#they grew up as catholics. what do you expect?

[heathenkweer]

snapshots || chapter one

Fandom: Resident Evil 4 (Remake) Wordcount: 1,613 Character(s)/Relationship(s): Luis Serra/Original Female Character Additional tags: Bisexual Luis Serra, Luis Serra Lives CONTENT WARNING(S): Biphobia Summary: Little snippets of Luis and Catalina's life together, taking place in various times, varying in length and rating. (Follow up of sorts to "heaven ain't close in a place like this".)

Grinning, Luis ran a hand through his hair and approached the woman. “Good evening, ma’am,” he said in his most charming voice. “May I say that you put the dawn to shame with your beauty?”

Catalina snorted. “Sure, Luis.”

“You know my name?” Luis leaned an elbow on the bannister next to her. “My reputation precedes me.”

“Oh, indeed,” Catalina said, finally playing along. “They say that you’re a scoundrel with a wicked tongue and that I should stay clear of you.”

“Hmmm,” Luis said, watching as the breeze blew some of Catalina’s curls into her face, some of them getting stuck on her lipstick. He brushed them away. “You made it far too easy to make a joke about my wicked tongue. I don’t know if I should take it or not.”

Catalina stepped in close until he could smell her light floral perfume. “I, for one, love your wicked tongue.”

AO3

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

It feels like hope.

Pairing: Hot Priest!Joel Miller x f!reader, no outbreak

Words count: 5700

Rating: Strictly +18, MINORS DON’T INTERACT

Warnings: pov second person, no use of y/n, priest kink, catholic guilt, religious kink, smut, unprotected p in v (use protections IRL!), reader has breasts and vagina and hair that can be pulled and wears a shirt and a skirt, apart from that no other description is given, age is not mentioned but they’re both grown up adults and reader is only inexperienced because she grew up in a very catholic family, fingering (f receiving), oral (m receiving), sex in a rectory, hair pulling, blasphemy all over the place 💀, pussy pronouns she/her, drinking, two hits on nipples, improper use of liturgical objects, cream pie, pet names (angel, baby), reader calls him "Father" during sex, mention of hell, mention of porn videos, mention of masturbation, improper use of prayers, God named in vain, another thing that I won’t spoil... listen, this thing is filthy, probably the filthiest more immoral thing I've ever wrote, ok? If you think you can't handle it just scroll down to another story.

This is a revised version of something I had already posted and then deleted because I personally didn't like it.

It took me months to come to an end with it, I don’t know why, I’ve changed a lot of things, I’ve changed the pov, I’ve changed dynamics etc… I really really hope you will enjoy it and please be gentle with me, I really tried hard even if you would think it’s no good.

English is not my first language and I have no beta so any mistake is all my fault, I’m sorry.

Title is a Fleabag quote, specifically from our beloved hot priest “when you find somebody that you love, it feels like hope”

Thanks to everyone who has shown interest in this story, thanks to those who were there from the beginning (you know who you are and I love you) and thanks to anyone who will read 🩷

(Just added a brief note at the end 😉)

It all started on a Sunday. 

You came to your neighborhood church expecting a nice function and you exited knowing you were doomed. 

That Sunday you met the new parish priest.

From the first moment you felt like something in you was compromised. 

You couldn't even explain it to yourself and you had never felt like this, it was something so unfamiliar. 

A need you’ve never felt before.

Your eyes glued to his holy form, adoring his raven curly hair, his scruff, the curve of his neck, his strong nose, plump lips, broad shoulders, thick thighs, big hands.

Courteous and kind as he greeted parishioners leaving the church, he shook your hand and you felt a jolt.

You weren’t like this before, you did things to do good to others before. But now…

Volunteering for every event, clothing drive, bake sale, children's shows. You were always there for the ride. Making excuses to talk to him.

Wondering if he had any more freckles than the ones on his neck, how warm his skin would be, how manly and intoxicating his scent would be, what his kisses would taste like, what his fingers would have felt like inside your cunt, peeking at the outline of his cock under his black pants.

A perfect Christian girl who would have make your mother proud on the outside, a raging hell of arousal on the inside.

You couldn’t believe that he was him who had awakened this new person inside you, insanely hungry, wanting, needing to taste, lick, bite. 

His low gruff voice grueling from his chest echoed against your damp inner walls so much that you were almost afraid to get up after the mass and see a stain where you were seated.

It was more and more difficult every time to fight your urge, stay on the tracks of life that you were taught to live, no sex before marriage, no masturbation because it’s a sin, no impure thoughts because you were a good girl.

Yet now you could hear them, all those voices crowding your head, pushing you towards something you had been taught was wrong.

Entering the church you were trembling, guilt pulsing in your gut.

Everything was quiet and serene, your eyes wandered on the frescoed walls, the organ, the large altar and the wooden benches neatly lined up in rows in the central nave, your steps sounded uncertain and timid on the marble floor.

You entered the confessional feeling your heart beating wildly in your chest, palms sweating and your mouth dry.

You could hear his breathing through the grate.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned” 

The following silence weighed like never before.

“Open your heart to the Lord so He can forgive your sins”

And you had confessed. 

The words slipped from your mouth like pearls from a broken necklace, finally rolling free between your lips revealing your every sordid thought.

The girl shaped by catholic parents to be a modest virgin, mother and maid, perfect smile and delicate manners was in reality a shameful bundle of filth.

You were a sinner.

A sinner eaten out from dirty thoughts.

You told him how you couldn't stop thinking about him, how you had questioned your feelings and who you were as a person, how you hadn't spent a night without touching yourself thinking about him in many months.

You told him about your desire to kiss him and more. So much more. Everything.

Every single time you lowered your hand in your panties, every single time you squeezed your breasts, driven by instinct and desire, every single time you thought of him as Joel. Just Joel, a man.

You just wanted to let go of the weight on your chest, coming clean. If you said it all out loud you would have realized how crazy it was.

You heard the door snapping, a few heavy steps close to where you were seated, the door opening to your side.  

Suddenly he was there, standing in front of you.

He said nothing, only grabbed your arm, dragging you to the rectory.

Dust in the air danced beneath the soft light that came in from two small windows high up.

There wasn't much in the room, a cupboard where liturgical objects were kept, a table, a wardrobe where the clothes for the service were hung.

Nobody was there except the two of you, you could hear the rumble of his breathing and your heart drumming behind your rib cage.

He was staring at you. 

Your mouth sealed, a lump in your stomach.

You thought about the day he tried to teach you how to play guitar.

You were here, together, helping with the Christmas party. He was sitting strumming when you walked in, you tried not to surprise him from behind by pretending to cough and he turned to you. He didn’t stop playing as he greeted you, you told him “I didn’t know you played” and he invited you to try. As you sat down your legs were shaking, he gave you the guitar and you just stared at it, fingers uncertain and mind empty. 

“It’s not that hard” he told you and he leaned over you taking one of your hands in his and placing it on the neck of the guitar, moving your fingers over the strings “like this. Now play”

You strummed on the guitar and an unpleasant sound came out, you both laughed softly at your clumsiness and a flood of pleasure slicked your panties.

His breath on you was like a caress, you felt the minty scent grazing at your nostrils.

For a moment, just for a moment you thought, “I could turn around right now and kiss him. A few inches and my lips would be on his.”

Your desire flowed before your eyes, leaving you with nothing else to look at.

“But I can’t. I can’t.” 

You've tried to swat away that sinful thought with another strum on the guitar but nothing disappeared, instead it burned in your core even strongly than before.

You thought about that day when the rain caught you on your way to set up the bake sale, how you walked into the rectory soaked from head to toe, how he looked at your shirt stuck to your skin that left little to the imagination, how you instinctively covered yourself when you just wanted to let your arms hang at your sides and let him look at you. You saw a reaction in his eyes as he mumbled that he was going to get you a towel, just a moment before he regained his composure, and it was enough. You knew that he was not indifferent to you. That night you touched yourself imagining what it would be like if he took your shirt off, if he placed his lips on your neck, his tongue on your breast, his cock inside you.

You started to navigate on porn sites daily, out of curiosity first and then because you needed to see, you needed to imagine, you needed to visualize something so unfamiliar and strange to you. 

You were ashamed, but at the same time you couldn't help it, it was the only resource you could think of looking for and it was there, on your phone, private, no one would have known. You didn't even imagine you would find so many, a whole catalog of big dicks, huge tits, positions that your brain couldn't conceive.

Seeing those women pleasuring themselves scared you but at the same time attracted you, you wanted to be like them, you wanted to reach that pleasure, you wanted to try their way of using their hands, you wanted to refine your clumsy way of reaching that heat between your legs.

You sinked into it.

If your parents had known, if your community had known, you would have been branded an unworthy woman, a pervert, a slut.

But your parents were far away now, your whole life was somewhere else and you were proud to have freed yourself from the golden cage they had locked you in. You were an adult now, it was the moment to choose for yourself. If they hadn’t always denied you any other vision of the world, if they hadn’t forbidden you to have the experiences that everyone has in their youth, maybe it wouldn’t have happened this way.

His mouth was a thin line, tensed, you looked into his eyes and you saw nothing than dark.

So much different from the gentle detachment he had always shown to everyone, his look was a mixture of concern, agitation, maybe a hint of fear, but most of all - to your great surprise - sexual arousal.

You could see him cracking behind those eyes, you could feel his mind filling with all sorts of questions.

His voice was barely a whisper but sharp as a blade when he finally spoke “Are you even honest with that ‘I am a good christian’ thing? Say the truth”

You hesitated, the uneasiest bitter taste in your mouth.

“I-” your throat felt like atrophied “yes” you tried to say.

“No, you’re not. The least you could do is being fucking honest with Him” he raised his finger pointing it at the ceiling.

You’ve never heard him cursing before.

You looked down feeling the weight of your stomach turn to lead and then concrete and if you thought you were free now you felt even more guilty. 

You said the only thing your brain could think of at that moment and you knew what you were asking for, you knew what it would do to him and you knew that in this way you would drag him down with you. And yet you did it anyway, because desire was stronger than anything, than faith, than lies, than truth.

“I need-I need to repent. Teach me” you pleaded “teach me how to be good”

Something lit up in his gaze, like a spark of hell, a glow of lust.

He turned around and you hungrily followed his every move.

His hands moving expertly, the cupboard opening, him taking out the mass wine and pouring it into a chalice.

You saw him down the entire glass, without hesitation, without a shred of tremor.

You felt like you were watching a hurricane approaching, just waiting for the wind to suck you in without being able to do anything else.

You wanted it. You wanted it to sweep you away, to make you someone else, braver, indomitable, someone who wasn’t afraid to say what she wanted because of a belief that had been instilled in her, someone who was simply herself. 

We are all born with guilt, you told yourself. I am tired, tired of dealing with mine so much.

You just wanted to feel alive, to feel something authentic and fierce, no half measures. 

You wanted to be desired in a way that felt relentless and desperate, like air that is necessary to keep humans alive, something unique and undeniable.

Could Joel read it in your eyes? He was so good at reading people, you could tell it right away. 

He had guessed a lot about you, he had noticed how coffee was a weakness of yours - and his - and he offered you a cup first thing in every meeting.

He had noticed how nervous Danny, a parishioner who liked to play the fool with any woman present, most often in front of his wife, got you and made sure to never leave you alone with him.

He had noticed how much you enjoyed sewing and had assigned you the costumes for the play and praised your work. 

And he did the same with the guitar that day when he saw how enthusiast and curious you were about it. He didn't say it openly, but his gestures spoke for him.

He came closer to you again, bending the chalice to your mouth and said “drink”. Sharp, cold, an order.

At that point you didn’t care it was something you were not supposed to do, forbidden, maybe unholy even, you just drank. 

You were dealing with a part of yourself that always existed but you had put that in a box.

Joel looked into your eyes sternly and said: “Show me the good Christian that you think you are. Pray.”

“What?”

“Pray. Right now” 

“What prayer?” You asked, confused.

“You're not starting off well, you should know that.” He smirked, caught you in fail.

“Act of contrition” you whispered and he nodded “yes. That’s right.”

He was just inches away from you, his crucifix hanging between your bodies, grazing at your stomach. 

You began to recite in a low voice, stumbling over your words, your brain couldn’t think straight:

“O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest… all my sins because of thy just punishments, but most of all because they offended Thee, my God, who art all good and deserving all my love.”

You said it dozen of times before and yet it seemed totally different in that moment. 

Joel took off his rosary, letting it dangle from his hand and swing across your chest. Beads brushed against the cotton bra you wore under your blouse, making your nipples harden, you could feel them pushing against the fabric.

“Go on”

“I- I firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace to sin no more and to avoid the near occasion of sin. Amen”

“Take off your shirt,” he told you in a whisper.

Something shifted inside him “and your bra”

His voice was no longer the same, it came from deep within him, frighteningly authoritarian but to you it seemed like a magic instrument that was hypnotizing you.

You did what he told you. 

You were half naked in front of a man for the first time. It could have happened before, much before, but of course you couldn’t because you never got married. No one was supposed to see your body except the man you were going to take to the altar. That’s what they taught you.

Joel looked at you, entranced, almost in disbelief. You wondered how long it had been since he’d seen someone else’s naked body, what effect it had on him. 

You were more alike than you seemed, both of you denied something because of religion. 

You were both more needy and frustrated than you were allowed to admit. Tension hung in the air like a fog that clouded both of your gazes.

Every time you had talked to him you had noticed the way he looked at you but you thought it was all in your head, like you were a poor naive girl who was building castles in the air, but now you knew that wasn't the case.

It was another thing you shouldn’t have done but you prayed deep down that he wouldn’t decide to stop.

He raised his arm, clutching his rosary. You felt a slash through the air and then a sharp smack on your nipple.

You looked down shocked as the pain quickly turned into a dull pleasure rising from the pit of your tummy, to fade more and more, becoming a tingling sensation.

You liked it.

You wanted more.

He did the same at your other breast and all the breath you had left in your body had slipped past your lips in a lustful sob.

He took one of your nipples between his fingers, twisting and pinching it and you couldn’t help but moan. A sound you never made for no one and you made it first for a priest.

His body pushed you against the wall, his breath on your neck, his fingers didn't stop torturing your nipple. Everything you saw was red. Red like the passion you had never felt before, red like the blood that pulsed in your veins, red like sin.

“Kneel” he said firmly.

You were equal parts scared of making a fool of yourself and eager to try.

You knelt down, feeling the cold of the floor touch your shins. 

His eyes were as uncertain as yours, it was new territory for both of you but you saw a flame burning in him and you felt it inside you. 

His face was serious, tense, as if he was ashamed of what he was doing but couldn't contain. 

He was punishing you and punishing himself at the same time.

You weren’t afraid though, you were ready to face what was eating you up and you trusted Joel for some reason. You could see in him that he wouldn’t hurt you. At least not more than you wanted.

Your tentative fingers undid his pants, letting them sag around his ankles. A pronounced erection protruded from his boxers as his eyes almost begged you, they weren’t cruel and ruthless eyes, but rather needy and guilty.

You moved your hand closer to his crotch, hesitating for a moment before placing it there, testing the sensation, opening your fingers around it to realize how thick it was. You could feel the heat through the fabric. You caressed it, feeling the tremor that shook Joel's body. Your eyes couldn't tear themselves away, it was the first time you had seen one in person, you were amazed and attracted. You continued to caress him until you heard a grunt leave Joel’s lips and a stain wet the front of his boxers. You were struck by how much he was growing under your hand and the smell, like musk, pungent but not unpleasant.

You remembered the videos you had seen, how women did it, looking into the men's eyes lustfully, with a confidence and naturalness you had never acquired. You wanted to be like them, but you were afraid of being ridiculous or grotesque.

You slowly pulled down his boxers, gasping at the sight of his cock springing free. 

Joel had his eyes fixed on you, they were encouraging somehow, he made you feel safe but the trembling of your fingers did not stop. You took his shaft in your hand again and were surprised at how soft his skin was there, velvety. You watched that thin layer of skin retract as you moved your hand up and down like you had seen in the videos, it felt incredible. It was heavy, hot and throbbing. It was uncut. His big balls hanging right under. You ran your thumb over the tip, collecting the pre-cum that was leaking, spreading it around.

Joel was quiet, he let you do it.

He was touch starving, just like you.

You lowered your head and licked him, just with the tip of your tongue. A timid lick, like a kitten.

His taste, matching the musky scent you could smell, invaded your mouth in an instant. You had never tasted anything like it. You braced yourself, while Joel waited, and licked once more, this time starting at the base and working your way up.

Joel groaned.

You pulled away, looking into his eyes, he brought a hand to your cheek and then to your chin and took it in his palm. 

“You are so beautiful” he whispered.

And you felt beautiful, you felt like someone was really seeing you for the first time. And you loved that that someone was him.

You took a deep breath and lowered your head onto his cock, you knew you couldn't fit it all in your mouth, but you wanted to take as much as you could.

“Don’t force yourself” Joel murmured as your lips touched his skin, causing another whine.

“I want to do it” you replied resolutely, you were loving hearing him whimper beneath you.

His length slid across your tongue, wet and salty, your lips closing around it.

You closed your eyes and focused on that feeling, just holding it there, nestled inside.

“Suck it,” Joel commanded gently, bringing a hand into your hair and twining his fingers there.

You were unsure how to do it, you tried to suck it in as if you were using a large straw, with all the breath you had.

Joel flinched, almost losing his balance “Easy, baby” he muttered

You pulled away again, eyes widened “oh my god, I’m sorry” almost afraid of having hurt him but he immediately reassured you "no it's okay, just... go slower, go slower if you don't want me to come right away”

“Uh- okay” responding timidly to the smile that was spreading across his face.

You began to suck again more calmly, holding the base tightly with your hand, feeling it pulsate between your fingers and on your tongue.

It was an addictive sensation, spreading through your synapses like a drug.

Obviously you had never tried any drugs, but you imagined that the sensation might be similar to something like that.

Joel still held your head, his grip tightening as you continued, you could feel his body tense and respond, and you liked it. You liked it more than you ever liked putting on your Sunday best and going to say prayers with your parents like you always had.

There was actually a prayer that was ringing in your head and it was Joel's, who softly repeated "just like that, you're being so good to me”

It was exhilarating.

You felt like you had a true gift, for once in your life.

An obscene gift, but still.

You had the courage to run from your mom and dad and then at what felt like a minute later you found yourself there, naked from waist up, on your knees, sucking a priest cock.

You’ve never felt more alive.

Deep down you were exactly that person there, not a whore like everyone you knew would say. Just a woman, a woman who wanted what other women wanted. Sex, pleasure, being important to someone or just not being condemned to do what others wanted for you.

You continued to suck as Joel's breathing became heavier and more labored.

At that point he was just uttering disconnected phrases like “oh my God” and “Yes, go on”, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

Suddenly he started shaking violently, almost falling, as something warm and sticky hit your throat. You knew what it was and you were eager to swallow, as you had seen done in so many videos.

A little of it slipped from your lips, down your chin, onto your neck.

Joel's hand was still in your hair, it almost hurt but it was a delicious pain that you were enduring, a small punishment for the rush of adrenaline and excitement that was coursing through you.

