,, ♡ ︰ՏⱭƘƲRⱭ

You were the youngest member of the seven to replace Lamplighter, and Homelander immediately took a liking to you. You were obedient, quiet, always followed your orders, and most of all, you sought a father figure. Luckily for you, the head of The Seven was the perfect male role model. You truly liked him, and it's precisely why you sat in the meeting room, off in your own world.

"Miss y/n?" Homelander asked, his signature smirk plastered across his face.

You perked up and turned to him, allowing him to see your pretty eyes. "Yes?" you asked in that polite tone he adored.

"Is everything alright? You seem distant." He stepped forward and held his hands behind his back. "You do know that your objectives have been updated, do you not?"

"Hmm?"

Homelander scoffed, shook his head, and glanced away. "You'll be with The Deep this time around. Got it?"

"Yes," you said, giving him a little nod.

"All of you," he began. "Every single one of you... You don't listen. You don't listen to a thing I say. What..." He let out an exasperated sigh and placed his hands on his hips. "What will it take to get you to stop being a bunch of useless fucking cocksuckers?"

Nobody said a word, so The Deep spoke up. "Well—"

"What was that?" Homelander wondered, glaring straight through him.

The man didn't continue, so you stepped in and added, "We will do better, sir. Things have been tense ever since Transluscent went missing, but that's still not an excuse to be so unreliable."

Homelander turned back and crossed his arms again, giving you a look of approval. He just nodded and hummed thoughtfully before saying, "Get the fuck out; all of you. Except you, y/n."

Your eyes followed the other heroes as they hurried out of the room, and before long, the two of you were alone. It seemed that you'd been having more and more time alone with him, but you tried not to let it get to you.

Homelander stalked over to you once the door closed, and he slid his hands to your shoulders, giving them a little rub and a firm squeeze. "Hmm... You're always so obedient. Such a good girl. It makes me wonder, though. How come you always ignore everyone else and only talk to me? Is it because you like me?"

It took you a while to respond, but once you formulated a response, you explained. "Well, I... I think you're very important to the team. You're strong and... powerful."

"Powerful? You like that I'm powerful? Well, you haven't seen half of it, sweetie," he cooed. "You know, I feel like I would like to get to know you even better. Would you like to accompany me to my penthouse?"

You couldn't bear to decline his offer, so you nodded eagerly. Homelander offered you his hand, helped you up, and guided you to the door. He didn't once let go of your hand, and you could feel how warm and big his were. Something about it made you feel fuzzy inside, and you knew Homelander was aware of it. He could sense your heart rate, and the closer he was to you, the more it increased. In a way, it was like a game to him to see just how flustered he could make you.

Once the two of you exited the room and stepped into the vast hallway, he asked, “So, why did you choose to stand up for the others?”

You squeezed his hand a bit tighter and shrugged. “I just didn’t want you to be upset.”

“Oh? Really, now? Are you scared of my mean side?” he teased, giving you a little smirk.

“Well, maybe. But I also know how hard you work to lead us, and I just wanted to make things a little easier for you.”

“So, you’re my little goody-two-shoes? Well, I suppose I can’t complain about that. It’s cute, really.”

⋆—⋆—⋆—⋆

Homelander's penthouse was extravagant, to put it simply. It certainly did represent his character, though. If you had designed the place, you would have included fewer American flags.

"Please, make yourself at home. There's no need to feel uncomfortable. After all..." He smirked. "It's just us."

You stepped further into his home and nearly grimaced at how clean and perfect everything was. Just like Homelander's personality, it was all an act.

Before you registered where the older man was, you heard him say, "Come here." He patted his lap invitingly, extending his arms. "Let's get comfortable, shall we?"

The sight of him sitting there on the brown leather couch was nearly enough to bring you to your knees, but you stayed strong and neared him. He never once took his eyes off of you, and for the first time in your life, you felt… safe and cared for. So, without wasting another second, you approached him and set your legs on either side of his lap to straddle him. As soon as you sat down, he pulled you to his chest in a big hug.

“Ohh, there we are. See? It’s nice, isn’t it?” he asked, rubbing his large hands all over your back.

You nodded and pressed your face into the crook of his neck, also wrapping your arms around him.

“Tell me, you little… thing. Do you enjoy being coddled and held like the vulnerable and helpless little girl you are?”

Unable to ignore his question, you replied, “Yes, I… I do.”

“I knew it,” he hummed, rocking you from side to side and pulling you a little closer. “You need a strong man in your life, don’t you?”

You nodded, clutching the material of his suit.

“A daddy? Do you need a daddy, precious?”

You shyly nodded, still hiding your face against his neck.

“Who’s your daddy, huh? Who’s your daddy, baby girl?”

“I…” You hesitated, unsure if you should say what he wanted you to. “I… I don’t have a daddy, but… I want you to be my daddy.”

“Ohh, there it is. I knew it. That’s a good little girl, hmm? You’re daddy’s little girl; Homelander’s precious girl.” He pressed an obnoxiously loud and wet kiss to your cheek.

You curled into his protective embrace and whispered, “I feel safe with you.”

“Yeah?” Then, he asked the question that had been on his mind for far too long, “Did you not have any family growing up?”

Feeling ashamed, you loosened your grip around him and relaxed, wishing you could disappear. “I grew up in a lab,” you said.

Once you said that, it felt like his heart had been stabbed. How could such a sweet girl like you have grown up in a lab? He knew firsthand how painful and degrading it was to be treated so subhuman as a child. Imagining you in his place was enough to soften his entire demeanor.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, sliding his hand to your hair and lightly scratching your scalp. “I grew up in a lab as well. I know what it’s like to desire a parent. I know how much it hurts. But I’m here for you, okay? When we’re together, I’m your daddy, your rock, your safe space, and you’re just my little girl.”

“I would really like that,” you said, pulling back to meet his gaze.

Homelander smirked and pecked your forehead, once, then twice, and his hand moved to the back of your neck. “I would, too, sweet cheeks. Now, give daddy a big hug. He needs one after such a stressful day… and so do you.”

Without further hesitation, you threw your arms around his neck and smothered him with affection, just so happy to finally have a father.

⋆—⋆—⋆—⋆—⋆—⋆—⋆—⋆—⋆

It's well past two in the morning, and the majority of the team is asleep, except for a few of their younger players. The seat next to him is empty, per usual.

His phone vibrates once, then twice, his screen lighting up. Immediately, his wallpaper flashes up, a photo from when his daughter was far younger, her chubby cheeks smushed in his gloves as he holds her propped up in the Stanley Cup, grinning ear to ear.

A flash of fondness sparks in his chest at the photo; his daughter, barely two at that point, was dressed in a Penguin costume, Little Penguin embroidered across her belly.

He barely has time to reminisce on the photo before another text pops up, immediately catching his attention.

Sweetpea: papaim codl Sweetpea: do u think penguins get cold in the ice Sweepea: can u start apenuhin foundation to get warm jacket Sweetpea: i am penguin like u

He rubs at his eyes, trying to blink away sleep, furrowing his brows as he reads through his daughter's texts. He clicks the notification, waiting as the screen loads, swaths of text following. The first thing he notes is that the location underneath her contact photo is not Sewickley, PA, but Shadyside, PA, staring back at him.

What? Kiddo, are you alright?

Sweetpea: whenucome hoem? Sweetpea: i am stck in bathtub papa, stuck liek a duck Sweetpea: imsis u papa i dont know how to make chicken spagethhi

Baby, why are you up so late? Why aren't you home? What are you doing?

Sweetpea: m partying papa Sweetpea: duh Sweetpea: idunnohow to get hoe tho Sweetpea: ticket goen??

Call me. Hello? Pick up the phone, Sweetpea. I'm not mad. Please call me.

Sweetpea: cant i'm not supposed to tell papa Sweetpea: shh

Fuck. Okay.

Can you send me your location? I want to come party with you, Sweetpea.

Sweetpea: yessiree Sweetpea: [Attachment: 8778 Shadyside Ave] Sweetpea: canubrign socks? my small toe is codl

Of course. I love you.

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

The link leads him to Google Maps, a beat-down, painfully obvious frat house filling the screen, Sigma Chi brazenly painted across a sheet-banner. His stomach plummets to his feet as he clicks on the little arrows guiding him closer to the house, broken red solo cups overflowing from a spilled trash can, folding chairs scattered across the unmowed grass.

He calls his daughter again. Straight to voicemail. Again.

Against his better judgment, he searches Sigma Chi Pittsburgh. His fingers shake as he types it out, worry settling deep into his chest. Later, he'll be angry. As soon as he hits search, his screen is filled with different news articles.

Sigma Chi added to list of fraternities under investigation following secretive rush nights…[Read More]

Pittsburgh Sigma Chi suspended for hazing…[Read More]

Pitt's Sigma Chi under investigation for sexual assault allegations against fraternity president...[Read More]

There's nothing Sidney can do on a plane, an hour away from Pittsburgh. Absolutely nothing.

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

Sidney's the first one off the plane and out of the parking garage. Before he can even blink, he's barreling down I-376, pushing 90 in a 65.

As he floods the gas pedal, he can't help but think about the day his Sweetpea was born.

She had been born right after midnight, at twelve-twenty-four to be exact. Slipping out after two hours of labor, worringly quiet with an umbilical cord wrapped around her neck.

She had been whisked away from him before he had been able to catch a glimpse of her face, wrapped up in a muslin wrap. He remembers the words resuscitation before his mind momentarily blanks out; the stretch of time where his baby hadn't been breathing is nothing but a blur of terror.

He remembers that at twelve-twenty-six, the bustle had calmed down as the shrieking cries began. The nurses had cooed at her, even as she shrieked their heads off, high-pitched and red in the face.

He can remember how her mother had lain in bed, exhausted from labor, smiling at both of them. He remembers the nurse coming back with his daughter in her arms, a small, sweet bundle of pink muslin. His daughter, his sweet, darling daughter, had been a comforting weight in his arms- all six pounds and seven ounces of her, still wrinkly and pink.

By the time Sidney had been allowed to bring her home, her mother had already surrendered full custody to him. From there, it had just been him and his girl. She had slept like a perfectly content baby that first night, snuggled up against his chest as he sat awake all night, Sam sleeping at the foot of their bed.

Now, she's in some shitty fraternity house, drunk out of her mind, and cold instead of sleeping in their nicely protected house, warm and cozy, waiting for him to come back home.

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

The first thing Sidney notes is the low, almost-sticky throbbing of the music.

The subwoofers are nearly vibrating out of their cabinets, some trashy, wanna-be rapper's homemade songs blaring through the house. It's alarmingly loud for three-fourty-five in the morning and even more worringly packed to the brim, on a Sunday night of all things.

A man who is not college-aged pushes past him, drinks sloshing in his arms as he stumbles, taking a minute to clamp Sidney on the shoulder. His breath is rank, the nauseating smell of onions- assumedly from the now-cooling cheeseburgers on a grill, and fruity alcohol. He's barely able to stand on his own two feet as he stumbles away, smashing into a group of younger boys with a cheer, the drinks being handed out.

He can see beards. Fully grown, badly maintained, grown adult beards meshing alongside the college shirts and sports tops, the occasional school shirt passing by him. He can see baby cheeks and patchy facial hair, acne-riddled faces, and braces, standing alongside men who look like they work 9-5s, with badly tattooed sleeves and neon construction company shirts.

If Sidney wasn't worried sick, nausea steadily mounting in his stomach, he'd be enraged. But, as he continues to push through the swaths of heavily intoxicated teens and grown adults, he can't feel anything but fear. His phone buzzes once, then twice, then a few more times.

Sweetpea: imin a shjower, imcold Sweetpea: iCan seecolors andsahpes Sweetpea: ithink I'm going tocomit all over myseld Sweetpea: :(((

Shjower. Shower.

Thankfully, the house is limited to the lower story, with the stairs blocked off with numerous miscellaneous items.

He pushes his way to the edges of the room, pushing through groups of lip-locked teens, rattling doorknobs as he goes. He opens a cleaning closet, a coat closet, two bedrooms, and another door that leads back to the kitchen before he finally opens the bathroom door.

Immediately, the stench of vomit hits him.

His daughter is slumped at the bottom of a bathtub, blearily blinking up at him, head cocked to the side. The water faucet is running water over an open drain, and steam is traveling through the room. There's vomit all over her chest, a sickly color of brown, splattered all the way down her dress. Her legs are dangling over the edge, limp against the porcelain.

She's got on a pair of leopard-print tights underneath her dress, torn to all hell and ripped in various places, with a pair of small black heels hanging off her feet. He doesn't recognize the dress she's wearing, though it may be more like a small scrap of fabric. He ignores the way his stomach plummets down to his feet, nausea running rampant, his head going dizzy at the sight of his sixteen-year-old.

She's glassy-eyed and half-slumped against the wall, her cheeks flushed from alcohol, curls dampened with sweat. She doesn't even notice that he's stepped into the room, staring off into space with heavily hooded eyes.

He's about to move forward, already pulling off his coat, when someone bumps into him, a heavy hand slapping him on his back. The stench of alcohol, cheap beer to be specific, reaches him. A fully grown man peeks over his shoulder, grinning ear to ear. His teeth are yellow, mountains of plaque built up.

"Yo, you have fun, man! That chick looks like a real tiger!"

Sidney blinks once, then twice. His vision swims as disgust blooms in his stomach, and before he can even think about what he's doing, he's whirling around.

Unlike the anger that mounts in his stomach on the ice, pushing him over the precipice and eventually leading him to abandon his gloves as he swings at opposing players, this anger is devastating in its weight. His fists are flying before he can even think about the repercussions of fighting at a party full of barely legal- and non-legal college kids- and grown adults, landing hit after hit on the man. The soft give of skin underneath his fists isn't soothing, nor is it assuring as he hits the man, once, twice, then thrice before the man slumps down.

No one blinks an eye. Even as blood gushed from the man's mouth, Sidney definitely knocked a few teeth loose. The man groans lowly, blinking rapidly before he stands up, blinks at him, then continues his descent down the hallway.

He throws one last lazy wink at Sidney before he disappears around a corner, loudly hollering something.

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

No one stops him as he carries his daughter back through the party.

Maybe it's the fact he's two hundred something pounds, trucking through masses of scrawny college kids and beer-bellied middle-aged men, splatters of blood against his knuckles.

Or, perhaps, it's the rage that has slowly dragged itself out of the depths of his stomach, presenting itself on his face.

Sidney doesn't stop to think about it. He's got his daughter tucked in the curvature of his arms, her head nuzzled up against his pec as she blearily blinks up at him, hidden within his jacket. The tear tracks on her cheeks have dried up, yet she still sniffles repeatedly, hiccuping lowly on cries. Her eyes are fuzzy, pupils blown wide, eyes wandering away from his face.

She's quietly mouthing something against his chest, still hiccuping as he rocks her gently, keeping one hand pressed up against her feverish cheeks. He's practically got her entire body covered, his jacket hanging down to her knees, her legs tucked closely underneath his arms. He keeps her as close as humanly possible, faintly reminiscent of when she was a baby.

He doesn't even care that there's vomit smeared on his shirt, transferring from her chin to him, not while she's fisting pitiful handfuls of his game-day button-up, hiccuping on her cries. He can catch the words "Papa" and "Cold," her accent far thicker than her adopted American one.

It'd be endearing if she weren't drunk.

He can smell the alcohol on her, burning his nose as he pushes through the door, hurriedly walking to his still-running car. She smells heavily of lemonade and sweat, overridden by the smell of sick, small hints of the perfume he had bought for her creeping out. If he couldn't smell it, the way her eyes are dilated, and glossy would be a dead giveaway, slow as they creep over his face, her blinks heavy and delayed.

She's both warm and cold, shivering in his hold, but her face is flushed bright red, and the capillaries in her cheeks have burst from vomiting. (She's always been an intensive vomiter, much like him.) But, even as he lays her down in the backseat of his car, he remembers to tug a pair of socks from his carry-on.

She's angrily murmuring now, her hiccups louder as she struggles to sit up against his hand against her shoulder, trying to squirm herself closer, "Shh, it's okay, Sweetpea. Your toes are cold, no? Let me help."

He gets an angry hurrumph in response, her frantic shifting momentarily pausing as he undoes the straps of her heels, tossing them behind the driver's seat, then pauses to rotate her ankles. There's a blister on the side of her right foot, steadily leaking blood and staining her tights. He cusses lowly to himself before hooking a finger through one of the many holes and ripping it higher until her entire foot peeks out, the tights torn all the way up to her ankle. She flinches at the noise, nose scrunching up in displeasure as he looks closer at it, momentarily frozen.

Now, Sidney knew ballet was a particularly rough hobby. All too often, he'd come home to bloodied foot bandages in the trash, his daughter padding around their home in heavily bandaged feet, hobbling awkwardly on a misstretched ankle. Occasionally, she'd wake up with sharp, shooting pains in her calves, stirring him awake as she rolled them out in the wee hours of the morning. She'd climb back into bed with tears on her cheek, squishing herself right back into a ball.

Once, he had made her promise to tell him if things got too rough. Seemingly, she has forgotten that promise. His daughter, his baby, was mottled black and blue up to her calves. Her feet are littered with open blisters, angry shades of red mixed with the bruising, and her ankles are swollen.

Truly, Sidney doesn't think he can handle any more revelations for the night. Instead of asking her about the bruising, he chokes back the torrent of questions as she murmurs again, sliding the too-big socks over her feet. She makes a low, pleased noise before she pulls her legs up, curling into a small, vomit-covered ball.

He moves her to the passenger seat before she can fall asleep, cradling her jaw in his left hand as she smiles up at him, face streaked with tears, snot, and vomit.

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

He tries not to cry as he drives home, this time, going painfully slow.

His darling girl is asleep in the passenger side, burrowed underneath his suit jacket in a ball, drooling against the leather console. Her snores are heavy and wet-sounding, occasionally punctuated by hiccups. He's got one hand wrapped around her jawline, rubbing his thumb over her cheek, his pinky occasionally straying to dip down and prod against her pulse point.

It feels like just yesterday she had been tottering through their kitchen in Cole Harbour, unsteady as she was learning to walk, ramming into his calves with her walker, babbling for Papa! Papa! throughout the house.

How did he miss his daughter growing so quickly? At what point did the sparkly tulle skirts and striped tights blur into leopard print tights and party dresses? When did the faint line between bottled pink lemonade blur into hard lemonade with vodka?

When, when, when.

He's not naive enough to believe that this was his kid's first venture into partying. Although he wishes he were.

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

By the time he's got her tucked in bed, freshly bathed, no longer reeking of sweat, alcohol, and vomit, the clock is blinking five-fifteen A.M.

She's absolutely dead weight curled into his side, open-mouth snoring, limbs heavy in his hold. Tonight, she doesn't curl up in his hip like normal and chatter on about her day until sleep slowly drags her down. There's no murmur of Goodnight, Papa, I love you.

He thinks that she had been trying to say it as he propped her up on the bathroom counter and brushed her teeth, murmuring around the foamy toothpaste, before she had gone silent, somehow falling asleep as he was mid-brush.

Instead, there's nothing but the sound of her hiccuping snores and the whirring of the ceiling fan.

Tomorrow, he'll be angry.

Tonight, he allows himself to sink into his worry, the burst of terror that had exploded through his veins once the location link had come through: the sight of his daughter, covered in vomit and half-dead to the world in a shitty, stained bathtub flashing across his mind. The tone of the man's voice as he purred in Sidney's ear, telling him to have fun. He'll think about the warm feeling of blood against his knuckles.

He'll try not to think about what could've happened. What could've happened if the team had chosen to stay in a hotel instead of flying back, if the man had found Sidney's daughter before he had-

His daughter rolls, slowly but steadily, shifting off her back and rolling straight into his chest. She murmurs something low and indiscernible as her head thumps against his pec, eyes darting around from underneath her eyelids.

Tonight, he'll stay awake until the sunlight creeps in through the window, only falling asleep at ten-thirty.

For now, he wants to keep his eyes on his daughter.

Benoit’s firm hand squeezed Jud's shoulder as he held Martha in his arms. Her last breath leaving with his forgiving prayer. The priest, with glassy eyes, closed hers, a shuddered sign escaping his cracked lips. But as soon as that cursed pink diamond fell at their feet, Blanc was up and running like his ass was on fire.

