#i remember watching this show back in the day!! not religiously but i watched it nonetheless

[carcarrot]

this time last year i was probably sitting in the kitchen while my dad started making an early dinner of chicken bolognese trying not to get too nervous about the concert i'd be going to in a few hours

[twinsoftheday]

today's twins of the day are:

kaio o. kincaid (K.O.) and turbo kaio kincaid (T.K.O) from OK K.O.! let's be heroes

[pearlcigs]

⋆ make a woman out of me

christian!virgin!reader x ellie williams

summary ⋆ you swore to yourself you only longed for ellie in a platonic way, but as you get older you seem to realize just how pretty she really is.

warnings ⋆ 2.95k ⋆ smut, i might get cancelled 🤷‍♀️, reader (non penetrative) virginity loss, religious themes, ellie is 19, reader is 18, pastor's daughter!reader, mentions of homophobia, alludes to reader's parents being homophobic, ellie smokes weed, pet names (pretty girl, babe, honey, baby, good girl), cursing, first kiss, corruption, corruption kink, oral (r recieving)

time moved slowly within the parameters of jackson. the same familiar faces, day in and day out. though, it was comforting living in such a community. the horrors of the world beyond the walls that stood tall was something you rarely wanted to think about. it made you sick to your stomach to think of your friends, loved ones, even people you weren't particularly close with, outside of the safe walls, being face to face with whatever monsters marred the unhabitual world.

your parents were strict with religion, your father being the only self acclaimed paster that jackson has ever had to offer. there was never a time you could remember, even before finding refuge in the cozy town, where your parents weren't devout. vivid memories of your mother's fingers gliding over the cross necklace she wore around her neck when you would get in trouble. disappointed sighs and signs of the cross, begging the lord above for forgiveness, explaining to the sky you were too young to know what you've done was a sin.

the bible was followed closely in your home, and you obliged without caution. you prayed, attended your father's mass sessions in the tiny chapel just down the road where he preached the bible, wore the holy cross around your neck to show your devotion, you've read the old torn and withered bible you were so lucky to find front to back. religion was all you've ever known and you had found no reason to ever question the man who hung on your wooden walls, hanging from a cross with his hands and feed nailed to it like an animal. that was, until ellie.

"come on, don't you wanna jus' see what it feels like?" ellie teased, waving the joint in front of your face like a taunt. "no thank you." you replied, sitting at the foot of her bed, legs crossed, eyes wandering around her room. when ellie first came to jackson you were infatuated with her, dwindling it down to pure want but only of friendship. "good girl, that's what you say when someone offers you this shit." ellie moves the weed away from your face, inhaling it and then turning away to exhale the smoke away from you.

it started with just friendly smiles, offering to show her around and help her get to know everyone. she was wary of you. honestly, afraid of your friendly demeanor. people on the outside of the jackson walls were cruel and vicious, she thought, with no doubt in her mind, you were being friendly to lure her into some kind of trap. she danced around you with caution, keeping her distance but also decidingly giving you a chance. she quickly became fond of you, your personality, your looks. everything about you appealed to ellie and something about that made you proud, even more eager to befriend her.

the words 'good girl' ring from her mouth and you're not sure how to respond. was there even a proper response to your best friend calling you that? a simple nod was all you could come up with. watching her lips intently as she blew the smoke out of her lungs. your fingers came up to your neck, fiddling with the cross necklace around your neck, a habit passed down from your mother. ellie never paid much attention to your shy outlook on life. you were reserved and a part of her liked that she had so much of you to herself.

it wasn't until you were 17 that you finally came to terms with the fact that your infatuation was more than just a yearning to be her friend. tears of guilt streaming down your face in the confessional at the shoddy chapel, divider between you and the young volunteer who was ready to beg jesus to abolish your sins. "i'm a girl... and i like another girl." you sniffled, lowering the pitch of your voice instinctively so he wouldn't see past your anonymity. ache in your heart when silence was returned, until soft mutterings of a prayer, asking jesus to forgive your tainted heart.

ellie extended her arms behind her head, a small stretch that gave you big feelings. her shirt rode up, exposing the small of her stomach. you swallowed harshly, wondering why god would tempt you with something like this. a soft sigh emits from ellie's lips, flicking the almost finished joint into a nearby makeshift ashtray. another soft sigh falling from her perfect lips. intent eyes trying to be secretive of the no less then unholy thoughts that you were being tempted with.

ellie was put off at first by your fervent religion. her experiences were tainted, never having a good visual of what a healthy relationship with god looked like. she was unsure if you were going to try and convert her into some pious worshipper. you weren't secretive of your religion and that much was enough to make ellie suspicious. with time she realized you were different from the other religious people she's met. only bringing up your religion or anything to do with it when you were directly asked or if it was really important to speak about.

"whatchu lookin' at, pretty girl?" she chuckled as she noticed the way your eyes locked onto her, like if you looked away she'd be gone. it wasn't unusual for ellie to be flirty or to make casual remarks about how pretty you were. still, every time she did your cheeks were adorned in a rosy color. "just you, i guess. i dunno..." you answered back quickly, hoping that answer was enough to satisfy her eager curiosity. "yeah? just me? got something you wanna say to me?" she was just joking around, trying to get you riled up and flustered but you did have things you wanted to say to her.

"no." you answered, though you were sure she wasn't expecting an actual response. "no? yikes, babe, i'm hurt, thought we had somethin' real here." she smiled and you felt the butterflies in your stomach become tongue tied. one thing you loved about ellie above all things was her smile, how the skin around her eyes scrunched up just the tiniest bit, the apples of her cheeks becoming more prominent. everything about her smile made your head spin.

"els, i like you." the words slip out of your mouth before you could even process what was going on. her smile that coerced you to confess to her in the first place falters. "i'm sorry?" she questions, unsure if you meant what she thought you did. you had never said anything that led ellie to believe you were homophobic or that you thought all gay people were sinners like most of the older people who were religious in jackson did. but still she was careful to keep her sexuality from you, strongly assured you would take after your parents' stance on homosexuality.

"i... i don't know why i said that." you say, truthfully. mouth slightly agape and eyes widened with shock that you'd just outed yourself after years of trying to force down your feelings. there was a silence between the two of you. silence wasn't uncommon around each other, sometimes the both of you preferring to spend your time together quietly as a way to unwind after a treacherous day. but this silence was different than those times. ellies breath was caught in her throat, words jumbled on her tongue.

she only began reacting when she saw the panic on your face, followed by your eyes becoming glassy. "hey, hey. don't cry. it's okay." she comforted, sitting up and placing a hand on your knee. she wasn't good at comforting people, you were well aware of that. "i didn't mean to.." you admitted, voice timid and quiet, still uncertain to how she would react. "hey, it's okay, honey." the term of endearment sliding off her tongue like she was meant to call you that for the rest of your lives.

"i'm not mad." ellie affirms, her tone soft, knowing how afraid of other people's anger you are. another flash of silence emerges, just you and ellie staring at each other. neither of you knowing what to say. she pitied you, seeing how much you resented yourself. your bottom lip slotted between your teeth, biting hard enough to potentially draw blood. "don't do that..." she mutters, gently running her thumb over your partially chapped lips, pulling your bottom lip out of your teeth's grasp.

your breath hitches, a small shudder traveling up your spine. your eyes locked on hers, your heart beating loud enough for the whole world to hear. ellie's eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to your eyes. "i've liked you for a while." you admit, knowing there was no going back at this point. "oh, yeah?" her voice was low, some would even describe as seductive. her thumb still lingering on your bottom lip. "yeah." you whisper back, your eyes now flickering down to her lips.

ellie's hand moves to your jaw. her eyes flicking down to your lips one last time before she leans down and presses her lips against yours. her lips are soft, just like you had imagined. she seems skilled, like she knew what she was doing and what the end goal was. a small smile forming on her face as she realizes you have no idea what you're doing. “like this.” she mumbles against your lips acutely aware how clueless you were when it came to romance.

you follow her lead, doing your best to follow her lead. her free hand finding your waist, squeezing gently. you pull away, panting faintly. "i don't know.." you mumble, trailing off as ellie puts her lips back to yours. the hand that was on your jaw roaming to the back of your head, fingers getting tangled in your hair. "i know." ellie responds moments later, her lips brushing against your with each syllable. you couldn't comprehend what was happening, your mind going blank with ellie's lips on yours. she adored the way you looked at her. looking at her like you needed her.

she gently lays you back, grabbing the first pillow she could find and settling it under your head so you were comfortable. her thighs either side of your body, her body weight on top of you, giving you a cozy feeling you'd never experienced before. "you don't even know how long i've been wantin' to kiss your pretty lips..." she whispers, her bangs hanging in front of her face. you bring your hand up to her face, nervously tucking the hair behind her ear. "god, you're so fuckin'..." she stops, just taking a second to admire how alluring you looked under her.

her lips dip down to your neck, slowly biting and sucking on the skin. your breath hitches, a small whine pushing past your swollen lips. ellie groans against the skin of your neck. "make more of those pretty noises f'r me." she mumbles, hips rolling over yours, another whine spilling from you at the pleasurable feeling. ellie's kisses move away from your neck, down your body. trailing down your collarbone to your clothed chest to your stomach. her lips stop, hovering right above your pussy.

your heart was beating out of your chest, you back arching a little in anticipation. "how bad do you wan' it? tell me, baby. tell me how much you wan' me." she was totally and utterly obsessed with you, her mind becoming drunk by the thought of you— the mere sight of you. "p-please, els..." you mumbled, voice timid from embarrassment. it was partially expected though, you'd never done anything like this. "i want you..." it was simple but effective, making ellie go feral for you. "fuck—"

she lowers her lips to your pussy, kissing over the fabric of your shorts. watching her through hooded eyes, your pussy throbbing from her touch. "gonna eat this pussy s'good. show you what you've been missin' out on." she groans, the fabric of your shorts dampening as she trails her tongue over the sensitive area. ellie surprised herself, shocked that she was able to dirty talk to you so easily like this. your hips were writhing against the bed, more eager than you've ever been in your entire life. you felt dirty for wanting this, knowing that god was watching you become a total slut for ellie.

ellie's fingers hooked on your shorts, pulling them down slow as slow could be, chuckling as you whined. "ellie. ellie, please." you muttered, begging for her to hurry up. ellie's eyes rolled back, the sound of you begging getting her more aroused than she's ever been. no one's ever made her feel like this before. she was done with the teasing, if not for your sake but for hers. she pulled your shorts and underwear off swiftly, discarding them somewhere to find later.

her eyes locked on your bare pussy, fighting back a moan at the sight. "you've got me so fucked up, babe." she muttered, kissing around your thighs first. you were nervous, breath shallow and quick paced, hungry for ellie but embarrassed nevertheless. your voice was caught in your throat, blinking quickly as you watched ellie kiss all over your thighs. ellie looked up at you and you were able to see that she was just as nervous as you. "is this okay? you can tell me to stop." she sounded sincere, pushing aside her pure need to get your consent.

you nodded, not trusting your voice. "use your words like the good girl you are, yeah?" she's longing to just taste your glistening cunt. "yes— yes, els. 't's okay..." she doesn't waste another second after hearing your shaky voice, tongue urgently dipping between your wet folds. you moan at the contact, feeling like you were on cloud 9. ellie's tongue presses flat against your clit, your hand clamping over your mouth. moans being muffled as ellie savors the sweet noises your dripping cunt was making.

ellie wasn't fond of you muffling your perfect little sounds, wanting to hear just how good she could make you feel. "let me hear you. don't make me punish you.." you don't move your hand away from your sinful mouth. your free hand finds ellie's, interlocking your fingers which she gladly accepts. "c'mon, baby. let me hear you." she encourages once more, lips moving against you with ease, mixture of your wetness and her spit. but to her dismay, you still ignored her commands. her free hand sliding your shirt up your body to expose your breasts, you were never one to wear a bra. her hand kneading the supple flesh, thumb running over your nipple.

she licks a strip from your entrance to your clit, making your thighs shake with immense pleasure. "wanna be a brat?" she mumbles into your pussy, looking up at you through her eyelashes, staring you down as her tongue circles your clit. "what is it they make you do in confession? hail mary's? 5 of 'em, now. or i stop." she smirks, watching the look in your eye become more flustered by her request. you slowly move your hand away from your mouth, not wanting this pleasure to ever stop.

"h-hail mary, full of grace—" you cut yourself off with a moan, eyes squeezing shut as you lift your hips, pushing your cunt further into ellie's face. "get to ruin this pretty pussy." ellie groans. "keep goin'. don't stop." she aids you to continue, feeling your cunt flutter around her tongue. "the lord is with— is with thee..." you continue, stuttering through the words. "good girl, keep goin' f'r me. let me hear you." she continues to egg you on, talking into your pussy. her own moans mixing in with the sound of yours.

"blessed art thou— ellie, please..." you whine, squeezing her hand and throwing your head back into the pillow, back arching off the bed. "c'mon, pretty girl. blessed art thou..." you toes curl at her words and the feeling of her tongue teasing your entrance. "—amongst... amongst women..." you trail off, mind becoming to hazy to even remember the words to the prayer you've prayed everyday since you could talk. ellie smirked into your cunt, relishing in the feeling of being able to turn your mind into mush, being the only one able to turn your mind into mush.

your moans and whines became breathier and higher pitched with each flick of her tongue. your stomach twisting in an unfamiliar knot. "ah, ah, ellie—" your thighs trying to clench together and push her head away, the feeling becoming too much. "you're gonna cum, baby?" she spreads your legs wider, her only greedy want is to make pleasure wash over you. "ellie! ellie! ellie!" you chant her name, eyes rolling back as the pleasurable wave of your orgasm finally hits you, moans loud and unfiltered.

"there we go... yeah, nice an' easy. fuck." she mutters, tongue fucking you through your high until your writhing and pushing her off of you. her lips relocating to your thighs and slowly working their way up to your pelvic bone, soft kisses against your skin. "tasted so good, baby. best pussy i've ever had." she praises, eager to show you just how much you pleasured her even though you technically didn't make her cum. "els..." you whined, face flushed a rosy red. "yeah, baby. 'm right here." she leaves a trail of kisses up your body as she reaches your lips, leaving a soft peck to let you know she was here. "does this mean you like me too...?" you asked innocently. "are you serious?"

another christian!reader x ellie williams fic!

[sayuri-of-the-valley]

On how Crowley and Aziraphale felt during the kiss (but mainly Crowley here):

Ok so first, the main idea for this huge meta is that a LOT of us noticed how the music from the kiss scene is similar to the nebula one, right?

Second, a lot of us also correctly noticed the parallels between the kiss and how it was to taste food for the first time for Aziraphale: bc of his reactions, the hand on lips, the similar way MS acted both scenes, the little inhale etc. So how was it for Crowley?

Aziraphale's reaction to the kiss is practically a puzzle to solve on its own, so it's fun to analyse it, but basically, in a few words, Aziraphale kissed Crowley and he discovered he was physically starving for him, longing for him, yearning for him, for his kiss, and he had no idea. Just like with the ox. And now he needs to gorge himself in him but he can't. Great amazing heartbreaking chef's kiss someone give MS an Emmy.

But there's already so much amazing meta out there about Aziraphale x Ox ribs x The Kiss that I want to focus on Crowley here, and on the music.

So back to the music. The song in "Before the Beginning" and the song that plays during The Kiss (I Forgive You + Don't Bother) are so similar. They're not *exactly* the same, but they're totally reminiscent of each other. The viewer is immediately reminded of those chords that played in the opening scene. It's no coincidence that the fandom was talking about this fact only minutes after first watching those final fifteen minutes. This is an obvious intentional choice for storytelling reasons (David Arnold is a genius).

I have no expertise whatsoever when it comes to music, so I asked our friend @otsanda to see if that made sense and not only it does and she explained it, but she also uncovered so much more hidden meaning in all of it (musicians are amazing), so check out her meta about the music that not only serves as evidence to what I'm proposing here but it also has so much more juicy information in it 💖.

Back to the point: WHY thought? Why choose a similar song? Why intentionally COMPOSE a similar song for that moment?

Hear me out. WHAT IF, by reminding the audience of the creation of the nebula, they meant to convey to us that, for Crowley, kissing Aziraphale gave him the same feeling that creating his stars did?

THAT'S what the music is telling us. THAT'S why it makes us remember "Before the Beginning". It may sound cheesy, but Crowley may have literally seen stars when he kissed Aziraphale. He couldn't react accordingly (just like Aziraphale couldn't), bc it was an overwhelming and extremely sad moment (the music is also telling us that) for both of them. They knew it was ending . They were both having a moment of huge revelation that was fated to not come to completion. Crowley was right, it was too late.

It makes sense to show Crowley's feelings through the music, bc he was the one who started the kiss, and also he was wearing sunglasses in that scene, it's different from a character like Aziraphale that has all his million expressions for everyone to see at all times. And they've been doing this ever since s1 with the Queen songs that play in his car or in the background.

So my point is: the same song being used there makes me wonder if kissing Aziraphale finally gave him what he lost. His purpose. What Aziraphale was trying to give back to him by taking him back to heaven. There's no need for Heaven. Just kiss him, Aziraphale, and there he'll find the stars you want to give back to him. There you will one day see that smile on his face you saw Before The Beginning. Neil Gaiman and David Arnold I am in your walls 😭

This is what may lead us to see this happiness in Crowley again (not the action of kissing itself, of course, but what it represents to their relationship, them being together, them being an Us).

As @otsanda said: from the music we can interpret that that moment was a Revelation for them. Almost a religious experience. Crowley found his purpose again. What he'd been missing the whole season (or even his whole life since the Fall, but we've seen him especially depressed this season).

I'm not even getting into the poetry of how one can interpret the parallel to the angel's reaction to the kiss as carnal, and the demon's as religious; that would be another whole essay but let's just agree that it's incredibly beautiful. (Let me be clear that I mean here Aziraphale's reaction is carnal specifically for Crowley, and Crowley's is religious specifically for Aziraphale, not religious as in "worshipping god")

"Do you ever wonder what's the point?" Crowley asked in s2e1. The point, for him, is Aziraphale (if you've seen The Good Place you know what I mean). I hope he figured this out with that kiss, even as heartbreaking as it was. Even if it was a (temporary) separation kiss. (I hope Aziraphale figures this out with time too, that he's more than enough to make Crowley happy, that Crowley doesn't need Heaven, or stars, that Crowley needs him.)

Maybe that's why Crowley didn't leave and kept waiting outside until the very last moment.

Aziraphale and Crowley both bit the apple at the end of s2. There's no turning back from that Knowledge now.

Edit: I just have to add here this brilliant colour analysis of the nebula scene by @halemerry. And it's pointed out that during the nebula formation there's a moment when it looks like two people embracing. And the fact that a similar song is used in the actual Kiss scene I just... I have no words

[murdrdocs]

thinking about tashi and art from challengers. thinking about being another tennis player at stanford who actually shows promise. you go to the courts religiously every morning and every other afternoon to perfect your groundstrokes and your volleys. other students barely play against you anymore, and it’s tough to find a partner for any sort of match. that is, until you catch tashi’s eye. well, according to tashi— art claims he saw you first. she says it doesn’t matter anyway, because she’s the one who approached you when art didn’t have the balls to do so.

tashi starts playing you more often and—granted— you don’t stand a chance against her either way. but you love the challenge. it starts becoming a common reoccurrence, until it reaches the point when you don’t even consider asking anyone else to play you. you simply sit by one of the benches, toying with your racket until tashi arrives. you’re not sure when it became routine, waiting around for tashi, nor when art began watching your matches against her from the bleachers. his presence was easily discardable during the matches… at first. but then you slowly grew aware of the other set of eyes watching you during practice.

you thought he was tashi’s boyfriend. you thought he was her boyfriend— until your shared afternoon in the locker rooms with tashi. you could barely stand up when you left, cheeks flushed and tennis skirt crooked. little did you know, tashi told art every single dirty thing about you in detail. the way you moaned, the way you bucked, the way your back arched and you begged her for more.

needless to say, they both made it their mission to see you like that again.

- 🍒

threesomes; oral (f receiving); MDNI 18+. 1.1k+ w/ ART DAVIDSON & TASHI DUNCAN

art finds you in the dining hall a few days later.

you're by yourself, sitting under tashi's poster and flipping through a mass market book the size of art's hand. he doesn't hesitate to approach you, a friendly smile on his face as he asks you if the seat in front of you is taken.

you shake your head, dog-earing your book at the same time as you slouch in your seat and kick the chair out for art. easily, he sits, places his tray on the table, and slides the peach your way. 

you don't have a tray in front of you. art doesn't know if you just finished eating, or if you were planning to eat at all, but he knows you like peaches. you take the peach, peel the sticker off, and take a bite.

you open your mouth as if you're going to speak, but art beats you to it.

"you and tashi are getting pretty close." he doesn't mean anything malicious by it. at least, he doesn't think he means anything malicious. he's still smirking, maybe less friendly and a little more teasing by now, and he's tapping the edge of the plastic tray with the blunt nail on his pointer finger.

you lift your eyebrows and chew slowly before you bother responding.

"yeah. we're friends."

art knows that's not necessarily true. he nods, dropping his head briefly.

when he speaks, it's to his salad. "right."

"what's that supposed to mean, art?"

art shrugs, sticking his bottom lip out a bit. he looks behind you at the picture of tashi in her element. he remembers that match. one of the early ones in the season where everyone had been excited to see tashi duncan play in her newly acquired red gear. art had arrived early that day and caught the tail end of your match on the court next to where tashi was going to play. he remembers the immediate infatuation he had with you. how graceful you looked on the court, yet you were able to put just enough power into your shots.

his eyes find yours again. you look like you're ready to accuse him of something, and likely be right. he's not being the most subtle person ever, but that wasn't his aim. he wanted what tashi has and this time he wants to do something about it.

"nothing. i just think you two are a little close for friends."

you sit and watch art. you take another bite of the peach and juice drips onto your lips and under your chin. you lick it clean without a second thought.

"right."

art leans forward, pushing his tray out to the side. "she told me about that day, you know."

you scoff and mirror art's position.

his eyes flicker to your lips when he says, "come on, you had to have known she would've told me. we're friends, remember? all of us."