You kept holding his cock in your mouth until you felt it relax.

“Get up,” Joel said gently, still out of breath, as he was fixing his boxers and pants.

Your knees almost gave out, you leaned against the wall feeling wetness on your panties.

Joel came closer to you, placing a hand on your cheek, pulling you into a deep kiss that left you stunned for a second and then you were more than happy to reciprocate. His tongue in your mouth explored feverishly, you wondered if he could taste himself from your lips.

He pulled out saying “I’ve never done anything like this before” and you replied “me neither.” 

And then he was on your lips again, nibbling at your lower one, placing his hand on your thigh, raising it under your skirt, up to your drenched panties, grazing them with his fingers.

You squirmed, moaning a “yes, please” from down your throat, a tingle spreading on your outer lips, in your tummy, up to your chest.

He put his hand inside your panties, brushing your skin.

“What should I do with you?” He asked, in an almost desperate tone, as if he knew he couldn't stop and was asking permission not to.

“Make me come” you pleaded “Please.”

He sighed, pulling your panties aside and sliding his index and middle fingers between your folds, gathering your wetness up to your clit, starting circling it as you writhed. 

It was different than when you did it yourself, his fingers bigger and stronger, his touch a little clumsy but still effective and intoxicating.

His mouth landed on your neck, stifling a moan, sucking a hickey where it joined your shoulders, nibbling hungrily at your skin.

“Have you ever done this before?” 

“Just…me” 

He smirked “have you ever put your fingers inside you?” 

“I- yes.” there were no point on beating around the bush, you told him that you touched yourself thinking about him. You were already deep down into that dizzy. 

“Put your fingers in me” you added immediately “I want to feel them, please Joel, I want to know what they can do to me” 

“You sure?” 

“Yes, yes.” You breathed.

He prodded at your entrance,  just a little bit, making you whine just with his fingers tip.

The rosary lay abandoned on the floor, you could see it out of the corner of your eye and you didn't care about that eyewitness symbol of what was happening between you two.

You would have liked him to put it around your neck while he fucked you, fully participating in that sinful act. 

You were surprised yourself at what you were thinking but somehow it made you even more eager.

You felt two of his fingers sink inside you, filling that void that you had never been able to fill enough on your own, stretching you. 

It hurts a little at first because they were bigger than yours, but then it was more heavenly than anything else. If you were made for anything, it was to be there in that moment.

Joel looked ecstatic “God, she’s so… wet” he whispered “and warm” His face was the representation of pleasure, lips slightly parted, his eyes wide, his pupils dilated, his heavy breathing blowing on your neck.

He began to move his fingers inside you rhythmically, each thrust making you shake and sob, a litany of “yes” coming out strangled from your mouth.

He went slowly, taking his time, as if he was savoring every second of your pussy tightening around his fingers.

He placed his other hand on your breast again, cupping and squeezing and then twisting your nipple. Big hand full of your tit.

It was beautiful. You didn’t know how or why people could deny themselves that, but you certainly wouldn’t do it again, not after having Joel inside you. He curled his fingers, looking for the right way to make you feel the pleasure you wanted, the one you kept asking for.

“You like that, baby?” He asked with an hopeful tone

“It feels so good, so good” you told him, clinging to his neck, digging your nails into his soft skin as you felt like you were losing your mind. You didn't care about losing it, your mind had ruled your life for so, so long.

“Please don’t stop” you murmured, tightening your other hand on his wrist, guiding him “don't stop”

You felt your essence slowly leaking out of you, spreading over Joel's fingers and your outer lips, you had never been so soaked, never so much as under Joel's touch.

Your eyes suddenly fixed on that little piece of white cloth that was around his neck, that little piece that made all the difference in the world and made what you were doing terribly wrong in the eyes of others and God and Joel kissed you again like a man deprived and starved, his lips trembling and dramatic, asking silently for more and more, like they were drinking from yours.

He was all over you, like a sailor through a  violent storm, he clung to whatever he could, as if it were a matter of life and death. 

Tasting him like this, the smell of his skin, his warmth, his clerical clothes rubbing against your half-naked body, made your head spin.

You moved your hand onto his collar, grasping it with your fingers, pulling it, until it came undone, you squeezed it as you came copiously, repeating Joel's name and God's, cutting off your moans, abandoning your head on Joel's shoulder.

It was all too much and yet not enough, you wished it would never end. Joel held you tight, one hand moving behind your back, as his fingers continued to sink into you. The blinding pleasure that had invaded every fiber of your body was raging like hell’s flames inside you, like a sinful but also purifying fire, wrong and right, heavenly and hellish.

And then it slowly faded, giving way to a sense of satisfaction that had never belonged to you.

You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh, hard and demanding again.

Joel grunted, pulling his fingers out of you, taking them to his lips, gathering your juices with his tongue.

“I want… I want your cock, Father” you whispered, at that point you felt greedy, delirious, drunk on sex.

His eyes widened, being called “Father” was making him even more aroused and dizzy.

You grabbed his balls from above his pants, holding your hand tightly on them “please, Joel”.

If you were going to Hell for this, you might as well go all the way.

Joel pushed you against the table on the other side of the room, making you sit on it, unzipped his pants again, pulling out his cock without hesitation, as if he had finally accepted his fate.

His fingers were big but his cock… you wondered how it would all fit inside you.

“I’ll go slowly” Joel reassured you “It will fit” he said, brushing your folds with the tip, aligning his cock with your entrance, as if he had guessed your thoughts. His eyes were blacker than ever as he prodded his shaft past through your lips.

It felt overwhelming, so big and pulsing, it hurt but you almost immediately felt a fullness that you had never felt and a sense of belonging, your pussy opened like a bud, widening and molding for him.

If you were made for anything, it was to be there in that moment.

“She’s tight, so damn tight” Joel gawked “fuck” 

You whimpered, looking at his face, so serious, pleasure written all over it and you felt like it was right, it had to be right if it was that good.

“Make me yours, Father, make me good” you pleaded. 

Joel growled as he slid in and out of you, slamming against your walls, your pussy making obscene squelching sounds every time he moved, dripping all over his cock and the table.

It didn’t even seem embarrassing to you to be so inexperienced, you both were. You didn’t know if Joel had had sex before but you guessed he hadn’t had it in a long time anyway. 

You didn't know if it was the way it was supposed to be but you felt like it was natural, not like in the videos you'd seen which were probably mostly choreographed to please the eye.

It was sex. Pure and simple. Urgent, hungry, even uncontrolled.

And the way your body reacted, melting like wax under Joel's hands, arching into his touch, bending to his will, and seeking all the friction you could get, told you that this was the right way for you.

“See?” Joel mumbled “You’re taking me so well, baby, a perfect angel for me”

You twisted your legs behind his back, pushing him against you as much as you could, kissing the exposed skin on his neck. It drove you crazy that he was still dressed, you wanted to rip off his shirt and run your hands down on him, feel his warm skin on yours so you did it. You placed your hands on both sides and you just popped every button, revealing his broad chest, feeding your eyes with every single detail and your fingers with every shape and curve.

“Never had a cock inside before but that pussy is made for mine, I swear to God she is” he started desperately rutting into you, deeper strokes every time, taking God’s name in vain, murmuring some prayers while he pounded into you. You could feel his big vein brushing at your walls, his big mushroom hammering your cervix, the most intense rapture you’ve ever felt.

He pulled at your hair, forcing you to look him in the eye, murmuring “that’s what you wanted, huh? Dragging me to hell with you?”

Your eyes filled with tears at the thought. It was true, somehow you corrupted him, but you were willing to face that just to feel something so strong. You weren’t sure about him though.

But again, he was there, right there with you, with his cock inside your cunt and you didn’t force any of it, he could say no, he could stop, but he choose the sin. Now blaming you wasn’t so saintly nor kind, but you understood why he did that. He needed to blame someone other than himself, and you were there, open arm taking the weight for him.

Your ass slid back and forth on the wood of the table with each thrust, one of his hands was on your nipple again while the other held you behind your back. He then moved to your clit, applying pressure on it, circling it with two fingers.

You looked down only to see his cock sinking between your lips, his balls bouncing and the bush of hair that adorned his groin glistening with your juices.

You could smell the sex in the air, your mingling scents becoming one, your pleasure merging and becoming one as he shot huge spurts of cum into you.

He muttered a prayer, asking God for forgiveness, his voice exhausted, hoarse, broken by orgasm.

And then you woke up.

Your room was quiet, the crucifix that your mom gave you hanging on the wall behind your bed.

It took a few seconds for your sleepy, blurry gaze to settle on it, you were sweaty and shocked.

You closed your eyes, shutting them and cursing under your breath. 

You unrolled your body from the sheets and then stood up and picked up the crucifix. Your days as a good, God-fearing girl were over.

A/n: if you don't know what is dream and what is reality in the story at this point, that's what I wanted, I hope it's not too confusing but I wanted to try something new. I hope you liked it and thanks for your time 🩷

[leeknow-thoughts]

୨୧ GLIMPSES OF THE LUSTFUL

𝝑𝝔 cw : blasphemy kink???, churchboy!Jeongin, toys, smut

𝝑𝝔 a/n : the years of my life spent in the Catholic church came in clutch with this fic

Growing up Catholic had its perks, but its drawbacks as well. The tradwife stereotypes for women along with the general theme of sexual repression.

You had grown up with Jeongin, going to church together and going to the same Catholic school with the boy. Over the years, you had lost your faith, Jeongin however only grew in his faith, it never bothered you, and your lack of faith never bothered him.

Eventually, you both went off to the same college, a few states away, and figured it would be easier to live together. It was easier then having to make new friends and less risky than having complete strangers be your roommates.

"My theology professor is trying to kill me, I think," you joke to Jeongin over dinner.

"How so?"

"Because I'm not religious, and I told him that, and he started like interrogating me, it was weird," you confess, taking a bite of cereal.

"Is he religious?"

"I suppose so, I mean I told him that I was raised Catholic, so he started assuming the worst," you explain.

"Isn't that religious discrimination?"

"I don't know what to call it, but it was weird," you shrug it off.

"Sounds weird, but any whom," Jeongin changes the subject, "tomorrow I'm leaving early to help with this fundraiser at church, so don't be surprised if I'm not here when you wake up tomorrow."

Jeongin's whole weekends revolved around church, whether it was because he was helping plan a youth trip or assisting the nuns or even helping run a fundraiser, he kept busy with the volunteer work. And of course he was also an avid participant in Sunday Mass, communion, and other traditions.

"m'kay," you figure, rubbing your tired eyes, "my mom and dad are coming over tomorrow," you inform him.

"Oh, fun," he retorts sarcastically.

"Yeah, fun," you say in that same sarcastic tone as him.

"D'you need help like hiding anything?" Jeongin asks timidly.

"Hiding anything?" you ask.

"Like," Jeongin blushes, hiding his face in his hands before he speaks, "s-sex stuff."

"Oh, I mean if you wouldn't mind?"

"I just don't want your parents to freak out on you, remember last time?"

How could you forget the last time your parents came over and they accidentally found a condom in your bathroom, immediately going into a five hour long lecture about how they expected better from you and that you needed to go to a confessional to be forgiven for your sins of sexual impurity.

"Yeah, trust me I remember," you chuckle, "that would be nice, I have all that shit in a box, so I'll just give you the box."

You rise up from your seat at the dining table and walk into your room, grabbing the medium sized box from the closet and walking into the living room with it when suddenly, you trip, and the contents of the box spill everywhere.

"Ow, fuck," you groan, clenching your knee, which you hit on the ground.

Jeongin is quick to stand up and rush to your side, helping you up. You watch as his face eventually turns to the spilled contents of the box. "What in the fuck is that?" he questions.

Jeongin never swore. He thought swearing was pointless and made someone sound trashy, but here he was, swearing.

"It's a dildo," you whisper an explaination.

"B-but wh-why does it l-look like that?"

"It's supposed to look like a dragon, like, uhm, dick," you explain with an embarrassed tone.

"That's really weird, I hope you know, also that thing is so like big how does it- how do y- how can it- how-"

"A lot of lube, and a lot more patience," you half-joke.

"And what is this?" Jeongin exclaims as he picks up the rose shaped toy.

"I-it's a clit sucker," you explain as you grab it from him and put the toy back in the box.

"And what are these?" he holds up a pair of nipple clamps.

"Nipple clamps," you inform him.

"Why in the hell would anyone ever use something like that," Jeongin speaks to himself.

"Don't knock em till you try em," you insist.

You take the nipple clamps from his grasp and put them back in the box before Jeongin is picking something else up, "and what is this?"

"It's a butt plug."

"But why does it have a tail? Ew wait this thing has been in your butt!?"

"It's clean!" you exclaim, "it has a tail because- well-well because I just like it I d'know?"

"Weird," Jeongin mumbles as he puts the toy in the box.

"And what is this?" he holds up a flogger.

"A flogger, you hit people with it," you explain as you take it from the boy.

"But wouldn't that hurt?"

"That's kind of the point, Jeongin," you hum, "hold out your arm, it's not as bad as you think it is, I promise."

After a moment of thinking it through, Jeongin holds out his arm, you lightly hit him with the flogger, "oh that isn't bad at all," Jeongin hums.

"Mhm," you nod, placing the flogger back in the box.

"Oh, what's this?" Jeongin holds up a tentacle grinder.

"It's a grinder," you tell him.

"What does it do?" he asks sheepishly.

"Well," you pause, embarrassment creeping onto your face, "you like grind on it, like you grind your clit on it."

"Oh," Jeongin's face falls before putting the grinder back in the box.

"I hope you don't think I'm weird or gross or anything now," you confess to him.

"I-I d'think y-your weird," he promises, "I promise, y-you're not weird for having s-sex. It's n-natural."

"But you don't have sex, so I j-"

"Who said I've never had sex?"

You stare at him blankly, "you-you've..."

"Well like it's not sex but like I've masturbated before," he confesses.

Your lips make an o shape as you nod your head, "oh, th-that's good?"

"That's good!?"

"I d'know what to say! I was just surprised!"

"Well I mean I'm human y-you don't think I'm weird do you?"

"No! Of course not!" you insist.

The silence that passes between the two of you is almost deafening. You glance down and that's when you notice it, the bulge in Jeongin's pants. "Je-Jeongin," you mumble.

"I-I-I should go to my room!"

Just as he's about to get up you grab his wrist, the way he looks at you tells you a thousand words. "Stay," you practically plead with him.

"I-I haven't, I don't know how-" he whimpers under your intense gaze.

"I'll teach you," you reassure him, "anything you want, I'll teach you."

No words are exchanged between the two of you as he leans forward and slams your lips onto his own. He's messy and sloppy and inexperienced. "Calm down," you muse to him, "enjoy this, we have all the time in the world," you reassure him.

You gently cup his jaw with your left hand, your right hand running through his hair, "darling, calm down," you mumble against his eager lips.

"Can't get enough of you, d'you know how many nights I've had to listen to you whining and whimpering and falling apart on these things? Hm?" he groans into a kiss, "how I've beat my cock to the thought of you? D'you know about that?"

"Jeongin," you murmur, melting further and further into the kiss, "thought of you too," you confess.

"Want to watch you," he states, breaking apart from the kiss, "I want to watch you fuck yourself, the way you do at night."

That is how you find yourself naked on your couch, Jeongin watching you intently as you ride one of your dildos. "Hmm, so all you do is ride that toy and think of me? That's pathetic," he scoffs, watching you like he's disinterested, but you can tell from the tent in his pants that he is anything but disinterested.

"And all you do is what? Hm? Stroke your cock?" you remark.

"You know, filthy whores like yourself shouldn't fucking talk," Jeongin stands up and kneels next to you, taking your nipple in his mouth, making you gush around the toy, "recite first Corithians 6:18," he demands.

"J-Jeongin," you whine, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Jeongin is pulling you by your hair, making you look at him, "recite it."

"Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually, sins against their own body," you quote.

"That's it honey, yet here you are, riding this fucking toy every night, thinking of me," Jeongin's words are venom, "don't worry though, I'll make a good girl out of you."

You can only whimper at his filthy words.

And that is what started your little taboo tradition, every Sunday night you'd be face down ass up on Jeongin's bed, getting pounded from behind, and you'd only get to cum if you could recite five Bible verses for him.

Jeongin was definitely no priest but he brought you closer to the pearly gates than any real priest ever could.

[apatheticrater]

Reposting this after rewriting it 💗 I was thinking about Art and the headcanon about him growing up Catholic and my brain went brrr and popped this out. Don’t mind anything that’s not correct about church, if it’s not obvious I have not gone to a church service before and only been in a few chapels. Hope you guys like this!!

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆

Everyone knew Art Donaldson was a well-behaved Catholic boy. He grew up with his religious grandmother, went to church every sunday, and helped out at church camp over the summers he wasn’t playing in tennis championships. So how did he end up with you? The girl known around campus for being at every party with a new guy on her arm after each one, you were much better suited for the blonde’s friend, Patrick.

It’s a simple story really. You guys ended up in the same Gen Ed English course during freshman year at Stanford. The professor had you two group up to discuss your most recent assignment, and after a lot of flirting, you got his number and a date for that Friday night. It was unlike any other date you’ve gone on. Art was smart, respectful, kind, and didn’t expect anything from you. He picked you up on time, paid for dinner, listened to you talk, and asked questions about your life. And when he walked you back to your dorm, he was too nervous to try to kiss you. After that night, you knew you needed to lock him down, so you did.

How he ended up in this situation, with you bouncing on his dick in a closed confessional booth, no one on the other side, minutes after church ended, is a whole different story.

Art had been begging you to join him at one of his church services for weeks. He wanted you to come along at least once, and meet the people at his church that he talks to every Sunday. You were never really religious and didn’t want to go to church, but you saw how happy it would make Art and caved.

Sunday morning rolled around and you did your hair just right before throwing on your prettiest (and Art’s favorite) sundress with no panties underneath. You mingled like Art wanted you to, greeted all of the people he introduced you to, and smiled politely. It was once you sat down and started listening to one of the priest's readings that you told Art about your missing article of clothing.

“I’m not wearing any panties under this, by the way.” And you watched him very carefully after, biting back a smile at his, or more so his body’s, reaction. He shuddered, his dress pants grew tighter, and a heavy blush grew on his cheeks. It’s not that you guys haven’t had sex, but Art still gets shy around the mere mention of it.

He tries to focus on the service, but your words keep replaying in his mind. He discreetly reaches over and entwines his fingers with yours, a silent plea for you to behave. His thumb gently rubs over your skin, sending shivers up your arm.

You were the one to have taken his virginity, corrupted him completely, and convinced him to break his vow of chastity until marriage. He was still pretty inexperienced since you guys haven’t done a lot. And you knew he would be hard to convince into having sex in a sacred place, the house of God, but surprisingly enough, it was less hard than you thought.

As soon as the service ended he was dragging you by your hand to the bathroom but you quickly stopped him. “So eager today…are you sure you want to be doing this here, honey?” you ask him, smiling coyly. He pauses for a second, glancing down at his boner straining against his pants before glancing back at you desperately. He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. His voice is hoarse when he speaks, a clear indication of how affected he is. "Please, love. I can't wait."

