#did she happen to stop in to this Catholic Church for confession

[asifyoudidntknow]

Rewatching All Souls and I need to know why TF Scully is going to confession at a church in Alexandria, Virginia?!

[rafeandonlyrafe]

sin, sin, sin.

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, semi public sex, catholic church setting, confessional, rafe kind of pretending to be a priest (itll make sense quickly), religious trauma, if youre religious and easily offended probably skip this one

rafe knows little about his mother, but the one thing he does know is that she was a devout catholic. maybe it's stories ward told him, or the fact that his strongest memory of her was her funeral, held in the same catholic church he's currently pushing the grand wooden doors to enter.

it's his last chance as he looks into the candlelit hall. to turn around and go back into the darkness of the night, let the inky blackness swallow him whole.

rafe feels a pang in his chest. good old catholic guilt his mother passed down to him. rafe lets out a curse before he steps foot into the church, wishing he got his father's fake christianity instead, going to church on holidays and only using the religion when it suits you.

rafe looks away from the altar, the cross hanging above it, and to the confession booth to the side of the pews. his feet carry them there with the false confidence he's always been able to paste on as a front.

rafe looks at the door and then swallows thickly. guilt, guilt, guilt. he's not sure anything could help, yet he opens the handle and steps inside.

the creaky door slams shut behind him as rafe sits and faces forward towards the screen, just opaque enough to make out a figure on the other side in the low light.

rafe realizes then that he doesn't know the words. 

“forgive me father, for i have sinned.” a voice from the other side suddenly rings out, a soft, feminine voice. rafe suddenly is aware of his mistake. “it has been two days since my last confession.”

rafe knows he should interrupt you, stop you from continuing on, but something in him stirs him to stay, his interest peaking.

“ive slept with another man. i know you're tired of hearing it, father. i just can't help myself. i can't seem to wait, it's like something takes over me. father, i feel as if i am possessed by some sexual demon.” 

you scoff and rafe can see your body crumple on the other side, becoming an even smaller shape.

“tell me what happened.” rafe says.

“i-i had a date. a nice catholic man, or at least who i thought was a nice catholic man. he took me to dinner, and then i thanked him by getting on my knees immediately after.”

“keep going…” there's something about your voice that stirs rafe, has his hand gravitating to his crotch, there's a sexual prowess in your voice mixed with the guilt and innocence, like you're describing the deeds of some other woman entirely.

“he didn't even initiate it. i did. i pulled him into my apartment when he was dropping me back home. can you believe that? he was being a gentleman bringing me back to my doorstep and i just had to be a total hussy.”

rafe presses his hand down against his growing cock, imagining himself as that so called catholic gentleman.

“i unzipped his pants and tugged them down. he wasn't even hard. i played with him over his underwear, kissed his length and sucked on it and everything.”

rafes hands follow your description as he leans back against the wooden wall, tugging down his zipper and closing his eyes to picture it even better, some anonymous bold woman.

“i then pulled his underwear down. right there in the front hallway. when i saw him… i knew i was going to sleep with him next.”

you pause for long enough that rafe realizes he needs to speak. he hopes his voice doesn't come out strained. “then you slept with him?”

“yes. didn't even make it to the bedroom, he took me against the dining room table. how am i ever expected to settle down and have my own children and a loving family when all i really want is that high.”

“how does the high make you feel?”

“it comes right before the orgasm, really.” your voice drops in octave, and rafe wonders if your pussy is getting wet reimagining the scene. “when he's inside of me, pounding hard, and i know he's about to lose it too.”

rafe pushes his underwear down and tugs his cock out, not kid himself any longer that he's not extremely turned on and cannot leave the confessional with his pants tented.

“we're moaning in sync, not worrying about the neighbors in that moment. im clenching around him and he's-” you hesitate for a moment, and rafe swears he hears a sensual exhale, as if you may be touching yourself on the other side of the booth. “he's stretching me out. i love the pulsing of right when he's about to cum-”

rafe lets out a moan as he strokes before he realizes and sits up suddenly, but his reaction is too delayed as you're out of your booth and opening the door to his.

“you perv! father-” you come face to face with a handsome young man instead of the elderly priest you expected. “you're not the father.”

your eyes then travel down to his cock and that devious part of you taking over again.

“it-it was an accident.” rafe says quickly, trying to explain why he's in the priests side of the confessional when you step inside and close the door behind you.

“i have another sin to confess.” you pull the skirt of your dress up, revealing that you're wearing nothing beneath, your glimmering wet pussy directly in front of rafes face. he could so easily lean forward and taste you.

“ive always wanted to fuck in the confessional.”

rafe grabs your hips and tugs you down. he doesn't even know your name. he doesn't need to as his lips smash against yours, wildly making out.

you reach down between your bodies, grasping rafes hard cock and giving it a few strokes before you line yourself up.

you hesitate for just a moment before sinking down as rafe moans into your mouth, hoping that his mother isn't up in heaven looking down at him desecrating this holy place with you.

you gasp and pull away from the kiss as you adjust, your pussy being stretched just the way you described liking it.

“fuck.” rafe hisses out.

“shouldn't curse in a place of worship.” you smirk at him, cutting off whatever reply he had as you begin to move, bouncing up and down.

rafe grabs your hips, helping you move. his hands are strong as they disappear beneath your dress, needing to feel your bare skin.

“so good.” you whimper, pressing your forehead against rafes, breathing heavily as the temperature in the small booth rises.

“fuck, your pussy-” rafe grunts out as his hips begin to snap up into your tight heat. 

“you ever had a good catholic girl like this?” there's a hint of playfulness in your voice that rafe is shocked you can manage with your labored breathing.

“from your confession, im not sure you're all that good.” rafe says, moving his hand to rub his thumb over your clit, mostly just to see the reaction on your face as you moan out.

hes thankful for the late hour as he doesn't move his mouth forward to silence yours, letting your beautiful symphony of pleasure escape through the confessional walls and fill the church.

“this high.” you arch your back, eyes rolling back in your head as your fingers tighten on rafes shoulders. 

he knows exactly what you're speaking of. that moment when you're both on the apex, his cock swelling inside you while his thumb rubs against your clit, doing anything he can to elicit a reaction out of you, to increase your pleasure even more.

“cum for me.” rafe commands in a shockingly even voice, even surprising himself as your body stills and then shakes, crumpling forward into rafes strong arms as your pussy clenches around rafes cock, and it's all he needs to release himself, thrusting upwards and spilling inside of your cunt.

you're both breathing heavily as you come down from your high, wrapped up in each others bodies and your own intersecting pleasure before you have to pull away, realization setting in.

“oh my god.” you giggle. “we just fucked in the church.”

“shit.” rafe laughs as well. this is certainly not what he meant to do when entering into the church, yet his soul still feels lighter as he looks at your smile.

“god,” you look up at the ceiling, as if you're talking to him directly. “im so sorry. im going to hell.”

“i guess ill see you there.” rafe chuckles before he's interrupted by a gasp as you pull off of him.

rafe is quick to get himself back together, very aware of the fact that you're still bare under your dress, his cum no doubt dropping down your thigh.

you push open the door to the tiny booth and take a breath of cool air before rafe is quick to follow you out.

“i thought i heard a noise.”

you both freeze as you look up to see the nun walking from across the aisle.

“do you need the priest? he's already retired for the night.”

“no, sister.” you respond, a soft, innocent smile gracing your features as you grasp rafes hand and pull him to continue towards the exit. “see you at service sunday.”

you both let out a laugh as you push open the large wooden doors and flee from any more questions.

“can i at least get your name?” rafe asks as you enter into the night, way lit by moonlight.

“no.” you smile back at him. “but i will have another confession to make. tomorrow. same time.”

[unreliablesnake]

Guilty as charged (David "Deacon" Kay x f!reader)

Summary: You're working for the CIA's Special Activities Division and get involved in a case 20-David has to deal with. Despite being married, Deacon is drawn to you and there's nothing he can do about it. His life gets out of control and it takes a really long time to find himself again.

Warnings: emotional cheating, a teensy bit of catholic guilt

Note: I only saw like half of s6 so I don't know Annie. She must be nice, but this had to be done.

You were CIA–Special Activities Division to be exact. Deacon understood that you had been close to the fire before and knew much more about their suspect than they would learn from a quick research. Time was running out which meant they could use all the help they could get. Hondo wanted him and Luca to go through the details with you so they could come up with a plan, but he wasn’t exactly happy about it.

His problem with you wasn’t the fact you were an outsider. It was personal.

First, he subconsciously began to focus on your hands, looking for an engagement ring or a wedding band, but there was nothing. Then you made a quick personal phone call around him, and he found himself listening to see if the person on the other end of the line was someone you were in a relationship with. And he knew he was in big trouble when he had to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you against his chest to get you out of the way of trouble.

He reminded himself that he was married with kids over and over again, that he was in a happy marriage and didn’t need anyone else. But then you flashed a small smile at him and his strength to keep his distance disappeared without a trace. He discreetly made sure he was near you all the time; he helped you out if further research was necessary, if you had to visit a witness or a source, or if you wanted to let off some steam in the boxing ring after running into another dead end.

By the time that case came to an end, he had more and more trouble getting you out of his head. He even went to church to confess his sinful thoughts, but that didn't seem to help him, because that evening he had a brand new dream about you. A dream that mirrored the primal need that took over every time he was around you.

On the way to the station he made a promise to himself in his car; if they went out for a drink to celebrate, if you were a willing participant, he would take his chance and kiss you. Just one innocent kiss, nothing more.

Of course, it was hard to decide what he would regret the most. Kissing someone who wasn't his wife or letting you go without trying. He wanted to be faithful, he really did, but he was on the verge of losing his mind, and the only medicine seemed to be you. He had to try, even if he would have a terrible case of guilt for the rest of his life.

While you and Hondo discussed something outside of the bar, he got lost in a conversation with the rest of the team. Anything to take his mind off the thought of this being the last time he saw you. But maybe this was good news, maybe being away from you would give him the closure he was seeking.

Some time later Hondo showed up, ordering a beer for himself before turning to Deacon. “I can see you want to say something,” he said with a smile.

“Where did you leave our new friend?”

The other man let out a long sigh at this seemingly innocent question. “She’s talking to someone on the phone outside. Look, Deac, you’re my friend, so remember that I'm on your side. But listen, you need to stop.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I can see the way you look at her. You're married, you shouldn't look like a kicked puppy every time she turns her attention to someone else.” Deacon nervously looked away, suddenly feeling guilty because he was right. He probably did look like a kicked puppy, because he sure as hell felt like one every time you talked to someone else from the team. “Did anything happen between you?” Hondo asked him with a concerned look.

“No.”

“Good. You shouldn't risk your marriage for someone who will leave tomorrow.”

With a groan, Deacon stood up and put on his jacket. “Noted. I'll go get some fresh air now.”

“Come on, man, I've just told you to leave her alone. You're playing a dangerous game,” came the sensible response.

“Thanks for the warning, I appreciate it.”

Hondo was right about everything, he knew that very well, but he was drawn to you in a way he had never been drawn to anyone, not even his wife. The idea of never seeing you again felt like a dagger in his heart, which seemed surreal since he only met you a few days ago. It was something unexplainable, something he was willing to accept without questions. Maybe it was fate that brought you together.

He walked around the building and found you standing on the street with your back against the wall, the light of the screen illuminating your face as you scrolled your phone. Even though he came to a stop before reaching you so he could take a good look at you, appreciating the view and taking in every little detail to remember you, you looked up and flashed a smile at him.

“Needed some air?” you asked, sounding as friendly as always.

“Yeah, you can say that. Can we talk?” You nodded and pushed yourself away from the wall to move closer to him. “Please tell me you have someone waiting for you back home,” Deacon begged you quietly.

“What?”

“Tell me you're in a relationship, give me a damn good reason why I shouldn't do something I might regret later.”

“Deacon, I…”

He placed his hands on your cheeks and leaned so close his lips almost touched yours. Almost. He kept a little distance, he didn't kiss you, so it didn't count as cheating, right? You looked confused, but still let him take control of the situation. “I shouldn't be doing this, but you don't give me a choice. You're driving me crazy, you know that?” he asked as his lips brushed your jawline.

Your fingers curled around his wrist before you gently pulled his hands away and took a step or two away from him. “I know you’re married, and I avoid married men,” you informed him, although there was no hate in your voice. You were still kind to him, as if it was nothing more but a misunderstanding.

“If I was single, would you give me a chance?”

“No. And it’s not because of you, it’s because of me. I don’t live in LA, I’m sometimes away for months, and I wouldn’t want you to deal with that.”

“I wouldn’t care.”

“But I would.” You stopped and took a deep breath, your eyes set on him as you carefully studied his expression. Deacon tried to keep a straight face, he tried to keep calm and make it look like he wasn’t on the verge of a panic attack, but you clearly saw through it all. “You’re not planning on leaving your family, are you?”

“I don’t know. Can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.”

Shaking your head, you let out a sigh and took a hesitant step closer. “Don’t even think about it, okay? You can’t end a marriage that’s been good just because you’re temporarily confused by your feelings,” you said, keeping your voice down as you tried to talk some sense into him.

Before he could figure out how to respond to that, Street showed up and told him they had to go somewhere. You motioned him to go with that damn adorable smile on your face, and he had a hard time fighting the urge to finally kiss you, probably for the first and last time. In the end he nodded and walked away, not looking back to make sure he safely escaped from your gravitational field.

It took Annie over a month to realize something was wrong. The countless nights Deacon spent on the couch instead of their shared bed, the distance he slowly built between them, the conversations they never had, and the way he snapped at her once when she dared to ask why he stayed out late one evening. He screwed up, he knew that, but he had been tense ever since you accidentally called him.

How could he forget about you when he saw your number in his phone, saved under the name Oliver so Annie wouldn’t put the pieces together if she ever took a look at his contact list or recent calls? If she had taken a look at it, she would have seen one incoming call from this guy, and several outgoing ones that only lasted a few seconds. Maybe a new friend, she could have thought.

So another two months later Annie sat him down so they could talk like adults, discussing what bothered him and hopefully finding a solution to their problem. At first he didn’t want to talk, he just kept changing the topic, but she knew better than to let him do that. When she asked him who she was, he groaned and stood up to start pacing in front of her. How could he explain the situation? It was so ridiculous that even he wanted to laugh at himself sometimes.

“We worked together on a case for a few days about four months ago. I hadn’t seen her or talked to her since then. Nothing happened, I swear,” he said, choosing to be honest with her. She deserved that much.

“Then what’s going on? Despite stating nothing happened between you, you didn’t hesitate to confirm it’s about another woman,” she pushed on, her voice slowly breaking.

Deacon gulped as he considered what to say. “She knew I was married and she wanted absolutely nothing from me. It’s all on me, Annie. I was the one who chased her, not the other way around.”

“Please, pack a suitcase and leave. I–I can’t be under the same roof with you now.”

A text was all he sent you. A short text that told you his wife had kicked him out three months ago and he was sure they wouldn't get back together. Then he waited. A day. A week. A whole month passed with no response. He was beginning to accept that you wouldn't talk to him again.

But then he went to the station one day and he was told someone was waiting for him. It was you. After all that time you were standing in front of him, looking absolutely stunning in the blue sundress you wore with a pair of beige summer ankle boots. You looked so uncertain that if he hadn't known what you were capable of, he would have assumed you were out of your element here.

Maybe you were. Maybe you both were. This wasn't a conversation about a case or your respective jobs. He felt it in his bones that you came because of his message. So he cleared his throat and walked over to you, taking deep breaths to calm himself since his heart wanted to jump out of his ribcage.

“It's been a while,” he said with a nervous smile.

