#I drew a few more during church

[rockhousejai]

Steamboat kisses

[pseudowho]

Deliverance

Hunting down a monster, you are led to an isolated little town...and into the arms of its enigmatic priest, who harbours a dark secret.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Vampire!Priest!Nanami, monsterfucking, winged vampire, soft!Dom/pleasure!Dom Nanami, loss of faith/disillusionment, enemies to lovers/forbidden lovers, haematophilia, corruption kink

Very much inspired by Mike Flanagan's exceptional "Midnight Mass" which I highly recommend.

Soundtrack: "Take Me To Church" by Hozier, and "All Around Me" by Flyleaf

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The bridge to the mainland lived most of its saltcured life underwater. It rose, skeletal against the fog, as if the wreck of a ship from some bygone era, only twice a day, at low tide.

You were, by now, well-established into this friendly little town; a much-needed teacher to its handful of muddy-toed children. They did now know of your armory, your deadly weaponry. They did not know of your vow to hunt down the monsters that stalked the night.

And, they did not know how you suspected that the beast responsible for the deaths of at least 20 men on the mainland, may be one of their very own. 20 murders all occurring at low-tide, and only low-tide, could not be a coincidence.

They were all scum, you mused to yourself, all rapists, paedophiles and murderers...so perhaps it does have some sort of moral code. It must be here, you reasoned, fingers tapping the woody shelves of your little school cupboard in thought.

Your hunt was hampered by the timekeeping of this sleepy fishing town; often up before sunrise to take to the sea, and back before the sun broke above the horizon, it was not unusual for its residents to sleep during the day, and rise in time for the sunset. Its little church even held an evening mass, attended by plentiful nocturnal residents, after dinner.

"Hello?" A rich baritone, which was beginning to feel so intimately familiar to you, stirred an illicit want in your belly. He called your name. You could not help but run to him.

"--sorry, I'm-- I'm here! In the cupboard!" You called out, breathless in...what? Your rush to get to him? Anticipation? Something...more?

You flurried round the corner, all eager smiles, flyaway hairs and dimples. Your eyes melted so softly upon each others' forms, both sighing with relief. Neither of you knew how the other stirred within.

"Ke--...Father Nanami. What a lovely surprise. You're not usually up so early."

Nanami Kento cut an imposing figure in his cassock and white collar. He was a big man, with mountainous shoulders, and long, broad hands. You remembered the heat that pooled in your belly, the first time he had rolled up his sleeves to help you to move supplies into the schoolhouse, his forearms so alluringly thick and corded. His size belied an easy grace, and the elegant quick-step of a busy, intelligent man.

"I found myself unable to sleep," Kento admitted, his head bowed and hands clasped as he stepped to you. He seemed paler than usual, as he continued, "I was thinking abo--...just, thinking." He finished weakly. His eyes drew so fleetingly to your fast little pulse, thrumming from your throat, down your cleavage. His mouth dried, a double-edged hunger climbing down his abdomen.

"...thinking?" You offered, slowly closing the distance between you. You ached to remove it completely, your respect for his holy vows the only thing that contained you. Kento cleared his throat, running one strong finger between his neck, and corseting black and white collar.

"...wondering. If you would be attending mass. Tonight. I have miss--...you have missed the past week, I believe."

Ah. Yes. There was rarely another time when the homes of the local residents were empty enough to allow for investigation. You had only a few more to ransack, to find your monster, and you could feel yourself closing in on it. You felt a heavy rock of regret in your belly, and you clasped one of Kento's cool, pale hands in your own. His cock twitched, to feel the burn of your flesh against his, in ways so much less intimate than what he had imagined, alone at night.

"I'm so sorry...not tonight," you frowned, and you hurried to reassure Kento as he visibly deflated, "But tomorrow, I promise you. I'll come. Truly." Kento's face, so angular and strong, softened down at you with the hint of a smile.

His hand raised up for a moment, hesitating, before cupping your cheek. You felt your heart skip a beat, the tips of his little and ring fingers ghosting over your pulse point, while his thumb swiped beneath your eye.

"...chalk," Kento whispered, seeing your pupils dilate under his inherent, dangerous magnetism. He wished nothing more than to lean down and taste you, clutched against him and whimpering in the schoolhouse. You heard thunder rumble in the distance, and smelled the petrichor of an oncoming storm.

"...I can't wait," Kento whispered, stepping back from you, with just one backwards glance before sweeping out under the wind and blotting clouds.

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Your hunt had amounted to nothing. Either, your monster was meticulously careful, or your suspicions were incorrect, and it did not reside on this island. There was just one more place you had not explored, and you resigned yourself that you may be heading home sooner than you thought.

And yet, you felt a rope behind your navel, a red string around your finger, holding you here. You decided to complete your final investigation at the home of the priest, who had become the lifeblood that ran inside you, at midnight. He generally stayed late at the church, completing administration. You would be undisturbed.

Armed, rogue-like, you blended with moonlit shadows until you reached the windows outside his bedroom. You peeked through the gaps in the wooden blinds, and were met with an image of Kento, erotic and resplendent, that seared itself into your brain for the rest of your days.

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Kento didn't need sleep, ever since his God had forsaken him. Yet still, he craved that sweet embrace, to take him away from the twisted torture of what he had become. His resolve to die this way, as some fallen angel, had been unexpectedly fractured by the will to live-- fractured by you.

Kento switched the shower off, the last droplets of water running down his back. His cassock and collar were discarded, all woven lies against the skin of a faithless hypocrite. Kento wrapped a towel loosely around his waist, stepped past the empty mirror, and out into his bedroom.

His gut churned to see his empty bed. It had been weeks since he had fed. Years since he had taken a woman for the last time, before taking his vows. Weeks, since you had begun to consume him, mind, body and soul.

Kento had been losing his faith before the change. He had grown further from God, as countless monsters died beneath his teeth. But it was thoughts of you, spread, penetrated and whimpering beneath him, that took Kento beyond redemption.

Kento shuddered at the aching greed within. He lay back on his bed, hair still damp and floppy, but desperate for sleep to grip him and pull him under. His cock, rapidly thickening and tenting beneath the towel, made him curse, one broad arm flung over his eyes, while the other tried to squeeze himself into submission.

Kento squirmed with guilt, his semi-erect cock gripped in his palm. He thought of you, your fingers dipping into your needy wet cunt, the vibrator on your clit doing nothing to relieve the ache in your soul. He thought of the way you had squirmed and begged, to your god, and to him, to be granted your release. He thought of the way you had sobbed as you came, curled round yourself, your fingers desperately trying to reach the sweet spot that would make your orgasm climb all the way into your belly.

He didn't need to imagine it, Kento thought blithely, his thumb now stroking slick pre-cum under his foreskin, and over the sweet swollen head of his cock. He didn't need to imagine it, because he had seen you, through the gap in your curtains in the dead of night. Watching you, a pale angel in the rain, hunting for the forgiveness of a body he couldn't allow himself to sully.

Kento's hand had begun to masturbate himself instinctually, to the thought of you crying out for him. For him, and he could do nothing but pretend he hadn't seen you fall apart, to the dream of him inside you.

Kento groaned, low and rumbling, his hand gripping tightly around his throbbing, heavy length, longer than his thick fist could cover. Dripping with pre-cum, Kento began to fuck into his own fist to lubricate himself. He moaned in time to the memory of you, writhing and mewling against your pillow.

Kento's other arm reached round above his head, and he sunk his sharp teeth into his pillow, licking at it, imitating how he would flick his tongue against your pert little clit with a ragged moan. He pictured you above him, riding his mouth and nose as the length of his cock fucked down your throat to the tune of sweet wet gags. Kento whispered filth into the dead of night, trying to rut himself to orgasm.

"--take it-- good girl...cum down your throat-- cum in my mouth...shit...fuck you through it soon, angel-- promise, I promise--...ahhhh, shit, SHIT--"

Kento cursed, spitting venom, his balls heavy and sore, his own hand so woefully inadequate. His canines had lengthened, his mouth twisted into a teeth-baring snarl, and he gripped his cock harder. Trailing his other fingers to his mouth, sucking on his fingertips with a shiver, Kento pierced them until he could taste the hot rush of blood, imagining it was you quenching his thirst--

At the window, completely unnoticed, you gripped the windowpane, weak-kneed. Your other hand clapped over your mouth. Kento lay naked on his bed, sprawled and ethereal under strips of moonlight, masturbating with gasps and groans that you only wished you could hear.

Those hands, that you had spent night after night, wishing were inside you. That cock, thicker and longer than you had pictured...and oh. The way he rutted into his fist with such devastating ferocity, left you jealous of his hand. Your mouth watered.

What would he do, if you knocked right now? If you offered yourself to him, spread bare and pleading? Would he forsake his vows for you? Would he turn his back to God, as he stroked his cockhead to orgasm between your wet folds, singing your praises, and spattering hot, thick cum over your clit--

You were drawn back out of your head as Kento convulsed, his anguished, sloppy moan breaking through the windows, shooting through you like a knife. You gasped, delighted by Kento's twitching pleasure.

Kento hit his orgasm with the turmoiled strength of a stormfront, breaking. His final image was of you, cradling his sore cock between your legs, humping him inside you while you whispered to him and he whined into your hair and got lost in the smell of you, god, the smell of you, he could smell you now--

Kento spasmed, crying out as cum spurted in heavy stripes up his abdomen, his orgasm threaded with a tinge of horror-- fuck, he could smell you, you were here nearby, he knew the smell of that skin and that blood and that cunt--

Kento sat up with a jolt and a snarl, still gasping, the power of the hunt crashing through him. His teeth bared, animalistic, he wrenched his window up, sticking his head out into the night.

The smell of you, quickly fading, was being carried away by the wind. And Nanami Kento was losing his mind.

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You could barely compose yourself, walking into Church the next evening. The night had crept in fast; another storm churning over the water, was pulling the moon in with it. You felt overburdened with...guilt? Desire? You could not hide it, you were sure.

You could not hide it, as Kento's rich voice embraced the pews. You could not hide it, as your voice trembled its way through hymns. Kento's stern, impassive face remained unreadable, as you took communion from him. You met each others' eyes, both thinking about the same thing; his finger grazed your tongue, and gazed upon your sweet face, open-mouthed and doe-eyed, kneeling before him.

And despite all this, it was each others' company you craved more than anything more carnal. You found excuses to stay, in the church, loitering as Kento bid the crowds a warm goodbye. As the last person left, finally alone, you turned to each other. You both held your breath.

After a few moments, yours released in a twinkling laugh, and a blush, that had Kento's chest clenching in possessive adoration.

"I...have neglected you, father," you offered, brushing your hair behind your ear. Kento huffed, at first, pinching the bridge of his nose, before laughing. A genuine laugh. Deep, velvety, and rich. You were putty in his hands, and he didn't even know.

"Alas...it is the life of the clergy. Our own needs, go...unmet." Kento grimaced, a forced half-smile. His hands clasped over his lap.

You felt the tinge of bitterness at the edge of his words. You swallowed, thickly. Your fate balanced on the edge of a knife.

"Not...not all of them, surely? You could...you could join me for dinner?" You couldn't miss how Kento's eyebrows raised fractionally, his pupils dilating. Kento felt a dangerous hunger.

"I...I'm not sure-- I shouldn't--"

"Of course, you're completely right--" you flapped, taking a step back, and Kento's hunger gripped you back with jealous need.

"...I shouldn't be long here. An hour, maybe? If...if you'll allow it." Kento could feel himself twist under the need to possess you, one way or another. Judging by the smell of you, you would be wet, supple under his lips.

"Perfect," you blurted, standing up on your tiptoes for one happy moment, "perfect. I'll cook. We can...we can talk. I can't wait."

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A brisk knock. You hurried to the door, biting your lip, briefly abandoning dinner on the stove.

"Father," you cried, damning yourself for sounding so excited, "you're here...I'm glad. I was afraid you wouldn't...anyway..."

You hurried back to the stove, leaving the door open. After a moment, you looked up, seeing Kento leaning against the doorframe, looking at with with something...unreadable, in his eyes. He simply stood, drinking you in as you cooked.

"...Father? What are you waiting out there for? Come in." Blinking, chuckling to himself, Kento stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind him and gently placing a bottle of wine on the table.

"Please. Call me Kento. It seems...silly, if we're having dinner, and a night together." You felt heat blossom through you, at the accidental double-meaning behind Kento's words.

Dinner together was soft, intimate, the food and wine smoothing over an already glossy conversation. You were made malleable by the wine. You were intoxicated by him. Kento looked into you with such knowledge of you, that you were laid bare beneath his gaze.

Sat facing each other on the sofa, Kento had abandoned his white collar, the buttons of his cassock and white shirt undone to his chest. He rolled wine around his glass, his head leaning on one hand, smiling as you talked. The wine made you stupid, and you blurted out;

"Why? Why...did you join the church, Kento?" It was, in part, rhetorical. A cry of despair against the crime of Kento being made untouchable. His answer surprised you, and you found yourself shuffling closer as he talked.

"I ask myself that same question every day. Ever since..." Kento bit his tongue, thinking of the night he was turned, on a missionary trip abroad. Thinking about the day you walked into his parish, setting him aflame with unquenchable burning thirst. Kento cleared his throat, swirling his wine. He felt his primal magnetism drawing you to him like a moth to the flame, and he could not stop himself.

"...I have become...disillusioned, with the church. I am...torn," Kento admitted. Your knees were touching his now, and you leaned towards him with lovesick eyes. Kento felt the thrill of the hunt, feeling the sting of his teeth lengthening. His cock twitched as your breath passed over his cheek.

"...torn?" You felt a quiver of fear now, in the way Kento's eyes darkened, his hand slipping over to grip behind your knee, pulling you into his lap. He set aside his glass. It should have rung alarm bells. You were so drunk, but you had only had one glass of wine. Kento smelled so intoxicating. You were warm, floppy as he pulled you to straddle his lap, cupping your face with both hands.

"...torn," he whispered, his nose brushing yours. Kento's hunger overtook his panic for you, a victim to himself. Kento whispered against your lips, watching your eyes flutter closed, your head heavy and lilting to the side, exposing the pretty thrum of your throat to him.

"...torn," he continued, gliding his tongue up the pulse in your neck, feeling his cock jump against your clothed pussy, "...all because of you...if God has forsaken me, I hope he never wants me back. If only you would let me worship you, instead."

Kento's lips hovered over yours, barely quelling his urgent need to feed on you, until you whimpered his name. Kento snapped, and pulled you in by the back of the neck, crashing his lips to yours with the ragged groan of a starving man.

Your head swam with Kento, clutching his open collar and falling against him, allowing him to devour your mouth with bliss. You murmured against his lips, sloppy and licking, tasting the sweet allure of him, and his grip on the back of your neck grew crushing, his weight now bearing over you to press you back into the sofa, a sharp sting on your lip--

"Ow! I...ugh, sorry...I'm bleeding--"

As you moved to sit up, shocked back out of your reverie, Kento had pushed himself back to the other side of your sofa. One hand had clasped over his mouth. He trembled, and shook, white-knuckles clasping the sofa. You heard a sharp gasp, as if Kento was in pain.

With blood on your lip, you reached for him-- and stopped. Your eyes fixed on the switched-off television opposite you both. You stood, slowly, moving towards the hallway, and your bag, trying to control your terrified little heart.

"I'll just...get a cloth, for my li--"

As you pulled a blade from your bag, standing up to spin around, you were thrown back to the wall, your head cushioned by Kento's hand. You cried out, feeling him bracket you against the wall, his cassock now abandoned, his form seeming to grow and swell before you. Kento's face pressed to your neck, and you felt the hot throb of his growing cock against your belly.

You stood this way, both panting into each other, your knife pressed over Kento's heart, and his teeth pressed to your throat. Your heart broke, fragile beneath Kento's twisting form, and hungry mouth. You hiccuped, your hand and resolve faltering.

"...I never wanted...I wish it wasn't...why did it have to be you?" You sobbed, your arm starting to lower. Kento growled against you, already two feet taller, his enormous chest trapping you in against the wall. You felt the lights blotting out around you, as vast, black, velvety wings unfurled from Kento's back.

