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[novantinuum]

pov: you are connie maheswaran and wake up to this image over text alongside the least Okay "i swear i'm okay" message ever

#su #steven universe #pink steven #human steven #su fanart #crack the paragon #my art stuff

[capaldiera]

need bj's life to be a continual string of different idealised social roles that he represses some part of himself to conform to

#dont know what the next link in the chain is after leather topman but i need it to be something. he cant just go and get healthy on me #me.txt #mashposting #something something always a paragon never a person #the person leaks through the cracks of course. #. #this isnt to say he has a fully shit time of it bc thats not at all the case #hes just never.... embracing/acknowledging the full scope of his desires. hes trying to be something instead of just being what he wants #the bj hunnicutt grace hanson syndrome. #unlike grace he doesnt have a frankie to rescue him from this. and never will. sad

[masquenoire]

"okay back it in, perfect! dump the load!" a dumptruck of fresh movie theater popcorn is dumped onto the crime lord

A mountain of popcorn descended from nowhere like a golden avalanche, covering him in piles upon piles of the disgusting snack. Who knew something so light could end up so difficult to move around in once you’re buried in the stuff? Roman snarled wordlessly, fighting back against the endless tide of cinematic foodstuff with mild success until he could just about see the dumptruck already driving off into the distance. Another suit ruined. Surprisingly the crime lord managed to control his temper, brushing off layers of sticky, sweet-smelling popcorn and pulling out a phone before the pigeons, the homeless and other unsightly vermin descended upon the pile in a frenzy. ”Horsehead. Yeah, it’s the boss. Did you get the number of that vehicle on premises just now? Good. Find out who ordered this shit dumped here, then go pay them a little ‘visit’ from me...”

#anonymous #!crack #ASDFGHJKL I got this just before I left for work and THIS WAS PLAYING ON MY MIND ALL EVENING #Who ordered this popcorn? Why so much of it? #Roman's fucking pissed #You don't understand how expensive his suits are people #He gets only the best from Paragon and the like #Each suit costs more than a half yearly wage made by the average Gothamite #Shit just got personal

[lazyveran]

i am purity culture's biggest hater. everyone go outside and talk to real life people i am begging

#genuinely cant stand the sanitation of every fuckin thing on the planet #as if a human being is on this earth to be a paragon of goodness and justice #you know. thats why religion exists. to allow us to be ourselves whilst still striving to be good alongside it #we're inherently flawed #grow up if you think that someone making a mistake once excludes them from basic decency #and if you harrass people over things you percieve as morally bankrupt. as if morals are a universal law #let people explore things you goddamn cracked out sad chronically online morons #excuse the long tags #twitter is genuinely exhausting as a site

[caddyjust]

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[amarriageoftrueminds]

Saw your tags saying Hannibal fanfiction is the best, I'm new to the fandom, do you have any recs? Love your blog btw!

Thank you Nonny and OOP you're in luck!

I just came across a cracking thread on Twitter t'other day where a bunch of us fannibals were recommending the fandom 'must reads!'

So here the list is so far:

Consenting to Dream (emungere) THE fic.

A Remedy for Love (emungere)

Blackbird (emungere)

Separately to a Wood (emungere)

Taken For Rubies (emungere)

Two Solitudes (emungere) S4

Faded Fantasy (phenobarbital)

Hyacinth House (bluesyturtle)

He Who Pours Out Vengeance (underground) S2 before S2

A Great and Gruesome Height (mokuyoubi) S4

The First Condition of Immortality is Death (onehandedbooks) S4

As Soft, as Wide as Air (blackknightsatellite) S4

The Shape of Me Will Always Be You (missdisoriental)

Shark Tank (xzombiexkittenx)

Bloodline (xzombiexkittenx)

Pi's Lullaby (t_pock)

Wolf And I (t_pock)

We Killed a Dragon Last Night (inameitlater) S4

A Cliff and the Wine Dark Sea (saintsavage) S4

One Way Out Of Many (hellotailor, nakamasmile)

Bright Hair About The Bone (missdisoriental)

Chimera of the Chapel (bleakmidwinter) S4

Eve of Dreams (Le Réveillon des Rêves) (inter_spem_et_metum) S4

Heart and Mouth (disenchanted)

Symbasis (tei)

Lagbrotna (cognomen)

Vorspiel (kareliasweet) S4

Omega Point (cognomen & whiskeyandspite)

Haarlem (spqr)

Heal Your Wolf(hound) Well (devotitonal_doldrums)

Falls the Shadow (littlesystem) my personal most-read fic!

The Fault in My Code (liaS0)

The Unquiet Grave (liaS0)

Flesh and Bone (pragmatichominid)

The Fisherman and the Beast From the Sea (pragmatichominid)

Attachment (pragmatichominid)

The Hole Is Still There (croik)

The Long Weekend (devereauxs_disease)

Each According to Its Kind (chaparral_crown)

Their Beaks Not Yet Turned Red (chaparral_crown)

The Lamb and His Monster (pterodactyl352)

Oddbodies (toffeecape)

This Dangerous Game (missdisoriental)

Page Six (thisbeautifuldrowning)

Bram Stoker's HANNIBAL (dbmars)

Falling Away with You (shotgun_sinner)

Two Slow Dancers, Last One’s Out (antiheroblake) MCD

Nowhere to Ascend but Down (yourminecraftboyfriend)

Overcoming (purefoysgirl)

Paragon (bloodywa2411)

Silence in Heaven (theglintoftherail)

The Mark of His Name (theglintoftherail)

The Mongoose and the Mouse (hiding now)

Between Here and There (deadratz)

Omiai (iesika)

Remember (that you are) to die (13empress) unfinished sadly

What the Water Gave Me (iesika) discontinued but so vivid it's worth reading anyway

And I would recommend looking at this twitter feed, which does nothing but recommend hannigram fics.

Bon appetit. 😈

#remember folks: REBLOG 🔁 / DON'T JUST LIKE 🤍 #hannigram #murder husbands #toAyourQ #dat's me #hey nonny #fic rec #hannigram fic rec #hannibal nbc #I was right btw they are the best #the best hannibal fics will give you unfortunately high standards for your other fandoms 😕

[novantinuum]

tried my hand at some very rudimentary shapeshifting animation for some AU fic stuff :D

#su #steven universe #pink steven #rose quartz #pink diamond #su fanart #animation #my art stuff #(coughs) #crack the paragon #(but nobody but me knows the context yet lol) #eventually i'd like to clean this up and add a background and do a bit of... #overextension with the hair to give a sense of flow #and add dynamic lighting #but that's a BIG project #these sketches and messy frames took me three and a half hours alone

[the-one-that-weeps]

I think Rui's stories always have a little Tsukasa-kun in between. Because how can they not, if he's the one who gave him the chance to change and to write them as they are?

They always say "write what you love", after all.

So in Rui's stories there's always a shining paragon that steals the spotlight with his laugh and his warmth.

And in Rui's stories there's always a vivid dreamer with a heart of gold that befriends even the loneliness creatures.

And in Rui's stories there's always a shy hope, that opens like a shell among a miniature corral reef, shining upon the world the most beautiful pearl — that is herself.

And in Rui's stories there's always a monster. All stories have a monster, big or small, fangs or horns, monsters are everywhere. But that doesn't mean they have to stay like that forever.

Rui writes what he loves because that's what makes him himself. Because Rui is all the love he hoards in his heart; for acting, for directing, for his troupe, for his family. And all that is him slips onto the paper like tanned gold, it seeps through the cracks and covers him whole.

And that's how Rui writes stories.

#pjsekai #pjsk #project sekai #wxs #wonderlands x showtime #polyshow #polysho #kamishiro rui #rui kamishiro #bramble rambles #mine ☜

[blooming-violets]

Saints and Sinners || Under the Banner of Heaven

[Jeb Pyre x fem!Reader]

Summary: Jeb falls prey to his darkest temptations while working a case.

Warnings: adult graphic smut, a cheating fic, heavy LDS religious themes and traumas, brief mentions of the murder of sex workers, light fem!dom/male!sub roles but nothing too crazy, brining it back to the religious trauma stuff - a lot of strong feelings of being trapped in a family/religion you don't feel like you belong in, if you are someone who feels offended with merging religion and sexual themes then this is not the fic for you

Note: "Reader" is nicknamed Daisy as her stage name as a stripper/sex worker. She has no physical descriptions apart from having female anatomy/a human body and wearing a sun dress. She can look however you'd want her to which is what makes her a reader character. Apart from that, she is her own character.

Jeb Pyre considered himself to be a decently good man. 

He was well groomed. He was respectful. He loved his family. He gave his job 100% and loved his neighbors. 

He was a devout son of the Heavenly Father. 

Or, at least, he used to be. 

He had been hiding his true self for his family's sake. He was trying, but failing, to keep up his appearance of perfection. Every day was a new struggle to keep up his flawless Latter-day smile. Docile and submissive. Never making waves. Never voicing questions. Day after day, trapped in his own mind, slowly being eaten alive by his ever growing doubt. It was only a matter of time before he cracked. 

She was his forbidden fruit. The temptress sent straight from the devil to corrupt his soul. The snake in his garden. 

His latest case had led him straight to her doorstep. There were sex workers in the city being murdered. A killer who vowed to cleanse his city from their filth. Jeb hadn’t even known there were sex workers living in his area. He’d never even seen a strip club before he was forced to step inside one to investigate. It was a terrifying world he wasn’t sure how to navigate. 

She had taken his hand and led him through the darkness. 

Daisy. That’s what she called herself. Her stage name. She had told him it was after Daisy Buchanan. The paragon of perfection for men to lust after but hiding a sardonic, amoral soul. It seemed to fit. She was the kind of woman he’d leave a green light on for but never be able to obtain. He knew her real name for his investigation but she refused to have him call her by such. She claimed only the people who truly loved her were allowed to utter her true name. To everyone else, she was just Daisy. 

He used to believe that all sex workers were women who needed saving. They had lost their way from God. They were impure. Drug addicts. Abused. Lost souls desperate to be saved. 

But she fit none of those roles. 

She was strong and sure. A business woman. A homeowner. She didn’t need a man to provide for her. Everything she owned was achieved through her own tenacity. When he looked at her, he saw someone who truly enjoyed their job. He struggled to wrap his head around that fact. A woman shouldn’t enjoy having sex for a living. She shouldn’t enjoy selling her body to perverted men. She should remain pure and devout until marriage. He often wondered what her future husband would think of her lewd, depraved acts. 