"are we friends in the way that you and tashi are friends, or in the way that tashi and i are friends?"

you take another bite from your peach and once again, juice drips down. art doesn't hesitate in the way he reaches out, swipes his thumb under your lip to catch the liquid, and then sticks his thumb into his mouth to clean it up. he was likely smooth with it, but his heart pumps so hard that he can feel it in his throat. he swallows before he speaks.

"is there a difference?" he phrases it like a question, but you both know it isn't. you both know the answer.

it's a good thing that you, tashi, and art are such good friends who can do things like this together. sitting on art's bed, combatting your mutual boredom with something much more interesting. art sitting beside you, his back pressed against the wall and his legs spread to accommodate your body. he has a hand on your back, sometimes trailing down to your ass which has your feet folded beneath it. you face tashi who sits just on the outside of art's left leg, her position mirroring yours.

her hands cup your face at first, but once you tug her closer by her fitted jacket, she trails her hands down to lift the hem of your sweatshirt just enough to press her hands into your abdomen. she starts to lift the fabric completely, but it's then that art takes over. you feel his hand sliding up your back and your sweatshirt going with it until he gets to where your bra should be.

except, there's nothing there.

you can hear art's breath hitch as he slides his hand around to your front and swipes his thumb over your nipple. you make a startled noise, and tashi drinks it right up. she digs her fingers into the waistband of your shorts and pulls you closer, as close as you can get with art's leg between you both.

sensing the boundary created, art switches his position. he slides up behind you, giving you and tashi free reign to press your bodies together. meanwhile, he gathers your sweatshirt in both hands and lifts it, gently urging you to separate from tashi for long enough for him to throw the fabric off of your body and onto his floor completely.

tashi is quick to attach her hands to your tits and art is quick to pepper kisses along your shoulders and back.

the rhythm is so easy, completely void of any hesitation, except that which exists for consent.

it's a rhythm that only such good friends could have created and mastered. 

here, like this, hidden under the pretense of the three of you being such good friends, do they finally get to see you how they wanted. tashi gets to see you again, and art gets to put her words to visuals. and tashi was so right. her words had seemed almost unnecessarily vivid at the time, even though art greatly appreciated it. but how could she not describe this sight vividly?

the way your chest reached towards the ceiling as tashi used her mouth on you, your pert nipples sitting prettily at the peaks of your breasts. the veins in your arms poking through your skin briefly as you placed your hand in tashi’s hair, which art is sure she left loose for this exact occasion. your sounds, god art doesn’t think he’ll ever forget them. the prettiest whines almost mewls slipping past your parted lips and greeting the air. only when art didn’t have his mouth attached to yours that is. 

it’s like he couldn’t keep himself away. he had to touch you however he could. but he wasn’t good at this, he didn’t know where he should fit into he equation with tashi occupying the spot he usually aimed for. so he explored. he pressed his lips anywhere they could reach, and he found a favored spot along your tits. he couldn’t help but suck marks along them, even though he didn’t exactly know how you would feel about it. 

but when he looks back on his work peeking out through your tank top hours later, he’s glad he left them there.

[inklore]

crucified

premise: when his fingers slip between your open thighs you know there’s no other god you’d give yourself over to. no other god who can feed you, starve you, with such a loving hand.

pairing: lestat de lioncourt x human!reader

word count: 852

contents: blood and blood drinking, cult au, scars, inflicted wounds and cuts mentioned, foreplay, ownership kink, religious undertones.

note: if there's a sign up sheet i'm at the top of it hehe.

haunted hoedown day seven.

The cuts no longer hurt. 

No longer give your flesh that rippling sting through your nervous system for longer than seconds before the euphoria hits. 

Before the reminder of why you’re cutting yourself open with a blade to begin with. Why your fingers and wrists stain with the smell of copper for days after because you’ve bled so much for him. 

Always for him. 

The scars on your flesh only grow the longer you stay here. Stay with him. Worship him the way a man like him thinks he should be worshiped. 

Except he’s not a man.

Inhuman. 

Monster. 

God. 

The titles mean less to you than the beauty of the magic that is him. 

Lestat. 

You have a backstory. Something sad and traumatic that explains how you got to be here. How you’re on your knees in front of him, blood spilling down your arm—a new scar for him to lick clean. To heal with his tongue as he drinks from the bounty you’ve presented for him. 

A symbol of your devotion.

A symbol of your love. 

But you can’t remember anything but Lestat. Can’t think of a thought that doesn’t have him wrapped up in it. That isn’t a chant screaming out his name or making your insides swell until you have no choice but to relieve the burning. 

Sometimes with your own hand.

Sometimes, when you’ve proven yourself, he'll help you. 

Rid you of an ache that he’s caused. Take pity and use your body for selfish needs that stick with someone even after they’re no longer human. 

“It’s what you were made for.” He’ll whisper in your ear as his hips roll slowly between your thighs. 

And you’ll eat it up. Cling to him like something small and fragile who doesn’t want to be weened off the poison that gives them their only comfort. 

It’s why you showed up here tonight. Why you’re in his room, at his alter, knees digging into the hard floor, blood dripping, hooded eyes looking up at his smiling face. 

His legs spread, back against the velvet covering of the chair he’s in. 

A throne for a god. 

A monster. 

There’s a plead on your dry lips, falling down to his feet, licking his ego. It makes his hips shift, makes something in his eyes turn from hunger to starvation—something worse than thirst, than want, than need.

He loves his pets, but he loves them even more when they're bleeding for him. 

When they need him.

Elation makes a weak smile pull up the corners of your mouth as you watch him move to his knees in front of you. Joining you on the floor, showing you that yes, he’s going to give you what you want, what you need, even if that means stooping down to your level of frailty, to show his mercy. To show the kindness of a good god. A god who loves his people just as long as they’re offering up their lives in his hands.

Their blood on a perfectly scarred wrist that he’s wrapping his lips around and sucking from. 

Gasps and whimpers, head pointed towards the sky, eyes fluttering, insides burning, as he feeds from you. As he takes your offering, your gift, what he’s owed, what you’ll always give him—what you’re made for. 

His lips parting from your flesh to run the tip of his tongue over the cut, wet mouth pressing against the rough skin of past cuts he’s had his mouth against—tongue inside, fingers scooping up your devotion and pressing to your lips so you can taste the sweetness for yourself. 

“Do you like it when I bleed for you?” Your vision no longer blurry as you murmur the words. As his mouth hangs open centimeters away from yours, blood drips from his bottom lip and onto your white nightgown. 

His hand coming to hold the side of your neck, nails skating across your sensitive skin, making your jaw twitch on a silent moan. “Yes, ma petite.” He whispers before pressing his mouth against yours.

Yes, little one.

Yes, darling.

Yes, meal.

“When you taste this sweet, how could I not?” His tongue licks into your mouth, coats your tastebuds in the coppery flavor of your own devotion. Of your own demise. “Swallow it. Swallow and see why I keep you around.” His palm presses against your throat, waiting, wanting, daring you to swallow against it. 

Waiting to feel your throat bob as you do what he says and take back what you’ve offered him. Replenishing your senses with the blood that already beats within your veins to keep you alive—that you’ve relinquished to the monster who only keeps you alive when you’re spilling yourself of that life.

But when his fingers slip between your open thighs—the skillful press and pull of them—you know there’s no other god you’d give yourself over to. No other god who can feed you, starve you, with such a loving hand as Lestat can. 

When you come on his fingers, you know that this is truly what you were made for. 

You were made for him.

[orshii]

Guilty Pleasure

✟ Author: orshii

✟ Pairing: Choi San x female reader

✟ Word count: 4,6 k

✟ Warnings: cursing, suggestive

✟ Summary: You go back to your hometown for the summer vacation, not expecting the small town's priest to be a total eye candy. But he seems to be hiding dark secrets underneath his holy façade.

Will you find out the truth?

✟ A/N: *coughs in embarrassment* Uh so...I think I really went insane if I wrote this, there's no way back anymore haha. I really do feel guilty, but then I'm not, cause you'll see. *wink* To be honest I don't know what is this, I just got inspired in the church bruh-- I can't with myself, I'mma just go dig myself haha let's go. Anyways, enjoy I guess. Actually part 2 is out

My day started off boring, as usual. It was a holiday, so I went back home to the town I grew up in to visit my parents and relatives. I really needed a little break from work and from the adult life, which came out of the blue. I didn't really have time to ponder in my life choices as I finished University. I moved away to a big city to start working as an English teacher. It was very new for me, and very tiring, so, I deserved a little break as the summer vacation finally came and I could come home to rest a little before returning to my chaotic, big city life.

We were sitting in church with my parents and my brother, Wooyoung, as it was Sunday. My parents were mostly religious, and so, I had no other choice but to tag along with them. I can’t say I'm not religious myself, it’s just that I tend to give in a lot of times to the vicious temptations, to the guilty pleasure that consumes me like venom. My brain gets consumed by vices, and it takes a lot of time to find the cure to treat myself with. I learned to believe in myself, instead of God, after I had too many disappointments in life. I prayed for help, but it never came my way. So, I have decided that I'm better off on my own, believing in my own strength and whatever hardships life throws at me I will be able to overcome on my own, instead of believing in a God and waiting for guidance and to be saved.

People started filling inside the church as silence settled upon the hall, the priest coming out to stand in front of the altar. It was the moment I suddenly forgot how to breathe. My mouth fell open as slowly I leaned towards Wooyoung.

"Okay, since when did our old and dusty priest become a young and handsome one?" I whispered to my brother, surprised. The last thing I could remember, as I came here ages ago, was our priest looking like a cute grandpa. This priest on the other hand, was the complete opposite of the lovely old man.

He was tall with his body hidden underneath his black long vestment, but even that couldn't hide his broad shoulders, which could be compared to mountains. Wait a minute…since when were priests buff?

Am I in another universe, suddenly? What am I seeing? Why is he so handsome with his black framed glass?

His black hair was whipped back carefully, little strands falling to his forehead. And his face?! Oh my God, literally, I have never seen more beautiful features likes his before. His jawline was as sharp as a knife, his cat-like eyes watching the people whom came here to hear his wise words, that came from his pretty, almost cherry red, lips. I was very enraptured by this man and I felt very guilty for checking him out for thousands of reasons; one, I was sitting in church and these thoughts were very inappropriate; second…he was a freaking priest, which implied that he was the most innocent human being on earth, he can't even look at girls, let alone do even as much as touch them. My eyes fell on his hands, which were holding the Bible, his palm spreading out underneath it with the veins on his hands showing. I couldn’t control my thoughts as I imagined his long fingers tracing down my neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Wooyoung chuckled quietly, "He’s a newbie. Just got here a month ago, but everyone is all over him already." My brother's voice brought me back to reality as I shook my head to clear my mind of the embarrassing thoughts.

"My dearest brothers and sisters…" The priest started speaking, his low voice sending shivers through my body. The white rosary around his neck was on full display.

From then on, all I could see were his beautiful face and lips, which moved with each smoothly spoken word. I couldn't take my eyes off him; he was like a magnet and I was the iron being attracted to it. It was silent around me; all I could hear was my own quick heartbeat. Just until he started preaching. Suddenly, his soft voice reached my ears and everything just made sense.

"God is here to help you, even in times when you turn your back on him. He watches you still; he protects you still. But he can't protect you from everything. Bad things need to happen in your life so you learn from them, squeezing every lesson out of it so that you can stand up again with your head held high. People make mistakes, and that is what makes us human. Just imagine if God protected you from all bad things, not letting you make any mistake. You’d think that your life was perfect…" He paused so the people would consume what he’s said as he looked around, watching the people in front of him, who were looking up at him like he was God himself. As he was looking around, his eyes suddenly locked onto mine and watched me sharply. I couldn't breathe, "…but the reality is, no one can be perfect, because nothing is perfect. If everything were, life would be boring…we learn from the mistakes we make, because sometimes there's no one behind our back, just ourselves, to keep us going. This is the purpose of God. He gives you lectures in these alone times, so that you can learn how to be your own best friend, so you can love yourself before you love someone else. This is the reason we shall never turn our back to God, he gives us hope and brings us the light. Amen." His eyes were on mine all the while he spoke, and I was stunned. My heart raced like hell; those words felt like they were aimed right at my heart. It reminded me of my old self, who never loved herself, not even for a short period.

I was still mulling over the priest’s speech in my mind as we stood outside the church, when suddenly I saw him standing in front of my family, still holding the Holy Bible. He was smiling at my mother as if they knew each for ages, his dimples showing on both of his cheeks, his eyes turning into crescents. I seriously needed to get my shit together.

"Is she your daughter, who moved away, Mrs. Jung?" He looked at me curiously.

"Yes, she is. Come here." My mother motioned for me to get closer as if I was still twelve years old.

The priest came closer to shake my hand, "I don’t think we’ve met before; my name is Choi San. I'm the new priest." He said with a soft tone as his face beamed with nothing but kindness.

I shook his hand, "Nice to meet you, I'm Jung Y/N." I slightly smiled at him, feeling a little embarrassed due to the thoughts that went through my mind during his service.

We were staring at each other; his hands still haven’t released mine as if the both of us were stunned into sculptures. My mother's voice pulled us back to reality, and San nervously coughed into his palm. What was that?

"My daughter teaches English to little kids in the nearby big town, she just graduated a year ago." My mother said proudly, her palm patting my back with a smile.

"Oh, that is a very great job. It needs a lot of patience, I assume." He seemed genuinely interested.

"Ah, yes, it's a miracle when the kids sit in one place. It's demanding and tiring, but I like it." I smiled at him, trying to seem mature.

"Hang in there, you’ve got this. I can imagine you as a teacher, it fits you well, and I'm sure you are good at it." I didn’t know if I was simply imagining it, but his smile dissapeared for a second as he was glared at me with sharp eyes. I swear to God, he looked like an animal full of desire. And for priests, desire was the last thing they were allowed to feel.

Days later I found myself sitting in a pub, next to San. I can't believe I'm saying this, but the night lead us somehow here, sitting at the bar and talking about anything and everything.  

The night started off with me going out with my childhood friends to drink something, because we have missed seeing each other. We went to a pub called Silver. The bar could be linked back to our childhood as a playground lay in its place instead back then, when we were mere kids. How fun life was, a place where we used to play as kids now was a place where we got drunk until we blacked out. At least my friends managed to do that, I was still hanging on. My friends had drunkenly rested their heads on the table where we initially sat at.

So, I had texted their husbands to ‘come collect their women’. They had come after them as all of my childhood friends had someone, except me. One of my friend’s told me that they were going to take me home. The night was wild, I could barely see, but somehow as I was looking around the bar, my jaw fell open as I saw someone. That someone being Choi San, the priest himself. He was sitting on a barstool, his back facing me. He was wearing a black turtleneck, broad shoulders on full display, which curved into a tiny waist. I was shocked over the fact that he was hiding a body like that under the black vestments. So, I told my friend that I would be staying for a little longer.

I had stumbled next to him as he sat by the bar, "Since when do priests drink alone in a pub?" I asked frowning, the words coming out of my mouth a bit slow. Giving him a closer look, the black turtleneck was tight against his thick neck, a silver necklace with a big cross reached between the middle of his pectorals, which were big. The black turtleneck he wore was tucked inside his elegant black pants. He looked like a God, but not a good one.

He looked at me a little surprised, his lips curving into a smile when he saw it was me,

"Is it set in stone that priests can't drink alone in a pub now?" One glass of whiskey was casually sitting between his fingers.

I frowned at that, feeling a little dizzy, "I mean…I guess not?"

He chuckled watching my face as I pouted at the realization, "You are cute." His smile never dissapeared.

I frowned again, analyzing his face, "Can priests say such things as well?" It was just weird; I spoke without thinking first.

San started to laugh at that loudly, his laugh was so soft it melted my heart. As he laughed, he raised his open palm up to his mouth, a golden ring decorating his index finger, his eyes formed into crescents as he looked like a cute cat, "So, do you think priests can't say anything at all? That they can't even look at cute girls like yourself?" He stopped laughing and leaned a little closer to my face, his voice low with bass.

My cheeks heat up from his closeness. What was he doing again? The man sitting in front of me was the world's biggest question mark, he acted very suspiciously. I leaned backwards, away from him as he looked at me with his sharp eyes, eyeing me up and down.

"Are you really a priest?" I folded my arms over my chest, looking at him suspiciously.

"Of course, I am." He smiled at me again with that adorable smile, which wasn't on his face mere seconds ago.

"You don’t act like it." I said leaning towards the counter to ask for some water from the barista.

"You didn't like my service on Sunday?" He asked, analyzing my face.

"I did, you said some wise words, I must admit." I said as I opened the water bottle to drink. As I drank, I felt his gaze fell on my neck, watching me as I gulped the water down. Chills ran through my body.

"C'mon, I'll take you home." He said, standing up.

"You were sipping whiskey minutes ago, are you crazy?" I said while looking up at him, as he stood next to me.

"Priests can drive while drinking, so come on, you are a bit drunk. I have to take care of the locals, as a priest." He said with a smile, his voice soft as a light breeze while he offered his hand for me to take.

I just looked at it, and after a few seconds of pondering, took it. He grabbed my hand firmly, and lead me out of the pub.

The summer night was a little cold, as clouds hid the stars above us, and the breeze sent shivers down my body.

"Are you cold?" San stopped, putting his hand on my back to caress it.

Okay, this was starting to get very weird. I just wanted to go home.

"I'm okay, just want to go home." I replied, trying to distance myself from him.

He silently led the way towards his car, which was an old black Dodge with some silver framing on the windows. Okay, he was a rich priest then, I guess.

The way towards my home was silent and a little uncomfortable. I just wanted to get away from this weird situation, away from him, because the longer I was with him, the stronger I wanted to give into the biggest sin trap. That being the realization that I started feeling attracted to a fucking priest.

When he stopped the car, I was ready to get out, but when I reached for the handle, it did not open. I looked at San frowning.

"Oh, sorry, it needs more pressure to open, this thing is as old as my grandpa." He slowly leaned towards me, reaching his hand out towards the handle. His face was close to my own, there wasn't even an inch between us. He cracked the door open, but his face remained close, and I was so stunned I couldn't move my limbs to get away from him. My heart was racing, I was terrified he might hear it. Then all I could see was him leaning closer, towards my cheeks, and he pecked it softly, like a feather.

"Good night, darling." He whispered into my ear. I could feel his hot breath against my cheek, which melted into my skin, not even letting my body process it. He leaned back in his seat and pretended like nothing had happened. I swear to God, I believed I imagined the whole scene.

When I came to my senses, I quickly scrambled out of the car and speed-walked towards my house, leaving him there without a word.

I might be going insane, but I just couldn't process what happened. This man was a whole mystery, there was no way a priest would act like this, at least not a real one.

My suspicions started getting valid as on some days, when I was walking home from the summer school I was teaching at, I accidentally saw our precious priest in casual clothes, which was opposite of what a priest would wear. For example, I saw him one time in ripped jeans and leather jacket, was it what priests wore these days? He was always with some guys as they seemed to be doing some business. The first time I saw him, I wasn't sure if it was really San, but when I spotted him the second time as well, I was sure it was him. And I couldn't believe he fooled a whole fucking town with his sweet and innocent act of a priest, one everyone adored. But the truth was that he was a fucking menace, lying left and right, pretending to be someone he wasn’t. I didn't know what was going on, but I wanted to find out. There was no way I was going to let him continue fool the whole town. I wanted to get some evidence so that he would be kicked out and punished, so that he wouldn’t get any more innocent people into trouble.

So, I started following him around. I saw him on days when he completed his priest duties, visiting families, going to church, holding services. He did his job well, his acting was very convincing, everyone believed it. But during the night? He disguised himself very well, so that I wouldn’t really understand what was happening, but I knew he was meeting with some sort of gang on some nights, giving money over to them for something in exchange.

One evening, as I was following San through an alley, he had reached the end of it. He had just turned left, so I followed after him. But when I turned left as well, I couldn’t see him. I looked around, frowning as I wondered where he could have gone so fast, when suddenly, all I could feel was being pushed against the cold brick wall, fingers crawling around my neck, holding me still. I opened my eyes, which I had closed from the sudden impact. I came face to face with San's furious expression as he looked down at me. His hair fell into his eyes and they looked deadly, sharp.

"Had a good time following me, darling?" His voice was low, like a furious thunder. When he tilted his head, he looked like a psycho. His leather jacket had tightened around his biceps as he squeezed my throat. The same cross was still around his neck, just like at the pub.

"Who the fuck are you?!" I looked up at him, words hardly coming out of my mouth as his hand was still around my throat.

"Stop sticking your nose into everything, and just go home!" He raised his voice a little and loosened his hand just barely around my neck.

I took that as an opportunity, and grabbed his hand, just to tear it off my neck, "What the fuck San? Are you insane? Stop fucking fooling everyone, and get the fuck out of here!" I shouted at him; I was shacking from anger that boiled inside me.

"You have no idea what is going on, so please, just go home!" He started calming down a little as he looked behind his back from time to time. He was acting even more suspicious.

"Then tell me what this is. Cause I'm so fucking conf—" I was interrupted by an ear cracking breaking sound, followed by a loud engine.

"Fuck, they are here." San quickly grabbed my wrist and pulled me along, running out of the alley to his black Dodge, that was parked on the sidewalk, waiting for us patiently.

"What the fuck is happening?" I said as he opened the passenger seat's door, and pushed me down into the seat.

"Just sit in the car, Y/N, there's no time for questions. We have to get away from here." He closed the door with a loud thump and ran towards the other side of the car, just to sit behind the wheel and ignite the engine to life.

My heart thumped like crazy, I didn't understand what was happening. All I could see was San driving like a maniac, checking the side mirrors all the time as I saw a big black Jeep following after us madly. San geared up and pushed the gas pedal to the hilt, we were almost flying. The engine threatened to jump out of the bumper from the sudden speed. We were on the highway, a lot of cars around us, but San very quickly dodged all of them. We sped past them like lightning, just for San to suddenly swerve right and get us onto a lane leading away from the highway, then he swerved right again, then left. I lost the direction we were going in, all I could see was the black Jeep that chased us now having disappeared into the cold, and scary, night. San hadn’t stopped yet, he was driving us far away from our little town. I was terrified to speak up, I just knew this was going to be the end of me. All because I'm stupid and I can't sit on my ass and mind my own business. All because I just had to follow a fucking priest, who wasn't even a priest.