"...always...you always knew...just couldn't accept--" Kento gasped, his tongue darting out against your neck, ridged and trembling. His chest burst with pain to feel you sob beneath him.

"I can't do it," you cried, your knife hand lowering again, "just take what you want, because I can't-- I love you-- I'm not strong enough." Kento's teeth gritted, his face crumpling against the soft copper scent of your skin. His enormous hand gripped yours, raising the knife to press to his chest. You gasped and cried out, resisting his pull; a bead of blood sprung up around the tip, pressed to Kento's chest.

"From the moment you arrived," Kento growled, his teeth pressing gently over your pulse point, starving and needy, "...my life...everything I am, has been yours to take. I would know you, blind and deaf...and I would be honoured, for you to take my life as penance for my sins."

You gritted your teeth, completely releasing your grip on the blade. It clattered to the floor. You reached up to trail hands up Kento's enormous, powerful shoulders. Your fingertips grazed the soft base of his wings, and Kento shivered, shuddering into you. He felt a dribble of pre-cum soak his stretched, ripping boxers.

"Then I condemn you to live, Kento," you whispered, pulling his face up to yours. His pupils were dilated, bursting with lust, inky black in pools of crimson, "...and take me. However you want me."

Kento snarled at you again, pressing himself to you, pinning your arms above your head with one thick hand; "You have no idea what you're asking for," he hissed, "I will eat you alive." He felt you tremble, seeing the golden resolve in your eyes. You leaned forwards to his mouth, begging.

"Then eat me...or fuck me, like you fucked your hand to me."

Kento cursed, snapping, lifting you against him. You wrapped your legs around his hips, feeling Kento reach down to shred the clothes off himself, completely absorbed by the need to possess you, to love you.

Flung backwards onto the bed, you gasped at Kento's monstrous form. Eight feet tall, broad and exquisite, his great black wings folded and unfolded against his back. His aching cock dripped with pre-cum, so much bigger than when you had seen him cum into his own hand. His face, still undeniably Kento, stared into you, owning you. Heat pooled between your legs, as he grasped his cock in one great hand, groaning and shuddering.

You crept forwards, still drunk on him, and his nephilim glory. Kento's hand stuttered around his cock as you licked the tip.

"--fuck-- too big for you-- you can't--" Kento uttered a strangled moan, to feel your hot little mouth engulf his cockhead, your lips stretched wide, gulping him to the back of your throat, all hot little licks and sucks. Every fibre of his being needed to buck forwards into your mouth, and you felt two great hands tangle in your hair.

When your hands joined your mouth, stroking down his aching length, masturbating the parts of his cock your mouth could not reach, Kento rutted involuntarily. Moaning, begging and whining your name, his voice ran deep and ragged around his sharp canines.

"--darling, I-- shit I-- so good...so good for me...taking me s--so well, haaaaah...not-- can't last-- like this--"

You hummed around his cock, swallowing down a trickle of salty pre-cum, feeling the gentle pressure of his fingertips against your head. So aware of his size and strength, Kento handled you like a china doll, with the utmost love and affection. Kento moaned with abandon, his head thrown back, his great wings furling and unfurling with divine pleasure.

Swallowing around Kento's thick tip at the back of your throat, you felt his cock leaping in warning. Kento tried half-heartedly to pull you off him, whimpering and moaning with fractured cries of your name;

"--can't swallow-- s'too much-- ohhh fuck, my love-- c-cumming, I'm cumming-- fffuuuck yes, swallow-- all of it--"

You squeaked as his cock jolted and twitched in your mouth, Kento's balls clenched tight as he hunched around your mouth, pressing your head to him. Your mouth and throat flooded with Kento's bitter seed, cooler than that of a normal man, and you swallowed him down with pride. Kento's groans and breaths ran ragged, as you licked him clean.

Kento panted, glossy-eyed as he came down from his high, his cock still half-hard against his thigh. Crowding your body against the bed with his, his fingertips grazed the dress you wore, before ripping it from you with a bared-teeth growl. You felt your bra snapped in the middle, as if it were paper. Your breasts heaved, nipples peaked under Kento's ravenous attention.

Poking his tongue out to tease it over one hard nipple, you felt your clit throb to feel the otherworldly ridges and grooves running along his tongue's sides and tip. Whining as he sucked your pebbled nipple into his mouth, you shuddered to feel Kento's sharp teeth graze your sensitive peak. He savoured you, lathering your nipple against his tongue, until you felt you could cum from that alone.

His other hand rose to engulf your second breast, your nipple rolled so tenderly between two great fingers. You felt a trickle of arousal soak your underwear. Kento could smell it, and pressed his hand to your lower belly, feeling vaguely for the telltale swell of ovulation.

"...made a mistake, angel...letting me take you like this-- nothing of you left, by the time I'm done with you--mine-- all mine-- fuck--"

Trailing kisses down your belly, sniffing you and eager to fill you with his smell, his body thrummed for you. Kento threw your legs over his shoulders, ripping the sides of your underwear and tossing the scraps aside.

His eyes fixed on your pussy, slick and clenching. Kento shuddered, feeling his cock beginning to bound to life again. It flopped, heavy and twitching against his thigh, filling again in preparation to fill you. Kento felt a vague desire to ensnare you, trapping you inside his drunken intoxication, to fill you, and fill you, and fill you, until your belly swelled, oozing his thick, white seed.

"...Kento...please..." Your sweet begging pulled Kento out of himself. Despite his monstrous form, his face softened, his eyes fixed to yours as his tongue, long and ridged, stretched out of his mouth. You saw stars as it lathed insistently from side to side, spreading your folds, stroking back and forth over your aching, pearly clit.

Kento mumbled into your pussy, tasting you, his long tongue fucking into your cunt while his nose nuzzled your clit. Mewling, your hands flew down to sink into Kento's hair, and you felt your hands grasped and pinned against your belly. Kento knew, with a faint pang, that if your fingernails scratched against his sensitive scalp, he would surely spill his seed all over your floor.

Kento draped his other forearm over your belly and hips, pinning you down as you twisted beneath his attention. He lapped, sucked, and nipped at you with the softest bites to your clit, his tongue fucking in and out of you with inhuman dexterity.

You bucked your hips down the bed, eager to feel his tongue sink into your deepest parts, and Kento obliged with a wet moan. You felt his tongue lathe against your spongy spot, pinned down as he devoured you.

"--just there...harder please, please-- god I need your cock in me, please-- fuck me please-- please--"

You begged and pleaded your way to orgasm, your arousal seeping out around Kento's tongue as you came with a jolt and a cry, your thighs clamping around Kento's head, feet tickling against his sensitive wings. Kento continued to fuck his tongue in and out of you, lathering you with his spit, tasting your arousal, desperate to taste more of you.

You reached down, trying to pull Kento up your body. He almost laughed at your casual management of a true to life vampire, about to fuck you into the mattress. Kento allowed it, settling above you, his pupils narrowing at the insistent beat of your throat. Suddenly, and with a strangled growl, Kento knocked your head aside, his teeth grazing at your throat, and his monstrous cock throbbing at your entrance.

You trembled beneath him, heaving and gasping from your high. All of your resolve left you, beneath his tongue, and you uttered words you knew to be true;

"...I trust you, Kento."

Kento pressed into you, with teeth and cock and a husky moan. You felt a sharp pierce at your neck, his teeth just deep enough to feel the hot splash of your blood against his tongue. Kento almost finished then and there, his seed threatening to spatter into your folds and entrance, instead of in your belly, as he had promised himself. Kento drank you, his mouth clamped around your neck, one great hand cupping your head to the side while the other gripped your hip.

With a squeak and a protracted, broken moan of his name, you felt Kento's cock stretch through your wet velvety walls. You squirmed, trying to climb up the bed, feeling Kento growl around your throat and yank you back down.

Kento was enormous, by far the biggest cock you had ever taken, splitting you with a dull sting. Your fluttering hole soothed as Kento began to rut his length into you. His red, leaking tip bullied your cervix, bumping it up against your womb, with inches of him still outside of you.

You uttered strangled little moans, completely pinned beneath his hulking form, feeling him rut as much of his cock inside you as he could fit. With a shiver, Kento denied himself of any more blood at your throat. His tongue stroked your wounds, clotting the blood there, as he fucked gently into you.

Kento's wings caged you both in, and he stared down at where his cock tried to stretch your pussy out with dopey, lovesick eyes. A trickle of your blood ran down from the corner of his mouth, and he was struck with a sudden burst of pride for you. Kneeling back, Kento pushed your knees up to your chest, crushing over you in a mating press.

You writhed, as Kento managed to sink more of his cock into you, groaning which each stroke he watched enter and pull out of you. Your slick formed a translucent white ring most of the way down his cock length. Kento was eager to see it drip down his balls. He gasped down at your prone, fucked-out form, and gently began to press and roll the fatty flesh around your clit, making you buck up into him with pathetic little mewls.

"--fit it in--fit all of me in...if you cum again-- fuck you through it, baby...fuck you through it...fuck you through it..."

Kento repeated this like a mantra, every gradually strengthening thrust into you taking him deeper, your pussy stretched to its limits around his terrifying girth and length. Leaning over where you joined, Kento spat a smooth mouthful of spit, stroking it around his base, lubricating you both, before upping his pace and intensity again.

You cried out, head thrown back as you arched, feeling Kento so deeply that you clasped your belly. Kento planted one hand over yours, his fucks growing gradually more feral as he bared his teeth, determined to finally take what was his, after so many years of miserable self-denial.

"--mine make you mine make you mine--leave it behind...leave it all...for you...shit-- so tight, just--milk it out-- all my cum-- all yours, I swear..."

As you came, your pussy clenching and spasming, Kento finally bottomed out. His head flung back with a cry of success, slamming into you with abandon as he chased his high, desperate to see you filled with his cum. Cursing, and spitting, teeth bared and blacking out the room around you with his wings, Kento came with a roar, and you felt your pussy and belly flooded by him.

His cock jerked long, protracted twitches inside you, spurting thick bursts of cum, with nowhere to go but up, plugged by his enormous girth. You were pliable and dazed, taking it with the sweet relief of his love for you, his seed soothing your swollen inner walls like a balm.

Kento faltered above you, staggered and dazed. Keeping his cock stuffed inside you, manoeuvring himself onto his side, he swept one great wing beneath you, and one above you. You felt yourself cocooned, sleepy and full, reaching into hand up to tangle into Kento's hair. He pressed a lazy kiss to your palm.

"...you're a...terrible vampire hunter..." Kento slurred, fading out into soft snores, just seconds later.

He's not wrong, you reasoned to yourself, wondering and drifting to sleep in his arms and wings, maybe he'll help me.

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 5

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥, 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺."

summary: the rhythm of your days blends with the vibrant backdrop of your church’s dance preparations. Beneath the soft glow of Houston’s city lights and the gentle hum of Joel's truck, your deepening bond with him unfolds amidst stolen moments and whispered confessions. As you navigate the delicate dance of your emerging feelings, Joel’s own transformation remains veiled from his family.

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 5

masterlist of the series!

previous | chapter 4

next | chapter 6

The anticipation for the church dance troupe's performance was building. The whole town was buzzing with excitement as the event drew near, only two weeks away. The performance would be a grand spectacle attended by everyone in town, including all the elders, and it was scheduled for the same day your father was set to return.

The first week of preparation was filled with rigorous rehearsals. You and your friends gathered at the community fellowship building, a bustling hub of activity. Jemima, Pastor Ben's wife, along with a few other church members, coordinated the practices. The adults were always around, providing guidance and encouragement.

The church dance troupe was more than just an extracurricular activity; it was a lifeline, a vessel of hope and validation that you clung to. Each dance step, every twirl, and every leap was a silent plea for recognition, especially from your father. You had always loved dancing, finding solace in the rhythm and movement. It was the one place where you felt free, where the world and its heavy expectations seemed to melt away.

This performance was different. It was not just another event; it was a grand spectacle that could potentially alter the trajectory of your family's standing in the community. The mayor of the town would be there, along with other influential figures and elders. It was an opportunity for your family to be thrust into the spotlight, a chance to shine and, more importantly, a moment to make your father proud.

Your father, a man of stern demeanor and unyielding expectations, had always demanded excellence. He often showed you off, his actions speaking louder than his words. To him, you were a reflection of the family name, a testament to his own efforts and discipline. The thought of this performance being a success was not just about personal achievement for you; it was about carrying the weight of familial pride and expectation.

The rehearsals were intense, each session a blend of sweat, dedication, and the relentless pursuit of perfection. Jemima and the other coordinators pushed you and your friends hard, knowing the significance of the event. As you practiced, you imagined your father watching you, his eyes scrutinizing every move, his expression a mask of stern judgment.

During breaks, the atmosphere was filled with the usual activities of a church community—people chatting, sharing snacks, and discussing the upcoming performance. Pastor Ben often made an appearance, ostensibly to support the group's efforts, but you couldn't help but notice his lingering gaze on you. Jemima was always busy coordinating the rehearsals and offering guidance, leaving Ben with ample opportunity to keep an eye on the group.

You and Emma had both noticed Ben's attentiveness, though it was you who seemed to capture his interest the most. His questions and small talk were frequently directed at you, and his presence seemed more pronounced whenever you were around. Despite the attention, you tried to remain polite and composed, responding to his questions with the same courtesy you showed everyone else.

As the day's rehearsal came to an end, you bid farewell to your friends and began gathering your things. Just as you were about to leave, Pastor Ben approached you, his steps confident and his smile warm.

"Hey," he greeted you.

You looked up, slightly startled but quickly masking your surprise. "Oh, hey, Pastor Ben."

He chuckled softly. "Please, just call me Ben. Using 'Pastor' makes me feel old."

You smiled politely. "Alright, Ben."

"So, how did the rehearsal go today?" he asked, his tone casual but his eyes attentive.

"It went well, I think," you replied, then added with a light smile, "You were there, well, what do you think?"

Pastor Ben chuckled softly, leaning against the doorframe. "You’re right, I was there. And from what I saw, you all are doing a wonderful job. There’s a real sense of unity in the group, and that’s something special."

You nodded, feeling a mix of pride and a little awkwardness under his steady gaze. "Thanks. We’ve been working hard, trying to make it something memorable."

Ben’s eyes softened as he looked at you. "I can see that. And you, especially, seem to put your heart into it."

You felt your cheeks flush slightly, unsure how to respond to the compliment. "Well, I love dancing, so... it’s important to me. And I want to make my family proud, especially my dad."

Ben’s expression turned thoughtful, and he nodded. "That’s a good motivation. I’m sure your father will be proud of you when he sees what you’ve accomplished."

"I hope so," you said, the weight of your father’s expectations pressing on your shoulders. "It’s not always easy to meet his standards."

Ben tilted his head, studying you for a moment. "Parents can be tough sometimes, especially when they have high expectations. But you should be proud of yourself, too. It’s clear you’re giving it your all."

You smiled politely, feeling a bit more at ease. "Thank you, Ben."

There was a brief pause, and Ben seemed to hesitate before speaking again. "Well, are you gonna go home? Do you need a lift?" he asked, his voice casual but with an undertone that made you feel slightly uneasy.

You hesitated, glancing toward the parking lot. You were supposed to meet Joel, and he had made it clear he’d be waiting for you at the back of the school, out of sight from anyone who might be watching.

"Oh, thank you, Ben," you began, choosing your words carefully. "But I’m actually meeting someone. I’ve got a ride, so I’m all set."

Ben raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Someone from the dance group?"

You forced a smile, shaking your head. "No, just a friend. We’re heading out for a bit."

"Boyfriend?" Ben asked, his tone casual, but there was a hint of something more behind the question—curiosity, maybe even a touch of jealousy.

Your heart skipped a beat at the word. You weren’t sure how to answer, not wanting to give away too much. "No, just a friend," you repeated, trying to keep your tone light. "We’re just going to hang out for a while."

Ben nodded slowly, but you could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced. "Well, be careful, alright? It’s getting dark out there."

"Of course," you replied, maintaining your polite demeanor. "Thanks, Ben."

With that, you turned to walk away, your heart beating a little faster. As you made your way around the side of the building, your eyes darted around, searching for Joel’s truck. You spotted it parked in the shadows, just as he had said it would be.

