#i love you little churches i love you tight and loving communities i love you my friends and campus ministry

[chapel-roach]

i went around with my pastor and a friend this morning to 2 different congregations to ask them to help us fundraise for the campus ministry, and it was delightful. everyone in both parishes were so lovely and welcoming, and i have a new role model in the pastor of the first one. honestly the best way of describing her is a badass older woman and i want to be her when i grow up, and she even had a pride flag tote bag, which i thought was amazing given we were in the middle of rural pennsylvania. that church was also the tiniest i’ve ever been in and the vibes were amazing

[dollyhao]

pastor’s wife!reader x perv!ellie

summary: ellie moves to a new neighborhood and is instantly infatuated with her innocent, married next door neighbor.

cw: teasing, dirty thoughts, cunnilingus (r!receiving), fingering, talk of the bible and church. (yall ion know shit bout church but i hope this is satisfying i know some people were excited about this.)

word count: 1.8k

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

how fucking unlucky does ellie have to be to move next door to a damn pastor. ellie moved in 2 weeks ago when the pastor was at her door for a ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ visit. ellie has to literally stop herself from rolling her eyes at him when he mentions ellie coming to the church sometime that is until ellie sees someone out of her peripheral vision walking over to the two of them.

ellie feels like the world slows down. she sees a young woman, older than her but still young, walk over to her and the pastor holding a glass container of cupcakes. “hello, these are for you. welcome to the neighborhood!” you say with a beaming smile, handing over the cupcakes. you're wearing a ribbon as a headband and a knee length length dress with knee-high socks on. looking impossibly cute and innocent.

“hi, i’m ellie by the way.” ellie responds smiling a seemingly sweet smile, but there is nothing innocent going through her mind. “this is my wife,” the pastor said wrapping his arm around your waist. ellie literally cringes, he's like, twice your age. ellie sees you slowly pull out his hold with a strained smile.

“oh well thank you. i have to go back inside. it was nice meeting you two though.” ellie gives a tight slip smile. “of course. don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything and i mean anything.” you say grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze. you and the pastor walk off back to your house and ellie closes the door.

now she might be tripping but ellie thinks that you were hinting at something with that last statement but she probably just imagined it.

that night, ellie is playing a game on her pc when she takes a quick look out the window but does a double take when she sees you in a soft purple underwear and bra set rubbing lotion on your legs. ellie has a direct view of your tits and how they sit just perfect in that bra.

you walk away from the window digging through your drawers, still in her line of sight, to get a cute, short silky night gown. your back is towards her when you go to pull the nightgown over your head, she has the perfect view of your ass. fuck, ellie just wants to bend you over that same bed your senior citizen of a husband sleeps in and fuck the shit out of you until your begging for her to let you cum. you walk over to the window looking directly at ellie, there’s no mistaking it this time, blushing at her before pulling the curtains closed. she swears she sees a small smile.

ellie is totally dripping wet right now. and shes decided, ellie has to have you.

ellie walks over to you a couple days later while your outside gardening one morning. you look up at her, "hi ellie!" you say standing, taking your gloves off giving her your full attention. "hey i was hoping you could teach me more about the bible and.. stuff." ellie doesn't know anything about this shit or care, but if it gets her in your pants, she's all for it.

"of course ellie! i'd love to. meet me at church tomorrow?"

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶ ༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶ ༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

"please give donations to the church, they are going to a family in need right here in our community thank you and have a blessed day." the pastor says. everyone stands and walks around conversing. ellie is standing against a wall in the back of the church, watching you.

you shake hands and smile with gossipy older women. she waits until the church is practically empty and your picking up items left on seats putting them in the lost-n-found, to approach you. "ellie!" you say smiling at her, "when did you get here, i didnt see you through the whole sermon?" "a little while ago, i watched from the back," she says hands in her pocket and standing infront of you, "you look cute" she says looking at your lilac dress.

"thank you.." you say giving her a shy smile, walking over to the lost n found box, with her following behind. you put the random stuff in the box turning around finding ellie really close. "did you enjoy the um…sermon?" you whisper staring into her eyes. ellie hums, putting a hand on your waist.

she leans in, her lips ghosting yours. you lean forward before ellie backs up. "i dont really feel like the bible reading today. how bout next week?" she says hand rubbing up and down your waist. you nod, too nervous to talk. "...y-yea, thats fine. ill see you then." you say when you finally find your voice. ellie walks out leaving you there confused and excited.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶ ༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶ ༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

everyday the next week, ellie has been going over to your house for an hour to read the bible, with or without your husband there, trying to get closer to you. while you two are sitting on your couch one day, your reading a passage from the book, while ellie's staring at your face, not giving a fuck about what your reading, just thinking how pretty you would look with her dick in ya mouth.

you glance up at ellie catching her staring. you sit the book between the two of you, resting your head on the back of the couch, staring back. then you start giggling, "whats so funny." ellie says setting her copy of the book down too. "your so pretty ellie." you give her a soft smile. ellie blushes, shes not used to people calling her pretty, not even ex-girlfriends.

"thank you. your very beautiful yourself" she says not looking you in the eye. you scoot closer to her, "lets be friends ellie." you say grabbing her hands in yours, looking at her with those bambi eyes. "yea? i would like that, but if were going to be friends we can't read the bible every time we're together." ellie says chuckling.

"of course, how bout we watch a movie?" you suggest standing up, walking over to the tv. ellie knows that the movies you have are probably super PG, so she suggests you go over to her house 'because her tv is bigger'.

you get to ellie’s house and she puts on the gayest wlw movie she has. you two are snuggled on the couch under a blanket when a kiss scene comes on. the scene starts sweet but turns dirty quick. ellie looks over at you expecting to see shock but instead sees you squirming.

"you alright?" ellie asks whispering in your ear. you nod your head quickly. "im ok." you sit there for a couple more seconds, watching the scene before grabbing the remote and pausing it. you turn towards ellie, "i have a confession." you say looking down playing with your ring again. "what is it?"

you take a deep breath before mumbling, "i.. i like to watch girl on girl... videos." ellie looks at you shocked, this was gonna be easier than she thought. "i know its a sin to watch those kind of videos let alone the gay kind. but whenever i watch it, i just feel so... horny." you say, whispering that last part, glancing up at ellie. "im not sure im attracted to my husband... or men in general. and i know you like girls, i saw how you were looking at me from the window a couple weeks ago... so will you show me?"

ellie blinks, shes been trying to stop a smirk from breaking across her face the whole time you've been rambling. "show you what?" ellie knows what you mean but she wants to hear you say it. "show me what its like," you grab her hand placing it on your boob, "to be touched by a girl." she can't wait no more, she has to kiss you.

ellie leans in kissing you deeply, cradling your head slowly pushing you to lay back on the couch never disconnecting your lips. ellie slowly trails her hands from your breast to your waist while pushing her tongue in your mouth. you whimper already soaked. ellie is going too slow for you, you need more, so you lift her shirt up running your hands over her tummy hoping she'll get the message.

ellie takes off your dress straps pulling the dress down under your boobs. you have this cute white lace bra on. ellie disconnects her lips from yours looking down at you, she groans cupping your boob, "you have no idea how sexy you are." she whispers before biting and sucking on your boobs.

she sits up to look at you. your breathing heavy, with your tits covered with spit and bites and your dress askew. "cmon ellie. your taking too long." you say grabbing her hand putting it under your dress. "how impatient.." ellie grins leaning back down, kissing on your neck pulling your panties to the side, running her fingers up and down your pussy feeling just how wet you are. "have you ever been this wet before?" she asks popping her finger in her mouth.

"no, never..." your breathing gets heavier as ellie slides her finger into you curling it. your back arches gripping on the couch cushion, moaning out ellie's name. ellie lowers herself giving you little kitten licks, making you buck for more. ellie latches on to your clit sucking and licking while fucking you with her two fingers.

you chant her name gripping onto her hair. you are seeing white spots, "omg ellie, i-i feel weird.." ellie chuckles coming back up to bite at the sensitive spot under your ear, fucking you faster. "you gonna cum baby, you ever did that before?" she asks biting at your ear. you shake your head, feeling the knot in your tummy burst. you moan out, whimpering as ellie lets you ride out your orgasm.

she pulls her fingers out, popping them in her mouth again staring you in your eyes. you let out a cute mewl. ellie sits up, looking down at you. "how do you feel?" ellie says as you pant with a dazed look on your face. you look at her flustered, wrapping your arms around her shoulder, pulling her down to you, planting sweet pecks on her lips.

“Like i wanna do it again.” you smile.

@aouiaa @elliespookie @thefrenchlesbian @bratydoll @elliens4

[k-nayee]

Between Faith and Flesh Grotesquerie x Midnight Mass

wc: 2.8k a/n: incase it was unclear, this is a little cross-over between Grotesquerie x Midnight Mass while also being an Actor!AU. Might be a lil confusing but wanted to make something new lol

Traveler M.List

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything....James 1:2-4." 

The familiar warmth of the chapel enveloped you as you delivered the final lines of your morning homily, your voice calm yet resonant in the quiet space.

Sunlight filtered through the modest stained-glass windows, casting soft hues of gold and amber across the worn pews where Crockett Island's tight-knit congregation sat.

The scent of salt and damp wood lingered faintly in the air—a reminder of the sea just beyond the church walls.

Your gaze swept across the group, catching the faces you had come to know so well over the past year.

The mayor's daughter Leeza Scarborough sat in the front row, wide eyes attentive on you as she folded her hands neatly in her lap.

Even Sheriff Hassan stood near the back as his son Ali sat near him listening intently, despite knowing how outdated many were to his Islamic faith.

These people, they had become your family in a way—this island, with all its quiet mysteries, had grown on you.

You closed your sermon with a passage on resilience, something that had always resonated with you—like how faith, similar to the sea surrounding them, could be both steady and tumultuous.

"We find strength not in the absence of struggle, but in how we rise after the waves pull us under." Your words hung in the air for a moment, met with soft nods and murmurs of agreement from the congregation.

"Let us pray," you began, your hands resting gently on the altar.

As you spoke your thoughts wandered briefly, like they often did, to Riley Flynn—a name you had known only through the accident that had first led you here.

His absence was a constant echo in the small populace community, felt even when it wasn't spoken aloud.

As the congregation stood to leave, you lingered near the altar to exchange kind words with those who came up to you.

A soft word here, a warm touch on the shoulder there—each gesture felt like a testament to how far you'd come.

This role, unexpected as it was, had become more than just a position. It was your calling.

"You've really made a place for yourself here," Anne said quietly, her expression sincere as she approached.

"Thank you Mrs. Flynn," you replied, offering her a gentle smile. "Means a lot coming from you."

And it did. Especially knowing how much of the weight of her son's sins pressed on her mind. 

It still surprised you sometimes how much the town had accepted you. Even when being the first ordained woman pastor—something that should have sparked outrage, especially in a small traditional community—the people had welcomed you with open arms.

Or at least most of them had.

The familiar sound of heels clicking sharply against the stone floor caught your attention.

Bev Keane.

She always had an aura of cold disapproval, her gaze flickering over you with barely concealed distaste.

"Another lovely service I'm sure," she said, compliment laced with her usual acidity. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she continued, "But I wonder if perhaps next time you might include more...traditional teachings? Some of the congregation finds your progressive messages a bit, well, out of step."

Her words stung, but you kept your expression calm refusing to rise to her bait.

Bev had never approved of your leadership from the start—the idea of a woman in your position, however temporary, was something she barely tolerates.

With every sermon you gave, every interaction with the townsfolk that went well, her bitterness seemed to deepen.

"I'll take your suggestion under consideration," you kept your tone firm. There was no point in arguing with Bev directly—it would only lead to more confrontation.

One thing you had long since learned about Bev's resistance was that it was more about control than doctrine.

She craved the power that came with influence over the church, and your very presence threatened that.

Bev's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Of course. Well I'll leave you to clean up. God knows there's always work to be done."

With a stiff nod she turned on her heel and marched away, her presence lingering even after she disappeared through the doors.

As the last of the congregation departed, the chapel fell into a serene silence once again.

You exhaled softly, feeling the weight of the morning settle on your shoulders.

Despite the support of the community, moments like these reminded you of how precarious your position was.

You knew she was waiting for any excuse to discredit you—an outsider who had stepped into a role she believed was hers by right.

Busying yourself by tidying up, your hands smooth the fabric of the altar cloth as you cleared the space for the next service.

The chapel, now empty, felt both peaceful and solemn.

It was in these quiet moments that you often found yourself reflecting on the journey that had brought you here—from your small-town upbringing, to your studies, to this remote island where you now stood as the first ordained woman pastor.

The soft chime of your phone broke the stillness. Pulling the device from your pocket, you faintly smile at the name on the screen. Nick.

The message was short but familiar—a photo of him post-workout, his face flushed with exertion with a cheeky grin plastered across his face.

Nick: Finishing up my workout. Just wanted to give you an update :)

Your could feel the warmth creeping up your neck.

You weren't sure why you were smiling so much—after all, it was just Nick being...Nick. Friendly, teasing, always with that infectious charm.

But somehow, the way your eyes lingered on the photo for a beat too long made you acutely aware of something deeper. Something you weren't sure you should be feeling.

Shaking your head slightly, you reply back.

____: Glad to see you're keeping busy!

You hit send, already imagining the smirk he'd have seeing your response.

As soon you tuck away your phone, intent on finishing the cleanup, another buzz came almost immediately.

Nick: Hope you weren't doing anything unholy with that picture of me ;)

The heat had spread to your face and a startled laugh slipped past your lips.

You quickly type back.

____:  Behave Nicholas. I'm a pastor remember? 

You knew he was just being playful, but it didn't stop the way your heart skipped slightly at the implications.

Unholy. The word reverberated in your mind longer than it should have.

Before you could dwell too much on it, another text came through.

Nick: Sure sure I believe you ;) Anyways got a surprise for you

Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard, curiosity piqued.

____: A surprise? What kind?

Nick: You'll see. Just finished that project I told you about. Check your email when you get home. And no peeking. You promised

The reminder made you chuckle. ____: Fine fine I'll wait. It better be good especially with all this mystery!

You added a playful emoji at the end, the excitement clear in your message.

His response was immediate, and you could practically hear his voice.

Nick: Oh it's good. Don't worry I know you're going to love it.

You smiled at the screen, shaking your head at his confidence. Of course he'd know.

The faint echo of your steps on the wooden floor snapped you back to the present, making your thoughts drift back to his arrival, how it had all begun.

It was almost a year at the time when Father Pruitt had left on his pilgrimage, leaving you in charge of the church—a transition you hadn't anticipated but had eventually embraced.

And just as you were starting to find your footing, Nicholas Chaves had appeared, adding a new dynamic you hadn't expected.

Before he arrived to Crockett Island, you recall the unexpected email you received: a simple inquiry from the actor who was looking to deepen his understanding of priesthood for an upcoming role.

He wanted to shadow someone in the clergy, someone who could give him an authentic insight into the life of a pastor.

And he'd heard about your rather unique position on the island...

You of course were slightly taken aback by his openness and easy way he'd talked about his work.

It wasn't every day someone like Nick came knocking, but you had agreed mainly from intrigue of the whole situation.

Even when Bev became immediately suspicious of him—practically interrogating him when he first arrived—the rest of the town welcomed him warmly, charmed by his easygoing nature.

"Another distraction," she'd muttered once when Nick had offered to help you carry boxes of hymnals inside one time. "This is a church not a social club." 

Her words always came with that same bitter edge, though by now you'd learned to brush them off. 

He stayed in Father Pruitt's old house with you during that time in one of the spare rooms.

As you finished locking up and made your way toward the small home, your thoughts drifted back to him.

You never planned on feeling so affected by him. Yes he was charming, but it was more than that—there was something about him that drew you in even when you tried to resist it.

And it wasn't just his looks—though you couldn't deny the way your breath occasionally caught when he smiled at you in that boyish way of his.

No. It was his presence. The way he carried himself—confident yet curious, never shying away from asking questions about your work and sermons, about faith itself.

He was genuinely interested, even if he wasn't fully immersed in it like you were.

In all, conversations with Nick were easy; late-night talks often ended up stretching longer than intended as you discussed everything from theology to the little absurdities of life.

And yet despite the growing comfort, there had always been a tension simmering beneath the surface.

The first time you felt the it was when he'd sat in on one of your late-night study sessions, helping you prep for Sunday Mass.

