#god I miss letting you bibles in the tags

[ratguy-nico]

BoblinWeek Day 3: Blush/Warm

People this is the only piece I, myself, on my own, made for the @boblinweek mostly cause I made way before and it wasn't mean to be for the event, but hey, it fits XD

I like how it looks... kinda, I think sparks make everything better, and I think I rely on them this time so you would not notice how simple and boring is the drawing in itself

In my defense it was supossed to just be for me to practice drawing Bob and Linda, but also very inspire from a song from a movie I dont like (and didn't like the song that much before either, but now is a Boblin song so I love it)

this is the version whith "background" but I personally prefer it without it

[cowpokeomens]

absolution

Pairing: Pastor!Joakim "Jolly" Karlsson x fem!reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI!!!!!!!!! A looot of references to religion (it all takes place in a church, so), smut smut smut (p-in-v) I'm including dubcon bc consent is weird with power dynamics, age gaps (10 yr) (everyone is of legal age though!!), some body horror stuff, power imbalance, I think that's all but if you come across something that I missed please reach out so I can tag accordingly!!! Love u bye!!!

A/N: This was really cathartic to write lmao I have a sprinkling of Religious Trauma and this helped me work through some of those feelings in my own weird horny way. It is porn, please don't start expecting me to be some kinda respectable writer with plotlines or whatever. PLEASE HEED THE TAGS. Okay enjoy!!!!

The guilt of it is eating you alive. 

The pressure between your legs- the raw, empty ache that plagues you day in and day out. Sitting on your pew, you are once again swept away by long, glossy hair and inked knuckles, turning sacred pages of a holy book that can do nothing to hold your attention at this moment.

What an impression of Christ he makes, you think to yourself, sounding hypnotized even in your internal monologue. 

He arrived when you were 19, to your small town, to your even smaller church. The rest of the folks in town think your congregation is too… fanatical. You can’t imagine a world in which someone could be over-zealous for the word of God, and even so, Pastor Karlsson had done a lot to level the congregation out. 

He was a divorcee, not by his choice, he has said. He was only 29 when he first rolled into town, funny accent and even funnier sounding name causing immediate distrust in your tight-knit community.

But God, did he have a testimony. Sex, drugs, rock ‘n roll, the tattoos adorning his body told you the story better than those gaudy stained glass windows in the snobby Catholic churches ever could. A lecherous lifestyle with a woman who didn’t love him, not really - not the way you do. He had humbled himself to you all, and you gladly let him in. He was made a pillar in your community - he became a leader to the congregation.

Which is why you always suppressed your feelings, putting them in a locked sarcophagus and hurling it to the far recesses of your mind. You will not be the thing that tries to come between him and the Lord.

You look up at him as he speaks, standing at the pulpit and wielding the word of God like the Archangel Michael who so valiantly struck down Satan. He who is made in God’s image; Had it not been for your utter devotion to the Lord, you would have wondered if he could sin at all.

But you knew better. Everyone carried their own sins. You had heard stories of husbands and wives who idolized each other so much that they left the church altogether. Your heart broke at the thought of leaving God’s light to worship something as sinful as human flesh, couldn’t imagine risking an eternity of paradise for what would one day be dust. 

Not that you’d know, of course. You’d never felt the touch of a man outside of when Pastor Karlsson baptized you the day before your 21st birthday. It had been fuel for weeks, his gentle hand on your back, guiding you underneath the water of the river that ran out behind the church. You had stuffed yourself full of your own fingers that night, stuffed your mouth full of bed linens so that no one would hear how you came undone at the mere thought of him. 

Perhaps you are the lecherous one, after all. Though you can’t help but think that God has given you Pastor Karlsson on purpose, as a test of your faith. A test that you believed you were passing, for the most part. You haven’t missed a Sunday sermon since you caught the flu in 2021, and even so, you watched the livestreams on Facebook. You keep your nose in your Bible, and ignore the clench in your gut when he tells you good morning. 

This morning is different. 

This morning is worse. 

You just come off of your period- disgusting and uncomfortable as it was, you are thankful it was over and you can enjoy the rest of your June in peace. But it lingers under your skin, an itch that can’t be scratched. Your emotions are raw, and you burst into tears twice this week, unprompted. Worst of all is the ache. 

You didn’t know you could feel so empty. It claws at your insides like a caged beast, mockingly calling in the voice of Moloch himself, “Fill me up, fill me up.”

You threw yourself headfirst into your studies; you reviewed Ecclesiastes as a way to ground yourself, to remind yourself that this was a temporary feeling, and would pale in comparison to the absolution of Heaven. 

Still, sitting in your pew, you felt the hunger gnashing at you, gnawing at your throat. It was overwhelming, all-consuming. You stutter through your hymnal, barely reading half the words. Your mother keeps giving you concerned looks, your father aloof as ever. Halfway through the sermon, she hisses in your ear, “What is the matter with you?” 

You blink up at her, wide-eyed, and stammer out a “I - I don’t know. I feel… weird.” 

She purses her lips, but says nothing, turning back to Pastor Karlsson in the pulpit. 

You pass the time in silence, feeling itchy and hot, until the sermon concludes, and everyone makes a mass exodus to the dirt lot where their cars are parked.

“Hold on.” Your mother stops you as you begin exiting your pew. 

She walks over and, to your utter horror, greets Pastor Karlsson, pulling him aside and speaking to him in hushed tones. He nods once, glancing at you, then nods again as she steps away. She looks grateful, patting his shoulder in that way that mothers do. 

He looks at you then, and his full attention is enough to make you combust. Suddenly your dress is too tight on your chest, your breasts straining with every breath against the linen that encases you. Your bones itch, but your hands stay resolutely tucked into your sides, your Bible held against your chest.

You’re so busy focusing on breathing that you don’t realize he’s walking towards you until he’s right in front of you, smiling warmly while greeting you by name. Your mother is by his side, looking at you in such a way that tells you she had something to do with this interaction. 

“Darling, Pastor Karlsson here wants a word with you. He even said he’d give you a ride back to the house! I’ll set aside a plate for you at home, you two take your time here.” She was smiling in a way that made all of her teeth visible, like a snarling animal. A lead brick settles in your stomach at the expression as you look up at Pastor Karlsson.

He was so tall, you think as you peer up at him. Dark eyes meet yours, making your gaze flicker away to something else- anything else to avoid the intensity you find there. Looking directly into his eyes was like looking into the maw of a starving beast- you weren’t brave enough to even consider it.

Your mother departs with a final “Wonderful sermon, Joakim, thank you!” Flashing one of her pageant smiles at him - one she’s never given your father - as she goes. 

He nods politely, murmuring a quiet, “All the glory to God.” before turning back to you. He gives you a thoughtful look before he speaks again.

“Your mother is concerned about you.” His tone was not accusatory or pointed, just repeating facts. 

You inhale shakily. “Yeah, I feel kind of weird today.” Admitting to such a thing is not a lie - you do feel weird today. 

He nods, as if understanding. Then, “Would you like to speak in my office? I have to pick up a few things, then we can head out.”

The thought of being in an enclosed space with him made you almost pass out, but you persevere, giving a meek nod as you follow him out of the sanctuary.

It was a short walk from the sanctuary to his office, your church is small, even among small churches. You love its modesty; It is a far cry from the towering spires and flying buttresses you saw in your history books back in school, but it has a self-effacing quality that makes it approachable to people from all walks of life. 

The walls are painted white, though slightly yellowed with age. Dark wood lines the floor, blue carpet cushioning your steps as you walk. There aren’t many windows - it was built for insulation, not sight-seeing, after all. Crosses hang sporadically throughout the hallways, some wooden, carved by members, others purchased at a discount at the craft stores a few towns over. 

His office is a glorified coat closet, something the elders threw together haphazardly when God called him to serve. It fit a desk, a desktop computer that was older than dirt, and two chairs, one on either side of the desk. The carpet is green, the walls beige, and you have always thought it is an entirely unbecoming space for such a Godly man. It’s a good thing he was humble; God opposes the proud but shows favor to the humble, you think, almost bitterly, as he sits down in the chair by the computer. You make a mental note to work on your own humility as you sit down in the chair opposite him. 

“So, what’s got you feeling weird?” He asks with a small smile, putting his elbows on the desk and lacing his fingers together. His hair falls over his shoulders with the movement, cascading down in a curtain of silk. You remind yourself to breathe. 

Stammering, you try to explain yourself. “I’m- I’m not sure, Pastor Karlsson-”

“Joakim.” He interrupts you gently. 

You blink at him, confusion evident in your face. He must find something about the expression amusing, because he’s smiling softly and continuing, “You can call me Joakim. We’re both grown-ups here.”

You swallow loudly, the sound all but ricochets in the stillness of the room. “R-right. I’m not really sure why I feel so weird. I just had a really hard time focusing today.” You suddenly realize what you’ve said, correcting yourself quickly. “Not that the sermon wasn’t good! Your sermons are always wonderful, Pastor Karls - Joakim.” 

He’s smiling broadly now, clearly entertained by your flailing. “It’s okay, käresta, I understand what you mean." A pause, then he lowers his hands. "Is there something on your mind specifically? Something that’s preventing you from focusing?”

You go still, scared to breathe too fully, lest it give you away. Your eyes slide to the ground, teeth coming out to gnaw at your lip. You can feel your heart racing in your throat- the throbbing sensation makes you wonder if you’ll actually vomit from anxiety. You freeze further when Joakim places a hand on your arm, gently.

His voice is barely audible when he whispers, “Hey, it’s okay. We all have our sins, and sin is sin -”

“- Is sin.” You finish for him, sounding unconvinced. You take a deep breath, then redirect your gaze back to him. His eyes are soft with concern, mouth pulled into the faintest frown. Hating to imagine you’re the reason he’s so upset, you blurt out before you can even process your words.

“I’ve been having lustful thoughts about a man in the congregation.” Once the words have been said, you fight the urge to grab them clean out of the air and stuff them back into your mouth. 

The hand on your arm tenses for half a second, then relaxes again. “Okay.” He begins calmly, pulling his hand back to the table. You resist the urge to whimper at the loss of contact. “I can see where your concern is coming from. Is this man married?”

There were only so many unmarried men in the congregation; it would be an easy elimination if you were truthful. But... You were already coming clean about one sin, no need to add on others, you reasoned. Shaking your head in a negative, you give a meek, “No, he’s not.”

Joakim nods thoughtfully, staying silent for a moment. You can all but see the gears turning in his mind, deducing who it could be. You wonder if he lists himself amongst the unmarried men- or if he is courting some woman, unbeknownst to you all. No, your mind fired at you venomously. He is not the sort of man to slink around in the shadows. 

Finally, he spoke. “While lust is never something to give full rein to, it is understandable, biologically speaking.” Upon seeing your confusion, he offers another soft smile, continuing. “You’re at an age where your body wants you to have children. It is what God made you for, it’s only natural that someone as devoted as you are would respond strongly to His plan. You’re not doing anything wrong, käresta.”

Relief floods your body, making your shoulders sag at the loss of tension. You aren’t doing anything wrong, Joakim even told you so. But that makes you wonder- is there anything you should be doing? You’re about to ask when he speaks again. 

“I’ve been wanting to speak with you privately for a while now.” He huffs a small laugh. “It seems the Lord thought today would be a good time, so it shall be.” 

You straighten your shoulders, sitting up, wanting to make sure he knows he has your full attention. Looking at him fully, you’re not surprised why your body is so responsive to him. He’s so handsome, even with the shadow of dark stubble on his face. You wonder what keeps him up at night, which chapters he gets stuck on for days before clarity dawns on him. It’s no mystery why your body is putting thoughts of lust in your mind; he’s the sort of man who would make a wonderful father. 

You cut off that train of thought, needing to focus on the present moment. He needs your full attention for whatever he’s going to say next. 

“The Lord has been communicating with me for some months now, on the topic of finding a wife.” You both take deep breaths, though for different reasons, you imagine. “You’ve heard my testimony on my previous marriage, so I don’t need to emphasize how much I’ve prayed about this.”

Your heart breaks, shatters, combusts into nothing but ash at his words. The Lord wants him to find a wife, and it sounds like he has someone in mind. You swallow the lump of bile in your throat, trying to listen to his next words as your guts fight the natural inclination to stay in your body.

“I’ve spoken to God a lot, the last few months- even by pastor standards.” The playful smile he gives you feels like a knife twisting in your chest. “And if I’m understanding his message correctly, I believe God wants me to court you.”

You’re so busy wallowing that you don’t understand what he’s said at first. The words sink in slowly, like the drip of an IV into your veins. When you think you understand, you manage a, “What?”

He chuckles, not a degrading sound, rather like he understands your confusion. “I know, it seems sudden, but I’ve been speaking to the Lord about this for many months, and-”

“Oh my goodness.” You interrupt as realization hits you like a freight train. “No - I know. I know. Because God has been speaking to me, too.”

Joakim’s brow furrows at you, and it feels nice to not be the confused one for once. 

You continue, looking up at him shyly. “The… lustful thoughts I’ve been having, they-” You pause, building up your courage. “They’re about you.” 

He’s frozen, mouth slightly agape as he processes your confession. His head tilts to the side slightly, eyes darker than usual as he asks, “You’ve been having lustful thoughts about… me?”

You nod, cheeks tinged pink. “When you’re in the pulpit - I try to focus, I really do, but my mind wanders to… other things.” 

You should be embarrassed, should be ashamed of admitting something so unbecoming. But the comfort of this being God’s plan washes away any ill regards you have about the situation; this is what He has always intended. 

“Other things?” He echoes, eyes focused on you intensely. His voice is hushed, only loud enough for the two of you to hear. “Like what?”

Your blush deepens at his inquiry. “Well, it’s more of a feeling than an exact thought…”

He’s leaning forward now, all but hanging over his desk at your words. He looks hungry, you realize suddenly; Like he’d seen firsthand the famine in Canaan, pupils blown wide, mouth open, breathing slowly. “A feeling?” He prompts.

Nodding, you find yourself leaning forward too, almost desperate to close the gap between you both. You can feel the dust in the air, hear the quiet electric hum of his old desktop computer. Your breath is coming too loudly, it ricochets off the walls around you both. “It feels like an ache.” You explain, sounding hoarse. “It feels like an emptiness.” 

He takes a shaky breath, pushing himself back from his desk in a controlled motion. Standing up, he makes his way around the desk to stand in front of you, one of his calloused hands guiding your chin up to look at him. 

“Do you want me to help you - with the emptiness? The ache?” He questions, eyes boring into yours. 

The thought of it makes your thighs clench together, and the feeling is so delicious that you almost vocalize it. Your mouth is dry, but you feel wetness gathering in your cotton panties already. You almost forget to respond, nodding and breathing out, “Yes, please.”

“Always so well-mannered.” He praises, making you feel warm. You would do just about anything for him to keep going.

The hand on your jaw guides you upward until you’re standing in front of him. You’re not touching, but you can feel the heat emanating from his body, feel the way the air vibrates between you. His eyes travel down to your lips, back up to your eyes, then down to your lips again. 

“Have you ever kissed a boy, lillis?” He asks, eyes half-lidded and voice quiet.

You shake your head, a tiny movement. “No.” You pause, then decide to continue. “I wanted to save myself.”

His inhale is sharp, deep. “Such a good girl.” The words light a fire in your belly, and the familiar gnawing is back, worse than ever before. You shift on your feet, subconsciously searching for any kind of friction. He picks up on the movement. 

“Do you feel empty, now? Are you desolate?” You can feel where his breath hits your face. If you tilted your head right, your lips would meet. The clothes you’re wearing feel itchy - too tight, too rough.  

You can’t speak, so you nod “yes.” His eyes run down your figure, back up again to your lips. 

“Show me where.” Is his only command. You can’t read his expression fully, features arranged into careful neutrality. The spark in his eyes seemed to hint at desperation, though.

Your face is probably the color of a sun-ripened tomato, but you do as he says, grabbing his free hand, guiding it between your legs. His fingers curl up through your skirt, cupping your mound. Your eyelids flutter shut at the contact, hands coming up to rest against his chest to steady yourself. Heartbeat racing, you don’t think there could be anything better than the feeling of what’s happening right now.

“Here? Is this where you feel empty?” His lips move against your cheek, breath fanning across your ear, making you shiver.

You blink several times, trying to clear your head. “Joakim, please.” Is all you can muster, fingers gripping at his shirt. 

You can feel him sag against you as his lips crash into yours. You’re not completely sure of what to do, allowing him to guide your lips open, licking into your mouth. You hear yourself groaning into the kiss, crowding impossibly closer until your bodies are pressed against each other fully. 

He breaks the embrace to place wet, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down your neck. The feeling is euphoric, making your hips buck into his without conscious decision.

Hands run down your sides, coming up again underneath your dress skirt to grip at the backs of your thighs, yanking you forward with such force that you almost topple over. His left hand is at your back in an instant, holding you steady before unzipping the back of your dress in a swift motion. 

The material pools around your front, hanging loosely until you pry it off, happy to be rid of the too-rough fabric at last. His lips are back on yours in an instant, one hand gripping the back of your neck while the other kneads the flesh of your breast through your bra. 

You outright moan at the feeling, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip as your mouth opens to let the sound out. He works a knee between your legs, rubbing the meaty flesh of his thigh against your core in such a way that has you seeing spots in your vision. Fingers curling into claws where they grip onto his shoulders, you grind down onto his leg, an animalistic snarl escaping you as you do so. 

You know this feeling; Though it’s a sin to give into lust, you’ve made yourself climax before, silently, long after everyone had laid down to rest at night. This is so much more, though - you feel as though someone has soaked you in gasoline and laid a lit match to your flesh. Nothing could have torn you from the carnal desire you felt, being entwined with Joakim like this. You want to take turns ripping each other apart, severing limbs and gluing them back together until you have both been remade in His image. You want to bite and gnaw and lick until you taste blood, to soothe the worried skin with soft whispers and softer hands. Dragged to Hell and back, nailed to a cross and left to rot, rising from the dead with such vigor that Lazarus would envy you - you wanted it all, so long as this moment didn’t end.

“Joakim - I, I -” You choke out, eyes focusing on his, foreheads pressed together.

“Good girl, give it to me, everything you’ve got.” He urged you, the hand on your neck coming down against your hip, ushering your pelvis against his thigh. 

Burying your head in his chest, you climax with a wanton moan, body shuddering through the shockwaves of it. Your breathing is labored, vision blurry from clenching your eyes shut so tightly.

He’s gently prying you off his leg then, maneuvering your positions until you find yourself face-down on his desk. Using a knee, he nudges your knees apart until he fits comfortably between them. The new angle has you feeling vulnerable, visible, licentious. 

You don’t have time to dwell on the feeling, because suddenly his fingers are playing with your folds through your ruined panties. Your knees almost buckle at the stimulation, so sensitive it almost hurts. Gripping the other side of the desk to hold yourself upright, you do your very best to stay still as he explores your body. 

Two fingers hook into the side of your panties, moving them to the side. You know he can see everything like this, and while part of you is screaming at the debauchery of it, another, louder part of you hopes he likes what he sees. You’re fighting the urge to sneak a glance at him when the two fingers that moved your panties aside are thrust deep into your core. 

You let out a howl that could rival a rabid dog, nails scraping against the wooden laminate of the desk as your hands clench into fists. He’s curling his fingers inside you slowly, and you can feel every millimeter of it. A string of drool escapes your open mouth, cascading down into a puddle on a stack of prayer requests from this morning’s sermon. 

“That’s it, so good, just take it, lillis.” He murmurs, fingers still unfurling deep inside you. 

You don’t know that you can do anything but take it. His fingers are so much thicker than yours, taking up twice as much space as you’re used to. You feel wonderfully full, the emptiness inside you finally satiated.

But then he’s pulling them out, and you almost sob at the loss of it. You could feel your hole clenching on nothing, throbbing with want; Whether you enjoy it or not, you aren’t even sure. 

You hear a zipper, then the sound of something metallic hitting the carpet. When you turn your neck to see what’s happening, you’re met with the sight of Joakim’s full manhood on display. 

You’ve never seen a man naked before. There were pictures, shown to you unwillingly by the cruel boys who called you a “Bible-thumper” in school, but this is entirely different.

Joakim is… prettier, you think is the right word. His tip is pink, almost red, and wet-looking in the glow of the fluorescent office lights. Veins bulge along the length, throbbing at you angrily as if to mock the throbbing happening within you. It’s big, you realize suddenly. You can’t begin to fathom how it’s going to fit inside you, when his fingers alone made you feel so full already.

A hand is placed at the back of your neck, holding you flat in place. The weight is reassuring, grounding in its pressure as you’re pressed fully against the desk, the cool laminate a welcome reprieve from the fever burning in your skin. You feel him press his tip against your folds, running it through the slickness there, before slowly pushing past your threshold. 

“It hurts.” Is the first thing you whine, legs already trembling. It does hurt - in a sharp way, like stretching to reach your toes first thing in the morning. 

You gasp as he leans over, thrusting further into you as he whispers in your ear. “Shh, I know. It’s the price we must pay for our sin.” His murmur relaxes you a bit, reassures you of what you’re doing. Joakim would not lead you astray; God had spoken to him, given him fortitude in the last months. This was His plan.

The stretch continues as he slowly slides further into you, until your bodies are joined completely. You’re panting, open-mouthed as he fills you entirely. Your toes are barely brushing against the ground from how far he’s pushed you into the desk, corners digging into your hips sharply. 

A soothing hand runs up and down your spine, unraveling the muscles that have been pulled taut with anticipation. Your breathing slows, body easing around the intrusion until only the sensation of fullness remains.

Joakim pulls back then, a slow movement that has you inhaling harshly as he drags along your inner walls. Your mouth goes to ask him what he’s doing, when he slams back into you, cutting off your train of thought in favor of gargling on your breath. 

“Oh my God,” You keen, eyes so wide they might bulge out of your head altogether. 

A jarring slap lands against your backside, stinging skin left in its wake. “Do not take the Lord’s name in vain.” Joakim rasps, sounding as out of breath as you do. 

He pulls back again, only to crash back into you a half-second later. The force of it jolts you, making you wail as your hands reach out for something, anything to hold onto. Documents and envelopes fly onto the floor in your frenzy, looking as haphazard as you feel. 

He continues at an unrelenting pace, hand still firmly gripping the base of your neck from behind. You know you’re being loud; A distant part of you even registers that, given the circumstances, you should probably be much, much quieter. You can’t bring yourself to care, though, an endless chant of Joakim’s name falling from your lips as you do what you can to grind back into him.

The hand leaves your neck, coming down to grab onto your hip while his other hand mirrors the action. Your pelvis is lifted off the desk, thrusts never even pausing as the new angle drives him deeper into you. Tears spring in your eyes from the overstimulation, having climaxed only a few short minutes ago. 

This is absolution, You think. Being tangled together, conjoined like this - There is no fear of sin, no guilt at succumbing to the lust-filled desires of the flesh. As Joakim plunges himself into you, over and over, you find yourself almost dizzy with relief at the weight lifted off your shoulders, the panic of condemnation a distant memory. 

His arm wraps around the front of your hips, holding you in place, as his free hand tangles into your hair, yanking your head towards him. 

“Say the Lord’s prayer.” He groans in your ear, breath hot and sticky. “Beg for His forgiveness. ‘Our Father-’”

“‘-Who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name.” You whimper, the words slipping off your tongue like muscle memory as your body is rocked back and forth by his thrusts. “‘Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth-” Your voice is cut off by your own gasp as he reaches something in you that you’ve never felt before. Knees shaking, you dig your fingers deeper into the mess of papers surrounding you to try and stabilize yourself. 

“Keep going. ‘On Earth, as it is in Heaven.’” He urges, grip tightening on you. 

“‘Give us today our daily bread,’” You continue, moaning pitifully as he drives into that same spot again. “‘And forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.’”

Tears stream freely down your cheeks now, a mixture of pleasure and overstimulation driving you mad. Joakim is mouthing at the junction of your neck and shoulder, tongue brushing over a spot that makes you shiver into him. A fire is building in your belly, lapping at the bottom of your throat as you move closer and closer to climax. 

“‘L-lead us not into temp- temptation,’” You stutter, mind hazy with want. “‘But d-deliver us from evil.’”

Joakim’s voice is back in your ear. “‘For thine is the Kingdom,” A harsh thrust, “‘The Power,” Another thrust, “And the Glory forever.’” 

The fire burns so hot that it rips the oxygen straight out of your lungs. Your eyes struggle to stay open, fluttering closed each time he rams into you. A particularly harsh pull of your hair reminds you that he is waiting for your response.

“Amen.” You whisper, vision going white as you climax, body twitching forcefully in his arms. His hips stutter once before he buries himself inside you, spilling his seed into you as he does. 

Whether you lay there for seconds or days, you don’t know. Eventually, Joakim pulls out, a string of his release coming with him, rolling down the inside of your thighs. You whimper at the loss, still too sensitive to move. 

“C’mon, käresta, we need to get you dressed. Your mother will wonder where you are.” His voice is gentle behind you, hand rubbing against your lower back to rouse you. 

Your joints pop in protest as you try to push yourself up off the desk. The room is a mess of papers and scattered writing utensils, your dress nothing more than a rumpled pile of cloth on the ground. 

You slip it over your head gingerly, every muscle in your body somehow sore. Joakim zips up the garment for you, running his hands over your clothed back, as if to smooth the wrinkles. 

Turning to face him, you’re met with a soft pair of lips to your forehead, dark hair brushing against your cheeks. The kiss makes you feel brave as you ask, “Joakim?”

His eyes are warm as he gazes down at you, his fingers coming up to comb through your tangled hair. “Hmm?” Is his response as he works out a particularly knotted strand.

You flutter your eyelashes, a move that feels foreign, but somehow right. Looking up at him demurely, you ask, “Will you be leading tonight’s Bible study?”

[hier--soir]

under the night | six

pairing: joel miller x f!reader, set in jackson after the end of tlou part I warnings/tags: [18+ minors DNI] language, being held captive, angst, serious violence, torture, injury, blood, discussions of murder, threat of sexual assault [DOES NOT HAPPEN], very brief discussion of religion/the bible, idk if you think i missed anything please let me know word count: 6k part five | series masterlist | main masterlist

Clink, clink.

Maria was drinking a cup of earl grey tea. The bergamot has a calming effect, she’d said, would you like a cup? Her spoon swirled in the teacup, bumping against the china every so often as she mixed in a sugar cube. The cup was pretty, a cream colour with pale pink gerbera flowers painted along the porcelain. Clink, clink; the spoon knocked the side of it again, the woman still unsatisfied by the granules of sugar visible in the dark liquid. It was the only sound in the room, bar the soft pattering of rain on the roof, as the four of them sat silently around Maria and Tommy’s dinner table.

Joel huffed in frustration as she finally lifted the spoon from the liquid and placed it gingerly on the saucer, before raising the cup to her mouth and taking her first sip. She sighed happily, relaxing in her chair as she savoured the taste.

“Okay,” she murmured, looking around the table.

“Oh, we can talk now?” Joel snapped, his exhaustion getting the better of him. “You’ve got your fuckin’ tea and now you’re ready?”

“Joel,” Tommy warned his brother quietly. “We’re all on the same side here.”

“Well, she could’ve fuckin’ fooled me,” he said spitefully in the woman’s direction. “It’s been days, and you haven’t ordered any searches, haven’t questioned anyone.”

Maria raised her hand to stop him, “It’s a delicate situation.”

“No, Joel’s right,” Cal spoke up. The bags under his eyes were heavy, hair greasy and slicked back off his forehead; the appearance of a man who hadn’t slept in days. “You run things here, and I always thought you did a damn good job of it too. But she’s gone missing, and you’re just sitting back and waiting? For what?” 

