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lancerslover · 6 months ago

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To Love, Honor, and Obey

Pairing: John F. Kennedy x Reader

Summary: In the late 1950s, your husband, Senator John F. Kennedy, brings you to dinner with his congressmen colleagues. When you start to tease him under the table, you quickly realize you may have bit off more than you can chew.

Further Information: 18+, includes smut, swearing, public humiliation, and maybe dubious consent

Word Count: 2.7k

When Jack had asked you to accompany him and his brother to a ritzy restaurant downtown to celebrate the bill he passed to increase the minimum wage, you’d eagerly accepted. As much as you cherished your peaceful nights alone with the baby, you’d been missing Jack a great deal. His long hours at the capitol building and regular trips back to Massachusetts in tandem with your new-mother exhaustion meant that, lately, the majority of your interactions consisted solely of you blinking suddenly and blearily awake in the evening to him bunching your nightgown skirt up into your armpits for a quick fuck before he, too, rolled over and passed out. When you woke back up in the morning, naked and sore, he was gone again.

That isn’t to say you disliked these little late-night rendezvous of yours, though. In fact, you had a particularly mouth-watering, albeit hazy, memory from the night just before he’d asked you to dinner—you’d been laying half-asleep on top of him, moaning languidly as you enjoyed the rhythmic jerk of his hips into yours, when suddenly he cupped your face in his big, calloused hand and said, “Look at me, honey,” then reached his climax at the exact moment the two of you locked eyes, rolling his head back and muffling a groan through clenched teeth. You figured it was the total, submissive surrender he saw in your woozy gaze, a look he knew only he would ever see, that really did it for him. These encounters were bound to result in another pregnancy soon, which was yet another reason for you to appreciate them. Jack’s menagerie of siblings loved to half-jokingly remind you that a Catholic marriage wasn’t truly successful until it produced at least five children.

But, regardless of the intermittent fun you and Jack still had, you’d been excited by the prospect of some long-overdue actual conversation between the two of you that this dinner could offer. But once two whole hours had passed after you sat down and you and Jack had hardly said more than a few sentences to each other, you realized how foolish you’d been to hope for anything more.

You were seated at a large booth in the back corner of the restaurant with Jack’s brother Bob, Bob’s wife Ethel, and a few other senators and their wives. As if that wasn’t already enough to steal Jack’s attention away, to your chagrin, your little section had seemed to transform into the social hub of D.C. almost as soon as you all arrived.

You didn’t think you would ever grow accustomed to how similar this supposed democratic utopian city could be to the average American high school—everyone knew each other, and everyone wanted to be seen rubbing elbows with the popular kids. Years ago, your husband had gladly assumed the role of D.C.’s reigning prom king (whether this was fortunate or unfortunate for you, you still weren’t sure), which meant that every five minutes or so, a new politician or CEO would materialize through the thick ring of cigar smoke surrounding your table and practically dive forward to shake Jack’s hand, effusively congratulating him on his new bill. Vice President Richard Nixon had actually pulled up a chair and sat down with you all for half an hour.

You were starting to feel sort of like a sulky child waiting for her father to finish mingling at a party—not only because you were more than ten years younger than your husband and probably more than twenty younger than his colleagues, but the constant whirl of booming voices together with the four-piece band blasting swing music from across the room was more than enough for you to quickly abandon any attempt to get a word in edgewise. For a while now, you’d been silently holding Jack’s hand in your lap and twiddling with his long fingers, praying that your constant touch would serve as a subconscious reminder that it was far past your bedtime. All you’d gotten from him so far, though, were the usual check-up glances he’d brush your way every so often, placating you for a brief moment with his gentle smirk. Despite your grievances, you always flashed him a good-humored smile in return. Above all, your appointed duty as Mrs. John F. Kennedy was to follow his lead and make him look good.

You finally reached your wit’s end, though, when Dean Martin (you weren’t fully certain why he was even in town) strolled up with this rosy-cheeked blonde on his arm. You hadn’t the faintest idea who the girl was—yet another of Dean’s extra-marital conquests, surely—but you certainly clocked how beautiful she was and how she couldn’t have been older than twenty. As she sauntered up to your table, you noticed how Jack raised his eyebrows and leaned back in his seat as if Dean was a waiter who had just arrived with a silver platter. You felt your fingers tighten around his hand.

The first thing the blonde did was, without so much as a glance in your direction, offer Jack her dainty little gloved hand. “Senator Kennedy,” she tittered, “how do you do? It’s such an honor to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.” Then she blurted out a surprisingly topical and informed joke about certain dastardly Republican congressmen and their attempts to squash workers’ unions across the country. Like trained dogs, the table waited mid-motion for Jack to break into an approving smile before they all started to chuckle. Then Jack turned to Bob and, with a stream of cigar smoke shooting from his nose, said, “She’s quite the firecracker, eh?” Bob responded with a wolfish, droopy-eyed grin, and the girl let out a chirpy giggle.

You knew you couldn't expect a man to completely ignore such an attractive woman, especially a man with Jack’s appetite (once, at a dinner party a few months into your courtship, he had drunkenly informed you that he suffered horrible migraines whenever he ever went more than twenty-four hours without intercourse). But still, that didn’t mean you would sit idly by while his depraved mind began to wander.

Dean was in the middle of saying, “Jack, the missus looks dashing as always” and you were smiling graciously as, under the table, you made the admittedly desperate, split-second decision to get Jack’s attention by pulling the hem of your cocktail dress up over your knees.

When you placed his hand down on your thigh, covered now only by a thin stocking, you glanced up to see his ears shift backwards on his scalp in a slight, almost-undetectable expression of surprise. “I can’t believe my luck,” he was telling Dean, and then, without missing a beat, he turned to wink at you before hooking a finger under one of your garter belt slings and snapping it playfully against your skin, sending sparks up your leg.

This wasn’t the first time he’d touched you below the belt outside the privacy of your home. He was known to occasionally slip his hand up your dress in the back of a limousine or give your butt an appreciative pat while walking behind you at some social event. You would always gasp and squirm away, your cheeks pinching into a nervous smile. But, luckily for him, the toe-curling embarrassment that normally engulfed you at the mere thought of engaging in public sexual behavior felt strangely dull tonight, like the wipsy, half-formed thoughts you had just before you fell asleep—maybe this sudden shift was, as a matter of fact, a result of how deliriously tired you were.

While Jack continued to talk to Dean, you grabbed his wrist and tugged it a tiny bit further up your thigh. You watched his nostrils flare as if someone had just told him a joke he wasn’t sure he should laugh at.

Once his initial shock at your change of heart regarding public affection wore off, you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to keep moving his hand further and further up your leg. This would not only serve to keep his focus on you and you alone for the rest of the night, but it would ensure that this wearisome dinner wouldn’t go on for too much longer. You fully expected Jack to take you home within ten minutes of him first touching your leg so that he could properly satisfy his newly-stoked sexual hunger.

But then, your whole body twinged as, in one abrupt movement, he completely overrode your little plan and went to press his knuckle against the fabric covering your labia. Instinctively, you grabbed onto his bicep with the ferocity of someone trying to catch their balance before they fell.

“You alright there, Mrs. Kennedy?” Dean asked.

You snapped your head to look up at him. His bushy eyebrows hooked towards each other in concern.

“Oh,” you said, “yes….” Your forehead flared with heat as you tried to think of an excuse as to why you’d latched onto your husband so abrasively. The sizzling of Jack’s mischievous gaze into the side of your face certainly wasn’t helping. What in heaven’s name was he playing at? Rubbing your panties in the backseat of a car was one thing—but at a crowded restaurant? Right next to Bob and Ethel?

After just a beat too long, you finally decided to tell Dean, “I just—Jack and I just love this song.” Jaw clenched, you forced yourself to turn and beam up at your husband as the band floated through the opening notes of “I’ve Got a Crush on You.”

“Oh, we sure do,” Jack said emphatically, which was jarring when paired with the way he then tilted his head down at you like a professor who’d just caught his student in a fib. You were almost entirely certain the two of you had never before listened to this song together.

Jack was still boring into you with those intense, dark-sea eyes as he angled his knuckle up towards your clit and began rubbing up and down, up and down. Against your will, your stomach seized with pleasure, and you dug your nails into his arm.

By the grace of God, one of the other senators’ wives piped up then, keeping the conversation seamlessly flowing. “Donna and I saw Sinatra perform this song in Vegas,” she said. Once all eyes had swiveled over to her and the table began to discuss this revelation, Jack took the opportunity to lean clandestinely towards you.

“You know better than to start something you can’t finish, kid,” he murmured into your ear. You felt your spine lock up, an instinctive reaction to this particular dark and unpredictable tone of his. You forced yourself to take deep, slow breaths through your nose. Cigar smoke puffed against your cheek and billowed across your eyes as Jack continued, “Is this all because of her?”

You turned, the bridge of your nose skimming across his, in time to watch him cock his head in the direction of Dean’s date. You glanced over toward her, and you were mildly startled to find that she was looking right back at you. With a too-wide smile plastered on her face at whatever one of the other senators was saying, she looked quickly back and forth between you and Jack—at the way he loomed over you while you likely appeared oddly stiff and flustered-looking—before turning sharply away.

You lifted a hand and pressed the backsides of your trembling, manicured fingers against your cheek. As you’d suspected, your skin was burning to the touch and only blazing hotter as your thoughts began to run amok. The blonde couldn’t possibly suspect something was going on under the table, could she?

Meanwhile, Jack took your stupefied silence as a “yes” in response to his question and clicked his tongue in a quiet tsk-tsk. “I thought so,” he said. “I wish you wouldn’t worry about other girls. You’re much prettier than she is.”

“Jack—” You were interrupted by the squeak that popped from your mouth as he increased his pressure on your clit. You clenched your legs around his forearm in a futile attempt to stop him.

“What?” he breathed, undeterred.

When you tried again to speak, your voice sounded small and distant under the sickening throbbing sensations that blared like alarm bells through your midsection. “You’re the devil.”

He gasped softly in mock outrage. “The devil?”

Despite it all, you couldn't help but let out a little wheezing laugh at your own melodrama. “Yes.”

He chuckled, too, and you thought he was about to say something else when one of his senator cronies said, “Isn’t that right, Jack?”

After searing you with a smoky look that clearly meant Don’t think I’m done with you yet, Jack leaned back to rejoin the conversation with startling ease. He puffed on his cigar and, with one relentless hand still tucked under your skirt, said, “Well, I wouldn’t blame Ives one bit for retiring after the year we’ve had.”

You started to wonder how the hell he had possibly been following the senators’ conversation while simultaneously whispering to you, but you didn’t have much time to ruminate; you could feel yourself growing more and more air-headed with each circle his knuckle made on your clit.

As Jack continued to talk, you were almost certain you saw the blonde’s curious eyes follow the length of his arm down to where it disappeared in your lap. A fresh wave of nauseating embarrassment spilled over you, and you were reminded of a particularly debauched dream you’d had a few months ago in which Jack brought you to one of his Senate hearings and instructed you to give him a blowjob while everyone watched. Strangely, you eagerly complied, gagging and sputtering while the old men around you whistled and cheered Jack on. You woke up feeling sick to your stomach, your heart racing, and yet, you also noticed that yours and Jack’s thighs had gotten all wet with your arousal during the night.

You felt your hips twitch with confused, guilty excitement, and you weren’t sure if it was because you were thinking about that dream or because you were now almost certain that the blonde knew exactly what Jack was doing to you down there. It occurred to you that she was likely jealous. She probably wished she had someone like Jack who would take such good care of her, someone so movie-star handsome, someone who could make her wake up in the morning, gasping, from a horrendously dirty wet dream.

Suddenly, you found yourself dangling right over the edge of orgasm.

As soon as you heard Jack stop talking again, you seized the chance to tug on his shoulder and whisper, “Jack, you can’t—I’m about to….” Apparently, you’d never quite left behind your tenure as a prim Catholic schoolgirl because you simply could not get yourself to say the word “come” in front of all these people, even if only Jack could hear it.

But before Jack could even react, Ethel poked her head out from around his shoulder like an adorable little gopher.

“Y/N,” she said, her mouth melting into a cartoonish, open-mouthed frown, “you don’t look too good, sweetheart.”

The muscles in your body flash-froze as all eyes, once again, turned on you. You knew the proper thing would be to respond somehow, but you kept your lips firmly sealed, paranoid that some kind of wanton moan would tumble out if you opened them. The big, hot water balloon in your lower stomach was stretching, getting ready to pop. Telepathically, you begged Jack, Please, please don’t make me come.

At the very last moment, as if he’d been listening to every single one of your thoughts, Jack yanked his hand away. Eyes fluttering, you planted both hands on the cushion underneath you to steady yourself, feeling suddenly like you’d just finished a sprint. Thankfully, you heard Jack take all the attention off of you as he announced to everyone, “I think Mrs. Kennedy and I are both a little tired. It’s about time for us to head home.”

#john f kennedy x reader #john f kennedy fanfiction #john f kennedy #smut #jfk x you #jfk x reader #jfk #john f kennedy x you #maria writes

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jh-newman-opn · 14 days ago

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Asking a theology! 🤭 (Sort of)

What's your take on how Fruits of the Spirit show on everyday-busy-run or you're late-work-work-work life? ✨

hello friend thank you for your theology

I have two main thoughts on this subject in general, which really boils down to the idea that you've got to hold space for your faith if you want to hear God speaking.

the first is that modern life is very loud and very fast, and that neither of these things are conducive to one's relationship with God. Imo this at least partially accounts for people drifting from their faith and the vocations crises. You've got to carve out time for your faith life. There's no such thing as "finding time" or "waiting until you have time", you simply have to decide what your priorities are and make time for them. Mass every Sunday. Morning prayer. Evening prayer. Daily rosary. Weekly holy hour. Yearly retreat. Whatever floats your boat, just make time for that thing. God speaks in silence and so you've got to find time for silence. Daily examen is very good because it makes you stop and reflect on what's gone on during the day, and to prepare for the next day. The other thing to remember is that sometimes squeezing the thing in is better than not doing it at all. I spent last Lent praying all 7 offices every day (more or less successfully), and ended up praying a lot of psalms whilst walking somewhere, or while waiting for someone, or while making a cup of tea, etc etc. Similarly-- 4 decades of the rosary on the bus, crossing yourself before eating a biscuit, saying grace halfway through your meal because you forgot to say it at the beginning, Hail Marys whilst you brush your teeth, etc. The ruts of routine become the grooves of grace etc etc. Practising your faith shouldn't be a thing you do for an hour on Sundays, but the substrate in which you move through the world.

Secondly, finding God in everything that you do is quite important. I was at a lecture by Rowan Williams recently, and he was talking about a saint who correctly identified that everyone needs a "mother superior", ie, someone or something that can always put you back in touch with God. The example given was of daily frustrations, like being stuck in traffic when you're late and it's pissing it down with rain. In that moment, that thing causing you frustration is what can get you your of your own head and put you back in touch with God. Take a moment, and say "thank you, mother superior". In a similar vein, I was also listening to Jen Fulwiler talk about crises of faith on her podcast, and she talks about how the "language" God uses to speak to you might change as your life circumstances change, and that finding multiple "languages" in which you and God might be conversing is quite important over the course of your life.

I think that covers the general context of the question you're asking-- in terms of how the fruits of the spirit specifically manifest and can be better accessed in our 21st century lives:

Love -- love in the Catholic imagination is about self-giving for the good of the other. So St Therese of Lisieux's sacrifice beads might be a good devotion to cultivate this one. Reframing small irritations as opportunities to grow in virtue, like letting someone else have that thing you wanted, or being glad someone else got promoted over you because it benefits them.

Joy -- joy is often misunderstood as being the same things as happiness, but it's not really. Joy is more about a state of being that persists despite external circumstances. I think this is more to do with finding sources of joy (family, friends, community) and holding onto those when things happen that mean we can't be happy. The examen is probably a good way of cultivating this.

Peace -- personally, reaffirming my trust in God and His ineffable plan has been helpful for this one. When things don't go the way I want them to go, I think about the times that God has led me to where I was meant to be by a really baffling route, and I remind myself that He is much better than I am at knowing what's good for me, even if I don't get it at the time. Two prayers I love for this are Newman's prayer God has created me to do Him some definite service, and the line in Psalm 118 that goes "I was punished, I was punished by the Lord, but not doomed to die". It's really about being able to say to yourself, "this isn't ideal and may even be quite horrible, but God has a plan for me and things will be ok".

Patience -- goes with the above: modern life is constantly telling us that various clocks are ticking and that we need to go faster and faster to achieve the things we want to do and that there's always someone younger and faster and brighter and arg it's all too stressful you may as well give up now. God's timing is perfect, and if you trust Him and focus always on moving towards Him, you will be where you need to be when you need to be there. That may mean missing out on opportunities you wanted, or getting to life milestones frustratingly late, but God has a plan and it will be ok. Slower prayer cycles like the rosary, the liturgy of the hours, or the chotki imo are very good for slowing down and reminding yourself that time is a grace.

Kindness -- number one thing you can do here is to pray for other people. PARTICULARLY people you don't like. Light a candle for your shitty ex. Pray for that irritating work colleague. Pray for those who persecute you. Then, do some corporal works of mercy. Volunteer with the Companions of the Order of Malta, or a soup kitchen, or an old people's home or something. Go to Lourdes as a volunteer. Involve yourself in other people's suffering. Fix some problem in your parish. Give money to that homeless person who is definitely going to use it to buy drugs. Better to hurt the wallet than to hurt charity.

Goodness -- goes with all of the above really- the further down the list of fruits of the spirit you get, the more you realise they're all interlinked. Also, being attentive to other people's goodness is a good exercise. Notice when people do small acts of kindness for you, or for others, and ask God to bless that person. When I was at Mass yesterday, there were three girls in the row in front of me and their bloke friend who was clearly new to the whole Catholicism thing, so I thanked God for their efforts to include him, and asked him to bless their friendship and this guy's faith (if any).

Faithfulness -- keep your routines solid, obey the church even when you don't get it, and trust that God is working for our good as He has always worked. There's always a crisis in the Church-- being Catholic means trusting that it will prevail as it has always prevailed. If you fall into sin or laxity, then go to confession, and trust that you've been forgiven.

Gentleness -- controlling your knee-jerk responses is quite important here, I think. Forgive, forgive, forgive. If someone's being snarky, don't snark back. It's particularly tricky imo when people are being quite aggressive about the Church, because it's easy to want to snap back and get heated trying to defend your faith. The truth is that often people who are very angry and aggressive are coming from a place of woundedness, and being gentle and trying genuinely to understand where they're coming from does a lot more good than snapping back. The best examples of this I can think of off the top of my head are the Sidewalk Advocates, whose pro-life work is done on the basis of meeting people where they're at, and showing kindness. This interview from the ERI was a great illustration of the principle.

Self-control -- 90% of self-control in modern life comes from putting the phone down. Delete your twitter, touch grass, go for a walk. The devil lives in your phone and he's some basement-dwelling incel from the other side of the world named Jared. When someone else takes the last slice of cake, be glad that they go to enjoy it. The three evangelical counsels of poverty, chastity, and obedience are to do with your relationships with money, sex, and power, and if you keep in mind that lay people are meant to practice these counsels (to a degree reasonable to their lives) as a means to holiness, then it helps order your relationship with these three things, which are really the main sources of temptation and sin.

I think overall I would just round off by saying that everything is an opportunity to turn to God in prayer. Your train is delayed? Thank you mother superior, I now have time to pray a couple of decades of the rosary. Struggling to conceive? Thank you mother superior, I get more time with my spouse as a couple. Totally infertile? Thank you mother superior, I get to adopt a child who wouldn't otherwise have a home. You're dying, you're broke, and your house just got consumed by a tornado? Things may be shit but I get to rely totally on God now like Our Lady did at the foot of the Cross. Longer post needed about the "blessed are those who mourn principle" in this case, but it's always struck me that the people who have the least problems with the problem of evil are the people who are suffering the most. Jen Fulwiler's conversion story comes to mind again.

Hope that was somewhat helpful-- feel free to ask again if not. Thank you mother superior for letting me enjoy the sound of my own voice again and all that.

#askjhn #catholicism #christianity

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spine-buster · 4 years ago

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The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 20

A/N: Remember to like, reblog, yell in the tags, and support your friendly neighbourhood fic writers. We appreciate it more than you think! And thanks for all the positive feedback on my double post last week! This chapter focuses more on Aberdeen and Siena’s sisterhood. Hope you enjoy!

February 15th, 2020

Aberdeen Bloom was in a taxi.

With the Canadian Tire Centre being in Kanata, Aberdeen needed a taxi to get into downtown Ottawa, and judging by what Siena told her about the bus, she wasn’t going to trust it to take her there. They were meeting at Chez Lucien, a gastro bar in the ByWard Market that Siena apparently frequented a lot with her law school friends. Aberdeen had come to visit Siena in Ottawa a few times since she began law school, and every time Siena took her to a different place. It was nice, because she got to see more of what Ottawa had to offer, and what Siena’s life was like here as opposed to in Toronto, but a part of Aberdeen wished they had a ‘spot’.

Siena had been waiting, as she was able to walk to Chez Lucien from where she lived near campus. Aberdeen was kicking the snow off her boots and unwrapping all her layers at the door as she watched Siena scroll through her phone in a booth in the middle of the room. The restaurant was pretty busy with the lunch time crowd, and the food already smelled delicious. “How do you deal with all this snow?” she asked as she approached the table.

Siena shrugged. “You get used to it, I guess. Did you get here okay?”

Aberdeen nodded as she slipped into the booth. “It’s quite the trek, though. Make sure you leave early tonight.”

“I don’t think it would matter if I missed the first five minutes,” Siena said.

Aberdeen noticed a certain tone in Siena’s voice that made her realize this wasn’t going to be a nice, relaxing lunch with her older sister. For how close they were and for how much Aberdeen loved Siena with every fibre of her being, Siena…could be a bitch sometimes. It was usually drama with friends that did it, or bad grades – Siena hated getting bad grades. She couldn’t compartmentalize her anger like Aberdeen could. Siena couldn’t leave her anger at school and be happy while out with someone else. She brought that anger with her and, while she hid it better in front of friends, she didn’t hide it in front of Aberdeen, meaning Aberdeen usually got the brunt end of it. “Probably not, but MLSE comped the ticket, so it would be nice if you showed up on time.”

“The burgers are really good here,” Siena said, dropping it.

Aberdeen opened the menu and looking at the list of burgers. “So what is it? A bad mark? Professor piss you off?” she asked without looking up from the menu.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Now what do you want?”

The conversation flowed uncomfortably. There were a few awkward pauses, which was unusual for the sisters, and though the food was good, Aberdeen could tell Siena wasn’t really all there. There was something else occupying her mind that wasn’t allowing her to be fully present with Aberdeen. Aberdeen wasn’t necessarily pissed off, because she certainly went through her moods too, but Siena wasn’t even trying to make an effort. Aberdeen decided not to say anything. It was for the best.

“So you look different,” Siena said, picking at the last of her fries and ketchup.

“I do?” Aberdeen asked. “How so?”

“I don’t know,” Siena shrugged. “Your hair’s a bit different.”

“Well, I attempted a blowout, but you know how that goes with me.”

“Does William like it when your hair is straight as opposed to your frizzy curls?” Siena asked, popping a fry into her mouth.

Aberdeen furrowed her brows. “Who cares what William likes?” Aberdeen asked. “I sure as hell don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“Siena, come on. When have I ever changed myself for a guy?” Aberdeen asked. She didn’t have a history of it at all, so she didn’t know why Siena would imply such a thing. “I know that William and I are in this weird little…I don’t know, dance, but that doesn’t mean I’m changing myself so he’ll like me more or whatever.” Aberdeen knew she didn’t have to. She knew that William liked her – loved her – just as she was. He’d never asked her to change anything about herself, and actually got mad when Saylor made that off-handed comment about her nose.

“Are you sneaking around with him?” Siena asked suddenly.

Aberdeen was taken aback by the question. She furrowed her brows and dropped her jaw, offended. “What?! NO!” she exclaimed. She scared herself for how easily and emphatically she had just lied to her sister.

“Are you lying to me?” Siena asked.

“Why would you even think that?” Aberdeen pressed. “What the hell, Siena? Do you honestly think I would jeopardize my job like that? The job I work so hard in? The job that might lead me to do what I actually want to do? You honestly think I’d burn this bridge?”

“I don’t know. You’ve done stupid shit in the past, Aberdeen.”

Aberdeen felt tears well in her eyes. She always knew Siena could be a bitch when she wanted to, but right now, she was being just downright mean. It was hard not to take it personally. “Wow. Thanks Siena.”

“I’m just stating the obvious.”

“I love the faith you have in me.”

“It’s not that I don’t have faith in you,” Siena said. “I just saw the way you looked at him on Christmas when he showed up. And more importantly, I saw the way he looked at you. And I know – or I at least have a feeling – that you wouldn’t be able to resist him if he actually came on to you.”

“That’s a bit rich coming from the girl who told us to sneak up to our room alone after watching an episode Brooklyn 9-9.”

“Don’t deflect this and put this on me, Aberdeen,” Siena narrowed her eyes. “You’re the vulnerable one in this situation when it comes to him. I mean you’ve already slept together. You slept together after knowing each other for what? A few hours? I mean, if you’d had the decency to wait, you wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.”

Aberdeen’s eyes stung from trying to hold back her tears. She couldn’t even look at her sister. Instead, she focused on her hands in her lap, twiddling nervously with the ring William got her. “Are you done?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly. “I mean it, are you done?”

“Aberdeen—”

“Is this why you asked me to lunch? So you could make me feel like complete shit?” Aberdeen asked indignantly.

“You’re choosing to feel that way. I’m not making you.”

Aberdeen pushed her chair back dramatically. She refused to participate in this conversation anymore. Actually, it wasn’t even a conversation – it was a sabotage. She snatched her purse off the back of her chair and grabbed her coat and scarf before walking away from the table, not even caring that she was walking out on her sister and sticking her with both bills. By the time she had reached the door, throwing her jacket over her shoulders and wrapping her scarf around her neck, there were already tears falling.