“Okay baby, if that’s what you need, but let’s go to a different place. Somewhere a little more private...” You say before guiding him towards the confessional located in the back of the main room, away from the lingering groups that are still talking. You have the sense to check that there is no priest or clergy member on the other side, while Art starts to desperately pull down his pants and boxers. He immediately pulls you onto his lap after sitting on the small provided bench, dragging your head forward for a heated kiss.

His hands grip your thighs tightly, his touch urgent as he hitches your skirt up around your waist. He breaks the kiss to bury his face in your cleavage, his breathing heavy and ragged. His fingers find your wet heat, and he groans against your skin, his touch growing more insistent.

“So desperate today baby…” You say quietly, running your fingers through his hair and gasping when you feel his thumb find your clit, rubbing it in tight circles. His other hand reaches up to pinch and roll your nipple between his fingers. He's shaking with desire, his cock throbbing against your thigh as he fights to stay quiet. "Fuck, fuck, fuck... I need to be inside you so badly,"

You shush him before lifting yourself up and sinking down on his cock, pressing your hand over his mouth to muffle his noises, knowing how vocal he usually is. “I got you, love, I know what you need,” you reassure him, your lips pressed against the shell of his ear. His hips jerk up, burying himself deeper inside you as he bites down gently on your palm. His hands grip your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh as he silences his moans against your hand.

You bite back your own moans as you slowly ride him, pulling yourself up and down on his cock, wishing you could muffle the wet noises coming from where your bodies connect. “You know I love your noises but they’re too loud…”

He nods against your hand, his eyes closed in bliss as he focuses on the sensation of being inside you. He rocks his hips up to meet your movements, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. "Mmmph, mmmph." Your hips move faster, trying to get you both off as quick as possible to lower the risk of being caught.

Art’s face contorts with pleasure, his hands tightening on your hips as he thrusts up into you, matching your rhythm. His breathing grows harsher, his muffled moans louder against your hand. His body tenses beneath you, a sign that he's close.

“Let go f’me baby…Jesus– fuck…” You moan, unable to hold back or keep yourself quiet. “Always so pretty when you do…” He lets out a muffled shout against your hand, his body convulsing as he spills into you. He buries his face in your neck, his breathing hot and heavy against your skin. After a moment, he lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of love and guilt.

You smile and pull him into a kiss, helping him ride out his high by grinding down on his lap. He kisses you back eagerly, his arms wrapping around you to pull you even closer. After a moment, he breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours. He lets out a shaky laugh. "We really shouldn't be doing this in a church... But I'm glad we did."

You smile and press another kiss to his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Surprised I even got you to do this…” You look into his eyes, a mischievous smile forming on your face. “Buttt…I still haven’t cum…”

His eyes widen briefly before he grins wickedly. He stands up, lifting you with him before gently setting you down on the bench. He drops to his knees, pushing your skirt up and spreading your thighs. "Well, we can't have that, now can we?" Before you can answer he starts tonguing my your, making you slap a hand over your mouth as your head falls back.

He eats you out with fervor, his tongue delving deep into your pussy as he sucks on your clit. He curls his tongue inside you, scraping against your walls before returning to your clit. He repeats the motion over and over, his fingers spreading your lips wide to give him better access. “Fuck baby—” You moan breathlessly, gripping his hair tightly in one hand as the other grips the bench. “Forgot how good you are with your mouth…”

He moans against your flesh, the vibration pushing you closer to the edge. He reaches up with one hand to play with your breasts, pinching and rolling your peaks between his fingers. He feels you tense up, your thighs shaking around his head, and doubles his efforts, eager to make you come. Your whole body tenses and it takes everything in you to not scream when he pushes his fingers inside you and hooks them just right to hit the gummy spot inside you that makes you cum almost instantly. He can feel your pussy spasm around his fingers and eagerly awaits the flood of delicious wetness that will follow.

It doesn’t take long before your cumming around his fingers, grinding down on his hand as you bite down on your own, muffling your scream-like moans. He continues to suck on your swollen nub, drawing out your release as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out of your quivering core. Once you're finished, he gently cleans you up with his mouth before kissing his way back up your body, wrapping you in a warm embrace. "Better?"

“Much better.” You say softly, trembling slightly as you wrap your arms around his waist. “We should probably leave before your priest catches us,” You say while standing up, opening the confessional door, and making sure no one’s around. He follows you out, straightening his clothes and making sure you're decent as well. He takes your hand and leads you out of the church, casting one last guilty glance back at the building. "To the car?"

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆

Feel free to send me asks, even if it’s just to chat, I don’t know when exactly I will answer them because it can take me a bit to write and edit sometimes 🫶

[babyangelsky]

Faith as a love language and why I want Ju Yeong to give Do Hoe his cross necklace

Let me preface this by saying that one, my interpretations are drawn heavily from my own personal experience as well as the culture I was raised in and two, that this is going to be very rambly and maybe not make a whole lot of sense to anyone but me. But @respectthepetty encouraged me to get this out of my brain so here we are.

In order to explain what I mean in the title of this post and actually get into the meat of it, there's two other things I need explain first. There are layers to this so please bear with me.

The first thing is that I am not and have never really been a practicing Catholic. I believe in god and have a very loose, very personal system of spiritual belief but I am not religious. My grandmother is Catholic however, a very devout one, and since she helped to raise me I would say I was partially raised Catholic. Emphasis on the partially because my beautiful mother in her infinite wisdom (and due entirely to her own religious trauma) felt it was important to give me a choice on the matter and figure out my faith for myself, which I love her dearly for.

(She also once infamously refused to kiss the ring of the local very important priest in the village she grew up in which is one of my favorite things about her)

However, I've learned that even if you are given a choice on whether or not religion will play any part in your life, that does not save you from developing religious trauma. Especially if you also happen to be queer and especially if you don't adhere dogmatically to the widely accepted--and arbitrary--set of rules that determine whether you are considered a "good (insert faith here)".

The second thing has to do with cross necklaces and why being given one is a very specific loving gesture.

I lived in Mexico for a while a couple of years ago. On the day that I was due to come back to the States, my grandma gave me a cross necklace. She didn't just give me a cross necklace, she gave me her necklace that had been custom made for her. She wanted me to have a safe flight and get home in one piece so she gave it to me.

I have worn that necklace every single day for the past two years. If I happen to wear another necklace for outfit reasons, I put my cross in my pocket. It's always around my neck or on my body. Always. And the thing is, I don't wear it to signify my belief god.

In the broader sense of faith and what it means to people, giving someone a necklace like that holds a lot of weight. Taking something off of your body, your 'self', that you trust to keep you safe and that represents your faith and your beliefs and then putting it on someone you love to keep them safe is such a visceral expression of love. It becomes a symbol of faith in a different way.

As I've established, I'm not devout like my grandma is. The necklace doesn't represent to me what it does to her. I wear it because doing so makes me feel loved and safe because she gave it to me, not because I have faith of my own.

Now, having said allllll of that.

Ju Yeong's cross necklace has been established to primarily represent not his faith, but his family's expectations. Expectations that he hasn't lived up to and that have turned that cross into a heavy symbol of his failure that keeps him shackled at all times except when he chooses to take it off. And when he chooses to take it off matters.

He took it off when he confessed to Do Hoe and again when he slept with him because in those moments he wants to be free of that burden, free of those expectations, free to just love Do Hoe without having to think about anything else. Not even god.

Because even if the necklace isn't primarily a symbol of Ju Yeong's faith, it still is a symbol of his faith or rather, the faith that he had no choice but to adhere to when he became a pastor's son. That's what makes Do Hoe misunderstand what it means for Ju Yeong to take it off when he's with him. He interprets it as Ju Yeong being ashamed, as wanting to hide his sin, as only allowing himself to love Do Hoe when god isn't watching. He's wrong, of course, but he doesn't know that. Yet. (Petty explained it better go read that post)

We haven't really gotten into Ju Yeong's relationship with his faith and with only two episodes left I don't think we will, and that's a shame because I think recontextualizing what the necklace means to him and what his faith means to him would help him heal.

(Which is something I believe anyone who has religious trauma should do at some point in their life, especially if they're queer. Religion is so often weaponized against people and something that's used to make them feel inadequate and ashamed and like they aren't allowed to draw comfort from it unless they fall in line with what it asks of them. We always think of it being used that way specifically against queer people but that isn't always the case. I'm not out to my family and I once had a relative look me in the eyes and tell me I was going to hell for not going to mass.)

Really it would help both of them heal because even though Do Hoe wasn't the one with the religious upbringing, the necklace is still making him feel the same sort of inadequacy and shame he thinks Ju Yeong feels.

Which is why I want Ju Yeong to give Do Hoe his cross necklace.

Recontextualizing what it means, allowing it to be a symbol of his faith and nothing more, and making the conscious decision to take it off of his body and put it on Do Hoe so Do Hoe knows that he's loved without shame would mean everything to me personally.

Faith is a love language. It's why Mexican mothers pin medals with the Virgin of Guadalupe on them to their newborns' onesies, why parents choose auspicious names for their babies, why the very first prayer Christian and Catholic children are taught is the guardian angel prayer, why grandmothers do the sign of the cross over their children and grandchildren and end every conversation with "que dios te acompañe", and why we put crosses on the people we love.

[vrtvyg]

I love it when I get 5 notifs from the same person, especially on one of the series. Like yes, I'm going to be making more SPECIFICALLY for you.

Anyways here's some Childhood Friend! Soap.

No NSFW under the cut, but slight angst and daddy issues.

I imagine Johnny grew up in a very religious home, catholic or Christian, doesn't matter much, you can decide. But also very traditional. his ma and pa have a very stereotypical marriage, she cooks, cleans, bathes the little ones, takes them to school, the park, buys them their clothes, all that, while his father works and provides, handling the 'Man's' tasks like fixing a facet or building a shed, (Which he taught Johnny how to do aswell.)

I imagine he's the youngest, three girls before him. His father refused to stop until he had a boy, and practically praised the Lord when he finally came. of course he loves his daughters, scaring off their boyfriends when they're old enough, but he needed someone who, in his words, "Could handle the manly work when I ain't around."

So naturally Johnny was held to higher expectations. got him into sports the minute he could run, his favorite was soccer (football, for ya fucking Brits). He taught Johnny how to be a handy man, holding the flashlight for his dad and teaching him which tools fixed what. and heaven fucking forbid he caught him playing dress up with his sisters, wiping that makeup off his face with a bar of soap before sticking it in his mouth, reprimanded him with a "this'll remind ya of yer place, huh boy?" Johnny quickly learned what and what not to do infront of his father, and did everything in his power to stay his pa's golden child.

So imagine the horror when His pa caught him sneaking around with the creepo 'devil child' from church. kicking Kid! reader out of the house before screaming his head off, Johnny honestly thought he was going to pop a vein.

His Ma wasn't there to defend him, off shopping with the girls, so it's no suprise he ended up out in the snow, a nasty bruise on his cheek and no shoes on his feet.

What is surprising is that Reader's father was the one who opened the door when Johnny knocked. (the same drunk who ushered him upstairs and out of his face the first time they met.) and hurried him into the house so Reader's mom could put a bag of frozen peas on his cheek and wrap a warm blanket around his shoulders.

[phoenixcatch7]

Okay you know what actually yeah. I was tired but I had a point.

Why. On earth. In zelda fics. Do people not shut up about everything being hylia's fault forever and ever.

Like, the one deity out of a dozen odd who got cursed into this right alongside Link. All the focus on one great all being power who then gets blamed or blessed for everything that ever happens. It's just... I don't know, it just seems like a culturally Christian thing. Not even that - American catholic.

Especially Legend omg when people write him he never shuts up about how everything bad that's ever happened to him is all hylia's fault and she's doing it on purpose with no thought to her poor beleagured hero. He sounds like someone who grew up in an American conservative household who turned out to be queer and never bothered to unpack any of it and acts like he's now atheist.

But even then you could do something interesting with that!! The common headcanon that Legend is hylian royalty - of course that family would put immense worth and worship on hylia as her descendants, she who founded their kingdom. And maybe legend could feel bitter about not inheriting the magic, or the throne, or whatever meant he grew up away from the castle. Give him some unexamined religious trauma! Heck, he could bond with Flora over disappointing your family's expectations or something! They could work on unpacking it together! If you must make it part of his character at least think about why!

Because that belief is wrong, because hylia is literally the one deity we can pretty safely understand is not all seeing, all knowing, all being.

Every time she has a voice, a role, we see her make mistakes or be tricked and have regrets.

Skyward sword, she's literally zelda. She's a young protective warrior goddess (she used a sword and lead armies to battle against demise) who was created by the Three to guard the triforce and keep watch over hyrules lands. By the time ss starts she's already made several tough calls, not limited to yoinking hylians into the sky. When she was zelda she hated every second of leading Link around and even then!! It all hinged on him being completely willing! He was never forced to do anything, she didn't even have her memories with the plan until after she'd fallen to the surface! Their relationship was entirely genuine and she very nearly overestimated her own willingness to go through with the plan! And even then she still managed to get kidnapped lmao. That's not what happens when you're in charge of fate.

And in botw and totk - she's in her full divine form, her full divine powers, she's ancient and magic and worshipped in every corner of the kingdom. And (spoilers!) she loses contact with one of her own mf statues. Not just any ten apples high chibi statue you see in the towns, no, it's The Big One. She's got no idea what happened to it, but she's (rightfully) worried, and asks Link to check it out. And in an entirely separate instance, her OTHER big statue in the ToT gets overridden!! By a triangle head! And ol creep in the deep is the one who releases the statue! It's been what 20k years of power and worship - if she's not all powerful then she never will be.

Hyrule - every hyrule - is very, very polytheistic. She's not even a goddess of time to be in charge of stuff like that! There's multiple of them: Naryu, Cia (and Lana), Farosh to an extent, and many artifacts that can cause time travel, like the harp of ages, the ocarina, the big portal in ss, those time shift stones in the same game, the statue in wind waker. Please stop treating her like the magic elf equivalent of Monotheistic American Christianity God.

She was introduced in skyward sword. The game that came out before botw. She did not exist in any of the games that came before that. There was a lake hylia! In the kingdom hyrule! That's it! Her name or even existence wasn't even hinted at before that. It's actually canonically pretty unlikely any of the chain (cough cough legend) have even heard of her! And her assigned job is protector of the triforce. That's it. And she can't even use the thing. She can very explicitly as a main driving force of the ss plot not use the triforce she protects. And the triforce, shockingly, is not even in every game.

Cases that hylia often gets the most flack for (links awakening and all the trauma from that, Link failing in botw, the events of totk) hylia has absolutely zero part in. Hilariously. And she has zero power over wishes made to the triforce or who makes those wishes or what the triforce does about it.

She even gets all the blame for the cycle of the hero, the reincarnation! Which? We know exactly how that happened. Blaming her for a curse she herself is a victim to?? Demise, in skyward sword, explicitly, on screen, doing it ON PURPOSE, cursing the spirit of the hero and the blood of the goddess.

Hylia, I don't know if you've noticed, also has her own blood. Whether or not she lost that blood upon return to her divine form, she still couldn't break the curse. Link, spirit now tied to whatever demise had cooking up, is basically to reincarnate in time for whenever the Interesting Times happen. And it's demise's fault, who, again, did it on screen, on purpose, explicitly, pointing at the camera with text bolded and everything.

So why do people even blame her? I think it comes down to this:

Her name matches the kingdom. Whatever her connection to the people with the same name, I don't know, but she did found the surface kingdom as a mortal. Being named zelda at the time I wonder who chose the name XD!

Her worship in botk as a high ranking deity. Again, not monotheistic, there's temples to the Three and there's Malanya and Satori and the great fairies and the yiga worship ganon, but hylia is the most widespread for all she's basically a side character working for the new heart piece situation. Again, this is only the case in ss/botk, she doesn't appear in even aoc.

A misguided belief spread in fanfiction that in linked universe, hylia is the one opening and controlling the portals. To my knowledge, lu canon is that the portals are opened by dark link, or at least that's the working theory. I think it's assumed that hylia is the one who gathered the heroes together to combat it? If that's true? Congratulations! We have one (very plot necessary) act of hers in a fan comic. That is not canon to The Legend Of Zelda series.

An american Christian (I hesitate to say evangelican?) cultural understanding of religion. The differences between polytheism and monotheism. How one might feel if the divine was proven real on earth. Zelda is a Japanese property, it is not a Christian country. Though it draws aesthetic inspiration from western medieval fantasy it is not and never will be culturally western. The majority of ao3/tumblr users are American or at least English speaking, and that will always affect interpretation. It's giving 'be thankful to God no matter what for he always has a plan. Trust in him and your suffering will be rewarded' which is not a universal religious belief.

Something I've noticed to be surprisingly common in fandom, is where a mentor or figure of authority who is anything less than perfect or all forgiving can very quickly have their reputation ripped to shreds by the fandom. And then newer authors come, read those works, internalise that about the characters and produce new works that assume that character's cruelty to be par for the course. I will not be listing those characters or fandoms for a variety of reasons lol. But it is amazingly common and very hard to untangle, especially in larger fandoms. It's character bashing in a way near identical to cancelling people irl. It's not 'giving them depth' or 'making it more realistic' (grittier equalling realism is an ice cold take proliferated by dudebro comic authors and wrong besides.) Have some critical thinking.

Lately, I've also been running into a great many fics (not so much comics) that make hylia do some fairly heinous stuff... And then unironically blame her for it. They do remember they're the ones deciding what the characters do, right? She's not an abusive master playing with her puppets until they break, she's quite the opposite! Use the right tags (dark hylia/ooc characters/character bashing/author made them do it, idk) or dial it back. This is a growing percentage of fics and I'll never restrict content but yanno, if you're going to make hylia evil or manipulative at least understand it's a canon deviation (and do something interesting with it, I once read an amazing botw fic with evil hylia and fierce deity!).

TLDR, To summarise, hylia is canonically incapable both emotionally and physically of doing the majority of things characters in fics blame her for. Stop using her as a scapegoat especially when demise is right there. Please give your whumpees deeper characterisation than hating on hylia. Please give legend deeper characterisation than hating on hylia every time he or someone else is sad. Please remember wild can talk to hylia if he wants. Please double check anything you're not sure about :D!

[ssivinee]

✧Elapsed✧

BEBE! Bada Lee x F Reader: Two girls whose families were close at one point, but when their families lost touch, the girls almost forgot the other existed. You are just in time for their party, where you will perform and meet up with the past.

Word Count: 5k

Note: Tatter is portrayed as a MAJOR bitch in this so PLEASE do not take this seriously. this one has also been in my drafts for so long. OH and pov switches in this🤓. everyone's ages are also adjusted to the early 20s. the reader is older than Bada.

TW: Pertains smoking, alcohol usage, catholic religion?????

ANNOUNCEMENT: Reqs are closed for now!

Character Vision Board

"Are you telling me you came home last night, and the first thing you did was party with Haechan?" Yena asks as she sits on your bed with Yunah sitting at your desk, continuing to study for her finals. "I couldn't help it, okay? He asked me while picking me up, and I just went for it."

"Let her be. She came back from a work trip, dude," Yunah rolled her eyes at her sister. 