After having driven for half an hour in deafening silence, we finally stopped in front of a big mansion. I looked up at it through the windshield. So, this was going to be the location of my murder? I guess it would be fine, right? At least it's a nicer place to be killed at.

I couldn't look into San's eyes, but I felt him staring at me. My body was still a little shaky from the sudden adrenaline, I tried to calm down myself and accept my ridiculous fate.  

"Hey, Y/N?" San spoke up after minutes of being in the silent and dark car. I guess he was waiting for me to calm down, and for himself as well.

I still couldn't look into his eyes as tears flooded in my eyes, the adrenaline was gone and its demise left nothing behind but fear. I don’t know if I was ever this scared in my whole life before.

I felt San's hand touching mine, very carefully. He might’ve realized that I was terrified, so he didn’t want to scare me anymore, "Hey, look at me." His voice was sweet again, like candies.

I breathed in and out, closing my eyes, to somehow fight against my fear, and then slowly turned towards him. As I looked at him and he saw my teary eyes and terrified expression, his features softened into a worried expression.

"Fuck, Y/N, I won't hurt you! I'm so sorry, darling." He cupped my cheeks, tears appearing in his eyes as well. Upon seeing his worried expression, I somehow felt kind of relieved.

"Aren't you going to kill me?" I asked in a whisper looking, down at my hands in fear.

"Look at me, Y/N!" His fingers curled around my chin to lift my head up. I somehow managed to look into his eyes again, and the softness I saw in them made me relax a bit more, "Of course, I won't kill you, don't say foolish things. I could never hurt you."

He cupped my face again, caressing my cheeks, "I'm sorry if I scared you, darling."

"What is going on?" I whispered again as the words hardly came out of my mouth, having gone dry like a desert.

 "C'm here." He took my hand and pulled me towards himself, making me crawl over the center console and straddle his lap. His hands immediately held onto my waist and pulled me closer to himself.  I circled my arms around his neck carefully as he pulled me down to his chest and hugged me tightly. I took a deep breath of his sweet candy-like cologne, the skin of his neck warm.

"I'm sorry for scaring you. I just…there is a lot going on, and I lost my head for a second. Please, forgive me…" His hands ran up and down my spine, caressing it, leaving nothing but shivers in its wake. His body was a like a magnet, I couldn't detach myself from it, it felt impossible.

"Tell me what’s going on." I whispered into his neck weakly, closing my eyes.

"Well, I'm not a priest." He said, still caressing my back.

I scoffed, "Wow, shocking news."

"How did you figure it out?" His hand slowly traveled up to the hair on my nape, massaging my scalp as I felt my body temperature rise, comically thinking that I was going to slip right through his fingers from the warm touch.

"I saw you a few times with those people…" The way he started massaging my scalp became a little firmer, and a moan almost slipped through my lips "…doing some business, I assumed. So, I started following you."

"My darling couldn't stay away from me, huh?" His hand resting on my waist slowly slipped under my blouse, his hot fingers starting to trace my warm skin up and down. Suddenly, the fantasy I had in mind while watching him in church, during the service, fought its way to the forefront of my mind, it being his hands slowly tracing down the curves of my body. I would’ve never thought that it was really going to happen.

I slowly lifted my head up from his chest to look into his eyes, which left a fire in its wake. The chill I felt an hour ago was gone in seconds, and I have never felt hotter in my life before seeing the heated desire in his eyes, it could’ve burned me up whole.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked him, trying to get rid of the tension between us.

"That’s a very long story, darling." He leaned his forehead against mine and closed his eyes. He pulling me impossibly close to himself as he held my waist with both hands.

"The night is long now that you have kidnapped me." I whispered barely inches away from his lips as they were almost touching mine.

"Yeah?" He whispered back, his lips hovering over mine, ghosting against them. His hands ran up my warm body passionately, his nails digging into my skin roughly.

I hummed at that, as words couldn't escape my lips, his hands on my skin making my stomach drop. He breathed shakily against my lips and I felt his body getting hotter as he finally pressed his lips against mine hungrily. I kissed him back with greed, our lips moving in sync against each other, my dry lips now fully wetted with his saliva, which tasted like sweet candies. His right hand tangled into my hair, running his fingers through it and it made me moan against his lips. San took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside my mouth, discovering every inch of it as my tongue danced along his passionately. I grinded down against his crotch, and he let out a guttural groan at the stimulation. His hand on my waist slipped down to my ass, and he grabbed it harshly just to push me down against himself harder. We both let out a moan at the feeling, and we separated to get some air as I slowly started feeling dizzy from the lack of oxygen. His forehead pressed against mine as we both breathed heavily against each other's mouths.

"We should stop…" San whispered against my mouth, his lips touching mine as he kissed me again, now a little slower. He sucked on my lower lip to take it between his teeth, and bit it so hard that blood started to drop down my chin, seeping into the collar of my blouse. I winced from the sudden pain, making me grind down harder against him. I have long lost my sanity; I have lost against the sins that caged me in until I wasn't aware of anything at all around me.

"Why?" I asked weakly as we separated again.

"Because I want to fuck you properly, on a bed." He told me, sharp eyes boring into my own, almost as if I had no other choice but to obey him. My body shook from the desire I felt for San, and I really had no other choice but to obey his wishes and let him fuck me senseless, giving in to the guilty pleasures.   

Part 2->

[purplelupins]

Lamb

|Midnight Mass|

Father John Pruitt/Father Paul Hill x Fem!

Reader

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

Word count: 13.5K

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

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

I invite you to listen to the playlist I made that goes along with the story.

Notes: **please read** This story is told partially from John Pruitt's pov and partially from readers, as such, when it's John's (Paul) it will refer to him as John, seeing as he had no need for the alias when it's from his pov. But when it's from readers, she will be referring to him as Paul Hill. Thank you!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Crude oil is destructive to say the least. It is thick, and cloying; dense and dark and it holds no mercy for anything it touches. It kills and pollutes and fuses itself to anything it touches like some dependant parasitic bond. Not that it knows any better.

At one time, Crockett Island was a home off the Eastern coast to close to 500 residences. There was a harmony and calmness to that time; back when the island had summer visitors, and talks of an airport, and no one had to worry about how to pay for their groceries or if they could afford to pay for house repairs after a bad storm. Back when people were alive and helped eachother and laughed.

As the Breeze approached the marina of Crockett Island, there was a passenger who stood outside, leaning against the railing as he remembered Crockett when it was a secret haven. Then that horrible accident…Now, it was more akin to a shelter to the last 127 souls who remained. The brisk maritime wind tousled his black curled hair and flickered into his eyes.

Not that he minded too terribly- he didn't mind much of anything.

John Pruitt sucked in a full breath of the sea air- something he hadnt been able to do in decades when his old self's lungs had began to weaken. It nearly brought tears to his eyes to have been blessed with this second chance as he took in the mass of land before him. His home. His duty. John knew what he had to do. A needle of anxiety poked at him as he hoped his large cargo was still safe in the hold of the small ferry. Of course it was, but he couldnt help but worry until it was safely tucked away in the rectory.

His gift.

“I’m here to help…just here to help…” He repeated in his head.

The ferry lurched as it docked, though his sturdy frame barely flinched. John blinked, and adjusted his satchel one last time before coming to the off-boarding ramp. He slowly and shyly looked at the other passengers, and had to press his tongue to his teeth to keep from acknowledging a familiar face that stood only a few feet from him.

Riley Flynn.

It had been years since he had seen that face, and he felt a swell of happiness at the prospect of having another addition to his flock to receive this gift he so eagerly wished to bestow upon them. He could hardly wait to see each face and see them properly with his rejuvinated sight. See how they’ve grown and aged. He couldn’t wait to help them.

John stood off to the side after exiting the boat as he waited for his trunk.

"Whatcha waitin' for?" Came a gruff voice that John knew well.

He turned to see the island handyman, Sturge, and a small smile pulled at his cupids bow, "My trunk…should be the largest thing on there I’m afraid." John said.

Sturge huffed a little, but nodded, "Yeah its comin', you need a hand gettin' it to where your goin' we got a..." The man droned on about helping the man transport his precious cargo, but unfortunately John had inadvertently tuned him out after something had caught his eye; someone to be precise.

It was the shrill chime of a bicycle bell that had initially drawn his attention, though now he was entranced by the young woman riding the very bike that had made it.

The same wind that had combed through his own hair was now blowing yours back as you came to a stop by the small marine building for the fishermen; a large parcel was fastened to the back of your bike. In fact you were so engrossed in calling to the fishermen on the dock, while unfastening the goods from your bike that you didn’t notice the supposed stranger with his brown eyes glued to you. Staring at how the men approached you and tried to sneak a look at what you brought for them; of course he also was not blind to the evident leers you recieved from the same men. Men he knew were married and had children who he had baptised over the years.

Yet here he was practially on their same level as he watched you; transfixed by the way your hair would get caught in the breeze, and how your cheeks were a lovely pink from the cold. how you had a certain incandescence to you that brought up the spirits of the worn down fishermen.

In John's old age, he hadn't been able to see you properly since you were born; cataracts and dementia coupled with a few other ailments made you into a foggy memory for him, even now. But he knew you. He knew you had been a lovely little girl, and had decided to remain on the island and open a small bakery; John could recall Bev mentioning it a few times that you made food for the Crockpot luck each year. He remembered thanking you...not that he could properly appreciate your gift. You were a familiar face to St. Patrick’s, too.

It was only now that he could recall baptising you some twenty years ago when he had just broached 60 years...and he could see what a stellar young woman you had grown into.

Beautiful.

John had mumbled something to Sturge about only needing help to get out of the marina, and his hand gripped the top of his bag absentmindedly as his eyes flickered over you handing out pastries and sweet treats to the men.

You smiled so brightly that it truly must have been one of the many gifts you were given in life from God. Your calling to brighten up the cloudy days of Crockett island.

A patch of sunlight.

As John pulled the crate up the stairs to the rectory and pushed it across the floor, the solitude finally let him start to think. He knocked on the trunk twice, and slumped against the side as his mind began to wander. John Pruitt had been a priest for well over 60 years; he had seen and heard and dealt with just about every scandal, thought, sin, doubt and joy you could think of. Which was why he knew that there was a divine reason behind your delivery to the fishermen coinciding with his arrival.

It was no random coincidence that your face was among the first he saw upon returning. God’s plan was at work, and John felt anticipation fill him at the thought.

You were a good girl, just like your parents raised you to be, and it wasn’t as if you had a reason not to be. You had made a comfortable life after your family had either left or passed. Moving was expensive and you liked the quiet. It was a simple life and an easy one. Habitual and concise.

You went to church on Sundays and attended daily mass with Leeza. She loved your cinnamon rolls, and you liked to sneak a few into her bag. John remembered noticing that after daily mass one day. It made his chest swell with what he told himself was pride and admiration; not pining and adoration. It excited him to see someone so full of life, even if it was quietly. But that excitement was a double edged sword, after all it too made the Father dread it when he felt it in him. That excitement would settle low in his stomach and make him lose his train of thought.

A test. It was all a test.

The first time you saw the man was when you were leaving the dock that morning. It was strange to see a new face on Crockett, let alone a handsome one at that. You had wished you were heading in his direction so as to give him a welcome; he had such a large trunk with him that you wished you could have given him a hand too. But alas you were needed in the opposite way back down Main Street.

You petalled down the road, and dropped off a few more deliveries down the island to the elders who couldn’t venture too far. Your routine every other day from 10:30 in the morning for an hour.

John knew that too. He remembered feeling someone cycle past him with a soft greeting everytime he visited town after mass. Everything was starting to click back into place as his memory was replenished.

You finished your route, and hopped off your bike as you came to the little bundle of shops in town.

You knew Monsignor Pruitt was returning the next day, and you found yourself hopeful that he hadnt exhausted himself…you were also excited for Bev to calm down after weeks of her relentless, poor moods…and that was saying something for a woman who already lacked a pleasant temperament. The Monsignor always seemed to calm her…perhaps it was that she was able to abuse his position for herself-

You took a deep breath to calm yourself as your temper flared at the thought.

The following day, Saturday, was your day to yourself. Your little shop remained closed until Sunday afternoon, and your appreciation for the downtime was great. You took extra time for yourself, and sat down to read that book that you had promised to read last year; tried a new recipe for dinner and baked yourself a fresh batch of cookies. It wasn’t terribly interesting, but it was easy, and you liked that.

As you brushed your hair out for sleep, your thoughts wandered to that strange face you had seen exit the Breeze the day previous. You wondered if he was visiting someone or if he was some kind of inspector for the island…so little happened on Crockett that new faces were so obvious. You were surprised no one had mentioned him during your day at the shop.

You shrugged it off.

It wasn’t your business.

The rosary you clutched as you prayed beside your bed dug into your skin as you squeezed it unconsciously. Some nights your worship came with difficulty…you mind wandered and you wondered if you were doing the right thing…praying to the right god. Not that you would tell anyone that.

You didn’t sleep well that night. Somehow you repeatedly awoke every few hours to a deep sinking in your gut and prickle up your neck that kept you from returning to sleep. The restlessness had you surrendering just before dawn, and you wrapped a thick blanket around yourself as you sat in front of your window that just peaked over the water. Your bleary gaze was heavy, though you felt yourself sober when you swore you saw a dark figure move into the thick bushes. You jumped, and felt your blood freeze, but when you leaned a little closer to look out, there was nothing but the gentle sway of the trees in the wind. It was so easy to dismiss what you had seen as simply your tired mind playing tricks on you.

You rubbed the heels on your hands into your eyes, and sighed as you stood.

Coffee. A coffee was needed.

The dirt road was muddy with the approaching storm that would be on the horizon in a few days. You hoped this one wouldn’t be too damaging.

You followed behind Leeza with Dolly, and told them what you had baked that morning for your shop, while Erin and Wade listened; enjoying how the air smelled of petrichor and pine. There was a comfortable chatter amongst everyone as they grew happy to welcome their Monsignor back to Crockett.

You sat yourself in the middle, in the same seat you always took. After months of Father Pruitt being gone, you routine was beginning to settle again.

The small organ began playing, and you stood to start singing with everyone else, but then as the alter boys passed you and you watched them, there was an unfamiliar voice behind them. You slowed your singing as you were once again distracted; sure enough, there was a much younger man who passed down the aisle in a gold chasuble and his hands held in prayer.

That same man from the dock.

You felt confusion fill you, and evidently you weren’t the only one as the churchgoers exchanged confused glances with eachother. You looked over at Wade, hoping he might look a little less confused as the mayor, but he mirrored every other face.

Knowing you weren’t getting any answers from your peers, you directed your attention to the pulpit as the stranger walked up to it.

“Good morning,” the man began, “I know I’m not who you expected to see this morning. I’m Father Paul Hill, and I was sent by the diocese to fill in for Monsignor Pruitt. Just know that I’m only here to help, and I look forward to meeting you all.”

You blinked in surprise at his explanation, thought you supposed it wasn’t entirely strange- just unexpected. Had something happened? You remembered how so many islanders had advised the Father not to make the journey, and now you were wondering if you all should have insisted harder.

The man looked a little nervous, but hopeful as he looked around to his new flock. But as his gaze passed over yours, you noted it paused for a moment. You smiled a little a him in hopes that it might make him feel a little welcome, and you briefly wondered if he recognized you from the marina.

There was a lilt to his strong, low voice that made you listen. He was compelling and direct; certainly not what you were used to with Monsignor Pruitt. He had always been a wonderful preacher, but for the last decade, he had grown slow and drawling.

You remembered your mother saying something about “It’s not about the sermon or who’s giving it, it’s just about being reminded of god and our mortality in this life.” And while you had always agreed with the sentiment, there was something about being invigorated while at church that was making your fingertips tingle.

You could already tell that Father Hill was appreciated amongst the churchgoers. There was a softness in their weathered faces as he spoke, like he was indeed connecting them to God.

As everyone filed in for the sacrament, you fell in line and felt your palms start to sweat. A part of you was thankful that Bev was there to provide the wine and your…replacement; you didn’t want to have to stop the church proceedings just to explain why you couldn’t drink the wine.

The discovery of your ethanol allergy had come as a distressful lesson when you had first drank the sacrament as a child. You still remembered what a fuss everyone made and how you had been rushed to Dr.Gunning who had only graduated from medical school recently. From then on your Monsignor had been very understanding and blessed your separate cup of grape juice every mass from then on.

When you accepted the wafer, and accepted the smaller cup from Bev, you noted in the back of your mind that the priest before you looked a little shaken as you drank. You paid it no mind- he was new and he likely had his quirks.

But it was no quirk. The Father felt his shoulders sink, and blood drain from his face as he watched Bev hand you that cup. He felt his idiocy fill him, then the subsequent dread and horror that followed his realisation.

You couldn’t drink the communion wine.

You never had.

A flash of the first day you tried it made his head hurt as he recalled how distraught your mother was upon learning what had happened. He tried to push the worried expression on his young face away but he was sure it was now more of a grimace.

You couldn’t accept the gift.

Panic clouded Johns mind as he continued to give the sacrament to each of the islanders. The devil on his shoulder proposed that it simply wasn’t your fate to be given the gift. But John had learned to ignore that horned heathen well, and he knew he must do something to guide you with the rest of his flock.

No lamb left behind.

As you filed out to leave, you walked behind Annie Flynn and her son Riley.

He had left years ago when you were still in your mid teens, and he didn’t exactly leave a lasting impression on a teenager. They stopped for a moment to speak with the new father, and while you wanted to say hello to the pastor, you hated to linger and get in people’s way; you knew you would see the Father again, and so you went to skirt around Annie, but as fate would have it, their conversation ended quickly, and the older woman took you by the arm as her son left.

“This is the beating heart of Crockett herself!” She beamed at you while you stood there suddenly locked in conversation with the young priest.

Annie had always appreciated your positive attitude and good nature. You found yourself always trying to cheer her up on her worst days while she worried herself sick about her husband and her son on the mainland. She was a mother through and through, and you often held her as a place-holder for your own flesh and blood since you saw your family only a couple times a year since they moved away.

And Annie seemed content with that. She had always wanted a daughter. The way she gushed about you then to the Father and introduced you had you trying to brush off the praise with a few failed “Oh no I-“ and “I’m not-“ and so forth. Your flushed cheeks had another agenda entirely however when you finally looked up at the Fathers gaze.

It was those soft brown eyes of his that struck you first. So focused and yet so…sad. Like he might cry at any moment. You wondered if his eyes stung.

He was handsome in a weathered, timid sort of way; couldn’t have been more than mid forties. He looked as if he had seen years of life beyond his age. Perhaps years of absolving sins had taken a toll.

“She is our baker here on Crockett…helps liven up the plain variety of food we have.” She half joked, thought it was mostly truth. Crockett was a place of bread and butter- basics. So a treat of some kind was greatly appreciated, and you were happy to deliver just that.

“Ah yes…the Monsignor mentioned his love for your pastries.” He smiled genuinely and nodded as if recalling being told, “I’ll be sure to stop by.”

There was a boyishness to him that endearing enough to settle your nerves.

Your eyes widened in surprise, “He did?” You asked.

You were certain Pruitt wouldn’t be able to recall something so insignificant in his declining health and old age. It had only been a few years that you had been running the shop, and you knew he hadn’t been fully coherent long before that. A poetic connection between him and Crockett Island you supposed.

Father Paul seemed delighted by your shock though, and the crows feet around his eyes deepened, “Yes he was quite adamant I assure you. I believe you’re also a regular face I will be seeing and that it may just be you and Leeza at times.” He added.

You clasped your hands in front of you to keep from fidgeting.

“I- well I try to be.” You looked away timidly, and shuffled your feet as Annie smiled at you. You weren’t used to someone being so passionate about small things- let alone a man.

“Oh she’s just modest.” The older woman said.

Father Paul chuckled, “Modesty is a virtue. Now, I noticed you weren’t able to drink the sacramental wine, is there something I should know?” He seemed so curious and invested.

You nodded, “I’m afraid I’m allergic to something in wine- ethanol. I’ve always been given plain grape juice instead…the Monsignor was always kind enough to have it ready. I hope that won’t be a problem-“

Father Paul shook his head as he rushed to put your mind at ease.

“-no no not- not in the least I assure you. Your presence and dedication is more than enough…you still receive the lords blessing even if it is from a sweeter drink.” He mused.

“Thank you, Father.” You replied and looked down again so as to hide the warming of your cheeks again.

Annie smiled and hugged you, “Well then, not to cut this short, Father but I’m starting my shift in a half hour. I’ll see you then?” She asked you.

You nodded, “Sure will. I’ll make us some coffee. I’m sure the sheriff could use some too.” You called after her as she walked away and bid the father farewell. Leaving the two of you to stand together. You turned back to Father Hill as he towered over you, and fought to find something to say as your nerves kicked in. You were usually good at finding conversation but you felt like you were a kid being forced to talk to some family member your mom insisted you knew.

You took a deep breath. “It was-“

“I hope-“

You both spoke over each other, and both looked at one another apologetically. You shook your head and smiled a little to ease his embarrassment, “Please you first, Father Hill.”

He looked at you for a moment for confirmation to ensure that he wasn’t being rude then he began again, “I was only going to say that I hope to see you here again…it’s enlightening to see a youthful face in a church.” He grinned- a curl of his dark hair falling over his forehead as he looked down at you.

You returned his grin, though yours was a little forced in comparison.

Attending church was a routine ingrained in you since childhood, and now it was just something expected of you. You knew the day you didn’t attend would make the talk of the town and you were never in the mood for Beverly to come knocking on your door to berate you.

You could still remember a couple years ago when you were sick and she brought you a batch of soup for you to help…the offer had been kind enough, but the soup itself had made you want to curl into a ball and chew on a dead seagull.

“I assure you.” You echoed his words from earlier, and he smiled. “I’ll see you soon. Enjoy the rest of your day, Father.” You said, and slowly stepped past him.

He turned his body to follow you. John told himself it was manners to speak to someone with your whole attention, and while that was true, he simply needed one last proper look at you before you left.