“Things are returning to normal here,” she said lowly. “People are calming down, and I don’t want to raise any alarm bells if I don’t need to.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Joel all but snarled.

“It means that I wouldn’t be surprised if she chose to leave,” she levelled at him, one eyebrow raised accusatorially. Clink, clink. He flinched as she dipped her spoon back into the cup, tapping it against the rim. “Ellie told me.”

Joel’s eyes darkened, his hand forming a fist below the table. “Told you what exactly?” 

Maria gave him a conspiratorial look. “She told me about being strangled, Joel. She came here a few days ago, upset after hearing the news, and we talked. Ellie worries that she might have left out of guilt… and I must admit, I wouldn’t be surprised if that were true.”

“Wait,” Cal’s eyebrows raised in alarm, eyes darting between Maria and Joel. “What the fuck are you talki-“

“No one was fuckin’ strangled,” Joel ground out, doing his best to stay calm. “Ellie wasn’t hurt. And she wouldn’t fuckin’ leave us; there’s no god damn way she’d even think to go outside those gates alone.”

Joel’s mouth twisted into a pained grimace at Maria’s insinuation, shaking his head jerkily. The last conversation he’d had with you played on his head in a constant loop, the image of your face distorted in despair, the feeling of your guilty tears on his neck – it tormented him. Kept him awake all night, and on edge all day. The idea that you might have decided to leave, out of a misplaced sense of guilt, or fear, or… or because of something he’d said. His chest tightened at the thought. He’d told you not to stay at the house if he wasn’t there, hadn’t he? That’s why you’d gone home alone that night, instead of coming back to him. It won’t happen again, is what you said. Joel mulled the words over in his mind endlessly, searching for a hidden meaning in your tone that he might have missed; a plan to leave him.

Tommy watched the three of them silently, the corners of his mouth downturned in dismay. To see Joel be so distraught was hard for him. Ellie had confided in Tommy that Joel had hardly spoken for the past three days. That he wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating. She kept a close eye on him and didn’t pry; simply sat quietly in whatever room he resided in, and just kept a watchful eye on him. Tommy couldn’t thank her enough for it. He’d watched his brother experience so much loss, so much heartache, and he cringed to realise they were witnessing it happen to him all over again.

“She wouldn’t leave me,” Cal broke the silence, his voice cracking on the last word. He reached up hastily to wipe the corner of his eye. “We made an agreement when we first got here. If either one of us decides we aren’t happy, then we leave – together. No questions asked. She wouldn’t break a promise.”

Joel glanced at the younger man, absorbing his words with a blank expression. It still unnerved him sometimes; to gain further insights into the tightknit bond between you and Cal, but he pushed all negative feelings down, knowing the he was right.

“She’s still in Jackson,” Joel said with a tone of finality, straightening his shoulders.

“So what do you suggest we do?” Maria asked. “I’ve already asked so much of our community, I don’t know where I’m supposed to go from here.”

“Some fuckin’ community it is,” he muttered. “Women gettin’ stolen out of their god damn homes.”

Tommy gave him a look that said, not helpful. Joel ignored him.

“We question them – all of them,” he asserted. “Ransack every fuckin’ house in this town if we have to. She’s here somewhere – whoever’s doin’ this can’t keep her hidden for long.”

Maria nodded slowly, sparing a short glance in her husband’s direction. “We’ll question people then. If we go to the right ones, someone is bound to spill something.”

Tommy stared at his brother, taking in the way he stared intensely at the woman. “You can’t be a part of it though,” he said softly. Joel’s head snapped in his direction, eyes narrowing.

“Tommy,” he glared, only to be quickly interrupted.

“You’re too high strung, both of you are,” Tommy said, glancing between Joel and Cal. “If you’re out there knockin’ down doors, you’re just gonna scare people off, and somebody will get hurt. We can’t risk you two causing a scene.”

“We can’t just sit around and do nothing,” Cal grunted, hand smacking down on the table.

“You won’t be,” Maria said firmly. “Someone needs to be waiting if she shows up. So wait. If she shows up at either of your homes, you’ll be there.”

“You’re fuckin’ delusional if you thin-“

“Stop,” Maria interrupted softly. “Have either of you taken a moment to consider it might already be too late? It’s been three days… Do you really want to be the ones to find her if she’s…. I’m trying to keep you both separated from this, for your sakes.”

“I’m not fuckin’ listenin’ to this,” Joel grunted, pushing his chair from the table and stalking towards the front door. With his hand gripping the doorknob, he turned his head to the side, staring back at them from the corner of a tear-filled eye.

“She is out there somewhere, alive, puttin’ up a goddamn fight. And when I find her,” he spoke with his back to them, voice dangerously quiet. “I’m going to kill everyone who had anything to do with this. And you two won’t be able to stop me.”

Joel didn’t need to look at him to know that Cal agreed.

The curtains were always the first thing you saw. When your eyelids managed to crack open, to break through the dried blood that crusted over your eyelashes, you would always notice them first. Large, bundled drapes that reached the floor, covering the walls, concealing the windows and any potential natural light. It was so dark all of the time, and so time had lost meaning. You couldn’t tell how many hours, or days, had passed. All you knew was that the curtains, made from a dark fabric, with pictures of small birds sewn onto them, were the first thing you saw every time you opened your eyes.

Sparrows, the thought whispered through your mind. Little sparrows sewn into the curtains.

A small metal table was positioned in the corner opposite to where you laid on a thin mattress, arms tied to a pipe protruding from the wall. Sometimes your eyes flickered to it, trying to glean what was on it, but it was futile because of the distance. Candles were placed sporadically around the edges of the room, providing a vague yellow light to the space which allowed you see these things. But no natural light meant not knowing when the sun rose and fell., so you learned to rely on a different schedule. Twice a day he would bring a meal into the room, and you did your best to note the time passing, but even that provided little relief. Dehydration and pain had you dropping in and out of consciousness, and you rejoiced in the respite that sleep brought. Sleep brought quiet. Waking, however, brought with it a stark reminder of where you were.

An unpleasant stretching sensation resided in your arms. The muscles burned from hyperextension from constantly stretching behind you to the wall, your hands numb from a lack of blood flow due to how taught the rope around your wrist was pulled. But no matter how uncomfortable, you never turned your back to the door. That way he couldn’t enter the room without you seeing him immediately.

The throbbing in your foot, and the smell of metal was always what you noticed next. Blood stained the lower half of the mattress, and you did your best not to look down. But the smell was overwhelming, and you knew you had to see how much blood you’d lost. Your right foot was caked in dried blood, and the sight of one of your toes missing was enough to make your stomach curl every time, as waves of violent nausea rolled through you.

“That’s fine,” you whispered hoarsely, attempting to convince yourself. “Never used that one anyway, can live without it.”

Talking to yourself helped. Although your thoughts were often delirious and half-baked, hearing your own voice out loud brought a certain sense of calm.

And you’d formed a routine. Where every time you woke, you calmed your breathing, and forced yourself to decide how you were going to behave. How to survive another encounter with him. You’d chosen violence the first time, and you came to sorely regret it.

He’d been watching you that first day; waiting for you to stir. It had been dark, but you still saw him instantly. Cross-legged on the floor beside the mattress you laid on, dark beady eyes bearing down on your skin like weights. The itchy burn of rope against your wrists wasn’t as noticeable at first, for you were distracted by the thick wad of material in your mouth, placed there to keep you silent. When your brain had fully woken up, you’d glared at him in a wide-eyed panic, moaning urgently against the cloth between your teeth, tears brimming in your eyes. No, no, no, no.

“Shh,” Lincoln had murmured, brushing the hair out of your eyes. “It’s okay, shh.”

Tentatively, he reached down and tugged the cloth out of your mouth. You sucked in sharp panicked breaths, staring up at him as the feeling of white-hot terror spread through your veins, all the way from your neck down to your feet. It was him. All along, all the women, it had been him. This embarrassing, weak man, who’d had you fucking fooled. You’d thought him a creep, but not this. Never this.

“Breathe,” he’d whispered, stroking your cheek with his fingers. Heaving sighs tore out of your mouth, and you turned your head in his hold, brushing your nose along the palm of his hand. His eyes shone with appreciation at the gesture, and he smiled. “You’re here with me now. It’s just you and me.”

Holding his gaze for a split second longer, you sank your teeth into the flesh of his hand. He shouted in pain, attempted to pull back, but you bit him harder, deeper. The taste of metal filled hit your tongue, but you didn’t let go until his other hand struck you across the face, knocking you back.

He'd hit your left side, and the all-too-familiar buzzing soared through your ear, exacerbating the pounding in your skull. “You cunt,” he spat, rising to his feet. He glared down at you, cradling his wounded hand against his chest.

And then his foot was slamming into your ribcage. “You stupid,” kick “fucking” kick “cunt” kick. The breath left your body, and you curled in on yourself on the thin mattress, wheezing, until he gave up.

“You won’t do that again,” his reedy voice called out from behind you. “Do you understand?”

Your back was to him, eyes clamped shut as you tried desperately to regulate your breathing. A stabbing pain burned in your right side, flaring every time your chest expanded with a breath. His hand came down on your shoulder, flattening you on the mattress.

“Speak,” he had snarled. “You will answer me when I talk to you, SPEAK.”

Your bloody lips stayed sealed in defiance, glaring up at him. Slowly, the corners of his mouth began to turn upward, lips stretching open to reveal a faded set of crooked teeth until he was grinning down at you. “Okay,” he nodded, reaching into his pocket and walking to the end of the mattress. “You want to see what happens when you disobey me in my house? I’ll show you what happens.”

It had been quick.

Flashes of it were burnt into your memory, but the feeling of the moment evaded you when you thought back on it. Him kneeling on your shins, saying “Do as I say, or I’ll clip your wings, little bird.” Pliers in his hand. The feeling of the cold metal on your foot. The smell of iron. A pinkie toe on the floor, by the mattress, in a crimson puddle.

Your hoarse, tormented wails had filled the room so suddenly that Lincoln was cursing while he stuffed the rag back between your lips, muttering something about people hearing you.

He had loomed over you, torso pressed against yours, gritting his teeth and laughing. Put his hands around your neck and whispered of the stories he’d heard about you, that he’d wondered about you since the day Tommy introduced him to you. “I think that was the moment I decided,” he said. “The moment I knew you were going to be mine – it was the very first time I saw you.”

“I wanted to know what he saw in you,” he’d jeered, breath hot against your neck. His hand gripped your throat, squeezing your windpipe intermittently, only ever letting up when your eyes started to roll back and the pressure inside your skull from a lack of oxygen started to become unbearable, only to increase the pressure again once you’d had a few seconds to breathe. “I’d always thought you must be a good lay, if you’ve got big bad Joel Miller whipped like a dog. Realised pretty damn quick I’d have to find out for myself.” Your arms fought tirelessly against the ropes that bound you to the wall, limbs thrashing beneath him, trying to inflict any sort of pain on him.

You frantically mouthed the word no around the rag, lungs heaving in search of oxygen. The last thing you saw before you passed out was his haunting grin.

And you were smarter after that.

Lincoln was hard to read. When he came to the room next, he acted as though the altercation had never happened. And so you followed suit. You listened when he spoke, and answered accordingly. You ate the food he slid across the floor to you. You held in a disgusted reaction when he gestured to the candles around the room one time, and said, “Romantic isn’t it? Candlelit dinner for two?”  

In the quiet moments, your mind would float away, and you’d allow yourself brief moments of respite, imagining that you were somewhere, anywhere, else. In your dreams, you were with Joel. Safe in his home, in his bed, playing scrabble with Ellie on his porch while he kept score. You tried to remember the way his laugh sounded, or the way his hands felt on your skin. But everything was warped, the memories unclear. Your brain lacked clarity, and the pain distracted you. And Lincoln could tell where your thoughts went in those moments; you almost feared he could read your mind. As if your brain was splayed open before him, and he was pecking at it in curiosity.

“No one will find you,” he’d say softly. Never nastily, but in a tone that was matter of fact. “They aren’t coming for you. It’s just you and me now, sweet girl.”

You would blink away the tears in your eyes and try not to let him see how afraid you were that he was right. Your memories with Joel felt so hazy, and the last time you’d seen him he had been devastated. He feared what you’d almost done to Ellie, feared how out of his control it had been. Maybe it’s for the best, the thought raced through your brain. Maybe they’ll be happier without you.

Those thoughts were the hardest to shake. And they cut deeper than any injury Lincoln could ever inflict.

One night, when it felt like almost a week had passed, Lincoln entered the room holding two plates.

“Dinner time,” his thin voiced called, and a chill ran down your spine. Slowly, you pushed yourself into a seated position, cringing as pain shot through your side.

He placed a plate beside the mattress before tenderly undoing the rope around your left wrist.

“Eat up,” he murmured, taking a few steps back before settling onto the ground and picking up his fork.

You gazed down at the raw red marks around your wrist, basking in your favourite moment of the day – just a few sweet minutes of ‘freedom’. With an aching chest, you saw what rested on the plate. A kind of dark meat, and a small serving of parsnips.

Oh, Joel.

Sucking your lips into you mouth, you willed the tears in your eyes to dry up, desperate not to let him see any sign of weakness.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Lincoln reaching out across the space between you, and then he placed his thumb and forefinger over the big toe on your right foot, squeezing it once in a silent threat. Your throat tightened, and you resisted the urge to pull away. Speak.

“Why are you doing this?” you whispered hoarsely, staring at the food.

“It’s dinner time, when else would I feed you?” he attempted to joke, hand leaving your foot to pick his fork up again. When you didn’t respond the smile slipped off his face. “You’re in a bad mood today,” he decided. “I suppose I understand.”

He watched you like a hawk, eyes raking over your features, your bloodstained clothes, the way you gazed despondently at the plate before you. “Surely you can appreciate though… I mean, it’s just… delightful, don’t you see? To see someone be brought down to their basest human form. No sunlight, minimal human interaction. You rely on me for water, for food, for company. I am all you have anymore, and it is simply… delicious.”

“You’re a fucking sadist,” you shuddered involuntarily, his words making goosebumps break out across your skin. 

“I think so,” Lincoln nodded contemplatively. “It’s not inherently sexual though, I’ll have you know.” You stared, and he let out a low chuckle, hands raising defensively. “Not entirely, at least.”

“You’ll get caught,” you sneered, ignoring the way a cut on your upper lip reopened when your mouth pulled open to reveal your teeth. “You’ll slip up and someone will notice. Joel will notice.”

“Only time will tell,” he mused around a mouthful of food. “Never been caught before though, have I? Not with Milena, or any of the others before you. Not even with my wife; although it was certainly easier to get away with it in those days. The world had gone to shit – everyone was going missing; assumed to be dead or infected. It was so easy. Our girls never had a clue. They trusted me, you see? My beautiful little birds. Believed me when I told them she was lost, that she must’ve been infected. I think that’s what I adore the most – the trust. It was hard to come by here, in Jackson. People were so wary, I had to build up their confidence in me. Really ease into things, you know? But some of these women, they just saw what they wanted to see. A few kind smiles, some silly jokes, and they were mine.” Lincoln sighed wistfully, gazing absentmindedly at the curtains. “Do you like them?” he changed the subject suddenly. “They’re sparrows. Sewed them on myself.” Good God, he was still so fucking chatty.

Nausea twisted in your abdomen. Acidic bile burned in the back of your throat, threatening to bring up the pathetic contents of your stomach. “And your daughters?” you hesitated, wary of angering him. “I… I remember you saying they died.”

He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, and you noticed one of his eyebrows twitch at the mention of his late children. “I let them go quickly,” he exhaled with a shrug. “Painlessly. It didn’t make sense to make them endure this world anymore. It was a mercy, if anything.”

“Fresh out of mercy then?” you asked bitterly. “If you’re so kind, and so fucking merciful, then why the are you dragging this out? Why won’t you just fucking end it?”

Fork dropping onto his plate with a loud clang, Lincoln murmured your name kindly. “Please understand,” he said. “I don’t know when I’ll get the chance again. You might be my last for a few months… so I’m trying to savour every minute I have with you.”

You stared at him, blinking slowly as you absorbed his words. How long could you possibly survive down here in these conditions? But the truth was, you knew the answer to that. You knew because you’d survived for years out in the open, with less food and less water than this. Here you had shelter, warmth, food, and water. He could keep you alive for as long as he wanted you.

Realising it had been some time since you responded to him you offered a meek smile and said, “Tell me more about the sparrows.”

Lincoln looked at you curiously. Trying not to appear uncertain, you reached forward and scooped some food from the plate with your free hand and began to eat. The action alone reminded you of Cal. Of dark nights, huddled together in dusty broken-down buildings, eating whatever food you’d been able to find out of the palms of your hands. You sniffled pathetically and tried not to think about him again.

“Good girl,” he murmured almost inaudibly, and you fought off a shiver. Swallowing made your chest ache. Based on the swelling around the middle of your torso, you assumed at least one of your ribs was broken. Even inhaling brought a sharp pain to your right side, but swallowing? That was a whole other world of pain.

Lincoln spoke about the birds, told you how they symbolised joy and simplicity, and your eyes flitted around the room, taking in as much as you could in the dim yellow light. And then suddenly, he was turning his head fully to stare at the curtains. His back was almost entirely to you, and your heart stuttered painfully at the opportunity that had presented itself. From this angle, you were sure he wouldn’t be able to see you in his peripheral vision. Was this on purpose? Was it a test? Heart pounding, you worked silently to push the remaining food off your ceramic plate and onto the floor. Eyes focused on him, you waited for him to turn back, to check in on you, to do anything – but he didn’t.

“You know in the bible,” he said thoughtfully. “Sparrows represented God’s love and care for his creations.”

You hummed in response, gripping the plate in your hand and edging forward. Sweat tickled your forward, made your skin itch. You wanted to wipe away the fresh blood that had oozed from your lip onto your chin, but you refrained. No sudden movements. He was so close now, and this chance would not be wasted on you.

Do not be afraid, you thought.

Blood rushed in your ears as you propelled yourself forward, smashing the plate down upon the crown of his skull.

Lincoln pitched forward, his face knocking against the cold ground with a sickening thwack. He howled a ragged, guttural noise of pain, but his movements were sluggish, his reaction time too slow. A fiery pain roared in your side from the movement and you whimpered, dropping the jagged shard of the plate that remained in your hand. Gripping his ankle, you cried out at the strength required to tug his body toward you. He was writhing on the ground, trying to fight against the fog in his brain no doubt, but you pulled him still, until he was perfectly close.

He mumbled your name, and you brought your fist down over his nose, effectively shutting him up.

“Stop fucking saying my name,” you growled, angrily swiping perspiration off your upper lip. This was it. If this didn’t work out, if he regained the upper hand, you’d be dead, no questions asked. You’d started this, and now would certainly be your only chance to finish it. God, your ribs were on fire. You hastily dragged a fragment of the plate in a sawing movement across the rope keeping your other wrist tied, and when it broke away, you heaved a painful sigh of relief.

Planting your knees on either side of his body, you straddled his chest, trapping his arms to his torso. You patted down his body, searching his pockets until you found what you were looking for. The pliers were cold and heavy in your hand. Lincoln blinked lazily, gazing past your shoulder at the roof.

You reached down and gripped the sides of his head. “Look at me,” you seethed, before slamming his head back into the ground. He groaned loudly, but his eyes focused on your face. Blood poured from his nose, spilling into his open mouth and filling the gaps between tooth and gum.

“You won’t kill me,” he garbled out around the crimson liquid. “My little bird… I know you wouldn’t kill me.”

“Stop talking,” you moved to be beside his body and pressed your knee onto his left arm.

“You won’t,” he was speaking incessantly now, rambling. “I know you, you’re good. You’re so good, you sweet girl. You wouldn’t kill, and that’s why I like you. I could see it in you. You’re too good for this world, I’m trying to help you, don’t you see?”

“Shut up,” you snarled, pushing the pliers down until they were positioned around his pinkie finger. “You think you fucking know me? You have no idea of the things I’ve done.”

His eyes blinked lazily, trying listlessly to focus. His free hand reached sluggishly towards your face, and you batted it down roughly. Gripping the pliers in both hands, you pressed down. The sound of his screams filled the room as his pinkie finger rolled across the floor.

“You want me to come into my home,” you sneered. “Take me, hide me away, and then kill me?” Positioning the tool over his ring finger, you cut him slowly, revelling in the pained sounds leaving his body, the way his blood spilled onto your hands as you worked. “Oh, Lincoln. You’ll have to try harder than this.”

Again and again, you worked with a gruellingly slow pace, removing all five digits. You didn’t notice that his free hand was gripping your arm so tightly that his nails had drawn blood. Bile rose in your throat, but you swallowed it down. Do not be afraid.

“Please,” he was sobbing, his mouth wide open like a sore on his face, jagged teeth exposed through thin bloody lips.

And yet as he begged, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel remorse, because through the tears, and the snot, and the blood, it wasn’t just Lincoln that you saw. It was that boy, from a decade ago. That boy that climbed on top of you and laughed. Who enjoyed your fear. Who held you down that night, and every night after, plaguing you in your sleep for years. The boy you couldn’t fight. The boy you couldn’t kill. You wouldn’t let it happen again. Never again.

A memory flitted through your mind so quickly it almost didn’t register. But his voice was clear in your head. Joel, and the words you’d shared in front of the fireplace at your home so many weeks beforehand.

“I want to be strong, Joel.”

“You are strong.”

You refocused on Lincoln’s face.

“You want to be in control?” you sputtered, vaguely aware of how deranged your shrill voice sounded. “You want women to be quiet little toys for you to play with in this sick game you’ve created? I’m a fucking person! I’m real!” your voice cracked. “You want to kill me, Lincoln? Let’s see you do it without your fucking fingers.” You realised then that you were crying. Soundless tears streaked down your cheeks, leaving clear trails in the dirt and blood that stained your face.  

He looked on the verge of passing out, and you tore his hand off your arm, stumbling away from his body. You stepped awkwardly on your right foot and yelped in pain, grimacing at the bloody footprint that followed behind you when you walked. Wrapping an arm around your torso, against your ribs, you struggled to breathe. Running on pure adrenaline, your eyes drifted toward the table in the corner. A pocketknife and a lighter laid serenely on the top of it, and you stumbled toward it slowly.  

But a heavy blow landed on the back of your knee, stopping you in your tracks. Your arms flailed as you fell forward, and when you hit the ground, the table came toppling down with you.

“S-stop,” Lincoln was speaking, his speech slurred and disjointed. His bloodied hands clawed at your legs, pulling your body towards him while you thrashed against his hold. Your leg kicked backward desperately and connected with his face, and you screamed at the throbbing pain that shot through your foot.

Neither of you noticed how the table had knocked over multiple candles, or the way fire blazed along the bottom of the curtains. Little sparrows, turning to ash as flames snaked their way up the drapes, slowly engulfing the walls of the room in vibrant red.

You fumbled for the pocketknife on the floor, rolling onto your back just as his weight landed on top of you. His heavy breaths hit your face, blood dripping from his nose and splashing onto your skin.

“Little bird,” he whimpered brokenly. “Why would you ruin this?”

The temperature in the room had risen exponentially, and the pair of you were so close to the wall that it was impossible to ignore now. Wild flames licked at the bare skin of your arm, but you paid the burn no mind, pushing against his face, his neck, trying to get as much distance between you as possible.

“This isn’t how it was supposed to be,” he howled, landing a heavy blow across your face. You coughed roughly, blood spitting up from your mouth onto your chin.

You gave up on pushing him back, instead using your hands to fumble with the knife. Lincoln’s good hand gripped your throat, his remaining fingers pressing down on your windpipe. Blood roared in your ears, and you were sweating, and god it was so hot. The air thickened with smoke, making it harder to breathe than it already was. Your hands were so slick with blood that it was difficult to unhook the small blade, but after a few moments you did it. Gasping for air as he bore his entire weight against your neck, you plunged the knife into his side.

A choked sound of surprise fell from his mouth, and then air was rushing into your lungs, and you were coughing harshly, watching as his body collapsed to the side of you.

He was still alive when you crawled on top of him, eyes bulging as he gripped the handle of the blade lodged in his side. You slammed your fist against his broken nose, and both of you cried out in pain. By this point, the fire was roaring through the room, the four walls covered in a beautiful mix of orange and red flames. The heat was sweltering, and so so close that sweat dripped from your nose and chin.

A deafening bang reverberated through the room and you covered your face instinctively. Shattered glass from the windows rained through the air and covered the ground, and moonlight streamed into the room.

Distantly, you thought you could hear voices, or the sound of a door opening, but you ignored it. Impossible. Your fingers wrapped around Lincoln’s spindly neck, and you positioned your thumbs over his windpipe, before pressing downward with all of the strength in your body. Exhaustion weighed heavily on you, but you pushed through it, gathering blood and spit in your mouth and releasing it in a spray onto his face. He flinched back at the sensation, and you grinned messily.

You imagined briefly what you must look like; covered in a mix of blood and dirt, hair matted to your head, straddling this man, and grinning down at him.

“Are you afraid?” you whispered.

You could see the light slowly fading from his eyes, and you pressed harder, arms burning with the effort. A burning sensation exploded in your left thigh, but you ignored it, digging your elbows into his chest for leverage and pushing. In the second you realised it was about to be over, there were hands on you. Gripping you, wrapping around your waist, wrenching you away from him.

The foreign hands were pulling you back, tugging you towards the door, but your eyes were trained on Lincoln, as he gasped for air on the floor, alive. You could hear shouting, male voices yelling so closely, but the words were indecipherable. And then suddenly, you were enveloped by cold, winter air. You were outside.

Hyperventilating, you dropped to your knees on the ground, burying your red hands in the wet grass, and wailed. Thick tears blurred your vision and rolled down your face in hot rivulets.

The relief was short lived though, as those hands returned to your body. Gliding over your back, squeezing your shoulders, touching your face. Your stomach rolled violently.

“Don’t touch me,” you begged, your voice an unfamiliar shriek as it ripped from somewhere deep inside your body. “Get your fucking hands off me, don’t fucking touch me, don-“

“Darlin’, it’s me, it’s me,” you could hear, but you just fought harder, beating against the solid wall of brick in front of you, pounding your fists against his chest.

“I’ll fucking,” you gasped for air, eyes clamped tightly shut. “I’ll fucking kill you, get away from me.”

But familiar hands were gripping your face, holding you tightly, forcing you to look, and when you did, it’s like your body went limp. All the fight in you disappeared.

You mumbled his name, and he nodded furiously, those brown eyes you loved gazing into yours, panic and concern evident in the harsh lines across his forehead, in that deep frown you knew so well.

“It’s me, baby, I’ve got you,” his voice was like a song in your ears, and you closed your eyes and let him hold you, listening to the desperate apologies he whispered into your ear. “You’re safe, I’m so sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I’ve got you now, it’s over, it’s over.”

part seven

tag list <3

@huffle-punk @n7cje @ghostofjoharvelle @nrmnie @sarahhxx03 @casa-boiardi @leeeesahhh @missgurrl

[kittievampire]

I came because I was in love with your obey me yandere smut! So...can I have something similar to "Mine" but with Simeon 🥺🥺🥺? Please!

Please ignore me if you’re not comfortable with this request.

Honestly, anon, it's sinful that'd you'd request such a thing of me! I couldn't possibly write something like that for Simeon! I'll have you know that he is a man of God, an ANGEL and if you think okay the people who think Simeon shouldn't be depicted this way are gone now, lemme see what I have in my bag, my dear~

Click here if you wanna request!