Joel was leaning against the truck, arms crossed, waiting for you. The moment you saw him, a sense of relief washed over you, dispelling the lingering unease from your conversation with Ben.

"Hey, doll," Joel greeted you as you approached. He pushed off from the truck and opened the passenger door for you. "Ready to go?"

You nodded, climbing into the truck. "Yeah, let’s get out of here."

Joel shut the door behind you, then walked around to the driver’s side and got in. As he started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, you couldn’t help but glance in the side mirror, half-expecting to see Ben watching from a distance. But the street was empty, and soon the school was behind you as you and Joel headed out of town.

"Everything okay?" Joel asked, noticing your pensive expression as he drove.

"Yeah," you replied, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts. "Just... Ben offered me a ride, and it felt a little weird."

Joel frowned slightly, glancing over at you. "Weird how?"

You shrugged, trying to put your feelings into words. "I don’t know. He just seemed...just forget about it," you said, hoping to brush it off, but Joel wasn’t letting it go that easily.

"Wait, what do you mean?" he asked, his tone more insistent.

You hesitated, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. "It’s nothing important."

Joel’s gaze remained fixed on you, his concern evident. "Doll... is he making you uncomfortable?"

You bit your lip, feeling a bit foolish for even bringing it up. "No, it’s just... he’s more interested in me than he should be. Like, he was paying a lot of attention during rehearsals and then offering me a ride. I don’t know, maybe I’m just overthinking it. Maybe he was just being nice and polite."

Joel’s frown deepened, his protective instinct kicking in. "If he’s making you feel uneasy, you need to tell me. Okay?"

You nodded, appreciating his concern. "Okay, I will."

There was a moment of silence, the tension from the conversation lingering in the air. You glanced out the window, watching as the town faded into the distance. The trip to Houston would take a while, and you wanted to shift the mood to something lighter.

"Joel," you asked, turning back to him, "can we listen to some music?"

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Sure, darling." He reached over to the radio and tuned in to a familiar station. As he did, the opening chords of "Harvest Moon" by Neil Young began to play, filling the truck with its soothing melody.

You couldn’t help but smile. "I love this song."

"Me too," Joel replied, his voice softening as the music enveloped the both of you.

As the song played, you let yourself get lost in the moment. The gentle strumming of the guitar and Neil Young’s tender voice seemed to wrap around you like a warm blanket, easing the tension that had settled in your chest. There was something timeless about the song, something that made you feel safe and understood, like everything was exactly as it should be, at least for now.

The lyrics spoke of love, of dancing together under the light of a harvest moon, and you found yourself wishing for that kind of simplicity in your own life. Being with Joel felt like that sometimes—like you were both in a world of your own, where the complications of your life couldn’t touch you. It was just the two of you, killing time on the road, the open highway stretching out before you like a promise of something more.

You look at Joel as he drives, your eyes tracing the lines of his face in the soft glow of the dashboard lights. The music played quietly in the background, creating a serene atmosphere that made this moment feel almost dreamlike. You couldn't help but admire him—how he looked so effortlessly handsome, even in the simplest moments.

Joel had a rugged and weathered appearance that only added to his appeal. His strong, muscular build was a testament to years of hard work, and the deep-set wrinkles around his eyes and mouth told stories of a life lived through hardship and survival. His dark hair, graying at the temples, and the scruffy beard he often wore gave him a rugged charm that was impossible to ignore.

His eyes, though—a striking, soulful brown—were what truly captivated you. There was a depth to them, a mix of sadness and wariness that hinted at the burdens he carried. But in this moment, as he drove with a steady hand, those eyes held a quiet intensity, softened by the comfort of being in your company.

Joel wasn't like the boys you knew from school or the men you saw in town. There was something about him, something that made your heart skip a beat whenever you were near him. Maybe it was the way he seemed so strong yet so gentle, or how he always knew just what to say to make you feel safe. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, not as a child or a preacher's daughter, but as someone who mattered, someone worth protecting.

His flannel shirt and worn jeans might have been simple, but on him, they looked perfect. The sturdy jacket he wore only added to his rugged appeal, making him look like the kind of man who could take on anything the world threw at him and come out on top. But more than his physical appearance, it was the way he carried himself—the quiet confidence, the steady calm—that drew you in.

As you watched him, you realized that Joel was the first man you'd ever looked at this way. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t demanding or harsh. He was just... Joel. And for the first time since you were a child, you could see a man who wasn’t angry.

Joel was everything you hadn’t known you were looking for—strong, protective, kind. And as you sat there, in the passenger seat of his truck, you couldn’t help but feel that whatever this was between the two of you, it was something worth holding onto.

The miles continued to slip away as you let yourself get lost in the rhythm of the road, the steady hum of the engine, and the quiet comfort of Joel's presence. For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

As you approached Houston, the city lights shimmered in the distance, a glittering array of orange and white against the dark canvas of the night sky. The sight of the city, so vibrant and alive, filled you with a sense of excitement. It was a stark contrast to the quiet, small-town life you were used to, and the thought of exploring something new with Joel by your side made your heart skip a beat.

Joel navigated the truck through the streets, eventually pulling up to a house on the outskirts of the city. It was still a work in progress, but even in its unfinished state, you could tell it was going to be beautiful. The structure was modest yet elegant, with clean lines and a minimalist design that felt both modern and warm.

As you stepped out of the truck, Joel gestured towards the house. "What do you think?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of pride.

You took a moment to take it all in, the smell of fresh wood and the faint scent of sawdust lingering in the air. "It's beautiful, Joel. Minimalist, not too big, not too small. It feels... cozy."

Joel nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "I wanted to keep it simple, but still make it something special."

You turned to him, curiosity getting the better of you. "So, who’s this house for? A client, or...?"

Joel shrugged, his expression thoughtful. "Not sure yet. The land was sold cheap by someone I know—he was in a tight spot and needed the money. I felt bad for him, so I bought it. Figured I’d put a house on it instead of letting the land just sit there. It's only about halfway done, still a lot left to finish."

He paused, glancing around the space as if seeing it for the first time through your eyes. "Maybe for Ellie one day. Or... maybe for you if you ever decide you want to leave that small town of ours."

His words left you momentarily speechless, a warm flutter spreading in your chest. You tried to play it off with a lighthearted joke. "Houston’s still too close to our town, Joel. If I ever leave, I might need to go much farther."

Joel chuckled softly, the sound deep and comforting. "Fair enough."

He led you through the house, showing you the different rooms, each space still in varying stages of completion. It was clear he had put a lot of thought into the design, making sure every detail was just right. Finally, he stopped in front of a set of glass doors. "The balcony’s almost done. Want to see it?"

You nodded eagerly, following him out onto the balcony. It was a stunning space, with a transparent roof that let you see the sky above while keeping you sheltered from the elements. The city lights flickered in the distance, but here, under the open sky, it felt like a world of its own.

"It’s taken almost a year to get it to this point," Joel admitted, his voice soft. "Sometimes I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep going or just leave it as it was."

As you stepped further out, you noticed a couch on the balcony, neatly set up with blankets and pillows. It looked well-used, like someone had spent a lot of time there. You glanced at Joel, raising an eyebrow. "You come here often?"

Joel smiled, a bit sheepishly. "Yeah, when I need to clear my head. It’s quiet up here. Helps me think."

Before you could respond, Joel started straightening out the blankets on the couch, making it more comfortable. He then lay down, looking up at the sky. He patted the space beside him, inviting you to join him. "C'mere"

You smile and then lying down next to him. The couch was surprisingly comfortable, and as you settled in, you felt a wave of calm wash over you. The sky above was a blanket of stars, each one twinkling like a tiny beacon of light in the darkness.

Lying there beside Joel, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in a long time. The worries and expectations that weighed so heavily on you seemed to fade away, replaced by the simple joy of being in this moment with him. It was just the two of you, under the stars, sharing a quiet connection that didn’t need words.

After a while, Joel broke the comfortable silence. “So, you really want to get out of town after you graduate, huh?” His voice was low, almost contemplative.

You nodded, your gaze still fixed on the stars. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. I just… I don’t know exactly where yet. Maybe the East Coast or the West Coast. But I’ve always wanted to visit the West. Maybe California, Los Angeles… It’s just something about it, you know? All those Hollywood movies make it feel like a dream.”

Joel listened quietly, nodding as you spoke. You could feel his eyes on you, his presence a comforting weight beside you. After a moment, you turned the question back to him. “What about you, Joel? If you could go anywhere, where would you go? What would you do?”

Joel took a deep breath, as if considering the possibilities. “I’d like to live a simple life. An old farmhouse, some land, maybe a ranch,” he said thoughtfully. “I’d raise sheep. They’re quiet and do what they’re told.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought. “Farmlife sounds very nice, Joel. Peaceful.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that warmed your heart. “Yeah, I think it would be. But for now, construction pays the bills.”

You turned slightly to look at him, curiosity piqued. “But why construction? I mean, you’ve got a lot of money. You could leave town and move to the countryside if you wanted to.”

Joel sighed, his expression turning more serious. “Maybe. But it’s not just about the money, y’know? Construction... it gives me something to do, keeps my hands busy. After everything that happened, I needed something solid, something that made sense. Building things, working with my hands... it keeps me grounded.”

You could hear the weight of his words, the unspoken memories that lingered just beneath the surface. “And besides,” he continued, “leaving town isn’t as easy as it sounds. There’s a lot tied up in this place, a lot of memories, good and bad.”

You nodded, understanding more than you could ever say. “I guess I can relate to that.”

Joel turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours in the dim light. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, doll. You don’t have to make any decisions right now. Take your time, figure out what you really want.”

You smiled softly, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for him, for how he made you feel understood and safe.

Without overthinking it, you leaned in closer, your gaze briefly locking with his before you tilted your head up to kiss him. The kiss was soft, sweet, and gentle, an extension of the warmth that had been building between you two for weeks. Joel responded in kind, his arms tightening around you as if he didn’t want to let go.

But as the kiss deepened, a thought crept into your mind—Emma's words from the other morning, about how you could show love to someone you really liked or loved. The idea lingered, urging you to be bolder, to express just how much you cared about Joel in a more intimate way.

You hesitated for only a second before kissing him again, this time with more passion. Joel seemed surprised but played along, his lips meeting yours in a way that made your heart race. You let your hands explore, moving over his broad chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt. You were nervous, but the thought of showing him how much you cared kept pushing you forward.

Your kisses trailed down from his lips to his jaw, then lower to his neck, your hands beginning to wander further down his body. As you continued, you could feel Joel stiffen slightly beneath you, and just as your kisses were about to travel even lower, he suddenly pulled back, his voice firm but gentle.

“Whoa, darlin’,” he murmured, his hands coming up to hold you still. “What are you doing?”

You blinked up at him, confusion written all over your face. “I just... I want to show that I care about you and want to thank you,” you said softly, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

You bit your lip, trying to find the right words. “Emma told me that... that when you really like someone, you can show them by, you know, doing things like this. I just wanted to... please you, I guess.”

For a moment, Joel just looked at you, his expression a mix of surprise and something else you couldn’t quite place. Then he sighed, his hands gently cupping your face, lifting your gaze to meet his.

“Listen to me, sweetheart,” he began, his voice low and earnest. “I appreciate that you care about me, more than you know. But this? This isn’t how you show that. You don’t need to do anything like this to prove how you feel, okay? Not to me, not to anyone.”

You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you, realizing that maybe you’d misunderstood what Emma had meant. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling a little foolish.

Joel shook his head, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. But I want you to understand something: love, real love, isn’t about doing things to keep someone around or to make them happy. It’s about respect, trust, and caring for each other, no matter what. And I care about you, doll, more than you know. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

You nodded slowly, taking in his words. There was something comforting in knowing that Joel wasn’t expecting anything from you, that he cared for you just as you were.

Joel pulled you back into his arms, holding you close as if to reassure you. “Just being here with you, that’s more than enough for me,” he murmured, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

You snuggled into his embrace, feeling a deep sense of relief and gratitude. In that moment, you realized that what you had with Joel was special—something that didn’t need to be rushed or defined by anyone else’s expectations. It was enough just to be with him, to share these quiet, intimate moments under the stars.

And for now, that was all you needed.

The morning sun filtered gently through the transparent roof of the balcony, casting a soft glow over you and Joel as you lay curled together under the thick blanket. The cool air of the dawn was a stark contrast to the warmth shared between you two. You felt the steady rise and fall of Joel’s breathing behind you, a comforting rhythm that made you feel secure.

You had called your mother last night, fabricating a story about staying over at Emma's place to work on a group project. Your mother, trusting as ever, had accepted your explanation without question. As you lay there, the peaceful silence of the morning was occasionally interrupted by the faint chirping of birds and the distant hum of the city waking up.

In your spooning position, you were nestled snugly against Joel, feeling his strong arms wrapped around you. The sensation was soothing, but as you relaxed, you became aware of something pressing against you—something firm and unmistakably intimate. You realized it was Joel’s growing arousal, a testament to his restraint and the powerful emotions he was holding back.

Joel had been incredibly patient with you, giving you the space to understand your feelings and the nature of your relationship. He had made it clear that he didn’t want to push you into anything you weren’t ready for, especially after the recent emotional turbulence with Jamie. Yet here he was, still responding to your closeness despite his efforts to respect your boundaries.

You could sense the internal struggle Joel was facing. His body betrayed a desire he had been meticulously controlling, striving to honor your readiness rather than his own needs. It was a poignant reminder of his deep care and the complex layers of your relationship.

You gently shifted in his embrace, turning slightly so you could look up at Joel. His features were softened in sleep, and he looked almost serene. There was an undeniable tenderness in the way he rested, the soft lines of his face illuminated by the early morning light. His rugged charm was softened in this moment, and you couldn’t help but admire how peaceful and handsome he looked.

“Honey,” you called softly, nudging him gently.

Joel stirred slowly, his eyes fluttering open. He looked at you, a bit disoriented at first. “Hmm?”

As he fully awakened, he immediately noticed the situation. A flush of realization crossed his face, and he muttered, “Fuck, I didn’t mean for this—”

You cut him off before he could finish. “Joel, I can fix it,” you said firmly, your voice steady.

Joel's eyes widened with a mix of panic and confusion. “No, no, wait. What are you doing?”

“I can fix it,” you repeated, your tone insistent yet gentle.

Joel’s expression shifted to concern. “It’s okay, but you don’t have to do this. I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for.”

You shook your head, trying to reassure him. “It’s okay. I want to.”

Joel’s face softened, and he shook his head slowly. “No, you’re not ready yet, sweetheart.”

“But,” you continued, your voice carrying a hint of determination, “you’re a man, and you’re going to need—right? Don’t you sometimes feel...horny? How do you handle that?”

Joel’s eyes widened at your directness, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite his attempt to remain serious. He looked both surprised and touched by your concern and curiosity. “Well, doll, it’s not always easy, but you learn to manage it. You focus on other things, or you just...take care of yourself.”

You nodded, absorbing his words. “So, it’s like...not something you can just ignore?”

Joel chuckled softly, his voice rough with sleep. “No, it’s part of being human. We all have needs and desires, but it’s about finding a balance, respecting each other’s boundaries.”

You looked thoughtful, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of understanding and curiosity. “So, there’s a time for everything?”

“Exactly,” Joel said, his voice softening. “It’s about finding the right time and the right moment. And right now, it’s important that we both understand and respect where we are.”

You smiled at him, feeling a sense of clarity and comfort in his words. “Thank you for being honest with me, Joel.”

He gave you a gentle smile, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Anytime, doll. We’ll figure this out together. No rush.”

You settled back into his embrace, feeling a profound sense of connection and trust. The conversation had brought a new level of intimacy and understanding between you two, reinforcing the bond you shared.

***

As Joel drove you back, he navigated the familiar streets with a thoughtful expression. The quiet between you was comfortable, punctuated only by the soft hum of the truck. When he finally stopped a few blocks away from your home, he turned to you, his eyes reflecting a mix of warmth and something more profound.

"See you later, doll," he said, his voice gentle. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. It was a tender gesture, full of unspoken promises and affection. You smiled at him, feeling a sense of contentment that you hadn't experienced in a long time.

"See you later, Joel" you replied, your voice soft but filled with emotion.

