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auspicioustidings · 7 months

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Services/Goods of Equivalent Value

Summary: You decide to renovate a crumbling farm house into a teashop, not realising there is a military base right down the road.

Work Count: 3.9k (this was completely by accident)

CW: None, the whole thing is a fluff piece

This was probably crazy. It was definitely crazy right? People didn't actually get to pursue their passions and have their dream job under relentless capitalism, that wasn't a thing right? So then why did you think that you could be different? Especially standing on this road (dirt path really) looking at the crumbling wreck of a farmhouse with only one suitcase and a backpack to your name.

The property had already taken a chunk of your savings and you'd need every penny of the rest to try and turn it into what you imagined. You walked over the threshold and took a breath. It was a rainy day, the puddles on the floor evidence of the holes in the roof. Parts of the floor were cracked and rotting. Only one window had managed to stay completely intact, the rest either totally gone or cracked beyond repair. But when you turned the tap and found that after a heroic sputter the water did flow through you grinned.

It didn't matter how the small space looked now, it mattered what you could see in it. You got to work.

You threw the screwdriver on the ground and huffed, stopping your feet like a child. This was the 5th time you had attached the new front door and the 5th time it was wrong. It wouldn't fit in the frame properly. You kept plaining down the edge gingerly, taking off a tiny bit at a time so you didn't go too far, and every time when you propped it up it seemed like it fit until you actually added the hinges.

"Ye ok there hen?"

Oh that was embarrassing, there was a man on the road. He was jogging in place, pausing what must have been a run judging by his workout gear to give you a bemused grin. You flustered a little, wildly gesturing to the door in accusation. You had every good reason to be in a huff, the door was being a dick.

He laughed at you and you blew out a breath before groaning and slumping down to hug your knees and bury your head there in embarrassment, your voice muffled.

"I don't know what I'm doing wrong, it just won't go on."

You heard warm laughter and then footsteps coming towards you. Felt a hand gently petting at your head in a 'there there' gesture.

"I wouldnae expect it tae. It's the wrong type of door for this frame."

You unburied your head and looked at him, aghast.

"But can't I just make it smaller? I've been making it smaller. I really love that door."

"Aye that would eventually make it fit, but it's an interior door, wilnae dae fuck all to keep the elements oot."

You groaned and just accepted your fate, falling back on your ass and then laying star fished on the ground to stare at the sky. You were bone tired. You'd laid the floor, it was crooked as hell. The windows were fitted but two of them just did not open properly and you couldn't figure out why. You had given up on the leaks, putting buckets down for the moment and hoping the next downpour would hold off until you could come up with a solution.

It wasn't like you weren't trying your hardest, but it was just so much all the time and you wondered why on earth you thought you could do this. A shadow fell over you as the man leant to look at you with a smile.

"I can help ye with the door" he offered, holding out a hand which you took to shake from your spot on the ground, telling him your name. "Nice tae meet you, John MacTavish."

"I can't pay you John MacTavish, so thanks but I'll figure something out."

"Wisnae offering for pay hen, just tryin' tae help a damsel in distress."

You considered him for a moment before hauling yourself up and making your way inside, motioning for him to follow. You started tearing through the place to find a pen and paper, clearing tools and assorted nonsense off of the countertop to lay the paper flat.

Johnny took the place in with some sense of awe. Last time he saw this place it was basically a ruin and he had to hand it to you, you had done a half decent job with it. There was charm in all the flaws, made the place feel undeniably cosy. He noted the buckets, would have to fix the roof. He wasn't any good at that kind of work, but hadn't he seen Rudy doing roof work on one of the safe houses before? They were due a visit from Los Vaqueros soon, he'd ask him to come help. Wasn't too far a trip, this road was a half hour run from a small off record military base the 141 tended to use when they didn't feel like being miserable in some rules bound grey prison of a base.

Rudy was a bit like him, always loved a project. He tried to figure out what exactly you were doing with the place. The counter looked like a bar of some sort, maybe a shop?

"Ok John, here you go" you said, presenting the very hastily written contract.

I, the undersigned, agree that I will pay in full Mr John MacTavish for works carried out either in monetary value or services/goods of equivalent value as soon as I have the means to do so.

"Services and goods eh? Wit ye selling?"

"Once I get the place fixed up, tea."

Johnny couldn't help but grin at your expression. You were so determined and so excited about the prospect, like the idea of it had completely re-filled your energy. Cute.

"Add coffee to the menu and you have a deal."

You liked Alejandro immediately and immensely. John, or Soap as you were now calling him and honestly you had no clue why, and Rudy were absolute terrors together. You actually did enjoy being around them, but my God if it didn't tire you out something awful. It was impossible not to be high energy with them, bouncing around and laughing and having fun. But when Alejandro had joined he had calmed you down, allowed you to take it slow and easy after days of feeling like a live wire.

With the roof fixed and a front door that worked you were able to start actually unpacking the suit case you had brought into the place months ago. Two kettles and your favourite tea set along with a big copper pot you loved, some utensils and some hand blended tea. It wasn't a lot, but being able to make that first pot of tea almost made you cry.

You were extra attentive, making sure it was brewed perfectly before going outside to find the others. You were nervous, the first time you had felt that way around them. None of the three were much for tea, that you knew.

"Hey I... uh, I made tea. I don't actually have any coffee just yet but I promise I'm going to get some soon! It was just in the meantime, if you wanted something to drink. Tea I mean, if you wanted to drink some tea. Which you do not have to" you rambled, trying to give your best winning smile to the three men currently working away at one of the windows. The ones that you couldn't open you had installed completely wrong so they had taken to reinstalling them.

Johnny and Rudy were content to watch you ramble away, seeing you like this being new to them so choosing to enjoy it while it lasted. You were adorable like this, heart on your sleeve telling them that it was important to you that they enjoyed something you had made for them. Alejandro only smiled and pulled off his gloves, stuffing them in his back pocket and going over to you.

"We would love some tea, it's the first time you've made it here no? Thank you for trusting us to share it" he said warmly, watching how you visibly relaxed. He liked that he could have that effect on you.

"Well if the boss says we drink tea then we drink tea" Rudy laughed, him and Soap following after.

You reckoned that if he went by first impressions, Simon Riley probably thought you were the biggest airhead he had ever met. In your defence though, you had the worst cold known to man when he had come round.

The place was looking great, but the fireplace wasn't done yet. As you had been since starting this project, and as you had been hiding from any visitors, you were sleeping in the building in a sleeping bag on the floor. It was getting bitingly cold and you were bundled up in layers whenever you went to bed. You could not afford to rent somewhere nearby while this was going on and to be honest you hadn't really thought ahead to what you would do when you actually opened the place. Probably just keep on sleeping on the floor, or maybe once you got furniture on one of the cosy armchairs you wanted to get.

He had made a house call when you were miserably sipping at a hot chocolate. Rudy had taught you how to make it, a recipe from Mexico. It was gently spiced and beautifully warming and smooth, but with your current cold you could barely taste it, hence the misery.

"Y'should really lock the door, I could be a murderer walking in here."

The man who had walked in was tall, in full tactical gear and wearing a balaclava with a skull on it. Probably was a murderer.

"Please put me out of my misery Mr murderer."

You honestly hadn't meant to say that to a complete stranger, but it felt like your head was stuffed with cotton wool instead of grey matter today. Thankfully he only chuckled gruffly instead of fulfilling your request.

"And then where would I get more of whatever tea Johnny brought back to base?"

Johnny. Right, this must be Ghost then. Soap talked about him sometimes, said him, Gaz and Price liked your tea which had made you jump up and down in excitement at the time. Your signature blend had taken you years to get just the way you liked it. Soap had also said something about Ghost having a mask, so you at least assumed this wasn't one of the other two.

"Oh right, let me get you some to take away with you. Hang on" you said, going to pack some of the leaves up into a little brown bag for him.

You put it on the counter and then went into the cupboard, grabbing the mug you had gotten in a Halloween sale. It was a white mug in the shape of a ghost, two little eyes on the front. You ladled in some of the hot chocolate from the pot on the stove and put that on the counter as well.

Ghost watched the whole thing with concealed amusement. He had genuinely come to get some of the tea, he liked the blend and they had run out of what Johnny had brought. But he had also come out of curiosity. It was clear Johnny was fond of you from the way his eyes lit up when he'd tell them all what he had done with you that day whenever he would come back to base. Rudy and Alejandro too when they had been visiting seemed enamoured, tense from mission planning right up until a visit to you would have them coming back relaxed and happy.