You looked down at your shoes, doing your best to avoid his gaze. “I don't even know why I'm here. I've been away for so long, then I came home a few days ago and saw your text and the missed calls. I'm sorry, it's been a long time, maybe I should leave,” you said.

Before you could turn to leave, though, he grabbed your hand and pulled you back. “Is that why I couldn't reach you? Because you were on a mission?” You nodded when you were finally brave enough to look him in the eye. “When I asked you if you would give me a chance if I was single, you said you wouldn't because of your job. But now you're here and I need to know why.”

“I don't know, Deac. All I know is that I couldn't get you out of my head after I found out you were still thinking about me,” you admitted.

He smiled at you as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to himself. “Let's say we can find a way to make this work. Are you sure you're ready for this?” he asked you.

You placed a hand on his arm and began to draw circles into his skin with your thumb. The silence was deafening, but he wasn't about to rush you, not when he finally had you this close again. And then you spoke up, but the things you said brought a deep frown on his face.

“You misunderstood me, I'm afraid. When I said I couldn't get you out of my head, I meant it in a different way. You can't keep doing this to yourself. Stop thinking about me, forget I exist, and for the love of God, try to fix things with your wife,” you told him seriously.

“I don't think that's possible,” he began sadly. “Every time I look at her, all I can think about is how I wish she was more like you. I can't love the woman she is anymore. It's you I need.”

Shaking your head, you pushed his arm away and stepped away from him. “I need to go, my team will head out in two hours. Don't torture yourself, Deacon. You deserve better,” you said, even flashing a supportive smile at him.

He let out an annoyed groan, his warm eyes watching you closely as he thought about what he could possibly do to change your mind. Maybe if he showed you how good you two would be together, you would realize that it wasn't worth losing the possibility of a happy relationship. So in the end he looked around, making sure no one was around, then closed the gap between you and let his lip crush into yours in a cautious kiss.

“Now be honest with me,” he began patiently as his fingers caressed your cheek. “Why did you really come here? You were nervous, told me you didn't know why you came here, which was probably a lie. And I can tell the whole ‘forget about me and go back to your wife’ speech was a lie too.”

You watched him silently for a while, then you gulped and licked your lips as you prepared to talk. “But I meant it when I said you deserved better than me,” you told him.

“Just try to accept it’s you I need in my life.”

“What about the divorce? How’s that going?”

The divorce. Sure. All that had happened so far with his marriage was Annie throwing him out and the two of them seeing a counselor to discuss how to move on with the kids. They had to tell them that he was moving out for good, and they had to find the right way to assure them he wouldn’t disappear. But they never talked about the legal part of this process which was weird in retrospect as they had been separated for months and Annie was seeing someone already.

Deacon took a deep breath and said, “It’s… going.”

When he saw you close your eyes and let out a long sigh, he knew he couldn’t fool you. And just as he expected, you pulled away and gave him a serious look. “Call me when you’re legally single, okay? Until then it’s nothing more but a fantasy, you know that,” you told him coldly before telling him you had to get to the airport anyway.

He didn’t even try to stop you. You were right, and even he would have a lot to process if he entered a relationship before the divorce was finalized. He was already going to the church quite often to at least chat with the priest if he wasn’t ready to confess, hoping he would be able to give him the guidance he needed so badly right now.

And now you were back, even if for just a very short time, and made it clear you wouldn’t necessarily be against a relationship if the circumstances were different. Now he had to wait. He had to wait for bureaucracy, hoping nothing would stand in his way. How patient he would be while he was waiting, though, was a completely different matter.

[aroeddiediaz]

A confession

If there’s one thing Eddie can give credit to the Catholics for, it’s that they build beautiful churches. Dim light streams through the stained glass windows, making the images of the Virgin Mary and Jesus glow. His shoes click on the glossy marble floor as he passes rows of empty pews. 

He enters the confessional and sits. The priest’s voice comes through the grate in the wall. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

“Amen.” Eddie’s mouth is dry. He clears his throat and speaks, voice measured, but with a thread of uncertainty in it. “Bless me father, for I have sinned.”

“It’s been, oh, 18 or so years since my last confession. I haven’t really kept track of when I stopped doing this. Uh, I’m not really sure where to start.”

“That’s quite all right,” the priest says. “Start with what’s troubling you most.”

“I fucked up- sorry, messed up. I messed up badly, and now my son won’t speak to me. It’s been months and we still haven’t been able to have a real conversation.”

The priest said “I see. Would you mind telling me my details of what happened “

“I cheated on my girlfriend. Well, sort of to be honest, it wasn’t exactly cheating. We never did anything. The thing is, she looked exactly like my late wife. Shannon. I knew it was messed up from the beginning, but I felt like it was fate or something. Like it was a chance for a do-over. My first marriage was rough. We married young, mostly because I got her pregnant. And then I joined the military. I thought I was supporting her, but to be honest, I was just running away. I wasn’t scared of the baby, I think. 

What I was scared of was becoming like my parents. My dad, he was an engineer, and he often had to travel. And that put a strain on his marriage with my mom. They tried to keep it from me, but I would hear them having whispered arguments in the kitchen at night when I was asleep or over the phone. And my mom wasn’t happy, because she needed him, and he wasn’t there. So a part of me was afraid. Afraid of that even if I tried, I wouldn’t be able to be better than my dad. So instead, I found a nobler  reason to run.

The thing is though, I don’t know if we would’ve been able to have that ideal relationship, the one I used to dream about seeing when I was a little boy. Shannon and I had our fights. Even after I came back from the war, I couldn’t be emotionally available to her, and she couldn’t handle the burdens that I placed on her, so she left me. I was drowning on my own before I moved to LA. Then I found support. And then she came back. I thought that I could fix things. Make sure she wouldn’t want to leave me again. But as much as I cared about her, I think maybe what I loved the most was the idea of our relationship. 

She asked me for a divorce, Two days after that, she died. I guess no matter how hard I tried. I couldn’t get past that. I thought I was doing things right. I thought I was being enough. But there was something that I was missing.

I tried to fix it, in my other relationships. I thought that the problem was the burdens that we went through when we were still young and we made mistakes. So when I dated Ana, I tried to be the perfect partner. Then I got shot and she ended up helping to nurse me back to health. and I think I realized during that time that, despite all the emotional labor, each of us had put into that relationship, it never felt like a relationship that should be long-term. It felt like we were both acting the parts of a play. I just wish that I broke it off sooner.

So then I thought maybe the issue was the expectations I placed on the relationship. I went into my relationship with Ana thinking that I needed to find a replacement for Shannon. I needed a new wife and a mother for Christopher. When I dated Marisol, I tried to let go of those expectations and just do things naturally. But I think I was convincing myself that if I waited long enough, those feelings would eventually emerge. But they never did. I just ended up feeling guilty here and guiltier overtime because we were dating and we were getting to know each other better, but my heart wasn’t really in it. And that’s when I saw Kim.

I shouldn’t have pursued her. But I think that a part of me hoped that if I could get closure from someone who looks so much like her, that I would be able to fix whatever was broken inside of me,whatever it was that wouldn’t let me move on. I was certain by that point that whatever my feelings for Shannon were, however complicated they were, that was the closest thing to true love that I had ever experienced. And I hope that if I confronted them with someone who could help me move on, then I would finally get over this weird mental block I had with Marisol, or someone else.

It was wrong. I think I knew that the whole time. But I didn’t stop until my best friend found out what was happening and confronted me. I told Kim everything. Well, I didn’t tell her about Marisol. But I thought that would’ve been the end of it.

Kim came back though. She actually tried to dress up like Shannon, she cut her hair to look similar and she changed her clothing. And she got me to do this role-play where I could bear out my grievances, and when I did, I thought for a moment that maybe this was it. I could explain to her why her breaking my heart hurt so much and how she had changed something inside of me.

Of course, that’s when Christopher and Marisol walked in. Marisol broke up with me of course, and Chris wouldn’t speak to me. He even got his grandparents to come pick him up and take him back to their home in El Paso. And he hasn’t come back yet.

I thought Kim would help me fix me, or help me find clarity. But I’m more confused now than ever.

I think now, that as much as I liked, and admired, and enjoyed being around Shannon, that maybe, I was never actually in love with her. I think maybe I can’t. I know what love is. I love my son. I love my friends. I even love my parents, even though I’m more frustrated with them now than ever. I think the love I have for Shannon is the kind of love that I would feel for anyone who has gone through so much struggle with me, but not the kind that a husband should have for his wife.”

The priest is silent for a long moment. “You have been through a lot, it is not a surprise that you are confused. I think that you have an idea in your head of how a relationship should look. But that is not what is necessary.“

Eddie says, “I know that a marriage doesn’t have to be what the church considers right. I know that it doesn’t have to be a man and a woman and two kids and a picket fence. But I have seen how happy my friend and her wife are. I have seen how happy my coworker has been with his wife who was previously in an abusive relationship, and I have seen my captain and his wife have found new love despite both of their spouses' untimely deaths. I’ve seen how my best friend looks when he’s in love, when he’s heartbroken. What does it say about me that I don’t think I’ll ever feel those feelings? What does it say about me that I destroyed my bond with my son and hurt him so badly in pursuit of it?“

The grate between their booths in the confessional obscures the priest’s face, but when he glances through he can see a gentle smile. “It means that you are different from them. And that is not a bad thing. It does not mean that you are broken, or that you are wrong. Maybe you won’t fall in love. Maybe you will never find what kind of relationship you have wished for. But that does not mean that you won’t have fulfillment. You love your job, right? You love your son, and your friends. Maybe others have told you that you need more in your life to be truly happy, but I think that as long as you’re being truly honest with yourself, that is what matters.”

Eddie isn’t sure he can just accept that, not yet. Not when the distance between him and Chris is still a gaping wound. Still, it’s nice to hear from someone who should be condemning him for his failures that he can fix things. “Thank you, Father.”

[ashe-withane]

Alright!! Time for my 911 7x05 reactions!

Alright the hand guy

I knew about Buck getting choked but EDDIE owwww. He’s so dramatic though lmao.

Awww baby clothes

Oh no. :(

Another girl? She’s nine. Ohhhh interesting.

I love Hen and Karen so much omg

Oh! The date!

That is a huge pitcher of beer lol.

Omg they’re seeing a movie after?

Ohh Buck’s so nervous.

Did he just. Call himself. An ally

BUCK

He puts a rainbow on his Instagram.

“I guess it’s just me that makes you nervous” shit Tommy that was good

Awww Buck’s smile

I know we’ve been talking about Buck’s face when Eddie shows up BUT Tommy’s eyes go so wide omggggg

“And then we’re gonna go find some hot chicks.” BUCK.

Tommy’s face aaaah

:( Tommy

Hold on Eddie what do you mean Marisol agreed to move in with you??? We have seen literally nothing of this relationship and you’re already moving in together??

“I guess you can never have enough closet space.” HELP

“Right, Evan?” Oh Jesus

“You too bro” Buck…

This is so awkward. I know Buck is figuring himself out still but I feel bad for Tommy :(

“I think you’re adorable, but I don’t think you’re ready” is actually I really nice way of letting him down.

Denny giving Mara a teddy!! That’s so sweet.

Ohhh Buck’s talking to Maddie…

“Are you dating a married woman?”

“Could be very much the point” I love Maddie.

HE CALLED HIMSELF AN ALLY AGAIN. Maddie’s face as well oh my god

Oh my god they actually went with a “yeah I check out guys but that’s normal” situation

“It’s the same Tommy??” Ahahaha

At least Marisol is keeping her place so we don’t have another Taylor situation on our hands

Hmmm what is he gonna find in the boxes?

She was almost a nun? Interesting? I guess. Is that what’s gonna make them break up?? What??

The teddy bear!

I really hope Mara is okay :(

“To avoid not having sex.” Help.

Eddie has “a reservoir of Catholic guilt lying dormant.” Listen, is this about Marisol right now? Yes, as far as Eddie is aware. Could this also be. Hinting at something……

“Like sea monkeys”???? Lmao

Eddie is. Pent up. Jesus Christ

“You think I should go to confession?” “No I think you should go to Cap.” these two dumbasses. Sound advice though, he should talk to Bobby.

Oh no! Denny!

Loving this conversation with Eddie and Bobby so far

Bobby pointing out the main thing Eddie has a problem committing to is women…

We’re talking about Shannon!!

The church is a lot of the reason they got married! They both felt pressured!! “Loved being married to her”

Lmao Bobby calling God ‘Marisol’s ex’

Ahhh fuck. Mara’s 911 call is devastating.

Eddie is hiding from Marisol at Buck’s place lol.

“We were on a date” “wait, Tommy’s gay?” Eddie what about Buck, who was. Also on that date.

“This doesn’t change a thing between us” aaah this is so sweet!!!

Awww Buck can’t stop thinking about him. (Listen I will always ship Buddie but I’m also loving BuckxTommy right now!!! I can like both!!)

“He doesn’t know you’re an idiot. Once he gets to know you, and know that you’re an idiot, he’ll love you!! Like we all do!!” Ahahahaha

Hug!

So. Eddie and Marisol aren’t breaking up. (Yet?)

TOMMY! “I didn’t cut things short because you behaved badly, I did it because I didn’t want to pressure you.” YES. Love love love this.

Lmao Tommy’s reaction to Buck asking him to Maddie’s wedding. Just “ahahaha. What??”

Buck and Eddie are a MESS

WHAT HAPPENED TO CHIMNEY

[wrathfulrook]

Holy Mary, Mother of God

Summary: As Staci suffers under Jacob and the cult, he turns back to his religion. Every day he prays to the Holy Mother, both to beg her help and to remind himself that he is not a Peggie.

Rating: M

Word Count: ~1.2k

Read it on ao3.

Staci hadn’t been to Mass in years, since he had moved out of his parents’ house. He hadn’t been to confession in even longer, not since he was confirmed. He didn’t remember the last time he prayed. Not that he didn’t believe. He did. He had Faith. He just wasn’t very observant.

Maybe this was his punishment.

While going through his trials, mindlessly killing and fighting for his life, he considered that he had died in the helicopter crash and had gone to hell. It made sense. Spending his time alert starved and thirsty in a cage under the hot sun, his time in the trials a thoughtless red haze of blood and death.

He’d prayed for the first time in a long time. Initially to God, but then to St. Sebastian. In middle school, Staci had chosen Sebastian as his confirmation saint for no other reason than that he was the patron saint of athletes and that he had survived the first attempt on his life. Staci just thought he was cool. Though, once he heard the name “Staci Sebastian” spoken aloud for the first time in front of the entire parish, he felt it was significantly less cool. And he never gave too much thought to his confirmation saint afterwards.

But throughout his trials he prayed to the saint for strength. If St. Sebastian could survive being tied to a tree and used for target practice, he could survive this ordeal. He could be strong. And so he was.

After the trials, the physical torture stopped, but Staci didn’t feel any relief. Any one slip-up, a single display of weakness, and he would be reclassified as meat. And he was under far more scrutiny than the average resident of the vet center. Jacob kept him close, made him his personal assistant. He was always there, always watching. Staci was supposed to be strong but submissive, a fine line to walk.

He didn’t pray to St. Sebastian too much after his trials. He didn’t pray to God much either. The Peggies prayed to the same God, and something about that didn’t sit right with Staci. Instead, he prayed to Mary. The Peggies didn’t care about St. Mary. Protestants never did. So Staci directed his prayers to the holy mother of God.

He started every morning with a silent Hail Mary and a request that she protect him, that she look after him. His thoughts turned to the sinless, virgin mother every time Jacob knocked him around, every time he suffered. And he suffered a lot as Jacob’s assistant. And he witnessed even more suffering. Every time he passed the cages, every time he witnessed bodies carried out of their trials, tied to posts for target practice, or fed to the wolves, he asked Mary to watch out for them, to ensure their suffering was taken into account, weighed against their time to be spent in Purgatory.

