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josephquinnswhore · 21 days ago

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somewhere only we know - joel miller x female reader

summary: joel has been the only constant in your life since you’ve been at Jackson. But you don’t know if you deserve him despite his persistent efforts.

word count: 3.3k

content warning: emotionally unavailable reader, depiction of readers ptsd, public sex, being caught, raw p in v, tension!!! Age gap implied but unspecified, creampie, exhibitionism, choking, breath play, f orgasm, m orgasm, dom! Joel. Not proof read lol.

an: inspired by the song ‘somewhere only we know,’ by Keane. good to listen to while reading :) @sunshineispunk 🫶🏼

More often than not you’d find yourself in this position, stuck in thought, eyes in an emotionless glare off into the distance as you attempt to escape the reality around you. All of the noise, chattering, even the wind whipping your hair around your face all seemed unnoticed by you.

So much had changed from the previous years, where you struggled to find canned food, living off of very little from foraging. With the group you’d been caught up in, all of the slaughtering, merciless killing of men and women, families. All for a torn up jacket, or a can of two decade old beans.

There was blood on your hands, so much of it, even if you werent the one to pull the trigger, or plunge the knife deep into someone's flesh and bone. The blood and bodies accumulated, so did the guilt.

Being in Jackson felt wrong for many reasons, you were a deplorable human, yet you were living now–lavishly. Electricity, hot showers, warm clothes and a full stomach. Hell, even a giant christmas tree in the centre of the civilised town.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

What about those people that died? Their children, the women, the men. Good people.

Jackson winters are harsher than any you’d ever endured, the wind swirls around the snow jacket and penetrates your skin, landing on your skin and spreading like an infection. Your hands are freezing, fingertips red from being exposed.

He always knew where to find you, how much you torture yourself with guilt. He offered the hand that wiped your tears, the ear that listened to you as you sobbed into his chest. The heart that offered a home for you. Somewhere only you knew. Offering you a haven within him that he had opened for you alone. It was simple, really.

That was the worst part, that he had willingly opened his door, his arms, given you his heart on a silver platter. Falling for a man that tried, that gave you all he had. He could just as easily pull it all out from underneath you.

His multitude attempts of courting you, asking you to be his girl–all gone unanswered or denied. So he stopped asking, knowing that when the time was right you’d come to him.

Joel was aging, he would take any minute he could to spend with you unknowing of what day would end everything. The risk climbs with each patrol.

He knows where you’ll be, by the back of the stables, watching the horses as they play in the snow that had fallen on the ground over the past week. The snow surrenders under his feet, walking the pathway to you he knew like the back of his hand.

With the softest voice he could muster, he attempts not to startle you. “Hey.” He leans on the fence beside you, his elbow barely grazes your own. “Everythin’ okay? You've been here a while, ain’cha?”

It stings, to turn and look at him. The muscles in your neck seem frozen as you manage a small smile, realising that you've been leaning against the wooden fence for a while, the sky is thick and dark with snowcloud. Snowflakes fall around the two of you.

“Just thinkin’,” you clear your throat and manage to choke out. Inhaling sharply, you wiggle your nose in an attempt to clear the mucus from your cold nose.

Turning to face you, he knows what's going on within you, although the two of you weren't exclusive, he knew what the two of you shared. Something that felt so fragile in moments like this. He hums, gravelly noise cuts through the wind.

In a swift pivot, he's turning to face you, his gloved hands delicately brush the hair from your vision. “What is it?”

“Everything,” You're barely able to look at him, managing a quick sideways glance. The last thing you wanted right now was to start breaking down. Moments of you opening up were sparse, and Joel knew now was not one of those times.

He had to treat carefully, nursing your emotions delicately so you wouldn’t back away, start rebuilding your walls he had carefully and pliantly plucked one by one. To get here, where the two of you were, had taken months.

Dropping his hand to cradle your stiff neck, with gentle encouragement manages to coax you to face him, a gloved thumb caresses your cold cheeks. “Everything’s a lot to be thinkin’ about.” He utters in thought, “wanna tell me about it?”

Conflicting, the ache in your chest. Guilt. The urge to blurt it all out in one ugly, uttering cry, as if it were some dirty confession. “Not particularly.”

His brows furrowing were a response of disappointment, knowing that if he weren't careful you would brazenly resort back to isolating yourself. “You know how much I care about you.” Preferring a statement, a confession, it left no room for you to start questioning yourself.

“I know.” Part of you cracks a tight lipped smile.

The forced smile doesn't appease Joel, his own lips tight, hand curling around your jaw to look at him. Things seemed particularly bad today, he recognised. “Stop lyin’ to yourself an’ me, tell me the truth.” the attempt to coax you failed, with you pulling away from the gentle grasp on your cheek.

As you pull away from Joel's touch, your skin feels cold. All of you feel cold. It felt so wrong to pull away from him, but to confront the fiery flames of truth–you would bear the cold.

His hand falls to his side, the ever tugging frown on his features deepens as you pull away from him. Refusing any comfort he offers, a noticeable feat between you. The exhausted expression on your face, eyes weary, and now defeated silence.

But Joel had questions, something he desperately needed an answer to. “Are you happy?”

It was a loaded question, confronting. Are you happy here. With him. With your life. You can’t manage to decipher which one of those probabilities he wants answered. So it seems impossible to come up with an answer that was acceptable. “What do you want me to say Joel, that I’m thriving?”

Of course you resort to lashing out. “I want the truth,” his eyes take you in, the way you stiffen as he refused to be spooked by your natural act of stoicism. He shifts on his feet, you bet the cold is starting to take a toll on his aching joints.

The silence had become unbearable. “I'm miserable, Joel.”

“What is it that’s makin’ you miserable–”

With a stern warning, you interrupt him. “Don't go there.”

Each emotion you felt in this moment, guarded but vulnerable to him. He knew what was causing this turmoil. Him. your feelings for him.

“It’s me.” He utters matter of factly between you, looking over the fence as the horses whine and run inside the stable as the snowflakes start to fall faster. His hand contemplates holding your hand, realising that they are bare. Deciding against it, he pulls off his own gloves, sliding them onto your own.

“You ain’t happy because of me.” his bare fingers run through the hair at the back of his head and rub his neck as he exhales deeply.

Fixing the warm gloves on your fingers, it feels like you’re getting some much needed circulation. “It ain't like that.”

He was trying to give you the flexibility to open up to him at your own accord, but he's beginning to hurt, wondering if his love will be unacquainted until he’s buried beneath the soil, if your hand would be the one to push him in with an unwelcome gaze.”Then tell me what it’s like..” he pushes again.

All he wanted was for you to drop the veil, to reach forward and bring you to his chest and remind you that he was here, always had been.

“I need to learn to live without you.”

You can't swallow the shocked expression on his face, now bare fingers clutching onto the fence, the warmth of his palm melting the snowflakes that had fallen there. “You think I wouldn't miss you if you just walked away from this?”

“Don’t,” you plead, he was breaking your guard down.

Vulnerability and desperation roll of his tongue in a firm utterance. “I would.”

Deciding against what your reaction might be, he reaches out and takes a hold of your hands, thumb rubbing against the leather in an attempt to soothe you, to calm you before you could flee.

“I go on missin’ you as it is. You go on days without lettin’ me in. I can't stand it, everyday i don't see you is hell knowing you’re right there an’ dont wanna see me. Knowin’ you don't wanna be mine.”

Pulling away from his grip again, you step away from the fence, fleeing. “Don’t. Don’t fucking do this to me.”

With one long stride forward he's snatching your wrist, turning you back around to face him. God dammit, he was trying. He wanted to be everything you need. If you would just let him in.

He growls at the realisation. “Don’t what, huh? Say how I feel because you won't.”

“I’m fucked up!” You shout, emotion thick in your throat, unable to pull away from his vice like grip.

There's a tremble in his voice, a swirling mix of despair and desperation. “I’m tryin’ to be here.”

A bitter scoff rolls off your tongue, “that doesn’t fix anything!”

His chest heaves, up and down repeatedly until he finds the words to say. All of the pent up emotions he has toward you all rising to the surface. “Then what will?”

“You can't fix me.”

He drops your hand, “bullshit.” That was something he couldn't handle hearing, he was good at fixing things, repairing, protecting. The thought that you were a lost cause was as good as enough for his chest to begin constricting.

His fingers are succumbing to the exposed cold, tips of his fingers are cold on your cheeks, cradling your delicately compared to the ruthless things he had done with them.

Taken lives, stolen, abused substances, relieved himself, all with anger, all without meaning. But you–holding you was something he wanted to do right. He would do right. There was no room for mistakes. “I need to fix this..” the whisper is so quiet it's almost swept away in the wind.

It felt like a slap to the face when you pull away from his hands, the shared warmth from skin to skin was ripped away as you step backward.

That's all you knew how to do, retreat.

“You’re still pushin’ me away. Tell me when you’re gonna let me in,” the bitter edge was a clear indicator of the pain and disappointment he was feeling.

“The last thing I need is to trust you! Then what? You turn around with my heart in your hands and stomp over it?”

There it was, whether you realised what had slipped past your lips. Your greatest fear. Abandonment.

For a brief moment Joel hates that you distrust him after all he has done for you, proving time and time again that he would do anything for you. But it's quickly swept away by the realisation that you’d unclogged the blockage that kept him at arm's length. “How..” he pauses, realising he has one shot at this.

“What can I do, to prove that I ain’t ever gonna hurt you?” Of course, of course he looked absolutely torn, his throat bobs up and down as he swallows nervously.

The fact that you were still standing before him was a good sign. “How can I trust this is real?”

“Because I love you. I’m gettin’ old an’ I need somethin’ to rely on.” his hazel eyes softened with the admission, searching your face for any sign that you felt the same way. That you wouldn’t tear his heart open here and toss it to the snow, letting it freeze over once again as it had been before he met you.

He couldn't bear to go back to that, the loneliness, lack of heart and purpose.

There's a million thoughts running through your head, begging for your tongue and voice to cooperate, to blurt out somehow that you love him too.

His eyes continue searching your face at your silence, hoping to find any glimpse that you felt the same way. “Nothin’ to say then?” His heart ached, tone bitter.

This could be the end of everything.

In this moment of utter vulnerability, there are no words you can find to pluck from your throat, barely registering that you’re reaching up to grasp his face with both hands, pulling his head down to meet your own cracked, wind burnt in a soft kiss, lips brushing against each other.

For the short moment they are pressed together, you feel them warm against his, your heart races in reaction to the bold display.

“I.. I love you too,” you whisper thickly once you part from his lips, praying it wasn't too late. Foreheads pressed together, this is what Joel had been dreaming of, a simple act that had made his heart race, relief sparking each vein in his body.

“Oh.. baby..” he whispers, his own hands grasp your hips, grounding himself. Holding onto something to convince him this was real.

But at this innocent gesture, a small breathless moan rattles through his brain.

God.. the thoughts he had about you.

He stutters, “baby.. d-don't do that. You have no idea what it does to me. Tryin’ to be good to ya.”

Running the risk of taking things too far, you kiss him again, this time more desperately, seeking the validation and love Joel had always devoted to you, a newcome hunger growing within you. Your lips clash against his own, and you moan into the kiss, your hands roaming through his hair as you grasp onto the soft, overgrown follicles.

The both of you get carried away, both touch starved and seeking physical affection after having tension brewing thickly for months. Your hands find solace in the softness of joel's hair.

He cannot keep his hands on your hips, greedily giving in to your willingness to reciprocate his affections. Tracing the curve of your ribs to your hips, memorising each curve and dip. The way your body squirms closer into his chest as his revenant exploration of your body makes you whine into his mouth.

Deepening the kiss, his tongue wrestles with your own. Finding a rhythm that the two of you manage for a desperate long minute. His hands are groping the curve of your ass desperately through your jeans, whinging when he pulls you closer to him, the hard bulge in his jeans rub against your mound.

“Joel..” you whine, breaking away from him, his own hazel eyes blown out from the fiery kiss. Your lips are moist with a mix of his and your own saliva. Chests heaving in sync as the tension between you expands into something that cannot be contained another moment.

Without another word your gloved hands are attempting to unbutton his jeans, with much difficulty. Frustration wears your short fuse and you tear them off your hands, unbuttoning and yanking down Joel's zipper.

“I ain’t lettin’ you go, baby.” He utters as his hands work quick to tear your own jeans, pulling them down until they reveal your ass, getting stuck mid-thigh. He lets out a deep grumble at the sight of you, bare ass and pussy all for him.

“We’re in the middle of town, dirty fuckin’ girl.” He scolds breathlessly against your neck, his hands commanding you flush against his chest, holding your wrists together with one hand.

Bending yourself forward a fraction, you whine, feeling his hard cock spring against your bare ass. “Let them see.”

Closing his eyes for a moment in an attempt to ground himself, convince himself this was a bad idea, the rational part of him loses the internal battle. “Fuck you’re gonna be the death of me, you and this pretty pussy,” his voice husk with need.

With his free hand, he positions himself at your hole, damp and warm. A wonderful contrast to the rest of him that's freezing as you stand in the mild snowfall. Your hole opens up for him with no protest, his thick tip pushes into you with carnal need.

His hand frees your wrists, grabbing onto your waist, his thick fingers curling around the skin of your hips. “Made f’me baby.. fuckin’ hell.”

There's a slight sting as you adjust to his girth, but he can't hold himself back, bottoming out in your warmth, grunting into the nape of your neck, leaving an opened mouth kiss.

The pace he sets is relentless, ploughing into your willing hole that slicks more with each thrust. His cock is coated in your arousal, nevermind how loud you are as he pumps into you. Not bothering to try and be subtle, uncaring of the straggling townsfolk of Jackson on the other side of the barn that are entering the hall for lunch.

“You’re gonna.... get us caught baby..” he ruts into you desperately as he utters his concern. Pressing his chest against your back, unable to pull away from you.

“Don’t care,” you manage to choke out incoherently, your hole clenched around him. Theres a warmth in your stomach, feeling the pressure build as he fucks into you like his life depended on it.

With one hand, he forces his hand under your chin, grasping onto your throat, fingers squeezing the sides lightly. Applying enough pressure to make your eyes roll, a soft moan of surprise and lightheadedness equals the raw pleasure of the pad of his pointer finger rolling around on your swollen clit.

“You wanna get caught like this hm? Sweet girl getting fucked by an old man, what would they think of you, hm?”

The thought makes your stomach twist, attempting to close your thighs to stop his hand from swirling softly against the wet bundle of nerves.

