#reader is religous

[mrm0rgansw0man]

Hi! Can I request something real quick?

Just a religious girl falling in love with Arthur and everytime he goes on an extended job, she goes to church and prays for her man to come back to her. And Arthur practically always finds her back at the church, making her prayers come true.

Thank you very much, I love your writing, Arthur is so cute I need more fluff for this man<33

hii! im so glad you like my writingg!! and i love this idea SO much this is gonna be amazing to write Xx

don't condemn me to this altar.

Arthur sighed as he looked up into the fabric of his tent. He missed you deeply. The sound of your voice, the feeling of your touch. The pressure of your lips against his own. He hated leaving you like this, espically knowing how dangerous things could be on jobs like this. And he knew how much you worried,

"Jus' one more night honey..." Arthur said to himself. "I'm comin' home to you I promise."

Arthur contemplated for a moment, and then spoke.

"Our father, who-"

✟

"-art in heaven."

'Let him come home.'

"Hallowed by thy name."

'Please god.'

"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done."

'He's a good man. Please.'

"On earth as it is in heaven."

'I love him so much. Please..'

"Give us this day out daily bread."

'I need him, lord. Let him come home."

"And forgive us our trespasses. as we forgive those who trespass against us."

'Please forgive my love. He is a good man. Bring him home safely to me. I'm begging you.'

"And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

'I'm begging you.'

"Amen."

'Don't condemn me to this alter.'

You stood up shakily, wiping the tears from your eyes on the side of your veil. You never used to wear one to pray, you weren't that religious before. But since Arthur gifted one to you, you never failed to wear it to the church. Especially when you we're praying for him to come home to you.

You loved Arthur Morgan, so much. He made you feel safe, he made you feel loved, he understood you. You never believed much in love, or in god for that matter. You didn't care for or believe in anything. But Arthur Morgan, oh god. He brought color back into your life. He made you feel again. After you met, you actually felt like you could take a full breath. Even after he confessed to you who he really was, and what he did. He wept, he actually wept. He was on his knees in front of you, begging you for forgiveness. He knew you were a religious woman, and he thought you'd think he was some filthy horrible monster. A murder. A sinner.

But he couldn't be more wrong,

You prayed to god yes, but you were no saint. And you certainly not God himself, you were in no place to judge him for anything he'd done. Especially because you knew deep down he was a kind and pure soul. He helped anyone in need, he treated women like they were people. He was deeply loyal and protective to the people he loved. You held Arthur tight and promised him this did not change a thing. You loved him just the same, if not more for being honest with you about who he was. You wiped his tears, and kissed him all over. His neck, his face, his hands. You even brought him to church afterwards, just to show him it was okay. That it was good. But once you were back at your home, Arthur knelt down to a different altar entirely.

You sighed at the memory. You worried so much about Arthur, it consumed you half the time. It was much more often than you would ever admit, especially to him. As much as you would love Arthur to stop living this life he couldn't just abandon his family. Especially when (in your opinion at least) he was the glue that held them together. And you knew he worried about you, too.

"Does he pray for me, God? I taught him your prayer." You said softly, looking up at the crucifix hung up on the wall. You liked coming to the church when it was empty, you were free to speak aloud.

"I do. Every night 'M gone darlin'"

Your heart got caught in your chest as you heart that sweet southern drawl that made your heart melt and your legs weak.

Your face burst into a grin, and you couldn't help but run and jump into the arms of your lover. He caught you with ease, squeezing you tight around the waist and burying his face in your neck and hair.

"Arthur! Oh, Arthur!" You said with a laugh. It was an airy and care free sound, one that made Arthur's head spin. "I missed you- I love you! Oh I'm so glad to see you!"

"My sweet beautiful girl." Arthur mumbled into your neck. He brought his face up to pull you into a passionate and loving kiss. You wound your fingers into his hair and he brought one of his hands up to cup your face.

Once you both eventually (and reluctantly) pulled away, Arthur set you down gently on the ground. He still held you close though, your bodies were flush against each other and your head was buried in his chest.

"I was so worried about you.." You mumbled. Arthur let out a regretful sigh. Damn this life. He wanted nothing more than to run from it all and right into your loving arms. He knew what would happen if he were to leave for a job and never come back, you would never leave this church. You'd spend the rest of your life on your knees, praying to god for him to walk through the door. He couldn't condemn you to that life-

That's it. He decided. Enough was enough. He couldn't stand to see you in pain like this for another second.

" 'M sorry baby.." Arthur said softly. "I'd never leave ya' ever.. Not without a damn good fight. I could never do that to my best girl.. But let's not think 'bout that right now sweetheart. Tell me, what did ya' do while I was gone?"

"I prayed for you." You said as you smiled gently up at him. "And look, here you are right back in my arms. Just like I wanted."

"You, my love," Arthur said softly. "must be an angel. Sent here just to keep me safe." Arthur cupped your face in between both of his hands. "I don't know what I'd do without ya' honey.."

You were about to speak, but Arthur interupted you.

"I'm done." He whispered. Your eyes widened, what did he mean? "Runaway with me."

Oh. That's what me meant.

"Arthur.." You breathed out, tears pooling in your eyes. "Are... do you mean it?"

"Yes. I'm done, I can't live like this no more..." Arthur said and sighed. "Especially not with such an amazing woman in my life."

You smiled, and actually started to laugh a bit. You were smiling laughing and crying all at once. You jumped up and threw your arms around Arthur's neck,. He caught you and he spun you around in the air. When he set you back down on the ground, you could see the tears in his own eyes.

"We're gonna live the rest of our lives in peace Mr. Morgan." You breathed out. burying your head in his chest once again. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of both of your shoulders.

"Yes we are, Mrs. Morgan."

[youraverageaemondsimp]

“Seven Above.” // Highly Religious Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

DD:DNE ;; Reader discretion is heavily advised.

WARNINGS: noncon & dubcon, forced breeding, forced beliefs, breeding kink, religious themes and psychopathic aemond, dark!aemond, misogynistic views, pressure to fit into the gender norms, forced pregnancy, multiple orgasms, brainwashing(?), mindfucking, + not proofread. PLEASE BE EXTREMELY MINDFUL OF THE CONTENT WARNINGS

Block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to refrain from seeing my dark works.

WC: 2.1k

A/N: fic contains dark content, do not proceed to read if you are easily triggered or find the topics mentioned above triggering. // dividers by @cafekitsune

Aemond was a man of the faith of the seven

He was extremely religious, his mother’s belief in the faith has also made him follow it, though he studied about dragons and old gods of Valyria, he didn't particularly follow them. His need for impressing his own mother, followed by his grandfather made him follow this faith more.

The only problem? He was way too religious and strict, but also hypocritical, he had shamed Aegon for being married to Helaena, but also desired her for himself, he would taunt his nephews for being bastards, yet also had one for himself with a common whore he could not remember the name of. He doesn't acknowledge them as sins however, saying that they are forgiven by the gods as he visits the sept daily.

Alicent did not know what to say, for when she would speak to him about what he's doing and points out his wrongdoings, he simply ignores her and tells her that her job as a woman isn't to judge, but rather understand and nurture, to which she couldn't argue against. So she remained silent.

Everything was going the same as usual, until Aemond was summoned by his grandfather, who had selected a proposal for him.

“The woman is Y/N of the L/N house, a woman loved by many, it will benefit us if we formed an alliance with her family, what do you think of it Aemond?” His grandfather questioned, to which Aemond nodded, saying it isn't too much of a bad match considering they had more to gain than lose, and so the proposal was quickly made.

Aemond only saw you on the day of the wedding, when your house arrived in the throne room, where Aegon sat in the middle, handling the matters. You had not shied away from looking in his eye, to which he was caught off guard by, his mind quickly realising how you are the feisty type.

The ceremony went well, Aemond refused the bedding ceremony and took you to your martial chambers before bedding you. He was gentle of course, he didn't do anything that was too painful.

One thing about Aemond is that, you should never get on his bad side, he is cruel just as he is lenient, you heard of what he had done to his own nephew, to riverrun, to the strong house, leaving absolutely no one alive from that bloodline, no woman or bastard was spared.

The first month flew by quickly, Aemond had gotten to know you better, and he quickly realised that you both don't share the same ideologies on most of the stuff, you even dared to speak back to him, to which he excused you of. Arguments with him on small things have started to happen, his opinion contradicting yours, and his refusal to understand your point of view made you extremely unaccepted, yet you still tried to convey your feelings to him, hoping somewhere deep down in your heart that he'd understand. After all, you had grown to love him a little. He was far better than any husband, most of them didn't even let their wife speak to them.

That was until the topic of children had come when you were dining together.

“Wife, Have you gotten your moon's blood yet?” He asked and you nodded, “Yes, husband, it passed a few days ago and it is regular.” you tell him confused as to why he is asking this, “Are you perhaps barren?” He asks, which makes you feel shocked, and quite offended, “No! Why would you ask such a thing like that?” You ask, eyes slightly wide with shock. “Then why aren't you with child yet?” He questions as if you had any control over anything that happens after intercouse.

“It is only the second month, and besides….” You bite your lip and he raises an eyebrow, “What is it?” You sigh heavily, “I do not know how to ask of you this.” You tell him honestly, “What is it that you need wife? Dresses? Jewellery, do not be shy to ask, I am your husband after all. It is my duty to provide.” He rests his hand on yours, squeezing it in a reassuring way.

“I–” you take a deep breath, “I do not want children, at least, not yet.” you spit out.

It's almost as if everything had frozen in place, the air becomes silent with only the crackling sounds of the fireplace being heard. The tension becomes more imminent in the air as the Aemond continues to remain silent and not do anything, except directly stare at you.

His grip on your hand suddenly tightens, making you wince and you look at him pleadingly, “Have you gone mad?” He stands up, forcing you to stand up as well and you grip his arm tightly, not wanting to fall before balancing yourself, “Please- I am not yet ready, let me prepare myself mentally first.” You beg him and his other hand grabs you by your throat and pulls you closer to him, his grip on your throat begins to tighten, causing you to lose bloodflow to your head.

“I have done nothing except do my duty, be the ideal husband, provide for you, all while allowing you to express yourself yet it seems I was too lenient on you.” He growls, “Because here you are, asking me, to allow you to not have children. It is your sole duty as a wife and a woman, and you could not even provide such a thing?” He let goes of your throat, making you engulf a huge amount of air as you tried to calm down.

“Every woman is the image of the mother, she should have a natural nurturing personality towards anyone, especially to their own children, yet here you are refusing to be a mother to your own child or rather having one of yours, it is disgusting.” He says meanly and you glare at him, “I never said that I never wanted to be a mother, I asked you to give me time to which you are– hmmgh!” You are dragged by Aemond to the bed and thrown on it, you quickly lean on your elbows, fear gnawing in your stomach as you look at Aemond who seemed so furious at you, your heartbeat accelerated as he just stared down at you, like a predator staring at its prey.

“Your sin is forgiven, wife, I remembered how some women think they do not want children until they do, and then they become the best mothers and perfect wives known to man, maybe you are of that same category.” He keeps on talking, and you stare at him, confused and in fear, what in the seven hell was he talking about?

“It is no surprise if that is the case, luckily, there is a cure for that, and that is to get you pregnant, and I shall do just that, simultaneously fulfilling the duties as your husband.” He leans down and caresses your cheek. Your eyes widen when you catch his expression in the illuminating moonlight. He was smiling, yet the smile did not reach his eyes, Your stomach began to churn as goosebumps arose on your skin, he doesn't seem like the man you married anymore.

Before you could make an escape, Aemond pounces you and pushes you down onto the bed, you thrash in his hold trying to push him off but he holds your hands together and pins them up before grabbing your cheeks harshly and spitting on your face, “Behave, I'm treating you.” You began to tremble knowing he had gone completely mad.

“Let go of me! Aemond!” You scream and he pushes his hand over your mouth, “Shut the fuck up.” He tells you before grabbing your dress and tearing it off your body, the bodice coming along with it, causing your tits to spill out. He gropes and squeezes them, “I wonder how nice they'd look when they swell with milk hm?” He coos, before descending his lips onto your nipple, you use your now free hands to push him away but he doesn't budge, you try to pull him by his hair but he bites harshly onto your nipple causing you to let go of his hair in pain, he pulls away and looks at you angrily.

“Behave.” He says sternly and you flinch, never having heard Aemond use that specific tone before, it was extremely scary. “Aemond, please.” You plead him but he doesn't care, simply ripping off the remains and pushing you up the bed and prying your legs open. “You'd look so beautiful, all round with my child in your belly, I pray to the mother to bless us with a child.” He undos his breeches and your eyes widen in horror, knowing what is about to come.

You watched in silence as he lined himself against your entrance, prodding the tip at the very beginning of your hole and began to push inside, you shut your eyes tightly and clenched the sheets below you, a pained cry leaving your mouth at the stretch of your cunt by his cock, unprepared.

He soon fully sheathed himself inside you, and wastes no time before beginning to thrust, whines and gasps leave your mouth at his actions, you grip onto his shoulders as he jerks you up and down, you felt ashamed when it started to begin to feel good, your body in dilemma where you push him or pull him closer.

However that sense of choice is taken away from you when he grabs your hands and pins them above you, all while pistoning his hips into yours, “Seven above, I pray that the mother blesses my dear wife with a child in her womb so she may be cured of her sinfulness, I pray that the maiden guides her into realising how she should truly perform her duty as a woman, and may the crone remove useless thoughts and guide her to the correct path.” He prays closing his eyes and your eyes widen in pure shock, shocked by the fact on how he can pray in a situation like this?

His thrusts feel so sinful, and you're convinced you've lost your mind because of the fact that you are getting pleasure from this, his lips find yours in a passionate kiss as he ends the prayer, kissing your forehead afterwards and pulls back, “You'll make a good mother, I'm sure of it.” He coos in your ear before pressing a kiss to it as well.

You soon began to recognize the familiar feeling of a rope tightening in your abdomen, the telltale sign that your peak was nearing, Aemond's hand groped your tits, pinching your nipples and rubbing his thumb over them, providing you with additional pleasure, and before you know it, you are toppling over the edge as your peak hits you, arching your back and moaning out his name loudly.

He too finishes inside you, filling your hole with his seed, before pulling out, his face hovers over your stomach and you watch as he presses a kiss on the location of where your womb would be located, “May the mother bless us.” He mutters.

You thought that would be the end, yet you were wrong, you gasp when you feel his finger scooping up his seed which leaked out and push it back into you, essentially beginning to finger you, he takes you by surprise again when you feel his warm tongue on your clit, causing your hands to fly out and grip his hair as you breathed heavily.

His tongue and finger worked simultaneously, introducing you to a sensation of a new type of overstimulation, making you peak once again.

Time blurred together and yet Aemond did not stop, you've lost count of how many times he made you peak and how many times he finished inside you, but at the end of it, you surely felt full and fucked out, your mind filled with nothing but the thought of having his children, which he kept muttering over and over again, causing you to pick up on it.

“You'll be a great mother.” He pulls you into his arms as scoot closer, burying your face in his chest, “Yes, Husband, I'll give you as many children you want.” You mutter before finally drifting off to sleep.

Aemond smirks, knowing that he has now achieved his goal, now he can slowly start shifting you into the type of wife he wanted in the first place.

It was no surprise when you found out that you were pregnant with a child, only for you to give birth to triplets.

“A blessing from the mother.” Alicent beamed, yet that sentence only made you flinch.

— !  ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

[lovelybunn]

𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐄. –ㅤㅤfeat. alt gabriel & gn angel reader

synopsis: reader has been friends with archangel gabriel for centuries. it was only until the outbreak of alternates, did something in gabriel change... at first, reader did not question it, until he started asking them to do the most dreadful things.

word count: 3.1k

warning: gore, topic of suicide, manipulation, heavy religious themes, slight horror

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤprologue.

YOU WERE ECSTATIC. Gabriel was finally coming home. It's been almost two decades since the last time you saw him. At some point in the process of waiting, you assumed he was either sent to purgatory, or worse. But all of that didn't matter anymore. Your Gabriel was coming home, back to you.

You practically galloped to the entrance, your wings fluttering with anticipation. You were stopped mid-sprint and almost ran into the crowd of fellow angels welcoming your dear friend back. Gabriel may not have been the highest ranking, only being an Archangel, but he had a way with the people, both mortal and immortal alike. He was kind-hearted, selfless, and never made anyone feel excluded. You admired him. He gave you a chance, when no one else did. For all that he does for you, you would do anything for him.

You weren't the tallest for an angel, so you hopped up and let your wings float you above the soft, cloudy ground. Gabriel waved to the crowd, his wide, childlike eyes twinkled in joy. You squinted down at him in curiosity. His hair looked longer. He never liked his hair past his shoulders. You brushed away the thought. Maybe he didn't have time to cut it.

The crowds bickering and cheering gradually got louder, until a booming voice from behind startled them, everyone's heads whipping towards the sound. "Welcome back, dearest Archangel Gabriel, have the heavens blessed you in your travels. How was your mission, my child?" God announced, his vocal cords buzzing around the cathedral. We all quickly dived to our knees, our eyes glued to the floor. The space became deadly quiet. The only person who looked up was Gabriel, an innocent smile on his face.

He flipped his long locks to the side and cleared his throat. "It went very well, Father. The alternates have been eradicated, and faith has returned in the mortal world." This was the very first time you've heard Gabriel speak in years; his voice had gone deeper, almost slick, like ice. God gave two small nods of his head, "That is wonderful news, my son." God lifted his hands in the air for emphasis, all heads lifting up to their superior. "As tribute to his efforts, I may grant a celebration in this young man's honor!" Everyone raised to their feet and screamed in harmony, "Hurrah!"

ㅤ

The outbreak of alternates had started about two decades ago, and Gabriel was sent away to purify all that were affected on Earth. It wasn't as bad at the beginning, it being very easy to distinguish between alternate and normal mortals. But then, as the years went by, Lucifer had gotten creative- strategic, even. Alternates started to look more like the creatures they were imitating, and used manipulation to cause victims to end their own lives as sacrifice for the devil's so-called "cause". Trust was shattered all across the world.

No one knew who was a pawn and who wasn't, so, as mortals often do in misunderstandings, they turned on each other. You didn't want to imagine the bloodshed that Gabriel was forced to witness, it hurt your heart just thinking about it. So many innocent lives taken away at such short notice. The saddest part was, even the highest ranking angel couldn't save a mortal- bring them back to who they once were. Once one became an alternate, there was no known way to reverse it. They would forever be under Satan's control.

The thought scared you to death, but you always wondered, after the advancements of disguise, if the devil would take it a step further. Would he ever dare send one of his pawns to the holy land? Would he be filled with so much hatred and resentment that he himself would pretend to be an angel again, just to destroy all of humanity, and everything else with it? Your wings shut tightly against each other as you shivered.

ㅤ

Before the nightmare could continue, something cold slithered itself onto your shoulder. You jumped, your wings flashed out in surprise.You quickly turned on your heels. There stood your best friend, your true savior right in front of you. You pounced on him, hugging the boy with both arms and legs. Slightly startled, he wrapped his arms around your small figure. Gabriel has always been taller than you, being about six-foot-five in human terms. He always liked to hold you and give you piggy back rides, he loved seeing how happy you would get, being able to see all that he sees. He was like a big brother to you.

"Hi, (Name)! It's so wonderful to finally see you again! I missed you so much!" With your head buried into the crook of his neck, you muttered, "I thought I lost you." You breathed in deeply, taking in his scent. You couldn't pin-point what it was, but Gabriel always smelled like comfort, home. For quite some time, you felt as if you'd never feel that way again. But it didn't matter now, he was here. You were safe.

"Of course you didn't lose me, sweetie, I'll always be with you." He gave you a soft grin, his dimples poking the sides of his cheeks. A weak smile was your response, "From the darkest nights to the ends of time." You and Gabriel said in sync. In a way, those were your vows to each other. Gabriel had come up with the phrase when the two of you were very young, only a few thousand years old. There was a devastating war between the underworld and the holy land, and both of you were highly injured in battle. You remember it as if it was yesterday.

ㅤ

He laid helplessly in your arms, his body almost too heavy for you to hold on to. Part of his left wing had been ripped apart, a river of blood poured out in its place. With tears in your eyes, you screamed, begged for someone, anyone to help your dying friend. It felt as if even though pain and destruction surrounded you, only you and Gabriel were left in the entire universe. The realization hit you like a bullet to your chest. Gabriel was going to die here, and you would be the only one who witnessed, or cared, for that matter.

"I'm so sorry..." You sobbed, clinging on his heaving stomach. "Please, please don't leave me. I can't lose you, you're all I have..." With a shaky hand, Gabriel caressed your cheek and smiled with as much optimism his weak body could muster. "Don't be silly, (Name). I'll always be with you, from the darkest nights to the ends of time."

ㅤ

You slowly slid off of Gabriel, taking his hand in yours. The two of you walked towards the housing district as you exclaimed, "It looks like nothing changed for you. You're still beloved by everyone." He chuckled lightly, "That's a bit of a misconception. I bet I have a few enemies here and there." You let go of Gabriel's hand to elbow him in the side, "Don't kid yourself, how could anyone hate you? You're perfect." He snickered down at you, his eyes half lidded. "I wouldn't say I'm perfect. Everyone has their flaws, even the seraphim, the purest of all angels." You furrowed your brows in frustration. "Why can't you just take the compliment? And also, I wouldn't suggest talking about your superiors like that, you know they're all-knowing." He shrugged.

The rest of the walk to the housing sector was awkwardly silent. Usually the two of you have much to talk about, but today Gabriel seemed oddly reserved. Maybe he just needed time to settle back in, to recover from whatever horrors he may have discovered while dealing with the alternates. You and Gabriel finally made it to your humble abode, a cozy little loft at the corner of the sector, perfect for viewing the mortals below and stars above.

He sighed, plopping his body on your perfectly cushioned couch. It looked as if all tension in his muscles had melted away in an instant. You smiled warmly. "I'm glad you're making yourself at home, Gabriel. I can't imagine how exhausted you are." He didn't bother to face you as he slurred, "More than you would know." Your lips curled into frown, underwhelmed by his lack of acknowledgement of your presence.

Have you been replaced? No, that can't be. You and Gabriel have been friends since childhood, he couldn't have replaced you that fast. He wouldn't anyway, he loves you. You just settled with the conclusion that you were overthinking, and that he just needed some time alone to collect his thoughts. "Well, if you need anything, I'll be in my bedroom." You nervously stammered, a jittery giggle sneaking its way out of your vocal cords. Before you could hear a response, you quickly shuffled your feet toward your bedroom, your clammy hands glued together.

You closed your door quietly and sat down on the side of your bed. Your wings fluffed themselves out and a few stray feathers fluttered down onto your sheets as you rested your chin on your palm. You shut your eyes and took in a deep breath. There was so much you wanted to talk to him about, but you didn't want to seem nagging. Gabriel already seemed to be giving you the cold shoulder. You shrugged it off again and curled into your covers in silence. "Maybe he'll feel better by the time his party starts." You mumbled to no one at all, trying to bring some comfort in this very confusing situation.

You tried to rest, but Gabriel’s unnatural behavior had bothered you a bit more than you thought it would. It had been almost an hour since you trailed off to your room, and he hasn't even tried knocking on your door to check on you. Then, as if God himself had came down to answer your prayers, there came a damp haired, truly majestic being with a loosely fit robe tied around his waist.

Gabriel looked absolutely ethereal. You’ve always thought he was pretty, but this was next level. The shoulder of the satin robe drooped to one side, exposing his collarbones. Gabriel must have noticed your flushed expression, because he giggled and gently sat beside you. “Awe, just look at yourself, (Name)! It isn’t like it's the first time you’ve seen me like this.” He teased, a pouty look on his soft features. And you hope it wasn’t the last, you thought, eyes averted. The wall looked very interesting at this point in time.

“I’m glad you decided to freshen up.” Fiddling with your hands, you added, “What do you plan on wearing for your event tonight?” He hummed, a low rumble in his chest. “I have no clue yet. Nothing too flashy. Gold would be nice…” After swallowing down your pride, you gained the courage to face Gabriel again. This time he wasn’t looking at you, fixated on his soft, big curls that flowed down to his mid-back.