As Joel’s truck rounded the corner and vanished from view, you felt a mixture of elation and contentment. The previous night had been a rare and comforting escape from the pressures of daily life. The softness of Joel’s embrace and the quiet intimacy of the starlit balcony had left you feeling more at ease than you had in months.

You took a deep breath, savoring the lingering warmth from the night before, and headed inside to prepare for the day. A quick shower was in order to shake off the remnants of sleep and to ready yourself for the dance rehearsal later at the church. The routine of getting ready felt almost meditative, a gentle counterpoint to the excitement and nervousness building inside you.

As Joel pulled up to his house, he felt a rare surge of happiness. The morning sun cast a warm glow on everything, and he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of how things had been lately. He parked the truck and headed inside, the familiar sound of the front door creaking open greeted him with a sense of belonging.

He dropped his keys in the bowl by the door and called out, “Ellie, I’m home!”

From the kitchen, Ellie looked up with a raised eyebrow. “Where the hell have you been?"

Joel’s eyes widened when he saw Tommy sitting at the breakfast table with Ellie. “Oh, Tommy, I didn’t see you there. What are you doing here?”

Tommy glanced up from his plate. “I’m here to pick you up. We have a meeting with clients about a big project. Remember?”

Joel’s heart sank. “Oh shit, I forgot. I’ll be ready in a minute. Just need to change clothes.”

Ellie watched Joel, noting his unusually bright demeanor. “Joel, you okay?”

Joel grabbed a pancake off the plate and took a bite, standing by the counter. “Yeah, I’m good. Why?”

Ellie gave a puzzled look, then shrugged. “Nothing. Just seemed like you’re in a good mood.”

Joel, humming softly to himself, replied, “Just give me ten minutes, okay? I’ll be right out.”

He headed to his room, still humming the tune of “Harvest Moon,” the song that had been playing during his time with you. His steps were lighter, his mood buoyant.

As Joel disappeared into his room, Ellie and Tommy exchanged glances, both intrigued by Joel’s recent behavior.

“Did you see that?” Ellie asked, her tone a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“Yeah,” Tommy said with a chuckle. “He’s definitely different lately. Happier, more upbeat. It’s like he’s come out of a shell.”

Ellie nodded, leaning back in her chair. “I’ve noticed it too. He’s been going to church more, cracking jokes, and just generally being...more alive.”

Tommy took another sip of his coffee, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Well, good for him. Finally, thank God.”

Ellie leaned forward, her curiosity evident. “Did he tell you anything? Like, did he open up about something that’s made him happier lately, or maybe someone?”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Ellie leaned in, “Did he ever, you know, confide in you about something? Like what’s made him so... different lately?”

Tommy scratched his chin, thinking back. “Hmm, now that you mention it, I do remember one time he showed up late to work. He had this... I don’t know, a woman’s perfume on him. I teased him about it, you know? I said something like, ‘Hey, look at you, smelling all fancy. Got a date or something?’”

Ellie’s eyes widened. “And? What did he say?”

Tommy chuckled. “He just brushed it off. Said I was imagining things. Tried to act all nonchalant, like it was nothing. But it was pretty clear he’d been somewhere—or with someone.”

Ellie’s curiosity was clearly piqued. “So, he really didn’t say anything more? No hints or anything?”

Tommy sipped his coffee and shook his head. “Nope, not a peep. He’s pretty tight-lipped about his personal life.”

Ellie looked thoughtful for a moment, then her face brightened with a mischievous grin. “I need to know if Joel’s finally dating someone or going out with someone. Because, hell, whoever she is, I don’t want an evil stepmother!”

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head. “Give your old man a break, Ellie. He’s not exactly the type to jump into things without thinking them through.”

Ellie’s expression turned serious. “I’m serious, Tommy! I don’t want a stepmother coming in too quickly. I’m really happy with how things are now—with Joel, you, Maria, and little Luke. It’s been nice.”

Tommy’s smile softened. “I get it. It’s a big change, and no one wants to feel like they’re being rushed into something. But Joel’s been through a lot. If he’s found something that makes him happy, we should be supportive, right?”

Ellie nodded earnestly. “I know. I just want to make sure that whatever happens, it’s for the right reasons. I don’t want anyone coming in and disrupting what we’ve got here.”

Tommy placed a reassuring hand on Ellie’s shoulder. “Well, as long as we’re all here for each other, I think we’ll be okay."

[ferrarifinnick]

attention | starlight, homelander

starlight x super!reader x homelander

starlight debuts her new super suit during a meeting with the seven. only it's hard to focus on business when she's playing a little game she likes to call temptation.

note: first fic for the boys. not yet proofread sorry for typos. written so late at night lol. enjoy!! love <3 masterlist

warnings: teasing, stripping, oral, penetration, assplay, fingering, masterbation, dirty talk, homelander and his mouth.

3.1k words

Homelander paced back and forth. How his legs weren't aching in the slightest after two hours of this baffled you. Well, it would have, if you weren’t too busy sneaking glances at Starlight.

This was the first time you had seen her for a short while. It’s funny, really, how only after a few days your brain demanded she occupy every thought, every moment of solitude.

It was curiosity. That’s what you allowed yourself to believe, at least.

You blame her occupation on your mind on the first time you met her. She carried herself like a lost little mouse, scared to squeak, scared to draw any attention to herself. But she had it. Ample attention, from all corners of the room.

Deep, Maeve, even Noir all wanted to peel back the layers. See what made her so special to be the newest addition to The Seven. But you? Well, it was a different kind of layer you wanted to pull off her.

The little white suit, like something a devoted mother makes her child for Trick or Treating. A deeply religious mother at that. The sleeves, the layers of fabric. Imagining what could be underneath it was a workout in itself, let alone the kind you wanted to rope her into.

But today, now, in her seat opposite yours at the meeting table of The mighty Seven, was something else.

Those toned legs nearly didn’t end, and you watched her cross, uncross, stretch out and fiddle with them under the table for too long. Did she know you could see her panties when she wriggled around to get into a more comfortable position? Did she know you were watching?

Too many times she unhooked her leg over her knee, spreading those thighs just a little too wide. Who would ever take little miss church girl for a red thong kind of girl?

She spread her legs again and you caught sight of another flash of red. Teeth painfully pressed against your lip, you glanced away, back at Homelander’s impatient strides.

Being so obvious was trouble. Nevermind if she caught you looking, or any of The Seven for that matter. They were all pent up perverts who were all doing the same. Even Maeve, who squeezed her thighs too many times to not be doing exactly the same as what you were doing.

But Forget them. The real issue was Homelander. If he caught sight, no, if he caught a line of the dirty thoughts flooding your mind…

Your head swayed side to side. Every step he took, you watched like a hawk. Back and forth, back and forth, just like Starlight’s swinging boot. Even when you were good, minding your business like a saint, she always seemed to find a way to knock through your defences and place herself at the centre of your universe again.

This time, your head followed the swinging of her boot. Back and forth, back and forth…

“Starlight,” Homelander said, nearly exasperated “What do I even do with you,” he muttered almost under his breath, but it wouldn’t be Homelander if he hid his feelings. “Everyone’s too busy for you this week. Everyone except Heatwave. Why don’t you girls get to know each other a little bit, huh? Bonding, chit chats, just what all women can’t get e-fucking-nough of.”

Starlight leant forward, elbows on the desk, as if she was excited. Only her shoulders drew in like she was frightened, or at least a little nervous.

She met your gaze across the table. Your face was stone, until she offered a small, polite smile and turned her attention back to Homelander. She nodded along to the next topic of nonsense he rambled on about yet again, but you didn’t miss the way she lowered her shoulders and squeezed them towards her chest.

Metal. You licked at your broken bottom lip, trying desperately to steady your heartbeat. Homelander wouldn’t miss it if it carried on thumping against your ribcage, but how could you help it when you could think of was Starlights breasts heaving over the curve of her suit.

She released her shoulders. They no longer bracketed her chest, and you could no longer see her enlarged tits.

You should be relieved, happy even, now that your heartbeat was recovering. Although you couldn’t shake the aching disappointment of having to return to imagination to see what was under that new little super suit.

And super it was.

“Heatwave?”

You glanced at Homelander, suddenly aware of just how many eyes were on you.

“Yes, Homelander?” You said as monotonously as you could manage.

“When you have a moment, because I know your time is so precious,” he added quickly, the corners of his smile stretching nearly too tightly across his cheeks. “Can you get up and leave the fucking room?” He lurched forward, hips thumping against the surface of his spot at the end of the table. The vein on the side of his neck swollen so quickly, as if a bloated worm had somehow nuzzled a path under his skin.

Had Starlight seen this side of him yet? She must have. Innocent church girls didn’t suddenly trade in their layers for skin without reason, did they? The urge to check her legs were still deliciously on full display nearly convinced you to turn away from Homelander. Nearly.

You stared at Homelander silently. Scream as loud as he liked, you knew better than to get up.

He blew out a sharp flush of air through his nostrils, eyes squeezed shut. “That fucking heartbeat,” he mumbled, pressing a gloved finger to his temple. He sighed and ran his hands over his face. “You know what, everyone,” his cheeks were porcelain once more and that worm had freed itself. “Let’s leave it there for today. Good job, everyone. Except you, Deep, I can see your hard-on, let alone hear the things you want to do to Heatwave. I mean, really vivid,” he grimaced.

Deep scrambled out of the room first, and before you could leave with Noir, Homelander called out once again.

“Heatwave, Starlight, why don’t you both come with me?” A fool would think he’d asked, but a thinly veiled demand was the reality.

He led you both through the halls of the top floor of Vought Tower. Starlight followed him first. Did you let her or did she slam her boot in front of you before you had a chance? Whichever it was, you couldn’t feel more gratitude as you followed behind, mesmerised by the sway of her hips and the tightness of her dress.

Her boots struck the floor like a supermodel on a catwalk, the little mouse act long forgotten.

The strides she took grew longer, and you wondered if she knew the hem of her dress was hiking dangerously close to the curve of her ass. It’s not like you had to wonder where the top of her leg ended, either. Her dress, like a second skin, sinfully fed you that secret.

It was right there. So close you could almost reach right out and feel it for yourself. A wandering hand nearly left your sides, but you held it back when you heard the elevator ding.

“Ladies,” Homelander courteously gestured you both inside.

You settled in the elevator and watched as Homelander fingered level 1 on the panel of buttons. The lobby. Where was he taking you? Out of Vought Tower, or else why would he take you to the lobby?

The elevated buckled, the three of you jerking a foot out to catch yourselves. The whirring of the light bulb up above occupied your mind in a bid to escape the bubbling dread in your stomach.

Homelander stretched out a hand and slapped the emergency stop button.

You spared Starlight a glance. Her brows were knitted together just like yours, and you both turned to face Homelander.

He slowly

“Starlight,” Homelander said, smoothing a hand over her loose curls. She nearly leaned into his touch, but she had enough sense to wait for the penny to drop. “Take off your dress.”

Starlight blinked. “What? How could you ask me to-“

Homelander’s grin flattened into a tight-lipped frown. “Shut your fucking mouth.” She did. “I know what game you’re playing, girls,” Homelander seethed. “In my own meeting, for our greater good, you’re serving yourself up on a plate like a whore,” he shot at Starlight, his neck twisting to you right after. “And you, you pathetic slut, are wetting your panties for it.”

Was it shame? Embarrassment at getting caught out? No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be because you were already sweating at the thought of what your punishment was about to be.

“Heatwave, turn around and face Starlight.” On your heels you slowly spun around, swallowing the lump in your throat when you found Starlight’s head held high.

Taking it like a champ. Like a good girl. A good, innocent girl.

Homelander all but pressed himself against your back. He lent in, chin hanging over your shoulder. “Watch,” he said. “As she shows you exactly what you’ve been dying for.”

Starlight’s jaw clenched.

“Off,” Homelander said finally.

Starlight, locked in a silent competition with Homelander’s unrelenting gaze, unclenched her jaw. She turned to you. Those hard eyes now heavy lidded, fluttering up at you mischievously.

Her manicured hands slowly trailed from the sides of her legs, up over the curve of her hips, dragging her long nails over her ribs. They slowly disappeared behind her back. She stared at you for a long moment. Would she ever put you out of your misery? Oh, the suffering she inflicted, even with Homelander’s watchful eyes ready to flash red any second.

Zip.

The muscles in her arms flexed as she dragged it down her back. She brought her arms back to her ribs, pinching at the thin layer of fabric concealing them. She pulled it down.

Finally you were once more graced with the curve of her breasts. Only this time, you found the red bra that secured them in place. Oh, to tear it from her skin! Would they bounce in their freedom? Would they sit still, like the good girl they belonged to?

Starlight dragged the dress down to her hips, yanked the fabric over them with force. She released it. You followed it down its endless journey from her thighs to her ankles. To lay where her dress sat, looking up at where it once held her. Would her tits look bigger from down there? Could you see the curve of her ass?

“Man,” Homelander, was he enthralled like you, or was he revelling in your suffering. “This must be killing you, to watch but not touch.”

No fucking shit.

The heat in your chest raged. Her innocent eyes, big and round, locked on yours, but that little pull at the corner of her lips. She was enjoying this. Enjoying your pain.

Was she enjoying Homelander too?

“Take it off, Starlight,” he said. “Let her see what she’s been begging for.” Starlight reached behind her back to her bra strap, unhooking the clasp, but not before Homelander whispered, “Let’s see if all those thoughts you’ve been filling my head with were right.”

The bra fell to the floor.

Her tits, out in the open, all for you. Homelander might have been watching, but her eyes were fixed on you.

“Starlight, why don’t you take off those- oh!” Homelander gasped as she slowly gravitated towards you.

She reached down and delicately took ahold of your hands. Slowly, she lifted them up, ghosting over her abdomen, her ribs, until she finally set them on her chest.

Her eyes met yours.

“Is this what you wanted?” She asked, words like velvet in your ear, leaning close to the other side of your head, away from Homelander. “To feel my tits, all in your hands, like they belong to you.”

Homelander’s superhearing drew out a low hum from his chest, and he stepped away from you until his back met the elevator wall.

Starlight ignored him. “Go on,” she said. “I’ll let you play with them.”

Your hands slowly grasped her breasts, squeezing them once, twice, that fire in your chest dropped to between your thighs.

Your hand shot up to her throat. She gasped in surprise, head forcefully tilted up. The corners of your lips slowly spread into a grin, as you squeezed her throat just enough to draw out a whimper.

“Let me?” You repeated, tilting your head. “This is what you’ve been asking me to do this whole time. That little dress, those red panties… no, I’m the one letting you have what you want.”

You ignored the zipper behind you, and the heavy panting from Homelander.

Starlight gazed up at you, lips parted. You meant closer, a line of spit falling from your lips, faking between hers. She pushed the spit towards the front of her lips, nearly letting it spill down her chin, before sucking it back in and swallowing.

“Good girl.”

She whimpered again, just like she did when your wandering hand met the wet patch of her panties.

“Oh,” you gasped. “This wet already? No…” you pouted, nearly sympathetic. “No, this must’ve been from the meeting too, right Starlight? I know your little pussy was wet that whole time you were teasing me.”

“Mhph,” she cried under your chokehold as you brushed a finger over her sodden panties.

Hooking a finger around the red lace, you barely had to yank it down to rip them from her. Super strength had its moments, even if you didn’t sign up for it. Starlight gasped, hips fitting towards the flat palm you pressed against her core.

“Ah, ah,” you tutted. “You didn’t think I was going to be that nice, did you?”

Starlight’s brow furrowed. Then they shot up to her hairline when you spun her around and folder her over. Ass up in the air, you ghosted your hands over the fatty flesh.

“How did you manage to hide all this under there?” You asked, spreading your hands over her squishy cheeks. She moaned at the nails your dragged into her skin, then yelped as you crashed your palms down against her ass.

“Fuck!” She cried.

You bent down to your knees, settling under her bare pussy. Not just wet but dripping. Like a teardrop running down a cheek, it dripped out of her pink slit down the top of her thigh. The flat surface of your tongue pressed against Starlight’s soft skin, dragging up her thigh until you reached the end of the trail.

“Ah!” Little mouse squeaked as your tongue lapped at her soaked wet hole. “Oh my goodness,” she drawled out, a hand finding your hair.