And every night, to help himself fall asleep despite the sounds of screams and howls of wolves he never got used to, he prayed the Rosary, keeping count on his fingers since he didn’t have the beads. And it always worked; he fell soundly asleep long before he reached final Mystery. But more than that, it brought him comfort. He didn’t remember every Mystery. He couldn’t recite the Apostle’s Creed. But he did as much as he could, and he tried. And it was something the Peggies never did. Not even Joseph, their beloved “Father,” prayed the Rosary, despite wearing the beads as some sort of blasphemous accessory.

No. Staci wasn’t like them and they weren’t like him. He was Catholic. His Faith had clear rules and doctrine and hierarchy. Something so horrible as the Project at Eden’s Gate could never happen in the Catholic Church. A priest goes as bonkers as Joseph? The bishop steps in. And the parish would never let their priest turn out like Joseph, because deviations from the Catechism wouldn’t be tolerated. It was all so clear. Every question had a clear, prescribed answer. And if you followed the hierarchy to the top, the Pope spoke directly with the Holy Spirit. He wasn’t a mad man claiming divine knowledge. He was official, appointed, and bound within the limits of the role.

You simply couldn’t make a crazy Catholic cult. Every cult he’d ever heard of was made up of Protestants. Staci never like Protestantism for that very reason. It was all so fluid and subjective. It never seemed like any two churches, even of the same denomination, were on the same page. That’s how people like Joseph happened. That’s how Staci ended up in this position.

They could do a whole lot to him. But they could never make him a Peggie. Not really, not in his heart.

He wished he was stronger. Maybe Jacob was right. Maybe he was weak. He wanted to be strong enough, brave enough, to pray the Rosary out loud. He wanted to tell Jacob no when he dragged him along to services. He wanted to stand up for his own beliefs and stay strong and unwavering as he was literally thrown to the wolves. He wished he had the balls to stand up and die a martyr.

But that’s where he and his confirmation saint differed. Staci could never stay strong when staring down the barrel of a gun. He couldn’t resist the conditioning Jacob subjected him to. And he couldn’t make himself assert his true beliefs, not when he’s seen what happens to the people who don’t even do anything to make the Herald angry. He was weak.

So, he prayed for forgiveness. He prayed for strength. He asked Mary to intervene on his behalf, to ask her Son to show him mercy, to help him in some way, any way.

No help ever came.

And maybe he was dead after all? Not in Hell, like he’d initially thought. Maybe this was Purgatory. He suffered so much that it had to be for a reason. Maybe this was the suffering he must endure to cleanse his soul, to finally be worthy of Heaven. If this was Purgatory, it was working. He was becoming a better person. He was less of an asshole, just quiet and empathetic. He prayed multiple times a day. Wasn’t Purgatory supposed to bring you closer to God? Staci had never been more religious than now. Maybe because he was dead.

He hoped so. He hoped this was Purgatory so that when it was finally over, when he’d finally atoned for all his sins in life, he could go to Heaven. Never to suffer again. He hoped this was Purgatory so that it wasn’t really happening to others. So that there were no people in cages back in Hope County, that no one was being fed alive to wolves. He hoped that this was all being done for his benefit, to make his soul pure again, to ready him for eternal life in Heaven.

But he couldn’t be sure. So, just in case, he prayed.

[ravenspeakrp]

Welcome to Raven’s Peak, Chayya, we’re excited to have you! Roberta "Robby" Darling (Human, Ella Purnell) has been accepted. Please be sure to stop by the CHECKLIST for the follow list, tags to track, and other reminders.

OUT OF CHARACTER 

NAME: chayya PRONOUNS: she/they AGE: 30+ TIMEZONE: EST

IN CHARACTER 

FULL NAME: Roberta “Robby” Darling SPECIES: human AGE: 28 DATE OF BIRTH: June 5 GENDER IDENTITY: demigirl NEIGHBORHOOD: downtown OCCUPATION: medical examiner’s assistant, medical technician WORKPLACE: Sheriff’s Office, local hospital POSITIVE TRAITS: independent, kind, intuitive NEGATIVE TRAITS: insecure, anxious, prone to self-pity LENGTH OF TIME IN RAVEN’S PEAK: 2 weeks FACE CLAIM: Ella Purnell

BIOGRAPHY

TRIGGER WARNING: sibling death (car accident death), demonic possession/themes of content issues, exorcism/themes of religious trauma, infidelity

Robby grew up knowing she wasn’t the favorite of her family. Even she hadn’t been everything she was and is, she never would have been able to compete with her perfect older sister, Alessandra. Alessandra got straight A’s, captained the field hockey team, had an All-American boyfriend, sat up straight and attentive during mass. And Robby…did her best. She worked hard at school (managing a solid B-average throughout), had her own little clutch of friends, and… Mass was hard. You try being not quite straight and not quite cis in a strict Roman Catholic family. Not that she ever told her parents any of that, but it always seemed like they…knew. At least, it felt like they did, to Robby.

Despite the tension of Ally’s perfection, the girls were close. There was only a little over a year between them and among Ally’s picture-perfect everything else, she was a stellar older sister. She included Robby, helped with her homework, leant her clothes. Through it all, despite how different they were, Robby and Ally remained best friends, thick as thieves. Robby followed her to the nearby state university after graduating. Ally settled down just outside of their hometown, Robby continued on at the university for her masters. Ally married that All-American boyfriend and had a baby girl of her own, Robby got a job, to her parents’ bemusement, as a medical examiner’s assistant. 

And when it happened, it was just one of those awful tragedies. No rhyme or reason. One minute Ally was driving from work to daycare to pick up that little girl of hers, and the next, she was dead. Robby stepped up as best she could, as much as she knew how, for her niece and brother-in-law and parents. But she had her own mourning to contend with – her own grief and insecurity and anxiety. That’s when her demon found her.

They’ll tell you that most possessed humans don’t remember their possessions, unless the demon wants them too. Well, Robby’s demon must have wanted her to. She remembers every second of her possession: all the terrible pain, every awful thing the demon did wearing her face. At first, no one in her life noticed anything amiss, and Robby despaired (Did they really all think her so horrible?) And when they did realize, her parents simply wanted to disown her, cut her off from them forever. Until the demon went for one last trick: sleeping with her sister’s widowed husband. 

Whether the man was sick with grief or had been a creep all along, Robby will never know. All she does know is that after, he confessed his sins and claimed he had been tempted by a demon seductress. Usually that line is just a coward’s excuse. In this case, though, it was the truth. Her parents, in their holy fervor, believed him and sought the Church’s permission for an exorcism.

And just like that, Robby was back to herself. Mostly. There was so much to sift through and process: still the death of her sister, all that her body had been used for, for nearly a year, and her own insecurities about how exactly a demon was able to breach her. That sort of thing would have never happened to Ally. She ended up staying in a psychiatric ward for a few months, attempting to reckon with all that had happened. It was the first time she received mental health from someone who wasn’t faith-based and it helped (Even if they didn’t believe her about the demon. They believed that she believed it.)

She was released and was looking forward to just moving on with her life. But her family couldn’t. Her parents and brother-in-law were, to put it frankly, incredibly uncool about it all. Robby couldn’t be sure which they were more upset about, the demonic possession or the stay in the mental hospital. Either way, they told her they thought it would be best if she didn’t see her niece anymore. Robby didn’t see any reason to stay around them, then. She planned and prepared and, soon enough, picked up and left.

She isn’t sure how she came to find Raven’s Peak, really. Maybe it found her. Maybe it felt her reaching out for answers about that possession, what it meant for her, why she sometimes thinks she can still feel it whispering from her ribcage.

QUICK FACTS

Prefers to go by Robby, but if you get very close to her she may reveal that her childhood nickname was Birdy.

When speaking to her, you may detect a slight New Jersey accent.

Robby has been experiencing “flashbacks” since being released from the psychiatric hospital. She isn’t sure if this is a trauma response or some leftover bit of the demon, festering inside her.

While she is obviously aware that demons exist, Robby has little knowledge of other supernatural beings. Though, she does have a sense that there is more. After all, if demons are real, what else could be?

EXTRAS

FILLING CONNECTION: no INSPIRATIONS: pinboard!

[prittyvenus]

The Medium and the Nameless Ghouls

Case file 002-7 audio confession

Sara: Aria English (US) 

Copia: Diego Italian (Italy) Edited 

Dewdrop: Ryan English (UK) Edited 

Aether: Eric English (US) Edited 

Sara’s Sister: Michelle English (US) 

(Made with Microsoft Word, Bing, and Audacity)

Sara: If you Feel yourself getting worse just let me know and I will stop. Do you understand? 

Dewdrop: Yes, I understand. 

[phone rings] 

Copia: What is that? 

Sara: Oh no... Hold on a minute. 

[Phone stop] 

Sara: Yes, what is it? 

Sister: Big Sister, I got some news about your ex-husband. 

Sara: I Don’t want to know, and I don’t care. It’s over between us. 

Sister: But Sara your ex-husband just got his ass kicked. 

Sara: I told you this before. I don’t care. 

Sister: Why are you being so cold to him? 

Sara: Do you want me to block you? You know I’m not the type to bluff you know. 

Sister: Then fine. I’ll call dad. 

Sara: Sorry about that. 

Copia: Are you going to get into trouble? 

Sara: No, my dad always has my back. Even after my divorce. Now then, State your name and occupation. 

Copia: My name is Papa Copia Emeritus the fourth. 

Sara: Not you Copia. I was asking Dewdrop. 

Dewdrop: Me? Uh... 

Sara: Copia, can you comfort Dewdrop? I think he’s getting nervus. 

Dewdrop: No, I can take it. 

Copia: Let me be next to you, just in case. 

Dewdrop: Okay, fine. 

Sara: Again, please state your name and Occupation. 

Dew: I’m Dewdrop, Former water Ghoul number 157, now fire ghoul number 106. Bass man turned lead guitarist for project ghost. 

Sara: Alright then, can you tell me what happens on the afternoon of March fifth? According to your brother Sodo, you saw Lucia Watson murdered at the clergy garden. Can you clarify that statement? 

Dewdrop: Yes. I was patrolling around the garden at the north western part of the clergy. I was admiring the fish at the pond. You can sort of say I was goofing off. Then I overheard some yelling from of the Clergy offices. There I saw Sister Lucia and Bishop Johnathan arguing about Papa’s position at the clergy. 

Copia: What did I do? Did I do something wrong? 

Sara: I don’t think you did anything wrong. 

Dewdrop: No, they wanted your seat, Papa. 

Copia: Cosa vogliono con la mia sedia? (What do they want with my chair?) 

Sara: I think he means they want your position of power. The bishop wants to be the next Papa of the Clergy of Sin. 

Dewdrop: No, It’s not like that. It’s Sister Lucia who wants Papa’s position of power. 

Copia: No, it's not true! She is the love of my life; Lucia will never betray me. 

Sara: Papa Copia, please calm down. 

Dewdrop: I’m sorry papa, but what I’m saying is the truth. Lucia somehow found out about getting a high rank position by becoming Papa’s prime mover. 

Sara: Prime Mover? What is that? 

Copia: A prime mover is a maternal slave. You know a child bearer for the Dark one. 

Sara: Does she know about that? 

Dewdrop: No, she didn’t want to listen. Even Bishop Johnathan warned her of the risk. But then she started to blackmail him. 

Sara: What kind of black mail? 

Dewdrop: I’m trying to recall, but I think it was about a young girl that was killed in a catholic church somewhere in Argentina. 

[door knocks] 

Sara: Hold on. Yes, what is it, Aether? 

Aether: Sorry to interrupt but Sister Imperator is down the hall. 

Copia: Looks like we may have to cut this down short. 

Dewdrop: I’m sorry if I wasn’t useful. 

Sara: No, you did more than enough even in your condition. 

Dewdrop: Thank you. 

Copia: you take it easy and get some rest. 

Sara: When you get better, come by at the mansion of the three papas. We’ll talk more there.  

Dewdrop: Alright then. Thank you for your time. 

Aether: Good bye baby doll. 

Dewdrop: Get the fuck out of here Aether! 

Case file closed

Case file contents

[yettiman84]

The Catholic Priest Pt2

“……Amen”. The Priest had just finished his service. It was the first time she had seen him since that crazy afternoon last week. She couldn’t remember a single word of it, the whole time she sat there reliving it over and over. 

He approached her at the front of the church as she was stood with her family, “Are you ok Lucy, you seem like you have something on your mind”. She didn’t know what to say, he knew exactly what was on her mind and he loved teasing her in public. “I haven’t seen you in confession this week, maybe you need to come see me now”. 

Her brain wanted to say no but that wasn’t what came out of her mouth “That would be wonderful Father”. He took her by the hand and she could feel herself getting physically turned on. He led Lucy towards the Confession Booth and sat on his chair in the middle compartment drawing the curtain across for privacy. 

“Welcome Lucy, what can I help you with today” he was completely normal..just like he had been every other time she confessed. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was one month ago”. She went to continue talking like she had done each time before but the Priest interrupted her abruptly “I know of your sin, I am tempted to skip straight to penance, but I want to hear you describe every detail of it in your own words”. 

Lucy knelt and leaned in towards the latticed opening. She started to describe in detail to the Priest exactly what he did to her, how he made her feel, how she can’t stop thinking about doing it again and again. She felt him groaning against the divide between them and the familiar sounds made her realise exactly what he was doing. “Father” she whispered.

Hearing her call him that made his carnal thoughts return. He left his chair and entered into her confession box, the Church was virtually empty and he quickly shut the curtain behind him”. He knew they wouldn’t be disturbed as confessing sins was never to be interrupted. 

He bent Lucy over in front of him with the force of a man possessed. Quickly lifting her dress to reveal her pert bottom, he already knew she wouldn’t be wearing anything underneath. She never did for him. “Now it is time for your penance, God will watch you sin and pass his judgement” a slap quickly followed and she let out a little yelp. He gave her 10 slaps, five on each cheek, they definitely left a mark or two. 

She didn’t care that God was watching…she was dripping wet and wanted him inside her. 

She shuffled forward slightly, pulled her dress over her head and draped it over like she was offering herself as an object for him to use. She reached back and spread her cheeks offering herself to be used. I think she knew he wouldn’t be able to resist but she took absolutely no chances…as he looked down to see his hand prints on her sexy butt, her pussy lips drippy, she said “I am sorry for these and all my sins.”

Within seconds he was inside her thrusting away, her hands against the divide as he thrusted away inside her. It was sooo wrong but I think this is what made it sooo hot and naughty. It took them both just a few seconds to climax together. There groans intertwined as her pussy clenched around his cock taking every drop inside her. 

They looked at each other with the cheekiest smirks but also a hot passion that was hard to even describe. Scrambling to get themselves looking respectable, Lucy quickly realised she had no underwear and it wouldn’t be long before the Priests was dripping down her thigh. He could see the panic in her eyes and came to her rescue in a way she could never have expected. The Priest reached under his robe to a secret pocket and pulled out her lingerie from the last week, he tossed them to her laughing to himself “ I was going to pretend they ended up in my robes to come back round to see you, but I can see you might need them now”. She shyly put them on under her dress, mind racing with what the fuck had just happened. She knew that they were missing but didn’t for one second think that Father had taken them. He was full of surprises and she liked being kept on her toes as well as her knees. They headed back out to the front of the church and her family was waiting in the car park. 

She hurried to the car park, her knickers now soaking wet and hid it as best she could. He looked at her with such lust, he felt alive again. Lucy jumped in the car and it drove away….

As the car pulled into the driveway, her phone bleeped..it was a message from Father: ‘Go upstairs and take out your favourite toy, fuck my cum back into your pussy and think about our time in confession. P.S You are MY favourite toy!