With the weight of the day and a hard decision on his hands, Jud quickly pocketed the damned thing before Geraldine was back with medics. They took Martha from him, the ghost of her warmth pulled from his limbs. He stood on shaky legs before joining the purposely absent detective outside.

“You, my boy, need a shower, meal, and a bed. Preferably in that exact order.” Blanc gave him a look over; mud caked on his clothes was now uncomfortably dry. He could only nod, too tired to put up much of a fight as he gently led him to the backseat of his car.

The shower felt like heaven after being wet and cold for such a prolonged amount of time. His muscles ached, the heat slowly loosening the tight knots in his shoulders. He wondered how long was too long to sit under the blissful hot water before Benoit got worried and checked in on him. Begrudgingly, he stepped out and quickly dressed in flannel pants and a loose shirt. Formalities well past them at this point.

Bare feet against the hard wood floor, Blanc heard him as he approached the kitchen. Jud shouldn’t be surprised with his new acquaintance and his near limitless talents but—surprise surprise. The man had thrown together a full meal. Maybe he was in the shower longer than he thought.

“Where did you get all of this? I know we didn’t have a whole chicken…” Benoit turned around from sitting the mentioned bird on the table.

“Oh well I forgot to mention my—“ suddenly a clatter in the office distracted them both.

“Did I not say to leave it alone…” Blanc grumbled before stomping towards the noise. Confused, the priest followed closely behind. Benoit flung open the office door, hands on his hips in preparation for an argument. Jud peaked over his shoulder to see the cause of his irritation.

“What have I told you? I can't take you anywhere!” At first he saw nothing, but then your head sheepishly rose from behind the desk. You wore the biggest shit-eating grin he’d ever seen.

“Oops?” You followed the word by raising a hand, holding what appeared to be a broken frame. Jud's stomach did a flip.

“Um, hello?” He was beyond confused by what was happening in front of him. Benoit walked over to you, hand out in annoyance. You bit your lip to stifle a giggle, clearly unfazed by the stern authority in Blanc's scowl. You handed over the offending item gingerly, standing up from your spot on the floor.

You were shorter than them both, dressed in a light cardigan over a graphic T-shirt of what looked like a scene from a horror movie. His gaze dropped lower, taking in the way your tight ripped jeans hugged your thighs—he cleared his throat looking back up. That caught your attention. Blanc wiped his head to Jud, remembering what he was doing before the interruption.

“I’m sorry Padre, as I was about to tell you. I forgot to mention that my darlin’, (Y/N), would be joining us.” Benoit rounded the desk, sitting the broken photo back down safely to deal with later.

“I had her go pick us up some supplies for dinner. I do apologize, I hope it’s alright she join us?” Jud's brows drew together. Darling? But he thought… he nodded quickly, slightly embarrassed.

With the tailored suits, finely manicured nails, and musical numbers—Jud had kinda assumed Blanc was, well, not straight. So this must be his… wife? His very young, very attractive wife. You looked like you were closer in age to Jud than Blanc. He had noticed Benoit's wedding ring before but—as they say, assuming makes an ass out of you and me.

“S-sure yeah of course, I don’t mind. All's welcome!” He couldn’t help the nervous rambling that tumbled out of his mouth.

“Wonderful!” Benoit jumped back in action, heading to the kitchen to finish setting up for dinner. Jud gave a timid smile to you.

“It’s lovely to meet you, (Y/N). I’m Jud.” You gave him a once over, the corner of your lip upturned.

“Likewise Father.” The syllables dragged out. The look in your eye was a little too friendly; a shiver ran up his spine. Jud swallowed before quickly following in the older man’s footsteps.

–

“Oh God Blanc, is there anything you can’t do?” Jud didn’t realize how starved he had been. One bite and he was shoveling in food like a man who had been lost at sea.

“Oh you flatter me Jud, truly.” You hummed in agreement.

“He’s a total feeder for sure. Stuffs me full anytime he can.” Jud choked a little on his food. You lifted a sharp brow.

“Easy there Jud! It ain’t going anywhere.” Blanc clapped him on the back. He slowed down, chasing his coughs with a drink of water.

“Yeah sorry, I kind forgot to eat much with everything going on.” His recovery was smooth. Benoit dabbed a napkin to his chin.

“Well, it’s been a doozy that’s for sure. I could only imagine what this week has been like for you.” Jud smiled, looking to change the subject.

“I wanted to ask—what brings you here, (Y/N)? Do you normally come with Blanc on cases?”

You ripped into a biscuit, steam rolling off the bread, “Actually I—”

“Oh please! Can I tell him? I never get the chance to brag about you.” Blanc was practically giddy with excitement. You rolled your eyes, gently swatting his arm.

“Not like I could stop you if I tried.” Benoit grabbed your hand on the table, giving it a light squeeze before bringing it up to give your knuckles a quick kiss. Jud watched the exchange closely. Again, your brow raised, but with a quizzical glance.

“(Y/N) just got her Masters degree. Has a job lined up already! It just so happens that it’s one town over. And because she knew I’d be in the area for a case—she came along to check it out. It was odd how well things worked out.” Jud's brows creased.

“Oh, that—that’s amazing. Congrats! Um, are you thinking of moving for long term? Or is this just a temporary position?” Surely Benoit wouldn’t want to move out here; he wasn’t made for suburban life. That Jud was certain of. But it wouldn’t be totally crazy to think they might live separately over long periods of time. Blanc's work must take him all over the world after all.

“I wanna see how I like it, but I’m not opposed to it. I like the area. Who knows?” You shrugged your shoulders. Jud nodded.

“Do you think it’ll be hard living alone?” Things like that can really strain a relationship. You narrowed your eyes, a small smile creeping into your features.

“Hmm, I enjoy my space… and independence. Besides, he could do without seeing me all the time. We can fight like cats and dogs. Gets pretty rough sometimes.” Jud's eyes widened.

Blanc rolled his eyes, “Oh hooyee. You’re the one that’ll drain the life out of me! Exhausting really. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Jud had no good reason for the choking this time, wheezing a cough as Benoit slapped him hard. You couldn’t help it, a throaty laugh exploding from you.

“Father are you alright?” Jud put a hand out, gulping down breaths. Blanc snapped his eyes over to your hyena squeals.

“And why on earth are you laughing at the poor man!” The priest finally calmed down, just as you cleared your throat to steady your bubbling giggles.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Ah. This is better than TV!” Blanc shook his head, confused, Jud joining him with a shrug.

“Father Jud, please forgive me for putting you through this for so long—detective Blanc?” You stuck a thumb at the man beside you. Jud nodded after you waited a beat for a response.

“He’s my dad. My very gayandmarriedtomyotherdad dad.” Jud's face turned into a beet-red cherry tomato. Benoit looked between you both, still in a haze of puzzlement.

“What are you—” He put his face in his hands, too embarrassed to look up. Blanc squinted in thought before jumping back.

“Father Jud! Did you think that we were—oh, I could tan your hide!” You started into another wave of laughter, now at your dad's expense, to the point of tears.

“So worth it.”

–

Jud busied himself with cleaning the table once everyone was finished. Blanc had given you an earful while Jud sat stewing in his shame. You took it in stride, sneaking little glances at Jud throughout the rest of dinner. As he was rinsing a cup, you slid up beside him.

“I am sorry for embarrassing you… you're just too adorable not to pick on. I couldn’t help myself.” You said, pressing into him, your hands joining his in the soapy water.

He felt heat on his face again, and for a completely different reason. “It’s a-alright, all in good fun.” You nodded, scrubbing at a dish.

“Dad is quite fond of you, you know. I can see why.” You tilted your head towards him. He smiled.

“Really? I felt like a thorn in his side the whole time he was trying to save me.” You laughed, the sound light and breezy.

“You wouldn’t be the first, but he likes that. I wasn’t kidding when I said we fight. He enjoys the challenge.” The priest joined you in a chuckle.

“Well I didn’t make it easy for him, that’s for sure.” You nudged his shoulder, reaching for the next item.

“What he likes about you, what I like about you… you freely give yourself to people. Open up and offer them a connection without expectation.” Jud let out a breath, silenced at the sincerity of your words. His hands re-submerged into the sink, fingers grazing yours lightly. He could feel your stare on the side of his face.

Jud risked a quick glance at you, but couldn’t look away from your dark eyes. The light of the kitchen catching them and bringing out the variation of colors within.

“Pretty,” he whispered, unaware of the slip.

You returned his intense stare with a grin, “Huh?”

He coughed, looking back at the now empty sink.

“I mean- Th-thank you. I really needed to hear that.”

And he was right. That moment with Louise had brought out a fear in him, that he was losing that tether to himself amongst the festering cancer of Wicks’ shadow. Connection is what he valued above all else. It was how he knew he could serve God to heal the broken like him.

Your smile softened, hand clasping his under the cooling water. “You’re a good person Jud, don’t ever doubt that. And what you do? For others? It’s everything.” Jud couldn’t help the strained chuckle that shook his bones. The weight of today, the weight of everything he was going through, finally came crashing down. The laugh turned into a hiccup as tears started pouring out of him.

You immediately pulled his hands out of the water, “Hey hey, it's ok. There we are, that’s it.” You maneuvered his body around to face you, bringing his arms around your waist.

“Come on sweetie. I’ve got ya.” Your voice was gentle, filled with soothing comfort. A complete switch from the playful teasing from before. He let himself be moved, sagging into your firm hold.

Your hug was the anchor he needed, finally letting himself break down completely. You supported the weight of him surprisingly well considering the height difference. Your arms wrapped around him, one hand grasping at the back of his head. Still-damp fingers pushing him into the crook of your shoulder. The other at the small of his back, rubbing soothing circles. He openly sobbed into the warmth of your skin.   

Benoit had been standing in the doorway in silence, watching the exchange. His face pinched in worry. You gave him a small smile, the unspoken words between you reassuring. Blanc nodded, creeping away to let Jud have his moment without interruption.

And Jud did. He let out all of the things he had been bottling up. Fingers clinging to the soft knit of your cardigan. Slowly his breathing calmed down. He took a deep inhale into your hair at the base of your neck. The smell of your skin and the faint traces of a perfume long since faded was grounding. He let out a sigh against you. He thought he could feel a shudder run through you. If he did, it was ignored as he squeezed you tighter. You patted his back and he took that as an opportunity to remove himself from your arms.

“Thank you…” he whispered, voice tired and brittle. You brought your hand up to his face, sleeve between your fingers as you dried the damp spots of his face. You kept your hand up, palm resting gently on his cheek.

“Of course.”

—

After, Jud was escorted to his small bed by your father. He was already deep in REM cycle before Benoit could shut the door. He found you In the living room poking at the low burning fire, Blanc came up to sit beside you in the opposite chair.

“What. A. Mess.” His shoulder drooped, finally relaxing.

You nodded, “But he’s going to be alright. Just needs some time and support.” The detective hummed, watching you as you played in the fireplace. He bit the inside of his mouth, thinking.

“Support… yes.” You side-eyed him. “I know that tone. What are you scheming now, pops?”

“Oh come on! I’m n—” You leveled him with a look. “Ok ok… you are going to be in the area. I just thought that—” You leaned over to place a hand over his. It had been tapping at the side of the chair.

“You can’t help it, can you? Always adding more adopted children to worry about. You’d think I was plenty.” Blanc chuckled, patting your hand.

“My darlin’, you’re more than me or your father could have ever hoped for. You know that. I just—I can’t help my concern.” You did know. Both of them gave you a home built on love most can only dream of. And as always, Blanc was a big old softy for the helpless.

“I know, I know. I’ll keep an eye on him. Won't be hard either, with him being a cutie.” You teased. Your father just gave you a look.

“Now, don’t be gettin’ any ideas. He’s got enough on his plate without you overwhelming the man.” You pretended to be offended, hand clutching fake pearls.

“Why Dad! Whatever do you mean?” You giggled.

Benoit continued, “But I would appreciate updates. He’s… he’s a good one.” You knew exactly how he felt. Outside of what your dad had been telling you while working the case, meeting Jud sealed the deal.

“I think so too.”

Jud woke up around noon, days of little to no sleep finally catching up to him. He was in a rumpled state, not bothering to change into his priest clothes since he assumed he’d be alone after last night.

He was wrong.

As he descended the steps, he could hear singing coming from the kitchen. Benoit must have stayed; the melody was dramatic and ethereal. Phantom of the Opera. He couldn’t help but smile. But when he rounded the corner, you were humming along. Your back was to him.

The sun was coming in, creating a soft glow around you. Rays danced in your hair; it was mesmerizing. The song shifted, and you joined in. Voice soft and lush. His heart jumped. You had removed your cardigan, revealing your swaying hips.

You turned around to sit something on the table, eyes locking with Jud’s. “Ah fuck, Father!” You said with a gasp. Something less innocent jumped at that.

Fuck indeed…

“I—I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he sat at the table.

You let out a laugh, “It’s alright, was lost in the music I guess.” He nodded.

“When I heard it, I thought you were Blanc—I noticed his taste in musicals.” You laughed, shifting back into your cooking.

“Oh yeah, me and Dad have burned up Broadway many-a-time. Papa doesn’t care for it, so I became his replacement theater bug. Never will forget Dad full-on sobbing to a particularly haunting rendition of Memory.” The image of Blanc crying to Cats made Jud chuckle.

“That’s interesting. I can’t say I’m not a little curious to what kind of person Blanc would be with.” You were stirring something in a pot, the smell making his mouth water.

“Papa? Well, he’s nothing like Dad. As you’ve probably noticed, he’s got a large personality.”

“That’s putting it lightly.” You snickered at that.

“Papa’s name is Phillip. They met on a case when Dad was just starting out as a detective. He was a suspect- of course, but Dad knew immediately that he was innocent.” Jud gave a knowing smile.

“He’s always been like that?” You looked over at him.

“He was obvious, kinda like you, wears his heart on his sleeve. Dad saw straight through him.” Jud felt heat rising to his face, a little embarrassed at being called out. You cleared your throat, brows drawn together.

“I realize that might come off wrong—it—it’s a good thing, Jud. Really. The world would be better with more people like you in it.” Now you were the one embarrassed, having put your foot in your mouth.

Jud gave you a sheepish grin, “No, no. You’re honest—just like your dad. And the same can be said for you.” Both of you stared, silence only interrupted by the ticking of the wall clock. You were blushing too, cheeks and nose rosy. You straightened your posture, returning back to the stove. He wished you hadn’t.

“Anyway—Papa is very mild-mannered compared to Dad. You’d think it wouldn’t work but, man, they’re perfect together. They argue, sure—but it’s kinda adorable and silly when they do. Dad is a total queen sometimes, and Papa just feeds into it. I think they like pushing each other's buttons. Dad’s like that. Again, large personality.” Jud could picture it, and it made perfect sense.

“Papa is a professor; I get my academics from him. Total bookworm.” Jud tried to think of Blanc and what he would assume his type to be, and that checked most of the boxes.

“He sounds sweet; I know he’s a good person if he’s married to Blanc. He’d hate me for saying it but he’s a godsend.” You must have been done, hands now rummaging through the cabinets for a plate.

“He would, but the sentiment would still be appreciated. By that statement I assume he let it be known he’s a staunch atheist?” You had filled the plate and were now bringing it over to Jud. It was some kind of curry over rice. His stomach let out a loud grumble making you grin from ear to ear.

“Yeah, almost immediately. And you?” He didn’t wait for a response before he shoveled the almost too-hot food into his mouth. It was delicious. He almost moaned at how good it was. You looked pleased by his eagerness.

“Simple answer, sure. Dad has some… trauma with institutionalized religion having grown up the way he did. Papa less so. But both let me come to my own conclusions. And that conclusion is… complicated.” That had Jud stop mid chew. You had looked away at that point, now focusing on the twirling wind chime hanging outside the window.

“Complicated?” A ghost of a smile haunted your lips.

“I think that the world is a jungle of confusion. All of us animals trying to find the answers to questions we don’t even know the meaning of.” You let out a deep sigh before continuing.

“Life is hard; it happens to you. None of us ask for it or have any real way of controlling what it does to us in the end.” He looked at you, taking in the way your eyes were eerily clear with something he’d never seen in someone so young. A deep knowing.

“And in the end?” The question was a whisper. You turned back to him, softness returning to you.

“I think that—all that there is to be known—can only be known by the dead. And we aren’t there yet. Are we?” Jud felt a chill from the words, not from the weight of them, but by the weight they had coming from you.

As a priest, even in the youth of it as he was, he’d seen enough working with the dead, dying, and mourning to know when someone had gone through tragedy in life. And with the gentle calm in your voice carrying the heaviness of that message? He knew that you had seen it first-hand.

He reached out a hand to place it gently on yours, giving it a light squeeze. You returned the touch with your other hand, lightly patting the top of his before standing. He watched you as you got your own plate, deep in thought. His mind wandered back to when you took him in your arms—holding him with a comfort and strength that broke what little barriers he had left almost instantly.

You were a mystery of your own, and Jud found himself curious to solve it.

-

You and your father hung around on and off for a couple of days after the funerals. Jud was grateful for it. The detective gave him his contact, insisting he call if anything came up. He still didn’t bring up the diamond and Jud knew he never would. You also gave him your number, and your new address.

“I’m only twenty minutes away. It’s a cute place, you should come by and visit.” He smiled.

“I’d like that, will you let me know when you’re settled?” You nodded before giving him a long hug. Jud was proud to say he only melted into it slightly. Blanc was watching, eyes narrow with study.

They both climbed in the detective’s car, Blanc buckled in before giving you a look.

“(Y/N), need I remind you Jud is a priest?” You looked at him a little bewildered.

“Well duh.” He rolled his eyes at you.

“And priests have vows... Of chastity?” You let out a nervous chuckle.

“Dad! I’m not going to fuck Jud! I promise!” Blanc just side-eyed you.

“Yeah yeah, like you promised not to mess with the rich widow from Italy. I hadn’t even ruled her out yet before you were on her like cellophane.” You huffed.

“You said you’d stop bringing that up. And I knew she was innocent, she was left-handed.” You purposely omitted the detail of only figuring that out when the woman’s hand was up your dress.

“I’m just sayin’, please be mindful. I’d rather not have you calling me up in the middle of the night about the totally preventable existential crisis you might or might not have brought upon yourself.” You folded your arms.

“Well Dad, it takes two to tango, so you have nothing to worry about.” Blanc only thumped his finger on the wheel. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” went unspoken.

You watched the treeline as you drove, a corner of your mouth curling.

I’m gonna fuck that priest.

It was only a few days since you had left that Jud got his first text from you. It was a picture of a poster, a band performing at some local bar. “Are priests allowed to go to punk shows?” He barked a laugh in the silence of his room.

“When are we going?”

—

Jud couldn’t stop flexing his hands, rubbing them roughly on the front of his well-worn dark denim jeans. Despite being fully clothed, he felt completely naked. He had decided against his collar given the occasion and was wearing his spare day clothes he rarely ever touched anymore. The priestly uniform was comforting, familiar. This oddly less so.

White shirt, blue flannel, and dark jeans. He kept checking himself in the mirror. He felt off. During his stay in Chimney Rock, he never had the opportunity or need to wear anything outside his uniform. Bishop Langstrom would probably be worried to know how little he let himself have recreational time. He had been at war with Wicks. Days off felt like admitting defeat.

Now he had no excuse.

The light honk from outside let him know you were there. Jud peeked out the window of the living room and gave you a quick wave. Scooping up his wallet and keys, he glanced one last time in the mirror to mess with his hair.

Your car looked… expensive to say the least. A vintage cherry red Corvette, a convertible with cream white interior. He let out a whistle. “Like her? Papa wants to steal her, Dad says it’s a bit much.”

Jud felt the leather seats, “Damn, I can imagine why. Blanc is probably just jealous—she’s beautiful. I’ve never been in something this nice.” You smiled at his wandering hands, taking in the details around him.

“Well, I thought I’d treat myself since I got my degree and first adult job, ya know?” He nodded.

“New job pays well?” You snorted at that, peeling out of the driveway.

“Not at all.” Jud didn’t pry, but was as curious as ever.

—

The place was already crowded by the time you got there, bodies on bodies. You kept a firm hold on his hand as you weaved through to the bar.

“Do priests drink?” You said, leaning over into his ear for him to hear you better. Your hot breath made him shiver.

