#but its against my religion to make a full fic to answer an ask

[messenger-of-stupidity]

plspslsspsl pls write more Imp!Vega x Pet stuff I am out here starving and licking any crumb on the floor i can find plspsllsspsl tag me palsoslslslslsl /nf /lh

IM JUST A POOR BOY I NEED NO SYMPATH-

@t4llhum4n

---

Vega walked down the narrow hall. So much had changed within a few hours. Which had been the goal, but Avior was lamenting. He spoke of meeting with Sovereigns, of making a deal with them. Vega frowned.

There was nothing good about Sovereigns, just as there was nothing entirely bad. But making a deal with them was dangerous. More so than Avior was aware of.

It was something to worry about at another time. He walked the hall until arriving at a door. He would have liked to use magic to keep it sealed. To keep it safe. But if things didn't work out, he needed the door to be able to open. Time to see if they obeyed.

Vega opened the door slowly. He didn't want to startle them. He could already taste their fear through the door. Bitter and burning. Normally he enjoyed the taste, but not from them. Never from them. He stepped into the room, his eyes easily finding the curled up figure on his bed. They had wrapped themself in the blanket he only used when they were with him. He told them that they were the only ones he was willing to surround himself with softness for.

Pet. He said, watching as their eyes pulled up to meet his. They had been crying. He recognize the red puffiness around their eyes, the slight swell to their cheeks. He frowned and moved closer. They rarely made the first move, always waiting obediently to see what he wished from them. Which wasn't usually a problem - preferred, actually - but right now... he could use their touch. No hesitation or reluctance. Not that reluctance had ever been part of the equation.

"Is... Is it over?" They asked, their voice hoarse. How long had they been crying, without his arms holding them? Without the pleasure to accompany the tears? He sighed and sat down next to them.

Nothing is ever over, Pet. But for now, it is over enough. He answered. The room fell quiet and he looked up at the stars kept on the ceiling by his magic. They followed his gaze, chewing on their lip.

"...I watched them." They said, the hoarse voice breaking the quiet. He glanced over at them, a brow arching. "I watched them in case they disappeared. So I would know."

Sweet little thing that they were, watching his magic to know if he would die. He moved a hand, taking their jaw in his grip to turn their face towards him. Tearstained and swollen and too soft for their own good. So much had changed in the past few hours, but that had remained the same. He leaned closer, resting his forehead against theirs. He could see the corners of their lips twitch. A ghost of a smile, like they always did when he touched them.

They brought you comfort then? He asked, and he frowned as they nodded a little. Their nose brushed against his. It was still strange to think that a human took comfort from his magic. He already knew what he had been able to do for them, but this had been different. None of his presence, his body, his voice. Just his magic had brought them comfort in a time of uncertainty and unrest. Good.

"Something's wrong, isn't there?" They said after a moment. Vega's hand left their jaw, tracing down the slope of their neck to their shoulder. Down their arm and moving over to their waist. He tugged them closer, pulling them into his lap, straddling his thighs. They squealed softly as he did so.

Nothing is wrong, Pet. He responded, feeling every year of his age. Every year that so many of his kind forgot. Every year that had been turned into myths and stories to tell for a lesson. His hands trailed to their thighs, feeling the warmth of their skin through the clothing. He kept his forehead against their's, eyes gazing into their vulnerable gaze. Maybe that's part of the problem.

Their nose wrinkled, confusion filling their sweet expression. Of course they would be confused. If nothing was wrong, then of course there wouldn't be a problem.

You change my existence, Pet. He added. It didn't alleviate the confusion, but he wasn't finished either. Then again, he didn't hold much hope for them understanding either. He didn't really want them to understand either, to taint their simple view with the centuries of mistakes he had been privy to. You find comfort where others find fear. You find pleasure where there is pain. You find safety where they only know danger.

They inhaled sharply, pulling from air he would never touch. He could feel their chest expand with the breath, pressing against his own. Their heartbeat in their ribs against his own silence.

"They don't know you then."

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ All the graces from Heaven

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: Arthur and you enjoy a steamy morning at Strawberry's Hotel, much to the outlaw's delight. ✦ Warnings: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Oral (both reader and Arthur receiving), 69, a bit of fluff if you squint, porn without a plot, Arthur is more of a high/mid honor but loses it and gets a little bit rough, established relationship. ✦ Words: 2,6k ✦ a/n: Yeeeaah so. This is basically a 69 fic, it's pretty filthy and a bit less figurative than my usual works. Just pure smutty smut. I hope you'll enjoy it still! Pic is mine, not proofread! And as English isn't my first language, prepare for some misspellings.

The bedroom of Strawberry’s Hotel is filled with chuckles, and full of scattered clothes on the floor. Leathered boots, two shirts tangled together, jackets and holster belts thrown away messily on furniture. As a lighthouse in the middle of the sea, a black gambler hat stands tall hung on one of the bed's huge footboard legs over this tide of abandoned clothing.

Above it, the old wood creaks as two people mess with each other under the blankets, threatening to make the worn hat fall from its perch. Both are nude as the day they were born, and glued to each other as if they were wearing the other one’s skin.

You and Arthur had quite a time, last night. And since you had woken up, it was nothing but sweet words, cuddling and tickling. Teasing each other had become a private religion between you both, his sarcastic comments always met with a witty answer from you. It made him love you even more.

“Come on darlin’, stay.” Arthur’s deep voice asks you, as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, his nose impregnating with your smell, eyes closing on their own.

He feels good, there. It's in these simple shared moments, those laughs you sew together, those fingers and body you intertwine, those deep and dreamy conversations about your brighter future you share that Arthur finds his remedy. As if after all this life of surviving and fighting for a greater cause, a bigger picture, it was the simplest of things that appeared like an epiphany to him when it came to happiness.

You being the main source and Messiah of most of these humble pleasures, of course. His personal angel.

“You know I can’t. You may have the morning off for once, but I have somewhere else to be. Hosea needs me at the Tracker’s Hotel for a job.”

Arthur doesn’t hide his annoyance and grumbles against your skin, something about “Damn jobs always in the way” and “ The old man can wait a lil’ bit more.”

It makes you smile. As tempting as staying in bed all morning with a naked Arthur seems, especially considering how you can feel his fat cock feeling so soft against your hip, you feel self-conscious about leaving Hosea alone on your mission. You turn your head to the side to kiss your lover’s head, his sandy locks tickling your nose.

“Alright tough guy, time to go.” You decide before getting up in a sitting position, then crawling to the end of the bed to grab your ungarments.

“Not so fast, lil’ missy.” He objects with a low chuckle, obviously enjoying this little chase after you.

Before you can reach your aim, Arthur snakes his hands around your thighs and pulls you back to him in a quick and powerful motion, handling you as if you were the lightest feather, which makes you let out a squeal of protest mixed with surprise.

His laugh resonates for a second and then, he freezes. You had ended up on all four on top of him, but usually, your face was turned to his. This time, Arthur's nose is met with your plump rear, your chest to the other side, just above his crotch. You can feel his body, underneath you, getting tensed. This gigantic, massive, muscled body, so big and tall that his chest feels larger than a tree trunk between your spread legs. What was innocent playing for him just seconds ago had turned into a needy tension between the both of you. The air suddenly feels thick and a silence settles, a tense calm on the shore before a Maelstrom.

Your blouse and Hosea are a long time gone when you realize you can feel his breath on your pussy, the sensation making you shiver. You try to get up from the position, thinking he wouldn’t like to have his face shoved in your intimate parts, but his hands grip tighter and stop you, grounding you in place. You turn your head to him as much as you can considering your situation, taking an interrogative look at his face above your body.

His cheeks are red. Dark red. His eyes are fixated on your entrance, throat swallowing with difficulty. His bust rises and falls heavily, pectorals muscles swelling up before relaxing and rising again. He sighs, and you feel it again, hot air all against you, all against your now aroused and needy slit.

“We hum… We never tried like this…” He starts, voice low and suggestive about what he's implying, his hands traveling from your thighs to grab your ass, one hand for each cheek. They’re so big and firm, and feel so good there, as he squeezes, again and again, driving himself crazy as he admires how the perfect heart shape of your rear looks all squished under his fingers.

“You sure you want-”

Before you can even finish your sentence, Arthur answers it by pressing his lips to your pussy, exhaling through his nose and tightening his fingers on your flesh. This man always had such huge self-control for every dangerous situation known to mankind, but right now, it seems like he couldn’t resist taking a bite when having your perfect cunt under his nose…

A sharp and depraved noise leaves you, making his body burn like redden coal, his mind consumed more and more by your whole being and the simple feeling of your wetness all against his face. His whole universe reduced into this touch, lips against flesh, saliva mixing with arousal. Your sinful nectar and his.

“God, honey!” You whine, back arching without your permission, body moving backward to him, searching for more, needing more.

“Taste so goddamn good… Never gonna have enough of ‘this…” He rasps between a few more kisses to your folds, as a praise or a statement, you’re not sure, and he’s not either as words just flow through him and he lets them out without a drop of restraint or reflection. A rough, unstoppable river. That's how he feels every time he eats you out.

His tongue slowly slips out of his filthy mouth and licks your folds, slowly, tortuously, from bellow aaaall the way up to the inside of your ass. You could have been scared of not being clean enough for him or feeling nervous about his face almost buried in there, but the sound, the moan he had made suppresses all these anxious thoughts all at once.

You have to face the obvious: he’s loving it.

“Aah- Arthur…” Your hips roll against his face, desperate for some more friction, unsatisfied and so aroused by his teasing.

“You go on moanin’ ma name like that and am gonna come without ya even touchin’ me, darlin’.” He warns you, voice hoarse, lips mumbling against your folds, his beard and mustache tickling you just the right way.

You answer his words with a deep sigh, the filth of them burning you to the core. He laps at you the same way again, in one then two long and slow licks, as if savoring you like the finest whiskey he would have tasted. A mewl leaves your lips after each one of them. You’re starting to get impatient, and he knows it, he knows you after all those intimate moments. He stops his lips right at the entrance of your core and gently slides his right hand between your thighs.

The way he has to fold his arm to touch you there isn’t comfortable for him, his bicep being way too big to be crushed like that; but hearing you, feeling your thighs clenching and the appreciative words you let out when his fingers land on your sensitive bud is worth this slight pain. Always putting other’s needs before his own, always being devoted and loyal, always finding happiness in being useful, that was Arthur’s nature. And the bed was no exception to it.

“Was you not supposed to go somewhere?” He asks cockily in a falsely innocent tone, brimming with sarcasm and smugness.

“P-please, Arthur… Quit the teasing, for God's sake…” You ask, trying not to sound too pitiful, probably failing at it.

“A lil’ needy after all, ain’t ya? Ma sweet girl…” He coos, and you can feel his lips stretch into his usual grin, his heart gorging with pride and excitement to have this sort of impact on you.

Bending to your wishes, his fingers start to rub and trace tight circles on your clit as his mouth makes love to your pussy, his tongue delving in as deeply as he can, and the pleasure finally hits you like an earthquake. It feels so good, so damn good, your breathing quickly turning into loud moans.

Your head snaps back forward, and your body pushes your rear up all against him as a cat who would stretch after a nap. Arthur hums in delight and appreciation, unable to speak but encouraging you still. He increases his pace, his digits quick and sharp and so precise against your sensitive spot.

Your face falls down as every fiber of your body hardens, and that’s when your gaze is caught on his cock. Your pussy clenches hard around his tongue just by the sight of it.

It looks so hard and swollen that it must be painful for him. His hips buck forward into nothing, his member almost hitting your chin, with every lick of his tongue inside you. His round and reddish tip is leaking, pre-cum spurting out even more than usual, flowing all the way down into his dark curly pubic hair. His pants would have been completely soaked if he was wearing them.

You're salivating.

It would have been cruel to let him like this, right?

Focusing on him to try and not collapse from your own pleasure, you suddenly press your chest against his belly and take his cock inside your mouth without any warning. The taste of him, this strong saline flavor, fills your mouth.

“Damn!” Arthur shouts in surprise, momentarily parting his lips from yours, fingers slowing their pace. “Jesus, girl!”

This time, it’s your turn to grin, as much as you can, considering how big Arthur is between your lips. You don’t let him any time to think or protest, knowing he would insist that you’d come first.

The way you're crawling on top of him makes it even simpler for you to suck him off, your head naturally placed at the right angle on top of his crotch, and you take advantage of that. Finding support on the mattress with your arms, hands gripping his legs, you bring your mouth up and down hard and fast, sucking his shaft with such vigor you can feel his body squirming underneath you.

“Ngh-! Darlin’! S-stop, slow down! I ain’t gonna last like this!” He tries to plead but his words are drowned in a flood of groans and harsh sighs.

Despite what he’s saying, his body acts in the exact opposite way, hips jerking, cock shoving into your throat at the same time you’re working him. He tries, he really tries to keep on pleasuring you back while you work him, but he feels like he’s completely losing himself, unable to do anything else, to focus on anything else at all.

Your breasts pressed against his belly, his face buried in your pussy and ass, each of your thighs surrounding his head, and your goddamn mouth around his cock, this devilish tongue sliding all around it… He's completely losing his head. It's like being drowned in an Ocean of You. It’s too much. It’s way too much at once for a simple man. A simple, weak, mortal man feeling like he’s receiving every grace of Heaven all at the same time.

His basic instincts win the best of him. His arms are now wrapped around you, pulling you flush against his body, a hand back on your ass cheek, the other on your neck, spurring you into moving your mouth just like he needs to.

“Oh, shit! Yes, go on, go on, take it!”

You've rarely seen him losing his temper like this. He's usually gentle and soft, patient with you during sex, savoring the moment, making it last as much as possible, playing you like an Andante movement from the most sophisticated piece of a symphony.

Right now, he's unchained and rough, rushing to the Grand Finale without minding about false notes, drunk from you and the sensation of warmth he is feeling on every edge of his body; face, chest, cock, every inch of him merging with every inch of you.

He groans all against your pussy, as your saliva drools from this erratic pace. His fingers grip your head and ass tighter as he chases his high carelessly, already coming, way too soon and fast for him. His cock stiffens even more as he fucks your silky mouth, veins gorging with blood, tip throbbing in the back of your head.

“Aaah- Damn… Good… Girl!” He growls loudly with a thrust of his hips after each word.

The last one is followed by a loud and throaty whine, higher-pitched and vulgar, the kind of sounds he would usually let out when being hurt.

He shuts his eyes in a pleasured-filled frown as he pushes his face even deeper between your legs and, more from instinct than anything else, sucks hard on your cunt while he comes, lost, so lost in a sea of primal bliss and pure organic pleasure. His large body burns and tenses one hard final time, and you can feel the path of his cum traveling along his length against your lips as he releases inside you.

It fills you, his saline and strong taste blinding your other senses, cum as hot and sinful as his state, and you exhale with satisfaction as you swallow both this remnant of his ecstasy and the last drops of his sanity.

Arthur falls back heavily on the mattress, completely spent, his sweat staining the white sheets, his hands loosening their grip. Before removing them from your body, he allows himself a playful little spank on your butt as he speaks again, a revenge not strong enough to his liking for your sneaky move.

“Jesus, you’re… completely wild...” He sighs, his heart slowing after having beaten like war drums.

He’s still panting, mouth open and covered with a mix of this sweet cocktail of saliva and arousal. He licks his lips, feeling so satisfied, the sensation of your body everywhere on his skin still vivid and present. Like a stamp of black, indelible ink that has left its mark on a blank sheet of paper.

“You really enjoyed all this, didn’t you?” You ask back while getting off him, legs a bit shaky, your throat starting to feel a bit sore from the intensity you had chosen to go with. “I haven’t heard you whine like this for a long time…”

“I don’t “whine”.” He scoffs, knowing damn well he did, and suddenly feeling ashamed of the sounds he had made and guilty for the rough behavior he had displayed. His negative feelings are soon brushed off though, thanks to your beautiful and mischievous smile enlightening him.

“Yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that. I’ve still got ears to hear, Mister.”

“Hush. Now come here, 'gonna make ya feel as good and miserable as me from finishin’ that fast.”

His eyes burn with that fire he has. The one reserved for you and the excitement and adrenaline of action. You already know there's no way you'll walk out of this bedroom without being completely satisfied.

“Tonight. I’m already way too late to-”

“Now.”

The piece of clothes remains abandoned on the floor as the bed creaks again, that old gambler's hat only witness of Arthur's payback to you.

After all, he never liked leaving a job unfinished.

--

tagging some people who were interested in the scenario! : @amyispxnk @a-court-of-valkyries @fleouris

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Temptation Chapter 1

Summary: Father Barnes is devout, steadfast, and undeterred by flirtatious congregants.  So why does this fallen angel tempt him so?  You cannot serve two masters.  Will he choose God, or his heart? Here's the Priest!Bucky x curvy!reader fic! I hope y'all like it. Warnings: eventual smut; religion (yes it's a warning); mentions of past sexual assault

Next chapter

“Father Barnes, I have some unfortunate news.”

Bucky turned towards his senior priest, Father Richards.  “Yes?”

“Constance Y/L/N has just passed away.”

“Oh,” Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed as he processed the news.  “How sad.  I mean, she was getting up there in age but, still, a great loss.”

“Yes, it is.  Her funeral arrangements will be handled by her granddaughter, Y/N Y/L/N.  She should be landing into town tomorrow, I was hoping you would be willing to pick her up at the airport and bring her to Constance’s home, then schedule a meeting about the arrangements and the service?”

“Of course, Father.”

That’s where Bucky found himself now, waiting in the baggage claim area of the airport with a sign in his hand that had her name written on it.  He had no idea what she looked like or knew anything about her.  As he looked around, waiting patiently, a woman came through the door that made him do a double take.  She was beautiful, short and curvy, dressed in a long black dress that she kept stepping on, covered by an oversized, long, black and ripped sweatshirt that read “WOMEN RUN SHIT” in red embroidery, Converse sneakers that peeked from under her dress, with long pointy nails and her pink hair piled atop her head, held up by a black scarf.  She had very little makeup on except for a dark, blood red lipstick that Bucky couldn’t seem to stop staring at.  She looked around until her eyes fell on Bucky, read the sign, and gave him a polite smile as she headed towards him.  Bucky gave her a polite smile back as he tried to hide the panic he was feeling inside.   

“Father Barnes?” Y/N asked as she approached him.

“Yes, Y/N Y/L/N?”

“That’s me,” she flashed him a full smile, making her teeth look stark against her lipstick.  

“Is this all you have?” Bucky asked, looking at the purse and backpack slung over her shoulders and the large rolling suitcase she had.

“Yep, don’t have much.  Thank you for the ride.  I haven’t been to Brooklyn since I was a kid and I just didn’t wanna deal with the hassle of a taxi or Uber.”

“It’s no problem.”

Bucky tried hard to not stare at her or even look at her too much.  He had been a priest at his parish for 15 years, and had never had a moment where he felt like he was being led astray, like he’d always been warned about during his seminary years.  He felt secure in his promises and covenants to the church and to God.  And yet here was this woman, who just waltzed into his life on a chance, who he was feeling something very strange towards that made him question his life.  And he didn’t even know her.  Sinful.

“So what do you do for a living?” Bucky tried to break the ice as he drove silently, weaving through the New York traffic as best as he could.

“I’m a traveling photographer,” Y/N said as she watched the buildings and bridges fly by.  

“Really?  That’s interesting.  How did you get into that?” he asked.

“Um, it just kinda fell into my lap, I guess,” Y/N answered, giving him a glance.  “I grew up in Brooklyn, went to the church and everything with my grandmother, but at 16 I decided it wasn’t for me and went through a bit of a rough patch for a while.  Started taking pictures as I went from place to place, posting online, and gained a following.  Here I am, 16 years later, getting paid to go places and take pictures and give travel advice.”

“Wow,” Bucky breathed.  “Where’s your favorite place you’ve been?

“Well, traveling as a plus sized person has its challenges,” she started, shifting in her seat.  “The place that I felt most comfortable was the Leeward Islands, so Bora Bora, Tahiti, those areas of French Polynesia.”

“Very tropical,” Bucky commented.

“Ha, yes,” she giggled.  “A big reason why I loved it.”  She paused and looked at him.  “Have you ever been on a beach like that?”

“No,” Bucky answered.  “A beach at a lake when I was a kid, but nothing quite as pretty as crystal blue waters,” he glanced at her, giving her a lopsided smile.

“Hm,” Y/N watched him, a sad expression flitting across her face.  “That’s too bad.  There’s really nothing like it.”  She paused again, a mischievous grin pulling at her lips.  “A pretty thing like you on a sandy beach in Bora Bora would do wonders with the locals.”

Bucky’s eyes widened at her compliment.  He cleared his throat and swallowed as he tried to relax the blush that filled his cheeks.  “Thank you for the compliment.”

“Anytime, handsome,” she teased him, huffing out a laugh at his expense.

Bucky wasn’t blind to the fact that he had attractive features.  He’d been hit on too many times to count by the women, and some of the men, in his congregation throughout the years.  Some tried harder than others, the idea of a forbidden love or lust-driven “corrupting the priest” sounding appealing.  He’d been able to squash those easily.  He could of course see or recognize when people were attractive, and occasionally had the fleeting thought of “what if?”  But it sounded different coming from her for some reason.  

“I mean really, if the priests looked like you when I was in church I would have paid more attention.”

She said it in such a deadpan tone that Bucky couldn’t help but to fully laugh.  She joined him in laughing as they finally pulled up to her grandmother’s brownstone home.  Bucky helped her hoist her large luggage up the stairs.  Y/N grabbed the key from the hidden spot that the estate lawyer had told her about and let herself and Bucky in.  She wheeled the luggage off to the side as she looked around the foyer.

“Almost exactly the same,” she muttered.

“Y/N–”

“You know, it’s just very strange for me to call you Father,” Y/N interrupted him as she whirled around to face him.  “What’s your first name?”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up.  “Oh, um, it’s James, but I always went by Bucky.”

“Bucky?” Y/N repeated it, looking confused.

Bucky silently reveled in how she said his name.  “My middle name is Buchanan, don’t ask me why,” he joked, making her snort.  “Bucky for short.  I just always went by that rather than James when I was younger.”

“Well is it alright if I call you Bucky?” Y/N asked hopefully.

Bucky really should have said no, that it’s not appropriate for people to call him by his name rather than his title.  Yet he found himself saying, “Yes.”

“Great.  I’m sorry I interrupted you, what were you going to say?” 

“Well, my senior priest, Father Richards and I would like to set up a meeting with you to go over the funeral arrangements.  When would you like to do that?”

“Sure, um…” Y/N got distracted by something in the foyer.  Bucky followed her eye line to the large cross her grandmother had mounted above the door.  She sighed heavily before meeting his gaze.  “How about tomorrow?  10 a.m.?”

“That sounds great,” Bucky agreed.  “Well, is there anything else I could help you with while I’m here?”

“No, thank you.  You’ve been very helpful,” Y/N gave him a tight lipped smile.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Great, see you then.”  Bucky turned away and out the door, unable to handle being in such a close space with her anymore.

As he got back into the parish car and drove back to the church he heaved a heavy sigh of his own.  This is going to be dangerous.

***

The next morning Bucky found himself taking more time to get ready.  He was trimming his beard, redoing his hair in a bun and repeatedly straightening out his Roman collar and his shirt.  He knew why he was doing it but was in deep denial.

Father Richards was waiting in the main office as Bucky went out to the sanctuary to see if Y/N had shown up yet.  When he walked in he easily found her sitting on one of the pews.  Today she wore a long, fluffy cardigan with a sports bra and flowy lounge pants.  She wore no makeup and her hair looked like she’d just rolled out of bed.  

“Good morning, Y/N,” Bucky greeted her as he approached.

Y/N was staring at the large cross at the front of the sanctuary with the statue of Jesus hanging on it.  Her eyes slowly turned to him, a frown on her face that she tried to hide quickly.

“Good morning, Bucky,” she greeted him, her voice sounding scratchy.  “I’m sorry I look a mess, the jet lag is making me feel rough.”

“I understand, it’s alright,” Bucky gestured for her to follow him.

He led her back into the hallways of the church until they reached the main priest’s office.  Y/N paused for a moment outside the office door as Bucky held it open for her, before she inhaled quickly and stepped through the door.