Cleansed

Warnings: Dark themes, Cursing, Blood, Violence, Yandere! Simeon x Fem! MC, Virgin! MC, Smut, Teasing, Baby-Trapping, Murder, Manipulation, Obsession, Guilt-Tripping, Somnophilia (MC gets put to sleep), Most likely an incorrect quote from the bible, Fingering, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Non-Con/Rape to Dub-Con

🚨READ THE WARNINGS CAREFULLY AND PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANY TAGS🚨

Enjoy.

Simeon never knew that he could feel this way about someone.

What he felt exactly, he couldn't say. He couldn't put a finger on it— couldn't put it into words if asked. If he had to describe it, he'd probably say it was something that made him feel like his heart would leap out of his chest with its intense and rapid beating, something that made him want to be close to you, something that made him want to follow you to the ends of the Devildom and back (which may have been literal on some explorative occasions).

Either way, there was one thing this angel knew for a fact.

He had to have you.

This sense of possessiveness started out small. He would follow you around all day, walk you home most nights, and wonder what you were up to when he wasn't by your side. It was always so curious to him how a little human such as yourself suddenly became a being he held of higher regard and importance than Michael, though he'd never tell his higher-up such information.

However, it didn't take long for this obsession to grow.

Simeon was convinced that this was his Father's plan. That he was meant to feel this way about you, that you were meant to be his. Every night, he'd find himself praying, not only for your well-being and fortune, but also for a romantic relationship to blossom from your friendship.

It was the word of the Father, of course.

What God has joined together, let no man seperate. We must guard our union, so that the outside world cannot seperate it.

He has to protect you, no matter what. Especially from the vile lower demons that want a piece of you. Simeon wouldn't dare even think of harming one of the brothers, they were his brothers once, too; Nor did he believe that any of your friends should be hurt. But those that you were uncomfortable with? Those that you didn't know on a personal level? Those that wanted you? Their vary existence was sinful.

They must be cleansed.

_

"Simeon, what is this?"

Your voice was so sweet. It made him feel weak in the knees. Though, he couldn't afford to lose his composure now. Not when he'd finally mustered up the courage to ask you out on a date.

Well, it was a date you were unaware of. But he put his everything into it! You might as well think of it as such out of appreciation!

The angel smiled, motioning toward the empty seat in front of him. He'd managed to convince the owner of this restaurant to place a table on the second-floor balcony. He wanted to be able to see how the moonlight made your features glow.

Simeon had told you to dress formally for this dinner, but you didn't expect the setting to be this fancy! To say you were excited was an understatement.

You sat down in front of him, clasping your hands together as you tried to process your surroundings. "Wow, Simeon, this is truly amazing... I can't thank you enough, but I am curious about the occasion," You ask softly, a small blush forning on your face.

The angel chuckled softly, lifting one of his hands to gently caress the petal on one of the roses that the vase in the middle of the table held. "One as divine as yourself must be treated to such things, wouldn't you agree?" His voice sounded so sweet to your ears, reminding you of the vanilla sweets he and Luke would bake for you.

"Hi, welcome to... MC?"

You snapped your head to the side, looking up at the waiter approaching your table. Your face paled as you recognized the familiar demon standing before you. It was an incubus that had hit on you recently, the only one you didn't tell Simeon about. "Toran?" You murmured softly, earning a nod from the waiter. "Where have you been? Why haven't you responded to any of my texts, huh? You too good for me or somethin'?" The demon before you suddenly became more aggressive than you felt comfortable dealing with. Simeon could sense your growing discomfort and stood, approaching the waiter. "Excuse me, I don't believe this is appropriate conduct for someone in your position, may I request we get another waiter?" He asked, earning a scoff from the demon whose name he couldn't bother to remember. "Hey, I'm not talking to you, yeah? Why don't you-" "Toran!" You shouted, catching the attention of both of the gentlemen before you. "I... I gave you the wrong number, I'll give it to you. Please, just leave us alone, yes?"

Simeon's face contorted into that of a disgusted look, one that you didn't see.

Why the hell were you even entertaining the idea of giving your information to this asshole? You were supposed to be with him, not this foul demonic garbage. "That won't be necessary, MC," Simeon said with a warm smile, the demon turning to face him. "What the hell do you-" "I'd like to request a change in waiters, please. I don't think you'd want your higher-ups to know about this, so I suggest you do everything you can to make things right!"

He truly was angelic, wasn't he?

You couldn't help but smile a bit, feeling your heart thump against your chest as your cheeks heated up. You looked away for a moment, trying to calm yourself down.

Simeon glanced at you before he roughly grabbed the waiter by his collar and pulled him close. "It'd be in your best interest not to anger me. That girl is the only reason you're still breathing, demon," He whispered into the demon's ear before pushing him away.

Your gaze met the angel's and you couldn't help but blush once more. "A-Ah! Did he finally leave? I'm so sorry, Simeon. I didn't know he worked here! He's been harassing me for the past few weeks, and I just don't know what to do anymore." You started rambling, Simeon sitting down before you and listening closely to every single word that left those lovely lips of yours. They looked so soft.

However, he couldn't forget the sheer audacity of that demon. His presence, his words, his existence, all of it was a sin that must be cleansed. How dare he even breathe in your direction? It all frustrated the angel.

That's okay. Simeon would deal with him later. He had to comfort his lover now. "That sounds horrible! Have you told anyone else about this?" He asked reaching over the table and gently grasping your hand. You turned away from his gaze bashfully, blush only growing darker as you felt his eyes pierce through you. "No, you're the only one that knows about him."

Simeon felt his heart pound against his chest at this. He was the only person you trusted enough to tell? Oh, you're so dependent on him, just how it should be. What a good girlfriend you are, even if you didn't know it yet. "I see," He managed to murmur out softly, a light chuckle escaping his lips as you met his gaze once more.

"I'll do with this information what I can to help you, MC. I promise,"

_

Simeon splashed water over Toran's tied-up body, causing the demon to wake up in a panic. Though, his sounds of confusion were muffled by the gag in his mouth. Simeon's hand shot forward, gripping either side of his face and forcing him to meet his gaze. "Disgusting," He muttered softly, a glare making its way to the angel's face. He scoffed and pushed Toran's head away from him, taking a step back and pinching his chin between his thumb and index finger. "Ah, what was your name again?" He asked, voice shifting back to the one he wore normally. The one that angels such as himself were expected to wear. "Toran, I believe, yes?" He asked softly, adjusting his black gloves as he turned his back to the demon. "MC requested I not get you in too much trouble with your higher-ups if I take action. She really is sweet, isn't she?"

Simeon turned around, brushing his gloved fingers over the blade in his hand. "You see, I believe that MC is far too divine to be saddened by someone such as yourself. I believe it is my duty as an angel to expel any unhappiness from her life as I see fit." He made his way over to the demon, gently pressing the sharp tip of the blade against his chin. "I'm like her guarding angel in that way, aren't I? I'd make such a good husband, don't you think? If I asked her to marry me... No, she'd be weirded out by such a thing. I have to ask her to be my girlfriend first, don't I?" Simeon's list of questions was left unanswered, but the sound of the demon muffling something under the gag while he was talking only irritated the demon's captor further. "Has no one taught you manners?" He sliced the bottom of the demon's chin, blood spilling out, and a muffled cry erupted from Toran's throat.

"I truly don't appreciate how you treat MC... It truly is unfortunate. You must be cleansed, demon." He pushed the blade against Toran's chest.

"I will do what I must to protect my human,"

_

Simeon loved you. He loved you more than anything else in this world, more than he loved himself, more than he loved his Father. He just couldn't bare the thought of you rejecting him is all! That's the only reason why this happened.

You were close, so close to finding out his secret. So close to finding the corpses. He wrapped his hand over your mouth and nose and began to chant a sleeping spell into your ear softly, and when you fell limp in his arms, he placed you on the bed.

Now, you looked so beautiful, so innocent, so carefree. He couldn't help but be drawn to your divinity. The way your skirt was pushed up by the duvet slightly, showing him the plush of your thigh. The blush on his face was dark, as were his eyes.

He had to claim you.

In the blink of an eye, he was between your legs, sliding your panties off of you from beneath your skirt, his breath hitching as he saw your pussy. He could feel a lump of saliva form in his throat as he slowly lowered his hand, running two gloved fingers down your slit. Simeon stared at your cunt, not blinking, not moving anything but his hand. He was infatuated with your body, and the only thing that was missing was your whimpers and pleas for him to keep going. Slowly, he pushed his fingers into you, your velvety walls welcoming the digits.

You were tight.

You were a virgin.

A whimper poured from your lips as he shoved his fingers all the way inside of you, his knuckles meeting your entrance. Simeon glanced up at your face to see your expression change, brows knitting together as your lips parted ever so slightly. However, you gave no signal of consciousness. He reached his free hand forward as he began to slowly thrust his fingers into you, making scissoring movements to stretch you. With his free hand he parted your black RAD jacket and unbuttoned your teal underblouse.

Simeon's breathing hitched once more as he saw the white bra you were wearing, taking a moment to think about this situation. You were asleep and vulnerable, and here he was, defiling you. He looked down at his hand, eyes widening at how your essence clung to his fingers.

You wanted him too.

"Haah... I knew it," He muttered out softly, a smile forming on his face. "I knew you wanted me, you naughty girl. Your body's so honest with me."

Biting his lip, he slowly pushed a third finger into you. At the same time, he hooked his index finger around the middle of your bra, pulling it down, and allowing your breasts to spill out. Immediately, his hand groped your mound, squeezing the soft flesh and allowing a chill to run down his spine as he thrusted his fingers faster. "Come on, my dear, give me an orgasm," He said, voice full of desperation, making it seem more like he was begging you. "I need to see you cum for me, darling."

Soft moans and gasps erupted from your throat, and he felt your thighs pushing against his hand. He frowned, pushing your thighs further apart and positioning himself inbetween your legs. "None of that, Dove," He said softly, feeling the heat that pooled around his fingers go straight to his cock. His thumb reached up to trace circles over your clit, causing you to whine and squirm in your sleep.

He felt your walls tightening, excitement coursing through his veins as he thrusted his fingers faster into you, gloved hand soaked, and hand squeezing your breast. "Almost there, Dove," He almost whimpered out, cock twitching. Your hands moved downward, almost as if unconsciously trying to hide yourself from the stimulation.

Your eyes shot wide open and you let out a cry of pleasure as your orgasm came crashing down, coating Simeon's hand in your juices. His movements slowed, allowing you to ride out your orgasm.

Your blurry vision slowly began to re-focus, allowing you to see the angel before you. A sheepish smile appeared on his face as he pulled his hand away, pressing a finger to his tongue to get a taste of your cum. "Simeon?" You panted out softly.

Simeon's hand pushed his white pants and boxers down, freeing his hardened cock, pink tip oozing with precum. "I'm so sorry, my little Dove," He said softly, your eyes going wide as he spread your legs, cock pressing gently against your opening. "I wanted to wait... Ask you to go out with me, then after we got married, I'd take you in a more..." He paused, trying to search for the right adjective. "Romantic setting." Simeon's cock grinded gently against you. "You see, Dove—" You felt him push into you, and you gasped, hands immediately clamping over your mouth. His mouth fell open, letting out a soft groan as he felt your cunt suck him in. "You're just... So— Hnngh!— Tempting!" He slammed himself all the way inside of you, hips meeting yours as he bottomed out.

Tears fell from your eyes at the stretch and you felt his hands on your thighs, guiding them so that your legs would wrap around his waist. "You'll forgive me, right?" He murmured out softly, nuzzling his face into the valley between your breasts. "I'm only doing all of this because I love you." Simeon's eyes met yours and you could feel your body tremble. "S-Simeon, I-I wanted... To wait—" "Wait until when, Dove?!" He suddenly became more aggressive, face now inches away from yours, cock pushing against your cervix, making you whine. "Until one of those vile demons got to you? That isn't an option! You were going to make love to me on the night of our wedding, what difference does it make that I take you here?" He huffed out.

You'd never seen him so angry before, nor have you ever seen him act so possessive before. He pulled his hips back, only to shove them forward again. You moaned loudly, closing your eyes and allowing more tears to fall. "You should be grateful..." He muttered, closing his eyes to try and maintain some of his composure. The contradiction in his words hardly meant anything to your hazy mind. While you did take a moment to realize that he just apologized for waiting before scolding you for wanting the same, the way he started to pound into you made your brain turn to mush.

"That it was me who was here instead of some random demon. I don't know what I would've done if someone deflowered you before I got the chance to, they might've ended up like the others!"

You flinched at this statement, looking up at Simeon through teary eyes. "O-Others?" He scoffed, burying his face into the crook of your neck to leave dark hickies that couldn't be hidden. When you didn't get an answer, you debated on asking him again, but he interrupted your confusion with a slam right into the spot that made you see stars.

You cried out, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to you, feeling a knot begin to tighten in your stomach. "S-Simeon! G-Gonna c-cum soon!" You whined out, bucking your hips upward to get more friction between the two of you, hoping for further stimulation.

Simeon knitted his brows together as a thought came to mind. Perhaps if you were pregnant, everyone, including you, would know that you were his. Maybe if he got you attached to him in such a permanent manner, you'd never think about another man. Yes, that sounded absolutely divine. It sounded right.

"MC," He moaned out against your jawline, pressing a kiss to it before he moved upward so his lips were beside your ear. "I'm gonna cum inside you, okay?"

"W-What?!" You flinched, regaining consciousness almost immediately before almost being completely fucked out of it again. Simeon sighed softly against you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "I'm gonna make you— Ngh!— A mamaaa..." He dragged out the last syllable as a blush formed on his face, feeling his orgasm nearing as his pace quickened and his thrusts became more desperate and rough. The tip of his cock bullied your cervix, making you nearly scream in pleasure. "You'll be good for me, right? Y-You'll take all of my cum? Carry my child for me? You love me don't you?"

Your walls convulsed and you screamed as you came, juices coating his length. "Y-Yes," You whimpered out softly, being rewarded with the smile that you'd grown to love on him. "My Dove," He moaned out softly, burying himself deep inside of you and grunting as you felt him paint your insides white. You could feel him filling you up to the brim, womb full, pussy throbbing and drooling with his cum, even though he hadn't moved. There was just so much. You'd never felt this full before.

He slammed into you a few more times, trying to ride out the pleasure of his orgasm, as well as fuck his seed deep within you, before slowly pulling out. The sight of his cum oozing out of you made him blush, looking up at your panting, exhausted form.

Simeon smiled, caressing your tear-stained cheek with the hand that wasn't dirtied, pressing a warm and passionate kiss to your lips. He felt his heart skip a beat when you returned the favor. Reluctantly, though he had to breathe, he pulled away.

"I'll do everything I can to keep you safe and with me, Dove... Even if it means I have to resort to desperate measures,"

Holy fuck, that was a long ass train ride. I hope you liked it, anon, cause I know some of your horny asses did!

MASTERLIST

[honey-flustered]

Eddie Had A Little Lamb (MDNI +18)

Summary: Eddie is trying to be good and with your help, he could be exactly that. But Kas, on the other hand, thrives in all that is unholy and he’ll stop at nothing to bring you and Eddie to the dark side.

Kas!Eddie Munson x Virgin!Religious!Reader

A/N: This is a spicy piece of work. I hope I did this concept justice as this was a request. Please let me know what you guys think since it’s my first time writing kas!eddie. Thank you for reading and please enjoy!

Word Count: 8.7k+

Warnings/Tags: Dub con elements, religious themes, extreme blasphemy, possessive!kas and eddie, innocent!reader, whole big bag of (fluff, smut, angst) mentions of mental health, dom!kas, dom!eddie, use of “daddy” and “master”, corruption/innocence kink, finger sucking, drooling, dumbification, belly bulge, blood kink/drinking, p in v (unprotected), loss of virginity, minor monsterfucking elements, mention of traffic light bdsm system, biting, scratching, face fucking, spit kink, dacryphilia, oral sex (m & f recieving), small breeding kink, creampie, cum eating, doggystyle, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, fingering, use of fox tail butt plug, anal play, reader referred to as “lamb” “bunny” “angel” , some violence, mentions of minor character death/disappearance

There’s a reason why lambs are considered a symbol of innocence. The poor things nary a clue when they’re brought to the offering table, gloriously prepared to be slaughtered for the pleasure of man.

Kas pities you. For that was exactly what you were in his eyes: A poor little lamb. Eddie hadn’t realize that he was currently wrapping you up prettily—with a bow on top—to be presented before the beast. Nonetheless, Kas will happily accept this offering. For now, he will wait. He’ll let you come closer until it’s too late to turn and run.

“Eddie,” You say, taking his hands in yours with a sincere smile. “I’m glad you’ve decided to come to Bible study. What’s brought you here tonight?”

Aside from atoning for my sins, you mean?

“I wanna keep trying with this religion thing. Maybe become a better person. I don’t know if I’ll ever believe in God, to be honest with ya,” He admits. “But I’m hoping to prove everyone wrong about me. I’m more than what’s on the surface.”

Eddie’s consumed with guilt. He’s not been himself lately. A few nights ago, Eddie walked home from Gareth’s home, considering it was not much far from where he live. He was randomly attacked by a rabid bat. Bitten and disoriented, he soon blacked out. When he awoke, he found himself covered blood, the metallic taste in his mouth. Then, the missing reports came in about a missing elderly man. Although Eddie was not certain, he believed to be responsible for the disappearance of that man.

Ever since then, he’s been doing all he could to suppress the appetite and that godforsaken voice. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him. He was depraved, sick and twisted! That part of him was so far removed, he had a name for himself: Kas.

Usually, staying awake and alert was one way of stopping this undiscovered being within him. Of course, Eddie couldn’t always stay awake. So the next big thing was to sign up for the local church’s mentorship program in which young adult church members assisted the ‘lost’.

“You’re just misunderstood. Sometimes people are afraid of things they don’t understand,” You smile. “Like you must be terrified coming to a place like this. I’m sure everything you heard today sounded a bit foolish to you. I get that everyone outside the congregation thinks we’re all ‘Jesus freaks’ but we’re all just trying to understand things, ya know.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’ve been called a freak, too. That never stop me from wanting to join the program. Although, I can admit that this bible study thing’s not my style.”

“I’m really happy you did come though. You usually say you’ll come when I invite you but don’t turn up,” You began.

Well, it’s not like he actively tried to avoid. He’d come every day if it meant that he got to look at you. When he was partnered up with you for the mentorship program, it was as if he’s one the lottery. But of course, Kas took a liking to you as well only his desires for you were beyond inappropriate. Kas planned to ruin you. So Eddie avoids you as much as he can all so that he can protect you.

“It’s just really nice to see the effort you make towards this.” You finish, cleaning up the desk of books and placing them on the shelf.

“I get cold feet sometimes,” Eddie explains, stacking the chairs away. “Crowds and events also aren’t my thing. But I figured it would make you happy and since you’ve worked so hard steering me in the right direction…all I can do is try.”

You nod. “So are going to do prayer at your place or mine?”

“Yours, I guess.” Eddie says.

Let her come over to our place, idiot.

No, we’re going to her place that way you won’t be able to try any tricks while her parents are there.

“Oh, umm, I was kinda hoping you’d say your place? I know I suggested mine but my father is little overbearing and I didn’t want to just invite myself to your place.”

“I’m fine if your father’s a little overbearing. My Uncle Wayne was at one point of my life.”

“No, you don’t understand. I love my father but he is ‘spy-level crazy’ overbearing. You’d probably never show up again or would ever like to speak with me either. I would know. It’s happened plenty times before.”

“O-okay. We can do it at my place. Just a little warning, Wayne’s working a late shift so…we’ll be alone.”

“Oh…t-that’s okay. We’ll be on our best behavior.” You laugh nervously.

“Exactly.” He joins in on the awkward laugh.

After cleaning up the church library, the two of you got in his van and head to his home. Eddie’s never been to your home and vice versa but he knew you came from an affluent community. He could only imagine what you must think seeing the trailer park.

“Well, um, this is my home.” Eddie says, holding open the door for you. He’s never self-conscious about showing off his place. Couldn’t give a shit about materialism. But he wanted to impress you.

“It’s lovely,” You smile, having a seat on the couch when you recognized that some pillows and a comforter. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is this where you sleep? I didn’t mean to—“

“Oh no, no. You’re fine. Sit wherever you like. My Uncle actually sleeps there. My room’s down the hall,” He clears his throat. “W-we could go in there and do the session there. T-the prayer session.”

“Yeah, t-that sounds good.” You follow his lead.

Eddie thanks the imaginary man in the sky for reminding him to clean his room today. He nervous shifts on his feet while your eyes scanned the room, smiling.

“Your room’s really cool.” You compliment.

“Really? I’m sure your room way cooler.” And bigger.

You look at his red electric guitar hanging up on the dresser. “Whoa, I’ve never seen it up close before.”

“You’ve seen me play it?”

“Oh yeah, I watched you perform one time. My parents don’t allow me to listen to that kind of music but…my friend and I snuck into a show one time after you put the fliers all over the school. You did really great.”

The lamb’s got a naughty side.

Eddie disregards him. “Thanks. The band and I have been working on those songs for years.”

“I’d like to hear more music like that sometime. All my cassettes are of gospel music.” You say, almost sounding annoyed.

“I can fix you a mixtape of all the songs I like. Then, you could tell me all about the songs you do and don’t like during community service.”

“That would be great! But I’m not sure if I can bring it home with me. I don’t even own my own walkman. I share it with my sister and she loves to hog it.”

“Sure you can. You can even borrow mine. We could keep it as our little secret.” Eddie says, putting a finger to his lips.

You laugh. “Okay. Why not? I can live on the edge sometimes.”

Eddie sits on the edge of the bed, patting the seat beside him. You sit, a small gap between the two of you. He could tell that you were uncomfortable, you hands crushed between your thighs as you avoided his stare.

Why don’t you get a little closer to her? She wants you to. I can feel it.

You’re full of shit, man.

“Should we pray now? Or would you like to talk about the study’s topic?” You asked.

“Not even sure what tonight’s topic was even about?” Eddie admitted.

“It was about repentance. How sincere we are in regretting our wrongdoings. We can do a prayer where we apologize for our sins. It doesn’t have to be out loud if you don’t feel comfortable.”

“I’m not sure how to do that.”

“You mean, prayer?”

“Yeah, like do I just talk?”

“Exactly,” You giggle, sliding off his bed to lower onto your knees before him. Eddie’s breath hitches at the sight. This was going to do wonders for his late night fantasies. You, being on your knees and looking up at him through your long lashes was going to do wonders for his late night fantasies. Fuckkkk. Was he really going to pop a boner right now? In front of your fine ass. “You clasp your hands together like your high-fiving yourself and you just talk to him as if you were talking with me. Don’t hold back either say everything. Then, at the end you say ‘amen’. It’s kind of like hanging up the call.”

“Should I keep my eyes open?”

“It’s preferably better if they’re closed,” You lay a hand on his thigh. “You’re probably shy. Not a problem. I’ll just pray for the both of us. Then, next time, you’ll join me.” You squeeze your eyes shut and whisper a prayer.

A lust for a taste. Just one taste.

His legs move on their own accord, standing up so that he’s towering over your small frame. You smelled so fucking incredible. Just…one…taste.

Eddie’s heart beats rapidly, vision blurring as he began to see double. You were oblivious to his inner turmoil, peacefully praying away.And just like that it felt like Eddie had taken the backseat in his own mind.

“Amen,” You finish, looking up at him in surprise. “Oh, I didn’t feel your presence in front of me. You move as swift as a mouse.”

“And you as gentle as a lamb.” He smirks.

This wasn’t Eddie speaking. No! The being known as Kas has taken over. Eddie being so sleep deprived, he didn’t have a fighting chance against him.

You stand on your feet, checking your watch.“Oh, no. How is it already time to go? We hardly got anything done. I’ll have to go. My parents are probably anticipating my arrival by now.”

“It’s only 7 pm, bunny. Is it your bedtime?”

“I can assure you I’m a big girl who sleeps at anytime I please,” You chuckle. “It’s supper time. My family always eats together.

“You should call your parents. Tell them you’ll be staying for a bit. I’m sure they wouldn’t want to keep you from a lost soul who’s eager to learn about the Lord.”

“I-I…I’m not sure if they’d be okay with that. My father was on the fence about me even coming here. Mother had to defend me.”

“Mama does know best. She knows her little girl wouldn’t do anything Jesus wouldn’t do,” Kas winks before holding out the house phone. “Go on. Let make the call. It’ll only be for one more hour.”

No, Kas! Fuck you! Let her go home!

“O-okay,” You take the phone from his hands. “I’ll just take it in the living room in case the conversation needs to be said in private.”

“Do whatever you wish.” He bows, holding open the bedroom door for her. She exits.

Kas!

If Kas weren’t so proud, he’d laugh. The game of chess has been set in motion. Striding over to his bedroom’s dresser, he looks at the reflection in the mirror.

“You rang?” He smiles a toothy grin, his top canines extended.

“Stay away from her,” Eddie hisses. “She doesn’t deserve to be treated like your meal.”

“Then, you shouldn’t have starved me,” Kas grunts angrily. “Besides…she looks good enough to sink my teeth into.”

“I won’t let you hurt her.”

“I’m not gonna hurt her. At least…not in a way she wouldn’t like.”

“Good luck with that. There’s no way her parents will let her stay.”

You walk in, prompting Kas to turn and face you. A smile on your face as you too your seat back in his bed.

“After a some convincing, my father says that I can stay for just one more hour.”

“That’s fantastic.” Kas says in feigned excitement, silently gloating in his head.

“Although,” You play with your thumbs. “I kind of told a little white lie. I told my father that we weren’t left unsupervised.”

“Probably for the best.”

“I feel so guilty, though. I rarely lie to my Father unless it’s reasonable and even then I still end up telling him. I told him I snuck out to see your concert. It’s probably why he doesn’t…” You quiet down.

“Doesn’t…like me?” Kas finishes.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“No, I understand, bunny,” He sits down, scooting closer to you. “Your father’s justified in wanting to protect you from me.”

You smile. “Why would I possibly need to be protected from you? You’re sweet, funny, and interesting. You couldn’t hurt a fly.”

Kas smiles at her cluelessness. “Think about it, bunny. Why do you think your father would be worried you being alone with me?”

“Because it’s late?” You say, softly.

“Because he was once my age. Because he could only imagine that i’ll be doing exactly the things he used to do with your mother before they were married.”

“Y-you mean fornication. But that’s a sin.”

“Sinning’s a part of human nature. It says so in the bible: We’re all born sinners and what not.”

“You’re right about that. B-but church folk say that marriage is important first to enjoy things of that nature.”

“What if I told you, you don’t have to marry…to fuck?”

The emphasis on the swear word sends chills down your spine. You bite your lip to keep him from hearing your heavy breathing.

“I mean, come on. Would you really wanna marry a bad lay? With each new generation, sex is more liberating, raunchier and nastier. It doesn’t always have to come with strings attached. That’s what makes it sooo fascinating. You get to fuck whoever and whenever. Why enforce these principles on yourself when there’s always something new to learn about it. Don’t you like fun?”

You swallow hard. “I do but lots of things could be fun aside from…sinning.”

“What could be more fun than feeling the best pleasure you could ever imagine?”

“Going to church could be just as pleasurable.”You try smiling again to keep him from thinking he’s affecting you.

“It could…but you wouldn’t know that for sure unless you’ve been fucked? But not just regular fucking. Hard, fast. The kind that takes your breath away and makes you feel like you’re dying a little.”

“I experience that above worldly pleasures and the physical. That’s why this mentorship program is out in place, Eddie. It shows us how to seek happiness outside of those things. It’s like a spiritual awakening.”