"This is why you never ask Haechan for a favor. You're just gonna party at the end of the day."

You begin to text your cousin as you laugh at the two girls.

This made you laugh. "Dude, these finals are gonna kick my ass; I can already feel it in my bootyhole," Yunah complains, and while her sister gives her a disgusted face, you stifle a laugh, just staring at the two.

"I'm gonna have to head out soon, but you two can just wait for Jieun unnie if you want?" "Nah, I wanna study in the comfort of my room."

"Well, I have to make up a choreo for this week's dance class, so I'm just gonna head out as well."

The sisters began to pack and head out, hugging you as they exited the apartment. You started to change into a black velvet tracksuit set with just a white tank top underneath, then put on some slides as you drove to the studio.

When entering the building, you checked in and went to the room to see Soobin and Jihoon chilling on the black couch. "Hey~ Welcome back," Soobin hugs you as Jihoon continues writing in his notebook. "You can't even look away from the lyrics FOR TEN SECONDS to greet me, your ass," you say as he feels a slap on his head, forcing his cap downward, causing him to sigh.

"My bad, I've been struggling with this song and must finish it by Friday."

"When are you never struggling, dude?" You question as you tie your hair up into a messy bun. With the statement, Hoon flicks you off, causing a laugh to arise. "All jokes aside, why do you need it done by Friday? You never have a deadline for your music."

"It's for Mrs. Lee's birthday party," Soobin says casually, but you grow shocked at the familiar surname. "The Lees?"

"Bada reached out to me through Instagram, telling me she wanted a mini-concert for the surprise birthday party."

You think for a second. You remembered the girl's name but had not heard it for years.

The memories of hanging out with her often were there when you were kids since your families were close, but as you grew up, both sides drifted apart for some unknown reason.

"They said we're all invited too," Jihoon states while quickly writing notes. "Is that so?" You ask, confused, but the two nod in confirmation. 

"Well, this weekend is gonna be interesting."

A WEEK BEFORE...

"So why is she coming out with us later rather than now?" Minah questions as she points at me as Bada paces around the room. "She's preparing for her mom's birthday party... Have you not been listening to her the past few weeks?" Lusher counters at the girl, pairing it with a massive eye roll.

"I have to get the invitations out and find some music," Bada mumbled, biting her lip in anxiety. "You still haven't found anyone?" Tatter asks her, and she shakes her head, "Why not try asking Park Jihoon?"

The tall dancer stares at her with a puzzled look as she shows her phone, "Park who?"

"You don't know Park Jihoon?" CheChe asks the older while thumping her forehead. "She barely knows anybody but us. What did you guys expect?" Minah points out while applying her gloss.

"Jihoon is super known on campus for his music. He has songs that aren't provocative, and he does small concerts at parties if you ask and pay him."

Kyma explains as you begin playing a few songs that didn't have the explicit next to them, and Bada admits that she found a good tracklist for the party already, plus she thought her mom would like it. "Alright, I guess I have to reach out."

She DMs Jihoon on Twitter, and thankfully, he responds within a minute.

"Well, he said yes, quick," She told the girls, and Minah shrieked. "We really get to meet Jihoon???" Lusher asks, almost as excited. "Yeah, and he says I don't even have to pay him; he just asked to bring his partners and friends."

"So strangers? Maybe you should ask him for names," Sowoen shares worryingly, and Bada agrees, going back to texting him. 

While waiting for Jihoon's list, Bada returned to her computer, checked the lists of people, and sent out invites. That was until her phone got a notification. Since Tatter had her face ID on the phone, she opened it immediately to see Jihoon's friends.

"Bada... you're gonna have to see this," Tatter tells her surprisingly, causing the other girls to look at us curiously.

She rushingly checked the DM to find a list of nine names and saw familiar ones among the eight. "Choi's? Like the ones that used to hang out with us years ago?" Tatter takes Bada's phone and checks the first user, eyes widening. "Is this the Gyuhan Minhyun-oppa used to hang out with?"

The latter grabs the phone out of her hands and looks at the page. "Holy shit, no way," as soon as Tatter connected the dots, Bada checked their names on Instagram. She kept scrolling down to see the final one. "Y/n..." The page was private, but she would always remember that girl.

"Choi Y/n??? As in, the kid you used to hang with?" Tatter asked again as she checked the phone. Bada spaced off, trying to remember my last memory with the girl.

FLASHBACK

"Okay, so we're gonna have the girls line up and hold the basket of flowers; they'll slowly make their way to the altar," the project leader told the families, and the girls could be seen in pretty dresses.

It was for a holiday at church, and the girls had to dress up and get all pretty to walk around the church. Almost all the families were there, but they were missing one. You sat next to Yunah, wearing a velvet pale yellow dress with a white cardigan, while your cousin wore a long sage green dress as Yun was taller then.

Every family was only waiting for one more group, the Lee’s. They were a well-known family who always helped with fundraisers and beauty pageants. So everyone knew that the youngest girl in their family would wear the prettiest dress by far, and they weren't wrong.

Bada Lee entered in a light blue gown-like dress that reached the floor and white mini heels. She had her hair in a braided bun and wore a light pink gloss with mascara. Sure, it was minimalistic, but everyone always found Bada cute. You, on the other hand, were already growing into her features.

You were a year older, and many boys found you attractive. After all, you were a child model at some point, which should say a lot in itself. "Y/n!"

The two hugged, and Bada sat beside the two Choi's. "You look pretty in your dress, unnie," Bada compliments, but all you can do is look down with a whinny face starting to form. "Thanks, but I already wanna rip off the dress and set it on fire."

Bada giggles, but you were so serious deep down. Being at the now, age of 12, self-identity was a struggle.

Not that you hated the dresses. You even felt pretty in them. Still, there were times when they were beginning to become uncomfortable for you.

"Girls, we need a photo of you three, please," The three smiled wide, not knowing that was the last time the two families would see each other.

PRESENT TIME

Neither you nor Bada knew why the families stopped contacting each other. To their knowledge, Bada’s parents and your aunt were close friends, but that was the only thing keeping the two connected.

"So let's do your lines, then the adlibs for this song?" Soobin's voice was snapping me out of my trance. "Yeah," you sip the bottled water and head into the booth where she stayed for almost the rest of the night.

Once the three of you finished and headed home, you opened the door to be welcomed by Jieun unnie setting up the table for dinner. Once she notices you, she rushes forward with a tight hug, "Gosh, it's been so long."

"Unnie... it's been 3 weeks," you tell her sarcastically, and she hits your shoulder with a tiny grin. "Did you call Mom while you were there?" 

You stayed silent momentarily, knowing you were about to be scolded whether or not you said the right thing. "Y/n!" "Unnie~ you know Mom is just gonna lecture me about dating a boy instead and tell me to take over the company, so why even stress myself."

She sighs, "Look, I understand speaking to her is frustrating, but one, it's not like you don't like men, and two, all you have to do is text her for her to at least know you're alive."

"I doubt she cares," you mumble as she gathers the last pot of food. Come on, let's just eat and talk about this later. 

"Wait, unnie, did you know about the Choi's party?" She nods.

"Jihoon got us all invited," Jieun takes a bite of rice and meat, not noticing the smirk on your face. "So~ you excited to see Minhyun-oppa?" She chokes a little, making you rush to give her water.

"Don't do that~" Jieun keeps hitting me as you laugh. "How about you? You were a little close with Bada when you guys were younger."

Hearing that, you pause for a second. "I honestly don't know how to feel... it's been years, and I'm 95% sure it's gonna be awkward." 

"Why do you think that?"

"Well, Bada wasn't the most outgoing either. We were both shy. She only hung out with that Tatter girl while I hung out with Yun and Ye. We only talked when we were comfortable with the people around us. I just know it's inevitable, unnie."

She nods in understanding, and you both continue to eat in comfortable silence. 

The next day, you woke up, got ready with some coffee, and headed to the studio. You, Jihoon, and Soobin were working on 2 more songs today, and you had to tweak an individual project before sending it to a large record label. And that's what was done for the next few days leading up to the party.

It was the day before the party, and Tatter went to Bada's house as usual. Bada scrolled on her phone, taking a needed break from the hectic days due to the party planning while Tatter rummaged through the girl's entire closet.

Tatter was usually content with her style, but knowing the Chois were coming put her on the edge for some reason. It seemed like everyone was becoming like that due to them.

Minhyun seemed agitated and made sure he looked good in the mirror every day since Bada told him about the family coming over. Then Sunghoon kept cleaning his room and secretly bought alcohol for him and Haechan. 

Bada seemed to be the only calm one in the house right now, not seeing what the big deal was.

"Why are you like this? It's people we used to know as kids, not celebrities or anything."

"That's what you'd think with a private Instagram," Tatter said as she walked out with one of the maxi dresses Bada owned. "But search Y/n on Twitter."

She returns to the closet, and as Bada is about to do what she is told, Minhyun stops by her room. "Does this shirt look good on me?" Bada peaks up at her older brother with a confused yet disgusted look.

"Uh, you look fine?"

"You're literally no help," Minhyun leaves disappointed. At the same time, Bada shrugs her brother's antics off and begins to search, but she finds this massive account just by typing half of your name on Twitter. She sees your partially covered profile pic, but Bada could tell you definitely grew up "nicely." 

Maybe sexy was the better word for that.

Though, no matter how hard she looked, she found no other photos of you. You shared paintings, drawings, pottery, photography, and book quotes. Still, the most significant thing was the collaborations you've done.

Bada only discovered that you were a songwriter, producer, and singer. Even working on projects with prominent artists like SZA, Labrinth, Jhené Aiko, Dani Leigh, Giveon, and Khelani.

This intrigued Bada; she never knew you were so artistic. The things you created drew her in without even noticing she was in the depths of your Twitter. "Well?" Tatter comes out with the dress of her choice and sits next to her best friend. 

"She's definitely something."

"More than something, she's sexy as hell," Bada knew Tatter was attracted to women. Still, she also knew her best friend had never pursued one. "Are you gonna make a move?"

"Nope, I'm gonna sit there, look pretty, and have her come to me," Bada shakes her head at her best friend's words, "Of course, that's your plan."

"It always works."

Well, let's just see about that.

"Yo, Y/n, what's the fit for the party?" Saerom asks, eyeing you as you stress over the wardrobe choices. Meanwhile, Mia's just chilling on the Choi’s couch, scrolling through her phone.

Mia's rocking dark blue denim shorts, a light blue long-sleeve vibe, and some killer platform sandals. Saerom, on the other hand, is flexing an ivory long-sleeved bodycon dress with off-the-shoulder action, paired with cute baby pink heels.

You, usually the style queen, are surprisingly indecisive today. "Why you lookin' so anxious?" Mia calls her out, but you keep it mysterious, not saying a word. Saerom and Mia exchange raised eyebrows, like, what's going on with you?

Finally, deciding on a fit: baggy ripped jeans, a tight-cropped white v-neck, and a Yankees jersey left unbuttoned. Mia's like, "Seriously? After all that stress, you pick something so casual? Work trip vibes, for real."

You grin, "Hey, sometimes you gotta make it look like you didn't try too hard." Saerom jumps in with a flirty smirk, "Impressive. Trying to keep it low-key, but still looking fine."

You fire back, "Well, what can I say?" Saerom chuckles, "If that's the case, I wanna steal you away for tonight." You laugh, "You know I'd let you, babes," you tell her, slightly joking.

You look at Saerom with a slick gaze. The flirting is nothing new. Mia then gags at the sight, "Can you two like not? At least not until we get to the party?"

You laugh and change, then slip into some air forces, "Are you ready to see her?" Saerom asks. She knew Bada existed in my life, but they were never friends.

As you were in your head, your phone began to ring, and you saw that Yena was calling me. "Yo, wassup?"

"Tell me how I saw Tatter at the store, and we didn't have the greatest interaction," you were taken aback, "THE Tatter? As in Bada’s other half, Tatter?"

"YES, what other Tatter is there?"

"Wait, so what happened?" You went to the kitchen to get a drink and sat on the bar stool. "So I was picking up some iced coffee for Yun and me when I was waiting for my order, and she walked in. Bro, I tried to be friendly, say hi, and ask her how she's been... SHE LOOKED AT ME UP AND DOWN, MADE A DISGUSTED FACE, AND THEN SHE RESPONDS 'I've been fine,' IN THE SNARKIEST TONE IVE EVER HEARD."

You reacted in disgust and scoffed, "Ew, dude." "I KNOW, RIGHT?"

"Just don't talk to her at the party later," You try to reason with her, but all she says is, "I wasn't planning on it," making you laugh. "Alright, I'll see you later, girlie." "Bye~"

You head back into the room and find Saerom applying lip gloss in front of the modern vanity, "What was that all about? I literally heard Yena screaming from all the way here."

"Apparently, she saw Bada's best friend, and it wasn't the greatest interaction." "Oh, what happened?" Mia perks up, loving to hear some tea. When you told them the situation, both of their faces went sour. "Ew."

"That's exactly what I said," you tell them, giggling at the similar reactions. "Makes me not want to go to that party, honestly," Saerom says.

"Hey, she's not gonna be the only one there. Maybe you can hook up with one of her friends," You tease Saerom, and she scoffs. "Please, you know there is only one person who knows how to please me, right," she raises her brow, and you reciprocate the same look, causing Mia to groan, "Ugh, not again, guys."

As the party was already beginning, Bada and her brothers were helping Jihoon set up the stage and equipment. He was the first out of his friends because he wanted to ensure there were no technical difficulties.

"You think appa is doing a good job distracting eomma?" Sunghoon asks his older siblings. "I mean, she hasn't texted us yet, so that's saying something," Bada tells the two, and they laugh in agreement. 

"Yo, Soobin and Jaeseok are here. I need to help them get the setup out of the car," Jihoon tells us, walking through the driveway gate. 

"So~ You guys ready for the Chois?" Minhyun oppa asks us. "I'm ready for the chaos they're probably gonna bring," Sunghoon smirks. "Kinda ready for some drama, too," Bada shrugs. 

"Hey, girl~" Bada looks at the entrance to see her friends walking in with gifts in their hands, "Hey guys, just put everything on that table over there."

Soobin and Jaeseok begin to walk in with large boxes, with Jihoon behind them carrying Mics. "Hey, Soobin and Jaeseok," I say with a wave, and the two boys smile. "Wassup Bada," Soobin greets her with a hug while Jaeseok looks at her, "You grew up nicely, puppy," This causes Soobin to elbow him.

"Don't mind him. It's just Jae being Jae," Bada laughs at this cause of the nickname and knowing Jaeseok never changed as a child. "So when are your cousins getting here?" Minhyun oppa asks as he greets Soobin with a bro hug. "They should be here in about 30 minutes. Maybe 10 for Haechan. The dude can never resist being early to a party."

"He better get here soon 'cause I have whiskey in my room, and it's waiting for him," Sunghoon butts in. Bada rolls her eyes, and the girls help us set up to help with the time.

By our hour deadline, everything was finished, and family began to roll in. Bada went inside to prepare while Sunghoon and Minhyun oppa entertained the guests. 

She wore a plaid mini-skirt, a baby pink tee, a white denim jacket due to the breeze, and some plain sneakers. Then, she styled her hair in a simple high ponytail to complete the outfit. 

As she returned to the living room, Bada saw all the girls waiting for her, and Tatter excitedly ran up. "They're here. I REPEAT they're here." She moves over to the window in the front and sees two cars with a group coming out of each. That's when her eyes landed on the familiar individual.

As if on queue, her heart begins to race, and the palms of her hands get sweaty. You were even prettier than I imagined you to be... also taller than she thought.

No way she was gonna survive this day without having a tiny panic attack.

The Chois enter through the back, greeted by some Lee family members. "Holy shit, is that who I think it is?" The cousins hear a familiar voice and turn to the backyard door to see the infamous Lee Sunghoon. 

"Yo, Hoon! What's up?" Haechan gives him a bro hug. "Dude, long time no see," you greet him with a small hug, "Don't mind me, gonna help Jihoon with final touches."

Sunghoon stares as you walk away and turns back to Haechan, "Bro, she's so fine now." 

Haechan's face goes sour, "That's literally my cousin. Shut up, please." "Besides, she likes women more than men," Yena perks up and kills Sunghoon's mood slightly. "You were always so fun, Ye," both give each other a sarcastic smile. "See, that's why Yunah was my favorite."

"You're not my favorite, though," she butts in again, killing Sunghoon's mood. "I'm hurt."

Jaeseok laughs at the interaction, but before anyone can say anything, Bada and her friends come out, and she rushes to the mic. "Guys, eomma is coming home with appa in a minute. So we would appreciate it if you guys get ready to surprise them."

You look to the front of the stage and see the middle child. Safe to say, you were mesmerized by Bada. You couldn't help but check the girl out as she gave the announcement. "Take a picture. It'll last longer," Jieun says as she sips her juice. "I just might," the latter smirked, causing her older sister to choke on the drink and elbow her. "OUCH."

Everyone began to hide, and as people heard the more mature voices, they all got ready in anticipation. "Oh, jagi, did the kids do this for me?" A woman's voice could be heard, and that's when everyone pops out.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" The Lee couple comes into everyone's view, and tears can be seen in Mrs. Lee's eyes. Once she sees this, Bada runs up to her mom for a hug while her siblings are behind her. 

This puts a smile on your face, a daughter with a loving mother. Something you wish you had at times. The family then tells everyone to enjoy themselves and go eat. 

You then go over to the family and greet their mother with a happy birthday. "Oh my gosh, Choi Y/n? How has the family been?" You smile as you hug her. "My cousins and I have been good, but I'm unsure about my eomma and ajumani." Before the older woman could reply, Jihoon called you over for the song that had to be performed. 

"You're gonna sing for me?" Mrs. Lee gets excited and smiles as you nod. "Well, come get a drink later and catch up with Bada." She hugs her daughter, causing you to grin, and says, "I'd like that." 

Bada's face forms a rosiness at the seductive tone and lingering gaze. 

You hop on stage and smile at the crowd, "Hello, I'm Choi Y/n, and today I'll perform 'Longevity' with my cousin Soobin and best friend Jihoon."

The youngsters crowd around the stage and jam out as Bada joins her friends. "Did you know she can sing?" Kyma asks while jamming, "No, actually."

"Well, she's hella good, too," Lusher says as she jumps. The Lee couldn't agree more with her. Your voice had a raspiness to it, and she noticed Tatter looked like she was about to eat you up. 

After a few songs, you and Jihoon stopped as Bada, her friends, her twin, and the Choi cousins went inside to drink since the party in the yard was full of kids and older adults.

The two singers walk in, and the group cheers for them, "You guys were sick as always," Soobine tells them. "Thanks, Binnie." You make a rum and coke, then greet Bada with a wave. "How are you?"

"I've been good," the two give each other a quick side hug, and Bada whiffs your fruit-like scent. You sit near her and beside Yunah, while Tatter sits beside Bada. Jieun, Minhyun, and some older friends were still outside with other guests, not wanting to be with the "youngins."

You all chat a little, even catching up with Bada. The multiple topics discussed led to talk about school. "You're in uni, right? What are you majoring in?"