“Likewise, y/n.” He called to you as you walked down the steps. Out of your peripheral, you could see Bev still bending by the ear of one of the community members, and you made quick work of sending her a tight smile then hurrying along the path to the road. She returned the forced expression; not that she knew you forced it. Practice makes perfect.

The hairs on the back of your neck began to stand on end as you descended the hill from St. Patrick’s. There was something in the back of your mind that told you not to look behind you, but against your better judgement, you did just that. A pair of soft brown eyes were trained on you as you walked.

The Father’s stare startled you and made your stride stutter.

He was intense and direct. He wasn’t like most of the islanders, and he made you uneasy somehow, but regardless, you cast him a friendly wave, and continued on your way- but that same prickle on the back of your neck simply wouldn’t let go.

John watched you go until your head disappeared down onto the main road and out of sight. He felt his nerves pick up as he said his last goodbyes and returned inside the church. He sat amongst the pews and stared up at the four walls around him. The weight of the gift he was tasked to reveal was growing heavy. He wished so badly to bestow this marvel to every dedicated church goer, and he would.

To every single one except you.

Why you?

Certainly you were in some way special; that had been revealed to him when it had been your face for him to first see upon returning.

Fate.

But if that were the case then surely your way to salvation should be easier…yet here you were unable to accept it; all because of an allergy.

John sighed as he made up his mind to proceed as he did with the rest of his flock. He hoped you wouldn’t taste the blood in your juice tomorrow- if you did he would simply have to find another way for you to accept it.

No lamb left behind.

The walk into town that usually brought you so much peace now came with an impending sense of foreboding. You knew that nasty storm was nearly at your doors, but storms had never bothered you too much. No, there was something in the air that made you all too aware of your heartbeat, and your breath and how your skin felt. You barely paid attention to anything around you as your leisurely pace unconsciously changed into one of hurry.

It wasn’t until you had just passed by the general store, and didn’t respond to Hassan’s greeting that you snapped out of your trance.

“Y/n? Y/n you alright?” He called to you as you strode right past him.

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

“Sh-sheriff, I’m so sorry…” you stopped in your tracks and furrowed your brow as you fought to find an answer for your odd attitude, “I’m…I think I’m just a little out of it today.” You laughed.

The Sheriff glanced you over for a moment, then nodded slowly. “There’s a fresh pot inside.” He tipped his cup filled with black coffee to you. He was a nice man. Exhausted…mistreated, but caring.

You smiled and nodded, “I’ll come by in a few minutes. Thank you.” You hoped your smile would reassure him. You didn’t need to worry an already stressed father and someone you would consider a friend. An awkward older friend who needed a break but a friend nonetheless. “Want an eclair? Got a few extra that I made this morning.” You asked.

He shook his head gently, “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to give me my own form of insulation for winter.”

You gasped in faux shock, and shook your head, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The pebbles and dirt crunched under your boots as you stepped up to the little entrance of your bakery beside the general store. As soon as you stepped inside, you suddenly felt a little safer…at ease. As if you had anything to be afraid of.

You suddenly felt very silly.

Ridiculous.

There had only been one change that day, and that was the charismatic Father Paul Hill.

Had you become so sheltered on that little island that you were afraid of a stranger coming into your community? Surely not.

No. You hadn’t felt fear in the man’s presence so who would you feel it now?

Ridiculous.

Stop it.

You closed your eyes and did your best to clear your mind of any ominous thought and any thought about the new Father.

Out of sight. Out of mind. Not your business.

You strode to the back of the shop and prepared your morning deliveries; it was always the same. It was easy. And you knew it was appreciated. Feeling important was a virtue in a small community that was run into the ground.

Making people feel cared for made you happy.

The day came and went just as it always did, but you couldn’t help but feel like the island had turned a little off its axis. Like something had just nudged it into a slight other direction. Your suspicions were only enforced and justified when almost every one of your regulars mentioned the new pastor to you as they selected their desired sweet or savoury treat from your display case.

“Such a striking young man.”

“Too modern.”

“Nothing like our dear Monsignor…but I can’t say I’ve stayed so engaged during a homily in years.”

“How long do you think he’ll stay?”

“Where do you think he came from?”

And so on.

You had hoped any mention of the man would remain in your own thoughts, but it was as if he had swept through the town like a stiff winter breeze.

By the time you sold your last cheese bun and lemon tart, and closed up shop, there was a very real wind that surged right down Main Street. The cool air pricked right through your thick tights under your skirt and made you made a mental note to dig out some warmer ones.

That storm was due that evening. It had been the talk of the town all day, right after the endless conversations of the invigorating preacher. Once you had gotten home, you felt it start to push up against your boarded windows. The wind howled, and the lights flickered as the sky darkened outside; you took that as a sure sign to light a few candles.

There was something ethereal in the light from a candle. So beautiful. If you caught the flames out of the corner of your eyes, sometimes it looked like they had little halos.

You smiled softly at the thought.

You never stayed up late on storm nights. In fact you slept earlier than usual. You knelt beside your bed and clasped your hands in prayer.

“Father, as I lie down for sleep tonight, wash over me with the warmth of Your love. In Your mercy, soothe my pain, whether in my body-“ you paused your recitation when that familiar prickle began its way up the back of your neck like it had for the past two days. You listened intently, but there was nothing but the wind.

“-mind or soul. Grant me a restful night of sleep so that when I awake, I'm strengthened to do Your will. Amen.” You decided against thinking too much of the unease, and settled under your blankets and closed your eyes.

You didn’t dream that night. In fact it felt as if you had merely shut your eyes for a moment before you were opening them again at the sound of your alarm.

The storm had blown itself out by the time you took your wooden shutters off your windows. There was a sliver of light coming over the horizon as you peered out at the water. You stared at it intently, and clenched your hand into an absentminded fist.

You tried the lightswitch in your kitchen, and praised the lord that it worked. You wondered if Sturge had been up even earlier than you to fix the power lines.

The outside of your house was a mess complete with a crab trap hanging off your fence. Nets, ropes, bushes, clothes, coolers, toys riddled the streets as you walked in the dim light to your shop. But then after only a few minutes, your nose picked up a smell. You were used to the strong smell of the ocean, especially after the storms, but this was different. You started towards the beach, and nearly gagged when you got closer. You had to cover your mouth once you stood on the sand.

From left to right, the beach was littered with the corpses of cats. You knew there were quite a lot on the island, and had seen the odd dead feline, but this was as if something had wiped out every cat and dumped them by the shore.

Anxiety filled you as you stared.

“Oh my-…”

You spun around to see Hassan standing beside you; uniform half buttoned and a bag over his shoulder that you knew had his lunch. The two of you exchanged looks of distress, and you visibly started to shake the longer you looked.

“What…what would…Hassan what-…” you looked up at the man, and he only shook his head. At a loss for words.

“Cmon. I’ll walk you in. Gotta…gotta call the mayor.” He wrapped an arm around your back to direct you away from the mess, “We’ll take care of it.”

You nodded and followed his lead away from the beach and into town, but you found yourself remembering that prickle up the back of your neck that night, and wondered if it had had anything to do with the slaughter. Was there some predator that had somehow made it onto the island without anyone knowing? Was someone going around killing cats? Had the solitude of Crockett Island finally made someone snap and rip every feline to shreds?

The call of your name cut through your thoughts.

You looked up and saw that you were ex standing outside your shop, and the poor man who had walked you there looked even more distressed at your quietness.

“Thank you…thanks Hassan…I’ll…let- let me know if you find anything out.” You said quietly but gave him a small smile of reassurance.

“I will. Take care okay?” He said, and you nodded, but he was already disappearing up the steps into the general store.

You nodded to yourself, and unlocked your shop and stood inside.

Then you took a deep breath.

And got to work.

By the time 8:30 came around, your nerves had calmed, and your nose was filled with a far more pleasant smell of muffins, and tarts and sourdough.

You brushed off your hands, and bundled up the deliveries for that day, then quickly locked the shop up and left for mass. As you walked, you found yourself ever so slightly reluctant. Nervous like your first day of school.

It wasn’t until you heard the sound of Leeza and Annie behind you that you snapped out of a daze that had settled over you.

“Good morning, dear!” Annie called to you as you stopped and waited for them.

“Morning. You all survived the storm just fine?” You asked politely and began walking with them.

“Oh we were fine. Just a breeze.” Annie said good-naturedly, “Sure was strange what with all those cats this morning though hey? Heard Dolly saying they’re still trying to work out what happened.” She said a little hushed.

You nodded, “I know…the Sheriff and I found them this morning…scared me half to death…”

“They’ll figure it out I’m sure.” Annie dismissed the conversation; you could tell she was worried. She always worried.

Not wanting that to be the last conversational subject between your little group, you changed the subject.

“Anything exciting happening at school today?” You asked Leeza.

She shook her head, “Nah…but I think we’re starting on this project that I’m excited about…” the girl began on a tangent regarding her science project. It was nice to listen to someone prattle on about something that would be insignificant in a few years…it was somehow refreshing. Somehow you felt like an older sister to Leeza, and having her confide in you so honestly about mundane things made your heart swell.

The three of you entered the church, and just as always, you sat in your usual spot in the middle, across from Leeza and Annie. And you waited.

“Our processional hymn this morning is number 400 in the red hymnal. “Holy, Holy, Holy.” Please rise. “ came the voice of Father Hill from the door of the church.

A shiver made you twitch, and you blamed a draft in the church. You stood just as you always did; not needing the hymnbook but still holding it out of habit.

You sang, and kept your eyes trained on the text as the Father passed, his hands pressed in prayer as he walked up to the pulpit and continued his routine. You could feel the heavy presence of Bev Keene permeating the air, and you subconsciously ground your teeth. You knew if she had her heart in the right place, she could be a magnetic, beloved member of any community.

But sadly she didn’t have a heart to have it in the right place to begin with. Soot and malice was what sat beneath that gold cross she wore.

“Before he was given up to death, a death he freely accepted, he took bread and gave you thanks…”

Your eyes glazed over at you listened to that voice of his. Not that you weren’t hearing his words, or the message behind them; you were paying attention. But just like being read a story by your mother at bedtime versus a babysitter you had only just met, there was a certain comfort to be found in the former. Yet somehow, where Father Hill ought to have been less comforting, he brought great solace to his homily. It felt as if he was the one you were so used to listening to. Somehow he had eased himself into the Monsignor’s shoes seamlessly and had begun to preach his own gospel that melded with the tone you had become accustomed to since childhood and lulled you into a safe haven of worship.

“…He broke the bread, gave it to his disciples, and said…”

There was an effortlessness in his sermon. You wondered if he had started preaching very young.

With only 4 islanders in the church to worship, Father Hill stepped down from the pulpit and began offering the Body and blood of Christ to each. He saved you for last, you noticed, and for good reason as he retrieved your smaller cup and returned to you. You cupped your hands in front of you, and waited dutifully.

“Body of Christ, y/n.” Came that gentle voice of his like he cared deeply that you accept the blessing.

His long fingers graced the pads of yours so slightly as he placed the wafer on your fingers, and you failed to hide the hitch of your breath as you murmured “Amen.”

Then as he held your small cup for you to drink from, you failed to see how his gaze caught the sight of your pink tongue peaking out just over your teeth as you went to drink. John didn’t know why he noticed that; he supposed he noticed many small details now. Seeing your tongue now must have reminded him of any smaller animal with its mouth open- a small rabbit, a mouse, a cat, a-

A lamb.

The juice tasted strange that morning and somehow thicker than usual. You wondered if it was just in your head after being so shaken from the cats…

Annie took it upon herself to walk Leeza to school that morning, which left you to exit the church alone. On a day like that with the sun shining, you found coming out of the house of God almost ethereal. The light poured in through the single-paned windows and illuminated the dust particles that drifted so gently.

Once you stepped outside, the fresh air filled your lungs and you let yourself smile easily up at Father Paul as he stood patiently.

“Good morning, Father Hill.” You said, craning your neck to look up at the man.

“The beating heart herself!” He smiled, reiterating Annie’s analogy of you.

A good memory.

And a good sense of humour.

The warming of your cheeks was obvious , and John felt a little tug in his chest at the sight of it. Little flower pedals colouring your cheeks.

“She- I’m…”you tried to find a way to humble the dramatic compliment, but failed, “I hope you made it through the storm alright, Father. One hell of a welcome.” You said, trying to redirect the conversation, and to your mercy, Father Hill went along with it.

He nodded.

“It was quite nice actually. Being plunged into darkness almost feels like a renewal of some kind.” He said thoughtfully as his mouth seemed to threaten to tug into a smile.

“Quite sobering.” You agreed, “I’m glad it didn’t chase you off. Don’t know how many times I’ve seen someone buy a summer home here then flee the moment they have to endure a storm.” It was true. A little funny too.

The Father chuckled and nodded, “A fearsome thing to behold, but still a reminder of our creator…the power or lord holds, whipping storms against our rocks and shores just to knock on our doors and say hello. Almost reassuring.” He rambled a little.

You tilted your head, “That’s a very thoughtful way to look at it. Certainly more poetic than what you’ll hear from most of the locals.”

“And what would they say?” He shot back playfully.

You breathed out a laugh.

“One too many curse words for my liking, Father. And a couple confusing analogies.” You said.

Father Hill chuckled and somehow you half expected him to pat your head and tell you to run along. The Monsignor used to when you were a child so it wouldn’t be entirely foreign.

“Well we all have our ways of dealing with hardship-“

“Ah you’re still here, y/n!”

During your conversation you hadn’t noticed how the two of you had come to shift closer to one another; but when that cutting voice of Bev Keen startled you, you took an instinctive step away from the man with whom you had been speaking.

You forced a polite smile, “I am. Just asking how Father Paul made it through the storm-“

“The rectory has always been just fine.” She shot at you with a tight smile as if trying to end your time there quickly.

John could see your lips pull down so slightly into a tiny frown when Bev cut you off; he felt a flicker of irritation. Odd.

You recovered, acting like she didn’t mean any harm. “I’m sure it has. But just because a place is safe doesn’t remove fear. The Father here seemed to have handled it just fine though like you said… “In the storms, winds and waves, He whispers “fearnot” for I am with you.”.” You smiled up at the Father, and he returned it gently.

“Psalm 107:29…truer words could not exist for Crockett Island.” Father Paul said fondly to you; he had a way of speaking to those around him like there was a bubble around the two of you as you conversed. Like nothing else could take his attention from you.

You took in a breath and clasped your hands in front of you when you could feel the gaze of Bev scorching you, “Well thank you for a lovely service today Father, Bev…always a pleasure.” You said to both, but only made it several steps before Father Paul called after you.

“You’re always welcome here.” He said you name so gently. You noticed too that his tone was almost pleading…perhaps encouraging. Did he think you would stop your routine one day?

“I appreciate that Father Hill!” You smiled and waved as you turned to continue on your way; Paul’s lingering stare and Bevs look of distain following you as you went.

Your ear ached as a pull in you almost forced you to turn around and look back at St. Patrick’s again…but you didn’t. Somehow you felt it was in poor taste to do so. You had been startled by being watched once, and you were certain your nerves would not benefit from it again.

Instead, you hurried along, and made it down to the bakery quickly. You waved at a few locals who entered the general store and unlocked your door to grab your deliveries for that day. You always felt a pang of sadness when you looked at your list of houses and saw old customers crossed off; having passed or moved, but you supposed you ought to feel joyous for those who remained.

One by one you completed your deliveries. There were only 15 houses to visit, give or take a few from day to day. You treasured those houses.

You peddled up to one of the houses you frequented, and grabbed the order you needed. You almost bounced up the steps and knocked. It didn’t take long before the door was opening after the voice inside called that they were coming.

You were then met with a familiar face.

“Good to see you. Morning going alright?” Sarah Gunning was always a little direct, but kind. You supposed a good doctor ought to be both.

You nodded as you handed her the two loaves of bread and bundle of fruit cakes. “Not too bad…was a little shaken by the…uh…the cats this morning but nothing a sunny day like today can’t fix!” You assured her. “How’s your mother?”

Sarah nodded, “I heard…smelled it too. She’s alright, thank you y/n.” She took the package from you and gave you a tight smile.

“Good…see you soon.” You chirped, and began backing down the steps.

You turned around and strode out the front yard, but sighed when you noticed one of the straps that kept your goods in place at the back of your bike was loose. You knelt down and retied it. You supposed everything on this island was falling apart just a little.

When you straightened, however, you gasped and nearly toppled over. “F-Father Hill! I’m so sorry-“

The man stepped back a little.

“Im sorry I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” He put his hand up to show he meant no harm, face apologetic.

“No…no that was on me, I’ve been a little in my head lately.” You said, having a hard time meeting his gaze.

“We all can be a little distracted.” He said. A slightly awkward silence fell between you, but it was he who broke it. “You know the Gunnings well?” He asked, and nodded to the house behind you.

You followed his gaze and nodded, “Not terribly, but I remember seeing Mrs. Gunning in church when I was a kid…I just deliver to them now. Mrs.Gunning’s health hasn’t been the best for years and her daughter Sarah cares for her…I just try to help out where I can.” You smiled.

There was something nagging at you though. Something odd. Of course you hadn’t fully realized that this stranger already knew who lived there; you were so used to everyone knowing everyone.

You did notice how the man before you shifted when you mentioned Sarah’s mother. He seemed almost a little more compelled to listen.

“That- that’s kind of you.” He stumbled a little over his words, “Giving to those in need that’s very selfless…a trait that can be hard to come by though we all possess it.” Father Hill forced a smile that crinkled the sides of his eyes.

“We all have traits in us that we can chose to embrace or not. Good and bad, Father.”

His smile turned a little more genuine then. “Ah yes, the never ending duality of man.”

“ “Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that their deeds will be exposed.” John 3:20.” You quoted a little absentmindedly as you saw Beverly pass by on the main road. The distraction kept you from seeing how the man towering over you had his eyes go wide, and looked away for a moment.

You both stood there for a moment, then you ducked your head a little and pulled your bike towards yourself. “Well Father, I’ll leave you to it.”

Father Hill nodded, and pursed his lips ever so slightly, “Good to see you…”

You slowly walked past him and back to the road, but stopped when he muttered something that you wondered if he meant for you to hear.

“Thank you.” He said.

You looked back at him, brows pitched in confusion.

“For…taking- taking care of everyone.” He ended his sentence a little weakly, and you tilted your head a little to the side. An odd man.

“It’s my pleasure.” You decided on. It seemed to be what Father Hill wanted or needed to hear, and you both parted ways.

You paused at Main Street, and turned to look up at the Father as he ascended the stairs to the Gunning house. This time, it was his turn to glance back at you as you watched him. You waved and smiled, and didn’t wait for his response before you were pedalling away.

John had been standing just out of view of Sarah when he had said goodbye to Leeza, and saw you knock on Mildred’s front door. He stayed there, enjoying how much life you held inside you. Youthful and magnetic. Of course the ease in staring at you had nothing to do with the fact that your dress swayed around your legs and picked up so slightly in the wind.

He watched how startled you were by him when he approached you…so cautious yet so trusting. A lamb weary of wolves just looking for her Shepard.

I will be your Shepard sweet lamb…let me. Bend for me…for God.

Then that quote…oh you were no mere lost soul. No you were thoughtful. John felt excitement fill him at the thought of how you would benefit from his gift. He would be lying if he said you saying his true name didn’t startle him. A coincidence, of course.

Then when he turned back and saw you already watching him. Then that peak of your thigh when you hopped onto your bike…John was…

John was distracted.

An ideal lamb to guide yet so concerning. Not a blind lamb…no you were good. You were caring, and strong. Hopeful…hopeful like a man overboard who knew he had to weather swell after swell of water but kept treading water because he knew he was strong enough despite his muscles wanting to give out.

Instead of staying afloat like that man, John lost his breath.

Then he gasped in the salty sea water and breathed you in. Gulped you down his throat like a greedy boy to nourish his body and fill his lungs.

The next morning was thankfully an uneventful one.

Hassan and Wade had managed to get the dead cats cleaned up by the evening of the day before, and you weren’t sure when the last time was that you were so happy to have nothing happen.

Until that evening.

You were fairly proud of your abilities to make delicious confectioneries for Crockett island, and as you stared down your journal of recipes that sat in your lap, you pondered which to chose for the approaching Crock-potluck. You knew there would be a great deal of food already there, but you also knew that something freshly made for desert changed an atmosphere fast.

You were just looking through your various cookie and sweet bread recipes when a knock on your door made you jump. It was rare that you had visitors, especially at this hour. Certainly Erin had come by numerous times for slow walks around the island in the evening from time to time, and then Annie sometimes ran down to your house if she needed an ingredient…but somehow you felt that the person knocking was neither.

It was soft and timid.

You uncurled yourself from your nest of blankets on the couch, and strode to your door, then opened it with a pleasant smile on your face. It faltered only a little once you saw who was standing there.

“I- I uh…I’m sorry for this intrusion so late but I have a favour to ask of you if I may.” Came that low rumble of the man’s voice as he stood in the dim light of your porch.

You blinked, “What can I do for you Father?”

Father Hill shifted a little- an awkward smile on his face as he looked to the side as he stalled.

“This is my first uh- Crockett Po- crock-“ he stumbled a little and you smiled.

“Crock-potluck.” You corrected him.

He laughed a little, “Yes. And I wanted to have something to bring. Something my mother ingrained in me as a boy and well I was hoping if…if you could lend a helping hand so to speak.”

You bit at your cheek to keep from smiling too wide at his request. Here was this man likely twice your age, taller than most trees, fumbling with his words when he preached for a living. He was endearing.

“Well Father…it is getting late.” You started, and his face instantly turned to that of a kicked puppy.

His eyes softened, and the corners of his mouth tugged down so slightly.

“Oh- of- of course how silly-“

“-and I was going to make something for the potluck anyways…so having an extra pair of hands would be a godsend.” You finished.

John chuckled and stared you in the eye when your nose scrunched up so slightly at your tease.

Funny girl.

“Come in, please…make yourself at home.” You ushered him in. You were thankful that Bev didn’t live near you lest she see her dear Father Hill enter the home of a young woman alone.

