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lunarfleur · 7 months ago

Note

Sure! I don't mind requesting something new! So you write somewhere in your works how Miles 42 and reader met through location, "whether it be going to the same school or living in the same building or whatever"

I wanna' see a fanfic in Miles pov how he and reader met and how their relationship developed throughout the process! I wanna' know if he's going to make a move in interacting with reader or such. :))

Mr. Tambourine Man ~ Earth 42! Miles Morales

A/N: Many people will tell you this song is about a drug dealer. I, however, have always taken Mr. Tambourine Man as an analogy for youth. Take this as you will.

Tagging: @juneberrie @sluggmuffin @hiyaitssans @nagi3seastorm @luvjunie @milesmolasses @n1cole-ghost @kombuuuu

This is x fem! Reader

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to

Growing up, Miles had always been the dull kid in the corner of the classroom. It was his nature.

He didn’t really remember his dad’s death, but there was always a sort of emptiness in the Morales apartment that never got filled. The emptiness has always been there, in his home and in his mother.

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me

In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you

On the late nights, he hears his mother sitting in the living room all by herself lonesome. She sits on the couch, in the same spot she has been all these years; next to the spot his father would have taken up.

He can imagine it: his mother curled up under a blanket, her husband’s arm resting over her shoulders. He’d kiss her head and the spot behind her ear. She’d pretend to pay no mind and act as if he doesn’t still make her giddy like he did back when they were young.

Though I know that evening's empire has returned into sand, vanished from my hand.

Left me blindly here to stand, but still not sleeping.

But his father was not there. The late Jeff Morales did not get to stay up with his wife, watching the television as their child sleeps. He was dead, but it sometimes felt like his ghost was haunting the city. He’s gone, but it’s like he’s still there.

As he grew up, Miles did not get the joy his classmates did. He watched his mother work like a dog to support the two of them. He spent many nights alone, waiting for her to come home.

It was sad. Miles was sad.

My weariness amazes me, I'm branded on my feet.

I have no one to meet, and the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming.

So here he sits, in the corner of his studio art class, his last period of the day. Miles is behind an easel, dried paint covering his hands and table. There was music playing in his headphones, but he wasn’t really listening. It was to block out the other noises.

The door opens, and in walks a girl he’s never seen. It was an odd feeling, at first, a shred of nervousness he didn’t quite understand.

He looked around the room, at all the other students and seats, only to realize the one next to him was the only one open. Perfect.

She talks to the teacher, nothing he can hear, snd watches as she slowly makes her way over to the spot next to him. Miles turns away, picking up his paint brush to avoid and other contact.

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you.

Unfortunately for him, Miles looks unapproachable. He looks like he should be friendly and open. He’s got those big, brown, shiny doe eyes and dimples. His face is dusted with freckles. His lips are big and plush. His nose sits perfectly in the center of his face, blending together nicely with every other feature.

However, people avoid him. He’s quiet and keeps to himself. Miles is sort of a mystery, someone people don’t know much about. He’s got eye bags and an RBF, so people leave him alone. Sometimes it seems as if he’s invisible.

Take me on a trip upon your magic swirling ship.

My senses have been stripped.

The girl sits down, taking out her supplies as she was most likely directed. Tense hands moved shakily. Her breaths were harsh. Her eyebrows furrowed tightly against her forehead. She was nervous.

With a skip of his heart, Miles clears his throat. Her head snaps over quickly, eyes wide with anxiety as he stared her down.

My hands can't feel to grip.

My toes too numb to step.

“Uh..I’m Miles.”

She hesitates, biting the inside of her cheek before nodding.

“Y/N.”

Miles doesn’t look away. Y/N peeks over at his canvas. Her lips curve down into a smile, any trace of her previous fear gone. Her lips pressed together tightly, eyebrows raising. No tension, no anxiety.

“You’re really talented.”

“…Thanks.”

Her smile did not falter. She looked at him for a moment, and that one moment felt like an eternity.

Her nose, cheeks, and lips were a blend of heaven sitting on her face. Her hair was smooth and clean. Miles swore her eyes looked like stars.

Y/N was definitely beautiful.

Wait only for my boot heels to be wandering.

I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade into my own parade.

Cast your dancing spell my way, I promise to go under it.

“What, uh,” Miles spoke again, “what class was you coming from?”

He watched as Y/N fumbled with her schedule, a blue piece of paper crumpling in her hands.

“I have Spanish II, but I was in the office.”

Miles nodded, a small simper forming across his lips.

“I’m in there, too.”

Y/N grinned at him, eyes squinting slightly. It was almost bright.

Though you might hear laughing, spinning, swinging madly across the sun, it's not aimed at anyone.

It's just escaping on the run.

“I’ll walk with you, tomorrow?”

It came out as a question, and Miles would be lying if he said that didn’t surprise him. There was a fuzzy, warm feeling in his stomach that, for a second, made him question if he was getting sick.

Y/N chuckled, a simple melody that sent flowers blooming across his skin. It felt like goosebumps, but much more intense. The sensation matched that of bathing in the sun.

“I’d like that.”

And but for the sky there are no fences facing.

And if you hear vague traces of skipping reels of rhyme to your tambourine in time

Y/N glanced over to a small group of kids sitting diagonally from them. They were watching intently, eyes wide with curiosity. As quickly as it came, Miles’s almost cheerful expression fell back into place. The corners of his lips dropped, so did his eyebrows. In less than a moment, he was tense once more.

It's just a ragged clown behind.

I wouldn't pay it any mind, it's just a shadow you're seeing that he's chasing.

They turned away awkwardly, returning to their projects. Y/N sucked in a breath. There was tension within her chest. It was a sudden, sharp sensation in his fingertips.

“So did you just move here?”

Y/N smiled, nodding.

“Yeah, from New Jersey.”

Miles nodded along intently.

“How come?”

“Family.”

Questions and answers came as the two packed up their things.

And take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind, down the foggy ruins of time

The loud and obnoxious bell rang, and every other student in the class shoved past one another to get out of the room.

Far past the frozen leaves, the haunted frightened trees.

They walked down the hallways together slowly. For the first time, he felt as if he could ask questions. For the first time, someone answered. She answered.

Out to the windy beach, far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.

“So, what’s Jersey like?”

“Well, it’s fun. The food is great.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Miles snickered.

Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky, with one hand waving free.

“Do you like New York?”

“I’m…adjusting.”

“Adjusting?”

“It’s easy to get lost, here.”

Smiling shyly, Y/N pressed her lips together firmly. Miles could almost feel the heat of embarrassment coming from off her face.

“You just need someone to show you around. It gets easy, after all while.”

Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands.

“What’s there to show?”

Miles smiled, looking at the girl next to him as they stepped down the front steps of Visions Academy.

“The sky.”

There was a sudden melancholy feeling that ran down Miles’s spine. It was the same feeling he’d felt on those late nights, waiting for his mother to come home.

Miles did not remember his dad’s death. He didn’t remember the funeral. He just remembered the day the apartment felt less like home.

With all memory and fate, driven deep beneath the waves, let me forget about today until tomorrow.

“It’s the same sky as the one in New Jersey.”

“Different view.”

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

“You’ll show me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll show you.”

I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.

“Good.”

“I’ll show you my mural, too.”

“Mural?”

“For my dad.”

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me.

Miles nodded, smiling. She nodded back, humming in reply.

Miles had always been so much like his father. The same smile, the same attitude, the same wit.

Y/N looked at Miles curiously, and Miles became painfully aware of that fact. Birds sung in his lungs and trees grew in his mind. Fresh air.

“Let’s go, Miles. I’m expecting a tour.”

In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you.

#earth 42 miles morales x you #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #atsv #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spider verse #spiderman #miles morales #miles morales x reader

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thelovelylolly · 4 months ago

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Silver Screen Sweetheart

Summary : You were just his co-star, even if you both wanted to be more, and he thought he lost you to the wasteland. - Warnings : we got some angst, we got some yearning, we got reunions, all your favs, fem! reader (she/her pronouns used), mentions of drinking, canon-typical violence, not rlly proof read (let me know if i missed anything :)) - Word count : 1.17k - Notes : i know i havent posted an original fic in a while, but why not bring them back with cooper howard bc I LOVE COOPER HOWARD AND FALLOUT RAHHHHH this is basically the storyline of my fallout oc lol (also, divider by @saradika-graphics they're so good)

Cooper Howard wasn't supposed to live this long, especially after the bombs dropped. He was a man with a long history. He had fought in a war, became a movie star, got married and had a daughter, became the inspiration for the poster-boy of the company selling the end of the world, divorced is wife, lost his family, became deformed from the radiation. He could go on and on about his past.

However, there was one part he always skipped around.

His old co-star, you.

You walked into his life one sunny afternoon, and he didn't know it then, but it was the start of something he shouldn't want. You were his co-star and played the love interest in one of his movies. Your chemistry on-screen together was amazing, causing fans to want you to return and you quickly became a staple in Cooper Howard movies.

Then, the chemistry bled into real life.

You both knew it, but you both refused to acknowledge it. Cooper was married, and you were a rising star. He couldn't risk his wife and family, you couldn't risk ruining your budding career. So, you danced around each other. Your on-screen characters were the only time you two could lean into the feelings you had, but it was pretend. Acting.

Still, the two of you were close friends off set, so it wasn't uncommon for you two to be spotted together. He'd invite you over for dinner with his wife and daughter, you'd invite him to a party with other movie stars. Everything was simple, easy. It was good.

But all good things must come to an end.

Cooper didn't know where you were when the bombs dropped. He had seen you the night before. He came over to your house for drinks, something he started to do more often now that the divorce was settled and he saw his daughter every other week.

"What are you up to tomorrow?" You had asked.

"I'm picking up Janey, then we're going to a birthday party. Got hired to do some tricks and stuff for the birthday boy."

"Sounds more exciting than what I have on the agenda. My agent wants to talk to me about doing ads, like you and Vault-Tec."

"Want some advice?"

You nodded.

"Don't."

Maybe you had gotten to a vault, or maybe you weren't that lucky. The only thing that helped Cooper with the loss of you was one thought: you wouldn't see him as the deformed ghoul he became.

Cooper's bounty was allusive and turned a usual 2-day hunt in 5. He was getting tired and fed up, rudely asking anyone he came across for directions before shooting them and taking anything of value. One person gave him directions to a small home and said that the person living there had plenty of information and supplies.

Cooper thought 'what the hell' and set off, grabbing a few bottles of chems from the person's dead body.

He found the house pretty easily, having the only green grass and lush trees in the dusty desert around. He readied his pistol at his side as he started to approach the house. He took a few steps onto the property before stepping onto a trap and getting caught up in a net that was hung on the tree.

"Shit!" He hissed, trying to figure away out in the cramped area. He lost his grip on his pistol and he couldn't reach for his knife, leaving him helpless until someone could find him and cut him down.

A horse's neigh caused him to look up where the house was, only to see a person on a sleek, black horse riding towards him. They pulled the horse's reigns and stopped a few feet away from Cooper and got off, a shotgun in hand.

"If I get you down, you gonna shoot me?" The person asked, a feminine voice coming through a black bandana obscuring half of her face. The black hat sitting on top of her head obscured her hair and shaded her face from the beating sun.

"No promises," Cooper replied, grunting as he struggled against the rope net.

"Then I can just leave-"

"I just need some information, I heard you were the person to come to," Cooper quickly cut her off, "I'll leave after that."

He was good at lying. He was an actor after all, as soon as he got what he wanted, he'd raid this woman's home and leave.

The woman in front of him tilted her head to the side for a moment, then raised her shotgun and shot the rope holding Cooper up. He hit the ground with a thud, but quickly untangled himself from the rope. He pushed himself to his feet, but before he could reach for any of his weapons, a lasso was wrapped around him and pulled tight.

"What the hell-"

"Shut it," she said sharply, "I know what kind of a person you are. I know what you really want, many have tried and failed."

Cooper laughed dryly. "Really, sweetheart? You think a little rope would stop me?"

The woman studied him for a moment, her eyes fixed on his face. He didn't know what she was looking for, the radiation took away most of his features.

"Cooper...?" The woman asked after a few moments, shocking him. He opened his mouth to answer, but any words he had were lost as she took off her hat and pulled the bandana down.

You. You were still alive, you still looked like how you did centuries ago. Of course you recognized him, only you could tell it was him after all the radiation and harsh conditions of the wasteland.

His said your name weakly, not believing that you were standing in front of him. He thought he lost you, he thought you were dead from the bombs or lived the rest of your life in a vault. "How are you here?" He asked.

"They froze me in my vault, woke up a few centuries later, and left," you answered, stepping closer but not letting go of the lasso. "I'm surprised you haven't gone feral."