"English," Y/n pauses, "You seem more like a performing arts kinda girl, no?" 

Bada thinks, "I could be pursued to change majors." You smirked at her and were about to tell her how fun it was, but you got a call. Seeing the name causes you to roll your eyes, "Sorry, let me take this call."

You walk out the front door and answer the call, "Yes, eomma?"

"So you weren't even going to invite us to that party?" You scoff and furrow your brows. "It's not my party to invite you to; only Jihoon invited us."

"You're still hanging out with that lazy no future singer? I told you several times to stop being friends with him."

"And I've told you you can't control me like your puppet many times. If that's all you called me for, I will go."

"Wait, Y/n, I'm not finished-" you immediately hung up. The wave of anger washes over you, and you take a puff of the flavored smoke.

"Isn't it bad for a singer to smoke?" You hear a voice behind you, and you turn to surprisingly see Tatter walking over to you. "Eh, I'll manage."

"So~ You did amazing out there, by the way." "Thanks." You cut short, seeing her twirl a strand of hair around her finger. She gives you these seductive eyes, "So, are you seeing anyone right now?"

"Uh, no?" You shift slightly, remembering not liking the story Yena told me about their interaction. "Well, do you maybe wanna go out sometime?"

"No, thank you."

Tatter moves back in shock, "Wha- what, why?"

"Not really looking for anything right now," You make up on the spot, and she smirks, "This could be a casual thing?"

"Again, no, thank you," you head back into the house, leaving her there. As you sat back in my seat, Tatter was storming into the house, angrily making her way up the stairs to the second floor. Bada's face is painted in concern, "let me go check up on her."

After she leaves your side, you decide to get food with Yena and catch up with Gyuhan and Minhyun. As you ate some noodles, Bada came out and said, "Hey, can I talk to you for a second?"

She pulls you to the side as you continue to eat, "Can I ask what happened between you and Tatter? She told me not to worry about it, but I just wanted to ensure it was all good."

"Your friend tried to make a move on me, and I said no," you say bluntly. "Sorry to say, but my cousin and her didn't have the best interaction, and I didn't want to deal with that."

"That's fair, actually. I thought it was worse than that."

"Sorry about her, though," you wave her off as if it wasn't her fault. "Wait, you like girls?" You pause at the sudden question, "Yeah." 

"How'd you know?" You stare at Bada for a few seconds, "Are you questioning your sexuality, Bada?"

She plays with her hands in nervousness, "Kind of." You smile at her, "And that's okay. You have to go through with it yourself. Someone usually makes you realize it, though."

"I see," she thinks for a second, "We should go back to drink a little bit."

"Sure," you giggle at her nervousness.

After a few hours, everyone had a few drinks, and you could tell Bada was feeling it as her flirtiness became bolder after every sip of the alcohol. She would caress your arm if you made a joke, stare at your eyes and lips, biting her lips after her little giggles.

It almost drove you mad.

You excuse yourself to use the bathroom and go upstairs. After doing your business, you washed my hands. You heard a knock on the door, "Hold on!"

As you dry your hands, you open the door to find Bada rushing inside. "I need to know if I like girls now."

You stood there shocked, almost not knowing what to say, "How do you want me to help you?"

The two of you stood there for a few seconds as you waited for an answer when suddenly Bada grabbed your face and aggressively kissed you.

Your eyes widened open in shock. You couldn't reciprocate fast enough as she pulled away. "Are you not okay with this? Like I can always stop-"

Without another thought, you pulled her in by the waist as your lips attacked hers. Your bodies generate some heat, and you carry her hips to set her on the sink counter. 

"I've been waiting for this ever since I walked through that gate," you mumble into her lips. You feel a smirk form on her lips and think more devious because of this. Your tongue made its way to hers, showing clear dominance as it played with hers. The wet feeling makes it difficult for either of you to keep your hands off each other.

Bada moaned at the feeling, grinding her hips onto your body as she pulled you closer, wrapping her arms around your neck. Your hands placed themselves on her waist, and Bada almost whimpered at the feeling of your grip. You bit down on her bottom lip, slightly, and moved your way to her neck.

The girl bit her lip, trying to keep in any whimpers or moans that could possibly leave her mouth, trying to make the least amount of noise. Your hands were about to unbutton her skirt, but you paused as you both heard Tatter's voice outside the bathroom, making you pull away slightly. "Will your friend be okay with this?" 

"She doesn't have to know," Bada says, causing you to smirk. "I didn't know you were so naughty, Bada," you teased, and she smiled.

You help her fix up, knowing people would look for you two. You adjust Bada's top with your long fingers, pulling the shirt down a little as she stares at herself in the mirror. "Well, did I help answer if you liked girls?"

"Oh, most definitely."

Fun Fact: this was originally a Yeji fic🙈.

Taglist (OPEN): @bada-lee-ily @froufrousnowman @amararosesblog @tikitsune @nimixe @lorenztired @sammybeefangirls @cephox @1luvkarina

[jellysmudge]

what are your teen mom and bro headcanons. im obsessed with them

TEEHEE ok *rubs my hands together like a fly* lets see what do i havee

CW for mentions of alcohol;

- They grew up in a series of parochial (Catholic) boarding schools. Its a popular headcannon that they were in an orphanage, which I love, but orphanages were pretty much completely out of fashion by the 1960s, and are usually replaced with foster care. Because I wanted them to have grown up consistently around each other, a boarding school was the best option (which also happens though it isn’t as common as foster care). They had, of course, all the baggage you could expect from this.

-Bro resented his upbringing from the moment he was old enough to notice that there were other options and start using critical thinking. He wanted out more than anything. Mom thought that as long as she wasn’t alone, everything would be okay. It was all that mattered to her.

- These two were the Troubled Teen ARCHETYPE!!! Their idea of a fun activity was one of them causing a diversion so the other could steal from a convenience store.

- Mom’s drinking started early, same as Roxy. It started with communion wine, and escalated. After it became a pattern, Bro would sneak into the girls’ dorms and hide any alcohol he found in her area so she wouldn’t be punished, and try to get her sober. He loved her very much, but over time, came to resent this.

- Mom thought that Bro’s obsession with puppets was creepy as hell (as she should). She hated Cal.

- They snuck out All. The. Time. They both had hidden stashes of things they weren’t meant to have. Mom had a couple of handheld games taped to the bottom of her bedframe. Idk what Bro had but yknow what. As I’m typing this I’m realizing that it was probably porn. I guess.

- Bro would climb the side of the building to get to his room after sneaking out and would physically fight anyone who tried to rat him out.

Uhhhhh I think thats all for now lmaoo. I definitely have more, but here are some I had off the top of my head. Also drawing

[up-in-flames-writing]

I feel like we never talk about how hard it is to be a trans immigrant. We never talk about how escaping from a country that persecutes you does not free you from suffering & bigotry.

I may not be able to attend my own graduation ceremony. I worked so hard these past three years to achieve something, to be the first person in my immediate family to finish uni, get a degree, & then be able to actually do something with it, to pick my own life course & not stray from it. I reinvented myself during these last three years so much, from the shy, dysphoric kid with no friends to a man who maybe isn't doing the best in life, but who has a hope for the future. I worked hard to present myself in the best way I could, & yet I won't be able to see the fruits of my labours.

And, sure, the reason is real silly. I can't legally change my name, so the name on the degree will be my dead one, & the Vice Chancellor will read out the corpse of my old self in front of all my teachers & peers, everyone who knew me as Booker, & Booker alone. And they will expect to see a young lady in a dress climb the stage, only to be met with a boy who isn't quite a man yet, who is still forced to live under a girl's name.

And why? Why! Because I am an immigrant who feared for my young life when Brexit was happening, who has been teased & bullied for being an ESL student, who never quite belonged. Because I am an immigrant transman who could be imprisoned in my country of birth for the crime of wanting to reinvent myself, who has to walk on eggshells around the man who reared me because he grew up Polish & catholic & who knows how he would react if I told him I was his grandson & not his granddaughter. I am an immigrant who has to hide behind their parents because who knows how my extended family will react to me, who is still not allowed to tell his cousin, his little sister whom he adores, his real name despite the fact I was her age when I started questioning my own gender & I somehow wasn't too young to be in pain!

I am an immigrant who cannot safely return home, but the country that took me in isn't quite the safe haven either. Because I need a passport to prove that my name has changed, but a passport cannot be issued to me under a name my birth country does not approve of. Because to change myself fully, I need to become a citizen to a country that abandoned my homeland after the war & looked away when it was being subjugated during it. Because I need to know how many of the swans in London belong to the Crown for the state to consider me a citizen of this dying empire, despite the fact I've lived here for so long, I can't remember what my childhood home back in Poland even looked like! I cannot truly remember what my room in that flat in a small, backwater Polish town looked like anymore, except for the bed that we now have in our guest bedroom, & the bookshelf that cradles all of my books on transness & queerness & feminism.

Because I am an immigrant from a country who hates me, I am forced to live in a country that hardly tolerates me, & to live as my true self I have to subjugate myself for the sake of an old empire that lost its touch. I have to submit myself to a personal sort of colonisation, to be able to walk onto that stage at graduation with my real name on the degree. But I can't do that, because I don't have the money, because I spent the last three years breaking my back proving to people that the little girl with behavioural problems who was always bullied, was able to become something greater than the sum of her parts. Because I now don't have the time or the patience to tell you exactly when the Union Jack was created, or at what hour of the day is tea time, & I don't have the time to wait for a passport to be sent to me, only for me to return it to sender with a plea of changing my name upon it.

Because my transmacs friends in college had their names changed at sixteen, while I'm already done with my undergrad & still have to contend with the question of what citizenship I would rather have. Because I will sooner be on hormones & growing a beard than I will be able to change my name.

And in all this I find it so ironic that I was named after an angel, & like everything else in my life, I reject the goodness & the easy way out, I reject the things that once made me, me, to become my own god & rebuild myself out of the scraps left behind by a life of turmoil.

And still I am just some immigrant bitch stealing jobs from good, hardworking Britons, & I'm still just a transsexual fag taking women's rights away, & I'm still just some freak of nature manipulating the kids into sin & immorality. And no matter where I go, where I turn to, I don't feel all that angelic at all.

[cherry-holmes]

Glimpse of a life with Javier Peña

Chapter 16

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Javi and you are back, but the past seems to hunt you. When is this going to end?

SERIES MASTERLIST

Previous chapter

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word count: +5k

Warnings: Angst. Family issues. Mention of father abandonment. Reader’s mother is a b!tch.

A/N: So, we’re moving closer to the end🥲 Stay tune for next chapters! Thank you so much for reading! Hope you like this and can’t wait to read your comments😁

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Fourteen years ago, when Javier ran away from his own wedding with Lorraine, he thought he would never consider getting engaged again. The betrayal he inflicted on Lorraine haunted him, and he couldn't shake off the guilt and shame of breaking her heart. It wasn't that he didn't believe in marriage; in fact, he grew up admiring his parents' strong bond. However, after what happened with Lorraine, he felt like marriage wasn't meant for him.

But now, as he watched you get dressed after making love to you, he felt the urge to look for his mother's engagement ring he had brought with him from Laredo. He didn't, though. Javier wanted to make a formal proposal, after asking your grandfather for your hand. He hadn't decided yet whether he wanted to do it during a dinner at your house surrounded by your family, at a fancy restaurant, or perhaps during a romantic getaway.

Javier knew he wanted it to be special, a moment you would remember forever. Deep down, he couldn't wait to see the look of joy and surprise on your face when he popped the question again, showing you how serious he was. Proposing to you in a hotel bed, right after you both had sex, so randomly, wasn't exactly what he had intended in the first place.

As you tied the waist ties of your dress, he came closer from behind, wrapping his arms around your torso and pulling you slightly up as he absorbed your aroma, hiding his face in your hair. You giggled, feeling the warmth of his body pressed against your back. He was broader and taller than you, and the thought that he could do whatever he wanted with you made your heart flutter in your chest and below.You turned around in his arms, facing him with a smile. His gaze met yours, filled with tenderness and adoration. Without a word, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

His arms tightened around you as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. "You're too good for me," he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. "I can't wait to be your husband," he groaned, placing a wet kiss on the sensitive skin.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you held him close. "And I can't wait to be your wife," you whispered, planting a soft kiss on the top of his head.

He lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours with adoration. "I love you," he promised, as his lips met yours again. His hands held you close as his tongue explored your mouth. You let out a soft moan as you tasted his warm tongue, eliciting a low groan from him.

"We should leave right now before we end up back under the sheets," you murmured against his lips as you both pulled apart to catch your breath.

"Hmm," he purred softly from his chest, his broad hands cupping your ass as he pulled you closer to him. "I wouldn't mind spending a couple more hours; I already paid for the night."

As you stepped back, Javier reluctantly released his hold on you. "As tempting as that sounds," you said, placing your tiny hand on his warm, broad chest to create some distance between you, "we have to get to my house before someone suspects we're up to something improper."

He didn't want to sound sexist, but there was something alluring about the idea of being the one to have taken you to bed, as you had chosen him as your first and only lover.

Javier understood the weight of the expectations and traditions of a Catholic Mexican family, like yours. Growing up in a conservative environment in south Texas, he was familiar with similar ideas about such matters. Your modesty was expected to remain intact until marriage. Yet, behind closed doors, you had entrusted him with your body and soul, and he felt honored to protect you.

Maybe he wasn't the one to talk about prudishness or promiscuity. He wouldn't care if you had been with others before him; he would respect that. But knowing you were only his... Fuck, it was something else. It wasn't about ownership or control; it was about cherishing what was his, treasuring the trust you place in him, and feeling grateful that you chose him above anyone else.

He gazed at you with his captivating damn puppy brown eyes, a slight pout forming on his lips as he leaned in to place a peck on your lips. It took all your willpower not to push him back onto the mattress again.

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Javier was a tough man. As an ex-DEA agent, he had faced death and violence firsthand. Years of searching and hunting down bad guys had shaped the man he was, with his critical and cold demeanor.

However, the mere thought of facing your grandfather to ask for your hand in marriage made him feel more anxious than any operation he had ever undertaken during his days in the DEA. The weight of this step, the importance of gaining your family's approval, weighed heavily on his shoulders.

His hands were sweating around the steering wheel, and he prayed you wouldn't notice. He couldn't help but wonder if your family would welcome him with open arms or if he would meet resistance. He feared what your family might think about his past. Surely you had told them about his job, and his anxiety had him thinking about the kind of immoral things he did more than any great achievements he might have accomplished on duty, if there were any. Not even he could see what those achievements might be. He only saw death and violence in the years he spent in Colombia. He felt his hands stained with blood, both innocent and guilty.

"Javi?" your voice brought him out of his stupor abruptly. "It's green," you added, pointing at the traffic light.

Then he remembered he was driving. "Shit," he murmured as he saw a car behind him and started driving again.

"Is everything alright?" you asked him, concern in your voice.

Javier took a deep breath, trying to compose himself before answering you. "Yeah, everything's fine," he replied, forcing a smile. "Just lost in thought for a moment."

You remained silent for a moment, looking at his side profile while he continued the way you got him to get to your house.

"Listen, I know perhaps everything is happening too fast... I mean, the engagement..." you began, captivating his attention immediately.

His hand reached for your leg, squeezing with reassurance but a hint of worry. "Why? Don't you want to get engaged now?" Javier's voice held concern, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

"No, it's not that," you reassured him. "I just want to make sure you're comfortable with everything. This is a big step... it's a lot to process, especially with everything that happened."

Javier nodded, understanding your perspective. "I'm nervous, yes," he admitted. "But not because I have doubts about us. I just want everything to go smoothly, especially with your family."

You reached your hand, gently caressing the curled hair at the back of his head. "They'll love you," you assured him. "Everything will be fine."

He glanced at you, a softness in his gaze that made your heart flutter. However, little did he know, you were very nervous too. Not because of your sisters or your abuelo, but because of your mother. You knew her well, knew how she could be judgmental, especially over you. The thought of introducing Javier to her, knowing about his past, sent a wave of anxiety through you. Javi was already nervous, so you didn't want to add more weight on him. You decided not to say anything about your mother to him and hoped for the best.

Your family was spending Sunday evening like any other Regiomontana* family: children playing together, running all over the garden; your sisters and mother chatting and gossiping at the garden table; and your brothers-in-law and abuelo gathered around the grill making carne asada.

You intertwined your fingers with Javi's, guiding him to the backyard. As you approached the gathering, the chatter and laughter grew louder. Your sisters noticed your arrival and waved enthusiastically, beckoning you both to join them. Javier's expression was a mix of curiosity and nervousness, but he managed a polite smile.

"Here come the lovebirds," your sister Silvia sang out, teasing you gently. You couldn't help but blush with a mix of amusement and embarrassment, feeling like a teenager bringing home her first boyfriend.

Your sisters welcomed Javier and called their children to welcome you both as well. Even your brothers-in-law approached to greet him and invited him to join them around the grill with a beer. You knew how much Javi liked to drink, but as it was the first time he met your family, he didn't want to accept it. However, your abuelo stood up from the grill and walked over to greet Javier. "Bienvenido, Javier," he said warmly, offering an open beer. "It's good to finally meet you."

Javier didn't have a choice but to take it, but he looked just a little bit more confident. "Gracias, señor," he replied, his nerves easing slightly in the presence of your kind-hearted grandfather.

With a warm sensation, you watched as your brothers-in-law and grandfather guided Javi to the grill, including him in their chatter. You, on the other hand, joined your sisters at the garden table to chat.

Silvia and Sara didn't waste time sharing their positive impressions of Javi, mentioning how handsome he was, even more so than the couple of pictures you had shown them, and how polite he seemed to be.

Sara leaned in with a mischievous grin. "He seems like a keeper," she teased, nudging you playfully.

"I hope so," you replied with a shy smile.

You fought the impulse to tell them about Javi's marriage proposal, considering it better to wait. After all, he hadn't given you a ring yet. You told yourself that it wouldn't kill you to keep the secret until the real proposal came. You didn't know when that would be, as it was up to Javi to prepare something special. However, the mere thought of Javier kneeling in front of you with an engagement ring made your heart and stomach flutter.

However, your mother, who had been observing the situation with her characteristic judgmental gaze, which you tried to ignore to avoid ruining your day, couldn't contain herself any longer and jumped in to ask, "Where have you both been?"

Your heart sank slightly at your mother's abrupt question, knowing that her tone held more suspicion than genuine curiosity. You knew she knew, somehow, that you just had sex with Javier. You felt an ephemeral anger with yourself for being so affected by what your mother might think about you. After all, you were an adult, and Javier was your boyfriend. Whether or not you were intimate with him wasn't your mother's or anyone else's business. But she would always be your mother, and you never completely get rid of that inner need to have her approval.

"We went for a walk and talked about some issues that concern us," you answered, trying to keep the tone light despite sensing the tension.

Your mother's eyes narrowed slightly, her lips forming a disapproving line. "Just a talk?" she queried, her tone implying that she expected a more elaborate explanation. You recognized that look in her eyes, the one charged with judgment that she had given you since you entered adolescence. It had haunted you for years. Sometimes you wondered if the decision to remain chaste was yours or if it was something she had planted in your subconscious.