[yourgirlsarchived]

✝️- is my muse’s faith important to them? How does this inform their daily life?

Sam, Revati, Sorcha, Wanda

Revati is agnostic, and she regards organized faith suspiciously at best. Organized religion will make her turn and walk the other way. Given her employment within Hollywood, this can cause some strife between her another actors, especially those who are Evangelicals or Scientologists.

Sam is a non-practicing protestant. He came up in the Baptist Church. While he respects those who are respectful of religion in general and individual faiths, he found that his prayers often went unheard. So his faith in the unseen waned, and faith in the seen took over.

(answering this for the triplets since Sorcha's pretty well documented unless I accidentally deleted it and now I have to check.)

The Rogers are Irish Catholic, and their faith in God was absolute until their teens. They had, until that point, been sure it was God's will they kept walking the Earth. Heaven knows they were sick enough to have been taken to the beyond a dozen times over each.

When the war starts, and his sisters leave months into the US's entrance to it, Steve feels his faith waiver. Especially when Saoirse's letters stopped and several of Sorcha's were just notes to say she was well. His faith waivered with every F4 stamp, but it was bouyed by Erskine seeing something in him worth while. It was bouyed again after Sorcha came out of the Vita-Ray pod healthy and whole.

Steve's faith is snuffed out when he is the last of his family to survive the war. It gradually creeps back in over the following years. He left the church and faith all together until the mid-60s. Though Dr. King was a protestant, him being such a prominent face of the Civil Rights era lead Steve back to his faith.

Saoirse's faith was slowly erased over the course of the war. Each mission that was in direct conflict with her morals eroded it, each death of a friend snuffed a little of that light. By the time she woke up in the Red Room, her faith had died. She acknowledges no faith or faith-practice as useful or her own.

Sorcha's faith has become a complicated series of contradictions. All of their past happened for a reason, but she can't believe that God meant for Saoirse and Bucky to be experimented on. She can't accept her near-seventy-year nap was part of a plan, that Steve was meant to be alone like that.

Upon waking, Sorcha clung to her faith, to the ritual of the prayers, confession, the trappings of it all. It kept her feeling sane. But once she began to adjust, so too did her need for the ritual. She will still bless her food and pray but church is for High Days and personal important events, in celebration of the faith and the event at hand.

Wanda's family was Serbian and Jewish. The combination lead to the practices of faith being hidden all together and later simply downplayed from the 1930s to the present. Her family weathered the Yugoslav Wars, which tested everyone's faith.

The death of her parents, at the hands of those with far more than the Maximoffs had, shook her faith down to it's foundations. People are not, after all, put upon the earth to suffer. That faith informed her during the years where she and Pietro were alone, years where she set aside all faith rituals in favor of survival.

Discovery of her powers brought with it a different challenge. The faith looks at witchcraft as taboo - but the practices relegated to such a label change. Wanda had to grapple with the notion she was unwanted by her god. Eventually, around the time she joined the Avengers, she came down on the side that people were not placed here to suffer, and her powers were not meant to be hidden when there were people suffering. Especially those of her own faith.

[nochd]

Let me start with a minor correction. I've been saying Tolkien wrote the Lay of Leithian in the 1930s; in fact he did a lot of the work in the 1920s, and Lewis saw it in 1930.

And I should have told you one more detail about it -- though I imagine most people who've got this far into the thread are already familiar enough with the story to know this: Lúthien and Beren first meet by a stream in the forest, where she is dancing in the starlight and Beren happens upon her, a weary traveller escaping the destruction of the band of rangers who were his family.

What most of you probably don't know, what I certainly didn't know until I was looking things up for this thread, was that this story element was inspired by a specific moment in Tolkien and Edith's life. It was 1917, he had come back from France and was stationed in Kingston-upon-Hull. They went on a walk in the woods in the country not far from the sea, and Edith danced for him in a clearing full of white flowers, of a sort that Tolkien called "hemlocks" (not the poisonous kind), growing in an arrangement that botanists call umbels.

Now it befell on summer night upon a lawn where lingering light yet lay and faded faint and grey, that Lúthien danced while he* did play. The chestnuts on the turf had shed their flowering candles, white and red; there darkling stood a silent elm and pale beneath its shadow-helm there glimmered faint the umbels thick of hemlocks like a mist, and quick the moths on pallid wings of white with tiny eyes of fiery light were fluttering softly, and the voles crept out to listen from their holes; the little owls were hushed and still; the moon was yet behind the hill. The Lay of Leithian 511--526 *"He" refers to Dairon, an Elven musician who loves Lúthien (unrequited), and will later tattle about her and Beren's affair to King Thingol.

Even Aragorn's song in The Lord of the Rings retains the detail of the hemlocks and their umbels:

The leaves were long, the grass was green, The hemlock-umbels tall and fair, And in the glade a light was seen Of stars in shadow shimmering. Tinúviel* was dancing there To music of a pipe unseen, And light of stars was in her hair, And in her raiment glimmering. *Tinúviel is the name Beren gives Lúthien: Tolkien tells us it means "nightingale".

The horrors that Beren has already passed through at this point may be a reference to Tolkien's wartime experience.

Their marriage was not perfect. All Tolkien's friends were scholars and Edith had little interest in intellectual subjects, so she had difficulty joining in their conversation, which often left her lonely. Additionally, there was the matter of religion. Edith converted to the Catholic Church when they got engaged, at the cost of being turned out of her home of the time; but she did it for Tolkien, not for any actual change of belief, and after several angry quarrels with him she stopped going to confession in the 1940s.

But they loved each other enough to work through these difficulties. Tolkien was still telling people decades later how grateful he was that she would leave everything behind for a man whose only realistic prospect, at that point, was to get killed in the war.

(Oh, yeah, another detail. When they were first going out together, Tolkien's Catholic guardian disapproved of the relationship and forbade him to contact Edith until he was twenty-one; an injunction which he obeyed to the letter, writing to her on the evening of his 21st birthday. She by that time was engaged to another man, but she immediately broke it off to marry Tolkien instead. And changed her religion and got kicked out of her house. Lúthien's instant, rebellious devotion to Beren didn't come out of nowhere.)

...I promised this would be the reblog that drew it all together. It's getting a bit long to launch a new topic now. I should have talked about the Tolkiens' marriage a lot earlier. But now I think we have all the background we need. Next time.

This was on @whatareyoureallyafraidof's post where they put up this:

And I responded with this image:

and promised in the tags to elaborate if asked. And, @frodo-the-weeb, I will. But it's going to get long and I'm going to have to split it up into several reblogs.

First of all, since not everybody in the world is a Silmarillion enthusiast, let me explain what we're referring to.

One of the stories in the Silmarillion, and possibly the one Tolkien cared about the most, is the tale of Lúthien and Beren; a highly condensed version of a narrative poem called the Lay of Leithian, which Tolkien began writing in the 1930s and tried to get his publisher interested in after the success of The Hobbit.

(Their readers said no, and they tactfully asked him to focus on his Hobbit sequel instead. "The result," in Tolkien's own words, "was The Lord of the Rings.")

The skeleton of The Lay of Leithian is as follows; I'm intentionally leaving out a bunch of information that weaves it into the overarching story of the Silmarillion but isn't relevant to the thesis I'm advancing here.

Lúthien, an Elven princess and enchantress, falls in love with a mortal man, a ranger called Beren. Her father, the Elven King Thingol, disapproves and sends him Beren off to fetch one of the jewels from the crown of the Dark Lord Morgoth. Lúthien tries to join Beren but her father imprisons her in a tower to stop her, only it's actually a treehouse because they're forest elves. Lúthien magically grows her hair long and uses it to escape. By the time she catches up with Beren he is chained in the dungeons of Morgoth's second-in-command, Thû (whom Tolkien later renamed Sauron). She rescues him with the help only of a dog, who defeats Thû himself in single combat. They then live in the forest together for quite some time, but Beren feels bad about being the reason she can't go home to her family, and still intends to finish his mission and get the jewel. He leaves one morning while she's still asleep, so as not to put her in danger, and then when he's on the threshold of Morgoth's underground fortress in the far North of Middle-Earth she catches up with him again and he accepts that she's not going to be put off. Together they enter Morgoth's fortress and make their way to his throne room. They are in disguise but Morgoth is not fooled and uncovers Lúthien in front of everyone, declaring his intention to make her one of his many slaves. Lúthien offers to sing and dance for him, which is the way she works her magic. She puts everyone in the throne room to sleep, including both Beren and eventually Morgoth. She wakes Beren and he takes the jewel and they flee, but as they get to the outer door they are stopped by Morgoth's guard-wolf, who bites off Beren's hand holding the jewel.

That's as far as Tolkien ever got with the poem, but we have the synopsis in the prose Silmarillion to tell us the rest of the story; again cutting it down to the quick, Thingol accepts Beren as his son-in-law, Morgoth's guard-wolf attacks Doriath, Beren goes and hunts it but is mortally wounded, his spirit goes to the Halls of Waiting in the Undying Lands where the dead in Middle-Earth go, Lúthien also goes there and, again through her magical song, persuades Mandos the god of the dead to let him come back. Mandos offers her a choice: live on immortally as an Elf without Beren, or return to Middle-Earth with Beren but both of them will grow old and die. She chooses the latter.

Tolkien created Lúthien as a portrait of his wife Edith, which makes Beren a picture of himself. We know this for a fact because he had LUTHIEN written on her grave when she died, and when he joined her in it two years later the name BEREN was written for him:

Now on the lower right side of my response image you'll see Pauline Baynes' illustration of the Lady in the Green Kirtle from The Silver Chair, one of C. S. Lewis's Narnia stories. A quick synopsis of the Lady of the Green Kirtle's part in the story:

The Lady is a witch who rules a gloomy kingdom underneath Narnia, accessible through a fissure in the earth in an old ruined city far to the North. Before the story opens she has enspelled and kidnapped King Caspian's son Prince Rilian, whom she intends to send leading an army to conquer Narnia in her name. For twenty-three hours a day he is her willing slave and lap-dog; to maintain the spell, he must be bound to the titular silver chair for the remaining hour, during which he is sane and aware of his imprisonment. The protagonists, Eustace and Jill and their guide Puddleglum, meet her and Rilian unawares on their journey to the North; she sends them astray and almost succeeds in getting them eaten by giants. Eventually they rescue Rilian from the chair, but she sings a magical song which very nearly puts them all to sleep but for Puddleglum's intervention. Foiled, she transforms into a serpent, attacks them, and they kill her.

It is my contention that the Lady in the Green Kirtle is Lewis's caricature of Lúthien, with the enslaved and befuddled Prince Rilian representing Beren; and further, that Lewis knew or recognised that Lúthien and Beren were a literary portrait of the Tolkiens, so that The Silver Chair is ultimately a nasty commentary on their marriage.

In forthcoming reblogs I will lay out my evidence for this thesis.

[littlweirdostuffwritesworld]

Soft boy

Summary: Where Matt is dating a girl who overwhelms him with love and care and he's not used to it. And he's also embarrassed about what he wants her to do to him

In short, he wants to be pampered

Note: Matt Murdock deserves attention, love and affection

Warnings: fluffness and smuttiness in maximum level, nipple play, nipple licking, fingering, ex toxic relationship ( I don't care what people say but him and Elektra reletionship was kinda toxic so go team Karen)

Matt and Joanne have been together for 5 months and everything is going smoothly. Joanne is a doctor who has a clinic next to the Nelson and Murdock office, the woman is a close friend of Claire Page and Luke Cage.

Since they met it was love at first sight for them they had so many things in common, how they both grew up in the church and how their faith was imposed by those who were next to them for Joanne they were her parents and for Matt it was because he had been raised by nuns.

A great friendship was born between the two they said everything, well not everything Matt had not yet revealed his secret identity, he didn't want to ruin everything and he didn't want to scare her, sometimes he forgot that Joanne is a genius.

Because one night I went to his clinic at midnight full of blood and cuts. "Oh my Matt what happened?" she screams anxiously it wasn't the first time she'd seen Matt hurt but not that hurt.

"I was attacked" she sat down in the deck chair

"Yes of course" she just did not believe it, how many times a blind person gets into trouble with criminals.

"Tell me the truth," she insisted as she disinfected the wounds on his right arm.

"I'm telling the truth ahh" he grunted him from the sting, Matt could hear Joanne's voice tremble a little, it was silent they could only hear their heartbeats.

"Sorry" he felt guilty he had his head towards the floor with guilt, he could no longer hide who he really was.

" I am...

"I know" the woman replied she continued to bandage her arm, suddenly Matt felt the doctor's hand.

"Can I?" she nodded her, from her arm her hand slipped down her back they were so cold they made her back arch.

"I'm worried you have become the most important person in my life, if I lost you I don't know what I would do" she confessed, he smelled of tears.

His hands sought the woman's face, the skin was smooth maybe there were some moles and then there were tears he smelled the salt and their foreheads he caressed her face.

"I'm so sorry, you too are my most important person" their fingers intertwined, slowly their faces approached and their finally their lips touched, the kiss was chaste.

"Joanne I like you, but no I want to put you in danger" the woman did not answer she took him by the face and kissed him again, the more they kissed the more lustful.

Both of their hands went under their shirt, I touched Matt's chest and he groaned.

"Matt we should stop, we just got together," she said twitching from the touch, they broke apart.

"Can you go home in this state?"

"No I think I need help" they both decided to go to the doctor's house, who was the closest, they were on the table eating take-away food.

"No wait, your mother is not alive and is she a nun?" she asked in shock.

"It was a long story post partum and her faith was too much for her to care for me, and in the end I ended up with a psychopathic blind soldier like me," he joked some deep face also thought he was a psychopath.

"You are not a psychopath you are a hero who saves lives, who tries to prevent children from becoming orphans like you because you are afraid that they will suffer. You are a protector of a community that is broken and that is trying to improve thanks to you"

" Thank you" he thanked blushing.

She later changed and they had an argument about who would sleep on the bed.

"Come on Matt we won't do other things we'll sleep enough, I know the Catholic in you is after the wedding but I don't have sofas?" the woman said sleepily on the bed.

"Then I'll sleep on the floor" the woman got up abruptly and pushed him onto the bed.

"Was it that hard Matty?" she was on top of him and the vigilante's face was in focus, many people called him by that nickname but when she did it she felt in seventh heaven.

"Tomorrow I'm free and I think you are free too tomorrow I'll take you out," he announced, making her smile.

"Yes" they got under the blanket and kissed each other on the lips and cheeks.

"Ok enough we can kiss again tomorrow" and he whined, he realized that he was the little spoon and he liked it, he could hear the heartbeat and breath of her beloved and strangely he felt safe.

Tadahh this is my second fanfic please be nice if you're confused or there are grammatical errors please be patient English is not my first language

[geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde]

Desperation

I have finally hit 666 (amazing) followers and to celebrate that I decided to write you all something special! The following is absolutely blasphemous, sacriligeous, and immoral in every way. The church does not approve. If this will bother you, please keep scrolling. If this intrigues you, take a gander at the summary and warnings. 

Pairing: Geraskier

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Jaskier and Geralt finally enact one of their most taboo fantasies. 

Warnings: Public sex (in a church/confession booth), vibrating butt plugs (used during a church service), masturbation, dirty talk, edging, ruined orgasm.

Note: I am not encouraging anything that happens in this fic. Public sex is illegal, it will end in arrest and I believe you can be put on the sex offender registry. Please let this be a fantasy that stays a fantasy.

---------------

Jaskier was shaking, be it from excitement or nerves, he wasn't sure.

He hadn't been to church in… well. He didn't know exactly how long it had been but as soon as he managed to get out of it, he did. His parents still went, not to this church, thankfully, but to one across town.

