#corrupted blood incident

[wickedsick]

THE PLAGUE IS BACK!!

[kris-the-kraken]

Happy 19th anniversary to the Corrupted Blood Incident from World of Warcraft!

[pyroflyer23]

NGL the Corrupted Blood plague coming back to WoW is funny to me as a somewhat regular player who didn't experience it back then.

[randomwikiarticles]

The Corrupted Blood incident (also known as the World of Warcraft pandemic[1][2]) took place between September 13 and October 8, 2005, in World of Warcraft, a massively multiplayer online role-playing game (MMORPG) developed by Blizzard Entertainment. When participating in a boss battle at the end of a raid, player characters would become infected with a debuff that was transmitted between characters in close proximity. While developers intended to keep the effects of the debuff in the boss's game region, a programming oversight soon led to an in-game pandemic throughout the fictional world of Azeroth.

World of Warcraft introduced the game region of Zul'Gurub on September 13. The boss of the region, Hakkar the Soulflayer, cast Corrupted Blood on raid participants; the debuff's effects expired when players defeated Hakkar. Corrupted Blood soon spread beyond Zul'Gurub as players reacted to the infection with panic, either fast traveling to heavily-populated game regions or deactivating their animal companions. When those companions were reactivated, they still carried the debuff, becoming disease vectors, while non-player characters became asymptomatic carriers. Player reactions to the Corrupted Blood pandemic varied: some provided aid by healing players or warning them of outbreak zones, while griefers intentionally contracted the debuff to spread it across World of Warcraft. After several failed hotfixes, Blizzard ended the pandemic by performing a hard reset, and a later patch prevented companions from contracting Corrupted Blood entirely.

Although it was the result of a software bug, the Corrupted Blood incident gained attention from World of Warcraft players and disease researchers. Blizzard developed intentional in-game pandemics in two expansion sets: Wrath of the Lich King in 2008 and Shadowlands in 2020. Epidemiologists, meanwhile, took interest in how MMORPGs, unlike mathematical models, could capture individual human responses to disease outbreaks rather than generating assumptions about behavior.

[wouldyourfavepaychildsupport]

Would the Corrupted Blood glitch pay child support?

[phosphoresccent]

Marionette aftermath - BOTC aftermath fic

Xephos couldn’t help his quiet, wheezing laughter. Oh gods his friends were hilarious. This game was perfect - honest to goodness. A tear beaded up in his eyes, setting off another, stronger round of giggles. That leaping possession gubbins had been a great addition to the story, he needed to write that plot-point down in case he wanted a repeat. The soft pad of leather shoes on cobblestones drew him out of his giggle fit but couldn’t wipe the grin from his face. 

“Magistrex! Friend - how was the game?” Magistrex let out a huff if laughter, shaking off the lingering aesthetics of his false death, like time rewound. It was a little bit upsetting that he was too powerful to full immerse into the game, but it was nice not to have to revive him each time. 

“Messy, Xephos, in a very fun way! I think you might have hit gold with the Fang gu idea - I’ve never seen more hysteria - and, well - you know me and my games.” The other man’s image shivered a bit, taking on that inhuman touch he tended to hide. Xephos hadn’t bothered in who knows how long - a little twist here and there stopped anyone from noticing anyway. It was nice to breathe - he didn’t know how Magistrex dealt with it. He sent Xephos a bit of an odd sideways look before pulling this silk handerchief from his pocket. 

“Friend?” The cool silk square was pushed into his hands. 

“You’re still crying, Xephos.”

He jolted, feeling his face flush. “Goodness, how embarrassing. I apologise for the display.” Magistrex just waved him off, looking out to the guillotine and the sobbing dead surrounding it. Xephos hadn’t yet reset the playing field, too enraptured by the success of his story. He dabbled the tears from his eyes, but they just kept welling up. How peculiar.

“Ah, it's like that a bit at the start. Nothing to worry about, you’ll be right.” clapping once, before turning again to Xephos. He opened his mouth but seemed to think better of it, shaking his head with a smile. “Too early to ask about that, I feel.” Xephos didn’t know what he was talking about. It prickled a bit, the same way as his tears, as the bodies on the ground, as the moment when his friends remembered their prior lives but before he wiped their memory of the game. The same way it did when he started to wonder just when he’d been able to do all of this without his lab. 

“Another round, friend?”

“Ah yeah, I could go another. Don’t make me a bloody outsider this time, I’m sick of dying on night two because I’m too suspicious.”

“A minion then?” 

“Ah shite, fine. I’ll make it work.”

[deadpansal]

Silent Hill Ascension

[tamamita]

why do sunnis hate shi'as that much what the fuck is their problem?

Hatred towards Shi'a Muslims is not only a concurrent issue, it's a 1400 year old issue that started as a result of the political unrest that took place following the Prophet Muhammad's (pbuh&hf) death. It laid the foundation for the political schism of Islam. Initially, the Shi'as (or Alids) were just a group of partisans that would only develop their own theology a hundred years later. And then you had those who supported Abu Bakr rise to the caliphate. For Shi'as, we believe Abu Bakr usurped the caliphate due to various incidents, and thus, we rejected his ascent to power. These were the partisans of Ali (a). When Ali (a) eventually became the caliph, he was met with a lot of hardship and opposition by people who either hated him or sought political power. During the caliphate of Uthman, the Umayyads were given unrestrained power, and it was not until Ali (a) became the caliph that he removed them from power for their greed and nepotism. However, Muawiyah, a "companion" of the Prophet, who was intially opposed to him before his clan lost in the final battle of Mecca, was in control of Sham (Syria) and refused to go down, hence a renewed civil strife within the Islamic world. The Umayyads were vicious people who were renown for their corruption and hedonism, and their caliphate was founded on the blood of Imam Hussain (a), the son of Imam Ali (a). For Sunnis, these events aren't particularly important, and Islamic history is often neglected, promoting the idea that whatever happened in the past has no religious or theological significance to Islam as a religion. This is where we disagree because, as Shi'as, we simply can't accept certain religious doctrines on the basis of these people being unreliable. For example, Ayesha, having been the wife of the Prophet, is one thing, but she still waged an unjust war against Ali (a). There is no way we can accept her narrations because she's simply untrustworthy.

Because of the power that the Umayyads managed to consolidate for themselves, superseeding the Rashidun caliphate, there was a state-sponsored campaign with the purpose of supressing any Shi'i resistance against the rule, the Shi'as were among these groups and suffered severe persecution to such extent that even members of the Prophet's family were brutally oppressed. For Shi'as, the Prophet's family are a source of emulation and knowledge, and we have to adhere to their understanding of Islamic theology, this is why Islamic history is important, so we can highlight the root behind the resistance. However, dwindling in power and numbers, the Shi'as ultimately committed themselves to Taqiyyah (concealing one's religion) to ensure their survival. This is how we managed to survive for 1400 years. For Sunnis, the Umayyads and subsequent caliphs are a source of great pride, hence why Syria is considered an important heritage site for Sunnis who regard the Umayyads with great respect.

With that said, the reason there's so much sectarian animosity towards Shi'as is because with history in mind, our tradition of reviling these companions is considered an act of disbelief. Sunnis often retort that these companions are noble people and could not possibly be reviled because they had been in the companionship with the prophet, holding that despite the wars and atrocities committed by these people, we should respect them nevertheless. Either way, Shi'a Muslims have a doctrine called Tabarrah (dissociation), which is extended to those people who have caused harm towards the Prophet and his family. This includes "cursing" them, which is considered one of the most offensive acts and a reason why Sunnis get up in arms when we criticize the companions, especially the first caliph Abu Bakr and the second caliph Umar. Furthermore, our emphasis on the doctrine of intercession has caused much controversy because stricter muslims, such as Salafists consider these acts tantamous to idolatry, hence why it's easier for Shi'as to be considered heretics. The fact that we have shrines is considered blasphemous and there are many instances in which these shrines have been attacked. Shi'as are so reviled that for some Sunnis and Salafists, the difference between a Christian and a Shi'a is that Christians have rights as pertained to their status as "People of the Book", while Shi'as are considered heretics, and ultimately disbelievers. For such a reason, we do not have any rights; our blood becomes lawful to them.

In short, HTS, AS, ISIS, Al-Qaeda and all their Salafist sympathisers believe that the blood of a Shi'a is lawful because we are heretics. We are simply putting up a resistance against them. Shi'ism is not just a branch of Islam. It's one of the oldest resistance movements in the world.

[atyourmerci]

† Corruption †

Read pt.1 here

†

Summary: After that fateful night when Abby stumbled into your room and began her demise, she follows you into the showers to reconcile her sins

Warnings: smut, MDNI, switch!abby!?!?, switch!reader, heavy religion play indisone, fnv, cunnilingus, dirty talk yurrrr, no use of y/n

A/N: sorry this took 4ever I just really wanted to get this right and I still don’t love it but I must feed my babies. I mightttttt make a pt.3 that’s up to yall but either way I’m going to work on some other stuff so please send in recs!! (Also I know hotels don’t have communal showers just shut up and enjoy the porn:))) 

†

Your vision went blurry, plunging you into a coma that kept your breathing synchronized until you couldn’t remember anymore. Maybe all the heavy breathing took you out, maybe God was retaliating at your corruption of his loyal follower. Either way- it was a good way to go out.

When you woke up, severely late at that, there was no sight of Abby, she was gone like the wind. In any normal case, that was what you preferred. The useless banter, awkward cuddling and sentiments were far beyond you. But this felt different- she- was different. Not in a way that you couldn’t have her, an unforbidden love tragedy, but in a way that she altered every being in you. She fucked everything you knew.

Days went by with no interaction; you both avoided each other like the plague. She probably condemned herself the moment she left; fuck she was already in suit of redemption mid orgasm. You avoided her because you knew you couldn’t stop yourself. This wasn’t her way of life- it was yours. Sure, she initiated it, but you reveled in it, got off on it, desired more.

Your thoughts were selfish, self-indulgent, downright merciless. While your days were spent avoiding your unrequited love, your nights had grown breathless as your hand was shoved deep into your panties trying to get yourself off to thoughts of Abby, to no avail. It felt like your karma for fucking God’s favorite devotee. You wished she would hear your aimless attempt, swoop in and return your favor. But she never did, of course she didn’t, she feared her own fucking reflection.

After a week of thoughtless days and sleepless nights you decided to shove the night as far back as possible, stop ruminating on the idea of her. That’s all that night was, a desperate idea of what she could be without moral. That wasn’t the Abby anyone knew, and neither did she.

Friday was terrible, there was an attack at the camp and a few soldiers were pretty bad off. Since you were the only medic, you were tasked with treating multiple injuries at once, scaling them at the urgency of attention. In a sick way, you hoped Abby was hurt. You wished you could have tended to her, even in that light, any way you could get your hands on her.

The only sight of Abby was her bringing in wounded soldiers’ bridal style into your med tent. When she first arrived, it was the first words either of you had spoken in a week, only for her to bark at you about the incident and return with additional members. After she had carried all of them in, she stood and watched you tend to them for a second before you aggressively whipped back to her with a, “I got it, stop breathing down my neck.”

You weren’t trying to be harsh with her, but the last thing you needed was her presence in the wake of this monstrosity. She had already clouded your every thought, and this was not the time to finally have her at the tips of your fingers again.

After hours of stitching, compacting, and amputating wounds you were spent. Blood trailed up and down your body, caked in sweat and dirt. You were barely mobile at this point, but the thought of going to bed decorated with the blood of your friends was unnerving.

You set off to the communal showers in the middle of the rundown hotel, it was so late at this point that you were guaranteed a peaceful shower uninterrupted by any needy suitors. You removed your blood adorned clothes, dropping them to the cold white tiled floor and started the rusty shower head.

The hot water drowns your skin as blood and dirt trail down your body into the drain, you let it soak in your tired flesh as you let the day out of you. You let your fingers run through your tangled hair when you hear a creak of the door open, causing a heavy sigh to linger out of your breath.

The last thing you wanted to do was having to entertain the presence of someone else so you decided to ignore the rustling, continuing to wash through your dirty locks.

Your peace was faltered as you left a breath coming from behind your neck, heavy in almost a pant. You feel strong hands whip you around to face your attacker, and shoved into the cold back tile of the wall sending you into a gasp. Abby stood before you, already stripped of her clothing, the water fell in between your bodies and into your open mouths.

Her hands still gripped at your waist, “touch me and don’t make a fucking sound,” she aggressively whispers low enough so no one could hear, as if it wasn’t the middle of the night, or that the water wouldn’t muffle out any noise, maybe she was that scared of being caught.

“Abby if you think this-“you begin to protest when she cuts you off by pulling you in by your waist to kiss you like a woman starved. It had only been a few days, but she gripped onto you like it had been years, years since she let herself go out of morality. You wanted to stop yourself, tell her you wouldn’t live this lie for her, but your body had a different agenda, it ached for her touch, anything she would give you.

She pulls away from you to simple mutter out a “please,” and you were convinced. It was like a parasite had wormed its way into you, you had gotten just as starved as she was. Without a beat you sunk to your knees as the water flooded your vision, the only sight was her sticky floods pooling between her muscley thighs. You attacked her pussy with your lips spewing a guttural moan out of her lips, she gripped onto your soaked hair for leverage. Her grip on your hair was almost painful but you couldn’t stop lapping her slick into your needy tongue to stop her.

Abby was already shaking from the overstimulation, you couldn’t pace yourself, you needed her to cum for your own validation, to know how much she needed you. Even if she never touched you, you were still fulfilled by the act. “F- fingers pl-ease” she says muffled by the water drenching you. You turn up to watch her plead tongue still deep into her slit, mascara running down your face as the water pelleted your eyes.

“D-ont look at me like th- this,” her mouth agape, she looked like she was crying, maybe she was, maybe it was the hot steam. You run a fat strip from her leaky hole up to her clit never leaving her gaze, she couldn’t look away and neither would you. “What are you going to do if I don’t Anderson?” You say with a cocky smirk and drive your tongue deep into her cunt again making her shake.

With an angered grunt you feel your hair being pulled up so that you’re back to your feet, you let out a wince from the pain before she throws you back onto the tiles, this time you had been too worked up to feel the chill of them on your skin. She places her left hand onto the titles next to your head, the veins in her arms bulging from using them to pull all of your body weight by your hair.

Her chest is flesh with yours that you can feel your bodies breath’s heave back and forth, eyes drilling into each other. “Fingers.” She demands. You didn’t realize you were so in shock by her aggression your hands were pinned at your sides, you moved them down her chest slowly, feeling every chiseled-out crevasse on her. Her breath only becomes more rapid as you draw your fingers closer to her aching cunt.

She whimpers out a “fuck,” as your fingers reattach to her clit, rubbing slow enough to relieve the pain but not enough to get her off. You watch as her head finally drops, and her arm shakes next to your head. Her cross was laid messily on her chest, flipped backwards, you hold back laughter as you think to yourself how God couldn’t watch this right now.

“You like getting fucked by a girl huh Anderson?” You dip your head closer so that you’re in her ear now, “you touch your little pussy every night since I made you cum, yeah?” You taunt and tease her as she whimpers into your ear. “St-op it,” she begs with her head nuzzled into the crook of your neck in a way to almost hide herself.

“Its okay baby, tell me how much you like getting fucked like a godless whore,” you start to circle her clit harder and faster so you can watch how much she likes it. All she can spit out in return is a desperate “fuckkkk,” and you know you’ve broken her. “D- don’t let me cum- I- I don’t deserve it,” she moves her head so you can see her now and begins panting on your lips.

“oh no Im going to enjoy watching you break again,” you say back with a wide grin, reveling in her desperation. You’re ready to dip your fingers into her dripping folds when you feel her free hand travel up your thigh. Her hand finally meets your cunt and she grips it harshly causing you to buck your hips into it.

“A- abby what are you d-doing?” Every emotion hitting you like a ton of bricks. Why was she touching you? This wasn’t her thing, not her job, that was your job. Would you be able to stop her? Control yourself? Let her have you? Why did she feel so fucking good when she was barely touching you?

She continues pulsing her palm into your aching cunt, “just let me try,” she breathes out against your soaked lips. Your fingers begin faltering at her clit, you try continuing your pace but it slows as her palm rubs against you.

She follows your lead by tracing her thick fingers through your slick folds, you bite down on your bottom lip to hold back from exposing yourself. When she begins circling your clit you can’t help but to whimper a choked out, “fuck just like that,” she was doing so well already.

She seemed pleased by her work, letting out a moan that followed your own. She was getting off on your pleasure instead of her own at this point.

You are barely able to keep your pace on her clit anymore, so engulfed by the feeling of her rough fingers on your swollen clit. She removes her fingers from your clit to move your hand off of her own clit, moving it so your palm lay against her chest.

She returns her fingers back so that only you are being pleased by her. You couldn’t believe that this was the first time she had done it, she felt like she was made to touch you, circling your bud like it would bring her to salvation.

Words were barely at the forefront of your mind at this point but you needed to ask her, “di- did you do all of- fuckkkk- ju- just to fuck me?”

She pierces her bright blue eyes into yours to make herself clear, “I worship you,” she says as she dips her long, thick ring and middle fingers deep into your cunt, immediately inching your g spot. The palm of her hand grazing your clit to give just enough friction.

All you can muster up to respond with is a guttural scream that rips through you, causing to use the hand that was placed on the wall to cover your mouth quickly. “Shhhh pretty girl I know I know,” she coos.

You bring her fingers into your mouth for leverage, anything to keep you from losing all control. Her pace quickens as she feels your walls clenching around her dripping fingers. How the fuck does she know you’re close.

As you begin nearing your climax, your mind runs free from all morality, she begin corrupting you just the same, driving out what you knew and replacing it with only her.

You didn’t even know you were doing it, not until she moved her fingers out of your mouth to understand you, “abbyabbyabbyabbyabby” with your eyes rolled, head slack on the tiles you begin worshiping her, praising her ever being like a mantra.

What brought you back to consciousness was the heavy breath and the ringing of your own name in a mantra beside your ear. You had never repented before, but she had begun her reconciliation along with you. If this were to be your religion, you’d give into her over and over again. At your knees to serve her, punished at your wrong doings and give penance for your sins.

“Serve me with your completion, give your god what she deserves,” she demands. You couldn’t disobey your savior, she showed your needy body mercy, and you must obey her.

It all hits you like a wave, all you can see is white as your body trembles under her. You can’t recall screaming but she moves her hand over your mouth. Your entire body shakes as she rides you over your high, kissing your forehead as you bite into her fingers, never letting up on her pace until she knows you can’t take it anymore.

As all of your limbs give out she slowly moves her fingers out of your abused pussy, picking you up before you fall straight into the hard tiles. She gently places you onto the tiles in front of her, holding you by your waist as the water floods from above you.

You try to mumble out something but she stops you with a quick “shhh I’m going to take care of you,” as she begins to wash out your hair gently. You lean your head into the crook of her neck and she lays peppered kisses from your shoulder to your neck.

“Please don’t run off again…” you muster up as she threads her fingers through your hair, “you’re all I know.”

“You’re all I have.”

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson2

[luminewhosthat]

Hey guys

I felt quite insecure and ashamed to post this,

But I don't think I can hold it back anymore.

I'm from Bangladesh, my homeland, I speak Bangla, it's my mother tongue, and I'm proud of my roots but my family immigrated to America many years ago. But I still care a lot about my country. So recently, there has been a lot going in Bangladesh. Mainly, it's because of its corrupted government. Our prime minister Sheikh Hasina is literally a dictator, if you go to twitter and search about recent news in Bangladesh, you can see that the situation is not that good. Basically, it's because we have a thing which is called "Quota" and it affects the Bangladeshi Government job sectors in a very negative way. This "Quota" is for the freedom fighters who fought in 1971 war which happened in Bangladesh. But the problem is that, even though those freedom fighters are dead, their families are welcome to enjoy the privileges which the quota provides.

Mostly, the grandchildren of these freedom fighters can use the quota to get jobs in Bangladesh's most prestigious job sectors, which has created a huge unemployment problem in Bangladesh. Also, these "so called" grandchildren are now TOTALLY CORRUPTED AND RUINING OUR COUNTRY while enjoying many privileges given by our PM and Bangladeshi students are very mad about it because normal, brilliant students with ZERO QUOTA cannot get into any prestigious job sectors no matter how hard they try!

Thousands of students have also committed sui*ide because they could not feed their poor family who are looking up to these brilliant students so that they can spin their family's poor fate.

From 13 July till now, the students of many public and private universities of Bangladesh are protesting together and risking their lives in order to remove this disgusting, vile and cruel quota system. Unfortunately, given to these current circumstances, our PM still pays no mind to these poor students who are protesting ENDLESSLY and literally DYING ON THE ROAD !!

Sheikh Hasina has labeled these brave students as RAJAKAR/TRAITORS (Collaborators who aided the enemy country Pakistan in 1971)

Our brave Bengali students, male and female, got so enraged, heartbroken by the fact that their prime minister called them traitors of the country just because they wanted the quota system removed. Following that incident, on July 15, at 1 AM, Dhaka University students, Eden Women's College students and many other University students broke down the gates of their hall at midnight and ran down to the streets to protest while chanting "Who are you? Who am I ? Rajakar, Rajakar!!"

Brave men and women who are protesting against this quota, are now being brutally attacked and mercilessly killed by the government party terrorist organization Chhatra League. The students at Dhaka University are now being attacked with stones, Bats, knifes and literally anything that can hurt a human brutally enough. Our government has turned their back on us, claiming that these students are traitors of their own country, and they are selfish because they do not want the quota system to give benefits to only the grandchildren of freedom fighters anymore.

But the reality is, these so-called grandchildren are now dominating 56% of job sectors with the help of money, nepotism and other dishonest ways while the honest student of our country stays unemployed, their talents wasted, efforts unappreciated and thus, they suffer from depression.

I'm not asking that much from my followers, but please, for the love of God, share my post as much as you can. These mass protests are not being seen enough, share and retweet as much as possible, we need to spread these horrifying actions committed by our PM to the world. Shame, shame, shame on them. Shame on our government for turning a blind eye to hundred thousand of these students. The streets of Dhaka have been drenched with the blood of our students; in order to save their lives, we need to spread this news as much as possible. My cousins from Bangladesh are absolutely frightened, their exams have been stopped, teachers are also turning their backs on these students, they have nowhere to go now. My cousin's classmate got her arm broken off by terrorist organization Chaatro League men just because she was protesting against the corrupted system.

Women are getting assaulted, acids are being thrown at these students, violence is now occurring left and right, our PM is a woman and still, she chooses to betray the students and stands still on her disgusting beliefs with the terrorist government organization Awami League supporting her crimes.

On 21 February, in 1952, thousands of students at Dhaka University protested against the West Pakistan in order to establish the language Bangla as the state language of east Pakistan. Thousands of students had died on that day, which is why we Bangladeshis celebrate 21 February as our Mother Language Day.

It seems like history is going to repeat itself yet again.

Shame, shame, shame on them!