Part of him had been hoping to scare you a little showing up the way he had in gear and mask. It was probably because you were clearly sick, but you weren't treating him like something scary. No, you were sluggishly getting him tea and then giving him hot chocolate in a cute little ghost mug.

"You shouldn't be working sick, definitely a health and safety violation."

"Place isn't open yet so not technically working."

"In that case, thanks for the hot chocolate."

When he left, he took off his massive cosy looking jacket and draped it over your shoulders without a word before grabbing the bag of tea and taking off.

You tried a bunch of names for the cat and none of them seemed to fit just right. The scrappy little thing started hanging around the place when you started leaving out snacks for it and you found you enjoyed the company.

The place was nearly ready now, interior cosy and furnished with a bunch of mismatched furniture you had thrifted that somehow managed to match the vibe very well. With the fire going the place glowed just the way you had always dreamt it would, and the way the scent of tea clung pleasantly to the air was more than you could have hoped for. Simon and Soap had helped haul a lot of the furniture, but they had been gone for a month now. You really hoped you would see them again so you could show them the place now, completely transformed from when they last saw it.

Cosy enough now for this cat to enjoy at least. She even had a favourite spot, one of the wing backed armchairs by the fireplace.

"How about Binks?" you asked her, currently leaning behind the counter and mulling over a cup of tea.

In response the cat only yawned and blinked lazily at you.

"Ok, not Binks then" you laughed, taking a sip and sighing in contentment. Honestly who knew if you'd ever get customers, this place was completely out of the way, but you were proud of what you had created. Dirt poor, but proud. You'd open soon you thought, actually give this a go.

The cat eventually stretched and padded over to the door, looking over at you expectantly.

"Alright alright, time for you to go wherever it is you go" you said, going over to open the door and let her out.

There was a giant on the other side of the door and you all but jumped out of your skin in surprise. The man looked like he had been considering knocking, just as surprised as you were for a moment. Purring broke you both out of your surprise, the cat butting up against the man's legs.

"So this is where you've been getting to Herzogin" he said to the cat, leaning down to give her some scratches which resulted in more purring before she went right back to her spot on the chair, leaving you and the giant stood at the doorway alone.

"Is Herzogin her name? I'm sorry, I thought she was a stray" you said with a slight smile, hoping you hadn't accidentally become a catnapper.

"She is a stray of kinds, the base nearby feeds her sometimes so I got used to having her around is all."

"Oh my God the base! That makes way more sense now, I didn't realise there was something like that nearby."

So that's where all these men had been coming from. You wondered if that meant Ghost, Soap, Rudy and Alejandro weren't stationed there anymore or had been moved. The military wasn't something you understood, but you assumed they must move around a lot. Did they have a home base of sorts? Was it selfish of you to sort of hope the one near you was a home base for them?

"If they had told us about this place we would have visited" the man said as if in apology.

"Oh no don't worry, I'm not actually open yet. I'm just sort of practicing drinks until I work up the nerve" you laughed. "Do you want to try something? I'm best at making tea, but I've been trying out coffees and hot chocolates as well."

You moved to unblock the doorway, inviting him in and telling him your name. He said you could call him König. Luckily this place had high ceilings so he could experience the cosiness without it being cramped for him.

König found the next few hours to be some of the most calming he had experienced in years. He wouldn't deny that he enjoyed the bloodthirst of battle, it gave him a manic energy that suited him. But there was something to be said for letting himself be fully off duty. It was nice to teach you how to make Einspänner, laugh at your pronunciation of it and have you laugh back rather than be nervous around him for his size or his reputation. Sipping his drink by the fire with a cat in his lap and you softly telling him all about your big plans for the place if it started to do well was something he hadn't known he had been yearning for.

He knew him and the others in Kortac were only here a few more days, the 141 being gracious in allowing them to use their base to lay low while they handled the absolute mess happening in America just now. The whole thing had at least given the teams an uneasy alliance for the time being. Maybe he'd put some effort into keeping that alliance going so he could visit again.

You knew that you should do some sort of advertising for an opening, but the idea was overwhelming. Instead you just quietly popped a little open sign by the door and went about your day as normal. You would probably get nobody coming in because nobody knew this was here and that suited you fine. It felt like once 'opening day' was over and the pressure of it was out of the way, then you could actually seek out customers and not feel like it was as big a deal.

If zero people showed up your first day then the only direction was up right?

Only two people did show up. Price and Gaz. They had greeted you warmly like you were an old friend, explaining that they knew Soap and Simon who would be home soon but that they wanted to visit themselves. They seemed to like the place which made you happy, both settling in at one of the tables and chatting amicably away with you while you made their tea.

Herzogin didn't seem to care that there was company, barely even looking to check before curling back up in her spot happily purring away.

Captain Price found he liked this place immediately. It struck him as bordering on fantastical, seeming like a tea shop from a fantasy novel on the inside. It was an hour at a brisk walk to get here but he regretted not making the trip sooner, imagining that any customer who had come once would certainly become a regular regardless of distance. It was a relaxing spot, almost nostalgic feeling.

For Gaz the place was lovely, but he was more fascinated with you. He had wanted to visit before, had tried to tag along with Ghost and Soap and been denied. He reckoned he probably knew why now, bastards were being selfish and keeping you all to themselves.

"Is it always so quiet for you on weekdays at this time?" Price asked at some point in the conversation, watching the pretty blush that stained your cheeks with interest.

"Oh well technically, this is the first weekday I've been open at this time. It's actually sort of opening day? I mean I didn't really advertise or anything, I wasn't actually expecting anyone to show up if I'm honest" you replied sheepishly.

"It's a soft open then, just to test everything out yeah?" Gaz said gently.

"I think that's an idea. This can be your soft open and then in a week you can open proper. That way Ghost and Soap can be here for it" Price added.

Both of them were giving you such soft looks that you couldn't help but agree with them, settling on a date in a weeks time for a real opening. When the conversation turned to how you would advertise they had promptly told you not to worry about it with a knowing look to one another.

Every seat in the place was taken and the tables and counters were overflowing with sweets and snacks from all over the world. Bukkumi, halva, berlinerkranser, churros, shortbread, teacakes, all brought in for everyone to share. You were so busy making drinks that you didn't even register how ridiculous it was that you were happily hand fed bites of different desserts every so often by whoever happened to be near you when you stopped to fill a cup or mug.

It was nice to see everyone you had met again and to meet new faces. Herzogin took it all in her stride, figuring out quickly who she liked. You hid a laugh seeing König huff when she curled up in Simon's lap. The official opening was by all accounts an outrageous success and everyone absolutely overpaid on their bills regardless of your efforts to stop them.

Farah promised to teach you how to make the halva while Horangi swore that the bukkumi would remain a trade secret and you'd just have to hire him next time he was in town to make it for you. Aksel had rolled his eyes at the Korean man and pressed a kiss to your cheek in thanks for taking care of them. Kate smacked Soap upside the head when he immediately made a beeline to give you kisses as well which made you laugh before blushing and pressing a quick peck to his cheek when he pouted about it.

When everybody was finally out of the door you were absolutely exhausted. By the time the sound of the last car leaving faded away you were already done with tidying all the plates and cups away to the sink. You'd deal with the cleaning up tomorrow, you were far too beat to even consider doing it now. Giving Herzogin a kiss on the head after you had gotten ready for bed, you curled up in the chair by the fireplace, crashing out hard almost immediately.

"Told you so."

"Ye always have tae be right about everything don't ye LT."

"Alright. Get her in the car would you Sergeant."

"Right-o Captain, we kidnapping damsels now?"

"It's not a bloody kidnapping you cheeky bastard. We're putting her in a proper bed for the night and taking her back in the morning once she's made a bad attempt at explaining herself."

"She can take my room."

After some discussion on that point it was decided that you would indeed take Ghost's room with the reasoning it meant nobody would disturb you. They could hardly put you in one of the empty rooms where anyone might walk in. Everyone who they had invited for the opening was staying at base and they were not about to risk the likes of König or Rudy figuring out you were sleeping under the same roof as them. They'd avoid that for as long as possible.

Tomorrow they'd let you sweat a bit and then tell you in no uncertain terms that you'd be staying with them for the time being until they could build you an extension to your shop with a proper living space. You could pay them back with services/goods of equivalent value after all, and they could think of plenty of ideas for what that looked like.