He smiled, the same classic smile that had given you butterflies all those years ago. "I figured out how to survive up here, seems like you have, too."

You nodded, glancing over your shoulder at your home. You looked back at him and stepped closer, pulling the lasso off and hooking it onto the side of your belt. You looked up and met his gaze, noting how close you two were.

"Would you like to stay for a bit?" You asked.

Cooper thought back to his bounty, how long he'd spent chasing this guy and how much he was worth. But seeing you alive and well, not appalled by his appearance, was worth so much more than any stupid bounty.

He reached for your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours. "Sure would, darling."

You smiled and turned, grabbing your horse's reigns before leading Cooper towards your home.

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #fallout fanfic

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calaisreno · 6 months ago

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Classified

It’s Schrödinger’s wedding.

1952 Words / Prompt: Jealousy

We’re sitting among the boxes of invitations, the venue’s brochures, and several dozen napkins folded into Sydney Opera Houses. John looks exhausted, and now that Mary’s gone home, I’ve suggested a break.

I pour John a glass of scotch and hand it to him, struggling for the right words to open this discussion. If I’m not careful, it could end badly.

Sinking into my chair, I simply say, “Don’t.”

John swallows a mouthful of whisky. “Don’t what?”

He looks confused. Of course. I’m terrible at this. Sentiment, feelings, honesty.

“Don’t… marry her.”

John sighs. “Sherlock.”

“Please, John. Just don’t.”

Confusion has given way to stubbornness, and of all people, John Watson is the most stubborn person I’ve ever known. It’s hopeless, ridiculous that I even brought this up. But it has to be said.

That night at the Landmark, when John was trying to strangle me, I promised myself that I would stop lying to him. Stop shading the truth. Just be honest. Who deserves the truth more than John, who grieved for two years, thinking his best friend was dead?

Best friend. More than I ever expected to have from this stubborn, loyal, surprising man who has always followed me, even after I broke his heart. He deserves the truth.

And I deserve nothing. But I can’t let the man I love be hurt again, even if it means… well, I hope this won’t be our last conversation.

“What is this about?” John’s face wears that dogged expression.

“I love you,” I begin. “And I’ve hurt you too much to pretend this is fine.”

John’s eyes widen, then narrow. “You love me. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“You called me your best friend. I don’t care what you make of it—“

“You don’t do feelings. Married to your work, grit on the lens—“

“You’re not the only one who’s grieved, John. Yes, I do have feelings. And I would be prepared to set them aside, to accept that I do not deserve your love, but I owe you the truth.”

“You love me.”

It’s bad enough that John seems to be stuck on you love me. That isn’t even the point right now. (Note to self: next time, lead with your wife-to-be is probably an assassin.)

“Yes. Which is why I’m about to tell you the last thing you want to hear right now.”

“I’m about to get married, Sherlock! Why are you doing this now— you’ve never given me the tiniest clue that you even considered me a friend. I don’t have friends. Remember that? What is this— are you jealous? Is that what this is about?”

I’m terrible at this. I’ve vowed to be honest, not to keep John in the dark all the time, and all John is taking from this is that I’m jealous.

I try again. “You’re about to marry a woman you don’t know. A woman who is lying to you.”

Now John’s wearing his isn’t this ironic face. “Oh, well, I suppose I should be used to people who love me lying to me! You’ve given me plenty of practice, you know.”

“I realise my apology for that is inadequate. I understand that you will never return my feelings, and I will live with that. I’m not jealous. Marry whomever you want, John— just not her. She’s not who she claims to be. I’m telling you this because I believe you’re in danger.”

“All right, then.” Still angry, but also curious. “Tell me. Who is she?”

“I don’t know yet. I do know that she’s not Mary Morstan, who was stillborn in 1972 and buried in Chiswick Cemetery. The night I met her, I deduced that she’s hiding something, so I went to Mycroft. While I was gone, he was supposed to keep an eye on you because we believed Moriarty’s organisation might still take action against you. When I realised that she was not who she said she was, I gave him an earful for letting an unknown close to you.”

“And what did he say?”

“Nothing. He wouldn’t tell me anything about her. Classified. Which tells me most of what I needed to know. He knows exactly who she is, which suggests that she’s an agent of some sort, probably freelance. She may have done work for the British government, which would be how he knew her.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re an agent of the government, I believe. Don’t even try telling me you weren’t working for your brother these past two years. Maybe she doesn’t have clearance to tell me what kind of work she did.”

“But she hasn’t even mentioned it, has she? She told you she’s a nurse. And she’s using a name that’s not her own. You’re marrying her, John— the fact that she’s assumed a false identity—“

“—means that she’s in some sort of witness protection. That she doesn’t have clearance to tell anyone.“ Annoyed, but not in denial. Uncomfortable now that he’s thinking about it.

“Mycroft would have said if that were the case. And he would have threatened me to keep my hands off. The fact that he’s said nothing means that she’s part of an active investigation. And most likely not currently working for the British government. If she were, he would have said.”

John is silent.

“Ignorance is not bliss, John. You made that point quite forcefully the night I returned.”

“She’s active?” He looks dazed.

“Mycroft wouldn’t say. But it’s not the kind of work anyone actually leaves behind.”

“And you’re telling me this now? You couldn’t have said sooner? Christ, we’ve started planning the wedding!” Angry again.

“I wasn’t sure. I’m more certain now, though.”

John has reached his limit. “I… I’ve got to go. I can’t deal with this now. Just… I’m going.” He grabs his coat, stuffs his arms in the sleeves, and marches out the door.

… (Continues below cut)

I return from buying milk (I really must be losing my mind if I’m going to the shops, but tea requires milk and sugar and Mrs Hudson is still showing her displeasure at my inexplicable return by not running errands for me) and find Mycroft sitting in my chair. He knows, of course, which chair is mine and which is John’s, and is making a statement whose meaning I can guess. Power dynamics: my chair.

Considering who’s paid the rent for the last two years, it actually is Mycroft’s chair. I make tea, hand a mug to Mycroft, and sit in John’s chair.

“Well, brother.” He gives me an appraising look.

I’m used to the evaluation; it happens every time I see my brother, that once-over to determine if (a) I’ve relapsed, (b) I’ve done something else Mycroft will regret, or c) I’m about to lie about something not covered under (a) or (b). The best way to side-track this is to get on his nerves.

“This is about John, isn’t it?” I blow on my tea. “Otherwise you would have called.”

“He came to see me yesterday, directly from seeing you. Asking what I knew about Mary Morstan. Now, where did he get the idea that she’d been lying to him, if not from you?”

“You didn’t swear me to silence.”

Mycroft sips his tea, but says nothing. He’s very good at keeping his own counsel.

“I asked him not to marry her,” I say. “I don’t have any real proof, other than what I told him, but reasoned that it would be better not to leave it until the last moment. I’m wondering, though, why you were willing to let it happen. You let her close to John, when it’s obvious she was planted in his surgery because of me.”

Mycroft smirks. “You don’t think it was Dr Watson’s charms that drew her to him?”

“Mary Morstan isn’t like the others. Who is she working for?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you can guess.”

“I’m not giving you an unfounded hypothesis, Sherlock. The matter is still classified.” He shifts in his seat, watching me, then relents a bit. “You’re not wrong about her. But we cannot afford to tip her off yet. The marriage will be invalid, of course.”

(Note to self: Kill Mycroft.)

“This should never have happened. John is not a chess piece, a thing to be sacrificed for your game. Now, go away. I don’t want to talk to you until you can give me some answers.”

Without a word, Mycroft stands, tucks his umbrella under his arm, glares at me, and leaves.

…

It’s night, and I’m walking. No particular destination, just around the park until I’m too tired to walk further.

When I finally open the door of 221B, John is sitting on the stairs.

He looks up at me, but doesn’t speak. And for once, I can’t read his look. Either he’s said something to Mary, or he hasn’t. She’s lied to him, or she’s told him the truth. He’s forgiven her or he’s broken it off.

It’s Schrödinger’s wedding.

I hang my coat by the door. He still hasn’t spoken, but budges over to make room for me.

“You said you love me.”

“Yes.”

“You promised not to lie.”

“I’m not lying. I do love you.”

“I mean, about Mary.”

“I spoke with Mycroft. She’s part of an active investigation, as I guessed. He wouldn’t give me details.”

“Jesus. And you love me.”

I feel his eyes on me, but say nothing. Either he accepts it, or he doesn’t.

“You told me you were married to your work. That’s a pretty clear signal you weren’t interested. Why did you say that?”

“Because I was a coward. And soon you were dating women, which was also a clear signal, and there wasn’t any point in bringing it up again.”

“When you say love, what do you mean?”

“I want you to be happy. If that’s with someone other than me, fine. But someone who’s lying to you cannot make you happy.”

He leans closer, his shoulder against mine. “And what would make you happy? If you could have anything you want?”

“A locked room triple homicide, no murder weapon.”

He gives a low chuckle. “Idiot. I mean, what do you want from me?”

“Whatever you’ll give me. I’m prepared to be your friend for life, if that’s what you want.”

“Nothing more? Just friends? Not romantic?”

No lies, not now. “Yes, I want more. I want you to live here, to sleep in my bed, yes— with all that entails. To never leave me. But I will take what I can—”

“Yes. All of it.”

It’s my turn to be silent.

He rubs his eyes. Sleepless night. “I told her I couldn’t marry her. You’d best let Mycroft know if he’s trying to suss her out. She’s already packing her bags.”

“Did she tell you what she is?”

“I didn’t ask. I just told her I was in love with you.”

I feel as if I’ve been punched in the gut. No, I feel like what I imagine when I think of kissing John. Breathless, heart-pounding.

“Are you in love with me?”

“I thought you knew.” He smiles, takes my hand in his own. “Yes, I am.”

My voice shakes. “And what did she say?”

“She already knew.” His smile broadening, John leans in.

The kiss is better than any I could imagine.

He doesn’t let go when it ends. “So, if I’d decided to marry her anyway…” He grins. “What was your plan for that?”

The truth. I promised. “I was going to kidnap you.”

He gives me a smouldering look. “You could still do that.”

(Note to self: I’m going to have to get used to John Watson’s love language.)

...

Read/comment on AO3

#mayprompts2024

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daydreamtofiction · 1 year ago

Text

Thou Shalt Not Covet // 7: Divinity

Contents | Part 6 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Benedict x Female Reader) The aftermath of your confession leads to some unexpected revelations.

Word Count: <6.8K

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, adult & sexual themes, adultery, descriptions of mild injury. Readers must be 18+

You found yourself back at the pub, wedged between your father and his wife Nicola, the scent of ale on his breath and her flowery perfume mingling in the air in front of your face. You always felt so small in their presence, so weedy and meek in comparison to their large, proud frames.

He said something and she laughed, nudging you gently in the arm as though his words had been meant for you. But you hadn't been listening, resorting to breathing out an absentminded chuckle that never quite made a sound.

You'd gone into the toilets as soon as you returned from the church, sitting alone in the cubicle furthest from the door with your head in your hands. You'd listened as two of your cousins came in, chatting and laughing as they peed and washed their hands. It was the first time you'd felt truly sinful; looking down at the damp patch in your underwear, the red fingertip marks on your thighs as the girls you used to play house with as children stood touching up their makeup on the other side of the door.

They would always make you the postman, have you knock on the door to their playhouse with pretend letters and parcels. You would wander around your aunt and uncle's house looking for scrap paper and cardboard boxes to bring to them, stick old stamps on the front to make them look real. You never understood why the adults told them off for leaving you out; you never felt left out, always perfectly happy on the other side of the door.

You'd waited until they left to finally emerge from your cubicle, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, the nude sheen of lipstick smudged around your mouth. You scrubbed at it with a paper towel until your skin turned raw, as though if you wiped hard enough, you could erase the kiss altogether.

But you weren't sure you wanted to erase it. You didn't even know if you could; the moment his hands grabbed your face replaying on a loop in your head as your father continued to talk beside you.

"Where's the boyfriend?" he asked after downing the dregs of his pint.

He never called him Alfie, always 'the boyfriend'.

"He went home," you replied apathetically.

"Were you arguing with him earlier or am I making that up?"

"Hm? Oh, over there? No, I was er, I had a bit of a... thing with Gina."

"Ah."

He didn't pry. Neither did Nicola. You appreciated it, but the quiet lull that followed made you squirm, adjusting the straps of your dress and twiddling your necklace as Superman by Black Lace thumped through the speakers. They started doing the actions to the song, dancing in their seats either side of you and throwing their thumbs over their shoulders like they were hitchhiking.

"And that's my cue to leave," you said, standing up and shimmying past your father's legs to escape.