You felt a surge of frustration and a familiar sense of defensiveness rising within you. "Yes, just that," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

The atmosphere around the garden table grew tense, with an unspoken tension hanging in the air. Your sisters exchanged knowing glances, sensing the brewing storm between you and your mother.

Little did you knew, it was just the beginning.

Silvia, always the peacemaker, attempted to diffuse the situation. "Mom, come on, they were just enjoying each other after being apart for so long. Can't we just be happy for them?"

Your mother's gaze softened momentarily, but the disapproval lingered. "I just worry about you, hija," she sighed, her voice carrying a mix of concern and frustration. "I hope you're being careful," she added, her voice laced with a hint of warning.

You felt a mix of annoyance and resignation at her comment, a familiar pang of frustration at her overbearing nature. "Of course, mom," you replied, trying to keep your tone neutral.

"You know how things can turn out when emotions run high."

You swallowed the retort that threatened to escape your lips. This wasn't the time or place for a confrontation, especially in front of Javier and the rest of the family. You forced a smile, masking your inner turmoil.

Silvia and Sara changed the subject, which you thanked. A couple of hours passed until the men started taking the grilled meat to the table. Your sisters called their children, and everyone sit around the table. You helped Javi serve everything that was on the table. He seemed a little nervous but in a good way about eating for the first time with your family. However, everyone was being nice to him. Your sisters asked him if he liked the meat and the guacamole, and your brothers-in-law included him in a conversation they apparently had at the steakhouse.

You could sense your mother's eyes on you at times, judging you for bringing your boyfriend to the family dinner.

Everything seemed to go well, even your abuelo exchanged some chattering with Javi. But of course, your mother has other plans.

"So, Javi," your mother said suddenly as she poured orange juice into her glass. "How was Washington?"

"Mamá," you warned her, sighing inwardly, already anticipating where this conversation might lead.

She looked at you with an innocent expression, shrugging. "I just want to know how everything ended," she justified herself. Then, she turned to your abuelo, taking his arm. "Did you know Javi was in Washington because he had legal problems in Colombia?"

Your grandfather looked at you and then at Javier, a expression mixed with confusion and concern. You never tell him about Javi's problems with the DEA, because you didn't want you grandpa to have a misconception of the man you love.

Javier was a hero for you, and you wanted everyone to see him as it too.

Javier's jaw tightened as he kept his eyes on his plate. If your blood had been boiling all evening, now you were sure it evaporate by now.

"I don't think it's s necessary to mention every detail of Javi's work, mamá, " you replied calmly, although everyone could sense the tension in your voice.

Your mother's gaze shifted back to you, her expression unreadable. "I just want to make sure everything's fine if you're going to spend some time with this man," she repeated, her tone laced with a touch of disapproval.

"His name's Javier, not 'this man,'" you interjected quickly. "And we're not just 'spending some time.' He's my fiancé. You don't have to accept it, but please don't interfere in my life."

You felt Javi's knee against yours, a silent gesture of support. The rest of the table leaned in, eager to confirm what you had just said.

"Are you going to get married?" your sisters asked in unison, a mix of surprise and excitement in their voices.

You nodded, and Javi's hand gently found yours, offering reassurance. You smiled tenderly at him.

"Really?" your mother's skepticism was evident in her voice. "I don't see any ring."

"He just asked me; it was kind of improvised," you responded, your voice filled with sweet emotion.

"I see," she said, then added through clenched teeth, "I hope he doesn't use the same."

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, fed up with your mother's attempts to annoy you. However, something about her tone and choice of words caught your attention. Unable to predict what was coming next, you asked, "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, you didn't know?" your mother's voice dripped with false concern. "As I told you, I'm concerned about who you're with."

"Dad, do you remember Aunt Laura from Laredo?" she continued, and your grandfather's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Well, Laredo isn't that big, and Aunt Laura has a lot of free time."

Your abuelo nodded, starting to put the pieces together. She pressed on, "Did you know Javi was engaged?" her tone smug yet probing. "He was. What was her name? Lorraine?"

Your heart sinking at the turn the conversation had taken. "He left her at the altar," your mother declared triumphantly, as if that settled the matter.

You glanced at Javi, a mix of surprise and confusion in your eyes. "Javi?" you asked, turning to him for clarification.

Javi's expression darkened slightly, a shadow of concern crossing his features. "Yes," he admitted. However, he tightened his grip on your hand, yet still gently, as he looked into your eyes and softly called your name. "I can explain everything..."

Your mother's eyes widened with a gleam of satisfaction in them. "See, honey? I'm just looking out for you. You wouldn't want history to repeat itself, would you?"

"Mom, I don't think this is the best place for them to talk about that," your sister Silvia interjected, but your mother was determined to ruin your day.

"Silvia is right, mom, please," Sara added. "This isn't the most appropriate time for such a conversation."

Both of them were trying to save you as you felt like you were drowning in a pool of confusion and humiliation. Everything seemed to spin around you. Even Javi's touch felt like it was burning your skin. When is this going to end?

Ignoring your sisters' advice, your mother persisted, her voice dripping with disdain. "Sara, dear, I'm just making sure your sister knows what she's getting into. After all, we wouldn't want another broken engagement, would we?"

Javi's grip on your hand tightened slightly, a mix of frustration and determination in his eyes. "Please, let me explain," he said, his voice calm but firm. You looked into his eyes once more, feeling your heart ache at the sight of your crystallized eyes.

Your grandfather, who had been silently observing, cleared his throat and spoke up. "Enough," he said, his gaze stern as he looked at your mother. "This is not the time or place for this discussion. Let them sort it out themselves."

You could sense everyone's eyes on you, and you couldn't even look up. Not even at Javier, who was trying to reach you and explain everything. He didn't care about explaining himself to your family—at least not for now; his priority was you. Javi didn't want you to have doubts about him or to question his commitment to you.

How did your mother actually find out about Lorraine? That witch... You had talked about her many times, how judgmental and manipulative she was towards her daughters, especially you, but you didn't imagine she was as bad as that.

Suddenly, you stood up and hurried inside the house. Javier quickly followed suit, calling your name. But you didn't listen; you found your way to the second floor, to your bedroom, and slammed the door behind you.

Javier knocked on the door desperately, calling your name over and over again. He couldn't lose you over this; he needed to explain everything to you. There he was, his past haunting him again.

As he stood outside the closed door, he heard your muffled sobs from within. His heart sank at the sound, a knot forming in his chest and stomach.

"Please, amor," he pleaded softly. "Let me in. I need to explain everything to you."

Just then, he saw your sisters walking through the hallway, their expressions filled with concern.

"I'm so sorry," Sara said to him. "I love her, but our mother can be very controlling at times."

Javier sighed heavily, feeling a mixture of frustration and concern. Inside the room, your sobs had quieted down slightly.

Silvia knocked on the door once more, calling you by the sweet nickname she used to call you when you were little. Maybe you would listen to her. "Don't give mom the satisfaction of seeing you like this. You know her; this is what she wanted."

Silence greeted their pleas. The three of them exchanged looks, silently questioning what to do next.

Sara spoke first, "We should give her a moment; she'll..." but she didn't finish her sentence.

The air suddenly filled with the sound of things falling and glass breaking. Without hesitation, Javier pushed past your sisters and tried to open the door forcefully, slamming his palm against the wood and calling your name in desperation.

"I'm going to break down the door!" he warned, stepping back as your sisters looked at the door with anticipation.

It was easy for him to open the door, pushing it with strength using his arm. When the door cracked open, the three of them rushed inside. Your room looked like a war zone. Items from your vanity were either lying around or on the floor, and your clothes were piled on your bed along with a pair of opened briefcases. You were kneeling in front of your closet, throwing every pair of shoes behind you. One of them had hit a mirror, causing it to break.

As they entered the chaotic scene of your room, Javier's heart sank. He called your name again, gently, his voice laced with concern as he approached you slowly.

You turned to look at him, tears streaming down your face. "I can't do this anymore, Javi," you whispered, your voice trembling. "She's so mean... Why does she have to be like this? She's my mother, why can't she be happy for me for once in her life?"

He kneeled on the floor with you and pulled you into his chest. He felt relief when you didn't push him back but clutched your fists in his shirt and muffled your cries into his chest. Your sisters stood at the doorway, exchanging worried glances.

"Shhh," he whispered into your ear, the warmth of his breath soothing you. "It's okay, bonita."

You pulled apart, wiping your tears with the palm of your hands. Your makeup was already ruined, but you couldn't care less about it. Looking up at your sisters, you asked, "Can you give us a moment? Please." They nodded and assured you they would be downstairs.

After they left, Javier and you stayed on the floor in silence for a couple of minutes. He was trying to find the right words, afraid of saying the wrong thing and making things worse.

"Bonita, I... Please, listen to me," he whispered, his brown eyes softened with concern as he reached out for you.

"Don't worry, we'll talk about it later," you interrupted gently, standing up to walk towards your bed and starting to pack your belongings. "I'm leaving," you said, your voice still filled with emotion. "Please, take me to Laredo with you right now," you begged.

Though he hadn't expected this particular request, he was relieved it was something manageable.

"Of course," he said, nodding. "Of course, baby, whatever you want."

You asked him to help you gather your things, packing everything that could fit into your briefcases and a backpack. You didn't have many things, actually, as you seemed still trapped in Colombia. Since you came back to Mexico, you didn't attempt to settle down, to make your life. You still have the same things you had from your years working in Colombia, like you always knew something you would leave that house with Javi.

When you both finished, he followed you downstairs, carrying the briefcases with him. You were in the middle of the stairs when you already heard your mother arguing with your sisters about how inconsiderate and unfair she was towards you.

With your head held high, you finished descending the stairs. Your brothers-in-law and your grandfather were still outside, making sure the children finished eating while the women tried to contain the situation.

Their eyes were on you as they understood what was going on. Your sisters weren't that surprised, as they already saw the mess on you bedroom. You mother, on the other hand, looked like she was about to explode with rage.

"Where do you think you're going, señorita?" she demanded, her tone laced with disapproval and authority.

"I'm going with Javi to Laredo," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, but the anger was evident.

Your mother's eyes narrowed, her lips forming a tight line. "Absolutely not," she stated firmly. "You're not going anywhere."

"Por favor, mamá, you have to stop," you insisted tiredly, as if you had heard her a million times before. "Stop trying to control my life."

"I do because you're my daughter, and I care about who you're involved with," your mother added.

Javier wasn't sure if it was because of what he had heard from you about her, but he could sense a condescending tone in her voice, almost hypocritical.

"You don't care about me; you only care about what others might say about the family," you answered, the tears had returned to your eyes, and you fought the knot on your throat.

"You think you know what's best for you, but you're just naive," she said sharply, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. "Leaving home without getting married, disgracing our family name with your reckless behavior. You're lucky your grandfather had some sense to help you, but don't think for a moment that I approve of your choices."

You felt a pang of hurt at her words, the old wounds reopening as her harsh judgment echoed in your ears. Javi clenched his fists, the urge to intervene almost overwhelming as he struggled to maintain his composure.

"I may not agree with all of your decisions, but I will always love you," your mother continued, her tone made her words feel unreliable. "But don't expect me to condone your actions or accept that man you're involved with. This man may seem charming now, but I know what kind of man he is, and you'll see that in time too."

"You don't know him, mom. Javier is not my father," you said firmly, your voice tinged with frustration. "Don't pretend you know Javi."

There was a tense silence after that. Your sisters had widened their eyes, a constellation of memories washing the four of you as a bucket of cold water. No one else but you, your mother and your sisters knew better how was living with your father.

"I don't understand what your father has to do with all this," your mother said, her tone clearly hiding hurt and nervousness.

"I'm sorry he wasn't a good husband, but he wasn't a good father either," you said, the lump in your throat unstoppable. "I know exactly why you're telling me all of this, but Javier is nothing like my father," you insisted. "Besides," you added after another moment of silence, "I don't understand why you're warning me about this when you've spent my entire life blaming me for what happened and wishing I had the same life you had with him."

"Oh, there you go again!" Your mother exclaimed, followed by the sound of her hands against the marble of the kitchen counter. "Playing the victim, as always."

"I'm not playing the victim," you retorted, your voice firm despite the tremor of emotion beneath the surface. "I'm simply stating the truth."

Your mother scoffed, her eyes flashing with frustration. "You always twist things to make yourself look like the innocent one," she accused, her tone dripping with bitterness.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your rising anger in check. "I'm not twisting anything," you insisted, your voice steady. "I'm just tired of being blamed for things that were out of my control."

"I'll make my own choices, even if they don't meet your standards. Javier makes me happy, and that's all that matters to me."

Dodging her, you walked toward the front door. You were so blinded by anger that you almost passed without saying a proper goodbye to your sisters. However, there he was, your grandfather standing near the doorway, looking at you. You wondered how long he had been standing there, listening to all the drama.

When your eyes met his, something broke inside of you. He was your abuelito, and you were the apple of his eyes. He did his best to give you and your sisters the best childhood, even when your parents' marriage was falling apart. He was the loving father figure you needed. You loved him, and you were sure he loved you back.

So now, as he looked at you standing by the front door, with Javier following you carrying all your belongings, you saw something in his gaze. He was looking at that little girl he rescued from beneath her bed, hiding from her own mother's rage the day her father left.

He was looking at you with the same sad but loving eyes he had when you left for El Paso and then to Colombia, when he realized you were a grown woman making her own way in the world.

But now, he knew you were leaving forever. You were leaving with the love of your life to start your own family on the other side of the river.

"Dad," your mother said, breaking the moment. "You have to tell her something! She always listens to you! Stop this nonsense," she said, pointing at you.

Your grandfather looked at her for a moment, your mother raising her eyebrows at him. Then he looked at you and walked towards you, his hands familiarly gentle on your shoulders. He looked right into your teary eyes.

"Do you love him?" he asked, his voice soft and kind. You couldn't help but let out a gasp, tears streaming down your face at the tender tone of his voice.

"I-I do," you managed to say amidst your tears. "I love him."

"Then you have my blessing, mi niña."

—————————————————————

Author's note:

*Regiomontana/regiomontano: demonym given to people from the city of Monterrey and its metropolitan area. Monterrey is the capital of the state of Nuevo León, whose demonym is neolonesa/neolonés.

—————————————————————

NEXT CHAPTER

[loveanddeepspice]

𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖

✞ synopsis:  you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.

✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader

✞ rating:  18+ (minors do not engage)

✞ cw:  religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), mentions of other drug use, drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)

✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.

✞ chapter:  4 / ?

✞ co-authors:  redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)

✞ ao3 link:  here

✞ chapter synopsis: guilt is heavy on your mind, but when given the opportunity to confess, things escalate to an admission you weren't expecting. it would seem you aren't the only one who deals with temptation.

✞ index: chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5

Please comment on this post if you want to be added to the tag list for updates!

You were pretty used to people wanting to have sex with you - boys at the club that danced too close. Or the library in college, checking you out from behind when you returned books. You’d learned to ignore the stares, the not-so-subtle advances, the occasional grope on a crowded dance floor. It was just part of being a woman, you had told yourself. And truthfully, being desired felt good, even if it sometimes manifested in inappropriate ways. 

It had a specific power, especially when you often looked at your hips in the mirror. Even when you felt bloated or your skin was breaking out, catching an appreciative glance from a cute guy perked up your mood. It was a reminder that despite your insecurities, your body was beautiful and alluring to others. There was something deeply validating about that.

You had seen the restraint in Zayne’s eyes, the way he had held himself back the moment he met you. It was different from the hungry leers of other men. There was a respect there, a reverence almost as if he never quite believed that you were real. 

But you felt the sweat-slick desire coursing through his veins whenever he fucked you. Fucked you against the wall, the desk bent over. You had smelled the lust on his skin - his need to claim. This led you to believe there wasn’t much in his own life he had much control over - though you never asked. 

Most times you were with him, you didn’t try to distract him. You pretended not to care when he slipped the wedding band off his finger and tossed it somewhere out of his line of sight. Being wanted, needed, and craved so intensely always took priority in your mind of what was right or proper. The way he touched you, kissed you, and drove into you with such fervor. 

You didn’t let the ring distract you, considering it was just an object. 

Until one morning, it caught your eye. The simple gold band rested on the nightstand as you sat against the headboard. You blinked and glanced over at Zayne sleeping next to you - his defined shoulder blades and strong muscles, the smooth curve of his body leading to narrow hips. 

At that moment, you wished you could start over and stay in this life forever. Maybe he would have come with you if you ran away. Maybe you could have convinced him to protect you, or you could have made up an excuse for why he needed to stay by your side. Deep down, you knew those thoughts were selfish and even comical. You had been desperate and needy yet appreciative of how he had made everything else disappear. 

Maybe you were his way of breaking free of the monotony of his own life. Like a character in a novel or a television show - just another man’s object of lust and curiosity. But this man was kind, intelligent, decent, and honest from the start. 

And yet, in those cramped quarters of that hotel room, staring at the wood grain of the nightstand, you couldn’t imagine a single scenario where things ended anything other than badly. 

It had all been so simple, falling into bed with the good doctor who worked nights - whose marriage didn’t matter or had seemed not to. Maybe, in another life, he would have swept you off your feet and carried you far away to far-off places, like Scotland, where you always wanted to visit. With all his money and experience, surely he could’ve whisked you away to somewhere beyond…

Letting your fantasies consume you as you looked at him again, dark hair against the pillow, lips parted slightly in slumber, he looked more vulnerable while asleep. The hard lines on his face softened, and the ever-present intensity drained away. It would have been so easy to wake him and lose yourself in the fire again. 

But something held you back, causing your gaze to land back on the ring. You envisioned a woman with vibrant red hair who was solid and straightforward. She could be a doctor too, or maybe a real estate agent who worked 60 hours a week. 

You looked toward the nightstand drawer and knew what book would be inside—one that every hotel room seemed to have. Reaching out, you opened the drawer, examining the well-worn blue cover. Quietly, you took the Bible out and flipped through its thin pages in your lap, illuminated by the soft morning light through the crack in the curtains. Without even looking, you found the page you were searching for, mouthing the passage you had read countless times before. 

‘Though the Lord is great, He cares for the humble, but keeps His distance from the proud.’

A strange, eerie feeling washed over you as you thought about your own humanity, that ring on the nightstand. In that moment, a wave of self-pity but you as you realized how simple and insignificant humans really were. But you kept flipping through the pages anyway.

‘Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble at heart, and you will find rest for your souls.’

“D-does that include me?” You whispered to yourself, breaking the silence of the room. Of your thoughts. “I'm carrying a lot of garbage with me.” You snorted, bringing a thumb up to swipe at a tear that gathered in your eye. You smeared your face across your arm, sniffling, trying to suppress a tight sob. 

Whatever this was, whatever you had gotten involved in, there were no solutions or promises. Talking to God seemed as futile as ever. 

“I think it's best if I go home for a little while,” you said, loud enough to startle Zayne out of sleep. You closed your eyes and shut the Bible, wishing for some kind of miracle to wash away the guilt and confusion - the sin that had entangled itself around you. “I need to visit my dad,” you added, trying to steady your voice. “Get my head straight.”

