himself, Janus also steered Thomas where he wanted. After all, he’s still Deceit. We can’t pretend he becomes the epitome of honesty.

4) it works as an introduction for the next big thing that’s gonna happen in the following episodes.

Speaking of the church and that stained glass window, I searched for a real church with a real stained glass window that showed that specific moment of Genesis. And I focused on churches located in Florida, as close as possible to Mr. Sanders’ place - just to prove that it’s possible to film everything, if you search for the right place.

Unfortunately, the only churches I found in Florida did not have stained glass depicting this exact scene, with the tree, the snake and the apple.

The only church I found with a stained glass window depicting this moment is located in the UK and it’s the Lincoln Cathedral. HERE you can see the stained glass window I’m talking about.

So, even if the glass window isn't above the altar and the church itself is a bit farther than I planned, my point still stands: it’s still possible to film this scene in real life. All you have to do is take a small trip to the UK XD

Or you can take the easier solution: film the episode in a church in Florida and find a good editor who can edit the glass window :P

( Support me on Ko-fi )

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[kissmyspaceace]

The Lost and the Lascivious

CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 6

Pairing: Cardinal Copia/Reader Warnings/Contents: long dialogues, awkward Cardi C, confessional Word count: 2.691

AO3 link

Taglist:

@chaos-in-person

@littlemisscare-all

@dancerpanda04

@ballofthedeadrat

______________________________________________

The next morning, you woke up feeling disappointed and empty. There hadn’t been a second encounter with Cardinal Copia that night.

You tried to get him out of your head as much as you could, but it didn’t really work out. He was on your mind. His secretive behaviour drove you mad, and you desperately wanted to know more about him. And about his church, about his occupation. A distant voice in your head told you to stay away, but you refused to listen. You were too intrigued.

Since all attempts to forget about him had been unsuccessful, you decided to pay him a visit. So that same day after work, you headed for the small church again. As always, you walked up the steps and pushed the large wooden door open. The smell of the old building mixed with the sweet scent of flowers was the first thing to greet you. As you looked around, it looked exactly like it had in your "dreams". The flowers were actually there. In the exact same places. Your head was starting to struggle to keep reality apart from your nightly soul wanderings.

You casually strolled down the hallway, enjoying the nice view of the church adorned with flowers. The Cardinal however was nowhere to be seen. You decided to take a seat in the front row, directly facing the altar. Not knowing how long it would take for Cardinal Copia to appear, you relaxed into the red velvet cushions of the bench. Patiently, you waited. After about 20 minutes you heard some shuffling, mumbled curses and the creaking of a ladder. You turned your head to locate the noise. It was coming from the organ balcony. Apparently it was only reachable through a ladder, which a familiar figure was climbing down on. He wore his black robe again. Almost slipping on the last steps, he mumbled more curses and swears under his breath. When he arrived at the bottom, he patted and fixed his robe until he deemed himself presentable. Turning your head back to the front, you smiled to yourself, amused by his clumsiness. You wouldn’t admit it to him, but you enjoyed seeing this side of him. It was such a ridiculous contrast to the Cardinal you’d met in your out-of-body experiences.

You heard him approach with quick steps, but decided to act as if you hadn’t really noticed his little slip-up from earlier.

He sat down right next to you, dropping his bottom on the cushions in a carefree manner.

“I’ve been wondering when you’d show yourself”, you said with a small chuckle.

“Yes, please excuse my absence. I was, eh, occupied”, he said.

You looked at him and raised one eyebrow questioningly. “What did you even do up there?”, you asked, nodding at the organ balcony.

Reciprocating the eye contact, he looked taken aback by your question. “Ah, I was just checking the old organ. It’s something I do on a regular basis.”

“Don’t think I didn’t see your little dance with the ladder”, you added with a small smirk.

His breath hitched a little, and he averted his gaze to the side for a second, before nodding. “I, eh, uhm. Yes. That… has been an issue before. Ladders and me, we’re not on good terms, I’m afraid.”