She walked up the street, not even knowing where she was going and where she was going to end up, and she didn’t bother taking her phone out to check. Instead, she cried. She cried about the things her sister said to her. She cried about how she lied to her sister. But more than anything, she cried about how awful she felt, how it felt like her heart was in the pit of her stomach, how her mind was racing about what she was doing with William and how wrong it was but how happy she was when she was with him. She was so conflicted. She was being pulled in opposite directions; quartered in the town square for everyone to see for the sins she was committing.

Aberdeen knew she fucked up. She knew. She knew the moment William stepped into that elevator and shook her hand. She didn’t need anybody to tell her that, or to remind her of the mistakes she’d made. But she didn’t have regrets. Maybe she should, but she didn’t. She loved William. She wasn’t supposed to, but she did. She knew they would be able to keep this a secret; she had faith that it wouldn’t affect her future career prospects. She had to have faith, because if she didn’t, it was all for naught. If she didn’t have faith, then she really was stupid.

People stared at her as she walked down the street crying, her hands stuffed into her jacket pockets. She barely wiped her tears away, wearing them with pride instead. They’d freeze to her face eventually, she thought, and then she’d look like an ice queen. Maybe that would be good for her.

Aberdeen continued to weave through the streets – turning right, left right, left, left, right – until she happened upon Notre Dame Cathedral Basilica, the famous Catholic Church in Ottawa. She’d been there before, with her family, when they visited Siena for the first time and Orla dragged everybody there for a Sunday mass. The cathedral was visually stunning, with its neo-Gothic architecture, classic arches, blue ceiling, and stained-glass windows. Weirdly, Aberdeen loved ecclesiastical architecture. It was probably Orla’s influence. Aberdeen always pictured herself getting married in an old church like this, should she ever get married. Whenever she was in a Catholic church, she was reminded of her childhood. Of Orla dragging her and Siena (and when he was born, Camden) to Our Lady of Sorrows Catholic Church on Bloor Street West every Sunday. Of her mom kneeling and praying for her family back in Northern Ireland. Of attending catechism classes with her classmates so she could receive the Eucharist and have her confirmation. Of her dad sitting with them and being in church too for all those major milestones even though he had his own faith. In its own weird way, it reminded her of home, of routine. The routine of dipping a finger in holy water and bowing, of finding a pew and kneeling for a quick personal prayer. For standing and singing and kneeling and praying. Kneeling and praying. Kneeling and praying.

So it was no wonder, then, that when she entered the cathedral, despite the tourists that lingered throughout the aisles and alcoves taking pictures and lighting candles, it was so easy for her to find the holy water and bow. It was easy for her to find a pew. It was easy for her to sit, and to look forward at the altar.

It was easy for her to cry.

***

Aberdeen cried out everything she had in her in Notre Dame. It was massively therapeutic. And when she was done, she took a taxi back to the arena.

She’d cried so much that her eyes were still red, that her skin was blotchy even where she was wearing makeup and was very blotchy in the places where the tears had washed her makeup away. She knew she’d probably get asked about it, but she didn’t really care. She wondered if the men she worked with would even notice.

As she walked through the back corridors and into a room, the first person that she saw was Peter. Her body stiffened. She had barely seen him since the All-Star Game – only saw him in passing or from across the arena, really – and she was too scared to ask whether he had switched departments, gotten demoted, or the like. She hadn’t spoken to him since, and her heart beat rapidly in her chest the second his eyes landed on her. He probably still wanted to kill her.

That’s why she was thoroughly shocked when he gave her a large smile.

“How’ve you been?” he asked as he walked towards her.

“How have I been? Where have you been?” she asked back, trying not to freak out. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been so angry. Now he was acting as if nothing was wrong. She thought he’d hate to see her and spit over his shoulder the second he saw her.

“We’re going to need to celebrate,” he said, his voice giddy. “I feel like getting champagne,” he continued, looking around for something to drink. He saw a bunch of Gatorade bottles and handed one to her before taking one for himself.

“Uh…okay,” she played along. The Gatorade would have to do. “What are we toasting?”

“We are toasting, my dear, to the dream job. The one that a million people wanted,” he smiled.

Aberdeen was confused. “Which I got months ago…”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “I’m not talking about you.”

That piqued her interest. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Mhm…go on…”

“Brendan and Kyle invested a lot of time and effort into me. I came on board basically when Kyle did. At the beginning I was doing everything – social media, communications, PR, the works,” he began. “But then there was that opening in hockey operations…and they needed someone they could trust…” he trailed off.

Aberdeen knew about the open job in hockey ops. They’d received numerous applications. The opening was a huge deal and people were clamouring at the opportunity because jobs there didn’t come up often. “Uh huh…”

“And that someone would be me.”

Aberdeen’s jaw dropped. “You got the hockey ops job?!” she screamed.

“YES!” he screamed out loud. His giddy laughter and excited little jumps and jitters told Aberdeen he was more than just happy – he was ecstatic. It was probably a position he wanted more than anything. “Aberdeen, they even put me up for it! I mean can you imagine!”

Aberdeen’s eyes bulged out. That was some interesting bit of news. It meant that Brendan and Kyle knew they were going to promote Peter. But that didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was how ecstatic Peter was and his new position with the Leafs. “But…but you’re leaving. I can’t imagine taking on Brendan and Kyle without you.”

“I know, I know, but I’m so excited though. This is the first time in almost three years I’m going to be able to call the shots in my job! Oh my God!” he shrieked. “I’m going to be able to come to Ottawa, Montreal, New York, Philly, Chicago…and actually be involved in the hockey process.”

He was happy. So incredibly happy. And Aberdeen could only be happy for him. She unscrewed and raised her Gatorade bottle. “Well, congratulations Peter. You deserve it.”

“You bet your ass I do,” he giggled, unscrewing his own Gatorade bottle and crashing it against hers. Aberdeen laughed as they both took their gulps of the drink. “I’m sorry I got mad at you before the All-Star Game,” he said once he was finished drinking. “I was really out of line.”

“It’s alright,” she said. “I knew it meant the world to you.”

“Yeah, but I was really mean,” he said. “I said you didn’t deserve it, but we both know that you did. You’ve been working hard since you got here and I was just…you know, being a dick about it.”

“I’ve had worse things said to me,” she shrugged. An understatement considering where she had just come from. “But thank you for your apology.”

He held his Gatorade bottle up again. “To the Toronto Maple Leafs,” he toasted.

Aberdeen smiled, raising her own bottle. “To the Toronto Maple Leafs.”

***

“So, how was lunch with Siena?” Brendan asked as he went over some last-minute notes before he and Aberdeen would make their way to the press box and meet Kyle for the game. Knowing that Siena was coming to the game tonight to support her sister was nice. Aberdeen made it adamantly clear her sister wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of hockey, but was coming to the game to support her more than anything. That was fine with Brendan.

Aberdeen shrugged her shoulders. She’d hoped Brendan wouldn’t ask about it because she still wasn’t over it. “I ended up going to church.”

He looked at her skeptically. “Church?”

“I got into a fight with my sister,” she explained curtly.

“About what?”

Aberdeen shook her head. Like she was going to tell him. “Not important.”

“Well…what made you go to church?” he pressed. He seemed genuinely concerned about the fact that she’d gone to a house of worship after fighting with her sister. Had it been that bad?

Aberdeen knew he was curious because he was worried, not curious because he wanted to pry. Because of that, she knew she had to choose her words carefully as to not reveal too much but also not reveal too little so that he’d ask more questions. She couldn’t find them. She didn’t know what to say to him without it leading to her giving it all away and getting fired on the spot. “I just needed some semblance of…normalcy back in my life after the fight,” she said, knowing Brendan wouldn’t understand.

“Aberdeen, I have absolutely no clue what that means,” he deadpanned jokingly, causing her to giggle slightly. “But if church helped…well, good,” he said, focusing back on his notes.

Aberdeen nodded. She wanted the topic of conversation to be dropped, and she knew the best way to do that. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

She knew it was going to come out as a statement more than a question. “You and Kyle…you guys knew you were promoting Peter to the hockey ops position.”

“Yes…” He was still looking down at his notes, and he wasn’t sure where she was going with this.

“So why’d you make me tell him about the All-Star Game?”

Brendan stopped focusing on his notes, instead looking at Aberdeen. He knew that she wasn’t accusing him of anything, and not complaining that she had to do what she did; she just wanted answers. Apparently she’d seen Peter. Apparently they’d talked. “So Peter told you we put him up for the hockey ops job, then,” he started.

“He did.”

Brendan nodded his head. “We needed to toughen you up, Aberdeen.”

It was Aberdeen’s turn to look at Brendan skeptically. “Toughen me up?”

“Listen—don’t get me wrong, because you’ve been doing a great job,” Brendan began. “But you…you need to do things that make you uncomfortable, Aberdeen. You know…uh…” he was trying to find the right words. “You know how a glowstick needs to be cracked in order to shine?”

“That’s literally the weirdest analogy I’ve ever heard anyone make,” she said.

“You needed to crack a bit,” he said firmly. “You needed to break someone’s heart. This is a tough business and this is a tough world and it’ll happen to you too. And I want you to be prepared to have to do those sorts of things. Because you’ll be successful once you leave here and you’ll have to do them. You’ll thank me later.”

Judging by his tone, Aberdeen knew Brendan wasn’t going to entertain any other options. She couldn’t say anything to make him think otherwise. “Okay…well, then I think you’ll be happy to know that I broke his heart when I told him he wasn’t going to the All-Star Game. And you and Kyle put it back together by promoting him.”

“I know that,” he said. He looked down at his notes one more time before pushing his chair back. “Now let’s go.”

***

Are they playing well? I wouldn’t know.

Aberdeen stared at the text message from Siena as she sat in the back of the press box, Brendan and Kyle watching the game intently and in full view of the cameras. She was surprised Siena still came after the afternoon they’d had. There was less than five minutes left in the first period, and Auston had already scored. She didn’t know if she should respond. She wondered if that made her a bad sister.

When the buzzer rang for the end of the period, Brendan swiveled in his chair and looked back at her. “Is Siena here?” he asked. Aberdeen nodded her head. “Go find her.”

“But you asked me to—”

“Go find her and go talk to her,” he interrupted, giving her a look. “Go.”

Aberdeen got up from her seat, her credentials jingling down the hallway as she texted Siena back.

Where are you sitting?

They put me six rows behind the Leafs bench. Section 106. Can you come meet me right outside the tunnel?

By the time Aberdeen got there (she speed walked so they had more time together, so what?), Siena was already waiting. When Siena saw her, she stuffed her phone into her pocket. “Were you up in the box?” she asked.

“I always am.”

Siena nodded, staying quiet for a moment. “Listen…I…I’m sorry about today,” she said, stumbling over her words a bit. “I was…my comments were really uncalled for, and I shouldn’t have like, you know, accused you of sleeping with William behind your boss’s back.”

Aberdeen nodded her head once, curtly, to make Siena abundantly clear that she hadn’t forgiven her just yet. Could she forgive her, really, when she was keeping the biggest secret from her? “Do you want to tell me what the little outburst was really about?” she asked.

Siena pursed her lips and crossed her arms across her chest. She looked down at the floor. “It’s nothing.”

“Siena.”

She sighed heavily. “It’s a guy,” she mumbled out.

“What?”

“A guy,” she said dramatically.

Aberdeen’s jaw dropped. “A guy?!” she barely had the words. “What guy? What…what guy?!”

Siena looked like she was about to throw a mini temper tantrum for having to reveal the information. “There was this guy, Aaron…he was just in one of my classes, and we had this…this thing going on for the past few months. Anyways, uh, I found out he was also hooking up with Sylvie the entire time and they’re all Instagram official already.”

“Sylvie?!” Aberdeen deadpanned. “Like…Gatineau Sylvie? Blonde Sylvie? Sylvie who we partied with Sylvie?”

“Yes, that Sylvie,” Siena rolled her eyes. “Knockout Sylvie. Drop dead gorgeous Sylvie. Only in law school so her parents don’t cut her off financially Sylvie.”

Aberdeen furrowed her brows in anger. Sylvie had been so nice when Aberdeen had come to visit last year, and had bought her drinks at the club…and now to hear she’d done this to Siena? And had been doing it for months? Aberdeen was livid. “Well fuck that bitch,” she barked. “And fuck Aaron, too.”

“Now I know how you felt when Zane did that to you,” Siena bit her lip. “But you guys were together for like, a year. Aaron and I were just hooking up.”

“Still,” Aberdeen was still upset. “Fuck that guy. Fuck them both. Fuck them all. He doesn’t deserve you if he’s gonna be sneaking around on you, hooking up with Sylvie and whoever else. You dodged a bullet. You’re too pretty and too smart to be bogged down by such a fuckboy.”

Siena was quiet. Aberdeen tried to figure out whether she was going to cry or roll her eyes, but she couldn’t. With Siena looking at the floor, it was almost impossible. When she finally looked back up, her expression was much more neutral. Gentler. “I wish I had your sense of loyalty, Aberdeen,” Siena said softly. “Really. I do. It’s one of your best qualities. You…you have my back no matter what.”

“Of course I do,” Aberdeen said. “You’re my sister.”

Siena nodded her head. “I know it might not seem like it, especially after the lunch we had, but I always have your back, too,” she said. “I hope you know that. I’d do anything for you.”

Aberdeen was silent as she considered her sister’s words. They fought like any sisters did, but deep know, she knew. Aberdeen knew her sister would do anything for her, and she would do the same. “I know.”

“Can you forgive me for lunch?”

Aberdeen nodded reluctantly. There was nothing to forgive when her sister was right about her assumptions. “I forgive you,” she said. She watched as a bunch of fans made their way through the tunnel and into the arena back to their seats. “Listen, I have to get back. But I’ll meet you after the game, okay? Go to those doors over there,” she pointed behind her to the same doors she came through to meet her.

“Okay. I’ll see you,” Siena nodded, watching as Aberdeen disappeared through the door.

***

William scored in the second period, making Aberdeen convinced he was just trying to show off since he knew Siena was watching. Hell, he could probably see her from the bench. With the Leafs winning 4-2, Aberdeen was happy. But there was barely any time to celebrate. Everybody had to get ready to leave as soon as possible so they could get on the plane and fly to Buffalo.

It was why Aberdeen was dragging Siena through the back corridors eagerly. “Where are you bringing me?” Siena asked.

“You need some eye candy to take your mind off Aaron,” Aberdeen said.

“So you’re bringing me to meet an old man?”

Aberdeen snorted. Brendan was three years younger than their dad. “Not quite.”

As they turned a corner, they came head to head with some of the guys, walking in and out of the locker room, their shirts half buttoned, their ties undone, some of them still in their hockey pants, topless. Siena stopped dead in her tracks. “Aberdeen—”

“—Feast your eyes—"

“—Aberdeen, I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t…oh…oh my,” Siena gasped like an old Southern woman as her eyes landed on a topless Pierre Engvall across the room. “Oh my God you could have told me!” she pinched Aberdeen. “I could have dressed nicer!”

“Hello.” Siena jumped dramatically, turning around to see William behind her. She calmed down when she recognized him. “How are things?” he asked, his voice low so no-one else would hear.

“Fine, thanks,” Siena’s voice was equally as low.

He stood up straight more and extended his hand. “I’m William, it’s nice to meet you. Siena, you said?”

Siena was taken aback for a second before she realized what William was doing. She wasn’t supposed to know who he was. She wasn’t supposed to be familiar with him. “Hi. Y—Yes,” she stuttered out, shaking his hand. “I’m Siena, Aberdeen’s older sister.”

“Hey! Who’s the stranger?” Auston called out from inside the locker room, looking at them standing in the doorway.

“This is my sister, Matthews,” Aberdeen answered, saying it loud enough so the whole locker room would hear.

Most of the guys approached to shake her hand. Jason came up first, then Rasmus, then John and Freddie. Aberdeen didn’t think Siena would get starstruck by hockey players, but she apparently was, stuttering out hellos and pleasant conversations with the men. Aberdeen couldn’t help but giggle. “Jesus, Aberdeen,” Siena whispered eventually when nobody approached them and they were alone. “Are they around like this all the time?”

Aberdeen smiled. “You don’t know the half of it.”

It was at that point that Auston approached them, giving Siena a quick but flirty up-down that Siena didn’t catch but Aberdeen did. “This is your sister?” he asked, extending his hand and getting Siena’s attention.

“Yes, she’s my sister.”

“You guys don’t look like sisters,” he commented.

“I got much more of our dad’s Persian features,” Siena said, shaking his hand. Aberdeen had rolled her eyes – as if she hadn’t heard that comment before about them not looking like sisters. “I’m Siena.”

“Siena. I’m Auston,” he smiled.

Aberdeen rolled her eyes playfully. “Go flirt with Willy, Auston. You didn’t get with Kasha and you’re definitely not getting with my sister.”

Auston furrowed his brows at her playfully. “Get a life, Aberdeen,” he said before sticking his tongue out. “I hope you liked the game,” he said to Siena before walking away.

Siena was about to whisper something to Aberdeen, but then noticed the man from before making his way towards them. Her breath hitched in her throat and her entire body seized up. Aberdeen almost burst out laughing then and there. “Hello. I’m Pierre,” Pierre Engvall extended his hand for Siena to shake. “You’re Aberdeen’s sister?”

Aberdeen had to nudge her sister to get her to respond. She jerked her hand out to shake Pierre’s. “Hi! Yes yes, I’m Aberdeen’s sister, Siena. It’s nice you meet you Pierre.”

“Did you enjoy the game?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes. You guys played so well. I mean I don’t watch hockey much but—”

“Have you been to a game in Toronto?” he asked.

“No—I mean, not yet.”

“Well you should come. I’m sure Aberdeen could get you a ticket,” he smiled.

Before the flirt fest could go on any longer, Rasmus screamed something in Swedish at him, and Pierre laughed. “It was nice to you meet you Siena,” he said before walking away, punching Rasmus on the arm.

Siena looked at Aberdeen. Her eyes practically rolled to the back of her head. “Good God almighty, that man just made me sweat like a whore in church.”

Aberdeen snorted. “Don’t tell that to mom.”

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betterthebest · 3 years ago

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Here We Go Again | An MJF Fanfic Part 4

Status: *Not requested*

Description: Bella was a teen wrestler working in the Indy circuit until an injury cost her her short career. She and MJF were friends turned lovers, turned strangers and friends again. What happens when she joins AEW to lead a faction with her ex? Will their history jeopardize their rekindled friendship?

A/N: This is an alternate universe (no covid :p) where MJF didn’t earn a spot in the inner circle. Hope you all enjoy my original story!

See also: (Part 1) (Part 2)

“Is it possible for me to kiss you?” James’ voice was shaking. We parked up in front of Britt’s after our date. We had a great time at a bar in downtown Jacksonville. I liked talking to him. He’s very down to earth and mature. I’ve dated guys his age before and they weren’t mature when they were supposed to be. We got along great and the three hours we spent together felt like no time at all. We listened to music and talked about life and what we wanted out of it. The talks were never shallow which I appreciated. I looked at him with a smile. “It’s possible.” He smiled back and leaned in. I leaned over the consol. He placed his hand on my cheek and pulled me in softly. In one swift motion his lips connected with mine. It was slow and sweet. He was a good kisser but I couldn’t help but compare him to Max. They were both soft and tender. It was different though, there was love behind my kisses with Max, even last week. I had to figure what I wanted from him. Am I able to move on? Maybe it’s not with James, but maybe it’s not with anyone. We pulled away, smiling. “Sweet,” he said. I giggled, “you’re good.” He laughed, “thank you, so are you.” We talked a little bit more before saying goodnight. He waited for Britt to open the door for me before pulling off. Britt hugged me when I walked in. “What the...?” “How was it?” She grinned. “It was fun.” “And did he kiss you?” She grinned. “Were you watching?” Britt closed her lips together, looking around the room. “Nooo?” I shook my head, laughing. “He did.” “Was it good?” “He was good.” I put on my best smile. Britt of course didn’t buy into my giddiness. “What happened? Did he say something douchy? I’ll kill him. You think you know a guy,” she shook her head. “No, Britt. He’s great. It’s just...Max slipped into my mind.” I sat on the couch in defeat. “He wasn’t on my mind before that kiss.” Britt sat next to me. “Oh Bell, what are you going to do about Max?” “I don’t know. All I know is this was a bad idea.” “No, stop it’s not. You’re just confused.” “How can I get over it?” I dropped my head to my hands. Britt rubbed my back to comfort me. “I don’t know babes, I don’t know.” I heard footsteps behind us. I sat up and looked back at Austin. “What’s going on?” He placed his hands on his hips. “She’s having a moment,” Britt said with a sigh. Austin nodded his head. “Are you okay kiddo?” “Max,” was all I could say. “My name isn’t Max, but...” “It’s about Max you dip,” Britt rolled her eyes. “I know that babe, I’m trying to make her smile.” “Well you failed,” Britt said, causing me to chuckle. She looked at me, “I won.” “Britt won,” I said softly. Austin shook his head, “seriously. What happened?” Austin walked in front of us. “How do I get over this comparing guys to Max?” “Get under him,” he shrugged. “Tried that. Made things worse.” Austin looked at me then at Britt with wide eyes. “I um shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t want to know.” “She’s not a child anymore babe.” “But she’s like my sister.” He turned his attention back to me. “You need guy advice, don’t you?” “Duh, Jenkins.” I said and Britt laughed. “Seriously, what should I do?” I sat, laying my head on the couch backing. “Talk to him about it. you two will be working close together for a while. The tension might be great for tv, but you need peace of mind.” “I had a feeling you’d say to talk to him,” I sighed. He chuckled, “you have to be an adult about it.” He’s completely right. As much as I hated it, Austin is usually right when I get advice from him. Austin left for bed while Britt and I talked about my night. I needed to get Max off my mind, at least for the night. I was going to see him in the morning. I’ll have to rip the band-aid off and that’s just what I was going to do.

The next day Britt drove me to the airport. I made my way through TSA and met up with Max. He was sitting at a coffee shop, phone in hand. An announcement came over the speakers saying flights to New York will be delayed. I approached him and sat in the chair across from him. He looked up at his phone and smiled at me. “Hey, you.” “Hey, how’s it going?” “Eh, pissed that our flight will be another hour.” He looked at the board next to us with all the flights and times they will leave and arrive somewhere. “Well that sucks.” We made small talk. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to him just yet. We talked about next week. I didn’t want to bring down the conversation by telling him what’s on my mind. It started to irritate me to the point where I just had to tell him. “Max? Can I... I need to tell you something.” “Yeah what’s up? You look nervous.” He placed his hand on mine and gave it a quick squeeze. My palms were sweating and my mouth went dry. I needed that to be the other way around. I just came out and spewed word vomit at him. “James asked me out so we went out and he kissed me. When he did kiss me I thought about you and now I’m a mess because I’m thinking about you.” I took a deep breath. Max had a blank expression on his face. We sat in an awkward silence for a couple of minutes. “So you went out with James?” I nodded. “And you kissed him?” I nodded again. “And you thought of me?” “Max I just told you.” “Do you still love me? And don’t say you’ll always love me, you know what I mean.” “I don’t know Max and that’s the problem.” “How did you feel about me when we fucked?” His tone got more aggressive. I didn’t answer. He pulled his chair closer to mine. “How did you feel about me when we fucked?” He whispered in the same tone. His face was only inches from mine. “Look at me.” “It felt amazing. I missed you and being in your arms,” I said softly. Our eyes connected. He reached out and cupped my cheek with his hand. “Then be mine again,” he ran his thumb across my cheek bone. “Max I-I don’t know.” He dropped his hand and stood up. “Well when you know, come talk to me.” He took his luggage and walked away. I watched as we walked towards the gate. My head started pounding and my heart sunk. We can’t even be friends. I didn’t want to ruin things, but here we are. He doesn’t even want to be my friend and that’s what hurts the most. I got a text from James asking how I was. I lied to avoid conversation. He told me to have a safe flight and we left it at that. Max and I sat in different rows. He didn’t even look at me I felt like a huge pile of crap. My throat tightened, I couldn’t help but let tears flow. All of a sudden a memory came back from when we were 16.

. . . . . .

I took the train from school to the training facility. It was only a half hour ride. Davey picked me up from the station and had another kid in the passenger’s seat. He looked about my age, dark hair and dark deep set eyes. He had an air of confidence about him, almost to the point of cockiness. He looked kind of small so maybe he was trying put on a façade. He would look at me every once in a while through the rearview mirror. It wasn’t anything creepy, more of trying to figure me out. Even though I had my school uniform on I still looked like I was fixing to fight someone. I always put on my own hard exterior even though deep down I’m a sweet person. I kept my head down to keep from an awkward stare. He talked to Davey about how excited he was to start training. I found out that Max was being trained by the main trainer at the school. Davey just started as a trainer last year when I began here. When I was 13 I went to a wrestling school just for fun. It was something I ended up really enjoying. I wasn’t serious about it though until I realized I could actually be successful. At 13 I did both dance and wrestling, but I chose the latter not only because it was more enjoyable, but it became my dream turned reality. Focusing on wrestling was the best decision I made. Once we got to the school I went to the restroom and got dressed in my sweatpants. I tied my hair up and made my way to the main room. All the trainers would get together and set up matches for all the students. There were three people assigned to a trainer with five trainers in total. The females would go against each other and the males will. Sometimes we’ll have intergender matches if we begged for it. All the trainers introduced a new member to their team. The boy from the car’s name was Maxwell Friedman. He clearly looked like the youngest, but he carried himself as if he was older than he actually is. I on the other hand always seemed younger in the way I presented myself. I don’t have the best posture and radiated timid young girl vibes. He scanned everyone and rested his gaze on me. I looked away quickly. Boys never really looked in my direction before, at least I didn’t notice them looking at me. Going to an all girls Catholic school didn’t help the cause. We all gathered around the ring and had matches one by one. I was the fourth match and went up against a girl named Fiona. She was a few inches taller than me and had slightly bigger arms. I could lift half my body weight, but I didn’t do that enough to see major results. I didn’t want big arms, I just wanted to be strong. Davey coached me while her trainer coached her. There was no winners or losers in these matches. It was more to build up our endurance and skill. We all got 10 minutes for each match. After my match it was time for a dinner break. We all sat around to eat and talk. I ended up sitting next to Max. We started to talk since everyone else was scarce. He started talking first. “So, how old are you?” “16,” I nodded. The corners of his lips turned into a smile. “So am I. What month were you born?” “September, you?” “I’m older. March,” he said proudly. I let out a chuckle. He continued talking, “you’re a good wrestler.” I smiled. It was the highest compliment for me. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to seeing your skill.” “I have plenty,” he smirked. I rolled my eyes and laughed. “You’ll see.” And that I did. He wrestled the next time we had class. On Tuesday’s and on Friday’s is a training class with our individual trainers. One Saturday a month the whole school would put on a show for friends and family. When the next Tuesday rolled around I became brave and started a conversation with Max. We decided to ask our trainers if we could have a match together. They agreed and let us do it. We were coached through and found out that we had a lot of chemistry in the ring. Every move I made was natural and didn’t have much thought behind it.