Fully awake now, Zayne sat up, turning to face you. “Alone?”

His features were pinched, concerned. There was a flash of regret in your stomach, and you laughed. 

“No.” You answered. Then you shook your head. Your eyes were stinging again, but you clutched the edges of the Bible and breathed deeply. “Yes, of course, alone. God, I can't believe you just fucking asked me that.” 

The words were spoken harshly, but they were truthful and full of shame.

Zayne held his head high, revealing the internal conflict he may have been struggling with. He leaned back against the headboard, and you could see him trying to figure out what to say next as he gazed into the distance. Then his eyes closed, and when they opened and locked with you again, the hazel color seemed to dance in the dimly lit room. He swallowed hard before saying, “Maybe you shouldn't sleep around if it's going to upset you.”

“I'm upset with you, ” you stated firmly. Your thumb began tapping the side of the Bible. “I'm upset with myself.” 

Zayne shook his head in frustration and ran a hand through his hair. The look on his face made you want to reach out and comfort him. But you knew you shouldn't. That feeling of despair washed over you again, but you welcomed it this time. It was a harsh reality and a reminder of the situation. The bitter taste of logic told you that you'd been used and that despite any genuine feelings from either of you - the actions had still been wrong. 

It was a sobering realization that you loved this man, the same one you'd been sneaking around with behind his wife's back. Over and over again. Your sense of morality has failed you in the end, and you couldn't help but feel dirty, tainted, maybe even a bit worthless. You couldn't justify your actions or rationalize them anymore. 

The affections of one man had caused a tectonic shift in your being, a deep rumbling that shook you to your very foundation. Your faith in God, the same one who had taken your mother from you, was wavering even more. 

In a fit of emotion, you had quit your job that afternoon and impulsively bought a plane ticket. It was a familiar pattern - escape was the default when faced with overwhelming loss. And as you sat in the exit row, surrounded by strangers, you couldn't decide which scenario had felt more devastating - losing your mother or potentially losing yourself. 

“Remember, honey,” Your mother's words echoed in your mind as the plane took off. “A man can make you feel like the most special woman in the world. But only God can fill that hole in your heart. Don't look for love in the wrong places, alright?” 

You had pressed into the seat, tears prickling in your eyes that you blinked away. You had refused to break down here, 30,000 feet in the air, with nowhere to hide. 

Walking was always your go-to activity to clear your head. Whether it was with a destination in mind or not. Your dad had offered you use of his car plenty of times since you got home, but you declined - appreciating the privacy of walking. He hadn’t caught on how much you wanted your privacy yet but hadn’t bothered asking. Or ask why you hadn’t gone to church with him since before the festival. 

Since your conversation with Zayne, a heavy sense of something that felt like a weight clung to you like a dense fog; each step feels like a struggle, as if trudging through mud. But really, what had you expected? Your mind was clouded by the usual clarity that came with walking. But you knew you couldn’t stay in your room forever; eventually, your dad would catch on. Maybe he had learned from the experience with your mother how to catch onto sadness, and you couldn’t have that happen.  

So you did what she used to - you drank half a bottle of wine and left the rest in the fridge before heading out into the night. You had no particular destination. While drinking, you did your best not to think about your mother or whatever else was troubling you. But that’s not what makes you feel guilty. It’s a mix of everything: your secret, Zayne, and the fact you thought alcohol could numb it all away. 

As you continued to walk, the rec center by the church gradually came into view. The sign proclaiming a Bible study catches your attention and a stream of teenagers exiting the building.  They had an unmistakable energy about them, with their trendy and vibrant clothing. It was intriguing, something worth pausing to observe. Life carried on, even after you stumbled down a path and nearly fell off track. It was absurd to think about how one man’s deception could cause so much…UGH! 

You heard a familiar voice call your name from the building's steps, and you turned to see Xavier. He adjusted his jacket as he descended the concrete stairs, passing by a group of teenagers who chatted on the sidewalk. 

“Hey,” you forced a polite grin, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “Aren’t you a bit too old for youth group?”

He rolled his eyes. “I help out the Father from time to time,” he explained. “But when it’s these guys…yeah, kinda does feel like middle school over again.” He gave a small laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m so busy, I barely make it to church or anything. This was just convenient.”

“Teaching kids about the Bible, huh?” you offered, trying to keep the conversation light. The last thing you wanted Xavier to do was pick up on your melancholy mood. 

Xavier nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s nice to give back, you know?” 

“Well, aren’t you lucky?” You said, admiring Xaviers' easy smile. He had always been reliable, especially when it came to helping his parents and now working for your dad. He certainly seemed to have matured more than you and understood the importance of responsibility. 

Perhaps he could sense something was amiss, and hopefully, he couldn’t smell the wine on your breath at all. Regardless, he took the opportunity to shoo away some of the kids still lingering around before it got too dark for them to walk home safely. Once they were out of sight, he turned back to you. 

“So, how have you been? You look a little…off.” 

“Long day.” You admitted, not wanting to burden him of all people, but in some way desperately craving a scrap of real attention. “Talking about it would be too much of a hassle. I’ll feel better tomorrow.”

Xaviers' brow furrowed with what appeared to be concern. “You know, sometimes talking about it can help. Even if it’s just a little bit.” He took a step closer, his eyes searching yours. “I’m here to listen if you want…” 

You hesitated, unsure if you were ready to open up. Something about Xavier's presence, the sincerity in his voice, made you feel…safe. Maybe it was the fact that you’d known him for so long, or maybe it was how he always genuinely cared about others. He was so sincere and sweet, and your shoulders slumped because you couldn’t even fathom where to begin - not wanting to. 

“I’m good, promise.” You forced another smile, and that seemed to do the trick because Xavier nodded slowly, though his eyes still flickered with concern. 

“Alright. If you say so.” 

An awkward silence hung between you both for a moment as you stood on the sidewalk, the last rays of the sun casting long shadows on the pavement. Xavier shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly wanting to say something but unsure how to proceed. 

He cleared his throat nervously and rubbed the back of his neck again. “So, I was thinking…Maybe we could grab dinner sometime while you’re here? Catch up properly?” He chuckled, an apparent attempt at hiding his nerves. 

You felt your face grow warm as you bit the inside of your cheek, attempting to contain the smile that threatened to break out. Of all the times he could have asked you out in school…

“Sure,” You stammered. “It’s been a while since we’ve just talked.”

“No, I mean, sorry -” Xaviers' eyebrows furrowed. “You know, like…a date?” 

“A date?” you repeated in surprise. 

Your laughter bubbled out of you as you looked away. After worrying for so long about being alone forever, it was strange to hear someone offer themselves to you in a way that wasn’t hinting at anything sexual—especially someone who you used to have feelings for in your youth. A tiny thrill of hope-filled your stomach. But then the guilt was quick to rush in, along with shame. It weighs on your spine and makes you force in a breath. 

You met his gaze earnestly. “Are you sure?”

“Uh, well, why wouldn’t I be? You don’t think it would be awkward, would it?” 

You shook your head, trying to push away any doubt or insecurities that threatened to overwhelm you. “No, no, it’s not that. I just…” You trailed off. 

Xavier's expression softened, and he gently touched your arm. “Y/N, it’s fine. We don’t have to. I just thought it might be nice to spend some time together, you know? No pressure.” 

You nodded, grateful for his understanding and that he was still as sweet as the day you graduated. You also didn’t want to ignore the part of you that still felt like a teenager, the small voice that begged you to say yes. 

“I’d love to go out with you, sure.” You gave in and reached into your pocket, retrieving your phone and holding it out. “Can you send a text to yourself?” 

He accepted it and began typing with his thumbs, the bright screen casting a glow on his nose. Once he was finished, he handed it back to you. 

You tucked your phone back into your pocket, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. Despite the heaviness in your heart, the prospect of a ‘date’ seemed to lift your spirits, if only a little bit. 

“I should probably get going,” Xavier said, glancing up toward the sky. “Early start at the shop tomorrow.” He looked as if he was about to say more but then seemed to think better of it. “I’ll text you soon about dinner, okay?” 

You nodded. “Sure. See you later.” 

Xavier gave a small wave and stepped off the curb to cross the street. When he was around the corner and out of sight, you felt the embrace of the fall evening again, and everything around you went silent.

Until you heard the gentle sound of a piano resounding from inside the rec center, the front door was still partially open, and the chords flowed from somewhere within; the melody was haunting and gentle. Sticking your hands in your pockets, you headed up the cement steps into the building, pushing the squeaky door open a bit more as you were greeted by the soft, dimly lit lobby. You followed the sound to one of the rooms in the back. 

Father Sylus was too focused, slender fingers moving across the keys and producing that haunting melody that you couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was. Yet, you found it strangely comforting. Your feet remembered how to move, stepping forward and muffled by the thick carpet and the perfect rhythm. 

You finally recognized the tune, and a slight snort escaped your nostrils. You had been trying to find where you had heard the hymn before, but it wasn’t a hymn; it was Music of the Night from Phantom of the Opera. 

He caught your eye and abruptly stopped playing, and even though you tried to suppress your amusement, he must have noticed because a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth - one that made it hard for you not to smile back. 

“I didn’t realize anyone was there.” He stated, posture stiff as he sat up straighter, making you wonder if you had interrupted him. What you really should have done was not be nosy and go home. But no, now you were forced to speak to him. 

“You, uh, a fan of musicals?” You chuckled a bit, taking in his expression - one of a man caught doing something they would have preferred someone not seeing. But there was something deeper to it as his expression darted to another part of the room and left yours as if looking for an excuse for something completely different. 

Father Sylus cleared his throat, running a hand back through his hair. “I’ve…seen some here and there.” He moved down on the piano bench, patting the spot next to him. “Sit if you’d like.” 

Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it. 

But you went over, settling onto the cool leather of the bench, arms folded. The sheet music for Amazing Grace that had been taped in place for years was slightly curled up in the corners and soft with age. It was a relic that someone had likely tried to care for, but there were pencil smudges. You reached out and tapped a key absentmindedly, just as a distraction from how close in proximity you now were to Father Sylus. 

“That was, uh, really good.” You spoke, crossing your legs at your ankles and tucking them under the bench. “I never really caught on to the music stuff.” 

“I can’t take all the credit.” He gave a small chuckle, watching your movements, hands now folded perfectly in his lap, and his eyes settled back on the keys and the markings someone had left on the notes. “I did take piano lessons up until college.” 

“What did you study?” You felt compelled to ask this question. Mainly because all your prior talks have been surface-level, skimming the waters of who you both were. But sitting here next to him, you caught on to his confidence, an educated air. 

“Music theory,” he replied, the words soft and straightforward. You watched his body language. While his posture remained still, he moved a hand around in front of him in a ‘roll over’ motion. “Then eventually theology, religion, philosophy. Mostly, I wasn’t sure what I would do in the future.” 

“So one day you woke up and said, ‘I’m gonna be a priest?’” You joked, not waiting for a response before formulating your next question. “If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you? You don’t seem that old.” 

“Twenty-eight.” He told you, turning his head to look toward the stacked chairs against the walls. “I didn’t expect to end up where I am. I think that’s what often happens in life, though. You don’t have a plan ahead of time, or perhaps, have the expectations of something that doesn’t always end up as a concrete idea." He chuckled, "Like studying music theory.” 

“And your family was on board with it?” You asked. 

“More or less. Sometimes, I still wonder, if I had to do it again, would I?” 

Your brow arched curiously at his questions of himself, the wonderingness of his tone. 

“That’s a little deep for a regular Tuesday evening.” You managed a half-smirk, trying not to invade his space with the turn your conversation had taken. 

“Is there a set day for discussions such as these?” He countered, turning to look at you, red eyes almost glinting in challenge. His tone was almost teasing, and nerves sparked in your belly. 

“I think late Saturday evenings work,” you decided with a short hum, “Though I hear Sunday mornings are very convenient.” 

“That’s fair.” He mused with a short laugh. 

Taking a risk, you let the urge grip you and reached out, laying a hand on his arm. For a moment, the touch felt wrong, the thoughts swirling. But it was almost too perfect, the way he was just sitting there. Then it hit you what you were doing, and you pulled your hand away. 

“Sorry,” you sputtered. “I’m sorry, that was so inappropriate.” 

“No, it wasn’t,” he insisted, still looking at you. You looked away, unable to keep eye contact and rubbing your arm nervously. 

“No, it was,” you murmured. You felt ridiculous, getting way too close to the goddamn priest. You wanted to smack yourself with the disappointment that you’d just tried to flirt without realizing it. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me lately.” 

“You’re human,” he stated, and his expression was sincere as you looked back at him. “There’s something about you,” he tried to smile, but it fell flat. Instead, a slight frown formed, an almost curious look coming into his features. “Nothing’s wrong with you, truly.” His voice faltered, nearly a whisper at the end, and he laughed gently. “You’re just flawed; everyone is.” His eyes went back to the piano keys. “Even God himself isn’t perfect.” 

“I…guess that’s true.” 

Your eyes prickled. There was nothing truly remarkable about what he had said, but you dug your nails into the fabric of your jeans as you remembered your mother. You took a slow, steadying breath to try and stop the tears from coming, from recalling all those unanswered questions. 

Because, like everything else that had happened in your life recently, it was vague - only a tingle of existence in a reality that didn’t feel entirely real. One that couldn’t have been planned out by a force you couldn’t see but were supposed to feel yet hadn’t in a very long time. 

A hot tear escaped as you focused on the wall behind the piano, your voice cracked as you sought to get out an explanation for your sudden emotion. “I can’t - I did something and can’t tell you.” You sucked a shaky breath as you shuffled on the bench with the intent to stand. “Something really messed up, and I -” 

You were stopped by Father Sylus reaching a hand out, catching your own in a grasp that felt like a flame. A grasp that broke your words as you looked at his hand around your own. When you were finally able to meet his gaze, his features were relaxed and patient, willing you to speak. 

“I can’t tell you,” you repeated. “If I tell you, it means that it’s real and he exists and I - I potentially ruined everything and that I’m just a slut and a homewrecker and a sinner and I’ll go to Hell and -” 

“Stop.” 

It was a single word. Uttered with such confidence, it made you go still, frozen, and quiet, save for the deep breath you now forced yourself to take that didn’t entirely fill your lungs. You worried briefly that you’d scared the man away with your panicky ramblings. But he simply held your now trembling hand in his. Constant. Grounding. It was enough to make you realize the depth of emotion he spoke with. 

“I’m sorry.” You forced out the words, glancing down at the floor and how his feet were directly towards the piano, his attention again on the instrument. Your next question found its way past the tightness in your chest, a sudden flare of hot guilt welling. You knew the answer; it was all fire and brimstone either way and perhaps you were looking for sympathy with how he could answer in his calm and smooth voice. “What does the Bible say about adultery?” You asked.

Father Sylus may have been of the same religion. Responsible for leading the good people of this town from whatever chaos they experienced in their personal lives, or at least not eating meat on Ash Wednesday. Still, he sat silent for a while before finally turning to you. 

“I’m afraid if you’ve come to me for forgiveness, you’ll receive none from me.” 

“And what the fuck is your problem?” You stood, anger and resentment rising quickly. You crossed your arms over your chest and glanced at the ceiling. “Your whole job is to - guide people!  Something, instead -” 

“I can’t.” He stated firmly, standing and taking a step back from you. “Because I’m guilty, too.” 

“I beg your fucking pardon?” Your body tensed as you watched him suck in a sharp breath and grip at his hair, tangling his fingers through the silky strands. 

“I’m sorry,” he spoke softer now, another exhale and another step back. “I am, Y/N.” The way he spoke now was measured, perhaps even a bit apprehensive. “We all make mistakes. We all sin. Especially me.”

He looked at you, his crimson eyes burning into yours. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you, Y/N. I haven’t been able to stop.” 

His whole body tensed at his confession. The silence hung between you, heavy, and you realized he was waiting for your response... Not just waiting, but needing your response.  

“Why?” You breathed out, heart thudding loud enough in your chest for you to feel it. “If you felt that way, why -” You paused, deciding to let yourself admit the truth. “ I - I’ve been thinking about you, too.” 

The truth made your face feel hot and filled you with the most dreadful sense of shame and need - something inside you longing. You couldn’t fight the urge to keep talking, unable to hold back. “Maybe I’m just too messed up in the head. I need some fucking validation that every relationship isn’t destined to end up in disappointment that I create. Convince myself I’m more than a sex-crazed person or something.” 

You wanted to say more. You tried to open up and let it all out, but you were caught as you looked into his eyes. Ones that, for a fraction of a second, not easily caught, seemed to mirror yours as he allowed himself to come closer. 

It was impossible to stop yourself from stepping closer. The warm hand that reached out and cupped your cheek made any rational thought simply vanish from your mind. But you did manage to ask your question, albeit a little breathlessly: “What am I supposed to do?” 

“You’re asking the wrong person.” Father Sylus released a quivering breath, hand moving down your cheek to cup your jaw, but the grip wasn’t firm or demanding but - careful. Almost hesitant. 

Tilting your head slightly, the kiss was light – just the sweetest brush of heat. It sent a jolt along your skin, making it almost impossible for you not to melt into the action. 

“Please,” you heard him beg, whimpering against your mouth as he pulled back just a fraction, “please tell me that I’m not a monster for this.” His voice was husky and tinged with desperation. It sends a surge of heat straight to your core.

“No.” You found the word as you pulled back, locking your gaze. “You’re not.” 

The vulnerability he exudes is incredible, the words he speaks settling like a stone in your stomach as you process them. You found yourself torn between desire and shame. It was a feeling not unlike what you felt when you had first started seeing - 

You stepped back, releasing the hold as breath reached your lungs in a much shorter supply. How was this any different? This was far worse, if anything. 

“I - I can’t do this again.” You admitted, and in a way, your own words were painful. 

The priest didn’t move from his spot, brow furrowing in confusion. “I’m sorry, did I -” He raised a hand, not touching but hovering over your arm like he meant to. His expression was ridden with anxiety now, perhaps worry. 

His uncertainty made it all the more confusing. 

“I thought…” You stammered, unable to collect the fragments of your thoughts. “I thought that…I don’t know what’s going on.” You swallowed the lump forming in your throat.  

You took another step back, fighting the fear that encased your ribs, the twist in your gut. It was not because of his presence but what was coming to the surface now, whatever feeling was developing. “I have to go,” you breathed. 

“Wait, Y/N.” Father Sylus lifted his hands helplessly, his voice turning back to the one that offered guidance, eyes scanning the floor momentarily before looking back up. “You’re not the only one that feels or gives into things they’re not supposed to.” His brow creased while his eyes glinted with a sudden passion. He shifted his weight and stuffed a hand into his pocket, the other swooping the air lightly as he continued as if he needed to move his hand to formulate his words. “It..It doesn’t make you a monster.” This last statement was said with a sudden firmness. 

“Maybe not.” You replied, the head of tears forming a blurry haze at the edges of your vision. “But, no matter what we want - there will always be constraints.” The nightmarish cloud that had begun to permeate your mind ceased. “How do I keep ending up in these situations?” You forced out a laugh. “Is this what God wants for me?” 