Of course, John knew that you were indeed preparing to make something. Just like most islanders, you kept your drapes open even at night, and while he had just meant to take an evening stroll and check in on you- his dear lamb- John had found himself standing just outside your window watching you for well past a half hour. You flicked through that book of yours that John remembered seeing on your counter just two days ago when you had tested a recipe from it. You hadn’t seen him that night either. So domestic and sweet in your own space…

It was only when he snapped out of his trance-like state that he felt a little perverse in his current situation and told himself that he must have a reason for being there so long.

Thus the need to make something for the potluck.

John Pruitt had never made something for the potluck.

But he would not just leave your house that night after watching you through your window.

No. No he had a purpose for being there.

Of course he did. Why else would God have guided him there on his walk?

It wasn’t as if he was subconsciously drawn to your little home.

A moth to a flame.

You watched the older man remove his boots, and unzip his grey hoodie, and remove it to fold it neatly onto your couch. He looked so domestic and human.

“We’re going to make a cult classic, Father…I hope that’s alright. Safer for large numbers.” You explained as you flipped to your browned butter chocolate chip recipe. You slowly walked into your kitchen as you reviewed what you needed, and Father Hill trailed after you.

“This might take a couple hour- oh!” You started to say, but jumped when you turned around and bumped right into his chest.

He chuckled, “I think I might need a bell on me…I’m afraid I have a talent for startling people lately.”

You waved it off, “It’s just me…I’m just- I…” you sighed and looked up at the man as he waited patiently for your explanation, “Can I…can I be completely honest with you, Father Hill?” You asked a little timidly.

He nodded- open and calm, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You sucked in a breath, “You’re…well you’re a new presence here on the island…a welcomed one! But because you’re new…you startle a lot of us because we’re simply not…used to you. We’ll get there but in the time being…I think that’s why. I’m- we…we’re glad you’re here.” You stumbled and then when he smiled softly at you you suddenly worried that you had offended him, “I’m…I’m sorry I don’t think that came out right…”

“No no please…it makes perfect sense given how isolated the island is…I take no offence.” He said good-naturedly and waved his hand.

You sighed, and looked down, “Alright well…let’s get started. You might want to roll your sleeves up though it can get messy, Father.” You perked up as you changed the subject, and began to walk to your counter where you had already taken out a mixing bowl and, whisk and measuring cup.

“I am at your disposal, young lady.” Father Paul came to brace himself against the counter edge beside you, looking down at you thoughtfully.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, but kept your head down enough for him to not see, “Can you get me the butter from the fridge? Should be on the door.” You asked, and pulled out a small saucepan.

He nodded, and retrieved the butter for you. As he looked for it, you glanced over at him, and found your eyes drawn to his exposed forearms from him rolling up his sleeves. You looked away almost instantly, embarrassed for having been looking at your priest like that.

“You know this is the first time I’ve done this. Gotta admit it’s a bit exciting.” He said as he popped the butter beside you on the counter proudly.

“Baking is always fun…especially when things turn out yummy.” You smiled and put two large cups of butter in the heated pan. It started to sizzle. “We brown the butter to give the cookies a sort of nutty flavour…makes it a little tastier even if they’re just chocolate chip cookies.” You explained. He watched over your shoulder, enrapt.

“Did you always want to do this?” He asked you.

You blinked, “The- the cookies-?”

“No.” He laughed, “No, being a baker.”

“Oh. Well…not exactly. I grew up here and when you grow up in Crockett you have a lot of time to think…sometimes too much. I guess I knew I would end up doing something here and when I got older I got into baking and in my spare time I got really good at it…took years but before I knew it I was graduating and had a pretty fortuitous hobby. It was actually Dr. Gunning who suggested it.”

“Sarah?” Came his voice behind you.

“Yeah, Sarah was in the general store when I was there to get some milk and we got to talking…I had made her mom a few loaves of bread that she used to like and Sarah said I should make something out of my skill. And here I am!” You laughed, and stirred the butter as it browned and thinned.

“Wonderful…” he said softly.

You nodded, “She’s a nice lady. You’ll get used to her- just a little direct. Think it comes with being a doctor.” There was a moment of silence between you; only filled with the bubbling of the butter, “Alright, can you go into the freezer and pull out the flour, and measure out 3 cups of it into the bowl there?” You asked the man behind you.

“I certainly can.” He confirmed.

“Oh! Can you get 4 eggs as well?” You asked quickly.

He hummed and looked through your fridge for what he needed, and placed everything by the bowl. The counter was so much lower for him that he almost had to hunker over with his height to work.

He looked so…normal. It was sweet. A little odd to see your pastor baking with you but it was nice. Somehow it made him feel more human than just a man who absolved your sins and blessed you every morning.

The two of you worked together, and you came to find that Father Hill was eager to learn. He was methodical and took his time to do things right. Listened. Before you knew it there was a massive bowl of cookie dough on the counter and your oven was full of baking sheets.

“Each sheet should only take about 15 minutes so this shouldn’t take more than another hour.” You said, “If- if you need to take off I can finish-“

“A good man does not abandon his task, not to worry.” His tone was stern but he was smiling. You returned it.

“Well…” you breathed as you looked around for something to do, “I can put some music on if you like? You’re welcome to look around.”

He nodded, and you went to find something to listen to, “This used to be my family’s house. I’m afraid I only have their old records…Hope that’s okay?”

“More than.” He called out to you as you went into the living room.

You flipped through a few envelopes, and settled on one from Jeff Buckley. It was mostly slow, and you could still talk if you wanted to. You set it up, and as the needle sat atop the vinyl, a calm song began.

“Who’s this little ray of sunshine?”

You turned and followed Father Paul’s voice. He was standing in front of a few picture frames hung on the wall that you kept from when your family lived there.

“That was me.” You laughed, “That was right before Easter I think…I was 5.” You said thoughtfully.

“You looked happy.” He smiled.

I was. You thought.

“I loved Easter. Mostly for the chocolate…” you both chuckled a little, “But…now it’s just the time of year that I like. Spring. Revival…blossoming of plants, birds chirping…everything just seems so much more alive. The world starts to hum with God’s greatness during Easter, I think.” You thought aloud, then looked up at Father Hill once you ended your musings.

He was already watching you; hanging onto every word.

He remembered how much you enjoyed Easter. “One more chocolate, Monsignor? Pleeease?” He could still hear that little voice.

“What do you think, Father?” You asked him.

“I have to agree.” He hummed. You noticed that his eyes were almost glassy-that same teary look you had noticed when you first met him. Like he may weep.

“I think Monsignor Pruitt was partial t-

DING!

You both jumped apart and looked behind you at the sound of your timer sounding.

Had it been 15 minutes already?

You both returned to the kitchen and you began removing the sheets of golden treats. “If you can put them on the cooling rack while I take them out that’ll help a lot, Father.” You smiled.

“They turned out so nicely.” He mused as he followed your orders, “I supposed I shouldn’t have expected anything less from you.”

You laughed a little, “It’s just trial and error until you figure out your best method.”

Modest girl.

John grinned at you from the corner of his eye while you placed the last hot sheet on the counter.

The two of you continued the routine until the last round was in the oven, and you were starting to feel more at ease with the man. Almost playful. He certainly was a young priest, and every bit a red blooded man; his humour was dry, and he smiled easily. His laugh was infectious, though you could tell he didn’t do it often. You supposed the church wasn’t exactly a place rich with humour.

The record had nearly finished after almost an hour of listening, and the two of you were leaning against the kitchen counter listening. You swayed gently to the music, but then perked up when a favourite of yours began to play.

“I love this song…” you muttered under your breath and turned your head in the direction of the living room.

John looked down at you in recognition of what you had said, but in the low light of your kitchen, and the softness in your face, he couldn’t help but be reminded of being young. Not just himself but the island. Back when the people who were not partners used to be children he had baptized. Back when there were dances in the old town hall that had since burned down decades ago.

You reminded him of…a better time.

An easier time.

You were so occupied in your little bubble, that it took you a moment to notice Father Paul coming in front of you with his hands out.

You looked down at his palms, then up at him, and he waited patiently. You slowly placed your hands in his, and he pulled you away from the counter and began to sway with you. So gentle, then he tentatively brought your hand up to his shoulder and he brought his other hand to your waist; guiding you through a little dance.

Neither of you said a word.

Not there was anything to say really.

Somehow the two of you just felt very…human.

Your neck hurt from looking up at his dark eyes, but you didn’t stop. He watched you just as closely as you moved slowly through the room in small circles.

“…You know I used to be alone before I knew you…and I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch, and love is not some victory march. It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah…”

The smell of baked cookies surrounded you, and you almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.

But in that moment, it didn’t feel absurd.

It felt like two kindred souls enjoying some shared time. Any obligations or expectations melted away as you felt the warmth from his hands meld into your tendons and heat your sinew. His fingers holding yours felt more akin to a cradle and his breath between you was like smelling your childhood.

Your heart ached.

Perhaps it was that no one had held you in years. Let alone danced with you.

Hugs and pats on the back were about the extent.

“…and it’s not a cry that you hear at night, it’s not someone whose seen the light, it’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah…”

The two of you slowed until you came to a standstill in the kitchen, simply standing less than a foot from eachother. When the timer dinged this time, neither of you jumped away. The sound certainly brought you down to Earth, but somehow you only found yourself staring up at the man. You weren’t altogether confused, though you were curious and a little nervous.

Why had he done that?

Why did you do that?

You had felt so comfortable…like this was an old friend of yours who you had just seen again after years apart.

John gazed down at you…his mind rich with turmoil and deep contemplation. When he had taken your hands in his, it had been as if God had moved through him.

Compelling.

Like God had told him to embrace the good of the past, and remember what he was working towards. To restore exactly that.

After a few breaths, Father Hill released your hand, and you both quietly walked to the oven.

The last batch now sat on the cooling racks, and you sighed.

“I’ll pack these up and bring them by the rectory before service tomorrow, Father.” You broke the silence.

Father hill nodded, “Thank you my girl.” He said softly.

You nodded and looked down at your hands, “Thank you for your company.” Then looked back up at the man before you.

He tilted his head to you as if to tell you that you were welcome or that it was his pleasure.

He slowly unrolled his sleeves, and you picked his sweater up for him from the living room.

You almost felt bad to watch him go. It might have been nice to talk to him for a few hours more.

He finished tying his boots and graciously took the sweater from you, and slipped it on over his collared shirt.

“Goodnight, y/n.” He murmured as he opened your door.

“Goodnight, Father.” You whispered back.

He stayed a moment longer, and smiled gently at you, then he was gone.

You stood in your doorway, watching him go, and as he left your sight, you found yourself returning to your senses. A wave of embarrassment chilled you when you realised what you had just done. Yet somehow you didn’t feel entirely guilty. It had felt as if some kind of blanket had enveloped the two of you just like when he conversed with his flock after mass- a bubble around you.

You packed the treats away after cooling, and silently went to sleep. You didn’t let yourself dwell.

-

“It’s great to see so many of you here today. But I do have to ask, why not every Sunday? Christmas, Easter, I get that. But there’s also always an uptick around the start of Lent. Why is that? What’s so special about today? Ash Wednesday, beginning of Lent. It’s hardly a crowd-pleaser.The beginning of repentance, making amends for our sins. Sin. This darkness, this blackness that spilled into us. That darkness, we wear it on our forehead today. Just a smudge of it. Uh…A smudge of death, of ash, of sin for repentance. Because of where this is all actually heading, which is Easter. Rebirth, resurrection, eternal life. Life that rises again…” Father Paul stood before you at the pulpit, presence commanding as ever.

“Even out of blackness, love rises again. Even out of sin. And this island, it will rise again. Even out of disaster, rebirth, restoration, eternal life. Jesus sees you. Sees you, best of all, and he sees you true. Because, don’t forget, who did he seek out? Who did he turn to, to build his church?His apostles. Jesus’ first disciples, they were fishermen. One of his first miracles, right? The nets are empty, fishermen desperate. Jesus says, “Put out into deep water and let down your nets for a catch,” and when they pulled up those nets, a bounty of fish.” You could practically feel the worshipers buzz around you as their heart rates picked up, just like yours.

“He sees you. Oh, yes, he sees you, brothers and sisters, and he will resurrect this island, and he will again fill your nets. It’s great you’re here today, but please keep coming back. Those doors, they’re always open, as the gates are always open. You just bring yourself. God will do the rest. As Psalm 60 tells us, “God, You have rejected us, You have broken us down, You have been angry. Restore us again.” Do you know what psalms are? They’re songs.The word psalm from the Greek psalmoi. It means “music.” Songs of prayer. Songs of praise. That’s who we are. That’s who we must be. That’s what it means to have faith, that in the darkness, in the worst of it, in the absence of light and hope, we sing. “Restore us,” we sing to the sky. And He will, my friends. He will. That same hand that dealt you your hardship, that same hand will make you whole.”

A single tear fell from your eye. God works in mysterious ways, and you could almost feel God working through Father Hill that day. As if God truly was trying to tell you that he was there with you. And Father Hill spoke as if he knew something good was to come- as if God had shown him.

And you believed him.

As you stood, you could hear Annie trying to urge her son to accept the cross of ash, and you gave her a small reassuring smile when she filed in behind you.

“Y/n remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” The preacher murmured to you. Your face was bright that day, happy. John suppressed a smile.

“Amen.” You said quietly, flicking your eyes up to his. He stared down at you steadily, calm as ever.

“Bless you my child.” His was was low and serene.

It was a peaceful stroll down to potluck. You watched as birds started to flit in the trees and chirp; bees starting to buzz, the gentle sound of the shore. Rebirth.

You checked behind you every so often as you walked in case you saw Father Hill; you had brought the cookies to the rectory that morning before service, and when you had offered to help carry the three large containers after, the Father had declined.

You had insisted.

But he insisted harder.

It was wonderful to see the islanders enjoy the little festival. Sharing with each other and laughing. It didn’t happen often. It was as if everyone pushed off their exhaustion just to enjoy that day. Problems could wait until the next day.

You made your way through the locals that you knew well, and stopped a little longer with some. Annie stood with Ed, and you noticed them smiling; perhaps it might seem like a strange thing to notice, but you knew all about Ed’s troubled back, and how their marriage was a little exhausted…it made your heart glow a little to see them happy. Most everyone seemed happier if you were honest, and it wasn’t just that day.

Your legs began to ache after a half hour, and you took to the edge of the festival to sit. You liked this. Watching everyone around you.

“Mind if I join you?” You looked up to see Father Hill walking over to you, a cup of juice in hand.

“Please do.” You scooted over to give him a little more room.

He sat with a soft grunt.

“You did your hair different.”

You turned to him. And your lips parted in surprise, “Wha-“

“I’m sorry- I noticed during communion. Just came to mind.” He said a little awkwardly though no less sweet.

Your mouth fell open a little, “I did. First day of lent…I like to do a little extra for it.” You rambled.

John smiled at you.

You looked pretty.

Not that he could say that.

But you did.

“The crockpot luck…I hear it’s a yearly staple for the island.” Father Hill said to you as you both looked out over the festival.

You nodded, “Sure is…”

John turned to you then; your tone was a little more reserved. Like you weren’t saying all you wished to.

“You’re not a fan of it?” He asked curiously.

You thought for a moment. “Can I be-“

“Honest?” He cut you off. Echoing your words from the night before.

You smiled, “Yes.”

“Please do.”

“I-… Lent is supposed to be a time of fasting and repentance and prayer…I just…it seems strange to have a festival on Ash Wednesday.” You said quietly.

He nodded, “Perhaps a little unorthodox.”

“I think I’ve always found it just…a little odd. Our Monsignor was the one who came up with it, you know? Coined the name. I just…I can’t help but wonder if his theology was a little…uh…off.” You mused, looking down at your hands.

Father Hill regarded you for a moment, and nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“I know you didn’t know him…he was a nice man…but…he was- is just a man. Man has his faults.” You shrugged, then turned to the man beside you, “No offence, Father.”

He chuckled and sipped at his cup, “None taken. I appreciate your candour.”

You pursed your lips.

You weren’t usually so unguarded.

You shouldn’t have said that.

Why did you say that?

This was the second time you had inadvertently said something to insult him within 24 hours. You felt shame start to rise in the back of your throat.

“I don’t want you to worry about offending me, y/n. I’m a friend and an ear to listen…if ever you want to talk.” He said, staring out at the sea of people, then back at you.

You sighed and nodded, “Thank you, Father. You’re very kind.”

He smiled.

Then you remembered something, “Father?”

“Hm?”

You shifted a little awkwardly, “I want to first thank you for maintaining my uh…specialized sacrament, but I just wanted to ask- have you changed the juice?” You asked him.

He thought for a moment, “I don’t believe so. We just got a new shipment…I can check if it’s any different…why?”

“It…it’s just…it tastes very strange. Almost metallic. I don’t know how else to describe it.” You thought back to how the taste stayed in your mouth after only a sip.

John shifted in his seat. You knew. He would have to find another way of give you the gift.

“I’ll find another one to give you. Not to worry.” He said, and patted your hand.

“Thank you, Father.” You chose not to dwell on him touching you.

“Well, I should return to my flock…trying to get to know everyone.” He said, then pushed himself up off the bench.

You nodded. You knew he was only temporary, but it was kind of him to try and get to know the members of the community while he was there.

He was charming and approachable, it wouldn’t be hard for him.

“Of course, enjoy!” You called after him. He waved back at you, and you scrunched your face up as the sun hit your eyes.

You sighed to yourself and after an hour, you began to make another round of the park. The town had truly lucked out with such a beautiful day for such a special day. After such a nasty storm just a few days ago, it was surprising.

You watched at the sun started to lower in the sky. Things were starting to wind down, and some had began to return home-

“Pike!”

You whipped your head around in the direction of the scream. On the other end of the park, you could see a crowd forming. You knew Pike was Joe Collie’s dog, and by the sounds of it, there was nothing good happening. You knew he was old, and loud, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly. You hoped he hadn’t bitten someone.

You crossed the field in just a couple minutes, and when you came to stand in the crowd, you felt yourself grow lightheaded. Pike was laying in a puddle of foamy bile and blood- the light leaving his eyes. You could hear Joe accusing Bev, and saw Sarah knelt over the dog…it was horrible.

“Alright everyone…back up.” Hassan waved his arms to try and disperse the crowd. Everyone began to walk away, and you could feel a solemnness come over the islanders. Like somehow they had all been snapped out of a trance and remembered their troubles.

You pursed your lips, but ultimately backed up as well. You wanted to help, but you knew there was virtually nothing to do. Pike was dead.

You kept to yourself for another hour, the as the afternoon dragged on, you started to collect the now-empty containers that had once held the cookies.

“Thanks for that, y/n.”

You looked over at Wade who was taking one last helping of…something brownish. A casserole of some kind.

You smiled, “Oh it was no problem. It was actually a group effort between the Father and I!”

His brows shot up, “Really?”

“Yeah he wanted to bring something. Wasn’t that nice of him?” You picked the empty containers up.

“Yeah…he- he seems like a real nice fella.” He mused, moustache twitching.

You nodded, “This was great, Mr. Mayor. See you Friday?”

He chuckled- you knew he was just fine with Wade, but you also knew he liked when people used his title- made him feel important. And you did your best to remind each person of their importance when you could.

“See you Friday, sweetheart.” He conceded.

You waved him off, then began your way back home.

John stood on the edge of the park watching you go. He had initially taken the spot to gaze at Sarah, but his gaze had been drawn when you were speaking with the mayor.

They really did love you.

And he understood why.

He watched you disappear down the road, dress fluttering in the wind.

•••••••••••••••••••

@littleredwritingcat @zaunite-leo @f4er1e-g1rl @purplemotif @vampyre-kin @professional-sinner @hamishlinklaters @spacechupss @pansexualpamandabear @ebiemidnightlibrarian

[emmaofnormandy]

Imagine you and Aegon find comfort in each other.

Warnings: mediæval like; canon divergence with the series; Y/N’s plot is loosely inspired in (TV Show’s) Helaena’s; drama; smut.

***

• (I)

You have dreams. What do you know about them? They come true, that is what you understand. Whatever colours they are painted of, they come true. Mostly they show you the past, but every now and then… these dreams show something beyond your historical comprehension.

“Y/N, my dearest”, the queen calls you out, bringing you back to reality. You raise your eyes and spot this red-haired woman dressed in fanciful green robes eyeing you with a maternal, yet distant care. “There is something we must speak of.”

“What is it?”, you remember your filial duties. Leaving aside your books, you concentrate on what your often absent mother has to say.

“By any means I mean to bring to you a subject that makes me uncomfortable in speaking of”, the Queen forces a smile, but you can tell by the awkwardness in her eyes that she wishes to be elsewhere. “You are soon going to be married.”

“To Aegon”, you observe, resigned. “How could it be otherwise when he’s the heir?”

For someone so young, your tongue can be sharp whilst your eyes give tons of liveliness not afore perceived by your mother. An awkward silence hangs in between the two of you.

“Yes, to him. This will not happen soon, though.”

“But from now on my lessons will change. I am aware.” And you smile to break the sudden tension. “Fear not, mother. I think Aegon and I will be… in good terms.”

She doesn’t know how you can be certain, but the Queen is relieved for delivering at last what she formerly thought to be dreadful news.

***

• (II)

“Marriages are alliances that must not be focused in sentiments”, instructs the Queen. “These must be placed aside for the sake of duty.”

“Is it not commendable to have some degree of affection between the parties?”, asks Aegon, somewhat confused with where this is going.

His mother gives him a look, deprived of comprehension: how could she, when she married his father by force, never nurturing any affection for this man?

“Nay. The Church strongly discourages affection on both parts, for otherwise marriage, sacred in its end for the purpose of continuing the lineage, becomes profaned.”

Aegon sighs heavily. It is worthless to discuss with his mother, he knows it well. This is a matter that women are better familiar with, for, like his grandsire likes to say, it is linked with a feminine world of which men have little doing in it.

According to the old Valyrian tradition, the heir to the throne comes to understand that he’s to marry his younger sister, Y/N. The young man closes his eyes, at first not really excited about making you his wife.

“I shall do as my lady mother commands”, says he in a mechanic tone, eager to leave the meeting.

Must it be constantly uncomfortable every time they gather together?

A question the Queen sees unposed in her boy’s eyes. One of the kind she wishes she could answer, but trapped in her own ambitious web, all she does is eventually dismiss his presence of her.