"What? Not embarrassed of your old man are you?" He laughed.

You turned and smiled down at him. "Aren't daughters supposed to be?"

He never danced when you were little, wouldn't have been caught dead bopping in his seat, pretending to comb his hair like Danny from Grease. But he wasn't with Nicola back then, and maybe that was why. Maybe all it really took was the right person to make a man behave outside of himself.

You wandered over to a table on the other side of the room; your mother, aunt, grandmother and Mara sitting around it in silence.

"Thought this was a christening, not a funeral," you said as you pulled up a chair.

Mara glared up at you, cheek resting on her fist as she stirred her drink with the tip of her finger, clearly exasperated by whatever they'd been talking about before you arrived.

"Where've you been?" your mother asked.

"I was just sitting with Dad and-"

"No, before that. I was looking for you, I wanted to get a nice picture under the banner."

"Oh, I went outside."

"What for?"

"Nothing in particular."

You felt yourself unconsciously pulling down the skirt of your dress, eyes shifting across to your sister, just long enough for her interest to pique.

"So, a godmother, ey?" said your aunt. "That'll be good practice for when you have your own."

You resisted the urge to groan. It seemed like all the women in your family ever wanted to talk about was marriage, babies, settling down, like there was a clock inside your uterus that only they could hear ticking.

"Oh that's- That's a... long way off," you replied with a tight smile.

"Not too long, I hope," said your mother. "I'm telling you, Ellis, you don't want to end up like Mara, in your late thirties and only just starting a family-"

"Excuse me?" Mara interrupted.

"I'm not criticising, love, I'm just saying as someone who's experienced being both a younger mum and an older mum, I much preferred raising you and your brother than I did Ellis."

"Wow, burning bridges with all your kids today, are you?" you said plainly. "Why don't we go three for three; head down to Cain's plot and tell him he was a shit driver."

"Oh Ellis, for Christ's sake, must you say things like that!?"

"Fucking hell," Mara grumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose between finger and thumb.

"It was just a joke." You shrugged.

"A distasteful one," said your mother.

You could have sworn you spotted a slight giggle behind Mara's hand. She never had any sense of humour when it came to Cain, could barely even listen to people talk about him without growing agitated. But in this moment, her disdain for your mother seemed to outweigh her grief, allowing the corners of her mouth to curl at the sound of offended scoffs around the table.

"He'd have laughed at that," you said.

Your mother, aunt and grandmother shook their heads in accidental unison. You rolled your shoulders, trying to release the tension in your neck.

"What's got into you today?" your mother asked.

A priest, almost.

"Nothing. Sorry, I'm just... Not in the right frame of mind to be talking about babies and..." you trailed off, blowing out a puff of air through puckered lips before rising to your feet. "Sorry."

You walked away, weaving through a group of small children playing musical statues in the middle of the room.

There was a tap on the back of your arm, a gentle tug at your waist. You turned to find Mara behind you, slightly out of breath and sighing as she began to speak.

"Hey, listen, don't let her get under your skin. You know what she's like, she's just abrasive without even meaning to be-"

"No it's- It's fine, it's not that," you replied.

"Then what is it?"

"Nothing."

"Has Alfie done something?"

"No. Well I mean, he left which was a bit annoying, but no, he's... I'm..."

"Is it the priest?"

"What?"

"He came to say goodbye, then ten minutes later I watched you leave through the same door. Now you're back, you're annoyed about something, and your lipstick's gone..."

"Mara."

She shrugged, raising her hands in surrender. "Fine, I'm mistaken."

"You are."

"Fine."

"Look, I'm going to go. It's not because of that, I just... You know parties aren't really my thing."

"I know." She glanced over her shoulder, then back to you. "Nathan's not been drinking. I'll get him to drive you home."

"He doesn't have to-"

"Wait there."

Nathan smelled good. Clean and expensive, the kind of smell you'd notice on your clothes hours after he hugged you and find yourself pressing your nose to the material. He dressed well, nice suits and neat hair, thick platinum wedding ring glinting as he gripped the steering wheel. You'd always liked him, liked how easy he found people; able to know what they needed from him without ever having to ask.

You were staring out the passenger window, distracted by thoughts of Father Benedict, running the tip of your index finger over your lips and wondering if he might be somewhere doing the same.

"She worries about you, you know," said Nathan. "Mara, I mean."

You turned to look at him. "I've told her I'm fine."

"No, I don't just mean lately. I mean all the time."

"She barely speaks to me. We've seen more of each other in the last few weeks than we have in years."

"Yeah and you know what? She's happier."

"You say that like I'm the reason we don't-"

"No, I know you're not the reason." He turned a corner, glancing in his rearview mirror before continuing. "She just... I don't think she knows how to love you up close. So instead she just worries from afar."

"But there's nothing to worry about. I'm a grown woman. It's not like I'm out doing drugs or jumping out of planes or-"

"I mean she worries about you. Worries if you're happy, if you're doing okay, if you need to talk but don't feel like you can reach out because you think she's going to be critical or judgemental or snappy."

You didn't answer, returning your attention to the window.

"You can talk to her, Ellis."

A laugh escaped you in a breath. "She just wants the gossip on the priest," you said jokingly.

He laughed too. "She thinks something's going on between you."

"I don't know why."

"She knows you better than you think."

You watched as a traffic light turned green moments before you got to it, allowing him to keep driving without having to slow down.

"Do you believe in signs?" you asked.

"Like fate? The universe?"

"Like... a higher being."

"I think if it helps people to think they're being sent signs from above, then who am I to stop them?"

"But would you follow the signs? Do as they seem to tell you?"

"It depends."

"On what?"

"If they aligned with what I already wanted to do."

You laughed softly.

It was still light outside when you arrived home, but the air was cooler, the setting sun turning the clouds a watercolour of pinks and golds. You climbed out of the car, bending forward to wave through the tinted window before turning around and heading down the path towards your front door. You heard the smooth whoosh of the engine behind you, tyres crunching over loose stones and gravel as he drove away.

"Oh, fuck," you whispered to yourself, suddenly realising you didn't have your bag. Your phone, keys and purse still sitting on the floor of the church where you'd thrown it in frustration.

You knocked and waited a while, but when no one came, you made your way around the back instead. You slipped through a broken slat in the wooden fence, your dress catching on an exposed nail, a soft tearing sound making you stop and let out a groan. You freed yourself carefully and continued into the back garden, sighing with relief when you saw the patio door ajar, Gina's ashtray balanced on the windowsill beside it.

Sean and Sam were stood in the kitchen, chatting and laughing as they rummaged through the cupboards, the sound of clattering glass almost drowning out their voices. Sean turned around with a litre of vodka in one hand, a bottle of grenadine in the other. He startled when he saw you, his body stiffening, gasping in fright.

"See what I mean," he said breathlessly. "Always creeping up on me."

"I did knock," you replied.

"Sorry, we mustn't have heard," said Sam.

"It's okay." You wandered across the kitchen towards the hall, fiddling with the small rip on your dress.

"Do you want a drink?" Sam called out to you. "Sean closed on a house so we're making shit cocktails to celebrate."

You smiled. "No, that's okay. Congratulations though." You paused as you reached the door. "Is Alfie home?"

Sean shrugged. "Not sure, we've only just got back."

You made your way slowly up the stairs, running your hand over the banister; the dark, scuffed wood reminding you of the confessional booth, bringing back the smells, the heat, the heart-pounding tension. It felt weird knowing your relationship was over before actually saying the words out loud; like this space between the kitchen and the bedroom was some strange realm where you were together and apart at the same time - schrödigner's staircase.

You arrived at his bedroom door, taking a deep breath before knocking gently. But when he didn't answer, you let yourself in, finding the room empty, a sinking feeling in your gut at the realisation that he must be waiting for you in yours. It made you feel even worse, somehow, the thought of him sitting on your bed twiddling his thumbs while you were out kissing another man.

You closed the door softly and walked towards your room, stopping as your hand reached for the doorknob when a shuffling sound stole your attention.

It was coming from the other end of the landing, making you glance over your shoulder to listen. But after a moment, you shook away the curiosity and went inside, brow furrowing when you found yourself alone; the room quiet, empty, everything just as you'd left it.

You turned around and made your way back, passing Alfie's room, then Sean's, then Sam's, until eventually you came to Gina's. It was the biggest room in the house; best view, closest to the bathroom. The door stood near the top of the stairs, looking down the length of the landing like a boss' chair at the head of a long table.

You pressed your ear to it, another shuffling sound coming from the other side. Then you opened it.

You weren't sure why you didn't walk back out, why you didn't gasp or shriek or cover your eyes. Instead you stood there, head tilted slightly to one side with a strange calmness as you took in the sight of her on her hands and knees at the bottom of the bed, breasts swaying pendulously to the rhythm of your boyfriend's listless thrusts.

They stopped the moment they saw you; Gina scarpering with a panicked yelp to hide beneath the duvet, Alfie backing himself awkwardly into the corner of the room, dick shrivelling like a punctured balloon until it was practically microscopic.

"Oh my god, Ellis," said Gina, panting to catch her breath. "I'm so-"

"You- You weren't supposed to be back-" Alfie began to stammer, cupping himself to protect what little dignity he had left. "Look it's not- It's not... Fuck!"

They continued to talk over each other, a mess of half-finished excuses and apologies that you didn't care to listen to. You remained quiet, eyes trailing slowly over both of them; his sweaty forehead, the mascara smudged beneath her eyes.

"Ellis..." she sniffled. "Ellis, please say something."

You glanced down at their clothes in a heap on the floor, a discarded foil wrapper beside them. You crouched down and picked it up - Mutual Climax Delay Textured Condoms - and out of nowhere, a giggle began to take root at the base of your throat.

They stared at you in shock as the sound bloomed into a much heartier laugh, your shoulders shaking, hand covering your mouth.

"Wh-" Alfie muttered in confusion, still frozen in the corner of the room.

Gina hugged the duvet tighter to her chest, brows coming together over watery eyes. "Why are you laughing?"

You calmed yourself with a breath, letting your head fall back to gaze up at the ceiling. "Now this is a sign," you said.

"A sign?" she replied.

"A sign for what? Ellis, please just- Can we all talk about-"

You let go of the wrapper, watching it flutter to the ground, before turning and walking out of the room without another word.

You weren't sure how long you'd been walking. But it was dark now, so it must have been a while. You'd taken off your shoes, holding them by the straps as you wandered barefoot through the quiet streets.

When it began to rain, you'd stopped for a moment, tipping your face up to the sky and closing your eyes with a smile, welcoming the cool shower across your warm skin. But after a while, you found yourself wishing it would stop; shivering, teeth chattering, the fabric of your dress clinging uncomfortably to your body.

You didn't have a phone, nor your purse, though it wasn't like you had money in there anyway. A bus drove past and you considered stopping it, wondered if the driver would take pity on you, let you ride for free. But by the time the thought came to you, it had already disappeared around a corner.

There was a sharp sting in the ball of your foot, making you stumble slightly, hissing in pain. You sat down on a nearby wall to inspect it, prising a small shard of thick, dark green glass from your skin and watching as blood began to ooze from the fresh cut.

"Wonderful," you muttered, throwing the glass into a bush and standing up with a sigh.

If there really was a god, you thought, how could they justify this? Alfie and Gina, safe and warm together in the house you'd caught them fucking in. Yet here you were, barefoot, soaking wet, limping down the same street where a creepy stranger had stalked you just a few months ago.

Had your sins really been worse than theirs?

As you grew closer to your destination, you began to question why you hadn't just walked to your mother's, or Mara's, even Dawn the receptionist from work lived nearer than this. You thought about turning around; maybe by the time you got home you'd be dry, calm, you could sneak into your room and lock the door, sleep until the sun rose and set again.

But you kept going, hobbling across the road and making your way down the dark, winding path you'd grown far too familiar with. You swore under your breath as the soles of your feet pressed into the rough stone, making you wince as you hurried over it, like running across hot coals.

You knocked gently on the front door of the rectory, leaning back to regard the house as you waited; windows draped in darkness, so quiet and still, it was as if no one resided there at all. You realised this was the first time you'd seen it so close; the weathered stone and ivy climbing the walls, the quaint front door and doormat he'd thrown down without taking off the price tag.

You smiled to yourself and crouched down, picking at the edge of the sticker with your nail until it began to peel away. Then you heard footsteps. But they weren't coming from inside the house. You glanced over your shoulder, eyes following the sound of crunching gravel behind you.

Father Benedict was walking slowly, apprehensively, eyes narrowed in confusion through strands of curly, wet hair sticking to his brow. The rain was falling heavily, turning his shirt and trousers a glossy black as they clung to his body, but he didn't seem fazed, too consumed by the sight of a stranger hunched over in his porch.