And then he remembered that she never wanted to marry. 

What an absurd thought. A woman with no desire for a husband? Utterly bizarre. 

She was unlike any woman he had ever met and he was tempted by the wickedness of her world. He knew he shouldn’t be. He knew better than to dance with the devil. Yet, here he was. Allowing her to occupy every existing thought in his brain. She was the one he thought about late at night. She was the name he moaned into his pillow in the early hours of the morning while his wife slept beside him. She was the one he dreamed of being able to touch. 

The one thing he couldn’t have, was the one thing he truly coveted. For Jeb Pyre was a sinner. He wasn't a devout man. He didn’t believe in the Heavenly Father. 

And he hated the life he was forced to be living. 

Everything was an act and he was tired of playing his part. 

So, when a killer murdered two of her work acquaintances, and put her in his targets, Jeb decided to personally oversee her protection. After all, she had been such a help to the investigation thus far. He needed to keep his best informant alive. 

Even if that meant risking everything he had to spend the night in her arms.

Jeb parked his car on the street directly outside of her house. From out here, one would never know what kind of person she was. It looked no different than any other house on the block. He wondered if her neighbors had any idea. He couldn’t imagine if they knew, they would let her stay in the neighborhood without a fight. They’d blame it on the guise of protecting their innocent children from the evil whore but the truth was that they hated anyone who dared to step outside their carefully crafted circle. They hated those different from them. 

But who were her clients then, if not the men who claimed to hate everything about her? 

Everything was a facade. He was so used to hearing people say one thing but act the opposite. The men who would run her from their neighborhood if they knew the truth, were the same men who would cash out their family’s credit card to spend a night with her. Publically, they would denounce her. Privately, they would take whatever they desired from her.

He was no different from them. The perverse thoughts inside his head were just as bad, if not worse. He had seen too much in this job. It had twisted his core. His mind was polluted. He was lusting down paths he could never travel. 

Jeb rapped three, strong knocks on her door. It was later in the evening. He knew she wasn't at the strip club because he had a copy of her schedule in his car glove box. There were other women he had to keep an eye on, too, but she was the one he chose to personally protect. She was the one he feared to lose the most. It was irrational, he knew that. She had no notion of his fantasies keeping him up at night. To her, he was just the lead detective on a case. 

He caught her peeking out the top window of her front door, standing on her tiptoes to reach, and he gave a friendly wave. At least she was smart. She wasn’t opening her door to just anyone. 

He listened to the clicks of two different locks and smiled as she opened to him, “Good evening, ma’am. Detective Jeb Pyre, remember me?” 

She forced a tight smile in return, “Of course I remember you. Do you think I have the memory of a goldfish?” 

He let out a half hearted laugh. She was beautiful but she was scared. Women she had worked with were dying. It was supposed to be his job to keep them safe.

He tried to take a subtle glance down her body. She was wearing a sundress and nothing else. Warm yellow with tiny white flowers dotting the sleek fabric. One of the thin straps was sliding down her shoulder. The dress clung tightly around her torso to highlight her stunning cleavage and flared out over her hips whenever she moved. Women around here never wore clothes like that unless they also donned a buttoned up cardigan and tights. To see her display her body so openly caught his breath in his throat. He had to shift on his feet to readjust himself. He refused to allow her to see how excited his body was reacting to hers.

It was unprofessional. Wrong. 

“Not at all. Do you have a moment to chat?” He asked, doing his best to keep his voice level. 

She gave a sharp inhale, “Is everything okay? Did someone else get hurt?” 

Jeb shook his head, “No, no. Nothing like that. I just wanted…”

What did he want? He wanted to commit a sin. He wanted to see her naked. He wanted to kiss her entire body. He wanted to slide his cock between her beautifully plump lips. He-

He was going to hell. 

“I just wanted to stop in and let you know that I’ll be stationed outside your house for the rest of the night. With everything going on, I thought it would be best to station some people at various hot spots around town to keep an eye on things.” 

Her eyes narrowed, “My house is a hot spot?” She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m sorry, Detective Pyre, but I don’t do business out of my own home. No one knows where I live. I use a stage name at work. No one there knows my real name. I’m not a street walker, I’m a stripper who occasionally takes up extra clients in the vip rooms when the money is good enough. My house isn’t a revolving door for men to come and go whenever they please like some brothel. I’ve taken some time off work for the next week to lay low, anyway. A lot of the other girls are doing the same. I think I’ll be alright.” 

Jeb chewed awkwardly on his bottom lip, feeling like he had offended her, “I didn’t mean to imply…anything…” 

This was not going how he intended. He wasn’t used to women talking back to him. He wasn’t sure how to respond. 

“You being stationed out in your car all night, in front of my house, is only going to cause more eyes to look at me. My neighbors already think I’m some crazy heretic for not attending their church. I don’t need them looking further into my life. Thank you for stopping by and offering your support but I don’t need it.” 

As she started to close the door, Jeb stuck his foot between the crack, wincing as it slammed into his shoe. He felt immediate guilt for doing such a strong handed act with her. He just couldn’t bear the thought of being turned away. He couldn’t spend another night laying in a bed next to a wife he no longer loved. 

“I’m sorry,” he quickly added when he saw her look of outrage. “I don’t think you understand how dangerous the man we are hunting is. He could have already followed you home. He probably already knows where you live. I wouldn’t put it past him to break in. I’ve seen it before.” He gave a quiet sigh, nearly begging for her approval. “Please. Let me watch over you tonight. I won’t be able to live with myself if something happened while I was supposed to be here.”

Her shoulders dropped in defeat. He watched her peer side to side down the street, taking in her surroundings for anything unusual. 

“Fine,” she huffed. “But do you have to be parked in the street? Can’t you pull your car into my garage so no nosy neighbors will see and spend the night inside? I have a perfectly adequate couch for you to hang out on.” 

Jeb smiled, relieved, “I can do that. Thank you.” 

He shouldn’t be this excited about being inside her home. 

As he slowly walked through her place, he took note of the items she owned. Her house looked like any others he might enter. There were pictures of her with friends hanging on her refrigerator, a television in the corner of the living room, a brick fireplace with a little ceramic frog on top of the mantle. A cozy, hand knit blanket was draped over the back of the couch. Everything looked normal. He felt stupid for imagining her living inside of sex dungeon. Whatever that might look like. He still had a lot of biases he had to work on.  

She walked into the living room after him with a glass of ice water, offering it to him, “The bathroom is the first door on the left down the hall. My bedroom is the last door. There’s a spare room to the right where I do my step aerobics. I have a basement with some empty rooms down there but I don’t really use them. Then there’s the kitchen and, obviously, living room. The front door and the basement door are the only doors into the house besides the garage. It’s a pretty small house with thin walls so you should be able to hear anything if there’s a break in.” 

Jeb smiled politely in thanks. He knew what he was doing would be considered nefarious in his community. A married man spending the night in a single woman’s home, a stripper, no less, would be the gossip of the town. It wouldn’t matter if he was a detective keeping watch on someone who could be in danger. He was still a man alone with a woman. The first night he was ever alone with his wife was their wedding night. It was no wonder Daisy wanted him to park in the garage so people wouldn’t talk. She probably had a hard enough time as it was. 

“I won’t take up much room,” he said. “I don’t want to be a burden. Only trying to help to keep everyone safe.”

“Isn’t this usually the type of job you give to the rookies?” She asked, taking a seat in an armchair across from the couch. She crossed her legs at the ankles like a respectable lady should and, somehow, she still looked like a seductress doing so. “Does the lead detective usually make overnight house calls?” 

The skirt of her dress was short. It bunched up around her thighs as she sat. He willed himself to only look at her face and keep his eyes from wandering. 

Jeb blushed and perched on the edge of the couch cushion, “We don’t have too many men at the station. I volunteered to lend an extra hand.” 

She leaned back, eyeing him up with a type of bold, observant intelligence he wasn’t used to seeing, “What does your wife think of you spending the night with a whore?” 

He anxiously twirled his wedding band around his finger. She spoke with such brashness it caught him off guard.

“I told her I was spending the night at the office,” he wasn’t sure why he willingly answered so honestly and without hesitation. 

She had that kind of spell over him. He wanted to protect her. Wanted to give her things. Wanted to tell her all his secrets. She was a siren luring him to his destruction and he was willing to sail his ship straight into the rocks if it made her happy.  

A smirk tugged up the corner of her lips, “Ah, I see. So you’re a liar. What else are you lying to her about?”

Jeb choked on the water he was sipping. His eyes widened. 

“I’m not-what-I’m not-” he sputtered out.

She laughed quietly to herself, “Calm down, detective. I was only joking. An LDS man telling his wife a lie? That’s never been heard of before.” Sarcasm dripped from her words. 

He ran the back of his hand over his lips to hide his smile. He liked her. He liked her sass. She didn't care what he thought of her. She wasn’t playing a game like everyone else he knew. It made him want to tell her the truth. Every truth. Everything he had been holding in for the past year. 

He hated his wife. He didn’t just not love her anymore, he despised her. 

Her words had been echoing in his ears for over a year now, “I love you but I can’t struggle through this with you.”

She had left him when he needed her the most. She chose her faith over him. He should have known. He had married her because of how devout she was. Her love for Heavenly Father was what drew him towards her in the first place. Now, it’s what cast him away. 

If he didn’t pretend, Rebecca would take everything from him. She would leave him for nothing if he didn’t keep on impersonating a saintly man. As if they hadn’t spent an entire lifetime together. As if he hadn’t devoted everything to his family. She would rather jump ship than dare to stand by his side when he needed her most. He would have never left her if she had been in his place. He would have held her hand and walked her through her doubts but she couldn’t do the same. Her love was conditional. 

He hated her for that. 

He hated himself for hating her. 

Rebecca’s faith was what kept her moving forward. It was all she ever knew. She lives in the LDS belief that Jeb, with his priesthood, is the one who must usher her through the veil when she passes so she can enter the highest form of heaven. Without him, without his beliefs, she was fucked. 

Jeb smiled to himself. He liked that word. 

Fucked. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

That was his life.

A big fucking lie. A pile of steaming bullshit. 

He had just met Daisy five days ago and she had already pegged him for exactly the kind of man he was. A liar. A stripper knew more about him than his own wife. She could see straight through the fabricated, bullshit act he put on and he had only been inside her home for five minutes. Five fucking minutes and she could already see the depravity leaking out of him. 

God, he was pathetic. 

“I don’t believe in a God,” he blurted out, shocking even himself with the outburst. 