“Yeah, whiskey is fine.” He went to pull money from his wallet but you slapped at his hand.

“Keep it, I asked you out—remember? On me.” You gave him a wink before slinking up to the counter to wave down the bartender. Jud shook his head, but couldn't stop his eyes from moving down your body. Tonight you were wearing a high-waisted skirt that hit mid-thigh with tights and heeled booties. Your back was covered with a light jacket, but he had already taken notice of your crop top. The sliver of skin he could see was… He looked back up, suddenly aware of how dry his throat was.

You had managed to grab the drinks quickly, sliding up to him with a cheerful grin.

“To the new and the old.” You raised a glass. He smiled and clinked his against yours. You downed yours quickly and tipped his back up when he tried to set it down.

“Ah ah, you need to loosen up there, big boy. Come on.” His ears tingled with warmth, but he followed the instructions anyway. You were right, after all.

When finished, you took the glasses back to the bar—flagging for a refill. He laughed. He couldn’t help but notice the similar mannerism between you and Blanc. The tell-tale air of calm control. That thought was interrupted when he noticed a woman come up beside you, hand placed on the small of your back.

You turned to her, eyes sweeping down before shifting into a casual smile. The woman whispered something in your ear. You laughed before leaning in, eyes cutting back to the priest. He felt like he was under a spotlight, caught with his hands in the cookie jar. But why, Jud couldn’t explain.

Maybe this was something he shouldn’t see. You just smirked, eyes trained on him as you placed a hand on the woman’s arm. You whispered something, making the woman smile before she slowly slipped her hand into the back pocket of your tight skirt. His throat was dry again.

You leaned into the touch, the woman still whispering in your ear. Your eyes never left his. Then, the woman pulled away. Jud watched as she sauntered over to what must have been her group of friends.

You cleared your throat, startling him, already back with the refills. There was a mischievous glint in your eyes when you handed him the drink.

“Oh th-thanks. Um, someone you know?” You shook your head.

“Nope.” You emphasized the 'p' with a pop of your lips. Your smirk made his stomach do somersaults. Jud nodded, silencing himself with a large gulp. You reached into your pocket, revealing a scrap of paper.

“But she wants to be.” Jud choked on his drink. He could feel the burn in his nose. You let out a howl as he gasped.

“She’s cute,” he murmured after he calmed down the sting in his lungs.

“Yeah, she thinks you are too.” This made Jud tilt his head in confusion. You toyed with your straw.

“What did she say? Oh yeah, something like she wouldn’t mind climbing him like a tree?” His mouth opened, looking back over at the woman who was noticeably watching you both. He turned scarlet.

“I am jealous of your height, mine wasn’t so clever. Just asked me to sit on her face.” Jud’s eyes were wide, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Wow, um, wasn’t expecting that.” Then you leaned into him, voice low.

“I told her you wouldn’t be able to join. She was only mildly disappointed.” The man looked over, seeing you give the woman a flirty wave.

“Join?” he stammered. You hummed, sliding the paper back into your pocket.

“Just cause you're out of the game, Father, doesn’t mean we all are.” Jud nodded, thoughts spinning as he drank more from his glass. Something slithered in his gut, too uncomfortably close to envy. At who, he wouldn’t acknowledge.

“Does watching break your vows? She looks like the type to enjoy an audience.” Jud choked again, you slapping his back.

“Sorry, sorry. God, it’s so fun to fuck with you.” Jud was going to die of asphyxiation if he hung around you much longer.

—

“Let’s take a break outside, yeah?” You had been listening to the opening band’s set, the heat building as the show started. You tugged him to the side door.

The air felt blissfully cool compared to the sauna of the packed bar. You pulled out your smokes, lighter flicking on. The light caught on your face, highlighting the apples of your cheeks. Jud stood there breathing in the crisp air.

“Smoke?” You said, tilting the open pack at him. He shook his head.

“If you wanted to go hang out with—” he thumbed back towards the bar, “I’d understand.” But he would hate it if he was being honest—and he wasn’t.

“Jud,” you moved up next to him, shoulder bumping into his arm, “I’m here with you. I’d be a shit friend to do something like that.” Friend. He felt a conflicting surge of happiness and disappointment at that.

“And besides, I’ve got her number. But probably won’t use it.” He nodded.

“She… not your type?” The multiple meanings didn’t go unnoticed. You smiled at him.

“Her specifically? No. But women? Yes, about 70% of the time. Other 30, your end of the spectrum.” He shouldn’t have been so excited at the your part.

“Would you want her number?” His head swiveled up from looking at the broken pavement.

“What? I’m—I can’t I—” You giggled at his stammering.

“You’re telling me you don’t partake? Just a little?” Jud’s mouth opened in shock.

“(Y/N), I’m a priest. It kinda comes with a particular set of rules with the position.” You leaned on the brick behind you, taking a slow drag of your cigarette.

“And you know as well as I do that discretion is the name of the game for men of your… position.” Jud didn’t know if the liquor was getting to him but he couldn’t help the little laugh that spilled out.

“You really are something, aren’t you?” You kicked off the wall and stood in front of him. He could smell the smoke mixing with the increasingly familiar scent of you with how close you were. He wanted to bottle it up.

“Jud,” you caught his eyes, “I want you to experience more life. It’s precious. Fragile. You should know this more than most.” He let out a shaky exhale.

“Tonight we are just two people having a good time! God would want you to have this. And you don’t have to feel guilt to enjoy it. Just. Have. Fun.” You said, each word punctuated with a poke to his chest. Jud looked up at the night sky, eyes shut and lips curling into a smile.

You were right. And that’s when he realized. The teasing, the pushing his buttons, the spontaneousness of this whole night—you were distracting him. Giving him a moment in time to have a memory of life.

And you held it, soothing water cupped in your small hands, gently feeding it to his dry, cracked lips. Oasis and mercy. He groaned, pushing his fingers into his eyes.

“Thank you. Thank you for pulling me out of my head.” You raised your arms, hugging him with a loose hold.

“Yeah well, you’re a martyr by nature. Can’t leave you in there too long.” He returned the hug, nerves calm in a way he hadn’t known since arriving in Chimney Rock.

You pulled away slightly, your grin near blinding him.

“Now let’s get drunk, dance, and listen to loud fucking music.”

—

Jud was absolutely fucked.

Actually, fucked wasn’t even close to what he was now. He’d lost count of the amount of liquor he’d had at this point. Your soft hands pulled him along. They were the only thing he could really register at this stage. You were drunk too, but holding yourself together far better than he was.

“Hell, Jud! Who knew you had this much energy.” He was buzzing, skin electric from where you had your hand on his arm. Both of you were in a booth now, a dark corner of the bar, breathing hard from the rocking of your bodies in the small crowd. He was sweating like crazy. Jud started to pull at his flannel.

“Here, let me help.” You were close, chest brushing his as you pushed it down his shoulders. He shuddered. You had also removed your jacket, now tied around your waist, exposing your arms and giving him more skin to take in.

You huffed, exerted by the dancing and wrangling of his clothes. Your eyes sparkled, the twinkling lights from the stage reflecting back at him.

“I haven’t had this much of a workout since I stopped boxing!” He yelled over the music. You laughed, leaning back and fanning yourself. You moved to stretch out your legs, hooking one thigh over his. He instinctively put his hand on your knee, steadying it.

“I knew you were athletic. Shit, you must be ripped under those clothes.” He laughed, shaking his head.

“Hardly, I’m pretty out of shape compared to before.” You leaned up, mouth open in a dramatic drunk gasp.

“Shut up! You out of shape? Next to me, you look like something on the cover of Vogue.” You relaxed a bit, leaning on his shoulder. Jud was the next to open his mouth, out came a barking laugh.

“Oh come on, saying that looking like that. And you just got a woman’s number!” You stilled before leaning over, eyebrow raised.

“Looking like what exactly, Father?” It came out like a purr. Jud swallowed, hand flexing on your knee. The motion caught your attention, eyes back and forth from the touch to his face. He realized how close you were, how intimate your position was. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“(Y/N)…” he whispered, eyes dropping to your lips. His hand was slipping, almost like he was out of body watching as it moved from your knee to the top of your thigh.

“Jud…” your voice mirrored his, the heat of it caressing his cheek. Sweat peppered your skin, your eye makeup smudged. You were devastatingly beautiful. The distance between you shrunk. Who moved was debatable. But just as Jud’s lips were about to brush yours, you put a hand on his chest.

“Ok, big boy, I think it’s time to call it.” His head was still swimming. You unhooked your leg and sat up, pushing at his side. He followed your lead, letting himself be pushed out of the booth and pulled in the direction of the door. His heart was still beating hard, feeling your hand in his.

You went to the car, Jud stopping suddenly. “(Y/N), I know you’re too drunk to drive.” You smiled at him, opening the back door to pull out your purse. Oh.

“Yes, Jud, and that is why I’m leaving it safely here and walking us home.” You came around, hooking your arm into his. Us?

“Home?” He asked with a lift of his brow. You nodded, pointing down the street.

“Yeah, it’s only a couple of blocks from here. Won’t take a second.” He nodded, wheels in his head turning. He could still feel the heat of your body pressed to his, the soft give of your thigh under his touch. Your arm was the only thing anchoring him in that moment.

You fished out a set of keys before slinging the bag over your shoulder. You huffed out a content sigh, leaning closer to him as you walked. It would be peaceful if Jud wasn’t silently freaking out. You seemed to be none the wiser to his now-clammy hands.

You reached the building, climbing the stairs, his limbs gangly and tripping him up. Laughing, you pulled him against you to help his stumbling—it did the opposite. Unlocking your door, you flung it open, shoving the drunk man inside.

You started losing layers, booties kicked off, jacket slung to a chair in the living room. You giggled your way into the small kitchen while Jud tried to take in details of the apartment. It was still a little sparse, but he could see glimpses of your personality sprinkled around.

A painting here, a knick-knack there. What really caught his eye was a small framed photo. It looked burned at the edges. It was of a couple, arm in arm under the canopy of a willow tree. They looked very in love. And oddly familiar. Jud’s attention was pulled away by the clattering of dishes from the kitchen. He turned, following the noise.

You were humming, hips slightly swinging in front of the stove. Jud wanted to reach out and grab them.

He refrained.

“Whatcha makin’?” he whispered, voice only slightly slurred.

“Ramen, want some?” You whispered with a giggle. Jud came up beside you.

“God, yes.” He was instantly hungry. You continued to pull the bowls, watching the noodles cooking. Jud couldn’t help but take you in, eyes roaming. You had swept your hair from your shoulder, exposing your neck to the cool air of the room. Sweat had dampened the baby hairs at the nape. His hunger shifted from his stomach to lower.

You finished off the bowls, turning to the small counter to sit. Jud sat next to you, shoulder bumping yours. The moment was sweet, the food warm, and your smile cheerful. Life. Everything he needed after the shit this last month had been.

Jud bent towards you, having finished his food, letting himself watch you unapologetically. You joined him, hand tucked under your chin and returning the stare.

“Have a good time?” He nodded, pushing the bowls away and pulling your stool closer to his with his foot. His long legs were now on either side of you. You only grinned wider.

“The best. It was a nice change of pace—thank you.” His voice was low, nerves replaced by a growing confidence. He was now the one toeing the line, knowing that he should stop. He didn’t want to.

“Well, I can’t exactly say my intentions were meant to be… nice.” You met him in tone, facing toward Jud and letting him crowd your space.

“Oh really? I didn’t notice.” He raised a hand up, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear—fingers lingering longer than they should.

“Father, it’s a sin to lie…” You said with a purposefully exaggerated whisper, lips curling with amusement. A hand settled on his left thigh, squeezing it lightly.

“It sure is, isn’t it? Very out of character for me.” He leaned down closer, drunk smile in full force. You chuckled at his adorable state.

“You’ve been full of surprises tonight, Jud.” You inched up, your other hand coming up to hold the side of his face. He hummed, melting into the touch. His idle hand went to your waist, fingers grazing the slip of skin between your top and skirt.

The air was electric; Jud was tingling from the crown of his head to the base of his spine. The touch of your hand on him pulled him in, keeping him alert despite the amount of alcohol in his system.

He felt you move toward him, excitement stirring in his gut. Immediately you tilted his face in your hand, bringing his face to yours. Instead of feeling your plush lips against his, you gave him a quick peck on the apple of his cheek. He turned, a look of surprise and confusion on his face. You smiled, giving the side of his face a light tap.

“Bedtime, big boy.” You stood, body grazing his as you moved out from between his legs. The whiplash was jarring.

“Wait. But I—?” You pulled his hand, pushing him softly onto your couch. He was still slightly slack-jawed as you pulled out a spare blanket and pillow, gently maneuvering him into a position for sleep. You smiled at him, tucking him in like a child with a giggle.

“Jud…” You sat at the edge of the couch beside him, leaning over to be inches from his face.

“I’m drunk. You are drunk. When I do have you?” You moved over to his ear, voice a sensual whisper.

“It’ll be sober and without hesitation.” He swallowed, letting the words sink in. You pulled away, but not before giving him a kiss on the forehead.

When you left him, he was confused, conflicted, and painfully hard.

-

Morning was less than fun. Even with it this early, the sun was already starting to glare at him from the window. One suffers for their sins indeed.

Jud was thankful for the water and bottle of pills placed on the table beside him. You must have had the wherewithal to think ahead—a blessing to be sure. He chugged it down like a dying man. Standing with a groan, he wandered through the apartment looking for the restroom.

He stumbled around, head only slightly pounding. Each door was a disappointment. Closet, no. Office, no. Bedroom… you were still asleep. Arms curled around a pillow, and hair delightfully messy. He could have watched you all morning if not for the fact he was about to piss himself.

“(Y/N)?” He touched your shoulder with a nudge. You whimpered before cracking open an eye. You were obviously not a morning person.

“Jud? E’rythung a‘rght?” You mumbled before sitting up, the blanket pooling at your hips.

“Yeah—um, where’s your bathroom?” He felt awkward disturbing your sleep. You pointed to the corner of the room, the bathroom next to your closet. He nodded before scurrying away.

You were still sitting up when he returned. Jud headed to the door until you grunted. He looked over, and you smacked the bed beside you. He came and sat down. Grabby hands reached over, taking hold of his arms.

“Stay?” You weren’t forceful; the pull on his limbs was only suggesting. Jud nodded, letting you manipulate his limps. His arms were now tucked around your body, wriggling in them to get comfortable. You hummed, content, falling asleep almost instantly. He took a deep inhale at the top of your head, his shoulders finally relaxing. Jud wasn’t far along behind you.

But when he woke up, hands searching around him, he was alone. The warmth of your body was long gone. A new feeling swam in his lungs—disappointment, but also… fear. He lay there, letting himself think.

This was bad.

Before, he could use drinking as an excuse. Even the depression that had been chipping away at him would be considered reasonable, ya know? Seeking companionship was a normal reaction to that sort of thing.

But now he couldn’t use those same justifications for this. Because right now he was sober. He was happy. And in this moment he wanted nothing more than to have you in his arms again in every way, shape, or form.

This was getting out of control. And he was scared.

—

If you noticed him being extra quiet, it wasn’t mentioned. He had gotten up to find you back in the living room, this time with lunch DoorDashed and waiting. Both of you ate mostly in silence. You, probably nonverbal from the hangover. Him? A slow-building freak-out shimmering under the surface.

After finishing, you told him about your plans for the day. The last of your things were being dropped off soon, so you should get him home. He was thankful for the small mercy. Maybe God was taking pity on him.

You parked outside of the rectory, a closed-lipped grin fixed on your face. “I’ll text you later?” He gave you a quick nod before leaping from the car. Again, you said nothing to indicate you noticed.

Jud slid down the door once it was closed and he could hear you driving away. He sighed, shoulders falling forward, face buried in his hands.

“God help me.”

He reached out to Bishop Langstrom for guidance; the older man said he’d be free to visit Tuesday. It couldn’t come fast enough.

“Jud, it's good to see you.” The man clapped his hand in a familiar shake. Jud already felt the edge of his nervousness slipping away.

“You too, thank you for making the trip to see me.” Langstrom waved a hand.

“Of course, with everything going on—I imagine I’ll be needed around here more often in the next few months. Cleaning up this mess will be a lot just for one person, so feel free any time you need.” Jud couldn’t help his grimace.

“Actually, Father, I asked you to come for… personal guidance. If that’s ok?” Langstrom only nodded, following him into the living room.

“The offer for that is always there. You should know that. What seems to be worrying you?” Both sat down, Jud immediately rubbing a hand down his face.

“Bishop, I’m struggling with… temptation? O-of… of breaking my vows.” Langstrom slapped his knee with a chuckle but quickly changed his demeanor once he took in the look on his face.

“Oh, Jud.” The man sat back, not really knowing where to start. Jud didn’t let him.

“I know what we do, why we even have our vows… My relationship with God is everything to me,” he twisted his hands together.

“And yeah, these last few weeks have been the hardest I’ve known… and I always go back to Him! But—but recently I’ve had other… support come into my life.” And you were, truly. Through the short amount of time knowing you, you were becoming something very precious to Jud. And that’s what scared him the most.

He looked down, “It’s becoming hard. Hard to know where that line is. Even harder to know why I shouldn’t cross it—”

“Jud,” Langtrom interrupted him, hand reaching out to his shoulder, “cross it.” His head whipped up, bafflement evident.

“Wha?” he stammered. Langstrom let out a half-amused sigh, face unreadable.

“I’ll be honest with you, Jud. I’m more shocked to find out you haven’t tested those waters yet rather than you’re just now having an issue. How long has it been since you’ve taken your vows?”

“Th-three years—wait, what do you mean by haven’t yet?” Langstrom shook his head.

“Damn, you’ve lasted longer than I did…” Jud’s eyes were like saucers. He straightened his posture, mouth still agape.

“Las—” Langstrom held up a hand, hushing him.

“Son, let me ask you something. Since this… support started, have you had any doubts? Any moments of concern that have tested your faith? Your reason for your duty?” Jud was silent. Langstrom smiled. Had he? Was all of this frustration and fear coming from a moment of religious crisis? Or was it a crisis of something else? He had no answer for that.

“From that reaction, I’d say no…” He still stared at his hands. Langstrom could still feel the conflicting emotions coming off of him in waves.

“Jud,” he looked up to meet the bishop’s eyes.

“Our paths to God aren’t linear. We aren’t machines coded to do a simple task… We work with souls, with life. We wouldn’t be good at our jobs if we didn’t experience it first-hand…” Jud let out a sad chuckle. Life. Of course.

“She gives me that. Life… With all of this death—I… I was starting to lose it.” His voice was almost a whisper, as if saying it out loud would cause some kind of physical harm.

“God is funny like that, offers us mercy in ways we might not want or expect…” Bishop Langstrom’s words struck a chord. The laugh that rumbled out of him was only slightly hollow.

“Sounds like she might be that for you.” Jud felt a cool air wash over him, a comforting hand to his psyche—pulling away the weight he had put on himself. Oasis and mercy. Oh, how bitterly ironic this must all seem.

“Thank you, Bishop.” The man’s shoulders were noticeably relaxed.

“But a warning… if you pursue this support. Please be—”

“Discrete?” he interrupted with a smirk.

“Cautious, more like. Things like this can be a slippery slope, Jud. Wouldn’t want to see another good priest fall through the cracks.” He nodded. The message was heavy, and with it brought reinforced nervousness.

–

Bishop Langstrom’s visit gave him clarity, but also more questions. He wanted to linger on them, but was interrupted by a phone call.

“Father Jud! How ya been?” Benoit’s drawl was heavy with cheerful optimism.

“Blanc, it's great to hear from you. I just had a visit with Langstrom. I’m doing good.” He hoped his tone was clear, no indication of the settling turmoil that still ghosted his thoughts.

“Lovely! My darling (Y/N) was just telling me about your night out!” Jud swallowed, pulse rising.

“Oh yeah! I-it was fun.” He winced at the stutter. Blanc only chuckled.

“Hope not too much; she can be a lot sometimes. Takes after me that way, I suppose.” Jud grinned to himself, imagining a younger Blanc partying in seedy bars. That would be a sight.

“No, no, not at all. I.. I really enjoyed getting out. It was a good distraction.” The detective hummed.