There it was again. That painful awkwardness. It intrigued you, rather than turning you off. That fascinating contrast… it was as if there were two Cardinal Copias: the one from the non-physical realm, and the one you always met in real life. Another smile crept up on your face, just thinking about it.

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure you'll get the hang of it sooner or later", you gently spoke, giving his thigh a reassuring pat. You felt him stiffen under your brief touch, as if he'd been caught off guard. He cleared his throat and went on to change the topic.

"So, you've decided to visit me again. How come?"

You pouted at him playfully. "Am I coming at a bad time? Should I leave?", you asked, as you patted down your clothes and moved forward in your seat, implying to take your leave.

"N- No, not at all! Please-", he stuttered, grabbing your hands, "I was just curious. I am very delighted about your visit, I can assure you."

You smiled warmly and relaxed back into your seat. Wrapping your fingers around his, you gave his hands a reassuring squeeze. The leather of his gloves felt cool beneath your palms. "I'm glad, then."

Cardinal Copia shyly returned the smile. "My curiosity is strong, cara, and I beg for your forgiveness, but would you mind answering my question anyways? Why you came back here, that is."

His eyes shimmered softly in the dim light of the church, radiating genuine curiosity.

"Well, why wouldn’t I come back to visit? I thought it was in our interest to get to know one another. Besides, meeting you in flesh and blood does differ from… meeting you in nightly out-of-body experiences. And I find that very interesting."

His eyes widened, and he leaned a bit closer. You could have sworn a subtle blush was displayed on his cheeks. "In, eh, in what way?"

"In exactly that way", you replied, "It's the way you act, the way you talk. The way you approach me."

He nodded understandingly. "Mhm, I see what you mean. You know, at the right hour, and in a meeting of souls, I can be… a different man. I don't know if you're aware of this, but these little meetings are exclusive. It's just the two of us, every time. Nobody else. It makes me feel different. And oh, cara, you haven't even met me at the witching hour yet."

You cocked your head to the side. "Please be yourself with me. Say whatever you want to say, act upon your desires, if you will. I hope you don't feel restricted in any way."

Shaking his head, he chuckled, his mouth stretched into a grin. "Be careful what you wish for, little flower. If you invite me to 'act upon my desires', you may be overwhelmed with what's to come", Copia uttered, lifting one hand to put it on your cheek. You leaned into his touch. The glove's leather was cool on your cheek as well.

"I just… I just want to understand, Cardinal. I want to know."

"I know, I know. But maybe…", he said hesitantly, "It's time for us to talk openly about our little secrets now."

You nodded, remembering how you'd previously been too insecure to talk about your psychological, sleepless two week torment. "Yes, I think we can do that", you mumbled softly.

He nodded. Then his eyes lit up. "Ah, I think I have an idea. See that big wooden thing back there, with the small door and the curtains? It's a, eh, confessional. It's not really being used… much… but maybe it could work well for this."

You turned your head to search for the confessional. And indeed, in the back corner, there was an old confessional. The curtains matched the deep red of the seat cushions, and the wooden structure told a lot about its old age.

You liked the idea, so you agreed.

A few moments later, you found yourself kneeling on a wooden board, in a dark, old confessional. Only a small candle in the space between the cabins was producing a little bit of light. You wouldn’t lie, it felt a little strange.

You heard a chair creak in the neighbouring cabin. So that guy gets a chair and I dont, huh, you thought in a sarcastic tone, smirking.

"So, here we are", you heard a voice say from said other cabin. "Why don't you start telling me what's been on your mind, eh?"

You cleared your throat. "Uhm, sure. So… before I came here the second time, I… pretty much had some unpleasant weeks behind me. Sleep deprivation, strange dreams, hallucinations… I don't even know where to start."

The Cardinal uttered a hum, demonstrating that he was listening. "What did that contain?"

"I was seeing shadows from the corner of my eye. Heard strange voices. Maybe it was just the lack of sleep getting to me. But the dreams… uhm, they were all linked to this place. I was thrown back into this church again and again. And it only changed once I stayed. And then, once I came back here outside of my dreams."