[thaleleah]

𝓖𝓸𝓭𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼 (𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮)

Pairing: Billy The Kid x Fem!Nun!Reader

Warnings: ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Dark!Billy, Virgin!Reader, Oral (female receiving), Fingering, P in V, Corruption Kink, Creampie, Possessive Behavior, Masturbation, Wet Dreams/Sex Dreams, Seduction, Emotional Manipulation, Religion and Religious Beliefs, Explicit talk of gunshot wounds, blood, and the bullet's removal, Mention of physical abuse/child abuse (not from Billy), Childhood Trauma, Mention of alcoholism, Moral/Religious conflict within one's self, My bad Spanish, Nun breaking her vows, Probably too quick of a healing process to be fucking someone but I'm not a doctor so 🤷🏻‍♀️, Using the word "drawers/undergarments" instead of "panties" which is kinda cringe to me but I wanted to be somewhat accurate, Fear/Trauma of Failure

**Warnings updated as fic continues.

Word Count: 20.6K

A/N: As always, you should know that I appreciate y'all sticking with me as I release this fic at a snail's pace. I hope the content makes up for the wait 🧡

Summary: When Billy stumbles into your clinic, hurt and in desperate need of care and refuge, you don't hesitate to help him. Perhaps this is God's will. Perhaps He has brought him into your life to help heal the parts of him that the cruelness of the world has soiled and broken. You are a healer by trade, both of the physical body and of faith. If this is to be God's mission for you, then it shall be done. How could you have possibly known that the young man who begged for help that fateful night would turn out to be the devil himself?

<<< Previous | Next >>>

Translations:

De nuevo - Again/Restart/Start New

Grita - Scream

There’s nothing morally wrong with Billy rubbing your back while you sleep. 

It’s innocent - a wholesome act that stems from him trying to be helpful and comforting to your pain like any kind person should be. Like a mother’s touch trying to calm her distressed child or a fellow healer trying to soothe an ill patient. He’s a good man like that. So it shouldn’t be a surprise when the first morning after sleeping in the bed, your sleep clouded mind now free from the misery and a little bit more free from guilt, that you realize that it was not God’s healing touch caressing your aching back, but instead Billy’s own calloused hand. 

In the moment between sleep and reality when the veil between the two is so thin it's almost impossible to tell what's real and what's not, the hand on your back gave you rest and soothed your tight muscles and aching joints. The energy flowing from the contact seemed almost holy, comforting in a way that you associate with His touch. And while it’s not hard to see Him within Billy, and while it’s not inappropriate for Billy to touch you in that way and offer you this comfort, the idea still makes a part of you uncomfortable. 

You’re not quite sure how to explain it. You understand it in a way - the way you felt when you woke up throughout the night with parts of your body pressed up against Billy’s. His warmth against your side or his hand curled gently around your wrist, subconsciously seeking affection from the only other person sharing the bed. There was even a point where you woke to find your cheek resting on his forearm, a few drops of drool evidenced on his skin from how long you had been laying like that. You jerked your head away as fast as you could, one of your hands frantically wiping away the wetness from Billy’s skin before all but shoving his arm back onto his own side of the bed. He woke from the unintentional rough treatment but didn’t say anything - just readjusted and fell back asleep.

You had managed a solid few hours of sleep between that final incident and the morning’s first light. When you woke again, the guilt of what you had just done - innocent and necessary or not - hit you full force. Billy rubbing your back is not sinful. Billy comforting you in a moment of need is not sinful. Even sharing a bed out of necessity can be argued as not sinful (although your brain keeps telling you it is, over and over again like an incessant loop with no end in sight). 

But the way you wake up face to face with him, inches apart and so close you can feel his breath on your nose - this… this is not okay. The way he lets out a grunt as he wakes, blue eyes now as dark as a storm in the low light of the morning only made darker by his exploded pupils. The way he looks at you from beneath hooded lids, a small smirk pulling at his mouth as he lets out a sleep-gruff “Mornin’,”. 

The way your heart races in that moment as if entranced by the sight itself - that’s not okay. That’s not godly. 

It feels sinful. 

“Excuse me,” You say quickly. “I need to use the pot.” 

Your words were quick, rushed together in a sudden rush of panic, but your escape out of the bed is not as quick. Your spine twinges as you roll, much too fast for the tender pain still clawing at your back. 

“Careful,” Billy scolds, fully awake now as he reaches a hand out towards you. You push it away, gently this time even though your instincts are yelling at you to smack it away. You already did that yesterday, you can’t do it again. Someone who is meant to be a voice for the Lord should have better self control than that. 

“I’m fine,” You mumble, gritting your teeth as you push yourself to stand. You head over to the pot sitting in the corner of the room and slowly bend to grab it. 

You’re fine, you tell yourself as you head out of the bedroom for some privacy. 

You’re fine, you will as you hold back tears from how much it hurts to squat over the pot and you’re thankful that you only have to pee this time.

Please let me be fine, you pray as you wipe yourself clean. You’ll have to empty the pot at some point today, but you can’t bring yourself to try to do it now.

But you’re not fine. You’re in pain, back still screaming in agony despite sleeping on the bed last night and you don’t have to pray for God’s wisdom to see the next few days He has in store for you. 

When you trudge back to Billy’s side, it's with a dejected spirit. 

“Do you need the bedpan?” You ask, quietly. 

“No,” 

Billy gives you a pointed look and you take it for what it is: a demand.

So you sit back down next to him and will yourself to not wallow in your own self-pity like you want to. God would not want you to waste your energy on such negativity. 

You barely get out of bed for anything the whole day. Some instances are inevitable, food and relieving yourselves when the need arises can’t be helped. But the need to be moving around eats at you. The feeling of needing to be busy, of needing to be useful even when there’s truly nothing pressing to be done makes you feel like there are bugs under your skin. You don’t want to be cooped up in bed all day again. Mankind wasn’t meant to be stagnant. Yesterday was hard enough already and now you’re being made to stay put again. You know yourself, know how much you crave to be on the move - on the go, never wanting to stay still for too long. You need to do something, be helpful in some way. Being forced to sit and stay like a dog is the last thing you want to do. But Billy has made his stance clear on what he thinks you should do.

“You stay in bed and heal, and I will too.” 

Like yesterday, the ‘if you don’t…’ still remains unspoken, but the message is still received loud and clear. 

You make absolutely sure to tell him that threatening and giving a nun an ultimatum is not very godly or very good manners in general, and you swear his eyes almost got stuck in the back of his head with how hard he rolls them. 

You make sure to also tell him that rolling his eyes at a nun is not very kind either.

So you both stay in the bed. 

The isolation and pure boredom quickly takes its toll. Billy decides to use the time to sleep, head turned to the side on his pillow with his mouth open as he breathes slow, deep breaths of oxygen into his lungs. 

He looks so peaceful, thick eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks and it once again strikes you how young he truly is. He’s been through so much horror and loss and it hurts to think that, even though it would be horrible for anyone to go through what he’s went through, how much more awful it feels to know that not too long ago he was just a boy himself - innocent and in need of protection and guidance and instead was cast aside like he was worth nothing.

He needs to be on when he’s awake. Guarded and observant, ready for danger at a moment's notice - the trials and tribulations of a wanted man. But here, in sleep, he looks the most at peace as you’ve ever seen him in the short time you’ve known him. And when he looks like this, innocent and soft as his dark hair falls over his forehead, you find it hard to believe that this is the same man who is wanted for the murder of no less than five men. Possibly more if the rumors are to be believed. 

It’s fine. This is fine. Let him have his peace and serenity while cooped up in this cabin and all but chained to this bed. At least one of you is finding peace because it’s certainly not you. Your thoughts race, brain screaming at you to get up and do something. Maybe you could - Billy wouldn’t even know if you got up. 

No. You can’t. That would be a lie. You promised you would stay in bed and you make sure to keep your promises. 

You use the time to pray instead, filling the hours of silence with whispered prayer to steady yourself and clear your racing mind. When Billy wakes, the movement of his body as he shifts to sit up and lean against the headboard distracts you enough to open your eyes, watching carefully as he maneuvers himself and paying special attention to make sure he’s not pulling on his injury. But you don’t stop praying, lips forming the shapes of the holy words as he settles himself beside you. 

He doesn’t interrupt. Never utters a word. His hands clasp in his lap as they mirror your own, sitting in silence and not quite acting like he’s trying to pray with you, but giving you the respect and space you deserve while you do. 

Your praying doesn’t stop as you offer a hand out to him. It’s not traditional practice to hold another person’s hand during prayer. You’ve even heard it said that doing so can be seen as distracting and should be discouraged if it takes away focus from the Lord’s prayer. But you’ve often found that physical touch can bring people together - a physical bond between God’s children to solidify the spiritual bond that everyone hopes to achieve with He Himself. 

Well, perhaps not Billy. Not yet anyway. But he still takes your hand when you offer it to him, his fingers curling around yours as they both lay between you on the bed. 

You pray until your stomachs growl and even then you make sure to thank Him for providing your next meal. 

The next day gives you more of the same as the day before. 

It’s a tiny bit better, although not as noticeable as you would hope. You keep trying to think about it, mulling over what God’s plan could possibly be for rendering you practically helpless when you’re meant to be healing someone else. You can’t figure it out - you’re not meant to. It’s He and He alone who can know what His plan truly is and if you were meant to know, you would. But the lack of stimulation makes you keep on trying to figure it out, thinking and thinking and thinking and hoping that if you can just figure out why, then maybe you’ll heal quicker and be back on your feet like you want to be. 

You have to force yourself to stop, the words sinner and doubtful creeping into your mind and curling around your heart with an icy grip when you realize just how much you’ve let yourself fester on it. The Good Lord has a plan and that’s all you need to know. All this thinking and trying to work it out is making it seem like you doubt Him. Doubt Him and the plans He has in store for you. 

Shame on you, you scold yourself. 

Please forgive my sin, Lord. I trust You. 

Sister Catherine wouldn’t have doubted. She wouldn’t have wasted a single second on pitying herself. Sister Ann would have prayed her worries away, talking directly to God instead of trying to think around Him. 

What is happening to you? This isn’t like you. It shouldn’t be like you.

You shuffle down the bed as carefully as you can, laying out on your side with your back towards Billy. If he noticed the tears running down your cheeks before you turned away, he doesn’t say anything. But after a few minutes of silence, his large calloused hand comes up to rub soothingly at your back.

It feels good, calming and healing like it did that first night. So, despite the part of your brain that’s still telling you this is wrong, you allow it anyway in the hopes that it truly is God’s loving and forgiving touch coming through Billy’s capable hands. 

Billy’s wound is healing surprisingly fast. From your experience, wounds like his would take months to heal properly enough for him to move around with little worry, and even then one would still have to watch the injury site for a little while longer just to be sure. But Billy’s is mending much quicker than you would have anticipated, especially considering the significant amount of trauma the bullet caused to his side. 

“The Lord is good, Billy. He’s looking out for you,” You tell him as you redress his wound. You’ve checked it already, double and then triple checking that he hadn’t torn anything in his noble yet incredibly stupid attempts at being a helpful gentleman while you yourself were in duress. He hadn’t, thank the Lord. God’s protection may be mighty, but it doesn’t frequently cover carelessness. You dress it carefully, making sure to keep it clean as you recover the trauma site with a fresh cloth. “I’d say only a few more weeks and you’ll be well enough to ride again.”

Billy scoffs at your words, irritation evident in the sour twist of his face. “There ain’t no god up there lookin’ out for me. S’all me.”

You ignore his jab and focus on taping the cloth securely to his skin. 

“Well, you’re healing up mighty quick. Surely this is a blessing.” You toss the leftover material back in your bag. There’s still enough left to change it again for one last time. Perhaps Sister Ann will think to send some along with Sam for his next delivery in a few days, so you can have it just in case. ”Maybe He is with you after all, hm?”

“If you say so, Sister,”

He’s upset again, a lethal combination of the frustration that’s aimed at your insistence that God is with him despite him wanting nothing to do Him, and the fact that you are once again on your feet despite his insistence that you stay put. You can also tell that he’s starting to get antsy from being restrained to bed rest for so long. He hasn’t vocalized this particular frustration yet, but you can sympathize with the way he stretches his long limbs a little more than necessary, clearly fighting the urge to throw his legs over the side of the bed and move around like he really wants to. 

A part of you wishes to console him. You don’t like to see him upset. He’s getting better, recovering fast and you can easily see him healing up and ready to be on the move much quicker than he ever should be. He should be happy about that - not frowning with his dark brows furrowed in barely concealed agitation. 

But you don’t say anything. Just finish up the bandage refresh, taping it to his skin to keep it secure and letting Billy rebutton his shirt while you return your bag to the main room before dutifully returning to your place at his side as promised. 

Billy stays in the bed as long as you stay in the bed. He’s calmed down a bit now, frown smoothing out as he watches you work on the blanket for the clinic. He makes himself useful and continues to hold your yarn for you as you work. The yarn balls you’ve brought are almost all completely used up and you’re not quite sure what you’re going to do when they’re gone. 

“I’ve been wanting to ask you,” You say suddenly, half just to distract yourself and half out of pure uncontained curiosity. “About that night.”

“Which night?” Billy asks, but you don’t have to look at him to know that he knows exactly what you’re talking about. 

“The night you came to the clinic,” You say anyway. “But… before it.”

Your hands have stopped their movements, knitting needles and the rest of your project resting between your fingers in your lap. Now you do look at him, eyes boring curiously into the side of his face. His stubble is getting a little long, maybe Joe has a razor here that Billy can borrow. 

He doesn’t look back at you though, instead keeping his gaze down to wear he’s playing with the tail end of the yarn that he’s purposefully kept out when rerolling the yarn ball. “What about it?”

“What happened? How did-” Your question trails off as your eyes drop to where his wound is as if you could see it through the covering of both his shirt and the bandage. “How did it happen?”

To your shock, Billy smirks. “Well, I didn’t know nuns liked to gossip. I reckon that wouldn’t be considered too god-like,”

You scoff at his playful words and lightly push his shoulder. “You hush. It’s not gossip if it's your own story.” 

“Sure it’s not,” He chuckles. 

You hum, one eyebrow raised as you quietly hold your stance in the face of his smugness, but the smile pulling at your lips surely ruins the look and maybe it’s a good thing he still hasn’t looked at you yet. 

“Alright,” You relent. “Then as one of the Lord’s faithful servants, I am giving us the permission to… gossip.”

“I don’t think it can work like that,”

Suddenly, another understanding springs at the forefront of your mind. “Oh. Do you not wanna tell me?”

Foolish woman! Practically forcing him to tell you something he’s clearly not comfortable with telling. You are no priest and you have no right to demand to hear his sins or confession. 

“No, it’s not–”

“You don’t have to tell me,” You rush to say. Guilt claws at you at the thought of you making him feel obligated to tell you about his trauma just because you want to know. Because you're curious. Because you want to gossip. “I’m sorry I asked. It’s not my place–”

“Hey,” He says, and now he is looking at you, clear blue eyes haloed with intensity as he grips your shoulder. “S’okay. I want to tell you.” There’s a beat, and then a thankfully sincere, “I trust you.”

You nod. “You can, Billy. You can trust me, I promise,”

Billy’s quiet for a moment but his eyes never leave yours. Eyes that look a little wetter now than usual as they stare back at you, and you feel like those eyes are trying to tell you more in this moment than any of his words ever could. 

Finally, he speaks. “I want to tell you. But it wasn’t my finest moment,”

You think maybe it's better if you stay silent, so you do. 

“I had a friend by the name of Pete Maxwell. You know him?”

You nod, adding in a brief, “Of him. A rancher. Decently wealthy.” 

Apparently not wealthy enough to ever donate to the clinic, you think bitterly, and then immediately berate yourself for thinking something so judgemental of someone you’ve never met before. 

“Yeah,” Billy says. “That night, I was at his ranch. He said I could stay for a few days until I figure out where to go next. I can’t stay in New Mexico anymore, they’re huntin’ me and they’re not gonna stop until they hang me.”

The thought of seeing Billy hanging from the end of a rope feels like there’s a hand squeezing uncomfortably around your heart. You’ve seen swinging bodies before - poor souls who, despite their transgressions, didn’t deserve the harsh judgment of ending their time here on Earth before the Lord called them home Himself. It makes you sick, thinking of all the people whose time had been cut short solely because someone else believes that just because they are powerful enough to end someone’s life also means they should. 

“I never wanted to kill anyone,” Billy insists, and you wonder if he can read your thoughts in your eyes. “You know that. I never want to hurt anyone. Anythin’ I did was to protect myself from the people that wanted to hurt me or someone I cared about. Please, Sister, I swear.”

Your hand finds the curve of Billy’s cheek. “I know, Billy. I know,”

He lets out a shaky breath, but you can tell how relieved he is at your reassurance. 

“I heard voices that night. Quiet talkin’. Not quite whispering but more hushed. I still recognized Pete’s voice just fine, but the other,” He trails off, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “How could I not have recognized him? From all the nights we all used to spend crammed in that small hideaway talkin’ about everythin’ and nothin’, how could I not have recognized Pat’s voice?”

You can hear the pain in his voice, and you think that this was one of those pivotal moments. Something that seems so insignificant but turned out to have such important consequences. You know all too well how those moments stick with you. 

“But I thought I was safe with friends. I should’ve known better. I’m never safe. Not really. I walked down the hall and looked in Pete’s room. It was dark and I didn’t recognize who he was talkin’ to. They didn’t know I was there until I spoke and asked who it was.” 

His hand twitches towards his hip and you know he’s reflexively feeling for where his gun should be. 

“I’m the fastest gunslinger in the territory,” He tells you. “I made sure I am so that no one can ever get the upper hand on me ever again. I should’ve had my hand on my gun that day. I should’ve been ready. But I hesitated. Garrett knows me, he didn’t hesitate. I’ve fought my whole life just tryin’ to do the right thing and live a normal peaceful life, and I let my guard down for one minute - one minute of hesitation thinkin’ that I should’ve been safe - and it almost got me killed.” His hand moves from his hip to cover the healing wound on his side. “He’s usually a better shot than that. He must have been caught off guard too.”

“And then what happened?” You press. Pete Maxwell’s ranch is close to the clinic, but it's still a ways away if you're traveling on foot. The idea of BIlly walking the entire way to the clinic with an injury as substantial as his and making it is nothing short of a miracle.

“I ran. There’s an alcove in one of the spare rooms on the first floor. I ran down the stairs, stumbled down the stairs, and hid in there until Garrett passed and then I snuck out the back. My horse was tied in the barn and they chased me to the river just outside of town. So I sent my horse on her way and hid behind a big rock as they chased after her.” 

“You rode a horse with a gunshot wound and then walked yourself the rest of the way to the clinic?” You asked, stunned.

“Yes, ma’am,”

Incredible. “My word! The Lord hath blessed you that day, Billy, for surely you should have died on that journey! You were knocking on death’s door when you stumbled in and I had no idea if it was even possible to save you. The fact that you made it to the clinic at all is a miracle.”

“You can listen to that and still say that’s a ‘blessin’’?”

His tone has soured a bit again, face twisted in irritation, but you lean forward and take both of his hands in yours. 

“Your instincts saved you, Billy,” You say. “Despite all that you may not believe, believe that. Sheriff Garrett would have killed you if anything happened any differently than it did. He could have shot you in the head or in the chest, and if he had, you and I would not be sitting here having this conversation. I wouldn’t have met you.”

Thankfully, his expression softens. “And I wouldn’t have met you,”

The corner of your mouth curls up in a soft smile. “See? Small blessings.”

“Does it scare you?” Billy asks suddenly. “To be here. With me.”

The smile dissipates. “No. No, of course not. Why would I be scared?”

“I’ve killed people. A lot of people. I’m dangerous,”

“No,” You say, fingers squeezing tightly around his hands in reassurance. “You never wanted to kill anyone. You said it yourself. What you were forced to do to survive doesn’t define you. It’s what you do in moments of peace that do, and despite what the law says, God’s law is stronger. Give to the poor, help those in need, love each other and treat one another as you would want to be treated, and you’ve done all that, Billy. I’ve heard it. Your brother and sisters see it. They see how you’ve protected them, they see your kindness,” His blue eyes bore into yours as you speak. “God sees it, and I do too.”

The look in his eyes as he stares at you tells you that he wants to believe your words, but his words come out bitter. “Everyone sees it, but I’m still being hunted,”

“I know it's hard. I know it's unfair. But please, Billy, please, have faith that God has a plan for you. He has brought us together for a reason,” You say, ardently. “I believe that.”

He considers you for a long while, the doubt still clear as day in his vivid stare, but it feels like progress that he doesn’t say anything against your words. Maybe he’s finally starting to believe, just a little. 

“I have your gun and hat, by the way,” You tell him, pulling your hands from his. They run down the front of your tunic to smooth it down before returning to your knitting needles. “They’re with my bag.”

You don’t know why you felt the need to tell him that right now. He won’t be needing them for at least another few weeks. At least you hope he won’t. The odds of Sheriff Garrett and his men finding you out here and surprising you both on your brother’s doorstep are slim, but nothing is ever completely certain. Maybe it's the thought of him losing everything - friends he thought he could trust, his horse, all his belongings. He almost lost his life. If you can comfort him for a moment and show that he hasn’t truly lost everything, even if it's just his gun and hat, you will. 

“Thanks,” He replies, quietly. 

You think he’s happy to hear it, but he suddenly seems much more interested in continuing to play with the loose end of your yarn. 

Four nights of sleeping on the bed are doing wonders for your back, and although it's not as immediate as you had originally hoped, the improvement is clear. It’s not 100% yet, certain movements or even too much movement in general still makes some pain rear its ugly head, but it’s nowhere near as bad as it was before. You think you should be in the clear in the next day or so. Which is nice to think about because this feeling and the physical limitations that come with it are getting old. 

Like you, a particularly nasty part of your brain supplies, but you quickly tramp it down because first of all - how rude. And second of all, how dare you think of something so natural and beautiful in such a negative and self-degrading way? The Lord granted us mortality, the blessing of being able to experience life in all forms and watch as the world around you grows with you. Death is a consequence of original sin, but in it the Lord granted us salvation despite the punishment. Life is not forever on Earth, but our souls will live forever in His kingdom, and despite the actions that brought us here, we are blessed with the ability to watch the world and its people grow and change around us while our bodies, too, grow and change. 

The aches in your muscles are signs of well use as well as general aging. The cracking joints you experience from time to time are just the body’s normal wear and tear of being well loved. Self-degradation comes from the Devil - his temptation to be ungrateful for the things God has granted us rearing up in the form of nasty words and thoughts leading to insecurity. We are all made in His perfect image, aging aches and pains included. 

You haven’t slept through the night since before you got here, the stress of the situation having you waking up during the night from dreams of Sheriff Garrett breaking down your brother’s front door and putting a bullet through Billy’s forehead instead of just his side this time, and then the pain from your back taking its toll on any restful sleep you could have hoped to have. But when you wake up on the fourth morning in the bed, it's to the pleasant shock of finally sleeping through the night once again. The sun’s already shining through the bedroom window, your skin greedily soaking up the warm rays as you stretch out more along the sheets. You hadn’t woken up once during the night from any pain or discomfort, sleeping deeply enough that you know that you dreamt, but whatever it was is long forgotten. 

You stretch again, using the additional space to sprawl all the way out as you bask in the rare moment of stillness. The content moment crashes around you when you realize you have a bit too much space for you to take up and your eyes fly open to see that Billy’s side of the bed is empty. Your hand automatically darts out to touch the empty space beside you as if they don’t actually believe what your eyes are seeing. He is supposed to be bedridden. Unmoving. Still. Recovering. And instead he’s gone - the sheets warm to your touch from the sun but still cooler without any remnants of his body heat left. 