“I can give you that with just my fingers alone, bunny. You don’t need to talk to some imaginary man in the sky when you’ve got one right here willing to show you things that’ll rock your world.”

“Like what?” You weren’t sure why you kept this conversation going. It was supposed to be about God. About today’s bible study topic. Not…this! But your curiosity got the best of you. You were like a scientist poking and prodding for your latest discovery.

“Have you ever played with yourself?” Kas asks, eyes ruby red. You being so lost in his trance, you couldn’t bother to realize that you were staring into the eyes of a monster.

“You mean, touch myself… down there?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yes,” You breathe. Somehow, you don’t feel embarrassed to admit this to a guy you’ve had a crush on since the 9th grade, never acting on your feelings because your world had never aligned up until this point. “But not directly.”

“What do you mean, bunny?”

“I’ve never put a finger inside or touch there at all when I’m pleasuring myself because I’d feel too guilty if it were by my own hand. So I…” You look away and trail off, afraid to continue.

“Go on. Don’t be shy.” Kas encourages, a hand on your knee.

“I…shove my pillow between my legs and rub against it.”

“That sounds hot as fuck.” He shift closer to you, his knee touching yours.

“It’s shameful.” You whisper.

“It’s natural. I get that feeling, too. You just want some release. You deserve that. Don’t you, bunny?”

“I’m not sure.” You clamp your thighs together, bringing his attention to the hand that’s rested on your knee.

He slithers a hand up your soft, supple thighs and squeezes. You let out a quiet squeak. “I think you do. You’ve been such a good girl.”

His hand move further up before wedging between your inner thigh. “Tell ya what…maybe I can teach you some things, too. It could be my gift of appreciation to you.”

Kas stalks over you, eyes staring into yours while you gradually fell against Eddie’s pillow.

Don’t you fucking dare, Kas!

You’re shaking and Kas places a hand over your heart, feeling it pound against his palm. It was so delicious. You are just so full of life. And blood. Innocent, pure blood.

“So you’re a virgin?”

You nod.

“I can change that.”

He’s being weirdly crass! You thought to yourself.

And yet, you throbbed for him. Your hands have the sudden urge to pull his face down to yours for a passionate kiss.

But Kas makes the first move, lowering his face above yours. The guitar pick necklace dangling above you slots itself between your breasts when his lips are just inches away from yours. You close your eyes, feeling the lightest of touch only to quickly dissipate before you could even register its presence. You hear a pained groan, opening your eyes to see him rubbing his temple, eyes screwed shut.

“Eddie?”

“Sorry about that, bunny. Got a real pain in my head head just now,” Kas laughs. “I’m ready to continue if you are.”

“Actually, do you think you could take me home,” You reach for your bag beside you, standing on your unsteady feet. “This was…a night.”

Kas exhales deeply. “Why not?”

He sluggishly reaches for the keys of the van, leading you out the door to his van. The rest of the car ride was quiet but the exchanging spoke loud enough. When Kas arrived to your home, you gathered your things slowly almost like you were thinking of saying something.

“Umm, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Maybe.” Kas says, nonchalantly.

“Okay,” You say, discouraged. “Goodnight.”

You pull the door handle but it wouldn’t budge. After couple of tries, Kas leans across your seat.

“Sometimes, you gotta give it a little shake.” He strongarms the handle, popping the door open.

He could here your breathing above him, you really were inexperienced. The slightest touch or breeching of your personal space and you’re flustered.

Kas decides to have fun with this, making sure you can feel his breath ghosting over you skin as he gradually looks up at you. When you felt it tickle against your neck, you shudder. Just as he’d hoped: goosebumps light up your skin.

“Goodnight.” Kas finally says.

“Mm, yeah.” You rush out, going up to the front door. He waits for you to enter and he’s off, cursing himself. You were a lot harder of a catch.

But it wasn’t lost on him that you’d been rubbing your thighs together. You probably couldn’t wait to get back to back to your room to hump your pillow until sunset. Kas prides himself in this thought.

“Thanks to you she thinks I’m some perv.” Eddie complaints.

Kas groans. “Don’t you have an off switch? Besides a pervert is exactly what you are. Don’t pretend you weren’t thinking of fucking her, too? I didn’t hear you once complain when I asked her about playing with herself.”

“You won’t be coming near her again, Kas. I fucking swear it. From now on, I’ll be serious with my avoidance of her.”

“We’ll see how long that’ll last. Hell, she’ll probably come looking for us first after the time I just gave her.” Kas winks through the rearview mirror.

Eddie could feel himself slipping into his own mind, trying to find solid ground. If he didn’t figure out a way to find the balance within himself, Kas will take full control. And who knows how many people’s lives could be at risk.

—————

Eddie’s ashamed. After your confessions last night, he touched himself, imagining the way you’d sound moaning as your wet pussy dragged along your pillow. He imagined what words you’d say when you climax. Would you call for God? Would you swear? Would you call out for his name?

The next thing he knew, his hands were down his boxers, stroking his cock and sniffing the parts of the sheets where you were lain against. It was pathetic. Desperate. He hated to admit that Kas had been right. Eddie wanted to fuck you hard and deep, making you take every inch of him.

The next day—as Kas predicted—you were actively searching for him. Eddie made sure that whenever you were entering a room, he was exiting.

He’s been successful for the most part. The occasional times where he would run into you, he’d quickly rush off explaining to you how he’s needed in a different department of the church. But despite that, he was at ease knowing that you’d be safe from him.

That was up until he was reminded of bible study. In which, Eddie had to sit in a room of close proximity to you. You’d try to sit next to him and he’d pounce at the very moment the hear your body radiates against his skin.

He needed to think fast. So when the meeting begun, Eddie made sure to sit in a chair with the seats around him filled. Every now and then, he’d catch your stare. Especially, when the two of you shared a momentary smile at one another when the lead went on about the “devil worshipping game of Dungeons and Dragons”. Once the meeting concluded, Eddie’s attempts to walk out the door when the lead begs him to stay to clean up again along with You like the other day.

He reluctantly agrees, starting in a corner of the room far from you. Every now and then, he’d catch himself staring. Did you have to dress goddamn stunning today? Like a goddamn angel. It wasn’t fair.

You pretend as if you needed something in the section he was hiding in, casually walking around him. “Hey! I was looking to speak with you today.”

“Really? Oh man, I’m sorry.” Eddie wasn’t much of an actor.

“You seem like you’re very busy today. It’s nice to see that you being so active here.”

To avoid all my problems, of course.

“Everyone’s been talking about it,” You continue. “Nobody could have seen it coming. Eddie Munson, church goer.”

“Well, no one’s as shocked as my friends. They still don’t believe it, pictures and all,” Eddie laughs before clearing his throat for a more serious topic. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I was being a dick—sorry I mean, jerk.”

You look at him strange.

“Did I say something wrong?” Eddie asks.

“No. It’s just funny that you’re apologizing for cursing,” You giggle. “Yesterday…you were sort of a sailor mouth.”

“Oh, right. I’m not sure what came over me.“

“To be quite honest, I kinda liked it,” You smile, looking down in your lap. “Everyone’s so formal and proper all the time. It’s nice to hear something…different.”

“Oh…” Eddie’s floored.

“Anyway, how’d you like today’s study?”

“Not my favorite, honestly. They talked so much shit about D’n’D being ‘demonic’.” Eddie says, putting on a gravelly demon voice.

“I’m really sorry about that. I know it’s a sensitive. It was very admirable of you not to interject your points even though you could have very well done so with no judgment. In my opinion, it’s only a harmless game. I’ve been curious to play it.”

“You should come by my club sometime, then. I can teach you all that I know.”

“I’d love for you to teach me.” Your smile fades when you’re reminded of the implications of your statement. Eddie catches this, nervously twirling the rings on his fingers. Neither of you meeting each other’s gaze.

You clear your throat, breaking the silence. “Eddie…I have a few questions.”

“Sure, angel. What’s up?”

“Is there something you’re hiding from me? I want you to know that whatever it is that you feel you can’t tell me…you really could tell me. I may not be a great liar but I can keep secrets.”

Yes, actually. I have a lust for blood because I’m a vampire with an alter personality that attacks humans for their blood and now we’re competing to claim you. : Is what he wished to say… instead he simply puts it at a, “It’s complicated. But I don’t think I have much to say.”

“It’s just that you’ve been so different lately. I’ve never know you to remotely care what people think of you. Or go to church meetings and want to learn about the Bible.”

“People aren’t born religious, they find their way. I did.”

“Yeah but it’s like you’re doing it to make up for something. Whatever it is…you should know that you don’t have to deal with it on your own. You don’t have to avoid me. And if it feels like I’m not forcing you into doing this program in anyway—.”

“I chose to sign up for this. None of this is because I’m force to do this. If anything I like being around you, I’m just going through a lot of stress. It’s hard learning to be more responsible and in control.”

“I know what you mean,” You laugh. “I feel like I nearly lose control all the time. Especially…when I’m with you.”

His eyes widen at your bold admittance.

“Yesterday, I was on the edge, waiting to go over. It’s like that whenever I’m near you. Like, I’m hanging on by a thread that just gets keeps getting thinner and thinner, anticipating the moment it snaps.”

“That’s exactly how I feel.” Eddie says, feeling as if a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders.

“Is it wrong that I wish for you to teach me those things you said you would? To think such sinful thoughts right here on church grounds?”

He swallows audibly, adam’s apple bobbing. “I wouldn’t think so.”

“I’ve always liked you, Eddie. I like you. Not whatever constructed version of you that you’re trying to build to appease the masses. I’m interested in you and the things you like and how excited you are when you get to share them with someone,” You close the space between your bodies. “When I think about you…I can’t stop the ache I feel between my legs. No matter how many times I touch myself at night.”

“Oh, angel,” Eddie breathes. “You’re gonna break me down.”

“What I feel is so intense that all I could do is touch myself to get some release. You were right. I don’t want to deny myself of what I need. I need you.”

“I need you, too. So fucking bad. I could never get you out of my head.”

Your eyes light up. “Really?”

“How can I? You’re amazing. And you’re really pretty and nice and you smell like a dream. Whenever I look at you, I just wanna hold you and kiss you.”

“I can’t stand it. I want you now.” You whine, grabbing the collar of his jacket to press your lips to his.

He’s more confident in his kiss with you, tongue running over your bottom lip. You grant him the permission to explore your mouth, deepening the kiss. You even tasted incredible, too.

Eddie feels as if he’s on top of the world and he hopes Kas could see him now.

That’s checkmate, asshole.

You break the kiss, a line of spit connecting your lips before you lap at it with your tongue. A heat creeping up on your lips when you remembered exactly where you were.

“I hope these old cameras don’t work.” Although, something within you says the opposite.

“Come on.” Eddie takes your hand, leading you to the back corner of the library.

He turns you over, your back against the bookshelf as he starts off by kissing your neck. He, then, resumes moving his lips over your pouty ones, his skillful tongue works its wonders. When his hands reach your butt, he cups it and uses the leverage to glide your clothed core over his denim-covered thigh.

“First lesson in pleasuring yourself, if you’ve got a partner…use ‘em.” Eddie says, grinding you down against him causing you to moan out.

You cover a hand over your mouth afraid that you’re being too loud. He quickly removes your hand away.

“It’s just us, angel. I wanna hear you.”

“But what if someone walks in?”

“Don’t care. Show me how you play with that pussy when your at home. Ride my thigh.” His hand collides hard on your ass, the sting hurts so good.

“Please.” You rasp, rutting against his leg like a dog in heat while he sucked on your neck.

He wanted to taste you so badly. Drink of your nectar as if you were the very source of life itself. So, once he felt like he’d gotten his fill, he drops down to his knees before you. You were confused at first until you felt his hands creep up your dress, finding the band of your panties.

It was a blessing you decided to wear nice underwear today.

He slides your pink thong down your legs, hiking the skirt of your dress around your hips. The look on his face was enough to make you feel like a goddess. His hooded eyes, fluttering as he watch your honeyed arousal seep from your puffy lips.

“It so damn perfect.” Eddie groans. Not wasting a second longer, he dives in. His tongue licks a long stripe up and down your slit before taking in the sensitive nub between his pursed lips.

Your knees begin to buckle underneath you, the only thing keeping you up is his hand on your abdomen.

“Ngh..ooo please! Eddieee.” You whine, biting your lip to keep from screaming. In that moment, there was no turning back for you. You’ve now experienced the kind of pleasure your pillow could never compare to.

You almost felt sorry for denying yourself this kind of bliss. But it was worth the wait because now you get to indulge. And indulge you did, grinding your sodden cunt against his face. His arms wrap around your thick thighs, pulling you into him as if you weren’t close enough.

Eddie kisses your pussy like does when he kissing the lips on your face, savoring the feeling against his. He collects your juices on his tongue then spits back onto your throbbing pussy before sucking it off again. It was absolutely filthy. Something you’d never seen which was enough to make you cum hard at the sight alone.

Your walls clench and unclench within you, desperately needing to be filled. As if he’d read your mind, he slips in a thick digit into you. Then, another. You gasp at the sensation. It was foreign but it intensified your orgasm to the point where you reached for the books behind you to ground yourself into reality, knocking them to the ground.

You were like a work of Michelangelo. He watches intensely as you cry out and writhe against his mouth and fingers. The sounds of his moans combined with the suction noises would have anyone fooled that he was currently eating a 5-star cuisine.

“Oh, yess, daddy.” You let out a guttural groan, the whites of your eyes shown.

Eddie liked the sound of that, laughing wickedly against your thigh. He knew he’s won, taking you down piece by piece until you crumbled. He rubs your clit until your shaking from overstimulation, pulling his hand away to breathe again.

He smirks. The little tease. You smile back, panting. Your hair’s probably a mess from all the thrashing.

You expected him to slide your underwear back up your legs. Instead, he sniffs them and groans, pocketing them.

“Mine now.” He claims with a smile.

“You’ve definitely rocked my world.” You praise, now that you could form a coherent sentence.

He chuckles, helping you straighten yourself out. “So did you. I’ve never been so turned eating pussy. Nearly came in my pants like some prepubescent kid.”

“I want more.” You jump him, kissing with tongue and tasting yourself.

He pulls away, cradling you in his arms. “Whoa, whoa. Let me take you out on a date first. Let’s take things a little slow.”

————

He was no better than Kas. Eddie was just as thirsty for you. Just as much to credit for your corruption. There was no slowing down between the two of you. Ever since you’d began dating, things have been intense.

There was lots of kissing for sure and Eddie loved going down on you every chance he got. He was a addicted to your taste and the way you sounded, determined to make you scream his name whenever the two of you were alone.

You’d asked Eddie to go to the sex shop with you because tonight was the night. You and Eddie have talked about it for these past few weeks now. He was going to take your virginity. Like you’d always dreamed about.

You were looking for your first time to be somewhat experimental but also as loving as possible. You knew Eddie would provide that. But there wasn’t just Eddie Munson who’d partake in your christening…Kas would soon make his entrance.

“You should buy that,” The little devil in Eddie’s mind says, drawing Eddie’s attention to the foxtail anal plug hung up on display. “It’ll train her ass just right for what I plan on doing to her tonight.”

“Fuck off. I’m not letting you get in on this,” Eddie bites. “She’s mine.”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t come out to play when our girl’s begging for our cock?” Kas says, smugly.

“Get the fuck out of my head, Kas. You’ve caused enough trouble in my life.”

“You can deny me all you wish but it changes nothing. I am your most primal desires and truest of nature. I am you,” Eddie could feel himself weakening. Kas growing in his awareness. “I have you to thank, though. You prepared the little lamb nice and ready for me to partake. Maybe I’ll let you take the reigns…eventually.” Kas chuckles, darkly.

“Eddie,” You skipped giddily over to him. “I think I’m ready to go now. I didn’t get much other than some condoms and lubricant like you said.”

“What do you think of this?” Kas says, picking up the foxtail, curling it around your neck as you look in the mirror.

You giggle. “What is that?”

“Oh, you’ll find out.”

—————

You made it to Eddie’s trailer and your nerves manifested into butterflies aimlessly fluttering in your tummy. This was going to happen. You were going to lose your virginity to Eddie Munson. But as excited as you were…you couldn’t bring yourself to step out of his van.

A part of you felt guilty. Like you wanted to call it off in that moment. You’ve been saving yourself for marriage but all your views and moral values were slowly unraveling. Was God looking down at you right now?

“Hey, bunny?” He says warmly, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Something wrong?”

Your eyes look into his and suddenly you’re skeptical of the man before you. His pale skin contrasted with the darkening around his eyes which in return highlights the ruby red of his irises. “H-hey, um, Eddie?”

You say the name itself in the form of a question, which prompts him to catch onto your suspicion. And yet he smiles. “Yeah?”

“What if I were to say that I’m having second thoughts about this?”

“That’s normal. But that’ll pass. I promise I’ll make this enjoyable for you.”

You grip the edges of your skirt. “It’s just that…it feels so different. Y-you feel different again.”

The moonlight over his faces leaves one side lit brightly against his skin while the other half of his face was shaded in the dark.

“What makes you say that?”

“There’s something about your energy that’s… shifted. And your eyes—It’s like that night all over again. The night we almost….” You swallow the hard lump in your throat. “You’re not Eddie, are you? W-who are you?”

The corners of his lips curl. “You’re a clever little lamb, aren’t you? That explains why you ran off that night. Do you always run from danger?”

You frigid in your seat, watching his every move.

“My name is Kas. Think of me as an enhanced version of lover boy who’s, by the way, watching us through these eyes. Right now. Tonight…I’ll be filling in for him by filling in you.”

“You,” You whisper, pointing at him. “You’re the one that’s been influencing me and Eddie to do these unholy things. You’re possessing him.”

“Bunny, you’ve gotta stop reading that fairytale crap. It rots your brain. I’m no demon,” His fangs extend and you’re scared shitless. “I have no part in controlling Eddie’s emotions or yours. He’s been wanting to fuck you since he saw you. I couldn’t blame him. You’re so sexy.” He growls, leaning in.

You hold up the rosemary around your neck. “I’m protected by God.”

He smirks, reaching out to squeeze the pendant between his index and thumb. He bends the copper in half. You’re shocked to see that he was able to hold it without it negatively affecting him in some way. “Your God can’t save you. No one can. And with my cock down your throat, no one’ll hear you scream either.”

“What do you want?” You hiccup, a tear trickling down your face.

“To fornicate.” He mocks.

You try pulling at the door handle but to know avail, resorting to climbing into the back of the van. His manic cackling is a form of torment.

“You’re exactly where I want you, bunny.” Kas chortles, hopping out the driver’s side to yank open the double doors of the van. “I’ve always wanted to pop your cherry under the stars.”

You kick at him but he’s quicker than you, catching your legs and pulling you towards him. He forces your legs open for his body to stand in between. Climbing over you, he crashes his mouth over yours, teeth knocking in the impact. Your mouth opens at the force, allowing him bite down on your tongue and draw blood. You yelp out in pain, which dissipates into pleasure as he suckles on it.

You’re grinding your core into his hardening erection. He pulls away, looking between your bodies.

“Would you look at that? Looks like our girl wants me, too, Eddie.”

“Eddie?” You stopped rolling your hips in embarrassment, prompting him to slap the side of your thigh.

“Hey! Did I tell you to stop?”

“But Eddie…” You whimper.

“Awww, you scared he’s gonna be mad your humping my leg like a desperate little whore? He’ll be a lot more pissed at me for the things I’ll be doing to you.”

He thrusts his hips against you, pressing his erection into you. You whine out. “I’m sorry, Eddie.”

“Don’t be. He’s right here with us. He’ll feel every part of this. I just get to take the lead,” He pulls himself up on his knees. “Would you like to see what’ll be splitting you apart?”

You nod. You’re not sure why you’re flooding in your underwear at such graphic language but the thought of being impaled by him forcefully was more than inciting.

His shirt is the first to go, chest and abdomen riddled with large scars that made you question his survival of whatever attacked him. You follow his happy trail, his hands just above it before they find their way to his belt. The metal clanking of his belt fills the silence then the quiet zip of the zipper.

He straddles your upper body, the crotch area close enough to your face. “Pull ‘em down.” Kas demands.

With shaky hands, your fingers hook around the waistband of his boxers and pants, lowering them slowly until his cock springs out and hovers over your face with a bounce. You eyes widened in pure horror and fascination. Not only was it huge but it was freakish. Two toned with a rose pink tip, it jumped and wiggled as if it had a mind of its own. As if it were a tendril-like entity.

“Oh my god.” You squeak in shock.

“He looks happy to see you,” Kas smiles. “Why don’t you have a taste?”

You reluctantly stick your tongue out, licking a small strip up the tip. You taste the saltiness of his precum on your tongue then rest your head back against the layers of comforters.

“What was that? Suck on it.” He demands, growing impatient.

“But I don’t know how.”

“I’ve seen the way you eat popsicles, sweetheart. You’ll do just fine. Here, I’ll even help you,” Gripping your hair forward, he sheaths himself down your throat. The entity of a cock, wriggling inside your throat and forcing you to gag. “Oh yeah, that’s it.” He moans.

Kas forces your head down on him over and over. Your trapped between his legs so there was no running. The gurgling sound beneath him eggs him on as he fuck your face roughly. He yanks your hair back for a moment, a thick glob of spit dripping from the tip. You take in as much as air as you could.

“Look how pretty.” He pulls down on your hair, forcing your mouth up and open. Sticking his tongue out, he lets the saliva trail down onto your awaiting tongue.

You aren’t given enough time to compose yourself. Kas shoves his length down your throat once more, adamant on choking you with it. At one point he pinches your nose, using his handle around it to push and pull you down around him. You could hardly breathe but you would not allow yourself to tap out, wanting to please him.

He lets go of his hold around your nose and you learn to breathe through your nostrils, bobbing your head back and forth.

“Now, you’re getting the hang of it,” He says, breathlessly. “Here’s your reward.”

He collects the mass of spit drip between your mouth and his cock. You feel your panties push to the side and then that familiar pressure within you. You clamp around his fingers immediately.

“Ooo, yes please.” Your eyes roll back into your skull like always.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” He groans, pounding his finger into you so deep that you could feel the band of his rings tap against your clit. “What do you say, bunny?”

“Thank you, Master.” Your hips lift up to meet his thrusting fingers, your hand curled around his thick length as much as you could fit to jerk him off.

He circles his finger around something inside you that you hadn’t known you’ve possessed, flicking the trigger repeatedly until the sounds of your wetness echo in the vacuum space.

“I’m close…gonna cum.” Your legs are shaking as you pant for dear life. The pressure building more and more. “Oh god.”

“Not god, bunny. God couldn’t give you this much pleasure.”

You whine and babble, tears running down your face. Then, you’re gasping, eyes fluttering. This was going to be an intense one. One that scared you so much that you nearly ruined it on your own trying to suppress but Kas’s fingers knew how to draw your orgasm when you begged for it to retreat. No way could you handle this and come out sane.

“Unnh, mmm.” Now your toes are curling, arousal seeping and just before you snap…he pulls his fingers.

You’re hyperventilating. You hated him. You wanted to stop this. To give up. How could he be so evil?!

You cry out your frustration and he’s amused, studying features while you threw a tantrum beneath him.

“I was going to let you finish but then I remembered you tried running away from me…again,” He chides. Yet, now you cry and beg for me. So what is it? Are you mine or not?”

Your chest rises and falls, hot and angry tears streaming down your cheeks. “You said I deserve release.”

“Then, prove yourself worthy. Move me.” He smirks.

“I wanna cum,” You groan, throwing your head back in frustration. “Wanna cum on your fingers, Master. Please. I belong to you. I’m yours.”

“Alright, bunny.” He coos, shoving his fingers into you again. And It’s like he’d never left. The pressure is there again and somehow there’s layers upon layers of it. One push of a beckoning finger against the pearl within you and you’re gushing endlessly.

You’re wetting the comforter beneath you, calling out into the night without a worry or care in mind as if he didn’t have neighbors. He doesn’t stop his ministrations and your convinced he’s trying to keep the trend of you screaming loud enough for people to think you’re being murdered.

“Just one more.” He says, wriggling against it again and you’re so sensitive that it feels like he’s broken something in you so that all you can do is leak out your arousal.

You tremble and jolt, eyes glossed over. Unaware of him sliding himself off you, it wasn’t until your legs are pried open again that brought you back. You look up at him, his pants fully removed.

“Take off your clothes. I’m done waiting.” He commands.

You oblige, shyly removing your clothing and garments until you lay bare before him. He looks you up and down, the entity-like cock stiffening in your direction.

You expected him to roll on a condom. Instead, he flip you around on your stomach.

“What about wearing a condom?” You panic.

“I’ll be filling you up with my cum. Think I could get your belly all round and swollen for me?”

You shook your head. “No, please.”

“You know how to end this. Say it and I’ll stop right now.”

He was right. Eddie had taught you the colors in case you needed things to stop or go slow. But you didn’t want any of that. You craved the full experience. You silently lift yourself on all fours, pushing your ass against him to show how badly you need him. It was going to hurt going in this way your first time but you weren’t a quitter.

“That’s my girl.” His hands squeezed around your waist, fingertips digging into your belly. The fat tip his cock at the entrance of your core.

You exhale, feeling the pressure and then just as he said…you’re being split apart. “Oh, ffff-“

“What’s that?” He teases, inching into you some more before snapping his hips forward. He’s officially fed you the entire length, stretching you beyond comprehension.

The wind is knocked out of you, your hand searching for something to grip. “Oh, fuck.” You squeak.

“Feels so fucking good ruining you.” He laughs, hitting sharp thrusts into you. Pound for pound, he elicits a noise out of you each time.

Kas smells the familiar scent of blood on his length and his bloodlust spikes. He fucks into you hard and your knees give out, now laying flat on your stomach.

“Oh, fuck, Master. Thank you.” You whine, biting into the sheet below you.

He’s relentless taking you as if you’ve been through this times before. No mercy. Your breath and words snatched away with each nudge of his tip teasing you g-spot. He pulls you up on your knees again and you feel a cool gel ooze onto your puckered hole. His thumb teases the entrance, circling around it until it’s replaced with a cold metal object that breaches through your anal cavity fully.

“Your ass looks so yummy, bunny.” Kas moans, spanking your ass roughly, yanking on the tail.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” You chant, overwhelmed by the feeling of both your holes being filled.

“Howl for me.” He says, slapping your ass again.

You don’t even have to try. You were doing that exact kind of noise. His neighbors would for sure voice their complaints.

You feel his cock doing something to your walls that seemed near impossible as it suctions itself to your walls, keeping him snug within you while it searched for its main target.

Kas grunts with every thrust going deeper and deeper into your channel until reached your cervix. You began to salivate, mind numb. Was he in your stomach? You didn’t have to wonder long, feeling him apply pressure near your belly button. Oh yeah, he’s deep in your guts. Rearrange them for a permanent indentation. He’s officially broken you and you’re not understanding your reality at this point.

“You’re squeezing me tight, bunny. You gonna come?”

“Uh-huh.” You pant, eyes crossed.

“Then, fucking ask for permission!”

“Please make me cum, Master. Please. I’ve been a good girl. I wanna cum!”

His fingers find your swollen nub, rubbing it back and forth . Your legs give out once again but he doesn’t miss a beat, stroking long and deep into your squelching core. Skin slapping against skin as your ass jiggled at the force.

“I’m cumming!” You cry out, squirting your juices at anything in within range. Kas takes this opportunity to bite into your neck and feed. It all felt so overwhelming. Now you’ve understood it why the french call it ‘a little death’. You’re positive that your heart’s stopped momentarily during your convulsions.