Your ears picked up on a quiet, deep chuckle. You decided to ignore that for now, and waited for his reply.

"I can imagine that must have been bothersome. Have you ever had any encounters of the supernatural sorts before?", he asked.

You furrowed your brows. "None of which I could remember, no. All of that was pretty new to me."

"I understand. You see, child, considering this place and its… affiliations, your experiences are nothing out of the ordinary."

Feeling your heart accelerate, you listened up. "Affiliations?"

"Yes. I did mention that I am no man of God, cara. My Lord is from the opposing party, so to say", he explained, his voice sounding a little shaky.

It took you a few seconds to process the information he had just given you. The sound of your heartbeat was pounding in your ears. You were fairly sure you understood what he implied, but you remained silent. Several seconds passed.

"(Y/N)? Have you, eh, lost your tongue?", Cardinal Copia asked, trying to lighten the thick air with a chuckle.

"I will be honest with you, Cardinal. I don't know what to say", you said in a voice, barely more than a whisper.

"Don't worry, cara. My faith is not always like the others make it seem."

You pondered about it for a moment. He did not seem murderous or evil, he offered comfort and company. He was very well like any priest you'd met before. Except for the touchy aspect, perhaps.

"I believe you, Cardinal. You do not seem like a particularly malicious person to me", you said, laughing a little. "It's just that it's not every day you hear about, uhm, well…"

He chuckled again. "... a satanic church? Yes, I can imagine. For safety reasons, it's wiser to keep it down. From the outside, nobody would really suspect this little church to be non-christian."

"I surely didn't", you added.

"I know, I know. But tell me, does it… appall you? Is it repelling to you?"

His voice was sincere and soothing, but it was underlined by concern.

Trying to gather your words, you took a deep breath to respond. You hoped to choose your words wisely. "I don't think so. It is a bit of a shock, so to say. But considering a few things from our… nightly encounters, it does make more sense."

A small sigh of relief could be heard from the neighboring cabin. "Speaking from the heart, I am glad that you feel that way. As I have already mentioned, it's not often that people find their way here. And if they do, they are easily frightened by the nature of this church."

"I can imagine. Even if someone is not a person of faith at all, the idea of Satanism seems scary. I mean, you don't hear anything good about it, really."

"That's the burden of being an opposing secession of Christianity. Being labeled the antagonist. Those who dare to question the word of God are doomed", he explained.

“But then… what do you do? What exactly do you preach? Does anyone even come here?”, you asked curiously.

Another deep chuckle sounded from behind the wooden wall. “Easy, cara. One thing after the other. You remember how I said that we have to keep our faith in the shadows? This church has been blessed - or enchanted, if you will - with a spell of obliviousness.”

“So people don’t see it?”

“People do see it. They just don’t really… register it. They don’t pay attention to it. It’s there, but at the same time, nobody actually recognizes it”, Cardinal Copia disclosed.

“Ooh”, you exclaimed gleefully, “I think I understand! That’s clever. But then how come I found-”

“Yes. Now, this is what is interesting. When have you started noticing this place? I’m sure you never really paid much attention to it before, did you?”

Now that he mentioned it, you remembered. Indeed, you had never really noticed this church much before it had first caught your eye many weeks ago. “I… I think I slowly started noticing this place many weeks ago. It started subtly. And then I got to the point where I just… really wanted to know this place.”

He uttered a satisfied hum. “So the spell has been lifted for you exclusively. You haven’t spoken to anyone about it, I assume?”

“No, I haven’t”, you replied, “I didn’t even think about that.”

“Ah, cara mia”, Copia exclaimed with joy in his voice, “You truly have been sent here by the dark Lord himself.”

You chuckled a little, shaking your head. “I’m not sure about that, Cardinal. Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”

“If you’re asking me, I’d say there are no coincidences”, he chirped, “But what truly counts is that you have found your way here, no matter how.”

You hummed in agreement. “I’m sure there is a reason for it.”