He tuts, “uh uh, this is what you wanted, wasn't it? You’re gonna cum for me, baby.”

Throwing your head back, he applies a fraction more pressure to your neck and you cry out with a crack in your voice, spiralling as your hips rut against his hand. Legs and hips unwillingly jerk as you orgasm. His muffled voice is runging in your ear as Joel continues to fuck you through your intense climax.

“Atta girl, so good f’me.”

He releases the grip on your neck and snakes his hands underneath your jacket, the warmth of your skin underneath his desperate fingers.

There’s some distant muttering you don't understand, too overstimulated and crying from still taking Joel’s cock as deep as he can bury himself inside of you.

He gropes your tits harshly, crossing his arms around you as he forces you down onto him, taking his thick cock as he bottoms out, his cock twitching as he fills you with his warm load. Turning your head to kiss him as he cums, you moan into his mouth.

“Oh my god–that is them, Joel and–” the voices utter your name and you tune in as you hear your name being spoken from a distance, hearing slowly returning. Your cheeks warm as you realise that someone has indeed caught the two of you in the middle of town.

Joel slides his hands from underneath your shirt, covering you the best he can. “You gonna stand there creepin’ or y’all gonna move the fuck along?” He snaps in irritation at the invasive eyes.

With a whimper, he pulls out of you. Both of you slide your jeans up. He turns you to look at him, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

There’s an expression of vulnerability plastered on his face. “No more runnin’.”

Hopelessly, you nod. “Can we go back to yours?”

With a possessive swat of your ass, he hums. “Our place.” He corrects.

Is this the place you’ve been dreaming of?

#joel miller #game joel miller #game joel #the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller angst

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keruimi · 7 months ago

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Your Dream

Pairing: Obanai Iguro x reader

Warnings: Mention of Sexual Abuse, Death, Total Angst

Note: It has a similar plot with my other Obanai Oneshot but why do I feel like this hurts more? Anyways, I am back to writing Kny especially when it's angst. And yes, it's Obanai Iguro again, my favorite character. The only reason I wrote this is because of the Obamitsu Angst in my fyp like stop reminding me, it really hurts. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it because I don't want to suffer alone.

____________________________

It was a normal life I live, working as an average kakushi who is mostly assigned in the kitchen.

When an odd request from Oyakata-sama changes my routine. When he assigned me to deliver meals to the new pillar, the Snake Hashira, Obanai Iguro.

At the age of eighteen, I finally experienced the anger of a Hashira with just my presence.

Knowing I was silent my whole life, I never found the reason why the Hashira glared at me on our first meeting.

I can't even count how many meals have been ignored or thrown whenever I deliver it to him.

Feeding the Snake Hashira became part of my routine that I completely memorize the route of his manor since he doesn't want anyone to be with him.

"Y/n, please take care of Obanai Iguro's health for me"

Those are the words I hold onto as I tolerated the cold treatment of the Hashira.

I lost track of the times I stay outside the freezing cold when he doesn't want to open his door for me.

It became more torturing when my heart suddenly beat faster when he started treating me differently after a year.

When he finally started to accept the food I cooked and delivered to his manor. Even if he can't finish it, I am thankful that it wouldn't become a waste anymore.

I knew our simple interaction progressed more when he allowed me to come closer to his space. Even a job that I shouldn't be doing, I'm doing it for him.

Like cleaning his manor, grinding ink for him, and helping him sort different poetry he has written.

Those simple moments introduce me to the new side of him that I slowly fell in love with.

It made me want to try harder until the walls he built around him completely fall down.

Until he can finally open his heart to me.

But that friendship I tried to stabilize, brick by brick, became nothing when he met her in the Ubuyashiki mansion.

My effort is almost nothing with how easy she manages to make him soften to her.

And I started to look for the reasons why.

The friendship I tried so hard to build is ruined and I felt like I went back to the first time we met.

The cautious aura that made it difficult for me to connect to him.

And I knew those thoughts are really happening when the food I brought is left untouched.

"I have already eaten with Mitsuri"

It was the sentence I kept hearing but I didn't stop doing my duty of making his food for him.

Because I learned to love taking care of him.

Those tasty delicacies I used to love cooking, change when I noticed he was disgusted just by the smell of it.

I adjusted so many things that I completely forgot what I really love.

Just to serve him right.

I prevent the cough that is threatening to leave my mouth as I grind ink for the Hashira I am serving.

As he wrote the letter he always sent to her.

It was breaking me. But I have no right to feel anything for him.

I already knew ever since, that a high-ranking warrior like him is not meant to love me.

But the weak side of me silently yearn that he can return it.

But seeing how in love he is with another woman. I knew I never had a place in his heart.

But just a mere presence that accompanies him in the garden.

I was just a shadow he would never notice. A person that serves him, and he would not change his perspective on me.

I was beside him so I could serve him, not to love him.

I wipe the single tear and escape my eyes before he notices as I force my body to move according to what he wishes.

While he remained clueless of my emotion that I tried so hard to get rid of.

The emotion that broke my heart when I saw the ring in his room while I was cleaning.

I could never look at the mirror just to see how my eyes portrayed the pain I felt when I saw it.

"Obanai-san really liked Mitsuri, don't you?" I mustered up the courage to speak my thoughts with a slight teasing tone as my back faced him.

I bit my lip to stop the sob that is threatening to be heard as I heard shuffling behind me.

"Obanai-san must treat Mitsuri-san right. Marriage is a dream for every woman. Especially when they will have a good man to love" I turned to him with a smile as I slowly opened my eyes and saw how soft his eyes turned because of embarrassment.

I don't know his past. I don't know what he loves.

I don't know Obanai Iguro.

But I know he has a hard time trusting others.

"I hope you both live a happy life" I managed to let out but it came out as a whisper as I took my things and left the room.

I froze the moment I left his manor as the tears I managed to subside finally escaped my eyes as I found myself crying on the way back to the village I live in.

I knew it was coming but my heart won't stop aching. My eyes can't stop crying. My mouth can't stop sobbing.

I really love him.

But he is not mine.

~•°•~

I lost track of the years when the female kakushi started to serve me.

The only woman I allow to enter my manor with the excuse of serving me.

Because I thought of changing myself even a little no matter how much I feel fear or disgusted by a female approaching me.

Because she gave effort to providing me with the most comfortable thing I needed. Especially during my meal time.

Starting with a simple window being opened, creating less flavorful food that I can tolerate.

I knew she was adjusting for me so I let her presence in my everyday life. Until that became like a friendship I was thankful for.

I can talk to someone about things without including battles.

I love her like a family.

That explained how my body felt frozen when I heard the news of what happened to her on the way to my manor.

The news of her being taken advantage of by a man who manages to memorize her route to my manor due to her everyday routine of walking her way there.

The anger I felt was unexplainable that I can find myself hurting a fellow human.

I knew humans can be evil, but I didn't know I could hate them more than I hate demons.

But I thought I made a mistake too.

If I just let her stay in my manor so she wouldn't exert too much energy just for my food, I could protect her better.

I know I'm slowly losing control when my self-restraint almost fell apart when I visited her quarters and I found her silently sitting at the corner of her room, hugging her knees.

As the spark in her eyes completely vanishes.

"She refused to eat nor let another woman near her. When the others approach her, she flinches. We don't know how to approach her anymore" the Kakushi who led me to her room stuttered out as I felt my hand grip the wooden door in anger.

Yet my eyes badly wanted to cry for her.

"Shinobu tried to check on her but she started to cry whether she was near. We just confirm the situation when the evidence of the sexual abuse was present in her body when we found her unconscious in the forest"

"Stop talking" I snap at him who immediately keeps his mouth shut as my snake hiss at him who scurried away.

"Y/n, it's me" I knocked on the door even though it was already open to make her aware of my presence in the room.

I don't know how I control my voice who I thought will be expressed in a trembled tone.

I am a man.

That is the first thought that came to my mind that made me decide to sit at the floor near the door.

"Obanai Iguro, you know me, right?" I spoke again and she kept her silence making my hands tighten its hold on my pants.

I'm not used to this side of her.

"Are you scared of me?" I asked slowly as silence occupied the entire room before she shook her head a little.

"May I come closer?"

With that question, I notice how her hands tighten on the blanket surrounding her making me release a shaky breath.

I never knew I was willing to hurt a fellow human just for her.

It made me want to make the man suffer badly. Worse than what he did to her.

"I'm sorry" I was left speechless when those were left on her lips and I immediately shook my head.

"Don't apologize. You did nothing wrong. It was them that wronged you" I am not good at words but I wanted to completely express my concern and pain for her.

I badly wanted to avenge her.

"It was me who should apologize because I was not there for you"

"I am not your responsibility..." She whispered and I shook my head once again, wishing for her to look at me even once so she can see how badly I am hurt for what she has experience.

How desperate I am to show she was not alone during this time.

"You are. Because you are important to me" I felt tears in my eyes as Kaburamaru slithered his way to her and slowly circled around her shoulder in a protective manner.

"I am tainted..."

"You're not" I firmly stated. "I am the tainted one between the two of us" those words quickly left my lips without any hesitations and she finally had the courage to look in my direction.

"So don't look at yourself that way. For me, you are still the same Y/n that accompanied me" I stuttered out as I tried to stabilize my breathing.

"I will seek justice for you. That's a promise"

I saw how a tear left her eyes as she looked outside the window. Removing her gaze on me.

"In our generation, marriage is every woman's dreams. Is a symbol of acceptance. Is where you will really feel you are loved and chosen by someone" she whispered.

"But in order to be chosen, you need to be pure, compliant, and well-mannered. That's what it takes to be a good wife" she stated as Kaburamaru nuzzled his head on her cheek when he noticed her difficulty in breathing.

I badly want to lend her my shoulder to lean on, an advice to make her mind clear. But in this situation, we both knew she just needed an ear to listen to her.

Someone to comfort her with just presence.

"But if you don't meet those requirements, you will be shunned by society. You will lose the qualification that a wife has."

"Right now, I will not be the wife of someone. I will not be married to a man I will dedicate my life to. Because I don't have my purity that only my husband should have." She whispered.

It was a painful word to state out loud. But right now, I can't read her.

Because she completely closed off her emotions.

"I don't fit the standard that a wife should have." She whispered as she buried herself in her blanket that hid herself from me.

"And it hurted so badly"

I closed my eyes when she spoke those words.

And I hate myself because I can't do anything for her but just torture her attacker.

"What else is your dream other than marriage?" I ask her as she closes her eyes to rest it for a little while.

"I want to meet the one that is willing to spend their entire life with me" it was a hopeful wish.

Silence occupy the room and I thought she fall asleep until she whispered the words I never expected to hear from her.

"I love you..." It was barely heard but I knew it was the words she hide for so long.

That made it known to me that I could grant that dream to her.

But I decide to give her the time she needs to heal from that painful experience.

She needs to heal.

Those are the thoughts I could only think of as I laid her down in her bed in a more comfortable position when I noticed she had finally fallen asleep.

But I never expected that it would be the last time I would see her with her eyes open.

Because when I came back the next day, the news of her death was the one that greeted me.

It was a nocturnal death because her heart failed during her sleep.

It finally felt like my whole world collapsed and my mind completely shut down.

If it weren't for Sanemi being beside me, I would have completely fallen on the floor as I kneel in front of her room.

It hurts.

I wanted it to stop.

But I know that nothing could make her happy anymore.

Because that nightmare would continue living within her for the rest of her life.

I never manage to cherish her smiles more. I only shrugged the moments I have with her because I thought we would stay that way.

That I never knew I was running out of time.

It took every cell in my body to approach her cold body that is covered with white cloth as I kneeled beside her.

I silently slid the ring that she found on my mansion in her finger as tears continued escaping from my eyes as Sanemi just stood behind me.

I lost someone who made me feel like I have the family I never have.

In this life, we were parted to heal.

But I will make sure that her wish will be granted.

"In this life" I started to whisper as my lips lean on her fingers where the ring stays.

"As God as my witness, I promise to take you as my bride. Give myself as your other half" I keep mumbling as I squeeze her cold hand as tears continue to fall from my eyes.

"That even death can never separate us. Because in our next life, I'll make sure, that I will utter this words to you again"

And in that life, you will be alive to hear it

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strrykais · 4 months ago

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die with a smile

a short story

maybe it was false hope, or maybe it was the way her hair falls against her gown. a love story greater than romeo and juliet, or maybe just as tragic.

patient!hyunjin x patient-fem!reader

rating : (M) - mature, (A) - angst

genre : hyunjin is a little shit and you are basically trying to be his friend, slight enemies (his side) to lovers, hospital settings

warnings : sad..

notes : this story was 10000% influenced by lady gaga and bruno mars die with a smile.. it's on repeat. its written ... its kind of written in hyunjins pov

playlist : die with a smile - lady gaga and bruno mars | somewhere only we know - keane

status : completed

updates : n/a

taglist : closed

chapters :

1- week one 2- week two 3- week three 4- week four 5- week five

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyunjin stray kids #short story #strrykais #hospital #hospital love

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venus-haze · 7 months ago

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Power in the Blood (Father Paul Hill x Nun!Reader)

Summary: There’s power in the blood. Father Paul knows this. Soon, you will, too.

Note: Female reader who's only referred to as "Sister," but no other descriptors are used. Also, the newspaper clipping isn't on the wall in this, for obvious reasons. I’ve been working on this fic in one way or another for about a year, but watching The Devils (1971) and Immaculate (2024) earlier this year as well as encouragement from my amazing friend @zaras-really-dreamless finally gave me the push I needed to finish it. Major visual inspiration from this scene in particular. Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: Major canon divergence. Angst, yearning, and unrequited feelings. Elements of Catholic mysticism. Sexually explicit content which involves dubious consent by way of religious manipulation, members of the clergy engaging in sexual acts, oral sex (f. receiving, but it's related to the stigmata and vampirism), blood play.

In retrospect, Crockett Island was the only place it could have happened. Desolation hung over the remote fishing village like fog in the early mornings, when you’d take your walks before the Monsignor awoke, and you heard the woes of the fishermen as they prepared to sail out for the day—oil spills, restrictive fishing laws, better paying jobs on the mainland but leaving everything they knew behind in exchange. Despite coming from the mainland yourself and otherwise alien to the ways of the dying village, your being a woman of the cloth on the largely Catholic (though predominantly non-practicing) island made the islanders trust you, consider you one of their own a bit more than they otherwise would have as you took on the burden of buoying their spirituality as the Monsignor’s health continued failing, and he could no longer fulfill the task himself.