#mjf #mjf fanfic #mjf imagine #aew imagine #aew #wrestling fanfiction

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missjanjie · 3 years ago

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Better Than Revenge | (2/?)

Title: Better Than Revenge Summary: Karma Inc.’s business structure is simple - clients hire them when they’ve been grievously wronged and they send one of their revenge mercenaries to right them. As painstaking as their efforts to remain ethical may be, that may be tested when former detective, Rosé, enlists the squad to pick up where she couldn’t on a much higher scale, with potentially greater consequences. Word Count: ~2.6k (this chapter) | ~5.3k (total) Relationship(s): Rosnali (Rosé/Denali Foxx), Jankie (Jackie Cox/Jan Sport), Halldoll (Nicky Doll/Jaida Essence Hall), Gimone (Gigi Goode/Symone), Gottlux (Gottmik/Olivia Lux) Rating: T

TW for this chapter: implied domestic abuse, attempted sexual coercion of a minor, deadnaming/transphobia

Read on AO3 | Ko-Fi

Chapter Summary: Rosé learns Nicky, Jan, and Mik's revenge origin stories

Milwaukee, WI - 2007

“I think my parents are starting to get suspicious,” Jaida quietly confessed, her gaze downcast to the floor while Nicky sat behind her, braiding her hair.

Nicky frowned, her brows furrowed as she tied off the braid she’d put Jaida’s hair in with a hair elastic. “What is making you say that?” she asked, moving so she was facing the other girl and taking her hands into her own.

She shrugged, fumbling with the hem of her shirt until Nicky’s grasp stilled them. “Just feels like they’re snooping around more, suddenly real interested in my life. And you know they’re always acting weird whenever we’re at my house together. Last time they made us keep the door open, remember?”

“I had assumed that was an American thing,” she confessed. She had only moved to the states a couple of months ago, at the start of her and Jaida’s junior year of high school, and she was still learning how to differentiate cultural differences from people behaving unusually to her specifically.

“You think everything you don’t understand is an American thing,” Jaida rolled her eyes with a fond smile, “though I guess you’re right most of the time,” she conceded.

Nicky shrugged it off, redirecting back to the topic at hand. “But you’re worried they’re going to find out about us and poop will hit the ceiling.”

“Shit will hit the fan,” she corrected, then sighed. “I mean, think about it — my mom’s a Sunday school teacher and my dad’s the son of a preacher, they take ‘traditional family values’ very seriously. And I don’t know how things are in France but there’s nothing traditional about this,” she explained, gesturing between the two of them.

She frowned, her brows knitting together. “But we are happy together, surely once we graduate, we can—”

“It’s not that simple, Nicky!” Jaida tossed her head back and groaned. “I love you, but in a place like this, sometimes love just ain’t enough.”

And maybe it was denial, or maybe it was blind optimism, but Nicky had refused to take that answer lying down. She fought for Jaida and fought even harder to keep the relationship away from her disapproving parents. For a while, it seemed to be working, they had their beautiful, fleeting moments that let them believe that everything would be okay.

It was the first day back after spring break and Nicky immediately noticed a change in her girlfriend. It was like the life and light had been drained from her like she was only present physically. And despite the warm weather, she was dressed for late fall. She rushed towards her, taking her hand. “Ma chérie, what’s wrong? You look so unwell.”

Jaida hesitated before pulling her hand away. “I can’t hang around you anymore,” she replied. “Though I’m not gonna see anyone around here for a while starting real soon,” she mumbled.

“What do you mean?”

“My parents found out, Nicky,” she choked out, forcing back a sob, “and they were mad, I ain’t never seen them so mad. They’re sending me to military school… well, they gave me a choice between that and conversion therapy… seemed like the better option.”

Nicky bit down on her quivering lip. “But you can find me when you are done, right?” She reached out to her again, but Jaida backed away to step out of her grasp.

“I can’t. Besides, you won’t want me anyway, I won’t be the same person.”

She tried to grab for her once more, desperate to keep her, looking at her with watery, pleading eyes. “Jaida, I can’t—”

“Please,” she sniffled, “don’t make this harder than it’s already gonna be.”

And perhaps Nicky should have let it go, accepted losing her first love, and moving on with her life. Sure, she would eventually. She would move around for school, for work, meeting many beautiful women along the way, but none of that happened until she made sure Jaida’s parents experienced at least a fraction of the hurt they had caused the both of them.

Her plan had been elaborate and convoluted and would require a heavy amount of stealth work and computer literacy to pull off. But as it turned out, her plan of convincing the two parents that the other was cheating on them was quite easy when her snooping unearthed the fact that both of them already were. All she needed to do was bring it to light.

Present Day

“When you think about it,” Nicky mused, “I did them a favor. There are worse ways they could’ve found out than having an envelope full of proof dropped off at your workplace. At least no one made a scene… as far as I know, at least.”

“Does Jaida know?” Rosé asked. “Now that you guys have reconnected, have you caught her up to speed? Because it seems like something you should tell her.”

Nicky winced and looked away. “It… has not come up yet,” she murmured. “There is no easy way to inform someone that you were the catalyst in their parent’s divorce. Unless you have a way, in which case, feel free to share with the class.”

She shrugged, putting her hands up in surrender. “I got nothing, but my point remains. It’s gonna bite you in the ass badly if you wait too long to say anything.” When Nicky shrugged it off, she decided to move on. “What about you, Bubbles?” she asked, looking towards Jan, “what sort of scathing revenge does someone as bouncy as you come up with?”

Jan pressed her lips into a fine line, holding back what was either a smile or a grimace. “Well, this also happened in high school, an all-girl Catholic school, of course…”

Old Bridge, NJ - 2009

Jan was nothing if not brave. Coming out in tenth grade, especially considering the environment she was in, was a choice that couldn’t be taken lightly. While she had the support of her family and closest friends, the school environment had been a different story.

“Janice, could you stay back for a moment?” her math teacher, a conventionally attractive man in his early thirties, prompted as the final bell rang.

With math being her weakest subject, Jan was instantly concerned and nodded. “Of course, sir. Is something wrong?” she asked as she walked over to his desk.

“I think something is very wrong,” he replied as he got up. “Janice, I am highly concerned with your mental wellbeing.” He stopped in front of her, cupping her face with both hands. “You’re such a bright, beautiful girl. It would be such a shame for you to throw that away because you’ve chosen to shun God and live in sin.”

Jan felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach and her throat tighten. This was inevitable, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear. She started shaking her head. “N-No, I’m… I’m not, I—”

“Shh…” he pressed his thumb to her lips to quiet her, then swiped it across her bottom lip. “Part of being a good Christian is overcoming temptation. And that’s what you want, isn’t it? Isn’t it what your parents want for you?” His hands move to her shoulders, squeezing them gently. “God gave you this body to lay with a man, you just need to be put in the right direction before it’s too late. I could help you, I could save you.”

Jan felt sick to her stomach. She hated every moment of the interaction; she hated the feeling of his hands on her, the way he was leering at her body, undressing her with his eyes. But at the same time, it was hard to lean into that hate, because he did pick on every insecurity she had in regards to her faith. But her sense of self won out and she was able to free herself of his grasp and run out of the room as fast as her legs would take her.

Any shame or guilt she might have felt was quickly replaced by anger and a desire to stop the man that tried to rob her of her innocence from harming anyone else. But she was still cautious, she knew there was a risk of retaliation if she spoke out alone, that was when her plan formed.

She created a fake Facebook account of a fifteen-year-old girl who was ‘planning on transferring to her school’. That was why she messaged the teacher, and after a few days of exchanging messages, ‘Samantha’ had agreed to meet up with him, the conversation in no uncertain terms making his intent clear.

Now, the obvious path from there would have been to go to the police, but that wasn’t good enough for Jan. Instead, she went to her godfather, who had promised he’d always help her ‘by any means necessary’. So, it was neither the police nor ‘Samantha’ that met the teacher at the park. Instead, it was two burly men who drove home a rough lesson that he was to turn himself in the next day, lest he face even worse consequences. He’d been given a flash drive with a copy of the whole exchange and was told he had exactly twenty-four hours and that the police would be expecting him.

Of course, those details weren’t in the subsequent news story of the teacher’s arrest. The conviction, however, was disappointing to Jan, as it was only two years and a thousand dollar fine, as well as losing his teaching license and having to register as an offender.

Present Day

“But rest assured, people are keeping an eye on him these days. You know, should he ever try and act up,” Jan explained with a shrug.

Rosé’s mouth was hanging open by the time Jan had finished her story. “So, you put a hit out on a pedo. I mean, shit, color me impressed,” she chuckled softly, then quickly followed up with, “I’m so sorry any of that happened to you, though. I’ve had people in my life try to weaponize religion against me after I came out. It’s never an easy pill to swallow.” She then looked at the group curiously. “Are you all…”

“Mik’s pan but yeah, the rest of us are gay,” Gigi confirmed with a nod. “At first, I thought that’d be the only thing we all have in common, but here we are now.”

“Chosen family is super important,” Mik agreed, “you never know who you can’t trust in your bloodline.”

Rosé quirked her brow. “That what happened to you?”

Scottsdale, AZ - 2015

Mik had been sitting across from his parents in dead silence for the past five minutes. There was no easy way to break it, let alone a correct one. On the coffee table in front of them were printed pictures of screenshots from his private Twitter account, where he presented himself as his true identity, but the precautions he took weren’t enough.

“Kady, sweetheart, I’m sure Uncle Joe brought this to our attention with your best interest at heart,” his mother said in as sweet of a voice as she could muster, which only served to sound fake to her son.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh please, don’t give me that. If it was ‘concern’ he would’ve told you privately. He sent it to the family group chat then told you that, and I quote, ‘your daughter thinks she’s a tranny’,” he struggled to keep his tone even, but he knew he needed to coddle his parents’ feelings if he wanted a chance of being taken seriously.

“I’m sure it just caught him by surprise,” his father offered.

Mik groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Even if he did, he wasn’t treating it like a fun piece of gossip, he hunted down my private account and outed me to humiliate me, and it would mean a lot if you guys had my back on this.”

This brought another wave of silence upon his parents. He couldn’t get a clear read on them, but they seemed stressed, confused, and most painfully, they seemed sad. His mother slowly picked her head back up. “Kady, I—”

“My name is Mik.”

“Listen, honey, you’re going to have to give us some time to adjust,” his dad tried to ease the tension, “you’re still our child, but this isn’t an easy thing to process, your mother especially is mourning the loss of her daughter.”

Mik felt his chest tighten in anger and hurt. “But I’m not—” he got up, shaking his head. “Right, fine,” he mumbled and escaped to the sanctuary of his bedroom. Left alone with his thoughts, the anger he had towards his parents dissipated and the rage shifted solely onto his uncle. After all, this was his fault. He was the one that robbed him of the opportunity to come out on his terms, and with the active intent to cause harm.

The anger didn’t go away over the following weeks. Instead, it built up, it festered inside of him as the summer after high school began. He had downloaded Grindr out of casual curiosity, and it was only a matter of minutes before a profile caught his eye. “No fucking way,” he grinned.

Of course, it was Joe, Mik realized how much of a cliche it was, but that didn’t change the fact that his bigoted uncle that tried to ruin his familial relationships was soliciting male escorts on a gay dating app. The opportunity for revenge essentially fell into his lap. He made a fake account and exchanged messages with him, just enough to get the evidence he needed.

The last step was simple, he dropped the screenshots into the same group text without any comment and removed himself from the group chat right after. He didn’t need to see the chaos unfold, Uncle Joe’s absence from the next family gathering was all he needed.

Present Day

“Just to be clear,” Mik added as he finished the story, “I’m against outing people, for the most part, obviously it should be something done on your terms. But shit, sometimes it’s gotta be an eye for an eye, you know?”

“Wait, I have a question,” Jan chimed in, “is he out now? Do y’all even talk to him anymore?”

He shook his head. “He moved to Alabama, I guess he wanted to go somewhere to double-down on the bigotry. No idea what happened after that. But, you know, good fucking riddance.”

“Amen to that,” Rosé agreed. “I don’t know how you guys have figured out that line of deciding what’s morally sound and what’s ethical enough. It seems to work, but it seems hard.”

“Jackie helped a lot with that,” Jan told her, her face lighting up and her smile broadening as she continued, “she has this pragmatic take on these things while still understanding that there’s so much ambiguity and morally gray areas. She’s honestly the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

Rosé nodded as she listened. “I’m glad you guys have someone like that on your team. How long have you two been dating?”

Jan turned bright red, worsened by the way the rest of the group laughed. “Oh, um, we’re not dating. She and I are… very close friends,” she explained.

“Ah,” the corners of her lips tugged into a smirk, “you’re just fucking, got it,” she observed, causing another eruption of laughter from the others, much to Jan’s chagrin. Once it died down, she redirected her attention to the half of the group that had yet to recall their stories. “Alright, who’s next?”

#halldoll #jankie #rpdr rpf

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sunmoonandeddie · 4 years ago

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and grace, my fears relieved

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 2,623

summary: You meet someone new in the most unlikely of ways during the quarantine in New York City. A hospital isn’t the worst place to meet someone, right?

chapter warnings: swearing, both steve and the reader have covid-19, but neither die

masterlist

a/n: Let me know what you think!

The virus started out inconspicuously enough, with just a few cases here and there that everyone assumed would be quarantined and taken care of, but Steve was paranoid. How could he not be?

He’d been a sick kid. Real sick. And then when he was a teenager, he got some revolutionary kind of treatment for his heart and lungs and it was like his entire body had been kickstarted. He shot up a foot taller and gained over a hundred pounds.

He had the stretch marks to prove it.

Granted, he had to work a little to gain as much as he did. After the treatment, the weight gaining workouts and diet plans suddenly worked. He looked… normal. And then he buffed up. Real big.

It came in handy pretty often with his job. He had become a firefighter, and carrying people out of burning buildings was often part of the job.

Fires still happened in a quarantine. If anything, they happened more frequently because people were home and the number one cause of house fires was unattended cooking. A parent could be cooking any meal of the day and then their kid distracts them and boom. Fire.

So he worked overtime, day in and day out.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t scared. He was scared shitless.

It was like his ma used to say, back when she was alive, “Just because you’re scared doesn’t mean you run away. You fight back for what’s right.”

Sarah Rogers had been a lot smarter than people assumed. She was a former socialite, and an Irish Catholic one at that. Her parents had an absolute conniption when she’d fallen in love with a former convict. His dad had been in and out of jail for petty things.

It certainly hadn’t been her choice to fall in love with him. But she had told him that if he didn’t get his act together, she wasn’t going to be with him.

He’d straightened himself up and become an outstanding citizen.

But that hadn’t stopped her family from disowning her. Once she refused to break up with him, she was out. Out of their house, out of their wills, everything.

She went from wearing Valentino and Chanel to items picked out at Goodwill.

But Steve’s parents had loved him more than anything.

He’d become a firefighter just like his dad. He wanted to help people just like him, and well… That’s what he was doing now.

Or had been, until his throat had started to hurt. And when it hadn’t let up three days later, even after a plethora of cough drops and teas, he went to the hospital.

It had only been about a month since it really started and the first dozen cases showed up in New York City. He’d been cautious—overly cautious, some might say—but he still had to go to work. And who knows how many people he’d come into contact with that had the virus?

It was still early days. He was able to get the test, and for that, he was lucky.

But then he had to go home and wait.

And then he got the call. He had to immediately go back to the hospital to be quarantined. He’d been put in a hospital room that was usually used as a private room in the Emergency Room—a trauma room, they called it. Trauma Room 2.

All of their other hospital rooms were taken. It was a lot worse than anyone had let on.

He was there for about twenty minutes before you got there, clearly terrified and holding a duffel bag full of clothes so you wouldn’t just have to wear the scratchy ass hospital gowns.

He’d only thought to bring two different pairs of sweatpants and a few sweatshirts, as well as his usual pairs of jeans.

But he was quickly finding that those weren’t too comfortable to wear while being quarantined.

Maybe he’d be able to convince someone to run down to the hospital gift shop to grab him something to wear. Some Brooklyn Hospital sweats or something.

“Hey.”

He looked up from his tablet, looking for the source of the voice. God, he was so tired. And everything hurt. There was only so much that honey could do for his voice.

“Hey! Over here!” The voice broke off into a coughing fit, and it sounded nasty. Real nasty. The kind of coughing that hacks up a lung.

He gets up out of his bed with a grunt, feeling like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. And not the big, strong shoulders he had no. The weak little skinny ones he had before. The ones where he could barely lift a gallon of milk in each hand without getting overworked.

You’re sitting on the ground, taking deep breaths as you try to catch your breath. “Hey,” you said with a weak smile. “You got any cough drops? I ran out and my nurse said she was gonna try to find me more two hours ago.”

There’s no medicine available to treat the virus. So they just treat the symptoms.

And there’s a severe shortage of cough medicine amongst the patients, but no one really mentioned that.

“Yeah,” he said as he walked over to his little bedside table. He opened the drawer, pushing the Bible left inside to the side and grabbing the cough drops. He grabbed four little individually wrapped pieces before dragging his feet back to the doorway.

He couldn’t lie, sitting down looked really nice right at that moment. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest just from walking that short distance. So he sunk to his knees and leaned back against the doorframe, on the opposite side that you were.

Even though he’d become a firefighter like his dad, he didn’t understand how he could have such a strong faith in God when things like this happened. Sitting across from you, seeing how tired and run down you looked, he wasn’t sure he believed at all. How could a God that claimed to be so benevolent and loving do this? Or at least not step in and do something to stop it?

“Did you bring the goods?” You asked with a bit of a laugh, before breaking off into a deep cough. “Fuck…”

“Me, too,” he said softly as he grabbed one of the cough drops and tossed it in your direction.

You groaned as it landed behind you, shooting him a glare. “Do I look like a basketball player to you?”

Steve let out a snort as he grabbed another one. “Okay, are you ready this time?” He asked, raising a single blonde brow.

“Oh, my god, yes. Please, just throw it,” you said, but there was a slight grin toying at the corner of your mouth.

“What’s the magic word?” He asked. This was, quite honestly, the most fun he’d had in ages.

You gave him a look that said you’d kill him if he didn’t give you a cough drop. “Give me a cough drop before I break down sobbing because it hurts so bad?” You deadpanned.

“Okay, okay. No need to get dramatic,” he said before he tossed another one. This one hit your forehead before falling into your lap.

“If you want dramatic, I can turn into a Disney princess right now,” you giggled. Your voice was weak, but it was hard to muster up the energy to talk sometimes. Actually, not even sometimes. Most times.

He watched you for a minute as you worked the wrapper of the cough drop off and popped it into your mouth. “I’m Steve. Steve Rogers.”

“Well, hello, Steve. Steve Rogers,” you said with a giggle, your words slightly distorted from the hard candy in your mouth. You gave him your name as he tossed you the other two cough drops.

It was nice to have someone to talk to. It had been four days since the two of you entered the hospital before you had called out to him. And yeah, he still had his phone. He texted and called Bucky everyday, but it wasn’t the same as having a face-to-face conversation.

It also kinda helped that you were really, really pretty, even when you were sick and exhausted.

In fact, he couldn’t remember anyone that he thought was as pretty as you.

“Stevie?” You said a week and a half later. It had gotten worse. So much worse. You had breathing tubes in, as well as an IV. His wasn’t as bad. He just required the IV.

Your nurses tried to get you to stay in your beds, but they soon gave up the fight, choosing instead to help the both of you move your chairs so you could talk to each other, separated by a hallway.

“Yeah, doll face?” Steve’s heart was hurting as he watched you with sad blue eyes. You were wrapped up in one of his hoodies, drowning in the fabric. He’d gotten Bucky to run by his apartment and grab him some more comfortable clothes, though he’d had to leave it with a doctor and wasn’t allowed to see him.

They couldn’t risk it. “They’re talking about a second wave,” you said as you wrapped your blanket tighter around you, pulling your knees up to your chest. “They wanna start opening things in late May… But it’s too early… I…” You swallowed thickly, your heart pounding against your rib cage. “I’m so scared, Stevie.”

“Hey…” There was nothing he wanted more than to be able to walk across the hall and take you into his arms. “Whatever happens, you’ve got me. You hear me? We’re in this together, okay? And we’re gonna make it. We’re gonna make it because we gotta.”

That night, he waited for the lights to go out and for the nurses to switch over to the night shift. A lot of the nurses weren’t as vigilant about taking care of them as the day shift, and he knew he could use that to his advantage.

He knew this was risky, but he had to do it.

Steve carefully got out of bed and dragged his monitor behind him, taking slow measured steps. He’d waited about an hour after rounds, knowing that they wouldn’t be coming for another three. It gave him plenty of time. He tiptoed across the hall after ensuring that the coast was clear, slipping into your room.

The room was bathed in a soft blue light coming from the open curtains, a billboard outside flashing. You looked so peaceful, finally asleep after tossing back and forth for hours. The blue tones glistened against your soft skin. You were so quiet that his eyes instinctively flickered over to the heart monitor, listening to the quiet beeping that reassured him that you were alive.

He wobbled the chair over to the side of your bed, being careful not to drag it so it didn’t squeak and alert a nurse or doctor. When it was finally in place, he sunk into it with a relieved sigh.

Your nose scrunched up at the faint noise.

“Dollface,” he whispered as he gently caressed your cheek, his heart pounding. This was the first time he’d ever gotten to touch you. This was the first time he’d been close enough to even attempt it.

Your eyes fluttered open, blinking sleepily at him. “Stevie?”

“Hey…,” he said softly as he traced the patterns of her face. “It’s me… Don’t worry…”

“What are you doing here?” You asked, her voice a hoarse whisper. “We’re supposed to be—”

“I know,” he said as he gently scratched your scalp. “But I’m worried… And you need me.”

You slowly relaxed back against your pillow as your eyes searched his face. He liked when you were soft like this.

Well, he liked you all the time, but still. He liked you most when you were sleepy and relaxed.

“How are you feeling?”

With a shrug, you let your eyes close again. “I don’t know… I’ve been better.” A sigh escaped your lips as you opened your eyes again, trying your best to not melt too far into him. You didn’t want to fall asleep when this was the first time you’d gotten to feel him near. “We’re lucky… Our cases aren’t as bad as what others are going through…”

That was true. Others were on respirators, going into comas. You two were lucky.

And he was so grateful for that.

“I was thinking…,” he murmured.

A snort. “That’s never good.”

He gave you a look, raising his brows. “Apparently people aren’t… completely better even after they’re cleared of the virus…,” he said. He was watching your face carefully for any sign of a reaction. “And I live alone. And you said you have roommates but two of them are considered essential workers, which means there’s a risk of you getting it again… And I was just thinking…”

“Yeah?...” You probed, sitting up a little.

“We’re gonna need someone to help us… without risking the others that we love, and I just…” He coughed to clear his throat, his cheeks red. “I was thinking maybe you could move in for a little while? Maybe until all this has passed? And we can… we can…”

Your eyes flickered over his face. “We can take care of each other?”

Steve nodded, swallowing around the lump that had formed in his throat. “Yeah. We can take care of each other… I’ll have your back and you’ll have mine. And maybe it’s quick, but... ”

Can’t you feel it? He wanted to ask. Can’t you feel this thing between us? This connection that was found and fostered in possibly the darkest time of this generation’s existence? This love that made me think that maybe there is a Grace in the world? Because otherwise, how the hell would I have been able to find you?

But he knew that was probably a lot, even if the feeling he had when he looked at her was a little bit more than like.

“But… you barely know me.”

“That’s not true,” he breathed out quietly, a finger running down your jaw. “I know about your family. I know your first pet’s name and where it’s buried. I know that you like white Christmas lights over rainbow because you like how it can look like snow if it’s done right.”

Tears were in your eyes, your cheeks flushed as you listened to him.

A smile crept up on his lips. “I know you like the citrus flavored cough drops, and you have to sleep with a blanket on, even if it’s eighty degrees outside. I know how much you love cheesy rom-coms and you can only watch horror movies at night because otherwise you’ll have nightmares.” His forehead rested against hers, your noses brushing. “I know you. And I wanna take care of you. When we get out of here, I don’t want to forget you. I want to spend my life with you. And maybe that’s too much too soon and more than a little cheesy, but—”

“Stevie…” You were the one who leaned in first and pressed your lips to his, the salty taste of your tears mixing in with your peppermint chapstick. “I’m not easy to take care of. I’m even more stubborn when I’m feeling helpless like I am now…”

“That’s okay,” he said as he pecked your lips again, letting it linger. The two of you knew that a nurse could come down the hall any second and catch you, but it didn’t matter. You were together and you were alive. “I don’t need easy. I just need you.”