Jaskier had been raised catholic in fact, although he certainly never thought he would end up back in a church. Not willingly, at least.

But after a discussion with Geralt, the couple had decided that this might be a way for him to… come to terms with some of his lingering resentment of the church.

Well, that and they both thought it was kind of hot.

Really, really hot.

Every step he climbed to the church doors had him breathing deeply as the motion pushed the plug he was wearing to press against his prostate.

He smiled tightly at the greeter at the door, dipping his right hand in holy water and making the sign of the cross.  He knelt quickly at the altar, wincing from the pressure the position put on the plug, and then hurried to find a seat, preferably near the back.  He had purposefully showed up fairly late so he could try to find a seat where he wouldn't be too crowded with people. Luckily, toward the back, on the right-hand side, the pews were mostly empty, and he was able to settle with a few feet between him and the other attendees.

He took a sharp breath as he sat down, trying to get comfortable. The plug he had chosen for today was one of the larger ones that curved just right so that most motions pushed it against his prostate. But the real reason he had chosen it was currently in his jacket pocket, a small remote that controlled the level of vibrations coming from the plug. It was off, currently, and Jaskier wasn't sure when or if he would have the confidence to turn it on, but the option alone had him excited. The danger of getting caught did too.

Eventually he had talked to Geralt and the two of them had come up with a plan. Jaskier had woken up that morning incredibly nervous but Geralt had assured him that if he wanted to do it, he would support him and that if he didn't, that was okay too. Fantasies could stay fantasies.

But he did want to do it.

So, there he was, shifting in a church pew, the butt plug in his ass keeping him hard and aching, his hand clenched tightly around the remote in his jacket pocket as he waited for the service to start.

As he listened to the hum of conversations around him, he let his mind wander back to that morning. Geralt had woken him early and shoved him in the shower. After a light breakfast, Geralt had pulled Jaskier back to their room and spent the next ten minutes working his fingers in and out of him at a maddeningly slow pace, finally pushing the plug in. Geralt had nudged Jaskier back into a standing position and helped pull up and fasten his pants, making sure to squeeze his hard on as he did so, drawing a whimper from him. Then Geralt had pulled Jaskier in for a rough kiss and marched him to the door, slapping him on the ass as he walked out of the house.

Jaskier shifted again, biting back a groan at the memory.

It wasn't much longer before it was time for mass to start, Jaskier huffing an uncomfortable breath as he stood up with everyone else as the hymns began.

Standing was easier on Jaskier than sitting had been so he was able stand comfortably through the opening prayer, grunting a bit as he finally sat again, drawing a look from the woman sitting to his right. He felt his cheeks color as he smiled slightly and nodded at her. She frowned at him but redirected her attention back to the front of the church.

As the readings began, Jaskier found himself fidgeting more and more with the remote in his pocket, wondering if he would really be quiet enough. They had tried at home and in the complete silence Geralt, had barely been able to hear it while sitting next to Jaskier. Deciding he could try it and pass it off as the vibration of his phone if worse came to worse, Jaskier quickly flipped the vibrations on their lowest setting.

The low vibrations suddenly pulsing against his prostate had his cock fill fully from the half-hardened state he'd been in since he had arrived at the church. He adjusted his jacket, making sure he looked decent as he breathed slowly. Pleasure was washing over him in warm waves, the pulse just right. No one around him had gave any indication they noticed anything odd, either.

Suddenly feeling brave, Jaskier flipped the vibration settings one notch higher. The faster sensation made him clench his hands, still breathing slow, trying to keep his composure. He moved in his seat, rocking slightly, reveling in the pressure on his cock.

Jaskier found his eyes drifting closed, enjoying the sensations. A loud sneeze a few rows in front of him brought him back to the present, his eyes shooting open as he realized where he was. He gave a surreptitious glance around his, thankful when he found no one paying him any attention.

He let the vibrations slow again, giving him a chance to recover some. The pleasure was still coursing through his body, making him pleasantly warm. The low burn of arousal was something he didn't feel often, too impatient to wait unless Geralt made him.

Shuddering lightly at the thought of Geralt bringing him to the edge just to deny him, Jaskier increased the vibrations again, this time up two notches, suddenly desperate for more.

His body nearly quaked with the strong vibrations and he had to force his eyes to stay open as the plug sent pleasure shooting up his spine. The warm pleasure he had been basking in suddenly getting warmer, hot even. He knew the jacket was necessary to hide his situation and the remote, but he wanted to take it off. Instead, he rocked his hips again, biting his lip at the grind of fabric against his length. It wasn't enough.

If he could just get a hand around himself, he wouldn't last, he knew.

Jaskier had lost track of the service and was unprepared when everyone around him stood. Panicking, he flipped the vibrator off completely, having to take a moment to calm down before he could stand. He made sure to keep his jacket hanging low, hiding the erection pushing against the zipper of his slacks. Standing meant the plug was no longer pressing directly to his prostate, giving him a chance to calm himself. He willed his erection to go down but the tight squeeze from his slacks and the thrill of being so debauched in a public space kept him rock hard.

By the time he was allowed to sit again he was aching, ready for the press of the plug to his prostate again, ready for the fire shooting up his spine. He clenched tightly as he resumed his seat, increasing the sensation, and quickly restarted the vibrations, this time going straight to the fourth setting. He shook at the sudden jolt. This setting was a pulsating sensation, almost a never-ending tap, tap, tap to his prostate. It was the setting Geralt kept it on when he wanted to undo Jaskier thoroughly.

Thinking of his husband had Jaskier biting back a whimper. He could feel his face heat up as his temperature rose. He wanted nothing more than to pull his cock out from his pants and give himself some relief. Suddenly, Jaskier felt his balls tighten, the feeling of impending orgasm washing over him. He squeezed the remote tightly, enjoying the feeling. He knew he could come from just this but that wasn't the plan. He switched the plug off quickly, sucking in sharp breaths as he tried to cool off. He was shaking, so close to bliss before yanking himself back from the edge.

Jaskier let himself tune back into the service, trying to figure out how much longer he would have to suffer this sweet torture. As his breathing was evening out and he was trying to identify what was happening, everyone began standing again. He followed their lead, trying to remain inconspicuous despite still being so worked up. He focused his gaze on the front of the church, recognizing the reciting of the creed. He let out a slow breath, not much longer.

Jaskier went through the rest of the service in a daze, his erection never faltering. It wasn't until the communion when he realized he realized he had turned the plug back on. As he stood before the priest, his heart dropped, sure that this would be it, he would be caught. The priest simply nodded at Jaskier, gesturing for him to return to his seat. Hurrying as fast as his shaky legs could carry him, Jaskier went back to his seat and sat down, shaking, breathing hard. The woman beside him looked at him curiously but focused her attention forward again when the priest began speaking.

He knew he should stop, but it felt so fucking good. Cranking up the toy to the fifth setting, Jaskier let out an involuntary whimper, curling in on himself. He tried to breathe through the shocks of pleasure, but his breathing was ragged at best. It took everything in him to bite back the sounds he was making, and he felt tears stream down his face. He was so desperate.

A gentle touch to his shoulder made him jerk up. He looked around frantically, tear tracks staining his cheeks. He was still shaking as he realized the woman who had been sitting beside him had moved closer.

She looked concerned but he didn't know how to assure her he was fine. Not while he was shaking, crying, desperately trying not to cum, not yet.

"I'm fine, thank you," He choked out.

She nodded at him.

The loud, "Peace be with you," startled him.

"A-and also w-with you," he managed to stutter out.

He sat through the last fifteen minutes through sheer force of will. He looked around, groaning quietly as he realized everyone was filtering out of the church. Oh, he was so close.

Walking through the church to where the confessionals were was a challenge, but Jaskier was determined. He had waited in his seat until he was about to cum, turning the vibrations off quickly. He stayed there until he was able to stifle the soft sobs and clean up his face some. He was still on edge, desperate for relief, but he was calmer now. Calm enough to make his way to the last confession booth, the one a little further away from the others.

Stepping into the booth and closing the door securely behind him, he listened closely until he heard movement in the other side of the booth. Clearing his throat, Jaskier said softly, "Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been… twenty years since my last confession."

A deep voice hummed thoughtfully from the other side of the booth, "That's a long time. Go ahead, tell me your sins."

Jaskier smiled at the sound of the voice, letting the tension fall from his shoulders. He shuddered as he turned the plug back on, on the lowest setting.

"I… am bisexual. I married a man." He started slowly, letting out a soft moan as he cupped his cock through his pants. Finally.

"Is that all?" The deep voice responded.

Panting, Jaskier released himself from his pants before responding, "No. I… pleasured myself during the service."

The other man grunted softly, "How?"

"H-how?" Surely, he wasn't asking…

The response was gruff, "Yes. How did you pleasure yourself during the service?"

Oh. He was asking… "With… a plug. It v-vibrates."

A chuckle this time, making Jaskier shiver, "Are you still wearing it?"

Jaskier turned the setting up to two, "Yes."

"It is on?"

Jaskier breathed out a sigh, stroking his cock slowly, "Y-yes."

There was a long silence before finally, "Are you touching yourself?"

Jaskier squeezed tightly around the base of his cock, willing himself not to orgasm yet, "Yes."

"Hmm… do you think you deserve to keep pleasuring yourself?"

"W-what?" Jaskier's voice rose in pitch at the question as he turned the vibrations up to the fourth setting, still squeezing his cock.

"I don't think you do," the voice responded, matter of factly, "I think you had your pleasure during the service. Tell me, did you cum?"

"No!"

"Hmm… I don't think you should get to orgasm today. Sinners don't deserve to cum, do they?"

Jaskier whimpered as he turned the plug up to five.

"You're not listening, are you?"

Jaskier choked out a sob, "I'm so close." He started stroking himself again, so very desperate.

And he was so close, his peak closing in quickly. He let out a gasp and thrust into his hand.

"Jaskier stop. Turn it OFF." The demanding voice shocked him out of the cloud of pleasure, and he stopped stroking himself and he grabbed for the remote, shutting it off just before he came.

He shook violently, his cock spilling over his jacket. He whimpered; his body had released but he felt no pleasure.

"Oh no… did I ruin your orgasm?" Jaskier sobbed softly and dropped to his knees.

It wasn't long before gentle hands were stroking his face, wiping his tears. He opened his eyes to see the beautiful amber of Geralt's looking back at him, "Hey, you with me?"

Jaskier nodded weakly.

"Do you want to go home?"

"Please?"

The next thing Jaskier knew, he was being gently lowered into a warm bath. He felt Geralt slide in behind him and he snuggled back into his chest.

"Hey," Geralt's voice was gentle, "how are you feeling?"

Jaskier hummed, his head pillowed against Geralt's pec, "Spacey."

"Good spacey?"

"Yeah."

It wasn't much longer before Jaskier felt himself falling asleep.

He wasn't sure how long it had been when he finally awoke, but he was dressed in one of Geralt's shirts and was tucked into their bed, Geralt resting beside him.

Jaskier smiled and sniggled into Geralt's side, enjoying his warmth. "I love you," he whispered softly.

Geralt grunted without opening his eyes, "I love you, too."

"Thank you… for today."

Geralt pulled Jaskier closer into his side, "I was happy to help you. Did you enjoy it?"

Jaskier made a content noise, "Very much. But I don't think we should do it again. The church part. The rest was nice."

"Hmmm."

"Hey… you never did tell me how you were sure that we would be able to sneak into that confessional."

Geralt chuckled, "An old friend owed me a favor."

Jaskier gasped, "Did you cash in a favor with a priest for me?"

"Go back to sleep Jaskier."

Jaskier huffed, "Fine. But when we get up, I'm getting the whole story."

Geralt rolled on his side and wrapped both arms around Jaskier, "Whatever you want, dear husband."

Jaskier let his eyes close as he reveled in the safe cocoon of Geralt's arms, "Just you, dear heart. You are all I want."

-

Thanks to @hailhailsatan for helping me with my research into catholic mass! And her support and read through and just being a wonderful fucking person. And thanks to @fontegagrilledcheese for encouraging my depravity <3

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[literaryfic]

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: 빈센조 | Vincenzo (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong/Hong Cha Young Characters: Hong Cha Young, Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, vincenzo leaves, set five years after he left sk, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, vincenzo and cha-young are exes, they were in a relationship before, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jealousy, Exes, Getting Back Together, Not Canon Compliant, i wrote this before ep 20

Summary: Sipping on his third — or fourth, he’d stopped counting a while back  — whiskey of the night, Vincenzo fantasised about snapping the neck Cha-young’s fingers were delicately wrapped around. 

To Vincenzo, regret was like an old friend. He’d become accustomed to its familiar weight over the years, learnt its intricate shapes and colours. More than that, he’d learned to welcome the intimate ways in which regret accompanied his every step. 

The blood on his hands, his mother, her… Yes, it seemed regret was the recurring theme of his life. Alas, in spite of all the years he’d spent acquainted with it, he could not silence the wails of anguish of his heart. 

“Mmh.” A simple sound had sufficed to sink his soul to slumber.*

He’d always known this was a possibility. He’d thought about it endlessly, convincing himself that he wouldn’t care, that being in her life was enough. But Vincenzo was a greedy man, and he’d never desired anything more than he desired her.

Her. Cha-young. His Tesoro. 

Rarely did Vincenzo say or even think of her name when his mind wandered back to her. He treated it like a jewel, a precious gem meant to be tucked away in the corner of his soul, only to be let out under extraordinary circumstances. 

Her name on his lips would not be said in vain, for he was a pious man and her, a Goddess. He’d converted to her cult the moment she’d kissed him, her lips initiating him to her worship. 

And so, he prayed to her. When he’d reached the edge of the cliff, the troubled waters calling out to him, whispering in his ear that drowning would put out the fire that consumed his being, he prayed. 

He’d go to a small Catholic church in Milan, high ceilings and stained-glass windows glimmering in the evening sun, and he’d sit in the last row, his hands clapped together. He’d recite his prayers, confess his sins and plead. I love you. Forgive me. Wait for me.

The Goddess, however, was a capricious being, and it seemed she had not heard his pleas. Or maybe she had, but had deemed him unworthy. 

Vincenzo had wondered if she had found someone else, if she had been happy without him. Wasn’t human nature so contradictory? He had been sure that leaving her was the most selfless act of love he’d be capable of, yet that ‘Mmh’ had set his soul on fire. 

He had promised himself that if it were to happen — if Cha-young had forgotten about him, if leaving really had been the gift he’d first thought it was — , he would be content with just seeing her again. Even if all he’d get was a furtive look, that alone would be enough to satisfy the thirst he’d been dying of for the past five years. What a naïve thought. He knew the moment he’d seen her again, that night on the beach. He needed her. 

Now, watching her slow dance in someone else’s arms, Vincenzo thought about torture. He’d inflicted it on many of his enemies before and knew the myriad of ways in which the human body contorted itself when in agony. 

Vincenzo reaches for the gold lighter in his pocket, the reassuring clicking sound helping him organise his thoughts. 

He would start by pulling out his teeth one by one. Then, he’d move on to his fingers. It’d make a mess, but he wouldn’t die right away. Vincenzo would be able to enjoy the fun for quite a while, actually. Would the man scream until his vocal cords bled? Would he convulse, his body distorted by tremors, eyes rolling back?

Sadly, the only one getting tortured is him; the only cries of pain, his heart’s. 

Sipping on his third — or fourth, he’d stopped counting a while back  — whiskey of the night, Vincenzo fantasised about snapping the neck Cha-young’s fingers were delicately wrapped around. 