Even with a tongue in her pussy, she still couldn’t manage to cuss. Such a good girl.

You set yourself back onto the floor, back against the elevator wall. You yanked her hips towards your face, licking a stripe up her pussy. She gasped and then cried out as you probed her with a finger. It was soaked the very first time you pulled it back out.

You added a second digit to her sopping wet heat, then attached your eager tongue to her pink clit. Her hips jerked into your touch, her wet juices spreading over your face and you accepted it. Rubbed your face all up in her pussy to get your whole face covered in her pussy juice, like it was an age-rewinding moisturiser.

If licking and finger fucking her pussy was loud, then Homelander’s wet fist fucking took the cake. He groaned and pumped himself at the free show, gasping over and over at the sound of your fingers stretching out Starlight’s tiny little hole.

“Oh, yeah… yes!” he grunted. “Finger her asshole, too.”

You did as told, but not because he ordered it. You really wanted to see how tight that pretty little asshole was. Your free hand unwrapped Starlight’s tensed thigh, one finger dipping into her pussy for lubrication. You pulled it out and circled it around the tight ring of her ass.

“Be a good girl for me, baby.”

“Yes, oh I’ll be so good for you,”

You sucked on her clit, a reward for her obedience, and plunged your finger into that forbidden little hole of hers.

Starlight’s jaw nearly unhinged. She nearly bounced back onto your digit. Desperately she rocked her hips—no, fuck that, she violently humped your face, taking it in her pussy and her ass like a pornstar.

“Oh, oh, oh I’m so close,” she warned.

“That’s fucking right,” Homelander grunted, pumping so hard he was sure to have uneven biceps by now. “That’s right, Starlight, good fucking Starlight.”

She ground her pussy over your face, and with both hands and your tongue occupied, you used the only thing left you had. Your voice. You hummed against her clit, and suddenly her hands shot to your hair, tugging at and nearly tearing out your hair as she crashed into her orgasm.

“I’m cumming!” She cried out. “Oh God, I’m fucking cumming!”

Homelander’s heavy footsteps charged over, a hot liquid shooting onto your face just as Starlight’s pussy coated your fingers with white cream.

“Nggh,” Homelander grunted, pumping the last droplets of cum onto your chin. “Ahh,” he sighed out, rubbing the tip of his cock over your wet lips, and then returned to the panel on the wall.

He pressed the emergency button again and the elevator slowly dropped down the building.

Starlight glanced down at you. Lust-blown pupils hidden behind heavy eyelids, as she nearly fell down onto you.

You grasped her hips, holding her up and settling her against the wall.

Homelander glanced over. “Get yourselves together, Jesus, it’s like a fucking cum grenade just exploded.” He said, disgust taking its rightful place back in his arrogant throat.

You quickly pulled up Starlight’s dress, hiding her heaving tits underneath the fabric. The bra stuffed into the chest of your own super suit just for now, and the panties you wiped over your cum covered face. Those also went into your suit, to cover up the evidence, sure, but really you wanted to keep hold of them.

Starlight, slowing her breathing down, rolled back her shoulders, calm and confident as if nothing had happened. That didn't sit right with you, and so you leaned in, just close enough for her to feel your breath on her neck.

"What would the lord think of you cussing his name when you cum?"

Starlight snapped her wide eyes over to you, just as Homelander snickered, and the elevator doors slid open.

[squoxle]

Golden Rule - L.HS ff ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡

🎧 pairing: inexperienced!heeseung x badgirl!reader

🎧 summary: your cute and nerdy classmate lets you have your way with him in exchange for help on an assignment

🎧 cw: corruption and exhibitionism kink, oral (m. receiving), religious themes, mentions of bullying, college au, hee’s a bit subby

🎧 wc: 1.4k

You had been feeling horny for the entire week and knew you had to get your hands on some good dick or else you’d literally combust.

Introducing your person of interest: Lee Heeseung.

He was the type of guy you could guess everything about without even speaking to him. From his glasses, the way he tucked his ironed dress shirts into his belted pants, the way you only saw him either sitting with his legs crossed at a church sermon or studying his heart out at the library.

Heeseung was the epitome of a Christian nerd, but it was his insanely good looks that drew your attention to him in the first place.

You two first met at the beginning of the school semester, but you weren’t sure if you could call it a friendship just yet, especially not with the way you’d fantasize about him with your fingers between your legs every night.

It currently 6:00pm: the same time he’d come to the library to study every week day.

“What’re you working on,” you asked, taking a seat beside him at the table.

“Nothing much. Mr. Sweeney gave me this stupid hand written essay that I have to turn in by tomorrow, so I’ll be pretty busy for the next few hours.”

“What for? I thought Mr. Sweeney taught Bible. There aren’t any writing assignments for that class.”

That’s honestly the only reason why you took Bible class this semester.

“He does, but this isn’t a part of the curriculum. It’s a punishment for the prank I pulled on Jake and his crew yesterday… let’s just say, I didn’t get away with it as easily as planned.”

“Oh, so you do have a naughty side?”

“Hardly,” he sharply defended, “All I did was swap their video game discs out with episodes of The Brady Bunch on dvds. But, Sunghoon snitched, so now I’m here.”

“Tough.”

“I know. It’s not like I don’t deserve it, anyways.”

“Nobody deserves to be bullied, Hee. Those guys were assholes and you stood up for yourself! They’re the ones who should be playing Shakespeare for the night,” you argued passionately.

His eyes widened at your use of a swear word, such language that was forbidden by your university code of conduct.

“I appreciate you taking sides with me, but please don’t call it bullying. Makes me feel all… soft, and… vulnerable,” he cringed at his own words.

“You look pretty soft and vulnerable to me,” you mumbled, hungry eyes falling to his pouty lips.

“Excuse me?”

You cleared your throat, “Uhm, what’s the paper on?”

“The Golden Rule.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “The what?”

“Loving your neighbors as yourself? You should really pay more attention during Mr. Sweeney’s sermons.”

You chuckled at his comment, nudging him on the shoulder, “Hey, maybe I would if he wasn’t so damn boring… How many pages does it have to be?”

He sighed, “10 at least.”

Having to come of with 10 pages worth of “Golden Rule” greatness sounded much more challenging than you knew it actually was.

All he had to do was write in VERY BIG LETTERS.

You peered over his shoulder, examining the paper. He was just getting started on page two.

“Hmm. We have similar handwriting,” you added, making Heeseung look at you with his desperate doe eyes.

“Oh my God, ____! You have to help me!”

“Watch out, church boy. The pastor might make it 11 pages if he hear’s you calling the Lords name in vain.”

“Ughhhh,” his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he groaned, “Can you please just help me out?”

“Uh-huh, and why would I do that?”

“Look, I’ll do anything! You’re a way stronger writer than I am, and my brain is in the verge of kermitting suicide!!”

He was right. Writing was never a strong subject of his, so he really did need your help.

“Fine,” you gave in, looking around the library before whispering in his ear, “If you can be quiet while I suck you off until you finish page two, I’ll do the rest.”

His eyes widened in disbelief, “What?”

“You heard me,” you said cattily, sneaking under the table and between his legs.

“____, get from down there!! This is inappropriate!”

“Says who,” you giggled, unbuckling his leather belt.

“We’re not a married couple, ____. Hell, We’re not even dating!” He whisper-yelled from above the table, fidgeting with the pencil in his hand.

You could feel how tense he was just my touching his thighs, “You’ve never been approached like this before, have you?” You asked yet stated.

He took a deep swallow, already feeling himself throbbing in his pants, “Of course not… I’m trying to save myself here, y’know?”

“Aww, that’s cute,” you pouted, rubbing his bulge through his boxers.

“F-fuhh,” he mumbled, screwing his eyes shut at the feeling, “I don’t know if I can do this, ____.”

“With God, all things are possible, Hee! You should really pay more attention during Mr. Sweeney’s sermons,” you mocked, shimmying his boxers down to his ankles.

You adjusted yourself under the table before grabbing a hold of his impressively large dick, starting with gentle pumps.

“I’m not hearing the pencil penciling, Hee. Be a good boy and keep writing,” you slithered in a sing-song voice, licking a stripe up his shaft. The foreign texture of your tongue sent pleasurable shivers down his spine.

“____,” he cried with a surpressed moan, “how am I supposed to focus when you’re down there doing that?!” He worried, looking around as if waiting for someone to catch you two.

You released your lips from his heat with a pop, “Down here doing what, Hee? Sucking your virgin dick in the library? I always knew you had a naughty side.”

“Mmm,” he moaned again, rutting his hips up into your mouth, “please tell me you’re almost done, ____.”

You grinned at the sound of his begging, feeling yourself grow wetter with each second you spent between his legs, “Depends on if you either finish that last page or cum in my mouth first.”

Taking him past your lips again, you bobbed your head up and down, stroking the remaining inches you couldn’t fit comfortably in your mouth.

He tried his best to keep writing, but with that way you were sucking him off, his hands couldn’t help but drop the pencil before getting lost in your hair.

“Fuck,” he whined, finally letting the word come out.

He started to use your head like a toy as you sucked him in even harder, “just like that, baby. Please don’t stop.”

You were surprised by how his body slowly submitted to you the more you pleasured him.

Meanwhile, he was surprised that this was actually even happening. You moaned with the gag that tried to escape your throat, clinging to his thighs as your tried to hold in your sounds.

Your eyes started to poke with tears as he used your head more aggressively than before, finally shooting his warm load down your mouth, panting as if he’d just ran a marathon.

“Shh, you’re so noisy,” you teased, stroking him to a point of overstimulation.

“Okay, that’s enough,” he whimpered, taking your hands in his to stop your ministrations.

You licked the cum that dripped from your mouth before pulling his pants back up, getting from under the table.

You fixed your hair with your hands after literally just getting your face fucked by your sweet classmate, taking in his hot and bothered frame.

“How was it?” You asked casually, sitting next to him as if nothing happened.

You tried to ignore the sticky moisture that stuck to your thighs from your own arousal, figuring that you’d think about this moment while you pleased yourself later.

“Amazing,” he said with a shaky breath, still feeling his orgasm fresh in his veins.

“I’m taking about the page you just wrote, silly,” you teased, moving the sheet of paper closer to you before examining what he came up with, “Dude!”

“What, dude?” He asked back with flushed and sleepy features.

“This is garbage!” You exclaimed, ripping the piece of paper in half.

“Yeah, I don’t know why you would’ve expected anything different.”

“Gimme that,” you retorted, snatching the pencil from his hand, “I’m gonna need some coffee to write all these pages for ya…”

“Ugh,” he groaned, understanding that you were indirectly asking him to get you something to drink.

“Iced?”

“Always.”

He got up from the seat, searching through his backpack before pulling out his wallet, “Thanks by the way,” he smiled, trailing to the library exit.

“What can I say? It’s the Golden Rule,” you replied, jotting down the first of many sentences you’d write for Lee Heeseung, the guy you just blessed with the best blow job of his life.

❀ Thank you all so much for reading! Make sure to check out other works on my masterlist!

❀ 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝:

@chlorinecake @hoyeonheeseung @sussyjake @furious-eagle @cherrriesss @abbyizzy @weyukinluv @addictedtohobi @thatonenoona @wavykook @givemeyourtmihyun @jaeljn @hoonmywk @valennshit @19-yunalyn @hoonbby @frostedblankets @hoonsyo @no-mannerism @perfectxserendipity @chubbibish @ihrtlix @bunniesforsoobin @thereadersparadise @thatbooknerdfr @aiden2001 @belongstoheeseung @jakeybabe @donut-crazs @rizzhee @nikimeows @woonieees @uarmyxtae @rebecca-johnson-28 @they2luv1naia @isa-2007 @silcry @riverscafe @pearlwhitesoul @nikohiroshi @thatbooknerdfr @wonniewonwon

[softsoule]

Wide Awake

Cast: You & Jeong Gu-Won

Inspiration: Wide Awake by Katy Perry & Power by Isak Danielson

Trigger Warnings: Self Harm and Slight Religious Remarks

Scene Context: Your standing on a rooftop peering over a ledge.

Demon. An evil spirit or devil, especially one thought to possess a person or act as a tormentor in hell. 

Unfortunately for me, I met my own personal tormentor, and in the end I'll surely pay the price.

The one who poisoned my faith and led me to stray from God. 

Jeong Gu-Won. The man who cursed me for eternity. The man who corrupted my soul. The one I would run to at every beck and call.

During his first few appearances at the Covenant, I remained strong, my faith unbreakable. Whenever I would feel his presence, I would pray to my father for strength and to rid us of this evil.

Unfortunately, my prayers went unanswered, and my faith started to falter. The more he appeared, the more curious I became. He was a shadow at first, just a dark silhouette of a man. 

Until one day, he appeared before me in all his glory. His beauty is breathtaking and alluring. The church warns you about temptation but never tells you how to fight it when it's standing right in front of you. 

His beauty further ignited my curiosity. What is his name? Where did he come from? Why did he choose me? Questions I so desperately wanted answers too.

As he continued to visit, the more confidence I built to speak to him. The moment I heard his sweet, suckle voice, I was enchanted. The way he held my gaze as he spoke so confidently caused me to feel unspeakable emotions. 

His presence became like a drug, and I craved more of it. I was willing to do anything to have my fix, and he knew it too. Once he had me hooked, he would visit less often; eventually, he would begin enticing me to commit sins in order to see him more.

Do you think I was willing? You bet your bottom dollar I was. 

As I look back, I wonder if it was my faithfulness that drew him or my naivety. Maybe it was a test of faith from our father, but how faithful could I have been if I willingly fell into the hands of one of his sworn enemies children?

But maybe he knew that when he saw me.

If only I was aware of the damage this forbidden relationship would cause. Maybe I wouldn't have been lured by his beauty or seduced by his sweet words. So many innocent lives taken, so much blood shed, so much torment inflicted on others.

As I stand on this ledge, I wonder if any of his sweet whispers and love confessions were real. You chuckle at the idea of it. Probably not, but you'll be okay with the idea of them possibly being true even if the chances were severely slim.

The wind kisses your skin, breaking your train of thought—another chilly fall night just like when you first met him. You grab the ledge and put one leg over after the other; you peer down and watch as the street starts to empty. Internally grateful, you'll like to traumatize as few people as possible; selfish, you know it.

Filled with determination, you close your eyes as you let go of the ledge, mentally bracing yourself for impact, but the impact never comes; instead, it's replaced by a hand holding yours to desperately keep you from slipping. You open your eyes to see your former lover, Jeong Gu-Won, heavily breathing, shocked by your drastic actions. He calls your name as if to beg you to stay, to think about what you are doing—emotions in his eyes you have never seen before.

Fear. The sight of you jumping shook his body to the core; in all his years, he never thought he could feel such a human emotion. Death was like a game to him; humans were like cheese pieces for him; he could kick them off the board one by one, but the moment he saw you leap over the edge, he knew he didn't want to play.

The raw emotion on his face makes your heart twinge, yet you refuse to falter; your decision has been made; your love has caused too much turmoil for you to continually live peacefully on this earth. Your dreams haunted with the faces of the innocent lives who were slain for your one-sided "love".

You smile and let go of his hand; you hear him scream your name as you descend towards the concrete. The feeling of peace overfills you; your mind is no longer clouded with thoughts of Jeong Gu-Won, the screaming innocent, or the broken promises you made to your father.

You close your eyes and let the peaceful feeling consume you—a bright light entrapping you—before you know it, you're wide awake.

[lazyalani]

| Itoshi Sae × [GN!Reader]

| Moments Like This

| Fluff, lots of fluff, short, not proofread, Soft Sae ♥

| Summary: You and Sae lay down on a picnic blanket, thinking about each other.

| Blue Lock Masterlist

| Main Masterlist

You opened your eyes, feeling someone laying down beside you on the picnic blanket.

Sae brushed a hair of your forehead with a finger. "Sleepy?"

You nodded, "A little." You drew circles on his chest.

He hummed. "Want to go back inside?" He asked, staring at your sleepy eyes peeking under your lashes.

You looked back to the tent you both had set up and up to the sky filled with beautiful galaxy colors and bright stars. "Hm, not yet. I wanna stargaze a little longer."