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve x you #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve x y/n

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miracleonice87 · 4 years ago

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Say You Won’t Let Go

a Sidney Crosby wedding series

Part Two

a/n: here’s part deux! read part one here. this will have at least one more part, probably 2! worth noting that I know next to no French and am relying heavilyyyy on our pal Google Translate in this story.

summary: a little more background throughout, as Juliette and Sidney meet up with their families and hockey star-studded bridal party for a rehearsal at their iconic wedding venue. if you’re not familiar with the location (it’s honestly incredible), click here for a look!

warnings: mention of deceased father. otherwise, so damn fluffy it’s practically cotton candy.

_____

Sidney and I arrived at the church exactly on time, much to Lauren’s satisfaction, with two cars carrying Mario’s crew pulling in at the next moment. I closed the passenger door of Sidney’s steel grey Range Rover and turned to take in the sight of our wedding venue, Heinz Chapel on Pitt’s campus, reaching a hand up to shield my face from the early evening sun as I gazed. Sidney did the same, coming to stand next to me and snaking an arm around my torso.

“Not a bad place to get married, eh?” he teased, kissing the crown of my head. I smiled and shook my head. “I’ve dreamed of this since the moment I first saw this place,” I told him. “It’s perfect.”

He took a step forward, offered his hand to me and grinned, quite pleased that we had been able to reserve the coveted location last summer despite it typically being booked three or more years in advance. I didn’t often request many special favors in the name of my uncle or fiancé, but this was one that seemed a necessity. Taking Sidney’s hand and walking toward the cathedral-style landmark, I said a silent prayer of thanks that I’d gotten even more than what I always dreamed of, in so many ways.

My family and Sidney walked into the chapel to find his parents and our bridal party already mingling near the pews, excitement palpably buzzing beneath the magnificent arches and towering stained-glass windows that decorated the exquisite interior. As we stepped through the doors, they turned our way, and I let out an echoing, very French-Canadian-sounding, “Allooo!” making them all laugh.

I first greeted Troy, Trina, and Taylor with hugs and warm hellos. Sidney’s parents were staying at his former townhome on Mt. Washington, which previously served as his bachelor pad and now housed Taylor in light of her recent move to Pittsburgh. We had spent much quality time with the elder Crosbys since their arrival from Nova Scotia a few days ago, helping us with final preparations and enjoying each other’s company ahead of my official entrance into their family.

Both Trina and Nathalie had accompanied me earlier in the week to my final dress fitting and pickup appointment at the bridal boutique where I had selected my gown. Though my mother did plan to attend the wedding ceremony as a guest, she was uninterested in playing the traditional mother of the bride role and joining me for such commitments, which hadn’t surprised me but still stung sharply, especially when I was fastened into the gown and presented by the salon attendant to a waiting Trina and Nathalie.

Bitter tears pricked my eyes as I allowed myself to feel robbed of sharing that moment with my own mom. My sadness was quickly overcome, however, when the women, sensing my sadness, warmly embraced me and fawned over me, admiring the perfect fit of the gown, both becoming emotional when Nathalie tucked my headpiece and veil tenderly into my hair.

The three of us stared at my reflection in the mirror for a few moments as we let tears of many complicated emotions fall, with joy prevailing above them all. I couldn’t keep the enormous smile from my cheeks when Trina squeezed my shoulder and whispered, “Oh, sweetheart, just wait until Sidney sees you.”

Now, we were less than 24 hours away from that moment, with our bridal party and family bustling around us in the chapel.

As our officiant, Father Antonio, announced that we would be lining up for the rehearsal momentarily, Lauren approached me with a grin, extending a bouquet she had made of the countless ribbons and bows from my bridal shower gifts acquired a couple of months ago. I giggled at how cheesy yet adorable the arrangement looked, thanking her as we huddled at the back of the aisle with my bridesmaids and Sidney’s groomsmen.

“This place is a little beat up,” Nate MacKinnon, our best man, ribbed Sidney from between the two of us. “I don’t know why you guys picked this dump,” he added, pulling me to his side. Sidney shoved lightly at his chest before the two of them laughed and embraced.

“Yeah, the old barn in Cole Harbour was booked this weekend, so we kinda had to settle for the next best thing,” Sidney played into Nate’s teasing, as his longtime best friend Mike, also a Cole Harbour native, approached us.

“Kind of a shithole,” Nate whispered, earning a warning glance from me as Austin tried to hold in hysterical laughter. “You can’t say shit in church!” Austin forced out from under his breath. “Oh, we’re going straight to hell,” Mike commented softly. Sidney gave me an apologetic look and I smiled up at him.

“It’s fine. These are our people!” I said to him, flicking Nate’s elbow as I passed him. “Besides, we’ve already been living in sin,” I added, winking at Sidney. He gave me a look of mock disbelief and insisted, “No. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a nice Catholic boy.” I giggled and pushed onto my tiptoes to kiss his cheek, which smelled of his fresh aftershave.

In addition to Nate, Mike, and Austin, we greeted Sidney’s other groomsmen as we prepared for the rehearsal — his current teammates Kris Letang and Evgeni Malkin and former Penguin Marc-Andre Fleury. They had all graciously accepted the invitation by Sidney to play this special role in our day, with Geno flying in from Russia and Kris and Marc-Andre from Quebec.

Marc-Andre had brought a few other important components to our day along with him — not the least of which was his wife and my best friend, Veronique. She and I had first met when Sidney and I were only casually seeing each other, and she had predicted this wedding long, long ago. She had been one of our biggest cheerleaders since the day we met, and despite her and Marc’s eventual move to Las Vegas, the four of us remained the closest of friends, visiting each other when the men’s respective teams played and whenever else possible.

With Lauren as my maid of honor and Stephanie, Alexa, and Taylor as three of my other bridesmaids, my friend Jacqueline, a Pittsburgh transplant with Canadian roots whom I met while studying at Duquesne, rounded out my crew of six ladies who would stand by my side on this long-awaited day.

To up the cuteness factor, Sidney and I had selected Marc-Andre and Veronique’s daughters, Estelle and Scarlet, as our flower girls, with Geno’s son Nikita and Kris’s son Alex as our ringbearers. Nikita was still a bit young to understand his role, but grinned broadly when Sidney told him when they arrived just how important he was to our day. On the other hand, Kris told us that Alex had cried after his parents had asked him to be in our wedding, because, as much as he adored and was attached to Sid, Alex had been under the impression that I was his girlfriend, not Uncle Sidney’s.

Eventually, after Sidney and I made the rounds to greet them all, the entire bridal party was grouped together to begin the walk-through. The venue’s wedding planner wrangled the children as the priest noted that Sidney needed to leave my side to approach the front of the church alone, in preparation for his emergence from one of the side doors at the front of the sanctuary tomorrow.

Playful “oooh”’s erupted from our groomsmen, who teased Sid about having to pry himself away from my hip. Sidney rolled his eyes, nodding and smirking, before turning his full attention to me. He tucked some hair behind both of my ears before caressing my cheeks with his thumbs.

“You gonna be okay, Jules?” Sidney asked, eyes wider than normal as he searched mine carefully.

I knew he wasn’t asking if I would be alright once he left my side to stand twenty yards away for the next five minutes, but rather if I would be able to contain my emotions as Mario walked me down the aisle, even during a practice run, in place of my father.

We had talked about this specific part of our day a number of times, with Sidney even pondering aloud whether he should walk me down the aisle himself because walking with anyone except my dad felt impossible to me. His sweet dad had even offered to do so, should I desire. After each conversation, Sidney and I both kept arriving at the same conclusion — that the best and most appropriate plan of action was for Mario to give me away and also to join me for the traditional father-daughter dance at the reception.

I nodded, holding onto Sidney’s wrists. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I’ll be okay,” I promised. He nodded solemnly in return and kissed my forehead before pulling back with a wink.

“You can do this,” he encouraged. “I’ll see you up there.” I gave him my best smile as he turned and walked to the front of the chapel.

As our wedding party lined up in front of me to take their positions, Nate stopped me for one of his signature bear hugs, resting his chin on top of my head just for a moment before releasing me. The rest of our group squeezed my hands and rubbed my arms lovingly as I walked to the back door of the sanctuary where Mario waited, hands folded in front of his hips and a tentative smile on his features. He, too, gave me a sweet kiss on the forehead before holding my shoulders at arm’s length.

“Listen, princesse, it was one of the greatest honors of my life when you asked me to walk you down the aisle,” Mario said, soft enough that only I could hear. “But if you’ve changed your mind and would rather do this some other way, please, just say the word.” I shook my head and wrapped my arms around his waist just as the piano music began.

“No, you are exactly the person my dad would want doing this if he couldn’t,” I told him confidently. Mario let out a small exhale, and I could tell he was trying to remain composed. As we parted, he said, “Then let’s go make him proud.” He offered his arm to me and I wrapped my hands around it firmly, leaning my head into his shoulder briefly.

We watched pairs of our party head down the aisle toward Sidney and the priest at a relaxed pace: Jacqueline and Geno led off, followed by Veronique and Marc-Andre, Taylor and Kris, Alexa and Austin, Stephanie and Mike, and finally, Lauren and Nate. Alex walked down the aisle in a near-skip, holding a fake pillow very carefully just as his mother, our beautiful friend Catherine, had instructed him, with Nikita by his side mimicking his every move. Their fathers gave them thumbs up and everyone clapped lightly when they reached the end of the aisle.

Next, after a bit of prompting from both their parents at the front, Estelle and Scarlett followed the boys’ path, scattering fake rose petals in place of the real ones they would have tomorrow, earning their own quiet round of applause. As the children were seated at the ends of the front pews on either side, the music shifted, and our wedding planner turned and gave Mario and me the nod.

“Ready, Juliette?” he asked softly. My eyes traveled down the long red carpet in front of us to the steps where the love of my life stood centered in between our closest friends and family, waiting for me. He gave me a warm, adoring smile and at that moment, I felt my unease melt away, just as it always did when Sidney was near.

“I’m so ready,” I whispered.

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robinrunsfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Baby, You’re A Haunted House

Pairing: Gerard Way x Female Reader Rating: General (TW for blood, mentions of a suicide) Requested By: None Word Count: 6,330 Author’s Note: Here is my first story for spooky season! I had hoped to have it up sooner, but life has been busy. This story has been in my mind since this spring. I intend on writing a little bit about the location it’s set in because it’s real! It really is a seminary that was converted into apartments in my hometown. I’ll link to the post here when it’s written. And yes, that is a picture of it below! Also!!! There is a reference to another one of my favorite bands and one of their albums, first person who can correctly point it out wins... a prize? My admiration? Not sure yet, but shout it out if you know it!

It all seemed too good to be true.

(YN)’s roommate had let her know that she was going to be moving out of town for a new job and the thought of looking for a new apartment or roommate was overwhelming. She was dreading the process, but the next day while eating her lunch at work, she spotted an ad in the paper for Holy Name Heights. The description stated the apartments were newly renovated and located in a historic building on the edge of town, so she called right away to set up a tour.

Later that week she was touring the building that had previously been a seminary for many years. The diocese had sold the second and third floors of the sprawling building to a developer who converted the rooms into apartments, while leaving the first floor as office spaces for the diocese, a Catholic charity organization, and a small museum about the history of the church’s presence in the area.

“This place is beautiful,” (YN) marveled at the space. While being only one bedroom, it was spacious, had a washer and dryer so she wouldn't need to haul her laundry anywhere, assigned parking, not to mention a beautiful view, but a question nagged at the back of her mind. “How much is it per month?”

“$850 per month including utilities,” the agent replied with a smile.

“Oh! Ok, yes, I’d love to apply!”

A few weeks later as (YN) was moving her things into her brand new third floor apartment, she realized how quiet the building was. She paused briefly at each door as she walked by, straining to hear if anyone else was there. As she arrived at her own door with another armload of boxes, the door next to hers opened and a dark haired man stepped out. She shot him a quick smile as she fumbled for her keys.

“Do you need some help?” He asked.

“That’d be great,” she laughed and he took the box from her so she could get her keys straightened out. “I’m (YN).”

“Gerard,” he replied as she got the door open and took the box back from him.

“Have you lived here long?”

“Just moved in last weekend. I’m glad I’m not the only one up here anymore.”

“Wait, seriously? None of these other apartments are occupied?”

“I don’t think so, I haven’t seen many people around. I guess an old seminary might be kind of a hard sell.”

“Yea, I’m not sure I would have considered it either if I wasn’t in a bind. Thanks for the help with the box,” (YN) smiled as she shifted it in her arms.

“No problem, I’ll see ya around,” he smiled before continuing down the hall.

“See ya,” she called after him. (YN) closed the door behind her and shook her head. Cool apartment, good price, cute neighbor. It all seemed too good to be true.

The next day (YN) got up, made a pot of coffee and set about unloading the box that held her mug collection. The fact that she didn’t have to share cupboards with a roommate delighted her, as she didn’t have to worry about any of her favorites getting damaged. She put on some music and made her way over to the living room window as the smell of brewing coffee filled the room.

Her view was of the front of the building. Trees with bare branches lined the hillside that the building sat upon and a long driveway led up to the front of the building. She loved knowing that the leaves would soon be filling those branches, and then in the fall they’d turn beautiful shades of gold, red and orange. She also liked the idea of being able to see who was coming and going up the driveway.

After enjoying her coffee, she got back to work unpacking her apartment. The hours flew by as the pile of broken down cardboard boxes piled up near her door. As she wiped her sweaty brow, she realized she had no idea what to do with the boxes and trash that had accumulated. Had the agent even shown her where the dumpsters were? Then she had an idea. Gerard.

Should she bother him? She didn’t even know for sure if he was in. She took a deep breath as she approached his door and knocked. She wondered how long she should wait if he wasn’t there, or didn’t want to answer. She’d never interacted much with the neighbors at her old apartment building, so maybe she was being totally obnoxious. (YN) was so deep in her own thoughts that she almost didn’t notice that the door was opening.

“Hey (YN), what’s up?”

“Hi, umm this is probably super dumb, but I don’t know where the recycling bins and dumpsters are. The agent never pointed them out, and I didn’t think to ask until I realized I was knee deep in broken down boxes,” she laughed nervously.

“I can help you carry boxes down,” Gerard offered with a smile.

“You don’t have to do that,” (YN) could feel herself blushing.

“It’s no problem.”

“I mean, if you insist!” (YN) laughed and he followed her back to her door. They each took an armload of boxes and Gerard led the way to the staircase that was at the end of the hallway next to his apartment. (YN) glanced over her shoulder at the dark portion of the staircase that led up to a door, most likely the attic. She quirked an eyebrow in curiosity but continued after Gerard.

“So what do you do?” (YN) asked, breaking the silence that hung between them as they headed down the stairs.

“I’m a comic book writer,” he replied almost sheepishly.

“Oh wow, that’s really cool,” (YN) replied genuinely and Gerard lit up.

“Thanks! A lot of people think it’s kinda lame, but it’s just a different type of writing, ya know?” (YN) nodded in agreement. “What do you do?”

“Boring office work,” she said shaking her head. “I wish I had time to do creative stuff like write or draw.”

“You should try, even if it’s just a little bit at a time,” he said as he opened the door leading out into the bright sunshine. “The dumpsters are back here.”

“Thanks,” (YN) smiled as she dropped her share into the recycling bin. "And maybe I'll try to find some time to write, if inspiration strikes."

"You'd be surprised how ideas can pop up when you least expect them," Gerard replied as they made their way back to their floor.

Winter started to melt into spring, and (YN) had settled into the routine of her new apartment life. Or at least she thought she was.

It quickly became clear that she must have been a lot more absentminded than she realized, and her old roommate must have been picking up her slack. She could have sworn she had more milk left when she put the carton back in the fridge, but when she grabbed it the next morning for her cereal there was almost none left. And then there were all the things that just seemed to disappear for no reason that never reappeared, no matter how hard she looked.

One thing that didn’t seem to disappear was her crush on her neighbor Gerard. Interacting with him also became part of her routine, as it always seemed they were running into each other walking into the building or by the mailboxes.

It just happened that it was one of those lucky days, as (YN) had just walked in with her bags from grocery shopping when Gerard walked by.

“Hey (YN),” he smiled.

“Gerard,” (YN) started, trying to stifle a laugh. “ I’m not trying to be mean, but do you know how to cook? I feel like I’ve only ever seen you with take out, but never groceries,” she said nodding to her own bags.

“I know how to cook! I am a functional adult,” he replied with feigned offense.

“If you say so, enjoy your dinner,” (YN) replied as she entered her apartment.

“I’ll prove it to you,” he called just as she was about to shut the door.

She poked her head out the door, eyebrows raised. “Oh really?”

“Tomorrow night? 7 o’clock?”

“I’ll be there,” she replied with a smile. When the door was shut behind her, she couldn’t help but let out a squeal of delight.

The next evening (YN) was digging through her drawers looking for the sweater she wanted to wear to dinner with Gerard, but she absolutely could not find it.

“This is crazy, I know I saw it when I was putting away laundry,” she muttered to herself. She got up and went over to the closet housing the washer and dryer, in hopes it had just fallen between the machines, or maybe was still in the dryer. She looked all around but found nothing, and trudged back to her room.

‘Wait, I didn’t turn the light off,’ she said, flipping the switch back on with a shake of her head. “I need to get more sleep.”

Giving up the search, she threw on a different top and checked the time. It was a few minutes past 7 and she hurried out the door.

“Welcome to my humble home,” Gerard said with a smile as he let (YN) in.

“Hmm, seems familiar,” (YN) giggled. “Oh dinner smells great!”

“Thank you,” Gerard smiled proudly. “We’ll be having spaghetti and meatballs. Umm, I don’t drink, so I have soda or water,” Gerard offered.

“Water is fine,” (YN) replied as she sat down at the table. “How’d you day go?”

“Good, I think I have a new story I wanna work on,” he answered as he placed plates on the table and sat down himself. “How about you.”

“Pretty boring actually. I’ll have to admit, knowing that we’re gonna be having dinner got me through my day.”

Gerard smiled and (YN) could have sworn she saw a blush creeping across his cheeks as he glanced down. "I'm glad I could help."

Conversation lulled as they dug into their meals, and The Smashing Pumpkins played softly in the background.

"Ok, I have to apologize for that dig yesterday about you not cooking, this is very good,” (YN) smiled.

"I have to admit, I bought the sauce, and the meatballs were frozen," Gerard winced.

“That’s fine! I do the same,” she laughed and Gerard looked relieved.

(YN) was having a wonderful time hanging out with Gerard and she felt like she could listen to him talk forever. He spoke with such passion and enthusiasm, it drew her in and she hung on his words. They laughed and joked and the time flew by until (YN) found herself stifling a yawn and she glanced down at her watch.

"Oh, it's late! I should get outta your hair."

“Well m’lady,” he said, affecting the same posh accent they had been joking around in earlier and bowing before her, “I do hope this evening has lived up to all your expectations.”

“It most certainly has,” she said with a laugh as she curtseyed holding out an imaginary skirt.

Gerard reached out and took her hand in his and placed a kiss to the back of it, catching her off guard as he looked up at her from behind his lashes. "I hope we can do it again sometime soon."

(YN) nodded. "Yea," she said almost breathlessly. "I'd love that."

Gerard walked her to the door and when she glanced back at him when she reached her own door, he was leaning against his door frame.

"Night," she waved before walking into her apartment and he smiled and waved back.

(YN) could hardly sleep that night, as she was absolutely buzzing.

Weekly dinners soon became a tradition between (YN) and Gerard, with both of them taking turns hosting the other. (YN) knew she was terrible at both flirting and picking up when others were flirting with her, but she couldn't help but feel like Gerard might just like her too.There was something about the way his friendly hugs and touches started to linger longer and longer.

One night when they had been hanging out Gerard had casually mentioned going to hang out with his brother on his birthday, so (YN) took it upon herself to bring him his present before he left that day. As she stood at his door, she felt just as nervous as the first time she was at his door asking for help with her boxes. Once again she was totally lost in thought when Gerard opened the door.

"Hey (YN)!" He greeted her.

"Hi! Happy birthday!" She smiled, holding out the plate of chocolate chip cookies and the card she picked out just for him.

"You remembered my birthday?" He asked, his eyes going wide and pink dusting his cheeks.

"Of course I did!" She laughed. “How could I forget?” She added a little more softly.

The smile grew on Gerard’s face and (YN)’s heart fluttered. “Thanks,” he finally replied, shaking his head. “Hey (YN), I was wondering, if umm, you’d like to maybe like go out on a date, like a real date some time? Don’t feel like you have to say yes just because it’s my birthday.”

(YN) laughed again, and she could feel herself blushing. “Yea, that would be really nice,” she nodded. “And I definitely would have said yes, even if it wasn’t your birthday.”

“Great!” Gerard grinned, but the buzzing of his phone grabbed his attention. "Oh, Mikey's here."

"Have fun with him," (YN) smiled and waved as she turned to go while Gerard grabbed his jacket and keys.

"Wait," Gerard said as he locked the door and jogged over to her, just as she was reaching her door. She looked up at him expectantly and he seemed nervous again before leaning in and placing a chaste kiss on her cheek. "Thanks again for the card."

"No problem," (YN) smiled before ducking into her own apartment to swoon.

A few days later, it was finally the day of their first date. Gerard suggested they go to the art museum and grab coffee. Even though they hung out all the time, the fact that this was actually a date made things ever so slightly awkward. As they walked into the museum, their hands brushed a few times before Gerard took her hand in his. She glanced over and smiled up at him and he seemed relieved. They chatted and joked happily as they walked through the exhibits before they went down the street to the cafe.

Finding a table tucked away from the others, they settled in with their coffees. The sun that had been shining when they walked in was soon covered in dark heavy clouds, and big heavy raindrops began to beat at the windows. Something about it made a shiver run down (YN)'s spine, a feeling she’d almost grown accustomed to.

"Gerard, can I ask you something kinda weird?" She asked when there was a lull in the conversation.

"Sure," he nodded.

(YN) sighed and looked down. "This is gonna sound crazy, and maybe I'm going crazy, but sometimes things get moved in my apartment, or I feel like someone or something is watching me. I've checked every inch of it and there's nothing there, but I dunno. Have you ever felt that in your apartment?" She finally looked up and was startled by Gerard's expression.

"Yea," he said softly, a look of unease on his face. "I totally know what you mean. I notice it when I’m at your place mostly, but sometimes when you come around," he trailed off.

"But, I mean, ghosts and stuff aren’t real though, right? Like It’s probably just the vibe of it being an old building.”

“Yea,” Gerard nodded with a tight smile. “Ghosts aren’t real, vampires aren’t gonna hurt you, zombies aren’t gonna eat your brain while you’re at the mall.”

“Right! You are right. I’m sure it will pass.”

After the rain stopped, they headed back to their building and headed up to the third floor, stopping in front of her door.

“I had a lot of fun today,” (YN) smiled.

“Me too,” Gerard nodded. “I, I really like you (YN). I hope we can do this again.”

(YN) grinned and nodded. “I really like you too Gee, and yes I’d really love to go out again as well.”

Gerard’s face lit up, any nervousness alleviated. He reached up, cupping her cheek gently, as her eyelids fluttered closed. He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers softly, before pulling back just as quick.

“I can’t wait to do that again,” Gerard whispered.

“Then do it again,” she replied.

Gerard didn’t hesitate for a second longer, leaning back in and kissing her deeply as she kissed back. His hand found her waist as she clutched his jacket. When they finally pulled back, they were both breathless and smiling.

(YN) knew that it was the start of something special.

Summer arrived with warm weather and abundant sunshine, but that didn’t stop the cold drafts that would breeze through (YN)’s apartment, even when the air conditioning was off. But then the noises started. Thumps and knocks in the middle of the night, jolting her awake. Once she was convinced someone was hammering frantically on her door. In the middle of the night. She jumped out of bed and rushed to the door, checking through the peephole to see who was there. But there was no one.

The solution that seemed to be working best was spending as much time away from the apartment, specifically out with Gerard. From picnics in the park, to going to movies, cafes, wandering around book stores or comic book shops for hours, (YN) loved every moment of it.

One evening they were watching a movie in her apartment, happily curled up on the couch together when the thumps in the wall began behind them.

“What was that?” Gerard asked, startled.

(YN) sighed. “No idea. It’s been like this for a while now. I called the maintenance guy, but he doesn't think anything is in the walls. It’s why I’ve been so tired lately, I haven’t been sleeping, like at all.”

“Do you wanna come stay over at my place tonight? Maybe you’ll sleep better,” he offered.

(YN) smiled back at him. “Ok sure,” she nodded. When the movie was over, she changed into pajamas and they made their way back over to his apartment for the night. The next morning when she woke up, she stretched and sighed happily as Gerard held her close.

“Sleep well?” Gerard asked sleepily.

“Mmhmm,” she replied, looking up at him. She reached up and brushed away the hair that was falling across his face. “Best I have in a long time.”

“You’re welcome here anytime you want, sugar,” he said leaning in and kissing her sweetly.

"I worry that I'll overstay my welcome if I’m over here that often," (YN) laughed.

"Not possible, sugar," he said with a smile. "I love getting to spend my nights with you. Days too. I guess what I’m trying to say is I love you, (YN)."

“I love you too Gerard,” she replied before leaning in and kissing him deeply.

September arrived and Gerard was going to be gone for the weekend with a few of his friends on a guy’s trip for his brother Mikey’s birthday. (YN) was a little nervous at first about being alone at night, to the point where she was considering going to visit her parents for the weekend. Surprisingly, she was able to sleep through the night without any noises or strange occurrences waking her up.

The next morning she got up and went to retrieve a mug from the cupboard for her morning coffee. Without warning, a glass flew down from the top shelf, smashing into her forehead. (YN) yelped in surprise and stumbled back, glass shards littering the floor. Tentatively she reached up and touched just above her brow and when she pulled back, her fingers were covered in blood.

"Shiiiiit," she groaned as she carefully stepped over the broken glass on the floor and made her way to the bathroom. Flipping on the light, she felt nauseous at the sight. Blood dripping from the gash landed and streaked down her cheek like tears, accenting the dark circles under her eyes that she just couldn't shake after so many nights of interrupted sleep. She looked like death.