His quiet attentiveness as he listened to you practice, his casual lean against the doorway as he watched with a smile tugging at his lips.

Now, as you made your way up the steps, you wondered what this surprise of Nick's could be.

You pushed the front door open, the familiar scent of wood and old books greeting you.

It was home now—at least for the time being. Letting out a sigh, you set your bag down and make your way to the bedroom.

Changing your robes and veil into a more comfortable sleepwear, you grab your laptop and settle into bed.

There in your inbox, you find a sent email from him.

Three video files, each with a timestamp of about an 50 minutes. The subject line read simply: For You.

You frowned in confusion but quickly clicked on the first one. The video loaded, and as it played, the familiar face of Niecy Nash popped up on the screen.

A soft laugh escaped you—a TV show? It wasn't what you were expecting, but you were intrigued.

As the episode unfolded, you were drawn into the storyline.

It was refreshing actually, seeing a concept that brushed against the edges of a religion that's intertwined with your own daily life.

By the second episode you were completely hooked. You'd grown attached to the characters, loving the way they navigated this warped world of morality and sin.

The storyline itself was intense and unpredictable in how it blended the very faith you preached into something so viscerally raw.

But then your heart leapt a little as Nick—or rather, Father Charlie finally appeared on screen.

You smiled, unable to resist snapping a picture of the scene and sending it to him with a simple teasing text.

____: Look who just showed up on my screen.

Your phone buzzed almost instantly, but you ignored it.

You were too caught up in watching him; your eyes tracing the way he moved, the way his expression shifted with every word.

It was surreal watching him play a priest when just a few weeks ago, he had been standing beside you in the church helping with the altar cloths.

Every close-up of his face had your heart doing an odd little flip. You'd shared conversations with that face, shared jokes and moments of comfort. 

The goofy smile on your lips was hard to suppress as you watched him banter with Sister Megan, the two having a light giggle over stolen fries.

You couldn't help but draw parallels between the man on the screen and the man you had grown close to—the actor who had been nothing but kind, thoughtful, and, admittedly, a little flirtatious.

And then the scene change.

The camera panned across a dimly lit, sparsely furnished room. Your eyes narrowed, focusing in on the figure sitting at the edge of a bed.

It was Father Charlie—his broad, bare back flexing as he sat, hunched slightly. The room was silent except for his soft labored breathing.

You watch with growing confusion as his breathing deepens.

A soft sound escapes him—a low moan—and suddenly, the atmosphere in the room shifts entirely.

Your eyes widened upon realizing what you were seeing. Father Charlie is pleasuring himself.

The sounds of his quiet sighs fill the room, and you freeze as you try to process what you're watching. 

The camera caught it all: the soft sighs, the slow measured pace of his hand, the quiet moans that grew more strained with every movement.

You felt your breath hitch, heat creeping up your neck as you watched too stunned to look away.

You know it's just a show—it's just acting—but seeing Nick, someone you know, in such an intimate and vulnerable moment...it shakes you.

Your body feels hot, heart pounding as Father Charlie quickens his pace, his breath becoming more erratic, moans growing louder.

A strange warmth unfurled in your chest that you immediately tried to suppress.

It felt wrong to watch this—wrong to feel anything about it.

Your fingers tremble as you reach for your laptop, the desire to pause or stop the episode battling with the inexplicable pull to keep watching.

And then it changed again.

The camera cuts to him standing at a basin, his back to the facing you once again, the muscles in his back flexing under the low light.

You blink rapidly as he begins to wash his hands, the sound of the water almost deafening in the silence.

That's when you notice it—the chaps. He's wearing bottomless chaps, the skin of his thighs and backside completely bare.

"Sweet baby Jesus," you whisper, hands shaking as you press a hand to your mouth in attempt to contain the heat that spreads across your face.

It wasn't over.

Father Charlie moved toward a small wooden box, opening it with a reverence that made your stomach twist.

He reached inside and pulled out a flogging whip—a thick, multi-tailed instrument of punishment.

His expression is solemn, his lips moving in silent prayer as he prepares the whip, his fingers brushing reverently over the strips before raising the instrument of self-punishment.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you watch, unable to tear your eyes away as Father Charlie strikes himself.

The sharp crack of the whip fills the room and you flinch at the sound.

Each lash is deliberate. His body jerks with every strike, a soft grunt escaping him with every hit.

His whispered prayers mix with the sounds of his punishment, the intensity of the scene almost unbearable as it goes on, each crack of the whip sending a shiver down your spine.

It's too much. You couldn't take it anymore.

Your hand shot out, scrambling to close the laptop with a thud. For a moment you couldn't move.

Your body felt both heavy and weightless at the same time, suspended in the strange space between what you knew and what you had just witnessed.

The room around you suddenly felt too small, too close.

Shakily, you brush a few stray strands of hair from your damp forehead, trying to steady yourself.

You were a pastor—dedicated to God, to the people you served. You weren't supposed to feel like this.

Closing your eyes tightly, you try to will the feeling to go away and dissipate like the smoke from the candles you had blown out earlier in the church.

But the heat in your face, the trembling in your hands, didn't fade.

You felt as though you had been thrust into a battle between your devotion to God and the temptation of something far more dangerous—something you could no longer ignore.

The dim screen of your phone in your peripheral catches your attention.

Hesitant, you picked it up, and your stomach drops at the sight of Nicholas's message.

Nick: What do you think?

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER TWO ━━ Silence and Static

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 4.5K

☆ ━ warnings: nothing really, paige is just kinda emo lol

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: sorry this is such a filler and it’s boring but it’s meant to serve as a basis for paige’s perspective after her and dani’s fall out

THE START of senior year has a bitter taste that Paige wasn’t prepared for. She’s envisioned this time in her life in so many different ways—dominating on the court, coasting through classes with Dani by her side, enjoying the final months before the world outside St. Louis Park opens up to them. But reality always has a way of shattering things, leaving Paige to pick up the pieces of what’s supposed to be the best year of her life.

The ache in Paige’s chest is a constant reminder of what she’s lost—or more accurately, what’s been torn away from her without any explanation. As she sits at the edge of her bed, staring at her phone, Paige’s fingers hover over the message icon, the urge to text Dani overwhelming. She doesn’t know what she’d say; she just wants to talk her. But the memory of her and Dani’s last conversation stops any true thought or idea of communicating with the brunette. She was so hostile, so cold, so different from Dani—who’s always been warm and kind and true. And now Paige stares at the last message she received from the girl and it hurts her eyes to even look at.

Dani ❤️‍🔥

i’m going to camp, won’t have my phone

sorry

It was sent in early June, and that was it. No further explanation, nothing to ease the anxiety that had gripped Paige the rest of the summer afterwards. And now, Dani and Paige are both back, and yet, the aforementioned is more distant than ever before. The silence between them has grown thick, suffocating, leaving Paige alone with her thoughts and the static of unanswered questions buzzing in her mind.

With a heavy sigh, Paige tosses her phone aside and forces herself to get up and get dressed. She goes through the motions: pulling on her favorite UConn hoodie, tying her shoes, grabbing her bag. But everything just feels off. The hoodie’s too heavy, her shoes too tight, and the backpack weighs down her shoulders more than it should. It’s as if the world has shifted slightly, leaving her out of sync with everything around her.

As Paige trudges down the stairs, she finds her dad and Drew in the kitchen, the two of them already busy with their morning routine. The smell of bacon and maple syrup fills the air, though it doesn’t bring its usual comfort to Paige.

“Senior year, P!” her dad, Bob, chirps, grinning sideways at his daughter as he packs Drew’s lunch box. “You excited?”

Paige forces a smile. “Yeah, sure.”

Bob’s brows furrow slightly at her tone, sensing the lie beneath the surface, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he just hands Paige a piece of bacon, which she gladly accepts. “I’m sure you’ll have a good time,” he replies, clearly trying to be reassuring.

Paige nods, sending him a short smile before making her way over to Drew. He sits at the table, eating his pancakes. She ruffles his hair a little, and then kisses it lightly, saying, “Have a good first day, ‘kay? Better tell me all about it when you get home.”

Drew will be in first grade and he’s been bustling with excitement to start back up in school since it ended, having had a wonderful kindergarten year. Paige adores her little brother’s innocence, his love for learning. It clenches at her heartstrings a little bit, though—it feels like he’s growing too fast.

Drew sends his older sister a grin, saying with his mouth full, “I will, Paigey!”

She smiles back, this one reaching her eyes a bit more, before mumbling her goodbyes, Amaya sending a text telling Paige she’s here. No, Paige does not have her license yet—no, she doesn’t want to talk about it. She heads out the door, the morning air crisp. It does little to clear her mind. She smiles a little at her sophomore friend as she gets into the passenger seat, greeting her. Amaya grins back, though she’s clearly unhappy with the fact summer’s over.

When they arrive, the parking lot is already half-full, students milling about in groups, laughing and talking and probably complaining about the fact that school’s back in session. Paige isn’t offended when Amaya leaves her side to go to her friends in her own grade, bounding over to them happily. Besides, the blonde has already spotted Thaliah Sommers and KK Adams near the entrance, the pair waving at her with tired smiles.

“Hey, P,” KK greets. “Senior year, yeah?”

“Seems like it,” Paige replies, glancing at the building, lips pulled into a tight line. She doesn’t even bother trying to fake another smile, expression brittle at this point. Her friends don’t seem to care; they both look more than exhausted, their summer sleep schedules most likely not mingling well with the early arrival time.

“Can’t believe I have a first period,” Thaliah grumbles, wiping at her eyes. Truthfully, the girl looks as if she’s just rolled out of bed—sporting a sweatshirt and sweatpants, face bare. It seems as though senior year has made them all careless.

“Yeah, but at least you get out after fourth,” Paige reasons, shaking her head as she thinks of her own schedule. “I have all these random free periods between my classes, so I gotta stay here all day. I’ll prolly just end up bothering Coach during ‘em.”

“I’d hate that,” Thaliah agrees, scrunching her face up as the three of them begin to walk into the building, recognizing that class starts in a few short minutes.

Inside, the familiar sights and sounds of the first day of school surrounds Paige. Lockers slamming shut, freshman looking lost, teachers already reprimanding students. To her disappointment, Paige doesn’t feel a single ounce of excitement as she takes in her surroundings, instead only feeling an unfamiliar sheen of anxiety graze over her skin. She knows why. Lately, everything that’s wrong with Paige has led back to the same thing. Dani has always been her constant; though, now, it’s in a far different way than it was before. Dani seems to be the source of all of Paige’s problems, all of her recent negative feelings, the new emotions she’s been experiencing. The absolute lack of Danielle Callan has rocked Paige’s world more than most would believe possible.

And Paige has no idea whether it helps or not that her first class of the day is AP Lit—the only class she and Dani will have together the whole school year. When they were signing up for classes last spring, it was Dani’s idea to take it together. Dani had always planned to take it, but when she found out that none of their friends had that same idea, she needed someone. And that someone—always—was Paige. The blonde was hesitant, because, truthfully, she’s only ever heard bad things about the class. The teacher’s good—Paige knows that, she had her for English her freshman year—but, according to some of Paige’s older friends that have since graduated, the class is apparently a shit ton of reading and too difficult for her own good. Yet, because it was Dani, Paige had agreed. And the thought of spending that hour with Dani every single day was enough to make the thought of tackling Shakespeare and Faulkner bearable (especially knowing that Dani would be there to help her). But now, as Paige steps into the typical flamboyant English type of classroom, the reality of what happened over the summer hits her like a tidal wave.

Dani’s already there, sitting in the middle row, her light brown hair pulled up into a messy bun. She looks tired, shoulders slightly hunched and dark circles under her eyes, gazing vacantly at her desk. Paige’s heart twists a little at the sight. It’s not as if Paige hasn’t seen Dani at all since their fight—she has. They live right next door to each other, of course she has. But it still hurts all the same. To be completely cut off with little to no explanation by your best friend who you also happen to be hopelessly in love with is fucking painful.

Paige hesitates in the doorway, her feet rooted to the ground as her eyes stay on Dani. She wants nothing more than to go to her, to sit beside her like they always have, to pretend that everything is okay, even if it’s not. But something in Dani’s posture, in the way she keeps her eyes downcast, warns Paige to stay back and keep her distance.

“Oh, Paige!” Mrs. Donovan, the AP Lit teacher, calls out in excitement as her eyes land on her student. She grins brightly—a bit too brightly for the early hour, Paige can’t help but think—and gestures to a desk. The one that’s— “You’re right behind Danielle!”

Dani doesn’t look up at the sound of her name, doesn’t bother to acknowledge Paige’s presence at all. The blonde swallows hard, forcing herself to move. She slides into the seat Mrs. Donovan gestured to, the one right behind Dani, her heart pounding against her rib cage. From this close, Paige can see the tension in Dani’s shoulders, the way her fingers tap anxiously against the surface of the desk. Paige can only imagine how Dani’s feeling—but, still, she’s usually mostly accurate. Dani’s always been more introverted, and new schedules, new routines, and new people tend to make her anxious. Paige can tell she’s feeling that way right now. Because, despite everything, Dani is still Dani. And Paige will always know Dani. The blonde wants to reach out, to say something—anything—but the words only stick in her throat.

As the bell rings and Mrs. Donovan starts the class, handing out syllabi and talking about what to expect for the year, Paige’s mind strays far from the discussion. Instead, she finds herself staring at the back of Dani’s head, thoughts and memories circling through her head with unwarranted clarity.

JULY 2013

THEY’RE ELEVEN years old, and the summer sun blazes over them as Paige and Dani sit on the swings at the park near their houses. It’s a place they’ve been coming to for years, one of their constants. In fact, it’s actually where they first met.

The air is thick with the scent of freshly cut grass, mingling with the sweet aroma of the cherry popsicles the girls devoured earlier. Paige’s legs pump the air lazily, the tips of her shoes grazing the ground, while Dani swings a bit higher, her hair flying out behind her like a banner in the wind. The worn-out metal creaks with each swing, a familiar sound that blends into the background of their laughter and chatter.

“Race you to the top!” Dani suddenly shouts, voice filled with a reckless enthusiasm that usually belongs in Paige’s instead. Without waiting for a response, Dani leaps off the swing, her feet hitting the ground with a soft thud, making a beeline for the jungle gym.

Paige’s laugh bursts out of her before she can help it, and she scrambles to follow, heart pounding with the thrill of the chase. “No fair, you started first!” she calls, her words trailing behind her as she races after her best friend.

They reach the platform that hovers above the slide, the same spot where Dani broke her arm years before. Paige remembers it vividly—how Dani had cried, the way her elbow was bent all weird, and how Paige had held her hand the entire car ride to the hospital. The spot is a little scarred now, but it doesn’t stop them from sitting side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge as they survey their world from above.

From this vantage point, Paige can see so much more. The neighborhood spreads out before them like a patchwork quilt, each house a different square, each tree a different shade of green. The sun casts long shadows, making the world below them seem like a dream, distant and hazy. There’s a stillness in the air, a peaceful quiet that Paige—for once—isn’t the one who breaks.

“P?” Dani asks, her voice quiet, almost hesitant.

Paige hums in question, keeping her gaze out before her instead of on the girl next to her. There’s something in Dani’s voice that makes her brain short circuit a little, a seriousness that doesn’t belong in the carefree world around them. “Yeah?” Paige asks, trying to sound light, though a small knot of worry forms in her stomach.

“Do you ever think about the future?” Dani’s words hang in the air between them, heavy and laden with thought.

Paige turns to look over at her now, eyebrows furrowed in surprise. Dani’s never been the type to dwell on what’s ahead—in fact, she says it scares her too much to even think about it. Instead, she usually submerges herself in now, living in the moment, seizing the day with both hands.

“What d’you mean?” Paige replies, voice soft, almost afraid to shatter whatever fragile thing Dani is holding onto.

Dani shrugs, her shoulders rising and falling with a casualness that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Like… what we’ll be like when we’re older,” Dani elaborates, bottom lip pulled between her teeth. “We’re starting middle school now, and I always hear things about friends drifting apart. I just wonder if, when we’re older—like high school or something—if we’ll still be friends. Or if things will have changed.” Dani keeps her eyes out on the horizon, expression thoughtful as Paige gazes at her.