You’d begged the diocese for help, hardly considered yourself equipped to care for the ailing priest and run a parish, however small, essentially on your own. But for a parish as small as St. Patrick’s, you were all the help the diocese would care to send. The letter you received in response to your detailing all of the things Crockett Island’s parishioners desperately needed boiled down to “wait until the old man kicks it.”

You supposed it was a miracle the diocese even sent you there in the first place. Though most of the islanders took the arrival of a young nun like yourself as a breath of fresh air, Beverly Keane didn’t seem all too pleased to have her self-appointed position as number two at St. Patrick’s knocked down to number three. She seemed to settle down when it became clear you had no interest in engaging in petty politics in a church that barely counted three dozen people for regular Sunday mass attendance.

The island’s social life, small as it was, interested you more. People were more open to receiving you as a friend than as a representative of the church, undoubtedly put off by Beverly Keane’s self-righteous fanaticism that veered into cruelty. You got to know the regular parishioners, like Erin Greene, who’d grown up on the island, left for some time, and returned pregnant yet eager to become a mother to her unborn baby. She taught at the island’s small school with Beverly, who encouraged you to take up teaching there, obviously hoping to bring a religious curriculum to the tax-payer funded public school. You declined.

Besides Erin, and to your chagrin Beverly, who was convinced the two of you were compatriots of some kind despite how often you clashed, you found yourself spending increasing amounts of time with Sheriff Hassan. Despite dutifully filling an essential role in the community, he hardly seemed any closer to gaining acceptance despite a year on Crockett Island.

The day he and Ali moved onto the island, you had a cold, and thus weren’t part of the unofficial welcoming committee. Your head pounded from the sinus pressure when Beverly brought the Monsignor back to the rectory afterward, and you barely heard what she said. You met Sheriff Hassan a few days later, when you were feeling well enough to shop for yourself and the Monsignor for the week. Among your expectations about Hassan Shabazz, his being handsome enough to make your breath hitch for just a moment before introducing yourself wasn’t on the list. But he was understandably weary of you, expecting the same horrendous treatment he undoubtedly received from Beverly.

Over time, he found you were only interested in buying groceries and not in underhandedly converting him or Ali. You were both lonely outsiders to the island and found some solace in regular conversations about the mainland, or observations about the islanders, occasionally broaching the topic of religion, which had a comfortable place in the space you two shared in the general store, sometimes over a cup of coffee he’d brew for you.

You admired him. His dedication to his son, the efficacy with which he performed his thankless job, and the unwavering faith he had in his religion, while yours had long lost its luster since you’d become Monsignor Pruitt’s live-in nurse in all but name.

But the days became your own when the Monsignor made his trip to the Holy Land, ill-advised considering his health. When you voiced your concerns to the parish, your outsider status was paraded through the discussion by Beverly, who insisted you had no way to understand how much the trip meant to the Monsignor, and by extension, every good, practicing Catholic on the island. At the time, to your frustration, she had won.

Besides, even if he were there, you weren’t sure a man on death’s door himself would have been able to give Mildred Gunning Last Rites. Torrential rain pounded against the rectory when you could barely hear the phone ring.

You had picked up with a hesitant, “Hello?”

“Sister, it’s—it’s my mom. I think she’s—”

“Sarah, do you want me to come over and see her?”

“Yeah, she’d want that. Just be careful with the rain.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

Grabbing a flashlight, you had only half pulled on your raincoat when you hurried outside, in a near sprint to the Gunning house. You almost slipped and fell on the way there, and then you wouldn’t have been any good to anybody, and the last thing Dr. Sarah Gunning needed was to tend to a broken leg while her mother was on her deathbed.

The door was unlocked when you arrived, the house quiet and dark save for a few lamps left on.

“Sarah?” you called out.

She emerged from her mother’s room, eyes red. “I thought I was ready for this a long time ago, but being face-to-face with it…”

“Are you sure this is it?”

“As sure as I can be. She hasn’t been eating. There’s only so much I can do,” Sarah said, her voice breaking in despair. “Sister, I—she’d want you to be here. Even though she didn’t know you very much, I could tell she liked you.”

“Of course,” you whispered, giving her a hug before approaching Mildred’s bedside.

Despite her labored breathing, she managed a kind smile when you took her weathered hand in yours and prayed the Our Father with as steady of a voice as you could manage. Then, you knelt, pulled the rosary from your raincoat pocket, and prayed until your knees ached and you nearly passed out from exhaustion at staying up so late. You almost thought you had dreamed it, the way she went, as peacefully as drifting off to sleep. It was only the cry of her daughter that pierced through your haze, and you struggled to your feet as you allowed Sarah privacy and called Sheriff Hassan over to certify the death, as was necessary for the burial Mildred would have undoubtedly wanted as a Catholic.

When the Sheriff arrived, about fifteen minutes after you called, you’d become acutely aware your nightgown had soaked through in the rain, and pulled your raincoat more closely over your body, ashamed you’d even forgotten such a detail in your haste.

“I should head back now,” you said. “I’m so sorry again, Sarah. You’ll be in my prayers. I’ll contact the diocese first thing in the morning."

She nodded. "Thank you, Sister."

“Do you need a ride back to the church?” Hassan asked. “This shouldn’t take long.”

You smiled, tempted by his offer, the prospect of spending more time alone with him. Instead, you shook your head. “Thank you, Sheriff. I think I can manage.”

Crockett Island was quiet the following day, when Annie’s son Riley arrived home for the first time in over a decade, following his four year prison sentence. You could tell through his polite greeting he had no interest in speaking with you further than his mother’s introductions. Fair enough.

Monsignor Pruitt was supposed to return that evening, but you had been calling the diocese to try to get confirmation that they could send a priest over to perform the funeral mass if needed. As usual, you got answering machines or the run around of being told to call different offices, none of which could apparently help you.

When you returned to the rectory after visiting with Sarah Gunning, you noticed the light on in the distance. Beverly had planned to meet the Monsignor at the ferry and bring him home. In all honesty, you couldn’t believe he survived the trip, both there and back.

“Monsignor, it’s me!” you called out. “How was your trip? I’d love to hear about—” You froze when you came face to face with a priest. A priest who wasn’t the Monsignor. Younger, handsome, absolutely unexpected. “Hello. I–I’m sorry, who are you? Father—”

“I’m Father Paul, Paul Hill,” he said kindly. “The diocese sent me.”

“That was quick. I thought they’d been ignoring my messages.”

“Yes, I’m afraid the Monsignor became ill on his trip, and I’m here until he recovers. I hope you don’t mind, I went ahead and brought my things into what I assumed was his room.”

“Please, make yourself at home.” You hastily made a sign of the cross. “But the Monsignor…I don’t think the islanders could take another loss. I’m so sorry, you come here and your first mass is a funeral.”

“Funeral? For who?”

“Mildred Gunning, an elderly parishioner who had been ill with dementia for a few years, I believe. She passed away two nights ago,” you said. “That’s why I’ve been calling the diocese all day. We need someone to perform the funeral mass.”

His deep, brown eyes widened with all the terror of a deer being chased through the woods. “Are–are you sure?”

“Of course I am. I was there when she passed.”

“Did she suffer?”

“No, it was like she had fallen asleep,” you said softly, watching in wonder as tears fell from his eyes. “Father?”

“I’m sorry, Sister. These things affect me deeply.”

You put your hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Can I make you coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, please,” he said, his voice empty, an almost far away sound to it.

“While that’s brewing, I’ll call Dr. Gunning, Mildred’s daughter, and let her know you’re here. I don’t think she’d want any deviation from the typical funeral rites. Her mother was quite devout.”

“Yes, I know.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What was that?”

“Yes, I–I figured.”

He retreated into the Monsignor’s room. When you brought the coffee to him, he requested you leave it outside the door, which you found odd. Even more strange was having to tell Beverly that she missed the Monsignor’s arrival because he wasn’t arriving in the first place, and the diocese forgot to tell you that he’d become ill on his trip and Father Paul was serving as his replacement until he recovered. You privately figured the assignment would be more permanent, as yours had unexpectedly become.

Mildred Gunning’s funeral was held in St. Patrick’s Church less than a day later. A simple, solemn affair that saw the church nearly packed for the first time outside of Christmas or Easter. Mildred had lived and died on Crockett Island, everyone knew her in one way or another. Father Paul conducted the funeral mass as if mourning the Pope himself, and you were particularly struck by his grief, the way he nearly fell apart while giving the homily.

He fared no better at the wake that followed the funeral mass, held in the community center. Father Paul was utterly disinterested in speaking with any of the parishioners who tried to introduce themselves to him or sought solace and spiritual guidance in his presence. Thus, the burden once again fell on your shoulders, and you almost thought the diocese would have been better off ignoring your calls after all.

You sighed. You couldn’t let your cynicism get the best of you. It’d be entirely inappropriate for Father Paul to treat Mildred’s wake as a social hour. Besides, people with such deep empathy for others, especially someone they’d never met, were rare, as reminded to you by Beverly, who made her way over to you with a plate of cheese and crackers and a slight sneer on her face.

“I suppose it’s nice and all, but it’s not like he knew the woman,” Beverly muttered.

“He needs time to adjust,” you said. “This isn’t the best way to start out his tenure here.”

“Yes, well, let’s just hope he gets his act together soon.”

You could swear the diocese had you on some kind of blacklist, the way your calls to them went unanswered, letters returned with vague instructions and empty assurances. Father Paul had no idea how long they intended for him to stay on Crockett Island or the condition of Monsignor Pruitt.

Your living in the rectory made sense when you were caring for the Monsignor, but with Father Paul fully capable of taking care of himself, you wanted to know if you’d be staying on the island, and if so, if separate arrangements would be made for your own housing. The island was too small, too chatty, for you and Father Paul to be living alone for too long before it was turned into something it wasn’t.

The bitter taste of married life settled on your tongue as you took up most of the responsibilities around the rectory while Father Paul moped . The old man could hardly help with cleaning, and you didn’t want him anywhere near the kitchen, but your new roommate was an able-bodied man who could spare to pick up some slack, couldn’t he?

“I made dinner, if you’re hungry,” you said, emerging from the kitchen and into the living room where he sat on the couch. “Just spaghetti and meatballs. The jar sauce from the store isn’t too bad. I usually add—”

“Red wine and oregano to it. I know.”

“Oh,” you said, taken aback by his statement. “I guess Bev told you. Not much of a secret recipe.”

“You’re pretty young for a nun,” he said, turning to you. “What made you want to give up a normal life for this?”

“It’s my vocation. For as long as I can remember, I knew this was what God called me to do. I never wanted another life.” You sat down next to him, sparing a glance around the room. “This is it for me.”

“Crockett Island?”

You conceded a small smile. “I was hoping for somewhere a little more exciting, but I think there’s a chance for something amazing to happen here.”

He shook his head. “That time’s long passed. Look around you, Sister. People are leaving in droves, and the ones who’ve stayed…it’s just too late.”

“Please, Father, I know this island may seem like it’s dying, and presiding over a funeral as your first mass here doesn’t help that, but the people still need guidance,” you pleaded, taking his hands in yours. You couldn’t contend with the diocese sending you to rot with the rest of the island. It couldn’t be for nothing. “The Monsignor is no longer well enough to fill that need, and I couldn’t do it on my own, but together, I think we can do something great if we try. This might be the island’s last chance to have life breathed into it again.”

“Sister—”

“I agree that Crockett Island is hardly a place anymore, but it’s somewhere to start, isn’t it? We couldn’t have been sent here without a reason.”

He swallowed roughly, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You’re right, Sister. I—Thank you.”

You smiled, relief washing over you at his words, at his assurance you wouldn't have to bring revival to Crockett Island on your own.

Following your conversation with Father Paul, his attitude completely shifted. He was friendlier with the parishioners, taking extra time to spend with Leeza, offering to hold Riley’s AA meetings in the community center to save him a trip to the mainland, and, inexplicably, he liked Beverly, who’d changed her mind about Father Paul since the wake and warmed up to him. The only time he wavered was when he visited with Sarah Gunning, still grieving the loss of her mother and considering moving her practice off of the island.

He’d return to the rectory on those evenings quiet, morose, seeking the comfort you selflessly offered him. A warm embrace in which he’d bury his face in the crook of your neck. A hand to hold and squeeze in his own, intertwining his fingers with yours. Teetering on the brink of an intimacy you’d made vows against, you weren’t quite sure how to bring it up to him, not when he needed you, and you, him, to fill the hunger in your heart for a man you knew you could never have.

You allowed the beast to live in you. Fed it. Nurtured it. Cared for it. Guarded it with a shameful protectiveness, shielding it from your regular confessions with Father Paul, in which uttering its name would make it real, and thus ripped away from you and destroyed.

Ash Wednesday and the first week of Lent were resigned to a haze in your memory, hardly able to think of the beginning of the holiest time of the liturgical year without feeling sick. Not after the potluck. You were sure it had been Beverly, Sheriff Hassan was, too. You knew she was cruel, but to harm an animal, something so innocent…You couldn’t stand to be in her presence for long after that, and silently resented Father Paul for keeping her so close. But you supposed everyone had their vices.

Yours came to a head in a dream, one that felt all too real, that you could hardly remember when you awoke apart from burning hands on your skin, lips pressed to yours, you and Sheriff Hassan in throes of passion. You laid in bed with a lump in your throat and aching between your legs. You hadn’t experienced a dream like that in…you couldn’t even remember.

The entire time you sat through mass, you thought you were going to be sick. You couldn’t concentrate on the readings or the homily. Taking the Eucharist felt wrong, and your hand shook when you brought the communion wafer to your lips when Father Paul handed it to you. Finally, when mass ended, and you were sure the church was empty, you approached him with trepidation.

“Father, I have something I need to confess.”

“Would you like to go to the confessional?”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to hide behind it. I need to be transparent and held accountable.”

He nodded. The two of you sat in a pew, facing each other as you crossed yourselves.

“How long has it been since your last confession?”

“Three days,” you answered.

“What is it, Sister?”

“I’ve been having lustful thoughts, Father, about someone incredibly close to me, who I care deeply for. Instead of asking the Lord to take these feelings from me, I’ve been indulging in them, and last night I—I had a dream about him. A sexual one that I experienced physical pleasure from.” You were in tears, guilt wracking your body as you spoke. “I’m so ashamed. I should have been stronger. I’ve been sinning against God, exploiting this man in my heart when he’s done nothing to deserve such disrespect. Sheriff Hassan is—”

“Sheriff Hassan?” Father Paul’s gaze darkened ever so slightly, and you leapt to the sheriff’s defense in his absence.