“Miss Y/L/N, my name is Father Richards,” Richards held his hand out, which she stiffly shook.  “I’m sorry we couldn’t meet under more pleasant circumstances.  May I offer my deepest condolences to you.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said somberly.  She sat on the chair in front of the large wooden desk.  Her eyes settled on one scuffed spot on the desk as Father Richards and Bucky sat across from her.

“So, let’s get started,” Father Richards began.  “I’m sure you know your grandmother was a big supporter of the church.  She gave us some of our largest donations over her lifetime.  She had some instructions she left with me but I wanted to make sure everything sounded good to you before I enacted them, or if there was something left in her will that I wasn’t aware of?”

“The will and everything else is stuck in probate court right now,” Y/N answered, her tired eyes trying to focus on him.  “So honestly, whatever she told you is fine.  Doesn’t really matter to me.”

“I see,” Father Richards said, sounding a little annoyed.  Bucky glanced at him.

“Please don’t mistake my indifference for not caring,” Y/N retorted.  “I loved my grandmother, I just didn’t love her religion.  And that caused a rift between us.  I haven’t seen or spoken to her in years, so I was pretty surprised when I got a call from a lawyer in New York telling me she’d died and left me everything,” she continued, her words getting more curt by the second.  “No offense to either of you but me being here is highly triggering.  So is there anything else you need from me?”

“Uh, yes,” Richards tried to recover the conversation, his tone sounding more jovial.  “She did ask that you sing at her funeral.”  

“Absolutely not,” Y/N spat, her eyes narrowing as she minutely shook her head.

“Oh, well, I mean that’s what she wrote here–”

“No.”  

Bucky watched on in concern.  He knew the church came with a lot of baggage for some people, that its history was unclean.  He worried about what this would mean for them as she worked with them for this funeral.

“Hm, of course you don’t have to, but she always said how you had a lovely singing voice–”

“I said no,” she seethed.  “Now if you’ll excuse me,” she stood suddenly, Bucky and Father Richards copying her.  “I need to go.  Just call me if you need something else.”  She rummaged into her cardigan pocket, pulling out a wallet and taking out a business card, flinging it at them on the desk.  “Good day.”

She turned on her heel and hightailed it out of the office.  Father Richards and Bucky exchanged a bewildered look.  “Go,” Father Richards instructed.

Bucky jogged out of the office to catch up to Y/N.  “Y/N, please wait!”

Y/N sighed loudly as she turned back around to Bucky.  “I’m sorry for my rudeness, I just can’t stay here,” she said, continuing to walk away. 

“Hey,” he jogged around her until he faced her.  “Obviously there’s some deep problems you have with the church.”

“No shit Sherlock,” she dodged him, heading towards the front doors.

“And I don’t blame you!” Bucky walked alongside her.  “There have been bad things that have happened in its history.”

Y/N stopped abruptly as she rounded on him.  “To ME!” she pointed a finger towards herself.  Bucky stopped, his eyes widening at her.  She was shaking as she tried to calm herself.  She took a deep breath and a step back from him.  “I appreciate that the church has given you comfort, peace, a purpose maybe, but I grew up here,” she paused, stopping herself from crying.  “Father Carmine was here before you two, right?”  Bucky nodded his head slowly as he watched her.  “He hurt me.”

Bucky felt his heart plummet.  He had met Father Carmine many years ago as he and Father Richards were transferred in to replace him.  He had had an amazing rapport with the community, his congregation seemed to love him.  Now Bucky knew the reason for his sudden retirement.

Y/N scoffed.  “That notch on the desk?  In the office?  That’s from the heel of my shoe,” she took a step closer to him as she peered up at him, a fury in her eyes that made him feel like withering on the spot.  “My Mary Jane shoes, from my school uniform, when I was 15 years old.”  Bucky felt like he was going to throw up as he digested this information.  “So you’ll have to excuse me, if coming here to the place where I was abused and then unbelieved by the woman who raised me who I now have to bury, is dredging up some pretty raw emotions in me right now.”  Y/N was whispering now, her eyes filling with tears as she glared at him.  “Every cross, every Jesus statue, every rosary, every goddamn Roman collar,” her eyes flickered to his neck, “reminds me of that day.  So the fact that my grandmother was willing to still hold her funeral here in this godforsaken place, and then have the audacity to throw her money at me and ask me to sing?”  Y/N shivered violently as she grunted.  “I can’t…”

Bucky didn’t know what to do as he watched her fight off an oncoming panic attack.  “Y/N, hey…look,” he started to take off his Roman collar.  She watched him hesitantly.  “See?  Look, just me.  Not Father Barnes, not Father anything, just Bucky.”  He held his hands up towards her in a sign of meaning no harm.  “Constance was extremely devout, for sure,” Y/N scoffed again, rolling her eyes.  “But that was no excuse for her not to believe you,” he took a step forward.  Y/N’s eyes narrowed at him.  “You deserved to be believed.  You deserved justice, and you never got it.  I’m so sorry,” he took another step until he could reach out and hold her arms.  He lowered his face so he was eye level with her.  “I’m so sorry for what happened to you.  You didn’t deserve it, no one deserves that.” Y/N’s tears finally fell as she shook in his hands.  “And I’m sorry for Father Richards pushing you, he’s a very…no nonsense, regimented kind of guy.  But he should have taken your refusal the first time.”  He squeezed her arms and she took a shaky breath.  “We’ll follow her instructions, get through the funeral, and then you can be done with this place.  And go enjoy a long vacation on a beach in Bora Bora for me.”

Y/N laughed at that, her smile finally breaking the sadness etched in her face.  She wiped her eyes as Bucky dropped his hands from her.  He felt like his palms were stinging from the sensation of touching her.  “Thank you, Bucky,” she sniffed.  

“No problem,” he smiled at her.  “I know this isn’t a great place for you, but I hope you know that I believe you, and I’m here for you.”

Y/N gave him a long look, her eyes roaming his face momentarily.  She nodded and turned to leave, then suddenly turned back around and walked up to him.  She wound her arms around his waist and gave him a hug, squeezing him.  He barely had a chance to hug her back before she stepped away and walked out of the front doors.  Bucky watched her leave, already missing the way she smelled.

**picture if from Pinterest, it's A.I. so there's no "artist" or "creator"**

[wowbright]

Fic: A Council in Heaven

Klaine Advent 2021: qualification

Words: ~2800 words

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: Blaine’s day with Elder Clarington gets more interesting.

I’m back with more vignettes from my Mormon!Klaine universe for Klaine Advent 2021! This vignette is a continuation of Begging the Question; it picks up right where that one left off. Blaine is working with Elder Clarington for the day and they are meeting with an American woman named Jennifer who knows a lot about the church but isn't interested in joining.

My Mormon!Klaine Masterpost.

Notes: Korihor is a philosopher in the Book of Mormon who argues against the existence of God. (So he’s a bad guy!) If you have any questions or typo corrections, feel free to use my ask box.

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“Jennifer,” Blaine said, taking what might be his only chance, “are you looking for answers?”

Jennifer shrugged nonchalantly. “To the big questions? No, not really. I don't think we can actually know the mind of God or what happens after we die. I mean, there might not be a God at all. I believe there is one, and I have faith, but I don't have the need to know. Does that make sense?”

Blaine began to nod.

Elder Clarington blurted out, “No. Not at all. We're telling you there’s a road map for how you can travel through your life and get to heaven, and you say you don't want it. You'd rather wander around lost? If you wanted to get from Munich to Stuttgart, you'd use a map, wouldn't you? Otherwise, you'd never get there.”

Jennifer smiled in a way that reminded Blaine of his high school algebra teacher, who looked thrilled every time anyone in class tried to come up with the answer for something, especially if they were dead wrong—not because she gloated in their mistakes, but because talking about your mistakes was the only way to learn from them. 

“The difference is we all know Stuttgart is real,” she said. “There’s enough information out there to verify its existence even without going there. You can read about it in books, you can look it up on the Internet, you can see it on maps, and generally, the information is going to be consistent. Whatever you find is going to point to the same city with the same history and the same architecture in the same part of Germany. 

“That's not the case for heaven. No one describes heaven the same way. You guys have three heavens, unless you count the premortal existence, in which case you have four. In Islam there’s one paradise, where you get to eat a lot of figs and hang out with your family; in Hinduism you disappear as an individual and join the mind of God; in some forms of Christianity heaven is full of singing angels and gold streets. Other Christians, along with the Baha’is, think it's just basking in the presence of God. In Judaism there is no heaven, or if it exists, it's not the point. Buddhists have a bunch of heavens, but no one stays there forever; you just hang out in a heaven for a while until you're reincarnated. And the Zoroastrians believe you need to cross a bridge to get there. So sure, you're trying to provide me a road map to heaven, but what if the heaven your map points to doesn't even exist?”

Okay. So Jennifer knew enough about Mormonism to know about the premortal existence, which meant she knew a lot. But then she also knew about all these other religions, some of which Blaine had never heard of. What on earth did they have to teach her? She’d clearly done her homework and knew what she believed. If God needed her to join the church, the Holy Ghost would have told her to by now.

Elder Clarington shook his head. “The difference is that all those other creeds are abominations in the Lord’s sight, while our church has the truth. And we know it's the truth because it's not vague or namby-pamby. Like, if God is a loving father, he's going to give you clear instructions on how to survive and thrive, and that's what we do in our church. Where in all the other religions, their scriptures are vague or open to interpretation, and they have all these sects and divisions because even though they all share the same scripture, they can't agree.”

“Don't the Mormons have sects, too, though? Like those polygamist break-off groups in Colorado?”

“That's different,” said Elder Clarington. “They're apostates. They're not valid denominations.”

Jennifer nodded patiently.

“Jennifer,” said Blaine, “did you study religion in college? Or for a master’s degree?”

“I took a few courses. Mostly it's just a hobby. I'm actually in Germany to do post-doctoral work in microbiology.”

Elder Clarington sighed loudly. “Sometimes the learning of men can distract people from spiritual truths. You can read about religion all you want, but unless you bring it to Heavenly Father and pray about it the right way in faith, you won't be able to find the truth.”

“Yeah,” said Jennifer, “that's kind of the problem, though, isn't it? From what I understand of the church’s teachings, I have to do everything ‘the right way’ in order for God to speak to me. I have to pray in a specific way, get baptized by someone with the proper priesthood keys, go through these very specific ceremonies in the temple, and follow a litany of other rules plus anything the prophet or apostles come up with twice a year at general conference. Those are a lot of hurdles to jump over.”

“Of course,” said Elder Clarington. “It's like applying for a job. If you want to be a... microbiologist, you need to have certain qualifications. it doesn't matter how nice of a person you are or how much you need the money or even how good you think you'll be at the job. There are certain things you need to know and do before you can fulfill that role. It's the same thing with heaven. God can't let everybody into the celestial kingdom because not everybody has done the things that qualify them to get there. But through Joseph Smith and other prophets, he's told us exactly what we need to do to earn those qualifications.”

“So, is God our Heavenly Father or our boss?” asked Jennifer.

“Both,” Elder Clarington said with way too much confidence.

Jennifer was silent for a moment. Elder Clarington made gloating eye contact with Blaine.

“That’s … sad,” Jennifer said, sending Elder Clarington’s expression from gloating to confused. “I don't know how your dad raised you, but my dad didn't raise me that way. Sure, he and my mom set rules for my own safety and the safety of people around me. But it wasn't, ‘in order to live in this house, you need to do this, that, and the other.’ I didn't have to do anything to earn his love or protection. I just had to be me.”

“He sounds like a great dad.” Blaine felt a sudden need for a handkerchief. Good thing he'd started carrying one in his blazer pocket. He dabbed at his eyes. Elder Clarington glared at him. Oh, great, Blaine was never going to hear the end of it if he was visibly moved by some Korihor’s story about a loving father who was clearly a lot better than his own. “Sorry,” Blaine sniffled. “Allergies.” (It wasn't a lie if it wasn't a complete sentence, was it?)

Elder Clarington stood up swiftly. “Well, I'm sorry you feel that way, Jennifer. You’ve been presented with the truth, but clearly you've been getting other information that's brought confusion to the whole issue. Now, I understand that you've already read the Book of Mormon, but I feel prompted to give you this new, clean copy without any bookmarks or notes written in it so you can read it fresh. When you sit down to read it, just throw all that stuff out about other religions and listen for the Holy Ghost speaking to you through these scriptures, okay? I promise you if you do that, you will see the truth of the gospel.”

Elder Clarington thrust an English Book of Mormon in Jennifer's face. She made no move to take it at first, but after several seconds of him dangling it there, she gave up and said with a forced smile, “Who can say no to something free?”

“I'm glad you said that, Jennifer. Jesus himself taught, ‘If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.’ Freedom comes from following the teachings and ordinances of the church, which come from Jesus Christ himself.” Elder Clarington turned to Blaine. “We need to go now.”

Blaine had no desire to leave. He liked Jennifer. She was making him think about things he’d never really thought about before—or maybe he had thought about them, but never put them into words. She was right: It was weird that a loving father would set up a bunch of hoops for people to jump through in order to get closer to him.

Whenever this thought had occurred to Blaine before, he had justified it by remembering that back in the premortal existence, human beings had voted in favor of these hoops. Heavenly Father had presented the Plan of Salvation to all the premortal spirits. He told them that they would go to earth, obtain physical bodies, forget their premortal lives, and be given free agency to live as they saw fit. Although they would have a choice, wrong decisions remained wrong, so they needed some way to learn what was right. Heavenly Father would accomplish this by sending prophets to teach them right from wrong. They could then choose to accept or reject those prophets. And because every child of God would inevitably commit sin once on earth, and all sins need to be punished, Heavenly Father would accept the sacrifice of one of his children to pay for the sins of all the others. Children who acknowledged this sacrifice and followed God's laws and ordinances could then be reunited with Heavenly Father in the celestial kingdom after they died.

There was another plan presented at that meeting. Lucifer stood up and proposed that, by removing agency from the children of God, he could prevent a single soul from straying. They could all reunite with Heavenly Father after death.

The spirit children of God took a vote. Most of them voted for God's plan and against Satan’s, and those were the souls who were sent to earth. That meant no one had the right to complain about it, because they had already consented to it. Blaine, Jennifer, Elder Clarington—in the premortal existence, they had all seen the wisdom of the plan and accepted it. If it seemed flawed to Blaine now, it was only because he was looking at it through his physical eyes and not his spiritual ones.

But what if …? Blaine shook his head. He was thinking too much. He needed to focus on the work of the moment.

“Thanks for meeting with us, Jennifer,” Blaine said, shaking her hand. “Good luck with your German, and here—our number, in case you have any new insights.” He handed her his card.

“Insights,” Elder Clarington muttered under his breath as they left through the gate. And then, further down the street and hopefully out of Jennifer's earshot, “Insights, Elder Anderson? Is that what you call the garbage she was spewing?”

“I said ‘new insights.’ Like, if she comes to understand that the Book of Mormon is true.” Though Blaine wouldn't complain if she called to share more of her heterodox thoughts about God and heaven.

“I'll pray for her,” Elder Clarington said, “but I think maybe she's too far gone. Her ideas about fatherhood—can you believe what she said? That being a father and being a boss or somehow innately different roles? What does she think it means to be a patriarch? Each home is a kingdom, and the father is the highest authority in that kingdom.”

“Maybe she doesn't get that part of the church.”

“Well, she seems to have read up on everything else.” Elder Clarington shook his head. “I mean, really. A patriarch sets order in the family. He's not just there to give hugs and kisses. Scriptures say to bring children ‘up in the nurture and admonitionof the Lord.’ My dad, he's a great patriarch. Taught me discipline and honor and that actions have consequences. My goodness, the idea that a father is supposed to continue to put a roof over your head even after you go against his rule? My dad made it clear to all the boys in my family: if we didn't go on a mission, we had to move out of the house and live on our own. No paying for college, no helping with rent, no job in the family business. Right before I left, he said, ‘Come back with honor or don't come back at all.’ Now that's what the Gospel is about. It’s about order and righteousness. If your kids go into rebellion, they're out. Just like happened at the War in Heaven. Everybody who voted for Satan’s plan went the way of the devil.”

Wow. No wonder Elder Clarington was so messed up. Blaine's dad was hard-nosed, but even he had never made threats like that.

But if the story about the war in heaven was true, then Elder Clarington’s dad was only following the model of Heavenly Father, wasn’t he? Heavenly Father created a plan. His children could choose to do what he wanted or what they wanted. He wouldn't stop them from making their choice. But if they made the wrong one, they couldn't live with him anymore when they went back to heaven. They were kicked out of Heavenly Father’s house, just as Elder Clarington dad had threatened to do to his own sons.

Why hadn't there been a third choice? Jesus had spoken up during the Council in Heaven to offer himself as the one who would die for humanity's sins. He was the oldest son and the only one that Heavenly Father really listened to. What if, in addition to offering himself up as a sacrifice, Jesus had said, “Hey, dad, if I'm taking on an excruciating, infinite punishment for everyone’s wrongdoing, is it really necessary for them also to follow a bunch of arcane rules and regulations in order to return to you? I get if some sins are too big for you. Serial killers and rapists and architects of genocide probably don't belong in the celestial kingdom. But does everyone really have to get baptized following a certain formula of words? Does everyone have to make covenants with you in the temple, even when the closest temple is a thousand miles away? Does everyone have to get married in the temple, even when you've created them not to love that way?”

In his mind's eye, Blaine could see the scene. It was like an enormous courtroom with Heavenly Father in the judge’s seat and Jesus standing before him, petitioning him like a lawyer. Behind Jesus was the entire throng of humanity, hoping their older brother could convince Heavenly Father to see common sense. Satan and his minions were sitting at the prosecution’s desk, grumbling. And Heavenly Mother… Where was Heavenly Mother?

As many times as Blaine had pictured the Council in Heaven, this was the first time he had noticed Heavenly Mother’s absence. Jesus noticed it too. “What about mom?” the Savior said, looking around the court room and failing to find her. “Doesn't she have any say in this? Is she really okay with you separating her from so many of her children for eternity? Does she have a plan we can vote on?”

“Elder!” A pair of fingers snapped in front of Blaine’s face. “Are you even listening to me? I have authority over you. You need to respect me.”

“Sorry,” Blaine said. “I got distracted for a moment.”

“I bet you did. I saw how you were looking at that Jennifer chick back there.”

“Wh-what?”

“Fine, she was hot for somebody over forty, but not worth losing your focus over. Especially considering what a Korihor she was.”

Korihor! Was Blaine psychic, or was Elder Clarington simply that predictable? Blaine thought maybe he should make a bingo card for the next time he was forced to do splits with this guy. “She didn't say anything against Christ, Elder Clarington. There's hope for everyone.”

“Tell yourself what you want, Elder Anderson. But as far as I read the Plan of Salvation, there isn't. ‘Narrow is the way which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.’”

“Jesus also said, ‘I came not to judge the world, but to save the world,’” Blaine said.

“Well, duh,” Elder Clarington said. “He didn’t judge others during his earthly ministry. He’s saving that for later, when Heavenly Father gives him the priesthood keys.”

Blaine didn’t respond. Elder Clarington was impossible. Trying to get him to see beauty was like throwing pearls before swine. He chewed it up and it came out the other end, damaged and soiled.

[fruitymimi]

My Darling - Light Yagami x Reader

Reader is a detective taking over the Kira case and Light likes being called Kira...

A/N: ok so yall... this might be a little much but im testing some other things like the posession and what not in this fic... cause i wanted to make free bird sort of dark, but i didn’t know if yall were comfortable with that. lmk tho. and before i even put it in the warnings, light mentions the reader calling him “my god” and this in no way is to disrespect any religion or make anyone uncomfortable. purely just light yagami’s god complex.

Also I promise I’m gonna write Free Bird soon, just tell me how dark I’m allowed to go with it cause... I can give y’all crazy Hawks..

warnings: DEATH NOTE SPOILERS even tho its been 14 years, light has reader call him “my god” and kira, lots of degradation, mentions of ryuzaki’s death, light and reader talk about light’s relationship with misa, so this includes cheating and talk about cheating, i think thats all? ill update if i notice anything else

pairing: Light Yagami x Reader

words: 3307... the way this is the longest story i’ve posted...

“It just doesn’t make sense. Why would Kira leave such a big opening for us both?” Y/N squinted their eyes, looking down at the table full of supposed “evidence” that was left after Ryuzaki’s death. Y/N was the only person Ryuzaki truly trusted to take his place, even though he always said he trusted Light, he still had his lurking suspicions. 

“Maybe Kira wanted someone to find out..” Light said, looking at the back of their neck, his lip caught between his teeth. He’d always felt this way about Y/N, always had a hidden lust for them ever since he first laid eyes on them when he was taking his exams. His attitude would be different towards Y/N, always seemed more patient and kind with them, but annoyed and arrogant towards others. 

Y/N shook their head, “you know, Light,” Y/N turned to face him, crossing their arms over their chest, “sometimes I wonder how I lost my valedictorian spot to you in highschool,” they jokingly teased, poking his chest. They could have sworn his eyes glowed red, but they were instantly comforted with his regular face, his typical heartthrob-like appearance. 

Light chuckled, putting his hand behind his neck, a bright smile on his lips. “You know sometimes I think a bit too fast,” Light said, his eyes forming crescents as he smiled. 

They hummed. “Maybe you got your valedictorian spot because you used your smile to your advantage. I remember that was how you got out of classes and late slips,” they rambled, turning back around to face the table of evidence. 

 Light licked his lips, watching when they bent over the table.  “Ah… You noticed?” he asked, “I’d say you were flirting with me, hm?” Light tilted his head, noticing how they froze. 

“Light, you know I couldn’t do that to Misa.” Y/N said, shaking their head as they went back to their work. “You know I couldn’t hurt a friend..” they mumbled. 

Light let out a sigh, rolling his eyes. “It’s always ‘Misa this..’ or ‘Misa that’. Who cares how she feels?” Light hummed, placing his hand on top of Y/N’s, meeting their gaze. 

Light has thought about this before. If he wanted to date Y/N, he didn't have to tell them about his true identity, though Light has always thought about how amazing it would be to have his darling on top of him, calling him Kira. It would feed his ego, make him feel like the most powerful man on earth.

Y/N pulled their hand away, tilting their head. “Shouldn’t you..? You’re her boyfriend.” They reminded, shaking their head once more. 

“Mm, not for long..” Light whispered, leaning against the table with his head cocked back. “I don’t want her. I want someone else.” Light told Y/N, turning his head to face them again. 

Y/N blinked, staring into Light’s eyes. It was a habit they had, a habit that developed during the beginning days of the Kira investigation when they were accusing Light of the murders and it was almost impossible to read his deadpan expression. But when they looked into his eyes at this very moment, it was almost like they shined red. Almost a twinkle of scarlet. 

“What do you mean? Misa has plans to marry you, Light. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was naming your future kids as we speak-“ 

They were cut off by Light moving behind them, his lips awfully close to their ear as he opened his mouth to speak. “I said what I said.” he told them, “And I meant what I said.” Light ran his hand up Y/N’s arm, looking at their reflection in the computer screen in front of him with hooded eyes. “Now, Y/N, answer me this… Do you want something with me? All you have to do is nod that pretty head of yours and I’ll be all over you..” He whispered in their ear. 

Y/N hesitated for a moment. They were “good” friends with Misa, by good, it means they have had their fair share of insults thrown back and forth due to Light’s obvious difference in tone and emotion towards the two. Misa always suspected that Light & Y/N were up to something, more importantly, the poor girl was so paranoid that she thought Y/N was going to take her precious Light, yet she never acted on her suspicions due to Light always being with Ryuzaki during the day, she just assumed they didn’t have anything to hide. Either way, Misa or not, Y/N wanted Light just as much as Light wanted them, it was all a question of morality. If Misa walked in and saw her boyfriend pressed against the person who was now the head investigator of the Kira case, Y/N was sure the girl would freak, though Light has always told Misa that if anything were to happen to Y/N and their family, Light’s relationship with Misa would change in an instant and he wouldn’t think twice.

Y/N bit down on their lip, nodding their head. “I want it..” they mumbled, closing their eyes when they heard Light laugh, that pretty little laugh he always did. 

“Good choice.” Light said, spinning them around. Light looked down at them, pressing his lips against theirs. In all honesty, Light had never done anything intimately with feelings behind it. His body felt like it was on fire after discovering what it feels like to actually enjoy the kiss they shared. 

Y/N wrapped his arms around Light’s neck, leaning into their kiss as they fluttered their eyes shut. 