He combed his fingers through them, patiently waiting for you to interject. You pressed your lips together into a fine line, not knowing what to say. Since it was the only thing you could come up with, and the awkward silence was threatening your dignity, you queried, “Why did you decide to grow it out? Your hair, I mean.” Without moving a single muscle, Gabriel’s eyes flashed a dark look your way.

You involuntarily flinched, wings twitching with suspicion. Gabriel’s usual bright, welcoming, sapphires had seemed to dull to a depressing, almost sinister, shade of gray slate. His left eyebrow raised dramatically, the rest of Gabriel’s features hard as stone. He blinked once and the expression was gone, replaced with a goofy grin and rosy cheeks. You hesitantly rested your hand over your heart, an ache being gently lifted off your shoulders. Gabriel spoke, that same icy tone had crept its way back from his first arrival.

A hint of sweetness only masked over it, “Remember how you would say you loved when I let my hair grow freely? How you hated to see me grab a pair of scissors just to chop it all down to less than shoulder length? That’s about all there is to it. I did it out of respect for my best friend, (Full Name).” You smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of your neck, “Well, I’m glad you finally came to your senses; I think it looks wonderful on you.” Gabriel gave a small nod as a “thank you”, his large figure rising up off your mattress. “Speaking of the event, I must start getting ready, it could start at any moment.”

You squinted as Gabriel waltzed out completely unbothered, not even giving you a small wave. The door shut, the loud slam caused you to slightly jump. You took in a deep breath and your widened wings slowly wrapped around your anxious figure, comfortably warming your unusually cold skin. With a grunt, you stretched yourself out in standing position. "What was that defensive look about? All I did was ask about his hair." You audibly wondered, heading over to your bureau.

You paused and tilted your head a little, a troubled face looked back at you through the reflection. Something seemed off, but you couldn't pinpoint what it was. You leaned toward the mirror, hand stretched as if to reach out for something invisible to the eye. You squinted, observing the mirror more closely. There was nothing there that was out of the ordinary. You sighed roughly, feeling comfortable enough to finally pull back. Your paranoia had been almost instantly proven wrong.

You blinked for a millisecond, and there stood a freakishly tall and slender shadow, its black figure practically camouflaged into the darkness of your closet. It stared at you with soulless sockets, their shape unnatural and elongated, very similar to that of an old cartoon. You bit back a scream and snapped your head back towards the creature with your back faced toward the mirror. It disappeared, nowhere in sight.

Suddenly, you heard a mangled voice gurgle out some close to unintelligible phrase right against your ear. The only translatable words were "The end is near. Soon the world will crumble from his wrath." Out of impulse, you slammed your fist against the glass, pieces abruptly shattering across the floor, the loud cracks screeched in your ears. You pulled your hand back, knuckles already stained with blood. All you did was pop your fingers, a quiet hiss only subtly revealing the pain stabbing at the joints in your hand.

"All of that was delusion. I need to finish getting ready." You were getting used to telling yourself that, ever since Gabriel had returned. Although, that felt real. Almost too real. If that was what you thought it was, you could not tell anyone. Gabriel had promised he had gotten rid of all alternates, and you weren't going to completely ruin his reputation just because you're starting to see things. Gabriel was your world, and you couldn't imagine his own crumbling because of you. If keeping him safe requires hurting yourself, you've been prepared for the fall.

Your eyes widened. “This place is filled to the brim. I’ll never get inside at this rate.” You muttered, digging your teeth into your bottom lip. Because he was the ‘guest of honor’, Gabriel had already arrived before anyone could step foot into the pub. You were wearing your best, its design covered in intricate symbols, each having its own distinct meaning. Yet, it's not like it really mattered, people were too busy shoving you around to get inside to take note of your dazzling outfit. You felt a sharp pain in your head coming on. “You have got to be kidding me…”

Unfortunately, as an angel, you were not limited to the everyday pains of that which a mortal human would feel, back pains especially came naturally to you. Trying your best to ignore that intense, godforsaken migraine that pounded across your mind, you squeezed yourself through the mass of individuals, an occasional “Sorry.” “Excuse me.” “Pardon me.” under your breath.

Once you finally made it in, you closed your eyes, letting your lungs take in the pub’s strangely intoxicating smell. It was citrusy, with a hint of freshly handcrafted booze. It reminded you of humans’ casinos, except less… sinful.

A large chandelier hung above your head, its beautiful ornaments twinkled in spite of the darkness that surrounded the object. The party had just begun about five minutes ago, and the pub was already buzzing with people of various ethnic backgrounds. From the fairest skinned sharp-eyed Russian, to the buzzling group of deep dark brown Africans and their hyperactive latinx companions, diversity was no small thing at this event, or in Heaven in general. This fact alone proved your point of Gabriel being a star in the world’s eyes. You weren’t jealous, in fact, you were just as vulnerable to Gabriel’s undying charm as everyone else in this building.

Music of all kinds blared through the speakers, it's hard bass causing you to slam your palms over your ears. The sea of bodies swayed forward, toward a balcony hanging overhead. You followed suit; a beaming figure rose from the darkness of the room of the balcony. He raised his hand slowly, then, in a blink of an eye, it whipped across the air in one quick movement. The whole pub silenced themselves. The man let his hand fall to his lap gently, resting on top of the one he wasn’t using. He bowed to the crowd, most returning the gesture.

Once he had risen back to standing posture, he raised his arms up high, very similarly to God’s act this morning. As if in sync, his vast wings flashed out, a gust of wind blew across the masses. Now that he had really allowed you to look at them, the scars on Gabriel’s left wing were not there, at all. It was almost as if the injury had never happened.

Gabriel spoke, causing you to rushingly shift your focus back onto his face. It looked stern, an almost exact replica of the expression he gave you back at your loft. It sent an uncanny shiver down your spine. “It is truly an honor to be with you all on this charming evening, I thank you for your hospitality. I may have freed the mortal world from harm, but you, the people and protectors of all that is holy, are the true heroes. There is no sin without justice, as well as there is no justice without sin.” Angels from all around roared, chanting things most of which were unintelligible to you.

[chuubian]

Guilt

Tags Kouyou x fem reader, nsfw mdni, internalized homophobia, religious guilt, angst, I’m projecting

Summary You and Kouyou have been seeing each other for a few months, but the fear of going to hell is pervasive and daunting.

A/N This is kind of based off my own personal experiences and struggles with religious guilt so if its not accurate to you, sorry.

A loud ringing sound resonated through the room, ripping you out of the pleasant repose you had been in. Your eyes flickered over to the source of the sound. A bright light cut through the heavy darkness, drawing your eyes to it. Shuffling out of the warm, comfortable sheets and grabbing hold of your phone, your eyebrows pinch together- the fluorescent screen was blinding. There was only one notification.

Come over. I miss you.

Your stomach sinks. The darkness felt like it was pushing in, invading every part of you. A snake was coiled around you, squeezing and crushing your lungs, wringing you dry- while it was distracting you from the pain with empty promises and illusions of a happy life. You knew what this was. It was the devil. Seducing you. Whispering sweetly in your ear, showing you how good things could be if you just went. This was a test from god. To see if you were a true follower. If you had the willpower to be better. Regrettably, you were not strong enough to resist temptation.

Throwing the soft, warm bed sheets off, you step into the cold biting air. The tile under your feet is freezing, seizing your muscles, making you regret your decision for a split second. But your mind's made up, there is no changing it anymore. As you get ready, you think about what she would act like. Would she notice that you wore her favorite perfume? Or that you put on the new dress she bought you? She only wants one thing, but that doesn't mean you can't hope for more.

Knocking on her door, you hug your coat closer. Everyone in the area is asleep, but that doesn't mean you can't be cautious. If anyone sees you here, dressed the way that you are… you don't know if you could ever live it down. The door squeaks open, revealing Kouyou in her nightgown and robe. Your heartbeat speeds up. She’s beautiful. You try to forget about the guilt building up inside you, pushing it down to the back recesses of your mind- focusing on the small moments with her that are dear to you.

“Hi..”

“Hey, come in. Quickly, before anyone sees.”

She steps to the side, letting you in. As you step through the threshold, the powdery, pomegranate scent emanating off of her hits you. It's hypnotizing, quelling your worries and making your mind go fuzzy. You can't even remember why you dreaded coming here. Why would you ever do that? She's so great, so sweet to you. Your vision blurs around the edges, like you're watching from behind a screen. It's hard to think about anything other than her scent, or how much you need her. She's caught you in a trance, bewitching you, using your weaknesses against you. She's satan in an enchanting body.

“Sit down. Do you want some wine?”

She gently puts her hand on your shoulder, nudging you towards the living room. You can't even feel her touch through the coat but your skin burns. You nod, not saying a word. You probably couldn't even make out a full sentence if you tried. She hums softly, acknowledging your answer before walking to the kitchen, letting you settle in. You take off your coat, shivering from the sudden rush of cool air, hanging it up on the coat hanger. Your body sinks into the sofa. It molds to your figure, accepting easily- without complaint or argument.

Kouyou steps back into the room, hips swaying, with two glasses of red wine in her hands. When she sits down, it's far too close. Her knees touch yours, sending a pleasant tingle up your legs and down your spine. She extends her arm, handing you a glass- it feels sacred, but if anything, it's ungodly. It's giving into temptation, forsaking what you know is right, and letting the devil take control. You take it. Lifting the glass to your lips and letting the red liquid drip down your throat.

The bitter taste of wine lingers in your mouth, meanwhile a sweet warmth blossoms in your chest and up your neck. She leans closer and your stomach gets a weird fluttering sensation from what you suspect isn't the alcohol's fault.

“You look lovely.”

Her hand rests on your arm, cooling your burning skin. Then slowly it travels down to your knee, rubbing back and forth in soothing motions. Your hands were trembling, you had done this so many times before but it never got easier.

“You're wearing the dress I got you?”

You nod, bringing the glass back up to your lips and downing the whole thing. Your throat burned, it was hard to form words. She was too close.

“Do you like it?”

She hums, sipping her wine. It wets her lips, making them shiny and soft and so… delectable. A flush settles high over her cheekbones and chest, painting her skin a pretty pink that matches her nightgown. She scoots closer, thigh pressed against yours, shoulder to shoulder.

“It's the best purchase I've ever made.”

Kouyou leans in, breath brushing over your shoulder and neck. Your heart is pounding so hard you're sure she can hear it. A fuzziness envelops your mind, it's difficult to think as clearly as before. You can't remember why you felt so guilty before coming here. The Kouyou in front of you looks hazy and…. so tempting.

“You smell so good.”

She leans in, nosing at the spot under your jaw. Kouyou’s hands start rubbing up and down your thighs, slowly pushing the fabric of your dress up- little by little. It makes you gasp as a fire blooms in your belly. You can feel her smiling at the noise, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. Her hands come up to grab your hips, pulling you onto her lap.

“You got all dolled up for me huh? So cute.”

It was embarrassing how easily she could manipulate your body. She knew all the sensitive spots and she didn't hesitate to abuse them, kissing the little spot behind your ear, running her hands down your spine and over your lower tummy. Your body was tense, overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of sensation. Your hands curled in the fabric of her robe, turning to try and capture her lips with yours. She chuckled, mocking and cruel.

“Not yet.”

Kouyou dragged her teeth down your neck and shoulder, sending tingles down your entire body. You whine, back arching and leaning into her relentless touch.

“Why..?”

She didn't answer. You could feel your mind starting to go numb, all coherent thoughts melting away- focusing only on Kouyou and the pleasure she made you feel. She takes hold of your hips, shifting your position until your back is pressed against the soft couch. Slowly, her lips traveled down to your chest, leaving behind a trail of messy red lipstick on your skin. Branding you. No matter what happened, you both knew no one else could have you the way she does. No one else makes you feel like this.

She traces her fingers up your thighs, pushing up the silk fabric. Teasingly, her hand massages the skin near your groin, fingers outlining the seam of your underwear.

“Please… hurry.”

She smirked sadistically, enjoying your impatient whimpers- slowing down instead of doing what you asked so nicely.

"Why should i? I'm quite enjoying this."

An embarrassing sob leaves your mouth. The tension is killing you- pressing down on your lungs, squeezing all the air out, and leaving you a heaving mess.

"Just... -hic- please..."

Her hands were heaven sent. it's inhumane for her to stop now. You're holding back tremors, hands traveling down her arms, guiding her hands to where you needed them most.

"Oh... is this what you wanted?"

She drags a finger over your cloth covered pussy. It's not nearly enough but you can't help the loud whine that comes out of your throat.

“S-stop teasing.”

“Don't tell me what to do.”

Kouyou takes hold of your hands, guiding them to your sides.

“Keep them here. don't move.”

Her command ran through you, freezing your muscles in their current position.

“Good girl.”

She runs her hands down your body, leaving behind fire on your skin. Her nails bite into your hips, taking enjoyment in watching you struggle and whimper. The long nails leave small indents in your flesh- yet another reminder of her claim over you.

As Kouyous hands rub over your lower tummy, her fingers play with the hem of your underwear- lifting it slightly and letting it snap back against your skin. The sting is delicious. your nerves sing, filling your brain with a beautiful melody- numbing your mind. It makes you unable to think of anything but her. She takes hold of your underwear, ripping it off you impatiently.

“There we go. So much better.”

She grabs the back of your knees roughly, spreading your legs apart until they’re practically touching the couch.

“Hold them here.”

You scramble to follow her orders, hands holding your knees open.

“So good for me.”

Her voice is raspy, clearly affected by the sight of you spread out in front of her like a feast. Her pupils are dilated and her breathing is faster than usual. a low growl vibrates in her throat- she's hungry. Hungry for you. Kouyou dives down, biting into your inner thigh. Your hips twitch, a guttural whine ripping itself from your throat.

“Ahh! You're s-so mean!”

She chuckles, drinking in your choked little noises. Her mouth is watering- she wants to devour you whole. Her tongue pokes out, lapping at your soaked pussy. You screw your eyes shut, head tilted back and exposing the column of your throat. A hiccuping moan leaves your mouth, jaw hanging open.

“Ngh.. K-Kouyou…”

Kouyou responds by burying her face deeper in your cunt, moaning at how you taste. She's abusing the power she has over you, sucking and rolling your clit with her tongue meanly. The slick sounds as the red haired woman goes harder and harder are disgusting.

“Fuck… you taste so good..”

She lifts her head to take in the sight of you- sweaty, chest heaving, thighs trembling. Her mouth is completely slick with your juices, shiny and wet. She licks her lips before sitting up. Running her fingers through your folds she gathers your juices on the tips of them. They glisten as she raises them up to her mouth, humming at the taste- like it's the most appetizing meal she's ever had the pleasure of savoring.

Her hand comes back down to drag through your folds, stopping once she reaches your entrance. Gradually, she pushes two fingers in without much resistance- your cunt is more than wet enough to take her. A mixture of your juices and her saliva is dripping down your pussy and onto her expensive couch. Your stomach clenches as her fingers find the sweet little spot inside yours walls.

"Oh... p-please..."

Your delightful moans just make her smirk evilly, digging her fingers into your sweet spot and thrusting harder. She leans down to lap at your clit at the same time.

"Doing so good for me... such a good girl."

Your thighs are tensing, hips twitching, mind going fuzzy and numb. It feels like every nerve ending in your body is on fire. It's far too much and too little at the same time. your body shudders- unsure if it wants to pull away or pull her closer.

"Kou... it's t-too much...!"

She doesn't give you a second of rest, hand coming up to pull your hips closer, inserting another finger, scissoring them. Your eyelids are difficult to hold open anymore, fluttering shut as a violent shock of tremors travels up your spine. It's impossible to think or breathe as your body is overwhelmed from Kouyou’s actions.

"Don't worry. You can take it, can’t you? Just for me?"

When she puts it like that it sounds so easy. You force your body to relax- hands clenching in the soft sofa cushions, legs falling open. You would do anything for her. She's so good to you. Always. Kouyou smiles, tightening her hold on your thigh. It's sure to form bruises later. A reminder of what you did. Another remembrance of all you do wrong.

“Mmngh… please… Kou…”

A knot forms in your lower stomach. Tense and ready to snap at any moment. Your back is arching, taut with the tension building inside you. Your mind is becoming more and more muddled, unable to form proper sentences or think beyond what is in front of you. Kouyou slurps and laps at your clit eagerly, never once daring to slow down. Her fingers are working magic inside of you, pressing against your spot, thrusting in and out at a rhythmic pace that she knows you love. No one knows your body like she does.

“Please…p-please… ‘m so c-close…”

When you almost think it's too much- when tears are running down your cheeks, your hips twitching and bucking uncontrollably, and your nails threaten to rip open the fabric of the couch- the coil snaps. A sense of relief and overwhelming pleasure washes over you. The sounds you make are inhuman, comparable to the screech of a banshee.

“Hah… oh -hic- god…!”

Your walls tighten around her fingers, hips pressing down trying to suck them in more. She makes sure to help you through it, gently nudging your sweet spot as you're pushed over the edge.

Once your muscles relax, practically melting into the couch, she slowly pulls her fingers out- tongue licking up everything. She sits between your legs, spreading you open further and leans down to nuzzle your throat.

“So pretty for me… such a good girl.”

Kouyou presses kisses along the exposed column of your neck, biting down on your soft throat. Your body tenses, a high whine pushed out of your lungs.

“Please… I want to…”

You can't even finish your sentence. Panting softly you lean up to press your lips against hers. They're so soft. You can taste yourself on her tongue. It's disgusting and dirty but you can't stop. She wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you closer, until your entire body is pressed against hers.Its like shes sucking out the air from your lungs. Draining you of everything. Your life. Your virtue.

Kouyou starts to drag the hem of your dress up, pushing it over your hips, running her hands over your boobs, and finally removing the fabric completely from your body. Leaving you exposed and vulnerable. Her eyes rake over your body, taking in the sight of you naked. She's had her fill already but she wants more.

You're still catching your breath. Panting through your words.

"Sit on my face... please."

She smiles.

"Are you sure?"

You nod. You were never more sure of anything in your entire life. This is what you were meant to do. It felt like your life's purpose was to be under her. Taking in her scent and drinking in all of her. Kouyou pushes you back down, not bothering to take off the nightgown- she wasn't even wearing underwear. She straddles your face, taunting you. She's just out of reach. Saliva pools in your mouth, hungry for her. Hungry for the familiar taste of her on your tastebuds.

After a few whines of impatience escape your throat, she finally lowers herself down. She finally gives you what you want.

When the flavor of her finally hits your tongue, you can't help the moan you let out. You're like a woman starved. You've been denying yourself this for far too long. The sharp, bitter taste sets your libido alight once again. There's nothing better than this.

Your hands grip onto her thighs, pulling her down against your face harder, the pressure of her weight on top of you is a welcoming one. Your nose pokes at her clit, tongue slipping between her folds and into her entrance.

"Fuck.."

Her voice is breathy and quiet. She's trying to hide how affected she is but it's not working. Her hips twitch against your face, wanting more. It's humid and difficult to get air into your lungs but that doesn't stop you. You can't stop.

Your jaw starts to ache. It was definitely going to be sore tomorrow. You dig your fingers into her hips, leaning your head up slightly to press against her more. It was hurting your neck but the woman in front of you was more important than potential future injuries.

Kouyou threaded her fingers through your hair, pulling, looking for any way to ground herself. She grinds her hips down hard, practically riding your tongue. Stomach tensing, choked whimpers escaping- you can tell she's close already.

It only made you doubled down, jaw working twice as hard, nosing at the sensitive little nub, tongue reaching deep inside her. Her juices were covering your entire chin. It was dirty and raw.

She was pushed over the edge with one last suck at her clit. Her thighs and hips were shaking, giving in and sitting on your face completely, stuttering thrusts on your tongue. She was suffocating you but it was a welcoming torture. If you died, this is how you wanted it to happen.

She keens lowly, jaw hanging wide open, eyes clenched shut. Kouyou was so beautiful like this. Sweaty and flushed. Her hair was messy and unkempt. It was a different side of her. One no one but you saw. She was usually so elegant and well put-together.

The fingers tangled in your locks loosen, shifting off you Kouyou, decides to sit on the other side of the sofa.

You leave her apartment soon after. Slipping in and out without anyone taking notice. They haven't even woken from their slumber yet.

On the quiet walk home alone, your eye wanders up to admire the brightness of the moon. She's all by herself. Lonely. What did she do to deserve that? Surely nothing could justify the isolation she was forced to deal with. As far as you could tell, all she did was shine- light the night sky. It was normal. Nothing about it seemed unnatural. Yet here she was, destined to a life of solitude.

Getting back to an empty apartment after hours of pure euphoria and intimacy with someone dear to you, was oppressive. The weight of all you'd done and all you allowed to happen was crushing. You felt the need to lie down. The burden you had been carrying in your chest was making your knees buckle under you, collapsing onto comforting sheets.

How you wish Kouyou was here to empty your mind again. You don't want to think or feel anything. If you couldn't think, your mind wouldn't be able to feel guilt for your actions. The Behavior you could easily have stopped yourself from performing. Why didn't you say no? This was all your fault. You should've known better than to fall for Satan's trap.

All you had been taught was that loving women was sinful. Wrong. But was it really evil to try and find love in the arms of a lover? How could that be? What was even so bad about it? That some arbitrary being decided to shame you for feeling a genuine connection. It sounded absurd. Maybe god isn't even real.

A sudden emptiness cultivated deep in your gut, a fogginess taking over your mind. How could you even think that?

"Please forgive me. I didn't mean it."

Your eyes were shut tight. Hoping and praying for forgiveness from someone who would never answer.

"It was just a stupid thought that crossed my mind. Please... I know you're real, I believe in your power."

You couldn't move. The fear was paralyzing. Was the devil so strong that you couldn't even be alone in your own thoughts? You never should've gone. You had invited Satan into your mind. Into your body. And now there was no going back.

Tears springed up in your eyes, breath hitching- a sense of desperation took over your body. Without thinking, your body moves on its own, crawling on the cold dirty floor, seeking the book on your bedside drawer by itself. This can't be. You can't be condemned to a life alone just because of this. Because of something so simple.

Looking through scripture desperately, you nearly tear the delicate pages. Every passage read just confirms your inevitable future in the lake of fire. When Armageddon comes- when god comes to take his children back- you will be left alone. Your hands tremble. The bible plunges to the ground.

You can't even gather the courage to pick it up, staring at it through blurry eyesight. Your worst fears were confirmed. How could you go on? You had already committed a great sin. You would never be whole again. Your body will forever be tainted. impure. Unholy.

“Why me?.. why.. why…WHY?!?”

Violent sobs erupted from your throat. It felt like your entire body was burning- It was only a small glimpse of what you would get in the afterlife. You deserved it.

Falling to your knees, you lean over the bed, begging for forgiveness.

"Please.. help me, i'll never do it again. I know I don't deserve it... I know I shouldn't have been so weak, but I need you!"

Your cries echoed through the room, amplifying your sounds of anguish. Her touches would never wash off you. Unlike the temporary marks she left on your skin, what you did was a permanent stain on your soul. It was unforgivable. You knew it was the devil tempting you but you gave in anyway. Despite everyone's warning. Giving up an eternity of happiness. All for short term gratification. For a relationship that was destined to fail.

[melit0n]

Delicate Is The Flesh - Chapter 3

- Synopsis: On the brink of the bustling new city of Rosholt lies a forgotten palisade of abandoned homes, shops and streets that sit mummified after a chemical outbreak in the 70s, leaving the city uninhabitable.

Over the years however, the place has become a hotspot for urban explorers and crime junkies alike.

Whispers of reanimated bodies stalking the dead streets and brutal murders worm their way into your friend's ears and, having nothing to do on your Winter break, you reluctantly agree to go exploring the abandoned city with them.

What could go wrong, right?

- Chapters ->

Prologue

Chapter 1: For Whom the Bell tolls

Chapter 2: Corvus and Krater

Chapter 3: Belly of the Beast (you're already here!)

Chapter 4: Something Forgotten

Chapter 5: Citrus and Cinnamon

Chapter 6: Mumbling Conscious

Chapter 7: Heavy is The Head that Mourns The Past

Chapter 8: Be Not Afraid

Chapter 9: Eye for an Eye

- Status: Work In Progress.

- Obsessive! Demon OC/Reader

- Word count (for chp): 8k

- Warnings for chp: None.

- Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55444003/chapters/140685856

Draped in ebony, you peer into the darkness to try to see, well, anything; your flashlight’s lights only reach so far. The slim hallway seems endless, spiralling downwards to more immovable darkness. Even the subtle moonlight from behind you does nothing to illuminate the dank hall, nor whatever resides further down the stairs in the unseen void. You think, if you squint, you can see pearly stars watching you at the bottom of the staircase. 

Maybe, if you tripped, you’d find yourself floating in the cold nothing of the beginning of everything, surrounded by light that you’ll never touch.

Even so, it doesn’t help that the hall is somehow more cold than the outside. Each subtle wind–creeping in from the door behind you–caresses each uncovered inch of your body and sends uncomfortable jitters through each of your fingers, slowly numbing them. With every exhale of warm breath, a puff of misty smoke ascends into the air. Both make you very thankful for the thick hoodie you’re wearing. 

You tuck your uncovered hands up into your sleeves, hoping to gain back some warmth and movement to the shivering digits. Helen follows along, awkwardly shoving her hands up into her jumper with her arm still looped with yours.

“Are you cold?” Noah asks, pointing out the obvious. “You can borrow my jacket if you want?”

You’re about to reply, happy to borrow his fluffy jacket–if only for a few minutes–to stop the goose-bumps somehow still appearing on your flesh, before you realise his concern was for Helen.

“Only a little,” she smiles at him. “I will be fine, though. Thank you.” Unconsciously, she steps closer to you in an attempt to steal what little heat you give off. With another exhale of air, a small shiver racks her body.

Dust motes dance in the disturbed air, your quiet inhales and exhales their unwilling partner as they drift like ocean tides before your very eyes. Thicker particles find home at the bottom of your lungs, waltzing up and down your airways as you give in to your second coughing fit of the day, paired with a few surprisingly painful sneezes. Glancing over at Noah, you can already see the exasperated frown on his face as he sighs, sending even more dust twirling around the four of you.

“Well, this is your last chance to take an inhale of clean air.” Jeanne laughs out, giving you all a toothy grin. “You good?” She looks over at Noah, who gives her a subtle thumbs up, before dramatically turning around and taking a deep inhale of the chilly night air outside the door.

“Peachy.” He turns back around with a smile, earning a laugh from you all.

“Good, good, now-” Jeanne begins.

“-Shouldn’t we close the door?” You interrupt, “In case anybody comes looking?” Glancing between the three of them, you slow your words down closer to the end of your question. You watch Jeanne’s smile grow before she clicks her fingers and ruffles your hair.

“That’s why I bring you along to this sorta stuff.” She squeezes by you, Noah and Helen and back out the doorway.

“I thought you brought me along because you love me.” Grumbling, you do your best to rearrange your hair.

“That too.” She looks left and right before obviously spotting whatever she was searching for with an ‘aha!’ that has you envisioning an evil scientist discovering a new, just as fiendish chemical. The image brings a smile to your face. 

She presents her a find–a rotting plank of wood–like a dog would present a stick to their owner. With a lot of dramatic effort, and denying Noah’s honest help a few times, she shuts the heavy door, wedging it open with the plank and allowing a small slit of hopeful, pale light to seep through.

Noah eyes the crumbling plank sceptically. “Are you sure that’s not going to break?”

“Positive! Now…” Jeanne quickly moves on from the subject with confidence, contemplating the dusty, crumbling stairs that lead downwards into the unknown. Helen’s arm tightens around yours.

“Where are we?” You mumble to yourself for the second time today, another cough and slight gag wracking your body as you feel dust coat your tongue. You already hated this place. Hated all the darkness and its stupid dust. 

You flit your torchlight everywhere you can, but you're met with the same sight everywhere; crumbling concrete and linoleum. Crumbling concrete, linoleum and shadows that stick around even if you beam your harsh light on them. They flinch, but they stay unmoving. Whether that be in fear or intrigue, you’re unsure. 

“Well, this,” Jeanne turns around and points her light to the door, “is one of two maintenance doors. If my mate gave me the right floor plan…” She trails off, digging around in her pockets for her phone. She’s the type of person to keep anything and everything in her pockets, no matter how meaningless. They seemed bottomless, with how much she managed to carry in there, pulling out a charging wire, two pennies, a fifty pence, a bent iron nail, a used Vaseline–which you don’t even know why she keeps it in there considering it ran out almost a year ago–and, finally, her phone. 

She makes her way to her photos, and expands said floor plan, significantly less pixelated than the one before. “Down there are the storage rooms,” she jerks her head towards the inky stairwell. “We’ve just gotta follow the hallway that runs along them–which links the two apartment blocks–take a right at the boiler room, and there’ll be a maintenance door that leads us up into the main lobby.” 

“And what if the maintenance door is locked or blocked?” Noah questions, looking up from Jeanne’s phone.

You nod, “Yeah. You said this place was ‘famous’, right? You know how some people are. Plus, if it’s famous to us, it’ll be famous to the police; they might’ve blocked it off for good measure.”

Nonchalantly, Jeanne simply shrugs and gives you both a confident grin. “Well, let’s just get on our knees and pray it ain’t.”

After all these years, you’re used to Jeanne’s confidence and the nature of her ‘lucky guesses’, which, you had to admit, did tend to be right. On the few occasions they weren’t, though, they normally got you into deep shit which you had to claw your way–tooth and nail–to get out of.

You really hope this isn’t one of those times.

Sighing, you nod, and point your flashlight down the horrifying staircase.

“How far down do you think it goes?” You ask to nobody in particular. 

Noah appears beside you, lending your eyes his light, but the bottom of the staircase still sits in total darkness. “Maybe three, four stories?”

Having climbed sixteen or so floors every day for a year or two–your apartment not housing working elevators for a stupid amount of time–you certainly wouldn’t complain about such a short descent. However, it was what sat, hidden, at the bottom of that staircase that put you off. The flashlights you all used weren’t that shitty. They definitely should have been able to illuminate whatever the Hell was at the bottom of those stairs.

A glacial breeze seems to rise from the stairs below, stirring the thick dust yet again. You can’t help but be reminded of static; a low buzz creeping over your skin, almost as if you’re descending into a place a soft creature of flesh and bone shouldn’t go. 

“That is not too bad,” Helen notes, squinting into the darkness. 

You can’t tell if it’s a warning or a beckoning. 

Your mind steadily begins an anxious, downward spiral of what, exactly, patiently waited for you at the bottom of those stairs. What if it was flooded? What if the building had collapsed and now your only point of entry was blocked off? What if there was someone waiting for you down there? Some overzealous explorer or police officer? What if there was a corpse-

“Right,” Jeanne claps her hands together, echoing loudly in the small space, bouncing off of the walls of your skull and dragging you out of your thoughts. Your eyes stay affixed to what lies below. “Off we go then!” Without warning, she grabs your hand–still hidden partially in your sleeve–and drags you forward, Helen being dragged forward as well with a small noise of surprise.

Sometimes, you truly do wish Jeanne was more aware of her mortality and, as you feel rotting wood bend under your weight and hear chips of concrete clatter to an unseen end, you realise this is one of these times.

The staircase is barely wide enough for two people, so, with Helen unceremoniously squished to your side, one arm holding on to you and the other holding her flashlight, you find yourself braced against a peeling, mouldy wall: cold cheek brushing against flakes of old wallpaper. Each peeling sliver that caresses your face feels like boney fingers; nails grown too sharp and skin rubbed thin by the ever present hands of time.

“Hold on-” You begin, but Jeanne only seems to walk faster. You attempt to dig your feet into the bending wood, try to get her to stop before she sends all four of you tumbling down the ancient staircase at break-neck speed, but it seems to be no use. You don’t even know how she’s managing to walk–more like run–down the creaky stairs so fast without tripping.

Every step you take–every brief kilo of weight you press down upon wood and concrete–you hear the steps groan with pain. Pain that echoes, as all pain does, that has you fearing you may fall straight through. Fall straight through and fall down, down, down until left and right, up and down, no longer exist. 

What you believe to be an ugly cream coloured wallpaper–which may or may not have been white at some point in its life–flashes by you swiftly. At some point, you think you stopped registering the steps, letting your legs go to autopilot as you pray with all your might that you don’t trip and end up with a concussion.

Suddenly, the filthy wallpaper morphs into cold concrete and, unceremoniously, you trip over your own feet, dragging Helen down with you. That is, before being caught by Jeanne with a loud snort. Looking up, you see her sly grin and can almost hear the playful insult on the tip of her silver tongue.

“Yeah, yeah…” you mumble, straightening your back and brushing the ancient dust off yourself before turning over to Helen and apologising. 

“No! It is okay! Are you okay? You almost, what do you call, ate concrete there.” She laughs lightly, placing a hand on your shoulder and quietly scanning you for any injuries. You give her a thumbs up, before allowing your eyes to search the room, well, hall, you now find yourself in.

Unlike the staircase now behind you, the bottom of the stairwell is constructed solely from concrete. Thin fractures run across the walls like veins: mould seeping into the structure via the small cracks like bacteria to a cut. In some places, the walls have almost completely crumbled to dust, revealing old pipes and insulation. They’re like gaping wounds, begging to be stitched and cleaned as the skin around it rots in a sickly grey-green colour.

Ba-dump…ba-dump…ba-dump

Now further underground, six feet under and feeling damp dirt under your fingernails, a cold chill yet again finds you. 

Above you, more exposed, rusted pipes run lengthwise along the ceiling, carrying nothing but stagnant air and tetanus. They vary in shape and size, but all run forwards towards another endless hall. Some take abrupt left or right turns into the concrete, hidden by the decaying walls, while others simply stop and fall to the damp ground before you.

“Well, isn’t this place lovely?” Noah jokes, flicking his flashlight around. Helen laughs, which you think is all Noah really wants, and Jeanne squints at the caliginous hall before you.

“This is the hall that follows through all the storage rooms. We follow it until we reach the boiler room, take a right, and then follow the door up and out to the lobby.” Jeanne repeats her earlier explanation, slightly breathy with excitement.

“Easy enough.” You whisper, eyes searching the hallway in front of you for that of which you cannot see.

The cold concrete thrums with excitement underneath you.

Following Jeanne, you walk in silence, concrete and dead woodlice snapping and popping underneath your shoes. Occasionally, you pass the odd room, hidden to you by rotting doors and somewhat collapsed walls. Jeanne’s promise of the building being ‘structurally sound’ seems less true with each step you take. 

“Alright,” Helen begins, her voice in the silence startling you all. “Walking in silence like this makes this all the more creepy.” She looks between the three of you, sighing when you all still stay quiet. 

“Uhm, Jeanne,” you start, bringing everyone’s eyes to you as you attempt to fill the void. “You said you were taking a gap year to travel, yeah? How about we, uh, all plan to go on a trip somewhere? Maybe overseas?” The idea spills out of your mouth before you can stop it. 

They all nod with a smile, Jeanne replying, enthusiastically, “Fuck yeah! I’m so tired of this stupid city.”

“Have you ever been complacent with anything in your life?” Noah jokes. He wasn’t wrong. Jeanne was the type of person who could never keep still; she had a need to see, feel and taste everything the world could offer her. She constantly had her eyes ahead of her, never looking back or even seemingly thinking about what ‘could have been’.

“What can I say?” she shrugs. “I'm like a shark; gotta keep moving.”

She’d wanted to move away so many times…but stuck around for you. She called you her anchor, grounding her to reality when she needed, but you felt more like a useless weight tugging her down more than anything.

“Sharks don’t even function that way.” Noah frowns, their conversation slowly fading into white noise as you scan the different rooms.

Sometimes, as much as you loved her and cherished all the memories she gave you, you wish she would just find some way to- to hate you and drop you. At least, then, she could go where she wanted without ‘worrying’ about you. Even then, you could watch from afar, and maybe, just maybe, catch some of the light she gives off. Maybe it’d be kinder than the rays you currently receive, too; soft gold on your face instead of slowly scalding your back. 

Walking further into the complex, you notice that the doors of each room, instead of being closed and rotted shut, are open, allowing their contents to be seen.

In full admittance, it was why you had begun attaching yourself to Helen more; preparing yourself for when you eventually become too little for Jeanne. She knew how to soar the skies without burning, unlike you.

As you mentally monologue, room after identical room passes by you, filled with moulding and disintegrating boxes. The odd pipe appears, snaking their way in and out of the walls. Other than that, it is simply dust. Dust, dust, and more dust.

What an entertaining trip this is turning out to be. 

Eventually, one room manages to catch your eye. Unlike the previous hollowed spaces, the door is nowhere to be seen. The hinges still remain, rusted and deteriorating just like everything else in this place. Odd, but not entirely unusual. Stopping by the doorway, you flit your flashlight into the mouldy four walls, and find…dust. 

Shrugging, mentally smiling with the internal image of someone dragging an entire door out of this place as a souvenir, you begin to walk away before a disgusting odour hits your nose. Heavy, it creeps in through your nostrils and settles at the back of your throat. The only way you’d be able to describe it would be something akin to rotten eggs. The type that you’ve left at the back of your fridge for too long that have finally begun to decay in their own shells; a smell you wretch at.

Hearing your involuntary noise of disgust, Noah approaches you. “What’s wrong?” He glances at you, then the room, allowing his own torch light to join yours. 

“Nothing,” you frown, “just smells like shit in there.”

He lours, gives you a sidelong look, then leans forwards and sniffs the putrid air. You can feel the scent coat your tongue with each breath.

Watching for his reaction, he turns back to you with a mildly confused look, stating, “I don’t smell anything.” 

The moment the words fall out of his mouth, you do a double take, thinking you’d heard wrong. There was absolutely no way someone wouldn’t smell the literal shit storm that seemed to reside inside the room. You spout a dry chuckle, “No way,” before–albeit hesitantly–leaning back inside. The scent still hangs, thickly, in the old storeroom. 

As you lean back out, a disgusted look on your face, you watch Noah shrug from the corner of your eye. 

“You’re messing with me.” He shakes his head back and forth as he walks onwards to catch up with Jeanne and Helen, you following along.

“You seriously didn’t smell that?”

“No,” He laughs lightly, seemingly convinced you’re screwing around with him. “What’d you even smell? It’s probably just a rat rotting in the walls or something.”

The image sends a slight shiver through you. “Rotting eggs.” You grumble, before something sparks in your memory. “Aren’t gas leaks meant to smell like rotting eggs?”

“Well, yes,” he pauses, “but I didn’t smell it; at all. Plus, if it was a gas leak, we’d be able to smell it through this whole hall since that room didn’t even have a door.”

Before you can get another word in, Noah mumbles “shit,” before calling out, “Hey! Helen, Jeanne! Put your masks on!”

You’d completely forgotten about the particle masks. As you catch up to the other two, you slide it up from your neck and onto your face. You really wish you’d remembered it sooner; would’ve saved you the coughing fit. 

“Won’t do shit if there’s a gas leak though…” you mumble to yourself, fiddling with the strings to get them to sit right on your ears. 

As Helen approaches you, gentle hands finding the strings and tightening them for you, she asks, “Gas leak? Is there a gas leak?” She first looks at you, searching your E/C eyes for any notion of danger–a notion you attempt to warn her of with a half begun ‘maybe’, before Noah cuts in.

“No; Y/N just hallucinated the smell of shit, apparently.” He grins at you, like he knows the ways of some game he thinks you’re playing.

“Well, I certainly don’t want to wait five hours in A&E to get you two checked out, so let’s hope there ain’t one.” Jeanne jokes, slinging an arm around your–and Noah’s–shoulders and giving the two of you a hearty pat on the back before walking on.

You end up next to Helen again, conversing in somewhat aimless conversation as you trek through the darkness. Eventually, after passing by more rotting rooms, the straight hallway finally changes into a Y-intersection. As you walk towards it, bored and wary of the smell of rot in the back of your throat, you walk right past the door labelled ‘boiler room’. In your own defence, half the letters were missing and, like the rest of this place, the old sign was covered in a thick layer of dust. Legs on autopilot, you veer right, before Helen calls out, “Is this what we’re looking for?”

Jeanne backtracks, as do you, almost tripping over her feet and squinting at the small sign. “Sure is. Good eye, Len.” She pats her on the shoulder, making a move to turn left. Before you can say anything, Helen takes her by the shoulders, turns her right and–laughing through her mask–pushes her the correct way.

More identical, dusty rooms pass by you at a snail’s pace as Jeanne and Noah’s laughter bounce off of the walls–Helen keeping close to you. You’re amazed that, what was in basics, the basement of two apartment blocks was so utterly large. The hallways seemed endless; nothing changing except the stage of dilapidation of the concrete. It felt less like an extensive basement, and more of an elaborate maze; repeating itself over and over.

You’re about to say something, criticise Jeanne’s terrible navigation skills that have gotten you lost for, what, the seventh time? Before a door, jaw unhinged and open, finds itself directly in front of you. Hanging, it sits–eerily still–on old hinges. A small set of stairs lay underneath it, part old wood and part plastic boxes. It’s much too short in comparison to the other decrepit staircase you descended fifteen, maybe twenty minutes ago. Even if you walked down them at light speed, you still knew you went down at least two stories; Noah had said it himself. 

You look between the three of them, finding Jeanne with a smirk, Noah with his usual worried frown and Helen doing the same as you. Your eyes meet for a split second, and you both seem to come to an unspoken agreement to stick by each other if anything goes awry. 

“Well, seems our prayin’ worked.” Jeanne mutters, taking a step, a quiet shifting of dust and battered soles against concrete, before Noah shoots out a wary hand, stopping her.

While open doors in buildings lost to time aren’t necessarily a bad sign, open doors to the only usable passageway to a ‘famous’ building certainly is. While most explorers were socially acceptably kind, others weren’t; nobody really wants to share a building, after all. Let alone, you wouldn’t doubt the local police had at least enough common sense to set a tripwire or two. 

The subtle click of each of you turning your flashlights off echoes in the endless hall of void and dust.

Helen drags you forward as you put your spare hand out, not wanting to smash your head into a wall. In doing so, you find the rough fabric of Jeanne’s jacket. She jumps slightly and grabs at your hand, cold fingers feeling your crooked digits and calming. You all stare into the unknown darkness before you. Moonwalkers and star gazers, temporary prey animals, you prick your ears and listen for any noise: footsteps, speech, anything.

After a few seconds of quiet, you hear the subtle intake of breath and the beginnings of a ‘hello’ spill out from Jeanne’s mouth. Before you can do it yourself, Helen’s hand automatically clamps over her mask, probably giving her a look in the darkness to ‘stay quiet, dipshit.’ Maybe without the ‘dipshit’ part. Even so, you’re sure Jeanne can feel it, pitch black aside.

You all sit, crouched, in the artificial night for a few more deafening minutes, the only sound the inhales and exhales of your friends through their masks. In the quiet dark, where your brain, deprived of its senses, has nothing to focus on but noise, they are as loud as fire burning, centimetre by centimetre, through dry wood.

Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump.

You think the walls are moving with each thump. Maybe it’s a trick of your tired eyes. Maybe. 

Ba-dump, drip, ba-dump, drip, ba-dump, drip.

Water falls to the ground from somewhere unseen.

After a few more seconds of silence, someone grows restless, and clicks back on their flashlight, promptly blinding you all. 

“Shit, sorry.” Jeanne apologises, flicking her flashlight into the abandoned lobby. For a few moments, she searches around–watches the dark corners and squints at things you can’t see–before she deems it safe. “Looks like we’re all good.” She turns to you all, sending another flash of bright light into your sensitive retinas that earns another loud groan from you three. She quickly points the flashlight away and smiles apologetically.

As you all flick your flashlights back on, yours jammed in its notch, Helen turns to Jeanne. “I am sorry.” She says, eyeing Jeanne sheepishly. “I was- I was just worried about someone being there.”

Jeanne smiles, again, saying, “No sweat, Len.”

Knowing Helen, it was more of an impulse rather than an act of preservation. You think the two are still similar, though.

Following Jeanne, as you always do, you step into the old entryway. 

The lobby, like the stairway and hallway behind you, is covered in striped, dull, light blue and cream wallpaper. In some spots, the paper is slashed open, sagging downwards and brushing the floor. Even so, it’s not the ugliest pairing of colours, but, you had to admit; you were getting a bit tired of the colour cream. 

Stepping up and in, careful to avoid any possible tripwire, you watch as gentle light streams through the cracks of boarded-up windows to the left of you; the front of the building. Smashed in and littering the floor, and its stupid, dirty cream carpet–who even puts a cream carpet in a front entryway?–in tiny mirrors. Creeping, climbing, crawling weeds weave their way through the wood, damp with a forgotten rain, and into the lobby, hoping to find light, and instead finding perpetual night and dust. 

Walking closer to the closed off front entrance, you spot that some of the weeds even end in pretty white flowers, white as a bride's veil, that reach skywards. You step closer, wondering what flowers they were to be blooming at night and feeding off of the pus that oozes from each crack in the concrete, only to be met with a sour smell; something halfway between sickly sweet and foul. 

What’s up with this place and shit smells, you think to yourself, pointing your flashlight to the wooden boards hiding the lobby away, dust floating through the beam of light. 

Helen coughs. “At least there is a little less dust.”

“Yeah,” Noah points his flashlight upwards. “I don’t particularly want to think how much of that is asbestos, though.”

“Well hey,” Jeanne laughs from somewhere behind you, “If it is, we’ll all be just as short of breath as you are, Noah.” She jabs.

“More like you’d get lung cancer,” he pauses for a moment, “though, I guess you’re already half-way there, Jeanne.”

You don’t catch her face, but you imagine it has some form of scowl on it. Either way, unbothered with whatever insults they decide to hurl at each other, both quick to taunts even if they were laughing with each other but moments ago, you let their back-and-forth fade to background noise, as you did before, as you observe the walls. 

Graffiti spans almost all of them, most unreadable, having been partially hidden under layers of even more spray paint and the odd square of solid white; probably an attempt to cover up the vulgar words. As your light traces each colourful line, you note the usual images, well, words, depicted. What you think to be signatures, looped around themselves like yarn, reappear on each wall, marking their territory. You have no doubt that you’ll see them later on in the building. Hidden beneath more paint are a few slurs, phone numbers and unreadable words. However, one catches your eye, painted in fading orange spray paint and slowly being covered by other random words. 

Footsteps approach from behind you and, without turning, you catch Jeanne’s shabby haircut from the corner of your eye, as well as the ever so subtle smell of smoke.

“Hm,” she hums, tracing over the wall with her eyes. “Looks like a really shitty modern art piece.” 

You laugh, “Yeah, certainly isn’t the prettiest graffiti I’ve ever seen.”

Before long, her eyes catch onto what you’d been staring at. Nudging your side, she asks “What’s it say?”

You squint, trying to decipher the neon words. “‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here’,” you huff out another laugh. “Not ominous at all.”

“Pretty sure that’s a Bible verse,” Jeanne jokes, “Who even uses ‘ye’ anymore?” she scoffs, shaking her head. 

“This guy, apparently.” You mumble sarcastically.

“Mm, maybe cultists like to fuck around this place.” She replies, flashlight lighting up other pieces of graffiti.

“Mhm.” you hum, half-listening as she points out any other graffiti that catches her eye. Keeping a careful watch for Helen and Noah, you turn from her and observe the rest of the lobby. It spans out in a ‘T’ shape, opening up in the back to two elevators in the centre and a staircase to the left, leading up to the apartments above. You’d come out of the maintenance door on the right side, so you knew there wasn’t another staircase there either. It’s an odd shape, one that doesn’t really fit the exterior of the building. Well, neither did the basement either. You guess buildings from the fifties–or maybe sixties?–just had really weird layouts. 

To your left sits the receptionist’s desk, one of the few pieces of remaining furniture that isn’t overturned or slashed to threads. You can almost imagine the small space in its prime: small potted plants decorating the desk along with knick knacks and maybe a rotary phone, the afternoon sun beaming through the large windows and onto the face of the receptionist and the shiny call bell.

Smiling to yourself, you reach out and press on the top of the bell, sending a cheerful ding throughout the dusty lobby. The noise garners Jeanne’s attention, her laugh filling your ears. She dings it repeatedly, the lighthearted noise quickly becoming irritating as she leans over the counter, looking left and right saying, “Hellooooo? Anyone thereeee?”