“Shit, shit, shit.” You bite down on your finger, he’s still drinking of your blood.

Kas’s warm seed shoots through your warm channel. He unsheathing his sharp fangs from your neck, mouth bloodied as he pumped away in your clenching core. His moans enough to make you whine again at the sound even though you’re pretty much spent.

Once, he’s sure he’s pushed his cum far enough into the deepest parts of you, he stills and slides out of you slowly. His dick is covered in a mixture of cum and blood. You mourn the loss of him as if his place was meant to be inside you. He collapses in the space next to you, caressing your backside and playing with the tail thats still plugged in you.

“How do you feel?” He asks.

You turn over on your back, panting. “I feel…like I just had a spiritual awakening.”

“Didn’t I tell ya.” He chuckles.

“I’m also really lightheaded.”

“That’s both the orgasm and the blood loss. You’ll need some food to replenish.”

You hum your understanding.

Kas curls into your side, pressing kisses into your shoulder. “Do you like me, too? I know you like Eddie but do you like me?”

“I do,” You nodded. “I like every part of you.”

“Even if there were some…darker parts that you don’t get to see.”

You had to think about that one, piecing together Eddie’s arrival to the church along with the very idea of Kas. “I think that because I like you…I’m willing learn to understand you. But I don’t want anyone to get hurt. So, if you ever need to feed, I am yours.”

He nudged his head into the crook of your neck. Kas choose not to tell you about the missing man, wanting to start a new clean slate with you. Maybe you had influenced him just as much as he did you.

“Hey, Bunny. Lover boy’s looking to cut into our time. So if I go, just remember that I fucked you better.”

You giggle, playing in his hair. Kas shuts eyes and reopens them and they’re the familiar brown cow eyes.

“Eddie?” You place soft kisses all over his face when you notice his glare. “Are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad, angel. But I won’t be so nice either.” He captures a hardened nipple between his teeth and bites down, making you scratch angry lines down his back. His mouth latches onto your creamy pussy, drinking of its essence. You were sensitive but you sigh in delight, hands in his hair as you arched off the van floor.

Should you be a lamb, then you shall serve yourself as a precious offering to your kings?

[ppushable]

just us.

jean kirschtein x gn!reader / oneshot / wc: 9.4k

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

It's the last summer of high school and it's time to grow up. Too bad I have to do it without you.

Nights like this I wish could last forever: just us in the rain.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

ao3 tags:

FUCK / Alternate Universe - High School / or the tail end of it / Reader-Insert / gender neutral reader / How Do I Tag / Kissing / Angst / Fluff and Angst / Growing Up / Separations / Rain / Late Night Conversations / POV First Person / Present Tense / Pining / French-Speaking Jean Kirstein / Reader is emotional / theres some music for this too / Don't Examine This Too Closely

to make some things clear:

it's the last summer after high school (i.e. about to enter university)

based in canada which is basically the us but it doesn't really matter

reader is gender neutral (let me know if something seems off)

we don't know Connie in this one

i also got some songs which i thought fit the mood based on what was playing as i wrote. the songs will be indicated (==) in the writing. here's the queue:

dream, ivory; dream, ivory

heart to heart; mac demarco

little person; matt maltese

cry; cigarettes after sex

everything; the black skirts

if you're on iphone, i recommend doing the rain sounds when it rains, but it's up to you. without further ado ♥

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

== dream, ivory

The rock I’ve been kicking skids off the edge of the sidewalk, into the dark grass. I already miss the feeling of its bump against my foot. I’m going to miss a lot of things. Even before I finish the thought the familiar feeling of dread rises up from the depths of my gut. 

Shush. 

Jean’s face is illuminated harshly directly below the streetlight, hair glowing as if powdered in some otherworldly dust, shadows hard and soft defining and redefining themselves as we walk. Aimless wandering, that’s all we’re doing, but I’d rather be doing this than anything else. I’d rather be with him.

I almost miss the signature little smirk on his face mid-head turn but double take in time to see it grow. 

“What? You like what you see?”

Well, yeah.

But I stick the side of my finger against his teeth and he squirms. “Wh— hey! What was that?” There’s a chuckle between those words, though, and it makes me want to crack open like a stupid little egg and pour out all the feelings I have for him onto this very concrete, cover it with my devotion, stain it forever and ever. But all that comes out is a laugh and that’ll have to be enough. 

“You’re annoying, you know that?”

“I was just asking you an honest question!” He holds up his hand as if preaching. “Honest to god, hand on the bible.”

Okay, Jean. “And if I said no?”

He has the nerve to look offended. “Then I’d know you’re lying.”

“Fff,” I huff, and I have to turn away because the grin on my face is at a dangerous level. “This boy. You’re too full of yourself.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Jean says smugly. “But you like me that way, don’t you?” His arm hooks my waist to pull me closer and I do the same, gripping the back of his Stohess University hoodie. At this point this position is second nature — no more awkward touching or not-so-subtle shifting. Now we’re like… two stones in a river that just happen to fit together like pieces of a puzzle. That’s right, us, the walking pebbles, down the dark streets of 3 AM that would be scary under any other circumstance. 

Happy as can be. 

Until summer ends, at least. 

Sometimes I want to rip that hoodie off him and tear it into a million pieces, destroy the place that wants to take him from me so badly. But it makes him happy. It makes him really fucking happy. And who am I to take that away from him? 

“Hey,” he says, and I loosen my grip on the thick cloth before he notices the pulling. 

“Yeah?”

I feel his voice, a low hum against my side, just as much as I hear it. “What’re you thinking about?”

The windows of the houses around us are empty, void. It’s strange, isn’t it? To think that in every house is a different life, multiple lives which I’ll never know. An entire life with emotions and memories and experiences and desires. A human animal. “You, of course.”

He doesn’t respond at first and when we pass under another streetlight his face is a little redder than before, all across his nose and cheeks and ears, and it takes a lot not to stop right there and throw myself on him. I love it when he does that, when he proves that his bad-boy front is just that. A front. “Hah. What a flirt.”

Leaning in, I say, “I learned it from the best, didn’t I?”

“So you’re—” his face pulls even closer, and we stop under the broken buzz of a streetlight— “calling me a flirt.”

My feet scrape the concrete as I turn on the spot and drape my arms over his shoulders. Trepidation lines my bones and leeches into my legs, drop by drop. “Maybe,” I say, and I feel the air of my breath off his reddened skin. Gorgeous, gorgeous. I wait for him to close the little distance between us, which might as well have been no distance at all, because when we touch, when I feel the familiar, burning warmth of his lips pressing against mine, I… I forget what I was thinking about. 

I claw for his neck, the hair I begged him to grow out that I know will look so good on him, I need us to be closer, and he knows, pulling my body into his with his arms against the curve of my back, chest to chest, pelvis to hardening pelvis. I huff into his mouth from the sudden pressure and Jean takes me up again immediately after the brief separation without a breath to spare with a little moan, leading me stumbling backwards to god knows where but I trust him. I love the way the world just goes. My back hits something hard and I grunt from pain which just makes Jean snap and double down harder, reach further, a futile attempt to satisfy the beastly desire in my core that grows with every passing second. 

“Ah…”

I love his hand lowering to the small of my back, the way it trembles, the way it goes lower. The other slides under my shirt, roaming well-travelled areas, but that doesn’t make it any less enticing. I cling to the back of his head like my life depends on it because it very well might, following his every small movement like it’s the guiding star. He opens up for a quick huff of air and I use this opportunity to take the reins; to plunge deeper. 

I love how his hair feels. And when I pull it just right he makes a helpless noise into my mouth and oh fuck I could fold for him right now. 

I love how disgusting we are. Probing every part of each other with our tongues. The little pits in the skin of his cheeks. Heat in my core. Heat in my brain. Heat between our bodies. The taste of him. 

I love how I don’t know where I end and he begins. Burning lungs. Pull harder and he groans louder and I don’t know what noise belongs to who. Can you tell dogs apart by their bark?

I love his taste. Desire for air, but greater desire for him . His hand stops now in that place he knows I love, skin to burning skin, but the other never moves, keeping me locked in place. Need to be closer. Just us. 

I love his eyes, half-lidded but brimming with want. A fistful of his locks, tightening. Mind going places my hands can’t. Not here, not now. 

I love…

Just when I think my heavy heart is about to give out, we separate, the heat is gone, and we gasp for air both, separating the line of drool that connects us with a blistering snap. Colours come back. My head drops to his shoulder and his warm breath lands in the sensitive crook of his neck as he lets his hand slide out of my top and return to the small of my back with the other. I keep mine firmly anchored around his neck. We pant like mutts in the street, unmoving save for the heaving of our chests. The buzzing of the streetlight returns, but it never really left, did it? We did. 

I hope he likes me back as much as I do him. I hope he’s not doing this because he has to. Swallowing takes up precious time; immediately after I’m back to laboured breathing. If he’s anything but happy I’ll recede into the darkest, damndest reaches of the Earth so he can enjoy the sun. I would never tell him that, though. I hope I’m not… I hope I’m not too much. 

Maybe a little too abruptly I let go of him and he does the same after a moment's delay, a little reluctantly, but I’m imagining it. I wipe my lip before smiling. “You flirt.”

Running a finger across his mouth, Jean scoffs, a hint of his softer side still showing through as if his usual act hasn’t fully hardened yet. “You started it.”

“Hardly.”

“Do I need to bring out the case files?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Do I need to pull out the evidence?”

“Evidence being what, exactly?” I point to his pants pockets. “You have a little pocket hamster witness? Or a boob camera?”

Gasping lightly — yet still maintaining a tone of exaggeration — his arms fly up: one to cover his chest, and the other his crotch. “You’re lucky my ass doesn’t report you right now.”

Obnoxiously, I smack my lips, run my tongue over my teeth, and stick my hands in the pockets of my sweatpants. “I bet that ass can do a lot of things, princess. Walking all alone at night. Isn’t it dangerous?” I produce a crude rendering of Jean’s own smirk (to cover my own growing smile) while flipping my hair. “Let a handsome man escort you to your house.”

His act drops immediately. “Okay, you’re a little too good at this.”

I laugh.

“No, like seriously—” he raises his voice a bit to be heard clearly a smile grows on his face— “you’re creeping me out.”

“Hush, you.” With unspoken agreement we start walking again. “I need to keep up my creepy guy persona in case I’m ever approached.”

“What, your plan is to outcreep the creep?” He shakes his head. “Good luck with that one.”

I make my voice go gravelly again while making a squishing motion. “Let a man cop a feel. It’s the least you could do for all his hard work.”

“Okay, first of all, no, stop that. Secondly,” he says, pushing my hand away, “nobody’s gonna approach you as long as I’m—”

He freezes, then closes his mouth and swallows, Adam’s apple pushing back down the words unsaid. As long as I’m around . The dreadful feeling comes back like cold lead in my veins. But you’re gonna be around for long, are you, Jean?

We reach the junction directly between two streetlights, the darkest point of the sidewalk. There usually aren’t many stars where we live; regardless of the weather, city lights always blot out the little speckles in the sky that are supposed to just appear every night like in the pictures. Jean always wanted to see them. The Milky Way. The closest thing we have to a galaxy are the fluorescent glows of store signs that reflect off the bricked walls of the apartment buildings and cracked asphalt roads. 

“Hey,” I murmur, linking my arm through his and pointing at the splash of white light down the street. “Let’s go over there.”

“What, the 7-11?”

“Let’s get snacks and have a picnic together.”

A little chuckle escapes him. “At this time of night?” He doesn’t allow time to respond. “Well, alright.”

The mechanical beep greets us as the door opens. As expected, the place is empty, resided only by the eye-chokingly bright junk food packages haphazardly lining the shelves. My warped figure in the security camera screen hanging from the ceiling holds open the door for Jean and he steps through. He hasn’t been properly illuminated in a while so I take the opportunity to drink him in a little. There’s some darkness under his eyes and the scruff beginning to grow on his chin is getting longer than he prefers it (shaved off completely). His jaw clenches and unclenches seemingly at random as if he’s chewing gum, but he’s probably biting the inside of his mouth. It’s a nasty habit of his, and it never means anything good. He’s probably stressed about university. 

I sniff. Lysol. This place is a little too normal, a dip back into the waters of everyday. “Do you have your wallet?”

He stops and taps his pants pockets — first the back, then the front — and nods. “Yeah, I got my card.” 

“Sugar daddy me?”

A blush rises to the occasion and he rolls his eyes with a quick “yeah” before disappearing into the aisles. He hates getting flustered (but loves to inflict it on me) and does so at the weirdest things. In his own words, blushing is a ‘boner for your face.’ Okay, Jean. So what if I want to see you pop face boners. You like seeing mine, don’t you?

I scurry after him, scanning the items in his hold. “Strawberry Pocky. Black Doritos. Cola gummies.”

He holds out his arm so I can see better. 

“Nothing healthy? Nothing wet?”

“Okay, first of all, it’s a 7-11. Healthiest thing here is the air quality. Second of all.” He sets his palm on top of my head. “We’re getting there, alright? And don’t say wet.”

“Nothing moist.”

The flat hand turns into a fist and knocks lightly once on my skull. “Can’t win with you, eh?”

I flick his hand away and we keep weaving through the aisles. Marshmallows. 

Picking up the bag of sweets I stare at, Jean says, “we’re never gonna finish all these, y’know.”

“I know.” 

“What happened to getting healthy stuff?”

“You walk so slowly that I have to pick up everything I see. Or I’ll be understimulated and die.”

“Understimulated, huh?” he muses. I look up at his face but he’s reading the wrapper. “Maybe you’re my pocket hamster. Like a lab rat. Do I need to put you in a really big maze?” He shakes the bag like it’s cat treats and shoots me a smug look. “I’ll use these instead of cheese. If you solve the puzzle right I’ll toss you one so you have something to munch on.”

I don’t dignify him with a response. Steeling my fingers, I plunge them into his front pocket. 

The impact wracks through him, nearly making him drop the package. “Wh—”

“Won’t fit.” I shake my head and wiggle my fingers. “I can’t be your pocket hamster.”

I swear a tiny bead of sweat accumulates on his cheek but he’s quick to scratch it away. “I can make you fit.”

“Really?”

His eyes narrow. “You know more than anyone that I can make things fi—”

“Oh, hey.”

My head snaps toward the new voice — it’s the cashier, appearing from a door to take his place behind the counter. His grey hair’s been buzzed short (he hovers around our age despite the colour), almost to the point of bald, and various piercings on his face gleam even in the horrible 7-11 lighting as he cocks his head. “Sorry, didn’t notice you guys come in. Need anything at all?” 

“No, we’re good,” I say, subtly (I think) sliding my hand out of Jean’s pocket. Was the pocket thing too much? I overstepped again, didn’t I? “Thanks, though.”

The cashier nods once — I’m too far away to see his nametag but not the exhaustion that leaks out of him like a broken tap — and messes with something under the table. My gaze once again finds Jean’s and he looks like he’s seen a ghost which almost makes me feel like laughing. His big hand encloses mine and he leads me somewhere out of sight. Slurpee machines. They start humming as Jean lets me go and pinches the bridge of his nose as if on cue. “That was a little too close. Oh my god.” He chuckles lightly and it’s muffled. “He nearly saw us.” 

When he drops his hand and meets my eye the humour disappears in a flash; gravity immediately weighs down his features. “Is something wrong? Did I say something?”

“No!” I didn’t even say anything yet and he’s already this serious. Guilt settles already; why did I make him feel bad? “No. It’s— you did nothing wrong. I’m sorry.” I shoot for a grin and hit a grimace. “I’m just kinda tired.”

“Yeah. You look tired. Darling.” The word is raspy with the breath of his throat yet also strangely tender, as if uttered through honey, and we both pause at the new label. Darling. He called me darling. It’s getting warm. “Sorry. That sounded stupid, didn’t it?”

== heart to heart

Darling . “Dont— no! It’s not stupid at all! I— um.” I put a hand on his shoulder and Jean, recognizing the cue, leans his tree of a body down so he can stare straight into my eyes. “It was really… it was really cute. You should…” I trace a crack in the floor that reveals dark grout underneath while idly tucking some of his hair behind his ear. “Use that name on me again.” 

A little huff escapes him, brushes against my lips, and I’m compelled to look into those eyes again. Brown, hazel, green; depending on the lighting or weather they can be any of those colours, but I always find myself falling in regardless. There’s no reason for it. How layers of cells and pigments can trap me so hopelessly like it’s hypnosis, how even a scraping glance reminds me of our bests and worsts, how I want to look in there forever and ever, a bottomless well of all that was and could be and all that I want. “Well, since it’s got you looking all red like this, I really should.”

I just hope that you feel the same. I hope my thoughts are wrong. I hope I don’t make you uncomfortable. I hope that I can be good enough for you (but how can I)?

And I wish, I really fucking wish, that

   we never lose each other

      but I know it’s going to happen anyway

It’s going to happen anyway

and it hurts.

It hurts like a teddy bear on the ground in an abandoned house. A cracked picture frame. Sleepless nights with only tomorrow for comfort. Returning, over and over again, to the places I keep promising myself not to go to. 

Knowing that, at some point, we’ll walk together for the last time. Kiss each other for the last time. Eat together, dance together, listen to the same song together for the last time. 

So I’ll walk alone. I’ll pleasure myself. I’ll eat alone, dance alone, listen to that song until it becomes monotonous and you’ll become a stranger or a ghost or die forever and the initials so painfully carved into my heart will become fetid. Everywhere I look I’ll see your face and hear your voice and feel your warmth and smell your breath. I’ll do it, I’ll fucking do it and loathe every moment of it.

Oh, Jean, if only we could run away and gossip and lay in the sun together somewhere far away where there’s a big field and lots of flowers and a clear stream that brings us cool, fresh water and berries from the forest. Where it’s always daytime, except when it’s not, and I’ll weave flowers into your beautiful hair and you’ll do the same for me and we’ll look to the open sky, with nothing to obstruct us, no buildings, no wires, no light, and there are so many stars, beautiful and so bright, so wonderful that it’ll take your breath away like a little kid seeing dinosaurs and we’ll lay for hours in the weeds together and just look at them until the sun comes back up. And we’ll be so happy we’ll cry. Just us and nothing else. 

But I know that what I want isn’t what you want. I know that. So I’ll do the right thing. I’ll do the right thing! I said I’ll do it, so leave me alone. 

Now Jean’s breath rustles my hair. “Hey.” 

At some point I started looking at his shoes. They’re creased and dirty. Not because he can’t afford them, but because he doesn’t know how to take care of his stuff. “Really, Jean.” I suck in a big breath disguised as a yawn to maybe disguise the wetness — sorry, moistness — of my eyes and point at his feet. “You’re like a little kid sometimes.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“So dirty.”

“My shoes? It’s only a little bit.” 

I raise an eyebrow. 

“It looks cool like that. Doesn’t it look cool like that?” 

“Okay, Jean.” The slurpee machine hums again and I’m drawn to the mechanical whirring. Who cares if there’s rat poop or salmonella or whatever in there. I’m a little thirsty and my throat could use some loosening before I start croaking. 

“It— it’s cool, right?” Jean leans against the wall, right behind the stack of cups that jut out horizontally, packed together so densely the transparent plastic becomes opaque. I slide one out of the holder and snap one of the lids out of their holders, too, and combine them before angling the cup under one of the spouts. 

“I dunno, Jean,” I say, pushing down the plunger. Synthetic heaven plops into the cup, making it jump at the initial impact. I look back in time to see him get a cup of his own. “You’ll have to ask yourself that.”

“That usually means no,” he says glumly, setting his cup down to fill. “It’s fine.” He’ll be getting coke on the bottom and cherry on the top, like he always does. “I know how to use a laundry machine. Just like you taught me.”

Sliding my cup underneath a different spout, I smile. “Good boy. You’re learning so well.”

Jean watches his cup overflow. 

“Oh. Jean. Jean .” I grab his wrist and take his hand off the lever. I shouldn’t have said that. “Wake up, Jean.” His face matches the artificially dyed cherry smeared over the hand he’s using to hold the cup and I laugh. “Jean, come on. We have to ask the guy for paper towels.” I pull him back in the direction we came from. “ Jean .”

“I’m coming.” He takes a few heavy steps before pulling himself together, tensed as if electrified. 

The guy behind the counter has earbuds in with the wires wrapped backwards around his ears and doesn’t notice us until we’re a few paces away. He jumps and fumbles to take one out. “Uh, you guys ready to check out?” His eyes, maybe a little wider than they should be given the circumstances, are drawn to Jean’s hand. “You’re… just getting the one slurpee?”

“Uh, no, we… our stuff is back with the slurpee machine.” What am I saying? Jean’s always been the better one at talking. “We, uh, need to clean up. Paper towels!” I squeeze Jean’s hand but it seems he’s still in stupor, melted cherry slushy dripping to the floor. 

“Oh,” is all the cashier says.

“Can we have some paper towels, please?” I continue. “We made a mess with the machine.”

The cashier seems to relax a bit. “Oh.”

“I’m really sorry. We’ll help clean up. Like, you don’t even need to do anything, just tell us where the paper towels are—”

“No, it’s all good, it’s my job. Plus it gets pretty boring here y’know?” He smiles and his teeth are crooked. “I’ll grab ‘em.” And he disappears behind the employee-only door. 

I wait a second or two before elbowing Jean lightly.

“Ow!”

“You alright, zombie?” I ask, trying not to let too much tease slip into my voice.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” He looks at his slurpee-d hand, brings it to his face, and wraps his lips around the base of his thumb to slurp the area where the juice drips out. Then his mouth opens a bit more and his tongue inches out, up the side of his palm against the cup, in and out, motions intended to lap up every last drop of the juice like it was never even there in the first place. His other hand rubs firm circles into mine as he goes back to licking the base of his thumb, making small slurping noises. “Mmm,” he moans as he runs his tongue from his hand to the tip of the cup, and now I realize his smug eyes have been on me the whole time, “tastes good. Un goût de paradis. ”

“You didn’t pay for that,” I say as flatly as possible without bursting on the spot.

“It’s fine, it’s just the drops.” He smirks. “You’d change your mind if you knew what it tasted like.”

“And what does it taste like?”

“Maybe,” his leer deepens as he leans in, pulling my hand gently, “I could show you. But…” he pulls back at the last second. “Nah!”

It smacks me in the face like a dead fish. “You— Kirsch—” use your big girl words!— “bastard.”

He chuckles as something metal drops behind the door; another few seconds and the cashier comes back out with a thick roll of the brown paper towels they use in bathrooms (the ones that can’t absorb for shit). “Sorry about the wait,” he huffs, one earbud still clinging to his ear as the other dangles from the neckline of his green uniform. “Hard to find anything in there.” He opens a little side door to get out from behind the counter and his feet drag a little as he walks toward the slurpee machines. Looking over his shoulder, he says, “you guys are coming, right?”

“Right behind you.” Jean calls, this time leading me back.

The cashier tears some of the paper and starts mopping up some of the stuff on the grill, though only succeeds in pushing the little chunks that are left into the gutter. He clicks his tongue and starts murmuring Spanish obscenities. 

“Here.” Jean hands me a piece of paper towel and I take it, getting to work on the ground. The cashier shuffles aside to make room and I utter a quick thanks. As expected, the towels don’t really absorb, but push the liquid around. 

“Maybe you should lick this up, too,” I tease as Jean kneels beside me. 

“Funny.”

But we do manage to clean it up. We toss the soiled paper into a hole built into the slurpee counter for garbage as the cashier continues to scrape the grill. He sighs, bringing his hand up while balling up the napkin and letting it slap against the side of his thigh. “No use here, I’ll get it later. But, uh, thanks for helping out.” Nodding, he tosses the garbage at the garbage hole and misses. 

Jean bats it in for him. “No problem, man.”

He nods again. I can see his name tag, now that he’s closer: 

CONNIE

“It was nothing, really,” I smile. “Thanks, Connie.”

“I’ll be at the counter when you guys’re ready.” He returns the gesture before shuffling away. 

“Well.” Jean collects our little hoard. “You think this is enough?”

Pocky, gummies, chips, marshmallows. And the slurpees. “I know that’s enough.” I cling to his arm like a parasite. “Let’s go.”

Jean pays, we say our goodbyes to Connie, and then we leave. Back to the buzzing and the empty sky, just the same as before, except with food and a vague destination in mind. 

“You know,” I say, swallowing the slurpee still in my mouth, “did that guy seem familiar? Or is it just me?”

“The cashier?”

“Yeah, Connie.”

“Huhh…” Jean licks his lips which are already cherry red. “I don’t think I’ve seen him around school before. But you’re right, he does seem familiar. It’s weird.”

“Maybe,” I muse, throwing him a teasing look, “in another life, you guys did laundry and taxes together.”

“No way,” he chuckles. “We definitely would’ve done something cooler together. Like, fight giants, or something.”

“Giants.” I grin. “Tell me about these giants.”

He shrugs. “They’re big. And they’re naked all the time.”

“Wooow.” 

“What?” he laughs. “They don’t have enough cloth to make clothes so they just go naked all the time! Except in Malaysia.”

“What?”

“And they run really weird, and the girl giants have these—” he charades huge boobs— “giant tits—”

“What about the guy giants?”

He pauses. “They don’t have anything.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing at all?”

He scowls. “Why do you wanna know so bad?”

“Nothing.” I shrug. “Are the giants good-looking, at least?”

“The important ones are.”

“Hmm.” I take another slurp. “So I could have a cute, important, constantly naked, big tiddie giant girlfriend.”

“No.”

“Huh?”

“All the giants wanna eat people.”

“Eat people, huh? I can live with that.” 

Jean snorts and rolls his eyes. “Okay.”

We walk in silence until the next streetlight. “On second thought,” I start, “I think, in another life, you guys would survive the zombie apocalypse together.”

“Zombie apocalypse,” Jean echoes. “Why do I feel like I’d die first?”

“You almost do. But Connie sacrifices himself for you.”

He hmms . “Then you’d be part of the secondary group of survivors that ends up betraying the main force.”

“That’s weirdly specific. So I end up betraying you?”

“It’s okay because we join forces in the end.” He shrugs. “Either that or I charm you to our side.”

I grin. “You do, do you.”

== little person

The walk to the park is a short one, and before long the entrance is visible down the void road. A cold drop lands on my hand.

“Huh, we’re almost there.” Jean shifts the bags of chips in hand — the pocky is in his pocket. “Then—” his eye twitches strangely— “ah! Did a bird just shit in my eye?”

“What?” I sputter as another drop lands on my cheek. “There’s no birds. I think it’s raining.”

Blinking hard, Jean utters, “rain?” 

We look up at the same time. The sky is no longer cloudless, and the familiar pitter-patter emanates from the roofs around us. We look back at each other.

Well, shit.

“It’s not that bad,” I start. Jean opens his mouth to reply but something suddenly falls on my head. 

Rather, a downpour of rain, like water from a bucket, pushes me down. It’s loud! Loud like firecrackers.

“Holy shit!” Jean squawks, barely heard above the sound of rain. “No! My slurpee!”

The coke and cherries is on the ground now, cratering with every heavy raindrop that lands in it. I snatch his now-free hand.

“Forget it! We have to go!”

His face is devastated, but he nods. No recovery. I jut my head in the direction of the park; he nods again, and we make a break for it.

Being the taller one, Jean could easily outpace me, but we run side by side, feet sloshing first in the asphalt then in the grass as we finally make it to the park. “There!” he cries, pointing at the nearest tree that looks like it could provide some decent cover. I run until I feel my legs are going to give out and we crash under the leafy cover like it’s the finish line to a marathon, not letting go of each other even when our clasped hands crack into the tree’s trunk and we smack into each other on the other side with the full force of our momentum. 