Light pulled away after a few seconds, his hand finding its way to the back of Y/N’s neck. “Pretty soon Misa will be out of the picture,” he hummed, his free hand finding the bottom of their shirt. “And you and I will be able to be together without having to worry about her,” Light tugged the thin fabric off of their body, tongue trailing down to wrap around their hardened nipple. 

Y/N arched into his touch, a gasp escaping their clenched teeth. “What do you mean Misa will be out of the picture..?” they asked, brushing his hair back. 

Light’s eyes flickered up to meet Y/N’s, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he took their nipple into his mouth. Light took the other nipple between his fingers, leaving Y/N’s question unanswered. 

Again, Y/N could have sworn that they saw a red glow in his eyes when he looked up and smiled. 

Light pulled off of their nipple with a pop. “I want you to get on your knees for me,” Light said to them, standing up from his kneeled position. 

Y/N instantly did what he said, unbuckling his pants, allowing them to fall to his ankles. Y/N looked up at him, tugging at his plain black boxers to expose his half-hard cock. Light sucked in a deep breath, his hands coming to Y/N’s hair. 

“Be good for me and choke on my cock..” Light whispered, watching them wrap their lips around his tip. He bit down on his lip, his hips arching forward to meet Y/N’s mouth, pushing himself farther down his throat. He watched his cock disappear down their throat. He gripped their hair, keeping their head in place as he thrusted his hips back and forth into them. He loved hearing them choke on his cock, it made him feel so powerful. “That’s fucking right, baby… Such a good little whore for me…”

They looked up at him through his lashes, keeping their mouth open for Light to use. Light made eye contact with them, keeping their hair from getting in their way. Light took in a sharp breath through his teeth, humming in approval. “So skilled using that pretty little mouth of yours… Keep doing it… Just like that..” he said to them. “Imagine what Misa would think… How do you think she would react if she walked into this room and saw you on your knees for me, taking all my dick down that pretty throat of yours… Think she’d be upset? ...Think she’d snap?” Light mumbled the last part, his eyes almost rolling back as he watched them.

Y/N hummed around him, the vibrations caused his dick to twitch in their mouth.. Y/N squinted their eyes, they knew Light knew something they didn’t, but Y/N would never think that he was Kira or something. To be honest, they never really know what they would do if Light turned out to be him and Ryuzaki was right. They always got so defensive and annoyed whenever Ryuzaki would even bring up the accusation. Y/N doesn’t think they could even be mad at Light, they loved him too much. He was basically their best friend.

“How does it feel, hm? Being below me, sucking my cock like the good little pet you are…” He watched them roll their tongue against his tip, swirling it over his slit. “Worship my cock like it’s your god, slut. You should be working but you’re mouth wide open all for me… It just shows I have so much control over you, yeah? I can tell you to do anything and you’d do it for me without hesitation?”

They nodded, maintaining eye contact with Light as he thrusted in and out of their mouth. 

“Making all those lewd noises… Oh, I’m sorry. You can’t control how dick depraved you are,” Light laughed, “ When I fuck into that pretty hole, I want you to scream my name, darling. I want you to cry ‘cause you feel so fucking good getting split open on my cock.”

Light hummed, “Get up. I want you to lean over against the table. And pull off your pants..” Light said to them, pulling away from their mouth. They did as he said, leaning over the table how he wanted, bent over for Light. 

Light walked over to them, rubbing his tip against their hole. “Aww… Look at that… Already stretched and ready… You’ve been waiting for a fat cock to fuck that pretty hole, hm? Before you came here, you fucked yourself, huh?” Light teased, slowly pushing his tip against them, “Well, my darling… Who does this body belong to now?”

“You..” Y/N whispered, laying their head down against the cold table. 

Light gripped their hips, pushing into them with one hard thrust. “Say it louder. I don’t think you convinced me yet..” he said. 

“My body’s all yours, Light. All yours to play with and fuck..” They told him, closing their eyes with a moan. “It feels so fucking good, Light..”

Light hummed, placing his hand on their lower back to keep them stable. “So fucking tight… that pretty little hole of yours is taking all of me… As it should..” he mumbled, beginning at a decent pace.

They felt their eyes cross at the feeling of his cock, gripping onto the edge of the table. “All for you, Light!” they moaned out when they felt him brush against their sensitive spot, toes curling. 

Light chuckled. “Ah… I found it..” he whispered, angling his hips to rock against that area over and over. “I can’t wait for you to cum all over this cock… Have you acting like a bitch in heat. Look back at me when I fuck you. I want to see your face… That pretty expression.”

They looked back at him, biting down on their lip to conceal the noises spilling out of their mouth. 

“Be as loud as you want, darling. Let everybody know that I’m the one making you feel this good. Let them know that your body is mine.” Light snapped his hips into them, quickening his pace. “Such a good little bitch, yeah?”

“I don’t want-… I don't want Misa to walk in!” Y/N arched their back, feeling tears fill at the brim of their eyes. They could feel the burn of the stretch from his cock still, but it was a feeling that they absolutely loved. They always dreamed about what it would be like to have Light stretching them open. 

Light pulled their hair, pressing them against his chest. “I don’t fucking care. Let her walk in. You should be grateful for my cock. You know Misa always is ready for me and asks everyday, but I always say no because I want to be buried inside of you. Don’t fucking act like an ungrateful bitch, take what’s given to you. Say you’re sorry.”

Y/N nodded, the tears spilling out of their eyes. “I’m sorry, Light..” 

“No, Y/N… What are you sorry for?” he asked, his hand coming down to smack their ass, watching the jiggle. 

“I’m sorry for being ungrateful. Thank you for your cock..” They whimpered. 

“I want you to call me your God..” Light whispered in their ear, “Say you’re sorry, ‘My God’.” Light told them. 

They looked up at him, cheeks soaked in tears. “...What do you mean?” They asked, still gripping at the table with sore knuckles. 

Light bit down on his lip to conceal a smile. “Oh… I forgot.. Cute little detective doesn’t know what I’m talking about..” Light would be lying if he said this conversation wasn’t egging him on, lying if he said the thought of Y/N being stretched on his cock and not knowing his true identity didn’t excite him. 

Y/N bit down on their lip, rocking their hips backward to meet his thrusts. “I-I don’t understand what you’re talking about..” Y/N whimpered, looking up at him through their lashes. 

Light let out a deep breath, humming into their ear. “You being so oblivious is so sexy, you know..” Light continued moving his hips, feeling Y/N clench around him. “What if I told you…” Light took his sweet time punctuating each of his words with a rough thrust, looking down at them, “What if I told you that the man who’s fucking into this tight hole of yours knew something you didn’t about Kira, hm?”

Y/N winced at the feeling, “If you have affiliations then-- fuck, then you should have told me, Light. You know how important this case was to Ryuz-”

“I don’t have affiliations with Kira, darling…” Light leaned down, mostly for dramatic effect. He took Y/N’s jaw into his hand, making them look up in the reflection of the computer screen. Y/N opened their eyes, looking up at their two moving bodies, listening to his voice and the sound of skin slapping against skin. He rolled his hips into him, hitting deeper areas as he breathed heavily into their ear.

“I am Kira.”

Y/N looked at him in the computer reflection. “Light don’t.. Joke around with me like that…” His eyes were doing that red thing again.

Light hummed. “I felt you clench around me, darling. Does that simple idea excite you? Getting fucked by someone you’ve been chasing for so, so long, only to end up at his mercy… If you tell on me, you’ll have no choice but to tell them how you found out and what you were doing to find this out. Imagine how disgusted the press would be if they found out you were spread open for Kira’s cock, hm? No… Imagine how disgusted Ryuzaki is in you... “ Light chuckled.

Y/N moaned out at his words, smacking a palm over their mouth as they went wide eyed. Something about the particular situation was sending them into a frenzy. Their sex spasming around Light, legs going weak and shaky as a band snapped in their stomach, orgasm washing over their body without warning. They knew it was wrong, but they were too caught in the moment to stop or prevent it. They wanted Light so badly for so long, the fact that he admitted to being Kira was only aiding the burning lust for him. They relaxed into his hand that was still holding his jaw, broken whimpers falling from their bruised lips.

“I knew you’d get off to the thought like a fucking slut… So do it. Moan my name as I fuck you into overstimulation, have that body aching for more. Gonna fuck you until you can’t see straight, gonna make sure you know who owns this pretty body. I’m gonna make sure you know that only I, Kira, can make you cum like that…” He whispered into their ear, his eyes still staring at them in the computer’s reflection.

Y/N’s face burned, eyes hooded as they panted. “Fuck me, Kira… Please… I’m all yours…” Y/N said, watching his lips turn into a smile and his cheeks flush red instantly, “It turns me on knowing that you’re Kira and you own my body…” They kept going, “I want you to fill me with your cum, make me remember who owns me even after you pull out. I want to feel you for days, Kira..”

Light let out a grunt, closing his eyes as he felt his orgasm approaching. It was something about Y/N calling him Kira that made his knees go weak. Hearing Kira always made Light feel some type of way, but hearing Y/N moan out the name sent shivers down Light’s spine. It was like the simple name was at the top of some made up hierarchy in his head, hearing someone call him Kira while they were bent over for his cock, begging for his cum made him feral.

He bit down on Y/N’s neck as he came, his hips stuttering, making his thrusts sloppy. He let out a string of curses, his chest heaving against Y/N’s back. “So fucking good for me..” he hiccuped, his hands still gripping Y/N’s jaw tightly. He finally let it go, looking at the pretty handprint left on their skin, the same on their hips.

Y/N couldn’t believe what they just did, but somehow it just made them want more. They turned around onto their back, gripping Light’s shirt collar. “Keep going, please..” They begged, looking up at him with glossy eyes and tear marked cheeks.

Light laughed, his hands finding their hips again as he slid back into them. “I knew you were a slut, but I didn’t think you were this slutty,” Light looked down at them, finding a rhythm in his thrusts, “Getting off to the fact that I’m a criminal, one you’ve spent so much time trying to trace… And all this time, he was right in front of you. Well, I guess right on top of you now, huh?” He chuckled, watching their face twist in pleasure.

Y/N nodded, eyes crossing as he spoke. “You’re so fucking big, Kira..”

Light moved his hands to their cheeks, roughly pressing his lips against theirs, moaning into their mouth as he slid his tongue between their lips. 

He continued his hip thrusts, Y/N’s whimpers and moans spilling into his mouth. 

“Gonna cum for me again?” Light asked, looking into their eyes. 

They nodded, looking back at him. “I wanna cum..” they said, pulling him into another kiss. 

“Cum with me then..” he said, quickening his hips. Light never felt any better, he was in pure ecstasy, knowing he was able to fuck the person he’d been fantasizing about for years, and they even get off to Light’s obvious god complex. He couldn’t ask for more. 

They both came, pressing against each other as they moaned in unison. 

After a little while, Light sat up and looked down at Y/N, stroking their cheek with his thumb, a smile on his lips.  

“You know, baby… We should do this again sometime.”

[whump-town]

Take Me to Church

Here it is: my religious!Hotch fic turned Bisexual!Hotch fic. I hope you enjoy my hard work, tears, and disaster bi-thoughts  

Warning: language, sex, homosexuality **there’s no real need for a warning for that but I’d just like to market this to my fellow gays**, religious trauma, Catholic guilt, child abuse, smoking, mention of AIDS in passing but no one has it, character death(s) **not anyone major**, Aaron Hotchner’s mega big boy grande sized guilt complex, ooc bc Aaron Hotchner has the proper emotions, and just general all around intense feelings 

The only Heaven I'll be sent to, Is when I'm alone with you, I was born sick, but I love it, Command me to be well

Word count:  5,794

Praying never made much sense to Aaron Hotchner. 

As a child, he’d prayed with crimson teeth and a bleeding tongue for his mother to be spared in his father’s rampant beatings. The priest always said that prayer shouldn’t be selfish. As he sat on his bruised knees and whispered between sobs, he hadn’t been thinking about himself. He’d been thinking about the little brother in his mother’s womb. About the pregnancy that wouldn’t survive if his father didn’t stop hitting on her. About his poor mother who looked sicker each day.

He must have done something wrong because when God had answered his prayers...

“Come on now son. Don’t be difficult,” the priest’s heavy hands pull him away from his mother’s grave. His suit hadn’t fit well that morning but logged with the rain pouring overhead, it now hangs from his bones. They make their way back home. Back to his miserable son of a bitch father. 

That night, the priest had tucked him into bed and Aaron rolls over in his bed to put his back to the man. As the old man turned to cut the lights, Aaron finally speaks for the first time all day. He’d found his voice deep within his chest and laced it with his father’s unhinged anger. “I killed her,” he whispers, hot tears running down his cheeks. 

The priest shakes his head. “No.” And, the old man could never know this, but what he said next would stay with Aaron for the rest of his life. “It was her time, son.”

God had killed her.

That day was the first time Aaron had ever seen his father cry. He’d stood in the hallway and watched his father sob on his knees, cursing God and swearing up a storm. At seven-years-old, he wondered if God had a sense of humor. He must, after all, to leave Aaron all alone. 

Ten-years later he stood in the same spot his father had kneeled in. He’d looked up at the ceiling and prayed again. He’d begged for his father’s life to be spared. “Just this once, okay, just this once---” but his father had never been a good man. A shitty excuse for a dad but Sean thinks he’s a good man. That’s what mattered: Sean. That’s the only thing that had ever mattered. “For Sean, please? He’s never done anything wrong.”

His father died two days later. A heart attack. The doctor’s called it mercy. For who? The man who beat him senseless for fifteen years before he just sold Aaron off to a boarding school. Calling Aaron’s inability to make friends and emotional outbursts the product of the devil and not his senseless beating. The same man who called Aaron writing with his left hand the simplest proof that his mother had been a whore. She had to have cheated to have created a bastard like Aaron.

Mercy? Is that really what he’d deserved?

He has bible scriptures carved into his back. Thin white lines left by his father’s heavy hand and the black belt he wore to court each Tuesday. The only mercy he’s ever known is the black surrounder right before he falls asleep. That twisted hope that maybe his dad hit him too hard. That he won’t wake up this time. 

It felt like communion-- Eucharist, standing to receive his bread and wine. 

The body of Christ.

“Daddy please-” he makes no sound as the belt comes down over his shoulder. Any noise is a symbol of greater guilt, a better reason to keep hitting. He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t move. 

Amen.

Remember, God is always watching. No bullshitting, he knows.

Aaron cums with a cry. A sob really. 

Sam lifts his head from where he’s buried it in Aaron’s neck, leaving the hickey he’d been sucking to die on its own. He sits up, his arousal forgotten as his heart pounds in his chest with fear. “Are you alright,” he asks, pulling them apart with a quick jerk. His hands are traveling down but he stops when Aaron’s hand grabs his wrist. “Baby, if I hurt you---”

Aaron shakes his head but the tears streaming down his face says otherwise. “I’m sorry,” he gasps. He buries his head in his hands, shoulders shaking as he can’t stop the tears. Sam moves out of the way of his legs, giving Aaron the space necessary to curl into himself.

Sam still has no idea what’s wrong. It had been fine. Things were fine. 

It occurs to him a moment too late.

“Fuck,” he curses, seething. Not at Aaron or the mood now officially lost--- but for the boy that Aaron never got to be. To the God that Aaron believes so feverishly and unwavering in. “It’s alright,” he soothes, moving along the bed to where Aaron is. He pulls his boyfriend into his lap, holding Aaron to his chest. “Nothing is going to happen, Aaron. It’s going to be okay.”

Sam has never been religious. It wasn’t something his parents had considered important. Standing at over 6’5 and two hundred pounds of just muscle, no one even suspects he’s anything but straight. People who do know… no one’s going to say anything to a guy like him. The same thing goes for Aaron. He may be a little on the scrawny side but he’s 6’2 and no one blinks an eye at the two of them spending so much time together. 

It’s not people they have to worry about. 

They can be cruel and unaccepting but AIDS is still rampant through-out not only the college’s campus but through-out the gay community. 

But Aaron’s a little too preoccupied with God. 

Sam’s not even sure if there’s such a thing.

“Aaron!” Picking him up by his shoulders, he pulls Aaron upright. They’ve passed sobbing and moved to a panic attack. “Alright,” Sam fails to soothe. He pulls Aaron off the bed, holding him close when his legs shake beneath him. “Easy,” he mumbles, his heartbreaking--- Aaron can’t walk. It takes a great bit of work on Sam’s part but with a grunt, he lifts Aaron off his feet.

Stumbling in the direction of the bathroom, he carries Aaron. “It’s gonna be alright,” Sam promises. This isn’t the first time this has happened. Sam would like to think he’s a good boyfriend (he is). He did as much research as he could. So that he would know how to help Aaron the next time one of these events started happening.

Into the freezing shower they go. 

Clutched, naked body to naked body, they rock until Aaron’s broken sobs die down. Until Sam can feel Aaron’s breathing steady out, hot exhales washing over his goosebump riddled flesh.

Against the bare skin of Sam’s shoulder, Aaron whispers Hail Mary to himself. His long fingers tapping against his thumb like counting rosary beads, “---of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now---” It’s the only coping mechanism he’s ever learned. 

Sam presses a kiss to his temple. Aaron hates that he turns his head for more. Turns his head until Sam’s hands are tangled in his hair and holding him tightly. Sam kisses him softly, full of love. He doesn’t deserve that.

“Sodomy is a sin,” he whispers, against Sam’s lips. 

Sam smiles, shaking his head. He doesn’t care. “Did you like it,” Sam asks, voice husky. He wraps himself back around Aaron, shaking from the cold of the water still pouring down over them. Fingers moving up Aaron’s back, he tangles them in his hair. 

Aaron… knows the answer. He also knows that sin is often appealing. Sam is the sin that Aaron can never walk away from. What he always comes back for. “Yes,” he answers, honestly. He had liked it. He’d liked it a lot. Sex with Sam is gentle and overwhelming and--- sin. It’s still sin. 

“That’s all that matters,” Sam presses kisses back to Aaron’s neck. Smiling against his skin when Aaron arches into the touch. 

Aaron can never make Sam understand that this principle isn’t that simple. It’s a black and white morality. Heaven or hell. 

But, maybe… 

Sam reaches around behind him and cuts the water off, Aaron shivers against his chest leaning closer to the touches that are trailing down his body. Sam pulls him closer so that Aaron’s in his lap. With a grunt, Aaron allows Sam to push into him and mouth open in a silent cry of pleasure he falls into Sam’s shoulder. 

“Jesus,” Sam curses, pulling Aaron closer. “You---” he moans, tilting his head back. This time, Aaron’s sets the pace. Slow and steady. It hurts but it’s an ache he’s familiar with. The lube from earlier mostly washed away but he’s prepped and anything is better than thinking about Hell. 

His doomed eternity. 

“You’re so good, baby boy.” Sam holds him close, his fingers digging into Aaron’s hips. “Fu-Fuck---”

Why is it that the only thing that has ever made sense to him a sin?

Sam dies in the middle of first semester their Junior year. Though it’s never stated, it’s Aaron’s fault. Sam wouldn’t have been on the road that if Aaron just prayed harder or been a better man. Panic attacks are a product of a shaky relationship with God and Aaron wouldn’t have had one, he wouldn’t have called Sam freaking out, if he’d just… believed harder. 

Aaron knows it’s his fault. He never gets over that guilt. 

He marries Haley at the end of Senior year and they invite Sam’s parents to the wedding. No one knows the true extent of Aaron and Sam’s relationship but Haley knows something was going on between the two. They’d been high school sweethearts, separated by his years spent away at college. Separated by Aaron’s love for a man.

He comes home different but she loves him. She also knows that her mother approves of Aaron’s God-fearing ways. Religion is good in a man like him, her mother had warned, you can see the darkness in him. She bites her tongue and moves on. 

Until she sees the darkness too.

The divorce breaks him. 

He starts having panic attacks again, worse than the ones in college. No one notices. He knows they just write him off as a dick. He’s just a robot to them. Emotionless and he can work with that. So, he is a robot. Just marching through life and flying by the seat of his pants, hoping that it all goes well. 

But he knows… each night as the panic bubbles in his chest and has him falling to his knees that hell is the only place he’s going. It’s going to take more than prayers to save a sinner like him.

“Hotch?” He jumps at the sudden intrusion. Looking to his left, none other than Emily Prentiss is standing on the balcony. She’s grinning from ear to ear and shaking her head. “What are you doing up so late?”

The cigarette trapped between his lips should answer that well enough.

The thing is, he’s not as slick as he thinks he is. She’s noticed him pulling away. Dave has noticed--- hell, everyone has noticed something is wrong. So, when Emily Prentiss had been tossing and turning in her own bed and smelled the wafting, faint scent of cigarette smoke she’d gotten curious. She certainly hadn’t expected to find him.

“Mind some company?”

And with those three simple words she’d pulled him from the edge. 

That night they burned through four cigarettes. Sin, that night, had been just as he remembered it once being. For a moment, as he stood--- her leaning against him and him leaning against her--- he had managed a smile. With a cigarette between his teeth, he’d taken his first real breath in years. 

Foyet attacks him in his apartment and as he lies bleeding he hopes this is it. That the world will flicker out, he’s just a candle drowning it’s wax. Will there be a light or…

He wakes up in the hospital and he’s never been this cold in his life.

It’s Emily’s voice that pulls him from the white walls and the pain. She’s saying something about cigarettes and the seasons changing. He smiles, drugged and submissive, when she proposes the team go to Dave’s and get drunk. He doesn't’ even think about God, about the sin and the eternity in hell waiting for him. He just thinks about his team and the only family he’s ever really been a part of. 

He wakes up thrashing--- a broken sob on his lips. There’s so much pain and he can’t think about anything other than death. Death and Hell and sin and the pain, oh fuck the pain. 

Thin fingers wrap around his, squeezing and he looks up and finds JJ softly soothing him. Her fingers are ghosting along his forearms, rubbing circles into his pale skin. “Just breathe,” she instructs and he’s reminded of Sam and that freezing shower and the---

“Aaron!” she calls and the fortitude, the conviction in her eyes sobers him. “You have to stop,” she tells him, her touch turning hard and that he can focus on. That pulls him back down. “Breathe,” and slowly he relaxes again. She’s softened and he watches the tears pool in her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that,” she chides, softly.

He manages to squeeze her hand.

“We almost lost you,” she whispers and that hadn’t occurred to him. His death happens to other people. It’ll just be… nothing. He must be very high or maybe broken because he thinks of nothing. The nothingness that happens after death and not raging, flaming pits of hell. 

JJ presses a kiss to his temple and he closes his eyes. It’s a tender love he… he’s forgotten. “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” she says, her thumb rubbing against his hand. “I don’t like job hunting.”

He doesn’t know how to tell her that the team wouldn’t fall apart if Foyet had chosen to kill him.

She doesn’t know how to tell him that isn’t true.

Foyet does kill Haley and for a long time, it’s like he’s killed Hotch too.

“Hotch!”

The last he’d seen of Emily, she was displeased with his decision to decline his invitation to girl’s night. First, of all, he’s not that dumb. He knew damn well that they wanted him to tag along because Emily had told them about his date with the cute blonde at the coffee shop had gone tits up. Of course, she’d chosen to leave out that his date had failed because she’d entered the shop and wolf-whistled at the sight of him.

But, she has chosen to blame the entire thing on him because he should have told her.

Ah, silly him.

Now, he’s waiting on his front porch for Will to drop her off at his place. Does she have an apartment of her own? Yes. But she’s a clingy drunk and it’s custom for her to come to sleep in his bed. Besides, who else is going to hold her hair up while she pukes?

He smiles when he sees her. God… leave it to him to pick Emily Prentiss, of all people, to be his best friend. Well, he’s not really sure he chose or picked her so much as ended up within her mercy. “Emily,” he greets softly, smiling when she walks right up to him and headbutts his chest. She just falls straight into him. 

He shuffles to accommodate her weight but they do this little dance frequently. With one hand on the back of her head, he raises the other to wave to Will that he’s free to go. The detective nods and pulls the car into reverse, JJ and Garcia in the back shouting their own goodbyes.

“Alright,” Hotch rubs her shoulders, shivering from the night’s chill. “Pigging back ride?” 

She nods and it’s only with practiced ease that they manage this so easily. 

As he stands, he gives her a second to adjust herself before he starts walking back towards his porch. This is the exact reason he does squats at the gym, so his thighs don’t shake as he carries her up the stairs. 

“Oh,” Emily whines into his back, where her face is buried. “I hope I didn’t wake Jack.”