As expected, she earns no response; no ghostly figure of a time passed appears behind the desk to fulfil her request, much to your delight. 

“Bad service, huh?” She turns to you, smirking, canines peaking over her bottom lip.

“You say that like it’s a hotel.” You giggle, watching her find her way behind the desk. With her hands on her hips, your flashlight now pointing to the back of her head, she searches through the old desk. Just like your own apartment, old keys hang–like dead men on a noose–against a wooden board, rotten and faded plaques, once marking their flat number, above them. 

Jeanne mumbles almost indistinguishably to herself as she picks the rusted keys, gently, off of the board; all you’re really able to pick up is the odd, seemingly random number. Looking closer, at least, the little you can see behind Jeanne’s fat head, you manage to spot a series of numbers at the top of the board, starting at one and ending at thirty. Seeing the number, you can feel your legs muscles ache at the mere thought of how many floors you’re going to have to climb.

Suddenly, Jeanne turns around with a “Think fast!” and tosses a few keys at you. You fumble to catch them, almost dropping your flashlight, as you open your mouth to question why on Earth you’d need keys when half the doors seemed to be rotting on their own hinges. But, as per usual, she beats you to it. 

“I know this place is old as Hell, and a fuck ton of people have been here before us, so, most of the doors will probably be wide open. However,” she slinks back around the desk, “I wanna take my chances with a coupla’ random keys and see if we can get into some locked ones.”  

“Fair,” putting your flashlight under your arm, you sift through the different keys, attempting to find numbers and letters hidden under the years of grime. As Jeanne leans into you, offering her light and comparing which keys you have, you catch the scent of smoke again. With an inhale, you begin, “Hey, Jeanne?”

“Yeah?” she replies, bringing a particularly rusty key closer to her eye.

“I thought you said you were gonna stop.” It’s more of a statement, rather than a question, posed casually and calmly if not to keep that intricate mask of hers from coming up.

From behind the key, she peers at you, searching your face for something. Maybe disappointment. She always hated when you were disappointed instead of angry. Hated the furrow in your brows and the slump of your shoulders more than anything, you think. All you do, sometimes, is think and guess with her, and you feel that you’ll spend the rest of your life doing it.

You think she smiles, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I was just out with a coupla’ other friends, some of the other girls from baseball, the other day; didn’t change my clothes.” She huffs a small laugh. “I…I haven’t-” she swallows, looking into your eyes with what you could almost describe as fear as she fumbles slightly with her words. “I haven’t…been smoking.” She pauses.

She hesitates. 

“Promise,” she adds on, smiling wider; a pathetic attempt to convince you.

“Good,” you smile back at her, as genuine as you can manage. 

You really do wish, sometimes, you could crawl into her mind and understand. Understand what made her think she needed to lie to you, and that you wouldn’t be able to pick it up. 

Who knew the age of fifteen and a whole Summer could change a person so much?

Before you can dwell on what, or, rather, who, you lost warm winds and August afternoons, a loud clang reverberates from behind you, causing you to jolt. Spinning around, you see Helen, boredly, standing in front of the pair of rickety elevators, and Noah climbing–suspiciously Gollum-like–out of the maintenance door. 

“What on Earth are you doing?” Jeanne laughs out, probably happy for the change in topic, as you stuff keys into your pocket and get a proper hold on your flashlight.

Noah smiles, eyes crinkling, and shows off an incredibly rusty crowbar being held by his sleeve covered hands. “Going to try to pry open one of the elevators.”

“His idea, not mine.” Helen laughs, a mildly worried look on her face as you approach. 

Easily, he hooks one side of the crowbar in the small gap between the two elevator doors, rust flaking off as he does so.

“I think you’ve got more of a chance of snapping that thing in half than opening the doors.” Jeanne jokes, watching with entertainment.

“Where did he even get that?” You turn to Helen, who offers you a shrug. As the piece of metal bends more, she subtly steps in front of you. You don’t know if she even notices the movement; it sends a warm feeling to your chest, even if it’s only something small. She’s always been that way, at least, for as long as you’ve known her; ready to lose a limb if only to see someone smile when they’re hurting. 

You think someday she’ll get hurt from that mindset, but, for now, you bask in the feeling of being loved. 

“Need some help there?” Jeanne joins him, pulling up her sleeves, even though he shakes his head no.

With much pulling and tugging, some very overly dramatic noises coming out of the both of them that get a good laugh out of both you and Helen, even if you are slowly inching away to avoid getting half a crowbar to the head, they pry the door open a crack.

Leaning back in, you watch as they hook the crowbar onto the door again and, like in some great tug of war, the door opens, bit by bit, with a gritty screech. Suddenly, it slides completely to one side, Noah and Jeanne falling onto each other, not prepared for the sudden lack of pull, with a laugh. 

Helping the two of them up, you peer into the mechanical cavern of rusted iron and dismembered pulleys. The cold air, probably the same air that was in there in the fifties, sends a shiver up your spine. 

“Where’s the elevator?” Jeanne mumbles, brows furrowed, before Noah turns to her comically slowly and points his flashlight downwards, revealing the caved in lid of the elevator, disintegrating at the bottom of the shaft. “Oh.”

“Remind me to never get stuck in an elevator with you.” He grumbles, leaning forward slightly, trying to get a better look at some wire or pipe. From the corner of your eye, you see Helen take a careful bundle of his coat in her spare hand.

“What is that, a threat?” 

“Maybe.” He looks up, the almost familiar frown appearing on his face. Confused, you lean forwards yourself, keeping a tight grip on the sides of the still-stuck door.

“I’d like to remind you who’s currently leaning over the elevator shaft here.”

It’s exactly how they look in every spy movie ever, albeit much more eroded, unclean and unsafe looking. Metal beams run vertically along the concrete walls–either covered in soot or black mould–along with old wires and broken pulleys. Upwards, there are openings leading to the upper floors, some still hidden by closed doors and others letting subtle light stream into the concrete trachea. 

“How many floors did you say this place had?” Noah says, suddenly, his flashlight angled upwards. 

“Thirty.” For once, you beat Jeanne to it. “Why?”

“It looks a lot more than thirty.” Helen whispers.

Looking upward, you mumble to yourself, doing your best to count the floors. At some point, somewhere between sixteen and twenty-two, the angle becomes too steep and you’re unable to see any more floors. You have half the mind to lean further forwards–feel the cool air of an archaic exhale–but you don’t trust your grip, nor the crumbling walls.

“You think we can get it to work again?” Jeanne grips your shoulder, anchoring her to you as she gazes at the elevator, as if her eyes can pierce straight through the morose tunnel. 

“Oh, definitely.” You grumble sarcastically. The roof of it had caved in and was clearly detached from any pulleys that could haul it, well, anywhere. Plus, you could only imagine what the fuse box for this place would look like. Probably something similar to the behind of your TV. 

Suddenly, she sends a knock to your back, a harsh one that has you automatically loosen your grip–hands preparing to catch you–and for a split second you see your broken body bleeding out at the bottom of an elevator shaft, before her hold on your shoulder keeps you steady. Another hand also dashes out, one holding the back of your shirt, which you find to be Helen.

While you glare at Jeanne over your shoulder, heart thumping with a spike of adrenaline, she offers you a pat on your shoulder and a muffled, “Told you I’d get you back, Oiseau.”

Noah scoffs, completely unaware that–if not for your friend’s quick reflexes–you could’ve just been added to this town’s death toll, saying “It’s been abandoned since the seventies; I’m pretty sure all that remains of the fuse box is dust and disintegrating rubber.”

For a while, the four of you simply stare into the abandoned elevator shaft in silence, none of you really knowing what to say.

That is, before Jeanne leans back, dragging you and Helen backwards with her with a “Okay.” Once the focus is on her, loud voice like that of a preacher’s, she begins again. “So, game-plan: I vote we split up-”

Immediately, her words are met with a groan from you and Noah–Helen too kind to vocalise the sour feeling she displays on her face. 

“Hold on, I thought you said we were doing this as a group?” You eye her, wary of the frigid air that rises and sinks from the elevator shaft. Helen nods from beside you, wary of being split up since Jeanne’s main argument to get her to come was to have you do it as a group.

“We are, we are,” she assures. “Just- thought it'd be easier if we did each side of the building in twos, y’know? Like, two do block A, two do block B, and then we switch.”

“Thought you also said we have six hours, if not more,” Noah interjects. “One side of a building would take, what, forty minutes? Maybe an hour? We have plenty of time.”

Jeanne shows one of her confident smiles from underneath her mask, though, having traced each smile line and crinkled eye for these past years, you swear you see a hint of nervousness in it. The type of nervousness where she’s offhandedly lied about something minor, and it’s coming back to bite her in the ass. 

You have the feeling you might just have a little less than six hours. 

“Sure we do, I just…” she shrugs, searching for the right words to try to convince you all to agree to a nonsensical decision. “Thought it would be more fun.” She trails off slightly at the end, before hiding her unsure demeanour–a thing you only get glances of nowadays–underneath smooth words and a confident posture. 

You lick your lips, going over the logistics of the idea as Noah begins to argue with her, Helen sighing and simply watching the half-serious altercation, probably tired of intervening. You were sure this was a stupid, miniscule detail that she’d end up getting hung up on for no particular reason. She’s always been the type of person to, when making a decision, stick to it no matter what. 

“It would be so much easier to just do it as the four of us-”

“-It could also help us out if the pigs decided to show up! We could alert each other instead of all getting done in-”

“-I thought you said the police were lazy and we had nothing to worry about-”

While you wanted to do things as a group, as you always have, you’d rather avoid trying to argue with Jeanne when you knew most of her points would be simply made for the sake of it. You’d also like to avoid any sort of mildly serious debates between Jeanne and Noah: it was like watching a human and a robot try to argue that they are nothing alike, something that would go on forever with neither being able to come to a satisfactory point. 

“-Can you not agree with me for once?” she throws up her hands, body language exasperated but eyes filled with entertainment. 

“Why do you always get stuck up on the smallest points?-”

Interrupting the growing noise of Jeanne and Noah, you begin. “-Okay! Okay. Split into twos, yeah?” you say, mentally throwing up your hands as Helen sighs next to you. 

You couldn’t hold an argument with her, anyway. While she had grown to take the world by her teeth and chew until she could swallow, you had learnt that you’d rather accept what you were given and grin as you choked it down. 

They both turn to you, Noah’s brows furrowed and Jeanne seemingly sporting a somewhat sadistic grin on her face, which grows when she sees you agreeing. 

“Yeah,” she breathes out. “Split into twos, each do one block, then we meet up at a spot and switch. Then we can do whatever afterwards.”

You glance towards Helen, searching her eyes and her habitual furrowing of brows and pouting of lips as she mulls over the decision. She glances towards you, then Noah, then Jeanne. Eventually, she sighs, shrugs, and lets her face fall back into her peaceful expression. “Yes, why not?”

Noah huffs as Jeanne laughs, happy to have won the trivial argument. “Majority vote wins, I’m afraid.”

You think you’ve spoiled her over the years, playing the thin threads of her little games to help her get where she wishes. 

“Since when was this a democracy…” Noah shoves it off, scratching his wrist. 

You’d say you were simply being a loyal friend, but you think Jeanne would say differently.

“Since forever.” She pats his shoulder, maybe easing her smile into something kinder, and probably mumbles something about buying him food later to make up for it.

Say what, you didn’t know, and like everything else infinitesimal about her, you didn’t think you’d ever know, nor understand.

As are the intricacies of the human condition, you suppose. 

“So!” she claps her hands together, and you can almost imagine the rosary entangled in her calloused palms. “I’ll go with-”

“-I will go with Y/N?” Helen interrupts, soft hand intertwining with your own, unlike her. After all, her interrupting was rare. Rare, but very conscious. 

“I’m good with that.” You smile at her. You already knew what Jeanne was planning to ask, but you’ve spent your lifetime attached to her hip, so you’re sure she can take a few hours without you. 

If you were smarter, maybe you’d realise that once you fill a dog’s bowl high, it is all it ever expects. Give less, and even if you are a hand that feeds, it’ll bite.

Though, that’s more Noah’s forte than yours. 

Jeanne’s shoulder’s slump, and she opens her mouth as if she’ll say something to rebuke before she catches your eyes. You don’t know what she sees in your E/C iris, but it makes her close her mouth and nod. 

“Seems like you're stuck with me, Bonesy.” She slings an arm over Noah’s shoulder, and he rolls his eyes. 

“Lucky me.” He chuckles at the end of his sentence. 

The four of you check over your battered walkie-talkies, double checking they’re still set to the same frequency and, of course, that they still have power. Each of them hum to life with crackling static as you each send a quick word to each other, even though you all stand in a tight-knit circle. Well, technically more of a square, but who cares for the specifics? 

“How do we get to the other building, again?” Noah questions, fiddling with the back of his walkie-talkie after inserting new batteries. 

“Simple; take a left instead of a right.” Jeanne replies, shrugging. Noah huffs under his mask at the prospect of being in those dingy maintenance tunnels again, and you don’t blame him.

Afterwards, with a nod, you agree on a meeting spot: the overgrown courtyard in front of the buildings, as well as devise a ‘danger’ word, which is insisted to be ‘pineapple’, for whatever reason.

As each pair walks away, you and Helen walking backwards to the staircase, and Noah and Jeanne walking back to the dusty tunnels, you wave to each other.

“Promise not to get eaten by rats?” Jeanne calls out, waving her flashlight back and forth. 

You exhale a cold puff of air. “Only if you promise not to get crushed by the walls.” You half-joke back, mildly worried about exactly how much more, or less, intact block B was. 

“Promise!” Jeanne says.

Noah flashes you a thumbs up, followed by a “Don’t get lost!”

Helen smiles, replying, “Of course not!”

As you approach the staircase, Helen joking about aforementioned rats, you’re sure, in the hour or so that those two have together, they can find it in themselves to not tear each other to shreds over the tiniest thing. 

Hopefully. 

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

I hate dialogue, but the show must go on.

Now the real fun begins! I'm super excited to write out the scenes I've got planed; I've had them stored away for almost half a year lol.

I also wanted to say thank you for so much love, both on here and Ao3 and Tumblr! All of the lovely comments really boost my confidence; I'm so happy so many people enjoy this. Almost 140 hearts is insane.

[romanarose]

Inner Youth

No Outbreak!Joel x fem!reader

Join my taglist : Masterlist

Summery: You lead an extremely shelters childhood and youth, homeschooled and not allowed to partake in a lot of things other people your age had. This has left you disconnected from your generations. Maybe that's why you like older men.

Or

Joel watched Mean Girls with you.

Warnings: Brief mentions of religious trauma and family issues stemming from that. Mentions of homophibia and sexism.

Immersibility: Reader is fem and afab.

A/N: I was homeschool v strict most of my life so this is personal lol

**************

Texas didn't often have snow, but that's climate change for you. Another thing you were taught growing up wasn't real. The snow in Texas certainly didn't help anything, no matter how many times you tried to explain to the old men at the cafe that this was actually a sign of climate change, no one listened to you. Your family certainly didn't, the first time you'd admitted you believed it was real and they called you a dirty commie. You weren't entirely sure what communism had to do with climate change, but you leaned not to question it. They didn't even want you going to college in the first place but that movie secured that you would get no support as long as you were in a "liberal indoctrination school."

Joel listened to you, though.

You'd met him while waiting tables at the cafe he often went to for lunch. Sometimes he was alone, sometimes with his brother, sometimes with his daughter, who you later learned was about your age. That's why Joel was hesitant to date you, he didn't want to be a creep.

You were hesitant to date him too, not thinking that an older, southern man was going to mesh well with your own ideals. Addmittedly, you put him in a box with all the old, southern men you grew up around. Quickly, however, you learned he was not like them.

Firstly, Joel respected women. It was shocking to you how proud he was when he told you on an early date that his daughter got into a STEM masters program. You had gone for teaching, something that placated your family because they thought you would homeschool your children just like they had homeschooled you. A masters degree was out of the question, and STEM was for men.

Another sign was when he mentioned a few of his friends and casually said "Tess, Bill and his husband Frank". Later, you'd learned one of his daughter's friends that Joel had largely taken in, Ellie, was also gay, and none of this seemed to phase Joel at all. When it came to meeting your friend who was non-binary, Joel admitted he didn't really understand being trans or gender but was willing to learn. Most importantly, however, was the fact that it didn't matter if he got it or not, he called them what they wanted to be called, and treated them with respect.

That was the thing with Joel. You learned he was a young, and even before then he was busy taking care of his younger brother after his mom dad and his dad was a useless alcohalic. Joel didn't have time to form opinions on a lot of things. All he knew was to just be kind, and go from there. When Sarah and Ellie grew up and went to college, Joel suddenly had more time to spend with men his age, and was frankly disgusted.

Hadn't those words fallen out of vogue?

Why were they talking about women like that when they were married?

You disowned your son for wearing a skirt?

It wasn't until Tommy introduced him to Tess, and through Tess Bill and Frank that he found a group of people who thought more like him. They didn't have to get it to not be a dick.

So, you and Joel made a good couple.

It was easy with him. You didn't fight, you talked things through like adults, he didn't accuse you of being hysterical or downplay your feelings, he just listened. The way you grew up made you angry and defensive, and when you explained more of this to him, he understood better.

Nights like this were your favorites. You and Joel had been making your way through several shws you thought you'd both like. Shows like Succession, Breaking Bad, Narcos, but this movie was his idea.

Lights were off, central heating was off, you and Joel using a space heater instead to heat the bedroom under a pile of covers. Texas was not equipped to handle much snow, so you were doing your part to not overwhelm the cities electricity, lest there be blackouts. You still had your own apartment, but this was a great excuse to stay with Joel most nights. Besides, he lived near the school you taught at so he drove you to work and picked you up every day. It was all so domestic.

Ellie and Sarah had visited this weekend, Sarah making a movie reference Ellie and Joel laughed at, but you didn't. This was a common occurrence. Shows and movies allowed in your home were pretty minimal, and despite the last 5 years to catch up, you still could never fully 'get' pop culture references around you. You had accepted the fact you would always be a little on the outside of your generation, especially with other girls.

When they realized you hadn't seen it, Ellie's eyes were wide as she asked, 'Really?!' and you saw Sarah subtly nudge her. Ellie meant to harm, but had less of a filter than Sarah did.

So, when Joel and you settled on the bed, you resting your head on Joel's plump belly, Joel asked if you wanted to watch Mean Girls.

"Phht, you don't wanna watch Mean Girl, Joel-y"

You knew he loved you because he lets you call him Joel-y. "Yes I do!" You feel his belly bounce with laughter under you. "It's a good movie, Used to watch it with Sarah all the time."

You're glad he convinced you, because when Regina George got hit with a bus, you laughed so hard you farted.

"I never knew how many memes came from this movie. Get in loser, we're going shoping, raise your hand if you've ever been personally victimized,"

"You go Glen Coco."

"Yeah" You giggle with a smile, an arm wrapped around the swell of his stomach like you might hold a teddy. "It's frick'n funny" All these years out of it, you still can't bring yourself to say fuck. You noticed Joel doesn't say it either. Whether it's from his southern baptist upbringing or because he knows you won't say it, you aren't sure. Ellie and Tommy certainly have no problem.

"We can keep doing this, y'know." Joel says and the movie credits roll, his hand stoking your hair.

You begin to drift off, mumbling sleepily. "Do what?"

"Watch movies and shows you missed out on. Even the girlie ones."

You cran your head to look up at him. "Hm?"

"I mean," Joel moved you off him for a moment, making you pout, but it was only long enough to turn off the tv and settle into a sleeping position. "That Sarah and Ellie are your age, I know at least the big movies and shows the kids were into."

"Joel..." You shake your head. "I love you, but you don't wanna sit around watching shitty teen movies from the 2000's with me."

He kissed the crown of your head. "And you and Frank didn't want to watch doomsday preppers with me and Bill for 5 hours but we did. I'd sit through all of Glee if it meant you felt less left out. I just want you to be happy."

Smiling, you nuzzled in against his softness, feeling safe and warm and cared for in Joel's grasp. "I mean... I wouldn't complain if you wanted to watch The Notebook..."

"The Notebook it is, baby. Now, get some sleep. First day back at school tomorrow."

You groan dramatically just to feel his chuckle again. "Those kids are lucky I love them."

"They sure are."

*****************

This was supossed to be a quick thing but then there was a long backstory and now i wanna write more XD maybe scenes of Joel recreating memories that reader never got from being homeschooled or sheltered.

I had a similar idea last year with Benny Miller actually haha.

Anway, my usual tag list BUT tagging a few people I thought may also enjoy

@fandxmslxt69 @runa-falls @k-ra @whatthefishh @ahookedheroespureheart @mikaelak @littlenosoul @stevenandmarcslove @pikapuff-316 @del-ightfulling @faretheeoscar @harriedandharassed @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @campingwiththecharmings @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @milly-louise @casa-boiardi @joeldjarin @mrs-oharaxx @pedge-page @ninebluehearts

[cool-cowboy]

Summary:

In which Leon is the priest of your church, a very kind and noble man, who you, against the church’s (and your shitty husband’s) wishes have grown quite fond of, confession being one of the few times you get to relish the one on one attention. Little do you know, your godly priest has been having some not so godly thoughts about you as well.

I have literally no idea. Leon in a sweet caring kind of way, but kinda out of character, since he's a 1600's priest and speaks hopefully like one. A bit of a historical thing, the idea popped into my head and I did some research, and found out it used to be pretty common for married women to enjoy their confessions, often falling for the men on the other side of the wall.

Tags:

Alternate Universe - Medieval, Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Adultery, Confessional Sex, sex in the confession booth, Dominant Leon S. Kennedy, Dirty Talk, Clothed Sex, Priests, Priest Leon S. Kennedy, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Making Out, Semi-Public Sex, Eye Contact, Penis In Vagina Sex, Come Shot, Skirts

Blurb:

“You find me godly?”

“Perfectly… Though you are the cause of many other's sins, so perhaps you are sinful…”

Text:

“Bless me father, for I have sinned. My last confession was Wednesday.” He’s staring at me, in his usual way, open and accepting, ready to hear all about my wrong-doings, one of them a cardinal sin, no less. I’m not sure what it is, why he has such a draw, roping me in and making me forget my teachings over and over, his looks and person much too sinful for such a godly man. “I was rude, I spoke unkind words to Stephan. I refused him… When, um, when he-”

“There is no judgment here, only forgiveness. There’s no need to be nervous.” I nod, not looking at him, embarrassed to be confessing yet another tiff with my husband, sure the father is tired of hearing about my disrespect. He reaches through the little door, something he’s not supposed to do, but often does, getting my attention or soothing me down after a particularly nasty sin is disclosed, something that only causes further sin, the feel of his kind hands always forcing some further than friendly thoughts into my mind, never fessed up in my confessions, which is probably my biggest offense to god to date. He makes me look at him, tilts my head up by my chin, stares at me in his quiet, sweet way, soft eyes always able to draw out my deepest secrets without much prompt. “Tell me.” He always seems more interested to hear about my transgressions toward my husband, for why I don’t know, but it’s better than the harsh judgement of my childhood priest, anyways, so I try not to dwell too much.

“He wanted to… Bed me. I refused… It’s my duty to bear children, but I- He isn’t… I hate him.” The truth, something I’ve been toeing the line of for a while, only confessing the passing sins rather than my most heinous one, but he’s known all along, doesn’t seem surprised at all when I meet his eyes, maybe a little amused, but I don’t believe that, he has no reason to be, only reason to assign me a hefty penance.

“I see… That is… Quite the confession. Don’t look so fearful, miss, you know I’m a believer in earning your keep, and it doesn’t seem Mr. Belman is trying his best to do so.” My throat’s dry, my swallow barely making it down, his eyes on my making me sweat, my skirts making me feel a little faint, claustrophobic in the small booth. “A bad man does not deserve a woman as godly as you, at least I don’t see him as fit.” He’s not meant to give his opinion, only fact, that or prompt me to better help me lay my secrets out to him, but he always tries to make me feel better, in a way, for the wrongs I’ve committed, well aware of my repentance, and my desire to do better.