There were a few seconds of silence in between the two of you. You still couldn't see each other because you were still in the confessional and divided by a wooden board, but the general mood felt content. Then, you remembered something.

“Cardinal Copia, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, cara. Anything”, he replied in a sweet tone.

“Back when I came here for the second time, I asked you why you were offering me such unconditional hospitality and kindness. I have told you about my secrets just now, and I believe now it’s your turn.”

He was silent for a moment, before turning to speak again. “For one, child, I was very intrigued to see that someone has found their way to this little church, and of course I wanted to make you feel welcome. From the beginning I knew that it wasn’t just a coincidence, it couldn’t have been. The spell had been breached by a higher power, letting you come to me”, he explained calmly.

“And besides that?”, you asked, waiting for him to continue.

You could hear his breath hitch. It grew heavier by the second, and he cleared his throat. “I- I, eh, do not feel comfortable sharing that information as of yet, I’m afraid.”

A mischievous smile spread across your face. Only hearing him speak told you how flustered he was. “Have you been lonely, Cardinal? I imagine it gets pretty lonely with barely any visitors”, you said in an empathetic tone.

“You have no idea, cara”, he mumbled. “I would like to show you something, if you let me.”

Your ears perked up. “Of course.”

“Get out of the confessional for me, and close your eyes.”

You did as you were told. Your knees were aching as you got up from the wooden board you’d been kneeling on the past minutes, but you managed to stand up and step outside, closing your eyes afterwards. “Alright, I’m standing out here, eyes closed.”

The wooden chair inside the confessional creaked, and then you heard footsteps on the marble floor next to you.

“Don’t get frightened, cara. I will put a blindfold on you, if you allow me”, Cardinal Copia spoke in a low voice.

“Go ahead, I don’t mind”, you said, barely suppressing an excited smirk.

He gently placed a light, smooth piece of cloth over your eyes and carefully tied it at the back of your head. “There. Now, I’d like to show you a new place within the church. For that I will - obviously - have to lead you there. Are you ready to go?”, he asked, taking your hand, and placing his arm around you.

“I’m ready”, you chirped.

The Cardinal let out a pleased hum. “Let us go then.”

[ilya-thewarlock]

Pain with a purpose.

AbdirakxNamed!Tav

Smut || NSFW || BDSM || Kinda PWP || Mention of blood and wounds || Very kinky || Knife play || Chains and shackles || Everything Abdirak did multiplied || Inappropriate use of the hilt of a dagger || MLM || Anal || Handjob || I mean it's... It's a lot || 3.7k words

(I said it once and I'll say it again, English is not my first language)

˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜˜

The heels of his boots slightly echoed as he walked into the chamber. Everything was made out of stone, from the walls to the floor, a couple of pillars close to the entrance and two more on the other side, right where a small altar stood. Beyond that an alcove in the wall, just like the one back in the Shattered Sanctum.  The only difference where two chains, one on each side, with shackles at the end.

He swallowed a gulp.

The monk was standing right in front of him, his back turned like the first time they met. As the door behind them closed on itself, the noise of rusty hinges echoed lowdly then his steps, making the priest aware of his presence. He smiled.

<< I knew you’d be back, dear one... >>

Abdirak turned around to face him, still smiling, his eyes fixing on his more casual form, different from the first time they’ve met, in that dirty, dusty goblin camp, a defiled and abandoned Selune’s temple. This chamber, on the other hand, was rather modest, with some benches, a slightly worn burgundy carpet going from the main door to the altar. There were torches all around the walls, a couple standing on each side of the altar, some located on the pillars, but the back of the room was darker. The symbol of Loviatar was displaced in a couple of banners, as well as on a cloth adorning the altar.

Orion didn’t spoke, just smiled at the priest, slightly fidgeting with his fingers, still too embarrassed, too... Shy. He was exploring the hidden parts of the lower city with the rest of the companions, searching for clues about Orin and the temple of Bhaal, when a mislead and a poor sense of direction in a city he barely knew, led the young warlock to the sacred temple of Loviatar. They met again, him and Abdirak, where he asked to come and visit him again.