He’s overly careful to make sure he doesn’t hit her legs as he steps into the door. Stopping to shut the door behind them he tells her, “he’s not here.” He scowls with concentration as he moves down the hall. “He’s spending the weekend with his cousins.” He’d told her this earlier, too many times. It is one of the smaller reasons she’d invited him to girls night: so he wouldn’t have to be alone in his house. 

They share many secrets. He’d been the first person on the team to know she’s gay. He still remains one of the few who know. JJ and Garcia know-- tequila always makes her lose her grip. He also knows that she wants to have a family and about her giant crush on JJ. 

Just like she knows that sitting in his empty house stresses him out. He turns into the empty walls and all he can think about is being completely alone while Foyet was trying to hunt down his son and Haley. She knows this and… she’d left him here all by himself.

“Emily,” he whispers, feeling her hot tears soak into the back of his shirt. He’s not mad or even frustrated, he’s just sad. He can’t do anything about it just yet. So, he takes her back to his room. He helps her out of her blouse, replacing it with his George-town hoodie so she can curl her legs into. 

Only once she’s situated, his back turned so she can hiccup and dry her tears while she slips into a pair of her own shorts he kneels down in front of her. “Emily.” He shakes his head, she’s still inconsolable, so he pulls her to his chest. “Emily, I’m a grown man.” He rubs her back, “I can handle being in my own home.”

She only cries harder and it hurts him because whatever it is that’s really bothering her he can’t fix. 

“Would you love me more if I wasn’t a lesbian,” she asks, sobbing into his shoulder.

Well… he blanks. What is he even supposed to say to that? Now she’s really crying and he’s-- he can’t think of a single thing to say. “Emily…” he shakes his head. “I--I don’t care that you’re a lesbian.” And why would he? How many times have they had the ‘it would be like kissing my brother/sister’ conversation? Or the ‘even if I were straight…’? He doesn’t feel sexually attracted to her. 

He just… he loves her because she’s his family. 

“You don’t,” she asks, sniffling. She pushes his shoulders away from her so that she can see his eyes. So she can see if he’s lying. “You don’t hate me?” Because she’s certain that he does sometimes. Like he can stand the thought of her. 

He shakes his head. “It would be very hypocritical of me to hate you for being gay,” he says, without really thinking about what that means. At what he’s admitting.

Though she doesn’t say anything, the admission sobers her. With tender care he tucks her into bed. Smiling softly when she pulls him down beside her.

They fall asleep on their sides, facing one another. He falls asleep first. Too exhausted to wait her out. Between them, she gently reaches over and brushes her thumb over his cheek bone. Trialing it along the facial hair he’s let grow over the course of their long weekend off. 

He breaks her heart.

“So, are we just not going to talk about it?”

They’re watching a basketball game from earlier in the week because it’s Tuesday and she gets to pick what they watch on Tuesdays. Granted, it’s sports and he hates sports which means that he gets to pick whether or not they sit close. She knows something is wrong because he puts the entire couch between them. They’re not even sharing a blanket and he always lets her have some of his blankets.

She gets cold easily. 

“Talk about what, Emily?” The way he says her name… it’s not right. He always says Emily kindly, loving. He says her name and it makes her proud to be Emily but this time it’s a reprimand and she sees it for exactly what it is—- an attempt to push her away. To make her feel afraid to push on.

But she’s been gay for so long, openly gay. It takes more than a little bit of attitude to scare her off. “You,” she says, softly. “You’re gay, Aaron, and—-“

He flinches at the word gay. Recoiling. “Emily,” his tone shifts to pleading. 

“You—-“ she shifts too. She turns her body to face her, no longer relaxed. “Aaron, there’s nothing wrong with being gay.”

Sodomy, Aaron thinks. First and for most, there’s sodomy and it’s a sin to love a man. A sin to love men in a way he could never love Haley. Which Emily would understand if he told her about his sex life with Haley. Rather, his nonexistent sex life with Haley. He loved Haley so much but he could never love her the right way. The way God had intended.

By the time he manages to raise his eyes to hers, there are tears streaming down his face. He’s so helplessly broken and he can’t even hide it.

“Oh, Aaron.” Emily pulls him against her chest, rubbing up and down his back as he sobs. “I…” she doesn’t know what to say. She knows it’s the Catholisim here at play but her youth was so very different from his. Matthew had saved her from the fate Aaron had succumbed to. Matthew had shown her the churches many faults and…

Aaron had no one. 

No one but the Bible and a God who never answered back.

“There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” she whispers, rocking their bodies gently. “There’s nothing wrong with you Aaron.”

He sobs even harder. He wishes he could believe that. He does. He wishes he could but…

They agree to never talk about it. Meaning, Emily begrudgingly lets it go.

The universe isn’t ready for Hotch to shove it under the rug though.

There’s this barista at the coffee shop downtown--- more than a barista, he’s the owner, actually. He’s a giant. He almost makes Hotch feel small in comparison. In college, he’d been a football player but he’d messed his knee up pretty bad Junior year. He became dependent on the painkillers he’d received after surgery. He’d dropped out of college a few months later.

Hotch learns all of this only after two coffees.

One that he has Monday with the man’s phone-number and name scribbled onto the side of his cup. His cheeks had turned a furious shade of pink when Morgan had asked who Charlie is and if she was pretty. For some reason, despite coaching himself over and over in the mirror that he’d never go back--- Hotch goes back to the coffee shop Thursday. 

This time as Hotch is handing the other man a five dollar bill he adds his own phone-number and name attached with a simple sticky-note.

He’s not even out the door yet when his phone vibrates. 

“I thought I’d scared you off, mysterious FBI man.”

It makes him stop in his tracks. A smile tugs at his lips and there isn’t a single thought in his head about church or God or his father just this impossibly good feeling in his chest. It’s been so long since he’s done the flirting thing but he replies: “As good as mysterious FBI man sounds, I typically go by Aaron. Besides, it takes a little bit more than a phone-number to scare me off”

The texts keep coming and Hotch doesn’t mind.

Charlie tells him about college and Hotch tells him about the team. It’s out of character for him to be so open but it’s just coffee and flirting and a really hot barista. 

The feeling is very mutual.

“Kiss me, g-man.”

Hotch shakes his head, chuckling when Charlie throws his hips over Hotch’s waist. “You’d better---” whatever threat he’s making half-heartedly turns into a groan when Charlie starts planting open mouth kisses along his collar. Sucking a hickey under his ear where it will be painfully obvious to the team. 

When Hotch lets out a grunt, his hand grabbing at Charlie’s shirt and the other going to his hair Charlie laughs. He buries his face in Hotch’s neck, his hand traveling down to the front of his pants. “Is that your gun?” he pulls back with a smirk. 

Lightly, he pushes Aaron back on the bed. Charlie’s nimble fingers wrap around his jeans, pulling the tight fabric off of his ass. 

“I don’t remember asking for this,” Hotch grunts, fist clenched tightly in the bedsheets. It’s the only way he can assure that he won’t go bucking into Charlie’s palm the minute he starts touching again. He’s not going to cave like that.

To his credit, Charlie stops. He plants his hands on both sides of Hotch’s hips, his mouth sending a dangerous gust of warm air over Hotch’s straining cock. He lifts an eyebrow, “say the word, Aaron.” Say the word and it stops. They don’t dance along fancy lines like that. Charlie wouldn’t do that. 

Sitting up, Aaron wraps his legs around Charlie’s hips. He runs his fingers up through Charlie’s hair, kissing him. With a smile he pulls away and whispers, “fuck me, Charlie.”

And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do just that. 

Sodomy is way better than Aaron remembers.

They’re about three months into this when Charlie learns that Hotch hasn’t told a soul about him. At least, not really. Not past the point of passing in conversation. Hell, he hasn’t even told them that Charlie isn’t some bombshell blonde woman but a 6’4 black man who owns the coffee shop. 

“Fine,” Hotch caves despite the anxiety leaving him so unnerved he’s shaking. “Do you want to come with me to Dave’s this weekend?” He’s got an edge to his tone. He’s hoping Charlie takes the bait and rolls his eyes. He almost hopes for a fight.

Charlie nods his head, “I would like to, actually.”

Fuck. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

It’s not okay. It’s far from it. 

He sits on edge for the rest of the week. Begging for a case. None come.

If Charlie has anything to say about Hotch letting go of his hand when they step out of the car, he doesn’t say anything. He does offer him a supportive smile, reaching between them to squeeze Aaron’s bicep.

“Dave,” Hotch breathes the other man’s voice and Charlie can hear the panic seeping into his deep tone. But then he just blanks. 

Charlie stretches his hand out, “I’m Charlie.”

Dave gets over his momentary shock very quickly. “Charlie,” Dave shakes his head with a smile. He avoids the hand being offered and pulls the younger man in for a hug. “I have heard so much about you! I was just a little shocked. I was expecting--”

Charlie laughs, “a woman.”

Dave claps him on the back. “Well, yes, I was.” He smiles at Hotch next, pulling him in for a hug too. Dave can feel just how unnerved Hotch is but he doesn’t comment. He just squeezes him a little tighter. “More so,” Dave says, “I was expecting a blonde. He really likes blondes.”

Charlie glances back at Aaron, keeping his smile in place even when Aaron can’t look up from his intense battle with the floor. 

“Well, come on in! I’ve got enough bourbon and food in here to feed a small army!”

Charlie steps inside first, Aaron hot on his heels.

Charlie turns around, to look back at Aaron. Calling the other man’s name for attention. “Aaron,” he calls softly, grabbing his hand. “Show me to the bathroom.” 

Hotch nods his head, eyes vacant as he moves on through the room. Ghosting. “It’s, ugh,” Hotch points lamely to the door. 

Charlie pulls him into the small room. Aaron making a small grunt of protest. “Look at me,” says, stern but not overbearing. “Aaron, please.”

It takes a moment but Aaron pulls his eyes off the floor. He grimaces when a tear falls down his cheek, ashamed of this display of emotion. This vulnerability.

With a sad smile, Charlie wipes it away with the pad of his thumb. “They didn’t know did they?”

Leaning forward, Hotch buried his face in Charlie’s blue t-shirt. It’s old and soft and it does nothing to slow his tears. He shakes his head. “They didn’t.”

Fuck. Charlie wraps his arms around Hotch, pulling him close. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

What other options are there? If Charlie hadn’t forced his hand Hotch would have happily died in the blissful lie he’d created. He could have died alone. No need to come out. Hell, if he’d just found another blonde woman he could have married her and died “straight”. 

Anything is better than this in-between. 

“Aaron,” Charlie breathes his name sadly. He doesn’t know what to say. His family had disowned him. So, he can’t just reassure Aaron it’ll be okay but Dave took it so well. “Have you even given them a chance?”

Well… Dave did take it very well and Emily already knows. 

“No,” he answers honestly. 

Charlie presses a kiss to his temple, asking, “maybe you should give them the benefit of the doubt?”

A knock at the door makes them both jump. 

“Hotch,” Reid whines from the other side. “I really have to go.”

Hotch smiles and that makes Charlie smile. “Good?” he asks.

Hotch nods, “good.”

The pair step out of the bathroom. 

Reid blushes and slides past. 

“You don’t think he thinks we were…”

Hotch nods, “more than likely.”

Heading back down the hall, Charlie leans into Hotch’s side. “Which one was that?”

“Reid.”

Charlie hums his understanding. Cuter than he’d imagined. Aaron had said tall and thin but it really did the genius no justice. He’s an attractive young man. “You didn’t tell me he was cute.”

Wrapping his arm around Charlie’s waist he pulls the other man closer. His heart is beating hard in his chest but he kisses the other man, closing his eyes and enjoying this moment. Separating just enough to say, “I think he said he plays for your team. If you’re interested.”

“My team,” Charlie repeats. He runs a finger along Aaron’s brow, sweeping his hair back. “My team is you,” Charlie rolls his eyes. “Doofus.”

Hotch’s jaw drops. “Doofus?” 

Charlie smiles, “my doofus.”

Emily stops at the mouth of the hall, having heard the dee rumbling sound of voices “That’s fucking adorable.”

Hotch groans, pushing his face into Charlie’s chest. 

“Don’t groan at me,” she says. “You’re the bastard that came out to me. Ghosted me. Then went and got a boyfriend.”

Hotch grimaces, “Emily…”

She waves him, turning her attention to Charlie. “You,” she sticks her hand out and they share a handshake. “You got yourself a good one. He can be an ass though.”

Charlie chuckles at that, “he really can be. Also, insufferable.”

Emily opens her mouth in happy shock. “Right? What about him being a know-it-all?”

Charlie nods, “don’t forget being a tight ass.”

Hotch feels a comment about their sex lives attempting to roll of his tongue. Something along the lines of Charlie saying he’d liked his ass last night— instead he just grunts. “Enough about me,” he grumbles. 

Emily smiles at both of them. She really is happy. Hotch deserves to be happy. With a smirk she motions for them to follow her. “Come on, drinks?”

Somehow, despite everything Hotch had convinced himself, everything is fine.

Charlie ends up wondering off with Morgan. The two deep into a conversation about a beam Morgan’s building around. Hotch had watched Charlie gag down Garcia’s awful shots and listen to Reid talk about thermodynamics.

And when Hotch’s anxiety started getting bad again, Charlie was right there. Hotch hadn’t said anything, he didn’t even close himself off. Emily had just excused herself to go yell about something with JJ, leaving him leaning against the bar in the kitchen. But Charlie had come up and squeezed his hand. Winking for good measure. Hotch’s anxiety, like his heart, melted into a puddle around his feet.

“Goodbye,” Emily wishes them a farewell. She kisses both their cheeks and holds on to Hotch a moment longer than she normally would. “So, does this mean we’re back on for movie nights?”

Hotch nods. He’s missed their movie nights. He’s missed hanging out with her. 

In the end, it’s the two of them and Dave.

Hotch’s anxiety rears it’s ugly head. Another painful reminder of the childhood he’ll never escape. Of God and sin and hell. The Catholic Church is solid force in Dave’s life and he’s askin Dave to choose. And Aaron knows he’s not going to be chosen.

“You boys good to drive home?” Dave hands Charlie a Tupperware container of leftovers.

Charlie nods, “we’re okay.”

Well, Charlie is. Hotch is little tipsy and one wrong word away from throwing up on the porch. 

“Be safe,” Dave says, pulling Charlie in for a hug first. He pats his back, lowering his head to whisper. “Take care of my boy, you here?”

It makes Charlie smile. They’d briefly discussed Aaron’s real father but Charlie can see exactly what Aaron had meant when he said Dave had been the man that raised him. He’s gentle and firm and Charlie is glad Aaron was able to find a father. “Of course,” Charlie responds. “Someone has to.”

That makes Dave chuckle. Damn right. 

“Come here, son.” Aaron’s always been bigger than Dave, not that he minds. He pulls him down into his arms, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Lowering his voice he whispers, “I’m glad you brought Charlie. He’s a good man. I’m proud of you.”

Hotch feels the dam break. He wraps his arms tighter around Dave, all of his youth and sexuality and feelings finally making sense. He doesn’t have to chose. He can be himself and be happy, it’s allowed. 

Aaron Hotchner didn’t kill his mother or his mother. He’s always done his best and that’s all he can do.

“You’re a good man,” Dave whispers, rubbing his back.

And… Aaron might just be starting to believe him. 

[twilightofthejedi]

fic: sorry to my unknown lover (wip)

He has never considered himself much of a religious man. His upbringing was in a Catholic family, so he went to mass with his family, but he had never found solace in religion like his late adoptive father had. And after he had joined the mafia, there had been too many stains on his soul for him to even consider the supposed blissful salvation of God.

But with Cha-young, he is somehow prepared to repent for all of his sins, if she would just be his heaven and hell.

or, what if vincenzo had been kidnapped by han-seok in ep 19 instead of cha-young?

inspired by this post by @ppppppenguin and @my-bated-breath

read chapter 1 on ao3 here or under the cut ꜜ

chapter 1: kristallnacht

Calling the monk had not, in hindsight, been his smartest move.

He allows himself to sulk on his couch for approximately two minutes before pushing himself up to pace. She had completely blindsided him with the makeup, and the jewelry, and the shiny straight hair that had swayed as she walked away from him, and now he can not feasibly think about anything else. She had baited and switched him, and he had been helpless to her every move.

There are a million things he needs to do. He needs to call Luca to make sure his dealings with the Lucianos had gone well. He needs to talk to Agent Ahn and Mr. Cho to make sure that the NIS is working with them to keep Han-seok in jail. He needs to pay another visit to Choi Myung-hee, as per Cha-young’s plans.

But right now, he cannot physically bring himself to do anything but think of the fact that Cha-young is currently wearing the earrings that he had bought her.

Madre di Dio, he is royally screwed.

He has never considered himself much of a religious man. His upbringing was in a Catholic family, so he went to mass with his family, but he had never found solace in religion like his late adoptive father had. And after he had joined the mafia, there had been too many stains on his soul for him to even consider the supposed blissful salvation of God.

But with Cha-young, he is somehow prepared to repent for all of his sins, if she would just be his heaven and hell.

Get a grip on yourself, Cassano.

He inhales, and then lets out a long breath. Time to get to work.

-

There are geraniums for sale in the flower shop down the street from the plaza.

Vincenzo had met up with Mr. Cho to make sure that their plans were set, and as he had been walking back from the rendezvous point, he had seen the flowers, and had wandered into the shop like he was in a trance.

It’s not a secret that Cha-young loves geraniums. She buys a bouquet every few days to keep in the crystal vase in her house(the one with the curled edges), and always complains whenever the store increases the price. He has grown used to listening to her rant about it when she comes to work in the morning, coffee in hand. Now, he stares at the bunches of bright red flowers and wonders exactly how to store flowers.

“Good afternoon! How can I help you?” The cheery store clerk has seen him, and descends upon him like a vulture. Twenty minutes later, holding three bouquets of not only geraniums, but also peonies, and a lily-of-the-valley and baby’s breath combination, he wonders at the persuasive abilities of people in the retail industry, and thinks idly that flower shop owners would make excellent lawyers.

He takes his time walking back to the plaza, where he will surely attract attention by walking through the halls with the enormous bouquets in his arms. He meanders through the streets of Seoul as the night awakens, hungry and powerful in its cover, spreading its inky fingers throughout the dusky sky. The world ebbs and flows around him, underneath the twinkling night sky. On the streets, he is just one more face, one more person, with his own story alongside millions of other stories, millions of other people, millions of other faces.

His own insignificance against the backdrop of the city is, in a way, comforting. Here, Vincenzo has no one to answer to, no one to ask him questions he cannot answer, no one except the vast sky and endless stretch that peek into his soul and pull out the parts of him that he does not know. The colors that he cannot change, the stories that he cannot explain.

Before he knows it, he is staring at the dark office of the firm, wondering where on earth they keep their vases. Hong Yu Chan, the plant lover that he was, must have kept flowers in vases, right?

A phone call to Mr. Nam later, Vincenzo concludes that Hong Yu Chan did not, in fact, keep flower vases in his office.

He spends ten minutes considering whether or not to call Cha-young, and then realizes that he is manufacturing a reason to talk to her. Setting the flowers down on the cool tabletop of the office, he looks up where to buy a flower vase, and then leaves the building feeling extremely foolish but having no idea why.

He buys the vase and begins the walk back to the plaza. He is just about to leave an alleyway when he feels a terrific pain in the back of his head. The vase falls from his suddenly limp fingers and falls to the ground with a crash, and he feels the sharp impact of his knees on the ground.

The last thing he sees before his eyes close is a gray hood, and floppy brown hair.

-

Hong Cha-young slides into the driver’s seat of her car, feeling supremely satisfied at a night well spent.

First she had completely flustered Vincenzo before she had left. Then, she had gone to the reunion and made sure that everyone was jealous of her. To top it all off, there had been excellent alcohol there, and she had taken full advantage of the open bar, and listened to everyone gripe about their jobs, or their kids, or their irritating spouses.

She sets her phone in the built in stand, and pulls out of her parking spot. The night air is warm, so she rolls down the windows and lets the smell of street food waft in. Seoul’s nightlife is vibrant, even more so in the summer, and she smiles at the people milling out on the sidewalks. She spots a noodle stand, and makes a mental note to bring Vincenzo there and buy him the spiciest noodles.

Just as she is pulling into her designated parking spot in Geumga Plaza(it’s still marked Hong Yu Chan), her phone beeps. She smirks to herself. She’s surprised Vincenzo lasted this long without texting her, but it’s sweet that he couldn’t hold off longer. She unplugs her phone, and lets the screen light up.

Joon-woo: 2 new messages

The screen seems to shake before she realizes its her own shaking fingers, and she sets the phone down on the center console, unbuckling herself with fingers that will not stay still. How is it that she still hasn’t changed the contact name? The heart emoji that he had put in after his name on his first day as her hoobae is still there, and she feels a rush of freezing anger at herself, at her weakness. She exhales shakily, and unlocks her phone.

Hi sunbae! Did you miss me? the message reads.

Attached with the text is an image. She downloads it impatiently, morbidly drawn to the screen like a moth to a flame. She knows that she will burn, that she will end up nothing more than ashes on a whispering wind if she does not stop and just think, but Cha-young has a horrible sinking feeling.

The image is of Vincenzo.

The picture has been taken from the ground, and the first thing that she sees is the glass. Thousands of shards of clear glass, stained dark red, on the ground. In the background, slightly blurred, she can see Vincenzo sprawled on the ground, blood matted in his hair.

In between her quickening breaths and blurring eyes, all Cha-young can think of is how much, in the picture, Vincenzo looks like the fallen heroine in one of the tragic operas that Vincenzo had dragged her along to. In the last act, as the music turns frenzied and faster, and then reaches a crescendo, and then falls to nothing more than a single sustained note of a violin, a lone lament to the dead.

The image has a caption.

Night of Broken Glass.

[jackrrabbit]

excerpts/tasting menu of upcoming works

You’re in luck anon because this past week my dumbass brain decided to start like 5 different fics and not finish any of them, so I have plenty of things to preview (specific CWs included with each individual section)

As always, encouragement goes a long way for my motivation, so if you see something you’re interested in, give it a shoutout!

Also, all of these are super rough ;///; please have mercy on my pitiable first-draft skills

[BNHA] Spoiled Rotten /// Overhaul x f!Reader

Summary: You’re daddy’s spoiled little princess, but unfortunately daddy’s got debts to the yakuza and Overhaul’s going to make you work them off the hard way.

Warnings: restraints, kidnapping, harassment, drugging

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Against your will, your eyes flip up to the speaker. He’s the only one sitting, and somehow that gives him a position of power among the others. The leader?

Golden eyes rest steadily on yours, and you realize he’s waiting for your answer, so you slowly move your head from side to side.

“Didn’t know about daddy’s bad habits, huh?” This time the person speaking is behind you—the one who untied your blindfold, a thin man with lank, greasy blond hair. He’s the one who drugged me, you remember in a surge of panic, and you try to shift away from him only for him to step on the chain that connects your cuffs, jerking you back and pinning you in place.

“Careful, Setsuno. I told you not to leave marks. Let her talk.”

“Got it, boss.” The blond—Setsuno—fumbles at the back of your head and then he’s pulling the gag out of your mouth.

You open and close your mouth a few times to stretch out the stiff muscles. “Oh my gosh, was that polyester you just took out of my mouth? Do you have any idea how bad synthetics are for sensitive skin? I’m totally going to break out.”

A hush falls over the little room. You could hear a pin drop.

“…Are you complaining about the quality of the fabric we gagged you with?” the leader asks after a beat.

“You may be gangsters, but you don’t have to act like savages,” you reply primly, aligning your knees together and sending a proud look off to the side.

“Ohh…little princess deserves better, does she?” Setsuno coos. He edges closer to rub his cheek against yours and laughs when you flinch back from him. “Boss, you shoulda seen her bedroom. All pink and frilly, looked like royalty lived there. Bet they treat you like a real princess at home, huh? No wonder your daddy’s in debt.”

[BNHA] Sweet Tooth /// Bakugou x f!Reader

Summary: Pro hero AU—Your boss Ground Zero is an insufferable prick, but you just can’t get enough of the way he smells.

Warnings: none? arguing?

“Do you hear me? I don’t want you here. I don’t want you as my assistant. You can call yourself my ‘administrative support’ but you and I both know you’re a glorified janitor here to clean up my messes and I. Don’t. Want. You.” There’s a muffled bang and then the air is permeated with the acrid stench of burning. You don’t even have to look down to know that the papers (the report you spent three days of unpaid overtime trying to finish in the hopes that maybe this would convince him that you’re on his side) are going up in smoke.