You rose to your feet and he stopped approaching, no less concerned when he realised it was you standing there.

"Ellis?" he whispered in bewilderment.

"Oh, hi."

"What are you doing here?"

"I er..."

Why were you there? You'd relied so much on the idea that you'd know once you arrived; that the words would just come naturally, that everything would fall into place without you having to think about it.

"I left my bag in the church," you said.

His brow furrowed and he scratched the back of his head. "Well I've- sorry I've literally just got back from locking the place up, I didn't..."

"It's okay, never mind." You emerged from beneath the shelter of the porch, taking off back towards the path.

"Wait, did you... Did you walk here?" he called out.

You glanced back at him, noticing his eyes falling to the shoes in your hand, your sopping dress, then up at the rain falling from the pitch black sky.

"Mhm," you replied nonchalantly, as though it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Y-you- Hold on, you walked all the way here? In this weather? Just to get your bag?"

"Well it's got my phone and... stuff."

He let out a huff through his nose, resting his weight on one leg. "Why are you really here?"

"For my bag."

"Ellis."

"What?"

"Please don't lie to me."

"I'm not."

"Right. So now you're just going to walk home?"

You shrugged. "Yeah."

He glared at you for a moment before dropping his head with a sigh. "Come inside."

"No, it's fine, I'll just come back when the church is open tomorrow."

"In. Now."

His voice made your stomach flutter; the firmness of it, how it wasn't a request, but a demand. You followed him back towards the front door as he unlocked it, moving aside to let you in first.

You stepped into the house, water dripping from the hem of your dress onto the doormat beneath you, the soft material like heaven on your sore feet. He closed the door, switched on a lamp and took a step back to take in the sight of you, hands resting on his slender hips.

He was just as drenched as you were, but it still felt like he was judging you, like he couldn't believe you'd be stupid enough to get caught in such a heavy downpour.

You returned his gaze, allowing your eyes to scan him up and down quickly, just once.

"Have you only just got back?" you asked.

"From the church?" he replied. "Yeah, why?"

"You've been there all this time?"

He pressed his lips together and relaxed his posture, dropping his hands from his hips as he began to walk across the small living room.

"Turns out there was quite a... lengthy conversation to be had," he said.

You glanced up towards the sky, shifting awkwardly on your feet. "And what's he been saying?"

"Mm, nothing much." He disappeared through a door, returning moments later with two towels, throwing one over to you. "He's not the most talkative of entities; the chats are often quite one-sided."

"What's your side been saying?"

"Mostly 'sorry'. And 'please don't smite me'," he replied dryly.

You dropped your head and laughed softly.

He smiled reluctantly, as though he couldn't help it. Your eyes locked for a moment, the air turning heavy and close. You shivered, though you weren't sure if it was because of him, or the raindrops trickling down your back as they dripped from your hair.

You wrapped the towel around your shoulders like a cloak, watching as he ruffled his through his hair.

"I'll get you some clothes," he said. "You can't stay in that."

"I'm alright."

"Don't be silly, look at-" he stopped, eyes falling to your feet. "You're bleeding."

"Hm?" You looked down, noticing the small red smudge you'd left on the mat. "Oh, that's nothing. I just- I stepped on a piece of glass and-"

"Sit down."

"Really, I'm-"

"Sit," he said, that same stern tone making your insides go funny as he gestured to the couch.

You lay your towel down and sat on it, listening as he rummaged around in the other room. You assumed it was the kitchen; the sound of cupboards opening and closing, ceramic clinking together.

He came back with a small plastic tub, walking around to you and kneeling at your feet. You bit the inside of your cheek at the sight of him knelt on the floor in front of you; such an innocent act, yet the thoughts it ignited were anything but pure.

You sat quietly as you watched him open the tub, his long fingers sifting around until he finally found what he was looking for. He glanced up at you before taking your ankle in his hand, raising it slightly to look at the cut on the bottom of your foot.

There was a grumble deep in the back of his throat. He reached down and picked up a small packet, tearing it open with his teeth and spitting out the paper.

Oh, you know exactly what you're doing, you thought.

He slid out an alcohol wipe and looked up at you. "This is going to sting like a bitch."

"Go for it," you replied quietly.

You sucked the air through your teeth with a hiss, closing your eyes as he began to clean the cut.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Mm. I'm one of those weird people who sort of likes the pain."

He paused. "Sucker for punishment, ey?"

"Maybe."

"Is that why you seem to have such a problem staying away from me?"

You shrugged. "That's what happens when you make yourself a sanctuary for people, Father. They tend to seek you out when they need it."

"Why are you in need of sanctuary?"

"Well." You pretended to ponder for a moment, tapping your lips with your index finger. "I almost fucked a priest today... on an altar."

"It was a credence table," he muttered.

You stuck your tongue into your cheek and laughed quietly. "Is it not understandable that I might want to talk to you about that?"

He stopped what he was doing, still holding your ankle as he looked up at you. "Ellis, you walked here. In the dark, in the rain, no coat, no phone, nothing. Because you wanted to talk about something that could've waited until tomorrow?"

"Well I got a sign telling me to come now."

"Piss off." He rummaged through the tub and pulled out a box of plasters.

"What? I thought you were a big believer in signs?"

He rolled his eyes, peeling open a large, square plaster and sticking it gently over your cut. "What was this sign, then?"

"Oh, nothing, just walked in on my boyfriend fucking my best friend."

He stopped, staring up at you in disbelief. "Are you messing with me?"

"No."

"Jesus Christ."

"It's actually fine," you said with a sigh. "I'd made up my mind on the way home that I was going to end it anyway. Now I get to break up with him and be the victim in the situation. Worked out great."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"So I take it that's why you were wandering the streets with no shoes on."

"I'm not usually one for dramatics. But I'd already stormed out when I realised I didn't have anything with me and I was too stubborn to go back."

"Not one for dramatics... Hm."

"I'm not."

He finished mending your foot, lowering it gently to the ground and scooping everything back into the tub. It closed with a click and you watched as he took a moment to examine his handiwork, pressing his thumb along the edges of the dressing to make sure it was flush to your skin.

You looked around the room, all cluttered and mismatched, outdated wallpaper and modest appliances. There was a small television in the corner, an old radio just like the one your parents had when you were a child. You could tell he'd done his best to make himself comfortable in the space; blankets draped over the back of the couch, a games console wired up to the TV, framed pictures on the coffee table and mantelpiece.

"Does it get lonely here?" you asked.

"Not really. I spend so much time around other people, it's nice having a place to be alone. Out there I'm Father Benedict, in here I'm just... Ben."

"Ben," you repeated quietly, taking pleasure in how ordinary it sounded, how soft and human it made him.

He glanced up at you with a burning intensity, like he hadn't expected the way hearing his name on your tongue would make him feel; the intimacy of it catching him off guard, making him hesitate, fighting to maintain his composure. He stood up and cleared his throat.

"I think I'm going to... Go and have a cigarette," he said. "Not had one all day, I'm gasping."

"Okay," you replied faintly.

He began to walk away but halted suddenly, turning on his heels. You sat quietly as he approached again, stopping in front of you.

"Look," he said. "Everything that happened earlier in the church, the things I said to you... I'm not going to try and say I didn't mean them because clearly I did. But that doesn't... I- I shouldn't have-" He let out a defeated exhale. "I can't act on it, Ellis."

You stayed silent, gazing up at him through your lashes as he paced slightly before you.

"Stop looking at me like that," he growled.

"If you were strong in your convictions it wouldn't matter how I was looking at you."

"I'm not strong. That's the problem."

"Then why do you expect me to be?"

He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. You watched as he made his way back into the kitchen, listening to the sound of a drawer sliding open and shut again, his shoes clacking on the tiles.

You stood up, resting your weight on your injured foot, testing how much pressure you could apply before it began to ache.

There was a crucifix hanging on the far wall, a small table laden with trinkets and tools you assumed were important. There was a cushion on the floor in front of it all, you pictured him knelt there, palms clasped in prayer. You limped over to it, running your fingers over an intricately decorated candle, a string of rosary beads in a metal dish, you fanned your thumb across the pages of a leather bound bible, wondering what prayers he'd made here.

He was such a contradiction; so normal and funny and grounded, yet he would kneel before a cross and speak to something he had no proof was even listening. There must be a reason, you thought, some benefit to it all. You knelt on the cushion, clasping your fingers together in front of you and closing your eyes with a cynical exhale.

After a little while, you heard the creak of the door, Father Benedict stepping back into the room.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Praying," you replied, eyes still closed.

He scoffed. "Sure."

"I am."

"What about?"

"I thought you weren't supposed to ask what people are praying for?"

"That's wishes."

"Oh."

You listened to his footsteps as they grew closer, suddenly feeling his presence at your side. You opened your eyes and turned your head, looking up to find him standing over you, looking down with an expression you couldn't quite place.

"What are you praying for?" he asked again, his voice low and quiet.

"I actually don't know if it can be classed as a prayer. Feels more like I'm just... thinking."

"Tell me."

You inhaled deeply through your nose, letting it out in a quiet sigh. "There are things I want. Things I've always wanted but never realised until I met you."

He took a slight step closer, towering over you as you knelt at his feet. He was so serious. It changed his entire face, made him more beautiful than handsome, dark and otherworldly like a fallen angel.

"I want..." you paused, wetting your lips. "I want to have faith in something. I want reason, risk, I want consequences. I want to let go and trust there's someone else pulling the strings, that if I just be a good girl and do as I'm told I can have more in this life than a boring job and strained relationships and a boyfriend who can't even make me come. I want to be vibrant and endearing and sensitive and open. I want to be punished when I do wrong." You paused. "I want to ask for what I want and believe it will be given to me."

He was still looking down at you, features hard and angular, eyes more grey than blue beneath the shadow of his heavy brow.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Why? Are you going to give it to me?"

He reached out his hand and your body stiffened, a shiver rolling down your back when his fingers brushed a lock of wet hair out of your face.

"I'm going to get you some dry clothes," he said.

You felt a sudden loss in your chest, like a candle being snuffed out, only a whisper of smoke to remind you it was once burning. He walked away, leaving you kneeling on the ground in silence.

You grimaced as you peeled the dress from your body, your skin pricking with goosebumps as it made contact with the cold air. The bathroom was small and draughty, old-fashioned tiles doing little to insulate the space.

You threw the dress aside, the material so heavy with rainwater that it made a splattering sound as it hit the floor. Your bra followed, then your underwear, until you were completely stripped in the middle of the room.

There was something strange about being naked in this place. The constant reminders of a higher being watching over you making you feel exposed, as though you were being ogled by a set of eyes you couldn't even see. It was also hard to forget who was waiting for you downstairs; only a door separating your unclad body from the man you wished would touch it, kiss it, ruin it completely.

If you were more like Gina, you might have walked out there like this, lay yourself bare to him in the hopes that he would yield, surrender to his own desires and take you in his arms. But you weren't Gina, you were Ellis. And Ellis didn't like to gamble. So instead you picked up a towel and dried yourself off before inspecting the clothes Father Benedict had given to you.

You unfolded a soft, heather grey sweatshirt, holding it up by the shoulders to read the university logo embroidered on the front. It must have meant a lot for him to keep it all these years, and now he was letting you wear it, the thought made you smile. There were pyjama bottoms too, a pair of socks and a set of black boxers. It made your cheeks warm, and you immediately rolled your eyes at yourself.

You slipped on the underwear, adjusting the loose material until it sat comfortably around your waist. Then you pulled on the jumper, taking a moment to bask in the warmth, appreciating how dry and clean you felt. You picked up the pyjama bottoms, looking at them for a moment before putting them back on the side; maybe it was okay to take a small leaf from Gina's book. She owed you this much.

You made your way back downstairs to find Father Benedict sitting on the couch with one leg crossed over the other. He was still in his wet clothes, hair brushed back out of his face, staring off into space as though he'd forgotten he needed to change too. Or maybe he just didn't care. You stood on the other side of the room, jumper skimming the tops of your bare thighs as he continued to daydream.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked tentatively.

He snapped out of his haze, eyes flitting over to you and immediately falling to your legs. "Did you not get the trousers?"

"I got them."

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, he swallowed and looked down. "I was just wondering about something."

"What?"

"I was wondering what was going through your mind when you knelt in front of me at mass."

Your lips were parted but you didn't speak, watching his fingers on the arm of the couch, gripping and releasing in a steady rhythm.

"I just wanted you to look at me," you replied, almost whispering. "You weren't looking at me and I couldn't stand it."

He nodded, pausing in thought. "I really tried that day. To nip it in the bud." He chuckled. "How fucking stupid of me, thinking I could just avert my eyes, quote a few passages from the bible and this would all go away."