And that’s what he did.

It was the middle of the night, the rest of the party was sleeping in their camp, when he left to see him again. Something was drawing Orion to Abdirak once more, the same, hidden connection that made him turn his head that day, getting to meet him.

<< Still shy, I see... Dear one there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Your presence here is pleasing our dear Goddess Loviatar. She just wants to help, and so am I. >>

Abdirak moved forward, stepping slowly to get closer to him, and Orion caught himself staring, mesmerised, watching his figure with his mouth slightly agape. He was fascinating...

The man’s hand gently reached the young warlock’s face, tilting his chin just to see him better, as the hood of his cape fell from his raven hair.

<< We both know why you’re here... >>

He kept talking in the smoothest voice, dark, vibrating in his ears, like a purring cat, as his thumb slightly caressed his chin, before withdrawing once more.

<< You already know what to do... >>

He said, as he gestured to the alcove in the back with one hand, and to his form with the other, looking at him from head to toe, back to his eyes.

Again, without a word, Orion moved, unlacing the knot of his cape, letting it fall to the ground, exposing him in his modest camp clothes: a simple pair of trousers and a violet shirt, unbuttoned on his chest, revealing some dark chest hair. The more his hand moved to undress him, the more the embarrassment left his body, leaving him with needs, with trepidation.

His shirt was gone, falling right on top of the dark cloak he used to hide his form on his way from the camp to the temple. With a small kick, each of his shoes where discarded, as he started to open the laces of his trousers.

Abdirak’s breath caught in his throat.

Orion let his trousers down his long, toned legs, a slightly swing of hips and knees to help him, before moving them out of his feet with another kick to the side. His underwear following soon after.

He raised his head, naked, his pallid skin adorned with some scars, the dark red tattoo on his neck even more prominent.

<< Beautiful... >>

Abdirak whispered and Orion couldn't contain a proud smile, before walking to where the priest instructed. From the main part of the temple, that area was unlit, darker and not much visible, hidden from the stone altar. He could now see two small wooden tables: one with potions, oils and vials of all kinds, mostly for healing; the other one had a dagger, a mace, a whip and an axe. More detailed, beautiful version of the ritual weapons Abdirak brought with him to meet the goblins.

The man came behind him, a hand gently caressing his left arm, slightly tilting his head closer to his hair and shoulder. Orion slowly closed his eyes, feeling the sensation of his cold, rugged hands on his delicate skin, letting the man do anything he wanted and needed.

<< Don’t worry, dear one. Me and Loviatar will take great care of you... >>

He spoke softly, as he raised his left arm first, reaching the chain and adjusting them to his height, before closing the shackle around his wrist, tight. Orion hissed and winched, a reaction Abdirak appreciated.

Pain.

The priest shifted, moving to his right side, raising his arm and locking in the same way with the other, hearing another hiss from the warlock. He then stepped back, admiring his work, as the young man in front of him stood completely naked, his own shadow projecting on the white skin of his bare back.

<< Oh, dear one... You look simply divine... >>

His hand was on him again, a feathered touch on three new scars he recognised a bit too well; he made them, when he entered the room driven by curiosity, when his eyes flickered with interest, when he expressed his desire to learn...

He could still see clearly that moment, the smell of his sweet, dark blood as his dagger flashed on his pale skin. The way he took each strike, the way he winched but tested him, taunting him, tempting him to do more, using that slightly intimidating tone no one would think could come out from such an angelic face. Oh, what a challenge he was! He laughed as he almost insulted him, saying a child would’ve done better. It was driving him crazy.

<< Would you like the usual, dear one? I promise this time I’ll be better. >>

He wanted him to pick up the dagger so bad, he wanted to see if he could actually break him, hear him cry, now that they were alone. No filthy goblins on sight, no sarcastic comments from his noisy companions, making fun of him for choosing to pursue such experience. How dare they...

<< Yes... >>

He simply said, his first word spoken since the moment he entered his temple, and it was nothing but a whisper, a tremble betraying him.