And okay, you slip a little bit. Who can blame you?

“Well guess what, Katsuki? I don’t want you either.” You step as much closer to him as you can manage without literally touching him and jab your index finger into his chest—see how he likes it when you get up in his personal space. “I got placed here. I didn’t choose this. I don’t want to work for a temperamental brat who doesn’t know how to be appreciative of his staff, so the feeling’s mutual. So how about you shut up and let me do my job before the Commission decides you’re too much of a liability to let you run wild any longer?”

Bakugou sneers. He’s clearly not intimidated in the least, and dear god do you want to wipe that smug look off his face. “If you’re the best tactic the Commission’s got, they know they can’t touch me. I’m the number two hero—“

“—and you’re the number one expense when it comes to damage control and repairs. Seriously, do you think Deku goes around blowing up government buildings every other week? I’d kill to be at his agency instead of yours.”

“It was one stupid post office, and no one was hurt—“ Bakugou stops in the middle of his rebuttal and scarlet eyes narrow at you. “Wait. Deku? You’re saying you’d rather work for shitty Deku?”

He says it like the alias is an insult, and you frown. As a long-time admirer of Deku’s, you feel the instant impulse to come to his defense. “Of course I’d rather work for the top pro hero. Maybe if you weren’t so hot-headed you’d win a popularity contest once in a while.”

Uh-oh. Looks like you struck a nerve.

Bakugou leans into you and now you’re the one who has to shuffle back to keep your distance. He looks—well, murderous is a little too terrifying, so you’re going to go with pissed. Light shimmers out in harmless sparkles over his palms (it would be pretty if it wasn’t so foreboding) and the accompanying crackles make you shiver, but you hold the determined look on your face. He’s so close you can smell the fresh sharpness and witch hazel in his aftershave and under that—

—huh. It’s weird, but there’s a really sweet, really rich scent. Like…what is it? It’s wrong, out of place. Your brain is convinced that it’s not supposed to be there, so you can’t identify it. Without thinking, you inhale roughly, trying to get a better sense of the mouth-watering smell.

[BNHA] Runaways /// Dabi x f!Reader

Summary: Yandere—You were like an older sister to Dabi back when the two of you were teen runaways together; now that he’s found you as an adult, he’s never letting you leave again.

Warnings: unsafe piercing practices, don’t do this at home kids

When you turn your head like that, Dabi can see the tiny dots running up the side of your ear where your old piercings have scarred over from lack of use. Do you remember when he gave them to you? You did his first, running a needle through the lonely flame of your lighter (he offered to use his quirk, but it was still hard for him to control then so you declined) and then threading the metal through his ear. You promised it would only hurt for a second, and you were right, so he let you do the others.

Then, you’d offered to let him give you one. Just one on each ear—you already had an impressive collection of piercings, but you wanted to let him return the favor, so he did it. You were older than him and more experienced and had lived on the streets for longer, so when he held the needle in his hand and you told him you trusted him, it was the first time he’d ever thought of you as fragile, something delicate, something that he was capable of harming.

He’d chosen twin helix piercings for you, cresting the shell of each ear, silver band rings to match his. When they were done you’d pulled him to a mirror and asked him what he thought. It’d been a while after the worst burns on his face, the ones under his eyes and wrapping around his chin and down his neck, and he was still getting used to the knowledge that the wrinkled purple-red scars were never going to heal. “I look like…” he’d started.

A monster. A freak. A victim.

“A badass,” you’d said. “You look fucking cool. Any asshole who wants to pick a fight with you will take one look and know you’ve been through worse shit than whatever they can dish out, and that’s something to be proud of.”

Now that Dabi thinks about it, he probably wanted you even then.

[KNY] Moonrise /// Kokushibou x f!Reader

Summary: A shrine maiden is spirited away by a demon posing as a land god.

Warnings: references to Shinto religion

“Look up there, up in the mountains behind our shrine,” your grandmother told you. “Do you see the place where the earth rises into the clouds? Our kami lives there, in the boundary between the physical world and the celestial one, higher than any human can reach.”

You stopped crying just long enough to follow the direction of her gaze, staring into the hazy mist in the mountains beyond your village. “Kokushibou lives in the woods?” The idea of your supposedly beloved deity living off the land like a wild animal was unsettling to you.

The anxiety was obvious in your voice, but your grandmother just laughed and patted your hair. “In the woods, yes, but the legends tell us he lives in a mansion fit for an emperor. His house is so fine that our little temple could fit inside it a dozen times.”

“Does he live there all by himself? Isn’t he lonely?”

“Kokushibou may be alone, but he spends his days watching our village. He has three pairs of eyes so that he may look upon the human world, the heavens, and his own affairs without changing his gaze.” Your grandmother pointed to one of the stone carvings that had scared you earlier (the one you thought was so demonic with so many eyes in its face) and her wrinkled lips curled up in a smile that made her look like a girl again. “Can I tell you a secret?”

You nodded yes, too enthralled in the tale to remember that you’d been upset.

“Once when my aunt—your great grandmother’s sister—was young, Kokushibou came down from his mountain to watch her perform her kagura dance. When she first met his eyes she was afraid, but her fear only lasted a moment, for although he was fierce in temperament his face was as beautiful as the full moon.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Did she say anything to him?”

“No, he disappeared before she could speak to him. But she told me she always regretted not being able to thank him for what he does for our village.”

“But what does he do? For our village?”

Your grandmother’s rough hands closed over your small ones, pulling them to her mouth so she could place a tender kiss upon them. “Kokushibou protects us. In other towns like ours there are criminals, raids…even attacks from demons and other creatures of darkness. Our village is peaceful because the evil fears retribution from kami.”

“So he takes care of us?”

“Yes, all of us.”

“Even me?”

“Even you, little one.”

[Haikyuu] Fanatic pt. 3 /// Oikawa x f!Reader

Summary: Oikawa takes advantage of a devoted fan for some stress relief after a bad match (…and then other stuff happens, see [part 1] and [part 2])

Warnings: implied smut?, 18+, implied dubcon??, degradation

“Wait!” you gasp out again, craning your neck to meet his gaze as best you can from over your shoulder (still without the nerve to pick your hands up off the glass or move your ass away from him). “Wait, we can’t—we shouldn’t, it’s wrong—“

We can’t. It’s wrong. Oikawa rolls your words around in his head and almost wants to laugh again—and he would, if he weren’t so focused on the fact that in a few seconds, he’s going to get what he’s ben wanting for months. You’re perfect, still his dutiful little cheerleader, still so deeply in denial that you can’t even say that he can’t, he shouldn’t, he’s wrong. None of this is your responsibility, but you’re acting like it’s a decision you’re making together. Because you want it too, he knows, he’s sure of it. Just like all his other vapid fans, you’re the same except you’re lucky, because he’s about to give it to you.

“Yeah, it’s wrong.” His voice is low and so close to your ear that you can feel the steam of his breath splay out over the skin of your cheek. “It’s wrong…you’re so sick, wanting it like this. So dirty, my sick little slut, let me make it better. I’ll make it all better, hm? Just stay put and—take it.”

A/N: I also wrote a bunch of iwcb pt. 3 but I really hate what I wrote so I might have to rewrite it, pray for me :(

[bangtancentricsblog]

hell hath no fury

↳ they say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned God was not an exception

❒ pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

❒ genre: angst, some fluff maybe, re-imagined bible story

❒ alternative universe: biblical, modern, married

❒ rating: NC 17

❒ word count: 2.8 k

warnings/disclosures: this isn't meant to mock religion or anything so please don't see it that way!, a whole lot of other gods/goddesses that i don't know enough about but decided to use for this fic, LUCIFER JUNGKOOK, GOD MC, APHRODITE SEOKJIN, BES YOONGI, MICHAEL TAEHYUNG, talks of war, Jungkook and MC have a daughter, they talk in circles lmao, mc doesn't let things go….nothing too bad though so i hope you enjoy it…..

main ml • AO3

It’s bright, so uncomfortably bright. Jungkook likes to think that maybe the white monotone and the open concept of the living room isn't because you held onto that disgusting idea of purity. To be honest he’s absolutely positive you’ve never known purity in your life, but he’s not one to judge. He’s not quite sure why he’s here but he supposed it's a good sign when his wife finally decides she wants to see him, especially of her own volition. There’s something about the solitude of your house that makes his skin tingle almost as if one of his brothers were near. Though one can never be certain when it comes to you, especially considering those horny bastards had been after you way before you two had even gotten married.

His leg has begun to bounce, a nervous tick he picked up from one of his human friends, but to say he’s nervous is a long shot. In truth he’s excited, the last time he’d seen you was during the wildfires of 2017 and that already seemed so long ago. Sure he’d caused it but what other choice did he really have? It’s not everyday one so easily gets to see their wife, especially one who has gone out of her way to make it known that although they were indeed still married they were in fact separated. He sighs heavily, manspreading while leaning his head against the back of the couch, he can’t wait, he thinks allowing his eyes to flutter closed.

*

Jin stares at you, eyes half lidded the way they always are when he can smell the love in the air. Though it's not just in the air, the scent of love has heavily wrapped itself to your being like a second skin and he finds that not for the first time he wants to know who exactly had such an effect on you. His cheek rests in his open palm, his stare taking in every bit of you in search of a possible answer, but alas he can’t seem to find a crack in your hand crafted mask. The garden you sit in is like that of a fairytale, Jin would know he’s read his fair share, but he digresses, he’s not quite sure why he’s here though. Sure he loved having tea with you but recently something had changed and when the goddess of love and beauty says he wished he could have tea with you in a beautiful garden he hadn’t expected you to make one in mere seconds. Surely something had to be wrong for you to build an entire garden just to appease his whims.

“____, honey, is there something you wanted to talk about?” he asks, eyes still trained on your face, still searching.

“I’m not sure what you mean Aphrodite, can’t I simply want to have tea with you?”

“You would never take me for a fool, just as I would never dream to take you for one. So I’ll ask once more and you know I don't usually ask love. Is there something you wanted to talk about?” he waits, his nose twitching as the beautiful sweet fragrance of love so unique to you is tainted by the bitter scent of smoke and iron. He wants to gag but he won’t because it seems your little mask has begun to crumble unknowingly.

“I’ve summoned my husband.” you whisper cupping the teacup in both hands. He doesn’t mean to gasp, it just slips out the seams of his lips. He knows of all the things your husband has done and he knows that they hurt you deeply, even now.

“What can I do to help?” he asks instead of ‘Do you want my husband to beat him up?’

“How do you, I mean how can I, well I'm not too sure honestly.” you chuckle bringing your teacup to your lips and the look in your eyes is far away, one Jin has never had the pleasure of knowing especially in one as young as yourself.

“Honey, you can't force someone to love you, love is something that just is or isn't.” He knows it's cryptic and yeah all the old gods spoke in riddles like this but he knows you, and he knows you’ll understand.

“I hate riddles, you old gods should keep up with the times.” you say, and suddenly he’s reminded of Bes who despite being slightly younger than him is much more in tune with the ways of humans and the current ruling god. His brows twitch, the smooth expanse of his unwrinkled face twisting as he feels the words slide onto his tongue, “You should talk to Yoongi then, he seems like a better candidate than this old goddess.” Your laughter fills the air, a sound so joyous that the garden around him seems to grow bigger and brighter. Oh, he thinks as he watches the garden evolve past anything he can imagine. Mortals were so dumb to think that a man could do anything much less create all that they have, even now as you sit before him he’s completely in awe of your true powers. There’s that scent again, the smell of love but much more different, yours is sweet and warm this one is cool and soothing almost like the scent of rain. It washes over him and mingles with yours twisting up in a way that compliments one other.

He’s turning his gaze away from you in search of the scent and finds himself staring straight at Lucifer. It’s not a surprise really, he knew that Lucifer was handsome, dare he say rivailed the looks of many of his friends and yet he was a different kind of handsome. Though right now he finds himself equal parts intrigued and disgusted because there was no way this was your husband.

*

Jungkook is roused from his nap by the sound of laughter, more accurately your laughter. It's such a sweet sound, he can't help but feel slightly upset that you sound so happy giggling up a storm with someone that isn't him. He knows the difference between your laugh, can easily tell, before you’d decided to separate he’d spent the better part of 7 millenia with you. He can see the way the shrubbery just outside a window is blooming, the once small buds blossoming into the full grown flowers as your laughter continues. He’s off the couch and following the sound like a bloodhound to a scent, he doesn't remember the cobblestone path nor the fountains of water nymphs that shy away from him as he passes. He doesn’t remember what used to be his home being so vast, the land is green, small rose bushes growing taller and taller into a hedge maze. He’s walking through it blindly, it’s bizarre really, because he’s sure he’d never gone through it before, almost as if it had grown in an instant.

He can see the trees that line the outsides of the hedge maze, can smell the sweet scent of honey suckles hidden from his view. All of these things are new to him but you aren’t one of them. Your laughter has died down to mere gasps and he’s rounding a corner when he finally finds you, though to his surprise it’s not just you. His gaze is quick to fall on Aphrodite, as his aura fluctuates from a soft pink to a dark raspberry his dislike for Jungkook is clear. The sun prickles at the back of his neck as you turn your gaze to meet his, a strange comforting warmth spreads through him. One he is accustomed to, something else he’s missed since you’d forced him from his place by your side. He watches your eyes grow wide as if you’ve just now remembered that you’d summoned him. A slow itch finds its way to his palms, he has to clench his fists to get rid of the sensation, blunt fingernails digging into the skin. He hides the slight wince well face falling into one of indifference as you continue to gaze at him.

“I’ll take my leave now, but I expect to hear from you soon.” Aphrodite says to you smiling in a way that annoys Jungkook. You seem to hesitate to tear your gaze from Jungkook’s, there’s that sparkle he missed, the one that shines brighter than all the galaxies in creation. He knows it sounds like an exaggeration but it’s not, your eyes really do hold stardust and shine just as bright. The breeze carries your scent to him and he takes a deep breath relishing in the indescribable smell, he sighs, fingers twitching at the thought that he’s finally this close to you.

“Wife.” he says.

“Jungkook.” you parrot his tone, but he can see the way your lips twitch in a failed attempt to hide a smile. He can feel his own pull upwards, his cheeks heating the longer you smile at him.

“May I take a seat?” he asks motioning to the chair opposite you. You nod your head gaze trained on his form as he easily closes the distance. The sun shines beautifully off his hair bathing him in a golden glow that makes him just that much more handsome, and it further reminds you just how breathtaking he is.

“How have you been Jungkook?” You ask as he takes a seat, the sun once warm now feels slightly uncomfortable against your skin, the dress you wear doing nothing to protect you from its suddenly harsh rays.

“Could be better, I do rule over hell after all. How about you, how is heaven going for you?” He says, moving to rest his cheek in an open palm.

“It’s going well, the death rate has gone down significantly. Nothing I can really complain about. I would like it if you stopped threatening to stir up trouble though.”

“I do no such thing, if my brothers have lied to you that’s on them. I would also love to not see you flirting with them at family functions.”

“I don’t flirt with them.” You say appalled at the thought.

“You do, you just don’t know you’re doing it.” He laughs taking your hand that rests on the table. His skin is warm against yours, your fingers twitch in his hold as he moves to intertwine them. His eyes are lidded, a soft smile playing at his lips the longer the silence grows. A breeze blows past carrying with it the faintest scent of salt and heat, one that comes to mind when you think of one person. You pull your hand away from his just barely catching the way his face falls at the loss of contact. It makes your heart ache, the loss of contact with him when he’s just returned to your side. But you have to be strong, it was you after all that had chosen to separate.

“Mama!” Your daughter squeals bounding over to you before she throws herself into your hold. Her skin is warm, the scent of salt just that much stronger now that she’s sitting in your lap. Her gaze falls to Jungkook quickly as she squeals again quickly squirming off your lap and towards him.

“Papa, I missed you! Did you miss me?” She asks as he moves to hold her close.

“Papa always misses you, my precious girl.”

“Mama said she had a surprise for me, are you staying over?” She asks excitedly before she begins to play with his fingers comparing her little hand to his.

“I don’t know, what do you think mama?” He asks around a grin that makes your heart flutter and your cheeks heat.

“I think your papa is busy honey. Why don’t you go play with your toys while we finish talking and then we can do something else.” You ask eyes hopeful that she’ll agree easily.

“Okay.” She sighs sliding off his lap but not before she kisses his cheek and bounds off towards the house. Both of you watch her go, gaze reflecting the adoration you hold for her.

“She’s gotten so big, how do you handle her?”

“With a lot of work, look I called you here because for some reason Yoongi has convinced me to try and work things out with you.”

“I’ve always liked Yoongi, he’s a very reasonable god.”

“We have our daughter to think about so I figured we should at least try for her.”

“And what about us?”

“What of it?”

“Are we not going to try and fix our relationship?”

“Jungkook, I know you don’t love me. You’ve proven it many times over and I don't want to force any of my feelings on you.”

“Why do you think that?” He asks, the annoyance is clear as he sticks his tongue into his cheek crossing his arms at his chest.

“You cheated on me, more than once.” You grit out.

“For the last time, it was a misunderstanding. You never let me explain, but of course you wouldn’t because you’re god and you’re always right.”

“I didn’t need to hear a lie about how that minor goddess came to be in our bed.”

“It wouldn’t have been a lie, because I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Just like you did nothing wrong with Lilith?”

“Exactly, Lilith is a liar she wanted to get away from Adam. I had nothing to do with that!”

“Surely you think me a fool.”

“I don’t but I do think you’re being foolish. I have never and will never be unfaithful to you. I love you, even after you cast me out of heaven, even when you refuse to believe me, I love you.” He says so earnestly your heart skips a beat. In his eyes you see nothing but truth, they glitter like they did all those years as if they’d been sprinkled with only the purest of stardust. They’re just as beautiful, just as lethal, but still beautiful and yet there’s something different.

“What aren’t you telling me?” You ask, the lightness in your tone is gone, replaced with something firm, something unyielding.

“What makes you think I’m hiding something, if I’m hiding anything at all.”

“I know you, and you are most definitely hiding something. So what is it?”

“The years have made you cynical, I don’t spend all my time plotting just so I can see you again.”

“Of course not, you spend the rest of your time bedding demons and corrupting the minds of humans.” You laugh a hollow empty sound, it’s unpleasant and makes his stomach twist.

“Must we have this conversation again? We’re talking in circles love, I have not done anything wrong….recently anyways.”

“Jungkook,” you start only to be startled by the appearance of Michael “Taehyung what brings you?”

“Pardon me my lord, I bring news of the human realm.” he says, shooting a glance at Jungkook.

“Tell me.”

“There are whispers of war, amongst the humans and the celestial realms.”

“War is common amongst humans, but higher beings have not been at war for millenia. What has changed?”

“Witnesses have said a serpent has whispered into the ears of many creating tensions between once peaceful beings.” Your gaze falls to Jungkook who sits quietly; his suit lacks any creases, crisp even as his brother delivers this sudden news. He lacks the surprise that one would usually witness when hearing this information.

“You did this.” you whisper resigned to the inevitable fact that he has stirred up trouble yet again but somehow this is worse than anything you could have imagined.

“I might’ve lost sight of the serpent who whispered in Eve’s ear some time ago, however I had no part in this. I am the king of hell, despite how the world sees me I do not relish in the useless spilling of blood human or otherwise.” He breathes picking lint off his sleeve, gaze meeting yours once more. His eyes are ablaze at the mere thought of war especially when he has something he wishes to protect whether you’d want to be protected or not. You and your daughter are his most precious treasures and if this war comes, he will surely die to make sure that the two of you are safe.

“Go to the general, prepare for war and make sure my daughter is safe at all costs.” you speak, and this version of you is the one Jungkook loves the most. The one who easily takes command of her domain, the one and only God.

“I’ll fight with you, I will always fight with you my love.” he reminds you, taking your hand once more, moving to kneel before you as he pledges his life to you again for all eternity in life or death he would be yours.

[dragqueenpentheus]

Okay no one has to read this but i DO have to write it:

PYROC VS FATHER PAUL

Ya bitch needs an art break bc im getting angry about voices existing as i try to keep myself entertained. Today is NOT a god one for sinking into repetitive line work and that’s just about all i have on the table atm

SO! Im gunna do a little thinking about my little meow meows all fucked up by religion. Just a comparison for my sanity and interests. Pyroc is my baby i wrote him for the first time years ago. Five?????????? Whadda hell. Going on six.

ANYWAY john joined religion because of his trauma. His sister died and he felt lost. He was unmoored in this fishing village and looking for reason looking for hope. Hed had his heart broken and trying to make sense of tragedy on his own was totally beyond him. Thats why his interactions with riley in AA are SO good like. He knows that confusion and he knows the rhetoric that’s supposed to combat it. Only it dooesnt work for riley.

The same sort of thing happens for pyrc, only inverted. Loss urns him away from god and religion because its SO strong in his family and not only is he loosing trust in god, but his kin as well. He’s suspicious there’s mre they arent telling him, at the point of his fathers death. And he agrees to, on the surface, absolutely wholly throw himself in to being the second the family and the village need. But he’s keeping his treachery under wraps.

That’s one of the coolest things about father paul imo is like. That slow unraveling of what is. Frankly. An awful half assed plan, driven by fear and loneliness and desperation and dementia and love. Even VERY obvious things like. Taking down the newspaper photo of his young self ‘slip’ by him. I think, on some level, its DEEPLY intentional. He wants people to CHOOSE this. He wants people like bev. He wants people who see him and are in aw of him beating god. Of killing death. He wants to be worshiped and adored and for people to come to him willingly, no tragedy driving them to his arms.

Pyroc also wnats to be worshipped, but he ALSO wants to do the worshipping. He really longs for an element of almost????? But not quite??? Subjection?? He wants to be shown something and for a Great Voice to tell him, unquestioningly and unerringly that it is GOOD. Full stop. And then he wants to spend his life worshipping it. But this booko is an exploration of how….. no such thing exists. And more importantly no great voice exists either. There is nothing wholly good, nothing wholy evil. His lack of faith in himself once he becomes god is him starting to understand that as well. Thats on purpose baked into the lore. The starting point was ‘what if god was a position and in order to get promoted you had to be a murderer. No matter what’. He understands things are not wholly good, at that point. I onder how long it will be for him to realize they are not fully evil as well?

Bc pruitt does hm hm hm an interesting move. Where he takes something the narritve is very sure to communicate is EVIL no wiggle room just fact. Even if its driven by animal instinct its. Evil. And he makes it, not just good, but HOLY. And god i LOVEEEE that for him i ADOREEE that what a MOVE. Driven by desperation and dementia and relief and ‘if god saved me than maybe i can be good despite loving and sinning and maybe if i defeat god then i will be Thee Good’. SO sexy of him. Im really fascinated by his morality. He seems to have an understanding of the shades of grey in some respects??? But if he had a BETTER one with more forgiveness in his heart i feel like hed have left the church anyway after sarah was born??? Even if millie didnt ask him??? That might just be my own sensibilities creeping in but ….. like he culd have seen her on the weekends. He can do other jobs. Hes straight (??? Not totally convinced of this) he could have just dated her that makes me crazy. LIKE OBV HE HAD LINES HE THOUGHT THAT WOULD CROSS AND HE HAD INTERNALIZED THE CHURCH AND THE RULES AND SHE WAS MARRIED AND ECT ECT i know he couldnt have really but. Thye were straight. They coulda.

Im not gunna do fantasy homophobia bc i think its …………….. Boring. But i think some element of??? The vindlegaurd line MUST be passed along and for that particular rules must be applied. But thats also boring as hell :/ maybe i can work in my parthenogenesis lore?????????? I bet pyroc would love building that spell in any universe. That’s the sequal when he goes to magic university in helsin. But yeah i do like the concept that. Anyone can have a baby thru magic its just a time and energy commitment. Just a matter of wanting it enough together. Every baby is so deeply wanted and its mere existence is proof. Thats dope i love that. HMMM to be decided at a later date when im deeper into the story i think. I still havent figured out fully how and where and why orion is going to be invovled and if???? Pyroc and orion are even going to be romantic??????? Im torn im TORn…….