“He didn’t do anything, Father. Nothing more than friendly smiles and kind words, never anything inappropriate. It was me, letting my lustful thoughts ferment instead of nipping them in the bud right away. He committed no sin. It was me.” Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

“Why him?”

You were silent for a moment. “He’s a good man.” Better than most you’d come across. Kind, selfless, just—the virtues that were few and far between among the men of the cloth you had met. Above all else, even when it was difficult, Hassan Shabazz was good. “I love him.”

“You don’t love him, Sister. Lust after him, yes, but you don’t know him, not enough to love him the way you think you do.”

With a shaky, reluctant sigh, you nodded. “Will you help me, Father?”

He took your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Of course, it’s the least I can do after you helped me through the trial God set out for me when I first arrived here.”

“Thank you.”

“We’ll get through this together, Sister. Let us pray.”

The following Sunday, you tried to match the enthusiasm he had for ten o’clock mass that morning. You had gotten used to it by then, the way he always seemed to know something you didn’t or was aware of details about the islanders you weren’t keen to even after living there for two years. He was easy to trust, you supposed.

Sitting in the wooden pew, you focused on following along with mass until the homily following the reading from the Gospel. Father Paul’s homilies were always a bit odd, cryptic, even. You assumed his faith was influenced by mysticism, and sought out books by the likes of St. John of the Cross and St. Francis in an attempt to better understand him. The way he spoke that day unsettled you, a fantastical fanaticism that felt out of place on Crockett Island.

Then, when it was time to receive the Eucharist, there was a solid minute where you were sure you had never hated anyone more in your entire life than you hated him. Telling Leeza Scaroborough to walk, goading the poor girl to step out of her wheelchair in an act of cruelty you couldn’t abide by. You got up from the pew, en route to smack him across the face when she did it. Leeza stood up from her wheelchair, and with tentative steps forward and tears of disbelief and hope in her eyes, she walked up to Father Paul and received the Eucharist.

Everything that followed was a blur, but you knew you were one of the few in attendance who hadn’t broken out into frenzied celebration. Something just wasn’t right. You found yourself hesitant to make eye contact with him when you took communion, and remained quiet even as mass ended, the cacophony of elated voices almost background noise to you.

“I’m sorry, everyone, but I need to speak to our dear Sister in confidence. I’m sure you all understand,” he said, murmurs of affirmation from the congregants who had crowded around him, except for Bev, who had a puss on her face at being excluded.

Father Paul ushered you into the sacristy, closing the door behind you.

“Is something wrong, Sister?” he asked.

“How can anything be wrong? Leeza Scarborough can walk again.”

“Yes, a miracle occurred in this very parish, right before our eyes, yet you seem…hesitant.”

You chewed on your lip before murmuring, “Seeing isn’t always believing.”

“You were the one who told me this island needed life brought back to it, who said we could achieve great things together. Now I’ve done that, by the grace of God Himself, and you have cold feet?”

“It’s not that.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“You know I do,” you said, trying to ignore the lump in your throat. “Maybe my faith is still weak—I’m still weak. I’m sorry, Father.”

“You’re not weak, Sister.”

“I think I’m going to get some air,” you said.

He nodded, distressed by your continued lack of enthusiasm. “Alright.”

Leaving St. Patrick’s through the side door in the sacristy, you tried to muster up the joy and faith you were supposed to feel, but found yourself coming up disappointingly empty. You had seen it with your very own eyes, and had been standing right there when Leeza walked for the first time in years. It couldn’t have been a trick, not orchestrated or premeditated, not by her. But Father Paul seemed so certain. Was his faith that much stronger than yours? Strong enough that he could be a true miracle worker, a vessel of God Himself on Crockett Island of all places?

Even the more skeptical congregants present, like Erin and Riley, had bared witness to it. Could attest to what had happened just as everyone else had, as you could. As a nun, you were undoubtedly expected to believe, be among the most fervent of Father Paul’s advocates. Beverly wasted no time in declaring the act a miracle worthy of the Vatican’s attention. Your faith still wavered despite what should have been undeniable proof.

You’d lost track of how long you’d been walking around the island, but the sun was beginning to set and you realized you were tired and hungry. The general store wasn’t much farther of a walk from where you ended up while mindlessly wandering, and so you made the trek into town, telling yourself you were getting a few groceries for yourself and Father Paul. Really, the only person you knew you could speak to without judgment would be in there.

When you entered, Hassan greeted you with an emotional distance you expected. He probably figured you’d be among the dozens of people eager to relay Leeza’s miracle to him, underhandedly attempting to invalidate his own faith.

Grabbing a jar of sauce and a box of pasta, you brought them up to the counter. Your mouth was dry while he rang up the groceries, but you couldn’t help asking, “Have–um–have you seen Leeza recently?”

He nodded, his lips pressed in a thin line. “Walked right in here and bought a Twinkie earlier.”

“Amazing, how it happened.”

“I know about what happened to Leeza. I don’t believe what happened to Leeza.”

“Neither do I.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

“It doesn’t sit right with me,” you said. “It felt more like a show was being put on than a miracle. I don’t think she had anything to do with what happened, but he had to have done something. He was so sure she would walk, and I just felt angry, betrayed that he’d make a spectacle in mass. In all honesty, Sheriff, my faith has been wavering for a while, but this didn’t make it any stronger.”

“It makes me feel a little more sane to hear you say that.”

“Well, if anyone can get to the bottom of this, I’m sure it’s you.” You smiled, taking the bags of groceries from the counter. “Have a good night, Sheriff.”

“You too, Sister.”

Walking back to the rectory, you wondered if anything would be able to make you change your mind about actually bearing witness to a miracle.

Father Paul hugged you as soon as you walked through the door. “I was about to send out a search party for you.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you, Father. I just needed time to think.”

He looked at the grocery bag in your hand. “And to see the Sheriff.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Sister, something incredible is happening here. I need to know you’re on my side,” he said, his urgency striking you like lightning.

“I am. I want to be. Please just be patient with me. This is—it’s a lot to process.”

“I can’t do this without you,” he said softly, caressing your cheek. “I need you.” His gaze fell to your lips.

“I should start on dinner,” you whispered, pulling away from him.

“Let me, you cook enough for me already,” he said, taking the bag from you. He pulled out the jar of sauce. “Red wine and oregano, right?”

You nodded. “That’s right.”

“Make yourself comfortable out here. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

The following half hour or so was unbearably tense, and you could hardly focus on the book sitting in your lap, The Dialogue of Divine Providence, while he cooked. The two of you ate in near silence, and you retired to your room early, falling asleep almost as soon as you changed into your nightgown and crawled into bed.

Burning pain seared your limbs when you awoke in the middle of the night, the pungent scent of iron assaulting your nose, and for a moment, you thought you were dying. You reached over to the lamp on your nightstand, your arm heavy as you moved it. With trepidation, you pulled the cord, a phantom sensation in your hand as you did so.

Soft, white light from the bulb illuminated your beside. Lifting your hands to your face, you let out a panicked whimper at the gaping wounds in your palms, gently bleeding crimson and flowing down your arms to your nightgown. The fabric around your torso was blotched with blood, each tinge of pink becoming red with every ragged breath you took. You tried kicking at the covers, but found it excruciatingly difficult, and to your horror, discovered identical wounds to the ones in your hands through both of your feet.

Your hands shook as you screwed your eyes shut, telling yourself it was a dream, and that when you opened your eyes, the blood would be gone, the wounds healed. Except the pain was all too real, pulsing in your wounds, tears stinging your eyes as you choked out a sob. Your simple bedroom, with little more than a bookshelf, desk, chair, and crucifix on the wall, threatened to suffocate you as your panic set in.

A groan pulled from your lips as you pushed yourself out of bed, your legs nearly giving out beneath you. The strange sensation of your bare feet on the wooden floorboards made you feel dizzy, or maybe it was blood loss. Each step forward was more agonizing than the last, but you needed help. You needed someone else to see you, a witness to what was happening.

“Father Paul!” you cried out from the doorway, your voice hoarse and low, barely carrying across the hallway. “Father, wake up!” Mustering what strength you could, you threw yourself against his bedroom door, your closed, bleeding fist erratically banging against it. “Father, please!”

“Sister, what’s going—”

As soon as he opened the door, you collapsed into his arms, sending him stumbling backward with the sudden burden of your body on his. He looked at you, gaping at the blood that covered you—and him.

“Father?”

“I should call Dr. Gunning.”

You shook your head frantically. “Don’t! Not yet.”

“What happened?”

“I woke up, and I was like this.” Your bleeding hands clenched around the hem of your nightgown, keeping it at your thighs. “I’m too afraid to look.”

“May I?” he asked, his own hands shaking as his fingers brushed the blood-drenched fabric.

Staring at him for a moment, reckoning with the further vulnerability you were about to display to him, you breathed a soft, “Yes.”

He pulled your nightgown up, the fabric sticking to your skin from the congealed blood. You stared at the ceiling as he lifted the garment over your head, too embarrassed and mortified to acknowledge your body bare before him. His fingertips brushed your torso, and you moaned. In your horror, you looked down to see deep, fresh wounds on your sides.

“Oh my God.”

“Do you know what this is, Sister?”

Tears blurred your vision as you shook your head. “It can’t be stigmata. I’m not pure enough, not devout enough. He’d never—”

“Of course He would. He saw you needed faith, a reminder of His love for you, and look at you now,” Father Paul said with hushed fervor as he took in the state of you. “You’re beautiful.” He kissed your forehead, then pressed his lips to each of your weeping palms, and then your feet.

Desire twisted in your gut at the sight of him beneath you. He kissed your feet again, a terrifying hunger in his gaze as he brought his lips higher up your legs, his hands brushing your skin with a reverence you felt unworthy of receiving.

You watched as he dipped his fingers into one of your side wounds and then brought the digits to his mouth, tasting your blood from them. With a ragged breath, he brought his face to your torso. His tongue plunged in the valley of your wound, lapping up the blood that gently flowed from it. A moan tore from your throat, pleasure rolling across your skin as if you truly were a vessel for the divine. Surely it was the same sensation that inspired St. Teresa of Avila’s eroticism, a mystical ecstasy that saw her driven out of villages and cloister herself in search of the purest, incorporeal love.

Except before you knelt a man of God whom you could reach out and touch, eagerly devouring your flesh as if able to find salvation in your blood. His teeth grazed your skin, eliciting a shudder that echoed through you like a worn-out hymn. Words failed you, the pleasure you received from his ravenous consumption of you overtaking the pain from your wounds.

Holding his head against your side wound, you wanted more, the feeling of him indulging in you. Taste and eat. Everything you felt and saw was in shades of violently blossoming red, deeper and deeper with each curl of his tongue and brush of his fingertips, his unadulterated worship, his veneration for you, serving as the flowing cup of God’s grace and mercy.

Rapturous bliss hummed through you like an ecstatic prayer, pulsing in your wounds on your hands, feet, and sides. You felt like he was part of you, a mystical union between yourself and him.

But just as high as he’d taken you, you quickly came down. The gravity of the situation, of what he’d done, what you’d let him do, weighed on your conscience more heavily than any illicit feeling you’d ever harbored toward Sheriff Hassan.

Father Paul took your face in his hands, eyes glistening with a joyous faith you no longer envied. “Your own miracle, Sister. Do you see it now?”

“You did this to me?” you asked in distressed horror. “You—Who are you?”

“Not me, Sister,” he said. “Here, let me show you. You’ll understand everything. I think you’re ready.”

He held out his hand, and despite everything in you screaming otherwise, you took it.

#father paul x reader #father paul hill x reader #father paul hill #monsignor pruitt #midnight mass #midnight mass fanfiction #midnight mass fanfic #slasher x reader #<- for my own blog organization

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mandowifey · 2 years ago

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Porogue.

Father Paul/John Pruitt x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, P in V sex, unprotected sex, dry humping, mutual masturbation, lots of priest play, biting, pining, dom!Paul, semi established relationship, cum play, mentions of cervix, mentions of bite wounds.

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

It's a storm to end all storms.

That was what Beverly Keane proclaimed at yesterday's service. The woman had a penchant for dramatics and often spoke with puritanical judgment. Folks were accustomed to the devout woman's manic ramblings, which meant she was never taken literally. However, when the Coast Guard reached out to warn the town to evacuate not but four hours before the storm was due to impact, Bev Keane stood, smug and proud.

"I had warned you, all of you."

Towns folk rushed towards the docks with their families, arms full of the few precious belongings they had. Sturge was helping them up the ramp and into the ferry, trying to explain that there was no need to panic. Dark waves sloshed and rolled under the boats. People were gasping and crying out below the blackening sky. Hysteria at its finest.

"You lot wrought this upon yourselves," sighed Keane, who stood on the dock, hands linked together. "Those of us who remained loyal to our faith, who filled the church every day and lived our lives devout and holy have no reason to fear. The Lord recognizes his own and will shephard us unto his raft to guide us through the storm."

Over half the population fled Crockett that dreary afternoon. Those who remained boarded their windows and hunkered down to ride it out. While the last ferry departed, Bev Keane smiled and turned to head back up the trail. Confident in the hopes that God would sort things out in the end.

° ☆ ° ☆ °

Candles warmed the room around you, while flashes of lighting illuminated the windows and caught your eye. When thunder clapped and shook the wooden frame of the rectory, you would suck in a sharp gasp and tense, which drew a low chuckle from the man above you. Rain impacts noisily against the glass windows, causing a steady hum.

"Relax."

A hand closes under your jaw and tips your head back, exposing the curve of your throat. Lips press against your skin, making you rumble and start to smile. "You are so strange," the words leave your mouth in a breathless sigh. "How can you not be at least a little afraid?"

He chuckles again, and you feel teeth graze your flesh. "I have much more important things on my mind." There was a pull to his words that brought moisture between your legs. Heat consumed you, twisting through your limbs and fogging your thoughts.

"Looks like you do too." His palm cups your mound. Embarrassment overtakes you as you realize you had soaked through your underwear. "Messy little lamb." Lips slotting together, the man kisses you with intensity. He parts your mouth with his own and scoops his tongue between your teeth. You can feel the way his nose pushes to your cheek and taste the remnants of the tea he had earlier.