"Gee must really love me if this is what he's looking at every day," she muttered as she dabbed away at the blood with a washcloth.

A few hours later while walking out the emergency department with a fresh set of stitches, she decided she may as well fill in Gerard.

Happy friday! guess where i just left!

From Gerard 💖: Work let you take a half day?

Hospital 😬

She dropped her phone back into her purse as she made her way across the parking lot, but by the time she got the door unlocked, Gerard was calling her.

"What happened?!" He asked frantically as soon as she picked up.

(YN) sighed. "A glass fell out of my cupboard and I got a cut above my eyebrow. Just a couple stitches and I wanted to make sure they got all the glass out," she replied, downplaying the accident. She knew he'd be back in a few days and he'd know she wasn't telling the whole truth about the cut, but she didn't want him to worry or end his trip early.

"But you're ok? Do you want me to come back?"

"Yes, I'm ok. But no, don't cut your trip short, I'm gonna go straight over to my parents for the rest of the weekendI think. It's one thing when we're losing sleep with weird noises, it's another to be attacked like this."

"You… you think," he sighed, seeming to be choosing his words carefully. "That a ghost did it?" Gerard asked in a hushed tone.

"If the glass was off balance and simply fell out of the cupboard it would have gone straight down. This was thrown at me, Gee. There was force behind it."

"Fuck," Gerard muttered. "I'm sorry sugar."

"Don't worry, I'm ok, I promise."

(YN) was grateful that Gerard believed what she told him about the haunting of her apartment. He could have easily dismissed her or her fears as crazy and ghost her, but he didn't. He was just as concerned about the situation and her wellbeing. After that weekend they began talking about moving out as soon as their leases were up.

It had been a couple weeks when Gerard had a meeting in the city that was going to run late into the evening, so (YN) was stuck spending the night alone in her own apartment for the first time since the attack.

As she got in bed, she wondered how long it would be before she would be woken up at night. The noises always managed to cut right through her slumber to wake her, no matter how exhausted she was when she fell asleep. And exhausted she was as her eyelids were heavy as soon as her head hit the pillow.

She wasn't sure what time it was when the noise woke her up, but she sat up in bed and looked at the ceiling. It sounded like skittering, and she wondered if it might be something as innocent as an animal stuck in the attic. 'Wouldn't it be something if it was some animal all along,' she thought as she laid back down and closed her eyes again.

What felt like only moments later she opened them again, but she was not in her room. She wasn’t even in her apartment.

“Gerard?”

He looked up from where he was sitting on the floor in front of his couch with a look of concern and fear on his face unlike any she had seen before. “(YN), are you ok?”

“No, I’m- why am I in your apartment?”

“I was asleep and some noise up in the attic woke me up, but before I could fall back asleep there was this loud bang and I went up to check what was going on because it sounded different from anything before, and you were up there on the floor like you fainted. You didn't even stir until just now when you woke up.”

(YN) shook her head. “I heard the noise too, but I went back to sleep, I didn’t even get out of bed, I went right back to sleep until I just woke up here. What could have made me faint if I wasn't even awake and can’t remember what I saw?”

Gerard ran his hand through his hair, considering her question and when he spoke, his voice shook slightly. “I… I dunno (YN). After I brought you down from the attic, I went back to your apartment so I could put you in your own bed and your door was locked.”

“But that’s not possible unless I took my keys and locked it behind me. Should we go up and look for them upstairs?”

“No!” Gerard said quickly. “I mean, I don’t want to make you stay here if you don’t want, we can call the maintenance line to let you in, but I don’t wanna go up there again. Tonight, I mean.”

(YN) climbed off the couch and sat next to him on the floor. “I’ll stay here, you know that's fine but,” she paused, taking a deep breath. “What did you see up there Gee?”

He shook his head, looking down at his hands. “We can talk about it in the morning? It’s late.”

(YN) swallowed hard and nodded. "Yea, that's a good idea."

Gerard got up, offered her a hand, helping her up. He placed a kiss to the back of her hand before leading the way to his room.

(YN) always felt safe with Gerard's arms wrapped around her holding her tight, but it was still a very poor night of sleep for both of them. The next morning (YN) and Gerard were sitting in his living room, sipping coffee in silence before (YN)'s curiosity got the best of her.

"Can you tell me what you saw up there now?" (YN) asked suddenly.

Gerard looked up at her, the dark circles under his eyes matching hers. He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Do you really wanna know?"

(YN) nodded. "I wanna understand what happened last night. Well as much of it as I can."

Gerard drew a deep breath. "Ok. I went up there when I heard the second bang. I was kinda surprised the door was open. And then I was shining my flashlight around and," he drew in a breath and shook his head. "I thought I saw someone at the far end of the attic, but my flashlight went through him. I started to panic and that's when I realized you were on the floor. I grabbed you and carried you back down here and, well you know the rest."

"You saw the ghost?" (YN) asked, her voice cracking with fear.

Gerard nodded solemnly. "I think so."

Gerard's words kept ringing through (YN)'s mind. There was no denying it now, she was being haunted by a ghost. She was, generally speaking, freaked out about the whole situation, but also a little curious. That's when she remembered the museum on the first floor.

The space was small, no larger than an office. Shelves were filled with books and bibles, and old black and white photos lined the walls, but one picture stood out as different from the rest. An elderly woman stood before it, gazing up at the portrait of the young man.

"Excuse me, do you know any of the history of this building?"

The elderly woman tore her eyes off the photo and looked back at (YN). "Well, I should say I do. What can I help you with?"

"I don't know how to ask this delicately, but, umm, is there any reason to believe that it might be haunted?"

The elderly woman nodded slowly. "Well, yes, I suppose there would be," she replied before glancing back at the portrait. "This was my brother, Joshua. He was in the seminary and was going to become a priest when he met her."

"Her?"

"Elenora. She was beautiful," she paused, studying (YN) for a moment, "actually you remind me of her. But he was so conflicted, he wanted to be a priest, but he was so enchanted by her. He convinced himself, and her, that the only way they could be together was in death."

"Oh no," (YN) gasped.

She nodded. "They were to jump together from the roof. He went first, she never went."

"I'm so sorry," she replied softly.

"It was 60 years ago. I had known Elenora my whole life, so I blamed myself for introducing her into his life, but I didn't blame her! I still don't. I don't admit this to many people, but we're still friends."

"You have a very forgiving heart," (YN) smiled. "Thank you for telling me all that."

She nodded. "That is what I am here for," she replied as she walked around to a small desk and picked up a dust rag before turning back to one of the shelves.

(YN) made her way back to her apartment and shut the door. "Joshua, if that's you, please leave me alone," she said.

Nothing happened and (YN) shrugged.

The cool fall weather settled in and October was filled with the warm glow of red, yellow, and orange leaves on the trees outside, but by Halloween, the branches were blown bare, leaving dark, imposing branches reaching toward the sky.

Gerard's friend Frank invited them to his house for a Halloween party, and to celebrate his birthday.

A night out, dressed as Bonnie and Clyde, was exactly what they both needed after all the time they spent living in a real life haunted house for almost a year now. (YN) also loved spending time with Gerard's friends. They quickly made her feel welcome and made her future with Gerard seem even better.

It wasn't too terribly late when they decided to call it a night and headed home. "I'm gonna go change and I'll be over," (YN) said before heading into her apartment. Gerard nodded and headed to his own door.

She kicked off her shoes and dropped her jacket over the back of the chair when she felt a cold rush of air blow past her. She closed her eyes as a shiver ran through her whole body. When she opened them, again the cold air was surrounding her, wind blowing her skirt around as a freezing rain started to pelt her arms and face. Frantically she looked around, realizing she was on a rooftop. Before she could get her bearings, phantom hands were on her, pushing and pulling her toward the edge.

"No! No! Get off of me! Let go!" She screamed, flailing her arms, trying to shake off the attack. She seemed to break free and started to run toward the hatch to the attic.

The hands grabbed her ankle and sent her tumbling to the rough surface of the roof. When she looked over her shoulder, a figure made of a shadowy mist was pulling her by the leg toward the edge.

"No! Stop it! No!" She screamed again, her hands scratching at the roof, trying to make purchase.

From behind her she heard a bang. She looked up and saw Gerard at the opening to the attic. "(YN)!"

"Gee! Help!"

"Let her go!" Gerard commanded as he ran to (YN), pulling her off the ground and wrapping her in his arms protectively. She buried her face against his shoulder as she clutched his shirt. "Are you ok? I got you sugar, you’re safe now."

"No, no I'm not ok," she sobbed.

"Come on, let's get inside."

Gerard helped her down the ladder and carried her down the stairs to his apartment. He set her down in the bathroom and set to work cleaning the cuts across her hands, legs, and feet.

"Gee, I don't wanna stay here tonight, I can’t stay here anymore, I have to move or I’m gonna end up dead!" (YN) cried as Gerard wiped the blood away from her palm.

"I know sugar, I'll get you cleaned up and we'll go find a hotel room tonight, ok?" (YN) sniffled and nodded in agreement. “And then in the morning we’re gonna find a new place to live, you and me.”

(YN) had been watching as he worked, but hearing him say that she looked up at him. “Together? Even after all this? What if it follows me?!"

He reached up and wiped away the tears that were rolling down her cheek. “Together. Nothing's gonna come between us, not even a ghost."

A smile finally broke across her face as he placed bandages on the worst cuts. Then she finally changed out of her soaked and bloodied Halloween costume and into a pair of Gerard's sweatpants and an old hoodie. She didn't have shoes, but she didn't care. She wasn't going back into her apartment until the day she was going back to pack it up and move out. And even then, she was considering hiring someone to do it for her.

"Ready to go?" He asked when she walked out of his room.

"Let’s get away from here," she nodded and he took her hand. They hurried through the cold rain to his car and she sighed as she sunk into the passenger seat. She finally felt free.

Gerard started down the long tree-lined drive when suddenly a large tree limb came crashing down in front of them. (YN) screamed as Gerard slammed on the breaks.

"Shit! Are you ok?" He asked breathlessly.

"Look!" She whimpered, pointing a shaking finger out the window. Gerard looked as well at the ghastly figure on the other side of the branch. Gerard put the car in park and unbuckled his seatbelt.

"Gee, what are you doing? Gee? Gerard! Stop it, get back in here!" She cried frantically as he got out of the car. Not knowing what else to do, she scrambled out as well.

"Give her to me!" The phantom wailed, striking cold terror through her. "I gave my life for my love, she belongs to me!"

"This is not your love!" Gerard shouted back.

She moved to stand next to Gerard, interlacing her fingers with his. "I'm not Elenora! I've never done you wrong!" She pleaded. "Gerard is my true love! Let us pass!"

The phantom's face contorted, snarling, teeth growing long, fingers becoming claw-like. (YN) screamed in fright as Gerard stepped in front of her. As the ghost launched at them, headlights came up the drive, shining bright in their eyes, and the phantom faded into nothing.

The other car stopped and the driver got out. "Need help moving that branch outta the way? Woah, you two look like you've seen a ghost," the man laughed.

Gerard shook his head and looked back at (YN) sympathetically. "Well, it is Halloween."

A few months later (YN) and Gerard had settled into their new place. There was nothing in the new place that (YN) would describe as too good to be true. Their commutes were longer, they had to go to the laundromat to do laundry, and they were paying more in rent, but they were together and they finally had peace. And that was worth every penny.

“Hey Gee,” (YN) said as she padded into the living room one Saturday afternoon, holding something behind her back.

“Yea sugar?”

“So I’ve been working on something. I’m not sure it’s any good, but I think it’s finally ready for you to look at.”

Gerard sat up and looked up at her curiously. “What is it?” (YN) handed him a binder. “The Haunting on Holy Name Hill."

“A long time ago, back when we first met, you said I should try writing or drawing if I’m interested in it because you never know when inspiration will strike, and since moving out of that awful place I’ve been trying to wrap my head around everything that happened. So I started writing about it," she shrugged. "I fictionalized some of the events and changed our names, but can you read it and tell me if it’s any good?”

“(YN) I’m so proud of you,” he said with a smile as he got up and wrapped her in a hug. “I’m gonna read it right now.”

“If you insist. I’m gonna go to the laundromat.”

A while later when (YN) came back, Gerard wasn’t on the couch where she’d left him. “Hey Gee, did you finish reading it yet?”

“Yep,” she heard him reply as he came back from the second bedroom they’d set up as his office. “And I have something to show you too.”

“What’s that?”

“First of all, wow, the story is so well written!” he grinned.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously, you’re a natural! And second, look,” he said handing her a stack of drawings.

“What are these?”

“I was thinking, if you want, we could pitch your story as a graphic novel and these are some drawings I did when I was reading it. This is your character, this one is me.”

“Gee, these are amazing! And you really think that it’s publishable?”

“I really do,” he nodded.

“Ok yea, let’s do it. Other than being the place where we met, there should be some kind of good that comes from that awful place. And maybe serve as a warning to everyone else about things that seem too good to be true."

#gerard way x reader #gerard way fan fic #gerard way fan fiction #gerard way imagine #my chemical romance fan fic #my chemical romance fan fiction

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ikeromantic · 4 years ago

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Guarded

Day 31 of Ikemektober!

I can’t believe I did a post everyday. I’m not sure if that qualifies me for crazy or not xD I chose Jean for this last prompt. Approx. 1000 words of fluffiness.

You find Jean at the estate chapel. It is a small building at the far edge of the property, hugging the line between the garden and the forest. From the outside, one might mistake it for a small garden home, with its cheery brick exterior and wide, colored glass windows. But inside, there is no doubt that it is a place of worship.

Le Comte, ever a man of mystery, has decorated it with the holy symbols of many religions, making it either the most comfortable place to pray, or the least. You aren’t sure how Jean finds it, only that he comes here often. And he prays.

You decide to stand quietly at the back, waiting. It would be easy to lose yourself in the beauty of this place, or to rest in the serenity, but you cannot take your eyes from the tense figure, kneeling before a small altar. Several candles burn atop it, surrounding a small, gold crucifix.

Jean is Catholic, of course. Common in his time, and common for France even now. You aren’t that familiar with the tenets of the faith. That is part of why you’d rather wait quietly until he is done. Better not to interrupt.

“I know you are watching me, girl.” His voice is flat. Not unfriendly, but far from the genial welcomes you’ve received from the other men in this manor.

“I’m sorry,” you reply. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Have you come here to pray?”

“Ah, no monsieur I - I just brought your lunch. Sebas mentioned you sometimes forget to eat . . .” You trail off, feeling more out of place than ever.

Jean turns his head to look at you. There is so much sorrow in that gaze that you want to cry, even if you’ve no idea of the cause. The look only lasts a moment before he replaces it with a neutral expression. “I am rarely hungry. But I appreciate the kindness.”

You aren’t sure if that means he wants you to leave the basket of food and rouge, or no.

He stands and approaches you, his beauty breathtaking in the shifting light of the chapel. Jean stops an armslength from you. “It is unwise to show kindness to monsters. Some - some see it as weakness.”

“Oh.” You aren’t sure what to say to that. Instead, you hold out the basket to him.

“You do know that I no longer need food.” The emphasis he places on that last word is unmistakable.

“I - I do,” you nod. The whole situation is still sinking in, but you have the gist of it. Time traveling vampires, with you stranded in the middle of them for a month. More or less.

“And you still brought me -” he lifts the basket lid. “Buttered croissants, ham, red grapes, pickled asparagus, a bottle of rouge, and a bottle of blanc.” He closes the lid. “Why?”

“Because Sebas mentioned you really liked croissants? And the pickled asparagus is spicy, which Napoleon mentioned you also like.” You fall quiet again under that unsettling stare.

After an awkward silence that feels like hours, he frowns. “Do you want to sit and eat with me?”

This was not the question you expected. You agree without thinking about it, and follow him out of the chapel. He sits down on the steps and motions for you to join him. There isn’t much conversation as you eat. He keeps looking at you from the corner of his one eye though, as if he doesn’t trust you.

Something about Jean’s guarded nature makes you want to know more about him. At least, that is what you tell yourself. It sounds better than admitting you’re tagging after a guy because he’s drop dead gorgeous and completely unavailable. That just sounds desperate.

“So . . . how do you find Paris these days?” You realize the question is idiotic the moment it comes out of your mouth but you can’t unsay it.

Jean stares at you as if he doesn’t understand and then shrugs. “Violent, dirty, full of loose women and drunks, and children without family. As it always was.”

“Really?” That isn’t the Paris you know at all. “But what about the art galleries? The gardens? The beautiful architecture?”

“Hm.” Jean shoves a piece of croissant in his mouth, delaying a reply. In someone else, you might have thought this accidental but you’re pretty sure with him it’s a tactic to avoid answering.

“Well, I think Paris is very pretty. Even if there are parts that aren’t nice,” you say finally.

You notice Jean isn’t really looking at you now. His gaze has gone to the basket. To the bottle of rouge. You reach in and pick it up. “Sebas said to make sure you take this.” It isn’t exactly true - all Sebastian said was to make sure he ate. But you feel like this is important. All the other residents drink a bottle with every meal.

His lips part, he licks his lips. “I don’t want it.”

“Monsieur, I can tell that isn’t true.”

Jean’s piercing gaze fixes you to the spot as he leans close. “I am a beast, mademoiselle. And you are . . . food. Why would I take what is in the bottle, and not live up to my monstrous nature?”

You shiver, not at the threat so much as the close proximity. You can feel his hand on the ground beside your hip, and his breath on your cheek. This moment is important, though you can’t say why. You poke a finger in his chest. “You are already being beastly. Now sit down and take this.” The bottle in your other hand feels heavier than it should.

This seems to be the right thing to do. Jean sits back. His lips twitch up in a smile, still guarded, but perhaps, the softest expression you’ve seen on him. “You are right. I apologize.” He takes the bottle and stands. “I must pray. You may leave.”

He turns as if this statement is all the goodbye you’re owed. “Perhaps, if I have not frightened you, you can show me your Paris one day.” Then he is gone, back into the chapel.

You aren’t sure what to think, but maybe, just maybe, you’ve started a tiny crack in the wall around this mysterious member of the mansion.

#ikemektober #ikemen vampire #ikevamp jean #ikemen jean #otome guys #otome #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff

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randomoranges · 3 years ago

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and here we are for part two of the Beast hahaha

do you like supposed heartache???? because this is where it’s at. also fair mention of minor character death?

this is legit the fic of “have you ever wondered things about étienne? fear not for i may provide answers!)

toobadnoonereadsthesehahahahaha

The Five Times Étienne Fell in Love

PART II

They both quiet at the sound of her name and Edward is convinced he feels Étienne’s hand shake in his own. He rubs soothing circles with his thumb on Étienne’s hand and gives him the time to gather his next set of thoughts, letting him know that he’s here and that there’s no hurry.

“Do you still think of her?” He finally asks after a while, his curiosity getting the best of him, while also wondering if Étienne hasn’t decided that this little venture down memory lane is over.

“Sometimes,” Étienne answers after a beat, “If I hear her name, or out of the blues. Not as often as before, but – sometimes... Is it silly that I still have my wedding band?” He asks, touching the spot on his finger where the band must have sat, once, years and decades and centuries ago, quiet, as if afraid Edward will tell him that it is indeed stupid for him to still be attached to it. He doesn’t mention the grave he can no longer visit or the memories that seem to fade with each new year. He keeps those thoughts to himself and focuses on what he can still remember.

“No; I don’t think so. She was your wife, after all – you clearly cared for her.” He reassures him, offering him a soft smile.

It still comes as a shock to him, so many years later, that Étienne had been married. Willingly. That he’d had a wife and played house for a while. It’s such an un-Étienne like thing to do, but then again, Étienne had been a different person at the time. He tries to picture his boyfriend as a married man and wonders what he would have looked like; what he would have worn and such and mourns the fact that there are probably no images of the event.

“I did,” He admits, serious as all else. “I still remember how I met Charlotte,” He starts with a small smile ghosting over his face, his look far away as he thinks back to the encounter. “Ironically, we met at church. I was leaving mass and she was outside, begging someone to help her out. She – didn’t look good; ratty clothes, dishevelled and no one went to her, which was ironic, considering we were leaving church. There was something about her that pulled me to her – wanted me to help her. She was a little hesitant at first, but she came home with me. She was able to change and wash and after I made sure she ate something; I was able to get part of her story out.”

“She was from out of town – a day’s ride away, more or less and she was in the city since she’d gotten word that her brother was supposed to arrive that day. I never found out if her brother was real or not, but I never questioned it. She had no money, so she couldn’t stay anywhere in the city and when we went to check out the convents and such, they were all very full. The idea of letting her out on the streets was out of the question, so I let her stay at mine despite of what others could say. It just felt very – un-catholic to leave someone in need out in the cold. Charlotte obviously didn’t want to inconvenience me, but I really didn’t mind. I had space, we could make it work. I didn’t think it would turn into a semi-permanent thing, but the alternative didn’t sit well with me.”

Edward isn’t surprised; Étienne’s always been generous with his time and has had a tendency of looking out for others, in his own way. Étienne doing things his own way, regardless of what others could think also doesn’t surprise him. He supposes it’s one of the many qualities he’s admired in him.

“I still remember waking up that first morning and finding out that she’d made breakfast for me, as a way of thanking me for letting her stay. It seemed unnecessary, but she wanted me to know that she wasn’t taking advantage of me and that she really did appreciate it. I wasn’t about to complain – she was a good cook and even if I managed better then, it’s always a treat to have someone make food for you.”

“We struck a friendship from that day on and I soon realised that it was nice coming home and having someone there to unwind with and talk. It was incredibly less lonely. Even without the sex, I enjoyed her company and didn’t mind having her around. She was vivacious and had a sharp mind. We could talk for hours on end, really.”

Edward’s read many of Étienne’s letters about his feelings of being alone and it strikes him that then that his friend has always been after companionship, in one way or another, just to feel a connection. He even remembers Étienne writing to him about a new type of celebration they had in his city and how wonderful it was to welcome the first boat back to the port towards the end of winter. He’d thought it endearing at first and maybe a little silly, but he now realises that there had always been more to it and that Étienne has played a careful game of disguising his real feelings behind frivolous, silly things.

“Of course, everyone in town thought she was the devil, or at the very least that our arrangement was improper. Her hair was the colour of fire, they said, or an unaccompanied woman arriving out of nowhere was a bad omen. Hell, they even went after me, saying that I had bedded her and taken her virtue. Or that we were both going to hell for being unmarried and living together. I thought that was very hypocritical of them, considering the Son of God had befriended all sorts of people and had welcomed them all in his circle, but regardless what the people said, Charlotte was none of those things. She was better than all of them combined.”

“Growing up, marriage wasn’t what it is today – you know that; it was an arrangement of convenience – a best move made between families and such. There was none of this love garbage to it and frankly, it sounded a lot less complicated to me. I thought maybe being a city meant romantic love wasn’t something we could feel, since we represent our people or whatever – but then Jacques fell for Suzette and if anything, theirs was real, so surely, there had to be a way...” He trails off for a moment and sighs.

“Even after my talk with Jacques I didn’t get how it worked for him and at first, I didn’t even consider or think Charlotte and I would get married. She was my friend and she was staying with me until she could figure something out. On top of that, I saw what marriage did to some and I didn’t want that. Young women married off to older gentlemen, forced to have a slew of children, not ever able to do what they wanted – to explore the world and be who they wanted to be... No wonder Élyse didn’t have any interest in that either! I didn’t understand what the appeal was! But then, for all the horror stories I heard, I also heard of – feel good stories. People who married someone their parents had set them up with and then learned to love. I remembered some of my friends who’d seem happy in their new lives and – it didn’t look so bad. I thought that was it! This was how I was going to fall in love! If they could learn to love their partners, then maybe that could happen to me as well.”

Edward gives him a sympathetic smile. It’s endearing, to a point, how hard Étienne believed that eventually these “norms” would apply to him and yet, he also feels a little bad for the young man Étienne had been at the time, full of hopes and frustrations as he tried valiantly to fit in and be “normal” in his own way. He gets it, though, having gone down similar self-doubt patterns and having tried to “fit in” as well. He supposes it’s a mutual struggle many like themselves have gone through, but it still remains jarring to hear that even someone like Étienne, who was usually so self-assured and confident, had gone through such a phase.

“We became mutually attracted to one another a few months after Charlotte had shown up in town. Ironically, neither of us had wanted to bring it up, afraid the other would take it the wrong way. I didn’t want to seem like I expected her to sleep with me because I was letting her live with me and she didn’t want me to think that she was a harlot. Still, one night, after we’d each gone to our own quarters, we both found ourselves back in the kitchen around the same time, unable to sleep. I put on the kettle to make something warm and we started chatting, as we often did. It was relatively dark and between the oil lamps, waiting for the water to boil and everything else, we found ourselves huddling closer and closer for warmth. Somewhere along the conversation and the waiting, she leaned in close to me and made a grab for my hand.”

“It was all very hesitant – halting touches, curious looks, but it was clear what we both wanted and finally, I asked her – if I could kiss her – she was so close to me and so beautiful, but she could have said no and it would have been that. I wasn’t about to force something she didn’t want – never have and never will. Instead, she pressed closer to me and kissed me first. It was a beautiful thing, really, and it’s a good thing I had half a mind to shut everything off, because we never did get around to tea and instead we went back to my bedroom.”

There’s a soft smile that blooms on Étienne’s face; nostalgic and sweet and Edward dares to think that that in itself is a thing of beauty. Étienne’s hands get lost in Mercury’s fur and for a moment, he remains silent, most likely reliving his memory and whatever images his mind can still conjure of Charlotte. Edward doesn’t interrupt, knowing how powerful these memories can be.

“Afterwards, she quietly admitted that she wasn’t a virgin, afraid I would judge her for it, as though that was supposed to be the end all of things and I reassured her by telling her that I wasn’t either. It must have been the right thing to say, because she laughed and laughed. At the time, it was the greatest of sounds and I wanted to hear it often. We stayed up all night, spending our time together and navigating this new thing between us. One moment we would be kissing, the next we would be talking and in the end, we stayed up to watch the sunrise together.”