#cod #cod au #tf 141 x reader #konig x reader #los vaqueros x reader #fanfic #truly I was in a very cosy mood this evening and could do nothing but write about cosy vibes #shan't apologise #mhairiwrites

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tatashaktee · 27 days

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Gutter - Tata Shaktee

Protect your home and harvest rainwater with Tata Shaktee Gutters. They efficiently collect roof drainage, prevent leaks, and support rainwater harvesting systems.

Visit at: https://tatashaktee.com/product/gutter/

#Tata Shaktee drainage solutions #Tata Shaktee rainwater harvesting #Tata Shaktee rain gutter system #prevent roof leaks #leak-proof gutters #rainwater drainage system #storm gutters

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roguelov · 1 year

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Laughter and Ruin

Summary: After a ravaging storm, the poor church of Crockett Island had gained a few leaks. So being one of the few construction workers still on the island, Beverly Keane asked if you could repair it. You agreed. It was better than nothing, and to be honest it got you a closer look at the newest member of the island: Father Paul Hill. So, what will happen after spending some time together? What will happen with this unusual tension building between the two of you?

Word Count: ~7.7k

Reader: Fem/afab

Warnings: Smut (oral (female!receiving), fingering, priest kink, praise kink, light exhibition kink, minor dirty talk, unprotected sex, riding, switch!reader), mutual pining

MINOR DNI/ 18+ ONLY

Banging.

A constant, grating, banging pounded violently somewhere off in the distance.

You groaned from the warmth and safety of your bed. You initially chalked up the banging to a loose piece of wood rapping against your home due to the fierce storm last night, however it was too consistent. It was rhythmic, a simple tune.

After a few more grueling minutes of banging, you had finally come to the unfortunate conclusion someone was at your front door. It was all but shortly confirmed when your name was shouted from the other side.

Fuck.

You rolled out of bed, and shuffled down the hall to the front door. The storm raged nearly all night and you - what felt like minutes ago - had just fallen asleep, only to now be awoken by a demanding stranger. Whoever they were, they were not your favorite person in the world at this moment.

More irritating knocking.

“I’m coming!” You shouted, and grumbled a string of curses under the next breath.

I swear -

You flung open the door.

To your surprise, Beverly Keane stood on the other side with her fist raised about to cause more commotion. Beverly was never your favorite person to begin with, so this irksome early morning encounter didn’t change much. The two of you were cordial at best, but never friends or even neighbors for this matter. So, to see her on your doorstep was a miracle in itself.

You leaned on your doorframe in your baggy, stained, clothes compared to her neatly pressed blouse, hand knit cardigan, and ankle length skirt. You crossed your arms, eyeing her curiously. “Morning, Beverly, what can I do for you?”

She lowered her fist and cleared her throat. “I’ve come to possibly ask for your assistance for a certain task.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

Her lips thinned. “The church has some possible leaks. Early this morning, Father Paul had noticed some puddles and suspected it to be from holes in the roof. We were hoping you could give your professional opinion on them and fix them however you see fit.”

“And what about Sturge?”

Sturge was more of Beverly’s choice in these types of matters. Although he was a construction worker much like yourself, he also dealt - and you believed preferred - with managing all the boats of Crockett Island. While, you preferred the land.

“Yes, well, Sturge is a busy man dealing with the Bell and the Breeze. So, you are the next best logical solution to our problem.”

You hummed a faint ‘Ah’.

“So?” Beverly paused. Disdain flickered behind her beady eyes then asked, “Will you help?”

You weren’t a churchgoer, or very religious in general. You had an inclination that Beverly would rather swallow rusty nails, then deal with your apparent skepticism and the sin which trailed along behind you. Yet, here she was. She had swallowed those nails, put on a strained smile hoping you could help, while secretly praying you wouldn’t.

So, why would you say no, giving her that satisfaction?

“Yeah,” you answered swiftly, pushing yourself off the doorframe. “Give me like an hour to get dressed, get something to eat, get my things together, and I’ll be over.”

She smiled, that awfully pained one. “Great, the Father will be happy to hear it.”

“I’m sure he will. Later, Beverly.”

She simply hummed, spinning on her heel and walking off in a slight puff.

Shutting the door, you rubbed your temples and reluctantly began your day.

After your typical morning routine, you headed outside to your garage - or refurbished shed. It was no bigger than your bedroom, and somewhat cramped. But, it was enough for you, your work, and your hobbies. Opening up the double doors, you strolled in and yanked on the pull cord. A single bright light flickered on it the center of the room, and was quickly followed by a stream of soft orange glow. The top corners were strung with hanging lights, similar to fairy lights.

A smile tugged on your lips.

Your workshop.

You truly spent more time out here than in your own house; which was shown by the stack of dirty cups and plates left behind on your workbench. Wood chips and dust covered them as unfinished projects leaned up against the tower of dishes.

You turned your attention to the far corner of the shed to a bulky blue tarp. Walking the few short paces, you yanked it off revealing a golf cart underneath - one with a few modifications. Perfect for any weather: rain, wind, or sun. It was one of, if not the only, vehicle on this island. Most people walked to where they needed to go: to the general store, to the ferries, or to the church, that was it.

Not much to do, or explore, on Crockett Island.

Your cart had become a staple on the small island, from time to time it served as fun rides during community get-togethers or the go-to for helping lug around stuff. The backend had a trunk bed perfect for all activities but now was filled with tools, all of which was from your last job - helping redo the sign of the general store. Items you were honestly too lazy to put back in their proper places. But, not all the items.

You quickly scoured through your shed and piled other possible tools you may need as well as securing the ladder in place. You pushed open the double doors as far back as they could go, picked the keys off the nearby hook, and started it up. The cart rumbled to life. You backed out carefully, hopped off to shut the doors, then sped off down the dirt path.

You arrived at the church in what felt like seconds.

Tires kicked up mud as you parked out front. You looked around hoping to find the Father - or the newest one: Father Paul Hill, the temporary replacement for Monsignor Pruitt until his health returns. But, unfortunately, you doubted it. Pruitt had withered, and stories swirled about his deteriorating state of mind.

You sighed, and turned off the cart.

Better to start then wait around.

You grabbed your tool belt, and the ladder, then strolled over to the side of the church. You unfolded the ladder and extended it out, leaning it against the green tinted, once freshly painted white, wooden boards. You slowly climbed up and -

It slipped.

Your heart sank.

Luckily, it only slipped a few inches.

The rubber ends of the ladder slid across the still dewy grass; a quick settling.

Shaking your head, you let out a shaky breath. You cursed under your breath, and climbed - scrambled - up the ladder faster than before. However, up top, you paused. Inhaling the smell of the wet earth, you sighed loudly. A smile stretched over your lips. Spinning around, you were king of your own world. Nothing could touch you. Nothing mattered. Up high, the after storm breeze kissed your cheeks. It blew through your clothes and hair uplifting you. You closed your eyes, tilting your head back. The sunlight, through the moving clouds, warmed your chilly skin.

This.

This was one of the few perks of working in construction.

Opening your eyes, you lowered them to the roof, one that had seen better days. Time to work. You carefully treaded over the shingles to the back corner. You decided to work your way up, inspecting every inch and spot these leaks Beverly spoke of.

One there.

And there.

And -

A minor sinking feeling weighed in the pit of your stomach. Maybe, you should have told Beverly no. It wasn’t much work, but it would be busy, tedious work. Then again, you supposed being busy was better than no work at all.

After marking all the leaks and the areas for new shingles, you finally reached the front of the church roof. You carefully walked up to the edge, your fingers found purchase in the grooves of the tower for the church bell. A bell which hardly ever rang these days. You could recall on your hands alone the amount of times the brass bell rang, most of which were for funerals and the occasional rare wedding.

You casted your gaze up to the cloudy sky, watching as the grey clouds skated across it and taking the muggy cool air with it. Treetops, still bare and preparing for spring, swayed and bent. You cautiously leaned closer into the tower, trying to enjoy your world in the clouds.

Footsteps clapped.

Your eyes instantly dropped.

Father Paul climbed down the steps of the church, heading for the path.

“Hello, Father.”

Father Paul jumped and spun around. He looked left and right until he finally turned his gaze upward to you. You smiled down at him. He quickly matched your smiling, chuckling to himself. “I was wondering why I was hearing thudding earlier. I had forgotten Ms. Keane informed me you would be inspecting the roof today.”

Seeing how I didn’t know until this morning, it’s not a surprise.

“Yeah, just me up here. Not Santa or God knocking.”

He laughed, shaking his head.