“Hooo!” Jean huffs. There’s no light in the park but I still can’t miss the wild look in his eyes, the way his hair drips and sticks to his forehead, just long enough to brush his upturned eyebrows. “You alright?” 

“Yeah!” I cheer, feeling a laugh bubbling out. There’s no houses here, and probably no people. Who cares anyway? The sudden escapade snapped me into a different state. “Yeah, I’m good! Are you okay?”

“I’m soaked!” His huffs turn into a laugh and he waves vaguely at the sky. “So much for a picnic, huh?”

I blink a few times, then open my eyes wide. There’s no lights installed at the park, at least none that are on at this hour, but even in the pitch dark I know where the main areas are. “Why don’t we go to the pavilion?” I yell, turning back to face him. 

“Mmp!” Jean pulls his head back, but not quick enough. “As you wish, darling,” he garbles quickly, wiping the corner of his mouth. 

My jaw drops and I hold up my cup. The juice is now half of its original volume. “You little—” Without thinking, I swing the bag of marshmallows at his head but he blocks it easily with his arm. 

“I couldn’t help it!” he bursts, dribbling a small amount onto the mulch floor with a splat .

The words die in my throat as we stare at the regurgitation. A moment later Jean takes off and I swear I see the raindrops fly off. 

“Jean!” What choice do I have? I pursue.

The thief never strays more than a few feet ahead, allowing me a few more rain-laced swings before a picnic bench suddenly appears in front of us. At the last minute Jean manages to slam his feet onto the bench part and leap onto the table, but I don’t lift my knees high enough and the wood dings my shins and before the pain has time to register the soaked, half-rotten tabletop screams toward me

and when it’s supposed to hurt, it doesn’t. 

Vision isn’t required to know that my face is squished up against Jean’s palms which cushion me from the wood. His wet hands peel off and travel to my shoulders. “Shit! Are you okay?”

Now my legs hurt. I blink at his blurry face and put my hands over his. The stuff I was carrying is on the ground now; I’m kneeling on the bench. “You saved me.”

“Of course.” 

“Even though I hit you with marshmallows.”

“Darling.” He takes my hands in his, clasping them between our bodies. We’re soaked thoroughly now; the sweater I have stupidly unzipped weighs down heavily on my shoulders and rainwater constantly runs into my eyes and the valley of my lips, while Jean’s bangs are plastered to his forehead, eyelashes clumped together, and rain drips from the end of his nose onto our hands. “I would save you if it killed me.”

Then save me now. 

Tell me you won’t accept that program at Stohess. Tell me we can go away somewhere far, far enough to avoid going to a school I don’t want for a degree I don’t want for a future I don’t want. 

At the very least, tell me I can find the strength to break away from it all and make something decent out of this life that I’ve forcefully been granted. 

How do you do it? How do you forge your own path, create a light that’s so blinding it renders me a moth? How do you find the courage? 

I bring the bundle of our hands close to my face, let my breath run down the slick side of the back of Jean’s palm. “I would do the same for you.” And gently, as if handling the most precious jewel, I press my lips against the ridge of his knuckles and whisper, “ mon chéri. ”

Rain continues to fall in that familiar, comforting hum as it patters softly onto the grass and soil and leaves and wood. Jean stays silent for so long and if not for the look in his eyes I would think he didn’t hear me at all. But his lips crack open, and it takes a few tries for him to say what he wants. 

“I… I wish…” His Adam’s apple bobs and rests precariously on his throat, holding the power of the things left unsaid. “I wish you’d finally admit that you’re a bigger flirt than I am.”

Out of reflex I scoff and release myself from his grasp to pull some hair off my face, covering the blow of his sudden change of heart that makes my insides feel as if they’d been scraped on hot concrete and poured back in. “You’re insane, Kirschtein.” No, it’s stupid and selfish of me to expect him to say something. 

Shrugging plainly, he rubs his palms against his knees as if to dry them (ha ha), but gets up a moment later to pick some things off the grass. He returns a moment later with the pocky and gummies and drops them on the table before dropping down himself. The pocky box is soggy. “Let’s have our picnic right here.”

I shoot him a skeptical look which I hope he sees. “In the rain?”

“I know it’s your favourite weather.” His voice is soft and he speaks as if he had committed a grave sin. 

“What if you get sick?” Now I remember to zip up my sweater. 

His eyes follow the movement. “I can take care of myself.”

Fat chance of that, boy. “What if I get sick?”

“I’ll take care of you.”

I take a seat beside him on the table, feet on the bench. “And if we both get sick?”

He smiles a little. “Then I can hold you without worrying about transferring anything.”

“And you’re not a flirt.”

“What—” he opens the pack of gummies with a plastic crackle— “ever,” and sets the package between our bodies. 

These are Jean’s favourite snacks. I’m sure he’s gotten sick by eating too many of these before, but he was convinced it was something else he ate. Idly, he pops one in his mouth, and I follow suit. They do taste good, though. 

“Wonder if anyone’s ever been here this late,” Jean mumbles as I open the pocky. 

“I’m sure they have. And I’m sure they will be.” I draw a length of the strawberry-coated stick like a sword and crunch. “None of them are idiotic enough to have a picnic when it’s raining, though, so we’re probably a first for that.”

He chuckles. “Pioneers, I’m sure.”

We eat in silence. The rain slows down, but doesn’t let up. 

What am I doing here? What’s even the point of this? It’s only going to hurt me more, spending time with a ghost like this. 

“Jean.”

“Hm?”

“Do you know the pocky game?”

“Hmm?”

“You know.” I stick one of the candies in my mouth and point to the other end. 

Jean only looks more confused, and, resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I pry open his lips with two fingers and probe him with the pink tip. A strange and perhaps exaggerated noise gargles out of him — the candy slips from my grasp and falls. 

“What the heck!” He bristles like a cat, even in the rain. “Stop laughing!” 

“You’re— you’re supposed to bite it,” I choke. “Why do you look so scared?” 

“I was just surprised .” He shimmies another stick out. “Let’s do it again. It’s just like Lady and the Tramp, right? Come on, let’s do it. Stop that!” 

My attempt to stifle the giggles is piss-poor and Jean knows it. But I stop when I feel him grasp my chin and turn my head toward him. 

“So,” he says slowly around the pocky in his mouth, “are we gonna do this?”

Smiling, I bite the other end, and then we’re connected. The stick vibrates as Jean starts to nibble, and when I follow suit he puts his hand down. We inch closer—

Crunch!

Our eyes widen. 

Wordlessly, Jean lets go of his end of the stick, finds the source of the disturbance, and holds it up sheepishly. 

The entire bag of pocky, compressed to dust under his palm. 

“Whoops.”

I stare. 

“I’m sorry.”

I push the remainder of our pocky in my mouth and chew. 

“Fuck, I’ll— we can go back to the store and get another box. Hey. Don’t turn away…”

Wow, that tree over there sure looks interesting. 

“Forgive me?”

I turn back. He looks absolutely crushed. (As he should.)

“I know they’re your favourite.” His head hangs. “I’ll…” Without warning, he grabs the bag of gummies and dumps the sweets on the ground. They tumble and disappear from view. 

What!

“There. Now we’re even.” He looks up and smiles, shaking the plastic. 

“What— Jean— what’d you do that for?”

“I wanted us to be in the same boat. It’s my fault for destroying the pocky anyway… and both of our slurpees… and I stepped on the chips when I jumped on the bench so I ruined that too. Plus I nearly got you killed.” He shrugs. “Retribution.”

My chest shrivels in on itself. “I didn’t care that much. Those were your favourite.”

“And the pocky was yours. Besides, we still have marshmallows.”

Pointing, I say, “I dropped them back there.” 

“Oh.”

‘Oh’ indeed. I put my hands flat on the table behind me — despite how grimy — and lean back. 

“We’re never gonna finish all these, y’know. ” Guess he was right. 

One sigh turns into another, and soon I’m giggling like a schoolgirl. The rain falls all over my face, my neck, and runs down my shirt, like tiny tickling fingers. This is ridiculous. Here are two stupid dumb teenagers, at three in the morning in the rain, sitting on a bench surrounded by crushed wrappers and gummies and pocky crumbs. How does one even end up in this situation? They must be so young and in love. They must have no worries at all. Just two stupid dumb teenagers and nothing more. 

Humans can only know each other so much. Words can only do so much. Actions, too. 

Maybe, somewhere far away, far into the future or perhaps the past, someone will truly understand the sort of predicament I’m in. 

But it’s a little selfish of me to be comforted by that thought when I don’t even try to make others understand. 

“What’s so funny?”

I let my eyes roll shut. It’s a mistake to spend money on me, Jean. Just run away now before I absorb you like an amoeba. “Nothing. Nothing is funny.” Well, I don’t have to worry about that, since we’re leaving each other anyway! 

It doesn’t matter. What makes you think you can sustain a healthy relationship when you obviously have your own issues? What makes you think you deserve him? You suck away at his happiness like a vampire. You make it so hard for people to be happy. You’re horrid. 

The rain becomes vulgar and suddenly I hate the way it touches every inch of me. 

“Hey.” Jean’s voice is soft, tentative. “Are you okay?”

The wood turns to slime under my palms. “Yeah. I’m just tired.” Maybe we should head home soon, I almost add, but I can’t. “Hey, Jean.” To my dismay, I open my eyes, and the world blinks back at me. Like it’s pissed at me for ever imagining it could disappear. But when I look at him it makes everything a little bit better. 

== cry

Piece of shit. 

A deep booming emanates from the ground like a great burrowing beast about to snap out but it’s just distant thunder. 

“Yeah?” He’s in the same position I’m in, leaned back, eyes shut to the elements. Hair still glued to his forehead but slowly pushing back. Trembling ever so slightly with the shivers. Idiot boy. 

Ever so slowly as to not disturb him or the picnic table, I stand, put my foot down on the other side of him, and come back down, weight fully balanced on his hip, effectively straddling him. He flinches at initial contact but otherwise doesn’t move as I wrap my arms around his chest 

and cling to him

   like a parasite. 

      Please just hold me. 

Another wave of trembles strikes Jean as he lowers himself so he lies flat against the wood and I lay flat on him. His arms wrap around me a moment later. 

I don’t want to think. Jean pulls me a little tighter against that waterlogged hoodie but I don’t mind. My balled hands are getting crushed under our weight and they’re probably hell on his back so I flatten them as much as possible and grasp him. Just us.

Just us, just us, just us…

Jean speaks first, breaking the vow of silence. “You know—” his voice cracks— “we only have three weeks left.” 

That’s it. That’s all it takes for the pit in my stomach to open up so quickly I’m surprised Jean doesn’t get stabbed with it. For the dread to boil over and suddenly take control of my entire body, render me prone, double my mass. “Don’t.” That word was too weak even for me. 

“I’m really… I’m really going to miss you.” The arms tighten and force some air out of me but this time the contact does nothing to help smooth me out.

Stop talking. 

He keeps going. “I can’t ignore it for much longer.”

“Stop.” 

“I try to and I can’t. I’m…” Jean’s chest jerks beneath me as his breaths turn shuddering. The floodgates. “I’m just scared.”’

My throat hurts so much it’s like it’s going to collapse in on itself and my eyes burn and it’s hard to breathe—

“You’ve been the best thing to ever happen to me. And now I have to leave you.”

“Stop,” I rasp, but apparently not loud enough. 

“When we— when we part ways—”

“Don’t.”

“—I hope you find someone who’s better. Someone who doesn’t get emotional over dumb shit, someone who can treat you right, someone with an actual future—”

I smack his chest with it. My hand. Not hard at all. But enough to get him to stop . 

“Jean…” I rise back into a somewhat sitting position. His chin is wrinkled and he’s biting his lip so hard and we lock eyes for a shattering second before he turns his head. Red eyes in a sea of sadness. 

What… do I say now?

“You do have a future.”

He scoffs and the smirk is like razors to the eye. “Because I’m going to make it so far with an art degree.”

“Jean, you’re doing what you want to do. Who cares if you don’t end up getting a ‘traditional’ job? You’re gonna be happy with your life.” Which is a lot more than I can say for myself. 

Jean brings his gaze down to look at the table. “Yeah, you’re right.” His hands slide from my back to the outsides of my thighs. “It’s going to be different without you, though.” 

Deep breath doesn’t do anything. “It’s going to be different without you, too.”

He gives my legs a chaste squeeze, perhaps of comfort. Breathily, he asks, “what now?”

“We enjoy the time left together.”

“And after?”

“We don’t think about after.”

“We have to think about after.”

“Jean…” 

He thinks for a few seconds. “We could try long distance.”

“Jean.”

“I mean, sometimes it works, sometimes. As long as we keep communicating, it should be fine. Right? Yeah. Yeah…” Somewhere, a lone mourning dove calls, its familiar swooping cry piercing the dark. “Say something.”

“I don’t…” know. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“What if it does?” He shifts up on his elbows. “What is there to lose?”

The idea comes immediately to mind but it’s harder to put into words. Late-night research on advice boards and internet forums only proved that everything that can go bad does go bad, and imagining Jean or even me in any of those scenarios renders me feeble. It could work, but it could also fail spectacularly. I don’t want to lose him in one of those ways. 

But, at the same time, I’d rather not lose him at all. 

Jean waits, expectation heavy in his upturned eyes. Who am I kidding. Of course I’d take that risk. “Yeah. You’re right.” I bite the inside of my lip and worry it between my teeth. “It could work.” Because that’s what everyone says before it all goes south. 

Worst case scenario, he walks off with another person to love. At least he’ll be happy. He’ll have a real person to look at. Maybe someone less miserable and self-pitying and broody. Someone better-looking, for sure. Someone who he can rely on, instead of a brick wall who can’t express its feelings. Yeah, that would be nice. They’d meet in college through a shared passion for art and make it through the hardships of life together in a crappy little one-bedroom studio apartment that’s lit by yellowed fluorescents overlooking some shady alleyway that he’s definitely saved them from. Walls covered in portraits of each other, blurry polaroids, their favourite albums, photos of graffitied underpasses and empty parking lots that would be so meaningless to anyone else. Windows open in the summer to let in the breeze because on extra humid days it smells like wood. Windows open in the winter because the colder the air, the more burning hot their skin feels against the other as their limbs tangle under the warm pile of blankets on the couch as they watch their show together, even though they’ve seen it enough times to quote every line. Communicating, at every opportunity, how much they mean to each other and their concerns and their plans, quick chats as they pass each other on the way to class, hours-long nighttime discussions that never seem to end. Words strung together so intricately that neither of them gets up out of bed the morning the same as they were last night. 

“What are you thinking about?”

I’m still staring into his eyes. “Just— the future.”

His jaw starts grinding again. “You really hate talking about yourself, don’t you?”

“It’s not—” I start to say before Jean suddenly sits up at a right angle, bracing a hand behind my back so I don’t fall backwards. His eyes fixed on me the whole time. 

“It’s not what?” There’s a furrow in his brow. “Not important?” 

Suddenly, I realize my hands are on his chest.

“Listen, I know you have… trouble with speaking up sometimes, and the last thing I want to do is force you to do anything you don’t want to do. But—” his hands tighten around my thighs— “sometimes I can’t read your mind, and I can’t help you; all I know is that you’re struggling all by yourself and I’m sitting there useless. Listen—” his breath gives out, and he tries again: “listen. I’m not— I want to help you. Especially now. So if you have anything to say, please, please say it.”

At some point the rain had slowed to a drizzle. 

Do something. Say something meaningful. For once in your life, please, just open your stupid fucking mouth and say something. 

I’m scared too I’m really scared of the future and I want us to run away together and live in the weeds and the one-bedroom apartments I want to stand outside with you in the alleyway I want to have a picnic with you in the underpass I want you to steal my slurpee I want to make you laugh I want to make you happy I want to give you this teddy bear let’s take pictures of each other I’ll teach you how to make a flower braid I want to forget the whole world and all the human animals it can be just us I’ll come out of my dark corner and drag you back in we can be together and never come out just be with me and I’ll be happy wherever

“I’m not really thinking of much.”

“Why don’t you look me in the eye and say that?”

Layers of cells and pigment. Jean’s eyes and my own. My lips part but it’s as if my throat’s turned into a deep, dry well. Something. Something… “When— if —” I inhale— “if we don’t make it, find someone who can treat you right.”

He blinks. “That’s what you’re thinking about?”

“The times I spent with you have been the most precious parts of my life. So if you decide to spend your time with someone else, that’s fine. You’ve given me enough happiness to last a lifetime, you know?”

“What the hell are you spouting,” he grunts. “That’s never gonna fucking happen. Don’t you— are you listening? I’m never doing that.” Now his hands are on my arms. “Don’t you realize how much you mean to me?”

“I don’t think you know a whole lot about me.” Stohess University, his sweater says in big embroidered letters. “Sorry. Don’t worry about it.” Fuck, I sound edgy. Please don’t pursue the subject. 

“No, I will worry about it. Hey, look at me.” He pulls my chin up. “I’m allowed to worry about you too, you know? Do you really think by not saying anything I’ll just go on about my day like it’s nothing? Fuck. I care about you. Why can’t you realize that?” Jean’s eyes glisten dangerously. “You— you do care about me, right?”

That’s it. I grind my teeth so hard they might shatter as the hole in my gut deepens. “Of course I do.” You don’t know how much you mean to me and the fact that I made you this upset makes me want to condense into a dark point and disappear forever. How could I be so stupid? 

“Then let me care about you too.”

Treating him like a little kid without any emotions. Shunning him to the point he feels… uncared for. Discarded. My doing. 

Are you ever going to tell him that you love him?

No you’re stupid you’re a hormonal teenager who’s emotional about growing up stop being such a baby and think about your future that’s what matters that’s all that will ever matter get a job that will make mommy and daddy proud 

   I don’t want to see you with that boy again 

      big kids don’t cry

“Darling?”

A rough warm thumb swipes the skin under my eye and takes away the hot tears that make everything so blurry. Piercing throat pain. “I can’t see you, Jean.”

“You’re crying.”

== everything

“No… I’m not.”

But even as I say it a warm drop runs down my cheek and not a moment later it’s wiped away and he plants a most delicate kiss in its place. There’s something wrong with my breath because I can’t seem to inhale smoothly. 

“Just let it out, my love.”

“I can’t— I can’t see you.” The words come out half-mumbled and airy. 

“Shhh.” He envelops me in his grasp, arms wrapped carefully around me, chest to chest, chin to shoulder, and I find myself clinging on like a parasite. “I’m right here. I’m not leaving you. I’m right here for you. Right here.”

“Jean—” I gulp. “I—” 

“Shhh.” And his chest vibrates as he hums and rocks and I don’t think I’ve been held like this in a very long time. 

His body so warm beneath me, his arms so secure. Nothing to hear and nothing to see. 

I haven’t felt like this in a very long time. 

Breath after jerky breath

   is it finally my turn?

      is it okay like this?

         it’s okay, right?

            it’s safe. 

Jean doesn’t stop. When I twitch or gasp or burrow into him he doesn’t stop, he mutters and sways and holds me as I sob and dirty his shoulder and I don’t think he’ll ever let go. I don’t want him to. 

At some point in the morning, when the park is alive with the sounds of birds, the convulsions stop, and so does Jean, pulling me off and scanning my face.

“Don’t.”

He ignores me, though, and wipes everything revolting off my face with his sleeve. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” 

“I got emotional.”

“I know.” Without an ounce of hesitation, he presses his lips against my forehead and holds it there. “Thank you.”

I take a deep breath and it somehow seems easier than before. “Three weeks.”

“Three weeks.” Jean returns to eye level. 

“Do you ever get that feeling of missing something that isn’t gone yet?”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say that you miss me.”

“Do you miss me?”

He pushes some hair off my face. “With every fiber of my being.”

Slowly, I do the same — pulling his bangs so that they split on the left side of his face, sweeping them to the side. Jean shuts his eyes as I work and tilts his head forward but I don’t know if he’s conscious of it or not. Meticulously placing every damp lock. He doesn’t open his eyes again until I’m finished. 

The time will pass, dates will tick by like seconds. And when it’s finally time, the inevitable will happen. 

Goodbyes hurt the most when the story isn’t finished. 

Maybe, in another life, it goes on for a little longer. 

A story with just us. 

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

one fun fact is that i have never stepped foot into a 7-11 before. i just based it off circle k. makes me wonder why i chose 7-11 in the first place. (if you happen to be one of the four pocket hamsters in a single trench coat that read my zombie au fic, the reference here isn't a spoiler. or is it??? haha just kidding. maybe.) thanks for reading my dumpter fire! to be honest i was a little embarrassed posting it but whatever its ao3tumblr. i hope every single one of you experiences a clear night sky and/or strawberry pocky in the forseeable future. take care :) secret tumblr-excluive a/n: am i doing it right? does my post like nice and pretty? did i spend an hour formatting the cover? no i didn't!!

[beautyofsorrow]

fic author q&a

tagged by @onmytallesttiptoesspinning :)

why do you write fanfic?

my brain is a kinder space to live inside when i write, and fic is the quickest way to get words down on the page these days. also, thinking about the characters is not enough. i need to put them in enclosures and study them. i need to take notes. i need to read those notes obsessively. i need to scatter my toys all over the carpet and invite my friends to admire and compliment them and play.

which of your posted stories do you think of the most even though the story is "finished"?

...........this one. it's definitely this one.

if you could give yourself fic advice from when you first started writing fic, what would that advice be?

stop quoting bible verses. let the characters curse. don't freak out when a b7 shipper shows up in the comments section of your friendship fic, you're not going to get sent to hell for being interpreted as writing gay fanfiction. in fact, give it another ten years and you WILL be writing gay fanfiction. on purpose. with your whole chest. please put the jadzia and worf action figures down and back away slowly, you're just gay for dax, you do not really ship them.

what's your relationship to fic stats?

unfriended, blocked, reported. i have workskins installed so i can only see my total word count. on individual works i can see word count, chapter count, and whether the fic is in a collection or not but that is IT. my life has gotten immeasurably better since i did this

is there a pairing or scenario or friendship that you miss writing? if so, why? if not, why not?

raffi & rios. my god i miss raffi & rios. every day i yearn for the day i can take that box off the highest shelf of the closet and open it back up

what motivates you to write?

brainworms. literally the characters are in my head and i need to get them out. if they stay there too long shit starts getting rancid. i also really enjoy participating in gift exchanges because it gives me a deadline, structure, and a community that is focused on writing rather than a specific fandom. we are all cheering each other on in our various anonymous projects and it's so great!

why do you write for the fandom(s) you write for?

mostly it's because a character or characters have crawled inside my brain. sometimes they're there for a month or a season, other times i come back to them multiple times over a span of many years (star trek is the main example here). since entering the exchange scene i have occasionally picked up one-off fandoms if a pinch hit needed filling or if i needed to make myself matchable in order to participate. i've created some of my favorite fics that way and written far outside my comfort zone. it's great :)

if you're stuck writing a WIP, what do you do?

take a break. take a break take a break take a break. let the story breathe. let myself breathe. come at it from a different angle. read poetry. steal the poem's bones. use them as a scaffold. if all else fails tuck the work into the abandoned folder so i can't see it anymore but do not under any circumstance delete. it's not a failed story. it's just not the right time yet. no work is wasted work. it all breaks down into compost. every tributary feeds a lake.

what do you wish people knew about comments?

whenever i post a fic, there is an absolutely agonizing period of time between posting and first comments when i am very seriously considering deleting my entire internet presence and disappearing into the mountains. this is a me thing. i understand that. i've come up with various coping strategies through the years with mild success, but no matter how much i believe in the work or how much coaching i provide for my brain, there is always that voice in the back of my head that wonders what if it's actually bad. what if it's really really bad. what if they're pointing and laughing and making fun of me. comments shut that voice up. comments provide tangible, outside-of-my-brain proof that the words i wrote made a positive difference in someone else's day, and sometimes they make a difference in ways i never expected. you do not have to tell an author that you like their fics, but when you do, you are never ever bothering them. they're not thinking you're a weirdo or a creep. they're actually probably grinning in relief. they're backing away from the delete button. they're unpacking their suitcase. they're breathing more easily and re-opening the word doc and showing up at the sandbox of creativity to play another day.

maybe there's a question you wish had been on here. what's that question (and answer)? -> what are some fanworks that have inspired you or fed your own creativity?

Candy and Chlorine by scioscribe is so sharp and smart and sexy. 100% biggest inspiration for my jennifer's body fic An Unofficial Anthology of the Online Fandom for the Yellowjackets Tragedy by banerries is so CREATIVE and so FUNNY. it reminds me that at the end of the day fic is supposed to be about play i recommend this barbie/dracula fic to a different friend at least once a month. stunning character study, so unusual, i love love love crack treated seriously a little lower than the angels by mylittleredgirl got me to see the vision of b'elanna/kes for one lovely lovely sitting. i am forever grateful to rarepair writers. they encourage me to think deep, write hard, and trust the process of creativity @stardustcityhag's art is stunning. i am always on some level trying to channel the feeling of it when i'm writing @zannolin's fics consistently feed my desire for delicious-ambiguous-something-amphibious not-shipfic-but-not-not-shipfic. i've written some of my best and most favorite fics after reading their work. their national treasure polycule fic pops into my brain at least once a month. i adore it @73chn1c0l0rr3v3l's smut is some of my favorite smut in the whole world. so sensuous, so vivid, so lush and vivid and aching. i am always at all times meditating on this una/la'an bathhouse thunderstorm fic they wrote me. also, this una/nhan breathplay fic. and this satanic panic fic. and this la'an + insomnia one. i could go on

tagging @zannolin and @ceruleanphoenix7

[koco-coko]

Silent Night, Holy Night - Jean x Vincent, Ikemen Vampire Fic

-> Jean and Vincent spend their first Christmas together, starting with Midnight Mass.

Tags/Warnings: Romantic Fluff, Religious (Catholic) Discussions and Themes, Christmas Fic, Mistletoe Kisses

Word Count: 1,523

A/N <--> I wrote this in the span of 3 hours and in a car. These two have taken over my brain please help

I think they might like this: @natimiles @weirdwriter69 @azulashengrottospiano (if anyone wants to be added/taken off the list let me know)

Midnight Mass had ended a few hours ago. A few others stayed behind with Jean, but at this time of night, Jean was the only one left. Maybe a priest or two wandered by, a nun tended to the dusty floor for a few minutes, then all was silent. A priest with electric green eyes stared at him for a while, but retreated into the cathedral halls after enough examination with a deep chuckle.

Jean could stare at the crucifix for hours on end, only interrupted by the need to fiddle with the rosary in his hands. He’d already been through it three times, but a fourth never hurt. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…

The heavy wooden doors creaked open once more, shutting softly seconds later. Jean ignored it, beading through the rosary at a breakneck pace. Then the light and careful steps reached him and there was a soft thump from the old pew when another sat down next to him.

Jean turned to his head, only to find Vincent with him. He smiled softly, though by his tense position, he was a bit nervous about being in such a holy place. Especially considering their relationship. 

Jean often wondered the same thing, but he had to repent somehow. Avoiding judgment only showed true guilt, and Jean already had enough of that on his shoulders. He looked Vincent over a few times before he leaned back onto the seat. “Is everything all right?” Jean whispered, glancing back to make sure all were gone. In such a large and empty hall, even murmurs echoed.

“You said you’d be back an hour ago,” Vincent said, scooting a bit closer, “So I came to check on you. Are you alright, sunshine?”

Sunshine? Jean’s heart went aflutter. That name sounded like a hymn for the angels, too pure to be fit for him. “I suppose,” Jean uttered slowly. 