“Wonderful. Now, don’t be a stranger—and don’t let my (Y/N) give you a hard time!” He ended the call, leaving Jud to rake his hand through his hair.

“Hard is one way to describe it.”

You were giving him space, he thinks. The surface-level texts were his only hunch to go off of. He was thankful for it. He needed some time to think over what Langstrom and him had discussed.

He wasn’t an idiot. Or maybe he was for how surprised he’d been at the bishop's implied relations. But still, he knew that it happened. Even you had made the comment that night at the bar. Hell, that’s why Cy Draven was up his ass every few weeks—Wicks’ crossing of the line given form. But still, Langstrom's warning rang in his ear. Slippery slope. Was that what this was turning into?

Were you a temptation that would cause him to fall from Christ? Or were you the only reprieve from the shit he had endured at the hands of others? He lay in bed that night, flopping back and forth with indecision. God loved him before and after sin; that’s why he felt the call to priesthood in the first place. So why would this be any different? He sighed, pulling out his phone and looking at his texts.

You had sent him photos once in a while; the most recent one was his favorite. Your eyes were so bright, cheeks round and dimpled from smiling. “Found my new dessert fix, and the park is just next door!” He looked up at the ceiling.

He liked you; that he couldn’t deny. But couldn’t it stay platonic? This wasn’t the first time since his vows he’d been attracted to someone. But this was the first time he wanted to act on it, and knew painfully that you did too. But then he remembered your words. Hesitation… You were the one to pull back. You knew he would be conflicted. You were being a good friend.

Friends. You were friends! Jud could keep this slice of life without compromising himself. Just keep things platonic, completely PG. The image of you pressed against him, your breath in his ear, how soft you felt under his fingers, flashed in his mind.

Yeah, totally doable.

–

Jud sent you a text, something simple, just to see what you were up to. His phone immediately started ringing.

“Jud! I’ve been meaning to call—listen, I have an event coming up for work. Would you be interested in joining? I know you’ve been busy—” You were slightly out of breath. The sound of something heavy hitting the ground confirmed why.

“Oh, um, sure? What’s going on?”

–

That's how he found himself in an uncomfortably expensive three-piece suit, now standing in front of a tall mirror as you fiddled with his tie.

“This seems excessive…” he mumbled. You huffed, getting frustrated with the fabric.

“Nooo. This is a fundraiser with bougie board members, this is the bare minimum.” He couldn’t help but smile as you bit your tongue in concentration. He put a hand on yours.

“Here, let me. It’s been a minute, but I have tied a tie before.” You grumbled defeat and faced the mirror.

“Well, not me, clearly. I tend to avoid these things out of principle but my boss wasn’t having it.” You leaned on him for support, putting on your heels. As you stood, they disappeared under the length of your gown. It was a silk number that hugged the soft curve of your stomach and thighs sinfully. Jud shifted on his feet.

“Not a fan of rich people functions?” You barked out a laugh at that, eyes rolling dramatically. He fixed his tie quickly.

“You don’t know the half of it.” There was a bite to that statement that piqued his curiosity. But you didn’t give him a moment to ask.

“Let’s go, Father. The fat cats be waitin’!” Now he rolled his eyes, following you out the door.

–

“What did you say your job was again?” The building of the event was old, and the gala-like display of cars put him slightly on edge. You turned the car into the drop-off line.

“Nothing as glamorous as this implies. I work for a museum in collection care. Grunt worker, really. But my director wasn’t taking no for an answer about having me come.” He nodded, watching the people get out of their cars. All dressed like old money.

“I’m gonna stick out like a sore thumb…” He felt his stomach twist.

“And that’s why I brought you. You’ll be more obvious than me.” You smiled, poking his side. He only looked at you flabbergasted.

“And also because I need someone to keep me from drowning myself in the punch bowl.”

–

Your suggestion started to sound appealing by the time Jud had his fifth conversation about someone’s family name and who was married to who. You had left, saying you’d be back soon, but now he was sweating through his first layer. Panic setting in. Jud’s head whipped around, desperate to spot you in the sea of people. He jumped at the feeling of a hand on the small of his back. Turning around, he was beyond relieved to see you, but your face was less than thrilled. A slight frown pulled at your lips.

“Come with me. I need some air.”

You ended up on an unoccupied balcony. You leaned against the stone column—enjoying the cold surface against your skin. Jud kicked at a stray leaf that had fallen from the nearby flowers. When he looked over at you, he noticed how unnervingly blank your face was.

“You ok? Do I need to hide the punch bowl?” You snorted, head tilting back and exposing your neck. He had to look away to keep from staring at you.

“Honestly might. God, I hate these people. But only a few more to talk to and we can head out.” He nodded, freezing when he felt you come up beside him. You reached over, tucking your arm in his.

“Thank you for putting up with this. I don’t think I could have done it alone.” He looked over to you, your normally light and flirtatious tone replaced by something heavy. There was more than frustration behind your eyes… sadness? Melancholy? He couldn’t pinpoint it.

“Hey, don’t mention it.” He put his hand in yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. Jud ignored how nice you felt pressed against him.

–

When you got to your apartment, he was more than ready to get out of his suit. You had only stayed for 30 minutes before you couldn’t take anymore.

“They are so out of touch with reality, it’s ridiculous!” You huffed, plopping on the couch dramatically. Jud joined you, pulling your feet into his lap. You smiled at him, putting a heel on his chest. He took the hint, undoing the straps of your shoes as you leaned back. Looking down to pull it off, Jud noticed scars marking your skin.

His hands stilled.

From the bottom of your feet to the middle of your calf were healed burns—pretty old ones, from the looks of it. You felt him pause and looked down, realizing why.

“I don’t remember it, if that’s what you’re wondering…” Your voice was a whisper. Jud glanced up at you with his worried eyes. He examined them, rough fingers grazing up your skin gently.

“What happened?” His touch sent shivers through you, goosebumps rising under the soft caress. You tilted your head back against the arm of the couch again, letting your body go limp.

You didn’t say anything for a while, just letting yourself enjoy having the tight material be pulled off by gentle hands. You sighed before shifting to the side, reaching out for your clutch to pull out a lighter and cigarettes. Jud watched, not daring to interrupt the moment. After a drag, you returned his eye contact with an intensity that startled him.

“When Dad was twenty-eight?—nine? He got a case about a house fire… Young couple—dead. Husband from an affluent family, but wife was a no-name—a real rags-to-riches love story…” You tossed the lighter on the table with a loud clank.

“And their only child… a toddler, who survived and was talking about boogeymen. Cliché, I know, but it interested him enough to take it.” You grabbed an ashtray off the table. Jud was at a loss for words. You smiled half-heartedly at his stunned expression before resuming your tale.

“Like I said, I don’t really remember much. I was only three, but apparently they were sweet people… Anyway—” you cleared your throat, knocking off some ash. The glow from the lit cigarette brightened as you took another puff. After Jud had set down the heels, his hands returned to your feet, massaging them as you continued.

“Dad immediately attached himself to the kid. Figured out that the boogeymen were actually hired arsonists. Turns out, the husband had inherited an extremely large family fortune. And his brother, who was, as you can guess, next in line, took objection to t-that.” You stuttered a groan as Jud’s fingers applied pressure to a sensitive spot in your foot. He just watched you, devoted attention at every word.

“When he found enough evidence outside weak testimony from a toddler, they were able to arrest the brother. But now the kid was an orphan, one that was set to get a whole lotta money. From a family with a history of trying to kill for it.” Jud had been connecting the dots as you spoke. The low-paying job but nice car. The burned photo of a couple that he now realized shared your features. Your attitude all night being around those pompous assholes…

The way you lived fully and honestly, like any day could be your last—cause it almost had been. God, you had just been a baby at the time.

When you had spoken about life and death in his kitchen, even at the bar, there was something so hauntingly true to how you expressed it. He felt gutted to now know the reason why.

You must have noticed the sadness in his eyes. You shook your head at him, giving him a reassuring smile before speaking again.

“While working the case, Dad fell in love with the kid. She clung to him and only him the whole time—crying whenever he wasn’t near.” You let out a little laugh. Jud loved that sound.

“Him and Papa had been together for about five years at that point. They had talked about adopting… Life is funny like that, huh?” Jud nodded, his hands moving up to your calves. You melted into the firm kneading on your flesh.

“Lord works in mysterious ways…” You only hummed in response. Tension in your body slowly slipped away from the calloused touch on your skin.

“To protect her, Dad petitioned the court to seal off the inheritance until the child was of age. Putting in stipulations that whomever were to become her guardian wouldn’t be able to touch the money. And that if something like, I don’t know, unforeseen death were to happen—the money would all be donated to charity… effectively making it so that no one would get a single penny if they took me.” Your smile was so genuine. He knew that the next time he saw Blanc, it was going to take some restraint to keep from giving him a lung-crushing hug.

“He saved me from them again.” Jud scooted up the couch, pulling your legs over him so that your thighs were draped over his lap. He reached out a hand, grabbing yours and bringing it to his lips. You tilted your head, studying him. Jud felt like he was being analyzed, your eyes picking him apart piece by piece. Eventually, you looked away.

“When Dad brought me home, he hadn’t said anything to Papa. Apparently it was hallmark-quality stuff… Now that I was essentially worthless, it wasn’t difficult for him to get custody of me.” You glanced back at him, face now somber.

“You’re far from worthless…” His voice had dropped, lips returning to the top of your hand. He wanted to trail it higher. Move leisurely up your arm, as if he had all the time in the world. Enjoy the scent of your skin. But that wouldn’t be platonic, would it?

“You’re everything to them, (Y/N).” You stared at him before placing your forgotten cigarette on the table next to you. Turning to him, you placed both of your hands on his cheeks, leaning back into his space. Jud couldn’t scoot any closer without climbing between your legs—something he pretended not to consider.

He pressed against the palms cradling him. They smelled like your perfume. Something sweet… tangy, like honey or fig. It made his mouth water. You were just watching him. He couldn’t tell what you were thinking. Your eyes were tracing his skin. But something felt off. There was a weight there. Did you doubt him?

“And to you, Father?” His lungs squeezed, heart fluttering uncontrollably between his ribs. Your voice felt like velvet. Jud’s eyes left yours, dipping down to your lips. Your pink tongue peeked out, parting them slightly. His throat was so fucking dry. All his thoughts were far from that of what constitutes as platonic.

You were a river, coursing through his veins. Water nourishing his heat-scorched earth, bringing back life to his roots. Ones that had almost shriveled up into dust from the drought that threatened to consume him.

But he would not drink.

“A really good friend.”

The look you gave him was full of pity.

-

Before, you had given him space. Now? Now you wouldn’t leave him alone, and it was driving him crazy. From the outside looking in, you would think that Jud was doing great for the first time since the Wicks catastrophe had started. You had made yourself a fixture in his schedule. Helping with scheduling meetings, even making connections on his behalf. Really you had become his personal PR, and with everything that happened- it was a true blessing.

He hated it.

You were always around, in his space, never giving him a moment that wasn’t filled with you. Sure you had a job, but as soon as you were free, you were at the rectory- checking on him like a mother hen. Like a really good friend…

Jud was going to lose his mind. And still, you were nothing but nice. Any time you shared space you kept your distance. Lingering touches now replaced by reasonable platonic hugs. As soon as he’d start melting into the hold, you'd be pulling away.

And he could smell you everywhere. Once you were gone, driving away in your cherry car, he’d think he would finally get a break. But it was like you still hovered around him, a seductive whisper of pure sin. That honeyed tang that had him acting like a dog in heat. 

Jud knew you were doing this on purpose, but if he confronted you- he’d also be admitting that this thing you had… the growing fire that had him whimpering your name in the deep of sleep… was not friendship.

Weeks went by of this, he didn’t know how much more he could take.

Then Benoit Blanc showed up. And all hell broke loose.

–

“Blanc! What a surprise.” Jud had opened the door expecting only you. But you were behind your dad, giving him a small wave. Benoit pulled the priest into a tight hug. He noticed a man approaching from the car, knowing immediately it was Phillip.

“Sorry for coming unannounced, we were visiting and I wanted to say hello!" Blanc stepped back.

“This is Phillip.” The man in question reached out to grab Jud’s waiting hand, giving it a firm shake.

“Lovely meeting you, I’m sure our darling lamb has told you all sorts about me.” Phillip was charming in a different way than Blanc. He was soft spoken, a complement to his posh accent. He felt approachable, a contrast to Benoit’s strong demeanor. No wonder they balanced each other out.

“All good things, I promise. Come in, please!”

–

Both men had settled in the living room, you joining Jud in the kitchen to make coffee and tea. Since arriving you have been extra quiet. It made him nervous.

“Everything alright?” He said with a nudge of his elbow. You looked him up and down, eyes dark. Hungry.

“Of course Jud, never been better.” Jud could feel his ears burning. Well shit…

–

Phillip had been going on about something at work. Jud couldn’t hear him over the sound of his own heart beat, now alarmingly fast. Amber was being subtle. Had he not made a point to glance in your direction- he would be none the wiser. 

You were wearing a white button up blouse and simple knee-length skirt. Picture perfect professionalism. That is until you had opened the top slowly, revealing the curve of your breasts. Arms folded under to press them forward, plush flesh straining against the top. He might have been able to handle that had you not also shifted your crossed legs. The slit in the skirt now showcasing your smooth thighs. The new angle gave Jud a delicious flash of subtle skin. You were all curves as you leaned against the arm of the chair. He moved in his seat, trying to turn his body away from you and the temptation to stare. 

It didn’t work.

Jud could feel himself getting warmer, rolling his sleeves up higher on his arms to cool him down. Benoit noticed, but made no comment.

“And it’s been a busy time now that we have a new head of the department.” Jud nodded, completely lost.

You shifted again, causing Jud to sneak another glance. Big mistake. You had taken the spoon from your tea, red lips wrapped around it teasingly- sucking off the sweet residue. He almost groaned at the sight. You grinned.

“Jud?” He whipped his head back to Phillip, who had apparently asked him a question.

“I- I’m sorry, what was that?” Benoit’s eyes looked between the two. Again, silent.

“Well I mentioned studying some theological texts, I wondered if you had come across them in your work to priesthood?” Jud nodded a little too quickly.

“R-right, um- I spent more of my time in service over study really. Prefer to work with my hands.” You hummed at that, sitting your empty cup down on the table.

“Trust me, I’ve seen him- he’s very talented.” Jud didn’t mind the thought of the floor opening up and swallowing him whole in that moment. Blanc’s eyes narrowed at his daughter.

“Oh really! What is it you do?” Phillip asked cheerfully. He really was a sweetheart.

“I-um light carpentry actually. I’ve been working on making a new crucifix for the church. Not finished yet but it's getting there.” Jud was nervously wringing his hands. Phillip just launched into another story, leaving him to glance back at you. He gave you a look saying what the hell are you doing? But pouted your lips innocently as if to say I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Blanc just watched you both, fingers tapping on the arm of his chair.

–

“Well Father, I think we’ve kept you long enough. Thank you for having us on such short notice.” Blanc stood, straightened his shirt.

Phillip joined him, as you picked up their empty cups to take to the kitchen. Jud walked them towards the door, giving Phillip a final shake of the hand before he headed out. Blanc purposely lingered, looking to make sure you were out of ear shot.

“Father Jud,” He whispered, coming closer to the man, “do feel free to dismiss my nosiness but I couldn’t help but notice you seemed a little… tense. Is there something you need to talk about?” He felt his cheeks warm.

“Oh I didn’t realize- Um no Blanc. I’m fine, really!” He knew the detective saw through his stumbling but was gracious enough to let him flounder in peace. The look he gave him was unmasked sympathy.

“Okay son, but do reach out if you need to chat.” Jud nodded, palm clapping his in a hurried shake. Blanc joined Phillip outside leaving him alone with you. Coming through,you stopped in front of Jud.

“I’ll be at Il Diavolos later. Around 9? I’d like to hang out longer.” Your voice was low, eyes racking over him. You stood on you tippy- toes, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before joining your parents outside. The contact tingled long after you left. 

“Christ…”

If God had a hand in this, he sure had some humor. Jud was early, sipping on a whiskey in the well-worn vinyl booth of the bar. A little devil cherub figurine was staring at him from its spot by his table. It looked strangely similar to the one on his neck. Its little grin felt devious and judgmental. He tipped his glass back, practically chugging the liquor. 

“Starting without me?” Your silky voice probed, causing him to cough. 

“H-hey, no I um just got here- first glass.” You nodded, slinking in beside him. There were files and a notebook in your hand, which you quickly sat in front of them. Oh.

That wasn’t what he was expecting. 

“Let me get mine, be back in a sec.” Pulling yourself from the booth, you waved down Nicholai. Jud’s shoulders relaxed, a slight disappointment bubbling in his chest. You just wanted to work. 

When you came back, he had already been riffling through the papers. 

“You’d think with a reputation for murder, people wouldn’t be so eager to ask for your help.” Now that you’d gone out to the community- in addition to Louise’s positive gossiping on his account- Jud’s handy man talents were becoming all the rage. 

“I’m just glad to be of service. Any chance I get to help, I want to.” You gave him a warm smile.

“As always Jud, you continue to inspire goodness in me.” He wanted to return the sweet comment, but he hesitated. Was he really good if all his thoughts around you were less so? You nudged him, mouth pursed in concern.

“Hey, you ok?” He straightened, glancing around before finally looking at you head on.

“Are we gonna talk about earlier?” Your eyes widened for a second before you let out a little laugh.

“And what might that be about, Father?” You bent forward slightly, showing off your still visible cleavage. The hand that was on the table between you now lowered itself to the top of his thigh. He stilled.

“Amber..” You moved around some papers with the other, looking at one with feigned interest. All the while the palm on his thigh moved higher. Jud shivered.

“Hm? Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Did you say something?” You took a sip of your glass, red lipstick staining the rim and smudging the corner of your mouth. His hands clenched into fists on the table.

“Please…” It was a whisper. Your hand stopped, a hair’s breath away from where he wanted it most. You turned back to him, a hot giggle caressing his ear.

“Please… Stop? Please… Keep going? Be honest with me Jud, cause you sure as hell aren’t being it with yourself.” A pinky nail ran up the inseam of his trousers. Only the tiniest hint of pressure but it was enough to have him suck in a gasp.  Your voice was both venom and seduction, luring him to his end. 

La petite mort.

“Shit.” He gritted his teeth and faced forward. He sent a little prayer to Nicholai for what he was about to do before giving you a hooded look, pupils blown. The grin on your face was pure wickedness.

“There he is...” You purred, hand finally making contact with his growing hunger. You palmed him slowly, savoring his strained exhale. Jud’s knuckles were white, eyes focusing on the papers in front of him.

“As I was saying, the Dawson’s have some loose roof tiles. They wanted to know if you could come by Thursday?” His shoulders hunched, Jud was fully hard by this point. You were slowly working to free him from his pants. 

“Y-yeah. I’ll come. Sure.” He squeaked out.  You checked off the task with a pin with one hand, the other now wrapped firmly around him. 

“I hope not too soon, big boy.” You murmured. With how touch starved and drunk he was off you, Jud really couldn’t promise anything. Your fingers explored the length of him, thumb coming to rest at the head of his weeping cock. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this turned on. 

“And next week, the library has a summer program asking for volunteers.” He let a pathetic whimper in response, nodding quickly. Another thing marked off the list. You cleared your throat and threw up an unoccupied hand, catching Nicholai’s attention. Jud froze. You must have felt it but paid no mind. Hand now slowly pumped him under the table. 

“Wh-what are you doing?” He stuttered, voice hushed. You just raised a brow at him, lips pouting in confusion. 

“Asking for a menu, I’m getting a little hungry.” He groaned, part in frustration and part in reaction to the twist of your wrist you threw in at the tip of his length. The bartender came over, thankfully he was none the wiser. The table and controlled movements obscuring the obscenity happening in front of him. 

“Hey mini Blanc! Father! Need something?” You leaned into the table, further shielding Jud's body but also showing attentive interest to Nicholai. Jud was too focused on keeping his face blank to pay attention to your words. 

“Hi Nicky! Just wondering what’s cookin’ today. Anything good?” You slowed your hand to a snail’s pace, he struggled not to thrust up to keep the momentum. God help him. 

“Oh well the missus added potato skins- everyone’s been tearing those up. We also got a killer broccoli cheddar soup.” You hummed, fingers tapping on the table in thought. 