In that brief moment, you had unknowingly decided you always wanted to hear his laugh.

Father Paul Hill was handsome with a kind, charming face. A face of a good hearted person, a face perfect for a priest. You only caught glimpses of him, but you knew the second your eye laid on him your heart was stolen.

Stolen by a saint.

A true tragedy.

“So,” he placed his hands on his hips, “what’s the damage?”

You hissed through your teeth. “Ooo, it’s going to be expensive. New roof, new everything, and it will cost you a lot of money.”

His shoulders dropped along with his smile. “Oh, well, I guess that should have been a given. It has been around for -“

“I’m joking!” You cut him off. His sullen face was a stab in your heart. You had hoped he caught into your sarcasm, and teasing tone, but he hadn’t. “I’m sorry, I was just messing with you, Father. It’s just a few small holes which is a pretty easy fix. I could get started tomorrow.”

His eyes lit up. “Oh, oh! That’s great to hear. Sorry, humor is not so prevalent in the church.” His lips twitched upward. Humor may be zapped from the church, but not from him, not entirely.

You snorted. “Right.”

“Ah, Father, have you made all the arrangements for the service?”

Both you and Father Paul turned your attention to Beverly approaching.

She glanced up at you, her smile tight. “(Y/N), how lovely it is to see you again. I bet the view from up there is one of a kind, especially on a church roof. Higher to God than anyone else here.” She clapped her hands in front of her. “So, what can you tell us about the roof?”

You opened your mouth, however, Father Paul answered for you instead. “Expensive, far, far more than either of us could have anticipated.”

He threw you a sly smirk. You had to bite back your smile. But, Beverly simply sighed with her usual frown. “Of course, it’s an old church, not a spring chicken like any of us here. I suppose we could funnel some founds -“

“Bev, I’m joking.” Father Paul interrupted. “(Y/N) said it is an easy fix and can start tomorrow.”

Beverly blinked. “Oh!” She then smiled widely with far too many teeth. “You are a trickster, Father Paul.”

She chuckled.

Father Paul rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly.

Beverly turned her beady gaze back onto you. “A quick repair, I hope?”

You best complete it quickly.

You smiled, almost sneering at her. “Yes, I can get it all done tomorrow, it’ll just be a couple of hours. I can make a call to Sturge to pick up a few things on the mainland for me and bring it back on the Breeze. The rest I can pick up at the general store or I already have it back at my house.”

“Perfect.” She looked back to the Father. “Well, if everything is good then I’ll be off. I will see you later, Father. And have a pleasant day to you, (Y/N).”

“See you around, Beverly.”

She nodded then walked off down the rocky path.

Back to her cave.

“Well, is there anything you need?”

Your eyes wandered back to Father Paul. His eager - always ready to assist - eyes bore up at you. Eyes of a priest devoted to the community. You smiled. Warm, and welcoming, so unlike the short one you gave Beverly. “Actually, yes.”

He perked up.

“Can you just hold the ladder for me? It slid a few inches earlier from last night’s rain and it’s probably okay now, but I don’t want to risk it.”

“Of course.” He rounded the church and you followed him from up on the roof. He latched onto the end of the ladder, peering up at you. “Okay, I got you,” he smiled up at you.

I got you.

Three simple words never made you feel so safe, so seen. Your heart flipped in your chest at its little innocent crush. You, however, quickly brushed aside those thoughts and feelings. Gripping the ladder, you made your slow, careful descent.

Father Paul watched for a moment, almost unsure where else to look. His heart skipped - a flutter, an ache. He quickly glanced away, finding interest in the damp grass, in the tiny water droplets, not in your body, not in -

“Alright, Father, you can back up now. I’m good from here.” He was jolted out of his thoughts and stepped back - two large steps. You hopped down the last steps and twisted around smiling at him. “Thanks for the help.”

“No problem.” His heart hammered, lodging into his throat. It pushed, and constricted his airways, similar to the sensation forming in his pants. A sensation he had long since forgotten.

Or tried to.

“Well, I guess I will be back tomorrow morning. Until then, Father.”

“… until then, (Y/N).” He mumbled.

He slowly retreated to his rectory, however he kept glancing back. He watched as you effortlessly folded your ladder, lifted it up, and hooked it to your cart. You were fluid like a dancer: spinning to pick up the tool bin, swaying your hips to scoot around edges, hopping to the tips of your toes to secure everything down.

It was hypnotic to watch.

He swallowed, pushing down old feelings.

You jumped into your cart ready to go. Yet, you couldn’t help it. You peered over your shoulder. Father Paul awkwardly stood on the porch, he gave a lopsided smile and waved. A warmth spread over your chest. You returned the smile - brighter and fuller than his - and waved goodbye before driving off.

Leaving you both excited for tomorrow to come.

The next morning, Father Paul leaned on one of the posts on his porch overlooking the scenery: low fog skirted over the ground; the sunlight streamed through the trees, not yet quite high in the pale clear sky. He clutched a hot cup of coffee, hugging it for warmth. He inhaled the steamy bitterness, and sighed deeply.

This was one of his favorite pastimes. To pause, to breathe, and to watch.

But, there was another reason. One he didn’t dare speak out loud.

He was waiting for you.

He wanted to see you before he truly started his day. He wanted to see your smile, and how it reached your eyes making them crinkle. He wanted to hear your voice, and how it sang above all the other bland white noises. He wanted to be near you, to feel your presence, and how it warmed his body and soul.

He wanted to see his walking desires.

The one person who haunted his waking and sleeping mind. The one person who distracted him from his purpose, his path.

He itched.

He itched - like an addict - to get a glimpse of you.

He sipped his coffee, hoping it could soothe the itch - the need.

It didn’t.

It didn’t even compare.

He eyed his watch. He sighed, as his shoulders drooped. There were things to do, and he shouldn’t waste any more time. He spun on his heel, taking two steps towards the door.

Rocks and pebbles kicked up, bouncing and rolling across the path. The crunching grew louder and louder. Tires screeched to a grinding halt.

Father Paul whipped around. His fingers immediately retracted from the doorknob.

Your cart pulled up to the church, parking crookedly. You hopped out and stared up at the old church. A determined smile crossed your lips.

The Father’s heart skipped.

You, however, had yet to see him. So, you started to set up a workstation with a table and an assortment of tools and supplies. You grabbed the ladder and propped it against the church, giving it a good shake ensuring it would hopefully not slip this time.

You twisted back around.

A figure was caught in your peripheral vision. You glanced over. It was Father Paul. He stood on his porch, watching you. He was still in what you assumed to be pajamas: grey sweatpants, plain white shirt, and a muted blue cardigan pulled over his shoulders.

So domestic. So ordinary. Right then, he was a face that would get lost in a crowd. A man who woke up for work at a boring office job. Not a man who dedicated his life to faith.

Your heart fluttered at the rare sight. You waved at him, smiling.

He smiled, waving back.

Your eyes soaked in his appearance, one last time, before turning and getting to work.

Father Paul hungrily scanned you up and down, one last hit, and walked indoors.

You walked over to your cart, grabbed a pair of headphones then pressed play on your phone. Fast pace music, a heavy bass, flooded your ears shaking off the rest of your morning exhaustion. You bobbed your head along to the beat, smiling to yourself. You laid out a tarp at the side of the church for any debris. You clipped on your tool belt, hoisted a pile of shingles over your shoulders, and climbed up the ladder. Stepping onto the roof, you moved around setting yourself up.

The music uplifted you, it energized you.

It also trapped you within your own secluded world. You failed to notice a bump, or hear a bang.

Unaware of anything, you strolled over to the first leak and got to work. You removed and tossed the old shingles over the side into the blue tarp. You patched and fixed the roof underneath, then started laying out and nailing in the new shingles. A mindless task. One shingle, a few nails, another shingle, more nails - it was an easy pattern, an easy rhythm which matched your music. But, when you reached over you found nothing, you were one shingle short.

You sighed heavily, groaning internally.

You stood up and walked towards the ladder and -

You froze.

Where’s the ladder?

Carefully, you peered over the edge. The ladder in question was sprawled out in the grass like a drunken fool passed out after a rough night. You pinched the bridge of your nose.

Of course. Of fucking course.

You looked back down. You were way too high up. Even if you managed to dangle yourself over the edge - without damaging the roof more - you would still seriously hurt yourself. Fuck me. You crouched down, trying to peer into the Father's cabin. Maybe he is still home. You didn’t see him leave, but then again you didn’t notice knocking over the ladder.

You grumbled.