Paige feels an odd tension in her stomach at the thought of losing Dani, of the possibility of their friendship fading away. It’s too painful, too much that would be taken at once, to even consider. Dani is Paige’s constant, her anchor in a world that sometimes feels too big and too overwhelming for the eleven-year-old. The idea that they could ever grow apart feels like a betrayal of everything they’ve ever promised each other.

“We’ll always be friends,” she says with confidence. Because, in what world could they not be? “Nothing will ever be able to change that, ‘kay?”

Dani finally looks back at Paige now, her expression softening, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Slowly, the seriousness begins to seep out of her. “Promise?”

Paige doesn’t hesitate, reaching out to hook her pinky around Dani’s. It’s a childish gesture that fits the friendship between two young girls. But this time, it’s true—a vow that they’re both determined to keep.

“Promise,” Paige echoes, squeezing Dani’s pinky with her own.

As they sit there, side-by-side on the playground, the world feels small and manageable, just for a little while longer. And, here and now, Paige allows herself to believe that nothing with ever come between her and Dani—no matter what.

PAIGE BLINKS, the memory fading just as their promise did. It hurts all over to think about the fact that she was so sure that nothing would ever come between them, that their friendship was absolutely unbreakable. But now, here they are, strangers but not at all, bigger walls being built between them each and every day.

The weight of that lost connection presses down on Paige’s chest, making it hard to breathe. Her lungs flare in and out. She wants—needs—to do something, to find a way to bridge the gap between them. But she just doesn’t know how, the silence and static between them far too heavy. And the fear that she might never get the chance to again is almost enough to make Paige’s lungs go out completely.

Mrs. Donovan’s voice drones on in the background, but Paige can’t focus on the words. All she can see is the back of Dani’s head, the way her highlights illuminate her brown hair at certain angles, the way she shifts uncomfortable in her seat every now and then, probably feeling the weight of the blonde’s gaze tearing into her back. It’s almost as if an invisible barrier has been built between them, one that Paige can’t tear down no matter how hard she tries.

Finally, the bell rings, signaling the end of class. Paige watches as Dani gathers her things quickly, avoiding eye contact with the blonde as she hurries out of the room. Paige lingers there for a second, heart sinking slightly as she watches Dani slip out the door, her back rigid, her steps quick and purposeful.

Paige feels a mixture of relief, dread, and—oddly enough—excitement. Relief that first period is over, dread at the thought of facing Dani again. But, at the same time, excitement about seeing Dani again. Because if this is the only time Paige can see her, if AP Lit is truly all Paige will ever be able to get out of the brunette again, she’ll take it. As pathetic as it sounds, she’ll take as much—or as little, she supposes—of Dani as she can get.

THE FOOTBALL game is the first big event of the back to school season, and Paige stands there in the student section with Thaliah and Amaya. It’s not like Paige has any particular interest in football; of course, she’s always preferred basketball. But she’s been in need of a distraction, something big and exciting enough to pull her out of the unfamiliar melancholy that’s settled over her, and it seems like a high school football game under the lights is the perfect choice.

The student section is alive with energy, the kids screaming and chanting things that they probably shouldn’t be as the game kicks off. Paige does her best to lose herself in the excitement. She screams along with her friends, sweating slightly under the setting sun, grabbing a Hawaiian lei excitedly when KK offers her one. It’s beach theme tonight—Paige tried to fit into it, wearing sunglasses and some beach button up with a white crop top, the lei helping to add to it.

But as Paige’s eyes drift along the players, along the field, along the track—her eyes land on her and it’s almost as if any and all excitement that had settled inside of Paige is whisked away, just like that. Dani stands on the sidelines, between the line of football players and the cheerleaders, her camera clicking away. It’s not like this is a new thing—Dani did this last year, for yearbook, and Paige shouldn’t be surprised to see her doing it again this year.

The Callan girl has always been passionate about photography, and it’s one of the many things that Paige has learned to love about her through the years. Paige knows that Dani has a way of almost losing herself in the click of her camera, finding beauty in the smallest details, the most mundane moments captured and crafted into something beguiling. Dani used to show Paige all the photos she’d taken, scrolling through the storage on the camera. The two of them would huddle over the device, and Paige would help her best friend pick the best photos for whatever project she was working on in yearbook.

And then, of course, there’s the other memory card that Dani has—the one that Paige knows is labeled “P.” It’s simple—all of the scattered photos that Dani has taken of Paige over the years, all put together on one little storage device. Dani told Paige several times that it was her greatest piece of work, merely because Paige was the star of it. Yet, for a while, Dani didn’t let the blonde look into it, keeping the memory card hidden away. But, eventually, Paige’s curiosity got the better of her and she’d found the card and scrolled through the photos. There were some from when Dani first got into photography, when they were much younger, with chubbier cheeks and more crooked smiles. A good amount was the photos Dani got of Paige court-side, some for the yearbook, some just reserved for the two of them. And then there was the candid ones—Paige remembers scrolling through them, and the look in her own eyes that stared at Dani from behind the camera… God, she remembers thinking that it seems she was whipped from the very beginning.

Paige’s heart clenches at the thought of that memory card, and wishes she was a photographer so she could have one of Dani. She’s got a fair few—or, well, a lot—of photos of Dani on her phone, but it’s just not the same. Faintly, Paige wonders what Dani’s done with the “P” card. Maybe she threw it away, crushed it into tiny little pieces, tossing it into the trash like she did her and Paige’s friendship. Or maybe—maybe—she’s kept it. Paige hopes it’s the latter; she imagines Dani, late at night, thinking of Paige like Paige has been thinking of her, and then going through the photos of her, wishing she could take back everything she said.

Paige almost rolls her eyes at her own thoughts. She’s almost sure Dani threw it away.

And then, the blonde is pulled out of her own head by the sound of the crowd erupting into a series of cheers, the band beginning to play. She glances at the field, then at the scoreboard, realizing she’s just missed a touchdown. Thaliah and Amaya and all the students around Paige are jumping up and down, chanting for Hopkins. Paige joins in, trying to drown herself in it, doing her best to put her mind to rest and just have some fun—she’s always been so good at that; she wishes it wasn’t so hard to do recently.

When the final whistle blows, signaling the end of the game, Hopkins pulls through with a narrow win. The crowd is excited for their first victory of the season, screaming those “start the buses” and “who’s your daddy” chants that Paige has always found ridiculously hilarious. Eventually, everyone begins to disperse, and Paige stands with Thaliah and Amaya, the three of them following the rush of students leaving the bleachers.

Amaya quickly tells Paige and Thaliah that she has to go to the bathroom, rushing towards the building. The other two girls stand around patiently, people watching their peers. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take long until Paige’s eyes once again find Dani’s frame. The brunette is packing up her camera gear, hauling a small duffel on her shoulder.

Thaliah follows the blonde’s gaze, nudging her gently. “You should go talk to her,” she says encouragingly, nodding towards Dani.

Paige shakes her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “She doesn’t want to talk to me.” It’s true; she remembers their last conversation—the cold look in Dani’s eye, the forced indifference, the river she rushed to drown Paige away.

“You’ve been miserable,” Thaliah says, point-blank. Paige’s eyes shift to her left, where the tanned girl stands beside her, brows furrowing in almost offense. “Don’t side-eye me like that—you know you’ve been miserable. And I think you’ve got nothing to lose these days when it comes to Dani, so you might as well just try.”

Paige doesn’t answer, eyes merely locking back onto her best friend. Without thinking, almost like her legs are moving of their own accord, the blonde starts walking towards Dani. She doesn’t know what she’s going to say, doesn’t know if Dani will let even let a word slip out of her mouth. But Thaliah’s right: it’s worth a shot. Paige can’t leave without even trying.

As she approaches, she watches Dani glance up, eyes meeting Paige’s. It lasts for only the briefest of seconds before Dani plainly averts her gaze, eyes anywhere but on the blonde walking up to her. Paige feels her heart stutter against her rib cage, threatening to sink at the sight, but, nevertheless, she keeps going, only stopping when she’s a few feet away from the brunette.

“Dani,” Paige murmurs, her voice soft, almost pleading. It’s all she can say; she doesn’t know what else to say.

The basketball player watches as her best friend’s body goes rigid, her hands stilling on her camera bag. It takes a second, but eventually Dani looks up, meets Paige’s gaze, brown on blue. There’s an unnameable emotion swirling within the Callan girl’s irises, and Paige wants nothing more than to step closer, to look deeper in them, to decipher exactly what’s going on in her best friend’s head. But she doesn’t. Paige stays rooted in place. And, for one, stupid moment, she believes that Dani might actually say something, that maybe this could be the first step in their repair.

But it doesn’t last.

“Dani!” multiple voices echo the name from the pair’s right. Paige turns to see Beau Hudson, still clad in his football gear and eyeblack, grinning and waving at Dani—his girlfriend, the blonde thinks, sickly—beckoning her over. He seeps with the same overconfidence he’s had the twelve years that Paige has known him, and it makes her blood boil over slightly. By his side is Serena Corren—a cheerleader that also happens to be Beau’s best friend, who’s famously known for her sharp tongue and dismissive attitude—also grinning and waving. Serena and Beau stand with a group that’s more than excited and impatient for Dani to join them.

Paige’s stomach twists at the sight. It’s clear that her best friend has integrated herself into this new crowd, one that Paige has always found superficial and unkind.

“I have to go,” Dani mutters to Paige, not meeting the blonde’s eyes. She slings her bag over her shoulder before hurrying off to her new friends, leaving Paige standing there, aching all over.

Paige watches Dani go, feeling like the weight of the world is pressing on her shoulders, weighing her down. She wants to scream, to cry, to do something to make Dani see that they don’t have to be like this, that they can fix whatever has gone wrong. But she can’t. So, instead, she just stands there, staring, missing her best friend.

Yes, Paige misses her. God, she misses her so much that it fucking hurts—it hurts her insides, her outsides, her bones, her skin. It makes her feel all wrong. Every part of her aches with the absence of Dani Callan, the loss of everything they’ve had. She misses Dani’s smile, the gleam in her eyes when she’d look at Paige, the giggles she’d let out whenever the point guard made a stupid joke. She misses the way Dani used to make her feel—alive, whole, like she could do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, as long as Dani was by her side.

But now all of that’s just—gone. And that’s clear as day as Paige watches Beau Hudson wrap his arm around Dani before pressing a firm kiss to her mouth.

She’s going to be sick.

Paige feels a hand on her arm, a head resting on her shoulder. It grounds her a little. Thaliah mumbles, “It’s gonna be okay, P.”

Paige doesn’t have the heart to say it, but she knows that’s not true. There is nothing okay with the fact that Dani is slipping—or, she supposes, has already slipped—through her fingers. There is nothing okay with the loneliness and pain that comes with it.

Paige doesn’t really know if anything will ever be okay again.

[padfootagain]

Only an Almost (XVIII)

Chapter 18: Work Song

Hi! Here comes a new chapter!

We’re starting to escape the angst here!

I hope you’ll like this chapter! Please, tell me what you think!

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Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader, friends with benefits AU

Warning: No explicit smut or nsfw content, but there are sexual themes and heavy make-out sessions (it’s a friends with benefits AU, I can’t really escape it), so 18+ only!

Summary: Andrew has been in love with you for years, and yet he has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.

Word Count : 3806

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

Andrew was getting a little better every day.

He was getting up without too much difficulty these days. His sleep schedule was a mess, but he was getting some work done. He went to see his parents three times a week, saw his brother often too. He went for a swim every morning and a long walk every afternoon. Sometimes he watched a good movie, spent some time reading. He made sure to avoid being in the same room as you, and had declined some friendly gatherings because of it, but he couldn’t claim to regret this decision.

He was getting better. You were still the first thing in his thoughts when he woke up, the last image printed on his eyelids when he fell asleep, but it was a torturing routine he had grown accustomed to by now.

It was like living with your ghost. The memories of you spending time with him in all his most familiar spaces. His house, his favourite spot to swim, his favourite walks, the pub you and your friends always went to… All familiar, but with an empty space constantly by his side.

Today, Andrew was hurrying out of his house. It was still early in the morning, too early for him if he were to be honest, but his best friend could not be waiting for him on his wedding day.

Despite the sadness that usually tainted his days since that night, Andrew was excited today. Happy and excited. He secured his guitar case at the back of his car, and drove to Sam’s house. He wasn’t surprised to find your car already parked there, but it was alright. Of course, you would be there, it was planned, and known. Andrew had sent you a text the previous night, the first form of communication since your ‘talk’ at your house, asking for both of you to keep the interaction to a minimum so that the wedding would go smoothly. Sam and Daphne were the most important today, and you and Andrew could go your separate ways for good after today.

It took you an hour to answer with a short and polite message agreeing with him and promising to remain ‘professional’, as you had put it.

Andrew was both relieved and pained by that answer…

He knocked, and Sam opened the door in the span of mere seconds.

“Jesus fucking Christ, thank God! You’re here!”

Before Andrew could say a thing, Sam was grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Rings?”

“In my pocket.”

“Spare shirts?”

“In the trunk.”

“Your suit?”

“In the car. And yours too.”

“Guitar.”

“Yep, that too!”

“Your weird drinks for your throat? I swear to God, I will skin you alive if you lose your voice before singing for our first dance.”

Andrew rested his hands on his friend’s shoulders as well.

“Sam, I have everything. Don’t worry.”

“You double-checked?”

“Triple-checked. I have everything. It’s going to be just fine.”

Sam started to giggle, tears shining in his eyes.

“I’m getting married today.”

“Today,” Andrew nodded.

“Fuck’s sake…”

“You’d better let me in so I can help you get ready and you aren’t late to church.”

“Right, you’re right.”

They hugged before Andrew would come in, tight and emotional and full of happiness and excitement.

He was moving towards Sam’s bedroom when you appeared. You were walking out of the room, a bag in your hand. You were still wearing casual clothes, planning to change before the ceremony. You froze, but quickly recovered, offering him a polite smile.

“Hi, Andy!”

“Hi,” he answered with the same neutral smile.

“I’m getting out of both your and Sam’s way! I was picking up a few things for Daphne.”

“Of course. Is she alright?”

“Excited. Terrified. In pure bliss.”

“Same as Sam, then?” Andrew chuckled, and you nodded.

“I’m afraid so.”

You nodded in silence, and Andrew bit his tongue before he could ask you how you were, or tell you how beautiful you looked today…

“See you at church, then,” he smiled and you nodded, taking it as your cue to leave.

He stared as you disappeared through the door.

But then Sam was reappearing, babbling about some stressful detail that was insignificant. Andrew smiled, and patted his shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get you ready. Or she’ll never say yes to such an ugly mug.”

Sam and Daphne were married.

It was official. They had both cried, had said yes (Sam was too excited and answered I do before the priest was done with the question), had exchanged rings (that Andrew did carry all morning and for which he checked approximately 2982 times if they were indeed in his pocket), had kissed, had walked out of the church, and finally it was time for the big party.

The eating and the partying were planned outside, under tents that were set in the parc of a large property the couple had rented for the occasion. It was spring, and unusually warm. A clear blue sky with only a few cotton clouds drifting by, and the weather remained that way through the beginning of the evening, as the sun was setting and the moon was slowly appearing in its crescent rise.

The speeches were spoken by a very nervous Andrew and then by you; and you both managed to perfectly balance emotion with humour and embarrassing anecdotes.

The dreaded caterers did an amazing job, that was complimented by the two mothers, and Sam threw a thumbs up at Andrew before starting to eat.

Andrew was sitting next to Sam, and you were next to Daphne, as best man and maid of honour. And Andrew was grateful for it. He wasn’t sitting next to you, and he managed to splendidly avoid talking to you during the day. Still, he could hear your laughter above the loud cacophony of the guests. He couldn’t help but steal glances in your direction every once in a while too, you looked too beautiful in your emerald dress for that.

Andrew pushed the thought away, focusing on the happy conversation that was unfolding around him, forcing a smile.

He hated himself for still wanting you this way…

But Sam and Daphne were happier than ever, and it was all that mattered, truly. They were ecstatic, laughing and smiling constantly, and stealing kisses whenever they could. And it was almost bearable then, the knowledge that you were sitting right over there, and that if he stood up and took but a step, he could hold you close once again.