“Hm, let me think on it. What about you, Jud? Anything sound appealing?” He jerked, looking between the two now staring at him. He gave a shrug, lips pursed in disinterest. 

“N-nah, had a big um lunch. But thanks.” You tightened your grip, making him lurch forward. Moan barely contained. 

“Okie dokie. Just wave me over if you wanna put in an order.” He walked away. Jud immediately face planted on the table with a grunt. 

“Christ (Y/N).” It came out a whisper. He raised his head to give you a pathetic glare.

“You’re doing so good Jud.” Your praise unraveled something deep in him. His bones turned into putty. Your smile told him you knew exactly the effect it had on him. 

“Only a few more things on the list and we’re done, okay?” He wasn’t sure what that promised him but he nodded anyway. Jud let out a shaky exhale before leaning back. Your hand sped up. 

“And speaking of libraries. Louise’s cousin Denise asked if you’d want to join their book club? It’s mostly nonfiction but they do occasionally dip into current trends. But nothing gory of course. I already asked.” His heart squeezed at that. 

Even with the debaucherous nature of the little meeting, you were still doing shit like this. Things that reminded him of how much you meant to him. You were taking into consideration how squeamish he was, and for a damn bookclub no less. He wouldn’t be able to handle anything related to the trauma and horror he’d previously experienced. Going to the morgue with Blanc still haunted his dreams- he’d nearly vomited after they had left. 

This made his face warm for a completely different reason. 

“Yes, I-I’d really like that. Thank you.” The earnest smile you gave him made his stomach flip. Your dark eyes dipped down to his lips. What he wouldn’t give to be able to kiss you at that moment. 

“Alright- now this one is a bit complicated.” Your movements had never stopped, and Jud could feel himself getting close. His cock twitched your hand, precum slicking the fingers. 

“Mr. Greene from the hardware store is losing his eye sight- has been for some time. Apparently his tools are in a terrible state. His daughter Joyce has tried to get him to let someone help but he’s being stubborn. If you came by, you being your sweet self, he might come around…  I think he needs a friend.”

“Yes yes whatever it is yes.” He rasped, not subtle at all. You stopped, hand gripping him firmly, effectively halting his building orgasm. He stuttered, a look of utter anguish on his face. You tutted him. 

“Father, that isn’t a very attentive response. Try again.” The priest was a complete mess at this point. Jud ran a shaking hand over his face.

“Ok- I. I would want nothing more than to help Mr. Greene.” You smiled wide, slanting your body against his to whisper in his ear.

“Wonderful, and one more question… Do you know how to drive?” Jud’s face pinched in confusion.

“Y- yeah?”

–

That’s how he ended up behind the wheel of your car, now with its owner’s head bobbing in his lap. 

“Shit.” He grunted, hands gripping the stirring wheel like a life-line. 

At the bar, you had quickly and gently-as-you-could put him back into his pants and pulled them from the booth. After being forced into the driver’s seat, Jud couldn’t take it anymore. As soon as you joined him in the car, he was pulling you into a kiss. Rough hands tangling in your hair, you fingers exploring the front of his chest- like two teenagers unable to keep their hands to themselves.

The kiss was full of hunger. The pint up frustrations of touches, heated glances, and the desperate painful need of you finally had him at his breaking point. He moaned into you, the sound utterly debauched. You took his bottom lip into your mouth, biting it lightly.

Jud fell apart. 

“Fucking hell.” He gasped against you, tongue diving into your parted lips. The highs of his drug-addled youth had no comparison to this. You whimpered at the exploring muscle, chasing it with equal excitement. His hand not in your hair slipped to your hip, fingers kneeling the plushness of your curves. You pulled back, palms pushing at his chest. 

“You better start this car now before I climb over there and mount you.” Jud swallowed, mouth opening and closing quickly before his brain caught up with his hands. 

“Right.”

And here they were, your warm lips wrapped around the head of his cock as he drove them quickly to the rectory. As soon as he’d pulled out of the parking spot, you immediately swooped down into his lap. He almost came when he felt the hot breath against his stiff member. 

“(Y/N) I-if you do that, I’m not sure how lon-“ he couldn’t finish the sentence. You had him brushing the back of your throat, grazing it as you moaned on the length. Lips stretched obscenely wide at its girth. You had your work cut out for you, Jud wasn’t small by any means. You hadn’t even gotten to the base yet before a weak gag vibrated against him deliciously. 

“Fuuckk.” Now that you weren’t around an audience, Jud was free to let out all his pathetic whines. Mouth felt like velvet, your sinful throat had him reaching down to run his fingers into your hair. He was trying to be gentle but with a particularly strong suck he was pulling at your roots. You hummed around him. 

Jud was going to faint. 

“Ah shit.” The destination wasn’t that far of a drive, at this point it was only a few minutes away. He wasn’t going to last much longer than that. You must have noticed, your movements getting faster. Gravel under the tires was your only sign that you’d arrived. 

You didn’t stop. 

Moving your hands, you cradled his balls with one and stroked what you couldn’t fit in your mouth with the other. The fingers in your hair tightened again, and with that you let out a loud moan. That’s all it took to send him over the edge. The whimper of your name was almost inaudible, his hips lifting to meet you waiting mouth. You worked him through it, movements slow as the last tremors left his body. 

Your lips came off him with a wet pop, grinning mouth rising to face him. Your red lipstick was completely ruined, drool coating your chin. You were panting, heavy amused little noises escaping with each heaving exhale. Tears coated your lashes, eyes hooded with lust. You leaned against him, bringing your sleeve up to clean the mess he’d made of your mouth. Jud reached over, hand holding a cheek. 

“So pretty.” The warm hue to your skin deepened. Somehow, even after sucking the soul from him, you seemed bashful. A look in your eyes now filled with something too close to love. You cleared your throat, gaze shifting back to hunger. 

“Go inside?”

You didn’t get very far, Jud had his lips on yours as soon as the door closed behind you. He could still taste himself on your tongue, he drowned in it. He stumbled to the couch, your back hitting it with a soft thud. He chased after you, attaching his mouth to your neck. His large hands seeking, searching, feeling all of you without restraint. You keened at the callus fingers pawing at you desperately.

Thumb and forefinger hooked around the button at your cleavage. You arched, pushing up to meet him. Jud quickened his movements, opening your shirt eagerly. He shifted his attention to your bra, removing it with equal speed. His lips moved from your neck, your fingers running through his short curls. 

Chest now free and open to him, he trailed kisses down- savoring the taste of your skin. He groaned, fingers tracing the curve of your hips and stomach. Your softness was a startling contrast to his rough hands. You moaned when his mouth latched onto a nipple.

“Jud.” Your breathless whisper urged him on. He pulled away from your warmth and the couch, moving so that he was now standing in front of you. He fell to his knees, pulling you around so your hips were now at the edge. Your flush chest rose and fell faster.

He slipped his fingers up your thighs, going up and pulling at the top of your skirt. Lips parted, you shifted to help him remove it along with your soaked underwear. Now you were completely naked with the fully clothed priest kneeling between your legs. 

The perfect image of debauched prayer. 

Jud peppered sweet kisses at your knees, his facial hair grazing your skin as he moved to your inner thighs. His broad shoulders had your legs spread wide to accommodate him, exposing your center to his ravenous eyes. Jud couldn’t help the whimper that slipped out. He was a breath away from your glistening folds, the scent of you sweet and heady. 

Jud dove in, hands holding your hips as he pulled you to his face. He moaned at the first swipe of his tongue.

“Christ.” You gasped, his hungry need to taste you had him worshiping your cunt. Licking from the weeping entrance to your throbbing clit with a fevered devotion. Jud was already hard again. Your hand was back in his hair, encouraging pressure to bring him closer into your center. His firm grip on your hips kept you from rutting up against his ravenous mouth. He nosed against your bundle of nerves as his tongue pushed further into you, chasing the taste of your excitement. You tightened your grip.

“Yes baby, fuck that’s it. So good Jud.” He mewled at the praise, peering up at your dark eyes. The look you gave him made the priest’s cock twitch. Like a wolf to the lamb, Jud was completely at your mercy.

And it was everything he needed.

He was tired of the struggle, the complete lack of power- something that had been weighing on him since arriving at Our Lady of Perpetual Fortitude. But now, instead of being caged in the claws of a wicked man by force, he willingly offered himself to the kiss of sharp teeth now nuzzling his neck. You would completely consume him, and he welcomed your seductive maw gladly.

“Fucking perfect.” He moaned against your mound, tightened his hold on your hips. You squirmed, chasing the feeling of the thick probing muscle. He removed one hand, bringing it to your aching clit, testing the pressure. You let out a twinkling whine, raising your leg to drape it over Jud’s shoulder. He removed the last hand on your hip, now freeing your movement, letting you crowd him between your hips. A foot now pressing into his back, coaxing. Soft thighs squeezing against his ears with a delicious pressure.

His personal heaven.

Jud shifted his focus. Licking back up to your clit, he suckled at the throbbing bundle of nerves as his hand slipped down to your clenching cunt. Your body eagerly welcomed his long dexterous fingers. Curling two inside, the rough pads of his digits caressing your spongy walls. That earned him a tight squeeze of your thighs, securing him firmly in place. 

As if he’d want to be anywhere else.

“Jud-Jud!” He could feel you getting close, his cock aching in anticipation. You thrust against his face, nails scrapping his scalp. Jud couldn’t help the little whine he murmured against your clit, hips rutting against nothing. The added vibrations sent you over the edge, a throaty scream muffled by the tightly clamped legs surrounding him. Your walls fluttered around his fingers, but Jud only pressed harder against them to enjoy the sounds it pulled from her. Only once your limps released their hold did he stop, looking back up at you with a sloppy grin. 

Your body felt like liquid, your smile blissful. Jud gave your cunt a lazy indulgent taste before you pulled him by the hair. He rose slowly, trailing kisses back up your stomach. He took his time, savoring the salty sweat of your skin. Your hand pet his hair, content sighs slipping from your lips. Once he reached your mouth, you were pulling him against you. The weight of his body perfect. His clothed hard length pressed into you with growing interest. Your amused laugh was quickly swallowed as he deepened the kiss. Before, it was frantic. Starved. But now? The way his lips molded into yours, taking your face in his hands with awed adoration? It was slow and filled with emotion he couldn’t put into words. You sat up from the couch, hands at his chest.

“Could we maybe go to your room?” Jud nodded, pulling you with him as he stood. His lips still sought the warmth of your neck as he followed you up the stairs. 

A month after the case closed, Jud had decided to change rooms. Partially due to the other guest room having a full bed. But also because it felt like he deserved it considering Wicks had purposely assigned him a cot to be a dick. Right now, he was very thankful for the upgrade.

You climbed on the bed, sitting on your knees as you watched Jud hurriedly remove his clothes. He took extra care with his collar, sitting on the nightstand. Once bare, you curled a finger at him to come. He obeyed, climbing to join you. He captured your lips again, arms wrapping around you as he laid you down. Your legs immediately hooked around him, his cock now nestled against your wet heat. Jud shivered.

“Hell...” He whispered. Your laugh was stiff.

“Mm, not too far off.” Jud stopped, pulling back to look into your eyes. They were stormy, you tried to look away but he noticed the conflict there. He reached a hand up, gently pulling your chin back to face him.

“Hey… Hey.” He wasn’t loud, voice almost pleading. You caved in, returning to his dark blue gaze. Silence.

“What’s going on in there?” He tapped a finger to your temple. The small smile you gave him didn’t meet your eyes.

“Jud, we both know what this is to you. I’m not delusional- it's ok! Honest.” His brows furrowed, mouth deepening into a frown.

“(Y/N), I… Shit.” He rested his head on your chest, he could hear your rising heart beat.

“I-I’m sorry, we can stop-” You quickly mumbled. But when he looked up at you, you froze. His eyes were full of tears. You panicked, hands coming up to hold his face.

“Oh God Jud. It’s ok, I-” He shook his head with a broken laugh.

“God (Y/N) I fucking love you. Don’t you see?” Your eyes widened, lips parting in shock. He leaned against the hand on his face, another chuckle bubbling from his chest. He closed his eyes, the tears dampening his cheeks.

“You aren’t some sin. Some- dirty secret I’m going to try and forget… You are everything.” He felt your fingers brushing away the streaks on his skin. When he opened his eyes, you were looking at him with heartbreaking tenderness.

“Jud-” He leaned in to cut you off, stealing a kiss before continuing.

“I- I know I can’t give you what you deserve, I will always be who I am. But (Y/N)... I love you, for whatever that is worth.” He’d never leave his calling, and he knew you’d never ask him to. But what life you gave to him, he couldn’t do the same. 

It broke him. 

But you just smiled, kissing his wet cheeks.

“I’m-,” you laughed, the sound brittle with emotion, “I don't want a normal life, Jud. Marriage? Kids? None of that was ever my plan... I just want you.” His eyes turned sad, voice barely a whisper.

“A lot of me is broken.” You were healing cracks in him he’d never thought would mend. But some things were still splintered. Jagged fragments that would never be the same. You tilted your head, thumb caressing his face affectionately.

“Give me those pieces you hide. I’ll hold those shards tighter, even if they cut me- they’re still you… I-I love you Jud Duplenticy.” 

Jud crashed his lips against yours. You returned the kiss with equal passion. His arms slipped around your waist, pulling you flush to him. You whined, hands pulling at his hair as your hips lifted up to meet him. It only took a few thrusts before his cock was twitching again, rock hard against you. You reached down, grasping it firmly before sliding it along your folds. The thick head bumping into your aching clit beautifully.

“Jud, please.” He moaned, face slotting into the crook of your neck. His hand replaced yours, enjoying the sleek glide of your wet cunt. He notched himself at your entrance, his girth stretching you slowly. You choked at the feeling. Jud paused, taking measured breaths. 

“So fucking tight.” Amber let out an amused moan, hand coming up to grip at the back of his neck. You tilted your hips to take more, Jud whimpered. He eased forward again, sinking into the velvet heat. Little mewls slipped out of your lips, the sound alone made him shudder. You were soaked, walls clenching around him delightfully. Finally his pelvis was flush to yours. 

Jud leaned back to look at you stretched around the base of him, drenched folds parted and exposed. You were panting, chest and cheeks dark. Completely debauched and breathtakingly beautiful.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” You bit a lip with a smirk before wiggling your hips. Jud let out a groan, falling back down above you. You laughed, bringing your legs around his waist again. He pulled out half-way, moaning at the feeling of you trying to pull him back in. You didn’t fare much better, a sob escaping your lips. His thrusts were slow at first, your muscles relaxing to adjust to the size of him.

“So deep. So good-.” Your hands clawed at his back, enjoying the burning stretch. Jud slipped a hand down, thumb pressing right above you clit- pulling at the hood with every thrust. You shook, hips snapping up at the sensation. Your cunt clamped down on him. Jud choked a moan against your shoulder, increasing his movements. 

“Perfect, baby.” He sighed, your praise melting his bones. A delicious warmth spread through him. His lips found yours, Jud whined against your tongue. You gasped at a particularly hard thrust, the blunt head of his cock kissing your cervix.

“Yes! Fuck, there. Just like that!” He repeated the motion, panting when you fluttered around him.

“(Y/N).” He was snapping his hips into you, the thighs around his waist tightening. He rested his forehead against yours, his breaths coming out in huffs. You cupped his cheek, thumb tracing his open mouth. Jud’s lips wrapped around the digit, whimpering desperately.

“So good for me.” His eyes were round and glossy. The warm feeling now spreading down his chest. You could see the drunk hazy on his blissed out face. All the while, his length pummeled your stretched cunt. The narrow heat of you was overwhelming. Jud shifted a hand back to pull at your leg, bringing it up to hook on his shoulder and deepening the angle of his thrust.

“Fuck fuck. Thank you, so perfect.” He mumbled, lost in the feeling. Your pussy was divine, grip vice-like as you edged closer to your own climax. Jud was a babbling mess. The veins of his cock throbbed, precum further slicking the delicious slide. 

“My good boy, give me all you’ve got. Fucking ruin me, baby.” What little control he had left dissolved, a broken sob left him. Your surprised squeal sounded like bells, Jud now pinning both your legs against your chest. Folding you in half. 

He didn’t hold back.

Punched out huffs, your fingers reaching out grip the blankets around you- Jud fucked you with wild abandon. The ravenous, punishing thrusts of his fat cock were followed by his stuttered muttering.

“Yes, yes, so fucking tight. Perfect pussy, all mine, please.” He chanted, rambling between grunts. Jud thanked you, begged, worshiping your body as a gift from God. Singing prayers in your name. You clenched at the attention, pulling choked sobs from his lips. You were close, he could hear it in your high pitched moans.

“Please, please. Give it to me, baby.” He pleaded, grinding his hips against yours. You reached down, fingers finding you clit with haste. It didn’t take much before your mouth opened in a silent scream, walls clamping down hard. Jud’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. But he fucked you through it, reveling in the divine pulse of you around him. Coming down from your high, you reached over to the hand holding your legs, fingers curling into his.

“Gonna cum for me Jud?” He nodded, hips starting to falter. His blue puppy dog eyes wide with adoration.

“W-where?” He whimpered, struggling. You smiled, biting your bottom lip.

“Inside, fill me up baby.” He dropped his hold on you, sinking down so that you were face to face. Jud shuddered, diving in to capture your lips. Balls drawing up, his orgasm finally rocking his body. He whined into your open mouth. Wave after wave of his hot cum pumped deep into you, little tremors shaking his shoulders.

Jud’s boneless body finally gave out. You held him in your hands, enjoying the feeling of him slumped against you- cock still buried to the hilt. Your fingers ran through his short curls, caressing him.

“Y’okay?” You whispered, voice deep. Jud hummed, laying his cheek against your breast. Chest rising and falling slowly. He went to move. You were probably uncomfortable with the weight of him crushing you, but you stopped him. The hand in his hair keeping him flush with your skin.

“No rush, Jud. We have all the time in the world.” The last of the tension left him, a small hiccup slipped out. He hid his face between your breasts. Small tears dampened your skin. He apologized, muffled against them. You hushed him, stroking the back of his head.

“Don’t, baby. Let it out, it’s ok.” He relaxed, letting himself melt into the hold. Jud couldn’t put it into words, just an overwhelming swell of feeling overcame him. Pure peace. When his breathing calmed down, he shifted to rest his chin against your sternum. You were watching him.

“Thank you for finding me.” His voice was heavy with sleep. Your hands traced the features of his face, like you were mapping it out for memory.

“Thank you for letting yourself be found.” He leaned into the touch, eyes closing. But then they snapped open, alarmed. His cock was soft now, your mixed cum slipping from your connected bodies.

Shit.

“Hey uh, I um.. You. We-we didn’t use protection.” The rising panic in his eyes was obvious. You threw your head back with a laugh, patting his cheeks playfully.

“Jud, calm down. It’s ok, I’m sterile.” You said it so matter-of-factly, but his brows only creased in confusion.

“Sterile, as in like- sterile sterile?” You nodded, tilting your head with a smile.

“Yes sweetie, sterile sterile. I got it done years ago. Like I said, I don’t want kids.” His mouth opened and closed, not sure how to respond.

“I- with what happened to me, my birth parents. It's not something I wanted to risk for another child…” There wasn’t any sadness in your eyes, but Jud couldn’t help his worried face. You flicked him on the nose.

“Hey!” He whined.

“Jud- I meant what I said. This? This is exactly where I want to be.” Your voice was soft, he inched forward to kiss you. Chasing the taste of your honeyed words.

Today was the meeting with Cy Draven, both Blanc and Bishop Langstrom had made the trip for the obnoxious shit show.

“Any hint you’ve sold it, any big charity donations, you fix the roof, you upgrade your shitty communion wine, I will watch, I will audit, I will find out.” Cy was stumbling backwards towards his car. Jud just smiled, hands clasped at his back.

“I hope you come back to the church someday, Cy. Your real inheritance is in Christ.” He just scoffed, car speeding off. You came up behind the priest, shoulder bumping into him.

“God he’s such a-” Langstrom’s steps crunched against the gravel.

“-Little punk bitch.” You looked over, white teeth beaming at the bishop. 

“I see why you like him.” Jud smirked, turning back towards the other man. You walked back over to your father, following him back into the rectory to leave the two of them alone. Langstrom waited until you were out of ear shot before elbowing Jud.