She gave him a few, stunned blinks in response, “...Okay.” 

Jeb cleared his throat, his face heating with embarrassment, “I don’t know where that came from. I deeply apologize.” 

If he was with anyone else, his confession would have been met with gasps of horror. With her, it was nothing more than a passing sentence. 

She was perfect. He wanted her. Badly. That sundress was only working to fuel his indiscretion. 

She leaned her head into the palm of her hand as she rested it on the arm of the chair, “Is this…something you’d like to discuss further, detective? Men seem to enjoy emptying their traumas onto me. I’ve consoled many men over the years. I’ve been told I’m a very good listener.” 

“I-” he stammered, his ear heating up in shame for his actions. “No. I’m sorry. Again.”

She wasn’t his therapist. He didn’t have a therapist. Only crazy people had therapists. And he wasn’t crazy. 

Or maybe he was. 

Life might be easier if he was crazy. 

“I love my wife,” he stated. He only said that to try and convince his brain to stop lusting after the woman he was meant to be protecting. He was here to make sure no one broke in. He was working a case. He was not here to turn to sin. 

She nodded her head, pretending to follow along with whatever obvious breakdown was going on inside his mind, “That’s good. A lot of men love their wives. A lot of men don’t. That’s a part of life.” 

“I love…no…” Jeb sighed. Fuck it. The rant was coming out. He couldn’t stop it. He was already too far gone to keep it repressed any longer. “I don’t love my wife. I hate her. Every time I look at her, all I feel is animosity. I think she’s the dumbest woman I’ve ever met and I know that’s wrong to think. I know that makes me a terrible man. I’m an awful husband. It’s just that she blindly follows whatever the profit says. Whatever a bishop tells her to do, she’d do it without a second thought. They could tell her to get on her knees and suck them off because Heavenly Father commanded it so and she would do it. She doesn’t see anything further than her own nose. She follows and never questions. And, I understand, because I used to be the same. I used to believe because that’s what I was taught to do. Blindly believe. That’s all there ever was. 

“She’s never seen true evil. Not like I have. Because she refuses to look even though it’s all around her. I see it everywhere. She puts on her little Mormon blinders and never dares to take them off. So, she follows. And she makes my girls follow. And she makes me follow or else she will take the girls away from me. I am raising my daughters in a world that hates women. My wife is letting them be preyed upon. She’s happy to let them be squashed into submission. Keep sweet. Pray and obey. Learn to worship your future husband. Never think for yourself.” He closed his eyes and took a deep, shaking breath, feeling himself losing it. His voice cracked. “If I give up, is there no hope for my daughters? Who will protect them if not me? My wife would marry again, quickly, so she can still get into the celestial kingdom when she dies. She’ll marry someone who won’t waver in their beliefs. Another man would raise my girls. He won’t care about them. Not like I do. They’ll be sold off to the first Mormon boy they fancy. They’ll be married at 18. Never attend college. Never think for themselves. Never get a job. Because I won’t be there to inspire them to reach for more. I’ve seen what kind of men are out there. My daughters won’t be safe unless I play the part my wife created for me.”

He opened his eyes to look over at the woman across from him. Her face was neutral but her eyes were burning with an eagerness to know more. His sudden outburst of lament had stricken something deep inside of her. He had captured her interest like he was a strange bug forced under a microscope that she wanted to dissect. His spiel may have exploded out of nowhere but she was already on board to follow along. She seemed like someone who enjoyed a feisty debate. He needed someone who wouldn’t hold back. 

“You claim your wife is the dumb one, yet, here you are, spewing a load of shit all over my living room,” she mused, giving him a snarky grin. 

Jeb’s jaw dropped. He forced himself to quickly regain his composure and took another swig of cold water. The fire behind her eyes was enticing. He desperately wished his wife could show that kind of passion once in her fucking life. He hated the docile, sweet act. He craved raging forest fires not babbling brooks. He licked his lips, ready to swallow anything she threw back at him. This is what he wanted. Someone to argue with. Someone he could express himself with without fear of rejection. He wanted this fierce lioness to eat him alive. 

He just wanted something that felt real for once. 

She stood up to pace around the room in front of him while she spoke, “Do you realize your wife is like that because she knows nothing else? That is her way of survival. She chooses to believe instead of question because questioning is terrifying. Questioning means losing everything and everyone you’ve ever loved. Your entire world crumbles under your feet if you dare to question. Want to ask me how I know?” She stopped her aggravated pacing to shoot him a look of annoyance. “You’re a man. You have so many options still available should you fumble. If she were to question her faith, she would lose her family. Her mother, father, sisters, brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends. She loses them all. And then she is left with what, exactly? I doubt your wife works? Does she have her own career? Skill sets? Does she have her own income? Does she have her own car? Bank account? She dares to question, she is left with nothing. But you know that already. Obviously. Because you are just as scared to speak your truths out loud. You’re no better than her.”

She stopped momentarily to catch her breath, flipping a strand of hair from off her forehead. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the way her hips swayed when she walked. He adored her temper. It felt so natural. Real. She wasn’t holding herself back to placate him. She acted on her own accord without worrying about how others perceived her. 

He wanted to toss her onto this couch and take her right here. He could only half listen to her rant through his ever growing desires. 

“How do you know your wife doesn’t think the same thoughts as you? How do you know she doesn’t hide her truths locked up deep inside her mind and never dares to speak them? It’s fine to voice your opinions when you’re in the safety of my house. To you, I am nothing, I’m just a stripper. A prostitute. Hooker. Harlot. Whore. Whatever you want to call me. I pose no threat to you because, to you, I am so far below you that my voice does not matter. You feel safe to speak freely inside these walls because you face no real consequences here. You’ve seen evil? Well I’ve lived evil. You’re here because of the evil that wants to be inflicted upon me. Because I think differently from you. Because I use my body as a tool. Because I don’t subscribe to your values. Someone out there thinks I deserve death simply because I exist in a way he doesn’t approve of. You want to blame your wife for your problems. Blame yourself because you’re no better than her. You’re all a part of the same system.” 

Jeb sat there in silence. The condensation from the glass of ice water clutched in his hand dripped down his wrist. His heart thumped wildly in his chest as he took it all in. He was torn between fully digesting her words and imagining her naked, writhing body under him as he dragged the ice cube from his glass down her stomach. 

“I don’t,” he whispered. “I don’t think you’re a whore.” 

He didn’t even like saying that word out loud. He felt a dark cloud of shame rain down around him. But was she wrong?  

He had never imagined his wife in the scenario currently playing in his head. He saw Daisy as a sex object willing to be exploited to his darkest temptations.  

She stopped in front of him. She placed her finger under his chin and lifted his head up to look at her. His wide, pleading, brown eyes took her in, silently begging for some kind of clarity to fix his entire life.

“Tell me what you think of me, detective. Tell me the truth. When you look at me, what is it you truly see?” She murmured down at him. “Why are you really here? It’s not to discuss your lapse of faith, or your wife, and it’s not to keep me safe. I can see it in your eyes. Tell me what it is you truly want? Don’t you lie to me.”

The way his world saw it, Rebecca was pure, because she had remained a virgin until marriage. She lived and breathed by the Book of Mormon. Daisy was a condemned sinner, because she sold her body for sex. She was beyond saving. Even the outfit she wore was considered taboo. Modest clothing was the foundation stone to sustaining abstinence. She was the sinner. 

But so was he. 

Jeb was no saint despite the role he was trying to play. 

He took a deep breath and recited the scripture, “He that looketh on a woman to lust after her, or if any shall commit adultery in their hearts, they shall not have the Spirit, but shall deny the faith and shall fear.”

Her eyes flicked with curiosity and a smile tugged at her lips. She caressed her thumb over his cheek, “You lust, Jeb Pyre? For me?”

He licked his drying lips, gently pushing her hand away from his face, “Yes.” 

She nodded, knowingly, “You don’t know what you want. Your mind is in one place but your actions keep you in another. I am not the answer to your problems. Many men have tried but all have failed. The answer is never found between the legs of a whore. Unless, that is, what you say is true and you don’t think of me that way. Something tells me, though, that you’re lying to us both.” She gave him a wink, turning on her heels with her dress spinning out around her, and swayed down the hallway towards her bedroom. “Have a good night on the couch, detective. I’ll be retiring to my bedroom should you decide you need me.” 

She let those last few words linger in the air, the weight of them settling down around him, as the door closed behind her.

The cuckoo clock hanging on her wall let him know that midnight was here. The sudden sound breaking the peaceful silence had caused him to jump up from his spot on the couch and reach for the gun at his hip. Jeb rolled his eyes in the clock's direction and lowered his hands back to his side. He might still have some residual PTSD from his former cases…  

Her house was dark and quiet. 

He liked it that way. Sometimes he missed the quiet. She hadn’t left her bedroom since she entered. Without her in his sights, he could better attempt to control his impulses. He was too weak to be trusted around her. If she hadn’t left when she did, he would have given in. It had taken everything in him to not follow her blindly into that bedroom like a dog on a leash. 

Jeb ran a ragged hand over his face. He wasn’t tired. Late nights were where he thrived best. He hadn’t felt this alive in a long time. She’d awoken his mind in a way he thirsted for. Even just being in her house, prowling silently down her hallway, gave him a thrill. He felt like a naughty school boy getting into mischief after class. He longed to feel something more. His life was full of boredom and she offered him the keys to adventure. He longed to find solace in the arms of a stripper. 

A soft light illuminated from under her door to let him know that she was still awake down there. He wondered what she was doing hidden away out of his sight. She had invited him to join her. She had invited him to relish in his sins. It would be a line that, once he crossed, he would never be able to erase. The second he gave in to her, he wouldn't be able to stop. He was already past the point of saving. One little push was all it would take for him to delve into the madness. That glowing light under her door beckoned him to her like the light of God calling him home.  

He slipped into her bathroom instead. 

He ran cold water out of her orchid pink sink to splash over his heated face. His eyes sought his reflection in the mirror to stare deeply into his own battered soul. This was his crossroads. Whichever path he took would alter the rest of his life. He had already committed adultery in his mind. It was now the act to see if his body would follow or not. 

The sight of a black and golden lipstick sitting on the edge of her sink caught his eye. Jeb reached for it, popping off the cap, and twisting it up. A deep, berry red. A color housewives wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. He brushed his thumb over the top to coat his skin with the color of her lips. The bottom of the stick was engraved with the name of the shade. Walk of Shame. He smiled a wicked smile to himself. 