Noise comes from the kitchen, a small clatter of metal on metal that sounds like someone scraping down a pot and you jerk up, instantly awake and intent on running in the kitchen and finding out just what Billy thinks he’s doing out of bed. A sharp pain in your back halts your movements and your rare moment of serenity is gone in an instant. Words of blasphemy have never been a regular part of your vocabulary, just the rare ones slipping out in small bouts of rebellion in your youth and even those were few and far between. Your mother used to wash your mouth out with soap if she ever heard it, less for the sake of discipline and more for the sake of teaching you to never say them on the chance your father were to hear it. His discipline would have been far more unpleasant than a mouthful of soap. You haven’t spoken a single blasphemous word since taking your vows.

The pain in your back brings you mighty close though. 

“Billy!” You call through the pain, teeth gritted together as your hands come to cradle your back. 

“Gimme a minute, Sister,” He calls back, and this time you hear the more gentle and higher pitched clink of silverware. 

“Billy, what are you doing?” You will not give him a minute. Your second attempt at sitting up is more successful this time and you’ve just gotten on your feet when he enters the room.

He’s carrying two bowls in his hands, piled generously with what looks like still steaming hot oatmeal. He clicks his tongue at you when he sees you, brows furrowing in concern and disappointment as if you are the one currently being unreasonable right now by being out of bed. 

“I made us breakfast,” He says. 

He places one of the bowls on the bedside table and uses his free hand to pull your pillow up so it leans against the headboard. You slap his hand away when he tries to nudge you back down against it, jaw dropped in shock at his audacity. 

“You are in no position to be making breakfast,” You say, scandalized. “You are in no position to be standing on your feet. You should be in bed. Healing. Not cooking and lifting potentially heavy pots and possibly injuring yourself more.”

“S’okay,” He says, gently, voice soft as if trying to calm a wild animal. “M’fine. You’re hurt and were sleepin’ so good and I’m able, so I did.”

“If you pulled your stitches–”

He lifts the hem of his shirt up to reveal the bandage on his side, thankfully still clean and not a drop of blood seeping through the white. 

“I didn’t. I was careful. I lifted you and nothin’ happened. If I could do that without them tearin’ then I can cook us up a meal,” He drops his shirt back down and tries to nudge you back down on the bed again, and this time you fall back willingly. He places the bowl of oatmeal into your hands and the heat from the bowl warms your fingers. “M’strong, I promise. Now can you please try the oatmeal? It’s real good, my Ma taught me how to make it.”

“Come sit on the bed where you should be and I’ll try it,” You tell him with a stern raise of your eyebrow. He concedes with a small smirk, clearly satisfied with himself. 

When he’s settled next to you, his own bowl placed between his hands on his lap, he levels you with an expectant stare and it's only then that you take your first bite. You hum approvingly at the taste, the subtle flavor of cinnamon and something a little sweeter undercoating the oats. 

“Your Ma had good taste,” You compliment, and Billy beams at you in happiness. 

The good news of his recovery comes at a cost, and however much you try to urge him to stay in the bed to recover, he makes it incredibly clear that he is becoming much too restless to stay in it all day. 

And suddenly, it feels like you’re looking in a mirror. 

Billy’s push back sounds familiar to you, your own words of protest from the past few days being spat back in your face as he argues that he is well enough to stand and walk around for a little bit each day. Perhaps this is your punishment for how difficult you were during your own need for recovery. 

“I can’t just sit around all day,”

You said it to him when he tried to urge you to rest and now he’s throwing those same words back at you, daring you to be a hypocrite in the face of your own words.  

“Billy, you are recovering from a gunshot wound. Do you have any idea how serious this could become if you put too much stress on it too soon and it becomes infected?”

“It’s not gonna get infected. You care for it good enough and you said that I was healin’ up fast.”

“The possibility of tearing–”

“What about if you hurt your back again, huh? What then? You ain’t gonna do me any good if you keep hurtin’ yourself.”

“Oh, you are stubborn! The Bible says ‘a stubborn fool considers his own way the right one, but a person who listens to advice is wise’. Why can’t you listen to my professional advice?”

“Never said I was wise. I’ll be stubborn if it's gonna keep you safe. But really, who’s being the stubborn one here?”

Ouch.

You know the Lord is testing you. 

That’s what this whole thing is - a test of your loyalty and strength in the face of hardships you never thought you would have to deal with. 

Just like you, it seems that Billy is an active man - a doer who would rather be productive and helpful than sitting on his behind all day long and accept being cared for. 

You appreciate this type of man. The type of man who makes himself useful in all aspects of life and doesn't expect to be doted on by his women just because he ‘worked hard’ all day and ‘deserves to relax’ when he gets home. You’ve seen first hand how a woman’s role in life doesn’t have set business hours. From the moment she wakes up in the morning, she’s doing her duties, caring for her husband or father and doing whatever she has to do to make his life easier.

Clean the home.

Make the meals.

Care for the children.

Tend to all his needs.

And when he gets home after work, from doing what he thinks is the most important job of all of ‘providing’ for his family, he kicks his feet up as she places a glass of whiskey in his hand. The woman handles the rest as she always does and receives no thanks in return for her efforts. 

The sting of the past rears its ugly head whenever you think about it. You remember how the second your father walked through the door, whether he had been at work or already out in a saloon plying himself full of drink, your mother would be ready with a glass of the finest liquor your family could afford in hand for him. You remember how he never did anything to help with the household - never any heavy lifting, never any cleaning, never any cooking. He never even hugged his children. 

Your mother did it all. 

The tax of being a woman is often much higher than you think you’re willing to pay, and you often wonder if this is what the Lord truly meant when he said “Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord.”

So while you are mostly grateful that Billy is not like a grand majority of the men you’ve met, you think it’s inconvenient for this particular moment. 

“Fine,” You begrudgingly allow, crossing your arms over your chest. “But if I think you’re overdoing it and tell you to sit down, I expect you to listen.”

“Yes, ma’am,” He says with a pleased smirk as he tips an invisible hat at you. 

Oh, Lord. Give me strength. 

You allow him to stay out of bed for portions of the day under the condition that the tasks he does are light work and in no way any kind of danger to his still healing wound. He helps you in the kitchen, observing while you chop vegetables and put together hearty meals for the two of you with the supplies that Sam was gracious enough to provide for you both in his crate. He’s attentive to your needs - taking the dirty dishes from you and cleaning them right away in the heated water basin next to the stove while you cook, shaking his head stubbornly when you try to tell him to leave it. He’s offered to go out and collect more water for you from the stream out front when you need it, but you draw the line there, not wanting him to risk injuring himself more by picking up a heavy pot. He hands you things before you have to ask; already handing you a clean knife when you reach for the potatoes or using the spare kitchen rag to wipe the splattered mess clean that erupts from the pot as you stir. He’s a handy helper, an asset in the kitchen and around the rest of the cabin too when you let him. 

It feels nice to have a helper - domestic in a way you haven’t had in a long time. Your fellow Sisters help you out every day, but it's different. They have their own jobs to tend to and you have yours. Help is expected but only when it's truly needed, otherwise you are on your own as you fulfill your given duties.

But when you were still living at home, before your world came crashing down on you, you and your mother would cook meals together. She would do a majority of the cooking but you would stand beside her and help her with whatever she needed. And in the spaces where she didn’t need anything, you would listen to her sing as she cooked, singing along with her and dancing in the small kitchen space. You were never quite as happy anywhere else as you were when in that small bubble of calm domesticity with her.

You want to ask Billy if he had those moments with his Ma in the kitchen too when he was growing up, but you’re too scared of breaking the calm that you can’t bring yourself to ask. 

You thought your childhood might have been the end of it. The constant struggle and all-consuming fear you suffered day in and day out at the hands of your alcoholic father is something you would never wish on anyone. You’ve tried to justify it before - or not justify it but rather reason that you should consider yourself lucky, in a way. There’s always someone that has it worse off than you. Always someone who suffers more, is more fearful, has it harder and with more obstacles to overcome with not even a steep staircase in sight to help them over it. 

You think Billy is one of those people. A poor soul lost amongst a battering sea of hurdles and tragedy that crash into him without mercy like waves during a storm. Orphaned at the age of fifteen, not even his brother alive anymore to keep him company in a cruel world that favors money over human life and dignity. 

But, the truth is, you can’t compare them. Two very different circumstances each with their own obstacles and lessons to learn, and you think it’s doing the Lord an injustice to try to push off your own tests as ‘not as bad’ in the face of another’s. Yours are for you and you alone. 

You should know that the Lord is never done with His teachings.

When growing up in that house, you used to watch your father with careful eyes. It was important to keep tabs on him - the state he was in (drunk or absolutely under-the-table drunk), his current mood based on how much drink he had consumed thus far into the day, and who he was looking at through those drink clouded eyes. You would go back and forth with your prayers, subconsciously or consciously asking God to keep his gaze from looking back into yours only to take it back and pray that it does. Because if his eyes weren’t on you, that means they were either on your mother or brother, and hearing their cries and screams for mercy always hurt more than the pain your father’s attention brought. 

But moreso, you would watch him so you could know what you didn’t want.

Before taking your vows, you would pray every night for God to send you someone wonderful. Someone kind and caring with a strong and protective disposition but that would never ever ever lay a hand on you in anything other than pure love and adoration. Maybe he would be handsome - tall or short, green eyes or brown, fair-headed or with hair as black as the night, it didn’t matter. As long as he loved you and cared for you like a good husband should, you would take the blessing. 

You hadn’t thought about that in a long time. That path for you is no longer an option and you thought you had made peace with that, knowing that you had been blessed with a better path than you could have ever hoped for when you were younger. But it hits you hard when you realize that you may not be as at peace with it as you thought.

It feels like an empty pit in your stomach when you watch him move around next to you in your brother’s small kitchen, looking up at Billy’s stretching arm as he reaches for one of the extra bowls Joe keeps up high on the top shelf above the stove that you are too short to reach yourself. The realization that, in another life, maybe this could have been your life. The thought makes your heart ache, the wanting of what could have been despite the contentedness of your life now is creeping in unexpectedly and you’re not sure how to feel. But it's there, frozen and immovable in your brain as you look up at him. He grabs the bowl and brings it down for you, looking down at you with a small upward turn of his lips as he hands it to you, and you think - wow, maybe in another life, one in which you hadn’t devoted your life to God and His will, maybe Billy could have been someone you could have shared your life with. 

If there was ever the embodiment of someone you would have hoped and prayed for yourself, Billy would have made a good option. Someone handsome, strong both physically and morally, equally helpful as you are to him and actually wants to be. 

You take the offered bowl from his hands, sadness encompassing your heart as you mourn for the little girl who prayed so hard for God to send her someone wonderful like him. The Lord works in mysterious ways, that is no secret. Billy is in your life for a reason and everything that you’re feeling now is carefully orchestrated by the Lord. There’s a lesson to be learned in this. Perhaps some justice and freedom for your younger self that never got her prayers answered the way she expected to, but instead was blessed with a life path that was so much better.

It takes some time to coddle the little girl still left inside you. But even so, eventually it's time to lift her sadness and stress and desperation up to the Lord so He can finally heal her and replace her suffering with His pure love. 

New Mexico can be hot, but thankfully not very humid. Heat you can tolerate, but humidity? Forget about it. 

When your travels had taken you into Louisiana, you considered for a moment that it might be where the Devil himself lived for as hot and humid as it was. The difference between New Mexico and Louisiana was stark - the comfortable heat of New Mexico, even when wearing the multiple coverings of a habit, is nothing compared to the absolute stifling and hard-to-breathe heat of that long week in Louisiana. Some residents there had assured you that it wasn’t always as horrific as it was when you asked during the long, long week of your stay. Just a heatwave, they said - and for their sake, you certainly hope so. 

You haven’t had to worry too much about that here. Since you’ve moved to New Mexico, there’s only been one drastic heatwave. And while you had sat in the clinic, sweating profusely under the dark clothes of your habit and a wet washcloth pressed against the back of your neck, you had hoped that it would be the last one you ever had to experience. 

But the unusual heaviness in the air and the way you’re starting to feel more than a little wet under your armpits tells you that that particular thrown up prayer may have gone unanswered. 

It’s much hotter than it’s been in the last few days. 

The cabin has been a safeguard from any excess heat so far, the well built wooden roof and sturdy walls effectively blocking the sun’s powerful rays and keeping the inside of the cabin a temperature fit for human living. But now it's too hot, too well contained, and the heat feels like it's smacking you in the face every time you turn around. 

You feel wet under your clothes, the dark layers of your habit doing their job at keeping your entire body covered but doing you no favors in helping you find any relief from the all consuming heat. Billy’s not doing much better either. His dark hair is plastered against his forehead, sweat beading around his hairline, and he looks just as exhausted as you feel. His eyes are closed as he lays back against the pillows and for the first time in the past few days, he doesn’t make any effort to try to get out of bed to move around. To be fair though, you don’t really make any effort to move around either. Being active uses energy that you most definitely don’t have right now - the ridiculous humidity taking away all your will and motivation to do anything other than use a spare piece of paper to fan yourself.

Eventually, it's not enough though. 

Your clothes are sticking to your skin and you feel more disgusting than you have in a long time. 

“I need a bath,” You mutter, still fanning your face with the paper. You really do. Some nice cool water sliding along your skin to help cool you down sounds about as close to Heaven as you can get right now. But then it hits you, eyes flying open as your head snaps to look at Billy. “Oh gosh, you need a bath!”

It’s been exactly two weeks less a day that you’ve been in hiding at your brother’s cabin with a wanted criminal and you still haven’t offered him a proper opportunity to bathe. You’ve done the bare minimum so far, running a wet cloth across your skin at the end of the day to rid yourself of the dirt and grime before handing it off to Billy to do the same. But it’s been far too long since you had a proper bath. Your last one was the day Billy found his way into the clinic - who knows when was the last time Billy had a proper wash. 

One of Billy’s eyes crack open at your gasp. “You sayin’ I stink?”

Heat rises at your cheeks and for a second you think you’ve offended him, but the playful smirk that pulls under his sweaty upper lip tells you to relax.

“Yes,” You say anyway. “Very much so, in fact.”

Billy lets out an amused huff, his eyes slipping shut again. “Hm, so kind of you to say so,”

“Well, it’s a sin to lie,” You take a second to gather your resolve before forcing yourself up. Thank goodness cold water is what you're needing for your refreshing bath, you can’t stand the thought of having to run the stove right now to heat it up. “It should also be a sin with how bad we smell.”

“You don’t smell bad,” 

You look at him, strict brow raised. “Now, what did I just say about lying?”

“Ain’t a lie,’” 

He opens his eyes again to look at you and, for some crazy reason, there’s a seriousness there that you’re not prepared for. You thought maybe he was just being polite, not saying the truth because he thought it might hurt your feelings as a woman. It’s throwing you a bit with how sincere he looks.

“You should get undressed,” You tell him in lieu of anything else to say. “I’m going to fetch some water from the stream and bring it back for you.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to bathe in the stream?”

Honestly? Yes. Yes it would be. But it's a risk. A small one, but a risk nonetheless. If Garrett and his men showed up unexpectedly, it would be easier to keep them outside and hide BIlly inside than for Billy to try to run and hide in an open field. 

“Inside is the safer option. From both the heat and potential searching eyes,” You slip on your shoes that you keep neatly beside the bed and Billy just continues to watch you. “Is that okay?” 

Billy shrugs and places a hand on his side to protect his bandage as he pushes himself off the bed. “Sure thing, boss,”

You see Billy start to unbutton his shirt and take that opportunity to leave the room and grab the water basin from the kitchen. The stream is just a short walk from the house and just about as in Joe’s backyard as he could have allowed. It takes just minutes to walk from the front porch all the way to the stream’s edge and you’re beyond thankful that, even though you feel like the Devil himself is breathing down the back of your neck with all this heat and humidity, your back doesn’t twinge or pull or ache when you crouch to collect the water. Your hands dip into the stream as you dunk the bucket and the cool water feels heavenly on your hands. 

When you return back to the cabin, fresh water in hand and grabbing a bar of soap you had borrowed from the clinic on your way back to the bedroom, you return to find that Billy has followed your orders. He stands naked - well, almost naked. He’s kept his undergarments on, the white cotton that usually extends down towards the knee is still covering his more private parts but has been rolled up to expose a majority of his thighs. The rest of him is bare, on display for your eyes to see, and you’re so ashamed to find yourself looking. 

You are a woman of God, forever to be celebate and chaste in His honor - but it's becoming clear, especially in these past few weeks, that you are not as far from the Devil’s reach as you had once hoped to be. Temptations of the flesh have never been a problem for you. You had never met anyone who had held your attention enough in your youth to ever entertain such thoughts, and after you had taken your vows the option was off the table altogether, so you had never bothered to ever consider anyone worth the distraction to your mission. 

The temptation had always been easy to ignore. You may find some people attractive, yes, but nothing ever so tempting that they stopped you in your tracks, unable to take your eyes off them. But Billy’s skin is smooth, broad shoulders with muscles that shift under his skin as he moves. The long curve of his spine. The strong arms that you knew must have been impressive with the easy way he lifted you that night. You’ve seen skin before. Seeing mostly naked bodies at the clinic is part of the job description when dealing with the different amount of injuries you’ve seen within your lifetime. But most of those bodies are old - the elderly with their wrinkles and saggy skin where muscles used to be but have now disappeared without use. And if they’re not old, they’re bloodied - able bodied people who need you to stitch them up and clean the rest when you’re done. 

You’ve seen skin before. But not this kind of skin. Never the type that makes your fingers twitch like they want to run along the expanse of it and feels how it feels under your touch and—

Stop!

“Ahem,” You clear your throat from whatever had suddenly gotten in it. You take a bit to clear your head too. Temptation is not a sin. Giving into temptation is the sin. “I have the water,”

“Thanks,”

You cross the room, setting the bucket of water down on the bedside table along with the bar of soap. His eyes follow your movements and the guilt from your recent lack of self control has you feeling like he’s burning holes in the side of your head. 

“Be careful,” You say, running your still damp palms along the front of your tunic. “You’re healing mighty well but that can all turn south if you're too careless with your movements. Don’t rush anything and move slowly when twisting your body to clean. I’ll give you some privacy so just holler if you need me.”

You need to pray. This is going to keep eating at you if you don’t, but Billy catches your wrist as you try to walk past him again, halting your escape as you head for the door to the main room. 

“Wait,” He says, softly. “Would you mind helpin’ me? I think I moved a little too much yesterday and now that I’ve stood up, it’s feelin’ kinda sore.”

His hand is pressing against his side again and any awkwardness you were experiencing is clouded by concern. 

“Sore?” You repeat, worriedly. “Sore like your stitches ripped open?”

You immediately reach for his bandage, intent on pulling it off and seeing the extent of the damage, but Billy halts your hand before you can. 

“M’fine,” He whispers. You look up and you realize that you’re suddenly very close to a very unclothed, arguably attractive, man. “It’s just sore.”

Pulling your hand from his, you back up a few paces. 

Get it together. You need to focus and be strong for Billy. You are meant to help him, both physically and spiritually, and now is no time to be having a moral dilemma of your own. You need to focus and be the person God expects you to be. You can pray for absolution later. 

You are one of the Lord’s faithful helpers, and Billy is asking for your help right now.

“Of course, I’ll help you,” You nudge his hand away from your wrist, replacing your wrist instead with the bar of soap. “You go ahead and get started with what you can comfortably reach and I’ll go see if Joe has a blade we can use to clean up your face.”

Billy chuckles. “You don’t like the scruffy look, Sister?

“Hah, well, nothing wrong with being a little more clean cut, yes? The baby Jesus might have been born in a barn, but we don’t have to look it,”

You wish you could leave the room under the guise of going to look for your brother’s razor. You need a minute, just one, just to collect yourself and get your thoughts together. But if your brother has one, you know it would be in here, so you turn your back to Billy to give him some semblance of privacy and begin your search. You should feel grateful that you find it so quick, just the first drawer of the small dresser opened and there is it - a clean straight razor, a shaving brush, and a half used soap cake both sitting neatly on top of a mostly still white linen towel. There’s the gentle sound of splashing water as Billy begins to clean himself behind you and you pretend to search for another minute before finally collecting your resolve and pull the items from the drawer. You lay them on top of the dresser and unfold the straight razor. It still looks decently sharpened which is good because you have absolutely no brain power or motivation to go looking for something to sharpen it with, and you use the towel to wipe away any dust that could have caught on the blade even while being folded down. 

With a deep breath, you turn around again. Billy is scrubbing himself with the wet bar of soap. His chest and stomach are cleaned already, the wet soapy residue still visible from where he ran the bar over his skin. His left arm is lifted in the air as he washes under his armpit, the dark hair there making the soap lather up even more than where there is none. His eyes are on you as you turn around but they cut away as he bends over the water bucket, washing away the soap suds from his body. 

“Will you do my back?” He asks, holding out the soap towards you before adding a quick, “Please?”

“Of course,” You say, quickly. The selfish part of you wants to say no. Just staring at his back made you feel things you should give life to. You really don’t want to put yourself in that position again. But you have no choice. Billy’s needs outweigh your own, so you’ll just have to be quick about it. 

Professional. 

You set the shaving materials down on the side table next to the water bucket and take the soap from Billy’s outstretched hand, replacing it instead with the linen towel. “Here. Dry yourself off.”

The muscles in his back shift under his skin again as he follows your command and your so close to him like this, with your hand placed up on his shoulder in a halfhearted attempted to steady both him and yourself as you raise the soap bar to his skin, and you realize just how tall he is compared to you. He could easily tower over you and even though you’ve never felt short, felt inferior, around people who have been physically taller than you - Billy makes you feel so small right now. 

You scrub the soap over the skin of his back, trying not to think a single second of thought based around how smooth it is or how well maintained and athletic the muscles look pulling underneath it. Some of the suds run down the length of his spine, following the curve of it all the way down until they soak into the material of his undergarments. You take the towel from him when he offers it to you and you urge him to stand closer to the water bucket so that when you dip your hand into the cool water, cupping some in your palm to help wash off the soap, there won’t be a ton of water clean up left on the floor when you’re done. The water washes his back clean and you catch most of the runoff with the towel pressed against his lower back, preventing it from seeping into his underwear or dripping on the floor. 

“Okay, back is done,” You tell him as you use the towel to pat his back dry. You squeeze the towel over the water bucket to wring out the excess. “You should wash your hair too. The cool water will feel nice on your head and keep you cooler longer.”

“Will you do it?” He asks, hand reaching up to press against his bandage again.

You hesitate again, but only for a second. This you shouldn’t have any problems with at all. You’ve washed countless heads during your time at the clinic - don’t make Billy suffer because of your lack of self control. 

“Sure,” You say, forcing a playful smile. “You know, I’ve been told these hands are like magic on a scalp. As close to God’s own miraculous hands as you can get.”