“So this is (Y/N), that support you might have mentioned?” His ears turned red, but his smile was honest, Jud didn’t try to hide the obvious affection he felt for you. The older man nodded.

“She seems good for you. Don’t fuck it up kid.” Jud shoved him playfully, rolling his eyes. But he paused, watching as you waved a hand at him from the window. Your pointer finger beckoning him to come inside. You mimed eating a sandwich, clearly telling him to join them for lunch. The young priest exhaled, shoulders relaxing.

When you start bouncing—slow and struggling at first, moans stuttering with every inch you lift and drops, you can hear his quiet grunts in your ear, breath warm and heavy against your skin.

His cock hits so deep, you're seeing stars with every bounce.

“You’re gonna break yourself,” he snarls, holding your hips tighter.

“Then help me,” you beg, clawing at his chest. “Please—Daddy—”

And he does.

With an almost irritated huff, his big hands grip your thighs bruisingly, nails digging into your soft flesh before he lifts you up- and drops you down.

Again. And again.

He’s using you like a fleshlight—just a tight, soaked little cocksleeve in his lap, babbling nonsense and squealing.

“Too much—hahhh—Daddy I’m gonna—gonna—!”

Your orgasm is explosive, legs twitching as his cockhead bullies your womb, every hit making you spurt out on his torso and your own thighs.

And when you cry, trying to crawl away?

He grabs your waist, slamming you all the way down, grip tight on your waist.

“Stay put.”

“Wait—don’t—don’t cum insid—nnNNGH—!”

Too late.

His cock twitches, deep in your womb, then erupts. Cum floods your walls, so much so that you can feel it pour out around the seal, leaking down your thighs, pooling on his throne.

And although you collapse against him, lungs fighting to intake more air, you feel him readjust.

"I'm not done." He hisses, lifting your limp body right back up. His cock wasn't even remotely soft when he pulls out for a second.

Not even close.

"You’re not done till I say you are," he growls, dragging your limp, leaking body back onto his lap. "I didn't raise a weak child."

You whimper, breath hitching as he lines up again—his cock still hard, still fat, still dripping.

"N-nooo—Daddy—it’s too much, it’s too—nnghh—"

He slides in anyway.

This time he doesn’t wait. No prep, no warning. He bottoms out, one brutal thrust—and you're done.

Body jerking, mind disintegrating.

"Uhh—uhhhhn—ah! ah! fuh—pussy—d-daddy—uh—nuh—mmn—c-cum—p-please—"

You weren't even aware your voice could get this high-pitched- words slurred, broken up by every thrust that bounces you off his cock like a ragdoll.

He fucks you so deep, your belly bulges every time, and he presses on it just to hear you cry out that it's too much.

“Feel that?" He brushes his sharp teeth over your shoulder, threatening to pierce the delicate skin already blooming with pretty purple bruises from how harshly he holds you.

"You won't be walking till you give me everything."

Honestly, you have not stopped thinking about how good your father made you feel that one chance encounter. You tried to emulate the feelings, the sensations, everything, with your boyfriend, but he just doesn’t— can’t do it. Even with the toys you have on hand do little to relieve you of your frustration. And the post-orgasm clarity only serves to remind you sadly of the stark difference between self-gratification and the real thing. 

So, you avoid your dad like a plague. After all, every time you see him, your mind only goes to filthy, disgusting thoughts. 

But of course, that saying has some truth in it, doesn't it? About the heart growing fonder with absence. 

Especially when you come home late to a note with your father’s messy scrawl on your pillow.

Princess. You’re mad at me. But I don’t know why. Help this old man understand. Daddy misses his little girl. Dinner tomorrow at your favourite restaurant?

Feeling a pang of guilt strike you in your chest, you think that maybe you had been too tough on him. You had always been his little girl before whatever transpired between the two of you. And he didn’t even know it was you. 

Even though it is late, you pad quietly down the hallway after getting washed up, heading towards your parents’ room. You know that your parents sleep separately sometimes, and you wonder briefly if tonight is one of those nights. But you pass by the guest rooms and see that one of them has its door closed, and you’re slightly relieved knowing that you’ll only be met with your father when you get to your parents’ room, yet also a little nervous being in the same enclosed space alone with him. Despite the conflicting emotions stirring inside of you, your feet don’t stop moving and before you know it, you’re standing before the master bedroom. 

It is already three in the morning, and you don’t bother to knock before twisting the handle, simply opening the door to complete pitch darkness.

You shut the door quietly and navigate your way to the bed with muscle memory. You don’t say anything when you climb into bed, more because your heart is stuck in your throat than anything else, namely nervousness and just a tad bit of excitement. 

Your father doesn’t even rouse awake when you get under the covers and take up the spot where your mother used to sleep. He’s always been a heavy sleeper.

Lying on your side, you face the sleeping form of the man before you, just a silhouette in the night. Shifting closer to try to see him better, you hold your breath when you feel the warmth his body exudes. You inhale the earthy scent that has been his signature since you were a child and immediately feel yourself relaxing. You shut your eyes and tuck yourself into a ball close to him, thinking of what you’ll say to him in the morning until sleep takes you in under. 

Your brow twitches at the low groan behind you. There is some movement before you feel warmth enveloping your body from behind, a strong arm around your waist. Sleep is making your brain foggy, every sensation on your body feeling almost like an out-of-body experience. 

“Decided to come back to bed, hmm?” comes a low, gravelly hum. 

You really should try to wake up and move away from the very man haunting your every waking moment. But when he curls into you and tucks your head under his chin, his presence so comforting and warm, you simply let yourself drift off to sleep once again. 

You wake up to a tight grip on your hip and something warm and hard between your thighs. As you stir awake, eyes trying to refocus in the dark, you realise belatedly that your thighs are wet and sticky. 

“Fuck, baby,” your father’s voice behind you is between a whisper and a groan. 

The bed creaks slightly with every movement of his hips as he rubs his length against your soaking lips, your inner thighs tightening slightly, making him hiss under his breath. 

The weight of this situation finally falls over you and you start to panic, your heart pounding in your chest, rapid heartbeat in your ears. This was not how you envisioned this night to go. In fact, you had expected sleeping through the night uneventfully until the next morning to speak with your father. 

You squirm, trying to get away from this hot and sticky mess, but that only riles the man up more as he tightens his hold on your hip and angles his hips so that his swollen cockhead hits your clit with every thrust. 

“Stop moving,” your dad hisses, hand slipping down to adjust the crotch of your panties to the side again. The noise of his cock being coated with your juices is so loud and disgusting that he smacks your ass cheek, squeezing and kneading the flesh as he wonders, “Are you on your period? You’re never this wet, babe.”

You whine at his assumption. Yet despite the nagging guilt that screams at you to stop this, you find yourself arching your back, pressing your ass to his hips even more. 

Toji lets out a shaky breath. He really hopes his wife doesn’t stop him when he moves to hold himself up on his elbow, hovering over your body to press his lips on yours. You haven’t shared a kiss with him in a while, and even when you do, it’s always his initiative. 

In the darkness, his lips first land on your eyebrow. Slowly, he finds his way down your face, kissing your eyelash, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, and finally your lips. You let out a mewl against his lips and instinctively move your hand down to find his. 

Toji spreads his fingers, letting you entwine yours with his before he tightens and curls them. All this time, he doesn’t stop kissing you, doesn’t stop slotting his cock between your thighs. 

“Wanna fuck you, baby,” he grunts against your lips, his breath hot and sinful. 

And with that, he takes his hand away from yours, slipping it under the inside of your thigh, lifting it to spread your legs. Your heart is pounding hard against your chest, anxious and ridden with guilt as you purse your lips to stay quiet. You let your father put his foot on the crotch of your panties and push your bottoms off your legs. He tilts his hips to drag his cockhead lightly along your slit, and when he hears a ragged breath tearing through your lips, he pats the inside of your thigh gently. 

“Hold your leg up for me,” he murmurs. 

You do, and he finally lets go. 

You should really say something but the need and desire to feel what you felt that first night your father mistook you for your mom is all it takes for you to bite down that guilt and shame. 

Especially when Toji grabs hold of his hard shaft, fitting his tip between your flaps, positioning himself at your tight hole. 

Toji shuts his eyes in bliss, hearing you moan so lewdly and breathily as he breaches your entrance, feeling your warmth enveloping his cockhead tightly. He is slow as he sheathes his entire length inside of you, wanting to savour your fluttering walls, enjoying the way you squirm and mewl at the stretch. 

When Toji finally bottoms himself inside of you, staying still for a moment to let your squelching pussy adjust to his size, he tilts his head toward you and groans, “Kiss me, baby.”

You don’t hesitate to turn your head and meet your father’s lips with yours. At once, Toji brings his hand up to cup your chin possessively, his grip gentle but firm as he swipes his tongue along the seam of your lips. Your mouth parts to let out a moan and he doesn’t waste time in slipping his tongue into your wet cavern. 

He swallows a long moan from you when he pulls out slowly, leaving just his swollen tip inside of you, before he slides back in. Still not breaking the heated kiss, Toji’s tongue laps at yours, sliding along the back of your teeth, his lips massaging yours passionately. His hips don’t break stride either as he continues sliding his cock between your tight walls, his thrusts slowly gaining momentum.

The room is filled with the wet slicking noises of your father’s cock entering in and out of you, the sticky slapping of his hips against your ass, and the light smacking of your lips on each other’s. 

And when your dad glides his hand down from your chin to wrap around your throat, his fingers squeezing lightly as if to gauge your reactions, you moan vulgarly into his lips, eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

Toji increases the pressure on his fingers. 

Your brain feels like it has turned to mush, the cottony darkness pressing in on all sides of your mind. He groans into the kiss that is slowly turning sloppy when he feels you clamping down on his cock, your gummy walls sucking him in. 

And the moment he releases the grip on your throat and oxygen rushes back into your system, at the same time making your thighs tighten and hips roll forward as you clench unyieldingly around his thick meat, Toji growls loudly into your parted lips, overridden by so much pleasure that your jaw is slack and incapable of kissing him back. 

Toji has never seen his wife react to sex like this before, and it’s refreshing and hot. 

Not wanting to ruin the moment, he quickly pushes aside the question of what made you change, particularly toward him and his sexual approaches. 

Toji’s thrusts gain more speed, greedily slamming his cock so hard into you that your moans are heady and breathless, wanting to feel more of your compressed walls. You’re both just exchanging breaths now, panting into each other’s mouths. 

“Fuck,” he curses, feeling his cock twitch inside of you. 

Quickly stopping his movements, Toji slides out of you abruptly and you let out a whine at the loss of his dominating size in your aching hole. 

But then panic rises up in your chest when your father throws the blanket off your bodies, his motions desperate and brisk like he is in a rush for time. 

Toji climbs over you as he pushes your legs apart, already kneeling between your thighs in a second. He slaps his cock on your soaked pussy, inhaling a sharp intake of breath at the whine you let out. He doesn’t waste any more time as he slides his tip down to your fluttering entrance and penetrates you again in one swift thrust. 

Your father grips your hips tightly when you lift them, arching your back against the bed, the both of you moaning loudly into the night. And before you’re even ready, he starts fucking you with an intensity and eagerness that makes you completely forget about your boyfriend’s poor excuse for making love. 

You unthinkingly reach your hand down to grab hold of his fingers squeezing your waist and Toji groans. He immediately leans down to hover over you, his other hand bracing against the mattress on the side of your head to support his weight, his lips already on yours, swallowing your moans. 

You don’t think when you slide your free hand around his nape, pulling him closer, hungrily kissing him back. Your legs move to circle around his waist, locking him in a missionary position. 

Toji kisses you back with the same intensity without losing momentum in his fucking. In fact, his thrusts are harder now, faster. The sound of his cock slipping in and out of you is music to his ears. And the way your pussy is pulsing around him is enough to send him to overdrive. 

He doesn’t break the kiss when he lets go of your hip, allowing your now vacant hand to claw at the side of his chest. You’re completely fucked out, lost in the pleasure of your father’s cock fucking you, the overbearing weight he has over your body, the messy kiss you’re engaged in, that you don’t realise that he has reached his hand out to the reading light. 

Toji is so fucking close and he just wants to see your pleasured face as he fucks you, sure that just the sight of you enjoying his pounding would hurl him straight into his orgasm. 

Your brow furrows when you sense a dim brightness from the corner of your closed lids. Before your languid brain can even keep up with what’s happening, your body completely overtaken by pleasure, your father’s lips are off yours and your hold around his neck breaks. 

Toji’s breaths are underlined with low grunts, his cock swelling and quivering in your tightening pussy, his hips still relentless as he keeps fucking you. 

And when his eyes have accustomed to the faint light illuminating the pitch darkness and he sees his daughter laying beneath him, brows furrowed as your eyes flutter open, your pink swollen lips parted to let out the prettiest of moans, Toji thought that he would have stopped. 

He should have. 

Especially when he watches you belatedly realise what is happening, your eyes rounding when you finally meet his, pupils trembling slightly, your entire body gone still. 

He feels something stir in his chest and in his lower stomach when your cunt clench around him tightly, like a warning, or maybe a reminder that he is still fucking his daughter. 

Your skin prickles with heat, your chest tight. All it took was just that one second of eye contact. 

And now your father can’t stop staring at you. 

And you realise that he hasn’t stopped fucking you. 

Your walls pulse around his meat at that realisation, a squeeze of guilt. Maybe even of hope. 

Toji doesn’t stop. 

He lets out a low groan, his hands flying to your waist to grip onto you like you were leaving, his hips slamming against yours, cock pistoning in and out of you like a desperate man looking for release.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum, Princess,” he growls, face contorted into a sort of snarl. 

His gaze is dark and intense as he eyes the way your face crumples into a look of pleasure and shame, exactly mirroring his own emotions. But his grasp on your waist tightens and he chases his climax as he moves your body in tandem to his fucking, pounding your body back into his hips. 

You can’t think anymore. 

You can’t feel the guilt or shame anymore. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head in pleasure, your back bowing backwards as you make an arch in the air. 

“Shit, baby,” Toji curses. 

He slides a hand down to your red bundle of nerves and gives it a rub with the pad of his thumb. 

“Daddy,” you choke out a gasp as your body twitches and your thighs tighten. 

Finally hearing your sweet voice spurs Toji on to play with your clit, his focus entirely set on not cumming despite your quivering cunt wrapped around his cock. And the moment he sees you flailing and thrashing before him, feeling your walls tightening like they’re trying to push him out, hearing how breathless and whiny and cute your mewls are, he lets go of that restraint. 

His breaths come out in low grunts as he fucks you harder in pursuit of his climax, your twitching walls clenching and unclenching around his cock like you’re trying frantically to milk him.

“Fuck!”

With a loud groan, Toji pulls out of you, his hand already wrapped tightly around his sopping wet cock, almost violently pumping his shaft as he presses his thick mushroom head to your glistening pussy. 

Beyond the tunnel vision of your own orgasm, you try to focus on your father’s moans as he cums, painting your womanhood and stomach with white liquid, coating your skin with his seeds. 

Toji’s orgasm almost takes as long as his daughter’s as he empties his load on your pussy. Panting, he sits back on his heels, lazily stroking himself, letting the last of his seeds drip down his slit and down his cock. 

He watches the last spasm wrack your body as you lay before him, chest rising and falling below your shirt, trying to catch your breath. 

The air in the room gradually becomes heavy with unspoken words and conflicting emotions now that the post-coital clarity is setting in. Toji watches your body grow still, like the way you used to in your younger days when you knew a scolding was coming your way. He lets out a long sigh. 

You flinch slightly at the gentle but calloused caress on your inner thigh. 

“Look at me.”

Swallowing, you very reluctantly meet your father’s gaze. 

“Why are you here?” he murmurs, not unkindly. 

It is his warmth and gentleness that makes tears unceremoniously form on your lashline and slip down your cheeks, startling him into a frown. But he doesn’t say anything, simply lets you grapple with your own emotions and words. 

Finally, you say between sobs, “I’m s-sorry, Daddy. I sh-should have said something. Should h-have stopped you. B-but—”

“Baby,” he cuts you off sternly, a firm hand on your thigh.

This only makes you cry even harder. 

Toji lets out a long exhale through his nose before moving, crawling on the bed to settle down next to you. He sits up against the headboard, a hand stroking your hair, waiting for you to calm down. 

He thinks he understands what you’re feeling. And to be honest, it isn’t like he doesn’t share the same sentiments. If anything, he probably feels them more. 

“Did I hurt you?” Toji whispers. 

Your chest heaves as you draw in a stuttering breath. You shake your head. Toji brings his hand to wipe your tears with the back of his fingers. 

“Did you feel like you couldn’t stop me?” 

You swallow the thick lump of tears in your throat as you look up at him, finding him staring straight ahead in the dark room. You blink your tears away, really trying to focus on the look on his face. 

Though you can only see his profile, you realise that your father is haunted by his own internal thoughts and emotions. It is not just you feeling the way you do. 

“No, Daddy.”

Your trembling voice makes Toji turn to face you. His eyes trace your features, taking in your watery eyes, red nose, puffy lips. You look so pretty despite the tears. 

“I—” You gulp and whisper, “I liked it. And I wanted it.”

That makes Toji frown. “You wanted it?” he repeats, almost incredulously. 

Steeling yourself, you nod your head, just a minuscule action. You start, “Th-that time in the hotel room…”

It takes Toji a few seconds to put two and two together. And when he does, he pulls his hand away from your face like he’s been burnt. A tear slides down your cheek at his reaction. 

“That was you?” he breathes. You bite your bottom lip from trembling as you nod, your cheeks now wetter than before. “Why didn’t you say something?”

When you don’t reply, whether out of guilt or a loss for words, your father feels his stomach dropping. He looks away from you for a long moment, takes a moment to breathe, and finally moves. 

You watch him get up wordlessly to take some tissues and come back to wipe the mess on your womanhood, the whole time focused on the task at hand, not once looking at you. 

And when you’re clean, he doesn’t meet your gaze when he says, “It’s late. Go back to your room.”

“Daddy—”

His eyes flit to yours and your words get stuck in your throat at the look in them. 

“Please, Princess.”

This time, it is Toji avoiding you. 

You try to reach out to him. To apologise, to make things right, something. 

But he won’t let you. 

Because when he feels your presence coming down the stairs to join your parents for a meal, he cooks up an excuse that he has to leave to make a call. Or when you leave the house just as he has parked his car on the porch, he stays in the vehicle a little longer, pretending to be busy reading an important email until you’ve left and locked the gate behind you. 

Toji doesn’t know why he does these things he does. 

Maybe it’s the guilt of cheating on this loveless marriage he has with his wife. Maybe it’s the anger he feels at himself for realising he enjoyed the two times he fucked his own daughter. Or maybe it’s the disappointment from finding out that you lied to him. 

Well, it’s not lying if you didn’t say anything. 

But still, that doesn’t make it right. 

Whatever it is, Toji is frustrated. At himself, for not understanding his own thoughts. At you, for hiding the truth from him. 

But mostly at himself. 

Especially when he sees you shrinking back again, finally coming to terms that your relationship with him has probably been estranged, broken. 

You don’t try to join in on any family meals anymore, always coming up with excuses not to. You come home late into the night when you would never bump into your dad, if you ever come home at all. 

Despite living in the same house, Toji doesn’t see you anymore. 

He thinks that maybe this is for the better. 

He doesn’t feel bad when he’s around his wife. And he doesn’t feel that pang of emotions hitting him in his chest when he sees you. 

That is until he comes home early from a dinner one weekend and passes by your room, footsteps halting when he hears quiet noises from behind the door. His entire body freezes, his breathing paused, ears perked to pick up on the muffled sounds coming from your room. 

He can make out your sighs and moans which he has come to be familiar with, no matter how muted they are now through the door. And beyond that, he hears a low, droning voice. A man’s voice. 

While brooding over his own thoughts, he had completely forgotten that you have a boyfriend. 

He doesn’t realise his hands have balled into fists. 

And when he hears the faint sound of hips slapping against hips, his jaw clenches and his chest burns. 

He doesn’t say or do anything but when he walks away from your room, he makes sure his footsteps are heavy and loud. He even opens and shuts the door to his room noisily. 