You couldn’t see anything from this high angle. All you saw was the bottom of the door and the porch.

You sighed, and pulled off your headphones. “Father?” You called out.

Nothing.

Your lips thinned. “Father Paul?” You shouted louder this time.

Seconds ticked.

Your nerves rose.

“Father Paul -“

The front door burst open. Father Paul, poor Father Paul, stumbled out wide eyed.

And halfway through his morning routine.

His raven hair was damp and slicked back. His typical attire - black button up and jeans - was half done. His sleeves were rolled up and the top few buttons were undone, exposing his chest speckled in water droplets, and a used face cloth was tossed over his shoulder. His face was hastily wiped clean, missing spots of shaving cream under his chin. Yet, his chin still sported a five o’clock shadow.

He was fresh out of the shower, and about to shave.

You almost felt bad.

Almost.

An intense heat spread over your chest to the tips of your ears.

Domestic just like before, but far from ordinary. It was scandalous - sinful. Like a behind the scenes picture no one should see, or it would shatter the illusion.

Your thoughts swirled widely out of control. Thoughts of watching him shave as you leaned on the bathroom door and him catching your loving gaze in the mirror, maybe you even offer to help when he missed a spot; thoughts of him in the shower then stepping out wrapping a towel around his waist and running his fingers through his wet hair as water drips down his back and chest; thoughts of you hopping into the shower with him and helping wash away the dirt and day away; thoughts of -

“- the problem?”

You snapped out of your thoughts. You peered down. He stood at the side of the church, glancing up at you. His eyebrows knitted together, and his eyes - those warm brown chocolate eyes - filled with concern. You cleared your throat, “I’m sorry, Father, I didn’t mean to …”

To what? Frighten him? Break him out of his routine? Have these lewd thoughts? You felt there was a lot to apologize for.

“Nonsense, don’t apologize, you called for me. So, what seems to be the problem?”

“It’s honestly not that big of a deal.” You sighed and joked, “It seems the ladder and I are fighting again. It doesn’t want to cooperate today.”

Father Paul looked around to see yes it was knocked over buried within the grass. He snorted. “So it seems.”

“Could you please just lean it back up against the church for me?”

He placed his hands on his hips, smiling up at you. “I will, but you should invest in a standalone ladder, one that can support itself.”

“I should, but good old reliable never steered me wrong before.”

“And yet here we are.”

You chuckled, “Yeah, I guess you got me there.”

He smiled, shaking his head. He walked over and picked up the dysfunctional ladder. He carefully placed it against the church, but he didn’t let go.

You smiled down at him. “You can let go. It shouldn’t fall this time.”

“And I’m not taking any chances.”

“Suit yourself.”

He did.

In the guise of being the generous helping hand, he stayed put. His fists tightened, the metal edges burying into his palms, as he watched you. His heart skipped - flew. It leapt out of its rusty cage and fluttered happily around. It was dizzying, more so than yesterday. And it was also wrong, he almost felt like a peeping Tom. But, disgust had no room in his heart.

Before you could speak, Father Paul gingerly stepped back giving you the space. You landed firmly on the ground, and spun around smiling at him. “Thanks … again.”

He smiled, tilting his head. “Anytime.”

The two of you shared a moment.

A moment of rising tension. It buzzed in your chest and over your skin. It crackled in the air, the beginning of an explosion - a ticking time bomb.

You, however, quickly stepped in, snipping the wires to defuse it.

Hopefully, the correct ones.

You tore your gaze away. “Right, well, I guess I’ll get back to work. I’ll holler again if I need anything.”

“Please do.”

You tried not to stare, tried to keep those sinful thoughts at bay. So, you simply smiled and nodded, afraid of your own voice at this moment.

Father Paul smiled back then turned around heading back inside.

You greedily drank him in with his back turned. His jeans were far too tight for a priest. He ducked inside, shutting the door behind him.

The thud of the door broke you out of your trance. You sighed, banging your fist against your head. As if to try and knock out these thoughts, these persisting thoughts. So, you instead put your focus back into your work.

Something the Father should also be doing. His to-do list only seemed to grow. Yet, when Father Paul finished his morning routine, he stood by his window watching you.

He watched as you glided around - floating with a hum in your throat; watched as you swayed your hips to your music; watched as you patted your forehead dry with the edge of your shirt granting him a glimpse of your body; watched as you stood on the roof staring off into the woods or up at the sky; watched as you drank your water and splashed yourself a bit to cool yourself off; watched as -

Watched as desire planted its intoxicating roots deeper within his heart.

Everything - everything - you did was captivating. He simply couldn't tear his eyes away. It was his own personal play, show, or movie he wouldn’t dare blink or glance away fearing to miss a single important detail.

You stood on the new patched roof with your hands on your hips. A proud smile wormed its way onto your lips. Your work was finally completed and flawless. Satisfied, you stepped down the ladder, tossing your headphones on your makeshift workbench. You grabbed your water, taking a long needed swig.

“Is it safe to say you completed your repairs?”

You turned, looking at Father Paul. You swallowed the last of your water, and placed it on the bench. “Yeah,” you breathed out.

“Impressive,” he glanced over to the church, “you accomplished it far quicker than I thought you would. But, I should have expected this from one of the best.”

Your cheeks warmed a little under his praise. “Yes, well, it was a simple fix.”

He smiled, softly. “One that I couldn’t fix. I would probably have made a bigger hole if I was up there.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Well, I don’t think I could talk for hours in front of a crowd every week. We all have our own strengths.”

He blinked, surprised by your comment, then chuckled. “Yes, I suppose you are right.”

You truly loved his laugh. The deep rumble, like the sound of angels blowing their trumpets.

“Actually, I have something to ask of you before you go.” He shuffled side to side. “I think there is a draft coming through the bedroom window, do … do you think you could take a look at it?”

You had nowhere else to be, so you nodded. “Sure.”

You followed the Father into the small cabin and into the back to the bedroom. Your mind tried to wander with distracting thoughts, but you focused on what the Father asked of you.

And not on where he slept.

You ran your fingers over the window, examining it while Father Paul hovered in the doorway.

There.

A breeze blew from the lower left corner.

“Yeah, I can feel a breeze right here but nothing a little caulk can’t fix. And lucky for you Father I have some with me.”

“A true miracle.” He joked.

You snorted.

You shot up and brushed by him - ignoring how your skin flared being so close - to go back to your cart to grab a tube of caulk. Walking back in, you showed him the tube with a triumphant smile. He laughed a little to himself.

Back in his bedroom, you crouched down to your knees in front of the window. Your fingers trailed along the edges, finding the correct spot. Here. Air whistled. A chill blew on the pads of your fingers. Lifting up the tube of caulk, you sealed off the corner.

“This should do the trick,” you said out loud. “And looking at this, I would keep an eye out for any more drafts. Maybe in a year or two someone should replace the frames, it looks like the salty air and weather in general has worn them down a bit.”

You temporarily set the caulk on the floor to inspect your work. Perfect. You turned to ask the Father if he needed anything else when you were met with darkness.

Well, darkness of jeans.

Your eyes trailed up.

Father Paul loomed over you. He bent slightly looking at your handiwork. His eyes dropped, connecting with yours. He smiled, “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind for Monsignor.”

Your breath hitched.

He was so close.

With you on your knees, in front of him, it sent a whirlwind of emotions rushing through you. Your mouth dried. Those thoughts from earlier happily returned.

Swallowing nervously, you slowly rose to your feet, all the while unable to break eye contact with Father Paul. He never stepped back. He only straightened his back giving you the thin room to stand.

A shared bated breath passed.

The tension returned; the explosion now imminent.

Your feverish heartbeat rang in your ears.

Say something.

Move.

Yet, all your reasonable thoughts vanished at the mere possibility of what could happen.

Then Father Paul’s eyes flickered. A quick jump, a flash to your parted lips. He was enthralled, fascinated by the plump curves.

The detonator stopped ticking, and was shortly followed by sweet destruction.

Like a coiled viper, Father Paul leapt. His hands cupped your face, fiercely pulled you in.

His lips meddled against yours.

You hummed, fluttering your eyes closed.

Your feet stumbled backwards and your back hit the wall. Like horny teenagers, both of your hands touched every part of each other’s body.

Father Paul broke the kiss - and you almost whined - but his lips quickly moved to your jaw and down your neck. Sighing, you craned your neck and bunched up the front of his shirt. His surprisingly nimble fingers unclipped your tool belt, sending it crashing to the ground with a thunderous bang.