Billy grins, sitting back on the bed as you come to stand in front of him. “Now I reckon that’s probably right,”

You grab the soap cake and drip the shaving brush in the water to wet it. A few rough circles along the surface of the cake are enough for a decent lather and you motion for Billy to tilt his head up towards you so you can apply the thick shaving soap along his neck and jawline. With careful and out of practice strokes of the brush, the stubble becomes covered by the foam and it's nice that, for as long as he’s been without a proper shave, it seems like he doesn’t grow facial hair quite as quick as other men. It makes it easier to cover and when everything is fully topped in a thick layer of shaving soap, you place them to the side and grab the regular soap bar once again and tell Billy to tilt his head down again so you can reach his hair while the shaving lather softens the hair on his face.

Your fingers run through his hair, dragging the soap with them as you card the suds through the dark locks. His hair is still short enough that it doesn’t need to be cut just yet, but long enough that your fingers still catch on some snags as they work in the soap. Billy’s head pushes into your touch as your nails scrape against his scalp, a soft groan pulling from his chest as his eyes slip shut.

“You didn’t lie,” He mutters as his lashes flutter against his cheeks. 

“Nuns don’t lie,” You respond. “Lying is a sin,”

Billy leans his head to the side when you tell him to, leaning over the bucket so you can rinse out his hair, being mindful of not letting the soap get into his eyes. It’s better to not towel it off. The water might drip a little on the bed and on the floor, but the heat is still stifling under your tunic, sweat beading up on your forehead just under the strap of your veil, and you can already see the relief in Billy’s face from how the water is cooling him down, so you think it's better to let him be more comfortable than trying to keep making clean up easier on yourself. 

“Chin up,” You instruct. The still damp towel lays over your shoulder now as you pick up the straight razor, unfolding it again and gripping it steady in your hand. “It’s been a while since I’ve had to do this, so stay very still for me, okay?”

He grunts in agreement and doesn’t move from the position you put him in, sitting as still as a statue as you carefully run the blade of the razor over the side of his jaw. It won’t be the best or closest shave he’s ever had, but it will do for now. He sits while you work, stare on your face as you free his own from the scruff. 

“You’re such an angel to be takin’ care of me like this,” He murmurs when you pull the blade away to wipe it clean on the towel. 

“It’s alright, Billy,” Another methodical swipe of the blade up the side of his neck. “It’s my pleasure to help in any way I can.”

You’re almost done his face, his neck and left side of his jaw are hair free, and you pull away again to clean the razor, taking another second to wipe the back of your hand against your forehead to catch some runaway sweat. 

He takes the opportunity to speak again without the presence of the blade against his skin. “You were right. The water feels good. Especially in my hair,”

“I’m glad,” You say, returning the blade back to his face. “I wouldn’t know.”

This time he talks even though the straight razor is pressed directly under his jaw. “You can take your veil off. I reckon it's just makin’ you hotter,”

Your hand jerks a little at his words and you're shocked to see that somehow your abrupt movement hasn’t drawn blood. 

“No,” You say maybe a little harsher than necessary. “I can’t.”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone,”

“No,” The razor skims his skin a little quicker now. “That is not an option.”

“S’just hair. You’ve already seen me naked, touched my hair. What’s a little hair?”

“We are not having this conversation,” You assert. 

The last swipe of the blade is more rough and unsteady than it should be, but your heart is pounding at his suggestion. How inappropriate. How unacceptable to even suggest that you take off something as meaningful and sacred as your veil and because of what? Because you’re hot? A little warmth is too much to handle for you so you need to abandon your vow of modesty just for a little relief. 

“Clean yourself off,” You tell him, voice clipped as you toss the towel to him. You pick his discarded clothes off the floor and gather them in your arms. “I’m going to wash your clothes in the stream while you finish your bath.”

“Woah,” He says, hand reaching out to grab hold of your upper arm this time. “M’sorry. I didn’t mean any harm. Just thought you coulda been a little more comfortable.”

Shame heats over your cheeks and you will yourself to take a breath. You shouldn’t be so quick to get upset. Quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger - that’s what He teaches us. You should know better by now that Billy doesn’t mean any harm. Of course, he would just want to be helpful. 

“I know,” You say, softly. “Billy, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me. Must be the heat making me a little crazy.”

“It’s alright,”

You pull his hand from where it’s curled around your arm and pat his palm in reassurance. “I’m gonna go wash your clothes in the stream and try to cool down myself. The sun will have them dry in no time I’m sure. You finish up in here and just relax,”

“You’re not gonna need me?”

“No, I’ll be fine. 

Billy nods and moves to sit back on the bed. “I’ll just take a nap then,” 

“Sure! That sounds lovely. I’ll be back in soon,”

Scurrying out of the bedroom and through the front entry way of the cabin, you cradle his clothes to your chest and let the front door slam shut behind you. The heat beats down as you make your way down the porch but for the first full minute that you’re outside, you barely feel it at all. You feel almost cold, like an icy hand is circling around your insides and twisting up your stomach. 

The isolation here of being restricted with a man in a confined space with no other barriers is getting to you - that’s all. You need structure again, daily routines and prayer to help get you back on track. Your fellow Sisters are good at helping you maintain the structure you need so that you don’t get lost in your thoughts. Each of you have your strengths and your Sisters help you in areas that you lack. But they aren’t around now and you’re feeling the effects of not hearing God’s words fall from their lips when the voice in your own head gets too loud. It’s okay, it’s not failure. Just because you are far from them now does not mean you are far from the Lord Himself. 

All is well. Deep breathes. 

The sun’s rays seep into the black fabric of your habit and the material encases the heat in its fibers like it loves it. You shake your head and decide to not think about it. Wash Billy’s clothes and while they’re hanging out to dry, you can sink your arms into the cool water of the stream and bathe yourself in it. 

You’re sure your brother has a clothesline near the stream you can hang the clothes on.

Your brother doesn’t have a clothesline. Of course, he doesn’t. Why would he? Why would his absurdly minimalistic way of living help benefit you in any way other than giving you a roof over your head. 

Stop it, y/n, you scold yourself. 

What a terribly bitter line of thinking. It’s not your brother’s fault. This is his life and the way he chooses to live. Who are you to judge him for anything? Especially considering the path that you yourself have chosen to take. The Lord encourages minimalism, urges all of His children to forsake material items and give them up for the sake of following Him and finding true happiness away from the only brief moments of glee any physical item can grant. Instead of becoming frustrated and pointing the finger, perhaps you should look within and take a page from your brother’s book. His relationship with God is not what you would consider healthy or strong, but perhaps he’s not as far off as you might have thought. 

Focus on what you know: you’re tired and a bit irritable, soul a little bruised. Your back pain is nearly almost completely gone now and for that you’re thankful, but the excessive heat and humidity so high you feel like you are having some trouble breathing is ruining what should be a joyous experience. If you thought it was hot inside, then outside feels like an entirely different plane of existence. 

The water on your skin as you dunk Billy’s clothes in the stream feels wonderful, but the water dries up all too fast leaving your skin feeling tight. You shiver in disgust and the thought of why something can even feel so good and then gross within seconds crosses your mind quicker than you can catch it. 

The negative line of thinking halts as you scold yourself again. 

Sister Catherine says there is beauty in everything, you need to remember that. 

You just need to find the beauty to see God’s face even in the most trying of times. 

You’re tired, but at least you’ve been allowed rest. Your back is still a bit sore, but it’s on the mend and through the pain you’ve gained a new appreciation for your body’s movements and capabilities. Your rolled up sleeve accidentally got soaked during a too careless dunk while trying to scrub Billy’s shirt with the soap, and while it annoys you, you find you don’t mind the feeling of the wet clothes against your skin as long as it stays on your arm below the elbow. You have a safe place to stay, away from the dangerous people who are hunting your charge, and despite how hot it is outside, the scenery of your brother’s cabin along the miles and miles of raw greenery is absolutely breathtaking now that you’re choosing to actually look at it. 

The expert craftsmanship that Joe accomplished while building this place, the precision and time and patience it took and knowing that he did it himself with no one to help him makes looking at the accomplishment even more special. He chose a beautiful location - somewhere remote with no unwanted visitors but with such beauty in the scenery that surely he must feel more at peace here than anywhere else in the world. A little slice of Heaven here on Earth just for him. The land is abundant, green and full of life and only disrupted by the stream of glittering blue that cuts diagonally along the front of the land, and you know instinctively that Joe chose to face his home this way so he can look out his window or sit on the front porch and watch the water flow while he drinks his morning coffee. 

You see it - the beauty God is trying to show you.

The peace and the serenity that’s been evading you the past few days finally hits you like a wave of holy light. 

When things get hard or tensions get too high at the clinic and things seem like they’re turning for the worst, Sister Maria likes to invoke a practice that she calls ‘de nuevo’.

“It means ‘again’,” She had told you. “Restart. Do over. Start new. When life gets too hard and there seems to be no end in sight. Grita ‘de nuevo!’ and start again with fresh eyes and an open heart,”

Spanish isn’t your forte, but this is a saying that you’re very familiar with and can get behind. The sweltering heat still smacks at your body and you desperately try to cling onto the tranquility that you’ve found against the ruthlessly high temperatures. 

“De nuevo,” You whisper, and then you start again.

Your brother doesn’t have a clothesline, but that’s okay. The front porch does have a nice chair you can drape the wet clothes off of as well as the bannister around the porch. They’ll do just fine and get the job done just as a regular clothesline would. You gather the clothes into a ball in your arms. The wet material soaks into the front of your tunic and you grimace at the feeling. The cold water helps to cool you down for a moment, but this time the feeling of your clothes sticking to your chest is a sensation you can go the rest of your life never feeling ever again. 

You step up on the porch, drop the bundle of clothing on the seat of the rocking chair, and reach up to wipe the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. Just a few more tasks - you just need to lay Billy’s clothes out to dry and then you can bathe and clean your own. As much as you would love to clean the entire garb, you know that’s not in your immediate future. You don’t have a change of clothes and all you brought with you are the clothes on your back. You may be sleeping in the same bed with a man out of necessity, but you refuse to let Billy see you out of your habit. 

Some rules are just too sacred to break.

No sooner than the first of the laundry is thrown over the back of the rocking chair, the sound of your name reaches your ears. 

It’s your first name again. Just your first name, no title to be heard. And in other circumstances you know that this would have to be the moment that you correct him. A one time slip is acceptable within reason, but any more than that is plain disrespectful and even though you stand by the idea that Billy doesn’t intend any harm, the matter is still the same. 

But that line of thinking doesn’t matter right now because it's not just that he said your name - it’s how he said it. 

Your name, called in what you can only assume is a moan of pain. 

It sounds tense, a pitiful whimper as he tries to call for you and you're immediately concerned about what could be making him sound like that. 

Possibilities of Billy being hurt or suddenly in so much pain that he can’t contain his whimpers of pain anymore flood your mind. What could have possibly happened? You were just with him. Things were fine. He was just fine!

Maybe he tried to get up and twisted his body badly enough that it ripped open his healing scar and stitches. Naughty boy, always trying to stand or move about when he has no business going anywhere. You knew he was pushing himself by moving around too much. He did say it was sore. Or maybe there’s an infection that you’ve somehow missed - something that’s slipped past your watchful eye and now suddenly it’s rearing its ugly head and causing misery to poor Billy’s still fragile healing state. 

You drop the pair of pants in your hands back into the pile, wiping the wetness off of your hands and onto your tunic. “Billy?”

Another moan followed by a deeper groan and your concern increases as you push open the front door. You keep your voice as soft and calm as you can. You don’t want to startle him and have him jump and hurt his injury more. “Billy?”

This time your name is more like a whisper - like a prayer being spoken between his sounds of pain and agony. Calling out for you to help ease his suffering. Forsaking calmness, your feet scramble across the small entryway and push past the bedroom door. 

“Billy, are yo–”

Your words are cut off in your throat, swiftly ended by the sharp and scandalized gasp that bursts forth from the sight in front of you. 

Billy’s not in pain as you had thought. 

He’s not doubled over in agony, hands pressing against his side to keep pressure on his wound from whatever trauma you thought he had inflicted on it while you were out cleaning the laundry. 

Or maybe he is in pain. The angry red tip peeking out from the top of his fist certainly looks like it’s painful.

He’s… touching himself. Naked body, fully naked this time, stretched out on bed with his hand between his legs. His thighs look like they’re trembling, toned tummy tensing and sucking in slightly as his face twists in response to what he’s doing to himself. 

Immediately, your face is on fire, heat flooding your cheeks in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with the temperature outside and everything to do with the sinful expression of desire on display in front of you. Billy's eyes fly open at the sound of your gasp, bright blue almost black with how dilated his pupils are and the hand that’s stroking at his length freezes as those eyes lock on yours. 

“Sorry!” You squeak. “I’m sorry! Lord, have mercy. I’ll just- I’ll give you a little time to finish.”

Your hands press to your warm cheeks as you scurry away from the room and back out to the porch. The front door slams shut behind you and you lean back against it, body trembling with an increase of adrenaline. Your fingers dig into your eyes, bright spots popping up in front of the black of your closed eyelids.

Lord, please forgive me for having seen such a private and intimate moment not meant for my eyes. You know it wasn’t my intention. Amen.

Your body is shaking and you will yourself to calm down. It’s normal, you try to remind yourself. It’s a completely normal and human action you just saw. It’s just the embarrassment of having interrupted it that’s making you shake. With a deep breath, you move to pick up another article of laundry. You intend for it to keep you distracted, but, despite how hard you try, you cannot keep your mind from wandering to the man inside.

The one who is probably still trying to… finish. 

The image of him sprawled out on the bed, long fingers wrapped around his length and how hard and flushed and intimidating it looked still bounces around your mind. You try to shake your head, palms pressing hard into your eyes again to try to push the image from your mind. It doesn’t work. 

The way the head of it poked through the circle of his fist with each stroke and how it glistened at the top even in the singular window of the bedroom. 

How long his body is, lithe but strong as the muscles shifted under his skin. 

How a few strands of his dark hair still stuck to his forehead from the moisture beading on his skin and how you’re not even sure if it's still from his bath, sweat from the heat, or sweat from… other things.

How hazy his eyes looked when he looked at you. 

Stop it, y/n. Stop it right now. 

You’ve seen your fair share of male parts in your lifetime. It’s important to remember that. This is no different. It’s part of the job description when caring for the sick or elderly. You’re going to see their private parts and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s not sexual, even if sometimes patients do become aroused from time to time. It’s completely natural - a body’s natural response to stimulation even if that stimulation is not sexual in nature or intention. 

In this instance, you must admit the sexual intention on Billy’s part. But this is also natural. There’s the occasional discourse between some teaching and beliefs about whether or not masturbation is a sin. Some say it is, stating that the overwhelming desire and need to touch oneself comes from a severe lack of self control and temptation from the Devil.

You’ve heard it said that it's a form of sexual immorality. Sex is meant for love between two people with the intention to procreate and bring forth new life with the Lord’s blessing. It’s not meant to be wasted on a ‘shameful, quick, and disturbing act of self release with tainted emotions and impure thoughts’. You remember those words well, spoken from the thin mouth of a very strict and rather unwelcoming nun you met during your travels before taking your vows. In her eyes, masturbation is dirty - corruption of the body as the Lord’s holy temple by your own hand. 

Others argue that masturbation itself is not a sin, but rather a necessity and natural act of the nature that God granted us. The act alone is not sinful, but can turn towards sin depending on what the mind conjures up in the throes of that sensation. Pure physical sensation and the emotions that come with touching oneself - that is acceptable and natural. Imagining, watching, or objectifying another of God’s children, however, is where the Devil’s reach can come and turn an otherwise innocent act into something devastating. 

Billy wouldn’t do that. He’s a good man, a sweet boy, and you just can’t picture him objectifying anyone like that. If he needed a release, then that’s his business, and you would do well to just wipe it from your mind and move on. 

But you can’t - the images are still dancing around your head without permission, and to your horror you realize that now it’s you of all people being sinful. Again. 

Our Father, Who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy Name,

Thy Kingdom come.

Thy Will be done.

On Earth as it is in Heaven. 

You pray the entire time you finish laying out the clothes to dry. The constant repetition and chosen words of the prayer help you to clear your mind. You don’t even register the heat anymore. 

You’ve finished Billy’s laundry by the time you actually gather the courage to go back inside the cabin. 

You’ve also done your own. You hadn’t intended to clean the whole thing, just rinse your body and wash the parts of your habit that you could go without for a few minutes to smell and feel a little fresher. But the interaction with Billy has you scrambled and you can’t go back in there yet. 

So, you take your time. 

You washed your clothes as quickly as you could, not wanting to risk Billy looking out the window and seeing you in just your underclothes. The stream is just far enough from the cabin that you don’t think he would see anything in detail if he were to peek out, even less if you keep your back towards the house, but even the thought of him seeing you outside of your uniform makes you uneasy - the insistent litany of no no no no rushing around your head. It’s probably the quickest bath you’ve ever taken, scrubbing your skin raw and tossing glances over your shoulder every few seconds towards the window. You never see Billy’s silhouette in the frame and even though you’re still kind of tense, it does ease some of the tension in your shoulders. He’s probably still busy anyway, trying to… relieve himself.

Sweat and water still bead up at the place where your forehead and hairline meet, the moisture soaking into the headband of your veil and you really want to wash it too. Another glance at the window still shows no visible onlooker, so you take a chance and pull the covering from your head. 

The sun works on drying your habit as you lay it out on the ground next to you. The cool water slides across your scalp as you wash your hair and it feels so good that you don’t even care that it’s sliding down your back and soaking into your thin top. You wash your veil too, paying close attention to scrubbing the band to get rid of any sweat or smell. 

When you’re done, you grab your clothes from the edge of the stream, cradling them to your chest as you race across the field and back towards the outhouse. You lay your clothes on the grass beside it before darting inside and taking refuge within the small structure. 

It stinks inside the outhouse, the unpleasant smell of bodily waste, only just muted by the dirt covering it, is not something you’re looking forward to experiencing for any longer than you have to. But it shouldn’t take too long for your clothes to fully dry and you could use some alone time to truly gather yourself. 

The opportunity to stay in God’s sole presence, just you and Him and no one else in the entire world, feels like a weight being lifted off your shoulders. You’ve been slacking, and it shows heavily in your recent actions and thoughts. You sit on the side of the bench, legs crossed as you lean against the wall and let your words of praise fill the contained space. The cross laced around your neck normally sits safely under the collar of your tunic, but now it’s held reverently between your fingers. It feels warm as your fingers press into the wood - alive and simmering with your Lord’s presence. 

You press it against your lips as you whisper prayer after prayer against the smooth wood, asking God for His guidance so that His words may once again ring loudly in your ears and fall confidently from your lips as opposed to the damning silence or tempting whisperings of the Devil that you’ve been receiving. 

An hour of prayer might not be much, but it’s enough.

Despite the heat still beating down on you from above, you feel refreshed. There hasn’t been any wind or even the slightest hint of a breeze all day long and yet, when you leave the safety of the outhouse, you feel the softest touch of air blowing against your skin. You take it as a good sign, a signal from God that you are on the correct path and headed for healing and wisdom that you have prayed for. Your clothes are dry when you pick them up, dark fabric hot to the touch but you slip them on anyway, one piece after another until you’re back to how you should be. Covered and modest and protected in the uniform of honor that He has granted you. 

Billy’s clothes are dry too when you reach the front porch and you drape them over your arm. And with a steadying deep breath, you open the door. 

It occurs to you that you probably should have been more cautious when walking inside the cabin. The bedroom door is still wide open from how you left it earlier and nearly the entire room is on display even from the front door. Maybe you should have come in with your eyes closed, called out his name loud and clear so that you didn’t have any more awkward encounters like this afternoon. But things seem to work out in your favor this time because Billy is just sitting on his side of the bed, leg bent at the knee as he plays with what little is left of the knitting yarn. Thankfully, he’s back to wearing his undergarments, so even though he’s still naked (on account of you holding his only clothes in your arms), it's nothing you shouldn’t be able to handle. 

He looks up when he hears you enter, hands stilling on the yarn as his wide eyes stare into yours. He’s nervous. You can relate. 

“Here’s your clothes,” You say, resting them neatly on the corner of the bed. “I hope they’re clean enough.”

“Thanks,” He mutters, eyes still locked on your face. 

You don’t want to say anything. You just want to move past the embarrassment and shame on your part and hopefully have him move past the complete disregard of his private time, no matter how accidental. But he doesn’t make any kind of move for his clothes, doesn’t even move an inch in an attempt to get up - just keeps looking at you and you know you’re going to have to say something. 

“I– apologize for walking in on you earlier,” You say. “I thought you might have been in pain and wanted to help but…” You wring your hands together awkwardly in front of you before settling them to cross your chest. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”

Billy shakes his head. “No. That’s not really somethin’ that embarasses me,”

“Good! It shouldn’t. It’s completely natural for someone to– to do that. And I should never have walked in on it. So, you have my apologies.”

“S’alright,”

“Okay,” You nod. “Good.” Thank goodness that went easier than expected. “Now, get dressed and I’ll start up some dinner for us.”

“Sister, wait,”

You stop midstep, unease fluttering through you, and once again you’re so close to thinking a blasphemous word because no! You thought for a second that you had come out of the conversation potentially unscathed. 

You rest a hand on the doorframe and turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Yes, Billy?”

He stands from the bed, stretching just a little before reaching for the top of his clothes pile. “You really don’t have a problem with what you walked in on? With me, y’know, touchin’ myself?”

“No,” You say, sincerely. “Of course not. Men have needs and those are natural and God-given. What you were doing was completely natural for a young man like yourself.”

“And what about you?” He asks, buttoning his newly fresh pants at his waist. 

“What about me?”

“Women have needs too. Do your needs ever get met?”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs on his shirt, completely unfazed. “Your needs. When you feel it. Do they ever get met?”

“I- I don’t–” You stammer, scandalized. Lord, have mercy. Okay, focus. Stay calm. “All my needs are taken care of by the Lord. He provides me with anything I might ever need. Any desires of… flesh are simply tests from time to time, but I wouldn’t consider it a need for me.”

Billy hums and finishes on the last button of his shirt. He doesn’t believe you, that much is evident in the way he keeps his gaze locked on yours, eyes both indifferent but also somehow so sure, as if he knows something that you don’t. You don’t wait to see if he has anything else to say on the matter and retreat into the kitchen to begin to fix up dinner. 

The glow of morning’s light is shining in through the kitchen window, illuminating your workspace in a warm golden hue. You're making a simple breakfast of biscuits and gravy when you feel him come up behind you. The water is still heating on the stove, and you’re still so tired that you feel like you can barely keep your eyes open. Coffee isn’t usually your go-to breakfast drink, you like the bitter taste of black tea more than coffee, but you feel like you need a more significant amount of caffeine than usual this morning just to make it through today without falling asleep the next time your butt hits a sitting surface. 

You don’t think Billy would mind if you did. In fact, he’d probably encourage it. But you have a job to do, and you’re not one to slack on your duties, even if Billy is now capable of doing most things by himself. 

He comes to a stop just a hair behind you, much closer than you anticipated him getting, and the sudden breath at the back of your neck makes you jump. 

“Ow!” You gasp, the jump making your finger graze against the hot metal of the kettle and pain explodes along the burnt digit. 

Billy coos behind you, arm reaching around you so he can grab your injured hand. He cups your fist in his large hand, thumb urging your hurt finger out of its protective curl so he can see it.