Words fail you as you cave below him. The bed moves under you as he shifts your bodies and lays himself between your legs. Another flash of lightning, another gasp, this time it's for him. He presses the aching bulge against your core and leans his weight into you. You feel so small with his body caging yours, and the contact makes you simper.

"O-oh, P-paul,"

"I'm sorry?"

Paul's voice was lile velvet in your ears. Candlelight flickers in those obsidian eyes of his, and you watch his angular brows start to vex. Heat burned in your stomach, and you paw at the blankets beneath you.

"F-father, p-please."

A smile breaks the tension, and he drops his head down to gently kiss the middle of your forehead. He rumbles his praise against your skin, balancing himself on his knees and one hand while the other pulls your leg around his hip. You tilt and groan unabashedly as Paul starts to grind into you. The friction of his clothed cock pressing and sliding over your crease had your clit engoring with blood.

Head tilting back, your mouth hangs open as soft groans waft out. Paul was watching you, admiring every line in your face as he began bucking into you. Your body bounces, your cries coming out louder as he thrusts as though he were fucking you. The impact had you soaking more than before, leaking a spot on the blankets.

"U-uhn, hnn, p-please-" You felt frantic, desperately craving the Priest to bury inside and claim you as his. To carve through your insides and nestle himself in the furthest reaches of your cunt. The ache within your body called to him, your scent nearly driving the starving man mad.

"Patience is a virtue." Paul sat back against his legs before placing both large hands on your hips. Fingers gripped bruisingly tight as he hoisted you upwards against him, locking your pelvis to his so he could continue rutting. The man sighed, his eyes closing as he grunted and panted softly. Both of you mutually wind your bodies together in a frenetic desire.

Panting fills the empty space, and you're using the massive bulge between his legs to chase your release. Paul used you, too. His hands greedily squeezed and pulled you while his hips bucked to yours. "T-that's it." He gasps, his large thumbs pressing down into the front of your pelvis, causing a pleasant pressure inside of you that made you mewl.

Ravenous, the holy man watches as you fall apart. Chest heaving, skin flushed, and nipples showing through your tank top. "Look at you, little lamb," His voice purrs. "So beautiful, a spectacle to watch unfurl." Rolling his hips forward, Paul grinds his cock into your core and makes you whine. You are gradually rising now, the friction pushing you higher and higher. Smiling, he smoothed one large palm over your stomach as he moved it onto your breast. "Let me hear you." He pinches your pert nipple between his thumb and index finger, causing you to arch and cry.

"That's it, good girl."

Your face burns. Sweat builds in a thin layer on your skin as the sensation of bursting swells inside of you. Paul lifts off his legs to get a better angle and alternates slow grinds with firm, steady rocks of his hips. Each impact jostles your smaller frame, bouncing you under him and pushing cry after cry from your parted lips. "I-im g-gonna-" It was hurtling towards you full speed. You knew there was no use in trying to fight it. You could feel the burn of his eyes on your face, watching you as you fell apart.

"It's alright, my angel, let me see you."

Paul leaned over you, bucking himself against you just right. Your clit throbs, slick soaking through your panties and onto him as you gasp and jerk. Fireworks spark in your belly as the rush hits you. Your cunt clenches sporadically, your body shaking as you cum. Reaching your hands up, you curl your fingers into his arms, thighs shaking as he continues to grind against you. Paul coos, mesmerized by your face. When you rest back and relax, he leans and opens his pants to spring himself out.

With your head still spinning, you hardly notice him fist his cock. Eyes transfixed on your soaked underwear, the Monsignor inches closer and strokes himself against you. "S-such a messy lamb," his voice shudders with pleasure as his palm slicks across his length. "S-so beautiful." He sounds like he may cry, his dark eyes heavy with lids and lips parted. You look up at him, feeling your heart race at the sight. "P-please father, I need you to cum." Paul jerks, startled by your words and breath stopping in his throat.

That undid him. He bucked against his fist while you pulled your panties to the side. Whimpering and looking down, he groans as he cums. Hot, thick ropes spraying across your folds and fingers. You feel the heat as he drips inside your crease. "O-oh." He bucks one last time, a final spurt landing on your clit and dribbling downwards. Paul looks disheveled, breathless, as he settles down from his own high.

You were ready to speak when he dropped over you, impacting your lips with his own. Paul slips his large hand between your legs, using his nimble fingers to collect his cum and push it into you. You gasp, groaning into his starving mouth as he sinks inside your cunt to the knuckle. "Mh, p-paul-" He kisses your words and swallows them whole, adding a second digit which causes you to shriek into him. He pumps them inside of you, trying as hard as he can to reach your end with his seed.

Mouths and tongues lashing together, Paul slows his fingers right as you begin to buck against him. "So needy tonight," remarked the holy man as he licked over your kiss swollen lips. "I suppose you have been good enough to earn a little more. What do you say, my lamb?" His fingers curled inside of you, applying pressure to your gspot and bladder. Sparks flash behind your eyes, and your back lifts off the blankets. "Y-yes, p-please father Hill." You gasp, struggling to bring your eyes to his. The man flashes his teeth, and his eyes crinkle along the edges. His digits squelch inside of you as he begins to pump them faster.

"Since you asked so nicely." Paul nods, drawing his fingers out while you whine.

The loss of him makes your cuntache. Feeling no need to rush, Paul takes his time removing your sodden underwear and his pants. Carefully, he lays beside you and shifts you on your side, facing away from him. As he closes the distance between your bodies, you feel the cold press of his skin behind you. Paul lifts your leg and kisses behind your ear. "Keep this up for me, please." The delicate tone in his voice makes you throb, and you obey.

You feel the familiar prod of his cock and angle your hips back to make it easier for him. Paul guides his tip to your sopping opening and grunts with you as he presses inside. With a sudden snap of his hips, he submerges inside your heat and bottoms out. The stretch is immense, and you can already feel the tip nudging at your end. "G-god!" Your lip quivers and leg shakes, the muscle burning now.

As if he knew, Paul curls his frigid hand under your knee and holds your leg. Lips kiss at your shoulder as he starts liesurely rocking inside of you. The drag burning your cunt and making you whine. Eagerly, you shove yourself back against him, nearly sobbing each time he pushes fully inside and reaches your furthest depths. You're keening, whining, noisily falling apart for him as he rocks. Paul smiles against your skin, peppering you in soft kisses as he takes his time.

Thunder rattles the wooden frame of the rectory, but you hardly notice. Paul drives himself inside you faster now, spearing every inch of his aching cock deep inside your heat. More sparks are flying now, he's brushing everything right within you. You can hear him grunting and gasping behind you, his breath fanning your skin as he bucks his hips. His fingers dig into your skin as he plaps noisily against your ass. Paul grunts, his movements stuttering and becoming uneven.

It spurs something in you, and you fuck yourself back against him. "P-please, please!" You cry as he desperately stuffs himself inside you. Paul bites your shoulder, muffling his groan as he sinks to the hilt. You flutter around him, your abrupt orgasm taking you by surprise as you clench on his throbbing cock. Groaning louder, he bruises your skin as he empties directly against your cervix, the hot flood of his cum making you whimper and grind into him.

As he calms, he lowers your leg and pulls you into him further by wrapping his arms around you. Paul enjoys the rapid patter of your heartbeat, and he licks over the bitemark he left. You were melting, sinking back into him and closing your eyes as you smiled. "Thanks," you giggle, feeling him pause in licking you. "For distracting me from the storm. I think it helped quite a lot." His chest rattles with a soft chuckle. The two of you remained embraced while it continued to pour outside, safe and warm together from the storm.

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yourlocaldcbitxh · 2 months ago

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How Gotham characters would react to Trump winning the election (for shots and giggles)

A/N: this is me coping, as well as running through how the hell we can survive this

Warnings: Cheeto man and this is also short so no gifs

Oswald Cobblepot

The economy is gonna be so fucked

And as a pretty logical business man himself he looks at trump and goes “what the fuck is he?”

Convinced he’s not human

Gay man and a disabled person

So obviously doesn’t like him and is determined to keep the people he loves safe (little crime lord has a heart)

Edward Nygma

Is being like me and is so surprised that people can be that mother fucking dumb

Him and riddler are just sitting there like “what the fuck”

They don’t kill people unless premeditated so it’s like… so strange for them to see “good people” putting this bitch in charge

Won’t necessarily comfort anyone loved ones but will shit talk trump

Barbara Kean

Never have you seen a woman more mad than when staring at that screen when they announced it

Chucking glasses and screaming and cussing people out

Takes her rights very seriously and will gut anyone who tries to ruin that

Is actually trying to figure out if she can do something about it

Jerome Valeska

His literal entire thing is non conformity so you think he’s gonna like a guy who wants that white picket fence shit?

Hell no

Riots

Riots galore

Will shoot anyone who says anything about the people he cares about if they’re gay and shit

Gets 10 times more intense in his crimes

Jeremiah Valeska

Don’t know honestly

Cause in one case he’s a woman manipulating son of a bitch

But he also is non conforming

So I think he’d be indifferent

Victor Zsasz

Planning his next hit

Will not tolerate that bullshit

Is sad when he can’t

He’s pan sexual so he’s like, directly affected so he’s as pissed as the rest of us

Though he had no hope in the world so he was disappointed anyway

will protect his loved ones

#gotham #barbara keen x reader #dc #edward nygma x reader #gotham x reader #harvey bullock x reader #jeremiah valeska x reader #jerome valeska x reader #jim gordon x reader #oswald cobblepot x reader #election #trump #this bitch

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neuvigroove · 1 month ago

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𝒊 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒇 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊 𝒅𝒐 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒆𝒚𝒗𝒂𝒕.

pairings. childhood best friend!aether x fem reader synopsis. as the abyss queen, you decide it's finally time to put an end to aether's journey. genre/warnings. angst, lingering feelings, best friends to enemies, mentions of death and murder wc. 722 a/n. brb gotta go wipe my tears

[700 years ago]

somewhere only we know - keane "is this the place we used to love? is this the place that i've been dreaming of?"

"aether!" you groan. "you've ruined everything."

the blond boy standing just a couple feet away from you scratches his neck and gives you an awkward smile. "...sorry?"

you throw the juice-stained cloth at him and it smacks him in the face before landing on the floor.

both you and aether abruptly look towards the door when you hear loud footsteps approaching the room. "what is happening?" demands an annoyed-looking lumine.

"aether spilled juice all over my brand new blankets," you whine. "i was so excited to sleep with those."

lumine rolls her eyes and walks out of the room. aether meets your eyes and a laugh spills out of his lips when he looks at your sulky expression.

he nudges your shoulder. "come on... forgive me?"

"no," you glare. "now go do the laundry, you loaf of bread."

you hear aether sigh before you stomp out. "you and my sister are becoming more similar by the day."

[present time]

war of hearts - ruelle "i can't help but love you even though i try not to"

"you've ruined everything," the familiar boy finally says. hearing his voice after all these years brings you a sort of pain that twists your heart until you feel you cannot breathe.

you close your eyes for a moment. just a moment to relive the past.

growing up with the twins. your last journey together. the unknown god separating you and lumine from aether. the cataclysm. becoming the abyss queen.

you allow yourself to let one tear fall. one tear for the boy you once loved.

"y/n!" he shouts. you can see his floating companion peer up at you with half confusion half horror. seems like aether hasn't told anyone about you. but maybe that's just because it hurts too much.

"your journey ends here, aether."

"bring back lumine," he shouts. "i know you're with her!"

you give him a look of pity. "she no longer wants anything to do with you. as do i."

"you liar-"

"wake up, aether! you don't know the truth of this world. nothing will ever be the same, we will never be the same," you shout.

a look of hurt flashes in his wide eyes. then sadness. then anger.

"just bring lumine back to me," he says as he unsheathes his sword.

"it seems you haven't heard a word i just said."

"the abyss queen?" he glares. "i will stop you if it's the last thing i do in teyvat."

aether strikes his sword, lunging at you before you easily dodge his attack and paralyze him in the air. he's unable to move his body no matter how hard he tries. his expression goes taut. "y-you haven't lost your power-"

"i'm not like you, aether." you walk closer to him. "we don't originate from the same world. have you forgotten?"

"you're not y/n. you'll nev-"

"the y/n you knew is long gone," you say softly. "and don't assume lumine is any different. she's the abyss princess after all."

aether doesn't say anything.

"join our cause, aether. become the abyss king. my king."

he struggles to get his words out as his body goes numb. "i will never- be like you."

"it looks like i was wrong about you then. i was a fool to think i'd be more important to you than those stupid lies you've been told."

he can't speak anymore and you can see it in his locked jaw. just kill him now, you tell yourself. he's only setting everything back. he's destroying everything you've worked for.

you grip your power harder against his taut body. he can't move and oh, but he's in so much pain. he's in pain because of you. he can't even scream when he wants to. he hates you. he's going to die because of you-

the hysteria clouds your vision and then-

and then...

you let him go.

aether falls to the ground with a cry.

"you can't stop me," you say. "you're powerless against the abyss. the natlan war was nothing. you are nothing."

"i-i hate you," he pants.

"oh?" a sudden pain fills your heart to the brim. "then let's hope we'll never cross paths again, traveler."

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freesia-writes · 4 months ago

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Ch 39: Finding Footing

Master List ~~ Previous Chapter ~~ WC: 3.3k

Song: “Somewhere Only We Know” by Keane

Somehow, things felt familiar and novel all at once, like pulling on a well-worn pair of boots, perfectly fitted to one’s feet, then embarking on a new adventure.

Hunter followed the familiar path through the trees, listening to Lyra’s feet crunching behind, and took a deep inhale, comforted by the rich scents of wood and leaves, the faint musk of animals, and the even fainter salt of the sea. Sensing watchful eyes on him, he stopped abruptly. Lyra crashed right into his back. With a stumble and a chuckled apology, she peered out from behind him curiously.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“We’re not alone,” he murmured in response, immediately hearing her heart begin to pound in her chest as her body flushed with adrenaline. “Just an animal,” he explained further, feeling her relax slightly as she let out a tiny breath.

“A scary one?” she asked with an almost childlike tone.

“Not if you handle it right.”

“Somehow that’s less than soothing.”

She heard nothing, but he heard every step as a good-sized chriscat slunk into sight on the path ahead of them, head lowered, golden eyes fixed on them. Its shoulders rippled as it moved with painstaking care, large paws spreading onto the dirt as each one was placed slowly in front of the other.

“What do we do?” she breathed over his shoulder.