 Like moths to a flame, Vincenzo’s eyes were inevitably drawn to the pearly white of her thigh, revealed by the split of her long, form-fitting dress. She looked otherworldly tonight, her hips swaying to the slow beat of the love song playing in the background. Here she was, with her straight, shiny hair reflecting the dim lights of the ballroom, her red lips complimenting her flushed cheeks  — a fallen angel gracing them with her presence. 

The man holding her in his arms was in his late thirties, and while he was the same height as Cha-young with her heels on, he had broad shoulders and large hands. He looked down at his feet whenever he laughed, which made his glasses slide off his nose ever so slightly. After a while, he’d readjust them and run his hand through his short hair, the start of an endless loop.

He wondered what she saw in him, if it was something in his eyes or in his voice. Did she kiss his knuckles whenever he was working on some paperwork, lost in thoughts yet reluctant to let go of her hand? Did she kiss his neck and whispered ‘I'm here, it’s okay’ whenever he had a nightmare? Did her fingers trace ‘I love you’s’ on his shoulder blades while they were laying in bed? 

And if she did, was it because he looked at her like she was the most precious thing on this earth? Was it because he had secretly learned her favourite recipe, the one her mom used to make when she was sick? Was it because he held her tight when she cried, stroking her hair and murmuring comforting words against her skin? 

He looks harmless, Vincenzo thinks. The alcohol is getting to him.

‘Is he a good person?’

‘Mmh. He is.’

He shakes his head, banishing memories of yesterday’s conversation from his mind. That’s a relief. Cha-young deserves to be with an ordinary man who lives a righteous life, away from all the murders and the evils of this world. Yet, his heart aches every time she smiles at him. 

Him, who is everything he’s not. Him, who’s making her laugh, and smile, and blush. 

The man leans in to whisper in her ear, and Vincenzo can’t take it anymore. He pays for his drinks and leaves, the sound of his lighter not enough to ground him anymore. He needs to get away, far from the sway of her hips and that man’s hand on her lower back. Before he knows it, he’s out of the hotel, on the beach. 

Stuck in his own personal hell, Vincenzo considers atoning for his sins. Surely, the fire blazing inside his body, boiling his blood and heating up his skin is worse than the Inferno he’d ineluctably be condemned to. 

Without thinking, he takes off his shoes, his trousers and his shirt, and dives into the ocean. He needed to put out the fire before he got burned alive. It’s a warm evening but the dark waters feel ice-cold on his heated skin. He swims until the cacophony of the waves crashing against the shore lulls him. He swims until he’s about to drown, limbs too heavy to float. How he manages to get back on the beach, he doesn’t know. He collapses in the sand, exhausted. The distant moon looks down on him, her inquisitive eyes strangely offensive. Tonight, the heavenly body is mocking him. Look at this fool, she laughed. Did you really think she’d wait for you?

Vincenzo wants to scream at her, or maybe at himself, but instead he cries. He doesn’t have the energy to fight it, or to feel ashamed. He is guilty of leaving her and he has no one else to blame. Regret might be an old friend, but guilt is his greatest foe. 

He forces himself to get up, knowing he’d get buried under the weight of his conscience if he stayed any longer. Putting back on his trousers only, Vincenzo carries his shoes and his top until he sees the hotel lights. Were they still dancing together? 

He stops before going inside, lighting a cigarette. He’d taken it up again after going back to Italy, another one of the nasty habits he indulged in. He stood near a huge palm tree, just at the entrance of the main building, probably why he didn’t see him. Cha-young’s… someone was standing there, smoking on the other side of the palm tree. Vincenzo holds his breath, not sure how to react. The man is on the phone, and although it isn’t his business, he can’t help but overhear his conversation. 

“No, no… I told you, nothing’s going on with her...Yes, I promise. I told you, she paid for all her employees, it’s a group thing. Mmh. Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon. Me too.”

Forget torture, Vincenzo is killing this man with his bare hands tonight. 

*‘Sink Not Yet My Soul To Slumber’ is a Christian Hymn SINK not yet, my soul, to slumber, Wake, my heart, go forth and tell, All the mercies without number That this by-gone day befell: Tell how God hath kept afar, All things that against me war, Hath upheld me and defended, And His grace my soul befriended.

[kaylaxwrites]

Catch the Wind

Pairing: Matt Murdock/reader Words: 7.2k Summary:  You like Matt. You’re pretty sure he likes you too. Then why does he say no when you ask? What is he hiding and why won’t Foggy tell you?Request:  “How about an old friend of Foggy and Matt, who has this will they won’t they thing with Matt and she finally tries to act on it for her only to get turned down by him. His decision was because he is too focused on being Daredevil and doesn’t want her to be swept up in that so they decide to be friends, but it takes a strain on her relationship with Matt but also with Foggy too. Then like decide where it should go from there” (anon)  A/N: decided to put this all in one part at an attempt for more notes lol

For me to love you now Would be the sweetest thing T'would make me sing Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind

“Catch the Wind” - Donovan

You had been best friends with Matt Murdock for nearly as long as you could remember. As the longest—and oldest—resident of Saint Agnes Orphanage, you had been assigned to show Matt around when he first arrived after his father’s death.

You quietly knocked on the open doorframe. The boy inside sniffled and quickly wiped away his tears before turning towards you. “Come in,” he said, never meeting your eyes. At first, you assumed he was embarrassed to be caught crying.

“Nice glasses,” you offered, hoping to draw his attention away from the death of his parents—or whatever happened to his family that led him here.

The boy pushed the glasses higher up on his nose. “Oh. Yeah. Thanks, I guess.”

You stepped across the room and took a seat on the edge of his bed. “You must be special. Sister Anne would never let me wear sunglasses inside.”

“Oh, they’re…not really…sunglasses.”

He spoke so quietly, you didn’t really make out what he said. So you continued talking anyway. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Matt Murdock.”

You stuck your hand out for him to shake. “Nice to meet you, Matt Murdock.” You froze awkwardly as the kid made no motion to shake your hand. But then you put everything together—his dark glasses, the way he never met your eyes, the cane you were now noticing against the wall—he was blind. And you were an idiot. “I’m, uh, holding out my hand for you to shake.”

“Oh, sorry.”

At last, you shook hands, and you tried not to let the awkwardness sink in. “Um, so Sister Maggie told me to show you around. Do you want to go?” Matt nodded and stood, collecting his cane off the wall. You stood as well, unsure of yourself. “I’ve given this tour a dozen times to newbies, but never to a blind guy. How does this work? Do we hold hands or…?” You quickly shut your mouth. Obviously, you wouldn’t be holding hands—why would you hold hands with a stranger?

“No,” Matt chuckled. “Just give me your elbow.”

“Oh, sure.” You did as Matt said and led him out to the hallway. “I don’t know if they told you, but your room is the third one on the right. You must be lucky. You got a single room. Most of us have to share.” You directed Matt down the stairs until you were on the first floor. “We can’t go in now because they’re setting up for dinner, but the dining hall is here on the left. Breakfast is at 7 on weekdays, 8 on weekends, and dinner is always at 6.” You led Matt further down the hall and out the door. You stepped into a small, sunlit courtyard.

“This is the way to the church,” you continued explaining. “I don’t know if you’re Catholic, but you’re gonna be here real soon.” You stopped in front of the doors to the church, but didn’t go inside. “We’re required to go to Mass Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings, as well as the weekly Mass school gives.”

“School?”

“Yeah, Saint Agnes also runs a school on the other side of the block. It’s where we all go.”

“So I won’t be able to go to my old school anymore?”

You sighed. Newbies always had a hard time finding out they’d no longer be attending school with their friends. “No. Sorry.” His face fell. “But! I think we’re in the same grade, so we should have some classes together. I remember when I was the new kid, but, hey—you already got one friend. It shouldn’t be too bad.”

“What friend?”

You nudged his shoulder. “Me, doofus.”

Matt smiled softly at you and from that moment on, you were thick as thieves.  

As you grew, you slowly realized you probably had more-than-friends feelings for Matt, but you never spoke about them out loud, nor did you dwell on them very often. Matt was your best friend—your only friend—and you didn’t want that to change. So you locked the butterflies in your stomach down tight and shoved those feelings in the back of your brain. It didn’t help that as you neared graduating high school, everyone thought you were dating. You even caught the nuns who worked the orphanage whispering sometimes about how wonderful the two of you would look married—as if things would ever get that far.

When you went to college, your pool of friends expanded by one: Matt’s roommate, Foggy. Foggy quickly became your other best friend—since you were around Matt all the time, it made sense that you and Foggy would be close as well. In fact, it was to Foggy one drunken night when you confessed your feelings for Matt for the first time.

You and Foggy stumbled back to campus after a night out on the town. You, Foggy, and alcohol were never a good mix—you always tried to drink the other under the table until neither of you could stand upright. You leaned against each other for support as Foggy fumbled with his keys to the dorm. You laughed loudly when he dropped them and fell trying to pick them up, but he quickly shushed you. “Shhhhh. Matt’s trying to study,” he slurred, trying and failing to whisper quietly. Matt said he couldn’t go out with the two of you that night because he had a test on Monday morning.

You made a zipping motion over your mouth, but giggled again as you watched Foggy unlock the door. He was on his knees, the doorknob at eye level, as he concentrated on putting the key in the lock as a surgeon would make an incision. He fell on his stomach when the door finally swung open. You leaped over him as soon as you could, eager to see Matt and annoy him to stop studying.

But the room was empty.

You turned to Foggy (finally standing), almost pouting. “Maybe he had to go to the library?” he offered. You shrugged, and then collapsed onto Matt’s bed. You weren’t sure your legs would hold you up any longer.

Foggy puttered around the room, trying to drunkenly change clothes, as you snuggled into Matt’s pillow. You closed your eyes to stop the world from spinning, but that made you realize how tired you were. “You know,” you yawned, almost half asleep now, “I think that girl at the bar really liked you.”

“Who? The pink shirt?”

You nodded into the pillow. “Yeah, she kept looking at you and smiling.”

“Huh.”

You peeked open one eye to stare at him. “Are you not going to ask me why I didn’t act as your wing woman?”

Foggy’s cheeks flushed. “Uh, no, that’s okay.” His voice was higher pitched than usual. What was he trying to hide? If you could move your limbs, you would have crossed the room to stare him down. As it was, you tried to be as intimidating as you could with your face half squished in a pillow.

“Who do you like?” you asked after a moment, finally coming to the conclusion that he must have a crush on someone.

“No one. Who do you like?” he countered.

“I’ll answer if you answer.”

He stared at you for a moment before flopping back on his bed. “You know the girl from my study group?”

You quickly sat up, instantly regretting it as the room—and your stomach—swirled uncomfortably. But you pushed it aside. “Marci Stahl? You like Marci?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Don’t make a big deal about it.”

“Ooh, I am so going to have to tell her.”

“Don’t!” Foggy quickly turned to face you.

“Why not? I already know she likes you.”

“She does?”

“Um, yeah, it’s obvious.” That, and she sat with you at lunch one day and had asked about him.

“Cool,” he sighed happily, laying back down. You huffed a laugh, surprised that was all he had to say. You slumped back into Matt’s bed, eyes drifting closed. You were almost asleep when Foggy called you out on your promise. “Who do you like?”

You froze. You tried to search for a fake name, but the copious amounts of alcohol you had this evening meant you couldn’t think of one. So you sighed and figured you might as well say it. Foggy wouldn’t tell, right? And it was probably best you got it out of your system. “Uh…Matt?” you said quietly. You weren’t even sure if Foggy heard you.

But he did, and after a moment’s silence, he asked, “Have you told him?”

“Definitely not. I didn’t want to mess anything up between us and now…”

“Elektra,” Foggy finished for you.

It seemed Matt had been hanging out with Elektra more than you and Foggy lately. You tried not to let it get to you. Matt was allowed to have other friends, after all—even girlfriends—but something about her gave you a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t put your finger on the feeling or why it was there, but it worried you nonetheless.

“You won’t tell him, will you?” you asked. But Foggy was already asleep.

You were pretty sure Foggy kept this secret over the years, as Matt never once mentioned it to you. Or he was so drunk he forgot about it. That, or Matt similarly thought you should just be friends and never brought it up himself. Either was okay with you.

But now your feelings were somehow growing and you were ready for things to change.

You were hanging out at Matt’s apartment—you always did, every Friday. It was tradition. The two of you were tucked into opposite ends of the couch, watching random things on your laptop. You described what was happening whenever an audio description wasn’t available. But it had been several minutes since you last spoke. Matt hadn’t dozed off, like you originally believed, but he was lost in thought. You tried not to disturb him, thinking he was planning his opening for a case or something like that.

But the three glasses of wine in your system had other plans.

You slowly slid across the middle of the couch until you were inches away, thighs nearly touching. Matt gave no indication that he noticed you. “Hey, Matt?” you whispered after a few moments of silence. His head tilted towards you, indicating that he was listening, but he said nothing. “Can I tell you something?”

“Always,” he replied. He turned his body to face you, realizing from the tone of your voice, you guessed, that this was serious.

“I-I—uh…” you began. You heart pounded. What even were words? “Ilikeyou,” you finally breathed in one rush of words.

“I like you too.”

Your heart constricted. “More than friends, I mean.”

“I know.”

What? Your brain froze. You couldn’t comprehend. You were expected Matt to laugh you off, Matt to turn you down, Matt to do anything but that. “You—you do?” Matt nodded. “Then why…why didn’t you say anything?”

“I could ask you the same question.” He was smiling at you.

“I didn’t want to change anything. Between us. But I told Foggy once in college… I think maybe part of me thought he wouldn’t be able to keep his big mouth shut.”

“Oh, he told me.”

Your eyes widened. “He did? Oh, I’m gonna kill him.” You sprung from the couch, searching for your phone. But Matt stopped you with a hand around your wrist.

“Hey, it’s fine.” He pulled you back to sit next to him. Your thighs were pressed against one another. “I thought you wanted him to spill.”

“A bigger part of me wanted him to forget. We were really drunk that night.”

Matt’s thumb moved to rub circles on the inside of your wrist. Goosebumps raised on your skin. “I remember.” You were surprised he did. But you guessed maybe it was hard to forget the time your best friend told your other best friend that they liked you. Even if you weren’t there. You were sure Foggy gave him all the details.

Matt continued to rub circles into your skin and it was hard to think about much else. Your eyes raised to meet his. You sighed. His eyes were so gorgeous. You wished he didn’t hide them behind his glasses all the time, but you understood. Even then, you wished you could stare into his eyes all day.

Your gaze flicked down to his mouth. Before you knew it, your lips were pressed into his. He froze for a second, not returning the kiss, and you panicked. But before you could pull away, his hand was on the side of your face, pulling you closer. As your lips crashed into one another, you regretted not doing this sooner. He was an amazing kisser.

As things delved deeper, you turned to press your body tightly against his. You threw one leg across his lap and eased him back against the back of the couch. Your hands roamed—through his hair, over his shoulder, down his arms, across his chest. But when you brushed across his ribs, he gasped in pain and pulled back. You instantly sprung off of him.

“Oh, my god, are you okay?” you asked. “What happened?” You knew Matt somehow amassed a large collection of bruises and broken bones—he was just clumsy, he’d tell you ever since they started appearing in your teens. But you weren’t so sure. You’d never even seen Matt stumble once. You slapped Matt’s hands away as you reached for the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up to reveal his ribcage.

Blue bruises stood in stark contrast to his skin, surrounded by cuts and scratches of various depths. He winced when your fingers ghosted across the widest bruise—was a rib broken? Several other injuries trailed around his side and you figured his back was in similar shape.

“What happened?” you demanded once more. “Have you gone to the doctor? Were you mugged? Did you call the police?”

Matt’s hands landed on your shoulders to stop your barrage of questions. “I’m fine,” he said, but he gave no further explanation.

“That’s not fine, Matt.”