Abdirak smiled, almost greedy. He was not as bold...

<< A perfect choice, dear one... >>

He talked again like he was purring as he moved to take the dagger. The metal glistened in the dark, the silver blade adorned with darker incisions, as nine ramifications decorated the hilt, resuming the symbol of Loviatar. A dark ruby was sitting right on top, creating a small curve.

Abdirak smiled again, moving to stand right behind his back.

<< Now close your eyes, dear one, and let Loviatar’s love flows through you... >>

In the complete silence around them, Orion could almost hear the vibrations coming from the blade being lifted in the hair, as he closed the eyes with trepidation, waiting for the moment the man would strike. He was expecting a strong, steady slash, but that never came. Instead, the sharp point of the blade was on his skin, tracing intricated design, starting from the base of his neck, down his shoulder blades. Rivets of blood started to form on his pale skin, as a burning sensation followed the cold silver. He stiffened, hissed and gritted his teeth, before a choked moans left his mouth. But Abdirak didn’t stopped, the blade was notw back to his shoulders, before moving to one arm, up to the elbow, as the blood kept staining him and the dagger, a couple of rivets falling on Abdirak’s fingers.

Orion moaned, as the burning sensation grew from his wounded skin to his entire body, pain and pleasure starting to mix together.

<< Do not resist, my dear... Let me hear your pretty voice. Let Loviatar hear your call. >>

He pressed the dagger oh so slightly, causing the skin to open more. Orion raised his head, his eyes closed shut, his whimpers growing louder into mewls and moans. The priest smiled again, proud, satisfied, as he descended with the blade down his spine. The shackles rattled as a small spam went through the half-elf's body, his moans now echoing in the chamber.

Abdirak chuckled, his noise pure music to his ears.

<< Thats, it, dear one... >>

They were alone, no one in sight, no one close to hear them. He could’ve screamed, encouraging him like he did the first time. Yet he stayed terribly closed to his ear, moving occasionally, just to admire his own work of art, and he kept whispering, kept his voice so low, so intimate.

Orion shivered, he was feeling warm, too warm, as the man stood so close he could feel the leather details of his collar touching the back of his neck, his hot breath fanning over his shoulder.

And that’s where it striked, the first slash on his side, caught him totally by surprise. He yelped, screamed, his eyes wide open, his breath now short and quick, his heart beating fast.

Pain.

The man behind him laughed, pure bliss in his face, as he pressed his free hand on his new wound, coating his fingers with some of his warm blood.

<< More, give me more. >>

He almost growled, as the blade was back to draw random designs, this time on his lower back, going down his rear, before coming up again to slice the skin on his left shoulder blade in a flash movement.

Orion contorted, arched his back as he gripped the chains. The scream louder than the others, as the pain was quickly followed by the pleasure. His own body was reacting in ways he didn’t knew it was possible, as he felt a warm sensation at his lower abdomen. He looked down, trying to catch his breath, still moaning, as his cock slightly twitched between his legs.

He was hard.

Abdirak stepped back, giving some time to the warlock, letting him catch his breath, while devouring his naked, bloodied form with his own eyes, tasting the blood on his hand. It was absolutely delicious, sweet, tainted.

<< You’re a sight to behold, dear one. How lucky I get to witness this. To create this. >>

He growled once again, getting closer to the man, who was now a whimpering mess. His nose slightly touched his shoulder, as the free hand gently caressed his skin, smudging blood all over his back. He inhaled his scent, blood and sweat mixing together with a touch of musk, the smell of a dark, eerie forest. He could’ve gone high on that.

And when he opened his eyes, the sight in front of him was so damn tempting.

A chuckled left his mouth, stifled by the man’s shoulder where his lips involuntarily laid on. His eyes darkening in desire.

<< Dear one, you’re doing so good for Loviatar. And me. >>

He whispered, as the dagger moved down his body, reaching his rear once more, his eyes now fixating on the stiffed member of the man still shivering.