That should have been the warning. That should have snapped each of you out of your haze.

Yet, it only fueled you both.

Like a dinner bell.

Father Paul nipped at your neck, enjoying your shallow breathy sighs. Your hands caressed his chest. You, however, were craving more. Lust was injected into your veins; all by a certain someone sucking and marking at your neck. But, his shirt and those pesky buttons were in the way. You tried to undo - tried, and tired, fumbling them with your shaky hand. Frustrated, you ripped open his shirt, sending buttons pinging onto the floor. Your cool hands ran over his hot skin. He hummed, nuzzling his face into your neck. Taking a low steady breath, his fingers greedily unbuttoned your pants. You pushed off the wall, forcing him back.

Clothes started to fly off.

You shimmied out of your pants and removed your shirt. Father Paul tossed aside his ruined shirt. He ripped off his belt and awkwardly kicked off his pants. It left you both only in your undergarments, but you could only be apart for so long.

You grabbed Father Paul’s face, bringing him in for another kiss. Far messier, more needy. He groaned. His hands splayed on your lower back, flushing you against his body. He was desperate to have you as close as possible. His hand inched up, following the curve of your back. His fingers easily unhooked your bra, and easily tossed it aside.

He soon guided you over to his bed. The back of your knees hit the edge and sent you tumbling backwards. You flopped onto the springy mattress, staring up breathless at Paul.

And he looked down at you like you were his meal.

He crawled over top of you, stealing another kiss. Painfully short, but still so sweet. He then followed a downward path. His lips down your neck, down your collarbone, and down the valley of your breast. Smirking, he moved and wrapped his lips on one of your nipples, swirling his tongue around it.

You moaned, threading your fingers through his hair.

He smiled, eager to hear such noises.

His lips ghosted over your skin to the other breast so it may receive the same treatment. You hummed, tightening your grip into his hair. And ever so slightly, you nudged him downward.

He chuckled.

His eyes flickered up.

You bit your lip, unable to hide your excited smile.

Maintaining eye contact, he continued to kiss down your body, down your stomach, over your hips, and where you wanted him most. His hot breath blew over your clothed core, sending shivers down your spine. “Fuck,” you whispered.

He smirked.

One of his fingers hooked around your underwear and slowly slipped them off, throwing them into the pile. He peppered delicate kisses up your inner thigh, and jumped to the other side missing where you needed him.

You whined.

He nipped at your thigh, marking a place only he was allowed to be. Your fingers tangled into his hair, yanking on those dark locks. He groaned. His eyes peered up at you. You squirmed, and wriggled. You whispered a plea - a prayer.

Paul couldn’t deny you - or himself - any longer.

His mouth dove in.

You moaned out his name.

His tongue slipped between your wet folds, instantly addicted to your taste. He devoured you, devoured you as if it was his last supper.

You bucked your hips.

His hands latched onto your hips, holding you down as he ate you out. He hummed, and moaned, sending toe curling vibrations throughout your body. He threw one of your legs over his shoulder, burying himself further. His nose rubbed against your clit, bringing about such dizzying pleasure.

You tugged on his hair, chanting his name.

He moaned. He could and will get drunk on this, drunk on your taste. Worst of all, he will always want to hear how his name tumbled off your lips. He loved how it rolled off your tongue, loved how you whimpered, loved how every sound you made was a fuel to a growing fire. Even now, the tent in his boxers was painful. Every moment, the smallest twitch against the rough fabric, sent pleasure through him.

And oh, how he wanted you.

But, he also wanted to savor this.

He pulled away from you.

You whined. You were so close. You cracked open your eyes, peeking down at him. His lips and chin glistened. His wonderfully pink lips curled into a giddy smile, his eyes twinkled like a child given an early Christmas.

His finger slipped inside of you.

You moaned, arching your back as your hands now clenched the bedsheets.

His smile widened.

However, a light knocking cut through all the pleasure.

Tap, tap, tap.

Your heart dropped into your stomach. Your head snapped over to thankfully - and surprisingly - find the bedroom door pulled almost all the way closed, just the tiniest sliver left opened. You could only see the corner of the desk, and the adjacent windowsill but nothing more.

When was it shut?

The front door creaked open followed by footsteps.

The Father, however, was undeterred. His movements were a constant rhythm, a slow unwavering beat.

You threw your forearm over your mouth, muffling any noises from slipping out.

Footsteps crept closer to the bedroom door. A shadow passed over the crack. “Father? Father Paul, are you in here?”

Beverly Keane.

Paul stared directly at you as he spoke. “I’m sorry, Beverly, but I’m a bit indecent at the moment.”

“Oh!” Her footsteps retreated back to the front door. “Apologies, Father. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“That’s okay, Beverly.” His thumb swiped over your swollen clit. Your body reacted, grinding down on his thick fingers. Yet, you viciously bit down on your forearm preventing any moans from escaping.

The front door creaked again. But, it did not shut nor did you hear her footsteps fade away. Beverly hovered in the doorway, clearly still in need of something. “I’m so sorry for barging in, but I was hoping you may have any insight about the repairs and (Y/N), has she finished yet?”

Paul’s once sweet, charming smile shifted into a devilish smirk. His eyes locked onto your shaking frame, desperately trying to hold it together, while his fingers were buried deep inside of you. He curled his fingers. You dropped your hands, twisting them into the sheets as you bit down on your lip about to draw blood.

“No, she hasn’t.” His eyes sparkled with such mischief.

“Of course.” Beverly replied, with a knowing - I had expected this - tone.

“It will get done,” Paul answered quickly. His voice was so soothing, and so calming. Oh, how lies easily spilled off his silver tongue. Especially for one devoted to faith. “She ran to the general store for one thing she had unfortunately forgotten, and will be returning shortly.”

“Right.” She only sounded convinced because of the Father’s words. “Again, I wish to apologize for intruding, I will be on my way now. I will see you later, Father.”

“Good day, Beverly.”

The door softly clicked closed.

You squeezed your eyes shut, still biting your lips as you tried to listen to Beverly’s fading footsteps and not the wet sounds or encouraging hums from Paul. His fingers curled and -

Your mouth fell open, unleashing a wanton moan. “Fuck.”

“I’m impressed,” Paul hummed, stroking your walls and feeling as they clenched nearing your release. “Not a single peep out of you when we had a guest.”

You wanted to curse at him.

You wanted to scream.

But, you couldn’t muster anything with his fingers still inside of you. Not when he moved faster, not when he whispered praise, not when he watched you hungrily. You were at his mercy.

“I’m curious,” he said nonchalantly, watching as his fingers continuously disappeared inside of you, “what would you have done if Miss Keane saw us? Hide? Run? Deny it … let her watch?”

You whimpered. You didn’t like Beverly, but the idea of her finding you in bed with the Father sent a course of excitement through your veins.

You were the temptation for Father Paul’s demise.

It empowered you, it thrilled you.

Paul smirked. He knew it turned you on, watching as you shivered and squirmed. He licked his lips, “Personally, I believe she would combust, it would be utter blasphemy in her eyes. And yet -“

You moaned, bucking your hips.

“- how could such sweet sounds be blasphemy? This is divine, this is heaven sent, this is a culmination of God’s intervention and work.” He let out a shaky breath. “And you, my dear, are God’s finest work … so beautiful … so lovely.”

You whined at his praises, at his buttery words.

“My dear, will you please come for me?” His thick fingers pumped in and out, curling and caressing you - edging you. “I want to see it.”

You wanted to - god you wanted to, just for him. You grinded down on his fingers as pleasure filled you.

“Yes, just like that,” Paul cooed. “God, so beautiful, so elegant.”

His thumb curled around your clit in a constant rhythm. You gasped, burying your face into the sheets. You cursed and moaned. “Paul,” you whined.

“I’m here, oh please, be good for me.”

His words, his touch.

It pushed you over the edge.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you arched your back and fired out his name as you gushed over his fingers. Stars. Brilliant bright stars erupted behind your eyelids. Bliss, heavenly bliss, coursed through you.

Paul beamed, gently working you through your orgasm. Your chest heaved as you gulped for air. All of this was his doing, all of this was because of him.

He removed his fingers.

You whimpered at the loss of sensation. Your mind swam, still foggy in the hazy bliss. Faint movement rustled; the bed creaked and dipped. Cracking open your eyes, Paul crawled back on top of you. Your heart jumped into your throat.

You had it wrong earlier.

No.

You were not the temptation for Father Paul.