Thikns about john bonding w sarah over science and learning and starts wEEPING…. Like theres some surity beloved. Its just a matter of uncovering. I think sarah felt that same thirst for answers and hunted them differently. Her faith is in logic and science. I loveeee her god. Every scene w her and her dad absolutely RUIN me like!!!!!! SHE DOESNT KNOW!!! SHE DOESNT KNOW HOW LOVED SHE IS!!!!!! I hope at hte very end she saw the blood as the gesture of love it SO clearly was and not him trying to poison her. God i love that she spat it out. GOD. Thats about being gay, btw. Spits the religious offering that could save you across the gasoline soaked church floor like BABE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I think we as a collective should talk about the possibiites around sarah/erin more. Bc their defiance combined would be. Earth SHATTERING for crockett.

In the future pyroc gets a kid. Ever since that campaign where Enemy ended up playing his daughter im like. How did i NOT know this idiot wanted nothing more in the entire world than to travel it with his daughter. I dont care how or why hes getting a kid. Hed be so doting and awful abut it. He would need orion as a co-parent for the kids self esteem to be normal levels. thINKS ABOUT PAUL GETTING TO RAISE SARAH AND JUST ABSOLUTELY GASSING HER UPPPPPPPP HANGING EVERY DOODLE SHE EVER MADE ON TEH FRIDGE. BOASTING ABOUT HER SCEINECE PROJECT OT ANYONE WITHIN EYESIGHT EVEN THOUGH ‘WE K N O W JOHNWE WERE ALL AT THE SCEINCE FAIR’!!!!!!!!!!! Let these fuck ups be doting fathers im fucking begging. That scene where paul is like. You take ccare of everyone on the island sarah. Its more than being a doctor. You comfort them.

HM HM comfort is such a thing for Miss Bitch like!! He sees it as a Good Thing. He tries to bring it for riley by asking to hold the AA meetings on island ((also manipulation. Obvously also manipulation. I wouldnt have bene shocked if he was slipping the vampire blood into the coffee every meeting either. But thats just a theory. A game theory.)) ANYWAY he sees comfort as hly. The church gave it to him when he needed it. The angel gave it to him in the cave. Feeling safe and warm is HIGH on his list of priorities and what makes him hand over respect.

I think pyroc has lived a very comfortable life in SO many ways, but in none he. Activly recognizes. A key part of his character arc his him…. Opening his eyes to the world around them. Seeing the privilege he has and being like. Wait. This isnt Right. We have to change thi. And when no one agrees ti shifts to I have to change this. With Violence. A little revolutionary <3 it only costs the life of his whole ass family

Thats more fun comparison ground like…… paul is SO much about I know whats right and there is a cost but i AM ignoring it. Like HE KNOOOOWSSSS he knooooows he just doesnt want o See. I’m not sure if im going to surprise yroc with the ……megadeath of. His whole family. Or if it’s a choice he has to activly make. I think a choice makes it more compelling, more layerd. It has to be in the moment though, becaus ei think thats. A key difference between them. Pyroc wouldnt do it.. hed just leave hed peace out and do what he could in small ways. But he wouldnt do his big stand off with god. Hed shrink his goals in order to not hurt his family. Out of love?? Intimidation?? Some instinct wihtin him that balks at the idea of disobedience??? I think even he doesnt know. But i LOVE john becaue he jsut decides to lie. He closes his eyes and says i am being stupid on purpose. I think thats PERHAPS more compelling than good guy coward pyroc BUT!!!!! Thats who he is rip to ths little man. Cant change him now hes a whole ass child in my head. The PLOT i can change. Him….. not without massive character development <3

UGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MM set my brain on FIRE!!!! Im so glad nano is coming up. I love sharpening pyroc against the comparison of other AMAZING characters. Father paul hill my beloved millstone <3 anyway sorry to anyone who reads this its literally me unhinging my jaw and emptying my brain out. I had to write stuff that wasn’t novel or fic. A little character time down and dirty. I wil NOT be editing this love and light to future me trying to decode this

[watchtower-feed]

Death Do We Part (Part 7)

SSA Spin-off ✧ Jason Todd ✧ Physical Link ✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧ Notes: This is turning out to be a slow burn fic and I’m sad. I’m going to sneak in some fluff in the next part. Words: 2,354

    Bruce glares down at her, “Where’s Jason?”

    Talia’s eyes narrow in sadness and she closes them as she shakes her head. “He betrayed the League. He killed them all.”

    Before she could even finish her words, you’re already lifting up your knees to hide your face.

    “He’s gone, beloved.”

     Jason stares at the ceiling in his room, absentmindedly caressing his arms, finally wondering if he’ll ever see your words on his arms again. After what happened, what he did, he expected you to write strings of profanities and some words of disappointment or sadness. He at least expected a strong punch in the gut but all he’s received is silence.

     He’s drowning in the silence of his room. The silence of his days and nights. The silence even the wind brings in the desert. So many times he’s found himself clutching the fountain pen but never dipping it in the ink bottle. Only hovering its tip over his skin. He knows he’s done something extremely wrong and he can never redeem himself.

     But then he thinks, why does it matter? Just because you were born with the link, doesn’t mean anything. He thinks that every time he gets knocked down in training. He considers it while he watches his wounds bleed and stain his clothes. He thinks of you whenever he coughs blood into his palms.

     He can’t say sorry. He knows how but he doesn’t want to. He tells himself he needs this. These little bouts and drills are necessary for the future he wants, a future without his murderer. He’s just not sure if he wants you in it. Or if you’ll want him.

     Frustrated, Jason rubs his head, messing up his hair, and locks himself in his room without dinner. He closes his windows, turns off the lights, and lies still on his bed. He shuts his eyes and takes one last deep breath before numbing his body to the cold air in his room and the soft cotton bed.

     The first thing he feels from you is warmth. Then there’s a cackle like fire eating away at a piece of wood. He can feel the heat on his face and palms and he can almost see you sitting in front of the large fireplace at the manor.

     He focuses on his auditory senses but doesn’t hear anything, just the fire and wood softly echoing in the room. Then he hears the large wooden door slowly open along with a voice he hasn’t heard in years.

     “Y/N.” He can hear his father. His voice is so gentle and wary. Jason wonders if he used that voice to whisper apologies to his own dead body when he found him. “Dick called me because you weren’t answering his calls.”

     “Oh. I left my phone in my room.”

     Your voice still floods every fiber in Jason’s body. His body shivers, almost breaking his concentration. He hasn’t heard your voice for the longest time and it’s only now that he realizes how much he misses it.

     “I’ll tell him.” Jason doesn’t hear the wooden door close. Only the crackling fire continues to fill the room with sound. “I’m not going to ask you what happened but I want you to know that you can always talk to me about it. It may not seem like it but I am a good listener.”

     Jason almost wants to laugh with joy. For a moment, he’s happy that Bruce is taking care of you. Treating you with as much care and sympathy as he did for him.

     “Do you…” Jason feels you nibbling on your lips before you continue speaking, “Is there a way to get rid of a soulmate link?” you whisper.

     Jason suddenly feels whiplashed. His body has gone stiff with his mouth open and his brows furrowed, creasing close together at the center.

     “It’s not the bruises or the bleeding-- It’s just---”

     Bruce waits a few more seconds before prodding, “Just?”

     “Just,” you reply with finality. “Thank you, Bruce. I’ll go ahead and text Dick.”

     Jason feels the warmth of the fire disappear from your face.

     “Y/N, after we find Jason, I’ll help you find a way. If that’s still what you want.”

     Jason doesn’t hear you reply. After a moment, the next thing he feels is soft cotton on his face, warm tears on his cheeks, and nothing else for the rest of the night. When Jason wakes up, his own eyes are strained and tears have dried up on his own cheeks.

     “You seem distracted,” Talia frowns as he scrutinizes Jason who quickly goes defensive.

     “I’m not.”

     Talia doesn’t say anything but she keeps watching him throughout the day. The extra pair of eyes on him during training does not help him feel any better. He’s making mistakes he wouldn’t have as Robin and he keeps glaring at Talia until she leaves with a huff.

     Finally done for the day, Jason takes a stroll around the compound, something he’s taken to doing ever since you stopped writing. He wants to be sure he knew every nook and cranny of the place where he’s being held. 

     One of his favorite spots was an empty well half-concealed by foliage. He believes it’s directly under one of the tunnels connecting the fortress into the sacred city, a tunnel off-limits to assassins in training, so he’s been toiling his restless nights digging away at it absently-mindedly.

     “We may need to bring the soulmate in.”

     Talia’s calculating voice floats down the well as her shadow looms over Jason. He quickly panics but notices that Talia has her back turned to the well. Jason quickly flattens himself against the wall directly closest to Talia and Ra’s Al Ghul and slows down his breathing.

     “He still thinks we don’t know about the link. It could be our last chance to keep the boy in our control.”

     Ra’s grunts, “You know as well as I do how much more difficult that contingency plan is.”

     “Yes. My beloved has taken in a new ward. But we both know he’s not training Y/N. She’s still an easy target.”

     Jason grit his teeth. Your name passing through Talia’s lips does not sit well with him, especially the implication of what they have planned for you. What they’ve always planned for you.

     Ra’s is quiet for a while. A distant call catches both of their attention. “If the boy continues to fare poorly, then we may revisit this discussion.”

     Jason doesn’t go back to his room. Fueled by anger, frustration, and a grave sense of panic, he stays inside the deep well. After hours pacing back and forth in the darkness, forcing his breathing to calm down unsuccessfully, he stomps and jumps in anger inside the well. The dirt floor muted his feet but it cracked under his weight.

     A small patch of earth gave way and Jason fell through. He landed on hard ground in what seemed to be a man-made tunnel. The very tunnel he’s been digging to see.

     Then everything clicks inside his head. Quick-thinking and resourceful, like a true Robin. Jason looks up through the hole until he finds the moon halfway to its apex and estimates what time it is. From what he’s heard from the other assassins, the city is only an hour ride away from the fortress so he might just have enough time to run there and back before his morning training.

     Eth Alth'eban was a small city filled with priest warriors. They valued their faith and religion above everything. They prided themselves as people of great devotion and resilience. While the League of Assassins saw them as an obstacle over the land where the new Lazarus pit can thrive. 

     It took one week for the League to completely bring the sacred city down. Less than that to completely break down the citizens’ wills and only four days to corrupt half of their souls.

     Human trafficking. That was the new-age problem the League had employed to completely eradicate a city of devotion and resilience. They kidnapped their children, and then their women, and sold them to the next cities over. Once they fought their warriors, they were so enraged, they’ve lost all reason and that’s when the League had the upper hand.

     They defeated them but didn’t kill them. They fought the warriors of Eth Alth'eban until they were on their knees begging for mercy. Blood running down their face and saliva spitting from their mouth every time they pleaded. The assassins took one look at them and then walked away.

     That was their mistake. Once Jason had made it to the city, he immediately locates a small resistance of young people, children of the warriors the League had shamed. Without caution but with complete determination, he strides up to them with his hands up and states his purpose clear and loud.

     They stare at him like he’s crazy. Jason thinks he is crazy. But there’s no time and he knows what they want and how to make them agree. The group look at each other in question until the tallest one finally speaks.

     “If what you say is true, how do you expect us to go up against the League of Assassins in one night?”

     Jason grins, finally getting somewhere, much sooner than he thought. “We’re going to need guns. Lots of it.”

     A few months later, Jason stands front and center, surrounded by assassins and stared down by Ra’s Al Ghul. It’s one of those nights where a training member is given the chance to challenge a fully-fledged assassin. If they pass, it’s a sign that they no longer need training and they have achieved their first kill.

     The League is in shock when Jason walks past the assassins, the elite members, and stands right in front of Ra’s. By League tradition, only a blood-relative or a betrothed can challenge Ra’s, a fight for the position of the Demon Head.

     Jason chuckles, “I’m just messing with you.” He laughs boisterously as the room goes sour. Some of the young assassins try to stifle their snickers but Ra’s, Talia, and the elite members are not amused. 

     “Do you think this is funny? Is the League truly a joke to you?” Talia snaps at him.

     Jason doesn’t look at her. “I wasn’t trying to be funny.” He turns around to look at the full number of the League. He turns to the shadows in the darkness, counting the silhouettes surrounding the premises overhead. Absentmindedly he replies, “I was trying to get out of the way.”

     Bullets rain down like hellfire. Ra’s shouts orders. Talia pulls out her sword. But Jason is faster and he shoots both of them in the chest before they could even take a step toward him. He shoots them two more times along their torso and doesn’t wait for the youth of Eth Alth'eban to finish fulfilling their lifelong dream of vengeance.

     Jason sneaks away and finally escapes the fortress that has held him and shaped him for a whole year. The League of Assassins are bad guys, villains, but their methods are right. How can evil truly leave Gotham if Batman never stops it from breathing?

     Jason’s first destination is home, smuggling himself aboard a cargo ship and slipping into the city under the Bat’s radar. He doesn’t go straight to Wayne manor even though his feet are itching to come running to you. To his home.

     “So close yet so fucking far,” he whispers to himself as he waits for another night of darkness to veil the city and deafen it with sirens. He has been waiting for one big villainous operation that can distract the Bats for a few hours. He plans on going to Wayne manor and take you with him, away from Gotham and go anywhere in the world.

     Finally, from the surveillance he’s planted at every exit of the cave, he sees them leave at the same time, leaving you and Alfred in the manor. Jason still knows the property like the back of his hand and uses the shadows and blind spots to make his way toward the back entrance.

     He suddenly stops when he sees you on a balcony, the balcony of his room. Your arms are crossed. Your eyes are staring directly ahead at the horizon of the foggy and blurry Gotham skyline.

     “It’s warmer tonight. Did you find a better place?”

     At first, Jason thinks you saw him.

     “I bet you hated the sand getting in your hair and on your face,” you chuckle softly. “I stopped getting seasick so I’m guessing you’ve finally arrived… wherever it is you’re trying to get to.”

     Jason slowly crouches down beneath the balcony, pressing his back against the brick wall and straining his ears to hear you better, letting your voice replenish him like an oasis in the desert.

     “Dick thinks you’re here. In Gotham. That’s why they’ve been out there every single night. Scouring the city for you. Hoping you’re not injured. Hoping you’re fine. Hoping you haven’t completely turned to the dark side...”

     You pause for a breath and your voice sounds different when you speak next. Quiet. Sadder. “I hope you’re not injured. I hope you’re well. I also hope you’re not here.”

     Jason closes his eyes and leans his head against the wall, searing pain tearing through his chest.

     “After what you did, Jason… Bruce thinks the first thing you’ll do in Gotham is kill the Joker.”

     Your next words come in an even softer voice, almost strained, “Then maybe Tim…”

     Jason opens his eyes. All relief has been washed away from his body. Why don’t you think he’ll see you first?

     “I hope he’s wrong. I hope you decided to leave this life and choose a better one. You’ve always been scrappy, Jason. You can achieve anything you put your mind to.”

     Jason hears you sigh along with the shiver that goes through your body.

     “I don’t know if you’re listening this time. I felt you listening before, sometimes when I’m at the fireplace, or down in the cave, or pretending to be asleep… If you’re listening now, and if you’re in Gotham City… turn back. Take this second chance. Find a new purpose--”

     Jason’s heard enough. He slams the wall with his fist and rushes from the shadows until he’s off the property.

     You’re startled. You quickly scan the property for any movement but you just miss the figure retreating into the distance. Back into Gotham City.

✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

[jaelijn]

Lmao it just clicked that the fic I’ve been thinking of continuing for the last few days (it needs a substantial rewrite, so I had it shelved) has the WiP title of “Valentine’s Day” because I started it last year on this day, working through the same, usual rubbish.

I don’t normally do this and this doesn’t mean that the fic will be done anytime soon, but have teaser, because that is just too funny. Spoiler: the fic actually has very little to do with Valentine’s Day.

Of all the things Blake had suggested over the years, this surely had to be the worst.

“A what?”

“A celebration of love in all its forms. My research shows that it has gone through several developments over the years. Originally it seems to have been religious, but it also had a phase where it was solely for heterosexual romantic couples, and one where it was highly commercialised, but the core idea has persisted until the beginning of the New Calendar.”

“And you want to bring it back? Why?”

“The cabinet thinks more holidays would be well-received, and we want them to be open to all religions. Avalon agrees, Avon.”

“Does she indeed.” Avon toyed with the stem of his glass, then forced himself to stop. “Why are you telling me, then? It can’t be for my opinion.”

“I thought you might like to know.” Blake was silent for just a fraction too long, long enough to make Avon glance up at him and see the rush of emotions flicker over his face. “I want to ask them to schedule it for Vila’s birthday.”

Avon’s throat went dry. He took a hasty gulp of his wine, knowing full well that it wouldn’t hide his reaction, not from Blake. They’d known each other too long.

“Do you think he’d like that?” Blake asked, for once letting the uncertainty show.

On any other topic, Avon may have made him wait, made him work for a sincere response. Not on this. “A festival of love? Oh yes, he’d like it.” Avon swallowed, absurdly grateful that Blake had waited until they had finished eating – he was eating poorly even on the best of days, and this would have ruined his appetite as surely as if Blake had served him raw meat. He wasn’t able to meet Blake’s gaze.

“Now you know why I wanted to tell you.”

“Yes.” Avon set his glass down with exaggerated care, aligning it with his plate just to give his fingers something to do. “I appreciate the warning.”

“But you don’t object?”

“I object to the necessity of a holiday for love. You know very well that I’ve never understood the need for symbolic proof for these things, as if it could provide some kind of certainty–” Avon cut himself off with a shake of his head. “But if those are your scheduling plans, only a celebration of alcohol in all its forms might have been more appropriate.”

Blake nodded, a smile flickering over his lips and dying immediately. “I won’t tell the cabinet why I propose the date, if you agree. It is conveniently placed in the calendar, with no other holidays near; that should be all the reason we need.”

“Does our beloved president know?”

“I imagine Avalon will recognise the date.” Blake brushed a nervous hand through his curls. Now that they were greying, they seemed to be more untameable than ever. “We’ve all stared at the file long enough.”

“Yes, I suppose we have.” Avon abandoned his glass on the table, drawing his hands back into his lap. “I should go.”

“Already? You’ve barely been here two hours,” Blake said, but he didn’t sound at all surprised. Avon didn’t dignify it with an answer.

They solemnly shook hands at the door, after Avon had turned up his collar against the incessant wind that even the dome did nothing to abate. After ten years of living in the outpost, it was hardly even a nuisance anymore.

“You know,” Blake said, “I’d like to see you more often.”

“It’s hardly practical.”

“You’re run to the ground, Avon. How much you may protest, you are my friend, and I should hate to see you destroy yourself.”

“I’m fine, Blake,” Avon said and wondered whether he had ever quite lied into Blake’s face like that. Immediately sorry, he looked away down the deserted street. “Perhaps I can try to extend my time away.”

“I think that might be a good idea, yes,” Blake answered mildly.

“It will take time.”

“I know that. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Because you are a fool. You should be in the capital; these remote linkups to parliament are going to cause a security issue sooner rather than later.”

“So you tell me often enough.” Blake smiled the smile that so used to infuriate Avon on the Liberator. “Good night, Avon.”

 Avon walked home. It was hardly far. After all the years, the small dome felt familiar, despite its modern amenities, its closer link with the outside world – of which the wind was one aspect – and the rather more liberal aesthetic than what Avon had been accustomed to when he was younger. Still, sometimes Avon missed the hum of a spaceship engine under his feet. Sometimes, he jerked awake late at night to wonder why they had stopped, whether they were about to be fired at – before he remembered that the surface of a planet was not supposed to vibrate in the first place.

He was prepared for the weight dropping into his stomach when he stepped through the door, but he still felt it like he had on the first day.

[cultureisdarkbeer]

Falling is Complete!

Covering Seasons 4-7

 In Milagro, we hear that "Agent Scully is already in love". So the question becomes, When did she fall in love? When was that "one day you look at the person and you see something more than you did the night before. Like a switch has been flicked somewhere". When did that moment occur for Dana Scully? This is that story.

Read it here

*New*

Chapter35

The weekend’s journey had Scully twisting and turning like a Chubby Checker song. It sent her not only back through her life, but down each wrong choice road, like parallel dimensions heard through the chimes of fate. Dreams as soon as a year ago now were irrelevant and obscure. The path she chose led her here on this couch. Turning away all her past lives, opening herself up to the unimaginable, beyond science, beyond religion, to hear the call of a voice, the one she chose to follow, that chose to follow her right back.    

She felt her body become weightless as he lifted her from the couch, with gentle strong arms, he pulled her close to his body, it’s warmth, igniting a glow within her. Her eyes fluttered open as he lowered her onto the bed. “Where are you going?” Scully asked sleepily.

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” he said, tucking the blanket back around her.

“You can stay,” then quickly added, “it’s your bed.”

“It’s okay Scully, get your rest,” he stated firmly, squeezing her hand. She held onto it, refusing to let it go as he started to walk away. 

“Hold me?” she asked meekly.

Her vulnerability made him pause. “Yeah. yeah, I can do that.”

He walked around the bed and got in under the covers. She butted her back up against him as he wrapped his arms tightly around her. 

“You heard, they’re doing a full financial audit of the FBI,” Scully said. “They’ll be looking  to make cuts.”

“If the powers that be have their way, the x-files will be on the chopping block,” Mulder concluded, rocking her gently, nuzzling her hair.

“Then what?” Scully persisted.

“We continue to search for the truth,” he replied.

Scully breathed out a chuckle, then took comfort in his embrace. Too much had been left unspoken. “Why does being closer feel like it’s taking us further apart?”

Mulder drew her in, closing the small gaps between them. “Maybe because we’re trying to hide in glass houses.”

She nodded and felt him squeeze her tighter. It was a comfort. 

He whispered into the shell of her ear, “We’ve had a lot to make peace with Scully.”

Scully spoke in cautious tones. “What if you meet someone, what if you decide later that you want to have kids?”

She felt his body stiffen around her at the question. “You could do the same. There are other ways,” he answered tenderly. “If you want children, what’s stopping you?”

 “The consequences of my choices?”

Mulder sighed. “I’d like to think we’ve made peace with those..” 

“And the X-files?” Scully persisted, rotating in his arms so she could look into his eyes.

“You’re asking me to make a choice?”

“No, I..” she stumbled.

“Scully,” he replied softly, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “I choose you.” 

Her walls melted inside his gaze. “Every choice I’ve ever made, has led me to this moment. You and I. Right here.”

“That leaves another choice to make.”

Scully passed him a wry grin. “I’ve made my choice.” 

Scully closed her eyes knowing the next time they opened they would be staring into the only man she could ever imagine herself with. His lips pressed and slid against hers, warm and wet, with the grace of a trained dancer and the power of his 9 mm pistol. The removal of their clothing was clunky in their haste, forcing her to clutch his shoulder as a counterbalance. Gripping her tight, he steadied her feet. Scully’s cheeks heated when she was able to meet his eyes again. Not because of embarrassment, she would never feel that way in front of Mulder, but because of how real the moment was, the strength at its core -with honesty and purity- they would rebuild. 

His eyes held that same gentle fire and connection they felt the first time they ever laughed in the rain. The soft warm glow of copper’s flame burning hazel through his irises. It’s embers igniting her heart and she knew it was time she spoke the truth aloud.

He was hers, and just as importantly, she was his. The words were on the tip of her tongue, dying to be spoken into existence. She wanted it roared into the night, well perhaps whispered in his ear, or murmured on his skin.

She chose to speak directly into his eyes.  “I’m in love with you, Fox Mulder.” Her words filled with the passionate intensity of countless gamma rays bursting through the universe. And it was all for one man. Inside her arms she felt the current of her words coarse through his body. “Scully,” he released in breathy affection, the words were with the same vulnerability as when he came to her when his father was shot. “I’m yours.” 

The countless hours she had stared at his lips, the way they pursed at her challenges, or curled in disgust at her autopsies, the lower jutting out slightly when he rocked his mandible forward with passion. She knew every line of those lips and every curve the way she knew the shape of her own bathtub and stain in her coffee cup. She sucked the lower one into her mouth just to feel the desire exhaled from his lungs. His tongue reached for hers and she met it with fervor, intertwining with the strength of the divine threads of space and time. 

Mulder covered her body as he rolled on top. She felt safe, much the way she did as he protected her years ago from the bullets in Milford Haven. Feet and wrist bound in the gymnasium showers he had braced to give his life for her at the end of a shotgun. 