“Stand tall and don’t break eye contact,” he responded, stretching to his full height. He took a few steps toward it, lowering his own head and fixing it with a stare that gave it pause. A low snarl formed in its throat as it watched him, uncertain. Hunter moved a single arm to his waist, a sliding sound revealing a vibro-blade that glinted in the light, and a growl rumbled from his own chest as he squared his shoulders at the animal.

“Damn, that’s hot,” Lyra said under her breath, and Hunter would have laughed aloud if not for the imminent danger of the big cat currently stalking them.

He noticed its muscles tensing, and his brows lowered as he flipped the knife in his hand, fingers grasping the blade. Without warning, he let out a bloodcurdling yell and flung it at the cat. It spun through the air before burying itself in the tree trunk next. to the animal’s face, and the creature flinched in surprise, scrambling to run away from the sudden, startling attack. Hunter ran after it for a few steps, stopping as he watched it careen up the side of the mountain and vanish into the distance, then he fetched his vibro-blade from the wood with a single yank and tucked it into its sheath on his belt after a quick wipe. When he turned back to Lyra, the mixture of emotions on her face and in her body language was utterly comical.

“I think I’d like to hear more of your soldier stories,” she murmured, residually tense and irresistibly attracted to him all at once. He grinned, strolling back to her with a shake of the head.

“I don’t know if you could handle them,” he needled, earning a little gasp of indignation from her as he resisted the urge to cringe at his attempts at flirting.

“Fair enough.” She broke into laughter, closing the distance between them with a sheepish reach for his hand. He took hers happily, and they continued their stroll toward a favorite spot atop the cliffs overlooking the ocean.

* * *

Fanart by @matookahitaki

“This is harder than it should be,” Hunter grumbled, tensing his legs as he pressed his palms into the ground and arched his head back toward the sky.

“You’re doing it flawlessly,” Lyra laughed, mimicking the pose next to her. He’d agreed to join her in her yoga practice, which she enjoyed on a level spot of soft dirt beyond her garden, near the sea cliffs. They were each on a small mat, and she’d been leading him through the positions, trying and failing not to focus too much on the way his lithe body flowed effortlessly from one stance to another.

They folded themselves downward, hands digging into the earth above their heads as their backsides lifted into the air, heels pressing down as they lengthened and breathed deeply. The sun was low in the sky, filling her backyard with creamy golden light, and the faint calls of gulls over the ocean joined the dainty symphony of the tiny birds that flitted from tree to tree around her cottage. Everything about it was peaceful, and despite the burn in muscles that he didn’t even know he’d had, Hunter felt more relaxed than he had in a long time.

He followed her as she stepped one foot forward between her hands, sinking low and twisting her torso to reach an arm above her, turning her head to fix her gaze on her fingers. A sudden stabbing pinch in his neck prompted a sharp inhale, and he released the pose, settling onto his knees and tilting his head back and forth, rubbing his neck with a grimace. It tightened in protest, shooting pain up his skull and down his back.

“You alright?” she asked, kneeling beside him with a look of concern.

“Cramp,” he muttered, cringing as he continued his attempt to loosen it.

“Ahh, I’m sorry. That’s the worst,” she sympathized. “Can I help?”

“I don’t think so?” It was more of a question than a rejection. She moved closer, sitting up higher on her knees and reaching a tentative hand to his neck. He dropped his own hand, watching her with a sudden focus despite the nagging pain in his muscle. A warm palm pressed against his skin, and he marveled for a moment at the fact that, for once, she wasn’t cold. Then, she moved her hand in one long, deep stroke from his shoulder up the side of his neck, and he couldn’t suppress the shudder that jittered his spine. She pulled away abruptly, biting her lip self-consciously.

“Sorry–” she began awkwardly, tucking her hair behind her ear. He shifted on his knees, the pain having been dulled by his complete distraction at the effect her touch had on him.

“No, it… uh… it helped…” he stuttered, trying to ignore her smile at his flustered appearance.

“I can finish if you’d like,” she offered softly, and he could hear her heart beating loudly in her chest. He nodded, and she returned to his side, a little closer this time, and leaned over him to massage the side of his neck with both hands. He tipped his head away from her, stretching the muscle and opening it up to her, and now it was his turn to suppress a grin at the flush of heat that emanated from her body, accompanied by shallow breaths. She moved in long, steady strokes, one hand after the other, sending waves of absolute bliss through him, and after a few minutes, slowly stilled, dropping her arms to her sides.

“Thank you,” he murmured, rummy and relaxed as he turned to her. Her cheeks were red, eyes averted, and he felt the warmth deep in his own core as well.

“Sure,” she said loudly all of a sudden, sitting up straight and clearing her throat.

They watched each other for an awkward second, then Lyra rose clumsily to her feet, babbling something about needing to start dinner as she walked far too quickly toward her house.

* * *

Lyra walked excitedly ahead of Hunter, picking her way through The Forest with her pack bouncing on her hip. It was early in the morning — a rare time for her to be out from beneath her fluffy comforter — but she had something special planned and apparently thought he was worth it. She followed a tiny trail through the densely wooded area, birds chirping merrily overhead. Hunter walked quietly behind, a small grin on his face being forcibly contained.

“Almost there!” she assured in a singsong voice. The faintest sound of water could be heard up ahead, and as the trees gave way to the bank of the creek, Lyra slowed, searching for something. “Hmm. Hang on…” she muttered, taking a few steps in each direction.

Hunter waited, still smiling.

“Aha!” came the triumphant revelation. “Found it!” She trundled through some bushes and emerged into a tiny clearing. It was tucked high into the cliffs along the edge of the island with an expansive view of the coastline that zig-zagged around them. The water tinkled gently along one side, dripping down stones to the beach below, and the trees came right up to the drop off, providing a lush wall to block the chilly sea breeze. It was warm and quiet, with just enough nature sounds to lull its occupants into tranquility, and it didn’t look like anyone had ever been nearby save for the nimble-footed Kod’yok that roamed in small herds.

She stood in the center of the small clearing, beckoning for Hunter to join. He took his place behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and relishing the closeness as he took a deep breath.

“Give it like two minutes,” Lyra said. “Close your eyes and take it all in. I know you’ll enjoy it even more than me.”

They stood in silence, each allowing the beauty and calm to delight their senses. Hunter loved it. The ocean blended with the hanging flowers from nearby vines to create a light, salty-sweet fragrance, and now it was accompanied by Lyra’s subtle scent that soothed him deeply. The morning sun was not far above the tree line, so the endless waves of the sea were still painted with the glow of the cotton candy sky, yet its golden beams rested on their backs and warmed them through and through. He slowly ran his fingers along her forearms, tracing the curves of muscle and bone and memorizing the little bumps and scars of her life.

The white-tipped crests of the waves were mesmerizing as they rolled slowly toward shore one after another after another. The smooth dance of the sea was a pleasant contrast to the jagged cliffs along the island’s edge, decorated haphazardly with hardy bushes and craggy trees. The ever-shifting colors in the sky were a cherry on top of the majestic vista. And the combination of the crashing waves, nearby bird calls, and Lyra’s quiet breathing all invited him to rest in serenity.

“Wait…” she murmured, digging in her pocket suddenly. “Gotta make sure we get all the senses.” She produced two small candies with a chuckle, offering him one after she’d unwrapped its crinkly paper. “I know, I’m an old lady. Just let it melt in your mouth.”

He acquiesced, noting how she watched his lips as he took the small chocolate, but was soon distracted by just how decadent the treat actually was. It had a rich sweetness that filled his mouth as it slowly softened against his tongue, and Lyra turned back to face the sight before them as though leaving him to enjoy it in peace. He smirked as she closed her own eyes, sharing a private moment with the delicious delight, and as he leaned against her back, arms finding their way around her, he allowed his own eyes to rest, truly impressed at her intentionality to charm his senses as fully as she could.

Her unmistakable pride at having found the spot was unusually strong for her passive-to-a-fault personality, and Hunter was torn between saying something or leaving it be. But then she pushed her luck.

“It’s alright,” she teased, a saucy little glimpse of the spunk that she hid so well. “I’ve had a few years more than you on this lovely island. I’m sure you’ll find some equally amazing, jaw-dropping, awe-inspiring places like this in time.” She’d turned slightly in his arms to face him, regarding him with a smugness that he found irresistible.

“Hm. One can only hope…” he murmured, giving her a squeeze before standing beside her. He leaned his cheek close to hers, heat and intensity between them, and pointed at a nearby tree. It was old and sturdy, twisting toward the sky with endless boughs, and there was one particularly large one that had a cozy seat hollowed out where the branch met the trunk. There was a folded piece of cloth draped over it, though it was so similar to the color and pattern of the tree itself that one would never notice unless it were explicitly revealed.

“What…” Lyra was dumbfounded. “Someone else has been here?! Or is that… what is that?”

“That is the local butcher’s lookout where he tracks the migrating herds and keeps tabs on their populations, behavior, and habits. But it’s also a nice place to relax and enjoy a lot of pleasant elements in one convenient spot.”

“Hunter!” she laughed, shaking her head and smacking his arm before smacking her own forehead. “You already knew about this? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were so proud of yourself…” he began, grinning uncontrollably.

“Well now I feel like an idiot!” she giggled, only partly joking.

“Well hey,” he interjected. “I’ve never brought candy.” She snorted, staring at him incredulously. “And…” he continued, facing her again and touching her cheek with unfathomable gentleness, “I haven’t enjoyed this particular mix of scents… and sights… and textures…” He traced his fingers along her face, her jaw, her neck, feeling the softness of her skin with its slopes and lines, and a supreme sense of contentment settled over him. “So this is totally new.”

She took a deep inhale, having been breathing so shallowly that it wasn’t enough to sustain her need for oxygen, and opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. He brushed a thumb across her bottom lip, the wave of giddy disbelief and growing desire emanating from them both, then with a lingering gaze into her unguarded brown eyes, he lowered his hand.

* * *

“So! Breslin! Tell us about your job on Keytoll,” Phee invited warmly, scooping a large spoonful of rice onto her plate before passing the bowl to Tech. “I’ve met some interesting characters there.”

“I’m not surprised,” Breslin chuckled, breaking apart her small bread roll with her fingers before searching for some butter.

“I got you,” Wrecker said, passing the covered dish to her.

“Thanks, handsome!” she said with a smile, and Hunter smirked at the tiny blush on Wrecker’s cheeks. “To answer your question,” she continued, addressing Phee now as she swiped a bit of butter across the roll. “I didn’t know what to do when I first got there… I’m assuming you all know the circumstances under which I arrived?”

A round of nods.

“Feels nice to have that all out in the open,” Lyra said quietly, suddenly shy at the many pairs of eyes on her and relieved when they returned to her daughter.

“Sweet. So the first order of business was to get some communication equipment. But my chunk of credits was running out pretty quickly. I found a temp job as a nighttime janitor at the local City Hall, which is honestly just a front for all kinds of unsavory characters to make deals,” she chuckled. “I learned quickly to keep my head down. I definitely didn’t see anything suspicious. Nope.” She winked at Echo in response to his knowing smirk.

“You’ve got more sense than most,” Phee chuckled.

“I was scared karkless,” she admitted, casting a quick glance toward Omega, then around the table. “Sorry–” she corrected quickly. Echo gasped in feigned shock and horror, and she laughed at his theatrics. “Okay, got it. Anyway, they realized pretty quickly that I was handy to have around. I fixed a bunch of stuff and tried to be as useful as possible. So they took me on full time, still with the night cleaning duties but also for general equipment upkeep. I made some nerd friends. Joined a “radio enthusiasts club”. And just tried to settle in despite having no idea if or when I’d be able to get in touch with Mom.”

She cast a fond glance at Lyra, who was sitting across from her with Hunter’s chair close beside, and was met with a depth of love that was unmistakable to anyone watching, especially him. The congeniality of family dinners was almost always palpable, and the weekly tradition had become a staple in each of their lives as they came together with gratitude for their safety and serenity. Crosshair’s softened demeanor and occasional snark, Echo’s quick wit and expertise, Wrecker’s enthusiasm and delight with life, Tech’s creativity and thoughtfulness, Phee’s insight and warmth, and Omega’s optimism and kindness all crafted a perfect atmosphere for Hunter to relax into joy and contentment.

Conversation continued as they helped themselves to the thick slices of meat fanned out across a plate, and Wrecker was unabashedly excited to see the platter of roasted vegetables from Lyra’s garden.

“I’ve missed this!” he exclaimed as he scooped nearly a quarter of them onto his plate, ignoring Tech’s exasperated protest that he was claiming more than the allotted percentage for each individual in attendance. Hunter cast a side glance at Lyra, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

He’d missed it too.

“How are the jobs, Omega?” Crosshair asked from the end of the table.

“Great!” she responded with a bright smile. “The nurses at the clinic are so kind and encouraging, and the medical procedures they let me attend are absolutely fascinating!” Phee winked at Tech after nudging his elbow with a warm grin.

“Have you trained with the surgical droid yet?” Tech asked, re-entering the conversation after a private moment with the beautiful woman beside him.

“Only once,” Omega nodded. “He’s got a lot of personality. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to have AZI working with him.” She laughed, memories of their recent scuffle surfacing in her mind. “Sometimes they sound like siblings. But I think he’s happy to have a friend. Well, another friend… I mean, I guess everyone is his friend.”

A chuckle echoed from a few of them, and with the continued clinking of plates and glasses, the rest of dinner flowed by with relaxed conversation and a bit of bickering, as always. The velvet sky spread above them, arching across the balcony patio with twinkling stars competing for attention behind the string lights over the table. As the evening wrapped up, they said their goodbyes and made for their own homes. Breslin was renting a small, one-room cabin behind the local doctor’s house, having opted for her own space but remaining nearby for frequent visits and lunch dates with Lyra. She gave her mom a warm hug before turning toward the path, accompanied by Omega, who had been drawn to her from the start.

Wrecker gave Hunter a knowing clap on the back as he passed him on his way home, nodding toward the sea where the paths split, one leading toward their cabin in the woods, the other leading to Lyra’s cliffside cottage.

“Don’t be home too late,” he said, under his breath, but they both heard him clear as day. Hunter gave him a little push as he continued on his way, his echoing chuckles dancing on the breeze back toward them as they headed for Lyra’s together. Hunter offered his arm. She took it with a grin.

They stopped only when they reached her porch, having chatted quietly the entire way. Hunter was continually amazed by their ability to somehow talk about everything and nothing at all, and when she sheepishly opened her arms for a hug, he slipped his own around her shoulders, relishing the way she rested her head against him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he murmured against her hair.