“What are you doing?” You ask, head turning to the side so you can see the side of his face as it leans over your shoulder. The free hand on your waist isn’t lost on you, but you can’t seem to figure out why you aren’t moving away either. 

“Shh,” Billy shushes you, lips pursing as he brings your pointed finger closer to them. “Just relax, y/n,”

Your eyes lock onto where his lips stop just an inch away, breath hitching as he blows cold air from between his pursed lips and onto your finger. Your eyelashes flutter at the feeling of the cool air against your burning skin, small shivers wracking your body as his breath slides across your flesh. His head is getting closer and closer with each light blow of air, slowly creeping nearer to your finger until his lips brush against the pad of your finger. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp as his lips part to take your finger between them, the wet muscle of his tongue dragging soothingly across the injured skin. It laps gently across the sore pad, lips wrapping around the digit as he sucks lightly. 

When he pulls it from his mouth, the length of your finger from tip to knuckle is glistening with his saliva. The hand on your waist tightens a bit and the clutching hold of it tickles your side.

“What are you doing?” You ask again, but your voice comes out weaker this time - more breathy. 

Billy’s bright blue eyes cut over to you, hooded gaze holding yours as he presses his plush lips to your finger in a small kiss, a smirk pulling at his mouth even against your finger. “Taking care of you,”

You feel like you can’t breathe as he raises your hand to press a teasing kiss to the delicate skin of your wrist before trailing downwards. Another kiss to your forearm over the tunic’s sleeve, another to the inside of your elbow and you swear you can almost feel the heat from his lips burning through the thin black material. 

He brings your arm back down and guides your hand so it rests on his cheek, the stubble along his jaw scratching gently at your palm. His other hand comes up to cup your own cheek, and then your entire vision is taken up by him. He’s so close, eyes wide and intense as he stares down at you, pupils dilated just like they were when you caught him touching himself, and you can see how there’s something desperate in his gaze - a longing you can’t even begin to understand.

He towers over you like this. Your body is frozen, pliable in his hands and you don’t know what’s happening, don’t know why you're letting him this close.

Getting closer. And closer. 

You watch, helpless as his head leans down towards you, eyes flicking down to your lips before locking back on yours.

You don’t even register how your own head tilts up, lips parting slightly in preparation to meet his.

And when they do, it’s bliss.

Billy’s lips move against yours like they’ve been doing it for forever, and your only thought as he tilts your head more and kisses you deeper is yes, this feels right. 

His touch feels all consuming, your body heating up under your clothing and reacting to his touch as his hands drop to your waist, squeezing the flesh of your hips through your tunic. He grins against your mouth when you squeal.

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers. Your chest feels like it might burst from his words. 

“Billy,” You whimper, whining as his hands slide over your ass, palming it in his big hands as he pulls you even closer. Your hands grip at his biceps, fingers digging into the hard muscle as he urges you to cuddle against him. Your head rests against his chest with your ear over his heart, and the steady thump thump thump of his heartbeat feels safe.

You can feel the wetness already pooling in your drawers when Billy’s hands slide down further, gathering the material of the tunic and bunching it up just over the curve of your ass so your entire backside is on display to his wandering gaze. 

The feel of his fingers rubbing you through the thin material of your drawers makes you keen, electricity shooting through your body as the pads of his fingers rub lovingly against your clit over the drenched fabric. 

“So wet for me,” Billy hums, tapping on the sensitive nub. Your back arches as you press against him harder, fingernails biting into his arms. “Such a good girl for me, honey.”

You feel like it's too much already, your pussy clenching around nothing as you wordlessly try to grind against Billy’s fingers - get him to touch you more, put them inside maybe. He just laughs at you, a soft but deep chuckle as if he relishes in the absolute mess he’s made of you by barely even touching you.

And then you’re hauled up into his arms, his hands gripping your thighs as your own arms wrap tightly around his neck. He’s pressed inside you now, thick cock spearing you open as he thrusts relentlessly between your slick walls. 

The sounds of his moans in your ear make you wetter and he bounces you on him, pounding into you somehow without mercy but with all the love in the world as you hang onto him for dear life. Your own moans can’t be helped, a symphony of pleasure bursting from your throat and the room around you is so blurry - so blurry that you can’t focus on anything. Your eyes can’t focus. 

And then you look up. 

The picture of Jesus just above the front door is the only thing that’s clear, and your stomach drops, eyes locked and frozen in fear as you stare at the picture in horror. 

He’s alive - Jesus is alive in the picture, head moving around and eyes looking and seeing everything. 

Seeing you. 

And he’s angry. 

The normally relaxed and serene expression on his face has been replaced by one of fury. His brows pull together, eyes narrowing as he watches Billy claim you, lips pulling up in a snarl when your arms wrap tighter around Billy’s neck in fear. Billy takes your grip as passion and thrusts into you harder, moaning into your ear as your body is flooded with wave after wave of pleasure. But you can’t tear your eyes from the picture, can’t help but whimper as you stare wide eyed at the angry, holy being who is cutting you down with the immeasurable weight of his judgment. 

“WAKE UP!” Jesus yells, and his voice is booming in your ears, so loud you think your eardrums might burst. “WAKE UP!”

Your body jerks awake in the same way that it jerks after having a dream where you’re falling off a cliff. The jump is violent, every single muscle in your body is tense and set ready for defense. Your gasp is loud, and you think that if Billy was still asleep he probably would have jerked awake himself from the sheer suddenness and intensity of it. 

But he’s awake already - already sitting upright on the bed, already staring at you. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, voice still a bit raspy. You notice that his pupils are blown wide, just like in the dream.

You’re still panting, still horrified by the dream - the nightmare - that you’ve just experienced. There’s wetness between your legs, you can feel it. You can feel the pulsing of need between your thighs, your clit still begging to be touched, hole dripping and clenching with the need to be filled. The sensations only add to the horror as tears prickle at your waterlines. 

Jesus was so angry. Righteous fury burning in his eyes as he stared at you - watching you sin, watching you as you let a man inside your body, desecrating your sacred temple and breaking the vows you made to God. 

And you let it happen as if all of it meant nothing. 

Acid rises in your throat, tears spilling over and flowing down your cheeks like twin waterfalls and the quiet sob that rips from your throat can’t be helped. It was just a dream, you try to tell yourself. Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream. 

Or a message. A warning. 

“Hey,” Billy says, hand reaching out to comfortingly squeeze your shoulder as he tries to get your attention. You automatically jerk away from his touch, smacking his hand away the moment it touches you. Guilt swirls in your chest at his hurt expression. 

“Are you okay?” He asks again. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to pray,” And his eyes widen even more at your desperate tone. “I need to pray right now.”

You don’t give him time to respond as you scramble out of the bed, hightailing it out of the bedroom and falling to your knees in the center of the main room. You pull the rosary from your belt and hold it tightly between your fingers, hands shaking from the panic still coursing through your body. 

And when you peek over towards the front door, you notice that the spot above the door frame is empty. 

You can’t sleep with Billy in the same bed anymore. Your back is feeling better and considering what’s happened the last few days, you think maybe it's best to return to your place on the floor, if only to remove any temptation or wandering thoughts you might subconsciously be having. Sam is due to make another trip into the neighboring town today and promised that he would stop by on his way. It would be better if he could see that you are both sleeping in separate spaces like you should be. Sam is a sweetheart - he would never judge you for anything, even less of something that you had to do for your own health and he is the last person that would ever accuse you of doing something inappropriate. But the laws of society and need for modesty should still be followed which means sleeping on the floor again is a must. 

Billy doesn’t like the idea.

“You’re gonna hurt your back again,” He says as he watches you grab your blanket off the bed. His arms are crossed over his chest, a poorly concealed act to cover his agitation. 

“I feel fine now,” You reason. “And if it does start hurting again-”

“It will,”

“If it does, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,”

“I think you’re makin’ a mistake,

“Then it’s my mistake to make,”

“Is this about yesterday?”

“No. This isn’t up for discussion, Billy. I’ve told you already that I shouldn’t ever be sleeping in the same bed with a man. This was out of necessity, not comfort,”

Billy sighs, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling in irritation. “I do think it’s necessary for you to sleep in the bed, y/n,”

“Stop,”

The word cuts from your vocal cords like ice. You can’t believe it. Again. He did it again!

“Why did you say my name like that?” You ask. “You’re dropping my earned title. That’s the second time you’ve done it.” Third, but you don’t want to think about the other time he’s said it. “Why?”

“Just an accident,”

Just an accident. “It’s disrespectful. And inappropriate,”

Billy hangs his head. “Apologies, Sister. Never meant to cause you disrespect,” 

“Billy, what–”

Your words die on your tongue when the sound of galloping hooves tearing against the grass out front catches your attention. Billy’s eyes widen and he quickly moves past you and into the main room. His gun and hat are resting next to your bag against the far wall and he rushes to grab it, checking that the bullets are inside before closing it back up and cocking the hammer, pointing it directly at the front door. 

“Wait!” You shout, one hand darting out to signal to him to stand down as you rush towards the front door. “It might be Sam!”

You push the door open slowly, trying to peek out and see who it is before it's even fully opened because it's probably Sam, it has to be, because if it’s not - everything you’ve worked so hard to prevent is about to crumble down around you in a second. Sheriff Garrett wouldn’t hesitate to shoot Billy dead this time. He wouldn’t miss. And you have a feeling that he wouldn’t hesitate to put down the famous Billy the Kid’s getaway accomplice right down with him either.

The familiar horses and wagon are a blessing to see. Sam’s head pokes out from the back of the wagon as he pulls a crate from the fully stocked bed.

“Sam!” You shout in relief. “Thank the Lord! It’s so good to see you,”

Behind you, Billy relaxes his stance a bit, lowering his gun down but keeping it cocked and you nod your head at it, wordlessly telling him to replace the hammer and put it down, but he won’t acknowledge you. 

You push the door all the way open for Sam, scurrying out of the way as he shoulders through with the heavy crate. You strategically keep your body between Sam and Billy’s gun. You’re confident Billy wouldn’t ever shoot Sam, but the worry still lingers for as long as the gun is in his hand and you would never forgive yourself if Sam were to get hurt while trying to help you. The gun isn’t out of his hand yet but you relax when you hear the click of the hammer being reset.

Sam sets the crate down on the floor next to the now almost empty first one and turns to you with an adorably charming grin. 

“Sister y/n,” He greets, clasping your hands in his and you return the gesture, squeezing his hands between yours in friendly affection. “It’s good to see you too.”

A loud clatter sounds as Billy tosses his gun back onto the floor, the metal striking roughly against the wooden boards. Sam lets go of your hands to turn his attention to Billy, tipping his hat at him respectfully. 

“Mr. Bonney,” He greets. “I didn’t get to properly introduce myself last time we met. I’m Sam Anderson. Good to see you’re alive and well. How’s the bullet wound healing up?”

“Healin’ up just fine, Mr. Anderson. I have a great healer,”

“That you do,”

“Sam,” You interject, placing a wary hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You have news for us?”

Sam nods. “Yes. Good news in fact. Sheriff Garrett has been relentless in his search. He’s travelled to most of the neighboring territories in search of Billy but has been given no leads. He intends to search the last few remaining ones but I can tell he already knows you won’t be there. He’s stated that he thinks you bled out while fleeing and have been made a meal of by some animal,”

“Well, good,” You breathe, looking in relief between Sam and Billy. “That’s good news indeed.”

It’s beyond amazing news that Sheriff Garrett is coming to terms with the possibility that Billy bled out before he could find any help. Even if he’s travelling to other territories to question if Billy had come through, the idea that he’s already dead added to the fact that those questioned in the neighboring territories will say no, they hadn’t seen Billy come through there, means that it's already even less likely that Sheriff Garrett would show up at your front door. It means that in a short time when all of this is over and Billy is well enough to travel on his own, that you can return back to the clinic without fear of being hunted down yourself. You can return back to your Sisters. 

“How are they?” You ask Sam. You don’t need to clarify, he knows who you’re asking about. 

“They’re fine. I visit them every time I can to check on ‘em. I know you would have wanted me to,” You nod in agreement as he continues. “They miss you. Sister Catherine holds everything together like she always does, but she always makes for all of us to pray together for you. And Billy, of course.” He says, nodding to Billy. “Praying for Billy’s quick recovery and for you to return home safe. Sister Ann is biting the sides of her fingers more than ever now. I stop her whenever I see her doing it, but she’s bled quite a few times from it already. Sister Maria was out sick for two days after you left. Sick with worry is what Sister Catherine said, but she is up and well now although she does still worry.”

You feel like your heart is breaking as you imagine your fellow Sisters distraught and in pain over worry for you during your absence. It shouldn’t be a surprise. All of God’s creations are our brothers and sisters, but those three women waiting for you at the clinic - worrying for you, praying for you, missing you - those are your sisters. They are your family. And you will do what you have to in order to get back home to them soon. 

“Thank you, Sam,” You say, voice thick with emotion. “Please continue to look after them for me.”

“I will,” He promises. He reaches out to squeeze your shoulder gently and you’re beyond thankful for the comfort he’s providing. 

“Do you have to get goin’ soon, Mr. Anderson?” Billy asks. “Quite a ways you have to travel, right? We wouldn’t want to hold you up.”

Your hand automatically reaches out to cover Sam’s still on your shoulder, keeping it in place. “You can stay just a little longer, right, Sam? We have some leftover food from breakfast. I can fix you a bowl?”

You don’t want Sam to leave just yet. The events of yesterday and this morning, the dream, are still fresh in your head and you’d appreciate it immensely if Sam could stay for just a bit longer to provide a buffer between you and Billy.

To your despair, Sam shakes his head. “I can’t. Billy’s right, I should get moving if I’m gonna make it back to town before dark. Thank you for the offer though, Sister y/n. I know if you cooked it, it must be mighty good.”

Reluctantly, you nod. “I’ll walk you out then,”

Billy makes his way back to the bedroom as you walk Sam out. You thank him again for the generous crate of supplies. You saw that there were a few more balls of yarn shoved into the side of it and you wonder if that was Sister Catherine’s doing or if Sam had seen you shove the yarn in your bag before first leaving the clinic and had asked to bring you more. 

Sam heaves himself back into his seat and grabs the reins. “How much longer do you think Billy needs before he can head off on his own?”

“Just a couple more. He’s healing up quick,”

“That’s good. I have another delivery in 10 days. I can stop by on my way and pick you up? I’ll bring an extra horse that Billy can take along with him on his own when he’s ready,”

Ten days. Another ten days of this. Think about this logically, you’re uncomfortable and a little frazzled but it’s not necessarily all Billy’s fault. He’s just a man and non-religious one at that. You are bound to clash at some point. But he’s a good person and there’s still so much work to be done in trying to heal his faith. You can handle ten more days. You will do what you can and return to the clinic knowing that you tried your best whatever the outcome. 

“Sister,” Sam says. “Are you alright?”

You snap out of your daze and nod. “I am,”

Sam looks a little uncomfortable himself, eyes flicking towards the bedroom window. “Billy treating you right? He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”

“No! No, of course not,” You insist. It’s not a lie - Billy wouldn’t ever hurt you. There may be discomfort and a little inappropriateness, but nothing that can’t be worked through or forgiven. Billy would never hurt you, you’re sure of it. 

“Alright,” Sam concedes. “I’ll see you soon, Sister. Take care of yourself. God bless,”

“Thank you, Sam. God bless!”

You watch as he snaps the reins, offering a sharp yip as he urges the horses forward. It feels nice outside today as you watch him travel over the wide expanse of land, beautiful weather and none of the ridiculous heat that had felt like it was cooking your insides like yesterday. When he’s disappeared over the hill, you return back inside. 

The yarn this time is a pale yellow instead of the blue you had been working with but you grab it anyway. Perhaps a little color change on the blanket might help turn the current shift between you and Billy around once again for the better. 

Your room at the convent is small and modest, something that brings you peace in the limited space. Having little things creates more space for the divine and all-consuming power of His Grace - the additional space that would have been otherwise cluttered with needless items or physical luxuries is offered up to Him instead, allowing His presence to wash over the room and fill it with the healing aura of His love. 

The simple bed is big enough for one, just you as it should be, and God can fill in the areas around you. A small chest hides away in the corner of the room, barely filled with all the personal belongings you have left from life before you took your vows, and the crucifix sits on the wall at perfect eye level so that as you kneel down on the prie-dieu to pray, you can have the reminder of the significance of Jesus nailed to the cross right in front of you just as the cross is nailed to the wall. 

It’s here that you kneel now, bare knees digging into the cushioned bottom of the ​​prie-dieu while your hands fold together along the wooden shelf at the top. The words of a prayer automatically fall from your lips as your eyes trace the detail of the crucifix without taking them in. 

The room is your room, a place that you’re intimately familiar with, but the feel of it is wrong. It feels off and like something is missing - the peaceful presence of the Lord is unnervingly absent in this space that should be holy.

There’s another presence though, something darker, and the hair stands on the back of your neck as you register the new energy. Something is creeping up behind you, you can feel it - can feel as it comes closer and closer and you want to turn around so badly, want to spin and lock your eyes onto whatever is nearing you and making you feel so unnerved in a place that’s supposed to be safe. But you can’t, your body is frozen in its spot, not listening to your brain’s commands as you scream at it to turn around. 

There’s warm breath on your ear, a hand at your hip and you’re still frozen as the hand balls the material of your tunic, dragging it up until it's over your bottom and pooling around your waist. Another hand finds the curve of your waist and then another caresses your shoulder. Two more hands slide along your front and drag down to grip at the fat of your thighs, trying to pry them further apart, and you can feel the faintest of touches of fingers against your nipple as if the hands touching you now don’t need to be concerned with the barrier of clothing you have on to block their advances. 

Fear courses through you at the touches and you murmur the words of the Lord’s prayer faster. Your eyes are locked on the crucifix, taking in the wooden grain of the cross as it contrasts with the dull metal figure of Jesus hanging in the center and it's the only place you can look. The warm breath is still on your ear, but now it's between your thighs too somehow - searing hot as it fans across your bare folds. 

Your clasped hands squeeze together harder as something soft and wet slides against your slit, and you gasp when the thing laps over your clit. The murmured prayer is louder now, rushed and panicked as you beg God for guidance and deliverance from whatever monster is attacking you right now. A demon maybe. Perhaps the Devil himself. Your body heats up as the thing digs in deeper, pushing between your folds and dragging against your hole. The tip of it nudges against your entrance, wiggling like it wants to push inside but is just barely holding back before it retreats and slides back up to the top. 

The heat that fills your body is a terrible combination of pleasure and shame as the demon has its fill of your paralyzed body. The sensation of what it's doing between your thighs is forbidden - you were never meant to experience this, and yet the feel of it makes your eyes water and your hole clench like it’s trying to clench around something else. 

The thing focuses on your clit, lapping at it and swirling around it and you can feel how your belly tightens with increasing pressure with each lick. You can’t think clearly anymore. Your prayer is becoming muddled - coming out in whimpered words, accidental repeated sentences, and interrupted by the desperate whines and moans as your hips unconsciously try to drive down harder on the foreign thing between your thighs. 

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is so wrong.

Lord, please forgive me. Please forgive me. Please for—

And then suddenly, you’re not in your room at the convent anymore. You’re in your brother’s cabin, on his unforgiving floor, and your bleary eyes blink up at the ceiling as they try to adjust to the new environment outside of sleep. The grogginess keeps your brain in a state of confusion, but eventually it registers that something still isn’t right. 

Your dream is over. You’re awake now. 

But the slick feeling of something wet and soft between your thighs is still there and your head shoots up to see the scene before you. 

Your mouth falls open in horror.

Billy’s on his stomach, upper body cradled between your open thighs as his hands curl around each one of them to keep them spread. His mouth is pressed against your core, wetness glistening off his face with each movement as he drags his tongue through your folds.

And you swear when those beautiful blue eyes you’ve come to know these past few weeks flick up to stare at you from beneath his dark lashes, you don’t see that same kind and caring man just in need of guidance and faith that you’ve come to associate them with. 

Instead, you think you might be looking at the Devil. 

Taglist: @queenofshinigamis @hidden-poet (Lemme know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist)

[lushrue]

there was something angry and dark festering inside of simon. (afab!reader, nsfw, mdni)

he noticed it for the first time when he went out with the rest of his team to the pub after a particularly difficult mission. everyone had their own way of coping with stress. price had his cigars, puffing away and coating his lungs with tar. gaz had alcohol, bourbon and tequila burning away in his stomach to soothe the cold grip of disappointment in himself. and johnny? johnny had women. birds of all different types, sizes, occupations. simon was convinced he didn’t even look at who it was he was snogging in the corner of the bar. as long as she was warm and willing, he was on her.

that’s when he felt it, watching johnny suck at some poor girl’s face like she held the nectar of the gods between her lips. simon had never paid much mind to getting a woman of his own. with his family life, he’d found it hard to put stock in anything akin to a committed relationship. too many things could go wrong. after all, as he reminded himself every time he came close to a woman, he had anger baked into his DNA. the desire to sink his claws into something and rip it apart until he was bloody was too tempting. he’d ruin whatever he touched, so why bother?

still, as much as he tried to deny it, he was a mere mortal. flesh and blood, hormones and urges. testosterone flooded through him the same as any other man. the sight of his sergeant indulging himself made the beast within him rear its ugly head. it was like a devil on his shoulder, whispering to him that he could have that too. he could dig his fingers into the soft plush of a woman, feel her curves and let her gentle caresses soothe the storm that never seemed to let up. ever detached, he weighed the consequences against the reward. sure, he could satisfy this hungry thing that ate at him every time johnny spoke of a new conquest. but it would mean corruption for whatever poor thing his eye landed on. he couldn’t do that to someone he knew, someone he’d have to face again.

a few nights after the incident at the bar, simon got a card for an escort company from price. “in case y’need it,” he’d said. unbeknownst to simon, his captain had noticed, seen the hunger that was building steadily in him. he remembered that same hunger building in him as a young man. lust for blood and lust for flesh was hard to distinguish in the civilian world. besides, he couldn’t have his best lieutenant unfocused. simon held onto it for a couple days, flipping it around in his fingers between rounds of paperwork. each time he skimmed over the phone number in pretty cursive writing, the beast inside him clawed at his bones, begging to be noticed. when he finally worked up the courage to dial the number, he hung up the moment someone answered the phone. it was too much, too fast. especially when he could just give himself the pleasure he was craving. so he set the phone down, grabbed his headphones, and opened his laptop.

moans and gasps echoed in his ears, a manufactured sex scene playing out on the screen in front of him. he’d barely paid attention to the setup; something about a pizza delivery guy and not having money, one of those cliches. his hand wrapped around his aching cock, thumbing at the tip as he watched the woman’s face. her expression was one of false bliss, played up for the camera and the enjoyment of spectators. simon could see right through it. he gritted his teeth, his calloused hand dragging painfully against the sensitive and dry skin. he tried to squeeze himself, milk any bit of moisture or pleasure out, but nothing came. it wasn’t the same, his hand no substitute for the sweet warmth of a woman wrapped around him.

after a few minutes of tugging at himself painfully, he slammed the laptop shut, tucking himself back into his cargos. this wouldn’t do, not at all. it didn’t feel the same anymore. the beast within growled, demanding sustenance. simon cursed under his breath and picked up the phone, dialing the escort company again. this time, he wouldn’t lose his nerve. he’d faced much scarier things than a phone call; he just had to remind himself of that. a woman who sounded like she smoked several packs a day answered the phone, rasping the name of the company and asking what she could do for him.

it was simpler than he imagined to book an escort. set a date and time, agree on a neutral location, put his list of boundaries on file, and sign a few forms to send back. easy enough. he was silent about his “date” to his teammates, not wanting the questions to flood in. this wasn’t a woman he was planning on keeping. hell, he figured she wouldn’t want to be kept anyway. all the better for him and the thing festering inside.

as much as he tried to deny it, nerves were building as the day of his appointment approached. it was one thing to see it done on a screen, it was another to make his body cooperate. simon had never experienced performance anxiety. if someone didn’t like his skills, fuck ‘em. his talent spoke for itself, the kill count in his file more than impressive. but this wasn’t killing. this wasn’t a battle, this involved no bloodshed. this was tender, intimate, gentle. this was letting someone see his soft underbelly, exposing the most vulnerable parts of himself and handing them over on a silver platter. he fought it down, swallowing it and forcing it back into the dark recesses of his mind to be dealt with later.

he showed up to the hotel, hoodie pulled up over his head and balaclava obscuring his face. this may be someone he’d never see again, but he wouldn’t take the risk. not when just seeing his face could damn someone to fates unimaginable. he stepped up to the front desk, muttering his last name and the room number they’d told him to request. he hated the way the girl behind the computer screen gave him a knowing smile as she handed over the key. strangers didn’t need to know his business, especially when it involved things as sensitive as this. he brushed it off with a gruff “thanks” and drug himself up the stairs towards the second floor.

he pulled out his phone to check the time, jaw clenching as he stared at the clock. he’d sat too long in the car trying to work up the courage to get out, and now it was his scheduled appointment time. he’d planned to give himself at least a few minutes to stand in front of the door and decide if he really wanted to go through with this. it was an out, a chance to tuck tail and run before anyone got hurt. he’d paid in advance anyways, so who would it hurt if he backed out now? himself. he’d just be hurting himself. two sharp raps on the door and a sweet voice called for him to come in.

that’s when he saw you, all dressed in his favorite color. a tight crushed velvet dress, heels sharp enough to kill a man, hair framing your face just so. the beast roared, clawing at his chest and begging to break free. it thumped at his ribcage, the bones prison bars containing the darkest parts of himself. he rubbed at his chest to soothe it, swallowing thickly as he shut the door behind him. you smiled, lips stretching to a thin red line over your teeth. “mr. riley?” you asked, pushing yourself off the mattress and standing to face him. “simon,” he muttered gruffly, feet planted firmly in front of the door. he was frozen, an utterly unfamiliar feeling to him. his next steps were always carefully planned. if he didn’t know exactly where he was going, someone who spoke in his earpiece did. this was all him, though. he was fully in control of his actions and it made him viscerally uncomfortable. no one to blame but himself.