“You find me godly?” I’m really not, most ladies who attend the mass are a whole lot more godly than me, almost perfect Catholics. He smiles, soft and kind, making me sin all over again, though I’m unsure what I can do to keep from sinning in this way, my thoughts not easily controlled, especially for him, a man no woman has ever had the pleasure of pleasing, a man who’s devoted his whole being to serving the lord, but still manages to be entirely enticing, his unattainableness adding a sinful edge to his allure.

“Perfectly… Though you are the cause of many other's sins, so perhaps you are sinful…” He’s amused, and I’m confused, not an idea what he means by that. I stare at him, not incredibly eager to get on with my confession, more than willing to let him keep talking as long as he likes. “You’re an object of many’s affections, miss, and envy as well…” He’s going against his oath, speaking of other’s sins outside their own confessions, giving me a shred of all that he knows, offering it up with a relaxed expression, watching me, assumedly waiting on me to continue telling him, but I’m not ready yet, need a little longer, a few more moments of his soft stare before I tell him, tear down the image he’s painted of me in his head, desecrate his idea of me.

“Father..? Who do you confess to?” He smiles, only a little, amused for some secret reason, his gaze a little hazy, his hands smoothing down the front of his robe, the sound of him clearing his throat a little loud in the small space.

“Myself, I suppose… Though there’s something I find more suitable to confess to you.” My brows draw down, unsure why he’d have anything to confess to me, if he’s able to repent and move on without any type of formal confession, but I wait patiently, not wanting to sin again by disrespecting the father. He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, just stares at me with his head tilted a little to one side, his gaze hazy, his smile barely pulling at one side of his lips, his face close to mine, just on the other side of the little confessional door, his breath warm on my skin. “Forgive me miss, for I have sinned.” He watches me, signing a cross over his chest, a little slow, the anticipation making me feel feverish, wet palms wiped on the front of my skirts while I wait, not bringing my eyes from him, wary to miss a second of his terribly enticing gaze. “I have committed the sin of lust. My craving for you is ungodly, and I have performed self-pleasing adultery to the mere thought of you too many times to count.” I have not a single clue what to say, just stay perfectly still, feeling sick at the pleased feeling burning my skin, flaming and not at all what I should feel in response to his reveal.

“Father, I-”

“I am sorry for this and all my sins.” He doesn’t seem sorry, more confused, staring at me in a way that makes me near fainting, all heat and intensity, trying to unravel his own desires. “You may continue.” I swallow, looking down at my hands, now much too afraid to tell him, to reciprocate his lust, unable to do anything about it, aware I’m bound to Stephan, and he is never to be wed.

“I told a lie.” It isn’t something I usually need to confess, I’m not even sure why I did it, needlessly covering up my actions to keep Stephan as far from figuring out my adulterous thoughts as possible, though he’d never suspect a tryst between the father and I. “I told Stephan I was going to the market on Wednesday, when I came to see you.” I let my eyes come up, flitting from my lap to his hands, clasped over his lap, up to his face, seeming a little pleased, adding to my unease, his feelings now out in the open, glad to be a subject of sin for me as well, I suppose. The others are being noisy, the church overly full today, the last session before Christmas, eager to be forgiven.

“Why did you lie?” I look back down, unwilling to look at him when I tell him, give him the satisfaction of reciprocated lustful feelings and actions.

“I didn’t want him to become suspicious.” He hums, ducking down a little to draw my eyes back up, looking at me pleasedly, not at all bashful in the way he should be, never the one to be shy, always so open, even now, after he’s told me about his self-pleasing to me.

“Suspicious?” He’s enjoying himself, too casual to be questioning me about what has become so glaringly obvious, backing me into a figurative corner and forcing it out of me, something he’s entirely too good at, receiving confession after confession and helping numerous work through their own minds.

“I have committed the sin of lust.” He’s looking at me, not that I can see, my eyes cast down at his hands, listening to the sounds of people mulling about outside, stretching out the quiet between us to steel myself for what I say next. “I’ve been having impure thoughts about you, father. Please forgive me.” He hums, one of his hands lifting up out of my view, this whole thing making me feel sick from guilt, adulterous behavior one of the few things I never thought would be something I’d have to speak to him about.

“Is that all?” I nod, finally looking at him, his eyes always on me, never showing me any less attention, offering up his services in maybe a little less selfless of a way than I used to suspect. “Then I assume it’s time to assign your penance…” He runs his hand down over his lap, his other in the space of the little window, gripped over the little ledge there, crossing over into my space, the hand on his lap drawing back up slowly, his eyes a little cloudy, dazed, almost. “I have to say… The lord will forgive you, no matter the sin, miss, you’re saved.” It seems almost like a suggestion, though maybe I’m just imagining it, hoping for something I really and truly shouldn’t, something the opposite of righteous, one of the most evil and depraved wants possible. “Perhaps… Indulgence is our solution.” He stares at me, unmoving, giving me the choice, offering something so enticing, so terrible in nature I’d be damned to accept, looking at me in such a bold way after uttering something so forward.

“Father… Are you suggesting..?” He’s touching me, running rough fingers over the side of my jaw, our faces close, closer now that he’s leaning toward the little window, all of him seeming larger, more masculine than I would usually find him, his comfort fading into a simmering nervousness as I wait on his reply.

“I’ve satisfied myself in your name countless times, miss, and not once has it settled the need, not even diminished it, only choked it down until I can’t keep it at bay any longer. I am a man of God, but with all my devotion you’re the one and only thing I’ve ever found myself helpless to resist.” My breathing’s gone uneven, his hands on my face and in his lap, stroking softly, both soothing me and indulging in his desire, a soldier of God, succumbing to the same earthly pleasures as me. “Our penance. Finding a way to dispel this need, holding ourselves accountable for time spent lost in the other, returning that time to our father, pleading his forgiveness for our frailties.” He’s leaning close, face nearly passing the frame of the window, eyes cast down at my lips, his parted and slick, all of him so very enticing, especially like this, so far gone he can’t even deny himself this, and neither can I, my lips flush with his the next second, sealing my fate, an adulterer and a sinner, depraved and dirty and lustful, all for him.

The kiss is nothing like what I’ve come to expect, separate from the necessary, rushed kisses of my husband, this kiss searing, sending a wave of heat over me, the passion of it making me faint, all the want I’ve been keeping quiet to myself passing between us, his hand slipping back and into my hair, keeping me close, our indiscretion between only us and God, a sin kept quiet, the act horrible, but so satisfying I have no reason to believe God would be against me indulging.

“Father…” We’re both breathing heavy, lost in the admittance and act of sin, his hair messier than I’ve ever seen it, his lips rosy and shiny with shared saliva. “The others are waiting…” He sighs, drawing me back in by his grip on my hair, speaking in his quiet, comforting way half an inch from my lips.

“And they will.” He gives me no time to offer a response, goes back to pressing warm, careful kisses to my lips, his pace a little faster, his breathing shaky as mine, the booth heating up from labored breaths, muggy and heavy with shared desire. “Lord… You’re… Truly breathtaking… A temptress… My own personal test…” He pulls back, letting go of me, standing himself up, face hidden behind the wood above the window, his waist a little below my eye level, his robes hanging heavy, a reminder of his promise to the lord, now broken. “I’ve failed our father… But I will not fail you… Sink to the floor, miss, show me your devotion to your penance.” I meet his command, slipping off the bench and onto my knees, a little unsure, not quite understanding why I’d be on the floor if he intends to take me. “I’ll tend to you shortly, miss, just- for now… I need a bit of preparation.” He shuffles his robes out of the way, exposing himself to me, his manhood larger than I thought possible, more than twice the size of my husband’s, and I wonder how it’ll fit, if it can. “Take me inside your mouth, miss. Close your perfect lips around me and let me feel what I've long awaited.” He’s holding onto himself, waiting for me to comply while running his hand up and down, his body revealed to me for the first time, unexpectedly muscular, legs and some of his midsection bare for my greedy eyes.

I close my lips over him, only the first inch, unsure what he wants me to do, his hand leaving its place to stroke across my jaw, back into my hair, gripping what slips between his fingers, his hand pulling me in, sliding himself inside my mouth, a small pleasured sound passing his lips sending an odd sensation through me, some sickly hot satisfaction. He’s leaning his free arm on the wood above me, his head downturned, his eyes hidden from my view by the wood of the booth, his mouth gaping in pleasure, his chest heaving beneath his robes, cross around his neck swinging as he moves against me, a reminder of our frailty, our unworthiness of God’s image.

“Ah- You’re… This feeling is… Lord forgive me… For I will sin again…” His teeth are gritted, his hand pulling me in a little closer, my throat tightening around him startling me, his pleasured noise deep and pleasant when I press my hands to his thighs to get a breath, sputtering embarrassingly, his hand smoothing my hair helping me calm back down. “Forgive me… I got carried away…” He’s ducked down to look at me, seeming perturbed, stroking at my hair, his cross drawing my eyes before I look back up at him, slipping my fingers up the underside of his manhood, watching him, his pleasured noise sending a searing shock down to my privates, my mouth closing back around him, moving on my own, humming when he allows it, just keeps his hand on the back of my head, guiding me, his head rested back on his forearm, my eyes on the lower half of his face, the portion I can see, his expression looking pained from the pleasure, teeth ground tight, jaw clenched with stress, my hand running over his exposed stomach making him flinch, his length twitching between my lips. “Wicked girl… You’re-hah- ruining me… Turned me into a damned-!” He pulls me back, my lips leaving him with an obscene amount of saliva, smeared over him and connecting him back to my lips, his hand slipping forward to tilt my head up toward him, his eyes back in my view, looking down at me, his thumb stroking the mess on my lips. "I won’t let this end until I’ve shown you all that a lover can be, miss. Surely this isn’t what you’ve sought after… I can offer you more… you need only relax and let me show you…” He wraps his fingers over my bicep, pulling me gently up until I stand before him, his hand pushing me gently back to seated on the little bench, his fingers finding my upper legs through layers of skirts, running slowly up, giving me an awful sense of yearning, the feeling pleasurably painful, sickening, his cross swinging at eye level while he's doubled over reminding me I should be ashamed to be satisfied in any way from something so heinous.

“Father, what’re you-” He drags me, fingers tight on my legs, pulling me until my hips rest on the six inches of wood separating my space and his, my upper body laid on the bench, propped on my elbows, only a couple inches lower than the window.

“You’ve bewitched me, truly… Made me insatiable… My lust for you is painful, forcing me to succumb to your allure time and time again… Now you’ll see what you’ve done to me, feel the craving- the need I have for you, firsthand…” He sinks to his knees, keeping his eyes on my face, my elbows digging into the wood a little uncomfortable, but the look in his eyes keeps me from breaking my gaze from his, watching him as he pushes up on my skirts, leaving them pooled at my waist, my undergarments unobscured, his hand making its way back down to grip to my ankle, his skin scalding hot against me, lifting until my leg is in line with his lips, his head turned to the side to press his lips to my inner ankle, his gaze on me as he trails his way up, leaving saliva along his path up the inside of my leg, the whole display more pleasurable than probably anything I’ve ever experienced. “I know how to please you… I’ll be sure to satisfy your ungodly desires… Leave you so perfectly complacent you’ll never let anyone else bed you…” He finishes his kissing, pausing with his lips pressed to my lower thigh, easing my foot down on the bench just behind him, my knee bent, his hand moving to my other ankle, easing it up to repeat the process, drawing it out, kissing unbearably slow, looking at me in a lustful, entirely sinful way.

“Father? It’s… There are people outside… Shouldn’t we… Hurry this along?” He smiles, eyes creasing in such a beautiful way, his hand guiding my foot to rest on his other side, his head between them, shoulders just below my knees.

“Impatient woman… Confess it.” He lets his hands slide up the outsides of my legs, fingers pausing on the waist of my undergarments, his eyes peering at me, intense and masculine, commanding in his calm, even-toned way. I’m having trouble keeping my breathing even, the anticipation of his promise hanging heavy, blanketing the cramped space, the people milling about outside the booth making me wary to be caught.

“I have committed the sin of impatience. I don’t want to wait, forgive me.” He smiles, pulling down, exposing me to him, pulling my legs back one after the other to rid me of the pesky clothing, his eyes cast down once he’s finished, his expression clouded and lustful, his chest heaving, eyes a little low as he takes me in, bare before him, willing and ready to commit a cardinal sin for him.

“You’re forgiven… Now I must confess…” He leans forward, hands sliding up the back of my thighs before gripping to my skin, both of us clammed up from the suffocating heat of the space, his warm breath against me making me shiver. “I have committed the sin of envy… Stephan is the luckiest man in history… To have a woman as phenomenal as you… I’m truly envious, in utter disbelief he has not a clue how incredibly beautiful you look when you enjoy yourself…” He presses a finger against me, startling me, all of this foreign, his thumb trailing up wetness that usually comes much later, once Stephan is nearly done, his slippery finger pressing a couple inches above my entrance making me flinch, the feeling shocking, pleasant in a tight, unexpected fashion. “Ah… Perfection… I wasn’t sure… But that monk really did figure out the secrets of women…” I have no idea what he’s speaking about, all I know is this pleasure is foreign, tight and nearly too much, his thumb rubbing softly up and down as he watches me, seeming pleased to confirm I can feel in this way. “I was told a woman can achieve the same type of euphoria as men… I hope I’m well-equipped enough to give you at least one climax… I’ll try my best, miss, in God’s name.” I’m trembling, the feeling building into something far more than what it began, a sickening tension, my muscles wound tight, teeth gnashed and head leaned back onto the wall, his thumb pulling away releasing the tension building, his look amused.

“What’s… Why..?” He laughs, fanning hot air against me, his lips pressing to the place his thumb just left, his smile widening when I gasp and squirm, bag hands on my thighs holding me still as he uses his tongue, letting out a soft pleasured noise at the flavor, or the action, I’m not entirely sure.

“Forgive me… I couldn’t go without a taste… My god… You’re the most divine thing I’ve ever laid eyes on… the most raw and formidable temptation I’ve ever had the pleasure of letting ruin me…” He’s rubbing me again, pressure more firm than before, sure of himself, the satisfying tension coming back quicker than before, my eyes on him, the sight of him with my wetness smeared over his skin drawing a pleasured noise from deep in my chest, my breathing more frantic than I can ever remember, my legs trembling lightly from his ministrations, his gaze holding mine, his skin a rosy pink, lips flushed red. “You are my ultimate desire… An itch that has been gnawing, working away at me… Tearing me away from the lord… luring me into a pleasant trap…” I’m barely registering his low words, drawled with his cheek pressed to my skin, the tight pleasure clouding my mind, blanketing me in the feeling. “You’re nearly there… So beautiful… Keep your eyes on me… Face what you’ve done… Given into lust… Taken me down your depraved path as well… Don’t fret, your sins are forgiven… So get on with it, show me how blasphemous you are… deriving pleasure from being bedded, let this be for your pleasure and that alone… There, that’s it, you’re doing so well, trembling so beautifully, making those sweet sounds for me…” The feeling peaks, my body convulsing, drawing in on itself, the pleasure hot and tight, all of me clenched tight, his fingers pausing, my eyes barely open to heed his order, looking into his eyes, his expression pleased and lax. “I could never receive enough of this… Watching you come undone before me, my actions giving you this much pleasure…” I feel droopy when I come down, slumped on the bench, legs lax and open around his head, his expression entirely pleased, glad. “Let me inside.” He pulls me, and I let him, stood up in front of him after a few seconds, waiting on him to sink inside, my skirts and his robes making it seem nearly impossible, but he doesn’t make any move to bury himself inside, only meets my lips in a searing kiss, his body flush against mine, pressing me into the wall of the booth, my body feeling overly hot, both of us sweating, his face shiny with perspiration and my mess he’s neglected to wipe away.

“Father… Please… I’ve already confessed my impatience.” He laughs, low and sinful, the softened pleasure coming back, my body ready for him, likely more ready than ever before. He pulls up on my skirts, though they’re getting in the way, bunched up to my waist when he gives me a look, pressing my hand overtop my lower abdomen to hold them up, his hand gripping his manhood, pressing toward my entrance, rubbing lightly at that pleasurable spot, my low pleased noise muffled in the chest of his robe, his cross pressed cold to my overheating cheek.

“I wouldn’t like to hurt you… express any discomfort, miss, I’ll move slowly…” He pushes, pressing slowly inside, the feeling a little like the sting of antiseptic, his length and girth well over what I’m used to, but not painful, the wetness he caused allowing him to slip inside without incident, pressing tight inside, the full feeling filling some carnal, animalistic desire. “I’ll spill it outside… I won’t desecrate you too harshly…” He pulls back, pressing back inside equally slow, his hand sliding down to clasp around the inner side of my knee, drawing it up to parallel with my hip, his eyes on mine as he moves, slow, passionate and careful in a perfectly unexplainable way, the pleasing feeling of his eyes on mine prompting me to let my head lean back onto the wood, gazing up at him in a way that is surely embarrassingly wanton, but he doesn’t mind, just tucks his chin, gazing down at the place we’re connected, brows drawing together as a low rumble rips through his chest. “Is this… Are you in-hah- pain?” I shake my head, holding up my skirts a little higher, my other hand trapped between my chest and his stomach, gripped tight to his robes. “Confess… Bare your sins to the-ah lord-!” He speeds up his movement, the sound of skin hitting skin tearing pleased noises out of the both of us, his grip going a little tighter on my knee, his eyes holding mine captive, staring at me in an obscene fashion, pained and pleasured and anguished and adoring all at once.

“I-ah- I’m committing the-hah- the sin of-! Adultery-! I-hnn- I couldn’t resist the- the father… Please-ah- please forgive-! Me-!” Speaking isn’t all that easy, his manhood hitting the deepest parts of me, only a little painful, mostly pleasing, his thumb moving back to that spot making me keen, my face pressed to his chest until it passes, his movement gaining a steady, quick rhythm, his thumb moving in time with his hips, his breathing labored and shaky.

“Forgive us-Nnh- for we have sinned… Miss-ah-! I will now-hah- close the-Hnn-!” He ducks his head down, face pressed to the crook of my neck, his body shaking against me, mine against him, all of us ruined, torn apart from the need burning inside, a desire satiated only by action. “God the- the father of mercies-hah- Through-Nnh-! The death and resurrection of his son-ah- son-! As recon-hah-ciled by the-hnn- the uh-Nnh-!” He’s losing himself, and his teachings, mind too full of lust to recall his closing prayer, his hips pressing to mine in an almost animalistic fashion, rutting with the force of a needy dog, his head pulled back to look at me, his expression sinfully beautiful, all of him wet with sweat, red, his eyes low, held open by his need to see himself ruin me, make me into something just as terribly and fully depraved as him. “You really are-hah- the perfect temptation-nnh- In a world full of sinners we’re-ngh- only two of millions… If this costs me my spot in heaven so- so be it, this is my own-Nnh-! personal heaven, buried inside and gazing into your eyes-!…” He’s panting, and so am I, both of us near the inevitable high, shaking and releasing low noises into the space between us, our gazes locked, the eye contact offering a passion and sickening tension, spurring me closer, his thumb moving with harsh pressure, sending me near insanity, his quick thrusts driving me up the wall, his low words rushed and raspy, groaned out and whiny, nearly sounding pleading, his expression gone fearful, distraught at his own pleasure. “The world to- himself and sent the- the-nnh-!” He leans his head back, eyes closing and a loud groan ripping out of him, the sight drawing a decidedly needy noise out of me, my eyes trailing down to his cross, just in front of my face, bouncing agonist his chest, condemning me, my transgression seen and judged by God. “Damnit-! Sent to us- for the-ah- forgiveness ‘f sins-! Through the minis-ah- may god give-nnh-! May god give us pardon- yes-ah- and peace-nnh- I-ah-ab-oh- absolve-!” He slows down, both of us coming down from the near climax, his eyes coming back to me, forehead pressed to mine, his hips working in more of and arc like motion, the feeling of him dragging inside tearing an overly wanton sound from me, his eyes watching me as he draws this out, keeps us both teetering, giving himself a moment to finish his broken prayer. “I absolve you of your-ah- sins, and myself of- of mine…” He takes a few more seconds, pressing inside slowly, keeping his eyes on mine, bright blue shadowed by his hair, messy and sweaty, before he speeds back up, sinking inside over and over again at a pace that seems inhuman, his body impossibly tight to mine, the feeling of nearness coming back, my release denied now back to ruin me, leave evidence of my sin. “In the-ah- name of the- the father-! And of-hah- the-nnh- son and the-! The-ah- holy-hnn-! Spirit!” I’m squeezing him, my body almost uncontrollable when I clench and shake from pleasure, head tilted back and my eyes on his as he pulls out, leaving me empty, his seed spilled over the front of my thigh, trails dripping and soaking my skin, his release enticingly sensual to watch, a raw kind of experience, my mind hazy and full of him, watching him until he’s done, my leg returned to standing, his hands gently smoothing my skirt over both our messes. “Amen.”

“Amen.”

[thebiggestfuckgiven]

Ectoberweek 26: Cults

Rating: T

Warnings: description of suicide (in the form of self-sacrifice), cult mentality

A/N: a little (a lot) shorter than the previous one, but it’s cuz i wrote it during my thirty min break at work~ It’s a beloved trope that Danny falls victim to a cult, so i thought, what if it was a little different? hope u enjoy!

-💜-

It was a strange thing, to hate the person who saved you. Who continues to save you. A person, a thing, that shields you from the incessant violence of the grotesque dead things that look so much like them, and you hate them.

Or, you used to, at least.

Cool metal bites into your palm. The dagger in your hand is curved, its metal a haunting blue. Like ice.

You can’t begin to fathom why you ever hated that fated savior. That thing that watched over you and everyone else so selflessly. It gave everything to you.

Slowly, you drop to your knees. The pain of impact is barely there. There is a low green light in the room. With a shuddering breath, you incline your head upwards. All the breath leaves your lungs. The being before you towers impossibly. A massive body of writhing, pulsating shadows, a green shine trapped within.

You want to look higher. You yearn to. You need to see. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes. They’re burning. Your skin grows clammy, burning hot and covered in a cold sweat. You’re burning. Burning, burning, burning.

You see a cool blue face, trapped in an icy pallor. Purple tinged lips. A twinkling cosmos above them. Impossible swirling vortexes of nebulas and supernovas. You see piercing toxic green light before you can’t see anything. Something warm, thicker than tears, runs down your face.

You gasp a breath, finally. Your body is trembling, and you know that you should apologize. But you saw your savior. The thing that gave you everything.

A deep rumbling vibrates the floor beneath you.

It was time to give back.

The dagger in your hand is cool, still. Light. Head still inclined upwards, you bring the blade up to your throat. Blood and tears alike stain your neck. There is something at the tip of your tongue. A prayer. A praise. A holy blessing.

Thank you.

A quick movement to the side. You barely feel it. Thick, hot blood runs down your chest in what should have been a terrifying torrent.

You feel at peace. A warm blanket encompasses you.

Thank you, you whisper again. All you hear is the sound of your own life pooling in your throat, and you smile.

He shall live, and you with him.

[ziggyarchives]

in the arms of the father

the disgust of what have become of your life might negate your love for whats to come, for the father solicited chaos among the healing, and he would hunt down your body to the horror of the human brain rotting from the inside out to purge, and for the mother whom he was born, the one he ripped open to alleviate the need for holiness. her whom forgave her son for ripping her flesh and devouring her soul, her who wont forgive him from doing it to anyone else, she who thought her sacrifice would suffice soon to realize, oh! how wrong her son she had missed judged

[karmawonders]

Adding onto this idea. You gave me a brainrot and must now pay the consequences. (Lighthearted ofc)

Got me thinking that it's like a Teyvat custom for like eons now for all clocks or ways to measure time be devoted / made in your,Divinity, image.

Sundials? Instead of the funky spindly stick thing, they are mini figures of you.

Maybe some engineer or smtb figures out how to rotate it and always faces the sun, figure outstretched as if you give the people the gift of light.

Tiny sundials are often decorated by children, and gifts and offerings are scattered around them. It makes sense after all, you, Divinity, are infinite, and time is also this!

Kids get paints and decorate the sundials and color it all fun, and then at the end of the month they are washed and redecorated once again. Sort of a monthly ritual ig? Who knows.