"Hey," You looked back at him, hearing his call.

Sae leaned down a bit and brought his lips to yours, supporting your neck upwards with his left hand.

They're warm, he thought. He grips your waist and settles you laying on him. You laid your head on his chest, fiddling with the ring on his necklace, matching the one on your own.

Your heart warms once more at the sight of it, the symbol of your love. The symbol of his promise. A promise of your future together. He bought matching rings for your birthday a year before.

"Rings.... in a necklace?" You blinked. "Not that I'm complaining, but, why put them in a form of necklaces this time? Is it special because it's my birthday?"

Your boyfriend has given you 8 matching rings, him having the pair of the ones you have, during the years you've been together. All of them have different designs, but none of them were put as necklaces or bracelets.

He makes you hold your hair on one side and put the necklace with the Initial of 'S' on your neck. "That's one of the two reasons." He says.

"What's the other?"

He kisses your nape and you shiver, allowing him to lead you to bed and cuddle, resting you head under his chin. "It was a random thought at first, but I did it anyway. My favorite number is 10, I want to you to have 10 rings from me."

I laughed and booped his nose with your finger. "You're so random sometimes, I love it." He shooked his head and flicked your forehead.

"I also wanted to be romantic. I think I'm no good with words, but my actions could make up for it." He adds.

You laughed more. "You think? Honey, you could make the whole world hate you with just a few words." You teased.

"Should I take the ring back?"

"You wouldn't..."

"Try me."

You narrowed your eyes and rolled them, kissing his cheek. "But really, what's the main reason these rings are special?"

He kissed your forehead. "Because this is the last time I'll give you a ring as my girlfriend."

"Oh? When would be the other two, then?" You had an idea, but you wanted to hear it directly from him.

"The next one would be when I finally ask you to marry me, and the other would be in the church, infront of our friends and families." He says and kisses you.

You smile into the kiss. "I'll be looking forward to that."

Sae stares at your sleeping face, caressing your cheek with his free hand, the other one supporting your back.

You had fallen asleep in deep though, and Sae decided to stay a bit more outside and feel the scenery.

Sae feels comfortable with you, but he feels at peace when he's alone with you. He just got back from Spain and filed for a vacation with you, bringing you for a camping in a mountain where he learned the stars and sky would be seen clearly, just how you like it.

To Sae, you are peace itself. With you, he doesn't hear constant loudness that makes him irritated. With you, he doesn't have to talk to someone he doesn't like. With you, he doesn't have to pretend. With you, he can rest. With you, it's home.

Just having you in his arms is relaxing and calming. The pent up stress in his nerves are releasing as he breathes in the sight of you and your touch.

He carries you carefully back into the tent when he decides to sleep and kisses your forehead for goodnight. Most people say Sae is a hard man to please, that he probably isn't happy when it's not football, but then why is he so pleased beside you right now?

Moments like this make Sae fall even more.

[amybizarre]

🎄✨𝓐𝓭𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓝𝓻. 𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓻𝓽𝓮𝓮𝓷✨🎄

𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓽: Singing Together

𝓐𝓵𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓪𝓽𝓮: Priest

𝓣𝔂𝓹𝓮: Short Story (No warnings)

𝓞𝓹𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓸𝓭𝓪𝔂'𝓼 𝓭𝓸𝓸𝓻!

Priest stood in front of the altar of his church. On the steps leading up to it, the choir for his church.

For todays service, in the spirit of the Homewarming season, they were singing lovely Homewarming songs. He was proud of his choir. They sounded amazing, together in perfect harmony.

One voice stood out to him in particular, however. One that was so much clearer to him, its breathtaking sound standing out to the young Priest as he directed his choir.

The voice belonged to them.

His most favorite sheep.

It was odd to him, the way he felt about them. He had never experienced anything like it before. Their devotion mattered the most to him. It touched him in a way no one else's did. More and more often, he found himself caring about them more than the rest of his faithful flock. He even went out of his way repeatedly to help them with little things here and there.

They were good friends, safe to say. And it showed in the way they exchanged smiles with him whenever their eyes met during his services or now during the choir's performance.

But he felt like there could be more...If the warmth in his chest and the heat in his face were anything to go by, that is.

Next came his favorite part of the whole performance: His neighbor sang their solo during "Silent Night" and he was blessed with the sound of their voice alone.

Goosebumps rippled down his back as their voice echoed through the holy halls of his church, bouncing of the walls and revebrating in his own being. Their voice was so clear, like the air on a crisp and sunny winter morning. It took a large portion of his self control not to sing along with them.

Their eyes met at the end of their solo and his heart fluttered. He smiled at them, silently praising them for their great performance. They returned the smile.

The rest of the choir's performance went by. Priest barely noticed it, his mind still circling around Neighbor's magical solo.

As the last song drew to a close and the last words faded in the echoes in the church, the audience broke into applause. Priest applauded his choir as well, although secretly, his applause was only for them.

At the end of the service, after the last prayers were spoken and people were quietly shuffling out of the building, Priest gently pulled his favorite sheep aside.

"I just wanted to compliment your singing today, neighbor. You were fantastic.", he spoke in his usual, calm voice after letting go of their arm.

He stood a few steps away from the pews with them, away from the stream of leaving people.

Their typical radiant smile returned to Neighbor's features, effectively making his breath hitch.

"Oh thank you, pater! Without your directing I wouldn't have been half as good though."

Their smile remained as they made eye contact with him, soft irises warm with affection.

He wanted to reach out. Touch their face and feel the warmth he could only see so far. Technically he could. He wasn't a catholic priest. Home didn't ask him to be celibate. There were limitations, sure, but he was allowed to love and bind himself to another.

His favorite sheep felt his change of mood. They took a tantalizing step forward. Closer to him. Still gazing into his eyes.

He gazed back, words dying on his tongue. It was so easy to get lost in them.

For a while they just stood there, drowning in each other's presence.

Priest's hand twitched at his side. Again, his desire threatened to take control of him. They were so close... His eyes dropped to their everlasting smile, temptation skyrocketing. If only...

He stopped himself. He mustn't give in to tempation. Not like this, at least.

He wanted to share his emotions with them properly first. And he already knew how he'd tell them.

He just never knew when.

[autisticrosewilson]

Hiii!! Do you have any Jason & Catherine, Jason & Willis headcanons to spare?? Alsoo, permission to use on fics? 👀

Thank YOU FOR THE ASK!! And of course I love when people use my headcanons!!

For Jason and Catherine I think he gets his love of theatre, especially musicals, from Cathy. She seems like the type to study classics or work at an antique shop or something and a lot of their apartment used to be decorated with assorted knickknacks. It was a little bit of push back against her Catholic upbringing which demonized earthly pleasures and material goods.

Admittedly she used to have hoarder tendencies, she would get very attached to her collections, they became a crutch for her while caring for her mother and after her mother's death, and I think this is what inspired Jason's tendency to keep as little on him at all times. He couldn't stand the clutter for the first few months after Willis was arrested.

I've mentioned it before but I think a big part of why they never had a kid of their own after taking in Jason is because Catherine was scared of passing down her hereditary disease, especially because in my version she originally comes back to Gotham to take care of her sick mom. In this way she spares Jason from dying like her and her mother, but she ultimately fails to save him the pain of watching his mom deteriorate right in front of him.

Jason comes by his autism honestly, from both parents. Neither Catherine or Willis were particularly aware of it but they totally understood all of Jason's interests and his insistence on rigid routines. Neighbors and teachers would be like "don't you find how isolated he is odd?" And they would be like "Nope :) kneeling on the playground collecting rocks and organizing the classroom bookshelf during recess are perfectly normal. And so is him crying when the lights are too bright and eating his food section by section."

I know that Jason was the CHUNKIEST baby, I know it I was there. Catherine and Willis dressed him as a pumpkin as often as they could and he made all the girls and old people in the apartment SWOON and fawn over him. He didn't even have teeth and he was raking in candy.

Catherine and Willis had VERY different parenting techniques, Cathy grew up on a farm going to church every Sunday in Virginia while Willis grew up running Gotham's streets with little to no reliable supervision. So Catherine was kind of a helicopter mom because Jason was her miracle kid, while Willis was a lot more laid back. Which isn't to say that Willis loved him less, but Willis prefers to teach Jason to be self sufficient because he knows exactly what it takes to survive in Gotham.

Willis always wanted to take Jason fishing but due to it being Gotham...that never happened. Regardless, he tries to hit as many of the typical father-son milestones as he could because he never really got to do those things with his own father. Jason wasn't particularly sporty, but he was canonically a baseball fan and I also think he's a hockey fan, so that's something him and Willis bonded over. They definitely found their favorite bonding activity working on cars together though (can someone say shared special interest).

I actually think Jason gets his love of cooking from Willis! I imagine he worked with a lot of street food vendors and at a lot of different mom and pop restaurants, he seems like the type who bounced from a lot of different jobs throughout his teen and college years so he's kind of a jack of all trades and has a bunch of niche skills from his EXTENSIVE career. Willis Todd is much like Barbie to me. But anyway he passed down a lot of those recipes and his love for food and different cultures to Jason. Catherine can cook but after growing up being told it would always be her responsibility, something she was obligated to do as a wife, Willis's delight in doing domestic tasks like that is part of what drew her to him.

Willis had a picture of Jason in his wallet and he bragged about Jason to anyone who would listen so a lot of people recognized Jason on the streets, which put a target on his back but also so many of Willis's friends (exes) knew Jason that part of why Jason survived so long is that people were a lot more willing to help him. There was a not insignificant community of Crime Alley who were delighted as well as suspicious when Jason was adopted. There was a candlelight vigil held for him after he died since no one got to attend the funeral.

Jason has always had Catherine's smile, and he still does. It's amazing how easy it was for her to pass as his bio mom, if you raise someone long enough they'll eventually start to emulate you. No one ever denied that Jason was Cathy's. No one knew Catherine was pregnant? Some of Jay's traits are... unaccounted for? Nope Jason has the same speech patterns and gets the same look when he's judging someone and has that same light in his eyes when he's reading a particularly good book.

In tribute to them he has a tattoo of a shield surrounded by lilies. The shield is for Willis because in some languages his name means resolute protector, and the lilies are for Catherine because like her name they mean purity.

After moving in with Bruce after finding out Willis died he asked to hold funerals for both of them and they have matching headstones at Gotham cemetery. For Catherine's he chose a Bible quote (Timothy 1:7) and for Willis's he chose a dedication to the only version of Willis he knew (loving father, devoted husband, friend of many, brave till the end). The ceremony was public and the venue was overflowing with people who had known Willis, Jason learned more about his dad than he'd ever known before listening to their memories of him. Ma Gunn was still in jail but when word got back to her she sent a letter to Wayne Manor thanking him, because she might be a hateful old bitch but that was still her son.

[ducktoonsfanart]

Donald Duck and his family mourn the dead in memory of the victims of the terrorist attack and bombing - Donald Duck and his family in Moscow (Russia) and Belgrade (Serbia) - Duck comics - Duckverse

Unfortunately, sorry for the long wait, because I was sick for a few weeks, and I'm recovering a bit now, so I haven't had a chance to draw and post new drawings. Yes, I'm back and will post follow-up drawings related to the previous holidays that were marked as well as the following holidays in the coming period.

Unfortunately, due to the recent events, I am publishing my sad drawings where Donald Duck and his family mourn the deceased. The first drawing shows Donald Duck with Daisy Duck, along with his nephews Huey, Dewey and Louie Duck who went to Moscow (the capital of Russia) and where they are mourning the dead and honoring the departed since a week ago (22.3. 2024) a terrorist attack took place in Moscow, in the Crocus City Hall, where over 140 people were killed and over 360 wounded. More could have been killed, if not for a few young men (Muslims and Russians) who saved the other people and took them out of the concert hall, because a concert by a Russian music group was about to take place. Among the dead were not only Russians, but also members of other nationalities who wanted to see that concert. The perpetrators are alleged Muslim terrorists from the Islamic State, and all of them were later caught. I don't want to go further into the discussion about the main principal who financed these terrorists, nor do I want to go into the discussion about the current war in Ukraine, because my blog is not about politics and please don't ask me those questions. This just shows my respect for the deceased not only the victims of that terrorist attack but also all the victims who died in terrorist attacks in the last more than 24 years. It is certainly a terrible event, which is why two days of mourning were declared after that, and I drew the Russian flag at half-mast, because on the day of mourning, the flag is only flown at half-mast, and Daisy in that drawing is wearing a coat and a black bow as a sign of mourning and black clothes are usually worn at funerals. Behind them, you can see the Basilica of St. Basil as well as the Spasskaya Tower, which is located within the Kremlin. Rest in peace to those victims.

Покойтесь с миром жертвы теракта! Слава им! Аминь.

The second drawing shows Donald with his family who are in Belgrade (the capital of Serbia) where they are mourning those who died and died during the bombing by NATO in 1999, as well as the victims in Kosovo and Metohija in 2004. I said that I come from Serbia and what happened 25 years ago was something that many residents of my country cannot forget. I was two years old when it started, so I don't remember it, except from the story of my parents. I don't want to go further into the discussion about the beginning of the war because the topic is too painful, and I doubt that many would understand what I would say. All in all, civilians did not deserve such a thing and it is very difficult to get over such wounds. Because among the dead there were also children who suffered from NATO bombing. There was also the courage of the soldiers who defended the country from the attackers and died bravely defending their country, so they are also honored. In addition to Donald, there are also Daisy Duck, Grandma Duck (Elvira Coot), Scrooge McDuck, Huey, Dewey and Louie Duck (Donald's nephews), April, May and June Duck (Daisy's nieces) where they pay tribute to those who died in that war as well as in the violence in Kosovo and Metohija that occurred in 2004, when there was also a mass exodus of Serbs, Roma, Bosniaks and other non-Albanian people from Kosovo and Metohija and the demolition of numerous Orthodox monasteries and churches by Albanian fanatics. Behind them is the Church of St. Sava, one of the largest Orthodox churches in the world, as well as the Beogradanka building, where one of Belgrade's television stations is located. On that grave is written the dedication to those victims as well as the flowers brought to that grave.

Rest in peace to those victims! Amen.

Вечна слава настрадалима и нека почивају у миру! Амин.

Also, since tomorrow is Good Friday, the day of the martyrdom of Jesus Christ, which is a sad day for Christians.

These are my tribute to those victims as well as those who suffered, and that the victims should not be forgotten and history should not be forgotten, because if it is forgotten, it will repeat itself again. Feel free to share this, but please do not use this for other people's purposes and please do not complicate it with political issues, because this blog is not dedicated to that. May God welcome the victims into the Kingdom of God and may they receive eternal glory! Rest in peace! Amen.

[kumeko]

A/N: For the Quiver of Arrows zine! These two are so cute, but also terrible at communicating with each other XD

…

…

…

…

Cyril was used to Lysithea’s help. Whether it was back in their academy days, when she used to read him notes, helped him practice his writing, or even tried (and failed) to take over his chores, or during their current days in the middle of a war, Lysithea had always come to him with the singular purpose of aiding him. And while she had treated him something akin to a little brother despite barely being older than him, he hadn’t minded.

It’d been a long time since someone had watched out for him.

All of this was why he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Cyril rubbed his ears. He blinked three times. He pinched his cheek. And still the awkward Lysithea in front of him didn’t change. There was no one else out in the training fields, just the two of them, so he couldn’t even claim she was talking to someone else.  “Wait, really?”

“Yes,” she ground out, red as a beat, looking a cross between irritated and nervous. Lysithea stamped her foot. “Is it that hard to believe I’m asking for help?”

Well, yeah, he almost said, but Cyril had self-preservation skills. They’d been at war for five, almost six years. He had fought by her side for the past few months and more than anyone, he knew just how destructive her attacks were. Add in her quickfire temper and it was a recipe for disaster.

Instead, he pointed at himself. “But how can I help you?”

“Geez, were you listening?” Still red-faced, Lysithea crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “I need tips for archery.”

“I know that, but…” Cyril’s hands moved aimlessly as he struggled to explain the oddity of it all. Lysithea was a noble, regardless of the state of her family. She was friends with former students from the Golden Deer house. There were plenty of options outside of the church’s orphan. “Couldn’t you ask Claude?”