Pathetic…

When Sam got up to invite everyone to gather outside for a dance, it was Andrew’s and Alex’s cue to get ready. There was a little wooden stage outside the tent as well as a wooden dancefloor, with lights hanging above the space, lightbulbs turning the atmosphere into something magical, cliché and terribly romantic. White flowers were decorating the stage, and hanging from the poles supporting the lights too. With the sky full of stars and the crescent moon above the trees, it was a sight worthy of a magical wedding.

Andrew was soon ready, all plugged in, guitar in hand, with the mic high enough to reach his lips. Alex was right by his side, sitting at the tiny electric piano. He gave Andrew a nod when he was ready, who cleared his throat to announce the first dance of the married couple.

“Daphne and Sam have done me the absolute honour to ask me to sing for their first dance. Erm… thank you again, to both of you, this is genuinely the most important event I’ve ever had to perform for, so… get ready while I try to get rid of most of the stage fright.”

Chuckles shook the crowd that had gathered in circle, right at the edge of the wooden dancefloor. Andrew tried to slow down his heart, take a couple of deep breaths, focusing on the moment, on the task at hand.

“Erm… if you guys are ready, erm… this is Work Song.”

He looked over at Sam, who offered him a nod in return. He had tears in his eyes, and Andrew had to look away, feeling his throat tighten with emotions. And he couldn’t have that now, not when he needed to sing. The first claps were played while Sam and Daphne were moving to the centre of the dancefloor, and they were both a sight to see, under the quiet lights.

Andrew was getting emotional again right before singing, and he looked for a distraction in the crowd as he started the first verse.

He noticed that many were mouthing the words, but not daring to sing. There were too many fond smiles for that, while Sam and Daphne twirled and swayed together, sometimes a little clumsily but with grins making their cheeks ache in the best way.

Andrew allowed himself to look at his friends again for the first chorus, and he kept his gaze on them despite the tears he had to blink away, and the depth that settled in his voice. By his side, Alex was being perfect, as per usual, they didn’t need to look at each other to be in rhythm. They had played this song too many times for that. Muscle memories perfectly combined.

He had to look away again, though, we he caught Sam whispering an ‘I love you’ in Daphne’s ear…

The second chorus was soon gone, and Andrew was trying to calm his nerves, to stay focused on the present, when he caught a silhouette dressed in emerald…

He almost missed a word when his gaze touched yours. And then it was impossible to look away. He blinked, but couldn’t do a thing about it.

You were so beautiful under those lights, under the moon, in this dress that suited you perfectly, for that song of love and devotion that spoke of feelings you sparked within him. He meant the words as he sang them to you. Despite how much you had made him suffer, despite all that you had done… he meant the worship he put in his words when he aimed them at you.

When I was kissing on my baby

And she put her love down soft and sweet

In the low lamplight I was free

Heaven and hell were words to me

He saw your lips quiver, the way you blinked and how your eyes shone a little brighter. He wondered if you were struggling against tears too, the way he was.

And he meant it. And it was fucking killing him, and he wasn’t sure you deserved it after breaking his heart, and he wasn’t sure he deserved you at all… but he meant it. He meant it and he was ready to cry at how much he still loved you. Over a month of trying to get better at functioning on his own, and you were shattering his whole world in just a glance…

That didn’t sound fair at all…

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

He saw the tear rolling down your cheeks, he struggled to hold back his own. Still, he sang the same words again, like a promise, like a prayer, like he was begging for you to see that he meant it, that if you gave him another chance, he would probably take it.

Would he? Anyway, you wouldn’t offer it to him. You had been clear. That’s what the voice in his head kept on repeating, and yet there you were… standing and crying and staring at him with pain in your eyes, a feeling he wished he could have banished forever from your life.

Christ, he loved you still… and he would have done anything, even conquer death, for you…

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

The song died out, Andrew’s fingers knew when to stop playing. He was shaken back to earth by the loud cheering of the crowd, and by your form disappearing as you walked back to the tent in a hurry.

He turned to Sam and Daphne, who were kissing and beaming and glowing while the dancefloor was being flooded with their loved ones. Alex and Andrew gave a small bow, before leaving the stage, the guests cheering for them.

Andrew needed to see you. He needed to find you…

There you were… you were walking out of the tent again, aiming for the grass that stretched beyond the tent and towards some trees, further down the small park. You had something in your hand, he didn’t know what it was.

He wanted to follow, but he was almost tackled over by Sam instead, as he hugged his friend too tightly.

“Thanks Andy! That was perfect! Thank you!”

Andrew couldn’t refrain a chuckle, while Daphne was hugging Alex too.

“No need to thank us for that. It was an honour, truly,” Andrew smiled.

“Come on, let’s dance!”

“No, no, no…”

“Andrew, it’s my fucking wedding! I want everyone dancing!”

“I hate dancing. I don’t do dancing.”

“Tonight, you do. Come on.”

Andrew looked in your direction, but you were gone.

He heaved a sigh.

“One dance. I do one dance, and that’s it.”

“Yes, yes! Perfect, come on!”

Andrew played along, dancing with Daphne for a song. His friend tried to hold him back when he moved away, but then Alex popped out of nowhere.

“As any of you seen Y/N? I wanted to borrow her charger for my phone, she said she’d give it to me after the first dance but… can’t find her anywhere.”

Andrew’s face fell, worry making him frown.

“Have you called her?”

“Tried to, but her phone is in the tent, and she isn’t.”

“I’ll go look for her.”

“Maybe she’s inside…”

“No, I saw her hurry towards the thicket over there,” Andrew shook his head, pointing at the bundle of small trees and bushes, barely visible in the distance.

There was no light in that area. Without your phone as a torchlight, you might have fallen, hurt yourself, fell right into the arms of a complete psychopath… and you had no way to call for help. Not with the loud music that was being played.

“I’ll go look for her. Alex, can you check inside the house?”

“Andrew, she’s been gone for five minutes…”

But when she looked up at the worry on his face, Daphne fell silent.

“Alright, you go, both of you.”

“Text me if you find her,” Andrew told his friend, who merely nodded and hurried towards the mansion.

Andrew bolted in the opposite direction, his long legs devouring distance in the blink of an eye. He jogged across the grass, passed the trees, turned on the light on his phone.

He looked around but couldn’t see you.

Panic was starting to rise in his chest, get a grip on his heart and make his lungs ache for air.

“Y/N!” he called.

No response, he called again, louder this time.

“Andrew?”

He spun around, and there you were…

On the other side of some hawthorn tree. He heaved a relieved sigh.

“For fuck’s sake! Y/N, what are you doing here?!”

“I… what are you doing here?”

He texted Alex quickly, before approaching you. His tone sounded angry, even though he was simply scared.

“I was looking for you, obviously! What the fuck were you thinking, huh? Going off like that, on your own, in the dark, without your phone! Anything could have happened to you!”

“Andrew, I’m right next to the party, at my best friends’ wedding. I’m safe, it’s alright.”

He groaned in annoyance, or perhaps it was simply relief.

“You can go back to the party, I’m alright.”

“You can’t stay here on your own…”

“Why not? I’m alright.”

But Andrew stubbornly sat next to you.

“I can’t let you stay here on your own.”

“Andrew…”

You heaved a tired sigh, while he was setting his phone so that both of you were enlightened by its light.

“You’re alright? What’s going on?”

He finally noticed the way the light was getting caught in the glass of a bottle of champagne.

“Y/N?”

“I want to be alone…”

“Then come back to the tent.”

You looked up at the sky to hold some tears back.

“Hey… why are you crying? What’s wrong?”

You merely shrugged, but you were properly crying by now.

“Hey… hey, stop crying… please, Y/N…”

He didn’t think. When Andrew wrapped his arms around your shaking frame, when he cradled the back of your head in his large hand to pull you close to his chest, when he shushed you softly… he didn’t think. You were crying, you looked so upset… he had never seen you so upset before. You spent several minutes sobbing in his arms, shaking, despite the way he soothingly stroked your back.

“It’s alright. It’s alright, calm down… Christ, Y/N, calm down…”

Slowly, the tears subsided. You were holding onto his vest like your life depended on it.

“My head is spinning,” you blurted out.

Andrew took a look at the bottle. It was half-empty, and he had no doubt it wasn’t your first drink of the night.

“Champagne will do that to you.”

He kept you close even if you were calmer now. You sniffed, buried your face deeper into his chest. He merely tightened his hold on you.

“You’re okay? Feeling better?”

You slowly nodded.

“You want to tell me what happened? Why you’re so upset?”

He was surprised as you laughed.

“Not really, no.”

“Alright… We should get back there.”

But despite his own words, he didn’t move a muscle. Instead, he closed his eyes, tried to precisely carve in his memory how it felt to hold you: the sound of your breathing, the softness of your hair, the silk of your dress, the warmth of your body against his, how your frame fitted so perfectly into his embrace…

“I’m sorry you were worried. I just wanted to be on my own,” you apologized in a quiet voice, it still sounded a little hoarser than usual because of your sorrow.

“I panicked a little bit. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I’m sorry.”

“I think… I might throw up…”

“Right… let’s get you inside, then. Come on…”

“No… no, stay. Please, stay…”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No! No… please, Andy. Just another minute…”

“If you throw up on me, I will get my revenge.”

“Turning me into a vampire?”

“I’ll haunt you after I’m turned into a ghost.”

“Stalk me, you mean.”

“Haven’t you noticed how much of a creep I am already?”

You sniffed once more, and he tried to look at your face to see if you were crying again, but you were hidden in his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Andy… I’m so sorry about everything,” you whispered against his heart, but he caught your words loud and clear, despite the music coming from the party.

“Let’s not talk about this now,” he whispered back, bending to press his lips to the side of your head. “We should go back. Your plus-one must be looking for you.”

“A plus-one? You have a plus-one?”

“Me? No… no, I came alone. I’m talking about you.”

“You didn’t see that I was alone?”

Your words were slurred with alcohol, but they sounded genuine, vulnerable too.

“Erm… no… I… I like… tried to avoid you all day, in case you haven’t noticed. That includes not looking in your direction.”

You let got of his vest completely. He expected you to move away, but you didn’t. It felt like you had gone limp in his arms.

“You can’t even look at me anymore…”

You started crying again, and Andrew cursed at his clumsy words.

“No, I mean… you… We’ve agreed to stay out of each other’s way, and that’s what I’ve tried to do.”

“I didn’t come with anyone.”

“Okay.”

“I fucked up… I fucked up, Andy, I’m so sorry…”

“Hey, look… let’s just…”

He looked up at the night sky, in an attempt to hold back his tears. His throat had tightened, he let out a long exhale, trying to focus on the shape of the incomplete moon, the stars that shone brightly, the happy song that was being played, he couldn’t remember the name of it. Anything to try and not crumble in your arms there and then. He had to keep it together.

“Let’s… let’s not talk about this now, okay?” his voice was soft, mainly because emotions were making it hard for him to speak. “We’ve already spoken about what happened. We just… like… We just need to move on now, yeah?”

But you shook your head.

“I fucked up. I fucked up because I was terrified. I was so fucking scared of letting myself have feelings for you… I was so scared of being too lonely when you’re away, of not being able to cope with your absence, with how much I fucking miss you every time you leave. And I was scared you could meet someone better, someone who could follow your lifestyle in a way I couldn’t and then you would have dumped me and…”

You heaved an exhausted sigh, while Andrew was remaining motionless, trying to process what you were saying.

“I should have never thought about this arrangement. I should have never accepted that stupid date. I should have never pushed you away.”

You spoke again after a short silence. Your next phrase knocked out all the air from his lungs.

“I love you. I’ve always loved you… God, I’m so sorry, Andy…”

He couldn’t answer to that. He couldn’t react to it either. He couldn’t process what your words meant…

Besides you were drunk… very drunk… this… this was a mistake…

“Let’s get you inside, Y/N, okay? Come on, now.”

At long last, you let him help you to your feet, and with his help you were able to walk back to the tent. Some members of Sam’s and Daphne’s families were staying at the mansion for the night, and there were still a few empty rooms available. Andrew got a key, and safely helped you to a bed. He took off your shoes, made you lie down, tucked you in. The time it took him to come back with a glass of water to put on your bedside table, you were fast asleep.

He took a moment to watch you like this, hair a mess of locks stranded on the pillow, looking peaceful, even if your crying was still visible. He gently brushed your cheek, dropped a gentle kiss to your forehead, and then he was gone.

[spacerockwriting]

For Keely

Happy Holidays from your secret santa!

@thepupperino

and a fic

Winter time was one of the worst times to be an EMT. Calls left and right from drunk patrons celebrating the holidays, kids falling on ice, and worst of all, DIY projects for the holidays. Not that Ian minded; he loved his job. He loved being able to make a difference in a way that helps the community. It gave him purpose, a reason to exist .

The day was going slower than normal, which was a surprise for the holiday season. But it made sense, it was a little too early for the drunk carolers, as it was for the office parties. Sue was chatting about gifts for her relatives, as Ian just sipped on his thermos of Fiona’s cocoa, nodding his head along with her chatter

Some shifts just seemed to drag, and so far, this was one of them. 

A call came over the walkie talkie, Sue nodding in response. “Incident at the Old Ukrainian church on Michigan, Saint Andrew’s, I think. Let’s go, Gallagher.” Ian follows his work partner into the ambulance, as she chats about the holidays and the romantic things her spouse has planned–as well as the not so romantic. “Who knows,” Sue chuckles. “Maybe one day you'll finally find someone. Can’t be hung up over that douche bag forever.”

“I’m not looking to date anyone. Not right now, anyways.”

“Gallagher,” Sue says, shaking her head.

The Church they pull into is old, historic. There’s a large archway for the entry , with stone steps leading up to the door. Stepping inside, Ian can hear  two men arguing loudly . One has messy blond hair that needs a wash and a brush, and the other..

Ian stops. The man’s wearing an old flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off, a t-shirt underneath the flannel with dark ripped jeans. His dark hair is off his face, and even though he’s in pain, he has the bluest eyes Ian has ever seen.

“Over here!” A woman with a clipboard calls out. She’s waving over to where the hurt boy is on the ground. “We’re over here!” She shouts, louder this time, waving Ian over. Grabbing his kit, he kneels down to check on the handsome man with the dark hair.

“Iggy, that’s my fuckin’ leg.”

“Shit,” Iggy apologizes. “Sorry Mick.”

“Fucker, that’s my leg,” Mickey repeats.

“Can you stand?” Iggy asks, and Mickey grimaces again. “Fucker, again, that’s my fucking leg,” he repeats.

“Hi, I’m Ian,”He introduces himself to the raven haired.. Gently tapping and examining the dark haired man’s leg., he nodded, carefully removing the shoe. “So, we’re going to get you to the hospital. Could I have your name please, Sir?”

“It’s Mikhailo,” the messy blond boy teases, smirking at the raven haired.

“Mickey,” Mickey says. “Don’t listen to that fucker.”

“Okay, Mickey,” Ian says calmly. “We’re going to put you in the ambulance. Just hold tight.”

“I’ll ride,” Iggy states, and Mickey scoffs, suddenly remembering how he arrived at this.

“You’re the one that did this Fuckface.”

Ian pauses. “If this is some sort of assault case we’re going to have to get the police involved.”

“Nah, not assault, just my idiot brother not knowin’ how to do shit.”

“Fuck you! The board just fell!”

“Cause you fuckin’ dropped it!” He hisses back. “Shit—“ he adds, aching as they placed him on the gurney. “Fuck.”

“Hold still,” Ian commands. “We’ll get you there in a minute. In the meantime, is there anyone we can call? A spouse or…?” Ian notices that there’s no ring on his finger.

“Nah. No spouse, no boyfriend,” Mickey says, swallowing nervously at the last words. He hasn’t been out for long, but this whole living your truth thing he was advised to do rings in his head. He was trying, especially since his father was locked up again.

“Uh, me too,” Ian adds awkwardly. “Boyfriend that is. So uh, what were you doin’ at the church?” He asks, genuinely curious. He wonders if the guy is religious. Not that he’d mind, it’d just be an adjustment. After all, every so often his own father, Frank, went through little religious bouts. Ian can recall many times he had to be dragged to mass because Frank just decided it was what they did now. Then weeks later he’d be back to how he normally is.

“What’s it look like? Was helping with the nativity,” he adds, grimacing at the pain.