“I can’t say that it’s when I fell in love with her, but it felt as though I had found an equal of sorts. In fact, I’m not really sure when it happened, but I know I did come to love her over the three years we were together. She was free to do whatever she pleased during the day and I never demanded to know her every whereabouts. I liked that we could each do our own thing and see to our own occupations and that we could coexist side by side. We always made it a point to have breakfast together at the very least and it was so beautifully domestic and peaceful. For the first time, I felt – happy. Truly happy. It was a good life, really.”

“The rest of the community eased up on her when they saw that no ill had befallen me and that no illegitimate children had appeared nine months later, but – they never fully welcomed her. She was still cast out and I could tell it bothered her. She tried to immerse herself in the city; tried to find work and do something of her days, but few were the people who genuinely tried to connect with her and it angered me.

Charlotte was so kind to them – never had a bad word to say and she was always aware of the families that were struggling or those who were in need, but no one ever showed her an ounce of that same compassion. She had never done anything wrong to them – she’d just been an unfortunate woman down on her luck. I could only imagine what would have happened to her had I not stepped in that day. And yet, even if I never really knew her real story, even if sometimes I felt as though she was keeping a secret from me, something old and ancient still pulled me to her and I never quite understood where that feeling came from. A sort of – connection. She never offered any background on herself, other than a brother who was supposed to arrive that never did. She had no family she spoke of and I never pried. We were happy together in our arrangement and that worked for me.”

“A little over a year after we started sleeping together, she came to me one day, frazzled and in obvious distress. She’d been out all day and I had noticed that something had been preoccupying her for the past few weeks. Every time I had asked her, she had brushed me off and told me that it was nothing, but now she sat me down and announced that she was with child. I – didn’t believe her. It was impossible. I couldn’t have children – people like me couldn’t have children. Clearly, I would have known if it was possible. Jacques and Suzette didn’t have a flock of their own and lord knew they were enthusiastic enough about the process of it – so there had to be a mistake.”

“Charlotte assured me that she was – the doctor had confirmed it for her earlier that day and for as much as I was scared shitless, I was also – excited - giddy. At whatever fluke had caused this. It didn’t matter to me if I wasn’t the biological father – I never forced her to stay with me, even though she repeatedly told me that she hadn’t gone behind my back. I would figure out the logistics later, but for the briefest of moments, I felt legitimately like a real human – I was going to have a family. I was with a wonderful person. I’d make it work out – somehow. At the time, it didn’t matter that eventually, both Charlotte and our child would grow and look older than me. All those issues were secondary to the immense joy I felt.”

It still surprises Edward to hear this part of the tale, much as it had when he had read about it, years and years ago. Not only because of Charlotte’s pregnancy, but by Étienne’s reaction as well. He had never considered his friend to be one who’d want children, if he could and he tries to picture Étienne with kids he’d be responsible for.

“Of course, the first proper thing to do was to marry her. This was my chance to try this very human ritual and so I made sure to be real proper about it. I think it cemented the fact for Charlotte that I wasn’t about to boot her out because she was expecting. It reassured her in a way and the idea had never crossed my mind. I cared for her deeply – I loved her even and we would be a real family!”

“We went as far as making the proper announcements of our engagement, but we were quick to marry. Élyse was our only witness. I didn’t want Charlotte to be met with more scorn and I wanted everyone to know that she was a wonderful person and that if they gave her a chance, they would also get to see that.”

“Beyond that we were giddy �� at being together and married and at this child we’d be welcoming into the world. It felt surreal, like a fever dream – too good to last. There was so much to do that I didn’t even bother letting anyone know – only El and you in my letter. Élyse was just as surprised that Charlotte was expecting, but she didn’t buy into the idea that it was mine. Still, she let me have this happiness, but warned me that both Charlotte and the baby would age. She knew I would be wrecked when they’d go. I ignored her and told her to mind her own business. I would cherish this family. I would watch over each generation if I had to. I logically knew they’d grow old and die – that anything could happen to them, but it was a problem for later and I pushed it aside. This time around, I wanted to focus on my new growing family and found happiness.”

Edward wants to interrupt the story and make a comment or two at how it still sounds like the wildest of tales, however when he spares his boyfriend a glance, he still has that faraway look on his face. He seems happy and Edward doesn’t want to change that, even if it seems as though Étienne is no longer talking to him and simply reminiscing out loud.

“It seemed as though everything was working in my favour, but once more, winter showed up and took away everything I liked.” And just like that, a cloud comes crashing over Étienne’s previous good mood and chases his smile away. Edward wordlessly reaches for his hand and holds on to it, knowing what comes next. “Charlotte was six months pregnant when she woke up one morning in intense pain. It was snowing hard and when I went to find the doctor or the midwife, there was no way I could make it out. The snow was up to my knees and Charlotte wasn’t doing so good. Even having cleared the snow the night before, a freak blizzard had trapped us in and no matter how fast I tried to remove the snow, it wasn’t fast enough and Charlotte went from bad to worse.”

Étienne’s voice wobbles and breaks and when he next tries to take in a breath, it’s shaky at best.

“You don’t have to tell me the rest, if you don’t want to...” Edward offers gently. The last thing he wants to do is to put Étienne through even more heartache. That wasn’t the point of his initial question. He appreciates that his boyfriend is being open and is sharing this information with him, but not to the point of causing distress.

“It’s fine, really – this part always gets me. I want to tell you.” Étienne’s smile is watery and Edward gives his hand a tight squeeze. His boyfriend holds on to it as he goes on with his story and Edward finds himself wishing he could free Étienne of his burden.

“I knew nothing of childbirth, but I – I tried to save them both. I did what I could. I really did. The neighbour, bless her, came to help me out, having assisted with births all her life and – despite our best efforts, we lost them both. The baby was stillborn and Charlotte died a little later; whether her heart gave out or she lost too much blood is irrelevant. They were both gone. Taken away from me before I’d even had a chance to cherish them properly. I thought I’d have years with them – that we could be a proper family. Instead I barely had a taste and I finally knew what real heartbreak was.”

Edward finds his own eyes clouded with tears and he tries to be discreet when he wipes them clean. He notices Étienne do the same with the sleeve of his sweater and he brings an arm up to his back to rub gentle circles on it. Étienne leans into the contact and into his side and Edward kisses the top of his head as his boyfriend takes a moment to recompose himself. He says nothing when he feels Étienne’s shoulders shake and when Étienne excuses himself to blow his nose, he says nothing about it either.

Even after all these years and centuries, Edward feels as though this is only the second time Étienne has opened up about this chapter of his life. Already, his boyfriend isn’t one to share the emotional details of his life and he supposes that this had been a story he’d kept closer still to his heart.

He’s convinced the conversation will come to an end after that, but despite Étienne being too vulnerable and raw, he decides to continue on, now that he’s started, once he’s disposed of the tissue. The dam has been opened and he may as well let everything out. He resettles against Edward and the next part comes out like a whisper, a confession he makes to him and that Edward listens to attentively.

“I never wanted to live through that ever again, so I did my best to veer away from relationships. They weren’t my thing anyways. People fell in love left right and center and I didn’t have the heart to be the bearer of bad news. So I kept to my flings and figured this was the life I would lead. It would be easier for everyone, in the long run.”

Edward would like to believe that Étienne’s plan had worked out, yet he knows there is still much more left to the story.--

Part I

Part III

#pc: montreal #pc: edmonton #edward murphy #étienne maisonneuve #fic #projocanondoko

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aerialsquid · 6 years ago

Text

How to Bury a Gentile

I wrote a short vaguely historical vaguely spooky ghost story about Jews and burial rites and I have to justify it existing so here it is.

“Are you the leader of the Jews?”

There was no good that ever came from that question. Rabbi Jacob stood in the doorway, one hand on the knob and the other on the frame, ready to yank it closed at a moment’s notice.

“Well, not all of the Jews.”

The man at the door made a frustrated little grunt. He was clad almost completely in dark grey clothing that seemed to fade into the shadows of the darkened street behind him. The collar of his coat was pulled up so high that it was impossible to make out more than a pair of sharp grey eyes beneath the brim of his hat, and the cloak he wore over the top of it concealed most of his body. There could be any number of guns, knives, or angry mobs hidden under there.

“But the ones in this town, yes? You are their priest, you lead prayers and weddings and so on?” the man said impatiently.

“Rabbi. Yes. I’m the rabbi, that’s correct.” Jacob said, stiffening his posture and assuming the most neutral expression he could manage. Being completely ignorant didn't exclude someone from being completely dangerous--if anything, that heightened the risk. "What can I do for you?"

“Rabbi,” the man repeated, as if to seal it into his memory properly. One gloved hand squeezed the pommel of his walking stick. “And you preside over the funerals of your people, and perform the rites to send them to the next world?”

“Yyyyyes?” Jacob shifted his weight to his back foot, poised to slam the door in his face. This sounded unpleasantly like an opening for a death threat.

“To any of them, regardless of the sins they carried in life?” An eagerness entered the man’s voice.

“Of course. Though sin as a Jewish concept differs from the Christian…mm. Yes, of course.” The scholars of old might have debated the nature of the evil in men’s souls until the crack of dawn but Jacob had no intention of doing so at half-past midnight with a complete stranger.

The shadowed man took a half step forward and Jacob leaned back to maintain the distance between him. “What about a gentile?” the man pressed. "Would you tend to his corpse too?"

“Huh?”

“There is a man needing to be buried tonight who requires absolution. He is not a Jew, but a Jew’s prayers may be close enough for what is needed.”

“Um. It’s not usually a request I get.” Jacob tried to keep his voice calm and soothing. There was some kind of entrapment lingering in the conversation, he just knew it. That or a giant box of crazy that had managed to dress itself stylishly. Gentiles asking Jews intrusive but urgent questions never turned out well for their target--a day-long case of irritation was the best outcome the target could hope for.

The man’s hands pressed together as he completed the full step forward, making Jacob back up into the doorframe. Desperation was in his tone and Jacob was forced back over the threshold just to stay out of his grip “All I need is someone to accompany me to the cemetery to consecrate the body and pray for its soul. Barely an hour of your time. I cannot pay you with anything but my gratitude, but you will have it eternally.”

“And you came to me?”

The man sighed. Even the top hat seemed to slouch slightly as his body slumped. “I have asked every holy man in the city, Catholic and Protestant alike, and they have refused to come to the cemetery," he bemoaned. "The last one told me to visit you. Likely a ploy to make me leave faster, but you are all I have left.”

“What did this man do, that so many people refused him? Who was he?”

The man at the door hesitated. The sharp eyes vanished as his eyelids slid down, and then appeared a few moments later.

“Must you ask?” he said quietly. “Is it not enough that it is a corpse which can do no man harm any longer, and you will lose nothing but a half-night of sleep?”

The inside of Jacob’s head was ringing with warning bells like the frantic clanging of gongs announcing a fire. He swallowed and tried to ignore them.

“You say he wasn’t Jewish?”

“He was not…much of anything. He felt God had no interest in him, and returned a lack of interest in kind. Perhaps if he had been more attentive he wouldn’t lie in a pauper’s grave…or perhaps he would have not changed a whit.” The man’s voice was bitter and the sharp eyes briefly looked away from Jacob, to Jacob’s deep relief.

“Who was this man, to you?” he asked.

“Close. I would prefer to say no more. Please, rabbi. It must be done, and it must be tonight.”

Seminary did not prepare me for this, Jacob thought, and then thought again. There is absolutely something in the Talmud about this and I’ve just forgotten it, because I’m an idiot and I’m half asleep and there is a goy on my doorstep asking me to go out to the cemetery with him at midnight to bury a man whose name he won’t tell me.

“Look, I’ll need someone to help dig the grave.”

“Of course."

“And a coffin. A plain pine box. And I’ll need to get my supplies from the--”

“But you’ll do it?” said the man excitedly, standing up even taller. “And do it tonight, before the cock crows?”

Jacob held up his hands to keep the man from getting even further into his personal space. “Fine. Yes. Give me half an hour and a lazy rooster.”

The cloak almost seem to inflate as the man gasped for joy. He grabbed Jacob’s hands and shook both with enthusiasm, sending Jacob stumbling. “Thank God for you, my good rabbit! Whatever God there is, thank God for you!”

The man ran off into the shadowed streets and was out of sight almost immediately.

Jacob’s hands slowly fell back to his side as he mumbled, “Rabbi,” to the darkness.

My wife is going to kill me if whatever’s at the cemetery doesn’t.

Twenty six minutes later, going by his watch, Jacob showed up at the Jewish cemetery that back-ended the only synagogue in town. It was guarded by high brick walls that made it impossible to see inside, but when Jacob went to put his key into the wrought iron gates he found them already unlocked.

Only a few other people had the key, and he briefly prayed that it was one of them who’d opened it. Then he prayed again, a more general ‘please keep me from being murdered in my own cemetery’ plea as he passed through the gates. One hand patted his pocket, feeling the edges of the folded knife he’d brought along just in case matters went nasty.

In the very corner of the cemetery a lantern burned beside an open grave, a long wooden box, and three figures with two shovels. As he approached he recognized Maud, the gravedigger’s wife and her two eldest children.

The city’s Jews and Christians kept separate cemeteries but shovels didn’t need any particular religious affiliation and neither did the hands who were paid to hold them. Maud’s husband served the dead of all faiths as long as they needed a few feet of dirt to rest their heads in.

“You’re out late,” Jacob said, casual, like they'd met at the grocer's instead of the graveyard.

Maud shrugged. She was thin with unkempt, slightly greasy hair that fell around her face in soft waves and a dress that had no functions besides the practical. Jacob knew her to be much like her husband – not bereft of compassion, but very straightforward when it came to the rites of death. It happened. The mourners mourned, but someone had to dig the holes and move the coffins, and tears only hindered the process. “And what are you, out for an evening constitutional among the headstones?”

“Let me guess, a man in grey showed up on your doorstep and asked you to come out here in the middle of the night with minimal justification but great urgency."

Maud laughed bitterly. “The same.”

“Where’s your husband?”

“Visiting family. Had to bring them instead.” She gestured to the two young people with her, one a stringy and acne-ridden lad of thirteen and one a sixteen year old young woman who was growing into having her father’s thick arms. Both looked profoundly uncomfortable with the situation.

“And he’d put up a storming fuss if a mysterious stranger asked him to dig a grave at half past nonsense at night. Me, I know better.” Maud put a finger next to her nose and tapped it. “There’s something strange going on about this. Otherworldly. Not to be trifled with.”

“Do you have any idea who this man is?”

“Not a clue. Wouldn’t give me a name, even.”

Jacob gestured to the open grave. “Who are we burying here, Cain? A murder victim?”

Maud shrugged, followed by shrugs from her two children. “Whatever he is and whoever wants him in the ground, I’m of no mind to tell him no. He’s too determined for someone who’d take it for a good answer.”

They waited in the stillness, listening to crickets softly chirp in the bushes lining the graveyard. Suddenly Jacob could see movement in the fog, then the billowing of a grey cloak, and then the shape of a man dragging something behind him on a pull cart.

Sticking out over the rim of the cart was a large, curved piece of rock that Jacob recognized as the rough draft of a gravestone. There was a crack down one side of the stone, indicating it had likely been tossed aside as defective before it could be engraved. Beside it was a long bundle wrapped in a dirty sheet.

The four at the grave steeled their nerves in the way that best suited their spiritual preferences as the man in grey approached.

“That’s our man, is it?” Jacob asked, pointing at the bundle. The man in grey nodded.

“Do what you need to tend to him, rabbi. But do it quickly.”

Jacob uncovered the man and winced at the smell. The man had obviously been dead for at least a day, and hadn’t died in any particular state of valor. There were ligature marks around his neck, which tilted at an uncomfortable angle. That plus the bulging of his eyes and the shape of his face meant he’d died of strangulation—a slow death on the gallows, with no kind executioner ensuring that he fell fast and far enough to snap his neck at the bottom. He’d also been stripped down to his underclothes by whoever’d taken him down off the rope, and those garments that remained were…messy.

“Lay him out flat,” Jacob said. “We’ll need to get his clothes off first.”

The man winced. “Must you? He’s endured enough humiliation.”

“Do you want him purified or not? He’s covered in his own…ugh. Covered in a number of things.”

Maud took out a long pocket knife and began cutting the undergarments off the corpse, nose wrinkling. “Hate hanged corpses,” she muttered. “Wish they’d just behead them, it’d look neater and go faster.”

“But then you’ve got the body in two pieces,” said the son.

His sister rebutted, “You could tie it back on afterwards under the shirt.” The pair descended into a discussion of ideal execution methods that Jacob tried to block out with sheer willpower.

As a distraction, he studied the dead man's face. Besides the strangulation the man wasn’t unhandsome. Jacob would put him at an elegantly-aging 45 at the oldest, with stylishly cut ruddy hair and a strong jaw. It wasn't the kind of man you'd expect to find on the gallows.

“I’m going to need a name,” Jacob said, looking to the man in grey.

The man in grey hesitated, staring down at the corpse.

“James,” he said finally.

“That’s the truth, right?" Jacob pressed, in the tone he used on children who were too young to lie effectively. “It’s actually James?”

“Yes, actually James,” the man snapped.

“James…son of…?”

“Haven’t a clue.” The sharp eyes stared daggers into Jacob’s face. Jacob sighed and went with the one sure bet he had for ancestry.

“…James ben Adam, I ask forgiveness for you, for your family and friends, and for

all of Israel, and I ask forgiveness from you for any mistakes or indiscretions I may unintentionally commit during this service.”

“He’s dead,” the man in grey interjected. “Don’t waste time asking him how he feels, just prepare him.”

“It’s part of the ritual. Besides, I hardly want him coming back tomorrow to complain.”

Jacob ran quickly through the rest of the prayers in Hebrew– the prayer for forgiveness from the corpse, the prayer for those preparing it, the prayer for compassion for the dead. The man in grey was silent. Maud and her children answered with a hasty ‘amen’ after each paragraph, even though they had no real idea what he was saying. Their religious policy seemed to be ‘whatever gets the job done’.

Jacob sighed. “All right, let’s get to the business.”

Maud and her children huddled by the corpse as Jacob poured water over it and recited the familiar words. He is pure, he is pure, he is pure. Amen, amen.

Between pourings the four rubbed the filth from the man’s skin. There were bruises on the man’s body, and scars ranging from years old to less than a month. As he cleaned under the fingernails Jacob noticed how soft his hands were, as if he’d lived in wealth and luxury until recently.

Tahara was usually the domain of the synagogue’s chevra kadisha, the funeral society, not something one rabbi did on his own. Jacob hoped that whoever was supervising the legalities of the affair would accept one rabbi and four multi-gender gentiles as a valid substitute for meeting adult male Jewish quorum.

Jacob looked up at the grey-clothed man, who’d taken a seat on a nearby headstone, cane resting beneath his folded hands. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to help?”

The man shook his head. “Willing, yes. Able, no.”

“Why?”

The man angled his head to the side, voice going soft and hoarse. “There are a lot of things I cannot say. If I did, it would not…be what was necessary.”

“And what is necessary?”

“That he be buried tonight before the cock crowed, with full funeral and rites, by a man of faith, without promise of wealth or other reward for the deed,” the man rattled off as if by rote.

“You say that like it’s in a contract of some kind.”

“It is legally binding, in its own way. Now please, enough questions, we’ve not much time.” The man looked up nervously to the moon.

“Fine. Can you at least go fetch us more water?” Jacob asked the man in grey. Once he’d left with the jug, Maud huddled down next to him.

“Think I know who this dead man is,” Maud whispered. “Heard about him over the local gossip from my cousin. He was a criminal. Nasty one, a thief and a murderer. Mutilated bodies. They say he even made a deal with Lucifer himself. Must be why this one sought you out.”

“You know we don’t believe in your Devil, right?” Jacob muttered, almost by reflex. “Let alone have any positive relationship with him.”

“The people what hanged him this week in the next town over believed in the Devil. What else would be so bad the church wants nothing to do with him And why else would he need consecrating so badly and so quickly, if he’s not got something he needs absolving form?”

Jacob watched the fog for the return of the man in grey. “And this gentleman who’s such an advocate for him, you think he’s…”

Maud followed his gaze. “If I believed in such things, I’d think it,” she whispered.

“But you don’t?”

Maud gave him a sharp look. “You think a gravedigger’s wife can afford to believe in ghosts? It’s bad for business, Rabbi.”

“Might not be, if you convince them a ghost prefers an expensive grave. Ah, hush, he’s coming back.”

Rather than put it into Jacob’s hands, the man in grey set the jug on the ground and stepped back from it. Jacob continued to pray as they wiped the corpse down and combed through his ruddy hair, reciting so quickly that Jacob ran out of prayer before he was done and ventured off into additional prayers that couldn’t hurt to add on top of the pile.

Jacob reached for the bag next to him and pulled out piles of white linen. “Now we dress him.”

“You just finished undressing him! He’s a corpse and he’s going to rot, does it matter?”

Jacob gritted his teeth, half-rising to his feet. “It. Is. The. Tradition,” he hissed.

The man in grey put his hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. Do what you will. Just do it quickly.”

Jacob wrapped the corpse gently in the burial clothes – pants, shirt, belt. As he laid the white cloth in place over the face he felt the tension growing in the air, an odd pressure he’d previously chalked to humidity.

You can’t buy and sell a soul, he told himself. All souls belong to God. That’s how it works.

On the other hand, God might rent them out on commission. If he made it out of this intact he really needed to see what the Talmud said on the subject.

The man in grey was fidgeting. He kept looking to the moon, then to the watch in his hand, and then worrying the cane between his legs until it dug a long furrow in the dirt in front of him.

“Get his feet, I’ll take his shoulders.”

“Yes, mum.”

Maud and her daughter dropped the corpse into its plain pine box.

“Nails,” Maud said over her shoulder.

“Here, mum.”

The gravedigger’s son brought the hammer down hard. The resounding noise of the pine box being nailed shut jangled Jacob’s nerves after all the hushed prayers. The youth gave the nails a few extra swings each, just to make sure that nothing inside the box decided to come back out again.

The four of them lifted the coffin and crab-walked with it until it was vaguely over the grave, then dropped it in. The man in grey leapt to his feet. “Now. Funeral. Perform it, and quickly,” he insisted.

Jacob steadied himself at the edge of the grave. Maud and the children took up the politely sympathetic stances identical to the one the gravedigger did when waiting for the funeral to finally end so he could get to his business.

Jacob was used to these. He was just used to them during the daytime, with a row of mourners lined up neatly with their ritually torn ribbons pinned to their chests as a substitute for rending their actual clothing. Even the most loathsome of people had someone to show up in order to keep up social status. A funeral for a man with no mourners to comfort was novel.

He looked at the man in grey, who was standing well back with his arms folded. “I will say, I’ve never done a eulogy for someone I don’t know the identity of, so I can’t promise anything quality.”

“I don’t care. Do it.”

Jacob took a long, deep breath, and let it out slowly. He thought back to other eulogies, pulling together scraps of them and tying it nicely with a scriptural bow.

“We are all cracked vessels,” he pronounced in his Official Rabbi Voice. “But we are all vessels made in the image of God, and even in death that vessel is subject to respect. As the Torah says, even if a man commits a sin so severe that he is sentenced to death, his body shall not be left out overnight, but buried that same day, for a hanging corpse is a blasphemy to God and a defilement of the land.”

The man in grey made a small noise, like a half-stifled bitter laugh. Jacob forced his voice to be steady.

“And from this we see that there is no crime that separates man from God. He is not spared from judgment, but he is still in God’s image, and to disrespect his right to burial is to disrespect God himself. May those that James ben Adam has harmed in life forgive him and gain healing, and those whose lives he has enriched remember him. Amen.”

And may this not come back to bite me in the arse, whatever strange theological zone I may be playing in.

“Amen,” echoed Maud and her children. Maud’s daughter shivered, a strange act when the night’s heat seemed to be growing ever more oppressive on Jacob’s shoulders.

The words of Kel Maleh Rachamim felt heavy on Jacob’s tongue. Towards the end he felt himself slurring vowels and having to stop and go back to repeat them properly. His throat burned, and he took a swig from the dirty water jug just to soothe it, but found it brought no relief.

“Please,” whispered the man in grey. “Now! Bury him now!”

Jacob could feel dawn coming somehow, though he hadn’t checked his watch since they began. He could feel it in his bones as the heat surged through him. Maud and her children went for the shovels.

Jacob kept the prayer flowing, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. “Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mey rabah!” he muttered as dirt flew into the grave. The words of the Mourner’s Kaddish were some of the most familiar he knew. They were said every Shabbat morning, and the same words were repeated for their own reasons several other times during the service. In the dense air they seemed to be the only thing keeping his throat clear, when he would otherwise suffocate.

The two children shoveled as fast as they could but they were slumping under some unseen pressure. The girl winced, gritting her teeth, and tears were gathering at the corners of the boy’s eyes.

The man in grey jumped to stand beside them, waving his hands. “Faster!” he shouted.

“You heard him, faster!” shouted Maud.

“Mum, my arms hurt, let me rest!”

“Keep going!” the man in grey snarled. “We haven’t much time!”

When the shovel fell from the young man’s limp hands Jacob grabbed it and began piling in the dirt furiously. He felt claws dig into his arms draining the strength from his muscles. The man in grey urged them onward, with pleas and with threats, and Jacob tried to ignore both. There were whispers invading his mind and he drove them out by chanting at double speed. Beside him Maud was saying the prayers of her own people and her daughter was fumbling along behind her in repeating them. It made a rhythm to shovel to, up and down and deep into the dirt again, until the coffin was covered completely. Maud’s son heaved the crudely-carved rock from the cart and nearly dropped it on his own foot as he planted it at the head of the grave.

“Amen!” the young man shouted.

“Amen, amen, for god’s sake, are we done?” asked the daughter, thick arms limp at her sides.

“We’re done!” said Jacob, barely getting the words out.