“No,” Lysithea declined immediately, her expression flat. “He makes fun of me enough as it is.”

Privately, Cyril had seen the way Claude looked at Lysithea. It was the same way Rhea used to look at him. If he was teasing her, it had to be out of fondness more than anything else. “Then what about—”

“Look, I picked you, okay?” Lysithea stared him straight in the eyes, her expression determined. “If you don’t want to do it, just say so.”

“No, that’s not it.” Cyril held his hands up. He’d had enough experience with her to know that if he went any further, she’d take it personally. And however surprised he was that she’d come to him, he was more than happy she had. “I’ll do it, no problem. Why do you want to learn, though? Your magic’s real strong.”

“Of course it is.” Lysithea flipped her snow-white hair over her shoulder proudly. “However, I can’t use it all the time. I have to be prepared for those situations.”

“Isn’t that why we’re here?” Cyril cocked his head, perplexed. “It’s not like we have to be able to do everything by ourselves.”

“I know that. But it’s like you said before: you won’t be around forever.” Her eyes hardened as she spoke and he was certain she was remembering some other, darker memory. “I have to be able to handle myself.”

“Well, I guess that’s true.” He had said that to her before, he couldn’t deny it. That was the reason she’d taught him how to read, though he wouldn’t have minded if she’d kept reading to him for the rest of their lives. “Want to start now?”

“Now?” Lysithea stepped back, frazzled.

“Yeah, we’re already at the training grounds.” Cyril shrugged and lifted up his bow. “I already got the equipment. Might as well start now, right?”

“Well, I guess if you put it that way, it’s logical…” Lysithea pursed her lips, staring at the bow like it was an enemy, before reluctantly nodding and stepping closer. She plucked the bow out of his hands and with a practiced ease, notched an arrow.

“I thought you were having issues? You look like you’ve got it,” he asked as she drew the string.

“I can do the basics. I went to class like everyone else.” Lysithea grunted as she loosed the arrow. It flew toward the targets set up in the distance before landing in the dirt ten or so meters in front of them. Embarrassed, she turned to him. “I just can’t do more than that.”

He chuckled. “No kidding.”

She glowered. “Cyril.”

“Sorry.” He stepped beside her. Either it was a strength problem or an aiming problem. And considering how she shot lightning and fire from the tips of her fingers, he really hoped it wasn’t the latter. Cyril covered her left hand with his.

“Hey!” Lysithea recoiled as though burned. “What’re you doing?”

“Checking something.” Cyril frowned, bemused. “Is something wrong?”

“You…” She groaned, closing her eyes. “Alright. Fine. Just give me a warning next time.”

He wasn’t sure exactly why she needed a warning that he was about to help, but he gave it anyways. “I’m going to check your aim. Could you draw the bow?”

She complied, still looking out of sorts. “C’mon, get it over with already.”

Hesitantly, he rested his hand on hers. When she didn’t pull away, he leaned closer and tugged back her other arm a little. Her strength was lacking. Or maybe the bow was too taunt for her skill level. Luckily, he wasn’t that much taller than her, he didn’t have to lean down too much to guess where her aim should be.

Her pulse fluttered beneath his fingers like a caged bird as he corrected her stance. “Ok, loose.”

Their fingers opened, the string snapped with a sharp twang, and the arrow flew down the course until it hit the target with a satisfying thud. Lysithea stared for a full three seconds before glaring at it. “It hit.”

“Why do you look so angry about it?” Cyril asked.

“That wasn’t me.” She smirked as she gently pushed him away. “But the next one will be.”

Cyril grinned as he watched her pick another arrow and firmly pull the drawstring back. There was something oddly satisfying about helping someone else and he finally understood why Lysithea had spent all that time teaching him. Her fingers trembled as she aimed before loosing once more.

The arrow hit the dirt again. Lysithea scowled. “Seriously?”

“The bow’s too tight for you.” Cyril laughed, seeing the problem immediately. It was rare to see Lysithea fail. “Let’s get you a different one.”

“This is just a temporary set back,” Lysithea fumed, turning on her heel. “After I get the hang of it, I will use your bow. And it will hit.”

“If you say so.” Cyril picked up his quiver. “You know, even if you don’t, it’ll be fine.”

“How?” Lysithea scoffed dismissively.

“Well, you only have a problem if there’s no one around to help, right?” Cyril hooked his bow over his shoulder. “I just have to be there then. All the time.”

Lysithea immediately turned red. Her blush spread across her nose and up her ears. “What…you…”

“Forever might be hard, but well, it’s like you said. If I don’t try, how do I know?” Cyril shrugged, making his way back to the armoury. When she didn’t follow, he looked over his shoulder. “You coming?”

“Do you know what you’re saying?” Lysithea growled, still a fiery-red as she stomped after him. “I told you to stop messing with me!”

“I’m serious,” Cyril pointed out, frowning slightly. “It’s not a joke. I’ll protect you and you’ll protect me, right.”

Lysithea stared at him. Before he could ask, she marched past him. “Come on. Hurry up.”

Despite all the lessons Lysithea had give him, the one thing Cyril couldn’t read was Lysithea.

[siryouarebeingmocked]

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse: I may have activated my own trap card

Spoilers for a movie that's two months old and also out on home release.

So, Miles, Gwen, Pavitr (Spider-India), and Hobie (Spider-Punk) all seem to have modern left-wing politics, though Gwen's got edited out. Hobie's introduction specifically says he hates "fascists", which carries over from the original comics.

By the time Hobie came around, I assumed he was just another poser, cooler than the hero rival character, expressing generic leftie politics, and his punk ethos wasn't sincere.

Which is exactly what the writers wanted me to think.

Not only is Hobie perfectly sincere about being anti-authoritarian, but he's been helping Miles since before they even met. He's been blatantly stealing junk from the Spider Society to build his own universe-jumping watch, and disguising it as petty vandalism.

He even tries to talk Miles out of trying to join the Spider-Society before the reveal that Miles himself is an anomaly, and the SS (geddit?) tries to detain Miles.

When Hobie says he's against authoritarianism, he really means it.

Speaking of the left-wing politics, Miles has a "#BLM" pin on his bag. It's very visible while he sits next to his dad.

Who's a cop.

(TANGENT: A few years ago, someone drew a stupid, very bad comic where Spider-Man (Peter Parker) was a) black, b) hated cops, and c) assaulted and subdued riot cops when they asked him for help.

That the comic didn't even show the riot cops were wrong. We were just supposed to assume they deserve to be left to the mercy of an angry mob.

Also, in this comic, Uncle Ben was killed by a cop, not a random thug who Spidey could've stopped but chose not to. Which makes me wonder how that would shake out.

It's kind of weird for someone to look at a character who's about personal responsibility to an unhealthy degree, and use him to express their collectivist anti-cop terrorism fantasies. That, or they didn't think through their fantasies.)

During Spider-India's opening, Miles says "I love Chai Tea!" And Pavitr goes on a rant about how "Chai" means "tea". Later on, The Spot says he's been on a "journey of self-discovery", and Pavitr basically says he's racist.

Which is a tad ironic, because Spot is literally white. And also because Pavitr is the one making the racist assumptions.

And I personally go to a church - in England - that has a lot of non-white non-British people. Mostly Africans. And me, of course. I wonder if any Asians ever went on a journey of self discovery to South London.

And I don't just mean as a cab driver.

"Wait, SYABM, didn't you move to the UK for self-discovery?"

W-well, yes, partially.

Aside: I made the mistake of watching a Youtube video with the Chai Tea joke, and then I looked at the comments.

One guy said "tfw when Twitter users write a movie". An idiot (with much more upvotes) said "bro out here wanting blatant racism in movies".

...When the whole point of the joke is that the racism is not blatant.

It's only "blatant" if you're insufferably Twitterized. There are loads of redundant phrasings in English, like "ATM machine", and words often shift when they're adopted from other languages.

Also, "I dislike this joke" is not the same as "I want racism in this movie", when the "racism" in the movie is only there so it could be mocked.

One of the issues with putting real world movements in worlds that are drastically different - it's one of the main selling points of the franchise - is that it may seem odd that those movements exist in very similar form to the IRL version.

For example, Miles supports BLM in both his video game, and this. Which makes me think "did Trayvon Martin get shot in Florida? How about Mike Brown? Wouldn't the existence of supervillains throw things into a new perspective?"

Did I mention the giant George Floyd-style "REST IN POWER" mural to Miles' dead uncle? I cringed at that in the Wakanda Forever trailer, and I rolled my eyes at it here.

Floyd wasn't a saintly martyr, he was an unlucky violent thug.

Also, Aaron was a supervillain killed by another bad guy who nearly destroyed the city, not a cop.

Also, this is at a party to celebrate how Miles' dad is about to be promoted. Assuming Floyd died and the 2020 protests/riots also happened in Miles' universe, then it seems a tad tasteless to have a mural inspired by an anti-cop movement overlooking it, even if the party is not full of cops.

Spider-India lives in "Mumbattan".

The people who settled the Manhattan area were originally Indian. But the other type of Indian. The Indians we're not supposed to call Indians anymore.

The name "Manhattan" is even Native American.

The first permanent settlement was Dutch. Then the English got it. I guess the English could've shipped Indians to the other side of the world and eventually ceded the area to them, or maybe in this world India was a world-conquering superpower and Mumbattan is the result of...importing Native Americans?

Which would make Pavitr's complaint that "the British stole all of our stuff and put it in their museums" seem a tad hypocritical.

Of course, since I wrote all that, someone reminded me that Pavitr explicitly says the joint is in India.

"SYABM," you say, "you're overthinking this."

Yes, I am. Because the filmmakers didn't think it through. If you want to use ha-ha-funny to make a serious point, you invite examination of that point.

Miles (as Spidey) now works with his dad, though he disguises his voice. At one point, Miles tells his father that men bottle up mental health issues.

This is true (and ironic, considering Miles is hiding who he is from Jeff), but it's not the first time I've seen some progressive work try to address men's issues in an very awkward way. At least here, it's played for comedy.

Also, seems a tad hypocritical coming from a guy who wears a "#BLM" pin in the presence of his cop father.

Also, if you work the timeline, that would mean Miles was about 7 or 6 when BLM started. Which means he's gone most of his life knowing nothing else.

There was a controversy over a "protect trans kids" trans flag in Gwen's room, which was apparently edited out.

IMO, it seems a tad strange for a girl who feels estranged from everyone in her world to join a social movement, but what do I know? Maybe it was there before then.

Some people came to the extremely logical conclusion that Gwen herself is trans. Even though she's distinctly physically feminine and possibly too young for puberty blockers depending on Earth 65′s laws.

Like the "oh great, it's Liv" shippers, people are reaching really hard to see what they want to see.

Some people have said that Gwen's issues with her dad and herself seem awfully similar to the issues LGBTQIA2S+ kids go through.

Gee, it's not like, y'know, feeling estranged from one's family is a common theme in fiction about teenagers and superhero, and the whole "superpowers = minority" thing has been done to death for most of the past century.

Perhaps most notably - and clumsily - in X-Men.

I'm not saying this wasn't the intended subtext. I'm saying if it was, it would just be really, really cliche.

There's this recurring theme of people telling miles "how [his] story is supposed to go".

When he's at a meeting with his parents and his guidance counselor, the lady says his story of being a black-Latino son of an immigrant would sound great in the college application letters. His mom is a tad miffed, given that they're a) solidly middle class, and b) as a Puerto Rican, she considers herself American.

Miguel (Spider-Man 2099) doesn't want Miles in the multiversal council of Spiders, because Miles was bitten by the radioactive spider from a different universe. Which is why his local Spider-Man died, and the spider's home dimension has no Spider-Man.

Also, Miguel is fixated on "canon events". The idea that there are certain things, especially tragedies, that have to happen to Spiders, or their entire universe falls apart.

And he knows this, because he tried to take over for a version of him that got shot dead by a thug. Tried to raise his daughter.

And he watched as the universe collapsed in front of him.

So he's projecting his own guilt onto Miles, a tad.

According to TVtropes and other sources, this was actually about the people who didn't accept Miles as a replacement Spidey, possibly out of racism.

Yeah, that's real hard-hitting topical meta-commentary about a character who debuted 12 years ago. 8 years when the first movie came out.

I'd also like to point out that despite stereotypes of comic book fans, certain minority successors to banner superheros have been fairly well-received. Like Jaime Reyes, or Cassandra Cain.

(Note: I wrote that before the Blue Beetle movie came out. And flopped.)

And, of course, loads of people like Miles specifically because he's a minority Spidey, which is also racist, just from the other direction. In fact, a lot of his fans seem to forget the "Latino" part of "Afro-Latino". From what little I've seen of Miles early comics, they did actually put strong emphasis on his race.

I also suspect the filmmakers may be misinterpreting the usual successor knee-jerk reactions

as racism. If you're using an established brand name for your new hero, you're creating some expectations.

Also, you know the most popular meme about regular Spidey that I see? That Marvel's writers just keep making him suffer and don't want him to actually develop. Which would kinda make Marvel closer to Team Miguel than Team Miles.

Miles also gripes that Miguel is letting "some algorithm" tell him what to do. While I agree with the sentiment, I'd like to point out that, again, Miles supports BLM.

A movement popularized by an algorithm.

A movement made up of narratives and assumptions.

A movement which has never proven a single incident was because of racism.

During the big chase scene, we see a Spider girl in a wheelchair, aka Sun-Spider. She's from the comics. Same initiative that gave us "Web-Weaver".

Who is, of course, an extremely effete gay fashion designer Spidey. I kinda like his outfit, though the Spider-eyes with eyelashes is a little too far.

And Sun-Spider seems exactly like a character a stereotypical 90s executive and focus group would come up with. Down to the backward baseball cap.

(Turns out she's Dayn Broder's actual Spider-Sona.)

Also, while I was looking up that one black and white Spider who said "nowhere to run" (Metro-Spider, played by record producer Metro Boomin [/sic]), I found out that Aunt May's full name is "Maybelle", not just "May". TIL.

There's a bit of a double standard with this version of Spider-Woman, who's black and pregnant. -People in the movie - including Peter B - regularly point out how Peter B endangering his infant daughter Mayday by taking her along with him. But for some reason, nobody says a word about Jessica, who's an active-duty stunt-biking superhero.

Even regular motorbiking can be dangerous for pregnant women.

In fact, the movie portrays this as heroic and impressive. When Gwen sees  Jess is preggos, she asks if Jess can adopt her.

Not to mention the whole "afro and hoop earrings" thing, which seem like a bad idea for a type of hero who often gets into melee combat, even with Spider-Sense.

Yes, I'm aware that female heroes, including the Spider-Ladies, often have exposed hair. It's a genre convention. Incidentally, it was nice to see Batwoman wore a detachable decoy wig in the comics. Some bad guy tries to grab it in a fight? It comes right off.

Also, Jess doesn't have much actual character.

Being pregnant is not a character trait. In fact, her only real traits are basically "cool but stern sassy mentor", to contrast with Peter B. -Incidentally, someone on TVtropes pointed out the double standard. And when I saw the page again, a page-camper had deleted it, with no explanation.

Guess they couldn't stand someone pointing out the flaws of their waifu.

(One) Spider-UK in this movie is Muslim. I know she's Muslim because she wears a Spider-themed headdress. Note that regular Marvel 616 has a muslim lady Spider-UK, but her name is Zarina Zahari and she doesn't wear a hijabi.

(Also, she could be mistaken for Ms. Marvel.)

ms marvel.jpg

You might be thinking "wait, isn't a headdress impractical in a melee fight? Doesn't it give your enemy something to grab?" Yes, it is.

But so are Jess's earrings, afro, and being pregnant, so clearly there's a lot of artistic license going on.

Maybe it's partially tearaway, like Batman's cape.

I gotta wonder about the religious rules of wearing a head covering over a mask that *already* covers your entire head. Did she go see her imam and go "Okay, I have a really weird question..."

Come to think, Spidey is usually slim, but a lot of lady Spideys in this movie seemed to have wide hips. Including muscular ladies. Kris Anka's concept art goes really hard on wide hips. I don't know why. Stronger, faster character reads during the big chase?

I guess Spiders could be expected to have strong legs.