And serve herself some wine, naturally.

***

• (III).

Aegon watches as you sit by the fountain. Years gone by since you and him grew up and were forced to marry. The union has been consumed, but you have been avoiding each other’s presence ever since.

However, for some inexplicable reason, here he stands, watching you absorbed in your usual reading. The book is black velvet with golden pages, but judging by the content that has you frowning your eyebrows, Aegon believes it not be of religious type.

He hesitates at first in how to come at you. There had seemed to be an unspoken agreement between both of you since that unfortunate day that once consumed, the marriage would remain as void as possible.

Duties were performed, of course. However, ever since Prince Jaehaerys came to pass, a victim of the Summer Fever, neither could console the other properly. As a result, Aegon produced bastards… but never a legitimate son to continue the line. Perhaps this was arranged, albeit unconsciously so, between him and you against Queen Alicent’s and your grandsire Lord Otto’s ambitions.

But now… Aegon cannot handle his demons alone. Out of his siblings, you are the one whose nature somehow… does not mirror others or his own.

Sensing the weight of his stare, you lift your gaze only to be caught off guard by your estranged husband’s presence. You quickly stand, somewhat fearful he might be here just to scowl at you for failing your duties—something that you’ve seen in others’ eyes.

And even though you’ve been having odd dreams where Aegon and you get along, overcoming these initial struggles that a forced match put you through, you are somehow faithless in this. In addition to this, there’s the fact neither speak to the other since your only son’s demise.

“I do not fault you for his… premature departure of this world”, says Aegon, not needing too much to disclosure the reason why there’s a distance between both parts, under covered by a mutual distrust. “His suffering was short.”

“‘Tis part of our position to accept that what the Lord gives, the Lord takes.” You muse thoughtfully.

Aegon glances away. Religiosity has never been his best, even if he’s forced to play the pious.

“Ours, however, has been unnecessarily prolonged.”

The silver haired prince, who wears court garments today, looks like an empty vessel when these words reach his ears. You hope to reach out for him, but…

“Pardon?”

So close, yet so far.

You are dressing a cream silk gown with details in green and pearls. Aegon notices the result of the embroidery you’ve been working, particularly focusing at the dragons that have been so perfectly woven in the cloth.

“I’ve only meant to say…” You sigh, shaking your head as you quit. “Never mind. This battle is lost.”

Aegon scoffs at your behavior, but in retrospective could you be the one to blame when he walked away so easily?

Biting down a bitter answer, he looks down at his feet before saying:

“May we… walk around the gardens? I think we must speak.”

You cast him a long look.

Could this be?

But when this pair of lilac irises encounters yours, mirroring each other’s soul deprived free will—for where hast it been put if not casted upon the creature done in the similitude of its Creator?—it as if the divine ire has been placated at last. As if little by little all is starting to settle.

Almost if there is hope.

“Aye, lord. I do not see why not”, and when you smile, Aegon realizes this is no time to winter, but to spring. “It has been too long since we last spoke.”

So too he smiles, charmed by this woman whom he neglected by force of pride, weakened in flesh and spirit as he knows.

“True.”

In his own way, Aegon and you begin to gravitate towards each other. Thus the dragons dance.

***

• (IV)

“There is a sadness behind your eyes I cannot decipher”, Aegon muses.

You are lying on his lap. The two of you are found at the gardens in this cloud day. You like how he strokes your hair, careful, tender. A positive change in his manners in these weeks which you gladly welcome despite the early distrust.

“I think I might when I come to think about it, but I fear to dig into it…”, he proceeds. “It makes me want to demove it out of you.”

“That is kind of you, but some people are born with it, I guess”, you close your eyes, unsure where these waters are leading you to.

Though your dreams, green they might be, show you facts that come to be true, you are still frightened by them. Some of them brought you to this very moment in spite of your reluctance to it.

Here you are, though.

“I think we are rather creatures of it”, says Aegon. “And I fear that I am one of the reasons why melancholy has found solace in your heart.”

You carefully rise and contemplate your husband. Your eyes scan his handsome features, part of which mirrors yours. Lilac eyes and silver locks, but a nose and a mouth that certainly take after your mother.

Pulled by strange strings that come from above, you are reasoned by the certainty of being pawns of the gods. Regardless of never answering to them, these never answer to your family either. The clash of mortality and immortality often results in misery.

“Pride is our fall”, you muse, able to see so many tragedies in the past that lead to this current one. “It is only equaled by selfishness. We are all doomed in the end. ‘Tis the nature of us all.”

“I often wish I was worthy of being loved, made different by the divine”, so much being brought out by words and yet you are drawn by them.

“No, my dear lover; my sweet brother, we are all capable of loving… and being loved”, you tell him, capturing his face with your hands.

You rest your forehead against his. Aegon closes his eyes, swallowing the tears he’s been ashamed to keep when darkness rises.

“I am not. And I lament with the depths of my soul for it.”

“Shush now. Quiet the riots of your heart, for we are neither too pure nor too profaned, despite being creatures of sin. We can be light when there is darkness.”

“You are too pure for this world.”

Oh, the anguish. The atonement behind words that hurt like knife, so vicious is the pain these cause.

And yet your lips seek for his in attempt to mend it. Aegon is surprised by your pursuit, but he doesn’t shy away. He welcomes gleefully the sweet taste of your lips.

For the first time in a very long time, pain is left aside by another sentiment, to both of you unknown. What is this? What is this if not the spark of joy? The start of something new, where no words are sufficed to translate.

“I want you”, he whispers like a pained lover, realizing a little too late how his prideful heart and doomed soul stole him away from you for too long.

Whilst his tongue mixes with yours, you succumb to the power of gravity. Like the planets attracted to the sun, so is your heart to his. And you want to steal his misery, you want to be desired as much as you want to love this man.

Half of your soul, your other half.

“I am yours, Aegon”, you bite down his lips, letting him have his way to you when lying down the grass and pulling him over you. “Reclaim me, I beg of you.”

“I shall do as my damsel commands me to”, he gasps, breathless.

Where there was cold, there is now fire. Two dragons, two sides of the same coin, about to get burnt.

He kisses you hard, famine for your affection, desperate to reach out for you and you lift your legs to tie him in between all the whilst returning his fierce kiss, hands gripping his hair, making a mess with his silver locks.

And then…. His lips comes to your neck, biting and leaving bruises, pleased to hear small sounds out of your mouth.

His eager hands start to work on your gown, unlacing it eagerly, digging his hands possessively against your back, very clear in his selfish gesture.

“Mine, mine lady”, Aegon whispers against your chest, pausing breathlessly to contemplate the mess you are now.

Your eyes are partially closed; your red-ish lips are open in a small “o”, wanting for more, releasing these desires for so long repressed, for years repented as wrongs that should be cleansed of your soul.

“Mine lord”, you sigh in content.

And looking down at his face, you see a smile crawling over his lips, which rises to his eyes. Your heart melts and you smile too.

“I exhort you to give me a precious gift”, and you lift him so you steal a kiss out of his lips. “Your heart, your soul… I cannot sleep well at night knowing my lover is not well. Let me be your healer as Venus healed Ares when he was in his worst. For I’d go to hell and cross through damnation to save you.”

“Lady, profess naught these words, I forbid you”, and he kisses you in turn. “Unworthy I am of this gesture, this affection! I shall guard, however, your heart as the great treasure to me sent by the divine. Sinful and doomed I may be…”

“I will redeem you if you let me.”

You shush his uneasiness with another kiss. Now you lay him down, taking control of the reins. You reclaim him like he did to you, except the dragon fire makes you bolder this time.

So your kisses do not concern his lips alone: your hungry mouth captures his neck and his chest… all the whilst you unlace his pants. Starving for affection, one needs the other; a need released after being repressed under the guise of good behavior and social rules.

Oh but where’s the etiquette when your hand grips his manhood, taking it the way he likes—oh you still remember your first night together, when even under the effect of alcohol he was excited to teach you the way it’s done.

Bearing this recollection in minds, Aegon throws his head back and lets out a loud groan.

“Heavens! Oh, my lady! Never before so fair, my leof!”

His chest growing heavy, Aegon’s body is instantly warmed with fire. Eyes rolling in the back of his mind, he’s about to come undone, but not wasting his seed, he turns tables and soon you are no longer the hunter, but the prey.

That in finding pleasure you are able to bury scars of cloud days formed through pain is to delight yourself in these marital activities you and Aegon prevented each of the other in the past years.

Now he’s sliding his manhood into your core after locking your hands above your head, you comprehend at long last what these dreams are about.

Your promise prince. The hope of a yet to come spring.

‘Tis the way upon which salvation is craved: when hearts are blended and bodies are intertwined, when parted souls are one united.

***

• (V)

Politics are not the world you were educated to be part of, which is something you are content about. Unlike your mother, the former queen. This is not a field where you intend to seed your ambitions.

To many, you are content with the role delegated to you, and this isn’t completely untrue. But there are times where nights are dark…

…and full of terrors.

“Aegon”, you whisper his name, but he doesn’t respond; his snore tells how asleep he is. You sigh, but you don’t call him again.

Untangling of his arm, you roll out of bed, anxious. Another dream comes to take your peace… something no one knows, no one’s understand.

You walk barefoot towards the window and there you stand, watching through the glass the darkness above. You can still hear the screams in the back of your head, accusations, the sound of blades…

War is coming.

What is there to stop it? The ambitions of the men are seed to the inevitable. Even so, the scenes are hard to unsee.

Lost in your world, you miss Aegon’s groaning when noticing the cold you left your side of bed and not much time after coming for you.

“Y/N”, your husband snakes his arms around you waist, resting his head on your shoulder. “You look pale. Are you unwell?”

You chew your bottom lip, a sign of distress that Aegon’s familiar with. He suddenly recalls the reason why you and him were never close throughout your childhood and subsequent early adulthood: the fact you were always stuck in your own world.

A reason there was to it, but he was afraid to figure it out then.

“What bothers you, my sweet?”

As you slowly turn at him, Aegon spots tears forming in your eyes.

“You’d not understand.”

“Try me.”

You hesitate, fearful of losing him. As if he could read your thoughts, Aegon cups your face and rests his forehead against yours.

“I shall not leave your side, regardless of what it is that daunts you so.”

“You may call me witch for what I am about to tell you…”

The king chuckles.

“Hardly.”

He waits, aware that this is where you open yourself to him. Aegon can tell, by the looks you cast him, how important this is, a test of trust that will rely on his reactions.

Eventually though, with little need to reassure you that whatever that comes out he will not leave your side, Aegon holds your hands firmly and says:

“We have been under neglect for so long. We were not taught affection nor approval, or any of the values our mother praises in public. And yet here we are with the crown over our heads.” He kisses your cheek, there staying for a while. “We cannot be faulted for the sins of our parents, my wife. We are of the same blood, but we are more than that.”

It is only then you finally grant him entrance to a world where none had dared to do so. Aegon is thus told that you have inherited an ability few possessed in the Targaryen dynasty: the one of having green dreams.

Even so… here it is where one estranged couple gets intimate in the most blessed of forms: by trusting each other and overcoming former difficulties.

Indeed, a victory to the Cupid… or the Virgin Mother who brought harmony to two troubled souls.

***

• Epilogue.

War eventually makes its way to the realm. But when it does, all is settled.

“I must lead my troops against this pretender to the throne”, says Aegon in reference to their sister, Rhaenyra, who never entirely accepted to be cast aside in favour of her younger brother.

“Be mindful. She has Lord Daemon by her side”, you advise him.

“But we have Aemond by ours”, Aegon smirks at you.

As you two embrace, Aegon places a kiss on top of your forehead and a hand over your growing belly.

“Beware, my love”, says he, and you detect concern behind his eyes.

But you sweep away his concerns when you smile the brightest.

“No need to worry. You shall come back to my arms and I will perform my duty accordingly. Dare I say that more children will come in due time!”

Aegon chuckles quietly. When he smiles, no beautiful sight could have warmed your heart like this.

“Aphrodite blessed me indeed!”

He takes your hand to his lips before leading you both to the court where he expects to part with his men soon. Aemond soon comes, joined by Lady Alys, his wife.

Even though this is an unusual union for the time where low born are hardly married into high born houses, you and her got along just fine… and she’s been a good help with the dreams you have.

“This shall not be a farewell!”, says Aegon before all, in a ceremony that you are the protagonist of it. Oh, courtly nonsenses, you know, but here are the perks of being queen. “For the divine calls me to take in arms with the one who, as the same blood of ours, has been conspiring with violence and never befriending with peace!”

“The Fortune has set the path to you, my king. Be merciful, I ask.”

Aegon nods his head regally, every inch a king.

“I will keep your request in mind, my damsel!”

And to prevent a civil war, he goes, mounted in his golden horse whom he calls Sunfyre.

***

However, women are not prevented to fight their own wars even if their victories in childbed are not sang nor praised by poets and bards.

Surrounded with the women of your trust, you are now closed to a feminine world where men take no part. Curious to notice that where Aegon fights for the survival of his dynasty, you too take a similar part in delivering its success.

Amidst pain and blood, though, you perform your duties accordingly. Most would applaud your bravery in facing the process with no tears and few screams.

I am as Targaryen as any of them.

A pair of twins comes to breathe the air after the process is done. You opt to name the male after your husband, Aegon, and the female after Rhaenys. It is only fair since you come after their line.

“How is my queen doing?”, Lady Alys asks you once the labour comes to an end and the babies are taken to be cleaned.

“Good”, you smile at her, taking the hand offered and giving a slight squeeze. “Thank you.”

“More will come”, she whispers.

Your smile spreads fully.

“Oh, indeed. A victory granted by the Divine.”

“Even if the Targaryens answer to no men nor Gods”, says Alys.

Both of you chuckle.

“It is what it is”, you give your motto to your sister in law.

Towards the end of the reign of Aegon the Wise, the chronicler writes how you, successfully known as the peacemaker, set the path to other queen consorts in your queenship. Popular throughout the Seven Kingdoms, your hand extended where your husband’s could not.

For example, you helped arranging the marriages of your third child, Rhaella, with Rhaenyra’s son, Jacaerys, as well as your fourth, Hughes, with Visenya. That way you brought Rhaenyra closer to your family instead of instigating another possibly revolt. Such matches pleased her.

It all ended well.

As for you and Aegon, no successful match has been seen since King Viserys wedded Lady Aemma.

You and him found solace in each other and would remain so until the end of your days. There’s a saying in King Aegon III’s reigns that you and your husband’s bond was so strong that both of you were found dead sleeping in each other’s arms in an advanced age.

[little-diable]

Hail Mary – Priest!Tom Riddle (smut)

Well well well, we're back with the fucked up priest. He's just my fave to write, I ain't sorry. Don't like it, don't read it–remember that, please. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader had been sent to a monastery because her parents no longer endured having her around. But perhaps Priest Riddle will know how to handle her.

Warnings: 18+, smut, mutual masturbation, oral (m), orgasm denial, fucked up Priest Riddle, forced prayer, religious connotations

Pairing: Priest!Tom Riddle x fem!reader (1.4k words)

picture from Pinterest, credit to original owner

“Would you call this spotless?” He towered over her, piercing eyes set on her tired, angry features. She didn’t reply, kept staring at the tall priest, who those she was surrounded by feared. The white collar around his neck seemed to grow tighter with every breath he took, impatiently waiting for the young woman to reply. 

“Speak!” His angry voice buzzed through her, leaving her trembling as she balled her hands into fists. She had been forced to join the monastery a month ago, as a young woman in her early twenties who seemed to lose her grip on reality. Doctors and priests had called her insane, guided by the devil–accusations that had forced her parents to send her to this godless place. 

“It’s clean, I scrubbed every inch.” Angry tears began to well up in her eyes. A humourless laugh left the man at her words, and with his lips pulled into a thin line, he pulled her off the ground. She fought against his grasp and tried to rip herself free, but the man didn’t react, he kept pulling her down the hallway.  

“Sister Jane told me you are a stubborn one. It’s time you finally learn to respect others.” She was tossed to the ground in the empty church, forcing a cry out of her as the cold nibbled on her limbs. (Y/n) was torn between anger, frustration, and fear, a deadly mixture she was about to fall victim to. 

“Pray for forgiveness, you will only stop once I’m satisfied. Start with your Hail Mary.” Her teeth drew blood as she sank them into her lower lip. She was determined, set on not giving in, no matter the pain that was undoubtedly awaiting her. The two kept holding eye contact for a few more seconds before an almost disappointed sigh left the man. 

“Remember that this is your own fault, (y/n).” Confusion tugged at her features as he came closer to her once again. She allowed herself to study him; he was undoubtedly handsome; she had tried to catch his attention for the past few days; and perhaps a small part of her had hoped that her protests and disrespectful behaviour would push her closer to him. 

“Show me your tongue.” (Y/n) blindly followed his command. Her uneasy eyes kept staring up at him as if he were the Messiah himself, a ruthless man she had mistaken for her saviour. Without another warning, the priest spat on her tongue, forcing her to swallow his saliva. “Sit down on the altar.”

He let go of her, forcing (y/n) to momentarily lose her balance before moving towards the altar carved from stone. Her body was trembling, shaking as if an earthquake kept buzzing through her. This was wrong; she knew that whatever was about to happen would be enough to call the cops on this place, but yet (y/n) didn’t care about any right or wrong; she wanted to be touched by him and would do whatever it takes to make it happen. 

“Part your legs.” She watched him sink down on the wooden bench placed in the first row, with his hands interlaced in his lap and the big cross dangling from his neck. Slowly, she parted her legs for him, knowing that her skirt was short enough to expose her already damp panties to his piercing eyes. 

“Touch yourself, (y/n).” It took her a second to set into motion, to let her fingers find their way to her panties. But before she could even begin to touch herself, the priest spoke up again. “We’ll try again with the Hail Mary. It’s best if you already start praying for forgiveness.” 

Her heart was in her throat, pounding as if she had been running for hours, chased by the darkness the tall man emanated. (Y/n) had to clear her throat as her fingers pushed her panties aside to expose her heat to his eyes. And with a trembling voice, she began praying.

“Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.” Her fingers circled her pulsing bundle, moving with enough pressure to draw a raspy moan from her that momentarily interrupted her prayer. The priest kept his eyes focused on her, flickering between her features and her cunt, drawing satisfied sounds from him she couldn’t hear. 

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” Her head rolled back, letting go of another moan as her fingers added more speed to their movements. She was too distracted by the intense feeling to notice him shuffling around, freeing his hardening cock. The ringed fingers (y/n) wanted to feel around her throat began to pump his cock, moving just as fast as her fingers. 

“Oh fuck, touch me, please, Father.” It felt as if she was begging for another chance to live, as if she were selling her soul to the Devil himself, about to sign a contract with her blood. The man only let go of a raspy chuckle, luring her further and further to the edge. 

“Why should I grant you this wish, (y/n)? You’ve been nothing but a disrespectful brat.” Her eyes flickered up to meet his, staring at the man with dilated pupils and parted lips. For a second, her fingers stopped moving, trapped by his question, the danger dripping from his words. 

“I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever you want, but I need you, please.” Not once had she begged this much before. Not once in her life had she spoken words that were this desperate. But at that moment she didn’t care, didn’t give in to the embarrassment that would normally flush through her. All she did was get lost in his eyes, the pupils that were filled with a colour so rich that even Eden would pale in comparison. 

“Not tonight, (y/n), not until you prove to me that you’re worthy of my touch.” Her fingers moved once again, driven by the need to give in and chase a blinding high that would rip her from this dimension. She kept staring at the man she wanted to feel closer, watching him pump his cock with fast movements she tried to match. It seemed as if he could tell that she was close, because just before she could tumble over the edge, he called her name, forcing her fingers to stop moving. 

“Come here, (y/n).” A whine left her as she stopped touching herself, fuelled by frustration as she felt her close orgasm letting go of her. With trembling limbs, she moved towards him, not daring to break their eye contact once. “Onto your knees, make me cum with your mouth.”

The words were enough to distract her from her frustration. She took hold of his twitching cock, pushed the tip past her lips, and sucked on the sensitive skin. His taste stuck to her tongue, leaving her moaning while bobbing her head. With every passing moment, she took more of him, choking around him whenever she got too eager. 

Priest Riddle’s ringed hand found her hair to guide her last movements, adding more speed while he couldn’t stop his hips from jerking, forcing his cock down her throat. Tears dripped down from her eyes, salty like the Dead Sea, like the tears Mary cried when her only son was crucified, dreadful moments that were no match to the bond (y/n) and the priest now formed.

With a raspy groan, the man came down her throat, forcing her to swallow every drop. She kept pumping him for a few more seconds before he pulled her off his cock. With his thumb, he wiped her remaining tears away before he redressed and rose to his feet. (Y/n) kept kneeling before him, waiting for him to push her through her own high–nothing but dreams he wouldn’t turn real, not tonight. 

“Kiss my shoe, thank me for this, and perhaps next week I’ll be more gracious and let you cum.”