“You’re not!” shouted the man in grey. He had his arms around himself, head bowed as if under unseen blows. “It’s not finished!”

Jacob ground his teeth, his muscles screaming in pain. “There’s nothing left!” The gravedigger’s son was on his knees trembling.

“You must have forgotten something!” yelled the man in gray in a shaking voice, huddled inside his cloak.

“I didn’t—"

Oh.

Of course.

Jacob pulled the knife from his pocket. The act of opening it felt like moving a boulder. He took his shirt cuff and with great effort jabbed the knife into it, dragging it down until he reached the hem.. The sound of the cloth tearing reverberated through the graveyard and magnified a hundred times, until it was shaking Jacob down to his bones.

Like rain breaking on a broiling July day, the tension snapped and vanished. The pained sniffles of the gravedigger’s son faded into silence. Across the graveyard, the crickets started up their song once more.

The man in grey uncurled slowly. “What did you…do?” he asked, looking to Jacob in awe.

“Mourners,” Jacob gasped, the knife falling from his hands. “There were no mourners. Had to—you tear your clothing, when you’re mourning. Funeral’s not just for the dead. It’s for the living. It needed mourners.”

A feeling of cool mist enveloped Jacob as the man in grey launched at him for a deep embrace. It was the first time the man had touched any of them since the night began. “Thank you,” the man said, voice nearly a sob.

Jacob patted his back. The man felt like a damp blanket cloying to his skin. “Shalom Aleichem, James.”

“Whatever that means, the same to you, Rabbi.” The weight of the man vanished from his arms, followed by the man himself. The first rays of morning light shone down upon wet grass dented by absent boots.

Maud’s daughter slumped against her mother. Maud’s arm reached around her and gave her a hard squeeze, a weak smile coming to her face.

“Do we get to believe in ghosts now, Mum?”

“No, dear. It’s bad for business.”

#ghosts #ghost story #judaism #jews #burial #spoopy #writing #writeblr #original fiction #squid writes

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angelicspaceprince · 4 years ago

Text

Take Me To Church

Author: Ama

Title: Take Me To Church

Pairing: Zhuk/Reader

Character/s: Zhuk

Word Count: 6, 437 words

Warnings: Smut (18+ only please), cockwarming, tentacles, Priest Kink, sex in a church, Demon Priest, hypnosis, aphrodisiac, stomach bulge, double and triple penetration, sex on an altar

Prompt: You were just trying to keep to yourself and avoid the rain when no one seemed to want to help you after you are left stranded in the middle of nowhere. The thing that lives in this abandoned church seems to have other ideas.

Notes: I set out to destroy myself and managed to take some people down with me. It was.....fun. Many hours of work and putting it off, its finally done. Also. There is a part two in the works so if you want to be tagged in it....send me an ask. Translations for long pieces of Russian is at the bottom of the post in order of appearance. Enjoy.

Buy Me a Coffee

Take Me To Church

You hadn’t meant to get lost at this time of night. It was dark, it was raining, and you were just done with today. Your car broke down in the middle of nowhere, you walked for hours, getting lost and finally finding your way to a near-abandoned town and, once you found someone to actually help you, every door was slammed in your face. Rain turned into a storm, a downpour, and you just wanted somewhere to hide until the rain passed. You saw a rundown looking church when you first walked into the town, and that was only a block away. Perhaps there would do? As far as you knew, churches were open to all in need, and you were in need of not getting sick before finding a phone to call for a mechanic.

You shuffle in and move to sit on one of the pews. It was empty, cold, made of grey stone that seemed to be crumbling in places with stained glass windows, some broken and covered with increasingly dampening cardboard whilst others stayed intact. You weren’t fussy. It’ll do for now. You are dripping with the rainwater, the only sound in the entire church is your laboured breath from running and the drip, drip of water running down your hair and onto the floor. You think for a minute - is it really a good idea to be staying in these wet, cold clothes? You look around, no one else is in the church that you know of. Perhaps you should just slide your coat off.

The desire to at least see how wet your clothes were under your coat proves to be too great as you carefully slide it off and lay it beside you. Your clothes are plastered to your body, saturated from the intense weather. You sigh loudly in defeat, you just couldn’t win today.

The sound of the door opening and closing loudly followed by the gruff voice of the bar patron stirs you from your self-pitying thoughts. Fuck, you said you were going to leave and wait by your car. You couldn’t bear the idea of getting into another argument with the man. You look around for somewhere to hide, eyes flickering to the confessional. Maybe? It was certainly the closest.

You dash in, leaving your jacket behind, and close the door behind you, moving to sit on the surprisingly comfortable seat. You weren’t an expert in these sorts of things, but you thought these to be always uncomfortable and wooden, but this was almost like a cushion that went from the bottom of the seat all the way up above your head. Even if it was lumpy, it was more comfortable than the pews out there.

It was dark, and the only thing you could hear was your laboured breath and the steps of someone investigating the church. You swear he is nearby, you hold your breath and try to keep yourself silent when what you think is him brushes past the confessional.

A low, rumbling voice shocks you as he greets the bar patron, asking if he is well. You can’t quite make out the conversation, except for the newer voice reassuring the man that everything is okay, he has it sorted, and he can go home now. There is a bit more back and forth that slowly fades as the new man leads the bar patron away. You let out a small sigh of relief, sagging back slightly. Now you just have to wait for him to leave before you can get out of here. You don’t feel safe here, you need to get back to your car, weather be damned! You’d rather battle out a horrid respiratory infection than be in some weird cult sacrifice to the village’s local god, or whatever Stephen King-esque thing this town seemed to be into.

You wait quietly, trying to quiet your loud, uneven breaths as your adrenaline slowly starts to wane. Seconds before you go to leave, you feel it. Something cold, slimy, slippery curls its way around your foot. Before you even have a chance to jump or scream, the confessional screen opens, causing you to jolt and the thing to unhook from your ankle. You look down and see nothing. Perhaps it was just your mind playing tricks on you. But you still have a problem. The priest now knows you’re here. How were you going to explain that you were hiding from someone like a child, simply because you didn’t want to interact with them?

“Do you have anything you wish to confess?” He finally asks, his heavily accented voice giving you a small shock, having grown tired of the silence that stretches between the two of you.

You wince. “Well, actually, uh-” You trail off, and you can almost feel the amusement rolling off of him in waves.

“Or were you just hiding from Mr MacNamara?” His voice is kind, but also bemused. Even then, it’s calming and draws you in. Just something about it, something tinged within it makes you think there is something he is hiding. You shake it off, what would a priest have to hide?

“Yeah.” You say quietly, guiltily. “I’m sorry si- Father, I’ll go.” It wasn’t really polite or religiously sensitive to hide in what you believed to be a sacred place, at least to the priest.

Your hand barely leaves your side, however, when he speaks. “Never mind the reason you originally came here, my child. You are here now, there must be something you need to get off your chest. Why else would you run and hide into a church and then a confessional, unless you have a guilty conscience or something you need to speak about.” He offers softly, his voice drawing you closer and closer to him as you feel your body relax into the soft booth. You jolt. No. You shouldn’t be here. You are making a mockery of his religion, at least, you feel like you are.

“I’m not Catholic. Or religious.” You state bluntly.

“My confessional is open to all who need to clear their heart and mind.” He doesn’t sound like he’s insisting, rather that he’s just patient. Waiting for you to finally crumble and agree to confess to something. You might as well. Just to let him leave you alone.

“Where do you want me to start?” You sigh dramatically, leaning back and getting comfortable. If he wanted a confession, you were going to waste his time a little.

“Perhaps the one that is weighing you down the most.” He instructs, amusement seeping in his accented voice. What was it? Russian?

You shrug. “Lusted over a married man, that’s a pretty big sin I suppose. Would you consider it a major sin, Father?” You start with the one you are sure he will question the most and then have you move on and leave. The idea of making the priest squirm amuses you, and you’re almost tempted to state that you lusted over a man of God to see what he’d say. Alas, you decide against it. He stays silent for a second.

“Did you tempt him?”

“God yeah.” You try not to act proud. “Worked too. That’s adultery, isn’t it? Or at least, tempting someone into adultery.”

“Did you enjoy it?” He sounds slightly conflicted. Good.

You can feel your body begin to melt and relax into the pew, shifting slightly as you start to grow warm, starting from your ankles, almost like a blanket has been placed over your feet. “Mhm.” Is all you can get out. “It was. Good. We didn’t regret it. It happened a few times, but. Neither of us regretted it.”

“Did the wife know?” You shrug.

“Dunno. Don’t care, to be honest.” Silence begins to tick over you as you wait for your dismissal. But it doesn’t come.

“Anything else you wish to confess before I give you your penance?” His voice is still soft, inviting. You go to groan as he speaks again. “You’re here, you might as well use this time wisely.”

Wisely. Yeah right. Your jaw clicks, taking the challenge as you start to ‘confess’ your many sins. Missing mass, as you’ve never been to mass since after your confirmation, using contraception as every good girl does, being envious of others, having bouts of extreme anger, the times you had sex with another girl, both taking the Lord’s name in vain and being blasphemous, your slightly excessive masturbation habit, every lie you could think of, how you left religion behind a long time ago, your impressive pornography collection. Every little thing becomes pettier and pettier as you try to get him to shut you up and leave, but instead, he just keeps asking question after question, digging deeper as if trying to figure out what to add to your penance. You even stooped so low to start telling him about the time you stole chocolate from your local supermarket when you were a toddler, and every pen, eraser, piece of candy, anything from anyone as a child, be it malicious or by accident. Your eyes look firmly in the space in front of you, a dark nothingness - didn’t they have candles or something to light up this incredibly dark room? -, but better than to see his face and how schooled it must be. That would frustrate you even more. He didn’t get annoyed, or frustrated, or anything. Eventually, however, he decided he didn’t want to play your game anymore. “Y/N, look at me.”

You are so busy with your revenge that you don’t feel your body slowly growing warmer and warmer, relaxing into the soft back of the confessional seat, voice growing softer as your eyes start to close. That one command to look at him has your eyes snapping open as you turn to look him in the eye.

They were glowing.

Wait a minute.

You didn’t tell him your name.

But that’s not the thing that’s concerning you now, your eyes beginning to bulge out of your head when you take in the sight before you.

Bright amber eyes encourage you to relax for him, obey him, trust in him, which didn’t concern you at this moment. No, what concerned you were the mass amount of tentacles that seemed to be coming out of his back, covering his back wall and crawling your way into your small cubicle. You see him smirk faintly at your realisation. “Relax, Y/N. Do not worry about them, malen'kiy. Focus on my voice instead.” He instructs quietly, and it almost works. Were it not for the cold jab in your gut when you realise. Something was moving over you.

You look down and let out a loud gasp of air, your body in so much shock a scream couldn’t form. Every inch of your part of the confessional was crawling with tentacles. They filled the walls, the floor and, to your horror, was the cushion between you and the hard, uncomfortable wood of the confessional chair. “I-”

“Shhh, malyshka, don’t stress yourself. They won’t harm you.” He sounds bemused as you start to squirm, finding your movement restricted. You struggle, and something seems to squeeze you until you stop.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Like a long, black snake, one of the tentacles had slowly wound its way up your legs, waist, hips and was slowly beginning to climb its way up to your torso and shoulders. “Dorogoy, relax.” He reminds you gently, voice inviting, warm. You relax as you feel the tentacle coil around you another time, slowly, gently.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope. That was enough for you. You grab the doorframe, ignoring the tentacles now moving to hold you there, and you use it as leverage to pull yourself up and out of his grasp, slime from the one grasping onto you giving you enough leeway to climb out and into the cold of the stone church, tugging back on your hands until they are freed as you land on your back, scurrying back against the rough floor. You are freezing again and, when you look down, you realise that you had been worked out of your clothes, leaving you in just your bra and panties. You move to stand and rush towards the still slightly cracked open door when the other side of the confessional opens, tentacles that were once climbing out of the door you just lept from moving back into the shadows. Your blood turns to ice as you freeze in place as his loud footsteps echo through the room.

He’s huge.

Tall, dressed in the usual black slacks and shirt with the clerical collar that you’d expect all priests to wear, he was intimidating. The scar over one of his still bright and bemused amber eyes doing nothing to settle you as what seemed like countless, black, dripping, slimy tentacles came out from behind him, all constantly moving. You swallow, unable to move or think as you look at him. He couldn’t be human, a demon perhaps? But you thought no demon could ever set foot in a church?

“Ne boysya, ne begi, moy rebenok.” He speaks softly as the tentacles start to climb the floor directly towards your feet.

It was enough to break the spell. You stand up and bolt in the opposite direction, away from the door. Surely there was a back exit? You dash and, somehow, escape every grab attempt he makes at you as he calmly, slowly, follows you. He knows this church like the back of his hand, and he knows there is no escape for you. You trip over nothing, landing flat on the floor as something twists its way up your ankle and calf. Hot adrenaline kicks in and you kick back wildly until you are free and able to make another mad dash towards the back of the church.

Nothing.

Not a door, not even a window. A set of rickety-looking stairs. You look behind you and see his shadow slowly come into the doorway, his tentacles climbing the walls, ceiling, floor, slowly. As if searching for you. Another hot pump of adrenaline hits your body as you instantly run up the stairs, yelping when one gives way under your feet. You hear his chuckle, low and dark as he stands at the bottom of the stairwell, just staring up at you as you pull yourself up to the top stair. “Don’t hurt yourself, Y/N, ya predpochitayu, chtoby moi blyuda ostavalis' tselymi i nevredimymi, poka ya ne poluchu ikh v svoi ruki.” He purrs as his ever-moving appendages stop for a split second before rushing directly towards you.

You can’t help the scream that leaves your lips as you rush past the open door and slam it shut behind you, his loud laugh echoing into the room around you as you see the black, oozy tendrils, smaller than the main tentacles but still just as scary somehow, slowly make their way under the gaps of the door, slowly covering and dissolving the wood with their goo. Fuck. You need to keep running.

Up on the upper floor, there really wasn’t anything. A little nest of coats and blankets, obviously a makeshift bed, and a broken-down organ. You look over the edge as the door starts to shake, already on awful foundations, it won’t take long for it to break down. If you could just get downstairs and hide until he went searching for you, then you can make a run for the door. Your eyes scan what you had around you, knowing that if you jumped you’d probably break your neck on impact. Then you see it. A ladder. It looks old with the wood rotting, but it will suit your needs for now.

You rush over and start climbing down the ladder quickly, hitting the ground underneath the mezzanine just in time to hear the door break. Shit. No way you could make a run for the door now, even then beforehand your chances were slim. You remain well hidden from him as you plaster your back against the wall so as he looks over the church, not an inch of you or your shadow can be seen. He takes in a deep breath through his nose as you look for a hiding spot.

“I can smell your fear, zakuska.” He purrs. “It smells delicious.” You swallow as you continue to search before realising. The altar.

You lift the piece of fabric that reaches all the way to the ground and bite back a cry of success. There is a gap there big enough for you to hide. You smuggle your way in, unseen by the demon as you curl up and try to quieten and control your breathing.

His feet land heavily on the stone floor seconds later as he apparently grows tired of your game and jumps from the upper floor. You jolt when you realise he’s landed on the other side of the altar. Just stay quiet, and wait until he’s gone. Then you can run. Your stomach feels sick with nerves as you wait and listen to the demon’s footsteps as they fill the church. You don’t realise it yet, but he is pacing around the altar, smelling your scent and knowing exactly where you are hiding.

His low chuckle sounds even more ominous as it echoes around the empty church. “You can't hide from me now, roza. I grew up in this church, I know every inch of its cold walls, every shadow, every crack, every stone. Give up now, and I may just go easy on you.” He warns. You stay still. There is no way you are giving in to him, not now. Not ever. You’ll hide until you get the opportunity to run. “No? Alright then. Just remember, little one, you chose your fate.” He sounds tired as he says this and, before you know it, the cloth is pulled back and everything on it clatters to the ground and he is right there in front of you, sharp teeth gleaming as he stares at you. “Hello there roza. It appears that I’ve caught you.” He teases. Before you can even get a chance to move, you are dragged out into the air, warm vines sliding their way around your body and hoisting you into the air as they move to support your legs, arms, torso. Even one is so considerate to support your head. Higher and higher you go, them tightening as you struggle as if to keep you steady. “I wouldn’t continue that if I were you, Y/N.” He warns. “It wouldn’t be a pleasant landing if you do.” The threat is crystal clear. You fall, he won’t be catching you.

You go deadly still and try to bite back a sob. He caught you and now he has you. Suspended in the air in just your underwear, nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. You were his.

You don’t even register the tentacle pressing against your lips until it’s made its way into your mouth, tasting salty yet strangely sweet as it pushes into your mouth and down your throat, causing you to choke slightly. It pulls back to just before where you started to gag and tear up and slowly starts to pump a thick, almost syrupy liquid, causing you to gulp out of fear of drowning in the air. For a hot second, the idea of biting down to hurt him crosses your mind, but his threat rings again in your ear. You could faintly hear the splat of you falling to your death if you did something wrong in the back of your mind. So, you continue to drink whatever it was filling your system, not noticing how your once tense muscles start to relax into the hold of the black, leaking appendages or how your face is becoming flushed, eyes glazed, body slowly beginning to warm despite the cool air. All you can feel is the throb between your legs and just how empty you feel. You whine, the sound quiet with your mouth stretched open as you start to suck, hips beginning to buck against nothing. You need to be full, you need something inside of you. You start to claw at your little clothing, even that’s too much of a barrier. You need to be full, to be touched, to be fucked. You can feel the demon’s amusement under you as he slowly starts to help, tendrils moving to tug down at your panties as others unhook and slide off your bra, leaving you bare as you continue to ride against nothing. You are already wet down to your knees, slick just dripping from your already sopping wet sex just from being given a little dose of….whatever it was he was feeding you.

You don’t even realise you’ve been lowered onto the altar until the cold marble was pressed against your skin, two large, cool hands tugging your knees apart so amber eyes could look down over you. His hair is a dark green mixed with magenta whereas before, you swore it was just green or black with a trick of the light changing its colour. What did that mean?

It didn’t matter now, all that mattered was being full. You whine pitifully as you jerk your hips up, coaxing him to at least slide a finger into you to relieve the pressure. He snickers at your desperate attempts for help before one of the thinner tentacles moves to press against your entrance, entering maybe an inch before withdrawing teasingly before finally, it pushes in slowly, confidently, until it’s pressing against your cervix. You clench around him, moaning softly as he stares down at you, the rims of his eyes slowly turning a matching magenta colour. Was he staring down at you hungrily or adoringly? Fuck it, you don’t care at this moment.

You grind up at him, babbling nonsense from your still full mouth as you try to beg for more. He tuts, taking pity on you as the tentacle inside of you begins to expand, slowly filling and stretching you out as you shudder around him. You felt so full, it felt perfect. All you needed. You rotate your hips, encouraging him to move, goddamnit, letting out a small whine as you feel him slowly pull out only to thrust back in, the movement bouncing you up the altar slightly. Fuck. You are sure nothing has ever felt so good in your entire life. It’s not long before the tentacle down your throat and the one in your pussy start to move in tandem, you being helpless to do anything but just suck and clench and cling on for dear life as you feel yourself go higher and higher, right to the very brink. Like waves crashing against a cliff, so does your orgasm in that moment, wave after wave hitting you as you cry out around the appendage in your mouth, clenching around the one inside of you as you jolt up as white-hot pleasure washes over you again and again.

Your hips twitch lazily as you feel the heat that bubbled over slowly return to its previously itching warmth. That couldn’t be the end of it, right? Surely not. You need more. More, more, more, more.

“Oh, malen'kaya zakuska,” his growl sends shivers up your spine as you feel his nails dig into your skin, leaving large crescent-shaped welts in their wake, “this is far from over.”

You whine as you start to feel the feelers inside of you start to move again, this time more roughly if at all possible. It wasn’t enough, why did you feel so empty? It’s not until you feel something small probe at your ass that you realise what you were missing. Yes.

The tendril pushes in slightly, just the tip slipping inside of you before a small gush of something hot, wet and sticky floods you. Then, slowly, almost gently, it starts to fill you, just enough that you’ll feel completely full once it’s finished. Slowly, it starts to grow and expand, thickening as it stretches you out, sating the heat inside your belly as well as making it erupt into an inferno as your blood boils, eyes rolling back as your ass joins in the brutal fucking. You barely have the energy to move, using what little energy you have left to babble out the words ‘please’ and ‘Father’ over and over, muffled with your mouth full, your arms and legs laying limp, dangling off the altar as your toes curl every time he hits a spot deep inside of you that causes electricity to course through your veins, each time a loud grunt falls from your lips, echoing in the room. You can hear his deep laugh and feel his amusement roll off of him in waves as he continues to fuck you nice and deep, everything moving almost inhumanely fast, your brain barely able to keep up.

Your body still sensitive from your last orgasm, it doesn’t take long for another to wash over you, more powerful than the last, your entire body shaking as you feel your slick slowly slide down your thighs and the ornate table under you before audibly dripping onto the floor right next to the priest’s feet. Your body tenses, it feels like you have been set on fire as your body is engulfed once again in a white-hot blaze as a hoarse scream leaves your throat, hands curling into fists before your body slowly relaxes again, feeling boneless and like you’re made of jelly, you try to catch your breath.

It still wasn’t enough.

The Father’s hands move from your hips to beside your face, caging you in against him, the look in his eyes positively feral as he takes in your fucked out frame, glazed eyes and mindless, dopey smile. He purrs as the tentacle inside your cunt slowly slips out, his grin widening when you protest weakly. “Shh, malen'kiy, I’m not through with you yet.” He growls lowly. You feel the head of his cock brush between your folds, collecting your slick as he prepares himself. He feels huge, like nothing you’ve ever had inside of you before. If you weren’t so high on endorphins and whatever he had pumped into you, you’d be frightened. But now? You crave it.

Your hips tilt upwards slightly for a bare second before slamming back against the stone of the altar. A clear invitation. Fuck me.

Slowly, he pushes inside of you, the mass of tentacles from his back beginning to slide up the sides of the altar and over your body as he does so. It feels like an eternity before he bottoms out, feeling stretched to the absolute limit, as you cry out loudly. Finally. It feels right. You feel absolutely perfect with him inside of you, the Goldilocks Zone, not too big, not too small. Just right. You could finally settle.

Unfortunately, the priest has other plans. It feels like he is waiting for you to adjust, but you feel a smaller, thinner tendril slowly wrap around his cock as he sits inside of you, slowly making it become almost ribbed in texture. At the same time, you feel something else slide into your mouth, another tentacle of the same size as the one currently occupying your throat, twirling with its twin as it does so and yet another, albeit smaller, one probe at your ass, slowly sliding into you without hesitation, ready to join in the fun. You can feel two slowly trail up your stomach and twist around your breasts once, twice, enough to squeeze them roughly as the tips open up to cover over your nipples and start sucking away gently. Finally, one more tendril, smaller than all the rest, moves to flick at your clit, causing your head to slam back as it causes a near painful jolt through your system. The priest chuckles, his hand moving to rub at the back of your head tenderly, making sure you haven’t hurt yourself before it returns to its previous position. “Ready, roza?” He asks softly, eyes watching yours for any notion of approval for him to continue.

You nod, slightly confused by his sudden gentle demeanour. His wicked smile returns, his hips rolling against yours as he groans lowly as he takes in just out tight and warm you are, in comparison to his cool body. “Fuck, malyshka, you take me so well.” He growls as you moan around the appendages stretching out your throat, the tendril around his cock dragging against your walls deliciously. Slowly, but surely, every growth out of his back moves in tandem, the ones in your ass withdrawing when his cock enters you and pushing deep inside you when he pulls out, leaving just the tip inside. Your tits being squeezed and sucked at every time the tentacles in your throat pulls back, only to relax when they advance forward again. The small one on your clit, however, never lets up. Each little flick causes you to buck up as you just try to hold on for the ride, eyes never leaving the priest’s in front of you as he stares down at you possessively, little growls leaving him every so often.

Eventually, every thrust up into you causes loud noises to leave your body, barely able to keep up you just accept what is given to you as your body tenses, ready to be taken over that abyss once more. Your mouth goes slack, drool pooling in your mouth before slowly dripping out, leaving your checks wet in its wake. Something about the sight of you amuses the Father as he laughs his low, rumbly laugh as he looks down at you. “I think I’ll keep you. Kak ugoshcheniye. My own little toy to chase down and play with and fuck. What do you think about that, moya milaya malen'kaya blyad'?” When you don’t answer with words but with a pleading whine, his grin grows to an almost unnatural size, white teeth glinting in the faint light the candles around you provide. “Oh, how could I ever give such a pretty little thing like you up?” He purrs, his face moving down to press small kisses against your neck as you turn your head to the side, baring it openly for him. Something about that he apparently approved of, as suddenly his teeth are pressing down into your skin, a barely audible ‘mine’ vibrating against your skin before he slowly starts to suck, marking you. “Oh, I am definitely going to keep you, little Y/N.” He purrs happily, his thrusts becoming harsher and faster by the second.

It takes a few more flicks of your clit, and you definitely had been right on the brink since your last orgasm, before your entire body almost seizes as the near painful experience of you coming and coming and coming around him begins. A barely-there cry rips from your throat, you only just able to piece together the Father’s loud grunt before he’s spilling inside of you, on you, marking you. You were his. In every way possible.

You don’t so much as come down from your high as slam into darkness for a few seconds as your body twitches as the sensation of overstimulation begins to wrack through you. You are barely able to piece together the sensation of everything slowly pulling out of you and being collected into the priest’s arms, a warmed, too big coat wrapped around as he starts to walk towards the front door slowly. Your ears barely hear his voice, now soft and caring, as he talks to you in a gentle, loving tone. “-ika. Settle now, I've got you.”

You faintly recognise getting into a warmed car and it taking off before you start to fidget and whine loudly. “Empty.” You complain. After what felt like hours of being, if anything, too full to quickly being completely empty? No, no you needed something inside of you.