The fire in his chest flares even more at the sight of his bed. 

The bed where he had you a few weeks ago, moaning and whimpering like a cute little thing for him. 

The bed where he last saw you, the last interaction you had, no matter how intimate. 

Toji stews in his anger for a long time. 

That is until he hears the hasty, faraway sound of a door opening and closing and a rush of feet down the stairs. 

His lips curl slightly and that fire in his chest is instantly put out, only to be replaced by pride. 

He should be the only man of the house.

The only man who gets to hear those cute sounds you make, see the pretty expressions you make on your face, feel the warmth of your body. 

Toji isn’t sure what time you came home. He tried to wait up. But his age caught up to him and he had fallen asleep before he could even help it. 

It is almost already five in the morning when he awakes, the sky outside still dark. 

Toji gets down from his bed. Leaving the room quietly, he passes the guest room that his wife prefers sleeping in, the guilt he used to feel no longer wrapping its strong grip around his chest. 

He pads down the hallway and stops outside his daughter’s room. He hesitates only for a moment before opening the door, adjusting his eyes to take in the sleeping form of you curled up in bed. 

He doesn’t stall this time when he enters and shuts the door quietly behind him. Toji goes over to you, gently lifting your blanket and immediately slipping into your bed behind you. 

You don’t stir. Not even when he scoots closer and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into his body. 

The tension in his body melts away, and he finds that the mix of emotions he used to grapple with has been defeated. Instead, he only feels a sense of contentment, of desire, of yearning. 

You moan at the feathery touch of lips on your neck and shoulder, slowly waking up from your slumber. You blink sleepily, noticing that it is still dark, only realising belatedly that there is a large presence behind you, holding you close. You’re suddenly acutely aware of who it is, if not for his familiar earthy scent. 

“Daddy?” you croak out.

The man behind you hums, moving to kiss the shell of your ear now. “Was that your boyfriend this afternoon?” Your entire body goes still and warm. Your father slides his hand down to caress the side of your hip. “That Soturo guy?”

“Satoru,” you correct breathlessly, still unmoving. 

“Hm.” You gasp when he curls his fingers to leave a scratch up the side of your thigh. “Was he any good?”

Your mind is a mess right now. But you manage to sputter, “Aren’t you still mad at me?”

Toji moves behind you to hold himself up on an elbow, hovering over the side of your face, pressing his lips to your cheeks. “Kind of. But for a different reason now.”

You turn your head slightly even though you know you can’t see him. “What?” you breathe. 

You hold your breath as your father shifts, moving behind you until the reading light next to your bed illuminates your room dully. You’re squinting at the ceiling, trying to refocus your eyes, when your father’s handsome face appears before you, towering over you, his scarred lips in a thin line. 

“Does Satoro make you happy?” he murmurs. Mind reeling at whether this is a trick question, you don’t answer. “Does he fuck you better than Daddy?”

You gulp. “Daddy, I—”

“Answer me.”

Under his hard gaze, you immediately shake your head. Toji hums, satisfied at your answer. 

“But you bring him to my home and let him fuck you in this bed?”

“Daddy—” 

You gasp when a palm strikes your cheek. Not too hard, but firm enough to shut you up and wake you up from the state of sleepiness you were in. 

“Do you prefer your boyfriend’s dick over Daddy’s?” Before you even open your mouth, Toji lands another slap on your cheek. “Huh, Princess? Answer me.”

“N-No,” you whisper, thighs pressing together unknowingly. 

Noticing that minor movement below him, Toji slides his knee up to press his thigh to your ass, making your breath hitch when he rubs your womanhood against his leg. 

“Hm. But you invited him over when you thought I wasn’t home. Made me hear what he was doing to you.”

It is by instinct when you push your ass out to grind on his thigh. Feeling slightly accused, you say, “You were mad at me. You were avoiding me.”

Your father clicks his tongue and you already have your eyes shut when he slaps you again. He lets out a laugh through his nose. 

“Baby girl learns fast,” he comments dryly. When he sees you opening your eyes again, he gives you one more slap to your cheek, causing you to whine and squeeze your lids close tightly. “Me being mad at you doesn’t mean you can bring home some stupid boy and let them fuck you under the roof I paid for. Does it?” 

You shake your head meekly, which makes the corners of Toji’s lips curl up slightly. You flinch when his hand reaches out to your face, but he only strokes your warm cheek tenderly. 

“Lie on your back, Princess,” he whispers. Eagerly, you do as you’re told, heart racing at what might unfold between the two of you. He pulls his leg back to give you space. “Spread your legs.”

Once you’ve done so, Toji brings his hand down, giving you a light slap between your legs. You yelp softly. 

As you stare up into your father’s dark eyes, his hand finds its way under the waistband of your shorts and into your panties, his middle finger easily finding your slit that is leaking slightly with arousal. He hums, sliding his finger along your folds, spreading your slick. 

“Daddy,” you whine, rocking your hips slightly to feel more friction. You give him a pitiful look. “I really am sorry for not telling you the first time. Or the second time.”

Toji takes in the small pout you wear as he licks his lips. He keeps playing with your folds, feeling your arousal build with just his finger touching you. “It’s alright, baby,” he finally says in a whisper, like he is resigned to the fact. “I only wish you told me sooner. Then we could play like this more.” 

You let out a long moan when your father prods his finger at your entrance and slips his thick digit between your gummy walls coated in slick. He is slow as he slides his middle finger in and out of you, his hand cupping your pussy. 

With every stroke against your wall, Toji presses an open-mouthed kiss to your face, dragging his lips across your skin until he reaches your lips, finally swallowing your moan as he kisses you. Your heart jumps in your chest as your hands snake around his neck, embracing him. 

He hums into your mouth, at the same time sinking another finger into your pussy, revelling in the way you tighten around them like you’re denying him entrance though your hips are bucking, trying to bury him inside of you. Toji curls his digits before pulling them out and entering again. 

He eats up your whines as he quickens the pace, allowing you to rock your hips, fucking back on his fingers, his tongue sensually dancing with yours.

Before long, he has you moaning and mewling — needier and realer than what he heard this afternoon, he notes. He continues licking and twirling his tongue around yours even as you unravel around him, thighs shaking, body quivering as your orgasm overwhelms your body. 

You’re still in a daze when your father leans back and removes his fingers from your crotch, already tugging on the waistband of your pants. 

“Take everything off, Princess.”

You have never been more eager to do so. As he sits up to watch you, Toji pulls down his shorts to free his cock, idly stroking his erection, letting it grow in his hand. 

You’re beautiful — your body, your curves, everything. 

The way the fat of your breasts jiggle when you pull off your top. The soft flesh of your stomach. The lines your thigh muscles make when you lift your hips to shrug your pants off. 

Toji can barely stop himself from crawling over you, but he manages to wait until you’re finally laying before him naked in all your glory. You rest your hands on his chest, letting them slide down his torso as he towers over you. 

“What about you, Daddy?” 

Toji stares down at your lashes fluttering at him curiously. He shakes his head, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “Mommy can’t see the both of us naked in bed, baby.”

You roll your eyes. “Mommy shouldn’t even see me naked in bed with you, then.”

A corner of his lips quirk. You’ve always been a smart girl. But he still rewards you with a slap to your face, making you gasp in surprise. 

“Punishment for talking back to me,” he mutters, though he is already lowering his hips, letting his hard rod bump against your inner thigh. 

You pout at your father, who only leans in to kiss your cheek. No words are exchanged as he positions himself between your lips, swiping his cockhead up and down to coat it with your arousal. He keeps his eyes on you when he eventually slots himself into your cunt, watching the way your brows fold closer, eyes glossy, bottom lip between your teeth. 

He lets out a groan as he bottoms out inside of you, feeling the way your pussy squeezes around him trying to adjust to his size. Toji stays still, giving you time to breathe as he drops kisses on the side of your face, down the column of your neck, making you tilt your head to give him more access. 

A trail of kisses lead down to your chest until he is face-to-face with your breasts. As he takes a nipple in his mouth, his hips start moving at a slow but steady pace and you let out a loud sigh, your hand moving to the back of his head, fingers buried in his soft hair. 

With his tongue flicking at your pert nipple, his teeth slightly grazing your sensitive skin, you moan, “Daddy.”

Toji releases your tit with a pop, glancing up at you through his lashes. “Hm?”

You flicker your eyes down to watch him staring at you, tongue out, twirling and playing with your bud. He grins when he feels your walls clench tightly around him. 

“Harder,” you whine. 

He clicks his tongue and uses his hand to slap at your other breast. “So impatient, my little girl,” he scolds. 

But your father listens anyway. 

Toji gives your nipple a kiss before sitting up on his heels, his hands skimming down the sides of your body. When he reaches your lower region, he lifts your legs, putting his palms on the back of your thighs, pushing them up and widening them, your feet in the air. Toji rolls his hips slowly, observing the way your face contorts with pleasure. The cute sounds you make, though, break his restraint. 

He picks up the pace and goes faster and harder, just as you asked. He curses under his breath. You always squeeze him so tight and get so wet every time he slams his cock back into you. 

He thought he could have lasted longer today, wanting to punish you for what you did with your boyfriend this afternoon. But the moment he hears you breathing out his name, something in his snaps. 

You gasp when he lets go of your legs and falls forward, almost on top of you if not for his hands planted on the headboard of your bed. That gasp turns into a whimpering moan when you feel how deep he is in this change of position, your legs spread wide open with his body, his cock entirely buried in your tight snatch, cockhead pushing against your cervix and igniting that knot in your stomach. 

“Say that again,” he pants. 

When you stay silent, pussy still fluttering around his cock, lips parted stupidly, lids hooded, Toji lands another heavy slap on your cheek, waking you up from your pleasure with a jolt. 

“Say my name again,” he repeats in a growl. 

You slide your hands under his shirt, touching his abs, fingernails clawing at his chest as you go higher. “Toji,” you purr. “Gonna fuck me like you mean it, hmm, Toji?”

“Fuck.” 

Toji doesn’t start off slow this time. He pounds into you like an animal, your bed creaking noisily with every thrust he makes. You let out such a pornographic moan that he grunts and moves to brace his hands next to your face, lowering his head to take your lips in his to shut you up. 

Your hips are moving in sync with his as you fuck yourself back on his cock, the squelching sound of your pussy taking him in and the slapping noise of your ass against his hips loud and dirty.

“Mm, I’m gonna cum, baby,” your father mutters against your lips. 

“Inside, Toji,” you breathe. 

“Dirty little girl.”

Your jaw goes slack when he brings his hand down to rub harshly on your clit, your hips stuttering and your pussy clamping down on his cock. The way Toji sticks his tongue into your mouth and twirls his tongue around its inside is so filthy, but so hot. And paired with his low moans, the pounding of his cock in your pussy, the massaging of your clit, your orgasm hits you with a blazing hot white flush. 

“Shit, baby. I’m gonna cum in you. Daddy’s gonna cum in you, baby,” Toji moans, his hips slapping against yours loud as he rams into your throbbing pussy in one deep thrust to the hilt. “Mm, fuck! Princess.”

You feel his warm seeds spraying deep inside of you with every pulse of his cock. Toji’s breathing is irregular, his eyes shut in bliss, his forehead resting on yours. You let him empty himself in your womb as his hips make lazy strokes, riding out the last of his orgasm. 

When the peak of his pleasure has waned, Toji flutters his eyes open and catches his daughter staring up at him. He lets out a breath through his nose and closes his lids again, letting the reality of the situation finally sink in. 

He had been expecting some sort of remorse for fucking his own daughter, or maybe even self-contempt for wanting and enjoying this. 

Instead, all he feels is weight lifting off his chest and shoulders. 

He inhales deeply and presses a kiss to your hairline before unplugging your pulsating hole, rolling onto the bed next to you.

Toji feels you turning to him as he catches his breath. He glances at you and you lick your lips nervously. 

“Gonna ask me to get out of my room this time?”

“Tch,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. Ignoring your little jab, Toji tucks himself back into his shorts as he wonders, “You on the pill?”

You flip to your side to face him better. “Mmhmm.”

He hums. The silence between you stretches until he finally tilts his head in your direction. He eyes you carefully. 

“He nice to you?” 

“Who? Satoru?” He doesn’t answer, just stays staring at you. Your head bobs slowly. “Mm, yeah. He’s a nice guy. You met him before, Daddy.”

Toji turns to face the ceiling again as he mumbles, “Don’t remember.”

You grumble and hit his chest. You’ve brought Satoru home for dinner several times, not to mention his attendance at family gatherings. He has definitely met and seen him before. Your father continues feigning ignorance, so you let out an annoyed huff and rotate your body so you’re facing away from him. 

It is quiet for a while. Then the flicker of a switch cuts through the silence of the night and your room is plunged into darkness once more, though the sky outside is beginning to turn blue as dawn breaks. You hold your breath listening to the sheets ruffle behind you. Your skin prickles at the comforting warmth that embraces you from behind. 

Toji slides his calloused palm down your arm until he reaches the back of your hand, his fingers slipping between yours, curling around the crevices. Naturally, you do the same. He pulls your entwined hands closer to your body. 

“Does he make you happy?” your father whispers into your hair, like he is afraid to hear the answer. 

“Hmm…” You’re not sure how to respond. So you think it is better to be honest. “We’ve talked about marriage. We’re pretty compatible.”

Toji waits. When you don’t continue, he supplies, “But…?”

A smile plays on your lips. Because how did he know there was a ‘but’?

“He cannot satisfy me in bed.”

There is a beat of silence before your father’s chest rumbles behind you as he laughs. You whine and struggle to move away from his hold but he keeps you close, his arms tight around you. 

“Of course not,” Toji agrees. You let out an annoyed huff. Another pause. Then, “Your mother doesn’t— won’t satisfy me in bed either.” 

You keep quiet, unsure what to say. You had already guessed it since the first time. 

“Daddy’s little princess can, though,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss to your crown. 

You squeeze his fingers slightly. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you since the first time.”

“Did you?” Toji teases, laughing when you let out another whine. He gathers you impossibly closer toward him, tucking your head under his chin. “Good to hear that you’ll always be a Daddy’s girl.” He curls his legs behind yours, pressing against the back of your thighs as he folds his body around yours. “You should invite Sotaro for dinner tomorrow. Let me meet him.”

“It’s Satoru. And you have met him,” you groan. “Also, why do you even want to meet him again?” Especially after what we’ve done tonight, is what you want to add but don’t. 

You feel him shrug his broad shoulders behind you. “Maybe show you the difference between a dumb boy who can’t even please his girlfriend in bed, and a man who will always put his daughter’s needs before his.”

Your heart flutters at his words, though you don’t say anything in reply. So Toji caresses the heel of your palm with his thumb as murmurs, “We’ll go to your favourite restaurant. Even buy you a nice dress and heels. So you can look pretty for Daddy when I look at you across the table.”

Your heart feels like it has drummed its way up your throat as blood flows up your face. You continue staying quiet and unmoving, uncertain of what to say, or do.  

But when your father prompts you for a reply, you swallow down the heart flutters rising from your stomach.

“Hm? Okay?”  

You nod your head wordlessly and press your back closer to his strong chest.

<< Part 1 🔞 || Part 3 🔞, Part 4 🔞 >>

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Tags: @ghostlyshieldmimic @jilliannelovesdazai @sirencall16 @hxrryst @namikawa @smokeandsilhouettes

Jack Abbot had performed emergency on the road surgeries with steadier hands than the ones he had right now.

The kitchen table was covered in pamphlets- given out in a seminar or at the hospital, medical diagrams printed in color- pamphlets. A small whiteboard where he had apparently written notes like he was about to give a lecture at a conference instead of explaining to his 11 year old daughter how her body is going to start betraying her by making her feel that someone is stabbing her stomach every month.

Yn sat across from him, her chin propped on both hands, elbows on the table, staring at him with the widest, most confused eyes he had ever seen.

“Okay,” Jack said, clearing his throat for the fourth time. “So. Your body is going to start going through some changes.”

She blinked.

“It's called puberty.”

She blinked again.

Jack rubbed his face. He had explained this exact thing to dozens of anxious children and parents in the ER. He could talk about reproductive systems and hormones without blinking.

But this was his kid, his baby.

“So,” he continued, sliding one of the pamphlets closer to her, “every month your body prepares for the possibility of pregnancy.”

Her eyebrows scrunched together, "Why?"

"Why?” Jack blinked.

“Yes,” she repeated, frowning at the confusing diagram. “Why does my body do that?”

“Because,” he started carefully, tapping the diagram of the uterus like it was a map, “your body is designed so that someday, when you’re much, much older, you could grow a baby.”

Jack opened his mouth then closed it.

She looked down at the paper again, still not understanding anything from the drawings, then slowly back up at him.

“Why would I want to do that?”

Jack coughed into his fist.

“Well, some people want to, some people don’t. The point is that your body prepares for the possibility.”

She studied the table again, completely bewildered by the amount of diagrams that looked the same yet completely different.

“So every month my body prepares for a baby.”

“Yes.”

“And if there’s no baby?"

He pointed to the next diagram- 4 pictures with things that she was too weirded out by to look at.

“The lining that your body prepared in your uterus sheds.”

Her nose wrinkled.

“Sheds?”

"Falls out.”

“Through where?” Yn looked scared.

Jack closed his eyes briefly, “Through the vagina.”

“That’s the same place you told me babies come out of.” She tilts her head.

Jack felt a headache forming behind his eyes.

“Yes.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“It’s normal,” Jack said firmly.

She looked at the pamphlet again, then at him.

“How much blood?”

“Not that much.”

“Like a nosebleed?”

“Maybe more than a nosebleed.”

Her eyes widened.

“That’s scary.”

Jack quickly reached for the small plastic wrapped square on the table and slid it toward her.

“This is called a pad,” he said.

She picked it up. Turned it over. Studying it like she could figure out what this plastic wrapper does.

“It goes in your underwear and then you peel off this piece of plastic, those are wings, it helps in keeping the pad in place, you then turn the wings so they face the outer part of your underwear."

She stared at it, then at him. "Who made this?”

“I have no idea.”

“It looks like a diaper.”

“It’s not a diaper.”

“It’s looks like one.”

Jack inhaled slowly through his nose.

“It absorbs blood so it doesn’t get on your clothes.”

She turned it sideways.

“Does it fall out?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

She kept examining it like it was suspicious candy.

“Do I have to wear it all the time?”

“No. Only when you’re on your period.”

“How long does the period last?”

“Usually a few days.”

“How many days?”

“Four to seven.”

Her mouth fell open, "Seven?”

“That's the higher average of it.”

“That’s still a week!”

Jack huffed a quiet laugh despite himself.

Yn had the sudden urge to lie down on the floor and cry, "I don’t want that.”

“Unfortunately,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “your body doesn’t take requests.”

She thought about that for a moment.

“What if I just ignore it?”

“You can’t ignore bleeding. You don’t ignore bleeding."

“What if I sleep through it?”

“You cannot sleep through days of bleeding.”

She sighed heavily like someone burdened by terrible news. And she was indeed very burdened, thank you very much.

“This is the worst thing ever.”

Jack snorted.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, yn looked at her dad again, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Wait.”

Jack immediately felt scared of the tone of that word.

“What?”

“You said pregnancy happens when there’s a baby.”

“Yes.”

“How does the baby get there?”

Jack froze.

There it was, the moment he had been hoping to delay until at least high school (even if he knew that it was unrealistic, he missed the days without internet.)

He started collecting the pamphlets and the brochures like a desperate man gathering what he could of his belongings before jumping off a ship.

“That,” he said, standing abruptly, “is a conversation for another day.”

She blinked up at him.

“You don’t know?”

Jack stared at her, then laughed.

“Oh, I know,” he said. “I just don’t feel like explaining it right now.”

But before he could leave, she asked quietly,

She shrugged, "Okay.”

“Does it hurt?”

She nodded slowly then slid out of her chair and walked around the table, wrapping her arms around him in a quick hug.

Jack paused.

His voice softened, “Sometimes.”

He blinked in surprise.

“Why was that for?”

Her shoulders shrugged against his stomach.

“I don’t know.”

Jack laughed softly and squeezed her against him before kneeling down and resting his chin on the top of her head.

She was still small enough to hug him like this, and for a moment he allowed himself to pretend that she would stay that way forever.

A year later, she knew what a period was, she was prepared. Or so she thought.