“Always,” she said softly, and his heart swelled in his chest.

Previous Chapter ~ Master List ~ Next Chapter

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therealcalicali · 4 months ago

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Bring Me The Horizon - Teardrops (Sick New World 2024, Las Vegas, NV)

#bring me the horizon #oli sykes #oliver sykes #matt kean #lee malia #matt nichols #alternative rock music #metalcore #flash warning #bmth

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bananamaxpng · 5 months ago

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Full body

[Just the Portraits]

Our GM is @sloanesmortuary !!

Instagram post edits with these + the portraits i did in Read More - flash warning for the video

Players:

Rin - Me :)

Vince - @tamagoatchie

Jean - @intercrusher

Malik - Kean

Hannah - @h4ise

#vampire the masquerade #my art #original character #there is No a/i mach1ne gen here it's all my sweaty hands

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fanfic-the-wish-your-heart-makes · 5 months ago

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Part 3 Gotham Character Ranked by How Many Flowers They'd Give You + Headcanons 🌹🌸⚘🌼🌺

<-Part 2

Warnings: mention of a canonical death without names, explosives in Jerome's part. Author's note: Warnings on headcanons about flowers? #OnlyInGotham 😂 Also sorry that I it this up like this, it's the only way I could tag everyone ❤

Gives you a huge bouquet: 💐💐 •Jerome Valeska. Yes, it might contain fireworks. Keep a safety distance between it and you. Don't worry though, he'll take your hand and tell you to flee in time. •Victor Zsasz. A bouquet of "actual roses. They're great." •Barbara Kean. She loves to see the looks of jealous girlfriends and befuddled boyfriends when you carry them home.

Gives you even more flowers: 💐🌹🌻🌸🌺🥀 •Ivy Pepper: She gives you potted plants, that way you can enjoy your gift for way longer 😊

•Oswald Cobblepot. He canonically brought a bouqet for the person who killed one of the people he loved the most.

Run before the flower delivery person spots you, there's too many! 🤣😆

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sorrowsofsilence · 8 months ago

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Burning Out • VIII

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader

I was lost, but now I'm found Under the lights and in the sounds So let us sing and sing it loud That we're not perfect, but we're proud of who we are.

Noah Sebastian is lost. His crime-filled lifestyle is anything but perfect; but everything changes once he meets you.

Words: 5.4k

General Fanfic Warnings: 18+, explicit language, smut, alcohol, drugs, violence, mentions murder/suicide, panic attacks/anxiety, nightmares

Authors note: Chapter Eight - Fool Myself (EDITED: 09-03-24)

new? start from chapter one here

THIS IS A FANFICTION USING REAL PEOPLE IN A FICTIONAL SITUATION! I AM NOT IMPLYING THESE PEOPLE WOULD DO THE THINGS IN THE STORY OR ACT THE WAY THEY DO IN THE STORY, IN REAL LIFE! IT IS SIMPLY FICTION, AND JUST FOR FUN! THINK OF THEM AS ACTORS LOL.

Noah turned away from us, shaking his head. “It's none of your business.”

“It is my business now.” Nicholas stood up, positioning himself next to me in a protective manner.

I furrowed my brow and took a step back from Ruffilo. “Can someone please explain what's going on?”

A cynical smirk appeared on Ruffilo's face as he let out a quick laugh, scoffing at the brunette in front of him. “You didn't ask her where you really wanted to take her out, did you?”

Noah ran a hand over his face. “I was getting there.”

I looked between them again before turning my head towards Noah. “Where were you planning to take me?”

Noah licked his lips thoughtfully before turning to me. “I need your help.”

+++++

“Y/N hurry up!” Kiean yelled, his blonde curls bouncing underneath his black hood as he threw the canvas duffle bag towards me, placing his gun between his waistband. He ran behind the counter, typing on the keyboard of the desk computer frantically.

The alarms blared between the walls as I hastily tried to listen to the clicks of the safe, my heart racing as adrenaline rushed through me, my hands sweating beneath the leather gloves.

My breath quickened beneath the full white masquerade mask, the moisture building between the plastic and my skin, causing my chest to heave.

In a matter of minutes, the police would arrive and a shoot-out would begin.

‘k-12 to k-11’, Kean screamed over his walkie, my senses completely overloaded as the mixture of sounds rang through my ears.

‘k-11 to k-12, over.’

‘status of the doors?’

I looked away from the safe briefly towards the glass front doors, watching as the other masked figures held the rifles pointed towards the blocked exterior. I turned back as I anxiously flicked between the code, seconds being wasted the longer I failed to open it.

‘blocked.’ the voice responded.

‘hostages?’ Kiean asked.

‘detained.’

My gaze fell upon the huddled figures crouched on the ground, their bodies curled up in a defensive posture as they trembled with terror. A second group of armed men loomed over them, pressing the barrel of a rifle against the skin of a woman who fought back with her words, resulting in a deafening chorus of screams as one of the men fired his gun.

I closed my eyes, wishing to wake up from this nightmare.

But it was real.

“Is that fucking safe open yet?”

My blood ran cold as a shiver ran through my spine, the voice of my bad decision stopping my fingers mid-turn.

A gloved hand gripped the back of my neck and I looked up at the mask that mirrored my own, the only skin was his piercing green eyes that glared at me, filled with outrage. My lungs could no longer suck in oxygen as I gasped for a breath, desperate.

“You have ten fucking seconds to open that door, or I'll blow your brains out, you pathetic piece of shit.”

His fingers tightened around my neck, and I fought back tears as I watched in horror, trying to nod beneath his grip.

"Kade!" Kiean barked. "Leave her alone!"

Kade glared at me with disgust for a moment longer before releasing me, allowing me to gasp for air.

I used to be captivated by his green eyes.

+++++

Y/N

I perched on the edge of my bed, ending my phone call with my boss by blaming a bout of food poisoning. It was a classic excuse. I picked up the plastic mask and ran my fingers over the years of shame it represented, causing memories from my past to resurface in my mind. Noah was aware of some parts of my story, but not the whole reason why I had left my old life behind. Even though I knew he would most likely still accept me, I was too scared to tell him. The thought of sharing my full story with him made me anxious, and for now, I couldn't bring myself to do it.

I think I lost my mind Everything I knew came falling down Anything I build comes crashing down

I was trying to leave my old life behind…but I knew I was experienced enough to help him.

However, I knew that this was going to tie me right back to those I left. If I helped him, I would be stuck in the never-ending loop again. They would find me.

I'm pleading, "God, not now" Save me from my sins before I leave Free me from the weight so I can breathe

But for some reason, I was willing to do anything for Noah.

Why?

I was clearly fucking crazy.

The more I fool myself The more I feel it creeping in I think I lost my mind again

+++++

NOAH

Y/N and I agreed to go tonight.

I was scared to ask her, especially after Ruffilo confronted us. I did genuinely want to take her out on a date. I wanted to spend time with her.

But I did need her help.

I outlined the heist plan and to my surprise, she agreed without hesitation. The look on her face left me puzzled. I was anticipating some resistance, but she simply took a deep breath and seemed lost in thought for a moment before nodding and saying she needed to gather a few items.

Her reaction was peculiar; it almost seemed like she was struggling with conflicting thoughts. Was she torn between her morals, knowing that what we were doing was wrong? Or was there something else going on?

I quickly sent a text to Vincent informing him that I would meet him immediately after the heist to sell the drugs, around midnight.

“See you then, Sebastian. Same spot.”

Hope coursed through my veins as the plans fell perfectly into place. I quickly grabbed my backpack and gear before rushing up the stairs to Y/N's room. I knocked on the door as I pushed it open, revealing Y/N sitting with a party mask in her hands. It was a simple white plastic mask with a beautiful black masquerade design spiralling around the eyes. I studied her expression as she continued to stare at the mask, flipping it around in her hands. Something about it seemed familiar, but I couldn't quite place where I had seen it before.

“Do you want one of my masks?” I asked, sitting next to her on the mattress, assessing the plastic she traced her fingers with as if recalling a memory.

She took a shaky breath as she declined, turning to face me and giving me a curt smile, “This one works fine.”

I watched as Y/N’s shoulders began to shake in what I assumed was nervousness, and I placed a hand on hers that held the mask, “You don’t have to do this with me.”

She jumped lightly at my touch, leaving me confused before pulling away.

“I promised I would help you, Noah,” she said, getting up from her seat and grabbing her backpack.

Y/N pulled out a walkie-talkie from the bag, tossing one to me. I raised an eyebrow as I caught it, surprised to see such a high-tech radio in her possession.

“When did you get these?” I asked, almost laughing at the old-school equipment.

She shrugged nonchalantly, zipping up her backpack as she eyed me once more, “A long time ago. I'll give one to the boys too so we can stay connected. They can keep track of what's happening on the sidelines.”

I nodded as I placed the device in my cargo pants pocket. Y/N moved around the room, gathering various items before turning back to face me.

“Do you have extra clothes underneath your black outfit?” She asked with a serious expression that sent chills down my spine.

I turned my head to look at her, standing up from the bed, “No... should I?”

She nodded, raising an eyebrow as if it was obvious, “Yes, and grab another hat too.”

I gave her a curious look and followed her command, heading to the spare bedroom to grab some fresh clothes. Once we had everything we needed, we stood at the front door, ready to leave. Ruffilo was waiting for us by the stairs, his arms folded as he analyzed us before giving Y/N a tight hug and then turning to me.

"Stay safe out there. I'll be tracking you," he said with a nod, his concern evident in his gaze toward Y/N.

"Don't forget to keep your phone and my laptop on, with the password being Juice," Y/N reminded Nicholas, who nodded and gave her a thumbs up in response.

"Why?" I asked Y/N, surprised by their close relationship.

"You never know when you might need backup," she replied with a smile, but I could see the worry behind her eyes, which only heightened my own anxiety.

We exchanged nods before waving goodbye to Nicholas and leaving through the front door. The cool air hit my face, reminding me that this was happening - Y/N was coming with me. Was this truly a good idea?

We got into the van, with me in the driver's seat and Y/N in the passenger's seat.

"So," Y/N started as I pulled away from the curb and drove down the street, "I've never been to this pharmacy before and I have no idea how many cameras there are."

"Folio said there shouldn't be any inside since it's an old place, but there are probably two outside," I replied as I turned down the music in the car.

Y/N nodded in understanding, "Then we should park on Twelfth Ave so we're far enough away from any cameras near the pharmacy."

I hummed in agreement as I took a deep breath. Her knowledge and strategic thinking impressed me. "You seem to know what you're doing."

She briefly glanced at me before looking out the window, watching the city pass by. "I've seen enough movies."

I chuckled, my fingers tightening around the steering wheel. "I guess so."

We rode in silence for most of the trip, with soft music from the radio filling the void. As we approached Twelfth Ave, I parked on the side of the road.

"Ready?" I asked Y/N.

She hummed as she peered out the window, looking for cameras before giving me a nod.

“We’re good. Masks on before we get out.”

I laughed, cocking my head to the side, “Isn’t this my mission?”

She smiled at me, “Of course; but you asked for my help.”

“Touche,” I slipped the fabric over my head as I pulled my hood over. The car doors slammed shut and we began walking down the sidewalk, Y/N’s hands now governed with gloves.

“Walkie is set to channel 14?” She asked me, double-checking hers before clipping it to her belt.

“Yes,” I chuckled, reassuring her with a glance.

Y/N nodded, walking ahead of me quickly, “Ok. Before we hit the 13th street we need to check for more cameras, especially on the buildings across the street. Then scope out a place we can hide behind to change once we’re done.”

I blinked rapidly, surprised by her knowledge and instantly curious. I followed closely behind her, obeying her every command. As we reached 13th Ave, my eyes followed hers as she scanned the surrounding brick buildings, pointing out a camera across the street.

"That one has probably already seen us," she said, her voice hitching in her throat.

I instinctively pulled her back and turned her to face me. "What-"

"Let me finish," she cut me off, breathing heavily from behind her mask. "I need to call Nicholas."

The woman next to me dialled Ruffilo's number on her phone. Y/N grabbed my arm and led me to the side, between two buildings where we were sheltered by bricks.

"Hey, Ruffles," she whispered into the phone. "Yeah, everything's okay. I need your help with the cameras, can you get my laptop?"

I watched with curiosity as she spoke quietly into the phone.

"Log in to my computer and click on the blue app on my desktop, the one with an eye icon- yes- that one."

She glanced at me before looking down at the ground. "Password is Kade. K-A-D-E. All capitals."

Kade?

I felt my heart skip a beat at the mention of that name. Kade. Why did Y/N have a password with that name? And why did she seem so hesitant to say it out loud?

Y/N continued her hushed conversation with Nicholas, giving him instructions on how to access some kind of surveillance system. I tried to piece together what was happening, but my mind kept circling back to that name. Kade. It stirred something in my memory, but I couldn't quite place it.

Y/N held the phone closer to her ear, frantically beginning to pace, “OK, now I need you to type the address of Noah’s tracker into the box on the bottom. Grey box.”

My brows furrowed in confusion as I watched her actions. It was some serious spy-level stuff, and I couldn't understand how she knew about it or why she was doing it. It was making me question how well I actually knew Y/N. "Type in the IP address, including the zeros. Then click on the red icon that appears on the right."

“It’s asking for another password.” I could hear Nicholas on the other side of Y/N’s phone faintly.

“Try Kiean. K-I-E-A-N.”

“Nope.”

Y/N was silent for a moment, and I watched as her chest heaved beneath her black zip-up. She hesitated for a moment, as if the words were unable to escape her lips, “Try- try my name and the date 06-13.”

“Yeah, that worked. Now what?”

June 13?

I gazed into Y/N's eyes, trying to gauge her reaction behind her mask. Her eyelids were starting to glaze over with tears. "Okay, now click on the box that should have appeared," I instructed, my voice shaking slightly. "You'll need to enter this code... are you ready?"

I heard Nick hum and Y/N began spitting out random letters and numbers, “qqp;//0-0-0:879230/live.”

“Then put in Noah’s IP, and then continue with ‘.off/GO113MODULE=shutdown.”

What the fuck?

“Ok. That did something?”

“Did a timer pop up?” Y/N asked hastily, before eying me.

“Yeah- it says 7 minutes and it’s counting down.”

"Perfect. Thanks, Ruffles. Call me when two minutes are remaining.” Y/N hung up the phone before grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the ally towards the pharmacy.