"I didn't mean to make you-"

"You have a boyfriend-"

"Had."

"And you would complain about him to me; how neglectful he was, how shit he was in bed. But instead of giving you guidance or counsel like I'm supposed to, I- I just found myself wanting to-" He stopped himself, reining in the fury that was beginning to build in his voice.

"Wanting to...?"

He looked at you. "Do you know what was going through my mind that day at mass? I was angry. Partly because you shouldn't have been up there, you were making a mockery out of the practice just to get a rise out of me and I was furious with you for it." He paused. "But mostly, I was angry because I knew I'd never be able to stop picturing you on your knees."

A sudden wave crashed through you, flooding the depths of your core with a tingling heat. He seemed to notice, eyes darting between your face and your body, how you'd crossed your legs at the ankle, bare thighs squeezing together.

"Why couldn't you have just... Stayed away?" he whispered.

"Ouch," you replied plainly.

There was a long, intense silence, the white noise of rain beating against the window.

"Is that what you want?" you asked. "For me to stay away?"

"It's not what I want, but I think it's what I need," he replied. "I'm a shit priest-"

"No you're not."

"I am. You know why? Because I don't resist, I run." He looked around the living room. "But I can't exactly do that here."

You shrugged gently, pressing your lips together. "I didn't come here to make things difficult for you."

"No, you came because you want direction. You want to believe that if you trust in the divine and go where it seems to lead you, you'll be rewarded for your obedience."

You swallowed, trying to keep your breath steady despite the throbbing between your legs, the flutters in your stomach.

He sighed and uncrossed his legs. "Come here."

You did as you were told, ignoring the slight pain in your foot as you made your way across the room. You stopped in front of him, your mind a cloud of confusion and anticipation as you waited for your next instruction.

"Tell me what you thought was going to happen when you decided to come here tonight," he said.

"I don't know. I was just- I was on autopilot-"

"Thou shalt not bear false witness."

You rolled your eyes and blew out an exasperated breath. "I wanted to see you," you said simply. "I felt so guilty about what happened in the church. Then a couple of hours later I walked in on my boyfriend cheating on me and I thought, fuck it."

"So you're here out of retaliation."

Your brows came together, the offence clear on your face. You leaned in slightly towards him, speaking clearly, sternly and without shame. "I'm here because every time he fucks me, I imagine it's you."

He already knew that to be true. But hearing it from you directly, so certain and unabashed, made him shift in his seat. His face was calm, but you knew where to look for the truth; it was in his knuckles, how they'd turned white as they gripped the arm of the couch, the muscle pulsing in his jaw, the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed.

Your eyes were locked on each other, the familiar heat rising between you. He made a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh.

"This is going to happen, isn't it," he said defeatedly.

"I think it is."

He reached out slowly, hands making contact with the cold flesh of your legs. His touch was searing, pulling you gently towards him. You moved forward, straddling him with your thighs and sitting on his lap, hands snaking over his shoulders as his fingers gripped your hips.

His clothes were still wet, making you shiver as they dampened the front of your jumper, soaking into the gusset of the boxers. You leaned into him, chest pressing against chest, your fingers finding their way into the back of his hair.

You pulled his head back slightly, allowing you to lean forward and kiss him. You'd never been one to take charge, much preferring to be handled, guided, but in this moment you knew that if you ever wanted to bask in the flood, you had to be the one to break the dam.

He growled softly against your lips. "I'm going to hell," he mumbled.

"I'll probably see you there."

Part 8

*Tags: @evelynrosestuff @thealleydog @lexlexigogh @allie131313 @simpingbestie @ironstrange1991 @witchoftheages @queerbee8 @swds @jyessaminereads @withalittlehoney @hunterofshadows04 @slytherindoctorsat221b @diabaroxa @phoebe221 @hai-kbai @downtownshabby @dara-of-qui-zi @unfilteredmoonchild @classicrebound @bigratbitchsworld @aphroditesdilemma @bloodyxsaint @ployavengersog1 @spectaclebitch @paola-carter

If you would like to be tagged in the next part, please comment below, or feel free to add yourself to the tag list here

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thegreenthepeacetheorange · 1 year ago

Text

Everlark (The Hunger Games, Ch. 23)

katniss hoping the camera doesn't pick up her blush at peeta saying "best thing that ever happened to you." peeta is such a flirt. like he couldn't talk to her for 11 years and you'd think he'd fumble at this stage but nope, the man is on fire

while she's in the sleeping bag she's sharing with peeta, with her head on his shoulders and his arms around her, katniss thinks: oh haymitch probably wants me to keep up the act, i better do something lol

"i noticed just about every girl but none of them made a lasting impression but you" i cannot

when they find out thresh has died, and katniss goes to sleep with her hood over her face to hide her emotions, she says that during this time, she silently says goodbye to thresh and thanks him for her life, she promises to remember him and do something for his and rue's families if she can and i think it's so beautiful that during the victory tour in catching fire, peeta essentially does this with no prompting. he remembers them and pledges to help them on his own accord. and no wonder katniss loves him for it. he is just a wonderful person and he is so in tune with her.

katniss is comforted by peeta's steady warmth

right before katniss says that she's never going to marry or have children because of the games, she thinks of haymitch, living alone, without a wife or children, drunk most of the time, and says she doesn't want to end up like that. so deep down, she wants a family, she wants companionship (for all those people who think she should've been alone at the end of mockingjay)

and then again we have her watching peeta as he sleeps and wondering what he/they will be like when they return home. she admits that she feels like he is actually in love with her and not just pretending.

"he will always be the boy with the bread". - he won't just be a friend because he's the boy with the bread and that is a lot more to katniss. when she thinks of anything beyond friendship with peeta, she feels like gale is watching over her which is very interesting. (would love to hear your thoughts on why because i'm still trying to understand how katniss's mind works). in my head, i feel like she saw gale as her obvious future partner just because of the nature of their relationship but now she's imagining things "beyond" friendship with this other boy peeta and it's conflicting for her. this want of hers for peeta (which turns into a need) that now disrupts what she thinks was a normal necessity in her life.

them and their constant long kisses and absentminded kisses. which katniss doesn't try to stop. like she just accepts them (and i believe participates in them) with no particular thoughts. she just casually mentions they're kissing every few sentences. like girl. i can't believe they gave us extra non-existent gale kisses in the movies but didn't give us the 24/7 smoochathon these two were having in that cave.

the ease with which they touch each other. the way katniss covers his mouth with her hands without thought. the way peeta makes her genuinely laugh while they're stuck in this nightmare

when they're out hunting and she thinks she's lost peeta/he's dead, she's actually completely irrational. her desperation and fear comes out as anger and snappiness but her thought process is irrational. she's so worried about peeta dying that she doesn't stop to think that she would've heard a cannon/seen his body be collected if he was dead by now.

she's so worried by the thought of peeta dying that she is trembling. i really think that after all their days and nights in the cave over the last few chapters, she has developed real love for him. the kind where the thought of him not being with her/in her life would cause her to seriously grieve. not in a oh that was the boy from my district way or oh that was the boy who helped me way or like the other tribute deaths - no, this is peeta and she wouldn't come back from his death.

it's funny that a lot of the time when she's confused about her feelings, it means poor peeta is dealing with her anger. like her throwing a strop and acting like she doesn't want the food he's found or picking at him for eating without her even though she doesn't care. she's so petty.

#everlark #we're nearly at the finish line of the first book #and i really hope you're convinced that it was always going to be an everlark endgame and that they are the central relationship of the boo #the relationship that propels the storylines forward #peeta x katniss #katniss x peeta #katniss and peeta #tgtpto everlark read #the hunger games

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missvelvetsstuff · 9 months ago

Text

Just a Number

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Reader meets Bucky at a party and the attraction is more than either one of them wants to resist. Of course nothing is ever that simple.

Notes: Since most stories are younger readers I felt like having a more mature reader could be a nice change of pace. Especially since I'm creeping up on senior discounts and want to believe Bucky could fall in love with someone like me.

I try to keep my readers description vague but, as always, she's female, tall and this one is obviously 40+

Chapter 10

Warnings: swearing, vague sex talk, angst

"John's dead"

Olivia's words rang in her head and her imagination immediately concluded that something had happened to James since they were on the same mission and his phone call had been abruptly disconnected.

Dawn was finally able to get Olivia calmed down and Y/N took the letter she had been waving around. It wasn't as bad as Olivia sobbed but it wasn't good. John was MIA, the letter didn't mention Bucky or Sam.

The two of them sat on the couch while Y/N poured drinks for them. She downed hers and refilled the glass before setting the bottle on the table, giving them their drinks and sitting down.

"So this doesn't say he's dead, he's just MIA. Which isn't great but there's still hope." Y/N offered, trying to sound positive even though her chest was tight and her stomach tied in knots.

Olivia was calming down and looked over at her "That's what Val said but I don't know if I can trust her."

Dawn looked at her questioningly "Val? Who's Val?"

Olivia shrugged "She approached John after his court martial. Said she would have work for him but didn't really clarify. She works for some govt agency, I'm not sure which and has a crazy long name that I can't remember." Olivia sighed "She told me to be strong and not to lose hope but I...." She held back a sob. "I don't know how to live without him. How do you do it, Y/N? I mean without Mike?"

Y/N shrugged "You just keep going, sometimes you have to lie to yourself and pretend you're ok. I had Dawn and if this does turn out to be the worst, you have us. You can stay in Jessie's old room tonite and as long as you need."

Olivia nodded "Thank you. I would like to stay, at least for tonite."

Dawn smiled softly at her "We're your sisters and will do whatever we can. For now, lets just take things one day at a time."

One day turned into a week, then two until over a month had passed with no news at all.

Jessie visited a few times a week to keep Olivia company while Y/N and Dawn worked. Her dog, Luna, was very comforting and made Olivia wish for a pet of her own but John hated animals and forbade it.

Michael came by a couple of times during the day but was careful to be gone before his mother returned, his anger at himself combined with the shame over how he had treated his mother prevented him from reaching out and apologizing.

On a Saturday, a couple of weeks after the letter, Dawn and Y/N went to the shelter and adopted a pair of pit mix puppies, brothers. One was black with dark eyes and immediately bonded to Y/N. The other was tawny with gold eyes and took to Dawn almost as quickly. During the day they kept Olivia company but at night they came alive when their two favorite people returned home.

One evening about 6 weeks after the letter there was a knock on the door. Y/N excused herself from dinner and hurried to answer it, hoping that John or Bucky had returned, or that Michael had come to his senses.

She wasn't that lucky. Instead it was Sam looking tense and she could see the concern on his face. He looked haggard with circles under his eyes and a scraggly beard.

"Sam! We didn't expect to see you here. Please come in we're just finishing dinner. Would you like something to drink? Have you eaten yet?"

Sam shook his head "I'm fine, thank you. I need to talk to you and I heard John's wife is staying here and-"

Before he could finish he was almost knocked down by the dogs who had grown quickly and were very affectionate with people their alpha moms were comfortable with. He chuckled at their antics.

Once the dogs had thoroughly inspected him they went to lay on their pillow and he was able to talk again. Dawn and Olivia had finished cleaning up from dinner and came to see what the commotion was about. When she saw Sam, Olivia felt her eyes tearing up and started shaking her head, assuming it was bad news.

Sam tried to soothe her speaking softly "Hey, it's alright Olivia. Is it ok if I call you Olivia?"

She nodded silently

Sam sat on the couch "I'm not supposed to be here but I wanted to let you know that it's not as bad as it might seem and you shouldn't lose hope." He looked at Olivia and then to Y/N "Both of you. Please keep the faith and know I'm doing everything I can. I'm sorry I can't say any more about it. Take care of yourselves."

Before any of them could ask any questions he quickly stood and excused himself, leaving Olivia and Y/N staring at the door he left through.

The next day while Y/N was at work, Peppers receptionist, Brittany, called to let her know she had a visitor.

Y/N felt her nerves flare, she wasn't expecting anyone today but she told Brittany to send them in.

Y/N stood to greet a well dressed, petite woman with dark hair.

The woman spoke first "I'm Contessa Valentina Allegra deFontaine but you can call me Val. I need a moment of your time."

Y/N looked at her, appraising her, for a moment "Why do I have the feeling that you aren't really asking?" Shrugging, she waved at the chairs in front of her desk. "Have a seat, Val. Would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea, water?"

Val shook her head Y/N sat down.

Y/N waited for Val to say something while Val looked around her office before sitting. Y/N sighed, she had too much to do. "How can I help you?"

Val finally spoke but not about her reason for being there "The short blond in the pictures, that's your adopted sister Dawn Walker? And the others are your kids, Michael and Jessica? You have a beautiful family, shame about their father. We saw a few cases like his, people materializing in dangerous places. Very sad."