He knew what road he was going to take. He would take that walk of shame. 

Jeb placed the stick back where he found it. He twisted his wedding ring around his finger, mulling over his decision, then carefully plucked it off his body. He placed the ring around the lipstick, listening to it rattle against the ceramic sink, and gave a long, soft sigh. A weight had been lifted from him. He quickly exited the bathroom and allowed his feet to lead him straight to her door. He stood outside, silent, listening. 

Soft moans floated under the door. Little whines. Whimpers. 

His eyes slipped closed and his lips parted. He knew those sounds. She was putting on a show for him. All he had to do was raise the curtain and let her perform. His hand hovered over her door knob. 

It was okay. She had invited him in. 

“-should you need me.”

He needed her. He hadn’t engaged in sex with his wife in over eight months. He needed her now more than ever. 

He slowly and silently turned the knob. Inch by inch. Until he was able to push open the door. Just a crack. Just enough to peek through. He had to make sure she was safe behind those walls. After all, that was his job. 

She laid across the bottom of her mattress. Her sundress was gathered around her hips. Her legs were parted wide, aimed straight at the door, as if she knew he would show up. He was that predictable. Through her half closed, dreamy lids, her long, elegant fingers drew delicate circles through her glistening flower. His breath caught in his throat when he watched her dip a finger deep inside of her. His cock sprang to life, begging to be touched, pushing at the loose fabric of his dark gray suit pants. 

He should close the door. He should leave. 

This was wrong. He needed to repent. 

“I see you watching me, detective,” she whispered to him as he hid away in the dark hallway, lurking in the shadows like a predator. She let out a soft whine, dragging her soaked finger in circles around her clit. “I know you’re there.” 

Jeb swallowed. She was the devil. A demon. He had no power over her. Heat flushed through his veins. His breath was already coming out in heavy pants. He was chained to the doorway, captivated by her seduction. He couldn’t move away even if he wanted to. 

“Have you ever seen a woman masturbate, Brother Pyre?” She moaned. “Have you ever seen a woman touch herself like this?” 

His fingers wrapped around the edge of the door, gripping tightly onto the wood for support. No. He hadn’t. It would shock him if he found out his wife secretly masturbated in private. She was so well behaved. Masturbation was a sin. She would never dare allow anyone else besides him to touch her, not even herself. 

“Do you like to watch me?” She whimpered, sinking her finger back inside of her. “I was hoping you would come. I know you, detective. I see through you. Your mind is just as perverted as the rest of us. You want to give in. You want to taste what is forbidden to you. It’s okay. I won’t tell.” 

She looked hotly up into his eyes, staring straight into his corrupted soul. He was too weak. He had no resolve. The devil looked too appetizing. The sins of the flesh were tempting him forward as he let the door push open to reveal himself in all his shame. 

She gave him a warm smile, taking in the sight of the bulge below his belt. Her fingers swept through her folds, slippery with her arousal. With the expertise of someone with diligent practice, she used two fingers to part the outer petals of her womanhood to reveal to him the hot, sinking abyss he craved to explore. 

Enraptured, he could not tear his eyes from the slender digit plunging into her soaking depths. His mouth opened and closed, silently, begging to seek a taste of such a treasure. He watched in a starving trance as she anointed her needy pearl, bathing it in her honey, tending to it like a precious garden. Her eyes locked with his, burning, tempting him to join her in her display of debauchery. 

Oh, lord, he was tempted. 

Through heavy, ragged breaths she spoke, “Watch me, detective. Gaze upon the kind of life you were kept from. Look at what you could have been given. See what you missed out on.” 

He was watching. His eyes were padlocked to her dancing fingers. She was beautiful. His heart sought to hold her in his arms while he touched her with a wild abandon. 

“Do you like what you see, Jeb?” She moaned out his name extra low and tantalizing. 

He almost came in his pants at the sound of his name in her mouth. A shudder ran through his tightly wound body. 

“Answer me!” She demanded from him.

He gasped, “Yes.” 

A smile spread across her lips, “Good boy. Men like you work so hard, don’t they? You give and give and give but who ever takes care of you? Let yourself relax, detective. Let yourself give in. Let me care for you. Let someone else take control for once.”

Her eyes closed, lost in the rhythmic tones of her own words, casting her enchantment over them both. She had known he would come seek her out. She had known he would watch. She wanted him here. All he craved was to feel wanted again. 

He took a tentative step into her bedroom, closing the door behind him, and sealing his fate with the click of the lock. 

“That’s it, baby,” she cooed. “Come a little closer. Take a look at your new toy. All for you.”

Jeb held his breath, shuffling slowly forward a few more paces. His heart was racing. His skin was on fire. His mind was made up. 

“Why don’t you let Daisy see what her Gatsby is working with, hmm? Take your belt off. Unzip your pants. Show me.” It wasn’t a request but a demand. 

He swallowed, his nerves sending him into a frenzy, as he undid his belt, lost in her trance. His eyes stayed glued to her hypnotic fingers casting circles of magic around her clit. Subconsciously, his tongue dated out to lick his lips, desperate for a taste. 

His hot, heavy cock fell out into the palm of his hand. He listened to her sharp inhale at the sight. It was followed by a purr of approval. 

“I want you to touch yourself but keep your eyes on my pussy, detective. Watch what I’m doing. Watch how wet you’re making me. Listen.” Two fingers sunk into her, squelching and sloppy, as she pumped them in and out. 

His eyes rolled into the back of his head at the sound and a growl rumbled in the back of his throat. With the tip of his thumb, still stained with her lipstick, he smeared around his own wetness leaking from his tip. He worked it down his shaft, slowly pumping himself through his fist. 

“I’ve been dreaming of this moment since the day I met you,” she breathed, keeping him in her watchful sights, each of them working to build their own pleasure. “I saw you then like I see you now. A lost man in need of guidance. I dreamed of you touching me. That first day, when you called me into your office. I imagined spreading my legs for you as I sat on top of your desk, throwing papers to the floor, while you ate me out in front of the large window. I dreamed of you finding me at my work, paying extra to take me to the back rooms, making me suck your cock while you grabbed my hair and prayed to your pathetic God.” He wanted to eat that arrogant smirk straight off her face. “You like watching me, don’t you, pretty boy? You like hiding here, away from the world, where only you and I can bear witness to the blasphemy of your true self. Show me who you really are.” 

He whimpered, tugging on his cock a little harder. He was a sinner. An adulterer. A pervert. A heretic. A liar. 

“Tell me what you want to do to me, detective? Tell me all the ways you’ve dreamed of fucking me while you slept next to your frigid wife.” 

Jeb stuttered over his words, trying to force them out his tightening throat, “I’ve-I’ve…dreamt of dragging you to temple, b-bending you over the sacrament table, and fucking you in front of the congregation so they could all see what kind of dirty whore you are.” 

Tears pricked in his eyes as the shame battled it out with the unbridled lust. He had never spoken like that in his life. A sense of vitality flowed through him. It made his cock twitch in his hand and he stroked it more fervently. 

She licked her lips, letting out a light, amused laugh, “Such a naughty boy, detective. I know there’s more darkness in you. I want to hear it all. What else do you dream of?” 

“Taking you into my home. F-fucking you-” he stumbled over the word “fucking” as it still felt so forgein on his lips to openly talk this dirty. “In my bed. On my wife’s side. Forcing her to watch while I make you unravel on my tongue. Showing her exactly what she is missing out on. Showing her what kind of man I could be if she’d only open herself up to experiment more.”

He couldn’t believe the filth he was allowing himself to admit. These were his private thoughts. They were never meant to be exposed to anyone. She had that effect on him. His skull was cracked open and his most shameless self was laid bare. 

“You’re poor, poor wife,” she mewled. “She deserves to have someone tend to her needs, too. I know she wants it. All women do. You’ve just never pushed her far enough because you’re weak, Jeb Pyre.” She removed her fingers from her pussy and sat up, letting her dress fall back over her hips. She stared him down with her possessive gaze. “Get on your knees,” she ordered. 

He didn’t even hesitate. He released his hand from his cock and knelt down before her. She slowly got to her feet to take a stand directly in front of him. She was so close he could smell her sex clinging to her skin. 

“Men like you are always searching for something to worship.You told me you don’t believe in God. You told me you’ve lost your way. You have nothing to hold onto.” She trailed her finger, still glistening with her slick, over his bottom lip. “If you’ve lost your God then worship me instead. I’m your new God now, detective. Open your mouth and worship me. Cleanse my fingers with your tongue.” 

His lips parted and she slipped two fingers over his tongue. He closed around her, bathing her clean, tasting the remnants of her devine pussy. She slid her fingers down his throat causing him to gag. 

“Good boy,” she murmured her praises to him. “Sing me your devotions. Relax your throat. Soften your tongue. Take it like a man.” 

Jeb reached up to gently take hold of her wrist. He showered her hand in soft kisses, trailing up her arm and back down again, lapping at the tips of her fingers with his tongue, sucking them into his mouth, moaning as she glided down his throat. 

“Look at how hard you are. Desperate to be touched. Desperate to follow directions. Desperate to pray to anything that will have you.” 

She jerked her hand away from him, leaving him feeling empty and cold. She grabbed his chin in her grasp. Her nails dug into his cheeks. 

“Who’s your God, Jeb Pyre?” She asked. 

“You,” he replied. 

“Prove it. Pray at your altar.”

She lifted the skirt of her dress to expose herself to him. Her foot rested on the edge of the mattress so he could get an eye to eye look with his new lifeline. Jeb let out a shaky breath. His hands extended to wrap around her waist, drawing himself closer to her. He tilted his head to bring his quivering breaths to her heated core. She draped the hem of her dress over his head to curtain him the darkness where he belonged. In the dark, he could worship in secrecy.

His head pushed between her thighs to force her legs to widen for him. Her salty musk filled his senses, hooking him in like a drug. His eyes slipped closed at the first taste of the almighty. She was the bread of life. Honey flowed from the darkness and he relished in every drop. His tongue probed at her entrance, burying between her warmth, reaching deeper depths with lapping rolls. Teasing. Tantalizing. Tasting. He suckled at her clitoris, nibbling softly at the sensitive flesh, swirling her with his tongue. The sounds of her coos were all the praises he craved. He didn’t need practice to know how to please her. Surrendering to her was as natural to him as breathing. 

“A virtuous woman is the crown to her husband,” she moaned, quoting the scripture. “And, yet, your sinning whore is the one who sits upon your head like a crown.”