“simon, then,” you say, taking a few steps closer to him. he tried to step back to keep the distance, but the door behind him stopped him in his tracks. nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. you looked so clueless, he thought, so oblivious to the fact that you were locked in a lion’s den. you stopped your advance, giving him a wide berth. he wasn’t the first man you’d booked that almost looked afraid of you. most of the time, the men you serviced were too shy or too awkward to find a woman to give them the time of day. “you can call me crystal.” not your real name, obviously. you were too cognizant of your safety for that.

“crystal,” he repeated slowly, trying the weight of it on his tongue. simon would’ve almost preferred not to put a name to your face at all. it would only make him more guilty for tainting you with his bloody hands. “you know the rules?” you asked, a bit more business than pleasure. he nodded curtly. they’d made him sign contracts and waivers, agreeing that he wouldn’t cause any bodily harm to whatever poor bird was assigned to him for an hour. he was legally bound to treat her nice, he reminded the beast. not very many pretty girls in prison. “good,” you reply, staying planted where you were until he made to move. “we can get started whenever you want. clock’s ticking, y’know.”

simon hesitated, taking in every inch of you that he could see. he tried to tell himself that it was threat assessment, an ingrained skill that everyone he met was subjected to. still, he couldn’t shake the sense that he wasn’t looking at you as a soldier. he was looking at you as a man. he was thinking about sinking his teeth into those supple curves, jowls dripping red. he wanted to dig his claws into the plush of your breasts, find the heart beating underneath all of it and take it for his own. mouth dry, he stepped forward, inching the smallest bit closer to you. you take it as an invitation and match his pace. you were close enough to touch now, dilated eyes looking up at him. prey, meat to be devoured.

slowly, simon reaches out, letting his bare hands brush against the skin of your arm. you shiver at the light touch. heavy petting was what you were used to, hands that sought to dominate you and bend you until you strained with the pressure. this felt exploratory, like he was testing the waters. he held his breath as his palms stroked over your elbows and forearms. if he looked too closely, he could see the blood from his hands staining your soft, pretty skin. this is why we couldn’t do what johnny did, he told the beast. trails of blood follow wherever we go.

“never done this before, huh?” you ask, keeping your tone even and light. no judgement, no pressure. simon grunted in reply, too mesmerized by the way your dress clung to your body. he could see the contours of you, the malleable skin across your stomach and the fat that clung to your hips. of course he’d never done this before. if he had, he wouldn’t be staring at you like a work of art and a piece of meat all at once. your hand snakes up, grabbing his and pulling it away from your arm. he tenses at your touch. he’s not exactly sure what he expected, but you touching him caught him off guard. your fingers close around his and you pull him towards the bed in the center of the room. it wasn’t the nicest; the sheets definitely needed a good deep clean and the mattress was likely stained with all manner of unmentionable things. but people didn’t do things like this in five star hotels.

you sat down on the bed and kicked your heels off, pulling your feet up and resting your weight on one hand. simon watched it all, eyes fixed on your every move. his hands flexed at his sides, aching to reach out and grab you. the beast was roaring for things to move faster, but simon tamed him. he didn’t want this to be over so quickly. the strap of your dress slipped off your shoulder, exposing more bare flesh to him. saliva pooled in his mouth, transfixed by the sight of you. he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d seen clean skin in person, unmarked by scars or tattoos. the mirror gave him no reprieve from it, reminders of all the battles he’d won written across his skin.

“take it off,” he muttered, not even looking at your face. you tried not to feel slighted by it. some part of you had almost expected him to be different by how nervous he had seemed walking in. but there were some things that never changed, you supposed. you reached back and undid the zipper on your dress, adjusting yourself on the bed so that you could slip it off. you hadn’t worn a bra, just underwear and a very skimpy pair at that. simon’s eyes trailed your hands as they peeled the dress off, then snapped up to admire your body. it was just as beautiful as he’d imagined it’d be. all supple skin and soft curves, the occasional stretch mark here and there. signs that you were human, that you were a real, tangible thing that he could claim for the night.

he wasted no time putting his hands on you, standing over you and squishing you in his hands. he squeezed and prodded, testing what areas made your breath hitch. you felt like a science experiment, observed and appreciated but not admired. you existed because he willed it and for no other reason. finally, after squeezing every inch of skin he could grab at, he looked at your face. not once had he touched anything above your neck. his gaze roamed over you, his thoughts taken over by the beast. he recalled all of the faces he’d seen play out on his laptop screen, imagined what you might look like with those blissful expressions. could he really make you do that?

as he took a seat on the mattress beside you, his hands drifted up to your breasts, pressing at your nipples with his calloused thumbs. that earned him a gasp, your lips parted deliciously. when he brought his pointer fingers up to pinch, that got him a whine. the blood rushed to your cheeks, simon’s cock stiffening at the sight. your heart was beating, blood was pumping. he could feel it under his hand. even with your profession, he perceived you as a saint. the crimson in your veins wasn’t tainted like his was, spilled at the hands of dogs hungry for power and control. no, you were pure. poor thing, you didn’t even realize that he would corrupt you from the inside out.

he pulled at the hardened buds on your breasts, the slight sting of pain making you hiss. “gentle, simon,” you chided, putting a hand on his wrist. with great effort, his touches eased up. his hands roamed downwards, pupils blacking out the color of his eyes as he stared at you. his full attention was on your face now, watching your reactions to each touch and stroke. it wasn’t until he got between your legs that he found what he was looking for. it was a familiar expression on your face as his finger dragged up and down the folds of your pussy through your underwear. mouth slack and hanging open, eyes closed in bliss, head thrown back. he could feel your moisture soaking through the fabric. this time, though, it hit him differently.

this wasn’t manufactured, and he wasn’t detached from it. he was making this happen. he caused those little whimpers to fall from your lips, he caused your eyes to screw shut when he pressed his palm against your heat. it made the beast grumble in satisfaction, belly aching for a good meal. he clumsily pulled your underwear to the side, trying to find the sweet spot that would make you melt. he’d heard it spoken about, that it was notoriously hard to find, but he was sure he could do it. his thick fingers prodded around, pressing and stroking while watching your reactions. that was when you realized it; he was a virgin.

the nervousness, the impersonality, it all made sense now. he really hadn’t done this before, not at all. you gently grab his wrist, dragging it up towards the top of your folds and positioning his middle finger over your clit. “i think you’re looking for this,” you say, cheeks flushed an alluring shade of pink under the blush and foundation you wore. he looked down at his hand, as if committing the placement of it to memory, before stroking his finger over the damp skin. you shivered, pleasure easing over you. that seemed to spur him on, his pace speeding up and becoming rougher. the pressure was almost painful and you shook your head, reaching down to hold his wrist again.

“here, let me help you.” you drag his finger over your clit, moving it in small, slow circles. at first, simon had been frustrated with you stopping him. he wanted to drink in your bliss, roll around in the pride of causing you pleasure. but then he saw the way your face twisted, and he couldn’t be angry anymore. you were helping, making sure this happened with you instead of to you. the beast couldn’t get to you like this, and the thought of that soothed him.

he continued his motions, his focus switching between your face and the arousal seeping out of you. your noises were music to his ears, moans and breathy whines that had his cock twitching in his pants. he was fully hard now, tip leaking just at the sounds you were making. porn had nothing on this. nothing could compare to bringing those noises about by his own hand. his digits slipped down to your dripping slit, running his finger through your folds and gathering some of the wetness on his finger. he held it up to his face, studying it almost, before slipping the finger under the mask and into his mouth.

you were salty, just as he expected. but there was a sweetness under it, something uniquely you. he could drink it in forever and never be sated. the balaclava he wore suddenly felt constricting, like it was in the way of his pleasure. he wanted to dip down between your legs and drink you up until the well ran dry. grabbing the fabric under his chin, he rolled it up over his nose and laid flat on his stomach. his head positioned between your thighs, he looked up at you with feral eyes. he was begging wordlessly, his gaze conveying what his words couldn’t. i need this, i’m starved, let me taste the nectar of the gods if only for a moment. with a nod of your head, he dove in.

his tongue was uncoordinated, lapping at your pussy like a dog. still, the broad strokes and pressure against your folds felt nice and you gave him a moan as a reward. the saccharine taste of you coated his lips and chin, almost in tears whenever he let a drop fall to the sheets. it wasn’t to be wasted, liquid gold that he had the sole pleasure of enjoying in this moment. he suddenly understood the allure of keeping something like this caged up in a two story house with a white picket fence.

your gaze drifted to his head between your legs, watching the way his eyes screwed shut with the simple privilege of tasting you. you idly wondered if he’d ever even tasted a woman. all signs pointed to no as his tongue prodded at your entrance, testing the waters and waiting for some indication that this was the right thing to do. a gasp rises from your throat as the tip of his tongue slips into you. it was thick and rough, stretching your walls just enough to make you keen. your hips jerk towards his mouth and he takes it as an invitation.

the beast purrs, a rumble in his chest that vibrates against your sensitive skin. it finally got to feed, to devour, to consume. simon’s fingers grip your thighs tightly, tips digging into the soft flesh and turning you a pretty shade of purple. the pain didn’t even register as heat shot up your core and straight to your head. you let yourself fall back against the mattress, chest heaving as his tongue plunged in and out of you at a brutal pace. he didn’t know what he was doing, that much was certain. there was no artful flicking of the muscle, no eye contact to make you feel special. this was pure instinct, messy and animalistic.

simon wouldn’t be sated until he had gathered up every last drop on his tongue, but the flesh was weaker than the spirit. his jaw ached and the way you were shrinking away from his touch made him think you were growing tired of it too. he knew the pain all too well, the blisters he’d given himself on his sensitive shaft from tugging at himself too long. no matter how long he would stroke and pull, the beast still roared. now, it was deliciously quiet.

he pulled his mouth away from your glistening pussy, grunting with satisfaction at the way your skin glowed with his spit and your juices. he wondered how lovely his cock would look all shined up by your mouth, but he wouldn’t do that to you. it would be enough to corrupt your cunt, all pliant and ready for him. your precious mouth could be spared.

simon unzipped his jeans and pulled himself out, pumping his length in his thick hand like he’d seen the men on the computer do. he almost wished he’d talked to johnny before all this, asked a real person to tell him how to do this. maybe it was exactly like the scenes he watched in the dark of his room, or maybe it was completely different. not knowing made him hesitate, hand tightening around himself at the base. you lean forward and suddenly your soft hands are on him, emptying his head. “we’ll go slow,” you coo, stroking over the pulse point on his wrist. 

you lay back against the pillows, spreading yourself out for him. his eyes rake over every inch, his cock painfully hard and twitching at the sight. heat builds under his skin, sweat pricking at the back of his neck, but he can’t bring himself to get undressed. it was enough that he was pawing at you, letting himself be vulnerable and giving as much as he took. revealing scars, tattoos, things that had meaning so deep it was etched into his soul, that was just too much. you reach down and part your lips with your fingers, letting him see your arousal. a string of slick and spit stuck to your fingers, glistening in the warm light of the motel room.

simon’s chest heaved, his hand caressing himself without conscious thought. all he knew was that you were pretty, beautiful even. a bead of precum drips from his slit and he groans at the delicious moisture it provides. touching himself rarely felt this good anymore. you smile, reaching over into the nightstand and pulling out a condom. you tore open the package and looked at simon, asking silently for consent. when he nodded, you rolled it over his length, taking your time to stroke over the skin. the beast rumbled in disappointment at the latex separating skin from the warmth of you, but simon rubbed at his chest to soothe it.

you lean back once more, spreading your legs and planting your feet on the mattress. “whenever you’re ready.” simon leans forward to meet you, planting his hands on either side of your body. he bucked his hips, the thick tip sliding through your folds and gathering up your wetness. you moan and he answers it with a pleased rumble of his own. each press of him against your clit makes you keen. for once, you don’t play up your pleasure. it’s for his benefit, you tell yourself, so that he knows what feels nice to a woman and what doesn’t. it helps that despite his nervous movements, his fingers are incredibly precise once they know where to go. his cock is no different. “use your hand to guide it in, it helps.”

simon nods and follows your instruction. it’s like taking orders, and that’s something familiar. he prods at your hole, watching the way your eyes flutter shut at the pressure. it feels good for you too and that spurs him forward. he sinks into you, going slowly and letting himself enjoy each delicious inch. you’re warm and wet around him, hugging him so nicely. the sound you let out when he bottoms out in you makes him twitch, his whole body shuddering. he’s embarrassingly close to orgasm already, his core tightening as he tries to hold himself back.

as much as you want him to pound into you, to make you see stars and forget your own name, this isn’t about you. all your focus is on him, his pleasure, his enjoyment. you reach up and cup his cheeks, still half obscured by fabric. “let go,” you whisper, your thumbs stroking over his face. tears prick at the back of his eyes and shame bubbles up. his breath shudders, eyes glazed over with unshed tears and pure lust as he meets your gaze. “it’s alright, simon. let yourself feel good. you’ve earned it.” 

letting go was scary, and he hesitated, the thickness of him sitting heavily inside you. it was almost uncomfortable, so you rock your hips to get some friction. he hisses, the muscles in his neck tightening. his head shakes frantically. he can’t hold it back anymore; you’re too warm, too soft, too gentle. he has to corrupt, to paint you red with the blood he sees staining his hands in his nightmares. it’s in his blood, he tells himself. a primal urge, he can’t help it. his hands roam your body, squeezing and scratching and pulling as his hips begin to move just as quickly as his head.

words of warning start to form on your tongue, but before you can say anything, his hips are stuttering, muscles twitching with his release. your ears were ringing from the sudden intensity, but you saw the words “i’m sorry” form on his lips. you weren’t sure what had happened to him to fill him with so much self-hatred, but you pitied him all the same. he pulled away from you, peeling the condom from his length and tossing it in the trash bin. his hands flex as he stands from the bed, tucking himself back in his trousers.

simon hadn’t known peace like this in a while. his head was quiet, the beast wasn’t thumping at his chest anymore. he felt like a man, an imperfect human, rather than a monster. when he looked down at his hands, they looked like anyone else’s. he didn’t see red, didn’t feel the warm stickiness of blood that always seemed to be there. you’d cleansed him, and he wasn’t quite sure how you’d done it. he looked at you for a moment as if to speak, then pulled the balaclava back over his face. “thanks,” he muttered gruffly, rubbing at his chest to commit the lightness to memory. then he was gone as quickly as he’d come. just like a ghost.

you’d tried to call after him, tell him that he still had time left if he wanted it. he didn’t seem to hear you. you noted the clock, though, counting the minutes he still had left. and the next time he called, you blocked your calendar with the extra time. the two of you had plenty left to explore.

[starlightshadowsworld]

There’s been multiple characters in Bungou Stray Dogs that have been called “angel.”

Shibusawa called Atsushi the “angel that will save me.” Yosano was called the Angel of Death. Mushitaro called himself the Angel of Murder.

Ango is the angel Dazai refers to when he tells Sigma an angel is how he’s able to reach the outside world.

And while not referred to directly in Stormbringer Chuuya’s corrupted form resembles that of an angel.

Fukuchi (chapter 90) tells Tachihara that he is an angel but Tachihara is not. And explains what it means to be an angel.

“Now who are the angels? Those who don’t dirty their own hands, who don’t bear the filth. And send their inferior humans to the battlefield.

Those who, bearing no responsibility, crave nothing but the honour, riches and pleasures. They hold the reins of the people. Heavenly beings that’s others hands cannot reach.”

Fukuchi’s correct Tachihara doesn’t fit this criteria of being an angel. But neither do any of the characters I’ve listed.

Atsushi is the one who gets sent into battle. He does not control anyone and sees those others view as inferior, as people who need help.

And any time something goes wrong Atsushi blames himself for it.

Yosano sent soldiers to there deaths during the war, absolutely. But the second she realised the true weight of her actions she tried to stop it.

It was out of her control and Yosano still shoulders responsibility for it.

Chuuya has been on the front lines since he joined the Sheep. He enjoys the thrill of the fight sure but his fights are usually in service to protecting his family. Be it the Sheep or the Port Mafia.

Chuuya’s always been placed on a pedestal but he never put himself on one. And on multiple occasions Chuuya’s chosen to protect even if it could cost him everything.

Mushitaro tried to convince himself it was all for his own pleasure and amusement. But he only dirtied his hands for an old friend who’s long gone.

Same with Ango who dirtied his hands for Dazai. He took responsibility for the Dragons Head incident. And even with everything at stake Ango cautioned Chuuya against using corruption.

Even Fukuchi himself doesn’t truly fit this description.

Fukuchi’s dirtied his hands sure but happily uses others to do it for him. He tried to convince Akutagawa to kill Atsushi because he didn’t want the blood of more children on his hands.

The fact Fukuchi uses the vampires to begin show he has a hold on others. Along with his reputation that really carried things for him. His motive is peace sure but he’s already decided how many deserve to die for it.

Much like the politicians he’s criticising in the statement above. But I guess it’s fine when he chooses who deserves to live or die.

The only other person I can think of who fits this criteria the closest is Fyodor. Makes sense considering he’s probably the one who spoon fed the motto to Fukuchi to begin with.

But it is interesting considering Fyodor has only ever been referred to by others as a demon. Though he himself probably thinks of himself as an angel. One that will purge this world of abilities, of sin.

Despite possessing one himself.

Fyodor can dirty his hands but like Fukuchi prefers to use people to fight for him. He doesn’t see anyone as his equal not even Dazai. And he manipulates and brainwashes his way into controlling others.

It makes sense that in Fyodor’s eyes he is an angel. Though there is one thing Fukuchi mentions that the rest possess more than he does.

And that’s to be an angel means to suffer.

Fukuchi definitely suffered from war. But he says his experience with torture is from the torturers side. He has not suffered for his own mission of peace.

He’s never lost anything he didn’t plan to lose. Prior to Fyodor showing up Fukuchi was dying exactly how he wanted too.

Ango’s suffered. Mushitaro’s suffered. Chuuya’s suffered. Yosano’s suffered. Atsushi is suffering. Fyodor literally wouldn’t have gotten to this point if he hadn’t suffered.

Fukuchi by his own criteria is an angel and yet it puts him even closer to the demon himself. Rather fitting for a man who thought his quest to end a war with a war would make him a hero.

[exhaslo]

Corruption Ch16

(Villain!Miguel x F!Hero!Reader)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8, Ch9, Ch10, Ch11, Ch12, Ch13, Ch14, Ch15

Warning: Minors DNI, mentions of sex, violence, blood, murder, twisted thoughts, experimentation, language, wannabe fluff, established friendship/relationship? SMUT, so much goddamn smut like I need help, rough sex, breeding kink, creampie, overstimulation

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"Fangs that secrete enough venom to paralyze whomever I bite, could be useful but also disgusting to get close to others. Hm, no change to body from producing said venom. Fascinating."

It had been two days since the incident. Miguel had reassured you that he was fine, but then proceeded to lock himself in his own lab to run tests on himself.

"Talons on both hands and feet, allowing me to climb walls. Not the exact same way as (Y/N), this is far more violent since my talons could be used as weapons."

Miguel slashed against his desk.

"Wood nor metal can stop me. Not to mention, physical body mass has increased. Height increased, muscles strengthen and-"

Miguel stopped as he looked down. Withholding a chuckle, he returned to typing down his findings. Miguel stood in front of a mirror, taking in his now stronger appearance. He could lift over ten tons his weight, much like you.

"Side effect, eyes have become a red color and are sensitive to light. Senses have also increased, allowing me to hear, feel and even sense what others are thinking. Needs to be trained and nourished more to use in field."

"Miguel? Can I come in, please?" You asked, knocking against his door. Miguel threw on his lab coat, hiding his information,

"Yes,"

Planting himself on his seat, Miguel watched as you entered his lab. That bright smile on your face as you saw him. Miguel covered his mouth, smirking towards your blush towards his chest. Hopefully you won't tempt him too much.

"Are you sure you're alright? You've been cooped up in here for two days. I brought you some food," You said, holding up your cute little lunch bag, "I can put it aside if your not-"

"I'll eat it. I skipped breakfast," Miguel motioned you over.

He watched as you skipped over, opening your bag. He hid his smirk as you stared at his broken desk before continuing to get the lunch out. As you did, Miguel tensed as a new and strange scent caught his nose.

"(Y/N), are you wearing a new perfume?" Miguel asked. You tilted your head,

"No? Do I smell?"

"No, no," Miguel furrowed his brows finding the scent sweet, "Why don't you feed me? I'm starved."