As Ian unloads Mickey from the gurney and places him in his room he gives the other a weak smile before going back to work. His heart flutters when he gives another once over at the man. --

The Chicago winter was cold. All Ian wanted to do was be bundled up with his sister’s famous hot cocoa and a blanket, watching holiday movies on TV. But, leave it to his siblings to leave him to do the errands. But, neglecting the errands Ian finds himself wandering to the very same church from that call he was on just a few weeks before.

The doors are unlocked as Ian heads inside, taking a peek at the people congregating. Standing in the back quietly, he watches as the others rehearse, catching a glimpse of the man who now has his leg in a cast. He’s sitting on a pew, leg propped up as he bosses around the others. As soon as he takes notice of Ian, he grabs the crutches and wobbles his way to the back of the church.

“Yeah?” 

“I was just in the neighborhood, thought I’d stop by. Y’know, check to see how your leg is doing.”

“S’alright. Fucker’s annoying. You always check in like this to your patients?” Mickey teases.

“Just the ones I like. So, uh, you like this sort of thing? The church an’ stuff.”

“That a pickup line, Red?”

Ian smirks. “Maybe.”

“Mm, well, not really, then.” Mickey shoves his hands into his pocket, trying to not fall over. “Community service. It ain’t picking trash up off the streets.”

“Are you in it?”

“Nah, just building shit. Well, was, until that fucker broke my leg.” He points over at a boy with shaggy hair. “Now I’m just supervisin’.”

Ian chuckles. “In that case, do you uh, wanna maybe grab a bite or something?”

“Like a date?”

“Uh, yeah, if you—“Ian looks down at his phone and sighs. Of course his siblings would interrupt this moment. Mickey quirks a brow. “Sorry, my brothers pestering me. I gotta—Sorry—“ As Ian turns around to head out the door, he curses his siblings.

Mickey follows him out the door, carefully maneuvering his crutches around the ice on the sidewalk. “You just gonna ask then leave?”

Ian feels the buzz from his phone once more, and this time he picks it up angrily. “What? Yes, Carl, tell Debs I got the milk. Fuck!” Ian hangs the phone up annoyed. “Sorry, I really gotta go but uh, here—You gotta pen?”

Mickey grabs at a marker placed behind his ear. “Might be dried out but eh.” He shrugs.

Grabbing the marker, Ian scratches down his information on the thigh area of Mickey’s cast. Call me-Ian followed by a number. Bending back up to hand the marker back, Ian’s eyes flick up to see the snow starting to fall.

“I should probably go back in,” Mickey says, gesturing to the cast on his leg. The snow was starting to fall harder, and Mickey didn’t want fuck up chances and have his cast get wet. Last thing he needed was to have to spend more time in a cast.

“Let me help.” He grabs the inside of Mickey’s arm, helping him back to the inside of the church. There’s tons of mistletoe planted around the church awnings, and while it could be easy to ignore, Ian isn’t one to ignore the tradition. 

Pausing, Ian takes a moment to glance into some of the brightest blue eyes he’s ever seen. The boy’s cheeks are reddening, and Ian wonders if its blush or from the cold, considering the boy just has on a tattered old hoodie. Gently stroking his cheek and glancing into his eyes, Ian presses his lips to the raven haired boy, surprised as the boy kisses him back. And it’s there, in some old Ukrainian church with lightly falling snow that Ian kisses the boy he swears he’s going to marry one day.

[im-a-writer-sometimes]

Thank You, Doctor (Miguel O’Hara - Epilogue)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Word Count: 800

Warnings: deceased family member, pure fluff, implied smut (sorry horndogs, you’ll have to use your imagination)

🕷

The first thing you noticed was the tightness of the air. It felt like you were being compressed as you stepped back onto the streets that used to be your whole world. You’d become so calibrated to the world you’d known the last months, this place now seemed foreign to you.

Not so foreign that you couldn’t find your way to the little church your mother used to drag you to as a kid, dolling you up in the best dress she could afford, letting you smother on lipstick once you’d turned ten to try and incentivize you. You smiled at the memory, walking past the tall oak doors and through the low iron gates that led to the cemetery out back.

You were ashamed at how long it took you to find your mother’s grave, but you did, sitting down in the grass and pulling your knees to your chest. 

“You were all I had,” you said, your words swallowed up by the gloomy, overcast sky. “My only place in the world.” You dropped your cheek to your knee, smiling sadly. “Once you were gone, I tried to carve out my own place, but I didn’t fit. I know why now. It wasn’t your fault, or my fault. But now—”

You lifted your head, scooting closer so you could rest your hand on the top of the grave. 

“I’ve found a place. Somewhere to belong, Mom. You wouldn’t believe where if I told you,” you laughed. “You always told me love isn’t about passion and fire and adventure. Those are nice, but you said love is about feeling safe. Feeling seen and heard. All those things you never got.” You ran a finger over her name—Captain Mary Y/l/n. “Well, Mom, I think I’ve found that too. Too soon to say, but I’m saying it anyway.”

You touched the flowers on either side of the gravestone, finding them both still fresh. It made sense; as chief of police, your mother had been a beloved pillar of the community. Your world hadn’t been the only one shattered when she passed.

“I just wanted you to know,” you said, standing up and brushing the dirt off your pants. “You only wanted me to be happy. I think I’m getting there, Mom.” You started walking and then paused, turning back over your shoulder. “Also, Dad’s a multiversal criminal from another dimension. Was a multiversal criminal from another dimension, I should say.”

You thought you could hear her laughter in the sudden burst of wind, ruffling the leaves of the few trees poking up through the graveyard.

You were walking away when you felt a sudden stab of pain on your lower back, brushing a spider off of the sliver of skin showing between your shirt and pants. You watched it as it hit the ground, legs twitching. You narrowed your eyes, looked back at the grave.

“You’ve got a sick sense of humor, Mom.”

When you used your new bracelet to portal back to base, it was the dead of night. You didn’t have to think where to go; you’d arrived at the cafeteria before you even knew where you were going.

Miguel stood from his seat at the sight of you, and you smiled. 

“I didn’t think—”

“I’d come back so soon?” you said, crossing the room. “I know. But you let me go anyway.”

He simply watched you, still standing as you sat down in the seat across from him.

“I had some goodbyes to give,” you said. “Just one really.”

He slowly sat, eyes scanning over you as if he still didn’t believe you were here. In front of him. “No te merezco,⁸” he said, tilting his head as he watched you. “You still owe me nothing.”

“Then I guess that means we can start over,” you said, reaching out your hand before you. “My name is Doctor Y/n Y/l/n. Pleasure to meet you.”

He grabbed your hand and used the leverage to pull your forwards until your noses were nearly brushing. “Miguel,” he said. “The pleasure’s all mine.” When he kissed you, it was soft. No trace of that half-feral man who’d defended you against your father. He was unremarkably soft, tracing a finger along your jaw as you pulled apart.

“I wouldn’t mind continuing this introduction in your room,” you said, and, finally, his smile sharped into something more wild.

“Whatever you want, mujer implacable.”

When you woke the next morning, you had to slowly untangle yourself from Miguel’s arms, smiling at the way he instinctively reached out, mumbling something incoherent in Spanish. You picked up his t-shirt from the floor and tossed it over yourself, flicking your hair from beneath the collar. That was when you saw yourself in the mirror.

You squinted, stepping closer. 

You were bigger, that was for sure. There was muscle definition where there hadn’t been, and you simply stood there, staring. You reached out to touch the mirror, and to your horror, your fingertips stuck to the surface. Your other hand immediately reached for the small bump on your back where the spider had bitten you. You almost laughed.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you said.

🕷

(8) “I don’t deserve you.”

Thanks for reading, folks!

[fleet-of-fiction]

Jake Kiszka x Narrator & Sam Kiszka x OC.

Chapter Four

Summary: The Jones Family are new additions to the sleepy community of Beech Run. A tight knit scattering of rural houses, where everyone knows everyone. Deeply religious and overbearingly strict, the daughters of the family are kept under lock & key by a fanatical Father and submissive Mother. They watch from bedroom windows as their neighbours, The Kiszkas, draw intense curiosity and desire to be free. Madness of youth , hope & obsession collide to bring the danger of forbidden love to poetic ends. (Era A/U)

Warnings: Religious/ Parental trauma. Penetrative p/v sex. Dom/Sub dynamics. Ass play. Oral F/Receiving.

Winter 1985 (Flash forward)

Jake was gone; to begin with. The absence of him echoed all around. Like the vapours of his breath still lingered in the mist, just waiting to be breathed in.

It had been ten days since I last saw him. Standing on the edge of the street where all the Christmas lights twinkled an array of colours I couldn't feel anymore. The rot had set in.

And I'd watched him go. Without a rope to tie around his neck, or mine. Because using it to tether him to me hadn't worked. It was seamless how he disappeared into the density of the encroaching fog. Those reds, greens and blues that ran along the neighbouring windows fading alongside him.

I didn't know quite how profound the loss would be until I realised it was infinite. And suddenly I understood why poets were driven mad.

"Bonnie?"

The rain was lashing against the windscreen. I hadn't noticed. All I could see was the swirls of grey and white of that night he had walked into the road. Forever locked in that moment, never stepping out of it even as I traversed the present moment.

"Yeah?" I replied, turning my head to look at a pair of eyes so painfully similar to his that I couldn't stare for too long.

"We're here." Sam informed me, gesturing towards the blurred image of the church beyond the rainy glass.

I looked down at my hands. Balled up in my lap like I was wringing out a damp cloth.

"I can't do it." I shook my head, adamant that I was going to let roots begin to grow beneath where I sat before I ever got out of the car.

The warmth of a hand on my shoulder snaked over the curve of it from the seat behind me. And the tenderness of it made the tears begin to flow once more.

"Come on." Jolene soothed, "Be strong today, and I promise you can fall apart tomorrow."

~

Summer 1984

Jakes house smelled like beer and fabric softener. There were empty bottles strewn across the kitchen work tops and half eaten bags of chips sitting on the table. He immediately scrambled to try and make the place look more presentable as he opened the door for me.

I was endeared by it. But too tired to really care if the place was tidy or not.

"My Dad." He explained, sliding his arm across the counter in an attempt to gather all the empties into the trash can. "He usually has some buddies around to play poker and jam a little once a week. My Mom usually makes him clear the mess up, I guess he forgot tonight."

None of it felt real. Not the words exchanged in the hospital room or the way my little sister had clung to life with her eyes closed, none the wiser to the heated exchange. I could feel the coil around me tighten, a fear that I had done the wrong thing starting to choke me.

"It's fine, Jake. Really." I assured him, feeling the tears come.

He dropped the trash can and bounded across the kitchen, reaching me in one single heart beat. Fingers wrapping around my shirt, pulling me into his circle. The rush of comfort was overwhelming, doing nothing to stem the flood that was building. But it didn't feel quite so futile once I pressed my face into the curve of his neck.

"Hey, hey..." He soothed, "Everything will be alright, you know that?"

Whatever it meant to have walked this path, I couldn't go back. I'd had a taste of defiance and it had gone down like nectar. Sweet and alluring, with none of the bitterness I'd expected. And although I had a moment of doubt, the moment Jake held me it dissipated into nothing.

"Not yet, I don't." I sighed, letting the damp spot I'd made on his shirt seep onto his skin.

"Yes you do." He replied, noticing what I'd done and pulling the shirt completely off. "You being here means that you do."

The wall clock was ticking. The gentle buzz of the refrigerator sounded out over the silent house. It was strange to hear these familiar sounds in a place that was completely new to me. It didn't feel like home, but I didn't feel homesick for anywhere else either.

"It's been a long night. We can sleep on the pull out in the garage, I don't want you to have to deal with Josh's sleep talking in my room." He said, lining up my expectations like he always did.

"I don't care where we sleep." I shrugged, taking the shirt he'd dumped on the back of a chair and straightening it out absently as if my hands needed something to do.

He noticed.

"You're restless." He surmised, taking my hands into his and wrapping them around his waist. "Maybe we won't sleep, then."

"I couldn't." I confessed. "I keep replaying the sight of her laying in that hospital bed, helpless. And all my Dad cared about was making sure I knew he thought me a whore."

A smug little grin began to dance across Jakes lips.

"A whore?" He chuckled. "I have never given you a dime, how much do I owe you?"

His softness had me melting into it. In the face of my misery, he smiled and brought me into a light no God could ever provide. The sweetness of his love all the payment I'd ever need for the things he took such delight in from me.

"Forever." I replied, "You owe me forever."

The gentle nudge of the tip of his nose turned my cheek.

"Forever it is, then." He replied, nuzzling into a kiss that was slow and delicate.

I liked his house. The way it felt lived in. I could feel the love in the walls, the intimation of welcome and the chaos. I wondered how it could be that such love manifested under a roof so close to one that could scarcely keep the warmth in.

"I think this is what God meant when he talked about love." I whispered, letting him guide me through the house towards the door that opened up into the garage.

Jake was unapologetically shirtless. The base of his spine sitting above his belt, two little dimples that seemed to wink as he walked. Every fibre of him appealed to me, as if he'd been placed at my doorstep to adore.

"Don't worry about God." He mused, pushing open the door to reveal a cool breeze coming in from the drafty expanse ahead. "We make our own luck, our own destiny. We make our own love."

I felt as if I should have been exhausted. But being in this cavern of wonders always took me back to the night he took my virginity. I couldn't step into it without being reminded of the beauty of it, the way he'd been so gentle and calm.

I wasn't a virgin anymore. Any semblance of innocence I had given to him, willingly. I knew the softness of a man's touch and the aggressive streak that could come with heightened arousal. I knew that look in his eye when he wanted my body more than my soul. Things a girl could never understand.

"Fuck me, Jake."

I wanted it. Not to take the pain away, or numb the doubts racing through my mind. But simply because I wanted it. I wanted the rough and the smooth of his body against mine. The rush of blood to his penis, to feel the veins pulse at my touch.

I wanted the power. The femininity of it, to know he ordained himself to me. For the longest time I'd lived under a rule that was not my own. I governed myself now, my mind and my body.

"How would you like to be fucked?" He asked, pulling out the bed whilst keeping his eyes on me.

I could have been shy about it. I could have said it didn't matter, that he could fuck me however he pleased. But it wouldn't have satisfied me.

"Like the whore my Father thinks I am." I replied, without shame.

His hands were already at his belt. Loosening the buckle. Pulling it out of the loops swiftly.

"You'd better take off that dress and get on all fours, then." He instructed, matter-of-factly, as if I hadn't just said the most debauched thing to ever escape my lips.

The immediate flood was inspiring. He was so sure of himself, so certain of his ability to arouse me. Sometimes I forgot that I instilled that same heat within him. And so I did as I was told, letting my clothes fall to the ground as I crawled onto the bed.

I heard the unmistakable thud of his jeans as he kicked them off. The waistband of his boxer shorts as he slid them down high thighs. Soon his hands were at my hips, positioning me at the very edge of the bed with my toes almost peering over the precipice.

"Like a whore." He repeated, sinking to his knees. "I wouldn't fuck a whore like I loved her."

I had known his love and it was powerful. But so too was his propensity to make me feel like the most desired creature on earth. It carved out an obsession within me that had caused a ripple throughout my whole life. I simply wasn't the same girl I'd been at the start of summer.

"Then don't." I said flatly, "Just for once, don't love me..."

The way he didn't hesitate, the way he didn't even verbalise it. He understood what I needed without fixating on the how or the why. I closed my eyes as he spat on my cunt, rubbing his saliva into my submissive clit as he positioned himself.

He loved me so much he would do this for me. The sacrifice was not lost upon me. Part of me wondered if he had been waiting for me to submerge myself beneath the dark waters trying to drown me. If all along he'd wondered if the virgin would go rogue.

"The pastor's daughter has finally listened to the devil." He uttered, through gritted teeth, leaning in to my pussy like it was a water fountain, curving his mouth into the slit like it was about to satiate his thirst.

"He speaks to me every day." I reiterated, my voice trembling on the tongue that sliced into my entrance.

He trailed it upwards, licking a clean stripe from my pussy into the valley of my ass. And there he set to work, chasing all the choirs of angels that had ever sung to me. They flew skyward out of my mouth as I let out an agonized cry of pleasure.

He ate like a man starved. Like a man who had never set his tongue to speak, let alone venture into the parts of my body that never knew it could feel so good to be lashed.

"You know I love you." He breathed, his words strained on the way he swallowed.

"I know." I replied, almost in whisper.