“I saw a nurse. It’s nothing that won’t heal in a couple of days.”

You breathed a small sigh of relief. But you were still left with so many questions. “Who did this to you? What happened?”

“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But it’s handled. They won’t be bothering anyone else.”

“That’s good,” you sighed. You wanted to ask more questions, but you knew Matt was being purposefully vague. Why wouldn’t he tell you what happened? Why didn’t he tell you that he was hurt? You wanted to press him more, but you knew Matt was as stubborn as a bull and there was no way you’d get any more information out of him. Tonight, at least. So you decided to distract yourself with the other question filling your head. “So…what about us?”

“We can’t.” Matt’s answer was immediate. No hesitation.

You felt as if a horse had kicked you in the chest. Your breath was knocked out of you. “What?”

“I…we can’t. There’s too many things going on and I can’t risk it.”

“What’s going on? You can tell me—you can always come to me. You know you can.”

Matt hung his head, leaning over his knees. “I can’t.”

Your eyes stung with unshed tears. Matt always came to you. You practically told each other everything. Had you messed things up by confessing your feelings?

“Does it have to do with your bruises?” you said softly.

Matt didn’t reply.

You stared at him, searching for words to say, begging for him to say something. But each of you remained silent.

Nothing.

“I have to go,” you said at last. You scrambled to throw on your shoes and gather your things.

Your heart shattered when Matt made no move to stop you.

“Do you know what’s going on with Matt?” you asked Foggy, pushing your food around with your fork. The two of you were at your favorite diner for your regular biweekly lunches.

“Uh, no. What do you mean?” Foggy’s eyes instantly darted out of the window. He fiddled with his hands. Foggy may be a lawyer, but you had known him long enough to know he knew exactly what was going on.

“I was at his place the other night and he had these bruises…” You gestured over your ribcage, indicating where Matt’s bruises were located.

“Oh. He probably fell down the stairs again. You know Matt.” Foggy chuckled nervously. He wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“Mhm,” you hummed skeptically. You stared Foggy down. Once or twice, he would glance up at you, but his gaze fluttered away when he realized you were still staring. The waitress brought your checks over and he fumbled getting his money out of his wallet and struggled with gathering his things. Before he could get up and leave, you spoke his name, forcing him to look at you. “Foggy. What’s going on with Matt?”

“Nothing, I swear—”

“Foggy.”

He looked at you and sighed. You were hoping he realized you wouldn’t back down. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why.” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.

“He promised me not to.”

“Is he in some sort of secret blind Fight Club?”

“If only.”

You reached across the table to grab Foggy’s arms. You leaned towards him. If your college days taught you anything, you might be able to puppy-dog-eye your way to get what you want. “Foggy. Is he in trouble?” you said slowly, quietly.

He turned his head, looking away, as if to find somebody who would rescue him from your gaze. But there was no one. “Y/N, I…I really can’t do this.” His voice was weak. “I can’t tell you.” He pulled free from your grasp, standing and walking away from you. “I’ll see you next week,” he said over his shoulder as he exited the building.

You sat back in your seat, resting heavily against the booth. What was going on? There was nothing, nothing that they had hidden from you before.

At least…not that you knew of.

So why were they hiding this?

You ignored their texts and calls over the next couple of days. You were angry that they were keeping things from you. You were upset that Matt had rejected your feelings just like that, so easily. Your emotions overwhelmed you and you weren’t sure how to process them—so you just ignored them.

After about a week of the silent treatment, they sent Karen over to your apartment one night. She carried your favorite takeout in her hands as a bribe. You took it, of course, but you weren’t happy about it.

“They’re worried about you,” Karen said once the two of you were sat at your table, food dished out in front of you.

You speared a vegetable with a little too much force. “Yeah, well, they wouldn’t have to be if they would just tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m sure they have good reason.”

“You didn’t see the state Matt was in. Something big is going on.”

“Matt said he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe he was mugged and they don’t want to tell you so you’re not worried?”

“I wish that was the case.” You turned to face her. “How are you so calm about this? I mean, don’t you think something’s up?”

“I talked to him a few days ago and…he’ll tell us when he’s ready.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes. With Matt’s stubbornness, he wouldn’t tell you anything until the information leaked on its own. You’d have to wear down Foggy or…

Karen sighed. She could tell she wasn’t going to be able to get through to you. She decided to change the subject before you could rant any more.

“Seen anything good on Netflix lately?” she offered and the two of you made small talk for the rest of the evening.

A few days later, you were cursing yourself as you were backed into an alleyway. How could you be so stupid? You dropped your guard walking home for one minute and look where it got you. You knew to always be aware of your surroundings, so why did you stop to check the notification on your phone? Just one cute video sent from a friend of her dog and you were about to be robbed of your belongings…or worse.

You tried to form an escape plan—or at least a get-out-alive plan—but your brain was short-circuiting. You nearly shrieked when a dark mass seemingly fell from the sky. Your heart sped faster. Was this man an accomplice to your attacker? Would you now have to face two men to get out of this alley?

But you breathed a small sigh of relief as the man rose from his crouched position on the concrete. You had seen enough pictures in the Bulletin to recognize that this was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. In the flesh. Right here in front of you.

The masked man took only one step forward but it was enough to send your would-be attacker running for the hills. The masked man cocked his head to the side, listening for a moment, before turning to face you. “Are you alright?” he asked. His voice was comforting, like an old friend.

You let out a shaky breath. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine.” You crossed your arms in an effort to hide your trembling hands. “I wish I knew all it took to scare someone away was to wear a mask. Maybe I’ll start carrying one around.”

The man smiled, small but tense. “If only that’s all it took.”

You glanced awkwardly around the alley, unsure of what to say next. “I, um, thank you?” You cleared your throat. “Thank you,” you tried again. “I…I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up.” You tried to clamp down on your wandering thoughts, but it was hard to stop the flashes of possibilities in your brain.

“Is there anyone you could call to come get you?”

Matt. Foggy. Karen. But you still didn’t feel like reaching out to any of them just yet. You shook your head. “No. My apartment’s just two blocks away, anyway. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m okay. I’m just a little shaken, but I can make it. Thank you.”

The man hesitated a moment longer, seeming to check that you would actually be all right, before scaling the nearby fire escape in leaps and bounds until he disappeared in shadow. You took a moment to collect yourself before stepping out into the warm light of a streetlamp. You hesitantly made your way home, skittish and jumping at every little noise. You sighed a breath of relief when the deadbolt of your front door finally slid closed.

Even though you were on the fifth floor, you went around your apartment, checking that every window was locked and secured. You pulled the blinds closed for good measure. You froze when you spotted a figure crouched on the fire escape across the street, but smiled as you realized it was the masked man, seeing you safely home. Despite the evening’s events, you felt safe knowing the masked man was protecting the city.

You spotted the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen several more times over the next few weeks. You would catch glimpses of him on your walk home, spot him in shadows from out your window, heard the stories of those he saved. It was comforting, knowing he was out there. You didn’t think his persistent presence would one day turn against you.

You awoke in the middle of the night to a noise in your apartment. You laid still, ears searching for another sound. You relaxed when you heard none after a few minutes. Maybe your neighbor just dropped something, you thought. You closed your eyes and tried to fall back asleep. You tensed again at the sound of fabric rustling, realizing after a moment it was just your window curtains in the breeze. What had you so jumpy tonight? You had seen the masked man just this evening, keeping watch over the block. You knew nothing was going to happen…

You were nearly asleep when a hand clamped over your mouth and nose.

You were dazed and confused when your eyes finally fluttered open. You weren’t in your bed—had you fallen asleep working at the kitchen table again? You moved to stretch your arms and back, but something tugged tight at your wrists. You glanced down with groggy eyes to find a neatly knotted rope around each arm. You kicked your legs to find that they were similarly bound.

In an instant, your sleepy mind flashed to full clarity.

Not good. This was definitely not good.

Your eyes focused just ahead of you. Across a small wooden table was a well-dressed man with dark hair. He was sitting casually, almost lazily, with one leg draped across the arm of his chair. He was twirling a knife idly in his right hand and barely glanced at you when he spoke. “Finally awake?”

“Where am I?” you responded, giving another futile tug to your bindings.

“New York City,” the man deadpanned. You nearly rolled your eyes—you could’ve figured that one out yourself. The sounds were distant, muffled, but you could still make out the sound of the hustle and bustle of the busy city. You couldn’t exactly tell which borough you had been brought to, but you knew you weren’t in a residential area. The room you were in was big with tall ceilings, dim construction lights, and no windows aside from darkened skylights on the roof. An abandoned factory. A warehouse, maybe.

Well, isn’t that just a bit cliché.

You shivered as a draft eased over your skin. The building certainly didn’t have central AC—you were freezing in the thin pajamas you had been kidnapped it.

Kidnapped.

You had just been kidnapped. Why this was only registering now, you weren’t sure. You fought the panic rising in your chest. Hyperventilating now would be no good and you didn’t want to know what would happen if you passed out. A count of five to control your breathing, then: “What do you want from me?”

“It’s not you we want, sweetheart.” He rose from his seat, straightening his suit jacked and adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. He slowly stepped around the table and you couldn’t help but be reminded of a jaguar stalking its prey. You tensed when he disappeared behind you, but he was only gone for a moment before tossing several issues of the Bulletin across the table. “It’s him.”

You cautioned a closer look at the papers in front of you. Featured on each page was a different grainy photo of the man in the mask, Daredevil, whatever they were calling him these days. “I don’t—I don’t know him.”

“You don’t?” The man—your kidnapper—pulled out a few photographs, placing them slowly in front of you. The first was of you and Daredevil walking side by side. It was taken shortly after he had saved you from that alley, you realized, when he escorted you home. The second was a picture of the fire escape landing just outside your window. You were leaning out the window, handing him a bottle of water—the defender of Hell’s Kitchen needed to be hydrated, right? But glancing at the third picture, you were unsure of what it had to do with you. Until you realized it was of him kneeling on the rooftop of the building across from yours.

“We’ve been trying to track him down,” your kidnapper continued, “as he’s been interfering with several…business ventures of ours. He’s been very hard to locate. Fortunately for us, your apartment is one of his more…frequented locations. We just want to know who he is. Then we might be able to…set you free.”

“But I don’t know him!” you insisted again.

Your kidnapper retrieved a knife from his pocket, sliding the flat of it up the side of your arm. “It would be easier on the both of us if you just told me his name.”

“It would be easier if you’d just listen! I don’t know—” Your words abruptly cut off as the man slid the point of the knife against your thigh—not deep, but enough to slice through your pant leg and draw a thin line of blood. You could almost laugh. You were expecting much, much worse. “That’s the best you could do? I’ve had paper cuts worse—”

Your eyes widened. Why were you mouthing off at a time like this? Why would you say that? Stupid, stupid, stupid… In a flash, the man’s palm struck across your cheek, turning your head sideways. You tasted blood. Your lip was split. Fantastic.

“I just need a name.”

“I don’t have one!”

“Then let’s just hope he finds you in time.”

“What? No, please, please!” you shouted as his fist collided with your temple.

It was a slow night for Matt. He hadn’t stumbled across any emergencies needing his assistance nor could he hear any in the surrounding area. The night was almost too slow, it seemed. Without anything to do, he jogged across rooftops until he reached your apartment building. He always told himself it was just part of his nightly sweep of the neighborhood, but deep down, he knew it was more than that.

It had been weeks since you’d talked to him—well, talked to him as Matt, that is. You had been his best friend for nearly two decades now. It pained him every day the two of you didn’t talk.

But it wasn’t like he didn’t understand.

He rejected you. He probably broke your heart and, to top it all off, he was hiding a huge secret from you! He understood why you were giving him the silent treatment—he’d probably do the same if the roles were reversed—but he was thankful he could still at least check on you every day, even if it was as the Daredevil. He just wished you wouldn’t take it out on Foggy, too.

Foggy was torn, to say the least. He hated to see his two best friends apart like this and hated knowing he had contributed to it in some way. He wanted to tell you Matt’s secret, he really did! But he couldn’t. He desperately wanted to tell you so you could talk some sense into Matt, get him off the streets every night, but he couldn’t betray Matt’s trust like that. Even as much as he wanted to. He’d tell Matt as much, but things were already tense between them as they were.

Shaking his thoughts aside, Matt stepped gently onto your fire escape. He first noticed the cool air seeping out the window to your apartment. How many times would he have to remind you to lock it? He made three quick raps against the pane, alerting you to his presence. He waited for you to answer, but you never showed. He turned his attention away from the city and directed it to the inside of your apartment. But…he couldn’t hear you.

He could hear the loud thumping of the heartbeat of your upstairs neighbor and the quieter beats of her two cats but not you. He slid your window open wider and slipped into the space of your kitchen. The air was still. You hadn’t been here in a few hours. Dread pooled deep in his stomach.

Matt pulled his phone out of his pocket. Normally, he left it behind, but part of him hoped you would end your silent treatment one of these nights. Whatever the reason, he was thankful he had it. He just had to assure himself that you were okay—perhaps you’d gone to the store or out to a movie with a friend. He quickly dialed your number, paling when he heard your phone buzz on your bedside table. He hung up. Foggy’s number was next.

“Matt?” Foggy asked groggily, disoriented from waking up and confused that Matt was actually calling him.

“Have you heard from Y/N?” Matt asked quickly.

“No. Why? What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I just…stopped by her apartment and she’s not here. She’s not answering her phone.”

“I’m sure she’s fine. She’s probably at a friend’s place. Asleep. Like we should be.”

“Yeah. Goodnight.” Matt ended the call, nearly throwing the phone across the room in frustration. Something wasn’t right about this. He paced across your apartment, freezing when he caught the scent of…cologne? His heart dropped a little. Maybe you found somebody to replace—

His mind made the connection. That was the same cologne as one of the crime bosses he’d been following.

This time, he did throw his phone across the room.

You realized at some point you’d gone unconscious. You awoke to a throbbing in your skull and sharp pains across your abdomen. You couldn’t feel the rest of your body, but you generally felt like you had been hit by a truck. The taste of blood was heavy on your tongue. You pried your eyes open, but everything was blurry. Was one of your eyes swollen shut or just could you not see from the pain in your head? You pried your eyes open further and winced. Swollen. Your eye was definitely swollen.

You couldn’t catalogue any other specific injuries. All the pain swelled together, indistinguishable from one another. You thought maybe a finger was broken, but you couldn’t tell for sure. It definitely hurt every time you tried to flex your hand, though. You also realized deep breaths were something to steer clear from.

Your captor noticed your movements and stepped into your field of vision, leaning against the table in front of you. “Back, are we?” he asked. He casually bumped your knee with his, almost affectionately. You hissed from the pain the movement caused.

“Didn’t…didn’t think I could leave,” you wheezed. You’d certainly begged for it earlier. But your kidnapper made it clear the Devil arriving would be your only hope. Your kidnapper…you really needed to give him a name.

“Not yet.” Your captor—Zane. Yeah, let’s call him Zane—picked up a knife from behind him and twirled it in the air. You tensed, waiting for the pain to come, but he just continued to stare at you.

“Okay, listen,” you begged. “I’m weak. I’m weak, I know I am. I’m weak to torture. If I knew anything, it’d have spilled already. You’re good—you’re good at what you do, but I don’t have anything—”

“Flattery gets you nowhere. Besides, that isn’t even the goal anymore.” A glint from the knife was your only warning before it was embedded in your thigh. You screamed, begging, pleading, that your hero would find you.

Your bloodcurdling scream sent ice down Matt’s spine.

He had been poised outside the warehouse, waiting, listening, trying to find the best course of action to rescue you. But that sound had him throwing caution to the wind. He dove through the nearest window.