He smiled at her like he was reading her thoughts and she kissed him softly, his hand tangling in hers with the same motion as when he hugged her in an empty hospital hallway, giving her promise and support that she would carry on even with her cancer sentence. Mulder had resurrected her with a chip, the one buried at the base of her neck. She wasn’t a slave to it, instead one of the many symbols of his devotion. Those thoughts caused her hand to skim the scar of her consecration inside his shoulder. 

Kissing and mingling with the others’ breath, her legs naturally wrapped around his torso. Skin to skin, mouth to mouth, but they were also connected in an entirely different way. They didn’t need to invade each other’s mind, they melded, their bodies flowing together, skin hot and sensitive to every touch. The passion, the need she felt, went beyond eternity. Their entire life together felt like foreplay- every time they shared a laugh, every time he cradled her in his warm embrace, or interlocked their fingers, or just stood in each other’s presence. 

Grateful he didn’t prolong the sweet torture, he aligned himself and carefully pushed inside, heavy and thick, connecting on a level they had only known with the other. For long minutes, they kissed and reveled in their feelings, in the waves of sensations hitting them as he moved inside her.  It was a soft and reverent kind of sharing. The type of intimacy that at one time would have made her push away to preserve her independence.. Make her skin crawl. But it didn’t with him. Possibly because his response would have been to wait until she was ready. Instead, she relished the contact, something had changed inside of her, somewhat like Mulder’s prediction as they stared at a cocoon in a tree. 

Not a weakness, but a strength, she felt safe when they were like this, like nothing could ever harm them. His darkness blanketing her with comfort. Their love born from shadows.

Scully’s insides hugged him tight and they released a groan of acknowledgement. He was intrinsically home. Their pace was slow, considerate. Mulder paused and kissed her gently, his right index stroking her forehead in reverence, reminiscent of when he spoke his condolences about her father or their first case after her abduction.

Their movements were fluid and quick, languid and vividly profound. Any pieces of walls left inside her, he had shattered, saving her, the same way he battered the window to save her from a psychotic man.

She chose the path with him not from fate or destiny, not out of desperation or visions, but out of friendship, out of respect, out of devotion. Love, unadulterated and complete.  

His head fell to her neck and she felt every inch of him seeping pleasure into her core and out into the galaxy. He filled her as they burst together, points of light streaming, fusing and branding them, reaching out into the heavens, creating a miracle, a mosaic of the love she no longer gave with reservation, the emergence of existence.

Read Here

Artwork By: @ms31x129

Special thanks to the following people:

@today-in-fic @wholeperson @season4mulder @peacenik0 @piper-scully @babygirlmulder1018 @patienceaintmystrongsuit @brownppr @lappina @amyg2430 @whyle23 @borogirl @kyouryokusenshi @rasta77 @schnabbaknabba @skullsmuldon @milkaforyou-blog @manila @aiko222love-blog @destinystarlit @queen-lesley @faithfirst2016 @lildd68 @writerofarticulate @itsrainingsleepingbags @edierone @annafx81 @ofmulder @kblackm @starbuck1013 @nigel5603 @baronessblixen

[golden-deer-dear]

Love of Mine, Chapter 5/5, a Claude x Byleth Fic

Summary:  They were so looking forward to the birth of the first child, but when complications arise, Byleth and Claude must face the fact that their moment of happiness could turn into a tragedy.

Notes:   Uh yeah, so I needed a break from writing kid Byleth and Claude, and decided to just go ahead and finish this. Thank you to everyone who stuck with me through this. Your support means a lot to me.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Read on AO3.

Love of Mine, Chapter 5

Kiana took a deep breath as the gate before her opened and the cheers of the crowd washed over her. As she stepped out into the blazing Almyran sunlight, the cheers reached a fever pitch. They knew what would happen at the end of this fight, and they had already embraced its outcome. Through the care and dedication she had shown her people, they had come to embrace her. 

“I am the King of Almyra, Dowager King of United Fódlan, Hero of the Western Wars, and Blessed of the Green Star! Who are you to challenge me?” 

Her father’s voice cut across the noise of the crowd, declaring the traditional battle cry that came before a coronation, and they waited with bated breath for her answer, despite knowing full well who she was. “I am Queen of a United Fódlan, Archbishop of its faith, Princess to the lands of Almyra, She Who Blessed the West with Water, and Bulwark of a Nation!” 

At her words the crowd shouted again, and she had to wait for them to calm before she could speak once more. “I have come to claim the throne of Almyra! Through birthright I challenge you, and by my strength shall I prove worthy!”

Kiana came on hard and fast, dodging to the side when she felt her father’s axe disturbed the air near her. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest, adrenaline fueling every spell and punch. This fight was her destiny, and she would not fail.

/

“Tear him apart, Kiana!” 

“Uh, Tessa, that is your father down there.”

Tessa rolled her eyes and waved a hand at her in law. “Oh, she knows I don’t mean literally, Hanneman. Besides, that’s your wife!”

“And I’m very proud of her,” Hanneman said, as calmly as they ever did. Cyril and Lysithea’s child, named for the man who had given Lysithea back the years of her life before he passed on, stood at Byleth’s side, watching over the children that played at the former archbishop’s feet.

Tessa’s mother, the revered Byleth, queen of two nations and leader of a religion for many years, seemed so much happier with her burdens removed. Despite the laughter lines around her eyes, and the grey streaking her once rare green hair, she seemed younger sitting there holding Kiana and Hanneman’s third child. The older two, only six and four, had been entertaining each other until their mother appeared. Now they stood with eager faces pressed against the railing of the royal box as they watched their mother and grandfather fight.

Tessa clicked her tongue in distaste and turned, her skirts swirling out around her and transforming her every movement into a dramatic effect. She had long ago learned to wield fashion as effectively as any other weapon available to her. She sank onto a lounge next to her fiance, leaning into the other woman’s side. It wasn’t that she disliked her in law, she just never really saw eye to eye with them. Hanneman was much too business comes first for her taste, but it did make them a good ruler. And her sister loved them, so tolerating their presence was the least she could do.

“Lucina, love, how are you doing? Is there anything I can get you?” Tessa asked as she hooked her arms around one of her fiance’s own. She caught the flash of her mother’s smile out of the corner of her eye, and it warmed her own soul. 

“No.” Lucina shook her head with a smile on her lips. “I’m fine. I’m just reminded of Ferox right now.”

The adventurer in Tessa jumped for joy at the mention of the other kingdom. “You’ll have to take me there when we go back to Ylisse. Father will be fascinated.” The fact that her parents had agreed to go to Ylisse with her when Tessa went back for her marriage only made her more eager to leave. And Byleth seemed very interested in the alternate version of Lucina that had come back in time to fight in a war beside her parents. It was a fascinating topic, but Tessa preferred her version of Lucina. 

It was not that she did not enjoy being in Almyra that made Tessa want to leave, but she knew it would always be there for her to come home to. It was what made Tessa serve so well as her sister’s ambassador. Kiana touched the hearts of their people at home, and Tessa reached out to those beyond their borders. 

“It’s almost over,” Byleth said softly, drawing everyone’s attention back to the fight.

Claude had once been the most feared warrior in Almyra, challenged only by his queen. But his movements had started to slow with age, his grey hair proof of the toll time had exacted upon him. Kiana threw fire from her fists, reading the changes in the air to determine where her father moved. Tessa had to admire Kiana’s fighting style every time she saw it. It was something unique to her sister. Kiana had mastered preparing spells while throwing punches and kicks, releasing their potency right beneath her enemy’s nose. 

Kiana landed a particularly vicious hit across Claude’s jaw, lightning sparking at his flesh as she hit. The King of Almyra hit the floor hard, rising to his feet a minute later with the help of his daughter, all without his crown. No, that belonged to Kiana now. 

Tessa’s beloved older sister was now queen of two countries. 

She leapt up, cheering her sister’s name louder than anyone else in the crowd. Even Hanneman let loose a cry of triumph for their wife. 

And through it all, Byleth smiled, soft and serene, surrounded by the people she loved most in the world. The burdens of leadership were removed from her shoulders, and the joy Tessa saw in those mint green eyes, eyes she had inherited, made her own fill with tears. 

Her mother had sacrificed so much over the years. She deserved to spend the rest of her life proud of her children, spoiling her grandchildren rotten, and spending time with the man she had come back for time and time again.

/

“You’re missing a party.”

Byleth leaned back into Claude’s strong arms as he joined her on the balcony, wrapping her in his warm embrace. Even after all these years, she could still marvel at how wonderful she felt when he held her close. “It is a party for the young, the generation we have passed the world to. Right here, on this balcony with you, is the only place I need to be right now.”

Claude hummed against her hair, his lips kissing the top of her head before he laid his cheek against her. “How did Seteth take the news?”

“He knew. He knew long ago when the first grey hair appeared.” Byleth sighed heavily, a sudden chill going through her. It was the one regret she had about choosing to give up the long life the crest stone in her heart would offer her. She did not want to cause Seteth and Flayn another hurt, but her place was with Claude. “He said he wasn’t sure how I had done it, especially with his blood and Rhea’s in my veins, but didn’t seem surprised.”

“I’d like to know how you did it,” Claude pointed out. “An eternity with you doesn’t sound so bad.”

Byleth smiled and shook her head, turning in her husband’s embrace. Her hand lingered on the bruise across his jaw, softly caressing the marred skin. “We have our own eternity right here. Look.” She took his hand and led him to the center of the balcony where the night sky sparkled up at them as moonlight played on precious gemstones embedded in black stone. They shone brightly, the static sky on the night Claude had purposed, matching the moving stars above. “They’re in the same positions,” Byleth pointed out, lifting her head to look at the heavens.

“Huh. They really are. I lost track of where everything was with Kiana’s coronation.” He swept Byleth back into his arms, swaying gently to a simple melody he began to hum. 

Byleth let him lead the dance, harmonizing with her own tune. She smiled up at him, Claude’s face, no less handsome for the years that weighed upon it, was illuminated by starlight. She knew she would want for nothing else the rest of her years. However many were left, they would all be spent side by side with the man she loved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I FINISHED A FIC! Guys, you have no idea how hard it is for me to finish a multi chapter fic! I am really happy right now!

[hareblazer]

and they cried holy holy holy

its very hard existing in a world that doesnt love you 

fic focused on the affects of the religious south via larrys childhood + internalized homophobia now. tw for religious trauma, homophobia, the q slur, implied child abuse, self harm, implied suicide. separated into 6 parts.

all of these things are pretty normal for the time/context/situation i promise i didnt go ape shit on him ctvgbhn 

im gay. some things were minorly edited because of my own experiences. all conversations are inspired heavily by convos ive had.

ONE

“Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination.” The pastor had told him. “Queers go to hell. It is the will of God.” Larry’s mother elbowed him, a way of saying this included him. “Join me in prayer so the sinners may reach Salvation and Repentance.” He raised his arms, framing the holy cross behind him. “Peace be with you.”

“And also with you.” All stood. Except Larry.

“God is Good.” He said.

“All the time.” All prayed. Except Larry. His father glared at him. He could feel the eyes of everyone around him- even if they weren’t looking- he knew what they thought of him. He wished he was good and pure. He wanted nothing more than to be loved by God like everyone else was. But he was just a sinner. A blemish on the tapestry of God’s vision.

None of that was true, of course, but as an 11 year old in the deep south in 1935- he had no choice but to believe.

“Larry.” His father whispered angrily. “Stand. Up. Now.”

“I don’t wanna.” Larry whispered back. He didn’t. He was tired. Ever since his parents found out about his preference for boys they had woken him up early almost every morning to pray- to be reminded of his damnation- to go to church and be told over and over again he was unnatural. He was so tired.

“Larry. If you don’t stand right now- You’ll be choosing a switch when we get home.”

“I’m tired-” He kicked his feet.

“Lawrence Michael Trainor.” His mother hissed. “You’re embarrassing us.” Larry could hear a waver in her voice.

“-in God’s name, amen.” The pastor finished.

“Amen.”

“You are dismissed.”

“Bless you, father.” someone behind Larry said. He couldn’t see very well through his own tears. He couldn’t help but feel like it was all his fault. Now was, in Larry’s opinion, one of the worst parts of church. His parents beelined to Benjamin Quincy’s- probably to tell them to keep their son away from him. Again. Larry could already hear them berating Ben’s poor father- accusing them of turning their sweet son to the Devil and a path of damnation.

This was almost 90 years ago, but Larry could remember it like it was yesterday. He’d never admit it- but sometimes he still felt like that scared boy praying for a salvation that’ll never come.

Chief had bought him a bible, when he first moved into the manor, thinking it would remind him of home. He didn’t know, of course, the kind of history Larry had with religion- but it was enough to release the spirit on a rampage. Chief thought that was interesting. Larry thought it was a headache- literally and metaphorically. He actually wasn’t sure where it was now, actually. It had disappeared mysteriously years ago- after he had given Rita a vague idea of how his childhood was. He never looked for it.

It wasn’t until the patrol had to go into a church that Larry really thought about this again. Ordinarily he pretends it never happened- that he never had a childhood at all. It was easier than having to face it. He forgot why, exactly, they were there- but-

“Larry?” Cliff turned back, already halfway through the doors. Larry had stopped about ten feet off- Jane near him. “You coming?”

“Ah.” was all he could say in reply. This looked like his old one. His lungs felt like they were full of water. Jane tilted her head at him. She had a reason to hate this place- not to say he probably didn’t have one too- but she had definitely never heard about this before. “I.”

“We have two people against this stuff, now?” Cliff. He meant well, but he was about as sensitive as a brick. “What happened to you?”

Larry said nothing. Jane stepped up. “He doesn’t have to tell you. Just- go without us.” Cliff did the closest thing to a shrug he could do and left. Larry wanted to thank Jane- in his own quiet way- but he was a little overwhelmed for that. God. He could still hear the pastors words stinging his heart. He felt Jane’s eyes on him.

Repent, old sinner. Repent and be redeemed.

“Fuck.” Larry turned and walked away. “Fuck!”

“I guess the church screwed both of us over.” Jane crossed her arms. Larry only sighed.

“It screws everyone over. Whether they realize it or not.”

“Hm.” Jane agreed. “It’s a fucked up institution.” Larry’s chest glowed gently.

“God. I want to go back to the manor.” He placed a hand on his chest, trying to soothe the spirit. “Take a nap.”

“Me too.” Jane leaned against a wall.

They stood in silence, before Larry spoke again.

“The church by my house looked like this. Growing up.” He glanced back at it for a moment. “God. I hated that place.”

Jane watched him for a moment. They were the two most closed off people in the manor- this was literally the most he had ever said about himself to her.

“Boring?”

“I guess.” Larry did not say it was because they hated him. He did not say that the priest told him he deserved damnation. He did not say that he still had nightmares about it. “I was. Not well liked, I guess.”

“Oh.” Jane did not share her own trauma related to it. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to. “Are you still…?”

“God, no. I’m not a fan of- any of it, really. I don’t know.” He tries to tell her without really saying anything at all. “They. Really. Don’t like the kind of person I am. Is all.”

“Me neither.” She nodded. This conversation was so. Fucking. Awkward. But it was still the most they had talked in a long time. “Bad church experiences club.”

Larry chuckled. “Bad church experiences club.” 

TWO 

Larry was in class. Thirteen years old and already fully aware of his fate. Homosexuality is an abomination, he knew. God does not make mistakes, he knew. So why is he cursed with these feelings?

“God created all creatures in the Beginning-” his teacher was explaining in the background. Larry had heard this story a million times- both in and out of church. He was daydreaming about the boy who sat in front of him- he had the bluest eyes, and- no. No. Larry couldn’t think like that. That was a sin. He mentally scolded himself for letting his guard down. He had to have a wife. A family- or suffer for all eternity.

“God is love,” said his teacher.

It doesn’t feel much like love to Larry.

-

He regretted doing this. Larry found himself standing in front of the team- during Cliff’s sudden group therapy session and subsequent freakout.

“Well.” He started, but paused. God. God. God. Why did he think he could do this? Why did he think it would be a good idea to come out? To let the only people he ever felt like he could trust learn his ugly, terrible truth and scorn him just as his own family did?

“I’m-”

“GAY!” Cliff interrupted suddenly. Larry froze. Oh god. Oh god. They knew. They KNEW. How did they know? No. Fuck. He was reading too far into this. Unless he wasn’t. The others protested Cliff’s outburst.

“Okay! I just thought Larry was about to come out- and it would’ve been so healing for him!”

Larry is thankful for the bandages covering his tears.

"I think all I wanted to say was...it gets lonely, not touching anyone for 60 years. the last person I ever touched was John Bowers. I- I loved him. and I drove him away." Larry hoped that was vague enough. God. He could see it now- remembering how his parents reacted when they figured it out for themselves- how the church had reacted- how the other boys had reacted- how he had joined the army in an effort to make himself more masculine, more straight- he couldn’t help but think about all the possible ways he could kill himself right here right now.

“I knew it.” Cliff stood. Larry panicked. “I just want you to know that you’re loved- and accepted-” He hugged Larry, and Larry didn’t know what to do.

He’d never been offered acceptance before. How do you react to that?

“I’m not done.” He snapped. It was the best he knew how to do.

“I’m only sharing this because it’s the thing Mr. Nobody shoved in my face.” A clarification he knew this was immoral. He knew he was wrong. “What’s left, of my face.”

Pause.

“That was a joke. God- these bandages are the death of all nuance.” He failed to lighten the mood. He could feel everyone’s judgement, burning his skin like the fire did so many years ago. “Look. If Mr. Nobody’s goal is to torture me, well- I’ve been doing his work for him. Whipping myself in a- a prison of my own making.” Fuck. That sounded kind of cliche.”And wh- what if I trusted John, what if I’d been more brave- and guess what? I’m sick of it! I’m not just hurting myself- I’m hurting this thing inside of me and it’s hurting me back, endlessly, until there’s so much self-loathing I can barely breathe.” He’s trying so, so hard not to break down. He returns to his spot on the couch and slumps, already tuned out and waiting for his inevitable punishment.

He’s only greeted with Rita’s hand on his back, a small comfort, but a welcome one nonetheless. 

THREE 

The last time Larry was in love was with John. It was, admittedly, most of what he thought about, these days- but it was the only time he could ever exist in peace around another person. Even if John was a little too open for Larry’s comfort, he was comfortable in his own skin during the rare times they could sneak a moment together.

He missed John so, so much. Not only because he loved him- though that was a big part- but because he missed feeling safe. He missed feeling loved. He missed feeling anything at all.

-

“So. You’re gay?” Cliff had asked, one morning.

“Yes.” Larry answered, a little too shortly.

“Aren’t you from- like- the 30s?”

“Yes.” Larry said again, knowing full well what question was going to come next.

“Did your parents-” Cliff paused, trying to find the words. “Take it well? How did you- do that? Back then?”

Larry didn’t answer, at first. He actually had no idea what Cliff was referring to. “What?”

“Y’know- you said you had a boyfriend? John? How did you hide it? Since homosexuality was, like- illegal.”

Larry considers losing it. “They. Did not take it well.” He started, failing to mention how most parents in the day had a habit of ‘beating the queer’ out of their children. “We hid it with difficulty. I mean- we risked getting murdered- or worse, if we were caught.”

“Damn.” Cliff said. “That’s rough.”

“Yeah.” Larry sighed. He hated this conversation so much. “I married a girl I knew right out of high school- that was normal, back then- but I guess I thought if I just forced myself into it I’d turn straight, or something?”

“Did it work?”

“No. I cheated on her for years with other men and ruined my family.”

“Oh.” Cliff feels so awkward. “I mean- I did that too. Cheated on my wife. But I didn’t have a good reason for it. Like you did.”

“Cliff, I didn’t have a good reason. I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“Sure you did! I mean- cheating at all is a dick move, no matter what- but, like, you’re gay. And you got forced to marry a woman so you wouldn’t die.”

“Cliff-”

“And gay marriage is legal now! So- like- it got better! Gay rights!”

“It’s legal?”

“Yeah! In 2015- thought we celebrated it! But then you wouldn’t leave your room because you were sad about something again, and then Jane-”

“It’s legal now.” Larry said again, not listening to anything Cliff was saying. “Holy shit.”

“-Then Hammerhead threw me across a room and Chief had to wire my legs back on.”

“I hated myself so fucking much for- so long-” Larry’s face is unreadable to Cliff. “The number of times I considered killing myself because I thought there was no other option- and it’s been legal for almost five years. And I didn’t know about it.”

“How did you find out you were. You know?” Cliff asked, trying to avoid talking about Larry’s apparent suicidal tendencies.

“What?”

“How did you know you were gay?”

“Oh. I mean- when I was a kid it was pretty watered down- but I never liked the idea of having a wife or a girlfriend like everyone expected me to. In middle school, though? The boy’s locker room was definitely an eye-opener- and in my twenties I-” Larry was not going to finish that sentence. Cliff hadn’t unlocked that part of his backstory yet. “God. I tried to repress it for so long, though. It’s really weird, having other people know.” Larry’s chest glowed gently.

“It’s okay, now. There’s even gay hookup apps, and stuff. I bet Vic could help you set one up.”

Larry shrunk into his coat. He could barely handle seeing a man in shorts, the other day. He really didn’t think he was ready for this. “Cliff. I’m not. I can’t do this.”

“Why not? You’re free to be yourself!”

“Cliff. It’s been ingrained in me since I was a kid that being gay was some- awful, horrible thing. This- acceptance? It’s too new to me. I’m not ready to embrace it. I can’t.” I can’t go to hell, was what Larry was thinking. I can’t do that. “Ninety years of- of repression- and self hatred- and hiding- and all of that, I can’t just- bounce back, Cliff. I need time to think about this.”

“Do that! You can talk to me, if you need to, Larry!”

“Maybe I will.” 

FOUR 

Larry was 16 when he hurt himself for the first time. It wasn’t on purpose- he was trying to whittle a little plane in class when he sliced his thumb- but he never really stopped. He felt like he deserved it- maybe the sins he held would leave his body, dripping like blood down his arms. Or maybe he just wanted to feel something other than shame. Either way- it was the one thing he could feel totally in control of. Something that finally felt justified. Unlike his unwavering attraction toward the other boys in his classes- like the now-constant disdain of his parents- unlike the smile his first kiss gave him before they left each other behind. His parents never actually knew about this habit, but Larry convinced himself they did.He told himself this was what they really wanted- between the constant threats of going to hell, or the reminders he’s ruining their perfect family- maybe they did just want him to hurt. Suicide, back then, was almost unthinkable. Nowadays, Larry considers it often. -

Rita noticed something was- more off than usual. Larry had always been a melancholic person, but even Cliff had realized Larry not leaving his room for three days wasn’t normal. She eventually took it upon herself to drag him out of whatever slump he had gotten himself into, again- whether he liked it or not.

“Larry?” She called through his doors. Sound didn’t travel well through all that- but she was very good at being heard when she wanted to be. “Larry!”

Larry did not answer. He was bandaged, luckily, as he knew Rita would inevitably come storming in, but he didn’t want her to see the blood seeping through. He had relapsed, again, though he had nobody left to report it to with the Chief gone. That was for the best, he thought. “LARRY!” Rita knocked on the door. “I’m coming in there!”

Larry groaned. He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t stopping her. He could easily just say it would be too dangerous, or-

He could hear the decontamination chamber hiss. Fuck. He had to clean himself up fast.

“Can you- wait just a-” Too late. Rita entered, concerned. “Fuck.”

“Ah.’ Rita started, but paused, seeing Larry’s red bandages. “Larry. What were you doing in here?” Larry kicked the pocketknife he dropped under his dresser.

“Nothing.”

“Larry. You’re a terrible liar and I just watched you hide something. What did you do?”

Larry shifted his weight nervously. Everyone else he was positive wouldn’t care too much about this- though, of course, that wasn’t even remotely true- but Rita?

“I.” Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. How is he supposed to tell her he was just cutting up his own arms in an attempt to feel better about himself? To punish himself for being gay? How do you say that casually? “I was.”

“You were?” In truth, Rita already had an idea what he was doing. She just needed him to admit he needed help.

Larry avoided eye contact, though that was invisible to Rita through his goggles. “I was. Dealing with. Things.” He can feel the dams breaking. He really, really does not want to cry to Rita right now.

“Dealing with what?” Come on, Larry.

“Shit.” was all he could get out before he started sobbing. Rita sighed and put her hand on his back, like she always did when he has a hard time. This was not the first time she’s seen him at his lowest, and she knew it wouldn’t be her last. It used to be a mystery to her- she always knew he was hiding something important about himself, but what it was, exactly, she couldn’t guess. Now that he came out, though, she had a whole new perspective on it all.