He shivered at the debauchery of her words. He smiled against her pussy and took his time to savor his meal. She was a blessing bestowed upon him. A crown upon his head. His tongue thrust up inside of her, fucking her slowly and tenderly. He tightened his grip around her waist to hold her closer, a desperate man clinging to his lifesaver, moaning against her heated skin. The way she ground herself against him, thrusting herself deeper against his tongue, was enough to trigger his own needs. He humped his hips into the air, thrusting into nothing. 

“Oh, sweet thing,” she hummed. “Is my favorite detective in need of some more attention? When was the last time you’ve had that gorgeously thick cock buried inside someone’s cunt?” 

He whimpered, not letting up on his assault of her pussy, and clung tightly onto her waist. Eight months. Eight torturous months. 

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” she murmured, her voice thick with lust from trying to control her building orgasm. “I’ll take good care of you. I don’t want you getting too drunk off my pussy. Can’t have you completely let go before I’ve had my fun. Come here.” 

She slid out from his grasp by pulling herself up onto the mattress. Her eyes were glazed over with a needy passion. Glassy and wet. 

“Take your pants off,” she ordered. “I want to see you fully.” 

They were already half way down his thighs. With a little push, they pooled around his ankles, pulled down quickly by the weight of his gun belt. He kicked off his nice dress shoes and stepped out of his pants to leave only his temple garments. 

She smirked at the sight and hopped off the bed to take a step closer. Her hand wrapped around his tie to pull him down to her level. Her lips trailed over his as his eyes fluttered close. She glided her tongue across his lips, cleaning herself from them, with a gentle hum of approval. 

“Who tastes better? Me or your wife?” She asked. 

Jeb flustered in her question, “I-I wouldn’t know. She won’t let me. She believes it’s a form of sexual transgression.”

“Did you think about her?” She questioned. “When your tongue was buried inside of me, did she ever cross your mind?”

Guilt filled him, “Not once.”

She smiled, releasing his tie from her grasp, and began to work on extracting him from his perfectly crisp, white button up until he was left in nothing but his sacred garments. 

She slowly eyed him up and down, “Keep the top on. I want you to remember exactly what your betraying as you fuck me.” 

She sank to her knees, pulling down his underwear with her. His cock sat against his left thigh, hard and in need of attention. Her nails dragged along his sensitive, delicate skin. When she reached the tip of his cock, she carefully pushed a nail into the soft flesh while he hissed in pain. She left a crescent moon imprint behind which she quickly leaned down to kiss better. It was her harsh reminder that even if she was on her knees for him, she was still the one calling the shots.

He quite liked how the pain made him feel but he was too nervous to ask for more.

Her throat relaxed as she slipped him between her lips. He skimmed over her warm tongue with little jerking movements from his hips to push himself deeper into her. He wanted to reach out and grab her hair but was afraid to touch her. Instead, he balled his hands up at his side, digging his nails into his palm to try and elicit a bit more pain. It wasn’t the same as when she inflicted it. 

Her head bobbed with an expertise that could only be brought from years of practice. It made his own oral skills seem novice and weak in comparison. His head leaned back as he stared at the ceiling, looking straight through it, and up into the heavens. There was no celestial kingdom up there. There was no God looking down on him. His heaven was right here in this room. His God was on her knees with her lips wrapped around his cock. This was the true meaning of life.

Jeb moaned out her name. Not Daisy. Not her stage name. Her real name. The one he kept locked up in a file in his desk. The name he would slowly stroke his finger over as he spent his late nights searching through his notes. The name only people who loved her were allowed to use. 

She froze. 

His cock fell from her lips and she stared up at him with a playful vengeance. 

“What was that, detective?” She asked, her voice low and dangerous, but hiding an impish undertone. “I know I didn’t hear what I think I just did.”

He ran a hand over his face, too overwhelmed to be thinking straight, “Daisy. I meant Daisy.”

“You think you know me?” She got to her feet, wiping her bottom lip with her thumb. “You think you know the real me? Because I know the real you, Jeb, but do you know me?”

A heated red tint blushed across his cheeks, “I…don’t know…” 

“Of course you don’t. Are you ever sure about anything in your life?” She raised a curious eyebrow at him. “I’m sure of most things that I do and say and believe. Can you say the same?”

He shook his head, “No. I can’t.”

She flashed him a poignant smile, “Name one thing you are 100% sure of right this very second.” 

Jeb licked his lips. He knew.

“I am certain that I want to kiss you. Certain that I want to tear that dress from your body. And I’m certain that I want to throw you over this bed and fuck you like you deserve.” 

“Then let go, detective. Give in. Become the animal you’ve always repressed. What are you waiting for?”

It was all the release he needed. 

His fingers wrapped around her wrist to drag her against his body. His lips crashed down onto hers as he held her in his arms with a steellike grip. She didn’t kiss him back, so much as, surrendered her mouth to him. Her body went nearly limp and he kept her on her feet with his own strength. Her surrender brought forth a rush of devoted emotions and blind, sexual desire turning him into the beast he longed to become. He seized at her hair, tugging, pulling, wildly gripping, and attacked her mouth like it was the holy spirit he sought to believe in. She shuddered before his onslaught and melted into him. The more he reached for, the more he stole, the more she wanted it. She was driving him insane with an unrestrained passion of pure lust. He pitied any man who didn’t fall to his knees to worship her like the goddess she was. Her mouth was a sin that he wanted to violate. 

Jeb violently grabbed at the straps of her sundress, nearly ripping them off, as he tore them down her body. The dress thumped to the floor to leave her completely naked and exposed. She didn’t flinch away. She didn’t try to hide and play with her coy modesty. She stood proudly before him exactly how a goddess should hold herself before a mortal man. 

He slid his hands up her sides, grazing over the swell of her breasts, feasting on them with his eyes. He ran his thumbs over her nipples, pinching and flicking, while he attacked her mouth once more. She parted her lips to submit his tongue into her depths, sucking on it and twirling it around her mouth. Whenever he pinched her gorgeous nipples between his fingers, she would let out the most delicious moan and thrust her chest against his palms. His heart was racing with a pace that might kill him if he didn’t force himself to breath. His head was spinning in a dizzying whirlwind of thrill. 

Jeb sank down and lowered his head to capture her nipple between his teeth, lashing at it with his tongue, listening to the gospel choir of whimpering moans coming out of her. She had shoved her nail into the head of his cock so he took a mouthful of her flesh, just under her beautifully darkened areola, and bit down hard. He had never bitten his wife in his life. He liked the way it felt as he tumbled deeper into his own carnal depravity. He wanted to defile her body and join her in their mutual corruption. 

She arched her back, letting out a gasping shriek and letting it tumble down into a slurry of cooing whimpers, “Oh, Jeb. Yes. Yes.” 

A circle of intended teeth marks, glistening with his saliva, shone proudly back at him. He liked marking her skin, claiming her as his own. It felt animalistic. Primal. A growl ripped from his throat, he was sick with lust, feverish and sweaty, panting with need. He grabbed at her hips and spun her around, pushing his hand between her shoulder blades to shove her face first into the mattress. Her ankles spread wide to allow him to have easy access. 

He took a stumbling step back to admire the sight. Her pussy was glistening and spread open in wait for him. Beads of sweat dotted along her back down her spine. Her ass was sticking upwards, parted, so he could see her tight, little hole. She looked more ready to be fucked than anyone he’d ever seen. His wife had never presented herself to him like this. He imagined her splayed out in this same position and gave a breathless laugh. He could hardly even create a mental picture in his mind, it was so improbable. 

“Something funny back there, asshole?” 

Jeb gave a dark laugh in response, “Just the neverending joke that is my life.” 

He lined the head of his cock up to her pussy, coating the tip in her slick, and bumping it back and forth over her clit. 

Murder. Denying the Holy Spirit. Adultery. 

Three of the worst things a good Mormon man could ever commit.

He’d already knocked denying the holy spirit off his list…might as well add another. 

He sunk his cock into her. Steady and true. She let out an exhale and he watched her head tilt back to enjoy the sensation. So hot. So tight. Perfection. She was here to be fucked. Here to take his cock.

“That’s it,” he breathed. 

He felt no shame. It was unusual for a Mormon not to feel shame but, tonight, buried balls deep in this woman, he felt nothing but relief. This was everything his body needed. He wanted fast and rough. He wanted to take her from behind with a feral abandon. He wanted to do all the things he wasn’t allowed to do until he was gripped with satisfaction. 

Jeb grabbed her hips for leverage and began his awakening. Tonight, he was becoming a new man. He fucked her with quick, short thrusts that slammed into her. Her ass slapped against his stomach with each pound. She filled the room with the sounds of her gasps and erotic moans. Depending on how hard he rammed into her, she’d even let out little shrieks. He liked those sounds best. They made him fuck her harder, dragging out his full length, then smacking back into her. Possessing her body. Over and over and over.

He didn’t even care that he wasn’t wearing a condom. Those were problems for later Jeb. Present Jeb had everything he could ever need. 

Sweat dripped down his forehead. Ragged, heavy, heaving breaths tumbled from his lips. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerking her upwards, so he could feel her body against his. She arched her back with her head rolling against his. He inhaled the scent of her hair fusing with the musk of their sex. He fumbled his hands around to capture her breasts, feeling the weight of them in his hands, her rock hard nipples dragging across his palm. She reached an arm around the side of his head to hold her steady from the onslaught of vigor his hips were causing her. 

“Oh, fuck, Jeb!” She cried. “You needed this, baby. You needed this to happen. Let go. Let it all out. Give me everything you’ve got. Don’t hold back.”

Jeb whimpered out a sob in response, sounding pathetic even to his own ears. All he wanted was someone to listen, someone to take care of him, someone to understand. 

He tumbled them both against the side of the mattress, falling on top of her. Her head turned, leaning against the covers, so he could shower the side of her face with wet, tear stained kisses. He nibbled on her earlobe, lapped his tongue at the corner of her lips, and dragged his teeth along the edge of her jaw. She was made to be devoured. His hips hammered with an agonizing precision into her heat. They were trapped in a hurricane, holding onto each other for dear life, as the maelstrom of building emotions swept them away. 

He could feel her clenching down around him. He knew she was close. He was, too, but he wanted her to cum first. His goddess deserved to reach euphoria before he did. His hand slipped down her side and wedged itself between her hips and the mattress to find a home between the slick fire of her lips. She whined, bucking her hips, the moment he found her clit, tormenting it with his fingers. 