<< You want more, dear one? Tell me, and I will provide. >>

Another whimper left Orion’s mouth, his head dripping low, his body turned mush, barely hold by the chains and tight shackles around his wrists.

<< Yes. >> He breathed out. << Give me more >>

The priest was too eager, too excited to waste time. That’s all he needed to hear. He smiled, wicked, dark, and he flipped his dagger into his hand with an expertly move, the hilt now tracing the bottom of his partner.

<< You're amazing, dear one. >>

The next thing Orion felt was the ruby adorning the hilt of the dagger pressed between his buttocks. His own brain started to fight with his body, as panic started to grow in his stomach, but his legs instantly slid on the concrete, spreading more in front of Abdirak, who couldn’t help but smile again. He moved the hilt from left to right, enough to help the warlock, before pressing the cold gem right on his tight hole.

Orion gripped the chains once again, looking at the man with the corner of his eyes, then back to the wall and down to his cock desperately twitching. That sight alone should've embarrassed him, but his brain went shut as the man urged the hilt inside.

Pain.

He felt the first inches stretched him roughly, burning, tearing his delicate skin, bruising it. He yelled, head tilted to the ceiling, Abdirak’s free hand still caressing his back, fingers now dirty with blood.

The man behind also moaned, as he pressed the hilt again.

There was pain, and there was pleasure. Orion’s head started to spin, his eyes watering, as he couldn’t control himself anymore. The hilt wasn’t as big as a normal dagger, but it was rock hard, and the ridges of the decoration around it were scraping his walls. He definitely wasn’t used to this, but he couldn't care less. He was there to feel that. The pain with a purpose.

<< Yes, dear one. Yes! >>

Abdirak started moving the object inside of him, guided by the divine noises coming from Orion’s mouth, in and out, watching the man squirm, scream, shiver. His own cock twitched, forming a tent on his robe.

Orion’s mind was clouded as well as his own sight, screaming in pain and pleasure, his legs wobbling and his mouth open, noises coming out uncontrollably, his cock painfully twitching in desperation. He was a mess.

<< Do you like it, my dear? >>

Oh, how he liked being called his.

He couldn't even breath properly, so he nodded in response. The man behind smiled satisfied, as his free, dirty hand sneaked from behind, gently touching his hips, the opposite of what the other hand was doing. It was now on his abdomen, getting lower, caressing his body hair, before reaching further down, taking his aching cock in his hand.

Orion yelped, his eyes widened, and a different noise came out of his throat as a shock shot through his body.

Abdirak started pumping his hand, coating his length with his own blood, moving faster, oh so swiftly. He never stopped with the hilt, as it was now fully stretching him, only the hand of the man stopping it, as he was holding two fingers on each side of the hilt, while the rest of the hand was around his blade, cutting through the skin. Orion could hear the slap his own bare back was doing against his hand, around the object as he instinctively moved his hips with it

The warlock’s throat burned, as well as the rest of his body, as he screamed uncontrollably, abandoning himself to the attention of the priest, feeling his head spin, his legs wobble. It was too much and he was close, so dangerously close.

<< Ab-.. Ah!... >>

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, so he let his body do anything it wanted, as he came undone, white cum falling on the wall in front of him and on the ground. His own knees started to buck, the sensation of his high rushing through like a storm, while the man behind him didn’t stop, letting him come on his hand, making sure every single drop was out. A breathed laugh left Abdirak’s mouth, looking at the mess, his cock tinted now in red.

Once satisfied, the priest slowed down and then stopped, freeing his cock from his grasp and slowly removing the hilt from his hole, resulting in another, delicious moan.

Abdirak threw the dagger on the table, not even caring to see if it landed correctly, too busy admiring his own work, both catching their breath. Tears where now drying on Orion’s cheeks, his head dropped low, only the shackles keeping him in place, as the priest’s hand gently touched his hips, sweetly and caring holding them. He lowered his forehead, letting it rest on the young man’s shoulder, still catching his breath. They stayed there for a moment; the silence broken by their huffed pants.

Abdirak moved closely, his hips pressed against Orion’s back, his eyes closed.