"Good." He murmured, railing his tongue against my swollen lips. "Because for the next five minutes it's going to feel like I don't."

I was immediately drawn to the paint peeling on the brick wall. I was never really sure why my eyes zeroed in on it. Perhaps because my other senses were overwhelmed. I just needed something to tether me to this plane of existence. To feel as if any of it was real.

I stared at that white speck of flayed paint as my body convulsed. Jake, like he had lost his damned mind, sucked my pussy lips into his mouth and the devilish sound that it made turned my cheeks crimson.

And then, without any warning, I felt it. The curious finger that opened me up, a delicious new venture to take my mind away from itself. And I closed my eyes against it, not even able to tether myself to the wall.

My pussy, feeling the void of his touch, pined as he gently probed inside that other begging place. Filling it, exploring it. And I didn't have any way to fight it, least of all when he slammed his cock into that neglected hole. Fingers edging further into my ass, his hard beast giving me exactly what I had asked for in my pussy and my mind on the verge of euphoria as I forgot even the first syllable of my own name.

He was wrong. He'd never been more wrong. As he heaved and pounded, delicious strokes that hit me deep and hard I'd never felt more loved. My entire body pulsed with the magnitude of each thrust. My vulnerability laid bare, like he'd seen the heart of me since the very first time we'd caught each other's eye.

I wanted to touch him so badly, so maddeningly. But it drove me wild how easily he could take control and I would submit. Despite my shallow breaths, a gasp still managed to find it's way to my lips as he pulled out of my ass, swirling that same finger around the hole before stroking it with the pad of his thumb.

Everything I had come to know about sex was at Jake's teaching. Even this. This moment of sheer abandon, forceful indulgence in something I had clearly needed for so long but hadn't known what it was that would cure me of this melancholy.

I was nearing the point of thoughtlessness when I heard his whisper. His body leaned into the curve of my spine, his stomach nestled against me as his hand pulled back my sweat drenched hair. Cock held deep inside, his lips at the shell of my ear.

"Whore..."

There it was. Every single facet of my soul lingering in the ether between us. Getting fucked, getting my pussy so unashamedly pounded I felt nothing but pride. In Jake, in myself. There was nothing outside of it, nothing outside that one word that I had now reclaimed.

"Hail Mary, full of grace..." I recited, my voice barely audible over the stream of moans. "The Lord is with thee..."

"That's it little whore, pray..." Jake encouraged, wrapping my hair around his fist.

"Blessed art thou among....uhh...women..." I choked, feeling my head reel back as he pulled. "And blessed is the...oh, fuck...fruit of thy womb..."

He fucked harder, faster. Keeping my body aligned with him by pulling my hair.

"Tell him." He urged, "Tell your God who you belong to now."

My brain completely shut off from the inhibited parts that would scream at me to be decent, to have the kind of sex that God would approve of. There was nothing but the throbbing girth and savage onslaught of Jake fucking me left to commit myself to.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God..." I breathed, my mouth unforgivingly dry. "Pray for us sinners...now...and in the hour...fuck...in the hour of...fuck......"

"Our Death..." Jake completed for me, sending me into an orbit that was higher than any heaven could hope to be.

Had it only been five minutes? Every muscle and sinew ached, every nerve ending a blaze. My cunt was soft and wet, filled with his cum and the moisture of mine. My hair follicles stung, raw from the pull. I felt Jakes body slide against mine, sweaty and spent. The violence of his furious assault in the flush of our flesh.

I'd never felt more at peace.

"You want me to fuck you like that again, my death might be a real concern." He sighed, falling onto his back as I tried to regain my composure.

I'd never seen him look so absolutely ruined. The sweat and the rose in his cheeks making him look decidedly demonic. The dilation of his pupils made his eyes look pitch black in the almost darkness. He was my satan, my sinful reason to renounce all that I had ever known.

"But what a death." I replied, trailing a palm down my wet breasts, feeling my skin pricked with sweat. "And when you're entering the gates of hell you'll have sweet memories to keep you company."

"Hell can only exist if you believe in it." He said morosely, pulling me down into the clammy circle of his arms. "And after tonight, I've got a feeling you'll be less inclined to worry about ending up in eternal hell fire."

My cheek was sticking to his chest. But I didn't care. I let my skin absorb into his. Running my finger up his stomach, catching the little drenched hairs below his belly button.

"I don't care." I didn't know it until I said the words out loud. "All I want to do is make sure Jolene gets better, and make sure she never goes back to that life."

I had no concept of the time as I opened my eyes. I could feel the heat of the afternoon burning behind the garage door, though. A beam of yellow light framing the steel door. I sat up on the pull out bed, wrapped in blankets as if I'd been tucked in as I slept.

My dress was still draped on the arm of the chair opposite, everything left as it had been the night before. The only thing missing was Jake, his muffled voice carrying down from the house above.

I dressed in haste and found myself feeling a little nervous as I climbed the stairs towards the kitchen. Voices falling to silence as I turned the door handle.

I could feel the atmosphere thicken as I walked in. Jake was standing by the island, his palms flat on the counter and his head bowed. As if he'd been engaged in a conversation that brought him no joy. His Mother was standing at the hob, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. Her faded smile awkwardly returning as she caught sight of me.

Josh and Sam were sitting at the table devouring a plate of pancakes, their sister idly reading a book with her feet up on the chair next to her, barely noticing my entrance.

"Sit down, dear." Karen offered, "There's pancakes on the table and I'm making some porridge if you prefer."

The kitchen was still littered with the night before, empty beer cans and chip bags. But nobody seemed to care, and it made me feel more at home. Despite the lull in conversation as I took a seat around the table, I had hope that it was because nobody had expected me to be there.

Sam, still chewing his food, smiled.

"Do you think it'd be ok if I went to see Jolene in the hospital?" He asked, shoving an empty plate towards me.

"Sweetie, we talked about this." Karen said, pointing her wooden spoon at him. "I don't think Mr. Jones would appreciate that."

Perhaps I should have interjected. I could feel Jakes eyes on me, waiting for me to agree or disagree. Ronnie looked up over the lip of her book, and Josh offered me the syrup.

"You don't have to walk on eggshells." I ventured, "I don't have anything to say about my Father that will be positive."

"I already told you." Jake sniffed, "She doesn't want to go back there."

Karen shot her son a knowing look, one that I couldn't be a part of. But I understood the meaning of it. She would protect her flock from the bullshit my family posed, but she would welcome me regardless of it. Whatever it meant, she had to trust that her son had everything under control.

A part of me doubted that she held that much trust in her youngest son. I didn't know why, but I'd seen the careless nature in Sam. His propensity for letting himself run away with frivilous ideas. This and Jolene's chaos was a deadly combination.

"You're welcome to stay here as long as you need." Karen offered, putting a bowl of thick and gloopy porridge in front of me.

She sprinkled it with some fruit and looked pleased with herself. The sort of Mother I'd never known. Suddenly I was ravenous and began spooning the mixture into my mouth like I hadn't eaten in days. Maybe I hadn't?

"Don't they feed you over there?" Josh asked, amused by me.

Jake railed his palm against the back of Josh's head, ruffling his curls.

"I know you're joking, but be fucking nice!" He warned, pushing Ronnie's feet off the only empty chair before taking it.

"I am being nice!" Josh replied, shrugging in surprise. "Sorry, Bonnie."

I shook my head. It didn't matter. Sam was still waiting for me to say something to his request. As if what Karen had said didn't answer the question for him.

"So, what do you think?" He continued, "About me being able to go up to the hospital?"

I was still chewing on the blueberries popping against my tongue as I sluiced the porridge around my mouth. Savouring the taste. Wondering if breakfast was always this delicious, or did everything just taste better now that I was free?

I was still formulating an answer when the doorbell went. The ring of it making everyone exchange this strange look of wonder. Perhaps their doorbell was so seldomly pressed it came as a surprise that someone was at the door. It struck me that the Kiszka house was an open door policy. Anyone that knew them well enough to have occasion to visit simply stepped inside.

"I'll get it." Jake said, after realising nobody else would.

It didn't take long for me to hear the voice my brother used when he was trying to be polite, but it was nothing more than a facade to the way he really felt. I could hear the clipped tone, the words appropriate enough but I could imagine his smug little face.

I shot up from the table. Determined to make this problem go away. Feeling as if I owed no more bullshit on their doorstep.

"What do you want, Ben?" I asked, letting Jake step aside as I approached the door.

He didn't look smug at all. There was this pained look in this eyes that I'd never seen before. Like he hadn't slept. His shirt wasn't tucked in and his hair wasn't neatly combed as usual. His chin was trembling, as if he was on the verge of tears he would never allow himself to shed.

He was forlorn. "Can't a brother check up on his sister?"

I almost laughed. "I really don't think you care."

"I do..." He replied, without hesitation, his eyes widening to prove his point. "Of course I care. I've got one sister in the hospital and the other one hiding out in the house across the street. We need you to come home, both of you."

The use of the word 'we' incited an anger in the pit of my stomach I hadn't known burned quite so brightly. It flared in the whites of my eyes and made my palms grow clammy. I looked to Jake, but he simply held the door open and waited to move on my cue.

"Close the door Jake, we're done talking."

He didn't ask questions, he just let the door swing free. When Ben stepped inside and jammed his foot against it closing, only then did he gently move me back. Standing in front. Meeting my brother at eye level.

"Take your foot out of my door, dude." He softly warned, "That's not cool."

He didn't even look at Jake, it was as if he wasn't even there. Like this wasn't his house and he was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

"You disobey your Father, you disobey God." He said ominously, "Is that what you want, Bonnie?"

I couldn't entertain him. Every word that spilled out of his mouth now sounded like the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard. Nonsense. The word of God? A tool used to keep me compliant. In fear. I could see his concern laced in his furrowed brow, but it was misplaced.

He wasn't concerned for me. He was concerned with the reaction he would get if he went home empty handed.

"Yes, Ben." I replied, "That is what I want. Ok???"

He'd forged his way into every traumatic moment of my life. Standing on the periphery of every abusive little thing Dad had ever said or done to me. Like a strange little voyeur, living under the same roof but having an entirely different experience.

"You heard her." Jake echoed, kicking my brothers foot aside before slamming the door in his face.

The eggshells were still being walked on as I hurried back to my breakfast. It broke my heart. And I couldn't eat another bite, everything going down in lumps as I sat there fighting back tears. Everyone was silent. I couldn't take it.

"Yes, Sam." I mumbled, trying to find my voice without it breaking on tears. "Get your jacket, we'll go up to the hospital."

His eyes lit up. His smile beamed. Like I'd handed him the holy grail and told him it would grant him unending powers. The sort of joy that was only reserved for the first flushes of love.

I looked at Jake, knowing it wasn't like that for me and him. He wouldn't find joy at being granted access to my hospital bedside. He would be injured at my side, or cutting down the last tongue that ever tried to tell him he could not see me.

I could still feel the ache between my legs that he had left as a reminder of his unwavering devotion. And I knew that whatever was to come would be a testament to that. To the coil wrapped around us both.

I couldn't fathom what was about to happen.

To be continued...

@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon y @char289 @dancingcarbon @gvfpal @violetstarcatcher @wetkleenex-gvf @jazzyfigz @gvfmarge @ignite-my-fire

[blitany]

moments between Ellie and Joel  that have physically grabbed my heart and squeezed it

Ellie parenting Joel the way Sarah parented him (”I’m taking a shower. And then you’re taking a shower.”)

“I’m not family?” and the shred of hope in her voice as she asks because Ellie’s never belonged to anyone, with anyone (not the way Riley did, not with a family), and she wants to so badly

“Look at me. They’re not going to hit you” and “Do you trust me?”

Joel being absolutely terrible at trying to talk to Ellie after the ambush but he’s trying to because she saved him and he’s both impressed that she did and feeling awful that she had to. it’s his fault, his job is to protect her. but she protects him without thinking twice. she’s still trying to prove herself to him, from the way she shoots Bryan to the way she hides her tears because she doesn’t want Joel to think she’s weak. and he doesn’t know how to tell her she shouldn’t have to be strong.

the implicit non-verbal communication and trust between them when she’s on the ground and he’s up in the church

when Joel goes to hug Tommy and Ellie watches on with this look of hurt and longing on her face - maybe because she wants that kind of care from Joel so bad, maybe because she thought he just wasn’t an affectionate person but now she sees he’s just not affectionate with her, maybe because she’s realizing that Joel is family to her but he already has a family and no matter how much she cares about him he’s never going to need her in the same way never going to view her in the same way because he already has what she never did

Ellie defending Joel to Maria because how dare this stranger judge her father figure? she knows all she needs to know about him, she’s certain that they understand each other in a way that nobody else does.

“i’ve lost somethin” and the first time i heard this i thought he meant Sarah but no he meant Ellie, he’s afraid of losing Ellie because she means something to him now, she’s not just cargo, but he’s too scared to say it out loud

when there’s a knock at her bedroom door at dawn and Ellie says “come in” so softly and hopefully because she thinks it’s Joel and she’s ready to apologize as long as it means they can stay together. then it opens and it’s Tommy and her whole body language shifts into this

Joel’s little barely-repressed smile when Ellie throws her bag at him and says “let’s go” because she’s choosing him, because she’s still choosing him even after what he said to her

the way Ellie leans against him and rests her head on his back while they ride and he just lets her

Joel telling Ellie he wanted to be a singer when he was a kid because he’s finally opening up to her and trusting her and he wants her to know him 

the desperate, pained crack in Ellie’s voice as she cries “jOeL” in the snow, her hand touching his face, begging him not to leave her

the look in Joel’s eyes as he watches Ellie go, thinking she’s leaving him, trying not to cry in front of her

and the astonishment and happiness when she comes back to save him, the way he can’t thank her for doing so because he knows it’d be better if she left but he’s just so glad she’s staying and how she looks at him for courage before she starts stitching him up and he grips her hand so tight and i love them so much

[onmyyan]

Hi I have cowboy brain rot permanently 👐✨ I'm so full of ideas abt him. You move into town and Spring is beautiful in the country, and the community seems tight-knit. So close in fact that dinner parties or potlucks are common- usually it would be church potlucks but who cares honestly. The real kicker is he called in a favor to host and then begs you for help, only for it to get weirdly domestic while you're helping get ready. He directs all compliments to you and is schmoozing so much that you're not surprised that people seem to think you're his girlfriend - by the end of the night, you are, anyway.

And then summer rolls around and you're sun tanning and getting a visit from Ash- you explain you might as well since you can't get cool in the house, the ac got busted somehow (there's an Ash's boot-shaped dent that he's a little ashamed of, but your grandmother is out of town, and he's with you, so there's no real danger- and now he gets to install a better one later.) He offers to take you to a swimming hole on his land, just the two of you. It's the perfect place to confess (some) of his love for you.

Eventually in the fall, your grandma starts hinting you should move in with him, and then outright demanding it of you, and you wonder when she got so progressive. But it becomes clear that it's just because shes getting older and is convinced that you're already married, and it's upsetting her that you're leaving him lonely. So it feels a little early, but you move in for her wishes, reassuring yourself you're still close by if she needs you. She is a little confused in her older age, but it's at least partially because Ash has been telling her y'all were married and he missed you.

And finally, it's Christmas- you've been living with him for a while, and none of your prospects outside of town panned out- jobs you applied for didn't get back to you, certification programs didn't reply, and your connections with friends back home seem to have dried up. Your last living relation in town passes, and it's up in the air (at least in your mind) if you'll be leaving - there's nothing holding you here by familial obligation, but now you have nowhere else to go. Ashley convinces you to stay with him- you couldn't keep your grandmother's house due to debt, and with no back up available outside of town, you really don't have any other choice but to stay right where you are. You aren't aware of how many favors he's called in to make things go the way they have for you, how many messages and job offers he's intercepted, just to keep you.

Me @ you because You've fed us all with this ask my lawd you are so talented I LOVE THIS Ashley subtle but absolutely diabolical manipulation, his smoothness with his yandere actions, how you'd have no idea what hit you by the time he got a ring on your pretty finger

[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14b (Where Do We Go Now?) ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 14C: Where Do We Go Now?

Soundtrack: “Sweet Child O’ Mine,” Guns N’ Roses, 1987 [click here to listen]

Where do we go now?

Where do we go now?

Where do we go?