She paused but started back up before Y/N could reply "I'm surprised there aren't any pictures of James, or the two of you. John made it sound like you were attached at the hip."

She looked at Y/N knowingly "I get the feeling that there's some jealousy issues there, unhealthy for siblings, adopted or not."

Y/N finally had it "OK, I get it, you know all about me and my family, my life. I'm appropriately scared so can you just get to the point. What is this all about?"

Val tutted at her "No, no dear, oh no, I'm not trying to frighten you. I have large, well armed men for that. I'm just letting you know that I know all about you so, no point in trying to keep secrets."

She stood and started pacing the room before speaking again

"We have someone in common. You're closer to him than I am but I also have a vested interest in Sargeant Barnes. I think you can help me with that."

Y/N's face hardened "I haven't spoken to James in weeks so don't know how I could help you with him. Honestly I'm not sure I would help you if I knew anything. He has had enough people messing with him and I won't be one of them."

Val smiled as she sat down "I knew you were a woman of integrity, a lot of kids who lose their parents young go the other way. Protecting him even after those horrible pictures." She gave Y/N a look that seemed to be trying to convey sympathy but seemed more pained than anything else.

"I want you to know I had nothing to do with that mess. That Sharon is just bad news around attractive men but I need her too. For now." She chuckled darkly then shook her head and smiled at Y/N.

"But that's not why I'm here. I work for the US government and we need James' cooperation on a project I'm working on. I think your encouragement would go a long way for him, make it easier for him to make the right choice."

Y/N shook her head "I think you're overestimating my relationship with James. We've only seen each other a handful of times. We haven't even had any kind of contact in over a month. Then there's those pictures. He's obviously not that into me."

Val kept swinging and missing that sympathetic look on her face "Based on what I've heard, I don't think thats true. Regardless, if you do see or speak to him I need you to try to encourage him to take my offer. I'll make sure to keep you and your family safe if he does."

Y/N gasped and her eyes grew wide "Was that a threat? James better do what you say or you'll hurt my family? Who the Hell are you?"

Val smirked "No, of course it wasn't a threat. Goodness, you watch too many movies. Just keep me in mind when you see him. I think you'll be good for him and I'm never wrong." She quickly stood "Lovely meeting you, I'm sure I'll see you again."

Y/N sat at her desk, speechless and bewildered, trying to figure out what just happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On another continent, Bucky was sitting alone in a tiny motel room looking over a map to figure out where John and Sharon might have disappeared to. He wasn't convinced that they weren't intentionally evading him as opposed to being hurt or taken by some bad guys but he wasn't going to just leave them behind without trying to figure it out. He might hate both of them but they were his team, if you could call it that, and he knew better than to leave anyone behind.

The next morning he heard from a couple of old contacts in the area and he was almost sure that he had found the Power Broker. He went to the compound where they were supposed to be located and watched the activity until nightfall when everything looked quiet. He found a way in and crept through the site until he reached what looked like the main house.

He heard crying that sounded like Sharon and picked the lock to get it. As soon as he opened the door he could hear softer moans and the room smelled like sweat and sex. The noises stopped but John kept thrusting into her, under a blanket thank goodness, as she spoke.

"Well Bucky? Aren't you coming in? There is plenty of room if you want to join us." Sharon giggled "Have you figured it out yet?"

Bucky shook his head, looking away from them. "What that you'll fuck anyone and he's no better?"

Sharon laughed again "Don't be a prude and no, that's not it."

John groaned loudly and stilled, laughing "Sharon is the fucking Power Broker stupid."

He moved away from her and pulled a pair of sweats up as he stood. "I can't believe you were some fantastic spy and assassin but couldn't work that out." He shook his head "So much for the Winter Soldier"

Bucky shook his head "I'm not him anymore."

John stepped up to get in his face. "Obviously. You should retire if this is all too much for you. Wouldn't want you to get hurt or anything."

He gently pushed Bucky back, away from Sharon. "Keep your hands off, Sharon's mine. I let you have a taste and that's all you get."

Bucky shook his head in disgust "I have no interest in Sharon. Or you for that matter. If I'd known that you two were safe I would have headed home ages ago. So I'll just get out of your hair."

He turned to walk away but John grabbed his right arm. "Sorry Barnes but we're not done with you yet, I-."

Before John could finish his statement Bucky pulled out of his grip and punched him with everything he had and again until he knocked John to the ground.

Bucky towered over John, breathing heavily "I don't care, I'm done with you."

John looked over fearfully, holding his jaw "No, you can't go. I have someone who needs to talk to you."

Bucky gave John his best murder glare "Well, where are they?" His left hand whirred as he clenched it.

A woman's voice came from the balcony "I'm right here Sargent Barnes." She was petite with dark hair and reached out to shake his hand "I'm Val, nice meeting you but I will have to ask you to back off from Walker. I need him too."

Bucky shook his head "Val who? Who do you work for?"

"Contessa Valentina Allegra deFontaine but you can call me Val. I work for the U.S. just like you."

He scoffed "What do you want from me?"

"I'm helping president Ross put together a team. Like the Avengers but without the laws and rules that constricted them. People like you and your friend John over there who have dubious histories. Some familiar faces from the Red Room as well. We need you on that team."

Bucky looked at her confused. "Ross isn't president, the election isn't until November. Besides, I'm not much of a team player."

Val laughed "You worked pretty well with Wilson. Besides, it doesn't matter what excuses you come up with you will be on that team." She grabbed his left hand and looked over the prosthetic "This thing is beautiful, by the way. The Wakandan's were really holding out on us."

And sighed "Look, if you don't agree to join our team, we'll create a situation that demands your pardon be revoked and your new residence is the Raft. Then you'll never see your little girlfriend again. I don't think either of you would like that very much."

She turned to John "Would you please stop fucking every woman who comes within 10 feet of you? Selling you as the all American hero who made a terrible mistake doesn't work if you're cheating on your wife. And Sharon? Find someone else who can recreate the serum, before the election instead of wasting your energy on every slightly attractive man you meet."

Val turned to leave "I'll give you a week to decide Sarge. Don't disappoint me."

Bucky watched her walk out, more confused than ever.

@supraveng @cjand10 @440mxs-wife @kandis-mom @dtba-grey81 @calwitch @ozwriterchick

Chapter 11

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #angst with a happy ending #just a number #james bucky barnes x y/n #older reader #bucky barnes x female reader

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psychesetra · 2 months ago

Text

til death reunites us

notes: if you've read my past oneshots, which i have. failed to edit. woops. lucien is surnaturel! setra is still setra, dw

tw: suicide, poison, mentions of death, implication of assault if you squint, hallucinations, murder

* • + • *

lucien cannot wait to return to his wife. or rather, maybe her voice never left, and it only beckoned him closer to death.

ever since she's died, he's always heard a whisper in his ear. often, its advice led to his next kill and another body mutilated and buried under a house meant for two.

(he says, thinks -- no, pretends it's meant for two. but when she hasn't been home in two years and her dresses have grown dusty perhaps he was always meant to live alone.)

but he thinks he's finally been pushed to snap, as he stares at his wife's grave.

setra caelia hartifelt.

1908-1931.

she was twenty-three when he'd found her in that god-awful place, once blue eyes turned into some irritating imitation of the color, more gray than blue, dead than alive.

he carries the last batch of sunflowers he will bring to her. he grew them himself.

he lays them down gently, a contrast to how he handles nearly anything else, even the corpses he's buried. it's midnight, though, and no person will see him with his guard down.

somewhere in his subconcious, he remembers when she had first mentioned sunflowers.

"they mean loyalty and adoration," she had murmured. "it would be nice to have those buried with me. it would mean someone had loved me that much."

he loved her that much. he wishes he had loved her more.

he had pleaded for so long that night. begged for her to speak to him, to get up and to ask where she was because she couldn't see without the glasses he couldn't find in the alley. wishes he could've bought her another ring, married her again, because that night he'd found her without anything but herself and blood.

why couldn't he have nice things?

he contemplates this for a reason he doesn't know. after all, he is to die tonight. that in itself is perhaps the only mercy god has granted him in the past two years, that he will reunite with his love in death.

(but he knows. he is going to hell. not to heaven, where she surely resides.)

there is another, stranger, deadlier plant in his other hand.

trumpet-shaped purple flowers and dark berries that will be the last thing he will taste.

belladonna. beautiful lady, he thinks.

he is in no way blaming his death on his wife -- but her own demise is now the reason for his. he cannot survive knowing both the death of his mother and his sweet darling were because he was too late to save them to the cruelty of the world around them.

so it is fitting that he will die to a flower named as what his wife is to him.

he doesn't try and eat it yet, though -- he decides to stay for now. stay at his wife's grave. maybe if he stays long enough, he will feel her embrace one last time, even if her body is six foot below where he stands.

maybe if he stays for long enough he'll feel even a bit of remorse. though, he thinks it can't happen.

lucien had killed twenty-three people as of august 5th, 1933. one disgusting, foul, vile man for every year his wife lived.

he would've killed more, for the years she had lost, but something had settled in him.

some odd feeling that told him it was enough. that it was time to rest alongside the woman he had promised his life to.

so just as he had done nearly every night for the past two years, he visited her grave. stayed for a while, pondered things he thought he would never think of.

he runs a hand through his hair, before taking off his glasses. he can give himself comfort in the fact they will not hurt him when he inevitably falls to the ground as he dies.

again gently, he plucks the berries from the belladonna. one by one, he sets them down on the thin grass besides him. one by one, he swallows each.

soon, his head starts to feel heavy with pain. he's glad he did this at midnight -- his eyes can't seem to handle the moonlight cast across the grave in front of him.

speaking of that, he staggers, losing balance and holding onto said grave -- he feels a little guilty, that he may damage it.

he feels he needs water, his throat feels incredibly dry.

as he predicts, he does eventually fall over, a weak, strangled noise slipping out when he does. he reaches out to where his wife is buried.

he can't even reach the stone marking her name.

he's starting to see things. is that his mother in the trees? has she come to take him to hell? can angels even bring demons to their afterlife?

his head continues pounding, the ache settling in his bones, staying as he finally, finally starts to die.

he hears a faint whisper again. her voice.

with the last of his strength, he murmurs, a strained, tortured smile on his face,

"it seems death will reunite us rather than do us part."

* • + • *

later, when the graveyard's groundkeeper finds his body, his eyes are just as gray as his wife's were on august fifth, 1931.

#setrawrites #writing #my writing #ocs #my ocs #oc story #this made me kinda sleepy ngl #mm i love torturing my ocs #oh they dont reunite in heaven beeteedubs #it takes until 2024? 2025? for tuem to reunite

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strobbylemonade · 4 months ago

Text

accompanying progress photos

edit: here's the sinner quotes in case the vfx are too strong. and you're not bothered to scroll to every half second. btw i kept all the spellings of names from the translations i used to prevent confusion. but it is still pretty confusing.

yi sang (the end poem of The Wings): I stopped my pace and wanted to shout. Wings, spread out again! Fly. Fly. Let me fly once more. Let me fly just once more

faust (god talks to mephistopheles about faust): He drives his spirit outwards, far, / Half-conscious of its maddened dart: / From Heaven demands the brightest star, / And from the Earth, Joy’s highest art / And all the near and all the far, / [But] Fails to release his throbbing heart.

don quixote (idk the context i stole it off of goodreads ngl): When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? Perhaps to be too practical is madness. To surrender dreams — this may be madness. Too much sanity may be madness — and maddest of all: to see life as it is, and not as it should be!

ryoshu (yoshihide, her inspiration, requested to watch a woman be burnt in a carriage so he could finish his portrait of hell. the emperor agrees to his request but burns his daughter instead): No longer did his eyes seem to mirror the image of his daughter's agonised death. His eyes seemed to delight beyond measure in the beautiful color of the flame and the form of the woman writing in her last infernal tortures.

meursault (at the end of the novel, before his execution, he realises the world doesn't care for him, and gains happiness through this realisation): As if that blind rage had washed me clean, rid me of hope; for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world.

hong lu (pao yu/baoyu/hong lu discovers his soulmate died on the day of his arranged marriage, and falls into such a suicidal depression that his soul slips into the spirit world): Utterly broken, Pao Yu sank back on his pillows. It became black as lacquer before his eyes, and his spirit became lost in the semidarkness of a distant dreamland.

heathcliff (i don't think i need to explain this one): Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living. You said I killed you—haunt me then. Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad. Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!

ishmael (don't need to explain this one either): Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world.