[ssparksflyy]

Hiii I hope you are having a great day!! I was wondering if you could make another percy jackson x daughter of Hecate reader? If you don’t/ can’t do it that’s fine I just though i would ask.

ask and thou shall receive ༉‧₊˚.

percy jackson dating hcs ! *ੈ✩‧₊˚

pairing: percy jackson x latina!daughter of hecate!reader warning(s): swearin an: dw i got ur 2nd request that u wanted reader to be latina :)) i just added in some little things that tie in ♡♡ srry if these are short btw </3

in the dead of night, your eyes so greennnnnnnn

you and percy tend to stay up later than most of camp

your always up and out after curfew

you js function better at night okay

me asf

the day is reserved for lake dates and the night is reserved for sky watching dates ♡♡

youre literally attached by the hip if you couldnt tell

as they say in waitress, i love you means your never ever getting rid of me ♡

you usually watch from the roof of cabin 3, just cuddled up and sharing a blanket

but once percy suggested you watch from the docks

and you were like oh!

not actually but you looked really hesitant

he was like whats wrong??

so you told him about la llorona !! #coquette

it was so preppy

but now youre both scared to go to the lake at night

even though yk shes not real

and youve literally been through tartarus

and back

and you face unimaginable horrors every day

and percy's literally the son of the sea god

mexican folklore is scary ok yall

idc if it didnt scare you as a kid / you like horror

I DONT

IM TRAUMATIZED

MY GRANDMA PUT ON LA LEYENDA DE LA LLORONA WHEN I WAS FIVE AND I HAVENT KNOWN A DAY OF PEACE SINCE

sorry for trauma dumping yall

kinda silly how some story about a lady who drowned her kids is enough to make 2 of camp half blood's strongest soldiers shake in their boots

so u stick to rooftops ♡

you and hazel are bestiessss

shes a honorary member of cabin 20 of course

you exchange tips and tricks, hazel telling you about the things she saw hecate do and the things she said to her

and you tell her about the things youve picked up over the years :))

percy cant help but smile whenever he sees you two together

he sees hazel as a sister

(yall remember in son when he was ready to fight somebody for her or something like that i dont remember exactly what he said but i do know he was ready to fight)

and ur his fav girl ever ♡

his heart just feels warmed

same way he feels when he sees you playing with estelle

you show her a bit of ur powers and she flips outtttt

she asks sally to be a witch for halloween because "i want to be just like (y/n)!!!"

dont know about yall but if i went home and my family found out i was involved with ~brujeria~ i would not be accepted at home (please read as if youre white and cant say shit in spanish)

thats just the mad religious side talking dont worry yall

but sally and paul would literally let you in with open arms

the jackson's apartment is your second home

percy has a drawer reserved for your clothes in his room ♡♡

he loves it when you sleepover, at home or at camp

he absolutely adores kissing your hands

he doesnt care about the dangers you can produce from them, he'll kiss em allllll he wants

you could be cuddled up together, ur reading to him and he just grabs one of your hands and begins to leave a trail of kisses up your arm, shoulder, neck, cheek, and eventually leaving one on your temple

it just gets you like 😵‍💫

he loves his badass girlfriend, okay?

literally your #1 fan

would beat up anybody who talks shit !!!

tea is your holy ground ♡

because you cant drink coffee

cause ya know, adhd, youll just end up knocking out

though you do drink it when you cant fall asleep at night

its me, hi

and hot chocolate is strickly an only-in-december drink, because then it wont hit in december, since you had it earlier in the year

(my mom does that with gorditas and tamales broooo its painful)

so ya drink tea!

i dont drink tea, so im not even gonna try to tell you what his favorite is

he likes whatever you like

but you try a bunch of different teas and stuff together :)

youd probably adopt a black cat together when youre older

youre never gonna beat your neighbor's witch allegations

(probably because theyre true but youll obviously never say that)

i feel like percy would be more of a dog person but lets be real, he likes horses.

fuckin horse girl smh

but that does not mean he wouldnt love and care for the cat

he'd so let you stop to pet any stray cat you see on the street

takes pictures of the cat anytime you do ♡

you cook together !!

you teach percy a bunch of different recipes and stuff :)

has a 'kiss the cook' apron 100%

and what can ya say, you gotta kiss the cook

man you guys manage to stay silly throughout the horrors, we love

[blueninjablade3]

Yandere Frollo Alphabet

Real quick for my regular readers who are waiting for the Hades Angst I’m working on it at a snails pace but it’s shaping up nicely. I’m publishing this solely because it’s been in my drafts taunting me.

TW: Yandere themes, Slurs/ talks about slurs, genocide, medieval torture, isolation, abuse, gaslight, lack of right, racism, and religious themes.

If you are uncomfortable with any of this scroll on. I won’t be offended. If you are in a bad mental state I don’t recommend reading this Yandere relationships are extremely toxic and dangerous. If you or someone you love are in an abusive relationship, please remember you have resources to help you. I believe I’ve covered most of my bases so without further ado Yandere Frollo alphabet. Ps, left a little music if anyone wants to listen to that while they read.

Affection: how do they show you love and affection? How intense can It get?

I view Frollo somewhat like “I never quite learned to verbalize my feelings so I’m going to do very small things to tell you I love you.” Also, he brings you grapes. It’s every day he brings you grapes. (Unless you’re getting punished.) He does do the traditional kiss-your-cheek and forehead tho.

Blood: How dirty is he willing to get when it comes to you?

He’s willing to burn down all of Paris to find you. You and Esmeralda are gonna be best friends and shit talk Frollo together.

Cruelty: how will they treat you once kidnapped will he mock you?

Yes. Wtf do you think I would say “No he’s an angel” Brother has no problem calling someone a slur. Hell, I’d put money on the fact that he’d call a black person the N word hard R to their face. (He’s seriously the worst tho. Get y’all a man like… uh Prince Naveen. He’ll treat you better)

Darling: besides kidnapping you would he do anything else against your will?

Being an active part of the Romani people’s slaughter, being horrible to Quasi, and whipping people are the ones that are off the top of my head. I’m probably missing others but the point is he absolutely would.

Exposed: How much of his heart do you bear?

I think you actually bear 40%. The other 60 goes to the Bible and Christ. Don’t worry that’s still more than his family ever got.

Fight: How would he feel if you fought back?

CHOOSE ME OR YOUR PYRE BE MINE OR YOU WILL BURN~! But in all seriousness, he’s going to be so upset and do the same thing that he does to Quasi.

Game: Is this a Game to them? Would he like watching his darling try to escape?

No! This isn’t a game! Those filthy gypsies can’t be trusted! (it feels wrong even typing that 😭) They’ll harm you! You need to stay safe. In the bell tower.

I also don’t think he’d enjoy you escaping. He wants you at arm’s length at all times.

Hell: Your worst experience with him.

After one of your little “stunts” he had you flogged for a few hours and then you didn’t get lunch for a few days. (like three)

Ideals: what he sees in the future with you.

He sees a traditional Christian marriage (pretend male x male relationships were most of the time accepted by the church), a couple of NORMAL kids (he is the worst), and all the Romani people dead. (ICK)

Jealousy: does he get jealous and if he does, does he find a way to cope or will he lash out?

He gets very jealous and never controls it. He always lashes out. At this point, don’t even look at a fly anymore. He’ll get jealous of it.

Kisses: How does he act around you?

He’s possessive, creepy, and lustful. Think about how he behaves with Esma and multiply by two.

Love letters: how would he go about courting/approaching you?

He’s very traditional. He’s the type who’d buy a goat to give to your dad and then just be like “Gimme.” But he would approach you beforehand and have some small talk in passing.

Mask: Are his truth colors different from what people think?

No. He’s very publicly creepy and weird it seems. People also fear him and view him as dangerous which you can say firsthand is true. Creepy bitch.

Naughty: how would he punish you?

He’s the type to flog you for a little, isolate you, and then limit food consumption. You’re extremely afraid of acting out or acting against him for fear of his reaction.

Oppression: what rights did he take away from you:

Freedom, religion (if you’re anything other than Roman Catholic you’ll have to practice and pray in secret.), privacy, and if you’re American the right to bear arms. Really any weapons he’ll take away. (Maybe see if you can hide a dagger?)

Regret: does he regret kidnapping you? Will he ever let you go?

Haha! You’re so funny if you think he’d let you go or think he’d regret kidnapping you! The Lord brought you two together! You two were meant to be! Now stop struggling unless you wanna go back to the palace of justice.

Sigma: what brought this side of him?

I think his lust, pride, and lack of getting any bitches over his years all contributed. He got lustful for you, and he didn’t know how to react, then instead of admitting that he was in the wrong his pride got the best of him, and blamed you. When his lust won caused his Yandere actions.

Tears: how would he feel if you cried screamed or Isolated yourself?

He doesn’t care! You’ll learn to love him eventually. If you don’t… you won’t like what’s gonna happen. But do go ahead.

Unique: is there anything different from a normal Yandere

He has a massive superiority complex? He also can have people flogged and not be questioned.

Vice: what can you use to escape him?

I’m not quite sure. I guess maybe you could hide in the court of miracles?

Witts end: would he ever hurt you

Without a second thought.

Xoanon: how much does he revere/worship you and to what extent is he willing to go to win you over

He’s willing to go to extreme lengths. I know I’ve talked a lot of shit about him in this but in all seriousness, he views you as a gift from the heavens. An angel sent to him. His angel.

Yearn: How long before he snapped and kidnapped you?

He’s a patient man. I’m going to say if you play your cards right and Quasi is still young about 1.5 years till he snaps.

Zenith: would he ever break you?

Oh definitely.

Thank you for reading! Please remember that rebloging, likes and comments are much appreciated! ❤️

[chloe-skywalker]

Easter Celebrations - Billy Hargrove

Billy x Fem!reader

Warnings: religion is mentioned if that is a warning?

Word count: 648

Summary: Billy’s family doesn’t really do holiday’s. Not like most families at least. So why not join in and see how his girlfriends family celebrates them. He was invited after all.

Authors Note: Don’t ask me why pretty much all my holiday imagines end up being “Billy Hargrove” imagines. Because I don’t know why it ends up that way. I think it’s because the character just ends up working perfectly for my idea of the story.

P.S - Easter is a religious holiday so if that’s a warning them there you go. Warned, but I only really mention that they go to church not any views or etc…

 Also to those who celebrate it Happy Easter!

Masterlist

Stranger Things Masterlist

Holiday Masterlist

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

(gif does not portray what goes on in the story on this one its just different I hate reusing gifs)

“I’m so glad you came.” Y/n smiled at Billy as she opened the front door to let him in.

“I wanted to see how you do Easter. I’m sure it’s a hell of a lot different than how it’s been done in my family.” BIlly shrugged putting his hands in his pockets as he entered her home.

“Well, my little sister isn’t up yet. So no eggs have been hunted, and no basket’s touched.” Y/n told him excitedly, closing the door behind him, pulling him into the living room. “Mom made you a basket too.”

Billy looked at her in shock. “She didn't have to do that.”

“She wanted to.” Y/n smiled reassuring him that it was okay, Y/n reached out for his hand and squeezed. And it did.

^     ^     ^

“So how’s Easter so far?” Y/n asked, nudging him with her arm as they sat next to each other on the couch.

“I’m shockingly enjoying it.” Billy smiled at her. He was enjoying it, more than he thought he would. Watching Y/n help her little sister hunt for egg’s and they even did egg’s filled with treats for the dog’s. Her mom was even nice enough to put together a basket for him like Y/n said. Filled with different chocolates and some other stuff.

“I’m glad.” Y/n nodded with a smile also on her face.

“Billy, hunny. We’re going to church in an hour for Easter service. You can stay here if you want. Catch up on some sleep I’m sure.” Y/n’s mom offered not wanting to force the young man to join them.

“Actually…” Billy stopped Y/n from getting up from the couch and her mom from leaving he says with hopeful eyes. He actually wanted to go, he hadn’t been since his mom was around. Hence the necklace. “I’d like to join you all. If that’s ok.”

Y/n turned to look at him, trying not to show her shock. “Of course it is baby.”

“Great. We leave soon.” Y/m/n sent a smile the boys way before going to finish getting ready and help her younger child and their cousins as well.

“Are you ok?” Y/n asked once they headed up to her room for some privacy.

“Yeah. Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Billy nodded, not sure why it seemed to be a big deal.

Y/n shook her head side to side not wanting him to think she didn’t want him to come. “Just checking. I mean, have you ever been to church before?”

Billy thought for a moment but he trusted Y/n. So maybe he should share a little more of himself with her. She knew more than most people anyway.

“Back with my mom. When I was younger. I remember what I learned there. It’s always stuck with me.” Billy told her thinking back on his childhood, the few good memories he has.

“Does that have to do with the pendant?” Y/n asked curious since he was in a sharing mood. Moving across the room to stand in front of him as he currently sits on her bed.

“Yeah. It was my mom’s, she gave it to me. It always reminds me of her, and that one day I might see her again… Thank you. For inviting me to celebrate Easter with you and your family.” Billy explained, resting his hands on her hips as she played with the pendant around his neck.

“Billy, you’re part of my family. I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Y/n smiled happily running her hands over his shoulders.

“I’ll always enjoy every day of any life as long as you're in it.” He stated pulling her to fall on top of him laying back on her bed, and the two started to passionately make out. After all, they had some time before church.

Taglist: @gruffle1 @padawancat97 @starkleila

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— DEMONOLOGY AND HEARTACHE

SUMMARY : dean is a devout catholic and has never known a life outside the church, all his resolve is broken by the temptation of a hellish seductress

PAIRING : priest!dean winchester x demon!reader (f.)

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS : explicit(18+), smut, p in v, oral (m. receiving), corruption kink, praise kink, priest au, priest kink, sub/dom dynamics, sub!dean, defiling holy stuff

WORD COUNT : 4.9k

A/N : title from an atreyu song. dean’s not undercover, just pure corruption. I’m going to hell. my sister said his seed is holy, lmaoo. this one fills my “Go to hell!”/“Where do you think I came from?” square for my @jacklesversebingo card. enjoy Dean’s holy seed (and I’m sorry if y’all are religious, I used to be religious, too, to make it worse) XX

Green eyes illuminated by moonlight. They flit across the dark and empty space of the nave casually. There’s a draught that makes him shudder, but he remains unphased. He makes sure the lights are off, double checks that the doors and windows are closed, and continues onward to his room to rest for the night. 

He’s still in his vestments, blending in with the darkness. He only becomes darker in the shadows of the hallways, making his way to the staircase leading to his room. The wooden stairs creak beneath his formal shoes, olden oak that’s more silent in the day, thunders in the silent dark. 

A crucifix greets him when he’s at the top of the staircase and he makes the sign of the cross automatically, but slowly, with reverence. Moonlight kisses his delicate features; green eyes twinkle like a billion stars, gold lashes like the lustre of the sun’s reflection on the moon’s surface, freckles show clearly now beneath the exposing light. 

His splendour is unmatched even inside the grand cathedral. 

He makes his way blindly to his bedroom and wipes a hand over his stubble, scratching lightly at his jaw, thoughtfully planning out his next day. He gets to his room and begins to toe off his shoes as he pushes the door open all the way. 

He expects moonlight to strike his face, but it’s quiet and dark. He can smell firewood and something foul, unfamiliar. He thinks nothing of it, he can feel the breeze pushing between his curtains, and assumes it’s something outside. He turns around to shut the door and holds the wall for balance as he pulls his shoes off all the way. 

“Father,” he hears a soft voice, unknown to him. He turns quickly, half-scared, half-confused: how did someone get up here and why is there a woman in my room? were the first questions asked in his mind. The dim light on his bedside table lights up his room and reveals a nun in her nightgown sitting on his bed. 

He recognises her now and relaxed, only slightly. She’s new and arrived two weeks ago. Sister… something or another; it’s been a busy couple of weeks. 

She watches him curiously, her brows furrow and her eyes mysterious. She leans back casually on her arms, too relaxed for his comfort. The top of her nightgown undone, two strings hang loosely over her breasts. A chill teases his spine and rides up to the top of his head, prickling the freckled skin of his body. He doesn’t move. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks quietly, offering his hand to her to get her to stand from his bed. She stares at it indifferently. “You should be in your quarters,” he adds, reaching out for her arm instead. 

“I’ve been thinking about what I confessed to you yesterday, Father,” she murmurs, shaking her arm out of his hand. He sighs tiredly, but smiles kindly at her anyway. He can’t remember her confession, everyone confesses multiple times about multiple things, and goes to him—searching for repentance. 

“You’re forgiven, you need to move forward,” he reassures her.

“I don’t think I can,” she replies almost instantly. He raises a brow, but lets her continue. “Does that… make me a bad person?” She asks, concern and guilt laces her voice.

“No, it makes you human.” He purses his lips and takes her soft hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You should sleep, we can talk tomorrow,” he tries again, loosening his grip on her cool hand, but she keeps holding onto it. 

He narrows his eyes, his jaw clenches when she lifts her cotton gown. He raises a brow when she’s standing up on her knees, and a crease forms between his eyebrows. Her other hand curls around the back of his neck and he opens his mouth to question her, moving back slightly. Instead, her grip becomes firm and her warm lips press against his lips and he stiffens, confused. 

He can feel her hand around his wrist moving and her gown ruffles. He feels her warmth beneath his fingers, wetness against his fingertips, that makes him gasp and pull away. He snatches his hand away from between her legs and sees that she’s smiling knowingly. 

“What are you doing?” He asks in disbelief, but his heart is pounding, sending blood to his cock. “You need to leave,” he clears his throat. Heat, like hellfire, washes over his body, and turns away to hide himself when his face flushes and his cock twitches.

“Come on, Father,” she murmurs provocatively. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply before turning to face her with a glare. “I know what you’ve been dreaming of,” she laughs mischievously, sitting back on her legs. She pulls down the top of her nightgown, freeing her breast to play with her nipple. Her other hand moves down between her legs, she opens herself by parting her legs, and starts to tease her wet slit while he watches. 

“Go to hell!” He shouts at her, looking away and trying to get out of his room. He reaches the doorknob and gets the door open only for it to slam shut. 

“Where do you think I came from?” She asks darkly, and his stomach sinks. He shakes the doorknob wildly and pulls as hard as he can, but it doesn’t budge. He feels her hand grab the back of his shirt and she flings him across the room so he lands on the bed. He scrambles up on it and tries to get away when her eyes flash completely black. “You’re getting rusty, Dean, ignoring all those omens,” she shakes her head and tsks, climbing up on the bed with him. 

He thinks about what she says, he never thought much about the mutilations because of the wolves that roam freely, or the electrical storms because of the cold and the usage of heaters, or the crop failures due to the weather. He shouldn’t have brushed it off, but he hadn’t encountered demonic activity in years. This whole time, it was circling him and he didn’t even notice. 

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,” he starts to whisper, grabbing the rosary from around his neck. “Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incur-” She grabbed the rosary from him roughly, quieting the exorcism from continuing, and stared at it with a wicked smile before pulling it harshly. 

“That won’t work on me, baby.” The beads fell over his body when the rosary snapped. Wooden beads and black beads bounce on his bed, then scatter loudly onto the floor, rolling and sliding across wood until they stop on their own or hit a wall. 

“You… you were making me dream all those things,” he accuses breathlessly. She nods wordlessly, stepping in between his parted legs with her hands on his bent knees. She bites her lip, stares lustfully at the black attire he wears. A holy man. 

“I know… you liked it,” she whispers, causing him to swallow nervously. “I watched you pleasure yourself every time you woke up,” she admits shamelessly, fingers meeting his belt to get it off. He squirmed and grabbed her hand to stop her, but his cock was hard just remembering his hedonistic actions and the lewd dreams that haunted him every night for weeks. “What was it like dreaming of how soft I feel? Do you think your hand feels as good as I do inside? Do you want my mouth like you loved using it in your dreams?” She continues to tease, leaning over him, hands sliding up the front of his body. 

He was warm and taut beneath her hands. His body hums with pleasure, he aches to touch her despite knowing it was wrong. He craves to feel her body beneath his own, wrapped around him so tightly. He hates himself for it, but it’s all his mind could think of, especially when he could feel her warm breath over his tingly lips. 

“What do you want from me?” He asks quietly, staring deeply into her black eyes. She blinks and they return to normal eyes again, a sweet smile growing on her face. It could’ve fooled him, that warmth that sparkled inside—it must actually be hellfire. 

“I want you to beg me to fuck you, I want you to need it really bad,” she whispered hotly, tracing the buttons on his shirt. He swallowed anxiously, but he couldn’t resist the temptation of her pink lips and soft skin, supple breasts in plain sight, smooth thighs pressed against his. His whole body longed for the feel of her lips, her hands, for everything of hers to be on him. 

“I… I can’t do that,” he choked out. He grabs her hands and moves them away from his body then scoots up on his bed to put some distance between them.

“You can,” she encourages him with a wicked smile, crawling up to him. “You will,” she promises, reaching between his legs for his belt. 

He squirms, weakly attempting to push her away because that’s what his instincts told him to do. She’s a demon, he’s a priest. She is unholy and he’s supposed to be an intermediary for God, Jesus, the angels, the Holy Spirit, and everything else that’s good. He can’t just lay with a woman, especially when she comes directly from hell. 

She didn’t make a single move. She just waited for him and her hair fell prettily over her shoulder when she tilted her head at him expectantly. Her skin looked smooth and her lips were pink and they looked soft. He could easily remember what they looked like around his cock in his dreams. He didn’t want to give in to her, he spent years in the church, he has every scripture memorised, and he’s helped hundreds of people without expecting so much as a thanks. 

But he wanted to really feel what he’d felt in his dreams for two weeks. He craved it like he’d never craved sex before—or anything else for that matter. Here, in a holy place was a very sexy woman in his bed, a woman who crawled her way out of hell and became fixated on him. For weeks, she tormented him, planted herself in his dreams and gave him glimpses of her in real life as a nun covered from head to toe. 

Now, she sat between his legs, with nothing underneath her sleeping gown. The pure white dress hid the true darkness of her soul. He rubbed his fingers together, though they were dry, his slacks tightened just remembering the feel of her wet folds against his fingertips. He’d never been this hard and desperate before, it usually went away quickly when the guilt of his libidinous thoughts consumed him. 

He’d never done anything bad before, never strayed from his teachings or from the rules. Here she was, tempting him to take a bite of her, tempting him to give himself to her for her pleasure, for his pleasure. Demon or not, no one’s ever gone out of their way to get to him, that was a messed up thought, but it turned him on. 

“Please,” he chokes out. It shocked him. He stared at her in surprise, but she just looked back at him  arrogantly. Slowly, as if waiting for his protest, she tugged his belt and got the leather out of the buckle. He started to breathe heavily, aroused by her gaze and thought of being defiled. 

She starts to pull the belt from the loops of his slacks and he willingly lifts his hips when it catches beneath him.  He gives in easily when she pops the button out of the slit. He even lets his head fall back into the pillow and rolls his hips upwards when she slowly pulls the zipper down. 

She starts to pull his pants down, he can feel the rough scrap of his boxers against his skin when she tries to do it all at once. He doesn’t care anymore, with his thumbs hooked at the sides, he pulls them down with her help. He can feel the cool air kiss his cock, slowly as she exposes him. He moans softly when he’s fully free, he knows there’s precum leaking at the slit, it feels colder. 

He feels like a wanton whore and he’s barely  made a sound. He can hear the delicate fabric of his clothes hit the floor, it makes him feel more excited. 