Klee has accidentally blown up these sundials. She was scolded so heavily, but when looking in the remains, the only thing that survived, and undamaged, near impossible, was the mini figure.

She got off pretty scotch free, must be a sign from you that you wish not the child to be punished for her accidental sacreligou.

(You know the big venti statue? That but us, and it rotates to act as a funky sundial, one time the gears stop working and everyone dead ass panics but all is good)

Sometimes more elaborate clocks are completely nonsensical, often found in ancient ruins. Large strands of metal sheet exuding out and around, pillaring up and over, almost like a contained, wired mess.

Scholars can agree that yep, this is definitely a clock. But why is it so funky?

That's till they find an old book, and the clocks strange forms and wires reveal that it's suppose to mimic a more eldritch, powerful form of Divinity. How cool! Should they be incorporating this imagery in their temples? Hrmmm

Speaking of temples! In them their clocks have statues of you, all rigged up with bells held in the marble hands. So that when it hits the hour, someone can pull a lever or smth and all the statues throughout ring the bells !

(I can imagine a first time visitor being spooked outta their mind cuz like, "omg that statue of Divinity just moved, holy fucking fuck is it them - oh wait no it's just mechanic hehhe thank the stars)"

Big old bell tower? Gots your face / murals of you all over it. The biggest bell in it? Named after notable acolytes or your accomplishments!

You go to an grandma's house in Teyvat and they got all of that Divinity merchandise. They got the clocks. The vases that have what your eyes look like on em, teacups shaped like eldirtch form, all the crazy shit.

Anyway that's the brainrot have a good day

Crack idea time!

Imagine Jesus Clock but with your face in Teyvat 😭

Like the weirdest merchandise ever except they plaster you in weird details if not covering the entire thing in your image

LOOK AT THIS 😭😭

And the grandmas are like ‘aww so wholesome. So soft. I’ll have fifty of these’

[cranberryjuice-posts]

Hi!! I love your Clarisse fan fics so much <3! I was wondering if you could right one with very very sweet reader being in a straight toxic/abusive relationship and she just takes it but never tells anyone. Her and Clarisse where enemy’s but secretly loved each other. Than one day reader was walking around with a bruise on her face horribly covered in concealer but if you were looking for something you could still see and Clarisse did, but not at first, she was coming up to you to bully you but than she saw the bruise and she got all upset and reader was confused because Clarisse always bullied her. Reader just brushed it aside and walked away but left her dagger at the table, so when Clarisse returned it she saw your boyfriend through the window smacking you in the face and she lost it. She didn’t even knock on the door she just bursted in and she didn’t want to make you upset so she grabbed you boyfriends arm and dragged him out to the forest and beat the living shit out of him. She ran back to see reader and comforted her and it ended up with both of them confessing their love for each other and maybe some fluff or smut towards the end, you choose! 💕💕

Thank you!!

Not talking bout boys

Pairings - Clarisse La Rue x Daughter of Aphrodite! Fem! Reader

An - yes reader has a bf them being a lesbian in the fic is important side note I have a smutty Abby fic and a cute fic for clarisse coming out on Valentine’s Day so look out for those two

CW - abusive relationships, dyke is used, religous trauma

Everyone knew who you were. You were a beautiful charming daughter of Aphrodite as well as the vice councilor for the Aphrodite cabin.

You were a sweet heart, always being the first to show the new kids around camp, ready to help settle disagreements and you were well known for being someone anybody could come to for relationship advice.

Ironic.

People would often tell you how much they wished they had a relationship like yours. Your boyfriend Logan a son of Athena. Brains and beauty that’s what everyone said about you.

Funny thing about people is that they never saw what happened behind closed doors. You tried not to blame him but it was hard not to.

Laying on the floor of the empty Aphrodite cabin your held yourself up with your hands, your tears dropping on the floor after he hit you, why? It could be for anything today however it was because you wore a too revealing top that attracted attention, attention that Logan didn’t like.

“Really?! How many times do I have to tell you to get it through your dumb fucking head huh?” Logan yelled at you, kneeling down he forced your head up. He glared at you for a moment before letting you go, grabbing you softly and hugging you. “I’m sorry baby” he kissed your shoulder.

“I’m sorry baby you know I don’t like hitting you but sometimes it’s the only thing I can do to get messages across” he frowned gently holding your face, his personality doing a complete 360 from before.

“I know” you whispered. Leaning into his touch you couldn’t help it. Something felt off however, his touch made you feel dirty and guilty, the furthest thing from love yet… yet you still forgave him and felt as though you needed him.

——

Days normally blured together, with mornings going normally with you slowly doing your makeup mainly because you wanted to look your best but also because you needed the extra time to cover the bruises — dozing off you hadn’t realized you used to little yellow concealer to hide the purple of the deep mark.

After about an hour you walked out of your cabin, walking towards the dining pavilion for breakfast. Being shoved to the side you watched as Clarisse softly laughed with her siblings clearly mocking you. “It’s impolite to not say excuse me” you softly spoke fixing yourself shirt.

Turning around she looked you up and down. You felt her gaze linger for a moment before turning more serious. “Go get your share I’ll catch up” she ordered at her siblings. Once they started to leave she harshly grabbed your chin turning it so your cheek was In direct sunlight. “The hell is this” she carefully examined the mark

“Nothing” confused you looked over at her slightly offended by the circumstances. “Besides why would you even care”

“Because I can— How the fuck did you get that bruise on your cheek? Someone deck you or something” she sarcastically laughed. Immediately you shook your head denying it. “No no I uh, I fell”

Clarisse looked down at you for a moment, taking her thumb she caressed the sensitive bruise. “Whatever… just be more careful” she let you go before leaving you alone, irritated and.. flustered?

——

You laid in bed looking up at the ceiling not able to think.

Reaching up to your chest you softly took the cross necklace, something your father had given you before you arrived at camp.

Thinking about your dad always brought bad memories, how he forced you into the church. The snobby kids and the religion forced down your throat. Not allowed to ask questions or question anything. But the thing that stuck with you the most was the treatment of gay people.

You personally had no problem with them, the gods themselves seem to be fine with homosexual relationships but… why did it always feel so weird to you. You knew things were different about you but this time you didn’t mean being a demigod.

The way you viewed your boyfriend vrs well.. clarisse of all people made you confused. When you were with Logan you didn’t feel the same butterflys as silena would constantly brag about getting with Charlie. When you kissed it felt forced, how his hands touched you it make you want to rip your skin out.

But..

How clarisse had grabbed your chin today… you rolled over and silently groaned into your pillow.

Clarisse the same girl that would shove you. The same girl that made fun of your archery skills and called you weak for being kind. The same girl that would gently run a hand around your waist when you were in line for food… clarisse the same girl, who looked at you differently from everyone.

Why did you feel like this, why did she out of everyone make you feel like an idiot, a love sick idiot at that.

You groaned once more into your pillow, not realize how loud you were until one of your sisters threw a throw pillow at your head telling you to sleep.

Laying back down on your back You Just looked back up at the soft pink ceiling. Sure you had always thought women were pretty, and while it was true you found yourself thinking about them how you should think about Logan— there was no way you were gay.. you had a boyfriend you were straight.

A straight girl

A… straight girl

——

A few days had passed.

You had been sitting inside the armory looking around as you waited for your daggers sheath to be repaired. Walking back you bumped into someone.

Before you could fall you felt a strong hand grab your waist, looking up you saw the curly haired girl who haunted your dreams.

“Watch where your going” she pushed you up helping you regain your balance.

You felt your cheeks turn red, “uh thank you” tucked some hair behind your ear embarrassed. Clarisse nodded taking note of your outfit of a camp shirt and shorts. She rolled her eyes. “Yeah whatever”

Charlie had decided to walk over finally “hey, sorry look were a little backed up but I can Promise your sheath will be fixed tonight alright?” He asked, You nodded before you could speak however clarisse scoffed “That’s bullshit, fix her sheath now”

“I just said i couldn’t”

“Whatever we both know it’ll take you five minutes—“

“It’s Fine Clarisse i don’t mind waiting” You looked up at her placing a hand on her forearm.

You smiled at Charlie as you walked out the armory. You left embarrassed by how clarisse had stood up for you, but also how you had touched her and how she allowed it.

Once you were gone Clarisse looked over noticing your dagger laying on the table. She swore you would loose your head if it wasn’t attached to your neck. “Fix her sheath now”

“Cl—“

“Did I stutter?”

——

You found yourself inside the Athena cabin with Logan while everyone else was at the bondfire, his siblings making teasing remarks as they left. He just shook his head before looking back at you. “Hey there sexy” he grinned, you stood between his legs with his hand on your thigh.

You cringed slightly but smiled. “Hey” playing with one of his blonde curls you felt his hand travel towards your ass. You grabbed his hand pulling it away “not today.. please I just really am not in the mood for it”

Logan rolled his eyes dramatically taking his hands off you and turning to face the books on his desk. “Of course” he complained.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked confused crossing your arms. “You know what it means— every-time we’re alone you don’t want to do shit I’m fucking over it, what’s the point of having a girlfriend if she doesn’t even want to make out with you”

“I’m just not that good of a kisser I—“

“Your a daughter of Aphrodite your good at everything love related, know what can you just stop with this bullshit” he stood up aggressively making you flinch back some. “Stop what” you looked down to afraid to meet his eyes.

Logan grabbed your chin harshly forcing you to look at him, it made you think back to clarisse how when she grabbed you it was almost gentle. You looked to the side and for a moment it was quiet, thinking he was done you heard Logan let out a scoff like laugh.

He pushed your head away. “Fuck you”

“What?”

“You know what you fucking slut.” He stepped towards you. “Can’t believe i didn’t realize it sooner” Logan continued to shake his head in disbelief. You tried to stand up for yourself but all you felt was a harsh slap met your cheek not even a moment later.

“Your disgusting, I see how you look at the other girls at camp— clarisse fucking la rue to be specific, I notice how you let your eyes wander on her, I bet you wish she was with you now huh?! I bet you wish she was the one who was kissing you huh?!” Logan tightly grabbed your face once again, tears brimming around your eyes. Trying to shake your head he just continued. “You disgust me- what would your dad think huh? To know his previous daughter was a fucking dyke

Logan jerked your head up forcing you to look at him before he hatefully kissed you.

It felt like forever, until you were suddenly dragged out the cabin. Looking up you saw clarisse having a tight hold on you.

It came back to you slowly, clarisse kicking open the door, shoving Logan into his bunk making him hit his head and now here where she started to take you across the camp

Her firm hold on your hand made you blush. It hurt how much you liked her and how much you knew you shouldn’t.

You watched as she yelled for everyone out of the ares cabin, letting out a string of offensives if anyone had something to say. Once they were gone it was quiet.

Clarisse led you to her bed setting you down gently before taking your face in her hands while examining the condition of you. “How Long” she mumbled.

“2 months after we got together” you quietly replied looking down. Clarisse pulled you into a hug, keeping a loving hold around you.

“I’m going to kill him” she tightened her grasp slightly, pulling away you shook your head “no, please I don’t want anyone knowing”

“Knowing how he treated you like shit”

“Knowing that I’m a fucking hypocrite clarisse!”You yelled, Clarisse kept quiet as this was the first time she’s heard you cuss. “Don’t you get it! How am I supposed to act if people find out that my entire relationship was toxic when im the one person most all people go to for love advice huh?! I’m a daughter of Aphrodite I’m supposed to be the person people admire! Imagine how embarrassing it’ll be to have people know I let my boyfriend hit me! And how the hell am I supposed to face anyone even my own father if they know im..” You choked on your tears leaning Into clarisse crying. She held you close not wanting to let go.

At this point you didn’t want to be anywhere else but in clarisses arms, where you didn’t feel forced or threatened you just simply felt loved.

——

You silently laid beside clarisse, just looking quietly into each-others eyes. Calmed down from your breakdown, You watched as she reached out fixing a piece of hair from your face. “..can I ask a question” she whispered. You nodded leaning some into her touch. “Are you.. are you gay”

After sone silence you nodded once again. “Yeah.. im not sure what I would be but.. I know for a fact I don’t like men” you admitted, a sense of anxiety washed over you. Clarisse continued to hold your face with an unreadable expression. “So a lesbian?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I guess so, I don’t really know much about queer identities anyways..”

“If You don’t like men Why did you bother to date Logan?” Her tone was sweet but confused. You couldn’t help but smile at the well known angry girl was now holding you with such care it made you feel butterflys. “I’m ashamed to be like this.. I’m not supposed to be a lesbian but I… am”

Before you noticed it, clarisse had leaned in kissing you. It was a quick kiss with her pulling away after a second. She muttered an apology while trying to leave, you however grabbed her before you could think bringing clarisse into another kiss, however this time it was longer and loving.

Sitting on your knees with your he daughter of ares fit in an awkward position you still continued to kiss her. Everything from before left your mind, how disgusting it felt up even kiss your boyfriend or now ex boyfriend, all you could think was how much you loved this girl.

Pulling away you kept your face close to clafisse. “I don’t understand.. I thought you hated me”

“Hated you.. really?!” She pushed back fixing her pose to be more comfortable. “I’ve been flirting with you this entire time”

“You Call shoving me around and calling me names flirting?”

“Yeah I—.. Look i don’t know shit about flirting but i thought it clear i liked you”

“No clafisse not at all” You laughed before moving to sit on the girls lap to kiss her. “Whatever it still worked Didnt it! Your here in my bed kissing me”

You lightly hit her with a smile. “I hate you”

“No you don’t” she laughed back kissing your cheek before looking at you, almost like she was trying to prove how much she loved you through just her eyes alone.

———

The following morning you had learned that Logan was currently in the infirmary with a long list of injuries you couldn’t even Name and your new girlfriend clarisse who was now being punished by Chiron. Aswell as the Ares cabin having a new found protective stance on the Aphrodite cabin

——

[mayghosts]

Snow Angel: Squalls (3) Paige Bueckers x reader

Summary: Whay happened before Halloween (reader tweaks out)

(Toc) (last)

Warnings: religion/religous trauma, homophobia and internal homophobia, Catholicism, alcohol and improper alchohol use

AN: guys I'm so sorry for this its a bit intense but I love angst and am religiously traumatised myself soooooo…

October 29, 2022

The processional music rang out over the aged speakers in the church as the priest made his way down the center aisle. The inscence made your eyes water and the smell of the old rotting carpet consumed your senses. You stared straight ahead, squeezing your eyes shut. Waiting for the confessional.

Pushing the curtain open, you stepped into the dark box and kneeled on the thinly padded cushion.

“Bless my father for I have sinned..”

The same thing every week. You glanced up through the mesh screen at the shadowed face in the other side.

He said the same thing every time.

Pushing open the heavy wooden doors you stepped out into the cold October air. You felt your chest tighten as you looked down at the notifications from Paige.

Shoving your phone in your pocket you started the walk back to her dorm.

October 30, 2022:

You sighed at the sight of her. Long blonde hair cascading down her back, tiny shirt, big pants. You didn't even know what she was dressed up as, you didn't care. Fuck I need a drink.

You knew it was okay. It's okay to be gay and like girls. Paige liked girls and that's fine. You really had no issue with other people living their lives how they wanted to because it wasn’t you business. But you couldn't ignore the crawling feeling that chewed at your stomach when you saw a pretty girl when you saw Paige. The guilt that would slowly consume you, make you feel sick to your stomach. Worst of all you could never just admit it to yourself, you liked Paige more than a friend, and it was eating you alive.

You quickly tore your gaze away from the blonde, making you way over to Nika who was nursing a bottle of tequila. Withing the hour, the churning in your stomach had melted away, and when you looked at Paige, instead of hearing the priests voice you heard her sweet calming tone.

October 31, 2022

7 AM mass is usually reserved for old people from nursing homes and early morning commuters—and you. Sliding into a row in the back, you kneeled, letting your forehead rest against the pew in front of you. You didn’t move the whole mass.

“Forgive me father for I have sinned…”

He says the same thing every time. And when you leave, the same consuming, heavy, feeling occupies your chest. You blame the tears on the incents and walk out of the church with you head low.

—

Paiges dorm was full of people and you had been nursing a bottle of pink whitney since you got home from mass. “Paigeeeee, are you ready to go?” you giggled, stumbling into her dorm living room and wrapping your arms around her neck. “Jesus Nika what did you give her?” You could hear the concern laced in Paiges voice as she stabilized your hips and unwound your hands from her neck. You melted under her touch, god she was pretty.

You gently held onto her hands, running your fingers over her knuckles and holding them up to your face. “What did she give you? Hmm?” you looked up at her big blue eyes, laced with concern. Can you feel the sin? Can you see it written in my eyes? Do I feel dirty to her too? You giggled slightly slumping into her chest. “Nothingggg~ look I'm fine!” You attempted to sober yourself up, standing up straight, trying not to sway on your feet.

“Sure thing babe.” You felt your stomach churn at the pet name. You hummed back at her, you watched her eyes search your face before she gave up and turned back to her conversation with Aaliyah.

—

You stumbled out of the bar. This is bad, so so bad. You knew you were beyond drunk. Messy. The only good thing about this situation was Paige, gently guiding you into the back of an uber and closing the door behind you both.

She had never looked prettier. Ever. “I like your hair.” She grinned at you “Thanks, I do too.” “its very pretty” you reached up, running your fingers through her hair. “Whats it like…?” your sentence faded our as you glanced out the window, your hand still fiddling with her hair. “Hmm?” She looked back at you. You dropped her hair looking back into her eyes. You felt like you were being swallowed. The uber pulled into your parking lot before you could finish your sentence.

“Come on, lets go.” Paiges voice was gentle, coaxing you out of the backseat, looping an arm around you and guiding you in through the door. You tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as she leaned in a bit to put the key in the door. “Paige.”

“Yea? What is it?”

“I love you” she smilled at you and you felt your vision blur. “Awwe I love you too, don't cry!” You desperately palmed at the tears rolling down your cheeks. She gently placed you on the bathroom counter. “Whats wrong?” grabbing a cotton pad she began scrubbing at the makeup on your face. You sniffled and shook your head.

“C’mon you can tell me anything. Whats up?” she stopped her gentle scrubbing to crouch to your level. “I’m so scared, Paige you're killing me.” you could feel the tears burning in your eyes, yor chest felt tight as you gripped her hands. You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling her straighten up infront of you. She paused for a moment, unsure about whether or not to dissect this. “Lets go to bed, okay. I know you're probably tired.” You could feel her gently guide you off the counter, your eyes still squeezed shut.

“Maybe walking would be a bit easier if you opened your eyes?” you shook your head. “I'm not supposed to see you anymore.” You stumbled into her back as paused again, obviously confused. “I can’t go to Heaven anymore Paige this is all I have now.”

The silence was heavy, the only sound coming from the silent crys you let out. She kept moving slowly through your messy room. You yanked on her hand, pulling her to face you. “Its your fault! Why don't you care!” she gently guided you to sit on the edge of the bed. In the dark light you could make out the tears waiting in her eyes. You really ruined it this time. You pushed at her shoulders, repetitively hitting her with weak jabs and punches. “You’re ruining me Paige! You're ruining me! I don't stand a chance I- how do you live with…it?!” You both knew what you meant. You had done this before, a long time ago.

Tears streamed down your face, dripping into your lap. Paige was silent as she moved to take your shoes off and pull the cover up. “Sleep on your side, don't roll over.” Her voice was flat, monotone, but you could see the hurt still in her eyes. As she stood up to walk to the door you grabbed at her arm. “No, no, no please Paige don't leave me! Please I'm sorry, I love you, please. I really do, I'll live with it, ill live with it for you. Just for you you're all I need I-” You watched her cry, her back turned to you. Broad shoulders shaking as she rubbed her eyes. Silently she left the room, the door softly clicking behind her.

In the darkness of the room, you swore you could smell the old carpet and the inscense.

November 15, 2022

As you walked out of the church, head still pounding from last night, you glanced down at your screen to a text from an unknown number.

"Hey! I don't know if you remeber me, but my name is Maggie we met last night! If you don't remeber we talked a bit last night and I helped you get home."

another text came through as you stared at the screen.

"Anyways, I just wanted to make sure you were okay and see if you wanted to get coffee or something today?"

You unlocked your phone and opened the chat, responding immediately.

"Yea sure! what are you doing for lunch?"

(see how our dialoge changes colors 😗😗😗)

TAGLIST: @smiths-fan--13 @yannasuniverse @stydiaownsmyheart @hellokittyfeenie @justareadernotawriter1

[your-nanas-house]

"Good girl"

◇ Pairing: Dark!Thomas Shelby X fem!reader

◇ Warnings: slightly smut, age gap, kind of cheating?, angst, fluff

◇ Summary: You want to be a good wife for your husband, John Shelby, and Thomas is willing to help you.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. Still trying to figure out how to write Tommy in a more Tommy way. Let me know what you think! 🍓

"You know what I mean" Tommy sighed, rubbing his temples stressed because of the hard day he had

"Before the arranged marriage" He added, looking at you with his cold blue eyes.

"There must have been suitors waiting to marry you, hon" Tommy said softly, sounding almost curious in tone.

He knew that you were married to his own brother, John Shelby— he himself was the cause of that arranged marriage of a couple of months ago— but he was still curious, there was something in you, maybe the mature mind inside of a young lovely woman's body, that attracted him.

"Not really, no" you replied in a soft tone, pausing a moment to give a further explanation when you saw Tommy's eyebrows raise slightly in curiosity but he was faster

"No suitors waiting to propose?" Thomas asked sounding almost incredulous at this.

"I find that hard to believe, especially when looking at a pretty face such as yours."

He was still looking straight at you, almost appraising you.

"There had to have been at least one young man who fell in love with you, right?" He insisted, blowing out the smoke of his cigarette from his nostrils.

You sat better on the sofa, holding the sleepy form of Charlie on your chest as you replied with embarrassment

"Men want brainless women, sir. If love is to want their body and not their soul then I had plenty of suitors but if love is wanting the soul and the body then I was alone" you whispered, catching him off guard.

"A poetic young woman." Tommy said softly, as he looked at you with interest.

The maid behind the door seemed a little shocked at the conversation not that you knew or cared.

"You know, miss, there are many women who would kill to marry a me, get my attention or touch, just for your information." Tommy said, his tone slightly playful but his face serious "They'd be waiting in line, hoping to be noticed by me"

He let out a long sigh, and smiled softly.

"But it's clear to me now that those women would have been a waste of my time." He added, his baby blue eyes now staring at you in an almost dark way, you bit your bottom lip confused making something dark snap into him.

"And why are you not one of those women?" Tommy asked, after a small pause, with a sly smile. He really expected to see a glimpse of interest or lust in your eyes as soon as you sat on that sofa.

"You're not blind, of course. You know I'm a rich, handsome man, I'm a war veteran, a gangster, a businessman. Most women would be fighting one another for a slice of me."

He murmured leaning back into the sofa as he turned his body further towards you

"Yet here you are, not showing me the least bit of interest. Why is that?"

You were honestly a bit taken aback by his statement— you weren't blind for sure, Tommy was an handsome and charismatic man but you were married to his young brother and you momma taught you to be loyal.

You blushed softly, caressing softly Charlie's brunette hair as you thought of a reply

"I think...because of respect, sir" you paused a moment adding "and personality".

His cold eyes and dominant aura was making you feel a bit helpless.

"Respect?" Tommy stared at you, his tone serious "You respect me, miss?"

He studies your expression before continuing to speak

"A woman can respect a man, miss, whilst also seeing him as a man. Just as I respect you for your intelligence and courage, I also see you as a beautiful woman who, in different circumstances, I would not hesitate to express my admiration for."

Your eyes widen softly as you stared at him speechless, a soft blush of shame covered your cheeks.

You were born in a strict and pretty religious family so you honestly had no idea about this kind of things, sadly, your own husband John told you so— not with words but rather with his eyes.

"I'm afraid I don't know how" you whispered in a soft voice, ashamed to admit it out loud.

"Don't know how to... see a man as a man?" Tommy asked, his tone more serious again

"Or you don't know how to show affection, miss?" He added, looking statight at you.

He seemed genuinely curious to hear what you had to say about this.

"You seem to have no trouble showing affection to Charlie." He added, as an observation, his cold eyes on you.

He was right, you knew how to show affection, you just lucked of experience in romantic affection.