“Cum for me,” his raspy, lust drunk voice growled in her ear. “Let me feel you unravel on my cock.”

Her body shook. Waves rippled over her skin with each hard pound of his cock into her. He could feel her tightening. Clenching. Gripping. A mangled yelp tore from her throat. When she orgasmed, she gave him everything. Her entire body surrendered to him. It burst from her with everything she could give. Her eyes widened, her mouth parted in a silent shriek, her spine arched. Like a demon possessing her body, she writhed under him with jerking, frantic thrusts. He wrapped his arms around her, collecting her tightly against him, to try and hold her together so she didn’t combust into the flames of Hell. 

He let out a whimper as he desperately tried to hold off his own orgasm. He wanted to let her ride out her ecstasy on his cock without him cumming inside of her. 

Her legs gave out and she sunk onto her knees, letting him slip out of her, “I got you, baby. I’wan’taste you. Use me.” 

Without missing a beat, she ushered him straight out of her pussy and into her wet, waiting mouth. His eyes closed as his head fell back. He let out a long, drawn out moan. His hand found her hair, no longer feeling nervous to touch her or manipulate her how he pleased. He helped push her forward to take more and more of him. He wasn’t going to last much longer. 

She let him slide down her throat, relishing his cock with her tongue, tasting herself on his tender flesh. He balled a fistful of her hair into his grasp. 

“I’m-I’m-I” he stuttered out, not able to finish the sentence, but she got to the hint. 

Her pace quickened. Her suction around him tightened. He felt himself tense up before an explosion of dopamine flooded his brain with a loud cry of pleasure. 

She straightened her back, moaning softly, as she swallowed down the hot spurts of his semen. Her fisted hand continued to massage his shaft while her mouth tended diligently to his crown. 

Jeb’s mouth hung open, tears flowed freely down his face, and he eventually managed to stumble backwards away from her. He crashed into the back wall and slid down to his ass, shaking. 

She crawled across the floor to drape herself into his lap. His arms snaked around her, thankful for having something to hold onto. His mind felt like he was floating away. His body felt amazing but his emotions were in turmoil. She stroked her fingers through his hair and left soft kisses along his neck. 

He had done it. There was no going back now. 

“It’s okay, baby,” she murmured against his sweat stained skin, as if reading his mind. “You did what you had to do. Sometimes your body knows better than your brain. It was telling you what it needed. It’s just like taking a spoonful of medicine to fight off a cold. There are times when you need to give in and give your body what it craves.” 

He craved her. Daisy. And everything that she represented. Even at this moment, after he had already had her, after he had given in, he should be feeling horror, disgust, shame, but he only wanted more of her. That’s why the tears were freely flowing. Not because he was humiliated by his sins but because he wanted more. 

This was the life he wanted to live. He had gotten a taste, a spoonful, of the other side. A side he could never have. A side he would always be reaching for but never able to obtain due to the religion he was trapped in. His priorities had to remain elsewhere. He had family to care for. Children to raise. He was their only hope for a different future. He would never allow Rebecca to take his kids from him. He would do whatever he needed to keep her docile and oblivious. He could save his children from the inside, even if that meant selling his soul to a God he didn’t believe in. 

Everything was so clear to him now. There was no more confusion. No more doubt. 

Daisy and his green light. 

The inability to ever reach what he truly desired. 

A/N: If you dare to ask me to write a part two and you don't reblog detailing in great detail everything you liked and enjoyed about this story, then I will curse your entire family and block you. No one gets to ask for a part two without doing their damn part and reblogging first xoxo

Tagging some people who seemed like they might be interested in this smutty lil fic: @moonyslove78 @raindropsandteaandtears @withahappyrefrain @lxinesux @liz-allyn (i dont care if youre hardly on tumblr anymore liz i will tag you in everything i do until the end of time deal with it)

#andrew garfield #andrew garfield fic #jeb pyre #jeb pyre fic #jeb pyre x reader #jeb pyre smut #under the banner of heaven #utboh #utboh jeb pyre #jeb pyre imagine #blooming violets fic #blooming violets

[visenyaism]

i was driving to school this morning and i was struck by the thought of a version of the painting “Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan” except it’s the ghost of visenya clutching maegor’s body when he dies on the throne.

i know visenya is the paragon wire mother, and Maegor is Maegor, but i dunno. him dying on the throne, having effectively terrorized, murdered, and alienated any one who might have mourned him in the pursuit of the throne and the continuation of his father’s fledgling dynasty feels like such a crystallization of the targaryen doomrot. it’s tragic, if entirely self-prophetic and earned, but i feel like that kind of scene would be cathartic. the stability of mourning after the all-consuming pursuit of life at all costs. vulnerability and intimacy in death.

(i’m only like 70% this is coherent, but i figured i’d send it anyways because i love your blog and meta and i figure i’d finally say hi!)

no because this for real HAPPENED. Visenya in the tower of the hand after raising up her little boy to make him the perfect killing machine king and bending over backwards to usurp him a throne and then dared anyone who questioned his reign to challenge him so the faith militant did and he killed all seven of them just like mama told him to but it wasn’t enough because they cracked his skull open and he definitely bled out….she was the one to take his helmet off after. she knew

#she and her two gayest evilest daughter in laws brought him back though it was a whole thing. #the third gay evil daughter in law in question was not involved though. sorry rhaena #asoiaf

[quiteliterallyilliterate]

Haven’t seen any Malice!Link so I figured I’d deliver! Can be interrupted with any Link but written with BOTW loosely in mind

Tw: Yandere, Murder, Link is kinda stalkery

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Heroes aren’t supposed to be happy. It's a principle. Every single one in every single book of old parchment is struck down— and often by the very gods that once hailed them. When the weight of his position began to mount on him, Link realised why it was that those heroes fell. In the Hubris from the cheers lining the streets of every village he travelled through and the awe in the eyes of civilians as he passed- it was easy to forget that he was the same as them. At his story’s end, his blood would be split along the earth and his bones would mingle among the dirt. He understood those heroes felled by their wrath, sword in hand he could cut down any opposition, and he’d be enabled. “More” they’d say. And like a puppet, they’d yank his stings and suffocate him out of any other option. When the sun left, dust settled and that burning fire in his chest gave way to empty ribs, he’d have no other option than to look at the cracks in his calloused hands and question if it was really worth it. He understood now why it was that the heroes in the stories -the true stories that was- never got their happy ending. It was because of that realness, that humanity they held, that they would eventually be hindered. No mortal man could walk throughout life as a paragon of perfection. It was simply impossible.

Or, so he’d thought for many years. You, wits as sharp as his blade, kinder to the world than any true god has been in a long while, beauty it’d be criminal to suggest a comparison. You. You who he’d happily lay down lives for. You who, when he’d bare his teeth and lash out, you’d soothe with gentle words and gentler hands. You were a god walking among mortals, that much he was sure. In fact, he had no care for what anyone had to say. Hylia herself could debate it with him, but the longer he lives, the more Link is sure that her words are lies. She herself told him he was ready. He’d done everything right and yet he could feel the *otherness* pulsing within his cranium, begging to crack bone and be free. He himself could never get the malice that festered in his blood to behave. It bounded like a rabid dog, demanding the destruction of whatever lay between him and his goal. But where the gloom bit at him beneath his skin, it keened under your fingertips. That feral animal was tame for you. Where his goal used to lie within those fields of war, it now lies in you. Having you, wholly, unrivalled by anyone else in his pursuit. No one could love you as much as him. That much was certain.

He’d been watching you more often now. Sure, being travel ‘buddies’ —on your name he detested the word, he’d far rather be your lover— meant near every second was spent side by side, but there were moments you were led astray. Moments you insisted on being left alone, something he simply couldn’t allow if his dearest. Afterall, you couldn’t properly defend yourself while bathing, so it was only right that he watched. When the curse on his blood made it difficult to sleep, you made it better, clearer. Of course he should stay with you! There was no one else in Hyrule that would accept him now the malice showed in his scars. He was the very monster he once fought. He’d become the very thing he sought to once destroy. You must understand that he loves you, more than one man should even be allowed to love, can’t he cuddle you for at least the night? Can’t you help heal his aching bones?

Looking at the corpse, he felt no semblance of guilt. That once person had tried chatting you up while you’d been separated. All sorts of disgusting things, Link was sure. The man orchestrated it, he must’ve. There was simply no other way he could have possibly been led away from such divinity as yourself. No matter, the rat was dead now. All he had to do next morning was whine about the rude townsfolk, and you’d be on your merry way, you fussing over him all the while. He loved your attention. He waited on you hand and foot, back and call. Much like a loyal dog he supposed, but it didn’t matter if it were you. To be yours was to be happy, to achieve the goal no hero could. You were love itself and how lucky of a man he was to bask in it, to hold it to his chest, to breathe in its scent. How lucky he was to love you.

#yandere link x reader #link x reader #legend of zelda #loz #loz link

[mangomonk]

thinking about emotionally constipated regulus finally giving in to his feelings after overcoming so much yearning! pining! but also guilt of his involvement in the war/knowledge that he likely won't make it out

but that aside, thinking about him giving in to his feelings and trying to find the best way to demonstrate his affection to his crush but he has no healthy template or model of showing love. walburga and orion were not the paragons of romance so when regulus finally doubles down on his feelings he doesn't know what to do. but regulus, like sirius, is the same sort of brave that doesn't sit around and wait

so he begins courting her with the only shows of affections that he's really seen, i.e., literal pureblood courting traditions of lavish gift giving. it's painfully clumsy in the beginning — he doesn't know all of her preferences, but he knows she likes fruits, so he all but buys out any fruit-adjacent sweets at honeydukes. when it comes to giving it to her for the first time, he can't quite decide where to look when he rather unceremoniously plops it into her lap, but soon enough he can't quite keep his eyes off of her to study her reactions to the candies. he starts to think he's made a terrible mistake but then she smiles and it feels like he's been cracked open raw and he feels a little dizzy and from there on he turns into a crow of purchasing things that he thinks might bring that smile back.

across the months, from candies, it turns to fancy quills and ink pots (after she makes an offhanded remark about her quill being patchy), and once he realizes that a witch can really only have a few quills and ink pots, he turns to books, even considering asking remus for recommendations on muggle books (he doesn't though, because he's much too proud, but remus notices that sirius's little brother has been hovering around him recently).

soon it escalates to ridiculously fine clothes (though he'll never admit it, it is entirely intentional that the color of the silk dresses match with his handkerchiefs), and when he finally turns to jewelry, she stops him with a baffled question.

because with every item he's given to her, he's always just shrugged his shoulders jerkily and alternated between looking at the gift, her face, and the nearest window. he's always shortly said something along the lines of, "your old quill didn't even resemble a feather anymore," or "your clothes are drab," because even though he's made progress, regulus black is still too emotionally constipated to tell her he loves her, but he hopes that she knows (she does).