He could still feel it, behind the only piece of fabric creating a barrier between them; his own cock was now stiff, hard, begging for a release.

Orion was still coming down his high, head still clouded and spinning; the state he was in let him move without even thinking, as he bent slightly back, feeling the shape of his length pressing against his still aching rear.

The priest moaned, tilting his heads up before laughing.

<< Oh, dear one. You really are Loviatar’s favourite... >>

He whispered, gently pressing a skin on his shoulder, letting him move closer, guiding him with his hands sill on his hips.

For the first time since being inside that chamber, Orion felt proud of himself and smiled, turning his head as much as we could, to see him. He was red, his hair messy, some locks attached to his forehead and sides due to the sweat. And Abdirak loved him that way.

<< Do it, please... >>

For a moment, the priest of Loviatar was gone, only a man, terribly attracted to this creature, was looking back at him, in need of release, wanting to give up on the temptation.

And he smiled, hungrily.

He didn’t need to hear it twice, as he moved away the skirt of his robe, his cock popping out from the slit of it.

Of course he wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

<< My dear, you’ll be the death of me. >>

The man growled, moving his hips back as he guided his length to his entrance. With a swift, fluid movement, he could feel his cock stretching him. He winched in pain, still sore from the previous activity, but the sensation brought by his cock was divine as he moaned deeply.

The hand on his hips were gently yet rough, as he started to move, slowly raising the speed, being guided by those delicious noise once again, this time only because of him, of his cock. He was so warm around him, clenching oh so sweetly, sending him into an orbit of pleasure as the pace quickened. Orion moaned loudly each time the man pressed the head in the deepest part of him, bottoming him out. Despite everything, the pain was now almost gone, and pure pleasure cursed through his body, moving now with the man, his hips meeting his.

One of Abdirak’s hand reached up, taking a handful of hair into his fingers and pulling roughly, tilting his head back, earning another blissfully moan. He other hand squeezed his cheek, grabbing it until red was tinting the delicate skin, together with all the cuts. Orion could feel the skin of his hips slapping against is bare, sore back, his movement rough and desperate, rhythmic.

Pure bliss, pure pleasure, after the pain he inflicted on the man, and the one of himself, for having resisted for so long. He wanted him, desperately. Like a starving man in front of a feast.

He moved closer to his shoulder, biting and kissing the skin, moaning against it.

<< You’re mine, dear one. >>

Orion moaned in response, letting the man do everything he wanted, claiming him as his. Yes, he was his. His dear one.

Abdirak’s movement became erratic, irregular, feeling his own high coming. His hand left his hair, just to sneak in front and grab his chin, tilting the man’s head closer to his, breathing and moaning into his pointed ear, while the other circled his hips, holding him closer as much as he could, grabbing his cock again, pumping it quickly. Orion almost shouted, his hips still coming to meet his.

<< Dear one, dear one... >>

The priest chanted as he released himself inside the warlock, white hot shot filling him and coating his hot, stretched and bruised walls. Orion came soon after, screaming his name loudly, letting it echo in that chamber.

It was perfect. He was perfect.

Abdirak slowly stopped, resting his head on his shoulder once again as he tried to catch his breath.

He was now holding Orion, one arm around his shoulders and the other around his abdomen, his hot skin against his.

The young man was trembling, his legs threatening to give up in any moment. The hot semen now dripping down his deliciously abused hole.

The priest raised his head, looking at him for a moment, before helping him out with the shackles, opening one, then the other. The warlock almost fell on him, but he was quick to hold him, slowly getting to sit on the ground on his knees, bringing him down, close to his chest. His lips gently pressed a kiss on his forehead.

<< You’re simply amazing, dear one... >>

He whispered holding that dearly mess in his arms, blood and sweat covering his perfect skin, now scarred and marked by his own work.

His.

Orion moved his head to the side, resting peacefully and tired on his chest, as his eyes slowly closed, catching his breath.

He needed to go back, but he wouldn’t mind staying there, just for a little while.