rodya (sonia confronts rodion about his actions and he goes on a mad rant to her while trying to justify his actions, scaring sonia in the process. i thought this one was really good for rodya's "stagnation" in tkt): Did I murder the old woman? I murdered myself, not her! I crushed myself once for all, for ever…. But it was the devil that killed that old woman, not I. Enough, enough, Sonia, enough! Let me be!’ he cried in a sudden spasm of agony, ‘let me be!’

dante (another goodreads victim. appropriate for their job as manager): Through me you go into a city of weeping; through me you go into eternal pain; through me you go amongst the lost people.

sinclair (he comes to terms with his childhood ending - demian has dealt with kromer's bullying, but sinclair feels forever changed by kromer introducing him to sin/crime): What had once been Franz Kromer was now embedded in me. And in this way the 'other world' was gaining power over me from outside.

outis (ulysses returns home to his wife penelope, who assumes he is dead. in their house, he pretends to be a stranger to her): So here inside your home, question me about anything you wish except my family or native land, in case you fill my heart with still more grief, as I remember them.

gregor (his final thoughts before his slow suicide by starvation. i included the family line for irony. the apple in his back was thrown at him by his father): The rotting apple in his back and the inflamed area around it already hardly troubled him. He thought of his family with tenderness and love.

virgillius (virgil's introduction in Inferno): I will be thy guide, / And lead thee hence through the eternal place, / Where thou shalt hear the desperate lamentations, / Shalt see the ancient spirits disconsolate, / Who cry out each one for the second death.

charon (this is from Aenid, a latin epic poem by Virgil, the poet who inspired virgil in Inferno): The sullen boatman admits sometimes these, sometimes those; while others to a great distance removed, he debars from the banks.

and a sigmund freud quote about ego: Driven by the id, confined by the superego, repulsed by reality.

also more details in order of when they appear:

angela is far paler in her pale librarian form than her lobcorp form (i SHOULD HAVE included her eye pattern in her lobcorp form but i didnt)

benjamin's broken heart at the first “give me your heart ringing like” which is covered by his tie. some symbolism for him putting aside his morals to work for ayin (speaking of i really wish i included more ayin and carmen in here)

my friend called the pose where angela puts out her hand to roland the 'angela ibuprofen' and i cant stop thinking about it (said friend’s friend then sent her this video)

the first ... --- ... has the dots cover roland's face to mimic his perception blocking mask. the dashes show up in the order angela cuts off his limbs at the start of lor

lobcorp yesod is looking at malkuth because her death is what pushed him over the edge to develop contamination paranoia. also i thought it was weird they mention he was covered head to toe but he wore a crewneck t-shirt and an open labcoat so i changed it to closed labcoat + turtleneck

lobcorp hod has enkephalin on her hands because she feels guilty for what happened to netzach, both his death and addiction

enoch is completely uninjured in the lobcorp flashback

this is just hard to see but the crib is on the left of roland's flashback where he's sitting on the couch

i'm really satisfied with the gebura to olivier transition. yipeee.

puppet angelica's heart is exposed although its pretty hard to see

binah/hokma's 'hearts' are references to their lobcorp breakdown form

i forgot to colour in leviathan vergillius' eyes orz

and when the end credits start rolling the text changes to the taglines of the games (e.g. it says 'song: Face the Fear, Build the Future')

SAVE THIS GAME MR. A

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bike42 · 1 year ago

Text

Dublin 8/31/2023

Uneventful trip over the pond. We had a late morning departure from Madison which always feels good with the opportunity to workout, shower and have a leisurely breakfast at home before a long day of travel. Ryan dropped us off at MSN, which no doubt will cause us confusion when we return in October and try to remember where we left our car!

Quick flight to Detroit. I got an upgrade from Delta Plus to First Class which means I sat next to a chatty stranger versus JT (he also got a late upgrade after we were on the plane). Anyway, my seat mate was an ER doc working on setting up an Opioid Addiction clinic, which was interesting. He said he never drinks caffeine but he polished off a large frappe as he was sitting down and he talked my ear off. When we landed he rushed off the plane without even saying goodbye, and the women across the aisle said to me “did you know that guy?”

Three hours in Detroit - we had lunch at the Sky Club and walked the concourses. There we ran into Dave who we used to regularly see at our neighborhood gym (before we built the gym in our house). He and his wife were heading to Scotland and we’re on both the flight from MSN to Detroit and now boarding the flight to Amsterdam.

We left Detroit about 4pm EST, with an estimated 6 hour flight time to Amsterdam. I didn’t see any movies that interested me, so I just read my book until the meal was served (pretty good pasta dish and a glass of red wine). By then the flight tracker said 4 hours to go, so I put in my ear plugs and eyeshade and tried to pretend it was night time. I did sleep, and soon they were waking us up for a quick egg and cheese sandwich before we landed. It was dark when we landed in Amsterdam (and raining), about 5 am local time. We had just over two hours there. The gate area for our Dublin flight wasn’t even open, so we ventured to find the KLM lounge. Even though we’d been there two years ago on our way to Tanzania, it took us awhile to find it. But that was a nice quiet respite. Had some yogurt, cappuccino and a chocolate croissant. Also took advantage of the lounge to brush my teeth and comb my hair. Tried really hard to NOT think that it was 1am at home. Took my morning vitamins and tried to convince my body that it’s Thursday and we had the day ahead of us!

We walked to our gate and saw that it was the type where you board a bus and they drive you out to your plane. It wasn’t just raining - it was pouring! Last a Sunday we went to REI to buy JT a new rain jacket, and I talked him into an Arc’Terex Gortex jacket just like mine - he pulled that out of his pack and gave it its first test (I had mine over a year before I actually wore it in the rain). Full KLM flight to Dublin. We shouldn’t have been hungry, but we gobbled down the egg salad sandwiches on yummy bread that they served us on our 75 minute flight to Dublin.

We arrived in Dublin to thick clouds but not actual rain. We cleared immigration and we’re glad to find our bags on the carrousel (we broke Jeff’s stretch of lost/delayed baggage when traveling through Amsterdam!). We opted for taxi versus bus into town - about 30 minutes. Our taxi driver, Darren, was friendly and pointed out sights and gave us lots of tips about what to do and see - worth the extra expense!

We arrived at our hotel for the next 4 nights - Trinity Townhouse. Not surprising that our room wasn’t ready at 10am (wishful thinking!). We left our bags with them and walked through the Grafton Street shopping area and the grounds of nearby Trinity College. We were dead on our feet, so we staggered back to the hotel and sat/dozed in the lobby and our room was ready by noon. We got settled, napped and read for the afternoon, then showered and were on the street by 5pm. We headed a few blocks to a place our taxi driver had recommended: O’Donoghues Pub - where the Dumbliners were formed. They were serving ham and cheese sandwiches and a vegetable soup tonight perfect light meal to go with our Guinness. I’d heard that Guinness over here was much better than what we drink in the states, but I didn’t taste a difference. Maybe it’s just my unrefined pallet? More research needed!

After dinner, we walked down to the river then along the river towards the Temple Bar area. It was a beautiful night in the 60s and lots of people were out walking and biking. Back in the room by 8pm. Hope to sleep well and wake up refreshed tomorrow!

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fingfamily-blog-blog · 2 years ago

Text

Finished with Classes

It's Monday morning, May 15th. I finished my school work over the weekend, and now time is all I have. They only gave me one class this semester, so I took in final papers on the last day, and read them casually over the course of three days. Then entered the grades on an excel sheet, and sent it off to my closest colleague, Ibu Yusnita. While we have been mostly separate this semester (whereas I was her shadow last semester) we're getting along as well as ever. Perhaps she can see the end as I can, and it pleases her as much as it pleases me. I took pictures with my essay writing class. I gave some of them departing gifts - books which I didn't want to bring back to America. They were appreciative, and it was hard, as always, to say good bye. But I just push on through. I'm not making promises to them or anything. And the chances of any of them coming to America are essentially nil, so there's no pretending in that regard. You just have to accept that it's goodbye forever. I do have some minor school things, like an essay writing contest to judge. And there's likely to be a dinner or two to say farewell to all those colleagues who kept me at arm's length for the whole year. As with much else, I'm ambivalent about having a farewell dinner, but one must keep up appearances. And if I can have a smaller dinner with Ibu Renzi and Ibu Yusnita, that will be nice. Still, none of these relationships will continue. This year has been a professional dead end. But, as mentioned in previous posts, the personal side has been far more positive. The travel has bolstered me immensely, and in the next 69 days, I will spend 49 of them on the road, living out of a suitcase. This will create its own issues, mainly with maintaining exercise and diet, but I am so looking forward to this flurry of travel. First I'll visit the eastern-most part of Java, Jember, Ijen and Banyuwangi. Then 9 days in Lombok, scuba-diving and hiking a bit too. Then my last days in Malang, followed by a week in Bali (yeah!!!), just over a week in Melbourne, Australia (where my younger son will be stationed for the next year), and then two weeks in Seoul, and South Korea (where I'll meet my wife before we return to Maryland). Such a schedule is rare in anyone's life. It will be especially nice to share the last weeks with my people. I'm not used to being alone, but I'm not sorry that it's been that way this year. I can be alone if I have to be. I also seem to have been hired again by the University of Maryland. That is some relief, knowing that I have income and insurance again. I anticipate also applying for a work in Seoul, aiming at this point for April of 2024, but that's not guaranteed. Maybe it'll be great being home and I'll just settle in there, find myself a rock and roll band, and carry on in domestic bliss. Recreational marijuana will be legal when I return! In the meantime, I have details to attend to in preparation for departure. I've already started packing. I'm going to ship some things home, so I can have a lighter suitcase, fillable with more gifts and clothes etc. Slow and steady, and someday this will all be over.

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vocaloid-news · 7 years ago

Video

youtube

Check out the extended trailer for the upcoming movie “When I Return Home, My Wife Always Pretends to Be Dead”, which is based on one of the biggest VOCALOID meme songs by HobonichiP!

The live-action adaptation stars “Nana Eikura as Chie, the housewife who’s always finding new and more creative ways to fake her death, and Ken Yasuda as Jun, her troubled husband who struggles to understand why his wife of three years is suddenly behaving like this. Other confirmed cast members include Ryohei Otani and Sumika Nono, and screenplay was handled by Fumi Tsubota.”

June 8th, 2018 is the scheduled release date, and more information can be found on VNN’s article!

#vocaloid #vocaloid news #movie trailer #movie #hobonichiP #when i return home my wife always pretends to be dead

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oddaodd · 3 years ago

Text

· I Don't Go In For Sweets ·

Request: by a lovely anon "set after the events of season 3. Tommy can't handle the company, he's still grieving and he has to be there for Charlie so Polly tells him she knows a girl from a good family to get married He ends up agreeing (aunt Pol can be very persuasive) but even though he's married, this new girl isn't considered as a wife. He doesn't really make any effort but his "wife" understands, he's a widowed father who lost his first wife only a year ago. However since they are...in this, she wants to make her time as enjoyable as possible for the both of them and for Charlie too. But no matter what Tommy makes it a point of honor to not let her in, to not let her replace Grace so he ignores her, he works more, tries to spend as little as possible in the house. Reader stays patient, it will be alright and Charlie is making her quite busy anyway. One night, Tommy comes home completely drunk and maybe a bit high too, he can't even make it to his office. Thankfully Reader is still awake, she takes care of him and Tommy just...melts at how gentle Reader is, he may be able to keep his distant while sober but it's much harder in his state. He admits to her how he's been feeling and all. Ever since that night, something changed, Tommy feels some comfort, some solace being around her, she accepts him wholly, even his flaws, the bad side of his business and she tries to provide some sort of safe place for when it gets too hard." (I edited the request because it was very long, but I kept all essential parts in there)

Author’s note: I loved loved loved writing this and it ended up being SUPER long, but I’m very happy with how it turned out. As always, I hope you like it and have the loveliest of days!

Warnings: season 3 SPOILERS sort of, but not really, still read at your own risk. Arranged marriage, mentions of alcohol and drugs, angst.

“Thomas, you may not be able to see it, but you’re breaking apart” Polly spoke with a sigh as she lit a cigarette after everyone was dismissed from a family meeting.

Everyone had left Tommy’s office in arrow house rather gaily after receiving their fair compensations for partaking in the whole Russian ordeal, all except Polly, who remained where she sat, wishing for a word with her nephew

Tommy merely scoffed at her concern before lighting his own cigarette and taking a puff “I’ll be alright”

“And Charlie?” Pol pressed knowing Tommy’s mourning was not only affecting him, but Charlie as well. “What about him?”

“He’s fine” He said before turning around to look through the window, ignoring his Aunt’s heavy stare.