When the warmth spread suddenly during class, she assumed it was just a stomach ache until she went to the bathroom.

Her heart dropped straight through her stomach.

The blood was too bright.

“It’s your first period,” The school nurse was kind and gentle. “It’s normal.”

The nurse handed her a pad and explained how to use it. Peel. Stick. Wings. Same thing her dad told her. The words blurred together in her ears.

She nodded like she understood. She didn’t. She tried, she really did. But it didn’t feel right. It felt crooked and bulky and wrong. But she was too embarrassed to say anything.

So when the nurse asked if she was okay, she nodded again.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Eventually a teacher drove her home and waited until she unlocked the gate with her key and stepped into the quiet building.

Yn entered the apartment, heading directly to her dad's room, expecting to see him sleeping on his bed.

Of course he had to be at the hospital now. Why does he even go during the day.

“Dad?”

Her stomach cramped again, twisting sharply.

She shuffled around the room, closing the curtains before climbing onto his bed and curling up into the blanket. The sheets smelled like laundry detergent and the faint trace of his cologne, it was comforting.

She closed her eyes. Maybe she could just sleep until he got home. Maybe that would make the pain stop.

An hour later she woke up to something cold and damp, and when she looked down, her stomach dropped- the pad had shifted, there was blood on her shorts and on the bed.

Her breath hitched, the sheets.

“Oh no.”

Panic rose, she scrambled off the bed, staring at the stain like it might explode.

“Oh no, oh no no no no-”

Her eyes burned instantly as she tried to wipe the stains with the blanket, only to realise that it's making everything worse. Now it was the sheets and the cover.

She grabbed the first thing she could reach from her dad's closet, one of his black sweaters, as she stiffled her cries. The sweater was huge on her, falling well past her knees and swallowing her hands in the sleeves, but it covered everything.

She wiped her face with the cuff and grabbed her backpack before heading out.

The late afternoon air outside the hospital smelled like dust and asphalt.

She walked through the familiar glass doors, small frame swallowed by Jack’s sweater.

As soon as she stood at the front desk Lupe looked up.

“Oh hi sweetheart,” she said warmly.

She had seen Jack’s daughter around enough times to recognize her instantly.

“You looking for your dad?”

The girl nodded shyly.

Lupe smiled and came around the desk, resting a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder.

“Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

She walked her through the ER doors and handed her off to Dana before heading back to her desk.

Dana looked down- the oversized sweater, the red eyes, the way the girl clutched her stomach- she connected the dots instantly.

“Hey kiddo,” she said gently. “Your dad knows you're here?”

Yn shook her head, “Is he busy?”

Dana crouched slightly.

“Never too busy for you sweets. We can sit you down in the family room while I go find him for you, yeah?”

The girl nodded.

They had barely taken three steps when shouting erupted down the hall- two patients had started fighting.

Dana sighed under her breath.

“Stay right here,” she told her gently. “Don’t move.”

The girl nodded again, hugging her stomach as Dana hurried off to break up the fight with Ahmed from security.

The girl stood exactly where Dana left her. She sniffled quietly, pressing the sleeves of the sweater to her face. Her stomach hurt and her underwear felt weird.

She just wanted her dad.

That’s when a young, pretty, black haired doctor noticed her.

Samira slowed as she walked past the small kid. The little girl was standing alone in the hallway, clutching her stomach, eyes watery as she tried her best to hold back her tears.

Samira crouched immediately.

“Hey,” she said softly. “What’s wrong?”

That was all it took.

“I got my first period at school and the nurse gave me this thing but I don’t think I did it right and I should know how to do it right cause my dad told me and then I bled on his bed and I didn’t want him to see but I just made everything worse and now it hurts and I can’t find him and I just want a hug from my dad.”

Samira's face softened completely.

“Oh honey.”

She stood up slowly and held out a hand.

“Come on. Let’s fix this.”

Inside the staff bathroom, Samira locked the door.

“Okay,” she said gently. “First things first. Do you have a new pad?”

The girl pulled it from her bag.

Samira took it carefully and grabbed paper towels from the dispenser. She folded them, shaping them into a rough pair of underwear on the counter.

“Okay,” Samira explained softly, demonstrating step by step. “The sticky part goes like this-"

The girl watched as the pretty female doctor explained everything, eyes wide and focused.

“Oh,” she whispered.

“Yeah.” Samira said with a smile.

The girl disappeared into the stall, a second later her small voice came through the door.

“I'm sorry," she mummbled, "My underwear is soaked.”

“That's okay.” Samira reassured her before pulling out her phone.

Ten minutes later she was quietly picking up a small opaque plastic bag from the ER entrance and as she turned back towards the hallway, she nearly collided with Jack Abbot.

“Doctor Mohan,” he said. “Can you check on-"

“I’m already with a kid,” she said quickly, rushing past him. “Give me five.”

Jack blinked, and before he could respond, she was gone.

Seconds later his phone rang. His daughter's school.

Jack Abbot did not panic easily.

In the emergency department, panic got people killed. Panic made hands shake and decisions sloppy. Panic had no place in trauma rooms or SWAT teams.

“Oh my God.”

But when the school nurse said the words your daughter and first period in the same sentence, his brain short-circuited. Jack had already stopped hearing her after that sentence.

“Dr. Abbot?”

“I need to go,” Jack said hoarsely, already turning around. “Thank you.”

He hung up and immediately found Dana and Robby near the nurses’ station, talking with Ahmed.

“I have to leave,” he said quickly. “My daughter-”

Dana cut him off.

“She’s here.”

Jack blinked.

“What?”

“She came in a few minutes ago,” Dana said. “Lupe brought her through.”

Jack’s brain stalled.

“She’s here?”

"She was looking for you." Dana nodded.

Relief hit so fast it nearly buckled his knees.

“Where is she?”

“I was taking her to the family room,” Dana said, already turning. “But there was a fight and I told her to stay put.”

The four of them walked quickly down the hallway, Jack’s heart hammered in his chest, worsening as they reached the spot. She wasn’t there.

“Where is she?"

Dana frowned, looking around. “She was right here.”

Robby checked the adjacent hall. Nothing.

Jack’s stomach dropped, “Dana.”

Dana grabbed a passing nurse.

Dana’s voice sharpened immediately.

“Ahmed, check the family room. I was taking her there.”

“Have you seen Abbot's daughter? Small kid, wearing a huge black sweater?”

“Okay,” Dana said firmly. “Everyone listen up.”

The nurse shook her head. Jack’s chest tightened.

Within minutes the entire department knew. Baby Abbot was missing.

Jack moved through the chaos, opening doors and scanning faces.

His heart pounded harder with every room her face wasn't in, something inside his chest began to unravel.

Meanwhile, inside the locked staff bathroom, the world was quiet.

Samira stood in front of the sink while a very tired twelve-year-old carefully stepped out of the stall.

The new underwear fit, the pad sat properly now and the enormous black sweater covered everything else.

Samira smiled warmly.

“Better?”

The girl nodded, though her eyes were still watery.

“My stomach still hurts.”

“That’s normal,” Samira said gently.

She wet a paper towel and wiped the girl’s cheeks.

“First periods can be rough.”

The girl sniffled again.

“I bled on my dad’s bed.”

Samira’s expression softened even more.

“Oh honey.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

“I think he’s going to be mad.”

Samira shook her head immediately.

“I promise you, he won’t care about the bed.”

The girl studied her face carefully.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

Another small pause.

“I just wanted my dad.”

Samira’s heart squeezed.

“I know.”

She shifted slightly and opened her arms, the girl stepped into them instantly.

Samira hugged her gently, one hand rubbing slow circles over her back while the other moved through her hair.

“You did everything right,” she murmured. “You asked for help. You came somewhere safe.”

The girl’s shoulders relaxed against her, Samira instantly feeling the tension melting from the small girl's frame.

“You’re very brave,” Samira added softly.

“I cried a lot.”

“That’s okay.”

“Okay.”

Minutes passed then the girl yawned, all the crying finally catching up to her.

“You tired?”

Samira felt a slow nod against her shoulder. She adjusted slightly while maintaining the slow, steady motions on the girl's back.

“Go ahead,” she murmured. “You can rest.”

Within minutes, the girl was asleep against her shoulder.

Samira smiled softly. She carefully shifted, lifting the girl up onto her hip with a slight wobble. The oversized sweater swallowed the little kid whole, sleeves dangling past her hands. She looked impossibly small, Samira wanted to place the kid in her pocket.

She opened the bathroom door only to find a louder chaos than usual.

Nurses rushing, security walking quickly- nearly running into everyone- and Jack Abbot was standing in the center of the floor looking like someone had punched the air out of his lungs.

Jack ran a hand through his hair. His daughter had come to the hospital looking for him and somehow he couldn't find her.

Then he heard the bathroom door open and there was Samira, carrying his sleeping twelve-year-old on her hip. Jack’s sweater engulfing her tiny frame. Her face was tucked into Samira’s shoulder, hair messy, breathing slow and even.

“Bug?”

Samira froze. She hadn’t expected the entire department to be staring at her. Or for the night shift attending to be marching towards her like a man on a mission.

“That’s my daughter.”

“Uh,” she said slowly. "That’s-”

Samira’s eyes widened, "Oh.”

“She came in earlier,” Samira explained quietly. “She told me she got her first period and couldn’t find her dad.”

Jack brushed his hand gently through his daughter's hair.

“I bled on your sheets,” the girl mumbled sleepily without opening her eyes, "I'm sorry."

Jack’s heart melted.

“That’s okay, bug,” he whispered immediately. “I don’t care about the sheets.”

She sighed against Samira’s shoulder.

“Told you,” Samira murmured softly.

Jack finally looked up at Samira, she was still holding his daughter carefully, one hand supporting her back.

“You took care of her." he said quietly, tone full of appreciation.

“She just needed someone to explain things slower.”

“Thank you.”

Samira smiled faintly.

“She’s a good kid.”

“She is." Jack said, voice thick.

His daughter stirred again, eyes fluttering open just enough to see him.

“Can we go home?” Her arms reached out immediately.

“Of course.”

Jack carefully took her from Samira, cradling her against his chest. She curled into him instinctively, still half-asleep.

“Your sweater is comfy,” she mumbled.

He laughed softly, kissing the top of her head.

“You stole it.”

Samira stood there for a moment, warmth blooming in her chest as she watched Jack hold his daughter like she was the most precious thing in the world.

The girl peeked over Jack’s shoulder at her.

“Thank you,” she whispered sleepily.

Samira’s smile softened.

“Anytime.”

Jack looked back at her.

You spent the entirety of your mid to late teen years obsessed with God. With purity. With salvation. Your parents dragging you and your brother, Leon, to church must've eventually struck a cord with you. Ever since the youth pastor chewed up that bubblegum and offered it around to everyone, making the point that nobody wanted a tainted 'treat,' the idea of staying untouched seemed to just click into place for you. Your body was a sacred thing, not to be touched or looked at lustfully by any man. 

Complete abstinence is easier than perfect moderation, as the great St. Augustine said. Why not swear yourself to chastity? A bond of complete celibacy, of purity, promised by you to your Lord.

Unfortunately, your big brother didn't seem to feel the same way.

Leon was your exact opposite, in the way that he couldn't spend a night alone. While you would sit in your room, reading or studying like a proper girl, the wanton sound of a random female companion of his would rip through the paper thin walls of your parent's house. Every night, or what felt like it, he would bring home a 'date,' as you called them, though, he would sooner call them 'easy sluts.' 

You weren't easy. Leon liked that about you. Every crude joke he made at your expense, wether at the dinner table or in the brief expanse of the hallway near your rooms, you shut down immediately. You were too maidenly for your own good, and unafraid to show it. Oh, he really liked it. Not like those other whores he'd snatch up on the way home, were you? His boyish, smug grins did nothing to bring you, his darling little sister, to your knees in the way it did other women your age. 

Maybe that was why he did it— bringing those girls over. He knew good and well you could hear them— hear him— through the thin walls. He could tell based on the way you looked at him with scornful eyes the morning after as he accompanied the umpteenth girl of his to the front door, tactfully kicking her out with the promise of calling her back. Of course, he did no such thing, the womanizer that he was. He'd wink at you. Taunting you. 

Maybe he did all of this to tempt you, to show you what you were missing out on. Maybe he was sending you a message. An offer? No. The more likely option was that he just liked to tease you. Yes, that seemed more 'brotherly.'

It was another night. Another sleepless night of being tormented by the lewd sounds coming from your older brother's room. You could practically hear the individual squeak of every spring in his old mattress as he used whatever girl he had with him now. You heard her muffled voice. Poor girl must've had her face pushed into the pillow. Maybe she was ugly. Leon always let the pretty ones look at him while he sexed them up— you could tell because you heard their voices much clearer in the night. 

It was nearly melodic. Hearing almost every movement between the two. You could piece it together in your mind, and before you knew it, you had your eyes tightly shut, imagining the scene.

You pictured it in more detail than you thought the Lord would be appreciative of. You saw your brother's toned back with his tapered waist, his taut muscles clenching and coated in a slick sheen of sweat as he worked his hips against a faceless girl's heat. It was a dance. You seemed to imagine it more passionate than it sounded. Where the girl next door was certainly getting pounded, your imaginary girl was being treated tender and soft. Gentle strokes accompanied by a firm grasp. 

You were yet again reminded the next day of how much different your real brother was to the version of him your mind conjured up the previous night. Not nearly as sweet, that was for sure. 

You pushed into his room, not bothering to give him the dignity of a knock. That was another thing he liked about you. For how meek and God-fearing you seemed to be, you could be a real bitch to your dear ol' brother. He found it sort of funny, the juxtaposition between how you really were and how his lackadaisical manner made you act. 

"We need to talk about your girlfriends," you said, slamming his door behind you. The breeze caused by the door made a few of his classless pin-up girl posters swish upwards, hanging on for their lives against the black walls of his room by the tiny scraps of tape he stuck them with. 

"Don't have any," Leon said casually, legs spread and arms over his chest. He tossed a baseball up and down, catching it in his palm as he leaned his head against his headboard. 

You huffed and stomped over to his bedside to snatch the baseball. He let you grab it, shooting you an amused grin as you palmed the ball far too big for your hand. 

"Well, whatever you want to call them—"

"Let's just call them whores, yeah?"

"I'm not going to call them that," you spat, eyebrows raising into your hairline. "Your 'friends.' How about that? Your 'friends' need to stop coming around. I can't live like this. I can't sleep!"

"Awh, poor thing. Your grade in 'prissy bitch' class must be dropping now. Y'fall asleep during your stick-up-the-ass exam, college girl?" he asked, nose scrunching teasingly as he eyed you. He reveled in how your offended look grew. 

"Can you take anything seriously, you ass?" You dropped his baseball to the floor and kicked it under his bed, to which he mumbled 'bitch' and an additional explicative or another under his breath. "Last night was ridiculous. I didn't get a wink of sleep. These walls aren't nearly as thick as you act like they are."

"Oh, you heard that? What, it turn you on or something?"

You stilled, arms rising back to cover your chest defensively. It didn't turn you on, per se, but it did something, that was for damn sure. You weren't about to confess that to Leon, though. Not if you had a choice. 

"No, it did not 'turn me on,' Leon. Do you hear yourself when you speak, or does everything come out on instinct?"

"Instinct. So, Virgin Mary, what're you harassing me about now? You don't enjoy the sweet, sweet sound of random chicks getting smashed?"

He sat up straight, back flush to his headboard now as he turned to face you. 

You got a good look at his features. Looked a lot like your dad. Score! Perfect excuse, suddenly coming to mind.

"No, I don't. I'm sure daddy doesn't appreciate it either," you said, trying to guard yourself with the veil of your father. 

Leon snorted. "Well, I guess daddy dearest will just have to come tell me himself then, won't he? Seems like he's too drunk nowadays to hear anything," he said, voice nearing bitter territory. 

"Don't talk about dad like that," your voice taking on a more protective edge in your father's defense. "He's going through a rough time. He doesn't need your shit."

"And I don't need yours. This whole abstinence thing has your horse pretty high, you know." Leon shifted his legs over the side of his bed, elbows resting on his knees. Most of the humor he had left in his voice had drained out, being replaced with a seriousness. "You aren't slick."

You narrowed your eyes at him, eyebrows pinching together. "What are you talking about?"

"Come on, sis," he said, mocking tone lacing the nickname, "we both know who you're saving yourself for, and I've been real patient up until now. I'm not gonna wait forever."

You wanted to repeat yourself, you wanted to ask just what the hell he meant by that, but he interrupted your train of thought.

"You think I couldn't hear you listening like a little pervert? Hell, even before I started bringing girls home. I couldn't jerk off without seeing you peeking through the crack in my door. Like I said, you aren't slick. You act like you're all hard and saintly, but you're just a nasty pervert, aren't you?"

So many thoughts ran through your head. So many emotions. Embarrassment, for one, at the fact that he knew of your dirty secrets regarding him. Anger at how casually he was airing this information. A strange warmth, as well, at how he teased you. You should've been screaming at him, at twisting this around on him, but you couldn't. 

"I'm sorry," you managed to squeak out, eyes dropping to your feet in shame. 

Leon just hummed in response, clearly not in dire need of an apology. In fact, he looked rather unfazed, like it was no problem for him at all.

"If you want to apologize, you can bring your little ass over here. Sit down, pervert."

"I don't know why you're acting so fidgety about this. You give it up to dad all the time, what's so different about me?"

Fuck. Leon really knew everything about you. This entire night was like having someone read your diary out loud to you, hearing every 'secret' you thought you had kept so well. 

"Shut up," you said, eyes clenched shut tightly as Leon curled his fingers up against your g-spot again. You bit back the urge to whine or moan. With how much he was teasing you, you didn't feel that he deserved the satisfaction. 

"Wonder what everyone would think. Daddy's good girl is good for more than she lets on, huh? Bet everyone already knows. There's no way a girl like you hasn't been taken before. Ain't a man on earth who wouldn't try it, y'know?"

You hated how that made you tighten around his fingers. Was that really what made you cum? Your brother calling you rapeable? The entire situation was so far out of your wildest imagination. A far cry from what the other girls he entertained had experienced, you were sure of that. 

Or, maybe, the way that he let your face upwards was what did it for you. Last you remembered, the rule was pretty girls faced up, ugly girls got flipped. Guess that counts for something. 

"I'm real fascinated by your pussy," Leon said after a few moments of silence. He was sitting between your legs, cock sprung free from his boxers as he kept his fingers plugged into your hole. He watched as your hole continued to kick and squeeze over his two digits. 

"I can tell. You won't stop lookin' at it," you mumbled, trying and failing to prop yourself up on your palms. 

"Not what I meant. Just meant it's pretty."

You don't know why you blushed at such a meaningless, near-objectifying compliment. A small part of you said that if Leon had seen so many in his life, and he said yours was pretty, then surely that meant something. You felt honored, in a weird way. 

"Bet it'll be even tighter around my cock."

"What? No, no, we can't do that, Leon," you said quickly, pulling away from his finger with a squelch. You tried to pull your panties up, but he stopped you. 

"Who says?"

You thought about it. You wanted it, sure. Really bad, actually. So, who says? Who said that you couldn't take a brief pause from chastity? You quickly told yourself what you said each time your father got a little too drunk a little too late a night and missed your mother a little too much. 

"Just be gentle," you said, exactly how you would on the nights where you looked a little too much like your mother. 

"Don't worry."

You expected to feel his cock swab against your folds. You expected to feel the eerily familiar pinch and stretch of being penetrated, but it didn't come. Your walls clenched almost eagerly around nothing. 

Instead, your eyes widened in shock at the feeling of a finger trailing around your asshole. Leon aimed his head forward and spat a fat glob onto your rim, rubbing it around to coat your hole. 

"Wait— Leon! Don't do that," you whined, feeling him finger sink in and stretch the ring of muscle. 

"You aren't a true-virgin anywhere else, sis. I wanna pop this cherry before someone gets to it before I do."

God, he was cruel. What was crueler was the way he prodded another finger into your hole like it was nothing. At least he had the awareness to spit again, coating the middles of his fingers in an attempt to ease the pain in your end. It worked, as well as spit could. 

His head dipped down and his tongue latched to your clit, giving it a few purposeful sucks before pressing a kiss to it too, piercing eyes looking at you from between your thighs.