The priest tries to shush you before a small chuckle falls from his lips when he realises all attempts will end in vain. He carefully repositions you, sliding you down his rehardened cock with ease as it becomes your time to purr, resting your head against the crook of his neck as his hands move to rub your back and sides. “Rest now, moya lyubov'.” He instructs. And it’s an easy command to obey as you fall asleep, sitting in his lap with his cock inside of you as you are driven home.

You wake up to the sensation of someone rubbing some form of oil against your skin, the sound of a heavily accented voice murmuring small praises to you as you slowly regain awareness. You hiss at the feeling of coldness between your thighs, an ice pack having been pressed up against your pussy in order to help with the inevitable swelling that was going to occur after the beating it had been given. Your eyes flutter open and instantly make contact with the concerned amber ones of Zhuk’s. “Hey.” You say, voice a little hoarse from sleep, overuse and the throat fucking it endured.

“Hello, roza.” He says with a small smile, leaning over to grab the glass of water for you as you sit up slightly in order to sip at it. You fall back to the bed with a small grunt when your arms give out.

“Thank you.” You say, your lips quirked up into a small grin.

Several months ago, the two of you had found an abandoned town a few hours away from the manor, including a crumbly, old, haunted-looking church and a very grouchy man who lived in a house on the outskirts of town, the only resident who was determined to stay there until he died. Two weeks later, after you, Bajo and Cia ended up getting a little too into the alcohol, as Zhuk carried your ass to bed, getting everything ready for the inevitable hangover in the morning, you told him about a fantasy you had since pretty much the onset of puberty.

“I want to get fucked in a church.” You stated bluntly, his lips twitching as he tries to hold back the amused look in his face. “I blame Catholic school. I spent too much time in Mass. I wanted there to be a demon priest who could fuck me brainless.” You declared. “With tentacles.” You added as an afterthought, turning to look at your husband with wide eyes. “Snuggles?”

He obliged, placing the asprin and water bottle on your bedside table before sliding into bed behind you, pulling you into his arms as you snuggled up. “What brought this confession on, moya zhena?” He asked, hand moving instantly to play with your hair as you wrap your arms around his chest.

You hummed. “The town we passed when you made the wrong turn.” You yawned, struggling to finish your sentence. “Brought it back to life because the church there looked hella haunted. Like a demon should live there.”

Zhuk went to ask more questions, but your gentle snores made it apparent that anything asked wasn’t going to be answered.

After that, plans were made. Zhuk was all too happy to fulfil your little fantasy, even going so far to offer to hypnotise you in order to make it feel more real and less like a scene. Everything was planned down to a T, with him promising to create a cheat so if you really were in distress and wished for the scene to end, the hypnosis would break and you could safeword out.

And it worked brilliantly.

Zhuk smiles as he looks down at you softly, hand moving to brush your hair back as he constantly scans your body for more bruises, more scratches, more cuts. Anything that needed attending to, and to make sure that he didn’t hurt you too badly. “Anything for you, kotenok.” He says, voice quiet as he slowly picks you up and pulls you into his arms and lap. “You did so well, took everything I had to give and were so beautiful whilst doing it.” He presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “Do you feel alright, little one?” He asks concern still very much apparent in his voice. You nod a little jerkily.

“Just tired.” You say with a fucked out grin. You feel incredible, and you wanted to ride this high for as long as possible. “Hold me?”

“Of course.”

A few seconds tick by as he moves to lay down on the bed, you in his lap as his fingers trace loose patterns on your skin. A thought was hammering his head and it was refusing to move on.

“Roza….” he starts hesitantly, knowing that under the hypnosis he gave you, anything you said had a basis of truth in it, “was I the married man you lusted over?”

You snort a small noise as your eyes flicker up to look at him, your body beginning to slowly relax as it prepares for sleep. “Duh.” You say, amusement sparkling in your eyes.

That does not help the confusion clouding Zhuk’s mind. “I married you, moya zhena.” He reminds as if you could have forgotten.

You nod as if to agree with his statement, secretly enjoying the baffled look on his face as he tries to follow your logic. “I know. I still lusted and lust over you though.” You say, grinning up at him.

His confusion leaks into amusement, a fond look taking over his face. “Y/N, I don’t think it counts if you are married to the person.” He corrects you gently, hands moving from tracing patterns on your skin to rest on your waist.

You shrug. “You never know. Could work like that. Who’s to say?” You tease him, voice playful before you yawn against his chest.

He shakes his head, moving down to press a gentle kiss against your forehead. “Go to sleep, moya lyubov'.”

Even if the fatigue wasn’t seeping into your bones, you wouldn’t be able to help but obey as you slowly fall into a peaceful slumber in your husband’s arms.

Translations (In Order):

Don't be scared, don't run, my child.

I prefer my meals to remain unharmed until I get my hands on them.

As a treat.

-my lovely little fucktoy?

#ama writes #fanfic #fanfiction #beetlejuice #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice/reader #beetlejuice x reader #zhuk #zhuk shoggoth #mafia au #oc based on beetlejuice #zhuk/reader #zhuk x reader #zhuk shoggoth x reader #zhuk shoggoth/reader #reader fanfic #interactive fanfiction #smut #very nsft

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deberiaestarescribiendo · 4 years ago

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Saint Jude's Miracle: a Javier Peña x OFC (Isa) FanFic. Chapter III

Summary: After the operation at the border, Javier accepts a task to continue his new partnership with the DEA but that would may affect his marriage with Isa who sees how he’s getting farther and farther away from her.

WC: 4,5k (Ups sorry)

Warnings: angst and domestic Javi cos I like to hurt my feelings, light smut: very light descriptions of oral (female receiving) and p in v sex (I’m trying guys, not very used to write this things in English)

A/N: Hi! This third chapter is a little longer because I didn’t know where to cut without making it just feelings and angst, so I add a little bit of spice and plot. Again thank you so much to the ones that find this and read it, like it and reblog it. It means a lot. And lastly, as usual, this has not been beta’d and I’m sorry for any mistake and bad grammar you find.

Spanish in cursive with translations right after in parenthesis

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Stay

"Jav...what you found at the raid, what you did, my bosses are impressed. They are actually asking me if you’d be up to do this again, maybe they need your formal statement about those documents” Steve announces

“I’m doing whatever you need, Steve” he answers

“Really? Okay, they’re going to freak out once they know you’re back...kinda”

“Yeah...I wouldn’t be surprised if they think I switched sides or whatever and that’s how I got that intel” Javi jokes

“So, Javi Peña...you’re my informant now. I won’t treat you as kindly as you treated yours though” he mocks

“Fuck you, Steve”

“Yeah, that’s what you did with them and that’s exactly what I’m not going to do to you” he continues

Javi grins. He misses that, the bickering, talking to his friend.

“I’ll call you back, Javi. I let you know what they say” Steve says after Javier had been quite for a few minutes

“Anything, Steve”

A few calls back and forth and Javi’s heart is pounding on his chest, he doesn’t know if it’s excitement or fear or the two combined, but, anyway,this is the most alive he has felt in a long time.

Isa and Elvira sit on the garden, both of them on the grass drinking an ice cold cola. Javier is holding the exterior tubes of the air conditioner cursing like a sailor when the machine still doesn’t work, he has been trying to repair the thing for hours now, and the persistent calls interrupting him aren’t helping. Normally they call after dinner time. Javi locks himself in his office or in the living room if Elvi and Isa are already upstairs. They, whoever they are, are the ones guilty of her husband’s behavior lately. The ones that keep him up at night, they stress him and distract him. Get him farther and farther away from me she thinks. They’ve called at least four times already.

Isabel knows something is up. Every time Javi returns from one of those phone calls he grows more a more frustrated over the device.

“Fuck me” he mutters pressing violently every button.

“Are you alright, honey?” Isa laughs. She gives a gentle squeeze on his shoulder feeling the tense muscles underneath the shirt.

“We’re going to get a new one right now. Do you want to go to the mall?” He turns, his handsome face covered in sweat. Isa pulls his wet hair out of his forehead, with that brief distraction; Javi takes her cold drink from her hand really fast and gulps the whole thing in seconds.

“Hey, that was mine”

“What’s mine it’s yours, remember?” He winks “I really don’t know how to repair this shit” and he kicks the machine

“Javi, it’s going to cost a ton. I think my mum had an old one at the hair salon”

At the mention of her mother in law, her husband rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I know” she tickles his belly, the white shirt glued to his skin “You just have to leave me there, we pick it up and then we leave. You don’t even have to talk to her”

Javi runs a hand through his dark wet hair “Well, fuck it, I can’t stand this hell anymore might as well go all the way down and say hi to the devil”

Isa snorts laughing and slaps him playfully “Javi, she’s not that bad”

“We hate each other, it’s fine” he shrugs “Anyway I have to go downtown. What if I drop both of you at your mother’s salon while I do some errands? Elvi likes to spend time with her”“That’s a good idea” she agrees, Isa is dying to know what “errands” he has to do, but she doesn’t ask.

“Pues se dejo la carrera a medio terminar, una gran decepción para su padre y para mi” (She didn’t finish her degree, it was such a disappointment for her father and me)

“Claro, mijita, es que una se espera hasta que ya termina los estudios y ya se casan y después tienen los muchachos” (Of course, love. You have to wait until you finish your studies and then you get married and have kids) Mrs Alvarez adds holding her hair in the towel while she waits for Carmen to start.

Isa is used to the bickering whenever she spends time at her mother’s salon. Her usual costumers know the entire story: First child to go to college in the family gets pregnant before getting married and then she had to drop out; a disgrace.

At the beginning of her pregnancy and her relationship with Javier, she blushed and tried to bury herself on the purple sofa where the clients waited when her mother and costumers started this conversation about her. But after years and years of the same discussion she just smiles boringly while she glances uninterested over the different magazines on the table and waits until they’re finished with her. Luckily she has her daughter now, who distracts the ladies with her funny comments, a song, or anything her bubbly self makes up. Elvira loves the salon; the ladies give her a few one dollar bills and candy whenever they have some.

“Tan linda, mi nieta. Ese es el consuelo que tengo” (My granddaughter is so lovely, that’s my only consolation) Carmen Alamos is a strong woman. Stern and straightforward, a good and god-fearing catholic that works hard to sustain her family and that has always kept a passion for knowledge. Isa remembers clearly when she was a teenager and she would clean up at the end of the day giving the chance for her mother to take a little time for herself that she usually spent reading her books and studying English so she could speak it and write it properly. She also kept studying other things out of curiosity and Carmen wanted her daughter to be someone, to really seize the opportunity to build a bright future for herself. Then shit happened. And Carmen sees only one culprit for that: Javier Peña.

After a few saddened sighs from the women, Carmen turns to her daughter.

“So what is it that you wanted?” she asks massaging Mrs Alvarez scalp.

“You still have the old Air conditioner from home right?” Isa tosses the magazines over the table and walks to the glass door. Javier is still somewhere in town.

“Yes, at the back office. Why do you need that?” she starts cutting the client’s hair with her swift and experienced hands.

“Ours broke down and it’s almost impossible to stay inside” Isa smiles seeing her daughter who looks mesmerized at her grandma’s skills.

“It’s so hot, abuelita, Mami had to sleep naked” Elvira says casually.

The three women at the salon gasp. Mrs Alvarez turns abruptly to face the little girl. Unfortunately for her hair, Carmen has chopped at the same time she turned and her hair is now uneven.

“Ay, Dios santo” Carmen quickly starts to solve what she’s done to the poor woman’s hair.

The sound of the car stopping breaks the uncomfortable moment. From the door, Isa sees Javier getting out the car. Tight jeans, black shirt and those aviator glasses she had gifted him on his birthday. He grins when he sees her and jumps the three steps towards the salon. The little bell rang when he opens the door while he takes off his glasses.

“Papi” Elvi runs and grabs him by his knees

“Hola, mi amor” (Hello, my love) he kisses her crown and hugs Isa with his other arm. “amores” ( my loves) he corrects

“Where were you?” Isa asks but he mutters later so she lets it go for the moment

“Señoras” (Ladies) he greets the ladies with a smile that rapidly disappears as he approaches his mother in law “Carmen, ¿cómo está?” (Carmen, how are you?)

“Hola, Javier. El aire está detrás.” (Hello, Javier. The Air conditioner is at the back) She answers dryly

“Gracias” Javi turns to Isa and rolls his eyes with a told you kind of expression.

“Por eso tu mama duerme desnuda, porque tiene a ese en la cama, ay pues no me extraña” (So that’s why your mum sleeps naked, she has him on her bed. It does not surprise me) Mrs Alvarez comments with a sly grin

Carmen jerks her harshly on the chair.

“Quédese quieta, señora Alvarez si no quiere que le haga un trasquilón” (Stay still, Mrs Alvarez if you don’t want a bad haircut)

Javier grunts carrying the heavy machine so Isa rushes to open the door for him and helps him get it to the car.

“We clearly agree in one thing, we hate each other’s guts” he leaves the device on the truck and dries the sweat on his forehead.

“Well you were the one that dishonored her little girl, what do you expect?” Isa hangs on him on her tip toes and kisses him softly. “Where were you?”

“Pardon?” He holds her by her hips and pushes her against his chest “If I recall correctly you were the one that seduced me” he ignores the second question

“You asked me out first”

“You approached me first” he smiles before lowering his touch to the end of her jeans shorts, but she slaps his hand away.

“I was waitressing, it was my job” Isa laughs “I’m going to say goodbye and take Elvi with me” she kisses him briefly one last time before climbing the stair to the salon.

Javi gets inside the car and watches as the little girl waves her goodbyes and Isa has annoyed expression. He knows her mother had some last comments about him as it is the usual thing with her. He can imagine perfectly how she’s complaining about him not giving her daughter a good life just because he couldn’t repair a damn air conditioner. He bites the inside of his cheek and leans on his seat, he knows the life he gives Isa and Elvi is about to be a little bit worse and it’s not because of a stupid machine.

It was too late to hide the papers he had on the dashboard: The documents that Steve had sent and his voyage plan to meet him in Mexico. He rushes to put everything inside the glove box, but Isa is already opening the door to the copilot seat. He pushes everything inside without much care.

“What was that?”

He was going to tell her but he has to find the perfect time so he can minimize the harm. He doesn’t want to seem too eager to leave, as he thinks that it is already the image his wife has of him. Javi Peña, always out the door.

“I had to pass by the office and grab some stupid documents. It’s nothing”

“I thought they’re closed for the summer…” Isa fastens her belt and turns to make sure Elvira has hers correctly locked.

“Yeah, but the doorman had a key and he opened it for me. Anyway, should we grab dinner somewhere? What do you say Elvi?” He smiles back to his daughter through the rearview mirror. Isa observes him with her arms crossed over her chest.

Javi starts the car, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on Isa’s thigh giving her gentle squeeze.

“Can we get ice-cream after?”

“Of course, baby. Anything for my girls”

He gets lost watching her do her little things: how she pulls her curls back to apply her night cream and the soft rose scent that it leaves on her face that he can smell when he buries his face on her neck; how lovely she looks in one of those big old t-shirts she uses as pajamas and how he’s dying to run his hands under it to find the familiar curves of her body. Without realizing it, he smiles lost in his daydreaming from the bathroom door. Her caramel eyes turn to him and a cheeky smile appears on her mouth.

“What?”

“Nothing”

“Okay…” she giggles “You can stop, you know? I’m not mad anymore”

“Stop what?”

“All these” she draws a circle in the air “Today. Eat out, ice-cream, now you look at me with those puppy eyes”

“I cannot take my family out? And look at my wife?” Javier comes closer and hugs her from behind, his large arms closing her tight against his chest. “That, by the way, looks quite gorgeous today” he says to her ear. He hums smelling the rose perfume, the one that has accompanied him every night of their marriage, the scent of home and making love in silence and sleepy kisses in the wake. He makes both of them swing in front of the mirror. I wish it was easier he thinks I wish I only wanted this

“Thanks” Isa caresses his strong forearms, following the veins and the freckles of his tanned skin.

When Javi opens his eyes he sees her reflection in the mirror; her eyes sparkle in the yellowish lights of the bathroom with tears struggling to be contained

“What’s wrong, baby?” Javi makes her turn and holds her with his arms on her lower back

“I…just…I feel like I’m becoming…” the tears finally roll out to her cheeks as she tries to swallow the lump on her throat

“What?” Javi puts his large hands on both sides of her head, wiping away the tears with his thumbs

“My mum…” she says eventually and crumbles to his chest in soft sobs

“God, what did she say?”

“That I’m becoming her… and I think, for once, I think she might be right” she whimpers and sniffs

“No, no. Mi amor…you’re not” he separates himself from her softly just so he can look at her face

“All my life I’ve seen her being like that…bitter, angry, asking question after question. I thought she was annoying. But now…well”

“I don’t get it”

“I think I understand. I don’t want to get to that point, but little by little we’re looking more and more like my parents marriage. I mean, you come home late and I get angry, I ask questions, and you get annoyed. I worry a lot and you’re getting bored of me” Isa fixes her gaze at some random point on the floor and she speaks faster and faster spitting every word until all that comes out from her mouth are soft whimpers

“Hold up, wait. I’m not bored of you” He pulls her chin up so he can look at her in the eye

“C’mon, Javi.” She bites her lip, trembling and tears now uncontrollably coming out of her eyes. “You hide things from me because you think that I’m gonna be mad and scream at you, which I do. And then you get inside your shell that I cannot get in” she points at the center of his chest.

Javi becomes silent and just cups her cheeks softly

“I don’t want to be that type of wife. I don’t want to scold you like if I were your mum. I want to be your friend, your confident, your lover”

“And you are, baby” He holds her again close to him and kisses her forehead “You are all of that”

“I don’t want just to be a housewife…I don’t want us to be a cliché”

“We are not that, babe”

“I’m exhausted, the house, Elvi and…”

“I don’t make things easier” Javi starts rocking their bodies softly side to side.

“No, you don’t. I wish you could just tell me what’s going on. It drives me crazy”

“Noth…” Isa shakes her head before he can finish

“Javi, please. The calls, the documents, the way you’re behaving” she counts

“Alright.” He sighs “They asked me to assist in a big operation. I’ve found something weird in one of the export’s companies that we manage at the office. So I called my old colleague and now I’m involved in this”

“Javi…” Isa murmurs

“I have to go to Mexico. Just for a week, meet him there and see what they got” The husband holds her by the arms, squeezing the skin as to alleviate the pressure he knows he is inflicting on her.

“When?” she says exhaling all the air in her lungs.

“In a week”

“Fuck…”

“I know, I didn’t tell because you would…”

“Be a pain in the ass?” she exits the bathroom and takes a seat on the right side of the bed.

“Worry” he completes. Javi turns off the lights and the two of them stay in the dim light of the nightstand lamp. The lamp she always leaves on when he’s away.

“Yeah” he crawls on the bed until he is kissing her nape “You’re never a pain in the ass by the way”

“I see how you react” she slightly turns her face, and Javier takes the opportunity to kiss her temple and the side of her mouth

“Nonsense” He circles her waist with both arms and pulls her against him. The softness of her skin and her warmth burn him with desire. He wants to take the pain away the only way he knows.

Isa responds with a moan at the feeling of his heat and the firmness of his chest. She lays her head back on his shoulder watching his hand roam around her body every touch of his fingers lighting a fire on her skin. He knows every corner, every touch that makes her tremble in pleasure and also how that ends conflicts right away.

“Javi” she pronounces his name like a plea. A plea for more, to make him stay with her and also to make her forget all her worries with his love.

His lips create a slow and unbearable path of kisses and bites where her skin more sensitive. His hands cup her breasts and the tender skin on her lower belly and hips.

“Te amo” (I love you) Isa says writhing, her whole body responding to his attention.

Javier looks at her, his deep brown eyes glowing, his breathing is now heavy. He pulls her in a swift movement to the end of the bed so he has access between her thighs. Isa laughs trying not to fall.

“Te vas a joder la espalda” (You’re going to hurt your back) she giggles

“Me estás diciendo viejo ¿o qué?” (You’re calling me old, or what?) he smirks and grabs her legs to open them

Isa smiles and covers her face with her forearm to hide her laughter.

“¿Ahora te ries?” (And now you’re laughing?) He’s standing on his knees between her thighs looking at her amused “Mala” (You’re mean) he gives a slap on her ass. When she uncovers her face, looking at him with her mouth open he mutters an apology.

“No, me gustó” (No, I liked it) she bites her lip and brushes her legs on his hip enticing him to come closer

He’s surprised for a second but then bends towards her, caging her against the mattress “Ah ¿sí?” (Ah, yeah?) Javi brushes his lips over her jaw pushing his hips towards her core

“No soy de las esposas que solo lo hacen en misionero un par de veces al mes, Javi” (I’m not the kind of wife that only does it missionary a couple of times a month, Javi) she grabs his hips and pushes him until his sex is against her. The wet friction of her damp panties sending shivers through her body.

“A mí me gusta el misionero” (I like missionary) He answers catching her lower lip with his, biting it gently

“You know what I mean” she rolls her eyes

“Yeah, I have a kinky wife” he slaps her again and swiftly grabs the waistband of her panties and rolls them to her feet. Isa rushes to take her over-sized t-shirt off and rests again laying on her back, legs wide open, exposed. “Mi amor” (my love) Javi moans watching her like that, squirming with desire and doesn’t waste time in adjusting his position so he can sink his face between her legs.

He tastes her and moans, words incomprehensible, and Isa closes her eyes while he drinks of her like she’s the first drop of water after a drought. His large hands hold her still and open when the pleasure it’s too much to handle. She begs, his name mixed with the name of God until she can control her trembles. Without giving her a moment to rest, Javi tops her and submerges himself in her holding a curse

“Mi amor” he repeats breathy on her ear. He thrusts into her slowly and deep at first but Isa’s legs wrap him even deeper, her nails scratch him and he starts going faster and harder. His forehead stays on hers watching how she closes her eyes and her mouth murmurs his name again and again. When he finally spills on her, she gives gentle kisses all over his face and hugs him impossibly tight.

“Te amo” she says again

―――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

She admires at his profile, the way his plum lips are parted, breathing peacefully, his bare chest going up and down while he dreams. He looks beautiful like this, relaxed, almost boyish in a way. His sharp features are soft when she reaches to his face and traces his nose, his eyes and his jaw line with her finger. She has asked herself many times what is inside his head; those parts she doesn’t know. Sometimes she wishes to know everything; but sometimes she thinks the truth would hurt too much.

She knows that his former job as a DEA agent had affected him enormously. Isa knows the horrors that the drug war had caused in Colombia mainly by the news reports she’s seen and the brief stories Javier had told her at the beginning of their relationship. That Javier is dead, the agent, the man after monsters is gone, at least that’s what he tells her and himself.

Isabel met a broken man, a greyer version of himself, half way between the tough DEA agent and the young man that left Laredo full of dreams to see the world. Sometimes he was open, sometimes he was deep in his regrets and memories, Javier would always stay in a limbo where Isabel could reach him just in a physical way but his heart and his mind, even after many years, were still a mystery.

Where was he when he was quite? Where was he when he disappeared in his memories? Was he thinking about others? She knows quite well that he was more experienced than her in matters of the heart and almost in every other aspect. Isa had a high school sweetheart and just the one brief and disappointing relationship in college. He, in the other hand, had travelled the world, fought drug lords and corrupt governments, and the very system that employed him. He is older than her, and that doesn’t bother her, but sometimes she finds herself lacking in many ways: Lacking in interesting things to tell, in adventures, in knowledge other than being a housewife.

She sees how Elvira jumps in excitement when Javier comes home, she idolizes him and even though Isa doesn’t want to admit it, she is jealous. Elvira and her little world is hers, it’s the only thing she has. Every now and then she finds that her conversations circle only around her: her school, the new things Elvi likes and the things she says, to the point that Isabel has disappeared and only the mother exists.

And in that, she fears that her husband will lose all interest in her. All those doubts from the past come back now that he’s accepting those jobs that force him to leave the house for weeks. Was he running away? Why? And that little insidious voice answers: He didn’t love you back then, he doesn’t love you now. You just got pregnant in the worse moment and he had to act as a responsible adult

Javier had been single before meeting her for a long time, having sporadic lovers when he needed one. He didn’t tell her much about his past lovers but she recognized the type of men he was. He is intoxicating, raises desiring looks everywhere and she had fallen for that without a chance. She had been one of those girls that he dated briefly, a relationship with an expiring date, but then she took the pregnancy test and it came positive.

All he said when she told him was that he would be there for her for everything and whatever decision she would make; and he said yes to meet his parents, and he said yes to keep the baby and never complained or blamed her; but she knew that he didn’t planned to stay together much longer before she had told Javi the bad news. But everything changed after a dinner night in the Alamos’s household

“When are you marrying then? It has to be soon or else people would notice your belly” Francisco Alamos, her father, welcomed Javier in his house with his hands holding tightly his belt, ready at any moment to throw those big hands to his face if he said the wrong thing.

Javier had looked confused at first, but in a second he got himself together and answered with a bright smile that would have melted anyone but the Alamos:

“Everything has been so unplanned and out of the blue that I wanted that to be a surprised and, well, a little bit more romantic. Anyway, Mr. and Mrs. Alamos” he held Isa’s hand “Les pido la mano de su hija en matrimonio, si nos dan su bendición” (I ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage, with your blessing) he continued in Spanish

Isa nodded confused and didn’t say another word during dinner. When she escorted him to the door, she had asked if he was telling the truth, if he really wanted to marry her and form a family and he had agreed that it was for the better. And since then, Javier had acted the part and even if he had moments where his mind was elsewhere, he didn’t neglect his family in any way.

Isa dries a single tear that rolls down her cheek. The night is silent but the soft breathing of her husband and the air coming out the new Air conditioner; she cuddles his warm body, holding him tight against her chest; a futile gesture to bind him to her heart and the house.

“Stay” she whispers.

#Javier Peña #Narcos #Javier Peña Fanfiction #Javier Peña Fic #Narcos Fic #Narcos Fanfic #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal characters #Pedro Pascal characters Fic #pedro pascal fanfiction

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