#regulus black #mutual pining #hp #hp marauders #harry potter fanfiction #hp imagine #harry potter imagine #regulus deserved better #the marauders #marauders era #regulus black x reader #regulus black x you #regulus black x y/n #fluff #domestic #domestic fluff #pureblood culture #slow burn #emotionally constipated!regulus #drabble #hp drabble #harry potter drabble

[dairy-farmer]

https://www.tumblr.com/dairy-farmer/726959056617635841/and-i-thought-youd-be-the-last-person-to-ever?source=share

ok but dick cheating au kinda makes me want jason to swoop in and be unbelievably smug about it

like jay and tim's relationship is at lot and yes jay has hurt tim badly but jason has also never been anything but unfailingly honest with tim

if jason was having issues or doubts or even thinking about cheating on tim he would at least put their relationship on a break instead of self sabotage like dick

i think tim deserves that type of honesty and dick deserves to see tim happy with someone else

and also i'm a jaytim shipper at heart

!!!!! jason and tim have a very different dynamic from the rest of the family. they're not quite brothers and not fully enemies but they're also not quite friends. they're in this weird gray area and so tim's not sure who's more surprised when he goes to jason's apartment after leaving dick's- him or jason.

the only place tim can think to go is jason's because...unlike most of the bats jason is surprisingly nonjudgemental. his disapproval or pity or whatever knee jerk reaction people will have about tim getting cheated on in a relationship is sort of...not there. jason, when he feels like it, is a very calm presence. despite their tumultuous history and even antagonism towards each other tim feels an odd kind of comfort and ease at being around jason. jason is also someone who never hesitates to speak their mind and enforce firm boundaries. so when the family starts calling tim after dick desperately reached out to them, jason doesn't hesitate to tell them to fuck off and leave him alone.

jason is an unexpected pillar of support and a big relief from the rest of the family's tiptoeing.

tim does not tell them why he and dick have broken up. he doesn't want to endure that awkwardness and humiliation of forcing the family to try and navigate the minefield of THEIR breakup. jason accompanies him to dick's apartment to pick up his things because...well jason is the only one who really knows about the circumstances. tim couldn't very well just show up to his apartment without an explanation and so tim had condensed it down to a 'i walked in on dick fucking barbara in our bed and he has the keys to all my apartments can i stay here?'

jason is not some paragon of virtue. tim knows that lying and cheating is something jason does daily to get shit in his part of gotham done but if there's one thing jason isn't- it's indecisive. sometimes he will do something stupid and live with the consequences rather than hem and haw over it. tim respects that. it makes it so that jason is always blunt and brutally honest about stuff whether or not they hurt people's feelings.

so tim knows jason is being truthful when he tells tim he won't let dick talk to him if tim doesn't want to when they pull up to the apartment.

dick cries when tim shows up with boxes. he begs and he pleads and it amazes tim to realize that just a few days ago those sounds would've ripped his heart to shreds. dick also apologizes. a lot. he says it was a mistake that he never meant to do it, he doesn't know what came over him, he loves tim, he doesn't know why he hurt him.

and maybe its true. maybe dick honestly is a victim of his own impulse. but that's up to him to fix. lest he do this to his next partner.

jason keeps dick in one corner of the apartment while tim sorts through their laundry and wraps up antique dishes that belonged to his parents. the rest of his stuff will have to be for movers to take and tim takes pictures of dressers and couches so they can be forwarded to the company. its better to cut this off clean and quick. no mess. tim won't leave even a hair behind so there will be no confusion about this, no excuses for dick to show up at his door with a shirt tim left behind. tim drake is not a forgetful person and so him "forgetting" a knick-knack or shirt behind must be a sign that he was leaving the door cracked for them to possibly reconcile, wasn't it???

no. tim was not doing that. he wasn't THAT big of a masochist. but he had to make sure he cleaned everything out because dick...lingered. every one of dick's breakups was messy and fell into a cycle of repetition and it was never really 'the end'. dick was on again and off again with so many different people and tim was not about to do that. he didn't play games like that and so dick needed to know that whatever they had was off and would stay off.

the first time tim speaks to dick in the hour that he spends cleaning out the apartment is to turn to him and ask for the keys to his other lodgings across the city. and dick just...crumbles. he lets out loud heaving sounds and starts breathing hard and...tim's not heartless. this is clearly hitting dick very hard and...tim has most of his stuff gathered. so tim just tell him to mail him the keys to jason's address.

he's careful not to comfort dick or treat him delicately. that's the job of dick grayson's lover and friends and right now...tim doesn't want to be either.

jason makes it easier.

he's frank and he's honest and he doesn't try to save tim's feelings from telling him exactly what he thinks. that dick is a piece of shit for this but mostly a coward. that this is the kind of disrespect you don't take sitting down. that tim should firebomb dick's car, don't worry jason will cover for him.

jason is short with dick, if not outright rude. barbara gets the same treatment even though tim tells him to leave her alone because it's not like SHE was the one who owed him a commitment of monogamy and trust.

but jason just stares at him and quietly says that she knew full well they were together and she disregarded his entire existence, his feelings, and his relationship for a fuck with a boy who had dropped her numerous times. and plus, like dick, she was too ashamed of herself to even have the balls to properly apologize.

so being around jason is refreshing.

and soon after a few weeks in his apartment tim finally receives all his keys in the mail and a shameful note from dick accompanying it. he's sorry. tim believes him (some part of tim would like to believe that if he'd never walked in on them, if dick fully believed that he could make sure tim never found out- that he still would have told tim and tim still would have done...all this). but that still doesn't change anything.

tim doesn't stay in jason's apartment much longer, he knows how important having a space to yourself is so he doesn't want to be a bother for much longer.

but still, jason continues to talk to him. call him. text him.

tim asks why and is softly pleased by jason's reply that he enjoys spending time with tim.

things with dick are weird. frosty, even, when he gets too comfortable and casual for work acquaintances. but jason tells him to always maintain his boundaries and that dick will either get it eventually or tim will need to bring up an ultimatum so they can work together.

it isn't easy. some days tim wakes up feeling like absolute crap, sometimes he wakes up with nightmares of being on the other side of that door and hearing barbara and dick and the squeak of bed springs.

it was unbelievably selfish jason tells him. so fucking shortsighted and stupid. dick blew up the best relationship he's ever had for a girl he knew it didn't work out with. and babs? god. jason had actually thought she was kind of alright but for her to hurt tim like this when he'd never done a single thing to her?

its safe to say jason hates them. he probably hates dick and babs enough for both of them because most of the time tim can't muster enough strength to feel anything but indifference to both of them. he wonders if that means he should see someone. it's not normal is it? to amputate an entire limb of his soul. the part that belonged to dick.

but it gets easier. slowly.

jason helps. a lot.

even when tim registers his attraction to jason and his sensitivity and the way he gets so indignant at the pain of others, tim still doesn't try to pursue it.

it feels cheap. disingenuous. it feels too much like he'd be treating jason as a rebound following his relationship with dick and tim doesn't want that for jason. jason deserves better. he deserves to be loved wholly and fully with no agenda attached.

but jason has always been someone to go after what he wants and damn the consequences. he asks tim out ignoring how it would look, what people would say.

jason was already a 'reject', already ostracized, he told tim. people already thought the worst of him so who cared if they thought he was an opportunistic parasite who'd been waiting in the shadows for the moment dick and tim's relationship fell apart?

and...jason is good at that. helping tim get out of his own head. helping tim steady himself and figure out what he wants.

he makes him feel like its okay. to disregard what others might think, what dick might think if tim started a relationship with jason.

dick had already shown he could be selfish so...why shouldn't tim do the same?

#answered asks #asks #anonymous #jaytim

[cophene]

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄 | ohshc; twenty-four.

* • ° protocol concerning broken hearts

previous chapter || author's note || table of contents

pairing : ohshc x gn reader summary : perhaps no one at ouran is more qualified to deal with a broken heart than the host club. with a student’s heartbreak painfully obvious to everyone but themself, the host club takes it upon themselves to remedy that. all against that student’s better judgement. notes : multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn’t follow canon plot word count : 2.5k+

You had made it very clear that you didn’t want anything out of the ordinary for your last day at the Host Club. You just wanted to go about club activities like usual and maybe have a small announcement at the end of the day that you would no longer be a host. The Mori debacle had thankfully died out over the weekend; you didn’t want to stir things up again. Just a nice, quiet afternoon with the Host Club before you ducked out. 

But you knew as soon as you opened the music room doors and a swirl of confetti that greeted you that you would not be having a nice, quiet afternoon. 

“Happy Last Day!” The cheer was so loud you actually stumbled back a step. You opened the door wider to find the music room absolutely packed. Every single one of the Host Club’s guests must have shown up today.

There was raucous applause and cheering, and more confetti rained down on you. A piece stabbed you in the eye and you swore under your breath.

In a choreographed movement, the crowd parted down the middle, revealing a scarlet carpet running length of the room. At its end was Tamaki, sprawled over a throne like an errant prince. 

He smiled at you, his violet eyes gleaming. Extending a graceful hand, he said, “Come forward, my fair knight.”

Well. This was something. 

You shuffled forward, only now realizing that everyone was in various states of royal dress, wide dresses and cravats and waistcoats. Kyoya wasn’t going to scold you for forgetting your costume, was he? You hadn’t even known you were supposed to dress up today.

You finally stopped in front of Tamaki, your scalp prickling from the weight of everyone’s stares. Fanned out on either side of Tamaki were the hosts, their armour practically blinding you. If the twins were supposed to have given you your own suit of armour, they hadn’t delivered.

Someone coughed pointedly. You glanced around, then noticed Renge mouthing at you to kneel. You did so.

“You have served us well during your tenure here,” Tamaki began. His voice rang around the room. “In your time as our Tragic Host, you have upheld the tenets of the Host Club, consistently displaying the qualities of an engaging, considerate host. You have been kind and courteous, and no one can deny that you have been a paragon of manner and class.” 

Your mouth twitched. This sounded familiar. Kyoya had probably written this script for Tamaki, even though you had never once cracked open his obscenely large handbook folder.

Tamaki caught your eye and seemed to hide a laugh. 