You never had this kind of conversation with anyone before, it was rather interesting for your naive mind and after hearing for most of your life, rumors about the infamous Thomas Shelby you know for sure that he could help you with this— so you followed the wind with open arms, without shame.

"Is the same love I show Charlie the one that I should show my husband?" You asked curiously, stroking in a motherly way the soft baby hair of Charlie

"No." Tommy answered, his tone firm and decisive

"The love you have for Charlie is maternal. You look after him, you care for him. You love him as a child."

He paused

"The love you have for a husband is very different, miss" Tommy explained, his voice soft.

"The love you have for your husband is... tender, passionate." He murmured softly, his icy gaze becoming dark and even more full of lust

"I think you know the difference, miss— You just need to learn to show it." He added, his voice low sending a weird shiver through your spine.

"That is what marriage is, darlin—" Tommy sayid, his voice soft and smooth, the smoke of his cigarette escaping his mouth

"—Learning to show romance to your husband, learning to love him passionately."

You were confused but determined, you joined the Shelby family not so much time ago but you were now focused to be the perfect wife for your husband— so you nodded, eagerly, ready to please and learn.

"Shall I show you?" Tommy asked softly, breaking the silent that had been established

"Shall I teach you how to please a man?" He asked, looking back at you with a sly smile.

"How to be a wife, honey. Can I teach you how to do that?"

You honestly had a bad feeling, a lot of questions kept running around your head but you trusted Thomas, he was your brother-in-law.

Tommy seemed pleased at your answer, which surprised you a bit

"Good girl." He said, his voice soft again. He paused a moment, getting closer to you to put his hand on your leg, his voice quiet when he spoke again

"A woman like you should also learn how to give a man a treat every now and then"

Your eyes remained focused on him as he gave your leg a slight squeeze.

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj , @wife-of-magic-monkeys , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher , @sleepycreativewriter

[romana-after-dark]

Our Gentle Sins: Part 5

Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader

My god this header is ass but I was an emo kid what can I say

Series Masterlist : Main Masterlist : Logan Masterlist

Spotify Playlist

Follow @romana-updates and click follow, join my tumblr community or ask to join the tag list to keep up!

Buy Me A Coffee : Kofi : Go Fund Me

Chapter summary: Past. You get sick Present. You can't help fall into him.

Warnings: This fic features non con, pregnancy, and themes of religous trauma. I will not be saying everything that happens to warm you, by clicking read more you are prepared for extremely dark themes and that you at 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

2.6 words

a/n: Mean girls reference for mean girls day1!!

Before

This was terrible. Absolutely awful. You were feverish, dizzy, nauseous, diarrhea… all of it. You knew you should say you can’t work… you were barely functioning, you didn’t want to get your kids sick, but your anxiety simply didn’t allow it. When Charles greeted you this morning, you felt awful and considered asking if maybe it was possible for you to potentially go to your room early today…

And yet, when he greeted you and asked how you were, you lied and said a cheery, ‘wonderful!’.

For the last few weeks, you and Logan had lunch together almost every day. You started making extra for him and bringing him a fork, just in case he comes. This last week, however, he hasn’t shown. You didn’t blame him. What a man doesn’t want after kissing a woman is for her to freak out, lock herself in a changing room for 20 minutes and cry, then proceed to not speak as he drives her home. Not your best moment, if you were honest.

But it had taken you by surprise, and with a myriad of guilt swirling in your head, you’d worked yourself into a panic attack. It was happening so fast, so fucking fast and you weren’t ready. 

Logan was… you wanted him, you wanted him so fucking. The strong muscles busting out of his wife beater, the way his jeans hung low on his hips, the way that if you asked him to reach for something for you, you could see a trail of hair leading to something making you blush. Sinful thoughts swirled your head, always making your fingers trail over the cotton panties on under your night dress… but you couldn’t fathom him actually wanting you until that moment. When your lay in bed, pj’s looking like something out of little house on the prairie rather than the lingerie you were sure a man like Logan was used to. He was probably drowning in pussy, women who were far prettier and sexier than you.

Women who didn’t come with baggage

Women who didn’t do the things you had done.

It was no wonder he was avoiding you. He could slide himself into one of the many beautiful, mentally stable women here. He’d probably gone and done that as soon as you’d gotten home, realize you weren’t worth the- Oh fuck.

Rushing to the bathroom, you throw up, making it quick before cleaning up and getting it to gether for class. You could make it through the day. It would be fine.

It was not.

Most of your classes you just gave them reading time, or to work on other school work which they were grateful for. Occasionally, someone would come up and ask a question as you did your best to avoid breathing on them; if someone got sick because of you, you’d never forgive yourself, but your fear of rejection made it difficult to express your feelings. For all the talk about women being the emotional ones, somehow you were never allowed to express them. Even as a child, you were hit for crying, until you learned that voicing a need was disrespectful. You wouldn’t disrespect mr. xavier like that.

As your students filed out before lunch, you had grand plans of napping on your desk during lunch before you straight up passed out. Those plans proved silly when Logan walked into your room, looking like a kicked puppy.

“Logan, I’m sorry-” You were about to apolgize for the panic attack, but he started talking first.

“I know you probably hate me-” 

You both stop and blink. 

“No, I’m sorry. You took me out trying to do something nice-”

“No, no,” He interrupted. Logan stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I… shouldn't have done that, the kiss, I mean.”

Your face feels warm at the mention, but that honestly didn’t mean much. You’ve been warm all day. Still, you didn’t want Logan to think you were some crazy homeschooled jungle freak. All you wanted was to just be normal.

You try to stand. “That’s s-sweet of you…” That attempt didn’t get far, feeling dizzy as the room swirls around you. Vaguely, you can hear Logan call your name in a question, but it’s hard to hear over the muffled sound in your ears. For a moment, you’re falling, then rising again. Logan had you in his arms, and you cling to his plain white shirt as you come back to it. He’s already carrying you out of the room.

*

Logan is aware of the attention on them. Prying eyes of teachers and whispers from students, gossiping about the pretty little teacher in the arms of the local asshole. No one would get it. No one understood what he felt for you, not when he barely understood it himself. He came to apologize, to ask for things to go back to normal as if he could ever be normal about you, but the distance was killing him. He needed those lunch dates. He needed watching movies with you in the lounge tucked away on the other side of the couch like you were nervous. His gentle baby doll, needing him to guide her. He couldn’t live like he was now, not after tasting you.

Then he saw you there, looking flushed and unwell, and thank god he moved closer to you because you passed out into his arms. 

“Logan, what the hell did you-” Scott tried to talk to him, but Logan brushes passed with you in his arms.

“She’s sick. Can you figure out someone to take over the class?”

But Scott was insufferable, putting his hand on Logan’s arm to stop him. “I’m gonna need you to tell me what’s going on.”

“What the fuck does it look like?” Logan snapped, turning around quickly. He regretted it when your little hand tugged on his shirt, groaning. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m gonna get you to bed.” He looked over at Scott with a glare. “As soon as Mr. White knight lets me go.”

If Scott could take off his glasses, Logan was sure he’d see his eyes roll. “Just- fuck, why is she unconcious?”

“Because I drugged her.” Logan deadpans and waits for Scott to open his mouth. “No, dumbass she’s sick. She’s fucking burning up.”

To his horror, Scott reached for you, and on instinct Logan pulled away. When Scott glared at him, Logan aquiessed.

“Jesus… that’s not good…”

“Yeah, it’s not, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to take her to bed so she can rest.”

Logan felt Scotts eyes on his as he walked towards your room.

“Make good choices, Logan…”

*

Logan didn’t leave your side the rest of the day except to get you water. He called Remy to get your medicine, and the man showed up in a jiffy trying to fuss over you, but Logan practically kicked him out, saying you needed to rest. Truth was, Logan didn’t want anyone else touching you. You didn’t need anyone else, you only needed him. He was gonna take care of you. Logan kept a respectful distance as you sweated your fever out, sitting on the chair in the room and watching Tv after you deliriously requested bobs burgers. This was the last thing he expected you to watch.

He never touched you anywhere unnecessary, and when you asked for his help getting to the bathroom, he closed the door behind him to give you privacy. When he heard you washing your hands, Logan panicked a bit at the idea of you standing without his help in this state, and entered the bathroom to walk you back to your bed.

“I’ll be okay, Logan. I can walk by myself now. I'm not a doll.”

“Yeah, you are. My dolly.” He resisted the urge to kiss the top of your head as he tucked you into bed again.

“Lo?” You mumble, some song playing on the show in the background.

“Yeah, baby doll?” 

“Can you lay with me?”

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. It was a step in the wrong direction, crossing boundaries that were blurring every day… but he could never say no to you. Not ever.

Which is why when Charles came in to check on you, and he found you asleep on Logan’s stomach, he knew he was in trouble.

“Staying away from her, are me?”

“Listen, Chuck I know it looks bad but she’s-”

Charles voice remained cool, but Logan knew he was in trouble. “Sick, yes, I’ve heard. Cyclops has informed me she fell sick. I’m glad you are taking care of her, by surely Gambit could have handled it.”

“Remy don’t know what the fuck she needs.” Logan snapped, sounding overly defensive. Yeah, logically Remy probably could’ve handled it, but he doesn’t know you like he does. Logan was the only person who could give you what you need.

“I believe Gambit is her friend. He would take care of her.”

“Cut to the chase, wheel. Am I in trouble?”

There was a pause of silence, Charles glancing to the TV, then back to Logan. “I told you before, I won’t tell you what to do. But has she told you about her past.?”

Logan swallowed, a bit of anger bubbling up in his at the little knowledge you gave him. “Some. She was homeschool, weird church stuff. Teen marriage.”

He nodded. “Her husband beat her, quite severely. Frankly, I can’t believe she survived it all. Parents, courts, police, medical, at every corner of her life this child was failed by the system, and she is a child, Logan.”

“She’s twenty thr-”

“And you still have 150 years on her, give or take. And considering how she was raised and the lock and key her husband kept on her, mentally she’s younger. I took a chance on her because she needed it. She has a good heart and is skilled at what she does even if she doesn’t know how to divide or what a mitochondria is. Just as I’ve taken in everyone here who is lost, a stray, abandoned by the ones who claimed to love them and cast aside by the world. There are many beautiful women here, Logan. You are a handsome man. You do not need to go after the girl about to fall apart.

But he didn’t understand. Charles could never understand. He didn’t get that Logan didn’t want the other women here, he didn’t want anyone but you. You were meant for him, and he was meant for you.

After

It was getting harder and harder to pretend that you weren’t pregnant. Harder to act like you were fine and getting through the day.

Harder to avoid Logan without making it obvious you were avoiding him, when all the students and teachers were well aware you and him used to eat lunch together and spend most of your free time with him or Remy.

Harder to ignore when you were vomiting in the morning. It was bad, it was so bad and you didn’t want to think about the future, but this was forcing you to content with the fact life was inside you. You didn’t want this baby… not like this, anyway. You had dreamed of this life, even dreamed of it with Logan. A baby in your, happy little job at the school, Logan by your side… You didn’t understand why he did what he did to you, what you did wrong. Why he had to disappoint you like everyone had. 

When the door to your bathroom opened, you didn’t have to look up. Soon, large hands were wrapped around your hair as you threw up, and you didn’t have it in you to tell him to go away. He wouldn’t listen anyway, he never did.

Logan could smell when you were throwing up, always lurking nearby and with his heightened smell, he was always on you. So, this had become the routine. He was allowed near you for this. Logan would hold your hair, rub your back and whisper gentle words while you got it out and for a moment you’d pretend, pretend he hadn’t violated you, that you weren’t scared of him. Pretend like you were a cute little married couple awaiting a little bundle of joy and attending church and he was the love you thought he could be, protecting you and caring for you. When it was over, Logan helps you brush your teeth and wash your mouth.

As you stare in the mirror, you don’t recognize yourself. You looked tired. Thinner. A mess as Logan stood behind you brushing your teeth. That’s when the bubble began to crack and you remembered that you let your rapist touch you again. That you were just as weak and pathetic as you had alway been. That you were trapped, always trapped, doomed by your body and your womb and your heart that was always bleeding for some sad soul and now you were beginning to rely on Logan again.

He wiped your mouth with his sleeve, rugged flannel gentle on your lips. Sweet as he ever was.

“I have to go, for a bit.” When you looked at him through the mirror, he clarified. “Maybe a month. Maybe less…”

You blink. “No.”

He blinks right back. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to do what you did and then just leave me alone!”

“I’m not.” Logan turned you towards him, and you hated that you just wanted him to hug you. “I’m coming back. It’ll give you some space, and when I get back we can talk, and… we can figure things out… and we can get you to a doctor, dolly.”

The idea of going to a doctor again, especially another OB/GYN, was scary… the idea that soon, you wouldn’t be able to hide what was happening was even scarier. But the idea of doing this alone, without Logan?

“No.” Your eyes fill with tears, already partially wet from the puke. “I need you now! You don’t get to just break me and walk away!”

There's silence for a beat, but then he sighs. You can see a softening of his features, maybe a little smile. He was happy you were depending on him. You knew you were falling down the wrong path, but it was so hard not to. You parents said this was who you were meant to be, that it was biological, Gods plan for men and women… were they right all along? “There’s a girl, western Washington area, pretty rural. Mutant. Her family is…. They think she’s possessed. Performing exorcisms on her. She’s not gonna live… Kurt and I are gonna help her, hopefully bring her back. She needs help, dolly. No one helped you, but we’re gonna help her.”

Logan knew that would get you. A girl in a strict religious family being abused? Yeah, it was a chapter out of your book. Most of the chapters, honestly.

You sat back against the counter, pajama dress still on. You close your eyes. “What if I end the pregnancy? You just gonna do it again?”

Slowly, he raises a hand to your face, and despite his efforts to be careful you still flinch. “What happened will never, ever happen again, Dolly. I could never really hurt you, don’t you understand that? You won’t get an abortion. I know it. But we’re gonna figure this out. You, me, our child.” A hand on your stomach. “A family.”

Thank you all so much for your love!!!! Dont forget to check out the spotify, and telling me more songs!!!!

A few questions about remy last chapter

Let me know your thoughts on the story below!!!

Comments mean the world! It's what keeps me writing. I dont need reblogs (although they are helpful to spread my work!) but interactive comments are s special. theorizing or noticing little things makes me melt.

@multiversed-daydreamer @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @del-ightfulling @miraclesabound @hindi-si-ikay @samsamsantos @madamerubrum @shybluebirdninja a @hornystan @rogueinmymind @accountforreading123 @yawnetu @princessanglophile @and-claudia @new-genesis1000 @teaganthemorningstar @oldloganslittleslut @zaggprincess2

[imaginesig]

"Ditch the clowns, get the crown / Baby, I'm the one to beat"

Pt. 2 of “Can someone give a message to the smallest man who ever lived”

Lewis Hamilton x ex!reader (barely)

Joe Burrow x singer!reader

SMAU

What happened between the breakup and Y/n's release of "The Tortured Poets Department: Eros." Once again I stole this entire story line from Taylor Swift. The timeline doesn't line up perfectly with the original but I do what I want

Yn_updates

Liked by user4, user83, user92, and 920,092 others

Yn_updates: after the drop of TTPD Y/n was seen at the Cincinnati’s Bengals game today!!

tagged: yn_ln

user1: she rlly said, bye futbol and went back to her roots

user2 it’ll always be Y/n and her little drink against the world

user3 chat what is going on

user4 I need Twitter to get working on a timeline bc the breakup album just dropped, but we think her and Lewis might have been broken up for a while before she went on break, but now she’s writing for a new man who is possible on either the Bengals??

yn_updates

liked by user98, user3, user1, and 928,282 others

yn_updates: Y/n at the last regular season Bengals game!

tagged: yn_ln

user1 ugh why does her break have to end before playoffs!! I don't want her to miss any games!!

user3 same! I've enjoyed seeing her and her fits

user2 even if it didnt the Bengals aren't predicted to go far this year

user4 I NEED to know what's happening bc there is no way she just up and decided to attend football games this religously

user5 and they're not just any football games, Bengals games. she didnt even grow up a Bengals fan, she was raised a Titan's fan

yn_ln

liked by user43, gracieabrams, sabrinacarpender, and 928,923 others

Yn_ln: Ugh South America!! Y’all are as beautiful as sparkling lights at midnight!! Big kisses to you all!! 🫶🫶

tagged: no one

user1 ahh best night of my life!!!

user2 she was so giddy and happy tonight

user3 im glad someone else noticed

user4 guys the surprise songs tonight where the first ones since the breakup about Lewis that she wasn't mad or sad

user5 was Lewis in attendance? Are my parents back together??

user6 nope, while Y/n was giggling her way through Delicate Lewis was attempting to overtake Lando in Italy

user7 we all see her smile right??

user8 I NEED to know who was behind it

user9 I've been searching but as of right now no one other than family and close friends were in the VIP tents

user10 when she sang it seemed like she directed it in one area of the crowd not the tents, so maybe this mystery person was on the floor

user11 normally I would call this theory crazy but people who were there said it was clear the second surprise song was clearly aimed at someone in the audience, but no ones been identified yet...

joeyb_9

liked by user93, lahhay10_, teehigins, and 823,929 others

joeyb_9: "You look like bad news, I gotta have you" or sum

tagged: lahjay10_

User12 HE DID NOT

user1 WHAT

user2 guys is this who I think it was

user3 my worlds just collided

lahya10_ great night- one for the books!

joeyb_9 you got that right

user4 OMG JOEY B AND J'MARR AT A Y/N CONCERT??

user5 im assuming we're all thinking the same thing...

user6 they were on the floor too, not in tents

user7 J'marr only posted a story about the night and didnt dress up, so it has to be Joe

user8 THE CAPTION HELLO

user9 brother thinks putting "or sum" makes it less obvious

user10 what if he's just a girl like us with hyper specific captions

user11 the fact that he dressed up on theme for the concert made him 10x hotter

bengals

liked by yn_ln, joeyb_9, user5, and 678, 982 others

bengals: "It's been a long time coming..." 🏆

tagged: no one

user1 admin you aint slick 🤨

user2 AND THE BENGALS ARE SUPER BOWL CHAMPS WHOOO

user3 AHHH DID ANYONE ELSE SEE Y/N'S FACE AT THE END

user4 her face?? Babe I saw her whole body go flying up when they won!

user5 ugh she's a good luck charm across all sports

User6 but this time the man backed her up with his own skill…

User7 damn Y/n fans switch up quick

joeyb_9

liked by yn_ln, teehiggins, bengals, and 918,289 others

joeyb_9: WE'RE CHAMPS BABY

tagged: bengals, yn_ln

yn_ln so proud!!

joeyb_9 ♥️

lahjay10_ HELL YEAH BROTHER

joeyb_9 💪💪

teehiggins that’s how we do!!

joeyb_9 that's how we do 👏👏

User1 OMG HIM AND Y/N???

User2 their celebrations were adorable!!

user3 I’m glad after all the speculation they’ve made it official \

user4 He is not afraid of showing her off🥹

user5 it makes me so happy for her

yn_ln

liked by joeyb_9, user93, user3, and 928,928 others

yn_ln: I'm with the winning team

tagged: joeyb_9

joeyb_9 so much better than a good luck charm ♥️

yn_ln ♥️♥️

user1 Lewis punching the air rn

user2 fr, she really called him a loser with the caption

user3 lmao I love shady Y/n

user4 HER AND JOE?? THATS THE CUTEST PIC EVER

user5 IKR

user6 THEY'VE BEEN PUBLIC FOR LIKE TWO SECONDS AND THEY ALREADY MAKE ME FEEL SO LONELY

user7 is she with the winning team or are they the winning team??

user8 y/n and Joe >>>

Yn_ln

liked by user79, user91, user91, and 918,901 others

Yn_ln: surprise!! "The Tortured Poets Department: Eros" out now!! This edition includes two new songs, "So High School" and "The Alchemy"

tagged: no one

comments have been disabled

Twitter post songs release:

Twitter first Paris show:

yn_ln

liked by joeyb_9, user82, landonorris, and 829,927 others

yn_ln: Fuck me up *Paris*!!!

tagged: no one

user1 AHHH TTPD SET WAS INCREDIBLE

user2 ugh buying more tickets now bc I HAVE to see the new set

User3 all the symbols I CANT

User4 she looked so stunning

User5 I cannot y’all Joe was there!!!!

user6 I lost my mind at all their moments!! Hes so shameless unlike Lewis

User7 Paris was so lucky!!

user8 it was adorable to see Joe smiling and SINGING all throughout the show, including his songs/TTPD set

user9 ahhh the singing got me!!! her exes would never

user10 all the friendship bracelets her received and wore-- he was so cute

user11 I love that he has arms full and refused to relive himself of any!!

joeyb_9

liked by yn_ln, user9, yn_updates, and 918,928 others

joeyb_9: Baby, you're the one to beat ♥️

tagged: yn_ln

comments have been limited

@toldyouitwasamelodrama

@swifth0lic

@erbri3r

[melit0n]

Delicate Is The Flesh - Chapter 4

- Synopsis: On the brink of the bustling new city of Rosholt lies a forgotten palisade of abandoned homes, shops and streets that sit mummified after a chemical outbreak in the 70s, leaving the city uninhabitable.

Over the years however, the place has become a hotspot for urban explorers and crime junkies alike.

Whispers of reanimated bodies stalking the dead streets and brutal murders worm their way into your friend's ears and, having nothing to do on your Winter break, you reluctantly agree to go exploring the abandoned city with them.

What could go wrong, right?

- Chapters ->

Prologue

Chapter 1: For Whom the Bell tolls

Chapter 2: Corvus and Krater

Chapter 3: Belly of the Beast

Chapter 4: Something forgotten (you're already here!)

Chapter 5: Citrus and Cinnamon

Chapter 6: Mumbling Conscious

Chapter 7: Heavy is The Head that Mourns The Past

Chapter 8: Be Not Afraid

Chapter 9: Eye for an Eye

- Status: Work In Progress.

- Obsessive! Demon OC/Reader

- Word count (for chp): 5.7k

- Warnings (for chp): None.

- Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55444003/chapters/147781252#workskin

With a wretched squeak of the rusted maintenance door, Jeanne and Noah disappear underneath the building again, leaving you alone with Helen and the endless silence of the sleeping building. A soft wind blows in from the broken windows, wrapping itself delicately around your torso. With a shiver, you can’t help but pray the building stays in its deep slumber.

“I am glad I got to go with you,” Helen giggles, somewhat awkwardly. Your soft footsteps echo against the crumbling concrete. “I do not think I could deal with this place with Noah and Jeanne trying to scare me at every turn.”

“And you have enough faith in me that I won’t?” You smirk.

“More than I do in those two, and that is what counts.” She smiles, lifting her flashlight up further as you reach the crumbling staircase. In full honesty, you think it’d be a compliment to even call it that: so utterly worn by endless feet, the cracked hands of time, the battering fists of rain and the creeping digits of mould. The dirty, tattered cream carpet continues upwards on each step in small patches, like a plague slowly creeping up pale skin. It’d probably come right off with a bit of tugging. You have half the mind to test the idea out, but, as you place a foot on the steps to test their strength, a loud squelch emits from the carpet. You can feel the cool liquid through your shoe, oozing forth in ordurous browns and yellows, illuminated by your flashlight. With a frown of disgust, you happily disregard the idea. There was no way in Hell you were putting your bare hands anywhere near that. 

“Gross.” Helen grumbles, hesitant to put her own shoes anywhere near it. You didn’t blame her, already planning to give your shoes a good soak to clean them when you got home.

Warily, you place your feet back on the slimy steps and put your weight down–silently hoping they’d crack and crumble so you’d have an excuse not to be here–as Helen points her flashlight up the staircase. You’d stared into enough impenetrable darkness today, so you focus on ensuring the two of you wouldn’t go falling through rotten wood. Similar to Jeanne, you’d rather not spend a good chunk of your evening in the hospital, let alone go through the pain of broken bones.

You’d broken enough in your lifetime, anyway.

After testing the first few steps, you deem it safe enough and give a nod to Helen to follow you, one step at a time. Each plank of wood wails loudly, and you do your best to brace yourself on the rusted bannister to the left of you, if only to give you a little bit of comfort.