- Guns N’ Roses, “Sweet Child O’ Mine” (1987)

Tucson || July 1988

AA met every Thursday in a church hall not far from the studio. She’d borrowed Bobby’s Trans Am to drive Jamie, holding his hand the whole way, hearing about his chat with Alec – who had graciously agreed during their January trip to New York to be Jamie’s sponsor.

She kissed him when he went inside. Needing some peace and quiet of her own, in the car, as she waited.

She had tried NA off and on, but it hadn’t really clicked. She was so very happy that AA really worked for Jamie – it was always much easier for him to open up to perfect strangers – and she was grateful that he could get the support he needed, at a moment’s notice, in any city.

Not to mention that the Friends of Bill took the “anonymous” in Alcoholics Anonymous quite seriously – meaning, in those meetings Jamie was just Jamie the alcoholic, not Jamie Fraser the frontman of Print, not the rock star. Just a man who fought daily battles with addiction, who was trying to be better, who just so happened to have the number six record in the country today.

It was hard. It was always going to be hard. But he was worth it. The life they had together was worth it.

She pulled out the folded envelope. Smoothed the creases against the steering wheel. Reading and reading and re-reading the return address.

Listening to Guns N’ Roses and Def Leppard and Poison and Cheap Trick on the radio.

She didn’t see Jamie cross the parking lot. Jumped when he slid into the passenger seat, smiling, with a kiss.

“Hey.”

She offered a tight smile. “Hey. How are you?”

“Much better.”

His gaze found the envelope.

He didn’t need to say anything.

She couldn’t say anything.

But now that he was here, she opened it.

Held out the single sheet of paper.

They read.

Dr. Claire Beauchamp

via Colum Laird, Broch Productions

Dear Dr. Beauchamp,

Thank you for your letter and providing a forwarding address. Three months ago, the BMC board unanimously voted to terminate your employment. For legal reasons we will not provide further details, and the board’s decision is final.

However, we have communicated to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts that your medical license should be restored, with the provision that you no longer practice medicine in any kind of high-stress environment. You may contact the medical board at the below address to request a copy of…

Jamie watched Claire read and re-read and re-read.

“Sweet Child O’ Mine” played softly on the radio.

A long, long moment.

The song shifted to the bridge.

Where do we go now, sweet child? Axl Rose murmured.

Jamie took a breath. “Where do we go now, Claire?” he whispered.

She folded the paper and put it back in the envelope. Laid it on the dash. Reached beneath her shirt to pull the long chain up over her neck. Settled her left hand on Jamie’s thigh, skin hot through his jeans.

Jamie unclasped the chain, letting his grandmother’s engagement ring slide free. He slipped the ring onto her finger. Brought her hand to his lips, kissing so softly.

“I’d like us to have an extra day in Boston when we’re there next week. So that we can pack up my apartment.”

She was looking through the windshield, face turned to him in profile.

“Yes. What else?”

“I’d like a little house in the mountains of North Carolina. Not too far from The Ridge. It’s so beautiful and peaceful there. I’m sure Dougal and Gillian can help us find something.”

Gently he bit her knuckles. “Something small. Kitchen and living room. Bedroom for us. A room I can use for music. And a room for your medicine.”

She nodded. “I’ll transfer my license – I’ve already looked into how to do that. I can file the paperwork when we get to Boston. I don’t know if I want to be in a private practice, or just volunteer in a clinic, or maybe something else. We’ll get settled, and then we’ll decide.”

“We will. I – are you happy, Claire?”

She smiled tightly. “More…relieved. And yes, I’m happy, Jamie. Happy to be free. Happy to be marrying you.”

They sat in silence for a long while. Listening to the final notes of Slash’s guitar. And then the first two minutes of INXS and “New Sensation”.

Memory flared – the last time she heard this song was the one time she’d seen Jamie nude, changing into his leather pants backstage in Orlando, when she’d entered his dressing room without knocking.

She swallowed. “I want the house to have at least one spare bedroom.”

He laced their fingers. “Of course – for guests.”

She flushed. Finally met his eyes.

“Yes. And for children.”

He released a suddenly shaky breath. “Oh, my love. Yes.”

She squeezed his hand. “I’m never taking this ring off again.”

He leaned across the console and kissed her. Kissed her. Kissed her.

[mediocrewallflow3r]

To Be Loved and Have Loved - (Nathan Prescott/ AFAB Reader) Pt. 1

Title: To be Loved and Have Loved

Part 1, Part 2

Pairing: Post-Storm Nathan Prescott/ Female Reader

Rating: Explicit- minors shoo!

Word Count: 1.7k

Content/Warnings: A continuation to @delopsia 's "To Build A Home", takes place directly after, Sloppy makeouts, Light Dom/sub, Good Nathan Prescott, Life is Strange Comic Lore, post-storm, Nathan ruining his Father's dining room out of spite, plus size! reader, Nathan being soft for only the reader, Aftercare, slight subspace, future Metallica References, Nathan Prescott Needs a Hug, Praise Kink, Safe Sane and Consensual, Fluff and Smut.

A/N: Hi there my lovelies! It’s been a long while. I’ve been away improving my art in college, trying to improve at writing, and becoming a part of the Tumblr community. This is a continuation of https://www.tumblr.com/delopsia/672519407059222528/to-build-a-home?source=share and will be posted in parts. Pre-writing and posting I reached out to Del and got permission to continue their lovely fic. I’m honored that I can post my writing in addition to theirs! Feedback is very appreciated and please go check out Del!

"Why do I get the feeling that you're planning something devious?" You chirp as the two of you begin walking to your car.

"How do you feel about joining me for a secret rendezvous in my father's precious dining room?".

"Why most definitely my good sir!" you gallantly respond, curtsying for dramatic effect.

"You're a fucking weirdo, you know that right?" Nathan says, shaking his head incredulously. Though, you can see the blush dusting his pale ears.

The stars above twinkle brightly in the suburban sky while you and Nathan pile into your car, excitement buzzing between the both of you.

After turning the ignition, Nathan's hand gently reaches over and squeezes your thigh. His nimble fingers toy with the tights almost bursting because of your larger thighs.

"What's that for, cowboy?".

You watch as his bright blue eyes meet yours, amusement painting his features.

Nathan adverts his gaze from the stars and meets your eyes. "Nothing in particular, nerd," Nathan smirks under your intense gaze.

Huffing, you pull out of the old church parking lot. You see in the corner of your eye Nathan waves to a few people. A smile graces your lips at the thought he considers some survivors worthy of a wave now.

Driving through the back roads of Arcadia Bay proves interesting, many broken limbs and scrap are still littering the road- hindering the ability of drivers. You try not to think about the families that may have not survived while you drive past crushed homes.

From what you've heard, Max and Chloe have found a place closer to the remnants of downtown Arcadia. According to Victoria, Max is even collaborating with her art gallery in New York. She mentioned something about Chloe working up to being a small-town mechanic. You try not to think about Mark Jefferson's ongoing trial.

"What're you thinkin' so hard about, little doe?" Nathan questions, gently. His thumb tugs and twists at your tights fervently.

"Our friends." You sigh.

"Pfftt- we have friends? Since when?".

"Since you got off your high horse and we started leaving our home more,".

Nathan tugs your tights in retaliation, snapping them back loudly for effect.

"Don't get bratty with me, Y/N, you know better,".

"That's ironic coming from you, Mr. 'The Prescott’s rule this town!'".

Nathan laughs, a real goofy laugh, his canine teeth shining bright in the moonlight.

He rolls down the windows, whooping and hollering, suddenly. Your eyes can't stray away from his strawberry-blonde hair swirling around in the breeze.

"Yeah, I'd fucking suppose so!" He shouts back over the loud wind.

Giggling quietly, your eyes catch a glance of the Prescott Manor gate between the dark trees causing you to pull into the long-winded driveway subsequently. The lights are off, as per usual. You allow yourself to enjoy the cold night air like the person beside you in the vehicle.

Hesitantly, you pull into the garage. The lights automatically turn on brightly, allowing you to see the drywall- that you know must cost more than your entire tuition. The old Nathan would have pretended not to see your shaking hands gripping the steering wheel tight, but this one can't and won't miss that shit.

Surprisingly, Nathan begins to lean over the center console, his hand moving from your thigh to gently squeeze your hand. In the corner of your eye, you see his normally death-worthy stare turn soft.

"You can relax baby, I don't care if you hit the drywall. I've done it before for fucks sake!".

"You noticed?".

"How could I have not? You're shaking like a goddamn leaf.".

You purse your lips, nodding. You know Nathan is right, but the one interaction you experienced with his father sits heavy in your mind. The anxious silence stretches whilst Nathan begins to gather your coats and other belongings from the back seat.

You hear the click of the passenger door opening and then Nathan speaking gently to you, "Let's go, weirdo.". On autopilot, you open the car door and begin walking towards the Manor doorsteps. Nathan, much further ahead of you, shifts through his keys looking for the correct one. After a few moments, you hear a quiet "a ha!" When he finds the right key.

Nathan pushes the door open with you wandering close behind him. He hits the main hallway light switch. Both of you take off your shoes in comfortable silence. You were taking much longer, the converse adorning your feet proving difficult to take off quickly.

Then, Nathan's sharp cupid bow is kissing your ear, and his rough hands gently squeeze your shoulders. "We don't have to do this tonight," he whispers into the dusted pink shell of your ear.

Oh God, but I want to.

Pushing your back firmer onto his chest, you respond bashfully, "I want this, I do, I'm just nervous.".

Nathan's hands wander, slipping under your sweater- caressing your stomach and happy trail. "Why're you nervous? It's just me,".

"I want things to be good for you,", I don't want you to leave me, remains heavy in your mind as you nervously chuckle out into the dusty Manor hallway.

Nathan's hands stop in their tracks. "Are you fucking serious?".

Unspoken words sour inside Nathans's mouth; "Do you know who I am? I've killed people. My hands shouldn't be touching your kind body. I've been with so many people, you shouldn't have second best as your first. I have to take medicine to be sane. I scream and shout at you regularly. You shouldn't trust me.".

Caressing his right-hand causes Nathan's eyes to droop warmly as he lets out a quiet, "humph".

"Ever since I've met you, I haven't wanted anybody else...", you continue, laying everything out on the table- literally.

"Then I s'pose we're on the same fuckin' page, baby. ", Nathan’s voice has got that deep, gravelly tone to it again, the tone that you remember with vivid detail, the tone he used that one Thursday morning before the storm.

Your shoulders fold inwards, warmth blooming inside your chest. Nathan's chest presses into your shoulder blades while freezing hands play with your belly button piercing, and his breath fans out across the baby hairs growing on your neck. He's everywhere but nowhere.

"To the dining room...?".

"Fuck yeah, doe-eyes.".

Efficiently, Nathan hauls you up into his lanky arms and quickly walks down the winding corridor. Abruptly, he turns to the left entering his family's large dining room. He pauses at the door briefly, allowing you to hit the light switch.

Almost immediately, the ridiculously large chandelier gracing the ceiling of the room lit up brightly. Nathan moved less than gracefully, sitting you down in a dining chair. He made quick work of the dusty table settings, quite obviously for decoration, by grasping the end of the tablecloth and yanking it off the table.

Before you could even register the loud noises of shattered glass, Nathan's soft lips were on yours. Nathan gently cradled your head, his other arm lifting you onto the wooden dining table. Soft groans settled in the back of his throat after hearing a small whimper from you.

Taking a breath, Nathan leaned forward on yours, his nose brushing gently on yours. “Easy, easy, baby,” he whispered, “It’s just me,”. Please don’t be scared of me , remains on the tip of his tongue. “I know,” you whispered back, understanding. A pause settled in the dining room, heavy gasps coming in and out of both of your lungs.

Nathan settles onto his forearms, lips brushing against yours but not entirely closing the gap, bony hips circling gently into yours. “I think I’m getting major Deja-vu right now, Nate,” you chuckled, brushing your fingers through his fiery hair.

“I don’t think this time’ll be the same,” Nathan chuckled, chin resting on the top of your sternum.

"Can I touch you?", you ask gently, hands itching to reach out and touch.

Nathan's eyes flick away from your face, his teeth beginning to chew on his lip anxiously. You feel a tremor run through his spine.

"Uh- yeah, you can touch me, just- um- tell me where before you do," Nathan stutters out, his eyes not meeting your hopeful ones.

"Okay," you whisper, smiling up at him.

Nathan's lips tug into a soft smile and his dimples show slightly despite his avoidance of eye contact.

"Can I touch uh- down there? " You nervously ask, peering up at Nathan's sharp features.

Way to fucking go Shakespeare.

Airy chuckles erupt from Nathan's lungs, his laughter shaking the both of you.

"Yes, babe, you can touch my dick, that's why we're fuckin’ here, to begin with,", he says in amusement, a smirk gracing his rose pout.

Your smile quickly shifts into a pathetic pout, and Nathan's face softens upon seeing the change in emotion. "Don't be upset baby, you're doing just what I asked," he coos at you, his fingers slightly pinching your cheek. That once faint, woodsy musk cologne invades your senses, his praise settling deep into your lower abdomen. Nathan's lips brush against yours and his tongue cheekily licks over your lips to the tip of your nose. An amused breath releases from Nathan’s lungs as you continue attempting to lock lips with him. Silently, your hand clenches up and hits Nathan’s shoulder in respite.

“Stop teasing me, you motherfucker,” you whimper out in frustration, your legs flailing underneath the weight of Nathan’s lithe body.

If he doesn’t fuck you six ways to Sunday soon, you’re going to be so pissed at him.

Nathan’s slick tongue trails over your collarbone up to the ridges of your neck slowly. His hands glide over the plush skin adorning your hips, and deep short breaths release from his nose loudly.

“I’ll tease you when I wanna’ tease you,” Nathan teases, his voice being muffled by the spot of your skin he’s worrying to death with his teeth.

In retaliation of some sort, your right hand begins drifting down towards the stiff bulge prominent in Nathan’s designer jeans. Your fingers sneak under the waistline quietly and begin brushing your hand over the curls adorning his happy trail. Nathan ever distracted with the large hickies that he’s painting your chest with, groans in surprise.

Your fingers brush over the tip of his cock gently, the girth taking you by surprise.

“When were you gonna’ tell me you were packing?”, you tease Nathan, loosely gripping his cock.

A soft, “Fuck,” comes out in a deep breath from Nathan while his fingers travel from your hips up to your plump tits.

“I didn’t plan on telling you, I planned on showing you,” he chuckles.

“Then fucking show me you tease!” you shout at him, almost playfully. Deep down you want him to snap, to let go.

Quickly Nathan’s hand gently slaps your thigh, re-establishing his commanding demeanor. He leans his face right in front of yours as his intense gaze bears down on you; “You’ll get what you want, you know that, so behave,” he hisses out.