“The cameras are down. We only have seven minutes to pull this off before the alarms alert the police.”

I had so many questions, but I could only stare at her in confusion and admiration.

We arrived at the pharmacy door, and I reached for my crowbar from its place on my back. I struggled for a moment, gritting my teeth as I pulled on the door.

Y/N mumbled, “Push instead of pulling. It's faster.” So I followed her instructions, and the door swung open within seconds.

“How did you know-”

But she paid no attention to my question and walked past me as the piercing sound of the alarm filled the street from inside the pharmacy. Adrenaline surged through me as we dove into action, quickly scanning shelves and frantically grabbing items to stuff into our extra backpacks. Heading towards the back of the store where the prescriptions were kept, I could feel my heart racing with every second that ticked by on the alarm clock.

Y/N followed my lead and quickly vaulted over the counter, squeezing herself between the tightly packed shelves. She scooped up different bottles and packets of pills, throwing them into her bag with practiced speed.

"You know what you're doing," I yelled over the blaring alarm, flinging bottles in every direction, trying to be as efficient as possible.

Y/N glanced at me but focused on her task, ignoring my question.

I leaned closer, grabbing her arm as she went for a bubble pack of pills. "How do you know all this from movies? The camera hack? What the hell?" I knew it was probably not the best time to interrogate her, but I couldn't help myself.

"Can you please shut up?" She seethed between gritted teeth, narrowing her eyes at me in frustration. "Right now, Noah, the cops could show up any minute. Focus on getting the money instead of worrying about me."

She snatched her arm away from my grip and moved to the other side of the counter, making her way to the cash register. I watched in amazement as she used a crowbar to pry open the drawer and gather the cash inside.

I shook my head in a mixture of disbelief and respect. Maybe taking Y/N along on this heist was a good idea after all.

Her phone rang and we both looked at each other, our eyes meeting through our masks. "Two minutes until the cameras turn on, we need to go!" She shouted over the blaring alarm.

I nodded in agreement before remembering one of the main reasons we were here: to grab her medication.

"Wait!" I called out, turning around. Diazepam, Adderall, Zolpidem.

My eyes scanned frantically through the shelves, searching for the specific medications. Adderall. Check. Diazepam. Check.

“Noah!” Y/N screamed, her arms raised as she stood at the door. The store alarm beeped in the background, accompanied by distant sirens that signalled their impending arrival.

“Wait- shit!” I bellowed, frantically searching through the last section. My gloved hand slid along the shelf as my heart raced with anticipation until I finally found what I was looking for: Zolpidem. Check. Y/N hovered near the door, her head swivelling between me and the outside world, peeking around the corner to see if any cops were approaching.

Snatching my bag from behind the counter, I stumbled slightly over the mess we had created but quickly caught myself. We sprinted out of the store and I grabbed Y/N’s arm, pulling her along with me.

My ears continued to ring as we ran and Y/N started pushing into me.

“Here,” she urged, pressing into my side as she led us down an alleyway further down the street.

“Take off your clothes,” she commanded with a heavy exhale, throwing her hood back and ripping off her mask as if it were a disgusting layer of skin.

“Can't it wait until we get home?” I tried to joke, but she glared at me without amusement given our current predicament. As my attempted smile faded, I barely registered the tears streaming down her cheeks as she took off her hoodie and pulled a pink one out of her bag. She threw on a pair of sweatpants over her shorts that were hidden beneath her jeans and knelt to put on a pair of white Converse.

I followed suit, quickly shedding my clothes before slipping into black and white shorts and a white hoodie. As I struggled to put on my vans, I hastily shoved everything back into my bag.

The sirens grew louder, the flashing lights bouncing off the surrounding buildings. We were filled with panic and as soon as Y/N was ready, I grabbed her hand and we ran down the alley together. I scanned the walls for a way out and my eyes landed on a ladder. I tugged at it to make sure it wouldn't collapse before starting to climb.

Y/N followed behind me and once we reached the top of the building, we paused for a moment to catch our breath. She watched me closely before I took off running again. The rocks and debris on the rooftop crunched under my feet as I sprinted, checking over my shoulder frequently to make sure Y/N was still with me and unharmed.

We reached the edge of the roof and surveyed our options. We were surrounded by tall buildings with no clear escape route. The wailing sirens from below urged us to make a decision quickly. My eyes landed on another nearby building with a ladder and ledge attached to it, but we would have to jump to reach it. It seemed risky, but it was our only option.

"Do you trust me?" I asked Y/N, catching my breath, as I looked into her mesmerizing E/C eyes illuminated by moonlight. She gave me a determined look and held out her hand in complete trust.

"Always," she whispered back, squeezing my hand firmly. Feeling reassured, I turned back to face the building ahead of us.

"Follow me," I said, giving her hand a final squeeze before letting go and preparing myself to jump.

With a deep breath, I leaped off the edge of the building, feeling the air rush past me before grabbing onto the ladder and pulling myself up. Once I was secure, I looked up at Y/N and gave her a thumbs up.

She hesitated for a moment, surveying the drop below us. But then she made up her mind and with determination, she followed my lead.

We cautiously made our way across the narrow ledge before reaching the end. I looked down and assessed our next move.

"Okay, we can swing off that pipe over there and onto the top of the dumpster. Then we run," I instructed Y/N, preparing myself for another jump.

She let out a small laugh, "Parkour?"

"Piece of cake," I matched her tone, trying to hide my nerves. "Just watch me." I took a deep breath and launched myself off the edge towards the pipe, landing safely on top of the dumpster. Y/N followed suit, laughing and out of breath but still determined to escape. We ran as fast as we could, adrenaline pumping through our veins as we fled from the approaching danger.

I gingerly walked across the narrow pipe, carefully distributing my weight and using my hands to maintain my balance as I made my way over the dumpster below. Once I was directly above it, I knelt and tested my grip before letting go of the pipe and dropping onto the plastic lid on top of the dumpster.

Y/N followed suit, but her fear showed as she hesitated while hanging onto the pipe with her eyes squeezed shut. "C'mon princess," I encouraged, "I'll catch you."

After a brief moment of consideration, she let go and I caught her in my arms, pulling her close to me. I held on for a moment longer than necessary, feeling grateful to have her by my side, but we still had a mission to complete.

We slid off the dumpster and landed on the cold pavement with a thud. Without hesitation, I grabbed Y/N's hand and we sprinted towards our getaway van. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins more powerfully than any caffeine rush ever could, making me feel truly alive with Y/N at my side.

As we reached the van and climbed inside, locking the doors behind us, we both sat silently catching our breath. My eyes flickered over to Y/N and she turned to face me with a wide grin plastered on her face.

"Damn," she exclaimed, "we did it."

I couldn't help but laugh along with her, feeling proud of what we had accomplished together.

"I can't believe that worked," I chuckled, my throat dry from exertion.

Our laughter died down and I turned to fully face her.

"Yeah..." She trailed off, her smile fading slightly as she seemed lost in thought.

"How did you-" I started to ask before she cut me off abruptly.

"I don't want to talk about it." Her response was curt and dismissive as she began to shut down once again now that the adrenaline had worn off. Her eyes remained fixed straight ahead and I watched her with confusion and concern, a million questions racing through my mind.

What was wrong? And how does she know so much?

As I started the car and gently revved the engine, I knew Y/N didn't want to talk about what had just happened. But I couldn't help but comment on her actions, "What you did back there was beyond impressive. Even I wouldn't have been able to do it."

Y/N remained silent, turning her body away from me.

"You've done this before," I stated with certainty.

Y/N's head snapped towards me, "Noah," she said my name angrily.

I licked my lips in annoyance, dropping the subject for now, "We need to visit someone before we head back."

She swallowed hard and nodded in silence.

As I drove, my mind raced with thoughts. Y/N clearly wasn't being truthful about her past. I recognized that mask from somewhere before. And I could tell by her skills that she must have pulled off some kind of heist before. Who was Kiean, anyway?

Thoughts consumed me until we finally reached the pier. I abruptly stopped the car near an alleyway and turned off the engine, grabbing my mask.

“Put your mask on,” I said, and she nodded, reaching into her bag. I watched as she placed the mask on top of her face and I followed with my own before we pulled the hoodies over our heads once again. I waited for Y/N to get out of the car, watching carefully as she closed the door.

I quickly grabbed her replacement meds from my bag, sliding them into the glovebox before grabbing both our backpacks. I slid out of the car, and walked next to her.

I leaned over, whispering, “Stay behind me, don’t say anything,” and Y/N nodded, trailing behind me as we walked down into the alleyway.

It was quiet, the only sound was our footsteps and distant traffic. I stopped Y/N with my arm before we walked any further down the cement, waiting.

Y/N breathed heavily, and seconds later we heard him.

“Sebastian!” Vincent’s voice boomed through the brick walls.

I cautiously kept my distance as he turned the corner, exposing himself. He walked towards us and flipped a coin between his fingers, tilting his head slightly as his eyes immediately latched onto Y/N. She stood behind me, almost hidden.

“a friend?” His voice raised slightly in question.

I instinctively held out my arm to shield Y/N from danger, but she pushed past me and stood by my side. Vincent immediately stopped flipping his coin when he saw her, a look of recognition in his eyes as he focused on the masked girl standing beside me. He seemed completely entranced by her, and I felt a pang of unease in my stomach at the way he stared. Y/N and I exchanged glances, both of us visibly shaken. A deep chuckle rumbled from Vincent's chest before he spoke, leaving me confused by his words.

“We live in a twilight world.”

Y/N stiffened beside me, silent for a moment before responding.

“And there are no friends at dusk.”

I turned to her, my mind racing in confusion. The tension between them was palpable, almost suffocating. It was clear that there was some sort of connection between them.

She recognized him. He recognized her.

But how? How could they know each other?

Then it hit me - the mask.

Vincent looked away from their eye contest first, the shine of his grillz radiating once he smiled at me.

“What do you have for me? Other than an oh-so-riveting friend.”

I brushed off his question about Y/N and swung my backpack off my shoulders. I unzipped it in front of him, exposing the numerous bottles of pills inside.

“Looks like quite a score,” Vincent chuckled, letting out a low whistle, “But I don't have enough money on me for all that.”

I tried to hide my disappointment, “Then what can I get you?”

“I brought the same amount as last time,” He gestured towards the bag, “Do you have any more Adderall? And maybe some zolpidem and diazepam?”

Don't worry, I'll be lost in echoes Be laughing on my own It's tragic, but it's the only life I know (Only life I know)

My breath caught in my throat as my eyes began to widen, and I stared at him.

“From whatever that name was- Y-N? Something?”

My body froze, immediately afraid to look in her direction. From my peripheral, I saw her remain perfectly still. Too still.

What should I do, what should I be? (I'm at a turning point right now) I'm so full of rage, too blind to see

“Uh- n-no.” I stammered, taking a step back as I avoided Y/N’s gaze, “I have a few opioids.”

Vincent shrugged, smiling, “Ah sounds good.”

I looked at the bag as my hands began to shake.

“I’ll take those today for twenty-five hundred. But uh, bring the others next time. They sold great. I’ll offer thirty-five hundred,” Vincent said, reaching into the bag to assess some of the bottles.

I swallowed harshly as I nodded, “Yeah- I’ll get some of those.”

Vincent whipped out his testing kid, assessing each of the bags and bottles before pulling out the cash.

“Thanks for the transaction, Sebastian,” he said with a nod as he handed the bundle to me. He then turned to Y/N with a taunting smile and licked his lips before saying, "I'll see you at the beginning, friend."

Y/N nodded back at him before quickly turning away and heading towards the car.

As she walked away, I stole one last glance at Vincent who was watching curiously.

"Take care," I said in a conflicted tone before jogging after Y/N, who had disappeared from view in the alleyway.

She was already sitting in the car, her mask tossed onto the dashboard as she stared blankly at her lap.

I sat down in the driver's seat, too afraid to say anything when I saw how defeated she looked.

The words that escaped her lips sounded broken and strained. "I trusted you."

My heart pounding in agony as she fixated on her lap with disappointed eyes. I swallowed harshly, panicking. As my heart hammered the only question that left my mouth was Why.

I wanted to blame her as if it was her fault for trusting me. As if she’s the one who made me steal her drugs. Part of me wanted to grab her shoulders and shake some sense into her, my body fighting the urge to shame her for being so kind.

The more I fool myself The more I feel it creeping in I think I lost my mind again

“Why would you trust a criminal like me?”

As soon as the question left my lips I had sunk into the seat of the car, shame taking over. I was never meant to be the good guy.

The more I start to fall The more I don't see me at all I think I lost my mind again

Her eyes lowered, suddenly feeling small and unsure. "B-because?" She stuttered, "You're not a bad person, Noah."

But I am. It's my fault for taking advantage of her.

"Why did you do it?" She asked, still fixated on her hands.

"Why else?" My hands ran over my face in frustration, "I need the damn money. It's not like I do this for fun."

I keep seeing myself at the end of a yellow rose, consumed by guilt and regret. This feeling is unfamiliar to me, like a seed planted deep in my bones.

My soul turned its back on me as I burned bridges with my actions. Just another wasted human burdening this skin.

"I tried giving you other options - like the bar or a job at the cafe," she rambled, gesturing wildly as she explained.

"And I'm grateful," I reached out towards her arm, but she pulled away and pressed herself against the window defensively.

My hand fell back in shame, "but it's still not enough. It's hard to make money when it's just me doing these jobs."

"I understand that," she said, crossing her arms and hugging herself, "but I told you I would help."

And it pulls me further from the point that I belong And all you wanna do is take me, break me, hide me away Or you can shame me, blame me, burn me at the stake on a lie 'Cause my own mind wilts at the thought of being alive And that I'd like it if I tried

Whispering, she said, “You didn’t have to go behind my back. You could have just asked me.”

“I- the reason I did this specific robbery,” I explained, opening the glovebox in front of her to reveal the plastic bottles, “was to get your medications. That’s why I’ve been so distant.”

She looked at the orange bottles with a detached expression.

“I’ve been consumed by guilt ever since, barely able to even look at you,” my voice began to rise, “How messed up am I? To do something like that to you, knowing that those meds are supposed to help you?”

I shook my head in frustration and slammed the glovebox shut, causing Y/N to jump.

The more I fool myself The more I feel it creeping in I think I lost my mind again

“Y/N,” I whispered now, “I am so sorry I did this to you. I am so sorry I dragged you into this.”

The more I start to fall The more I don't see me at all I think I lost my mind again

Chapter 9

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