Darkness peers at you, curiously, between the cracks of each wooden slab. 

On around the ninth step, Helen directly behind you on the eighth, she suddenly tugs at the back of your hoodie, whispering, “Do you see that?” 

Frowning, you quickly glance upwards, taking your eyes off of your feet for a moment. “See what?”

She doesn’t respond for a few strenuous moments, leaving you, quite literally, in the dark as you stare up at the spiralling staircase. You can’t even see the end of it.

Staring into the nothing, you can’t help but feel it look back. 

The eyes of what you can’t see bore into your own, and your mind quickly fills in any gaps with gorgonian monsters that would surely have kept you wide awake as a kid. 

The bannister is cold against your fingertips.

Finally, she answers. “I…I thought I saw something move.”

If it had come from Noah or Jeanne–especially Jeanne–you would have taken the statement as a joke, a jab to activate your overly creative imagination and leave you flinching at nothing but wind. But, here, almost halfway up a long staircase with Helen’s hand tightening on the wad of your hoodie, you have the feeling she isn’t joking.

Carefully, you squint into the darkness, as you’ve done maybe a hundred times this evening, and will probably do a hundred times more, to try and catch anything hiding just beyond your sight. 

What unnerves you isn’t the fact that you see something, it’s the fact that you see nothing. Nothing but dust, and the creatures your mind tries to convince you that are there. 

You turn to look at her, umber eyes fixated on the blackness before you. “Maybe it was a bird, or a bat? They’re always everywhere in these places.” When her eyes stay rooted on the void, you try again, mumbling, “There’s lots of broken windows. I’m sure it’s just some pigeon who can’t find its way back out.” 

You remember, a year or two ago, when the four of you were exploring an old Church: eroding stone martyrs keeping a hardy marble watch on your forms as you stalked through the vacant pews. It was only a small thing, a local place that attracted teens and junkies looking for a quiet place to get high, but Helen and Jeanne loved it. Whether it was for the stained glass that seemed to glow in the moonlight, or the welcoming softness of the crumbling, faceless Mary who watched the front door, you were unsure. It was, however, a place a pair of pigeons liked to nest, of whom didn’t take too kindly to you.

You’re pretty sure you saw a flash of the other side when both of them flew at you full force, having left the place with bird shit on your shoulder, feathers in your hair and with a slight fear of pigeons. It’d probably be like that all over again: you’ll both get scared at some noise, lose your shit when a bird flies at you, then laugh about it later. 

Hopefully.

Her eyes finally meet yours and by the crinkle in her eyes, you guess she sends you a soft smile, one that calms your spiked nerves, if only by a little bit. “Yeah.”

And so, you ascend further, reaching a small concrete landing that leads to another small staircase. As you do, you only hope you won’t find other people up there, let alone cops. You weren’t really in a ‘running through a run-down building being chased by the police’ mood, anyway.

Finally, you reach the remains of the first floor. Just like downstairs, the walls are covered with the striped wallpaper, which is also layered with the same somewhat vulgar graffiti. It spans out in one long hallway, dappled with doors–mostly open–and ends in a smashed window, letting cool moonlight drip into the forgotten hall and bounce off of the remaining gold numbers that mark each door. Easily, you mentally count the doors: eight on each side, meaning sixteen. It’s an odd number, since most apartments–including your own–were usually done in fives or tens out of convenience. Strange sixties architecture strikes again, you guess. 

You’re also thankful to note that the cream carpet has all but been ripped up, leaving only the cracked wood underneath. 

What little light there is illuminates the dust motes that swirl and prance to the rhythm of an unheard tune each time icy, winter wind slithers through the broken window. Even with the window wide open at the end of the hall, a thick layer of dust still coats everything. Each careful step you take, even more of it seems to be aroused from the floor, thick as ash and as heavy as smoke in your lungs. 

You make a mental note to clean when you get home. Maybe try to fix that crack in the plaster in your bedroom, as well…

Your flashlight’s light guides you through the hall, darting this way and that to anything that seems of interest. There isn’t really much–at least in the hall: you’re hoping there’ll be more in the apartments yourself–aside from broken glass, fragments of the past and the odd coin or hairpin.

While you guess that apartment design has been the same for the last hundred years–why change something that still works perfectly well?–you can’t help but notice how similar this one is to your own. You can almost imagine those two ginger kids running up and down the halls, tracking mud everywhere, or those two old ladies on the second floor chatting up a storm from each of their respective apartments. 

It’s eerie how much the past imitates the present. Although, you guess, each is a side of the same coin, the same way that time is blind and man is stupid when it comes to change.

If you let the dust settle again, ignore the creaking wood and the subtle scurry of carapace, you might just be able to hear that couple upstairs as well, eternally arguing for the sake of it.

“So…” Helen begins, always wary of the silence and the dark. “What schools did you end up applying to?”

You sigh inwardly at the topic, shoulders slumping as you walk back down the hall to an apartment that caught your eye. All everyone seemed to be interested in was what school you were going to, what courses you were taking, what jobs you were taking experience with, etcetera. It was all so tiresome; you were on a break, could you at least enjoy it?

Even so, you answer, words laced with fatigue and mild boredom, the first being one near to your own city, only a short train ride away, and the second being the one Jeanne planned on going to. Helen nods thoughtfully, noting her own. It’s much further away, too far to get a train or commute to every morning, so you guess she’d be moving. Plus, if your memory serves you correct, it specialises in law. Maybe you’ll ask later. 

“Which one is Jeanne going to?” She asks, peering into an open apartment.

Again, you answer her question. She hums before the conversation falls flat. Again.

“Y’know,” you begin, catching Helen’s attention again as she searches the bare-bones apartment with her eyes, “I’d rather just be done with it all here and now.” It’s finished with a half-hearted laugh, hoping it comes off more like a joke than it feels. 

You flick your own flashlight into an apartment, entering and finding it to house nothing but peeling paint and a slashed, overturned couch; you could almost imagine how many bugs lived in that thing, maybe a generation or two. Nudging it with your foot, you silently wonder if great-grandmother cockroaches are a thing. In your old apartment, you remember seeing a massive one that sounded like an army jet when it started flying at you: that thing had to have been at least a great-grand-something cockroach.

Yet another time flying animals almost caused you a heart attack.

Helen hums from somewhere behind you, simply saying, “There is a lot more to life than education.” 

You pause in your philosophical contemplations of the life span of a cockroach, turning around and letting your beam of light find her. She’s standing still, staring at a clock on the wall that you hadn’t noticed. 

It’s in roman numerals: blackened hands sitting frozen at eleven past eleven. You think you see a small bug climb across its alabaster face. 

You’re about to propose going to the next story, already bored with the trend of hollowed out apartments that would be sure to follow for the rest of the first floor, before she takes a deep breath, and says, “Keep talking to people, please.”

“What?” Confused, you turn to look at her tanned face. Her face with all the grace of marble that is more shadow than countenance.

“Keep talking to people,” she repeats, voice nonchalant. “I do not want to see you holed up in your apartment talking to no one just because we are not physically around twenty-four-seven.” You know she means it from a place of care, but you can’t help taking a slight offence to it.

“Okay, a bit harsh, no?” You chuckle awkwardly–turning back to the clock–not used to this much straight-forwardness from Helen. While Jeanne tended to disregard issues, and Noah would hit such things point blank, Helen had a round-about way of dealing with things that reminded you more of a mother rather than a friend. She knew exactly how to pick up on the small things, then work her way, bit by bit, to the main problem.

So, this…this was a first.

She seems to roll a thought around in her head for a few moments, opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water, which you watch from the corner of your eye. Both of you still stare at the clock, neither of your eyes trying to find each other's faces. Then, she begins again, “I hope you know I don’t pity you.” And you can’t help but feel this is taking a turn down an alley of your mind that you don’t want to go to.

“Helen-”

“-You are not pitiful, and I do not think you…you need anyone to treat you like, what do you call it, like fine China. You are, well, you; you are strong and have always been strong. But I feel the need to remind you that,” She pauses again, moves her hands as if trying to find the main thread that she’s been weaving with. “You are human, and accepting help when you are hurting is…okay.” By the way she inhales, you expect she has more to say, but she deems it right to leave it there. 

And you have absolutely no clue how to respond to that.

You take a moment to let the statement tumble through your tired mind, frowning at the stiff hands of the clock like it’s done you wrong somehow. It’s not the sort of thing Jeanne, or even Noah, would say to you. Ever. It’s not a dramatic analysis of something that’s ‘wrong’ with your head, it’s not avoidant, it’s just…worry. Not pity, not ignorance, just plain worry. 

And you have no clue how to even begin to respond.

“I am sorry; was I too much?” Helen breaks you out of your mind, shifts the broken shards around you that reflect everything and nothing, and finally turns to find you. She’s got a worried look in her eye, like she thinks that she's dug too deep and done more harm than good.

There’s something on the tip of your tongue, something you want to say.

‘Accepting help when you are hurting is okay.’

But, you’re not still hurting, are you? With all this time passed, it would be pathetic of you if you’re still crying over something that happened so long ago. 

But…

But.

But, but, but. 

There’s always a but. 

Brows still furrowed at the clock, begging its ivory countenance to even give you a hint of what to say–what to think–you just smile. Smile and let your eyes crinkle upwards, silently letting a small weight drift off your shoulders that you hadn't really realised was still there.

When did it get there in the first place?

“No, don’t,” you clear your throat of dust, urging yourself to make something louder than a hoarse mumble. “Don’t worry about it.” You spot her nod out of the corner of your eye, and you think that’s enough.

In silence, you both walk out of the apartment you had stood in, and slowly work your way through the remaining ones, chattering to each other and calling for the other if you found something interesting. 

“Hey,” you call out, memory sparking of your previous conversation, carefully rummaging through an old wooden chest, too heavy for anybody to carry out and probably too thick to smash, “doesn’t that place specialise in law?” 

“Yes?” Helen responds from somewhere further down the hall. 

“Your dream of being a psychologist change, then?” Pulling your sleeve hidden hand out of the box, you find nothing interesting; just shattered bits of porcelain, which might’ve once been a pretty vase and random bits of metal and wood. Truthfully, the only interesting thing either of you had found so far was an old brass candle holder. Neither of you wanted to touch it, though, half because of the odd stains on it and half because of the large spider which was using it as an anchor for its web. 

“Yes.” turning, you find Helen somewhat suavely leaning on the frame of the apartment you were currently searching through. “I thought I would rather help people without asking them to climb over an expensive paywall first.”

“Public defender?”

She nods. “How about you? Your schools specialise in, what was it, engineering and, uhm…” she searches her mind for a moment, “oh! Botany, was it? Is that what you want to do?”

You both walk out into the hallway, finding another unsearched apartment to explore, if only to keep your hands busy and pass the time. “I don’t know,” you shrug, even though she can’t see it. “I’ll figure it out. Probably.” You mumble the last word to yourself. 

“It is okay if you don’t, as well.”

Floorboards squeaking underfoot, you enter the bedroom of the apartment, half listening to Helen.

“My Πατέρας did not figure out what he wanted to do until he was in his forties. By then he’d lived in almost every town in Greece.”

The layout was the same in all of them: the front door, if there was one, opens to an open-plan kitchen and living room, the only thing typically remaining being the countertops and anything drilled into the wall, while doors on the right would lead to bedrooms, and doors on the left would lead to a bathroom and a closet or two. 

“Speaking of…”

The bedroom is the same ugly cream as the downstairs carpet, with a feature wall of floral wallpaper you’re sure you’d seen in your grandmother’s house at one point or another in your childhood. As per usual, there isn’t anything interesting except a metal bed frame. That, and a dark, wooden wardrobe.

Wood creaks behind you, and, hearing the light footsteps, you guess Helen to have joined you.

“After I am done with my education, I think I would quite like to go back to my hometown.”

You nod in agreement, walking to the wardrobe and easily opening it. You couldn’t blame her. Her parents had recommended she go to a school out of Greece for a better education and she’d trustfully listened, having been here ever since. Who doesn’t miss their childhood home, anyway?

“I know I have told you about it, a lot,” You nod to yourself. You happily listen to her anytime she rambled about her home. At this point, anytime she mentioned it, you could smell her mother’s cooking, feel the coarse grass that grew around her father’s olive grove and hear the birds in her mother’s aviary. “But I think you would quite like it.”

You could see it all in her eyes, if you squinted. A person is nothing but their past, after all.

Already tasting the sea salt on your tongue, you analyse the wardrobe’s contents. Asides from the main cavity meant to hang clothes, the bottom of the wardrobe is filled with smaller drawers with decorative brass handles. Of course, even though it’s probably been shut for the last few decades, it’s covered in more dust. Each small container takes a bit of tugging to open, and they mostly hold rusted hair pins, dust and the odd unknown object. One especially seems jammed shut, and you’re determined to open it.

Speaking of the aviary…what bird did her mother keep again? Was it doves? 

“Have you ever been to Greece?”

You tug harder on the small brass knob.

“Hm? Oh, no; I’ve never really gone out of the country.” Even if your parents worked semi-high-paying jobs, you never went on any expensive holidays, let alone ones out of the country. You didn’t really care, but, when you sat down with Jeanne’s other friends from Baseball, talking about the holidays their parents were paying for this year, you felt a little underhanded. 

Maybe it was swifts? Or larks? You’re sure it was some type of small bird- why won’t this drawer just open already?

“Would you like to?”

You pause. 

You turn to her, wide eyed and sure you’d heard her wrong. 

“You’re serious?”

“Of course I am! I think you could do with some sun and relaxation, anyways. Maybe even find yourself a lover.” She jokes, or maybe she doesn’t, as she joins you in your little tug of war. 

“Sure.” You grumble, somewhat sarcastically. 

“I am serious!” You both tug a little harder, and you feel the drawer give a little bit. “Greeks love with the heart and the soul. I can attest to that-” suddenly, not unlike the elevator doors, the drawer springs open.

“Yeah?” You laugh, grinning as you flick your flashlight into the drawer. “Got a novel worthy story to tell?” 

“Perhaps.” She leans over your shoulder, shooing the dust away with her free hand. Considering the decrepit state of the rest of the floor–layered in decay and old memories–you’re both surprised to find a slightly yellowed, silver hand mirror sitting daintily in the middle of the musty drawer. Carefully designed flora and fauna climb up the curved handle, wrapping themselves around the reflective mirror, like a mother would a child. In short, despite the light scratches littering the metal, as well as the mirror itself, it was beautiful. 

Suspiciously so. 

Helen mumbles, “λαμπρός…”, which you can only imagine, with the subtle awe in her voice and glint in her eyes, was simply her voicing your own thoughts; beautiful. 

Covering your hands with your sleeves yet again, you gently pick it up. Even through the fabric, you could feel the subtle indents of past fingers and palms; a tiny tapestry of someone who once was. 

“May I?” You nod, easily handing the mirror over to Helen’s hands as she admires it, as well as her own countenance in the scratched mirror. “Should we take a photo?” she asks, looking up from herself. “Like a…ah- a mirror self photo!”

You grin. “Why not?” Easily, you shuffle your phone out of your cargo pocket, and tap on the camera. For a few moments, you both awkwardly shuffle around, trying to simultaneously hold the mirror up and get both of your faces in said mirror. 

Eventually, you snap a photo, and both of you deem it good enough.

“Send it to me when we both have service, yes?”

“Of course.”

You both stare at the mirror for a few seconds more, flipping it over and trying to spot any tiny details–maybe a name or a pair of initials that could tell you who this once belonged to–but to no avail. The only thing of interest that really comes from it is the names of the flowers which Helen thinks it’s decorated with. Before long, it’s softly placed back where it was once, the drawer shut behind it like the lid of a casket.

“Way more interesting than the candle holder, yeah?”

Despite your oo-ing and ah-ing at the decorative thing, you had to wonder, why, when people who visited here stole everything that wasn’t nailed to the wall, would that of all things be left?

“Definitely.” She laughs, before gliding out of the dusty room with you in tow. 

As much as they liked to say they weren’t, humans were like magpies, having a keen eye for anything that gleams. 

“So,” you pause, finding your way out of the apartment again. “Are you gonna tell me about this lover, or not?”

So why leave, or, rather, ignore that?

“Hm…I think you’ll have to wait until we’re in Greece for that.”

Maybe you were thinking too hard on it–you definitely were–but it just didn’t make sense to you. 

“And what if I say no?”

Who cares, you think to yourself. Nobody took it because they were probably too weak-wristed to open the thing. Took both you and Helen to do so, anyway. 

And what was the name of that damn bird?

“Then, I guess you will never know!” She spins and turns to you, dragging you out of your reverie as she always does, and smiles mischievously at you. Raising a brow, she asks, “What are you thinking on?” 

Always observant. 

You shrug, not bothering to let her in on your somewhat nonsensical thoughts. As much as you liked to tease Jeanne for getting stuck up on tiny details, you had to admit, you think you’ve picked the habit up after so many years with her. Yet, you turn to her with eager eyes, asking, “What birds does your mother keep again?”

She looks at you with confusion for a moment, only a moment, before saying “Doves. My mother keeps doves.”

Nodding, you smile to yourself; you were right the first time. She doesn’t pry into your thoughts, just looks at you warmly for whatever reason, as you continue through the hall.

After a few more repetitive apartments, and no more fun finds other than a dirty coin, you both make the joint decision to move up to the second story. You want to say that you’ll find something more interesting up there, but you don’t have high hopes. Unless you’re looking for dust and darkness, you doubt you’ll find much at all. 

However, as you’re about to yet again ascend the rotting staircase, something neither of you were too excited about, your ears catch something. Catch a noise in the endless silence of the living tomb. 

Catch the subtle movement of feet that weren’t yours, nor Helen’s.

Confused, you stop, trying to listen out for whatever you had heard before. Helen does the same after turning and seeing you stood still as a statue with furrowed brows.

You hear nothing. 

You’re about to shrug it off–maybe just that family of cockroaches scuttling around in the walls or a pigeon come to incite its revenge on you–when you hear it. 

Voices. 

Quiet and muffled, but definitely voices.

Looking to Helen, you can see her head turned, fixed, on a door with her flashlight off. Promptly, you do the same, your eyes easily adjusting to the subtle moonlight as you wait in silence for whoever was there to speak up again. 

The door you both watch is on the left side of the hall: number sixteen. 

Carefully, you approach it. You press your ear against the cold, damp wood, Helen standing behind you with a gentle grip on your shoulder. Now closer to the source, you can hear them much better. However, what confuses you is that they’re not whispered, attempting to hide their presence in dulcet tones through tight lips, nor are they obnoxiously loud.

What perplexes you even more are the few words you’re able to pick up on: muffled conversation of a bad day at work, childish giggling, followed by the universal question of ‘what’s for dinner?’. 

There’s no way I’m hearing this right now, you think to yourself. Brows furrowed, you turn over to Helen, jerking your head to try to get her to listen. 

It sounds so…domestic. Like a family show played late in the evenings on TV, something your dad might’ve put on out of boredom.

Looking between you and the door, she hesitates, if only for a moment, before following suit. Her eyebrows twitch downwards at what she hears. The tired, yet cheery, voices are now accompanied by the subtle shifting of feet that you had heard before and what you swear is the sizzling of some kind of food in a pan. The moment your ears pick up on it, you rear backwards, looking to Helen to see if she hears it too.

To your relief, it seems she does, as she stares back at you with the same amount of confusion and mild fear. 

Still eagerly listening to a conversation you shouldn’t had been privy to, you peak downwards, at the crack between the door: whoever they were would have definitely been able to see your flashlight’s light, let alone all the noise you’d been making in the other apartments–let alone the ground floor–for the past half hour or so. But they didn’t and, as you reach for the worn door knob with trembling fingers, they still don’t.

Even with a glare from Helen, one you could feel even in the darkness, you were curious. Stupidly so, but you were human, after all. 

The door opens slowly, creaking open on old hinges before coming to a stop.

The weak mumbles of a day far past are silenced. 

Jaws wide, dripping with plaster and rust, allow you to peer into the apartment. From what you can see in the darkness–still wary about turning your flashlights on–it’s the same as every other one. Dimly lit, empty and cold.

You look to Helen, searching for some sort of affirmation, before you both turn your flashlights back on.

The quiet click of your lights is deafeningly loud. 

Like a scared deer, you scan the area for anything other than the skeletal furniture. Anything other than what you’ve already seen so many times before.

Yet, there is no one. No one but the dust, and an old memory that is not yours to witness. 

Confused silence ensues, and, much to Helen’s chagrin, you call out a, “Hello?” in hopes to gain any sort of disgruntled response. Something- anything to let you know that your mind–your ears–weren’t just playing tricks on you.

No one answers you. Nothing but the silence and-

“You men really do get on my nerves!”

Jolting, both of your flashlights jump towards an old, boxy radio, sat on its side on the floor of the kitchen. Layered between voices, it buzzes with white noise.

“Well, you married me, didn’t you?”

A laugh track plays, more static than artificial joy. You can feel the vibrations crawling through the wood and climbing up your bones. 

“That scared me.” Helen chuckles nervously, hand to her heart as if to calm the pumping muscle, as the rusted thing plays out the conversation.

How the fuck was that thing working?

Not responding, you briskly walk over to it and check it over, the pads of your fingers taking off small spots of dust. Obviously, it’s battery powered, no wires connecting to it anywhere, but why on Earth would this thing have working batteries in it? 

“At least it’s not people.” Maybe other explorers were trying to get a scare out of you? Managed to find the one thing that worked in this place and wanted to play a trick or two? Sharply, you glance around the apartment, looking for any entertained faces peeking out from corners or small cameras hidden underneath rubble.

You turn back over to her, slightly gaunt in the pale lighting. “What about the footsteps? And the cooking sounds?” 

Almost in answer, the old show switches to some sort of cooking scene, some unseen food sizzling loudly in a pan. Another dimly funny interaction occurs, and the laugh track rattles through the wood, creaking it. She nods towards the old thing, saying “That, apparently.”

Before you can rebuke, vibrations don’t sound like human footsteps after all, it lets out a loud, piercing scream of static. The type of sound that worms its way into your ears no matter how hard you clamp your hands over them. 

Within a blink, the silence returns, and the radio shuts off. The sound still rings in your ears, the only sign that it had even happened.

You almost expect it to turn back on, shriek and wail in its crackled tone and mock you, but it doesn’t. 

It stays dead. 

Somewhat annoyed, you send a light kick to the back of it, half trying to reassure yourself that it was simply some weird glitch, and half trying to vent your annoyance with the thing. If that had gone on a second or two longer, you’re pretty sure your ears would have started bleeding.

However, still curious, you crouch down and turn the radio over, looking for the battery cartridge. You find it with ease, somewhat happy to see it layered in dust like it should be, only to see…screws. 

Shit. 

Before you can even think about where you could get a screwdriver to check this thing over, even if it was only to ease the scared creature at the back of your mind, the wood creaks loudly behind you.

Turning, you see Helen walking out the door and, not wanting to be left alone with the haunted radio from Hell, you hastily follow, trying to shoo your thoughts away as if they were buzzing flies surrounding your head.

The moment both of you are out, Helen shuts the door–oddly polite for a place so barren of the living–behind you. “That will be a fun story to tell,” she mumbles.

“Yeah.” You glare at the closed door like you did the old clock, mentally daring the radio inside to start up again.

Helen nudges your side. “Maybe we could convince Jeanne and Noah that we talked to some ghosts, hm?”

You take a few seconds to respond, probably a few seconds too long, as you tear your eyes away from the door. “I’m sure Noah would start going on about his Vader-Myhof effect or whatever it was.” you scoff, sarcastically.

Helen giggles, and you almost begin to anticipate telling the story to the two of them. You almost hope that block B is boring, just so they’ll find some interest in whatever you found. 

With ease, you begin another conversation, attempting to drag your mind away from that stupid radio and its stupid domestic radio show. 

Maybe later, when you actually had service, you’ll try to look up what show it was. A hard task, but perhaps something Noah could help with. He always had a knack for that sort of stuff–the guy seemed to have a knack for everything–so you’re sure you could hand him the few lines you’d heard and he’d come up with an answer for you in an hour or so.

After more aimless chatter, you finally get your wish to leave for the next story. So, slightly, unnerved, you both walk up and out of the first floor with a little more fear than you had before. 

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Wonder what's up with that?