BOTTOM LINE:

I liked the movie overall, though the progressive bits made me roll my eyes a little. I...want to see the third one, with reservations.

[gatheringbones]

[“Coming from the Bible Belt in Kansas, I knew very well where the church and conservative moralists stood. But when I moved to New York at age twenty, even my open-minded friends thought masturbation was a second-rate substitute for “the real thing.” That was in the 1950s. My only source of sex information was marriage manuals and random bits of Freudian psychiatry. When I finally made it to the couch, my therapist and I had the same romantic image—mature sex was having vaginal orgasms from intercourse within a meaningful relationship. Adult masturbation was okay if I didn’t do it too much; otherwise it would be compulsive or infantile behavior. I was sure that several times a week was too much, so with grim determination, I set out to find Prince Charming in order to live happily and orgasmically ever after.

Throughout my twenties, I had superromantic, monogamous love affairs with passionate orgasms from intercourse. My lovers and I always planned to get married, which justified the sex. Masturbating while I was involved with a man would have meant there was something terribly wrong with my sexlife. Each of these affairs lasted about two years, and the breakup was always devastating. Being romantically in love was like mainlining emotions. I was hooked on my beloved, and there was no way I could live without my fix. Never once did I become a smart romantic addict who had learned how to move along to the next lover without suffering. At the end of each affair, I nearly wiped myself out with sorrow, regret, despair, or rage.

After years of searching for love, my prince finally found me. It was a romantic dream come true, and at twenty-nine, I got married, just in time to escape the horrible fate of going over the hill alone. During the first year, I felt our sexual exchange was modest, but my therapist said we would be more passionate in bed after we made our “marital adjustments.” I quit my job and concentrated on marriage. I was now economically secure, but I was getting more and more concerned about our sexlife. In our marriage’s second year, we were having sex about once a month. When we did make love, my husband would come too fast, and I wouldn’t come at all. Afterward, we’d both be embarrassed and silent. When he was asleep, I would quickly and quietly masturbate under the covers. I’d do it barely moving or breathing, feeling sick with frustration and guilt.

Since we were in love, I couldn’t understand why we weren’t into sex. I was a doomed romantic junkie, trapped in a marriage that a wasn’t living up to my romantic ideal. Sometimes I felt it was all my fault. Our lack of sex meant I wasn’t holding up my end of the marital bargain. I had no sexual value, and he didn’t really love me. Torn between blaming myself, blaming him, or blaming the institution of marriage, I was too busy to consider sexual alternatives. With joyful masturbation, I could have had an orgasm every day and one decent fuck a month. But no! Every time I wanted sex, I had to depend on my other half, and sometimes he really did have a headache.

Over the next few years, there was so much tension and so little communication in our marriage that I stopped wanting sex with my husband altogether. Instead, I began creating monumental masterpieces of art. But in the sixth year, no matter how much I tried to sublimate my desire, hot sexual memories crept back into my consciousness. Once my husband went on a business trip and my horniness spilled over into a private one-week orgy of drawing my sexual fantasies, getting turned on, and masturbating way beyond the point of going blind. I drew all the exciting sexual perversions I could think of, which were actually very few—oralsex, fucking doggie style, and a threesome. Overwhelmed with guilt at my hedonistic debauchery, I destroyed the drawings. I actually tore them up into tiny bits and flushed them down the toilet, afraid someone might find the scraps in the garbage and put the pieces together.

Of course my marriage fell apart. I wanted orgasmic partnersex to be part of my life.”]

betty dodson, from orgasms for one: the joy of selfloving

[handeaux]

No Parks or Playgrounds? No Problem! Cincinnati Sent Kids Out To Play In The Streets

Back when children actually played outside, there used to be a phrase adults employed to get rid of bothersome tykes: “Why don’t you go play in the street?” One hundred years ago, that became the rallying cry for a Cincinnati man who sent so many kids into the streets to play that the city named a golf course in his honor.

Cincinnati (and especially the city’s children) suffered from the predatory government of George Barnsdale “Boss” Cox. The Boss’s minions famously bragged that they invested no money in public parks because squirrels didn’t vote. Consequently, even though the Cox machine was sputtering to its end by 1920, Cincinnati had very few parks for a growing population.

The solution? Set aside “play streets” in neighborhoods that lacked playgrounds or parks, prohibit automobile traffic from 6:30 p.m. to 9:30 p.m., and provide adult supervision and entertainment. Until the Great Depression drained city budgets, Cincinnati set up and managed these so-called “play streets” throughout the 1920s.

The impetus for “play streets" was provided by Will R. Reeves, a New York native who ended up stationed near Cincinnati during World War I. Reeves was a musician and was recruited as organist for the Seventh Presbyterian Church in Walnut Hills. As Reeves learned about the dearth of recreational facilities for children in Cincinnati, he found work with a group named Community Services, a branch of the Community Chest.

Reeves first promoted the idea of “play streets” in 1920 and the concept was first tried out the next summer. It is obvious that the city government had nothing to do with children’s recreation. The initial funding to designate “play streets” and to provide adult supervisors was cobbled together from the Community Chest in partnership with the Jewish Settlement, Good Will (later Goodwill) Industries, and the Negro YMCA.

It's Cincinnati, so of course complaints erupted immediately. Some streets who had volunteered for the program pulled out because of the noise and because the program didn’t restrict participation to children who lived on that street. Businessmen complained that children having fun outside their factories drew workers’ attention away from the machinery. Still, the program grew each year and reached more and more neighborhoods. It also attracted national attention. The November 1921 issue of The Playground, a magazine for parks and recreation directors, devoted an entire page to Cincinnati’s “play streets.”

“When the streets were first opened for play, it was discovered that there were several families in each block that objected strenuously, fearing that the noise would be a nuisance. But frequent visits to each street made by members of the Community Service staff were helpful, not only in ironing out the trouble but in acquainting people with the philosophy back of the play street movement and the individual responsibility of every citizen for the maintenance and expansion of the present playground system in Cincinnati.”

And there certainly was a philosophy underlining the “play street” project. In a report at the close of the 1923 season, Reeves presented his philosophy.

“The child in the crowded industrial city needs as healthy a substitute as can be found for the open fields, the running streams and open spaces which most of the older generation enjoyed. Even playgrounds and play streets are danger spots without intelligent supervision, and this is what Community Services has been providing. The public gradually is realizing that play streets are educating fathers and mothers to the need for proper playground acres and to the further need of supervision.”

Cincinnati’s “play streets” were not simply pop-up urban parks, but stringently supervised play areas with adults selecting and overseeing almost all activities. The Community Services staff organized children on the “play streets” into team games, circle games, relay races and individual competitions involving jacks, marbles and pocketknives – indeed, elaborate mumblety-peg matches were a highlight of “play streets” throughout their existence. Reeves expressed his musical interests by organizing children on each “play street” into choirs, choral groups and dance ensembles. Reeves trained college students in the art of storytelling, dressed them in “gypsy costumes,” and sent them out to entertain the young people with folk tales and stories. A troupe of affiliated thespians put on short plays aimed at a juvenile audience.

Perhaps the most popular activity of Cincinnati’s “play streets” were fireplug showers for the children. Every day, from 2:00 p.m. to 2:30 p.m. and again for a while after 6:30 p.m., the nearest fire hydrants were opened to allow children to shower right there in the street. According to the article in The Playground:

“The use of hydrants as shower baths met with an enthusiastic response on the part of the children and it is hoped that this will become a permanent custom.”

The location of Cincinnati’s “play streets” tells a lot about Cincinnati in the 1920s, including a glaring lesson in institutional racism. The streets cordoned off as “play streets” in 1924 included Clay Street and Green Street in Over-the-Rhine, and Clinton, Sherman and Richmond in the West End. Those streets were for white children only. Streets set aside for African American children included Barr, Cutter and George, all in the West End. Three other streets – a section of O’Bryon in O’Bryonville, Spaeth in Cumminsville and the far eastern portion of Sixth Street beneath Mount Adams – were set aside for Black children one evening each week. According to the Enquirer [30 June 1924]:

“Additional colored work will be carried out one weekend each week in Hartwell, Steel Subdivision and Madisonville.”

Reeves reported that 36,150 children participated in “play streets” activities during the summer of 1924. More than 10,000 attended the program’s one-act plays and more than 4,000 joined singing groups.

The success of the “play streets” program led directly to the creation of the Cincinnati Recreation Commission and the hiring of Will R. Reeves as Cincinnati’s first recreation commissioner. Sadly, Reeves’ career was cut short when he succumbed to a stroke in 1931, when he was only 47 years old. The Reeves golf course at Lunken Playfield is named for the man who sent Cincinnati kids to play in the streets because there were no parks.

[richincolor]

Book Review: How the Boogeyman Became a Poet

Title: How the Boogeyman Became a Poet

Author: Tony Keith Jr.  

Genres:  Memoir

Pages: 341

Publisher: Katherine Tegan Books

Review Copy: ARC by publisher

Availability: Available now

Summary: Poet, writer, and hip-hop educator Tony Keith Jr. makes his debut with a powerful YA memoir in verse, tracing his journey from being a closeted gay Black teen battling poverty, racism, and homophobia to becoming an openly gay first-generation college student who finds freedom in poetry. Perfect for fans of Elizabeth Acevedo, George M. Johnson, and Jacqueline Woodson. Tony dreams about life after high school, where his poetic voice can find freedom on the stage and page. But the Boogeyman has been following Tony since he was six years old. First, the Boogeyman was after his Blackness, but Tony has learned It knows more than Tony wants to be the first in his family to attend college, but there’s no path to follow. He also has feelings for boys, desires that don’t align with the script he thinks is set for him and his girlfriend, Blu. Despite a supportive network of family and friends, Tony doesn’t breathe a word to anyone about his feelings. As he grapples with his sexuality and moves from high school to college, he struggles with loneliness while finding solace in gay chat rooms and writing poetry. But how do you find your poetic voice when you are hiding the most important parts of yourself? And how do you escape the Boogeyman when it's lurking inside you?

Review: I will admit that I’m a huge fiction girly and very rarely read memoirs. However, the title and the book cover caught my eye at NCTE and I took a look. I love books in verse and when I saw this was a memoir in verse by a spoken word poet I was even more interested. I flipped through the pages, read a few of the poems and I was all in. I grabbed a copy and looked forward to reading this memoir when I had some time. I was not disappointed. 

“How the Boogeyman Became a Poet” reflects on Tony Keith’s senior year of high school and his first year of college as he struggles to figure out who he is. It is during this time that Tony is struggling with what he would like for his future and struggling with his sexuality. He opens his memoir with giving a bit of background about his childhood before diving deep into the numerous insecurities young teens may have as they face their last year of high school where the constant talk is about “which college are you going to go to”. Teenage Tony is struggling with the last few months of school as he doesn’t think he has the grades to go to college but knows everyone around him expects him to. He also feels that he is continuing to live his life as a lie as he has a girlfriend, whom his parents know and love, while going to church, and maintaining an image of a “cool, straight Black teen.” It’s this performance he puts on that he calls the Boogeyman because the Boogeyman shows up to remind Tony that he is living a lie. Tony does express himself though his poetry and one highlight from the book is Tony sharing the poems that he wrote during this time period. There is a distinct difference in the style and tone of these younger poems, from the rest of the memoir, that reminds the reader that Tony will eventually find his way. As Tony attends college and is exposed to a wider world, friendships change, he breaks up with his girlfriend, and does begin to be true to himself. He also begins to find his voice in his poetry as he begins to accept who he is. 

Overall I enjoyed “How the Boogeyman Became a Poet” as Tony’s voice as a confused teen growing into a confident young man moved me. There were so many passages that were truly moving and drew me into Tony’s story. Tony’s poems are lyrical with a flow that moves with a smooth beat. He weaves imagery into pictures the eyes can see and moments the heart can feel. I hope that this book becomes an audio book and that Tony is the narrator as his memoir was an enjoyable read, that I can only imagine how it would sound. 

Here is a taste of Tony Keith's poetry. 

[fareehaandspaniards]

CARYLL SPOTTED! Gimme more!!! 👁️👁️

Please 🥺 I am curious if you have some ideas

I didn't think much of Caryll? BUT

I headcanon that he was ill from birth. He received many diseases through genes - defects of blood vessels, stomach aches, eyes... In truth, his family, roughly speaking, “buried” him - the boy was not adapted to life and faded away every day. One day he couldn't even feel his legs, what tied him to a chair, and his eyes could no longer discern anything.

My sketch of his young version, maybe even before Byrgenwerth or during studying:

(In fact I am worried that all faces I draw are similar...? I think I need to draw everyone to solve this problem... Good luck lol)

(also I thought that Caryll could have Eastern roots? I mean like Yamamura. I even drew the asian version of him but it wasn't Caryll anymore, so I neglected it...)

In Byrgenwerth, he volunteered to be the one to test the effects of the Blood... The result was stunning! Not only were almost all of his ailments healed (but in fact they still were with him just took on a weaker form. However, he could live a normal life), it was as if he had received a second chance - he was able to get up from his chair again.

After the transfusion, he began to slowly go crazy - I think he was the first one who began to see More than the others, and while his classmates were studying the catacombs with Willem, he suffered from the onset of paranoia, because everything seemed to him false, not the same as earlier. To not to suffer, he delved into the study of the secrets of the Great Ones with the others, and discovered that many of his “nightmares” can be found in frescoes created hundreds of years ago! Caryll dug deeper into this and thus realized that he could understand the ancient civilization as if he had lived there himself! With this came the understanding of Runes.

I explain all this by the fact that the Great Ones are not at all hostile, and have special sympathy for the “outsiders” of society, and they simply felt sorry for them, that's why Caryll could feel them!

About relationships with others:

Rom. I would say that he was in love with her, but rather like an artist with his model - he admired her, but would never have dared to offer these feelings. (Or he just didn't want to! Maybe he is ace?)

Micolash. Micolash was interested in Caryll and very much, but it wasn't mutually xD (Caryll thought of him as of "unusual" kind of human, but would never show it, so Micolash would be even more interested lol). Micolash even showed his best qualities in communication to become good friends with him, especially when he began to have see dreams about Great Ones (Micolash x Caryll has potential :^))

Willem. Master always believed in him. I must say that I don't like Willem, but he showed his humanity then by accepting Caryll as a son and supporting him when he was ready to give up his life because of physical pain he felt. So Willem took care of him even before Caryll got some Insight

Laurence. Laurence most likely would have wanted to get him to his side in the times of the Healing Church, but Caryll was far from religion and officialdom. However, he provided his assistance to the hunters because he wanted to help. (Laurence wasn't nice with him during Burgerking era, If Rom tried to remain calm, listening his insults, Caryll didn't care at all xd)

In general Caryll has easy-going character, with quirks, but fine! He also had an excellent relationship with Damian (Who didn't? lol A few student maybe), who later convinced him to join the School of Mensis.

Caryl is the kind of person who will accept all the mockery and ridicule from you (no one can prove to me that Byrgenwerth did not have a toxic atmosphere! People from different social classes and with opposite ideologies gathered there, leading a constant competition! Of course, there was inner hierarchy and humiliation, and in general the vibe of an English private school to the fullest! You can say, " but Byrgenwerth is a college, not a high school, they were all already adult,” but I will say that all this crap happens in any society, even the smallest! People don’t change, they just acquire a little more traits or change their qualities in one direction or another

Caryll was a quiet boy who seemed to be a good student, but everyone was afraid of him, because he was a local weirdo. He was completely insensitive to people because of being a misanthrope! But if he likes you, you can know that he will not leave you in trouble (but he will come to the rescue only if it is really needed, and in other situations he will watch you get out on your own).

Caryll is also one of those people who absolutely does not age in appearance! So by the time Micolash acquired age-related wrinkles, and Damian started turning into a raisin, Caryll still looked like a young man, albeit battered by life!

Oh oh and also headcanon - he is the one who tells scary stories! (He likes expression of unescapable fear on his friend's faces)

OH and also he could be a wonderful artist! But.. All the portraits he ever created, Caryll burned down, because they reminded him of time when he wasn't able to stand on his legs (he was drawing because he could do nothing else those times)

Thank you @fantomette22 after your ask I added him to my vision of lore officially!