He was the temptation. He was the devil in disguise, he was the serpent whispering in your ear.

He smiled down at you. He bent down, kissing you softly. You humming lovingly. Your hands cupped his face, your thumb gently stroked his cheek.

He then, without warning, teased your entrance with the tip of his cock.

You gasped.

He chuckled, his eyes lit with sin.

He did it again.

You bit your lip, suppressing the lewd moans from escaping.

“Please,” he dropped his head, whispering into your ear, “I want to hear you.”

Your heart skipped.

But, you also wanted to hear him, to hear his moans. You wanted to see him fall apart, you wanted to see bliss washing over his features. Most of all, you wanted to pleasure him, to give back what he gave to you.

Thrilled by the idea, you hooked your leg over his waist and flipped him - quite easily - over. Paul flopped onto his back, his arms thrown out to the sides with his usual combed back hair dangling in front of his face. His eyebrows shot up.

You smirked.

In this new position, you took control and lowered yourself onto him, watching as his surprise melted away to pleasure. His eyes fluttered close, and his mouth hung open. His hands latched onto your waist as his fingers dug into your hips to find grounding in this high.

You moved languidly. Enjoying how he craned his neck back, seeing his veins pop in his neck, and how his lips - perfect and eloquent - fall open into a blubbering incoherent mess.

Your hands rested on his chest, and you rose and slammed down.

He moaned, followed by a string of curses.

Not very Fatherly.

You smirked to yourself, and continued to move up and down. He whispered your name, strained on his lips. You closed your eyes, letting your own pleasure take control. You tossed your head back as you bounced on his cock. He lazily opened his eyes, a tired smile stretched over his lips. Your back arched, your head tilted up to heaven. It was like a renaissance painting, the perfect depiction of lust. “Divine.” He mumbled.

You opened your eyes, looking down at him.

He was still smiling.

A warmth bloomed over your chest.

You leaned down and kissed him. You slowly pulled away, leaving a thin space between the two of you. “You are the one that is divine,” your thumb ran over his bottom lip, “divine and ravishing, and the best kind of temptation there is.”

You sat back, smirking at his dumbfounded face.

You rolled your hips.

Paul stuttered out a moan.

You knew you loved his laughter, but you might love his sweet moans more. Paul’s nail dug into your hips. “Good god, please don’t stop.”

You wouldn’t.

You moved with new vigor. Every one of his moans and pleas stoked the fire burning inside of you. He soon met your pace and thrusted up. You leaned your hands on his chest, moaning. Your nails scraped down his chest, leaving faint red lines carved into his perfect skin.

He shivered.

You bounced on his cock faster listening to the wet noises and skin smacking together. It was all nearly drowned out by your racing heart, by the intense hum of soon to be all-consuming pleasure, by the high pitched creaking of the old bed springs.

Paul thrusted up again.

“Fuck,” you moaned.

You moved faster, wishing to reach your end and his. Your legs began to shake, yet Paul’s steady hands guided you along, kept you moving. He groaned, his cock twitched inside of you. He whispered hastily, “Please, don’t stop, god you’re doing so good. I’m -“

Paul moaned as you rocked your hips.

“God, please do that again,” he begged.

You did.

He whimpered. “Fuck.”

You did it again, and again, and again.

Paul gasped. He couldn’t hold it back much longer. He was nearing his end. “I … I can’t last much longer.”

You reached a hand and cupped his face gingerly. You smiled softly, “Good.”

You bit your lip and used the last of your energy. You pounded yourself against him. He moaned, and easily matched your pace. You wanted to collapse into him. To let his body, his flesh, his mind, his soul consume you.

“God, you are beautiful,” he muttered, “please I want to hear you one last time.”

You shivered.

Your walls fluttered around him, a final warning.

He whispered your name over and over like it was his only prayer. You moved once, then twice, and then he finally fell. He cried out your name, forcing your hips down and bruising them in the process. Your walls clamped down around him. You moaned loudly, as more heavenly bliss filled you. Fuck. Your movements now slow, and weak, as you ride out your combined highs. Until finally, you stopped exhausted, yet with his cock still buried deep inside you.

Heavy breathing filled the now quiet space.

Paul stared up at you. Your head was still bowed forward as you catched your breath. He licked his lips. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles on your hips, guiding you back down to earth.

He wanted to see you like this indefinitely.

To hear such sweet melodies.

To see you every day and every night.

To always touch you and hold you knowing you were his and his alone.

He licked his lips, a little nervous, as this seed of hope and want began to bloom. He cleared his throat, “You know, I think the sink is also broken if you wish to come by tomorrow. It drips constantly.”

You lifted your head. You stared at him, stared into his pleading eyes. And you simply couldn’t help it. You laughed. You laughed wholeheartedly, shaking your head. “I see the church still hasn’t taken your humor yet.” You bent down, hovering over him. Your lips skimmed over his, “I’ll be here.”

“Good.” He smiled and pulled you down for another kiss.

Yeah, he was temptation.

The best kind.

#midnight mass #midnight mass smut #father paul hill #father paul x reader #father paul smut #monsignor pruitt #monsignor pruitt x reader #afab!reader #fem!reader #smut #midnight mass imagine #father Paul imagine

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gyusimp · 1 year

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°•Heart Fireworks•°

New Year Special One-Shot (NSFW)

I'm not gonna be at home during New Year so i leave this now. Thanks for all your support, i love you and Happy 2023! 💖🎆🎉

It was about 15 minutes to 12 o'clock. You had been fast asleep for about 2 hours next to Gyutaro in your bed. The weather at this time of year is usually very cold, outside the air froze the city and a thin layer of frost adhered to the windows of the houses in the neighborhood and to the roofs of the cars. The doors and windows in your room were locked. Before you went to sleep, you decided to turn on the heating. It wasn't something you used often to avoid some increases in your electricity bill but because today was a very cold day you decided to make an exception, besides, Gyutaro was your guest today and you didn't want him to feel uncomfortable inside your house.

You had made this small gesture to be nice to him but you didn't know that he was actually going to have some problems. Gyutaro's house is rather simple in that it doesn't have any heating system, air conditioning or anything like that so he has become forced to learn to sleep in any weather. Usually, he doesn't mind the cold, actually, it helps him to fall asleep sometimes but if there was something he couldn't deal with it was the heat. Gyutaro tossed and turned on the bed trying to find a comfortable position to sleep but nothing worked. His forehead was wet causing parts of his bangs to stick to his pale skin, the sweat on his abdomen was dampening his sweatshirt, and his sweatpants were getting too heavy. He had already thrown to hell the sheets that covered his body but even so that unbearable heat did not disappear. Gyutaro thought it would be better to turn off the heating but he didn't know how those fucking devices worked, he had never used one and he didn't want to wake you up for such a stupid thing either.

Finally, Gyutaro gave up. He fumbled off the socks and sweatshirt he was wearing and threw them on the ground feeling somewhat angry. He settled back on the bed and sighed irritably. Gyutaro looked at you, you were asleep next to him and apparently you had also warmed up because you took off the sheets like him and you were only wearing your underwear and a basic tank top. Gyutaro did not take his eyes off of you, he watched your curves perfectly accommodated on the mattress and your soft breathing while you turned your back on him.

Gyutaro's breathing began to shake as well as his pulse, he could perfectly feel how after a few minutes looking at you a small tent formed under his pants causing him more pressure and heat. He felt very horny now, just by looking at your body he could imagine many things. Suddenly, something came to his mind. There is one thing that helps Gyutaro relax when he is alone and that on more than one occasion has helped him fall asleep or even relieve minor headaches. One thing led to another so if he now had a solution on his hands, literally, then he was going to use it.

Gyutaro's legs were bent and spread, he lowered his hand and placed it on top of his clothed member. He began to rub against the cloth causing chills to run down his spine. The friction between his palm and the cloth against his dick was driving him crazy, and he began to rock his hips gently to melt in his own careless touch. His lips parted to gasp from his mouth as pleasure began to fill his body. Gyutaro placed his fingers on it and move the fabric in different ways to get more of the desired sensation, making him feel even harder. He moaned silently, very careful not to wake you up, he closed his eyes, throwing his head back and feeling a pang in his stomach, he decided to put his hand under his pants and underwear to have direct contact with his cock. Touching himself, he could feel that he was already wet and that some of his liquid was leaking between his fingers. Gyutaro fucked his fist hard but not hard enough for you to notice how loving your boyfriend was giving himself behind you.