It was a strange time for Jean. A time to celebrate the Lord, to enjoy the spoils of life and give to the poor… In the past, Jean would stay in his room most of the time, but he’d make donations to the Church with profits made from his shop. Everything else seemed frivolous to him, and the happiness floating about the air missed him completely. He was unworthy of such joy and peace. 

Vincent’s eyes thinned and his smile was pained. “You know, I was a pastor once.”

Jean almost chuckled. It was hard to tell, but Vincent had grown accustomed to the signs. “Truly?” he asked.

Vincent hummed, delighted to tell his story. “Yeah. I was a Christian, and when I was twenty-five I tried to be a preacher for a while,” he said, only to glance away nervously, “I gave up on that pretty quickly. I didn’t even show up to any Bible studies, and I got dismissed soon after.”

“Why’s that?” Jean asked calmly. After being revived, he learned to not be so critical of others and their religious choices. He wasn’t one to judge– love thy neighbor, after all. 

“Not sure. I guess I just didn’t feel a connection anymore, and it wouldn’t be right to preach what I don’t believe,” Vincent explained, resting his arms and head on the pew in front of him. “I liked painting better.”

Jean hummed in response and silence fell over them. God had strange ways of guiding his children on the right path. Often cruel, coldhearted, but ultimately for the better. Of course, now Jean had no path to follow, except the one paved by himself and his sins. There was a deep horror in being separated from the great beyond, separated with all normal functions of life…

But with Vincent here, things felt slightly normal. In the stability and mundanity came comfort. In Vincent came the yearning for more light in his life, without any guilt.

“Merry Christmas,” Vincent whispered sleepily. He grinned drowsily. “Yay.”

“Yay?” Jean asked, his eyebrow raised.

“I got to be the first person to say it to you. I’ve been wanting to do that all year,” Vincent said, digging his head into a more comfortable spot in his arms.

Jean didn’t even realize the faint pink blush growing on his cheek, let alone the soft curve of his lips. How light his chest felt when he saw the innocent wants of his lover. His impulses won over him and in a swift motion, he laid his cape over Vincent’s shoulders. He heard the painter sigh happily, his eyes beginning to close as colored light streamed from the stained glass windows.

“Merry Christmas,” Jean replied, before placing a delicate kiss on his temples. He didn’t mind if he had to carry his lover home. It was dark enough that nobody would see the two, and he was strong enough to make it back to the mansion in one piece. The real question was whether a piggyback ride would be more comfortable than bridal style for the sleepy painter.

Suddenly, Vincent groaned. Jean’s face instantly twisted in concern. He placed his hand on Vincent's back lightly. “Did I do something wrong?”

The sleepy painter grumbled in Dutch, before opening tired eyes. A frown on Vincent’s face made Jean’s heart implode on itself. It wasn’t right! Before Jean could speak, Vincent spoke in a language Jean could understand. Mostly. How late was it? How long did Jean force his boyfriend to stay up? Guilt ate Jean while Grogginess consumed Vincent.

“Ik was bijna vergeten…” Vincent started, moving to sit up, only to fail. Instead, his hand raised above Jean’s head.

He only had to catch a glimpse of green and red to know what it was. He’d seen it all around town, but he never knew what it meant. All he knew was that Arthur often carried it with him to the pub during the holidays. “When two people are under a mistletoe, it’s tradition to kiss each other. I was gonna wait until we got home, but I don’t–” Vincent yawned again, “Ik weet niet of ik zo lang op kan blijven…”

The words and accent were lost on Jean, despite how adorable it was to hear his language of origin. He didn’t need to know the words, though. He knew all he needed to. Vincent and himself were under a mistletoe, and tradition was a time honored thing. The stained glass portrait of the Virgin Mary would understand.

Before Vincent could make another move, Jean took it upon himself, as any knight (in shining armor, at least to Vincent) would do. Jean’s hand wrapped around the back of his head, his other tilting the painter’s chin up just slightly and pushed their lips into each other.

Vincent had to push down a grin. Oh, Jean… He was the true angel here. Even now he was making sure Vincent didn’t have to lift a finger, despite the fact he was holding a mistletoe above their heads. His other arm moved on its own, slowly and gently removing Jean’s eyepatch. The soldier shivered when the cold air hit the other half of his face, but no discomfort came from the fact it was revealed. It was Vincent, after all. He found beauty in everything, and it was starting to rub off on Jean.

It was a short kiss, but Vincent could taste the restrained passion on Jean’s lips. He was always shy about receiving affection, but couldn’t help but pour his passionate soul into each and every display of love he gave. Vincent’s heart swelled at the thought.

“I guess, I’ll say it again,” Vincent said, his face flushed, “Merry Christmas.”

Jean giggled softly, barely audible even to Vincent, whose nose was currently touching his. “And to you as well, mon ange. May I ask you a question?”

Vincent put his head back in his crossed arms, though after such a loving kiss, he was much more awake. “Of course, sunshine.”

“Where did you get this?” Jean asked, holding Vincent’s wrist and bringing the painter’s hand into both of their sights. The red and green plant was intertwined within his fingers.

“You’ll laugh when I tell you,” Vincent chuckled. “When I said I was waiting for you to come home, Arthur took it out of his pocket and gave it to me. He said something like: ‘Make sure you give’em a real Christmas miracle…’ or something like that.”

Jean blinked for a moment. Of course it was Arthur, but… Arthur of all people? Never in a million years did he think Arthur would want any hand in Vincent’s romantic affairs. 

Well, now that he said that, Arthur absolutely would.

“He gave me a wink, too. I think he was trying to be dirty or something.”

Ah, there it was. Jean sighed.

Vincent then chuckled at Jean’s obvious dismay at Arthur’s actions. “He had good intentions,” he said, a slight pause in-between his words. A yawn came to him once again. Jean watched his lover’s sleepiness with loving eyes. Vincent could only reciprocate for a moment, before sleep came to embrace him. “... But I think I like this ending more.”

[donnerpartyofone]

ACK I almost stepped on Jesus on my way home from church! Good thing I missed! Actually if I were writing a movie about persecuted Christians where someone tries to make them trample the cross and stuff, I'd have them say "Sure man, I'll trample the cross, I'll shit on the Bible. You think my God is trapped in there? That I step on him like a bug and he dies? Let's try it and find out!" as per the great thing they discuss in STIGMATA. STIGMATA is the one where Patricia Arquette stars as a sexy raver chick who gets possessed and then sexy priest Gabriel Byrne has to solve a religious mystery with her that changes the world. It's the best movie and you should definitely watch it.

LOVE the tag line on poster #2. Anyway one of the priests who is a main reason I've been going to this great church for a year gave a homily this morning about a piece of scripture I'd heard before, but not in this way. Jesus encounters a cripple at a healing spring in Bethesda and asks him, "Do you want to be made well?", and instead of saying "OH MY GOD YES OF COURSE MAKE ME WELL IMMEDIATELY," the guy starts complaining evasively about how he can never get into the water because everyone else is faster than him. Jesus heals the guy anyway and says "Pick up your mat and walk," and then the guy instantly gets in trouble with the authorities for carrying his mat around on the sabbath, and by extension Jesus is in trouble for working on the sabbath. The Bible usually sounds pretty antique to put it mildly, and therefore kind of alien and artificial, but when I heard that story today suddenly it was like "Oh shit, people really act like this right now. All the time." Somebody asks you what you want and you don't know how to say "I WANT THIS EXACT THING AND I'M READY TO GET IT," you might not even know precisely what you want, or you're just so used to making excuses and being passive aggressive and protecting yourself from disappointment and trying not to be inappropriate that you have no ability to be direct or speak from a place of self-knowledge. And then on the part of the Pharisees, they're so concerned with the litigation of their religion that they can't even see the miraculous evidence of God appearing right before their eyes, they're too blinded by their obsession with technicalities and the pre-fabricated template for divinity to notice that what they would ultimately want is happening now. It doesn't appear in the way they expect it to, so they don't even see it. Modern people are exactly like this. You encounter all these behaviors on a daily basis if you interact with other people at all.

I love this priest and at least one other guy who is really surprising and inspired, enough that I've been going there for a year of my life. But I sometimes feel like I'm leading them on. I love gay people and abortions too much to formally convert, among other reasons. But I also realize that religion is about emotion. You're supposed to love God more even than you concern yourself with his factuality. For me religion is a bit too much of an intellectual exercise. I'm curious about the mechanics of belief, how it rewards people, what kinds of changes it manifests, what it is as a psychological phenomenon. And more abstractly I'm interested in how people seek encounters with the numinous, how they explore deeper meaning through the lens of symbol and allegory. I'm interested in the collective unconscious. Almost my whole life is more of an intellectual exercise than an emotional one, maybe I'm fundamentally not wired to be a religious person. But I do love this church and I love the people in it, and I think it's a net positive for us to get to know a kind of person/people who you don't normally encounter, and get the chance to be kind and curious toward them. Everyone is always welcoming to me even if it seems like they wouldn't like me personally and I find that moving, I embrace the chance to return the favor. I embrace them even though I know they will never watch STIGMATA with me.

[rileyslibrary]

I got you, don’t worry. I cropped everything out and covered the character’s name and other details in case anyone pins it back to you. I wanted to reply publicly since this might help someone in the same position as you. Also, please know that I deleted the ask so there’s no trace of you in my ask box, in case you feel uncomfortable. I hope you see this.

FYI, I’m returning after I wrote this just to let you know that this is probably one of the longest replies I’ve given. I think refraining from writing is making me compose chapter-length responses. Also, I had a beer while writing this, so please accept my sincere apologies if it’s too “chattery.”

You’re not asking for my assistance, although your message feels like a desperate plea for help. I think I can do that for you. You don’t want to? Too bad.

So, let's start with the writing part and then move on to the hate (eek!)

If you read/watched/studied the material and generally did your homework, as you say, then maybe you can go back to studying and see if you missed something. I, personally, won’t critique your work since I’m nothing but an apprentice myself. I won’t act as a know-it-all.

Something I personally like to do as I write, though, is to keep the campaign or cutscenes from Ghost playing in the background. Or, I try to be conscious, and ask myself questions like “Why am I making him do that thing? Is it something he would naturally do, based on what I studied? Or is it something I would do, and I’m projecting it on him instead? Am I making him do/say that just to progress the story, and I’m not thinking clearly?”

Also, don’t study only what the characters say. Observe their facial expressions. Their posture. Even if they are somewhere in the background, just standing. And, he doesn’t have to be perfect, mind you. I mean, what are you gonna do? Plagiarise the freaking canon?! No; Close enough is good enough.

I already replied to a request regarding writing, by the way. You can find it under the writing tag in this blog.

Now, if we’re talking about anons/readers who act as self-proclaimed undisputed authorities with biases and strong opinions, I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do here. I mean it’s not the game developers who creep into your inbox/comments. Or the character himself.

It’s just… a hater. *dun, dun, duuuuun*

Like, it’s one thing not to like a person’s writing/story/content and another to criticise and spew hate while forcing your own personal opinions as if they are the bible.

The first one is normal, reasonable and reversible, believe it or not since you can move on and forget that that fic ever existed.

The second is *shivers* tacky.

Listen, though: if you have already made up your mind (stopping writing altogether), I 100% support you. You shouldn’t feel pressured to do so just because there’s a new game coming up. (I think that’s what you meant?)

But if you want to start writing again and decide to revisit the source material and apply the things suggested above, it’d be better to reform your relationship with this kind of feedback because me telling you that these people don’t matter won’t do you any good. It’s not a reasonable explanation. Sometimes, we want other people’s feedback; that’s why we share what we do.

The reality is that there are people out there who are deeply troubled. They have issues with their families, their jobs, themselves, and god knows what else. They are in pain, and they don’t know how (or don’t have the means) to help themselves. Sometimes, this pain is beyond them, so instead of doing something to solve their problems actively, they displace it onto others.

Seriously, babe, it’s a thing. Here, look:

Displacement is a defence mechanism that involves an individual transferring negative feelings from one person or thing to another.

Example: “My father screams at me, but i can’t scream back at him because he is an ‘authority’. I’m in pain, so, as a result, I choose to scream at this less-threatening person who happens to be a stranger online.”

Mind you, this is beyond their comprehension, NOT because they are stupid, but because they never learned that this is an unhealthy way to cope.

So next time this happens, don’t get angry or upset. Empathise with them.

Hurt people, hurt people.

And if all else fails, just do what I do and block them; that’s what I do 🤷🏻‍♀️. Just don’t attack back and don’t reply; let it end there.

[mooodyblue]

trying to get to you | 50s!elvis x fem!reader

part one | part two

summary: you were supposed to hate elvis presley, but what happens when you get swept up at one of his concerts and you find yourself having feelings no girl like you should ever be having? originally requested by @thesandmanarchive

WC: 3.7k

warnings: NSFW, MINORS DNI, virgin!reader, mentions of god and church, angst, overprotective parents, slight daddy kink, smut smut smut once again. sorry if i missed any tags!

notes: sorry this took awhile to get out, i got hit with writers block and have been in a slump all week so this one's kinda a mess. slowly getting motivated to write again. as always, may contain mistakes and inaccuracies! i always enjoy reading comments regarding my work so i hope y'all enjoy! ty for the love <3

masterlist | send a request or say hi :)

»»————-　♡　————-««

elvis was glued to the phone. he took a shower, had lunch with his band and even spoke to his own mother on the phone. the difference between his family and yours was almost funny to him. gladys and vernon loved him to death and wanted the best for him, always calling and seeing if he needed anything. your parents were overbearing, overprotective and just wanted you to be their perfect child to show off. he didn't tell gladys about you, he wasn't sure how she'd approve of tearing someone like you of their innocence. there was a bible on the side table taunting him too.

he let out a sigh, throwing himself on his back onto the bed. he laid there for awhile and stared at the ceiling with only thoughts of you on his mind. then the phone rang, causing him to jump up and answer it with a frantic hello. he let out an annoyed sigh when he heard scotty's voice on the line. "this better be important." it wasn't, he was being invited out for drinks later which he declined. "sorry scotty, i-i just wanna be alone for awhile. i'm fine, just wanna catch up on some readin'. i'll talk to you later." he slammed down the phone and laid back down.

time went by so slowly that day. there was only so much to do in a motel toom, maybe declining drinks was a bad idea. it would have given him something to do. he watched a rerun of a show, read from his bible and practiced a few songs on his guitar. glancing at the clock then back out the window, he knew you weren't going to call. he accepted it. perhaps it was just a one time thing for the both of you. this was the sign he needed to move on. there was a church down the street that looked nice, maybe it was a good idea to take a trip and think things over with god.

but god had other plans for him.

pulling into the church, there weren't many cars around. he was happy to see it empty, meaning he wouldn't have to worry about being recognized while trying to have his personal time. he wandered in, looking around and admiring the glass windows and decor around the building before taking a seat at a random church pew in the middle. he sat there mumbling about you, praying that nothing bad would happen to you even if he never saw you again. in the midst of his prayer, the doors opened and the sound of someone being rushed in filled his ears.

"daddy, there's someone in here i can't just-"

"i don't care who's in here, you're going to sit there for an hour and think about the mess you've caused!"

she was shoved in the pew next to his on the opposite side, not making eye contact and only looking straight ahead. the man with her sat directly behind her, keeping an eye and making sure she wouldn't disobey him.

elvis recognized that voice, there was a hint of sadness in it. he slowly turned his head at you then quickly back forward after realizing it was you. he met eyes with the tall jesus state across the isle, "are you testin' me right now? is this a test? you're givin' me mixed signals here." he whispered. he didn't know what to do. there was no way for him to escape without you seeing him. he gave you a quick side eye, checking to see if you've noticed him yet. should he let out a cough? clear his throat? he couldn't just whisper your name, it'd be too obvious. he let out a small cough then looked through the corner of his eye to see if he got your attention. nothing. he coughed again, gently hitting his chest to make it look as if he had something caught in his throat. "good lord." he mumbled, trying to be more convincing. you finally glanced over at him and let out a small gasp, quickly turning your head back down to your lap to pretend you're still praying. elvis bowed his head down, slightly turning it to look at you. you turned yours the same way, giving him a small, sad smile.

"are you okay?" he mouthed, quickly glancing at your father then back at you.

you raised your head and turned your body towards your father. "daddy, can i go to the bathroom? i'll come right back." he furrowed his brows at you. "you be quick. i'm watchin' you." you nodded at him and got up quickly, shooting elvis a look before rushing off to the bathroom.

elvis waited a few minutes before standing up, doing the sign of the cross once more and leaving to go see you. he looked around for the bathroom, knocking softly once he found it. you opened the door and pulled him in quickly before locking it. "what the hell are you doin' here elvis?!"

he laughed softly, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "what do you think i'm doin'? the same reason you're here. askin' for forgiveness, right?"

you shot a glare at him. "don't even start with that. this is your fault."

"my fault?" he scoffed. "i asked you over and over again yet you chose to stay the night."

you wanted to argue with him, but he was right. this was your decision and no one else's. what has gotten into you? this wasn't like you at all. elvis was like a drug to you, he was addictive and you found yourself going back to him everytime and you would be lying if you said you weren't considering sneaking out with him again.

"i should have never let you take me home. i wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you, my daddy was right about you! y-you're nothin' but trouble!" you snapped. elvis gave you a blank stare, arms still crossed. "a-and now i'm a disappointment to my family and to god! i'm going to hell because of you! robbin' me of my innocence, what were you thinking?" you continued on your rant as elvis stood there, staring at you and not saying a word.

"are you done?" he asked.

"huh?"

"i said, are you done?" he repeated.

you furrowed your brows at him. "y'know what, i don't have time for this!" you made your way to the bathroom door only for elvis to rush towards it, slamming his hand against the door and preventing you from leaving. "if you don't let me leave, i'm gonna yell!" he blinked, staring you down. "dad-!" he clasped his other hand over your mouth, shushing you and gently pushing you back as he leaned against the door. "you are not going to tell me to come back here just to yell at me then not let me say my peace." you rolled your eyes and gestured for him to speak.

"you are the most stubborn girl i have ever met yet i've been nothin' but nice to you. maybe you do need to be punished every once in awhile!" this was a side of elvis you didn't know existed, you were in shock. the words that left his mouth sent a small tingle down your spine. he slowly walked towards you, your back hitting against the wall as he inched his face closer to yours. "if i'm so bad for you then why do we keep runnin' into eachother? why here? at a church?" he whispered. he used the tip of his finger to raise your chin, moving his eyes to yours and down at your lips before kissing you gently. you opened your mouth, allowing his tongue to explore inside. the two of you were interrupted by a loud knock at the door followed by the shout of your name, causing you to jump.

elvis grinned at you and placed one last kiss on your neck before whispering in your ear. "remember baby, gods always watchin'" he moved out of your way, watching you walk towards the door. "one last thing," he started. you reached for the handle and looked back at him once more. "be careful." you nodded at him before rushing out and muttering apologies to your father.

meanwhile, elvis waited until the coast was clear. he ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. the night he first saw you, it was supposed to be a simple 'hey how are you doing?', get your name and possibly buy you dinner. not...whatever this was. this was only day three and he couldn't stop thinking about you. he even wondered how far you'd be willing to go with him, did you even like him? perhaps you had a point, maybe he was a bad influence on you. but he wasn't going to give up on you just like that.

he cracked the bathroom door open, looking around for you and your father before making his way out of the building and on his way back to his motel. elvis didn't drink often but god, he needed a drink. badly. once he pulled up to the parking lot, he was greeted by scotty who threw him a small wave. elvis quickly got out and rushed over to him. "where y'all headin'?" he asked. scotty cocked an eyebrow at him, "off to get a few drinks, which you declined if i can remember." elvis laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "yeah uh....can i tag along?"

well, that was a mistake. elvis had one too many drinks. he had to be dragged back to his room and thrown back onto his bed, scotty asking him "you gonna be alright?" and him responding with a bunch of slurred, incoherent words. once scotty left, he laid there and wallowed in his own thoughts. he drank to forget about you for a few hours yet you were still on his mind. how beautiful you looked the night he took you home, the way you looked on top of him last night and how you looked at him earlier at church. he missed you badly, wishing you were there to take care of him. elvis was half-hard at this point, he didn't know if it was because he was thinking about you or if it was the warmth from the alcohol-maybe it was both. part of him felt silly for thinking about you in such ways. would he even see you again? who knows. he'll sleep off these feelings about you, play a show tomorrow and maybe find another girl to help him get over you.

he regetted those drinks the next day, barely making it through rehearsals and even dozing off during lunch. but he was going to put on a good show regardless. the announcer said his name, introducing him as he walked out to the crowd, guitar around him as he waved to everyone and flashed that beautiful lip curling smile he's so known for.

it was a beautiful crowd, everyone was enjoying the moment, no worries at all. it was interesting though, when you think about it, fans like him for his looks or his music but they didn't know a single thing going on in his personal life, they didn't know the moment he stepped off stage he'd go back to his room and stress over missing you and worrying if you're okay. and as if someone were reading his mind, he was looking out into the crowd, there you were, looking directly at him from the back, dressed as if you were hiding from someone. if he could, he'd jump off stage and run right towards you. hell, he wanted to sing the rest of the show in 2x speed just to make it go faster.

after a few more songs, it was finally over, saying a quick "thank you" to everyone in the audience and rushing off stage, tossing his guitar to someone and running to find you.

"y/n!" he shouted, running towards you. you took your sunglasses off, giggling at an out-of-breath elvis in front of you from running to you. "why are you here? thought i was nothin' but trouble to you. speaking of which, i thought you were supposed to be in trouble" he said, putting his hands on his hips.

you shrugged. "thought about what you said yesterday. maybe you had a point. i'm a fully grown adult anyway."

he raised an eyebrow at you. "is this a trap? why the sudden change?"

you looked around the venue, "can we talk? in private, maybe?" elvis nodded in response, taking your hand. "i'm sure i can sneak you backstage."

with elvis's growing stardom, the last thing he needed was for his manager to see him with a girl. 'the fans need to know that you're available' he once said. but he wouldn't admit that to you, at least not now anyway. you had your own problems to deal with and he didn't want to add on to your troubles. to his surprise, he did a pretty good job at hiding and sneaking you around.

he allowed you inside his dressing room, locking the door behind him and taking a seat on the couch. he spread his legs slightly and motioned for you to come sit. you took a seat in his lap, his hand immediately going to your back and keeping you secure on him. "what's goin' on, little one? talk to me."

"i think ive realized, when i'm with you, i don't feel the need to....i don't know...hold myself back?" he nodded, listening to you carefully. "when i'm at home, i have to live this strict life, i have to be perfect. i don't-i don't wanna do that anymore."

it may sound crazy, but all that time you spent locked inside a church or at home, it gave you time to think on your feelings. not just about elvis but about you. you were still true to your faith, still praying every night and seeking to your bible for guidance but the way your father has been towards you, it's not right. were you really doing anything wrong by messing around with elvis? would you actually go to hell for not having real sex with a boy that you technically weren't dating? there were still a lot of things you needed to figure out, but you'd be willing to figure it out with elvis.

"you wanna know what i think?" he moved his hand up and down your back. "you worry too much. god ain't gonna strike you down for sneaking around. shit, he may as well strike me down for the things i've done." he joked.

"and i don't wanna hear about the things you've done!"

elvis let out a laugh, "don't worry, i'll protect those innocent ears of yours." he took your hand in his, squeezing it softly. "but 'm serious baby, i ain't gonna let anything bad happen to you. i made that promise the second day we were together and i'm sticking with it. even if that means i gotta be face to face with your daddy."

"don't say that! i'm dreading the day you meet him, i just know it won't be pretty." you sighed. "how long till you leave me?"

he frowned, "leavin' tomorrow night."

you never thought you'd be saying this, but part of you didn't want elvis to leave. you didn't want to be stuck at home with your family again, you just wanted to be with elvis.

he noticed the sudden change in your mood, sneaking a hand up your dress to give your thigh a slight squeeze. "hey, you know i'll come back to see you. can't leave you behind."

you shivered at his touch, trying to shake the thoughts going through your head. "you promise?" his hand inched up more giving you the same butterflies as before, resisting the urge to close your thighs together. "mmhm." he hummed. "promise." he mumbled as he brought his lips to your neck, kissing you all over. you tilted your head to the side for elvis to get easier access.

"elvis?"

"mhm."

"c-can we...." you stuttered, not exactly knowing how to ask him to pleasure you. "what do you want baby?" he asked, taking one of his fingers and teasing you outside your panties. "c'mon, tell me what you want."

you took in a sharp inhale. "fingers, please." he smirked up at you. "only because you asked nicely." he moved your panties to the side, running a finger in between your slick folds. "fuck baby, need me that bad?" he shoved two fingers inside you, feeling you clench right around them. "so tight around my fingers, can't wait to get my cock in you one day." you moaned at his words, almost considering letting him fuck you that night, but you weren't quite ready for that yet, you weren't sure if you'd ever be ready. but the way he spoke to you in that manner, it made you want him even more.

he continued to move his fingers inside of you faster and faster, yours thighs tightening, panting heavily as you got closer to your orgasm. your hand went to his hair, tugging at it slightly as you threw your head back in pure bliss. "cum for me baby, cum for daddy." your toes curled as you let out a moan, juices soaking you and fingers. "that's my girl, so good. soaked right through your dress." he moved his fingers out of you and sucked on them, licking the juices right off.

you moved your hand from his hair and to his fully hard cock straining his pants, giving it a slight squeeze. "can i make you cum...." you rubbed your hand against his length, rubbing your thumb at the tip, grinning at the small wet spot forming through his pants. "...daddy?" he twitched under your hand, swallowing the lump in his throat. "oh fuck-yeah baby. c'mon." you hiked your dress up and placed yourself on his erection, probably making a mess of his pants, still in your soaked panties. you began rubbing yourself on him, back and forth, the friction of his pants and your wetness driving him crazy. it was driving you crazy too, feeling him against your clit and making you feel that fluttering sensation again. elvis noticed this, glancing up at you. "you gonna cum again? didn't know you had it in you." he smirked. "can i, daddy? please?" you said, riding him faster. "ah-god. yea, yea satin, with me. wait for me, baby." you nodded, more grunts leaving his lips as he felt himself throb under your panties, so soaked that you considered going home without them.

"goddamn!" he shouted, holding your hips still as he came, feeling him right under you, your second orgasm coming shortly after. you threw yourself next to him on the couch, breathing heavy and coming down from your highs. "you shouldn't say that, y'know" you panted.

he rolled his head to you, "say what?"

"that word, the g-d word."

"are you serious? after everything we just did, you're concerned about me saying goddamn?" he let out a breathy laugh.

you raised your head at him. "it's not a nice word!"

"fuck ain't a nice word either but you sure did like sayin' it a few minutes ago!" you rolled your eyes at him, laying your head back on the couch. "so i'm a sinner, sue me." he joked. you scoffed and looked over at the clock, sighing. "i have to get home."

elvis stood up, helping you up shortly after. you looked down at his pants, amused by the large wet spot on his pants. "you may wanna change." he looked down, eyes widened and rushing to change his pants. "thank god you pointed them out! that would have been embarrassin'"

he zipped up the new pair and held his hand out. you looked at him confused. "what?" he motioned his hand out, as if he was expecting something.

"i-i don't understand." he nodded his head down to your dress. "i want 'em."

"want what?"

"underwear. give 'em."