Miguel resisted a groan as you took your place on his lap. The scent was getting stronger as you fed him. Miguel couldn't even focus on the food. Staring into your eyes, Miguel felt something almost primal in him act up.

"(Y/N), come to my place tonight."

"Okay," You agreed so easily.

It was difficult, but Miguel held back and behaved himself. He couldn't help but feel around your waist, needing to touch you. This had to be his Spider instincts kicking in. It had to be, what other reason would Miguel have the strong urge to fuck you?

"Miguel, you sure you're okay? I worry,"

"I'm fine. Just come to my place tonight and wear something that will excite me."

Leaving you with a peck, Miguel returned to his studies of himself. Now that he was a superior human like you, he could begin his plans for domination. To begin his plans to expand his rule of superior humans.

"Now, to test my stamina."

----------

You were on cloud nine. Was tonight finally going to be the night? Miguel just told you to wear something that would excite him! The amount of sexy new panties you had were going to finally be put to use!

Nearly squealing in joy, you hurried to your office to finalize some work before heading home. As you made your way to your office, you stopped in front of Aaron's shrine that some of the workers put together.

It was a shame. Aaron seemed like such a nice guy. To think that he was the one who caused the explosion and almost hurt Miguel. Miguel had told you everything about the incident so that you wouldn't worry.

At least Miguel was safe and sound.

Shaking the thought away, you hurried to finish you work. All that mattered was that Miguel was okay. Although, you were worried since he locked himself inside his lab. You wondered what he found that had him cooped up in there.

Recalling his strange behavior recently, you tried to think if anything in the explosion could have affected him. It sucked since you weren't as smart as half of the people in this building.

"I wonder...if I should wear perfume?"

---------

Miguel sat on his couch, waiting for you to arrive. He had done all the testing he needed in order to know that it was time. Miguel was going to make sure you didn't leave his apartment until you were pregnant. He didn't care how many hours it would take.

You belonged to him.

Catching that familiar scent in the air, Miguel stood and hurriedly opened his door. There you were, standing there with a shy look on your face; your scent oh so sweet. The dress you had on was tight, exposing your breasts ever so slightly.

"I'm not taking you to dinner," Miguel told you as he pulled you inside, "But good job on listening to me."

"O-Of course," You nearly stuttered as you fell against his chest, "Um, Miguel...have you been working out?"

Ah, so you finally noticed. Miguel just smiled as he grabbed your hand, gently biting your fingers. You scent getting stronger, causing Miguel to act more rashly. Thoughts of breeding you began to cloud his judgement.

"(Y/N), you'll do anything for me...right?"

"Yes,"

"Good girl,"

---------

You weren't sure what was coming over Miguel. He was acting a little strange, but it wasn't like you were going to question him. Miguel's hands were all over you as he brought you to his couch. You couldn't help but grow excited as you thought of what was to come.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you smiled as Miguel kissed you. His hands were firmly on your waist. Each kiss grew more and more aggressive and hungry. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, exploring everywhere as he pinned you to the couch.

"Irresistibly sweet." Miguel groaned, his hands stroking up your thighs, "Unable...to think straight."

"Mhm, Miguel?" You muttered between kisses.

You gasped as Miguel picked you up and carried you to his room. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, feeling your panties get damp. This was escalating to an exciting point. Once in the room, you yelped as Miguel threw you on the bed.

"I don't care if you cry, I'm not stopping."

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. If your pussy could talk, it would be swoon right now. You took off your dress as Miguel removed his shirt. Sitting before Miguel in your underwear and bra, you were waiting for his orders.

"I've had you wait long enough. Lay down and spread."

You bit your lower lip and did what Miguel said. You were a little embarrassed since you knew your panties were soaked. You gasped as Miguel hovered over you, kissing you again as he took off your remaining clothes.

You arched your back, moaning into the kiss as Miguel started to rub your clit. His pace grew faster the wetter you got. Your body was getting hot and needy. Miguel's mouth was all over your neck, sucking and biting, leaving as many marks as he could.

"Hah~ Ah, M-Miguel~" You cried out, trembling in pleasure.

"Who do you belong too?"

"Ah~ Ah~ Y-You, You, Miguel!" You whimpered.

Miguel's fingers had dipped into your cunt, pumping inside of you at a fast pace. Tears had started to form, feeling the knot in your stomach about to burst. Right when you felt yourself about to cum, Miguel removed his fingers.

"M-Miggy! P-Please!" You begged.

You whimpered as you watched Miguel lick his fingers for the first time. His pupils were dilated and filled with lust. This was a first and new look. Miguel grunted as he took his pants off, revealing his dick, which seemed bigger than before.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood."

Miguel grabbed your legs, throwing them over his shoulder as he positioned himself. His breathing was irregular along with yours. Miguel's dick poking right at your entrance, begging to be let in. Begging to fuck you.

"Fuck, say it again." Miguel demanded, pinching your clit. You arched your back, squirming slightly,

"Miggy~"

With a sharp cry, Miguel slapped his hips into yours. Your body shivered as you cam from insertion. His dick slamming right inside you, stretching your gummy walls out. His tip smashed against your cervix.

Miguel grunted as he gave you no time to rest from your climax. His hips were rough as he slapped himself into you. His dick bullying your cunt with no remorse. You flung your head back, crying out in pleasure as Miguel's dick rammed into you.

"Miggy~ M-Miggy~"

---------

Miguel felt sweat roll down his forehead as he held your hips. Why did he have to wait so long for this? You were made for him. Your pussy was sucking his dick so well. The sloshing sounds it made as you cried his name. Everything was perfect.

Groaning lowly as you cam again, Miguel felt you squeeze around him so much. Webbing your hands to the bed post, Miguel kept focus on what he was doing to you. The rim of his dick around forming a white ring from your orgasms.

"Made just for me. My perfect match." Miguel grunted, fastening his pace as he felt his high coming, "Sucking my dick so well. You just want my child, don't you?"

"Yesh~ Y-Yes~" You cried.

Miguel felt his eye twitch as he slammed his hips into you, finally releasing his first load. After months of waiting, Miguel was finally breeding you. Slowly removing his dick just to admire his first work, Miguel cussed lowly.

"Perfect, but so wasteful. Do you want to disappoint me?" Miguel hissed, watching his cum drip out of you.

"N-No,"

"Then drink every last drop."

--------

You cried and whimpered as Miguel pinned you into mating position, fucking you relentlessly. His dick hitting your cervix, causing you to gasp and twitch with every thrust. Your cunt unable to stop wanting Miguel as he made his dick at home inside of you.

Your vision was starting to blur as your mind grew fuzzy. This was only something you could only dream of. Miguel's dick bullying your cunt. It felt so good. So right.

"Drink up."

"Mhm~"

Shivering, you moaned as you felt Miguel cum inside you once more. It was so hot. Taking a moment to catch your breathe, you slowly regained your vision as you looked up at Miguel. He had a wicked smirk as he looked down at you.

"M...Miggy~" You whispered tiredly. Miguel just chuckled,

"Awe, tired already? We've only just begun."

--------

Your face was pressed into the bedsheet as Miguel fucked you from behind. You could barely feel your body anymore since it was so sensitive. Each thrust made your body shiver and your pussy clench. You were so fucked out that you couldn't even think.

"My stamina outranks yours by a mile. It's only been an hour and you're tapping out already? Hm, I suppose I did go overboard for your first time," Miguel muttered.

"Mhpm~ Ah~" You moaned, cumming hard as Miguel slapped his dick into you a bit harsher.

"My mating instincts have finally passed as well. Just don't expect any rest any time soon. You will be caring my child. The future of humanity."

You just babbled nothing but nonsense as Miguel gave you one last load. Unable to keep yourself awake, you felt yourself knock out.

---------

Miguel sighed as you fell asleep. He turned you around, watching the mess of a work he did. He definatly went overboard, but you had to get pregnant. Fixing you on the bed, Miguel lifted your hips and legs up against the bed frame, wanting to make sure his cum stayed inside of you.

"Lyla, keep track on (Y/N)'s health. I want any updates of bodily changes."

"Yes sir, also your suit is ready."

"Hm, I suppose tonight is a great night to start my reign of terror. While I'm out, I want you to start transferring all of (Y/N)'s information and paperwork to this address."

"You haven't told her that she will be living here,"

"(Y/N) will agree...and if she doesn't, I'll just fuck the idea into her."

"Understood."

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Next Chapter

@tojishugetiddies @miguelsfavwife @foulsharkheart @club-danger-zone @ivkygirly @jollystrawberrycycle @amber-content @weirdothatwritess @smartyren @mangoslushcrush @nyxzoldyck6 @migueloharastruelove @sukioyakio @killjoy-nightshadow @heyohalie @the-pan-liquid @bokutosprettylittlebimbo @kpopscoups17130000 @pochapo @killerwendigo @barbiecrocs @miss-galaxy-turtle @oscarissac2099 @lazy-idate @lauraolar14 @safixiovi @migueloharacumslut @straw-berry-ghoul @daisy-artfield @sukunash0e @undf-stuff @iamperson12280 @nightingale1011 @reader-1290 @mcmiracles @keepghostly @marlyharper @jadeloverxd @daddyfroglegs @shoukanjo @cicithemess @babyprofessorsharkpalace

[acapelladitty]

Batman: Arkham Session #1

Summary: After an incident at work, Edward Nashton is assigned to Dr. Jonathan Crane for psychological assessment. A decision which places both men in the firing line.

One half of an exchange with the incredible @skxtchyghost who has the absolutely amazing art half of this little encounter here!

Fic Masterlist /// Link to A03

From the moment he laid eyes on him, Jonathan Crane could tell that Edward Nashton would be less than an ideal patient. From the way that he lounged carelessly in his chair to his casual gaze which swept along the many achievements and objects which littered the walls of Jonathan's office.

Every inch of the lanky frame screamed difficult and Jonathan found his mood worsening as he shifted past the meagre introductions which had been shared.

Jonthan flicked his eyes over the notes he had been provided from the incident report as his left hand rose to adjust the bolo tie which hung loosely around his throat.

"You destroyed a workstation in a fit of," Jonathan lifted the top sheet of paper from his clipboard as he quoted the report directly, "obvious rage while using considerably inappropriate language. These are not the actions of a rational man."

Unapologetic, Edward spread his hands in a wide gesture as a defensive smile stretched across his lips.

"I'm the only rational man in this city."

"Oh?"

Really having a limited interest in whatever nonsense Edward was about to spout, Jonathan made a quick note on his clipboard - ready to simply diagnose him with some asinine anxiety disorder and throw some medication at him to quell the worst of his obvious symptoms.

"The others are so willing to ignore the corruption," Edward continued with a growing irritation, "how unbearably stupid and foolish the criminals that rule this city choose to be."

"Harsh allegations."

"Only because the evidence is routinely destroyed. Weeks of work erased in an instance because a particular name would rather not be associated with the actions investigated." His tone snappy, Edward was clearly not at peace with his treatment and Jonathan frowned at the sudden emotional outburst. "Weeks! Good work. No recognition. Only a sharp reminder that our job is to catch real criminals."

"I can imagine the frustration."

Something in Edward's expression shifted and Jonathan tensed as he took in the change in body language, the immediate aggression which crawled into his leaning frame and clenching fists as Edward met his gaze without flinching. It was an open challenge and Jonathan would not back down as he accepted and adjusted his glasses to allow him to keep Edward's attention.

"You bore me. Don't feed me the words I want to hear, Doctor."

"Interesting. Do you see me as your enemy?"

Wary but slightly more interested in his patient, Jonathan asked the question with the smallest of smiles.

"Yes. Your work is as corrupted as mine even if your corruption comes from a more personal insistence."

Jonathan's blood ran cold.

"I do not know you, Mr. Nashton. Neither do you know me."

He couldn't know.

No one knew.

Especially not a jumped up technician from the GCPD.

No.

He was just fishing for information, attempting to claw back the control of the situation by fabricating infor-

"Your purchasing history is interesting, both online and in your role within this asylum." Edward grinned, his body language relaxing into something almost smug. "Meaningless to a layman, but a small touch of research and critical thinking goes to show just how dangerous the various chemicals and research papers you collect could be. Pair that with the increased reports of catatonia which patients under your care have been reduced to and we have something approaching a pattern."

"Mr. Nashton, these delusions do nothing to further yo-"

Rudely, Jonathan found himself cut off by a childish wave.

"Your business is your own and I have no reason to care for any of the degenerates in this building. My work is almost finished and I have my own important business to attend to. Where our paths cross is that I require a clean bill of health to leave my job with the appropriate supports in place."

Smiling widely, his glasses pushed tight against his eyes, Edward perched his fingers on the light-coloured vest which covered his shirt as his cheap shoes tapped a soft rhythm to the carpet. Opposite him, Jonathan felt much more uptight - the shift in dynamic having put his teeth on edge as the urge to regain control of the situation tempted him into dangerous territory.

"You're blackmailing me." Jonathan gritted out.

"If you choose to view it as such then yes. I choose to view it as a mutual exchange of services." Shrugging, Edward caught his hands between his knees. "You clear me, and I erase some of the more unsavoury purchases that you have unsuccessfully distanced from your name."

Seeing each other plainly, Jonathan abandoned any pretence of playing the game and his expression soured into open distaste, regarding Edward with contempt.

"And what guarantees do I have that you are speaking the truth? One word from me and you will be locked away with the worst that Gotham has to offer." Flashing a cruel grin, filled with yellowing teeth, Jonathan tilted his head. "I could have you in a shared cell which houses violence that would easily end a man like yourself."

"All my information is due to release at a specific time if I am not available to prevent it. Risk it all and see."

Reclining once more, Edward presented his hand before himself as he investigated his nails with a forced nonchalance.

"So, Doctor Jonathan Crane, how are we going to move past this?"

[mrsackermannx]

trust me with it | choso kamo

choso has experienced so much of what it is to be human already, but you're slowly making him realise that he's far more human than he thought.

word count: 7k

tagging: (ya’ll interacted with my interact to be tagged post back in November🥺) @meownotgood @sixpennydame @tomuraslut @romantichomicide95 @cathybarn @c-h-e-r-r-i-e-s @whatthefucksatan @loveackermannn + @p00pdev1l (have to tag you my beloved <3)

tags: 18+ canonverse choso kamo x fem!sorcerer reader, minor manga spoilers, (nothing plot wise is mentioned other than yuuji and megumi reuniting/implied culling games arc/ post shibuya incident arc), loss of virginity (virgin choso) but still soft dom choso, corruption kink too I guess?? choso has a big dick, breeding kink, size kink, slight praise kink, belly bulge, unprotected sex, use of "human/little human," light love confession/confession of feelings-so sex with feelings? low-key self indulgent, not beta read, vvv intense sex, possessive/smitten choso (slightly yandere at the end??)

author’s note 💌: (nov 23): hope this isn’t a little too ooc, ive been dying to write something for choso and this came to me so i had to write it! virgin characters are my faves to write🤭(june 24): I HAVE HAD THIS SAT IN MY DRAFTS SINCE NOVEMBER AND WANTED TO SET IT FREE😭😭😭

Choso had been plunged into a world of the unknown from the moment he met you. Before you, he liked to believe that one hundred and fifty years of existence meant that his wisdom would always be the indispensable weapon against which he truly feared—the unknown, and the humanity of his heart.

He was hardly a stranger to continuous, repetitive loops of thought but it felt as if his brain had rewired itself. Not even his inner world was safe from the insatiable need to be near you, his own thoughts searched for you when they dared stray elsewhere. 

He thumped the tile before him, hot water scalding his back as he willed his hopeless blood to answer him. It was acting on its accord all the time, his heart nothing but frenzied beating in his chest, not even his body in his own control anymore.

The need to be near you, to feel you and touch you in ways he couldn’t even explain was going to be his undoing tonight. Sharing a room with you seemed to send equal prickles of fear and excitement through him.

You reached out for your reflection in the glass as if you’d throttle it but chose to reach out and trail patterns against the window instead. You wrote nonsense for a few moments, before cursed energy started to zap through your fingertips in minute electric pulses. A shower normally reset you after a day like this, but you supposed this was a rather special circumstance. 

You were glad to be alive even though you didn’t feel you deserved it and the weight of your fellow sorcerers still slugged down your shoulders. The responsibility for your students was an ever present taste in your mouth. You eyed your tattered uniform beside you, all too grateful for the hotel robe Choso had insisted you wear after he picked apart the suitcase left by the last guests. It was soft and fluffy, perfect for how light your body felt after your shower and admittedly around Choso.

You gripped your stomach, the guilt demanding to be free. Your head was still fuzzy from how hot you’d had your shower, as you’d yearned to wash away all that had happened. But that would be a dream, “Satoru, I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” you whispered, laying your forehead against the cool glass.

Thankfully the wailing vibrations of a nearby car alarm rattled through the glass and then your ears, dragging you from the dark edges of your mind. 

You peered down below at the scene, squinting to figure out the cause of the chaos. Cackles of maniacal laughter followed sounds of crumbling concrete as your eyes darted from fire to fire. When one was extinguished another rose up in its place. Yet the neon lights of Tokyo still shone, a loyal audience and an ever present reminder of what life used to be like. 

It was pure anarchy, like waking up from one nightmare and going right back into another. Yet the world was not ending and then starting again it just kept ending instead. 

You weren’t sure what was worse, the hell out there, or the one in this room? Choso wasn’t quite sure either, he thought as much as he watched you intently from the doorway of the bathroom. He found he could often do so and never tire of it because there was a fluidity to your movements that calmed him, something that reminded him of water, like warm waves somewhere safe. 

He liked that about you, he liked a lot about you. 

You glanced at his reflection in the glass, and resisted smiling at how he watched you so attentively. Concern knitted his features into something soft and more approachable than the expression he usually showed everyone else.

He was so cute and serious all at once that it was infuriating. He towered over you in height and his hands dwarfed yours, every feature of his face was dark and perfect, and maddeningly symmetrical like he was crafted in heaven, like some kind of dark, beautiful, fallen angel. 

But nothing about Choso was what you expected, that you learned early. He might have looked intimidating, but he was careful and patient, he stopped to admire flowers when he thought nobody was watching, he didn’t always say a lot, nor did he smile often, but he had an array of expressions that always managed to move you in some way.

You sighed. You resented how he’d managed to send the usually calm waves of your heart into a frenzy, a full blown tsunami. 

But you couldn’t hate him, it was impossible. Not when every interaction you had together, you treasured so sincerely. You casted your mind back to just nights ago, when you were sitting together on a roof in some district, sharing konbini raided food together under the stars. He held his onigiri out to cheers with yours, a phantom smile on his lips before he took a bite. 

Or when your hand brushed his as you were walking back and he frowned at how cold it was, clasping it immediately on instinct with his large, warm hand. You tried to shake his grip but he shook his head and clasped it tighter, urging you to keep up with his pace. You didn’t argue it any further.

Then just this morning after passing through what used to be a department store. You all but yelped when you felt something hook around your throat from behind. But a hand landing atop of your head quickly stopped your thrashing, “It’s just me.” You heard the glimmer of his smile, turning with one of your own.  

He was still smiling, simply as if he was so fond of you that words were futile to express the depth. Your throat went dry as he adjusted the scarf on you, “I found this,” he murmured, before continuing ahead, turning to beckon you when you stood there frozen. 

This person often acted without words and out of pure kindness and it baffled you. You knew what he had done and what he was capable of, but every wordless gesture, reassuring nod, and the warm brush of his fingertips against yours had you rethinking everything about love. 

His deep voice settled through your body and calmed your rising nerves. He’d only said your name but it sounded like the unmistakable call to come home, it made you feel like a child again.

You were still standing at the window, then, he thought, no doubt thinking of other sorcerers, of Satoru, at least you knew Yuuji and Megumi were safe, only a few doors down.

“You should sleep,” he murmured, soft footsteps growing close until his body heat somehow billowed against your nape.

It was easier to face yourself than him right now, so you dared not meet your faces in the reflection staring back at you. “What are you thinking about?”

You wanted to speak but found yourself trembling, silent tears rushed to embrace your palms, staggering where you stood you tried to cover your eyes, but Choso was already there. You felt his strong arms lock around you, stilling the tremors that shook you. You stiffened at first before you melted, the hard pieces of you pooling to his feet like wax. 

“What are you doing, Choso?”

“I felt like it was right,” he whispered, resting his chin upon your head. Instinctively his hands cupped your cheeks, swiping away the warm tears rolling there. “You stopped shaking.”

You couldn’t breathe now for entirely different reasons, being handled so tenderly seemed to make you even more tearful. 

The commotion of the fighting in the distance seemed to unsettle you more, making Choso exhale suddenly through his nose. “I…wish you didn’t have to see that.”

Your lips parted, “I don’t want to think about anything anymore Choso,” you croaked. “I don’t want to think about anything.”

“Can you think about me?” he bashfully asked, stroking his hands through your hair. “I just want to help you.”

“I don’t want to burden you, just go to bed, okay?”

He stiffened against you, unhanding you to head over to bed.

“You don’t have to fight how you feel around me. I’m not one of your students.”

“I know.” You refused to let yourself crumble anymore around him, it was too dangerous, for so many reasons.

“We have to rest so we can fight,” he murmured. You turned to find him gesturing again to the space beside him. You sighed and he countered you with an even louder one. He crossed his arms as you smirked at the sound, “Don’t be stubborn. You need to sleep.” 

His bluntness was something he did to lessen the burden of talking at times, but when he spoke to you it felt as if he did it to protect your heart. It was obvious he didn’t always know how he should say things before others, but with you it came easy. 

You let out a bitter laugh, wrapping your arms around your cold body. “You know, Choso? The more time passes, I can see that you’re an older sibling.”

He decided to take that as a compliment, humming in gratitude before continuing to pat the empty space beside him. “Then listen, come here and sleep. You can’t sleep over there.”

He cocked his brow at you, “Can you?” 

“Listen, I don’t care what Yuuji says, alright? I don't trust you.”

You immediately covered your mouth as if to take the projectiled words back. You turned back quick enough to see the frown on his face before it was gone before he impassively said, “At least trust him.”

Your eyes held each other's gaze until you refused to be lost in the beautiful unsurety of those dark brown eyes. So you stared back at the moon instead, wondering how you found time crumbling into nothing whenever you looked at him. You were trying to ignore the pangs of your heart, asking it why it had chosen now to fall for this half-human, half-curse you found so utterly captivating. 

Even with your back to him the reflection of him was clear beside you, not willing to leave your side. He was wearing whatever clothes the last guests had left. A black t-shirt and some loose sweatpants, and his hair was loose and silky at his shoulders from his shower, and his skin was still flushed from it, too. 

The image beside you, and the reality behind you caged you in, forcing you to face your true desires and the guilt that was tugging at your gut. He was innocently offering you space beside him to rest and your mind was everywhere else. You couldn’t ignore how seductive he sounded when he spoke this late at night, or how the sight of him reclining against the headboard with his thighs slightly spread like that was so sexually charged it was making your thoughts run wild. 

Without his usual clothing you could see how thick his biceps were, and how broad his chest really was. You longed for him to touch you, to hold you, to explore you so he could learn what being human really meant.

His aura and general demeanour was so undeniably strong it had you wondering how much longer he’d play this game with you, and what he’d do to you if you gave him the opportunity. But a part of you also doubted that he felt that way about you, or anyone for that matter.