[harlequinoccult]

thank you for explaining the caustic personality!! honestly Vulpine might as well have caustic as his main w apathetic tendencies instead, ig ill find out when the demo is updated XD both personality types fit him too well. honestly he's not that aggressive as a person, he's actually mostly quite polite, but he does have a tendency to stare. the ones who really get to see his aggressive side are the people he dislikes (Host better fucking prepare himself-)

well i figured i'd just finish what i started, and continue on my never-ending ramble. usually i like making Ariel an orphan, it's a bit of a callback to his roots and it fits him, but this time i think the second option i usually go for him fits best: single child of a single mother. she's the only family he has that he knows of, a very loving, religious and hard working lady who was shunned from the community for getting pregnant out of wedlock. the very first fights Ari would get into in his childhood were against kids who would say some unsavory shit abt his mom. having a mother who was blindly dedicated to the same church that constantly made her suffer for the mistake of having a kid without a husband also played a very big part into Ariel becoming an atheist and rebelling against the church in his teen years.

she was p absent as a parent, having to work p much the whole day to be able to support them both, but she tried her best the moments when she was present, and Ari recognizes that and loves her dearly. he started stealing things and got his first job quite young to try to help her pay the bills.

he got arrested when he was around 18 yo, probably getting caught on one of his "heists", trying to steal from the richer houses around, and he hasn't seen her since then. his time in prison was... bad. really fucking bad. the worst, lowest point of his life, in fact.

i have no idea how the legal system works in england and i have no desire to learn, but for what's worth he is caught trying to escape at least once, and spends 2 miserable years in there until he finally manages to leave.

did he actually complete his sentence? lol. lmao.

no. no he didn't. be it by a month, a year, a day, the important thing is he didn't.

is Ariel Fox even his real name? i doubt it. that would be stupid wouldn't it, illegally immigrating to a different country after escaping from prison and using your real ass name to do it, he's smarter than that.

fun fact abt Ari: he does not want to go back to prison. he'll kill himself before they have the chance to catch him.

on a... "unrelated" note, the reason why Carter managed to wrap such a tight leash on Ariel is bc he learned smth he shouldn't have and he's holding that little secret right over his head. im sure you can't possibly guess what he found out that would make Ariel put up w his shit the way he did-

so the fact that Ari ends up in this city (i forgor the name and i can't leave the askbox to check or ill lose everything i typed 😭) is honestly not rlly much of a surprise, nor is the fact that he's p much alone despite living there for years. he's always been a bit of an outcast, a loner, someone who avoids people on purpose. he hasn't seen his mom since he left england, but he looks her up every once in a while. debates whether he should call her. decides it's for the best that he doesn't.

he starts over. new life, new me, or whatever the hell people say. starts off already with shifty connections, he needs a fake identity and a fake birth certificate and a fake everything if he has any hope of passing by unscathed, after all. needs to lay low. not call too much attention. be a nobody. wait until things calm down a bit.

he stays at least a year living like that, settling in, subduing his accent until he can pass it off as having learned it from a family member or some other bullshit. applies for university. becomes just another american college student.

meets someone.

falls in love.

has them taken from him. has his entire life destroyed. again. needs to try to pick himself up. again. is struck with such crippling grief unlike anything he has ever felt before. it's almost as bad as the two worst years of his life.

almost.

he's never letting anything like that happen to him ever again.

anyway! as mentioned before, he was working on getting a doctorate when Carter came along, and he sort of had to drop out after that, to the dismay of his teachers. what was he getting a doctorate on? honestly p much anything would be in-character for Ariel, he's an everything nerd, from language to history to engineering to biology that man wants to know quite literally everything the world has to offer him. his infodumps are the most complete and varied possible, he's a walking talking encyclopedia.

he's an extremely paranoid person who overthinks everything including his own overthinking and really, if nothing else here's to hoping that OD can at least teach him to loosen up a bit-

he never enjoyed doing drugs very much, despite partaking in them quite often in his youth. he's way more likely to experience a bad trip than a good one, so he learned to stay away from them as much as possible, but alcohol and nicotine were a completely different story. he's still addicted to nicotine to this day, the one drug he allows himself to never let go. he was an alcoholic through a big chunk of his life, until someone did Very Bad Things to him when he was too drunk to be able to fight back. that experience just flipped a switch inside of him, it broke him badly enough to make him promise himself to never touch another drop of alcohol in his life, a promise he did very well by until Carter killed his beloved and he had the worst relapse of his life. he's back to being a straight edge now tho, its fine! its not fine

he has immense distaste for the cops of the city, but part of him is kinda grateful that they're so bad at their job or else he would be Fucked. he absolutely despised doing work for Carter, even after he became so numb to it all it made him want to tear his own heart out just to make sure it was still beating. i cannot stress enough how much he suffered inside at the start, part of the reason he started drinking again was to try to ignore how much all of it hurt. at least he could try to make sure Carter didn’t kill innocents. he couldn't really be sure every time, but he tried. he really did.

he probably tried killing Carter at least once. or thought abt it, at the very least. made plans. had it all figured out in his head, down to the last detail, how he would do it and get away with it. ngl, he was probably on the verge of putting it into action when Host sent him that email and just gave him the perfect chance to do it just like that-

as a killer, Vulpine is very much the stealthy type, hiding in the shadows, walking withouth making a sound. if its a group, he'll pick them off one by one, until someone notices and all hell breaks loose or until all of them are dead. if he's forced to kill someone he doesn't think deserves it, he's merciful. very quick, clean deaths, going straight for the vitals, almost painless. if it's someone he thinks deserves to suffer, however... well, he's always been curious to know what a human vivisection would look like.

truth is, he's a sadist. well, a sadomasochist really, but he gets off on making people suffer, and he hates it. he especially hates the fact that hurting the person he loves is such a tantalizing thought. marking them blue and black, covering them in red, it's not really his fault blood is such a beautiful thing, is it? and if his lover wants to do the same to him, well, he's more than happy to oblige. anything for his love. except bondage. getting tied up/held down is actually a pretty bad trigger for him, he hates it, no matter the context

ok well i think that's everything! thanks for indulging me!!

-🦊

The ask is somewhere around here, i know it, but with caustic mcs, Carter assumed they were all bark and no bite. Fitting, i think.

And, given everything, OD is a fitting match, they like learning and they are smart -in their own way- the drugs and partying is for themselves, they aren't the type to pressure people into drugs, in fact, they can and will tell you about the various side effects of any given drug because they think its legitimately interesting.

[latristereina]

Two months after Dad died, Al admitted in the safety of the therapist’s office what I must have always known: He never had any intention of marrying me. What he wanted was out. And that’s what he got. He got out. I watched him walk into the light of the California sun without so much as a glance back. Later the same day, he flew to the safety of New York, the George Washington Bridge, his driver, Luke, and his dog, Lucky, waiting at Snedens Landing. This is what remains of Al Pacino.

1. Eight pink slips from the Shangri-La Hotel in 1987, saying, ‘Call from Al.’

2. A page ripped out of a book with the sheet music to ‘All I Have to Do Is Dream,’ inscribed ‘To Di’ at the top of the page, ‘Love Al’ at the bottom.

3. One happy-birthday note card, with ‘Love Al’ written on it.

4. A handwritten letter from December 1989: ‘Dear Di, I am feeling uncomfortably lonely more than I have in many, many moons. I don’t know why this is so. It’s perhaps being in a foreign country and not being able to speak the language; you could say that’s one of the reasons. But mainly it’s being away from you and what we have together. As I’m writing this letter I’m sitting in an outside café in Rome, it’s pouring rain. I’m looking onto a beautiful square with a church talking to myself. I’ve got my hands folded as if in prayer. But in the middle of my hands is a little tape recorder. So it looks like I’m talking to my fingers. That’s the way it looks. If only I could dictate this letter without moving my lips. Just trying to tell you I miss you, ‘darlin’. In a sort of roundabout way it seems. I will get back to you. Love, Al.’

5. A note on a torn piece of paper: ‘Diane, Andy, me, and Don went to a restaurant in Mondello. I will call you with the name of the joint. Sit tight be right. Don’t fight. Love Al, Your friend.’

6. January 29, 1992, handwritten: ‘Dear Di. I heard that Anna Strasberg talked to you on the phone and may have mentioned something about my sending regards or some such amenity. Never did I do that. I would never use such a coy approach to trying to communicate with you. It’s unbearable to think that you would get that impression. I need no go between if I want to contact you. I apologize for having put you through this note. L. Al Pacino.’

7. August 19, 1995, on Chal stationery, typed: ‘Dear Di, Thank you for your very beautiful note about Lucky. Your warm words, thoughts, and deep understanding of my relationship with Lucky made me feel not alone. Thank you. Meanwhile, I heard about your mother and the news was upsetting to me. I send to you my thoughts and hopes for her recovery. I know it’s very difficult. It’s seriously a hard life, and that’s all there is to it. I feel now, of course, helpless to do anything for you except to let you know that I have some understanding for what you’re going through. Once again, thank you for your note. It helped me. My thoughts are with you, and I think about you often. Love, Al.’

- Then Again Diane Keaton

[see--sea]

Allooooo, this is part 2 of Souls Of Redemption. If you haven’t seen part 1, you can read it here.

Also, HUGE thanks to @dem0nguy for editing and giving me some pointers.

Anyways, with out a further a due, I hope you enjoy :3

It was about Noon the next day. Penny, not truly remembering much from the previous day, woke to the sun blinding her. She stumbled out of bed as though she had a hangover. Before slowly walking downstairs in the world's baggiest PJs.

She comes face to face with her mom, “Oh honey, you're awake. How are you feeling?” “Like I’ve just had a thousand bottles of liquor, how about you?” Penny murmurs under her breath. “Oh jeez louise, let me make you some tea to help ya.” She reaches for a mug that says “World's best Grandma.”

It was one of Penny's favorite mugs. Her dad jokingly got it for her when she turned the grand age of ten years old. Her dad hadn’t expected her to love it so much, but it meant a lot to her. Her dad meant a lot to her.

Penny’s dad, John, had been a sweet man since he was a little kid. He was raised Christian, and taught all of the good values of Christianity. Penny’s great grandmother, her father’s grandmother, was John’s caretaker. His mom had unfortunately died during childbirth and his dad in the line of duty only a few months after he was born. All he really had was his grandma and the church, that’s how his life had always been.

When he turned 18, he became a permanent volunteer at the church and started actively working there when he turned 22. It was at the church where he met who is now the love of his life, Courtney, Penny’s mother.

John, known to be a very charismatic young man, approached Courtney and asked her to go out with him. Courtney was flustered, no one had ever talked to her like that before. But not skipping a beat, she said yes. The next day they went out, and as most movies would tell you: they started dating, got married, had a kid, etc. etc.

When Penny was born, John was thrilled. He was always perceived to be a family man, and now he finally was. He spent every free second bonding with Penny, and they grew an unbreakable father-daughter bond.

“Would you like to go to church today sweetie?” Penny’s mother asks, putting the mug of tea down in front of her. She snaps out of her trance-like state, “Uh, what? Yeah, no I’m good.” It was, odd for her to say. She almost never missed a day of church in her life. The only time she did was when her Great grandma passed away and they held a funeral on Sunday.

“Why not?” Her mom raises an eyebrow, she too, picking up on the oddity of the situation. “I don’t know, I just don’t want to.” Penny turns away from her mom, “Get off my back why don’t ya.” She mutters under her breath.

“EXCUSE ME YOUNG LADY?” Her mom screams, “I DON'T CARE HOW YOU FEEL, THAT IS NO WAY TO TALK TO YOUR MOTHER!” Penny was shaken. Her mom had never raised her voice before, let alone screamed like that.

“Yeah, whatever, I don’t care.” Penny states as she gets up from the table to go back to her room. Hoping she could get back to sleep. “I DON'T THINK SO YOUNG LADY, YOU GET YOUR ASS BACK DOWN HERE AND GIVE ME YOUR PHONE!”

Penny froze. Her mom was still screaming, which was startling enough, but now she’s swearing? It’s rare for Penny to hear anyone swear in her tight-knit community. But to hear it from her mother of all people… it was startling.

“Ugh, fine” Penny says, lightly tossing her phone onto the kitchen counter. “Oh you’ve done it now.” Her mom glowers. “Go to your room and get dressed, you're going to the confession booth.”

Confession booth? Penny thought to herself. She never, ever had to go to the booth. Despite the pressing idea, she still didn’t care about going. She dressed in her laziest and most comfortable church clothes, before heading back down the stairs and into the car where her mom was waiting for her.

In the short car ride to the church, what happened earlier finally clicked in Penny's head. Jesus, did mom actually yell at me? Did she actually swear? She looks up at the rear view mirror, catching sight of her mom’s face. Ok, yup she’s totally pissed. The car ride was silent the rest of the way there, it was almost haunting.

When the two ladies arrived, Penny's mom practically dragged her to the confession booth. “Now go and there, and fix what you started” Her mom passively aggressively states. Penny, not knowing what else to do or even say, simply listens to what her mother said.

“What’s on your mind?” A rugged voice spoke from the opposing wall she entered from. “Uh, honestly, sir, I don’t know why I’m here. My mom just told me to come here, so honestly if it’s cool with you, I’m just gonna sit here for a bit till I’ve, I guess confessed my sins. If that’s cool with you?” Penny stumbled through her words.

The voice hums, “You’re the girl from yesterday, aren’t you?” Wait, how would he know this? She hasn’t even said anything about herself—OH WAIT, that wasn't a a fucking dream… “Umm, yes sir. How—how do you know that?” A piece of paper slips through a crack at the bottom of the wall that blocks off Penny from the man.

“You are now a demon now, and you are in debt for your life. You need to collect at least a hundred human souls by the summer soulstice, or else we won’t take mercy on yours.” WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK? Penny, the sweet Christian girl is now a DEMON? And she had to do WHAT NOW?

“The name of every soul you collect will appear in the notebook we gave you. And if I were you, I wouldn’t lose it.” HOW DID HE KNOW ABOUT THE NOTEBOOK? Penny had completely forgotten about it until now.

“Uh, sir, respectfully, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT! I’m a WHAT? I need to collect souls? Not to even mention how crazy that is, but if I were to do it, HOW would I do it?!?!” Penny quietly shouts, resisting yelling any louder for fear of her mom hearing.

“You will know enough in due time. If you don’t believe me, young one, look at the back of your hand.” The door on the man’s side swings open, leaving Penny in her own shock.

She, inevitably, looks at her hand. She hadn’t even noticed it, but what looks to be a—A PENTAGRAM ON THE BACK OF HER HAND!? She, in turn, panics. What if mom sees it? What if my friends see it? She freezes. What if dad sees it.

Penny, scatterbrained as all hell, shoves her hand in her pocket and walks out to face her mom. She had a smug look on her face, her arms crossed as she stared down her daughter. “Are you happy with yourself?” Her mother smirks.

“Uh, yes ma’am. Can we—can we go home now?” Penny said, still in complete shock. “Sure honey, of course we can!” Her mom’s demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. She practically skipped out of the church and into the car.

Penny, reluctantly follows suit. Before long the pair are back home. It’d already been a long day for her. She walks back to her room and collapses onto the bed. She casts a glance at the clock, only to realize that a mere hour had passed since she woke up. Great God she thinks to herself, only to pass out the next second.

[eddiesversion]

steddie as 'the tortured poets department' songs #1

so, i had some ideas while listening to ttpd... some songs just screamed steddie so i wrote some short stories! forgive any mistakes, it's 6am and i still haven't slept because my brain wouldn't stop working. hope someone likes it! ♡

eddie grew up in hawkins; he only knows conservatism. father, mother, children, church on sundays, perfect family and shit. theoretically. he knows better. as an closet homossexual but active in hawkins' hidden community, he has seen some things, he knows things, and probably done a thing here and there but this is another level. wanting steve harrington, longing for steve harrington, loving steve harrington is another level.

you would think that being accused of murder, chased by an entire town, hunted by a psychopath from another dimension and be almost eaten by bats would be the most difficult challenge of a young man's but the reality is that nothing is more challenging than steve harrington and his damn tight shorts that he (fortunately) only wears at home when the party gathers at the harringtons' rich, private pool. it takes everything in eddie not to fly into those firm thighs and perfect ass of his friend (it's still surreal to refer to 'king steve' as a friend even months later... for several reasons) or to kiss all the freckles on his back. he's not religious but he prays every time he looks at steve to make it through another day without slipping up and confessing how much he loves every mole, every freckle, and how he would mark steve on each one of them to show those fuckers in this godforsaken town that no one would ever have the privilege of having this angel again because steve is his and eddie is completely, literally, 100% indisputably his forever and ever.

sometimes they flirt. i mean, he thinks they do. if steve isn't dodging his touches (and eddie touches him A LOT), laughing at eddie's -not always so good- jokes even when they're not high, or returning a flirting back as a joke, sometimes accompanied by pink cheeks or eye contact until steve looks away, is an indicator. if he doesn't overthink, he can really believe that these moments are real outside his head, in the real world. he can believe that when steve lays his head on his shoulder while they smoke in comfortable silence after a day of work and they just want to rest, or after they wake up from a nightmare and meet because they find comfort in each other and don't need to speak a word about it or when steve looks at his chest a little too much while applying sunscreen on pool afternoons, that steve wants him as much as he wants steve.

when eddie lays his head on the pillow, he knows how horrible it was to spend another day letting himself believe he'd have a chance with steve. the voices of the townspeople screaming in his head that it's obvious the town's freak would be queer and have a crush on hawkins' sweetheart with the most catholic upbringing possible, with a house, a perfect wife and children waiting for him in the future. could he be more pathetic? sometimes he touch himself despite this.

he comes thinking about the taste of steve's lips

the flavor that his neck's skin must have

the sounds he would make (and he has to admit that he pays a lot of attention to every little noise steve makes)

the twin scars they both have

how 'i love you' would sound in his voice

many nights he sleeps crying but this time the monster is scarier than any monster from the upside down. it's love.