“Wow, you really are blessed,” she murmurs, her warm breath blowing over his cock. He fists the sheets, feels it twitch instantly, and opens his eyes to stare at her. “It’s just as pretty as the rest of you,” she praises, keeping eye contact with him. He bites his lip and he’s about to respond with a ‘shut up’ when she lets a string of her saliva drip onto his tip. 

The words catch in his throat. She leans forward, her soft hair falls over her face, and her tongue makes contact with the warm head of his cock. He doesn’t know what to do with himself when she hums at the taste of him. His body stiffens and it feels even better than he dreamed. When he lets his head fall back into the pillow, he catches a glimpse of the crucifix over his bed. She turned it upside down. 

“Father,” she whispers, “don’t look away from me.” He looks back at her, her soft hands manoeuvre his body so he has his knees bent upwards again. He feels exposed, vulnerable, sinful, and dirty. 

“Don’t call me that,” he requests softly. He reaches for her jaw to guide her back down onto him. That excites her, he can see her eyes livening. His stomach flutters. 

“Dean,” she sneers when she wraps her hand around the base of his cock and starts to twist her hand upwards. He growls lowly, shyly lifts his arm, and puts it over his eyes. “I prefer calling you Father. It makes this way hotter. Don’t you think?” She asks teasingly and then laughs. 

“No….” He trailed off, spreading his legs a little wider when she leaned forward to kiss his stomach. 

“Call me whatever you want, Father,” she whispers against his skin, trailing her lips downwards as she jerks him off. “Whore, demon, hellspawn… Sister,” she smirks when he whines, then sucks on his hip bone. A red mark blossoms on his skin.  “I’m so wet,” she tells him, teasingly flattering her palm over the tip of his dick, “this is the most fun I’ve had in ages.” He watches the little smirk on her face and while he’s curious about what she does in hell, he can feel his impending release. 

“Please,” he begs quietly. It makes her stop instead. She puts one hand on the inside of his thigh and spreads him open the way a man would do to a woman and she stares down at him curiously. He wiggles to close his legs but she’s stronger than he is, and keeps him as she has him. She pulls gently at his balls, then pushes, and eventually finds a pace where it starts to feel more intense. 

“Jesus Christ,” she murmurs with a chuckle, “you’re so fucking sexy.” He flushes at her words and watches her lean down to suck on his balls. He moans loudly and tangles his hand in her hair, then tugs so she moves upwards. “You’re built like a god, any man would be jealous,” she teases, letting him guide her. 

“Do what you did in my dreams,” he suggests, then slid his hand down her shoulder and inside the top of her nightgown. He fondled her breasts and innocently held eye contact with her.

“What did I do?” She asks playfully, placing one small kiss on his leaking  cock. He glares at her, but she shrugs like she has no idea what he’s talking about. She continues to tease him instead, bites down on his thigh and sucks until he’s whining. 

“Please, suck it,” he begs bashfully, pulling his hand out of the gown. She moves up his body, he’s sure it’s to embarrass him when she stares down at him.

“Suck what?” He groans at her question, lifts both hands to tug frustratedly at his hair. She moves away nonchalantly, slowly begins to lift the white gown upwards, revealing inch by glorious inch of her perfect body. He watches her touch herself with his mouth parted in astonishment, her hands play with her breasts and she teases herself between her legs. 

“Suck my cock, please, I want to feel your mouth,” he rushes out quickly. He sits up and takes her waist, dragging her forward until he has his warm mouth on her nipple. 

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, Dean,” she promises, playing with his hair. She rubs her thighs together and lets him switch from one nipple to the other. He stares up at her the whole time, his eyes shimmering with lust. “I hope this haunts you forever,” she sneers. Giving his hair a sharp tug to move him away forcefully and go down on him. He grunts softly and wraps his hand around his cock, slowly sliding a dry hand up and down. 

“That’s my job,” she scolds, slapping his hand away. She settles between his legs, and without warning, she wraps her lips around the tip, sending a sharp electric feeling running up his spine. It’s unbelievable how wet she feels around him, how warm her mouth feels engulfing him inch by inch. His stomach becomes taut  with the way she runs her tongue along the bottom vein, sucking when she lifts up slightly, then does it over and over. 

Her slowness drives him crazy. She was merciless in his dreams, passionate and focused on making him reach the ultimate pleasure, but now, she’s just torturing him. One of her hands follows her mouth and the other slides up his chest beneath the buttoned black shirt. Her nails scrape his chest gently but her fingers brush teasingly against his nipple. He arches his back and moans loudly, he doesn’t care that the night amplifies his voice and carries his pretty noises quickly down the halls of the holy church. 

She slides her hand away from his chest and blindly finds his wrist. He grips the sheets tightly, moaning and groaning. The sounds he made travelled to her clit, it pulsed, her walls clenched around nothing, and she dripped between her legs with a flood of warm heat. He let her place his hand on her head, his fingers tangled in her hair. She’s not going to give him what he wants, she wants him to take what he wants. It’s the ultimate goal for her, to make him loosen up and fuck her mouth. 

“Please, I want…” he trails off, both his hands now resting on her head. She drools around his cock and hums when he pushes her down farther. She wants to shove him deeper into her, to take him fast and hard, but it turns her on more to make him needy and desperate. To make him be the one that uses her demonic mouth and hellish body for his pleasure. 

She holds onto the back of his thighs and pushes them so they’re almost at his chest. When her nose is pressed against his pelvis and she swallows around him, he holds her there. 

“Oh, Jesus,” he moans, his balls draw inwards and his stomach coils. She moans softly and starts to pull off him, only to start sucking and bobbing her head up and down just as he wanted her to. He gets louder somehow and rougher, his grip on her hair is almost painful. The sounds of her throat getting fucked makes him shudder and squirm. He needs to cum so bad. “Yes, don’t stop…” he breathes out.

She hums again, he thought it was a promise that she wouldn’t stop, but when he makes that specific grunt he tends to make when he’s about to cum and when he stiffens and gasps, the warmth of her wet mouth is replaced by the drag of cool air from the room. 

He whines and his eyes fly open. He watches her smirk and wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. She still has one hand on his thigh, bending him and keeping him open. He gets shy again, but she doesn’t let him keep his dignity. She gets closer to him and she leans over him to whisper, “you taste so good, Father, I’d imagine it’s all the holy fuckery you consume and spew to others…” 

“It turns me on. You make me so wet and needy. Your mouth is mine.” She kisses him softly, even though her words offend him. He glares at her for her blasphemy, but his eyes close when her soft, sweet lips make contact with his. The tenderness of her kiss fools him, takes his mind off her offensive expressions, and keeps him complacent. 

Her tongue prods at his lips. Her lewdness makes him eager, she’s thorough, licking across his lips slowly. When he opens his mouth to her, her kiss is hungry. She traces the inside of his mouth with her tongue, like a cartographer, she’s precise and she makes him breathless. She barely pulls away, allowing him to catch his breath temporarily before resuming. 

She’s warm when her tongue brushes against his, velvety and sweet. She tastes like wine and fruit, bitter and sweet. The taste of her is divine, opposing her unholy nature and the filthy words she uses to worship him. She pulls away again and straddles his hips. He barely recovers from her kiss when he feels her rub herself over his cock. 

He feels his stomach do flips like a dog excited to show his master tricks for a treat. She moans softly and continues rolling her hips. He bends his knees and grasps her thighs painfully, watches between their bodies how she slides her wetness up and down his cock. She begins to unbutton his shirt and carelessly throw the clerical collar behind her when she fully gets the shirt open.

“Wait,” he stops her breathlessly, “is this your body?” 

She raises a brow and looks down at herself with a nod. “Had to dig it out of a hole in the forest. I was a witch, a badass one. Those stupid hunters,” she grumbles the last bit under her breath, lifts herself up and positions his tip  at her entrance. He raises a brow, too, a smile of amusement grew on his lips as he bit down on it. “Why? Do you like it?” She smirks, but his response is cut off by a moan when she lowers herself on his cock.

She feels even better than he dreamed. He huffs out a breath, he feels sweatier with the shirt and the suit jacket he still wears, but if she doesn’t feel like letting him take it off, he doesn’t mind. She grinds down on him and finds his hands to place one on her breasts and the other between her legs. 

“You feel fucking amazing inside me, Dean,” she praises. His stomach lurches, the use of his name turns him on more, and he bucks his hips up. With a little moan she starts to lift herself up, he can feel every inch of her against his cock, the wetness, the warmth. He doesn’t think he’ll last as long as he did in his dreams. He carefully thumbs between her folds and feels for her clit. Her gasp guides him and he gently flicks it until she’s riding him faster. She leans back against his bent legs, arches her back, and he squeezes her breast roughly. “That’s right, you’re doing so good,” she says softly, spreading her legs to open herself more to his adept fingers. 

Her words spur him on, the bedsprings start to squeak, the headboard starts to hit the wall, the upside down crucifix rattles on the wall. His senses are high. She feels amazing wrapped around his cock, her breathy moans fuel the fire of his orgasm. She tightens and squeezes around him, walls clamping down and keeping him inside her. He starts to get louder, too, he can’t help it. Groans slip from his lips and he whimpers occasionally, he can feel her react each time, and he doesn’t plan on shutting up.

“You’re so good, so goddamned perfect,” she cries softly, it’s the hottest thing he’s heard or seen. She gets sloppy and desperate, staring down at him covetously. He stares back, even if he wants to shut his eyes and hide away from her gaze. He rubs around her clit faster and watches her fall apart, little by little. 

She sounds, looks, and feels even hotter. In his dreams, he understood her intentions and how hot it would be if they had sex, but the reality of it is far more intense and intimate compared to any of his dreams. She filled his mind with fantasies he’d never had before. Having sex in the confessional, on the altar, in the Bishop’s office, and countless locations that were far too holy—in his opinion—being defiled by both of them. He pinches her nipple roughly, she moans and tightens around him. Then, he flicks her clit faster, watches her seize while whining his name. 

“Be a good boy and cum for me, Dean. Want you to fill me up,” she says breathlessly. He throbs inside of her and whimpers involuntarily, feeling himself spill inside her as if his body worked according to her commands. 

“God,” he moans, bucking his hips upwards. He abandons her clit and her breast, and bruisingly digs his fingers into her thighs. He moans softly, letting the orgasm take over his body and mind. He pulls her down with both hands on her hips and keeps her on his cock shortly, her walls flutter and she inhales sharply. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes half-open. 

“Holy fuck,” she gasps, toes curling as she falls apart at the sensation of his cum warming her up. She slowly moves up and down, letting him feel every inch of her pulsing walls along his throbbing cock. Her fingers find her clit to intensify and lengthen her orgasm, finishing what he’d begun. She doesn’t expect his tenderness, but he sits up and tangles his hand into her hair and kisses her deeply.

He mimics how she’d kissed him earlier. His inexperienced tongue traces the roof of her mouth and he brushes his tongue timidly against hers. She deepens the kiss, encourages him to keep doing what he wants to do and tugs his hair. His quiet moans make her horny again and he pulls away. Now that she’s abandoned her clit, she shoves his clothes off his shoulders. 

She kisses his neck and his chest. His mind starts to drift now that he’s basking in the afterglow, her lips ghost downward and she lightly touches his nipple with the tip of her tongue. He stiffens and focuses on her again. She moves off his softened cock which is coated in a mixture of their release. She chuckles and then beholds him in his entirety. 

He glows and he’s flushed, pink and shiny with sweat. His cock rests on his thighs and he has a mark on his hip from her lips. His lips are swollen, almost red from biting them, coated in saliva—hers and his. His hair is a mess, sexy and soft. He looks guilty now, but she moves forward and looks him in the eyes when she licks the cum off his sensitive cock.

 “Don’t worry, Father,” she murmurs before sucking gently on the tip. He gasps and clutches her hair, pulling her off him forcibly. “Even for this… they’ll forgive you, Dean,” she whispers darkly. She gets off the bed and he watches her walk to the small altar he has. She steals a white cloth then walks around his room curiously. She stops in front of a photograph of Jesus and she opens her legs to clean herself. 

His eyes widen as he watches her, “hey, come here.” He takes her attention away successfully and watches her drop her leg to walk towards him. “Why are you interested in me?” Is the first question that comes to mind as he panics. “Will you… be less interested in me if I sin more, like we did tonight?” He has the feeling part of her interest in him is simply the fact that he is the weakest, the most susceptible to sin, lust, and making mistakes. 

“No… because you’re not going to stray from your beliefs,” she reassures him. “You actually believe, because of your father. Stay the way you are, Dean. You’re going to repent and you’ll mean it, but when you’re with me… you’ll sin again and I’ll defile you, over and over,” she smiles down at him and then climbs onto his bed again, she settles behind him, leaning against the headboard and the wall. 

“Until when?” He asks, turning around to look at her. 

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, then her eyes flicker down to her body. She parts her folds with two fingers. “Taste me,” she tells him. He tears his eyes from her face to look between her legs. His mouth waters and he slowly gets down into his stomach and stares back up at her. He gently prods her clit with his tongue, her other hand moves into his hair while his tongue slides between her two fingers. “Don’t you worry about the when right now… you and I will have our fun.” 

➥ god, if you are above

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[iisasarcasticlittleshite]

We've created a Monster Pt.II

Diavolo laughed at the screen of his DDD, hurriedly gesturing for Barbatos to join him.

'Come see this, Barbatos, Lucifer just shared the most delightful video!'

'I'm sure it must be of great importance for you to neglect your paperwork, my lord.'

Sheepishly, Diavolo turned to screen toward him, presenting the still image of an envy demon dwarfing their powerless exchange student.

'Oh my, lord this image is far from amusing.'

'Trust me, just press play.'

So he did, and was very much not expecting what came next. 'I see, it seems MC has grown rather more capable than I gave them credit for.'

'According to Lucifer they were rather unbothered by the threat, he even called a family meeting to address the event and MC just...laughed them off?'

Barbatos couldn't help but smile. 'How remarkable, expected though. MC has seen demons far more frightening than a lesser envy demon.'

'That's what they said to the brothers, though Lucifer seems to find it far less amusing than we do.'

'I imagine, it is not the sort of scenario he would find at all pleasant. Threat to our young human cause him a great deal of unrest.'

Diavolo grinned a conspirator's smile. 'Just him?'

'...fair point.'

'Why are the incantations so long? I'm trying to light a candle not summon a hurricane.' MC huffed, slouching into the armchair with the grimoire laid open across her thighs. 'It's like a religious text.'

'Magic's way of making sure you mean to get what you're asking for.' Solomon's smile was beguiling, almost sweet, but not.

He's a menace, and no one knows that better than MC, who's been taking magical instruction for him for months.

The sorcerer crossed his legs, flipping through a new spell book MC brought over from Satan. 'So, I hear you had some fun at RAD this morning.'

MC rolled their eyes, reluctantly going back to memorising incantations. 'You too? Does the entire Devildom know about that by now?'

'I'd say so, everyone who matters at least. We haven't told Luke, poor thing would loose his mind if he had actual proof of how dangerous the devildom really is for you.'

'I'm not in any danger, you're starting to sound like Lucifer.' MC huffed. 'Next thing I know you'll be off on a lecture about my lack of self preservation and needing to be careful.'

'I would never, watching you get in trouble is my favourite pass time.' He winked teasingly, kicking his shows up on the coffee table. 'I am curious though, what was going through your head when he threatened you? I remember being a little intimidated the first time a demon tried to kill me.'

'I'm honestly surprised you remember your first anything anymore.'

'Don't change the subject.' Tutted Solomon with that congenial smile of his that was neither friendly nor threatening. 'What were you thinking?'

MC sighed, closing the grimoire and turning their attention to the plate of cookies Luke left for them. 'It was annoying, I went into RAD early to get ahead on a project I was supposed to be working on with Simeon. Could have expected that reaction when I told him Levi wears envy way better. That time he tried to kill me gave me nightmares for days.'

'...MC, how many times have those lunatics nearly killed you?'

'Pfft, you think I keep count? Between Beel's tantrums, Mammon's schemes and just existing in Lucifer's radius I nearly die at least twice a week. It was way more when I first met them though.'

Solomon had to resist the urge to gape. His sense of normal may be a few thousand years past twisted, but this is... odd even for him. A human this young should not be this comfortable with domestic danger, let alone love those who put them there.

Several, times, a week.

MC carries on eating their cookies happily, reaching for another one when their eye catches something on the table, half hidden behind a book, but that beastly silhouette is unmistakeable, and they immediately curl into the chair as though they've been burned.

Pitching a whine to alert the house, their wide eyes fixate on the eight legged monstrosity, arms coiled tight around themselves as their skin immediately begins to crawl and twitch as though being assaulted by hundreds of the tiny beasts.

'What?! What is...oh, hello there.'

Solomon is almost left a aghast all over again. Here sits the most desensitised human he's ever met (besides himself), curled up in a ball, over a spider.

Fair be it a decent sized spider, probably the size of his thumb, but a mere spider nonetheless.

'You looked a 20-foot snake in the eye, you take Cerberus for evening walks with Lucifer...' he trailed off, carefully nudging the arachnid into an empty glass and caging it with a book '...and you're afraid of a spider?'

'Fuckin' right I am! And I'm not going to justify it to you so get rid of it before I set you on fire!'

Solomon laughed, and laughed until he couldn't hold himself upright anymore, wiping a tear from his eye, but when next he looked up, MC was still staring at the spider, eyes so full of genuine terror and brimming with tears, he felt guilt strike him.

'This...genuinely frightens you, doesn't it?'

MC nodded, lip jutted in an involuntary pout, skin raised in goose bumps. 'I wish it didn't.'

'Alright, I'm sorry. I'll get rid of it.'

And he did, and made a point of making sure everyone knew about MC's phobia, and didn't make fun of them for it.

Was it ironic that someone who looked death in the eye and waved was afraid of spiders? Absolutely, but no one chooses fear over comfort, and MC has chosen to be brave one too many times for anyone to begrudge them one or two irrational fears.

[hollandroos]

Liar / Spencer Reid

Paring: Spencer Reid X Reader Insert

Words: 900

Warnings: Angst Angst Angst. No happy ending

A/N: Now I know what you're all thinking.... Soph, since when do you write for criminal minds? well.... what do you think I watched religiously during my very painful pregnancy and the last five months post partum?

Your packed bags fell against the door to what was once your shared home. Now it just felt empty. Empty draws, followed by an empty bathroom cabinet that once contained items that were now packed away tightly in a suitcase. Followed by an empty bedside table, and an empty mug cupboard because you bought every single one of those prized mugs - and you’d be damned if he expected you just to leave them behind. 

Spencer stood before you, eye bags partnered by the suit he must’ve worn home on the jet - the same one he left in three days ago. The same one you had ironed just five days ago, and snuck a loving note in the front pocket. You wondered if he got it. If he had, he hadn’t mentioned it. 

Be safe, I love you. Please eat. 

You’d thought it’d be cute if you sprayed the paper with a spritz of one of your perfumes… the one he used to compliment you on every time you wore it. Somewhere down the line he must’ve grown tired of it. He’d stopped complimenting your perfume long ago.

Come to think of it, he hadn't complimented anything about you in a long while. You merely felt like a side gig in Spencer Reid's busy, ever chaotic life.

“What are you doing?” He asks softly. His eyes rack your bags before landing on your tear stricken face.

You swallow, however the lump in the back of your throat refuses to budge. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re leaving me.”

Spencer shoves his hands into his pant pockets, gripping tightly onto an old lip balm and a foreign hair tie. He looks exhausted. You want to crawl into his arms and beg him to get some well deserved rest. Rest that you needed too. God you needed rest.

“Spenc-”

“And considering it’s just gone two am, I’d assume you were trying to slip out before I got home because you couldn’t tell me yourself.”

“You’d assume correctly.” You straighten out, feeling your eyes well up with tears that were so goddamn close to spilling over. “I’m sorry.”

Maybe if you cried he’d beg you to stay, promise to fix it and try harder. You imagine he’d beg you to crawl into bed with him and sort it out tomorrow when you both weren’t so sleep deprived. You’d both shimmy under the covers and get that sleep in you’d been craving. The reality is however, you’d probably wake up and the space next to you would be cold again. And you’d be alone once more. 

Truth be told you didn’t sleep very much while Spencer was away. Your bed felt so much colder, and the genius wasn’t all that good at using his phone so you’d wait and wait for a text from him, just to let you know that he’s okay and before you knew it the sun would be coming up and your phone hadn’t pinged once.

You wondered how often you crossed the man's mind while he was away, because he crossed yours plenty. It seemed as though you were a foreign thought. 

“Are you?” He raised a brow, not much emotion crossing the man's face. It made your blood boil, because if he did love you as much as he once claimed he wasn’t very good at showing it.

You tried to remember when you first noticed his love for you fizzle out. Maybe it was when he stopped opening doors for you first, or complimenting your new outfits. Maybe it was when he started to sneak out of bed in the morning without giving you a kiss and a feeble I love you. Or when rereading the books he’d already ingrained into his memory became more enticing then a shower with you. 

Despite this, you never stopped your attempts at sharing your love with him. Dear god - you had so much of it to give, and he had been at the receiving end of it all. 

“Are you sorry?” You spit back, definitely harsher then you had intended. 

“Am I sorry?” He questioned, seeming awfully confused about the whole ordeal. If he wasn’t confused then he was just acting dumb. “Why would I - You’re the one trying to leave me in the middle of the night, why should I be sorry?”

“When did you stop loving me?”     

Spencers poker face finally breaks, however instead of breaking into a look of sadness, remorse, or anything of the sort it’s just confusion.

“I never stopped-”

“You’re not a liar, Spence, don’t start now.” 

With a heavy heart, tears now spilling freely down already damp cheeks and tight fists you grip the suitcase handles and haul your entire life out the door of your previously shared apartment. 

It’s crazy how you could pack up your entire life into two raggedy old suitcases. 

You wondered if it’d break Spencer's heart to find little pieces of you around the apartment - pieces that hadn’t been important enough to take with you. If maybe he’d cry when taking down photos of the two of you or miss your presence in your designated barstool at breakfast.

Tonight, Spencer would be the one sleeping in that cold, lonesome bed down the hall, while you cuddled up in some overpriced hotel sheets feeling heartbroken, yet equally proud for finally allowing yourself to walk away.