Three men were in this hallway. Matt dodged a bullet one of the men fired before ripping the gun out of his hands. A solid strike from the butt of the gun rendered the man unconscious and Matt turned to face the other two. His mind turned to autopilot as he incapacitated his enemies. Every move was instinctual, every hit uncaring.

At last, he found where you were being held in the center of the building. He tensed as he stepped into the room, hands raising in a sign of no harm. You were being held at gunpoint. Every step he took pressed the gun tighter into your temple, so he froze, thirty feet away from you.

Tears were streaming down your face. You knew a gun was being held to your head, but you weren’t conscious of much more than that and the knife still hilt-deep in your leg. Ringing in your ears drowned out all other sound. You weren’t sure how the Daredevil made it across the room or took down Zane, but you instinctively reacted when hands pressed down on your shoulders.

“No, please, stop!” you begged. “I don’t know who he is, I swear.”

Slowly, your senses came back to you. “Hey, it’s me. Calm down,” you heard. Your eyes fluttered open. The masked man blearily came into focus. You wished you knew what he looked like. He’d probably have such gorgeous eyes… “Y/N, hey.” A hand tapped the side of your face. “I need you to stay awake, okay? I’m gonna get you some help.”

“My eyes closed?” you mumbled. You were trying to stay awake, but your eyes had plans of their own.

“Yeah, they did.” He knelt down to untie the rope around your wrists and ankles. Once free, he tucked an arm under your knees and behind your low back. “This is going to hurt. I’m sorry.” On a count of three, he lifted you into his arms and you were out like a light.

 You groaned some time later as you were laid gently on what you thought to be a couch. You couldn’t tell where you were—higher thinking was on the backburner currently. The pain quickly erased any thought that came into your mind. You fought to open your eyes, though. You had to know if you were safe.

You were in a small apartment, on a living room couch like you originally thought. An expansive first aid kit was spread on the coffee table next to you. Several of the tools were bloodied; several packages were ripped open. You raised your eyes higher to find a woman and a man having a heated discussion. The man you knew—it was the Daredevil. You could tell even though his back was turned. The woman, though…you weren’t sure her identity. She wore blue, bloodied gloves and the ears of a stethoscope were around her neck. You caught the last of her argument.

“She needs a hospital, Matt. Only surgeons are qualified to remove impaled objects. And I, as good as I am at stitching you up, am not a surgeon.”

You thought hard to make sense of the words. Who needed a hospital? And wait… “Matt?” you croaked. She said Matt? Daredevil instinctively turned at the sound of your voice and you gasped at what you saw. His mask had been removed. You met the eyes of your best friend. Matt Murdock. “What? It’s you?” Matt sighed and ran a hand over his face. Fuck. This was everything he was trying to avoid. “This was why you had those bruises?” He nodded. “Foggy knows?” He nodded again. This was too much for you to wrap your head around.

Matt knelt by your head and took one of your hands in his. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry. This is why I couldn’t tell you, why we couldn’t be together. I knew someone was going to use you to get to me. It’s all my fault—”

You stopped his tirade with a whisper of his name. “Matt, it’s not your fault.” You reached up to wipe a smear of blood off his cheek. You weren’t even sure who it belonged to—you, him, or one of your kidnappers. “It’s not your fault. We’ll talk about this later. Right now I’m in a lot of pain and getting a lot of blood on a stranger’s couch. I need to know what the plan is.”

Matt turned to the woman and then sighed. “This is my friend Claire. She’s a nurse at Metro General. She’s going to take you to the hospital, okay?”

Matt moved to stand, but you gripped his arm. “You’re not going?”

“I’ll meet you there as soon as I can. I have to change clothes first. I can’t show up looking like this.” He gestured broadly to his bloodied suit. Your grip tightened. You didn’t want him to leave you. “I trust Claire with my life. She’s safe.”

You slowly loosened your grip. “Be fast,” you whispered. Matt nodded.

He and Claire loaded you into the passenger seat of her car. Matt pressed a kiss into your temple before closing the door behind you. Soon, the car was moving and you bared your teeth through the pain each turn and bump caused. Claire was a constant stream of “sorry.” You fought with everything you had to stay awake, but with the adrenaline gone, you felt every injury at full volume. But one ginormous pothole was all it took for your strength to shatter.

You groaned as you came to. Your eyes fluttered against the bright lights, but once they adjusted, you found you were in a hospital room. “I want to stop waking up in random places,” you whined. This was the third strange place you had woken up in since…however long it was since you were last at your apartment. A calendar on the wall said it was Sunday. So, two days.

Matt startled awake at the sound of your voice. You glanced over at him. He’d been trying to sleep in one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs. He had dark circles under his eyes, worse than usual. Had he been here this whole time? “You look like shit, Matt,” you said.

“Y/N, I—” he started, but you cut him off.

“You don’t have to apologize. I understand now, I do.” Matt slid his chair across the floor until he was right by your side. You reached down to take his hand.

“But if I—”

“There’s a million things both of us could have done differently to not end up right where we are. The blame’s not all on you, Matt.”

He was silent for a few moments. He pressed the back of your hand against his lips as he thought. “How are you not mad at me?” he eventually asked.

“They got me on the good drugs right now, I think. But once they release me…ooh, you’re in for it.” You squeezed his hand, smiling.

“Yeah?” He returned your smile.

“Yeah.” You sat quietly for a few moments, your heart monitor filling in the easy silence. “So are you really blind? Or is that something to throw off people from finding out your secret identity?”

“You think I’ve had an alter ego since I was ten?” he laughed.

“You never know,” you shrugged. You burrowed deeper into your pillows. “I think I’m going to take a nap now. Will you stay?”

“Always.”

You were nearly asleep when you had to murmur one last thought. “I love you, Matt.”

“I love you too.”

[seanfalco]

Want | Priest!Kay x Reader {Part II}

Fandom: Season of the Witch Modern!AU Word Count: 2k Warnings: Catholicism, Religious imagery, Angst, Infidelity  (I’m also not Catholic, so hopefully I haven’t made any glaring errors.)

masterlist

He thought it would get easier as the weeks wore on, but Kay grimaced as he stepped behind the pulpit to face the congregation, his gaze instantly seeking out [y/n], her fiance’s arm resting across her shoulders, and he had to admit to himself that it was quite the opposite -- it was only getting harder to see her with him.   To keep his thoughts pure.

Their first lesson together had been… awkward to say the least, but by the second one they’d almost fallen back into the easy friendship of their teen days, which was both a relief and a worry to Kay.

If they kept getting more comfortable around each other, who knew what would happen then?

It was already going to be hard enough for him to watch her marry someone else when not so long ago that was what he’d wanted.  Growing close to her again would only make it that much harder.

When he’d broken up with her and left for seminary school like his father had wanted he thought he’d never see her again -- that even though it wasn’t what he’d wanted, that time would heal all wounds and that throwing himself into his studies would distract him enough to forget his feelings for her, and for a time it had, but it didn’t last.

He still sometimes woke in a cold sweat, their breakup haunting his dreams, the hurt look on her face as he’d turned away wrenching at his heart.  

They’d been so young and it had all happened so fast, their feelings too great, too overwhelming, too soon.

And he’d ran.

Only to find regret waiting for him, but by then it was too late and now… now he’d have to live with that regret.

He’d never have [y/n], and he’d never be a good priest.  How could he give all of himself to God if someone else still held his heart?

——

“So, how was your week?” Kay asked, hanging up his robe as [y/n] took her usual seat across from his desk, the little notebook she’d been scribbling notes in during their lessons resting in her lap.

He knew that she’d never been religious before, not outright atheist, but definitely agnostic.  However, during their lessons she was attentive and diligent -- always asking questions and taking notes.  He just wasn’t sure how much of that was from a true willingness to learn or merely out of respect for him.

“It wasn’t bad,” she answered with a small shrug.  “Nothing much happened.  This is honestly the highlight of my week,” she admitted, her eyes flicking up to his meaningfully.

Somehow Kay doubted it was because of church, but he’d be lying if he said that this wasn’t the highlight of his week as well…

“I’m glad our lessons mean that much to you,” he murmured, fighting the urge to loosen his collar.  “Uhm, before we get started,” he continued quickly, forcing his hands to still in front of him on his desk.  He’d definitely caught [y/n]’s little smirk at his words, and was trying to ignore it.  

“Why don’t you tell me a little about Matthew.  How you two met,” Kay suggested, trying to keep his voice neutral, but [y/n] looked up at him sharply, suspicion in her calculating gaze.

It was purely in his interest as their Reverend, he told himself.  He wasn’t asking for any other reason.

Frowning for a moment, [y/n] cleared her throat.  “We met through our parents,” she explained slowly, her expression not exactly what one would expect a newly engaged woman to wear as she spoke of her betrothed, and Kay’s heart constricted.

She doesn’t look happy, he observed as she told him how their parents had thought it would be a good match.

Don’t be ridiculous, Kay told himself firmly, ignoring that first thought.  That’s just wishful thinking because part of you doesn't want her to get married, to lay with anyone else, to look at them with love in her eyes, when it should be you.

Shaking loose his thoughts, Kay realized he’d missed much of what she’d said, but what he had caught hadn’t exactly sounded romantic, and he fought against losing himself once more to memories of their time together before it had all come crashing down.

Of late night phone calls that neither wanted to end, leading to Kay listening to [y/n] sleep over the phone, wishing she were next to him instead of her own bed.  Of handwritten love letters passed discreetly through lockers and left in textbooks, clandestine make out sessions during cut classes, and holding hands as he walked her home every day.  Of their awkward, if sweet, first time that had led to a second time shortly after, full of laughter and affirmations of love.

Did she love Matthew like she’d loved him?

“Kay…?”

“Hmm, I’m sorry, I lost my thoughts for a moment there,” he admitted sheepishly, hoping it wouldn’t be obvious where his thoughts had slipped to.

“That’s alright, it’s not exactly the most riveting story,” [y/n] murmured with a wry twist of her lips.  “Let’s, uhm, let’s get on with the lesson, shall we?” she asked and Kay was only too relieved to agree, not exactly keen to dwell any more on the topic of [y/n]’s fiance.

——

In order to speed things along to keep on schedule for your swiftly approaching wedding, Kay had suggested meeting twice a week for your lessons, and you’d only been all too happy to agree.

However, it was getting harder and harder to keep him off your mind, finding yourself thinking of him during every spare moment, even on the rare occasions Matthew wanted to have sex.  The night before, you’d nearly cried out the wrong name, Kay’s name practically springing to your lips, and disappointment twisted like a knife when you’d opened your eyes to find it wasn’t him hovering over you.

So it was to your great dismay that today’s lesson was about confession.

“We went over all this in principle last time, but this time we’ll do a practice run,” Kay was saying as he led you down to the sanctuary, blessedly empty save for the two of you.  Stopping in front of the confessional, your stomach in your throat, you hesitated, Kay noticing your reluctance.

“Are you nervous, [y/n]?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” you murmured, your nerves at an all time high.

“I promise it’s not as daunting as it seems,” Kay murmured, resting his hand on the small of your back, ushering you toward the door, a reassuring smile on his face.

As you took your seat atop the hard wooden bench inside you fidgeted as you waited for Kay to join you on the other side of the latticed partition.

This would be so much easier if you didn’t know the priest.

“Okay, [y/n],” Kay said as he took his seat, his voice soothing.  “Remember, the Sacrament of Confession is between you, me, and God.  I cannot disclose anything you tell me in here, to anyone,” he reminded you and you nodded, though it didn’t exactly make you feel any better.  He would still know about it.

“Alright my child, you may begin,” Kay prompted and you bit your lip, taking a steadying breath.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” you began, reciting the words he’d taught you.  “I uhm, I’ve sinned, well… a lot, and uhh, recently, in fact,” you muttered, looking down at your hands.  

With the partition between you, you couldn’t really see Kay, just his outline, but you could feel his gaze on you.

“Well, I’ve… masterbated… and I use birth control regularly, which is a big no-no, I guess,” you said, giving a nervous laugh before continuing.   “I’ve had premarital sex, which… I mean, you know about that,” you added, clearing your throat, reluctant to admit more.

“Go on, you’re doing well,” Kay urged gently and you nodded, continuing.

“I… I’ve coveted, and lied, I’ve taken the Lord’s name in vain and I’ve…” your voice faltered and failed.  “I’ve--” you tried again, taking another breath and swallowing, your throat suddenly very dry.

“I’ve had thoughts of an impure nature about someone other than my fiance,” you admitted.  “--About someone I should not be.  Someone I thought I’d never see again.”

Pausing, it was obvious who you meant, and your eyes flicked up to the partition where you felt Kay’s were and you wondered just what sort of expression he was wearing.

“And now that I have… seen him again, I can’t seem to get him off my mind,” you murmured.

For a long moment silence stretched and you wished you could take it all back.

“[y/n].” Kay’s voice wavered before strengthening.  “That is… highly inappropriate,” he said hesitantly, his words like a slap to the face, though you knew he was right.

“Don’t you think I know that?” you exclaimed.  “I’ve tried to stop, believe me!  But I fucking can’t and I--I don’t know if I want to,” you cried, frantically blinking back tears, your stomach churning.  “I miss you, Kay, and every moment we’re together feels like torture.  I… I thought I could do this, but I can’t.”

“[y/n]--”

Before he could say more, you pushed off the bench and threw open the door, suddenly feeling lightheaded and needing air, Kay right on your heels.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about me too,” you exclaimed, turning to him, frustration and anger lacing your words.  Kay watched you with an unreadable expression.  “I’ve seen it in your eyes, Kay.  You always had the worst poker face.  Don’t tell me there’s nothing there,”you insisted, almost pleading and he looked away, blinking rapidly.

“[y/n], don’t…” he said, unable to quite look at you.  “You know we can’t happen.”

“You didn’t answer me,” you pressed, taking a step toward him, desperation filling your voice now, your stomach twisting til you felt you were going to be sick.  

“It… it doesn’t matter,” Kay replied sadly, shaking his head.  “I’m a man of the cloth now.  I’m committed to the Church and you -- you’re engaged to be married, [y/n]!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking as he lifted his arms only to let them fall helplessly to his sides again, his hands curling into fists.

“What we had was a long time ago.  We’ve both moved on, and I won’t be the one to break up your marriage.  I don’t want to be the reason,” he insisted, though it looked like it pained him to say it.

“Yeah well, I never wanted this!” you cried, your voice clearly shaking now and you couldn’t keep the tears from your eyes any longer, feeling them fall down your cheeks.  “You were the one that pushed me away and then… then you ran away where I couldn’t follow!”

Taking a shaky breath, you scrubbed at the dampness streaking your face.  “You want my confession, Father?  I still have feelings for you, they never went away,” you admitted, breathing heavily, your chest constricting with panic.

When Kay didn’t speak, his emerald eyes pained, you continued, grasping at straws.

“Is this truly what you want?” you asked, your voice hoarse.

“It is,” he said softly, carefully not meeting your gaze.  “Even if I… harboured feelings for you, I cannot act on them, so please don’t put me in that position, [y/n].”

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes rising to yours once more, he shook his head sadly, his long curls shivering.

“Besides, you don’t want me,” he murmured.  “I can’t give you the life you deserve.”

Deafening silence filled the church and you stood there in disbelief.

If only you’d kept your mouth shut, you thought angrily -- angry at yourself, because you knew, you knew deep down you couldn’t have just kept going that way, lying to yourself, to him.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to lift your chin.

“You’re wrong.”

When you turned, Kay took a panicked step toward you, reaching out before you pulled away.

“Where are you going?  [y/n]?” he called after you, but you didn’t stop, heading for the doors.

“I’m sorry, Kay.  I can’t do this.”

Without another word you yanked open the handle and slipped out of the church before he could convince you to stay.

----------------------

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