“It’s cold over there,” he pressed again, no malice at all, only concern. “Yuuji told me that I'm naturally warmer, it must be because my blood circulates differently…So, you really should come and sleep here next to me.” 

You were freezing in your robe, unwilling to put your tattered uniform back on. So, you finally abandoned the window ledge, “What are you gonna do if I do?”

His face furrowed, “Whatever you want me to do,” he sounded more like he was asking. He'd been around you long enough to pick up on the slither of the nuance aching to be acknowledged.

“I’d rather not hear you complaining any more beside me though.”

“Whatever.”

He cracked you a half-smile, happy to see you finally listening to him, even if you were being a brat about it. “Good.” 

You were sure you caught his gaze on your thighs as you neared the bed. You’d been chalking it up to him being curious, but the way his eyes had lapped over your bare skin tonight held something you could feel in your core. 

“Do you think I don’t notice when you do that? Earlier, too?” you blurted. 

His eyes darted to the door as if he planned to escape or as if Yuuji was about to burst in and declare that he room with him instead, rather than the tall black haired boy he’d been attached to the hip with since they reunited.

“I don’t want to fight with you. Yuuji respects you-“

He looked up at you, those dark eyes alight with something reminiscent of relief and perhaps yearning? His unwavering gaze sent flutters through you, it was like he was taking in every detail and leaving everything else alone.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d acknowledge my question at least.”

He pouted, noticing how your arms were tightly folded and how you were looking down at him with an indecipherable emotion. He hadn’t quite figured that one out yet, he thought, but he liked the look of it on you. It excited him somewhere, somehow. 

“Choso?” Your voice was a soft, hypnotising hum whenever you said his name all honeyed like that.

His mouth went dry as he really took you in. How the moon was creeping in to illuminate your skin, drifting down your throat to where your blood pumped. He briefly questioned whether all of these feelings were because your blood was special? How was it that you glowed like the sun and the moon had gifted you their light? Why were you so attractive to him? 

The bathrobe was much too big for you, the sleeves large and encasing your wrists, but it cinched in your waist. You had such an attractive shape, one that was so different to his own. He’d spent far too long trying to conjure up how you must look in his mind, but he could never form the image. Clothes were always in the way, taunting him, teasing him. 

“Choso!”

“Yeah, yeah-“ His eyes widened as you closed the gap between you both, kneeling tentatively in front of him. He quickly brought his legs to his chest and turned away from you. 

You scoffed, “You’re the one that wanted me over here so bad.”

Blood was thundering in his ears and his skin was burning so hot he feared he was about to explode into a thousand different pieces. He needed to hold himself together because he felt like if he looked at you he’d be doomed. Maybe his worst worries were true, he couldn’t be around humans like you, at his core he was nothing but a curse. What if you caused his body to show him yet another reaction? One that was weird? One you would hate?

“I know,” he mumbled, curling up on his side, he appeared to be shaking slightly, as he rocked his hips every few seconds. He was trying to elevate the pressure building in his lower half that was making him feel like he might burst. “I still do.”

You sighed, leaning over his body to assess his face. “Now you’re just worrying me.” You rested your hand on his forehead and he groaned. 

“Why are you burning up like this? Were you not supposed to shower or something? I don’t see how you’re any different from us in that regard?”

He groaned into his fist, “Ever since I lost my brothers, and I met Yuuji. I've been feeling and experiencing things I never have before. I thought the worst and the best were over. But now, you?” 

He was groaning like he was in pain. “I don’t think I can take it any longer.”

“Hey, calm down.” You bit your lip, “Take what? Should I get Yuuji?”

He quickly shook his head.

“Then I guess I’ll keep my eye on you tonight.”

The bed dipped beside him as you laid down, curling your body up like his. He froze, staring at you and your mouth, your lips looked so soft, he ached to touch them.

“Listen, I’m sorry for snapping at you. It’s not like I don’t trust you.” You paused, “You’re interesting, Choso. I’m just intrigued by you. I don’t know what you think of me, I guess that’s why I want to know why you stare at me like you do?”

His brows pinched together.

“Like earlier?”

“Was I?”

You nuzzled closer to savour the sweet treat of his scent. It was nothing and everything human all at once; sweet, and vaguely like metal.

“Maybe Yuuji hasn’t told you this…but like, you can’t just stare at people's bodies so obviously.”

“Their faces are better?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Got it,” he said slowly, but then he noticed you had nothing under your robe. He wondered if your nipples were hard because he could see goosebumps spreading over your skin.

His eyes settled on the space free from your robe. “And I…was staring at your body?” 

“Yeah.”

Your eyes followed his, watching him grow more shameless by the second. With every doubt you had, a shaky breath or a small noise would escape him, that had you questioning if he felt the same desire for you. Seconds felt like minutes, as Choso allowed his gaze to roam freely of you, as you allowed him to. 

“And…you don’t like that?” he whispered after what felt like forever, making your heart beat faster with all of these stolen whispers.

“You don’t like when I stare?” 

Time slowed and all other sounds ceased to exist to him, he could hear every bat of your lashes, and every hesitant swallow. He was watching you so carefully he barely blinked. “I want you to tell me why.” 

Then you did it, the thing that confirmed everything for him as you clenched your thighs together, ever so slightly. His own were locked firmly together, as he could feel something was happening there that he couldn’t explain. Maybe you were experiencing the same thing, he thought. He didn’t want to grapple with doubt when this might be the only time he had with you like this.

“It’s just not something you should do,” you finally replied, curt and crisp, but the way your voice shook suggested anything but. He could feel the heat emulating from you now. You were on fire, too, or at least he hoped you were, because he was finally at bursting point. 

“I want to show you what you do to me. Do you want to see?”

Your lips parted to speak but before you could he was sitting up and gesturing to the thick bulge in his pants. 

“This. This is mine,” he whispered, leaning in so his breath brushed your neck. “You know what’s happening to me, don’t you?”

You throbbed and pulsed for him, weakened by your desire. “You really are getting used to this whole human thing admirably fast. It’s endearing, honestly. You want sex and you’re already figuring it out?-“

“I don’t want to just get you pregnant-“

The tension broke with your laughter, “That’s not all sex is for, Choso. There’s many ways to do it, did you know that?”

“There’s another way?” 

“Choso, if I show you, you can’t go around telling everybody, okay?”

“Is it special?”

“Not every time. But it can be. Shall I explain first?”

“Yes.”

“People have sex because it feels really good. When a man and a woman have sex, yes, they can produce life. But people have sex mostly because it feels good, are you understanding me here?” 

He nodded, “It can be called fucking too. Sex is sometimes called fucking.”

He leaned closer with his eyes glued to your lips. “How did you know that’s what I wanted?”

You swallowed as he studied your face so intently, “Because you’re hard, right?”

He frowned in confusion, rushing to check his stomach, “Where?”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, “Oh you’re too sweet. Sit back.”

He let go of your hand and leant against the headboard awaiting your next move. You couldn’t help but wonder how long he could remain this composed? 

You carefully lowered yourself on his lap, watching him wince, you knew it was because his cock was probably growing more sensitive by the minute. Due to his abilities, his blood was in a frenzy everywhere.

“You’re curious, aren’t you? About my body?”

Your words were all he needed for his body to act for him, as he reached and ripped your robe open and apart, “Choso,” you stammered, “you should have asked!”

His hand cupped your throat carefully, thumbing your thudding pulse point. “I knew you wanted that. Your heart has been beating like this since you laid down. You want to show me your body too, and you want me to touch it. Explore it. Don’t you?”

He smirked at you, and he looked so gorgeous it hurt.

“You want sex, don’t you? But are you sure you want it with me? I don't know what to do.”

You lifted his chin and smiled, making that primal part of him go even crazier, “It’s okay. I still want it with you, Choso.”

In the rush of the moment he suddenly realised what he wasn’t laying his eyes on, and he gasped as he finally did, though all to himself. “I can touch you?”

You nodded and he worked the robe down your arms, he was mesmerised, brown eyes glimmering in the low light. His breath growing heavier at the sight, “You’re so soft,” he stroked you so gently it turned you into mush. His hands rose up and down the dips of your curves, over and over as he appreciated the unique shape of you. It seemed like he wanted to commit your every breath to memory.

“You’re beautiful,” he said under his breath as he cupped your breasts, rubbing your nipples with his thumbs. “They’re so beautiful…You’re so beautiful.”

He leaned forward to rest his face in your breasts, locking a hand with yours. As he listened to your frenzied heart and toyed with your nipple, mesmerised by your body. 

You ran your fingers through his hair and he moaned softly, pulling away to touch and grab at you all over again. His eyes locked on yours, watching the way you were getting worked up from his every touch. He noticed how much faster your heart beated when his hand stroked down your centre and neared lower. So he paused at your abdomen. 

“You’re…exquisite.” His eyes were in yours like they always were, intense and full of anticipation. “Here, this part of you too.” He was flushed all the way up to his ears. “What do I call it?”

You smirked, “My stomach?”

He was trembling, trying to contain himself. Shaking his head, he asked a wordless question. You smiled, and he took that as assurance to venture further, cupping the hot heat between your legs. “You look so pretty like this, when I’m touching you here,” he whispered, watching your teeth sink into your lip as your arousal drowned his fingertips. 

“My pussy? You’re touching my pussy,” you whispered. “Do you like it?” 

He nodded eagerly, “This is where I put mine?”

“Do you want to?”

He nodded again, “Can I…look at it? Closer?”

“You can do what you want with it, Choso.” You cupped his face, leaning close. “I want you to do whatever feels natural to you.” You kissed along his jaw as you spoke, he quivered at each one. 

“I think you’re more human than you give yourself credit for. A curse might have had its way with me by now and I know you must be bursting to try these new things as they come. So we’re going to do something special first.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna kiss. Kissing is done in all kinds of ways, you kiss your family on the cheek, normally. You kiss lovers on the lips. You kiss people you have sex with on the lips. It feels really good. Got it?”

“You’re going to show me though, aren’t you? You’re going to lead me.”

“Yeah, you ready?”

He nodded, “We’ll close our eyes, and then I’m gonna kiss you, got it? My lips will touch yours, and then you’ll let nature take its course from there. Don’t worry about being too rough with me,” you eyed his hands that were now resting at his sides, “You won’t hurt me. I’m a sorcerer, remember? It would take a lot to do that.”

“Then come here and give me your lips.” He tugged your mouth onto his, your lips meeting his eager ones, you thought he’d need a second to adjust to the sensation, but in a single second you were being slammed down onto your back. He clutched your face in his hands so he could kiss you without any distractions, it felt like he’d never let go. Everytime you moaned, he would too, like every kiss bonded you closer together.

He kissed you like he’d been waiting years for this, rutting his clothed cock into your naked, wet centre. You slid your tongue against his and he started to grunt, and his skin grew so hot against yours you wondered if he might set you both alight.

He was quick, and eager, pulling away to rip away his shirt, but earnest as he grabbed and then placed your hands on him. You made sure he felt your desire too, kissing all over him, finding that sensitive place just under his ear to suck and kiss. But then he was fighting you, just so he could kiss down your throat to get your tits once more, learning and learning.  “I can kiss anywhere?”

“Yeah,” you moaned.

His eyes darkened with lust as he gripped both your breasts, running his teeth all over them and sucking until your blood rose to the surface in the shapes of his lips.

“I saw a lifetime when I saw you. I saw you, and I felt it all. I thought that was your technique, that you were going to lure me in and kill me with your beauty. I was wrong. Thank you for giving me your body. Trust me with it.”

He was gasping against your skin, running his hands up and down like you were about to disappear. And if his words were intense, his actions were even more so. “I want to kiss you forever.” 

You had no idea what to reply to him right now, but there was something so beautiful about how direct he was, he loved his brothers, he knew of emotions, like love and admiration. He knew what he felt for you and he could put it into these words.

Falling for this man was hardly unusual when what you felt was so real. 

“I trust you, Choso. I want you to kiss me for as long as you want to.”

“I can kiss here then?” he said, throwing your thighs over his shoulders as he gripped your hips and leered at your pussy.

“It’s so wet,” he hummed in awe, before he closed the space and kissed it. He let out such a loud groan you had to shush him, but then that was just it. He was sucking all over so your juices could dance through his taste buds. He was licking and sucking on your pussy with so much zeal you were surely louder than he was. 

Choso was learning fast. He knew that you surely couldn’t be this wet like this all the time, he gathered it was because your body was readying itself to take him. Which also meant you wanted to take him, he wanted to take you. He’d yearned for you, he’d adored you. He adored this.

“I could do this forever,” he moaned, the grip bruising on your hips, as he locked you firmly in place so he could explore you. “Those noises of yours. Don’t stop. You won’t stop. I’m telling you not to stop them.”

“Yes Choso!”

He never thought the sound of his name could taste so sweet. He was groaning into you, sucking and licking until your swollen clit rubbing against his lips caught his attention. You prayed he’d be gentle as he spread your lips and looked at you, awaiting your reaction as he gave it a softer flick of his tongue. You shuddered so sweetly, squeezing his shoulders and tugging on his hair. 

“That’s a sensitive part of you, isn’t it?” He chuckled to himself, a grin on his lips, “My sensitive little human.” 

Your eyes widened at the words and he watched as more slick oozed from your throbbing sex. He laughed again, the deep sound reverberating deep in your core, he was so beautiful, so hypnotising. He brushed the hair from his eyes and kissed along your thighs, still keeping you spread. 

“I’ll be gentle with you. I won’t break you unless that’s what you want.”

The pleasure you were experiencing from a half-human half-curse should have been illegal, it probably violated some sorcery law somewhere but you didn’t care. Not when he was somehow saying and doing everything to make you tick. 

He kept licking and sucking until he found what you liked, and noticed the way you were shaking, the way your thighs were squeezing him tight so he didn’t stop. You gripped his hair, moaning his name as you came, the sweet taste filling his mouth until you had to forcibly push him away.

“Don’t keep your sweetness from me. That was all mine,” he grunted, travelling up your body with kisses. He took your face in one hand, his voice softening as he looked at you beaming in your afterglow, “Did I give you too much? Can’t take anymore of me?”  

You shook your head, barely able to catch your breath. “You made me feel so good, Choso, you gave me an orgasm. That’s important in sex, to give your partner orgasms, it’s what just happened.”

His thumb rubbed your lower lip, marvelling at the subtle mark he’d left from biting it earlier, and he smiled, “So you keep stimulating your partner until they can’t take anymore, releasing themselves on you.”

“You catch on fast.”

He grinned, kissing you deeply as he rutted himself into you. “Show me what to do,” he said breathlessly. “I need you, now.”

“Fuck Choso your cock, I can feel it.”

You started to tug down his sweatpants, taking the time to admire how broad and built he was, he really was no different from a human at all. He moaned with every press of your lips on his skin, he’d made them so swollen, kissing and biting on them like he was ravenous.

You released his cock from the confines of his pants and gasped, frozen at the sight. “Are you scared of me? Is it different?”

“No, it’s amazing…” you licked your lip, “It’s just so big.”

The warm weight of his hand landed on your stomach, he rubbed there, reassuring whilst also obviously trying to calculate this himself, “But you want it, don’t you?” he murmured, soft, “So we can make it fit, can’t we? We have enough of this together.”

He was so clumsy as he touched himself it made your heart swell, gathering the slick that was pooling down his cock. He took it, and made sure to cover your pussy in it, pausing when his finger slipped inside of you with ease. But then you moaned so deliciously he found his jaw growing slack, eager to keep pleasing you. 

“That’s why you’ve got this little hole haven’t you? It stretches to fit things inside, so it’s going to fit me inside like it’s doing right now.”

You quickly nodded, beyond fucked out by this man as he continued to stuff his precum into your pussy. “Yes Choso.”

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he grunted, stuffing in more of his fingers to fuck you even better. “Naked and free.” 

“You can put it in now, Choso. It’ll fit. I want it.”

“Because you want me don’t you?”

“Yes Choso.”

You watched him, gripping the base of himself and aligning his heavy cockhead to your opening. His face was lost in pleasure, lost to every sensation, he was beautiful like this too, you thought. 

“Only me?”

“Only you, Choso.”

“Then let me see everything,” he whispered against your forehead, large hands folding you and spreading your thighs wide. “You’re so beautiful. I want to see it all.”

“Please be gentle,” You whimpered, feeling him start to push in, you braced yourself, hanging on to him tight. 

He groaned into your cheek as he felt resistance from you, no matter how good you felt he’d rather die than hurt you. “Is there another way?”

“Lie down.”

He did as you said, watching in awe as you were quick to straddle him, oozing slick all over his thighs. You still wanted him just as much as he wanted you and that excited him to no end. Even if he was a challenge and clearly more than you were used to.

You hovered as you aligned yourself with his cock, and he moaned as you finally touched him. And as you sunk yourself onto his cock he gripped your hips so tight you yelped, before your voice melted into a moan in unison with his.

“More,” he whimpered, as you stopped halfway, panting at the sensation. “Let me in.”

“Trying, Choso.”

“I want to feel all of you. All of your pussy.” His voice was low, and close to breaking as you throbbed on him. 

“That’s it,” he stroked his thumbs in comforting circles, “Are you going to let me feel you?” 

You quickly nodded, teeth sunk into your lip. His voice was as arousing as his cock, “Give me a minute, Choso. I can do it.”

“Does it hurt?”

You nodded and he pondered for a moment before he took his thumb to your clit, rubbing until you moaned. Then slowly, naturally, as if your body was melting into his, you made your way down the thick inches of him.

“You’re doing good, so good for me. You can take all of me inside. You’re strong.” He was so out of his mind he didn’t even know what he was cooing to you, but he just wanted to put you at ease. 

“You pretty little human. Taking my body like this because you want your pussy fucked? Right? You like my cock inside you? Stretching you out?”

“Choso!” You groaned as he fully bottomed out, hands landing on his shoulders for support. “I love it, you feel so good. You’re making me feel so good.”

He whined at your words before composing himself, his lips trailing down your skin. “I am? Are you too weak now? Do you need me to help you feel good? Yuuji said you were a good teacher. He was wrong,” he taunted, kissing the side of your face as he gripped you.

His hands sunk into your ass as their final resting place, appreciating the softness there too, “You need to show me what to do, just once.”

“I can’t,” you whined, tears of pleasure flowing down your cheeks at how full you were. “Look at yourself. Your cock is so big.” You breathlessly gestured to your stomach. 

His eyes widened as he pushed his palm onto your belly, feeling how deeply he was penetrating you, “You have to use me and make yourself feel good. That’s all, Choso.” You barely managed your words, eyes barely open as the pleasure he was giving you threatened to break you apart. 

“I understand. Leave it to me,” he groaned, kissing your neck, as he started to move you off and on his cock, “We move together until we orgasm. You’ve never had a cock like mine so you can’t move, huh?” 

He experimentally snapped his hips into yours and you whimpered so loudly he soon followed. Although he knew nothing of what was lewd and what wasn’t, he somehow knew that the sound you’d made was nothing but filth and that he’d done something you’d desperately needed. 

He did it again and again, until he was drilling up into you and delighting in all of the sounds you were making, gasping from how good you felt. “Choso, your cock feels so good inside. It’s the best.”

“Then you never need another one, if only I make you feel this good. No other cock will ever feel the same,” he grunted, “You’re mine now, you beautiful woman.”

You kissed him messily in reply, barely able to form words as he fucked up into you until you were shaking and moaning into his mouth because you were coming all over him. “Then you’re mine, Choso. I showed you this, how to feel good. It won’t feel good if another human do-“

You gasped as his hand slammed over your mouth and you were on your back once more. He was folding you whilst holding back on finishing in minutes and he didn’t even know how impressive that was.

“Don’t say it. I don’t want another human near me like this. Only you. I told you, I saw you. I saw everything. I know that I’m different. But I can fuck you better, I know I can. You like what I’m doing to your body. I know, I know, I know, you do,” he chanted as he groaned into you, balls smacking hard against you as he ravaged you. 

All you could do was hold tight and brace yourself as you whimpered. 

“Mine, mine, mine. So, so, beautiful,” he grunted.

Tears pricked your water lines at the intensity, you felt so loved, and safe in his embrace like this. 

You could feel him twitching inside of you, and you could see him holding back. “When you orgasm, Choso. Your cum will be different, it will be messier than mine.”

“Is that the stuff that breeds you? It’s going to shoot inside you, isn’t it?” he stammered. “You don’t want it? How do I control it?” 

“You can’t, but that’s okay, I won’t get pregnant, I take something for that. So when you feel like it’s getting too much, give in. You can let go. You’ve already done so well.”

“I can fill you up with my seed?” He stretched your arms above you to take both your hands in a single clasp, cupping your chin with the other. 

“Look at me. Why won’t you get pregnant? Because I’m not fully human?”

There was a sadness in his eyes, but it was being blown out completely by his desire. 

Why was this man so hot without realising it? His brow as all furrowed, his face flushed, fucking you so hard it was now dawning on you how loud you both were being. “It’s a pill I take,” you moaned as he slammed into that spot inside that had you creaming on him again. “I-I told you.”

“Then I’ll pretend,” he grunted, gripping your hips hard as he fucked into you like he was trying to breed you.

“Like I’m going to fuck my seed into you so I can keep you forever. No man can have you if you’re filled with me.”

“I want your cum, Cho!”

“I know you do! You’re a needy little human taking my cock even though it’s too big for you, wanting my cum to fill up your pretty little hole.”

“I want it, I want it,” you moaned into his ear, wrapping your arms around him tighter. Your voice only made it worse, he pinned you down even harder, kissing and licking up your tears. 

He was whimpering now, all of the pressure building in his core, he could feel it, the very sensation you were talking about. “You’re lucky I haven’t split you in two with my strength. But you take it, you take me in your pussy, waiting for every last drop of me.”

The loud smacks of his hips on yours were no louder than your sounds. He was fucking you like he’d never get the chance again. 

“I wish I could breed you. Then everyone would know, I’d know. That you’re mine, all mine,” he was rambling as he came, holding you tight with his tongue down your throat. 

You felt the insane amounts of cum spurting inside of you until the noises were so lewd it was near comical. Until there was so much cum he was slipping out of you and coming all over your stomach and the sheets too. Your name laced in every breath.

He groaned out your name, falling into your arms so could put him back together again. You kissed wherever you could, praising him through your breathlessness. You both rested for several of these precious moments. It seemed like the night had finally calmed outside of the hotel too, as had you both, after purging what had been brewing between you both since you’d first laid eyes on each other.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” he asked, running his lips across your jaw.

“No, not at all.” You continued to soothe him, running your hands through his hair. “But now we have a whole lot to talk about. I wouldn’t normally fuck someone so soon that I saw a future with.”

He made a little hmph sound, “Why?”

“It normally comes after getting to know someone.”

“We’ll have all the time in the world for that,” he said gently, flipping you below him as he caged you beneath him. 

“Won’t we?” he urged, folding up your thighs as he guided himself back inside. His voice was desperate all over again. “So,” he leant close, his lips brushing yours. He tried to resist, but gave in to taste your lips, taking the time to kiss you with so much unbridled affection it made your chest hurt. Before he finally spoke again, “So, stay alive for me, and I will for you.”

©mrsackermannx: do not repost, plagiarise, translate or modify my works.