"you can't be serious!" you gasped. it was almost like he knew what you were thinking, and with no hesitation you took them off, handing them to him as he shoved them in his back pocket. "in case i don't see you tomorrow, want something to remember you by." he was dirty, but you loved it.

he opened the door, looking around and allowing you to exit first and sneaking you out before anyone could see you. the two of you walked outside, standing there for a minute till elvis broke the silence. "do you need a ride home?" he asked. "no, it's okay. i don't wanna risk it." you replied, sadly. he took your face in his hands, rubbing his thumb against your cheek before placing a soft kiss on your lips.

part of him wanted to say he loved you, but he didn't want to scare you off.

"y'know i care about you." he said softly. "if i don't see you tomorrow, i'll be here next week. i promise. i'll find you and get you outta that house, baby. remember that."

you blushed. "thank you elvis."

he pulled you in for a hug, embracing you with his arms around you. "don't thank me. you deserve to be appreciated, it's okay to not be perfect all the time." he pulled away, looking in your eyes. "but you're perfect to me. this is the best week i've had in a long time, bein' able to see you next week is what's gonna help me get through the rest of this tour."

your heart swelled at his words, almost making you tear up. "i'm proud of you y/n, you're doing good." he said, patting you on the shoulder. you took in a breath, holding back your tears. "thank you." you made a note to cry about it when you got home.

"get home safe, alright? i'll see you soon, honey." he kissed you once more before and you began to make your way home, elvis standing by and watching until he couldn't see you anymore.

[shellyseashell]

Hello! I saw you said in the tags of one of your posts for someone to ask you about Claudine Frollo (she's one of my favorite characters too) so, well...here I am? ;)

wow i’m so glad someone asked me about claudine, i say, having begged for someone to ask me about her.

so first i have to get something out of the way: jehan is on the isle. i don’t know what he does in the movie, since i’ve only seen the musical, but in the movie he *check notes* is kicked out of the church, has quasimodo, and dies. we miss you king. anyway, i’m fairly sure he was doing stuff auradon looks down on. so, on the isle he goes.

he knows what frollo did to quasimodo — his son, who he entrusted to him. so when he learns about claudine he thinks absolutely fucking not. He already ruined one kid, he won’t ruin another. so he approaches frollo, says that with his second chance at life, he’s realized the error in his ways, and wants to repent. it takes some convincing, but frollo eventually lets him back in.

so claudine grows up with her uncle. her uncle who believes in the exact opposite of the church, is very good at pretending, and teaches her basically everything that isn’t scripture.

jehan isn’t able to guard claudine completely, though. she’s still beaten, and starved, and harassed. but jehan gives her food when she’s sent to her tower without dinner, treats her wounds and gives her what pain meds he can, and tells her when her father is out so she can sneak out if she wants, and he teaches her stuff that counteract everything her father teaches her.

claudine grows up to be very rebellious, but she’s good at hiding it. her father is often gone for days at a time, preaching to the isle and probably murdering people. so she can get away with not memorizing one new bible verse a day, or let her clothes be slightly dirty, and she can eat food even if she made a mistake during the day. as long as her father never finds out.

she still believes she deserves her beatings, though. no matter how many times jehan brings her back from the edge of death, or how many new scars she gains, she believes she deserves them. not because she sinned — she doesn’t really believe in sinning anymore — but because she was caught misbehaving. and it’s getting caught she hates most. next time, she’ll do better.

she is not religious, because there are fairies in the isle, and her captain is a demigod, and a Greek god runs one of the only good restaurants on the island, and the queen of hearts may be having an affair with time himself. what are gods, really, when everyone on the isle is so close to power they can’t quite touch? there are only powerful people, and in her mind, none of them deserve that power.

thanks to jehan, her father’s hold on her is shaky at best. it snaps completely when she is 13.

she is 13 when her father beats her, and jehan was out, so she runs to find him. she leaves bloody footprints behind her, and she’s always had a bit of a limp after. she doesn’t find jehan. instead, she’s found half dead by the hooks, who take her to their mother (zarina, who does not live with hook) to heal her.

when she wakes up, she’s surrounded by pirates, and two of whom’s mother instincts kicked in and decided yeah, this is my child now.

claudine officially joins the lost revenge because she only spoke french at first, and gil volunteered to be a translator until someone got around to teaching her english (it ended up being gil, which goes about as well as you’d expect), but she is a hook. they all will protect her.

she’s resistant, at first, but relents eventually. she still goes home, to see jehan, but she mostly sneaks in now. frollo still catches her, either at home or around the isle, and she will be punished. the pirates have taken to sending someone with her when she leaves the ports.

harry is especially good at noticing when she’s been injured, because harriet hides her injuries the same way, and she has the same bad habit of running back to abusive homes. whenever he sees the slightest hint that she’s hurt, he has to force her to accept help because claudine, lass, you’re limping again, and the more you walk on an injured leg, the more likely it’ll have to be cut off, and you don’t want that, do you? he’s exaggerating, of course, but the idea of being deformed terrifies claudine, so she concedes.

her father made her wear her hair up and cover it, so when she joins the lost revenge, she starts to wear bandanas, and lets uma help her find hairstyles she actually likes (to this day, harry and uma are two of the only people she’ll let touch her).

when frollo is mad at her, she’ll be locked in her room without food. she’s beaten (burned and whipped, i’d say), and forced to beg for forgiveness. sometimes, frollo only issues one of these punishments. sometimes he issues them all.

she wears clothes that cover all her skin. partially because she will be called a whore if she doesn’t, and because of her scars. she doesn’t want her scars to be seen, even though everyone knows what frollo does to her. she does have a jacket that was her mother’s, and she’s nearly always wearing it. frollo has yet to destroy it.

speaking of her mother, claudine does not know who her mother is. she was abandoned as a child, left on frollo’s doorstep. all she knows is her father calls her a witch, and she bears some resemblance to the few romani people on the isle. it wasn’t hard to connect the dots from there.

she has a habit of assessing tone of voice when speaking to people, since it was one of the only ways she could evaluate how her father was feeling.

claudine is friends with freddie, which sounds odd, but hear me out: frollo tries to kill most the isle because they’re witches, right? one day, the person he captures is freddie facilier, who likes conning people and talking with the dead. claudine knows her death would start a war with dr. facilier, and freddie is her age, and claudine has been made to watch these executions before, but the idea of watching someone her own age killed is another thing, so she lets her go. frollo never found out it was her, but he beat her anyway.

they don’t talk again until claudine is adopted by the hooks, and cj decides it’s a good idea to introduce the two of them. claudine is still getting used to magic being normal, since so many members of the lost revenge and harriet’s crew have some sort of magic, even if it’s weakened under the barrier. but freddie remembers her, and her father, so she only steals some of her stuff.

i imagine their friendship being something like freddie asking if she can shrink people’s heads, and claudine saying as long as she’s not associated with it, she can shrink whoever’s head she wants. and if freddie is making a voodoo call of frollo? well, claudine sure didn’t see it.

also, she’s definitely gay, but the thought terrifies claudine so much she just ignores it.

anyway. that’s it. claudine is easily one of my favorite characters, and i’m so mad we don’t see her more. she really is a blank character, so i can do whatever i want with her. most of my headcanons come from the fandom’s consensus on her, and also just ideas i like.

[stickers-on-a-laptop]

tagged by @stingyslegslookweird @lunar-gl1tch and @denebsapphic thanks for the love y'all <3

favorite color: blueeeee

last song i listened to: listening to the legally blonde album currently, it's whipped into shape rn. (we saw this at a local theater and HOLY SHIT THE LADY SINGING THIS WAS SOOOOOOOOOO GOOD)

currently reading: rereading kids books lmao back into the retellings of fairytales phase for the billionth time

currently watching:

4 minutes, which, isn't quite my cup of tea for anything that isn't the main couple but unfortunately i really like the main guy (also it's really funny calling this my bible study while y'know steamy gay sex scenes are playing)

ayaka-chan wa hiroko-senpai ni koishiteru, which i'm having fun with. that being said MOVE ayaka let ME have miss hiroko

bakuage sentai boonboomger, where i need more shirabe

hidamari ga kikoeru, which MUST WE DO A MEAN GIRL PLOT. it's better than the movie but like it's 2024 we don't need the mean girl to break up the gay couple arc

mitsuya sensei no keikakutekina ezuke, where they uh appear to be testing more kinks on taisei. sorry for saying that.

sugar dog life, which i might drop, i dunno, but starninger IS very cute

takara no vidro, which i'm really enjoying but also this seems like a few too many episodes?? what are you going to pull

ultraman arc, what do you MEAN recap episode after the "monster isn't actually bad" episode

business kon: suki ni nattara rikonshimasu, which is pretty cute and also has inoue sora

kimi to yukite saku: shinsengumi seishunroku, which is consuming my brain oh my god go watch it i promise it won't break your heart or anything

real: renai satsujin sosahan, which had a trope i hate but like it's detective stuff so whatever

tonari no nurse aide, where i'm just waiting for that last episode of lovelica harrassing micchi fjsdiofjdsiaojisdfoi

currently craving: something not in the house. what, i dunno.

coffee or tea: if i'm out and about, probably coffee. at home, tea more

hobbies to try: man i dunno i need to get back to some of the ones i have stuff for before trying new things lmao

current AU: i have an actual outline of notes for a modern au kimiyuki because goddammit i need them to be OKAY

tag 9 people you want to get to know better/want to catch up with: @plushie-sentai @kirider @nugulover69 @cows-quack @shoceted @rosemirmir @doomednarrative @incandescentflower @zhengzi

[direwombat]

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton for this fine wip wednesday!

Tagging forward @adelaidedrubman, @poetikat, @confidentandgood, @strafethesesinners, @strangefable, @funkypoacher, @aceghosts, @detectivelokis, @sstewyhosseini, @roofgeese, @thomrainer , @purplehairsecretlair , and I know I'm missing people here bc I'm in a rush here but if I normally tag you and/or you have something you want to share, consider yourself tagged!

[Sybille] laughs bitterly. “Morality isn’t a luxury a soldier can afford, Pastor,” she says, picking at the peeling bits of leather on the old Bible. It’s different from the one she grew up with -- books she knew from the Old Testament moved and dubbed Apocryphal, fictitious and untrue -- but the weight and feel of it in her hands is achingly familiar. Its pages, packed with columns of tiny text, are thin and brittle, threatening to tear as she runs her thumb over the fore-edges, just as she remembers. The equally familiar stale smell of old ink and mothballs wafts up as the pages flap. 

She recalls a documentary she saw on the History Channel years ago. One detailing how one man’s grievances against the Catholic Church, her Church, led to a war that changed the face of politics and religion throughout the Western World. It was violent and bloody, and yet countless dead and hundreds of years later, the King James Bible feels just the same to her as the Roman Catholic one. 

Times haven’t changed, and part of her wonders whether the Book of Joseph would feel any different if she closed her eyes. 

“It’s just...,” she continues after a moment, “When you start thinkin’ about what’s right and wrong, you start askin’ questions. For most people, that ain’t a bad thing.  But for a soldier? It’s a distraction. We’re not meant to think. Other people do that for us. Our job is to fall in line and follow orders. You question your CO, you get written up for insubordination. The military ain’t the place for free thinkers. Because when a soldier starts thinkin’ about morality, then they ain’t a soldier, no more.”

“What are they, then?” Jerome asks. 

“Human,” she scoffs, but judging by the crease between the Pastor’s eyebrows, her attempt at a bemused smile doesn’t quite find its mark. Letting it drop, she sighs and shakes her head before looking at him once more. “Let me ask you this: why the shotgun? Why the little pistol hidden inside your Bible? What compels a man of God to carry such weaponry?”

He hesitates for a moment, tapping his thumb on his own Bible, the same one hiding away the handgun he hadn’t told her was in there. He holds it far too close and far too gingerly for it to be a simple book. “The same thing that compels a farmer carrying his rifle when he goes to check on his animals. I want to protect my flock. Protect the people of Hope County.”

“Human,” Sybille hums, more to herself than him. “And tell me, when we came to liberate Falls End and you were shootin’ at the wolves in this metaphor, did you ask questions? Or did you just point your gun and fire?"

The Pastor breathes out a sigh, a faint smile tugging up at the corner of his lips. “Ah,” he says. “I think I see where you’re going with this.”

“Now, here’s where the metaphor falls apart. Even wolves don’t act without reason. They’re motivated by something: hunger, a need to protect their territory, they feel threatened. Maybe their behavior doesn’t make sense to us, maybe to us it’s evil, but to them, it’s survival. Humans are just the same. The only difference between man and beast is that we’ve deluded ourselves into thinking we’re superior. But you take away God and religion and politics, and we’re just like any other animal. Soldiers…we understand that.”

“That’s an awfully reactionary way to live,” Jerome says quietly.

“In a fight, reactionary is what helps keep you alive. When it’s life or death, you can’t afford to ask who’s right and who’s wrong,” Sybille says. “You start wonderin’ what makes your actions more justified than those of the person shootin’ at ya; you start askin’ if their actions are as justified as your own. That kind of thinkin’-- that kind of hesitation? Well, it’s liable to get heads blown off.”

“You sound like you speak from experience,” Jerome says, in that priestly, gentle but probing way, trying to coax out the story she refuses to tell him.  

She looks at him harshly. “Experience is all I have.”

[invisibleraven]

Phantom Carols

For the @jatp-adventevent prompt: Best & Worst Christmas memories?

Warning for Alex's parents being The Worst (TM) in this

Day Thirteen: Make The Yuletide Gay <-AO3!

Alex has always loved Christmas. Every year right after Thanksgiving ended, his dad dragged out the boxes, his mom set up the Advent candles, and Alex’s eyes would shine as they reflected the small flame, reciting the prayers, his heart glowing warm.

Alex loved the decorations, the tinsel and lights, the smell of pine that filled the house when he and his dad dragged in the tree. The carols that rang through the air echoing the church bells as they went to every service. Alex loved how the community came together, celebrating this joyous time of year.

Sure, he got in trouble for playing with the Nativity figurines, replacing them with his He-Man dolls and Olivia’s old Barbie's. Rolled his eyes through the lecture about respecting the sanctity of the display, and was way more sneaky about making the wise men fight.

His parents were happy to lavish them both with gifts, sitting back as Alex tore through the paper, finding toys and books and then one year, a drum set. Olivia got dolls at first, and then as she grew she got clothes and make-up, and then stuff she needed to help her once she got to med school. She stopped coming home once she was at college, and Alex kind of resented her for it. He missed his sister, so sue him.

Then Alex came out.

Things became downright frosty at home, his parents vehemently refusing to accept his sexuality-to accept him. They prayed for him a lot, bringing in Father Michaels to lecture him about the sin of homosexuality, of fire and brimstone.

“I tried praying about it Father,” Alex responded coolly. “But I’m still gay. And God doesn’t make mistakes. So he must want me to stay gay.”

“You’re not praying hard enough,” his father responded. “God will listen, he will cure you of this vile disease.”

Alex sat there, enduring the judgement, their hatred, their threats. But he knew he didn’t need a cure, he wasn’t sick. He had wrestled with the truth long enough, and everyone else in his life accepted him. Maybe it was his family who were the sick ones.

He wrote to Olivia, and even she told him she loved him, no matter what. Promised to try to come home that year. But she was married now, and her partner’s family were lovely and warm where the Mercer’s were not. Alex wondered if he could come spend the holidays with them instead. But their parents refused to let Alex go, and Olivia couldn’t go against them.

That year, Alex’s gifts were brochures for conversion camps, a very large Bible with all the parts about homosexuality and sin highlighted.

And porn.

Glossy magazines covered with mostly naked women in provocative poses that his father almost shoved under his nose. “Maybe you just need to see what you’re missing. These will straighten you out.”

Alex threw them away with the wrapping paper the next week.

The next year, he spent the holidays with Luke and Reggie, squatting in the garage they were using as a studio. The three of them didn’t make it to Christmas the year after that.

However, that wasn’t the last Christmas that Alex got to celebrate. Because he got to come back. As a ghost, granted, but here he was.

And the Molina's didn’t care that he was gay. Julie was openly bi, Victoria aroace, Carlos wasn’t sure where he fell. Ray was pretty tight lipped, but Julie confessed that her dad was ‘pretty open' and left it at that. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t get porn from them. Something super gay to make sure he felt accepted, yes. But not anything as traumatizing as that last gift from his dad.

Plus being a ghost meant he had Willie.

Willie who flaunted his queerness with pride, tagging homophobic stores with graffiti, stealing queer themed decorations to put on the little tree Julie had set up in the studio, wearing rainbow striped Santa hats and socks.

Willie, who took him through the botanical gardens that were all lit up with lights for the purpose of finding real mistletoe to kiss under. Who smuggled him out eggnog and gingerbread from the club to eat with the guys. Who gave him new drumsticks that he actually paid for (Alex didn’t ask where he got the money) and a set of matching rainbow socks.

Willie, who helped him track down Olivia.

She was older now, with an adult son named Patrick who looked like he could be Alex’s twin. Who looked at his moms with the utmost love, and who introduced his boyfriend to them without fear.

“Do you wanna go in?” Willie asked. “Tell her you’re okay?”

Alex shook his head. “Just knowing she is… that’s enough for me. Let’s go home.”

Willie grinned, took his hand, and poofed them back to the studio. Where he may have strung up some more of the mistletoe, and Alex smiled as he sank into the kiss. Sure, he was a ghost, and it kind of sucked some days. But this was shaping up to still be the best Christmas he’d had in a long time.

[starrierknight]

𝟎𝟐𝟓. 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 — 𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐬

This contains spoilers for my day 25 kinktober fic.

wc— 2.2k

cws/tags— death, blood, vampirism, love/sex as a religion and worship (please let me know if I missed anything!)

TITLE

The title, of course, is a shortened version of the idiom “to bite the hand that feeds you”, which means to act poorly towards the person who is helping or has helped you. Not only is the title a reference to the actual events in the fic (Satoru literally bites the reader’s palm to feed off their blood), but it also functions to call into question whom the idiom is directed towards.

Upon first reading, it is easy to see that the idiom is in application to Satoru. This is supported by the reader’s words:

“I’ve been so good to you, and you’re talking back.”

Here, we see that from the reader insert’s perspective, letting Satoru feed from them equates to being “good”. While this is true—Satoru is a vampire who has killed and feasted upon innocent human beings for centuries, the reader does not owe him the kindness of their blood—we must also consider the application of the idiom in reverse.

Upon further inspection, it is more clearly seen that the idiom is also applicable to the reader. After Satoru has fed off the reader’s blood and treated them so reverently after performing oral, even going so far as to soothe the reader after they achieve their orgasm, we must come to terms with these actions are undeniably good. With this in mind, the reader’s newfound reluctance to kill Satoru is given new depth.

On the one hand, the reader is no longer certain that killing him is the right thing to do. On the other, despite their reluctance, the reader is still considering their duty as a vampire slayer—that they should kill Satoru on principle, regardless of his expression of humanity.

The final line of the fic underscores the ultimatum: “Though after sharing a little death with him, could you kill him?” 

EPIGRAPH

Here is the entire quote. In bold is the section used for the epigraph of my fic:

“Most people live for love and admiration. But it is by love and admiration that we should live. If any love is shown us we should recognise that we are quite unworthy of it. Nobody is worthy to be loved. The fact that God loves man shows us that in the divine order of ideal things it is written that eternal love is to be given to what is eternally unworthy. Or if that phrase seems to be a bitter one to bear, let us say that everyone is worthy of love, except him who thinks that he is. Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling, and Domine, non sum dignus should be on the lips and in the hearts of those who receive it.”  ― Oscar Wilde, De Profundis

While the original quote is not about oral sex, in the context of it being an epigraph to this particular fic of mine, it is encouraged to be interpreted that way. This was chosen because the fic blurs the line between sex and worship. 

In Matthew 8:8, Jesus is approached by a centurion who asks Him to heal his servant. Since the centurion knows that a good Jewish man like Jesus would cause scandal by coming into the home of a Roman soldier, the centurion says “Domine non sum dignus ut intres sub tectum meum sed tantum dic verbo et sanabitur puer meus.”

In the New American Bible, this text is rendered “Lord, I am not worthy to have you enter under my roof; only say the word and my servant will be healed.”

Domine, non sum dignus -> “Lord, I am not worthy”

LANGUAGE CHOICE

The Power of Names

“Speak, monster,” you said in a cool, steady tone. [...] “Oh, come on. Why the formalities?” he taunted in an airy whisper, a smug lilt to his tone. “Don’t you think we’re past that?” [...] “Tell me your name before I slay you tonight,” you spat, your will unwavering. His eyes drank you in with an uncanny hunger. “Gojo Satoru. Though, please, Satoru will do just fine.”

Satoru’s smugness and lingering pride function as a way of veiling his desperation for intimacy in his last moments. Despite the reader’s attempt to distance themselves from Satoru, he insists on being called by his first name. It’s worth noting that despite Satoru and the reader not having a close relationship at this point in time, calling somebody by their first name in Japan usually means some kind of close kinship or relationship.

To kill

- “Tell me your name before I slay you tonight,” you spat, your will unwavering. - “Have your taste before I slaughter you, Satoru.” - “Where’s the beast I came to slaughter tonight?” - “I’ll teach you manners before I slay you tonight.” (<- fun fact! This is actually a reference to this fic) - “You can kill me now, and I’ll die human,” he murmured.

slay: to kill in a violent way

slaughter: the killing of many people cruelly and unfairly, especially in a war OR the killing of animals for meat

kill: to cause someone or something to die OR to stop or destroy a relationship, activity, or experience OR to drink all of something

Not once in the entire fic does the reader say in speech that they will “kill” Satoru. However, if you interpret the final line of the fic as the reader’s own train of thought:

“Though after sharing a little death with him, could you kill him?”

It could be argued that this changes.

In this fic, to “kill” and to die are incredibly intimate acts and are implied to be signifiers of humanity.

Play On Words

“The blood. The blood in the chalice—that bait you left for me. Was it yours? Did you… alter it?”

alter: to change something, usually slightly, or to cause the characteristics of something to change

altar: a structure with a flat top, often shaped like a table, that is used in some religious ceremonies, for example as a place to put important religious objects

When writing this particular line, I kept in mind that “alter” and “altar” are homophones. With this in mind, it is easy to argue that Satoru drinking the reader’s blood they used as a way to lure him is symbolic of drinking wine at Communion, which is done to commemorate the death of Christ and to represent the mutual communion of believers with each other.

“Though after sharing a little death with him, could you kill him?”

The phrase “a little death” comes from the French saying, “La petite mort” which means "the brief loss or weakening of consciousness" and in modern usage refers specifically to "the sensation of post orgasm as likened to death”.

In the most literal sense, the final line is in reference to the reader’s orgasm brought on by Satoru. However, it is also in reference to the lapse in judgment from both parties (the reader is a vampire slayer who should be killing the vampire, and Satoru is a vampire who should be fighting for his own survival). 

The word “sharing” is incredibly important—this is the first real moment where the reader and Satoru have been ‘united’ over something.

Last Meal

“Please,” the longing etched into his contorted expression spoke of desire both primal and inexplicable. “One last request before it’s over. Please.”

A condemned prisoner's last meal is a customary ritual preceding execution. In many countries, the prisoner may, within reason, select what the last meal will be.

Dialogue tags

- “You disgust me,” you hissed, pressing the blade to his neck so that it was perilously close to breaking his skin. - "Did I say you could bite?" you hissed through gritted teeth.

While “hissing” is to say something in a quiet angry way, it is also associated with angry/frightened animals—and vampires. Not once does Satoru ever hiss. 

JUXTAPOSITION

A brief overview of some of the juxtaposing themes/imagery:

Humanity/Monstrosity

- The raw power that you expected to emanate from a monster so ancient, so sinister, seemed to have dulled into something strangely human. His aura of malevolence was overshadowed by a pitiable aura of need. - He pressed closer to the flat of the blade—the dichotomy of his action hauntingly human.

Predator/Prey (Vampire/Vampire Slayer)

The tableau is one of stark contrasts—the resolute hunter and the feeble prey, the chilling void of the night and the warmth of desperate need.

Blood/Nectar

- A languid, serpentine motion as his tongue darted out, collecting the remnants of blood, your blood, that clung to his lips. The taste, metallic and potent as you knew it to be, was like the sweetest nectar to him. - The taste of your blood, infused with the sweet essence of your very being, flooded his senses.

Angels/Demons

- His eyelids parted, revealing pupils dilated to a darkness. Those eyes, a chromatic anomaly amidst the desolation of his existence, were a cerulean that defied nature's palette. They were too blue, too vivid—a celestial fragment from the vast expanse of the heavens that had fallen into his wretched possession. - He was disturbingly beautiful: Far too angelic in appearance, though you supposed it was a façade to lure in his prey. 

What is Seen/What is Said

Note how the descriptions consistently portray Satoru as beautiful, even if the reader says otherwise.

- Satoru’s head, heavy with the weight of his longing, found its place on your lap, a gesture that radiated a delicate surrender. His silvery hair, like silk against your legs, contrasted starkly with the increasingly depraved display. “You really are vile,” you breathed, the sting from the wound shooting up your arm.

Gentility/Depravity

- His lips sought redemption in a sequence of fervent kisses. They trailed across the delicate skin of your wrist, your knuckles, and the tips of your fingers. The gesture, if not for the lingering urgency of his movements, would have held a sweet tenderness, an attempt to mend what had been broken. Amid this tangled web of feelings, the grinding of his arousal against you persisted, a relentless echo of his desire. The moans that escaped him seemed to punctuate each kiss, a wretched symphony of need.

Pleasure/Pain

See: the whole fic lol.

LOVE AS [XYZ]

Love As Religion

Depth of Emotion: Describing love as religion suggests that it is a deeply held and fundamental aspect of human experience. This metaphor highlights the emotional intensity and significance of love in one's life. Love, like religion, can inspire devotion, commitment, and a sense of purpose.

Spiritual Connection: Love as a religion implies that love can create a spiritual or transcendent connection between individuals. It suggests that love can be a source of meaning and purpose, much like religion is for many people. This metaphor can be used to explore the idea of finding transcendence and spiritual fulfilment in love.

Moral and Ethical Considerations: Just as religions often have moral and ethical guidelines, the concept of "love as religion" can be used to explore the moral and ethical dimensions of love. It raises questions about how one should treat their loved ones and how love can be a force for good in the world.

Sacrifice and Devotion: Love as religion can also be a metaphor for the sacrifices and devotion that people are willing to make for the ones they love. It emphasises the idea that love can inspire acts of selflessness and dedication, much like religious devotion.

Love As Worship

Reverence and Adoration: When love is compared to worship, it emphasises the idea of reverence and adoration. Love is portrayed as a powerful force that demands admiration and respect. This metaphor underscores the idea that love can be all-consuming and awe-inspiring.

Rituals and Symbolism: Love as worship may involve rituals and symbolic acts that signify one's commitment and devotion to a loved one. Just as religious ceremonies and rituals have symbolic meaning, the act of showing love can be filled with symbolism and meaningful gestures.

Transcendence: Love as worship can also suggest a form of transcendence, where individuals elevate their loved ones to a higher status in their lives. It can explore the idea that love can lift people beyond their ordinary existence and provide a sense of purpose and meaning.

Sacrifice and Submission: Like religious worship may involve sacrifice and submission to a higher power, love as worship can be a way of expressing the sacrifices and compromises one is willing to make for the sake of their loved one.

RELIGION AS A SEMANTIC FIELD

In literature, a semantic field, also known as a lexical field or semantic domain, refers to a group of words or terms related by their common theme or subject matter. These words are typically grouped together because they share a connection in meaning and are often used to convey a particular concept, idea, or image. The purpose of using a semantic field is to create a specific atmosphere, convey a particular emotion, or emphasize a theme within a literary work.

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