“You take too much after your mother” she sighed half angry half sad “she too loved pretending everything was alright and I don’t need to remind you where that lead her”

Tommy sighed deeply, he knew he could fool anyone. Anyone but Polly. “We’ll manage”

“Consider my offer” Polly said standing up and making her way to the door “Y/n is a good girl from a good family” she persuaded before leaving the room.

Tommy sighed at his Aunt’s words, he wasn’t ready to get married again even when he knew the woman he would be marrying was a nice one. He felt like he was spitting on Grace’s grave and he hated himself for even considering the prospect, but he knew a mother figure would be good for Charlie.

He spent the rest of the day pondering about Polly’s suggestion and remembering his own childhood in the shadow of the absent tortured presence that his mother had been. It didn’t take him long to decide he didn’t want that for Charlie, so that same night he phoned Polly.

“I’ll do it” was all he said before hanging up. There was no need for more words, Polly would know exactly what he meant.

Exactly a week later, Tom was standing in the altar of a church that was significantly smaller than the one from his first wedding. The fact that everything about this wedding was so obscenely different from his first did soothe his guilt a bit. And as he stood there he couldn’t keep his mind from traveling to the days leading up to his wedding to Grace. She had made sure everything was perfect and had made an effort to invite every single relative she could think of. She remembered her rambling on an on about fabrics, insisting that everything ought to be perfect when he in all honestly couldn’t care less, he just wanted to marry her.

All his thoughts vanished away with a poof when Y/n came into sight. And what a sight she was. She had insisted on doing her own makeup and on pinning flowers to her hair to compliment her headpiece and her elegant, yet simple white dress flowed almost mystically as her father gave her away. She had never imagined she would be marrying someone she didn’t know, but she wanted to look her best for getting married is not something people do everyday.

When she stood in the altar, she offered her to be husband a smile which he did not return, instead turning his attention to the priest before them. She mirrored his actions, her heart beating violently under her chest as the priest began speaking.

It all felt like a blur, she could swear it had only been a second since her father had given her away and yet, the priest had already uttered the dreaded “you may now kiss the bride”

Tommy barely brushed his lips against hers and soon the sound of everyone clapping invaded her ears. They had a small party afterwards in Y/n’s former house. Her parents had invited pretty much all of their acquaintances while tommy had only invited his close relatives.

When night fell Tommy was more than ready to leave “Are you ready to go?” was one of the few sentences he uttered to his now wife that night.

She again offered him a smile before saying “yeah just let me say goodbye”

The drive to arrow house was tense, although Y/n didn’t know Thomas very well she would tell he was unhappy. She wondered about what to say to him, but couldn’t come up with anything good enough and soon enough they were pulling over in front of Tommy’s stately home.

“Charlie must already be asleep, but I'll introduce you tomorrow” he said opening Y/n’s door for her.

“It’s alright” she said looking at him, not quite knowing what to do next.

“Your parents sent some of your belongings, I've already asked the maids to take them up to your-our room” he said

“Thank you, Thomas” she smiled as she walked into the big house not yet feeling close enough to him to call him Tommy.

His name falling from her lips caused an echo of bittersweet emotions to stir inside him but he masked it perfectly well as she introduced Y/n to the maids that went to the door to take their coats.

“Frances here will show you the way to the room” he said after having made introductions.

“This way, Mrs” Frances politely said.

Y/n began following her but stopped when she didn’t hear Tommy’s footsteps behind her own.

“Are you not coming?” she asked turning to look at him.

“Maybe in a bit” was all he said before he walked away down one of the many spacious hallways of the house.

After Y/n made herself comfortable in the room and changed into her nightgown she took the time to peek around the room like one always does when one is a strange place. After familiarizing herself with it she laid down in the big bed. She was nervous, she knew what happened on wedding nights. A small chuckle stopped at her lips when she recalled the stories her close already married girlfriends told her. If she hadn’t married a complete stranger she too would be looking forward to it.

Her thoughts ended up luring her to sleep after a while despite her nerves and the night went by in a ridiculously fast flash. The next morning she woke up alone and after getting ready she made her way downstairs. Tommy and Charlie were already in the dining room when she entered it.

“good morning” she said

Charlie immediately turned his attention to her, his eyes widening while his dad merely glanced at her while he muttered a “Good morning “ of his own.

Y/n sat down next to Tommy while he cleared his throat “charles, this is Y/n. We got married yesterday so she’ll be living with us from now on”

Charlie merely nodded in understanding before playing around with his food.

A tense air flooded breakfast until Tommy stood up, having barely touched his food and spoke turning to look at Y/n “I have to go now, if you need anything feel free to ask Frances”

“Alright” Y/n replied feeling a bit disappointed, she would love to get to know him, but she already knew it was going to be difficult.

“I have to go too” Charlie announced in a timid voice, interrupting Y/n’s thoughts. Despite her disappointment she understood, maybe he was just shy and his dad just reticent. They had lost a wife and a mother after all.

The first few days after that, Charlie avoided her nearly as much as his father did and Y/n remained in lonely patience until one night Charlie’s cries interrupted her focus on the book that she had just bought. She rushed to his room and called out his name as she entered not knowing if the boy would be comfortable with her or not.

“What is it?” she asked worried as she knelt by his bed.

“I miss my mum” the boy confessed looking at her with teary eyes as he clutched his blanket.

Y/n felt her heart give a small ache at his confession and in an attempt to comfort him she spoke “She’s not really gone, you know?”

“She’s dead” the boy sobbed.

“but people who die, don’t leave us. Not really anyhow” she said hesitantly rubbing his arm. “just because we cant see them doesn’t mean they are not here”

“I miss seeing her” he continued.

“Oh but you can still see her”

“how”

“before you go to bed just think about her, then she’ll visit you in your dreams” Y/n spoke as if she was telling a fairy tale.

“really?” the boy’s eyes widened.

“really” Y/n confirmed “But you have to think really really hard”

“I’ll try” Charlie said having calmed down a bit.

“very well” Y/n said as she stood up, but Charlie’s voice stopped her.

“can you stay till I fall asleep?”

After that night, Charlie hardly left Y/n’s side and she felt much better with his company for she was sure if he wasn’t there keeping her on her toes all day she would fall into a depressive chasm induced by her husband’s absence.

On the rare moments he was home she tried to strike up conversation with him over breakfast or late at night when he came home and she was burdened by insomnia. But Tommy only humored her with a few short responses before excusing himself or turning to face the other side of the bed.

It wasn’t only the fact that he avoided her as much as he could, but he also made it a priority to exclude her at all times. She was never invited into family meetings or night’s at The Garrison so she thought it was a miracle when tommy didn’t oppose to her planning Charlie’s birthday party.

She invited only Tommy’s family which instantly warmed up to her, noticing what a good influence she was and Polly wanted to slap Thomas for the way he had been acting throughout his marriage to Y/n. Almost feeling guilty for getting her into this mess.

When the party ended Tommy shut himself in his office like he often did when he was at home and though he had never given Y/n a reason to believe she was welcome in there of all places, she found herself allowing herself in after putting Charlie to bed.

Tommy looked up as she entered and let out a sigh before turning his attention back to some papers he had been reading.

“I noticed you didn’t have any” she commented not letting his sigh deflate her as she laid a plate with a slice of homemade chocolate cake on his desk. “it’s really good if I may say so myself” she mused sitting down in a chair opposite to his as she dug in with a fork in her own slice.

“I don’t go in for sweets” he stated.

“Not even chocolate?” Y/n tried, but tommy didn’t answer, instead he just shook his head.

“I still think you should try it, it’s not overly sweet, and…”

“is there anything you need?” he interrupted bluntly a bit harsher than he would’ve liked.

His tone caught her off guard and when she couldn’t come up with an answer tommy again turned his attention back to his papers.

“I wish you could let me in” She softly confessed after a few tense seconds.

“Well I wish we hadn’t married but I guess things don’t always go the way we want them to go”

Tommy knew he had crossed a line by the silence that again settled into the room. He looked up at Y/n with her parted lips and misty eyes. They exchanged glances for a second but instead of allowing him to see her like that any longer, she stood up setting her plate on his desk and walked away, only allowing a few tears to drop by when she was out of the room and his sight.

After that she stopped trying to get closer to him. He still loved his late wife and she understood, people in grief never mean what they say after all, but his words stung nonetheless.

She stopped trying to wait for him at night to see if he had gotten home alright and during breakfast she only uttered polite good mornings.

One night however, Y/n was yanked out of a peaceful sleep by a loud crash. She was on her feet in no time and after checking into Charlie’s room to see if he was alright she cautiously ventured downstairs. A few incoherent mumbles filled her ears before her husband came into sight, fumbling with his coat to get it off.

“need help?” she asked earning his attention.

“I’m fine” he said finally taking it off but as he went to take a step to begin walking the floor under him moved and he lost his balance, his knees crashing loudly against the wooden floor.

Y/n offered him a hand and helped him up. He smelled of whiskey and cigarettes, his hands were shaky, consequence of the snow, no doubt. “let’s get you upstairs”

“I can do it on me own” he slurred letting go of her hand.

“stop being so stubborn” she derided, snaking one of her arms around his waist as she helped him upstairs.

Y/n helped him into bed, tookoff his shoes and went to the bathroom to fetch a small towel and some cold water.

She dampened the towel with the cold water before dabing it gently on Tommy’s forehead. His eyes never leaving her face as she did so, making her grow a bit nervous. She continued, trying her best to ignore it until she felt his hand softly caressing her cheek.

“You are beautiful” he rasped.

“Stop it, Thomas” she said feeling her cheeks grow red when she felt a bit sad that he had to be completely drunk to compliment her.

Even in his drunken state he seemed to notice he was making her uncomfortable so he held his tongue until Y/n laid in bed next to him after turning on the lights.

“I’m sorry” he interrupted the silence “For the way I’ve been acting” the whiskey and cocaine making him more vulnerable and open “I guess I was afraid that if I let you in then she would disappear”

He didn’t expect her to answer, but then her voice came in a soft exhausted tone“ I don’t intend to replace her. You don’t need to act all defensive and secretive. Even if it’s not what you wanted, we are married.”

“I Know” was all he said.

Y/n expected him to withdraw more from her after showing himself that vulnerable to her that night but she was wrong. He began arriving home earlier, sometimes even asking if he could come along on the walks she and Charlie so much adored going on. And Y/n finally felt her marriage was going somewhere maybe it wasn’t based on love yet, but it was something.

One day she was at the stables while Charlie was taking a nap. She had always adored horses.

“I didn’t know you liked horses” came Tommy’s smooth voice causing her to jump.

“You never asked” she smiled petting a black horse as he walked closer to her.

“We could go out for a ride, I’m sure Charlie wouldn’t mind letting you borrow his horse” Tommy offered as he too began to pet the horse, his fingers brushing against Y/n’s for a brief second.

“I’d love to, but I am afraid I don’t know how to ride, Tommy” she said, panicking for a second after having called him that. But she rested assured as soon as he spoke again.

“Well that can be fixed” he said opening the door of the stall and guiding the horse outside.

“You mean now?” Y/n asked with a laugh.

“Got something better to do?” he asked walking out of the stable with the horse. Y/n observed tommy as he prepared the horse. She had never seen him so gentle and calm before and she only realized she had been staring when Tommy directed his attention to her to ask her if she was ready.

“I think so” she said going to stand next to the horse wondering how the hell to climb up. But before she had any more time to think she felt Tommy’s hands on her waist giving her a push that allowed her to pull herself up on the animal. It was a good thing she had chosen to wear slacks that day, she thought.

“Goodness this is high” she said nervously looking down at Tommy when he began guiding the horse to move in a slow walk.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall” he promised repressing a mirthful tone at her nervousness.

He guided the horse with her around the property in the crisp evening air and Y/n allowed herself to relax with every step the horse took. Tommy’s presence made her feel safe and protected and she found it increasingly harder to look away from his figure. She wondered if he could feel her eyes on him.

When the sky began turning soft shades of purple and orange the pair returned to the stables. When the time came from Y/n to come down from the horse, tommy helped her again. Y/n began to love the feeling of him touching her and when her feet touched the ground in front of Thomas, he didn’t remove his hands from her waist right away and instead fixed his blue eyes on her, not wanting to stop looking at her.

She too fixed her eyes on Tommy as she felt a silent gasp in the base of her throat. That was the way she would’ve liked him to look at her on their wedding day. Tommy then leaned in, almost as if he were asking for permission before he tenderly pressed his lips to Y/n’s.

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @peakyxtommy @nyotamalfoy @writeroutoftime @babylooneytoonz @slytherinicequeen @lilymurphy03

#tommy shelby request #tommy shelby #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby request #thomas shelby one shot #thomas shelby fluff #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby angst #peaky blinders angst #peaky blinders request #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinder one shot #peaky blinder imagine

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