“I don’t know.” His face took on a solemn expression as he swallowed harshly and cleared his throat. “The only thing I know is that…Whatever happened before, whatever you did,” he sucked in a sharp, sudden breath—no more nervous shifting. “Regardless of the sin you confessed, I don’t believe you to be a monster. Do you hear me? I’m telling you you’re not.” 

You looked at the deep set of his expression, the tender way he reached his hand up and tapped it against his chest right over his heart. The sentiment made a new swell of warmth radiate from him. He looked so earnest as he smiled, making your skin prickle again. 

“T-Thank you.” You answered him slowly, a small wave of unease settling as you struggled to respond. “That’s…very kind of you to say.” 

You weren’t sure if you should take his words as comfort or not as you turned, intending to leave, but there was no doubt in your mind that you felt slightly different from hearing them. “Have a good evening, Father.” 

“Wait.” A sudden neediness in the soft plea made you want to scream. 

Taking a deep breath and holding it tight, your eyes clamped shut, and for some reason, you were almost terrified to look back. You were terrified because you wanted to stay there, touch him, and claim every inch of him, body and soul. 

Something settled, the overwhelmed feeling easing into sadness, and you turned to him, tears clouding your vision. 

“What would it take to ease your pain?” He asked, watching the tears roll along the curve of your jaw as he waited for an answer. His expression had turned hopeful, as if he might be able to do something beyond everything else. He had asked the question like he genuinely wanted to know the answer. 

“I don’t know.” You forced your mouth to move. The words were honest, and the agony was unrelenting. 

Without waiting for a response, you turned and left. 

Tag list: @celestialforce

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[theoi-crow]

TW: religious trauma, threat mention, weapons mention, child neglect, homophobia, abuse, coercion and religious PTSD.

Why fearing a deity keeps me from developing a genuine relationship with that same deity.

I grew up Catholic and one of the first things my mother taught me was the concept of Heaven and Hell. Essentially after death one gets judged based on the actions they took while they were still living and is either rewarded with heaven or punished with hell. It was a simple concept to understand but it brought up a question that ultimately made me leave the religion.

Do I genuinely love God or am I afraid of his wrath? (Like a held hostage who is coerced into choosing options that won't upset my captor out of fear of his retaliation)

Even the reward of eternal bliss felt like it was designed to lessen the threat of eternal damnation as a consolation prize for all those years of panic attacks and anxiety over the thought of being sent to Hell. I always hoped for a third milder option that allowed me the freedom to develop a genuine relationship with God without said god having to rely on coercion. I wanted to experience an honest relationship without a weapon pressed against my back in case I made the wrong move or asked the wrong question.

Due to this looming threat, the relationship I had with God felt transactional and lacked genuine affection because I knew God's love for me was conditional and depended on me following arbitrary rules from a book written by a lot of different people (each author having their own agenda different from the rest so they were constantly contradicting each other because the different entries were written in different time periods and places with vastly different political movements specific to their locations and situations but were combined together, like a mass Tumblr post with over 50 blogs that don't all agree on what the rules should be).

The many rules always made me feel like Alice playing a game with the Queen of Hearts with rules that were unclear and no one was interested in explaining them to me until I did something they didn't like and were able to find something in the book that condemned me for it.

Having to adhere to these rules in order for me to be rewarded and not punished felt like a relationship between a gay child and homophobic parents that expected said child to act a certain way. If that child obeyed, they were rewarded with affection and approval, but if said child didn't, they were kicked out and forced to fend for themselves against a world that wasn't built to protect and help gay children. Being Christian felt like I had a leash around my neck being held by an entity that constantly told me he loved me, so long as I did what I was told.

I didn't think it was possible to love a deity without fearing them until I met my gods.

According to the ancient Greeks: Once a human dies they go to Hades. Unless they make some kind of undeniable mark in the world everyone goes to Hades.

If you were a famous and exceptional human that changed the world in a positive way you'd go to Elysium but you purposefully had to do something so extraordinary your legacy and name became well known because according to the Elysium wiki, in the beginning "only mortals related to the gods and other heroes could be admitted past the river Styx. Later, the conception of who could enter was expanded to include those chosen by the gods, the righteous, and the heroic." (LINK) The ancient Greeks believed the gods were in charge of giving people fame because those who were famous were often related to the gods (for example: people believed Pythagoras (the one that the Pythagorean theorem is named after) was either the son of Apollo, or Apollo himself: (LINK)

Tartarus is strictly for gods and humans can't go there but the worst humans are still punished by Hades as shown in the myths of Sisyphus (LINK) and Tantalus (LINK) but you have to royally eff up. You have to do it on purpose like enacting laws that target vulnerable people (both Sisyphus and Tantalus were kings and politically involved) or commiting mass genocide as examples of the severity I'm talking about. These are crimes against humanity you cannot accidentally do, they involve terrible deeds that are premeditated with the intent of destroying the lives of innocent people.

But if my main problem is the concept of Heaven/Hell, why am I bringing up Elysium, Hades and Tartarus, concepts that influenced how Heaven and Hell work? (LINK)

Because unless you choose to dedicate your life, time and energy and become famous for making an undeniable mark in history (an effort that isn't just you doing normal good deeds or making mistakes you later regret but actually dedicating your life and becoming well known for your efforts like activist Greta Thunberg, or purposefully hurting innocent people like serial killer Ted Bundy) everyone else goes to Hades and I love that because when I work with my gods I may not get automatic access to Elysium but there is no threat of eternal punishment either.

Which means I interact with my gods because I want to!

Not because I'll be rewarded or punished but because I want to interact with them and develop a genuine connection with them! There's no condition of me needing to convert others, in fact I don't even have to tell people I believe in them! (the gods understand the world can be a dangerous place for their followers due to the many religious wars and religious politicians in power).

I'm not required to talk about them! I'm not even required to keep this blog but I do it because I genuinely love them and I love talking about them! I've even changed majors mid semester in order to dedicate my life to learning about them. I'm studying to become an archeologist who specializes in the ancient Greek religion in order to make that information more accessible to Hellenic Polytheists and anyone else interested in the gods. I don't do it so the gods will reward me because I don't need them to, they will be just as happy if I delete this blog, quit my career and go about my day living my life. I do it because I love learning about the gods and I want to share the information I learned in case it helps those that are interested learn more about their gods too!

I've even made it my mission on Tumblr to share what I've learned about the gods to hopefully help others connect with their gods more easily especially for those who are having trouble connecting with them. And this was all unprompted. The gods literally had nothing to do with this. It was my own choice because there is a specific god I sometimes have trouble connecting with due to varying factors and it makes me feel awful when I can't connect with him, especially when I need his guidance the most so I want to help others avoid experiencing that feeling by letting them know they're not alone and helping them figure out what's blocking their connection because it can be a miserable experience.

My favorite part about a lack of reward and punishment is having the confidence to say I seek the gods because I want to seek the gods.

I walk with the gods because I want to walk with the gods. This is my will, my choice, and mine alone. No one is forcing me to do it and there isn't some big prize at the end if I do, I can stop anytime I want and nothing will happen. I have made an independent choice to seek the gods, meet them and got to know them and I can genuinely say I love them more than I ever thought was possible. I do.

I love my gods.

[ourladyofoldgotham]

our father

jonathan crane x male reader

NSFW 18+, minors dni

hookups, catholicism, smut

summary

Jonathan Crane goes out on a Friday night looking for sin. When he finds you, he gets that and more.

There’s something that sets him apart from across the bar. Maybe it’s the halo, maybe it’s the Sunday best. Whatever it is, it makes you want to tear him to pieces. 

This isn’t what Jonathan Crane would typically pick to do on a Friday night. The music is blasting somewhere between loud and deafening, and the air is thick and hot and full of sin and filth between the bodies packed into the room. He has the distinct sense that this is not where he’s supposed to be. But, of course - it is. 

University was both exactly what he had been told it would be like and nothing like what he’d expected. There was sin hidden in every darkness. That wasn’t the part he was scared of. The part he was scared of was that he liked it. That he would seek it out, that he would follow its scent like a hunting dog. That was what he was here for. 

He feels your eyes on him and he turns away from your gaze, the silver crucifix around his neck glimmering coolly in the low light. You cross the room to where he’s standing alone in the corner, his sharp eyes flickering around the room. 

“You don’t come here often, do you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

He chuckles nervously. Up close, you can see him even better, eyes as clear and wide as the sky and pale freckles across his nose. A flush creeps across his cheeks. 

“So what brings you here tonight, then?”

You lean in, and you could swear you hear his breath quicken.

“Some friends suggested this place. They said it was nice, that maybe I could meet someone.”

“Maybe you could. Let me buy you a drink.”

You get a whiskey, neat. He gets the same thing as you, but from the face he makes when he tastes it, you can tell he’s never tried it before. It’s cute, endearing almost. Tempting.

“I think I’ve seen you around. You live near here or something?”

“I grew up in Old Gotham, but I’m here for university. I’m studying biology.”

“Not too far from the nest then, huh? I don’t think I’ve seen you around Gotham University.”

You raise an eyebrow at him and he blushes.

“I go to St. Thomas’s, the Jesuit college on campus.”

“Catholic? A man of God in a place like this? A little sinful, isn’t it?”

You grin at him. 

“Maybe that’s what I’m here to find.”

He speaks just above a whisper, turning his face away. The flush in his face is spreading down his neck, and it makes you wonder how far it goes. His pupils are blown wide, his eyes on you as you tip back the rest of your drink. 

You grab his wrist. 

“Want me to help you find it?”

He nods silently, and you drag him to the dance floor. 

The music is loud, something with a heavy beat. You don’t know the song well, but it works for what you need it to do. On the packed floor, your bodies are pressed against each other. You drag him towards you by his hips, and you feel him hard against you. He’s just a little taller than you, and he’s looking up, his throat flushed and enticing and his blue eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. You could swear he whimpers at the touch. You’d tease him more, but you can’t wait. 

You grab the chain around his neck and pull him down to whisper in his ear. 

“Do you want to get out of here?”

He nods, and you take his hand again, pulling him across the floor to the exit. When you get into the cool night air, you drag him into the dark alley next to the bar and pin him against the wall. You pull him into a fierce kiss, and his knees practically buckle, collapsing into you like he’s been starving for you for years. 

You pull away first, him chasing you for a second before resting his head back on the brick, panting. 

“I need a real yes for this one, angel. Out loud.”

“Yes. Please. Please, just touch me.”

He sounds wrecked already, almost as much as he looks. Flushed, breathing hard, his mouth spit-shiny and red already as he begs and you’ve barely touched him. He’s desperate for you in a way that seems almost implausible. 

“Have you ever done this before?”

He’s clearly distracted, kissing down your neck and running his hands under your shirt, but he snaps back to attention at the question. 

“No, never. Nothing, nothing like this at least.”

“This is your first time? With a stranger in an alleyway? A man who doesn’t even know your name?”

You take a step back, teasing him. He takes the bait, reaching for you. 

“Jonathan. Crane. You know my name now.”

“So I do. Do you need to know mine?”

He shakes his head rapidly.

“I like it better this way.”

“Christ.”

He still looks holy, even in the Gotham alley, almost glowing under the streetlights. There’s something about angels that makes you want to see how dirty you can get them. 

“Is there something else you want to call me then?”

He pauses, breath shaky. 

“Daddy.”

You grin, pinning him again. 

“Good boy.”

He whimpers as you kiss him, one hand running up and down his chest underneath his untucked shirt and the other rubbing the bulge in his pants. His hips buck up against you, his head resting in the crook of your neck as he wraps his arms around your waist. 

He hardly lets you go long enough for you to unbutton his pants and pull out his cock, but when you do, he’s rock hard and dripping with precum. He moans the instant your hand touches him, hand over his mouth. You’ve only stroked him a couple times, your thumb rubbing over the head of his cock, when he cums. He spills over your fist onto his shirt, collapsing into you as he whimpers. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, just felt so good. Didn’t - had no idea it could feel like that.”

He’s panting, his hands shaky. 

“That desperate for me, huh? Not exactly how good boys like you are supposed to behave, is it?”

You stroke his cheek with your hand and he melts into the touch.

“Let me make it up to you, please. Want to make you feel good.”

“You sure? It’s your first time, might be a lot. Don’t want to push you too far.”

He’s rubbing the bulge in your pants now, pressing himself into you and away from the wall. He stops kissing your neck for just a second to whisper in your ear. 

“I need to feel you, daddy. Don’t you want to make me a sinner?”

A better man couldn’t have turned him down, and you’re not a better man.

“On your knees. Right here in front of me.”

He obeys you almost instantly, dropping to his knees in the alleyway, his eyes gazing up at you with barely a ring of icy blue left around his pupils. 

“You want me to guide you through it?”

“Please.”

You unzip your pants and pull your cock out. You’re hard already - watching him like this does something to you. He watches it, almost transfixed.

You lift his chin up to look at you, and when you run your thumb across his bottom lip, his mouth falls open for you. 

“No teeth. Don’t try to take it all at once.”

He nods up at you, and swirls his tongue around the tip of your cock. You shudder with how good it feels - it’s been longer than you thought, and it’s the first time he’s really touched you tonight.

“Good. Just like that.”

He looks gorgeous like this, pretty pink mouth wrapped around you and his blue eyes watering as he tries to take you deeper into his throat. He’s disheveled, his shirt half-untucked and his pants still undone and damp with cum.

It’s good - better than good even, he’s delectable - but you still need more. You place a hand on the back of his head, fingers tangling through his hair. You look down at him, a silent check-in, and he nods. 

You go as slow as you can, watching him breathe slowly though his nose. The wet heat of his mouth is almost enough to drive you crazy. 

“You sure you haven’t done this before?”

He pulls off and starts stroking you almost painfully slowly.

“Only for you.”

You throw your head back against the wall and groan as he licks up the underside of your cock.

“Didn’t think a little angel like you would be such a natural at this.”

He grins, something sharp and dangerous, and then he sinks down all the way to the base, his throat swallowing around you. 

It’s not long until you’re close, and you pull him off by his hair, starting to stroke yourself with the other. He pouts, trying to bat it away. 

“Fuck - no, gonna cum.”

“I know.”

He takes you back into his mouth, his eyes looking up at you adoringly and then fluttering shut as he swallows every last drop down.

“Holy shit. Come up here.”

You tug at his crucifix and drag him in for a kiss with one hand, doing up your pants with the other.

“Such a good fucking boy for me, huh?”

He nods, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. 

You let him go after a minute, and he leans back against the wall, panting. He does his pants back up, running a hand through his hair and trying to smooth out his shirt. He still looks debauched, but you have to admit he cleans up nice.

“You find what you were looking for tonight, Mr. Jonathan Crane?”

“Yes. I think I did.”

“Guess I should be letting you go now then.”

You move to leave the alley, but he catches your hand. 

“Well, I’m not quite sure I can head back to my dorm in this state. After all, they might suspect something.”

He looks nervous behind the seductiveness, and you remember for a second exactly how new all this is to him. 

“Of course. Can’t let you go back to St. Thomas like this, can I? Might just have to take you home with me.”

There’s a soft relief in his eyes, and he leans into you. Your arm wraps around his waist, protecting him from the chill of the night. His head drops onto your shoulder, tired, and it stays there until you see the bright white of the taxi headlights coming around the corner. 

sorry god. everyone else thanks for reading

[nqueso-emergency]

Their obsession with the concept of Catholic guilt is about on par with their obsession with unhealthy behaviors (codependency and self harm/suicide). They romanticize the ideas of them and it’s really fucking gross.

Also as someone who grew up as Catholic (from the Midwest so it’s not quite the same as Eddie). The way they immediately connect Catholic guilt to queerness and gay Eddie is both amusing and baffling to me. I get that I was never super into religion and that shapes how I view Catholic guilt but to me Catholic guilt is like the guilt of existing. No matter what you do you’re basically not good enough. Negative I know, but that’s how it felt to me. Even if you follow everything to the tee, it’s still not enough to feel like you’re good enough for their expectations.

Like sure if you really believe in the faith and you happen to be queer the guilt can be about that. But that’s blatantly not the case for Eddie. Like how many times do they have to put it out front and center that this is all about Shannon. He fucked up big time, cheated on his girlfriend, traumatized his son. There’s a lot of things there to feel guilt about.

This this this

[honestsycrets]

Posted

sy’s notes | querido should have an update this week. the spoiler below is a succubus!reader x ceo!reader request.

tags | succubus, some explicit content near the bottom, magical themes.

Miguel O’Hara was never a superstitious man.

He grew up in a deeply Catholic home thick with superstition. His grandmother’s rosary still sat on his desk, enveloped in a spherical glass alongside stacks of organized paperwork on the latest drug his not-so-dearly held biological father left before he kicked it. Corruption was fiercely rooted, a fact that Miguel was not so subtle about. The papers he rifled through that morning revealed the stupidest account of Brujeria among reports of the drug Rapture.

“Brujeria-- a bunch of bullshit,” he murmured, dropping the papers back onto the oak desk. He glanced at the glass tabletop, finding his reflection therein. His eyes, crinkled at the edges, carried the reflection of countless days of his dark exhaustion. “Si no es una cosa es otra.”

“Miguel?”

“What, Lyla?” Miguel threw a glare at the ceiling at the AI that sang at him. She seemed far too happy with her position as the resident terror of his new office. New was an overstatement. It was his father’s before he croaked. Why else would it have a picturesque, but grandiose view of Nueva York but for a great view of the people he was destroying? They also did a bang-up job of burning his eyes.

“The psychiatrist is here,” she chirped. “Are you going to tell her about your wet dreams?”

He’s reminded of the flutters that danced over his skin at night at the strike of three, caressing his skin like a warm blanket over his skin. His heart rate would race and pleasure burrowed under his skin. It never failed that Miguel would wake to a rush of pleasure, cum painting his wet sheets, his heart in his throat. With such pleasure, why would he tell anyone but Lyla about what he couldn’t deny?

Miguel waved his hand around, checking the chunky watch on his wrist. She’s just on time. He appreciates a punctual professional given how much work he had to complete. He glazes over the report of spiritual abuse and picks up the pile of sexual misconduct. That was a more pressing matter to address-- far more important than some bruto’s complaint of ojos based on a huevo in some water.

“Why would I do that? Let her in. You listen in and I’ll unplug you.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Lyla teased, but he knew she was right. Lyla was one of his only friends and by far the one he spent the most time with. He reaches for his reading glasses as the lock on his office door hisses apart, welcoming in the strange woman whose name he could never find but in Stone’s personal records.

“Dr. O’Hara.”

Miguel slipped the lenses on. Not only was the woman before him not the sort of hippy-dippy woman he expected. You were… beautiful, familiar. Oh, so familiar. He’s never met you before.

You extend your hand for him to take.

“Dr…” You finished his sentence by offering your name.

“Have I met you before?” His large hand clasped your own. The sudden realization of where he’d seen you hit him like a bullet through the head: unexpected and instantaneous. A blanket of warmth blossomed from your small hand in his grip. Gentle at first, your very same small hands laced in his over his body, from his slender legs up to his straining dick. The image rippled across his mind, Miguel’s hand collared on your nape, taking you against his office’s wide windows. Another pulse of heat soared through his hand--

Miguel jerked his hand back. What in the hell?