“You have been a joy to have around, and we’ll be sad to see you go. We wish you the best in all of your future endeavours. You will always have a place here at the Host Club.”

You just managed to stifle a gasp as Kyoya languidly passed Tamaki a sword. He lightly rested the blade on each of your shoulders before bidding you to rise.

“Henceforth you will bear the seal of the Host Club. Let it be known that you will always be under our protection, no matter the circumstance.”

Everyone broke out into applause as the twins stepped forward and slipped a sash over your head. It was a bizarre mix between beauty pageant and medieval knighting, but you decided not to question it.

An expectant hush descended on the room as you turned to face the crowd. You didn’t have anything prepared, but it seemed right to say something just then.

“Well, um, hey everyone. I’m L/N Y/N, but if you've been around lately, you probably know me as the Tragic Type host.” How did Keiji just get up and do this everyday? It was too difficult to face the guests, so you turned around to look at the hosts instead.

“I actually joined the Host Club while I was having a pretty rough time. I wasn’t feeling the greatest, and that’s where my host persona came from. If I’m being honest, there were some times when I wasn’t acting, and I genuinely was feeling that miserable.

“The Host Club thought they would be able to help me. That they would help me feel like myself again. I never believed them. To be honest, they seemed like the last people who should be helping me.”

A few guests laughed. Haruhi smiled but Renge looked furious.

“But the more time I spent with the Host Club, the more I realized that they were serious. They’re perceptive and considerate and caring. They push you when you need to be, but they look out for you. They’ll have your back and make you laugh and they’ll just—” Your tongue stalled for a beat as it hit you all at once. Everything the Host Club had done for you, intentional or otherwise. You hadn’t realized it, but the moment you had stepped into Music Room 3, the entire Host Club had been in your corner. 

“They’ll put you back together again,” you said, probably too quietly for anyone but the hosts to hear. “They’ll believe in you.”

Honey and Renge were trying not to cry. Mori might have sniffled but you had probably imagined it. Kaoru was hiding his mouth behind his hand and Hikaru was staring fixedly at his shoes. Haruhi’s smile trembled and for once, Kyoya actually seemed to admire what you were saying.

And Tamaki’s expression was so full of feeling it tugged on your heart.

“Thank you for everything, guys,” you said, smiling wide. “You and this ridiculous club.” 

And then, before any tears started flowing, you clapped your hands together. “Alright, enough of the sappiness. Let’s get on with the hosting.”

You found Renge near the windows, fanning herself with a hilariously large fan. You remembered wanting to curse her name into the ground but now you felt a stilted affection for her. Like how you felt about a prickly tarantula, maybe. 

“Renge, can I hug you?”

Renge made a face. “Heavens, no. That would be unseemly for a society lady.” 

You scoffed and pulled Renge into a hug. She protested weakly but hugged you back.

“You know, if it weren’t for you, I never would have joined the Host Club.”

“I know. You should name your firstborn after me.”

“That is a no, but regardless, thank you for being manipulative and guilt tripping me.”

“You’re welcome!” Renge blinked. “Wait, what?”

You laughed. “I owe you one, Renge.”

“Why don’t you just fall in love with another devastating young man with beautiful hair? Then we could do this all over again.”

“I will never understand what goes on in that head of yours.”

“It’s part of my feminine mystique.”

“It’s part of something alright.”

You had to wait for the perfect moment, but at last, Hikaru propped his elbow on Kaoru’s shoulder like you knew he would and you pounced, wrestling the two of them into one of your volleyball tackles.

“Since when are you allowed to kill people on your last day?” Kaoru gasped.

“Manslaughter is not going to look good on your record,” Hikaru wheezed.

You tousled the twins’ hair, probably harder than strictly necessary. “I might actually miss you two during volleyball season. I won’t have anyone to harass my sanity anymore.”

“It was our pleasure,” Karou said with mock gravitas.

“It was our duty, actually,” Hikaru sniffed.

The twins twisted out of your grasp. You watched, amused, as they both flipped a cap onto their heads.

“We realize you never got to do this—” one of the twins said, 

“—so let’s play the Which One is Hikaru Game!” the other twin finished.

“Oh no,” you said flatly. “I can’t see which way you parted your hair. How will I ever know who is who?”

The twins each raised an eyebrow. You shook your head, smiling, then pointed to the left. “Well, I guess this one is Kaoru, and this one is Hikaru. Hikaru is going to tell me I’m wrong, and then Kaoru is going to tell me to try again.”

The twins looked at each other. 

“You can really tell, can’t you?” Kaoru said softly.

You gave a jaunty shrug. “Nope. Just a lucky guess.”

As soon as Haruhi’s guest left, you slipped into the seat across from her. Her face brightened as she reached for the pot of tea but you beat her to it.

“You’re always the one pouring tea. Let me do it for once.”

“So it’s your last day,” she said, accepting the cup and saucer you gave her. “How are you feeling?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be knighted, but honestly, I’m not too sad. I’ll still stop by to visit you guys. And despite everything, you’re still my favourite host, Haruhi.”

Haruhi smiled into her cup. “I’m flattered.”

“You shouldn’t be. There’s a reason the “natural” type is so popular.” You smirked. “I can barely find time to talk to you most days.”

“Actually listening to people goes a long way. Most people just want someone there so they can talk.”

“You’re a great listener,” you said quietly. “You actually think about what people say and you’re never judgemental. I could talk to you for hours.”

Haruhi looked at you, her eyes wide. You still thought she had beautiful eyes. They were a reflection of everything she didn’t say.

“I wanted to thank you for being there for me. You got me through a lot of this Keiji stuff--the pillar of reason. I hope the Host Club knows it would fall apart if it weren’t for you.”

Haruhi looked off to the side. “Don’t give me too much credit. Most days I’m not doing anything special.”

“But it’s always more than enough,” you said. You rose from your seat to squeeze her into a side hug. 

“Maybe I should buy one of your pencils from the club auction site so I can you’re really my favourite host.”

“Please don’t,” Haruhi said, pained. “No wonder my pencils keep going missing.”

“I saved you a pastry, Y/N-chan!”

You took the plate from Honey with a grin. “I’m going to miss this. They don’t feed me half as well on the volleyball team.”

“They don’t feed you at all on the volleyball team,” Mori said.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you sure you’re okay, big guy? I feel like I might have dislodged your brains when I fell on you at the gala. You’ve been acting extremely out of character.”

“He was just tired,” Honey insisted. “He’s all back to normal now, right, Taka-chan?”

Mori shrugged. You thought he might have been hiding a smile.

You bit into the flaky pastry and sighed. “I guess I’m supposed to thank the two of you for dragging into the Host Club, huh?”

“I told you everything would work out!” Honey said brightly. “You kept doubting me! If you had given up, you would still be hung up about Keiji!”

“You don’t know that. I probably would have been fine. I definitely wouldn’t have suffered so much public embarrassment.”

“Embarrassment never killed anyone,” Mori said. You punched his arm. 

“Don’t act like half of that embarrassment wasn’t your fault. Anyway, I’m not too wrung up about the two of you. We’re literally going to see each other during Math tomorrow.”

“But you won’t be a host anymore,” Honey said, pouting. “You’re always so busy during volleyball season. We barely ever get to see you.”

“I’ll try my best to visit. Maybe you guys could even come to one of my games?  I bet my coach would like the turnout.”

“That would be fun! I’m a great cheerleader!”

You ruffled Honey’s hair. “For sure.”

Honey ran off then to refill his plate. You were about to get up too when Mori brushed your arm.

“About what happened.”

You tried to hide your spike of nervousness. “Yeah?”

Mori’s gaze was steady. “I didn’t … I didn’t dislike what happened.”

You stared at Mori. He stared at you back and for beat, the two of you were the only ones in the room.

You pulled on a rakish grin. “I hope you’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”

Mori’s smile was faintly amused. “What am I saying?”

“I don’t really know. But maybe I should find out.”

“Maybe you should.”

You didn’t get a chance to talk to Tamaki or Kyoya until the day was over and guests began clearing out of the music room. As it were, the three of you waved the final guests goodbye, and once Kyoya greeted the crew responsible for dismantling everything, you all  left the academy.

“So what’s my status now?” you asked, Tamaki and Kyoya walking on either side of you. “Honorary Host? Esteemed Guest? You did say I would always have a place in the Host Club.”

“Of course! We can’t have our Tragic Host abandoning us completely!” Tamaki cried.

Kyoya nodded. “You’ll be able to enjoy a twenty-percent discount for each visit.” 

“You’re kidding. I still have to pay? I’m practically one of you guys!”

“If you aren’t a host, you’re a guest. Guests are required to pay.”

“Tamaki!” you whined.

Tamaki squinted at Kyoya. “Well, I suppose if you were to use the Black Magic Room to get into the music room, no one could stop you.”

“This is too much work. I’ll just never visit then.”

“Suit yourself,” Kyoya said coldly. Tamaki made a wounded noise.

Something nudged the back of your mind. You thought it was a silly thing to ask, especially now that everything had wrapped up, but you would always wonder if you didn’t ask.

“I have a question for the two of you.”

“Will horrors never cease?” Kyoya deadpanned.

You bit the inside of your cheek. “I mean, maybe I’m thinking about this wrong, but with your heartbreak treatment—did any of that have to do with—did you want to make me fall in love with you?”

Tamaki and Kyoya exchanged glances. A blush began creeping up Tamaki’s face.

“Y/N, do you know what the true purpose of the Host Club is?” Kyoya asked carefully.

“Not in any polite terms, no,” you replied, to which Kyoya rolled his eyes.

“When I first created the club, I only had one goal,” Tamaki said, his voice rueful. He smiled bashfully when you looked at him. “I just wanted to make people happy. That was all.”

It was a ridiculously simple answer that shouldn’t have justified anything. But somehow, it did.

The three of you reached the front entrance. You raised a hand to block the afternoon sunlight.

“If nothing else, I’ll at least give you credit where it’s due. You really did manage to heal my broken heart.”

Tamaki gaped at you. Kyoya’s eyes gleamed triumphantly.

“I’m going to need you to say that again,” he said. “For the record.”

“Is this going into your obscenely large handbook?”

“Of course. I’ve been writing out a protocol concerning broken hearts. You’re going to be the validating evidence.”

“But you didn’t know what you were doing. Mori said I was your first case.”

Kyoya wasn’t smug. He looked pleased. Maybe even happy.

“I had perfect confidence that we would be successful,” he said.

disce end.

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© cophene 2024

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