This explained a lot, actually. She had thrown away the bible Chief had gifted him, because she knew he did not like the church, though she didn’t understand why until now. He had always avoided talking about relationships at all, and would shut down when asked about his past. Larry didn’t know that she knew about the times he would hobble gingerly toward Chief’s lab, blood dripping from his limbs and the burden of being a sinner on his mind. Larry was especially bitter toward the spirit, after those nights. Now Rita knew how he was so sure it won’t let him die.

“It’s okay, Larry.” was all she could think to say. “You’re safe, now.” He couldn’t answer past pulling her into a hug. Rita was pretty sure he was getting blood on her dress- but she didn’t mind. “I’d offer to patch you up, but I think you have enough bandages.”

Larry couldn’t help but laugh slightly at that. “God, Rita. I’m sorry. I hate to involve you in my own shit-”

“Larry. You’re my best friend and I care about you, even if you don’t care about you.”

“I know. I just- I should be over this already. I haven’t been to church in over sixty years- my parents have been dead for seventy- John’s already moved on- I just- goddammit, Rita. I’m lonely.” He pulls away to sit on his bed, head in his hands. “I haven’t touched another man in- god knows how long- and all I can think about is how wanting to is in itself a fucking abomination-”

“No.” Rita interrupted. “I’m not allowing that kind of negativity! It is not an abomination and you know it.” Larry only looked at her. “Now continue.”

“Uh. Okay. I miss- god, it sounds so stupid, but- I really miss-” He struggles to find the words. “Kissing men?”

Rita only nodded.

“I didn’t have the chance to- very often- but- god, Rita. There was this club- near one of my posts at the military. Before I met John. It wasn’t officially anything, but it was already a pretty established gay club. But, you know- it was more of a secret.”

“There was one of those near my apartment, you know.” Larry nodded.

“They were usually old speakeasies. But there was this man there- he was- he was really something, Rita. He was a regular, I think. Really tall.” Larry sighed wistfully. Rita smiled at him. She liked seeing him like that. Happy- or at least as close to happiness as she’d seen him get. “We spent… a lot of time together. Mostly in motel rooms.”

“What was his name?”

“I don’t remember. It was so long ago. I miss him anyway, though. Even if it was just a fling.”

“I understand.” Rita said, simply. “Have you considered- getting out there, again?”

“What, like dating? Cliff suggested it to me, but- I thought he was too enthusiastic about it. I don’t know.” It scared him, to be honest.

“I’m sure there are other gay metahumans.” Rita assured him. “With a tolerance for radiation.”

“It’s not them I’m worried about.”

“What, then?”

“How can someone love me when I can’t?” Larry was emotionless through the bandages, but Rita thought she could hear a frown. “I hate myself so. Fucking. Much, Rita. I can’t kill myself no matter how much I try- but what good is someone who’s only alive because something else is forcing them to be? Who would want that kind of baggage, Rita? Not even the fucking spirit can handle it, and it’s the thing keeping me this way.” His chest glowed.

“The first step is realizing you have a problem.”

“I realize I have a problem, Rita. I realized it when I was seven years old, thinking about some boy in my math class. I realized it every-goddamn-day when my own mother would cry and tell me she wished I’d never been born- that no matter what I did she would always love God more than me.” His voice wavered. “I realized it in church, and in school, and at home- every time the newspapers would come in with more horror stories about gay men found dead- every time a kid got the shit beat out of him by his own parents. It’s nobody’s fault but my own, Rita.” He huffed, and Rita faltered. She had never seen this from him before. “God-fucking-dammit! If I could’ve just been a normal person- for once in my goddamn life- god. Oh my god.” He stopped.

“Larry?”

“I fucking died, didn’t I?” He stood suddenly. “I died in that fucking plane crash and this is hell. I can’t die. I can’t touch anyone. I’m stuck wallowing in my own self-loathing like a fucking-”

“Larry.” Rita said again, firmly.

“And I deserve all of it! I destroyed everyone I ever loved! Just because I’m not attracted to women? Big fucking deal! I should’ve just sucked it up. I’m a fucking coward! I should’ve killed myself when I was twenty like I planned! But no. I was too scared. Fuck this! I-”

“Larry!” Rita half-yelled, stopping Larry mid sentence. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you are not helping yourself. Stop having a pity-party and listen to me.”

Larry didn’t answer. He was breathing shakily. Rita could tell he was likely crying under there again.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. Nothing!” She held up her hands. “I’m sorry you were told there was, but they were blatantly wrong. All of them. Liars.” She paused to watch him. He was standing as still as a statue, watching her silently. She hoped that meant he was listening. “I know it’s been ingrained into you. But you need to leave it behind. Stop dragging it with you. It will only hurt more. You’re accepted here, Larry. Nobody would even consider hurting you over something as simple as your sexuality. You don’t need to carry that weight anymore.”

Larry sighed. “I’m sorry, Rita. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“It’s okay, Larry. I can’t imagine what you could be going through- but I offer my support, nonetheless.”

“I.” He paused. “Thank you.” 

FIVE 

When Larry was in the ant farm, he did not fear the torture. He knew he had it coming, anyway. It was God’s Will.

“You transferred a lot, Larry.” Forsythe would say, through the glass. “You were running from something. I intend to find out what.”

“I wasn’t running from anything.” Larry would say, over and over again.

The truth was Larry was running. Every time he thought his secret would be compromised he ran. Every time a fling ended or a boyfriend left or any of his army friends even joked about him being gay- he ran.

Now he faced the consequences for his actions, and he understood.

-

“Larry.” Chief said, bringing him back to attention. “What’s troubling you?”

This was before it all went downhill. Before Larry would come out. Before Mr. Nobody would remind him of every mistake he’d ever made. Before everything.

“Nothing. Just- remembering, is all.” Larry answered, quietly. “Before the accident.”

“Before the accident?” Chief knew it wasn’t really an accident. Larry did not. “Are you ready to talk about it?”

“No.” Larry said, quickly. Chief already knew there was something about him and John. He couldn’t risk him figuring that out. “No. The past is- it’s already happened. It doesn't matter.”

“Oh, but it does, Larry.” Chief answered, in his usual way. “The past may not define us as much as the future, but it still needs to be learned from.” Larry sighed. He had heard this so many times.

“I did learn from it, Chief.” He learned very, very well. “It just sucks.”

“Is this about your friendship with John?” Larry froze. “I know you two were very… close.”

“We weren’t. I don’t want to talk about him.” He shrunk into his coat. Chief raised an eyebrow.

“You never want to talk about him, Larry. It’s not healthy.”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s probably dead, now.”

“Do you miss him?” Chief tilted his head. He knew there had to be a way to get through Larry’s shell. If he was to be a hero, like Niles intended, he had to face this head-on.

Larry took a moment before answering, assessing the risks. Was it too obvious to say yes? “...I do.” He paused. “A. Bit.”

Chief nodded. He was getting closer. “Quite a bit, you would say?”

It was Larry’s turn to nod, adrenaline flaring up hot in his chest. “We were friends. That’s it.”

“I wasn’t implying anything else.” Larry breathed in slightly. Chief could tell he was getting anxious. “Though- we both know- you two were… a bit more than friends, yes?”

“No. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t want to do this anymore.” Larry glanced around, starting to panic. “Whoever told you that, Chief- I- it’s not true. I didn’t even like him!” That was a bold lie. “I mean- if anybody was cheating- I mean- Sheryl and I were strained by the end of it-” He’s grasping for straws.

“Larry. We both know Sheryl was-” Chief was interrupted by a flash of light and Larry’s head slamming on the table. The spirit stood through the table, eyeing Chief down. He couldn’t tell how it was feeling- but judging from how agitated Larry had been beforehand, he didn’t think it was happy with him. No matter.

“There you are.” He started, but the spirit shook its head. “No? You don’t want to talk to me?” It shook its head again and held up a hand. “Oh. Who taught you the middle finger?” It tilted its head. Chief could feel it glaring daggers at him. “I’m sorry I hurt you. It’s important that Captain Trainor learn to-” The spirit had enough of that. It flew in a small circle around Chief, shorting out the lone light in the room. A threat. It knew Chief knew what it was capable of.

Larry awoke suddenly to Chief watching him. He must’ve needed the spirit for something- he doesn’t really know about John. He sighed, instinctively rubbing his goggles.

“That was… unintentional. I apologize, Larry.” Larry looked at him. What the fuck was he after? “Now- John-”

“No. Fuck, Niles. I’m not doing this.” Larry stood. “I’m not reliving my mistakes for you. I’m going to take a nap.”

“Larry. We both know it wasn’t a mistake.” Chief held out his hands. “You cheated on your wife. You hid. Why?”

“I did not cheat on Sheryl. I did not hide. Niles. I don’t know what you want from me, but I’m not going to-” He paused. “I’m not going to do this. I cared about her.” That, at least, was not a lie. “I loved her.” That was. “It’s over, now. I’m paying for what I did- who I was. Just- let that be.”

“Who were you, though?”

“I was a sinner, Chief.” Larry left. 

SIX x3 

“Sheryl.” Larry had said, so long ago. She looked over, glowing in the moon, her hair slightly in her face. He felt no attraction whatsoever for her. He tried to force himself to, anyway. It was sinful. He had to do this.

“I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah?” She smiled. She was his friend. He chose her only because she was the only girl he felt he could at least live with.

God. He felt sick. He knew this would hurt her, too. He didn’t want this.

“I love you.” Lying is a sin, too. A lesser of two evils, he had decided. Anything to avoid burning in hell. Anything. Just like his parents had told him. Just like the ministers said.

“Larry!” She had laughed. He felt like throwing up.

Outwardly, Larry had been untouched. Untainted by tragedy and self-hatred. Inwardly, he had become a flaming wreck long before that crash.

-

“Vic.” Larry stood in the doorway, nervously. “Hey.”

“Hey, Larry.” Vic turned to give him a wave. “What’s up?”

“Well. I. Uh.” Larry paused. This was terrifying. “You know- computers and stuff, right?”

“Uh- yeah! What do you need?” Vic looks at him for a moment. He really didn’t mind helping everyone with modern technology! He just never really realized how old everyone was until he was explaining to Larry how color TVs worked- or that cocaine was not a viable medicine anymore to Rita.

“I. Want to meet people.” He held up his phone. “I don’t. Know how.”

“Oh. Where did you get that phone?”

“Rita said I could borrow it.”

“...Okay. What do you want me to do?” Vic hasn’t dated since he was in high school. What was Larry expecting from him?

“Cliff said there are apps for it. For men. Meeting. Other. Men.” Larry is gritting his teeth. “You know computers. I want to. Download one.”

“Oh. Oh! I can help you with that. To an extent.” Vic clarified. “I’ll only help you set up and show you how to use it- the chatting is up to you.”

“Okay.” Larry handed him the phone.

“What are you after? There’s apps for metahumans, and gay people- I’m pretty sure there’s one for veterans-”

“Well. I guess I’d need. The metahuman one. Since they’d need. Some kind of.” He held up his hands. “Immunity.”

“Right.” Vic did not like that implication. “Does Rita know you want to hook up with guys through her phone?”

“Yes. She helped me prepare for this conversation.” Larry shuffled his feet nervously. “It. Did not work. Still awkward.”

“You two are close. Okay- so I downloaded an app called Metameet- it’s mainly for metahumans but there’s an option for gay members. You’re- what, 95? So I already set your username as larrytrainor. That’s usually what- people around your age do.”

“I’m 92. Though the accident was when I was 30-something.”

“Okay. I’ll put that as your age. And. Probably mention that you’re immortal.”

“No. Wait.” Larry put his hand on Vic’s shoulder. “Don’t put that I’m gay. Please.”

“Larry, it’ll say you’re a man seeking a man either way.”

“I know. I just- I can’t be gay. I can’t.” He nearly gagged on the word both times. Vic only looked at him.

“...Okay.” He hit the backspace button. “What’s your problem with it?”

Larry froze. Over the past month he’s had to explain this- five times? “Uh. I.” Fuck. Fuck! He doesn’t deserve this. “It’s just not allowed. I’m not- I’m not supposed to be- into men.”

“You know that’s not true, right?” Vic gave him a confused look. “You… are allowed to be gay, Larry.”

“It’s not like that. I-” He breathed in. “I guess you’re a little too young to really get it.”

“Try me.”

“In the 30s and 40s when I was a kid- it wasn’t- legal. To like. Others. Of the same sex.”

“Yeah?”

“Everyone was really religious, too. So. As hard as I tried to hide it- my parents eventually figured it out. I was 11. After that it just-” He paused. Vic nodded.

“Oh. We learned about that in history in high school.”

“Yeah. It was pretty common for parents to try and beat it out of us.” He paused. “Didn’t work.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Vic started-

“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter, now.”

“Okay.” A pause. “I’m going to put ‘radiation immunity’ as a must.”

“That’s a good idea.” Another pause.

“Can I ask…?”

“Ask what?”

“How did you meet him?”

Larry went silent for a minute, and Vic was scared he made him sad again, somehow.

“We were in the same squadron.” He started slowly, remembering. “He wasn’t my first, honestly- but he was the- he was the one I really loved. I- honestly? If it wasn’t- literally illegal- and I was already married- I probably would have-” He stopped. He never said that out loud.

“That’s. That’s rough, Larry.” He stopped to think. “You can do that now, you know.”

“Yeah. I think- I think that’s why I’m doing this.” A pause.

“I think I’m ready to live the way I always wanted to.”

[docholligay]

The End of the Chuck-Line Rider

Hello! I wrote this for @rhiorhino, a McCree fic, as she is the only one who has ever commissioned me for McCree. I hope you like it, it gave me some trouble, but I think it turned out with some merit. It takes place after McCree rejoins my Overwatch, and you can find where it is in the fics here. About 2400 words. 

Jesse McCree had spent the whole of his life bouncing from job to job, group to group, and it was the same in the city. He rode the line out to Brixton and Whitechapel and Poplar, sure as he’d bounced from Deadlock to Blackwatch to Talon. 

But sometimes he got tired of the bouncing, and he went to Winston’s house. 

Winston’s house was more than just a house, was why. A large, expansive place that had once been a warehouse, it should be grey and gloomy still surrounded by other warehouses, but Tracer, long before she had any capacity as commander, before there even was a second Overwatch, had painted it in lovely cheerful colors, and planted a few rows of flowers around the front stairs. It was a strange sight in the middle of the industrial park, lacking a quality of covertness one might have expected from the place.

For you see, it housed more than just Winston’s couch. It housed his lab, Mercy’s exam rooms and medical center, it housed arms lockers and a garage for D.va to tinker with her mech. Pharah had made herself busy digging out the bottom of the place to make a training room.

And it was for this reason that McCree felt he could be there. It was a sort of satellite headquarters for Overwatch, even if the official office was above some sort of fry shop off Well Street. He was a member of Overwatch, and the dog tags that clinked at his chest were proof of that. So he was allowed to be here, and when he tired of his tiny room, and of wandering around the city, he came here.

Winston had not yet discovered a way to keep him out of the kitchen, as it happened to be the only kitchen in the place, wide and generously spaced as the rest of the house, built for Winston and tolerated for McCree.

He was rubbing his gun idly as he sat there, drinking the coffee that bubbled out of Mercy’s housewarming gift to Winston that had probably been more than a little self serving. Pharah couldn’t hardly get mad at him for firearm safety, he thought as he pushed the brush through the bore.

How many times had he cleaned his gun in the past few months? He’d barely had the opportunity to shoot it, on Overwatch’s side, but still he cleaned it, a good habit. A good habit that got him out of the house.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for his small place across the river and down the way. He’d had a hard enough time finding anything he could afford, not to mention a place that would let him have his cats. And he wasn’t giving up his boys, just so he could have a little bit more comfort, no sir. Whatever else he was, he wasn’t quite that kind of man, to give them up after all they’d taken him through.

Mercy had suggested that Tracer had an extra bed in her home, and McCree hadn’t been dumb enough to ask her if he could stay, not when he was shooting daggers at him with her eyes, on account of she wasn’t allowed to shoot actual bullets at him with her gun.

So he was grateful, after all, for the tiny place he’d found, but it was still a single room with a microwave and a tiny cube of a fridge, with a tile floor and barely enough space for the cat tree.

And so sometimes he cleaned his gun at Winston’s.

The thing about Winston’s is that people came in and out of it, looking at him with various levels of suspicion and regret. He tried not to notice. He noticed anyway. Ashe had often said he had too much of a conscience to be in the Deadlock Gang. Yael had retorted that Ashe was the only one without one, before adding the venomous “rich kid” to the end of the sentence.

McCree had always chuckled when she said that. Until he heard his name said with that same venom, flecked off everyone’s teeth, everywhere.

A high ding rang out over the kitchen.

Tracer walked into the room, bouncing as she walked and humming happily to herself, till she caught sight of McCree, slowing and focusing her as if she’d hit a brick wall. She did not take her eyes off of him as she removed a mug from the cabinet, her canister of tea from next to the kettle, and then, just as quickly, snapped her head back to the task at hand, pouring the boiling water into the bright cup.

“We’re together on the next go round, you know.” McCree looked down the barrel of his gun, the oil from cleaning it filling Winston’s kitchen with its perfume.

She continued making her tea, with no response, pouring a bit of cream as her sloth tea infuser smiled out at McCree, the only one happy to see him.

“Tracer.”

She did not look up. “‘Eard you.”

It had been months since he’d been captured, since he’d decided to defect, since Mercy had passionately argued, using a religion none of them believed in but all felt strangely compelled by on the back of Mercy’s belief, that he should be allowed, that he should have a change to be something different and new.

We wiped down the edge of the barrel. “Think we should, you know, run a drill, maybe? Might be a solid idea to get some sense of the other.”

Tracer reached for the sugar bowl. “Know ‘ow you fight.”

Mercy was the only one who thought of him as a member of the team, if he was being honest. Pharah regarded him with suspicion. Winston hated him passionately, and wasn’t afraid to say so. Dva didn’t seem to care either way, and would tell you that if you asked her, but she somehow forgot to invite him to her apartment for dinners and games with the others.  

Even Jack and Ana got invited to those.

He gave a weak grin and inclined his chin to her. “I mean, you’re the boss.”

She spun around quickly, somehow not spilling a drop of her tea, moving her hand with the motion of her body, practiced in all the ways she moved, and gave a smirk and a nod. “S’right, McCree, I am. See that you don’t forget it.”

But somehow it was Tracer who surprised him the most, a woman he would have said previously didn’t know how to hold grudge, who often joked she didn’t have the attention span for it but who had managed to gather it up to hate McCree. Tracer, who had mostly ignored the divide between Overwatch and Blackwatch, whatever Ana told her to do, who’d taken McCree out to his first gay club and laughed all the while. Tracer who now spoke to him only in snaps, for months.

There was a small part of him that was done with it, and it aimed forward.

“S’true, but,” He set down his gun and crossed his arms “Now Lena, we gotta--”

Tracer slammed her mug onto the countertop, tea spilling out the top of it, sloth tea infuser thrown off the edge of the mug and onto the stone, even his back to McCree, now.

“You SHOT me, Jesse!” Her eyes glowed with hot fire, willing and ready to answer the volley. “And you shot me to kill me! Near succeeded, too, you did, and wouldn’t that ‘ave been a lovely day for you, right? I don’t ‘gotta’ do nothing!”

McCree looked down into his coffee, watching the thin ribbon of cream he occasionally allowed himself circle around aimlessly in the dark.

He knew the feeling.

It would be impossible to explain to Tracer that it wouldn’t have been a lovely day for him, that he felt the full weight of regret like a fifty pound sack of flour the second he’d heard her cry out, the moment he saw the glitter off her blood in the moonlight. He’d thought it was the right thing, but it had been the wrong thing, and his gut had known that, same as Yael said it would. That he’d felt a wave of relief when Reaper had growled that she was still alive, that he had fucked it up, in the way this time at least.

But everything else she said was true, and Tracer had only spoken the truth into the light. That he’d shot her. That he’d shot to kill. And he would have to live with her hatred for the rest of his life, with Winston’s hatred, with everyone’s hatred. He’d made his bed, and now he had to sleep in it, and that was the god’s honest truth.

Tracer stared at him cold, daring him to defend himself, daring him to say anything at all, and he found himself unable to meet her gaze directly. She’d become a commander, in these ensuing years, and not just by title. Her back was straighter, her voice was clearer, and she did not look away.

“I--” He scrambled for a thing to say, trying to quiet the small voice inside of him that said he deserved another chance, that punishment enough had been meted out, that it was a commander’s duty to correct but either correct him and let it be done or send him on his way. The larger part of him, that part that knew what he’d done, fell upon that voice like a wave. “I’m, you know, I apologize.”

“Jesse.” She said very softly, wiping down the counter with a napkin.

“Yah?”

“I’m going to ‘it you in about, oh, one second, most like.”

“What the--”

He did not have time to finish the sentence before a mug came sailing at his face. He raised his arm, and barely blocked it, but the surprise of it caught him, and he stood up, tumbling backward into the wall. His gun was ripped from his hand and scattered across the kitchen floor, and McCree barely had time to worry that Tracer had knocked his gun out of timing before he felt the volley of her fists into his body.

He grabbed out for her, but there was only a small blue light where she had been and a fierce whack across the back of his head. Less than a second. The accelerator she wore every day gave her less than a second of movement.

It was enough, he reflected, as his nose cracked against a tiny fist, and she knew how to use it. The blood spewed out of his nose, and he reflexively grabbed for it, his other arm throwing out a wild punch in the hopes of finding her, but the most he felt was the graze of cotton that was the edge of her shirt. God, but she was fast. He wasn’t used to fighting someone like her, he was a barroom brawler and a one gun cowboy, and her heard her spring off the table ust in enough time to barely shield himself from the full force of her body on top of him, bring them both to the floor.

It seemed to last forever, but it could not have been half a minute before he heard Pharah’s voice, shouting above the sound of McCree’s head slamming to the floor, and the force of a knee falling into his chest.

“Ya rab! Hey!” He felt the knee lift from his chest, “Tracer!” and as he rolled over onto his belly and blinked around, he saw Tracer, her arms firmly held by Pharah, “You cannot do this! Not like this!”

“No, Fareeha!” She pulled away from her, “Tired of being bloody FUCKING told I’m not permitted to get the slightest bit angry over ‘im coming back into the fold, on account of your wife decided it was okay to the ‘ole lot of us!”

“Lena!”

“Let me ‘andle it!” She stomped her foot, as if she were an enraged toddler. “‘E TRIED TO KILL ME!”

“I know!” Pharah sighed, and took a breath. “I was there. It was horrible. I do not blame--”

“Makes no never mind to me.” McCree grumbled. “I had it coming, think we all know that.” He looked up at her through an already-swelling eye. ‘We square, or you not have your pound a flesh?”

It felt good, he would have said, if he had allowed himself to say such things. He wanted to handle it this way , too. That as different as he and Tracer could be, they both had a clear understanding of the fact that sometimes diplomacy didn’t work, and sometimes the only way to let bygones be was to pay it out in blood. That this was the most hopeful he’d felt since joining.

Pharah nodded. “I will get Angela. You will need care.”

She hurried away, Tracer still leaning against the edge of the countertop, arms crossed, the blue of her shirt peppered with blood that McCree was pretty sure was all his. He didn’t remember landing a hit.

He grinned up at her, still tasting the iron of it. “Good training, Commander.”

She gave a weak chuckle. “Fuck, Jesse.” She walked toward him, and extended a hand. “Come on then.”

He looked up. “You gonna hit me again?”

She smiled, and he felt his shoulders relax. “Not today. Most like.”

He took her hand, and as she pulled him up, she paused for a second by his hear. “Promise you this, you ever walk toward Talon again, it’s the last thing you ever do.”

He appreciated knowing what a man can do, and what a man can’t do, and Tracer was good at making that plain. She’d make good on the promise. She kept promises.

McCree straightened up. “Understood.” he went to tip his hat only to realize it wasn’t there, and awkwardly saluted, “Commander Oxton.”

Tracer looked around the kitchen, and put her hands on her hips. “All right then, clean this up,” She shrugged, “guess that’s the lot of it. Hm,” she looked at the floor, “broke me mug.”

McCree grabbed the broom and mop, and when he turned around, Tracer was offering him a handkerchief.