His back arched and his legs began to shake, he knew that in a very short time he was going to cum and he wanted to be aware of it. For some reason, Gyutaro likes to watch the exact moment his orgasms, if he can do it. That motivates him to keep going more and more until he's completely satisfied, no matter if he's with you or completely alone he loves to see his thick release coming out of him, sticky and warm and dripping onto his fingers. He enjoyed these moments alone when he felt aroused enough about something and luckily his sister was away from home, he could come into his room and fuck himself as much as he wanted until he felt satisfied. Right now, he couldn't enjoy it like he normally does. He felt a little stupid touching himself when you were next to him, but you were asleep and he wasn't going to wake you up just because he was horny. Gyutaro knows that it's very difficult for you to fall asleep so once you do it, he won't bother you at all. He will let you continue sleeping but that does not mean that he will not use you for his dirty deeds.

Gyutaro hasn't taken his lewd gaze away from you since he started, imagining you in thousands of positions for him, your face with particular expressions and the sound of your voice like when you moan because of him.

You were the last straw that broke the camel's back. His touch began to get harder and faster making him gasp and suppress a bunch of moans that struggled to come out from deep in his throat. Gyutaro was on the edge and in one movement he took his dick out of his boxers and his pants, observing his erection under the dim light of the moon between his slippery fingers. Once again, before cum, Gyutaro looked at you. He looked at your messy hair on your pillow, your bare shoulders and arms, your curvy waist so that your hips rest sensually on the bed, your short tank top exposing the skin of your lower back to him as well as your buttocks; the way your tight little black lace panties dipped into your butt was killing him, the pressure that the elastic made on your skin made him go crazy.

Your butt urged him to sink into you, Gyutaro's hand was faster. A fleeting thought but daring enough to make him think passed through his head. If he cum over you, would you feel it? Would you wake up or was your sleep so heavy? He had been moving around a lot and making sounds and until now you were still sleeping without any worries so that made him feel confident that you wouldn't wake up. Gyutaro approached to you and got into the big spoon position behind you but without wrapping his arms around you. He took his cock in one hand and placed the tip right in the middle of your butt, on top of your panties to begin rubbing against you as he continued to touching himself. After a few minutes the pleasure was indescribable, Gyutaro was in heaven and he knew that after this he would finally be able to sleep like never before no matter what. A burning sensation settled in his abdomen causing him to arch his back and close his eyes with force, he pressed his lips as much as he could, about to bleed his lip with his teeth from the force that he exerted, when he could no longer he covered his mouth tightly with his hand as he let out a muffled moan as he cum on top of you.

His hands trembled, his chest heaved up and down as if thousands of fireworks exploded inside his heart when he finally cum over your ass. Gyutaro lay back down next to you resting one of his muscled arms on his forehead trying to regulate his breathing with his mouth open. He was a bit tired so he was about to close his eyes but when he felt that you started to move, he was alerted immediately. You were sleeping peacefully when you felt a warm and thick sensation on your clothes that was wetting them at the same time, you managed to wake up so you turned around to face your boyfriend. At first you didn't think about it, you supposed that you probably sat on a wet chair in your dreams or something similar but when you opened your eyes you could see Gyutaro in front of you, with his naked dick sticking out of his pants.

You weren't angry, maybe a little surprised but not angry, rather, you felt flattered that you were able to arouse your boyfriend even while asleep and without putting a single finger on him and thinking about it had made you feel horny to you now. You looked at Gyutaro, he was a bit embarrassed for having used you so he apologized to you almost inaudibly and you approached him.

"Aaww, was my boy needy? Poor him."

Now the area between your legs was throbbing, you put one hand under your head to lean and with the other you ran your fingers over Gyutaro's chest, tracing the outline of his marks seductively. You continued with his ribs, his ripped abs and his pelvis until you stroked his dick. Gyutaro lay down on his side to face you, you two looked at each other for a few seconds and then your lips collided with his in a passionate and wet kiss. You cupped Gyutaro's face and he cupped yours, both licking your lips and opening your mouths slightly to make the kiss more intense. You put one of your legs on top of him and pulled him closer to you to start rubbing your dressed pussy on him.

Gyutaro lowered two of his fingers and tucked them under the center of your panties to feel your warm, wet labia against his skin.

He began to rub with the back of his fingers until thanks to your juices, his fingers slipped more and more inside you until he reached your clit where he began to pull him with a little rudeness but without hurting you. You did nothing but gasp while he touched you, he did all the work with his fingers and you just had to move your pretty hips. Gyutaro placed his hand between your legs to touch you better and place his thumb on your clit tracing circles over it on top of your panties, wetting them more and more. You moved closer to Gyutaro to move with your knees and climb over him until you straddled his hip. He took his hand from between your thighs to place his hands on your behind and grope you more roughly and needily. You gently arched your back as you got up and sat on his cock to rub yourself against it making Gyutaro feel hard and horny again.

Sometimes it was still hard for him to have sex with you. Not because he didn't like it, but because he still couldn't believe that you loved him that way and that what he considered disgusting about himself managed to turn you on. He always considered himself ugly, disgusting and grotesque with all those spots and marks painting his body, his sickly pale skin and how his bones were sticking out in some parts of his body so having a girl as cute and sexy as you sitting on him and riding him really turned him on. He was even more aroused to think about how someone as ugly as he would dirty and contaminate you with his seed, he could stain you inside and out as he wanted and you would be the happiest woman in the world with that, you would always agree to anything he wanted to do to you and sometimes he would take advantage of that.

Your waist moved on your boyfriend, your panties moved inside you and this began to squeeze you uncomfortably, you wanted to take them off but if you stopped you would lose all the progress you had gained. You decided to continue when you saw Gyutaro's expression and since he didn't take his eyes off you, he looked you up and down, enjoying every inch of you, how your thighs wrapped him while you rode him and the lace of your panties on your skin. You were not wearing anything under your little white tank top, your breasts stretched the elastic fabric over your chest and in some parts your skin was transparent under the top, leaving your nipples exposed despite not having taken off your clothes.

Gyutaro took your tits with his hands to start squeezing your nipples between his long and thin fingers causing several careless moans to come out of your mouth, he put his hands under your top to feel them better and then he removed the garment leaving your bare breasts. Gyutaro sat down and took you by the waist to change places, now he was sitting astride you but after a moment he got up. You sat up as he got up and stood up, Gyutaro grabbed your thighs tightly and pulling your legs dragged you to the edge of the bed so that your legs dangled from the mattress as he squatted on the floor in front of you. Gyutaro's large, slender hands went to the lace top of your panties to yank them down and slide them along your legs to fling them to the floor afterwards. You weren't ready, when you felt Gyutaro's face sink between your legs heading straight for your cunt, his movement caught you off guard so that made you moan louder than usual. Gyutaro licked every part of you as if there was no tomorrow, as if this was the last night in his life that the two of you would be together. There came a point where you were completely blinded by the pleasure that only he could give you, you took the small ponytail of his hair and brought it closer to you so that he could continue with what he was doing. This man was eating you alive and you loved it, his tongue ran every inch inside your wet and slippery cavity and his teeth took your folds causing an electric current throughout your body.

But when it comes to sex, it's never enough for the two of you. Gyutaro pushed you so that your back touched the mattress and spread your legs to the limit to plunge into you again, Gyutaro had become addicted to your taste once he had tasted you. In addition to his tongue, he introduced two fingers inside you, you were already wet enough so he did it without warning. When you felt that he was inside, your senses exploded. Your hips began to move almost by themselves to be able to feel him in every corner of your core, you could hardly speak.

"Aa-ah Gy-utaro...keep going, t-to the bottom...I think I'm gonna cum!"

It wasn't necessary for you to tell him, he knew perfectly well that you were going to do it from the way your pussy tightened around his wet fingers. It only took a few seconds for you to feel the same fireworks that Gyutaro felt a while ago exploding in your chest, traveling to your belly, to go down to your pelvis and end up in your cunt to release all your juices directly into Gyutaro's mouth.

He wouldn't waste a single drop of you. With his hands, he cupped your butt with 4 fingers and with his thumbs he opened your vagina to expose your beautiful, shiny folds to admire and drink you in. Your waist continued to move reflexively so that reminded him that he was still very hard.

"Don't forget about this, precious." he told you, placing one of your hands on his cock. Gyutaro pulled you back to the center of the bed. He made you kneel and he went behind you to take you by the waist with one hand and after touching you a little between the legs to find your hole, he entered you after completely removing his pants. The truth is, you didn't know why he fucked you in this awkward position, but then you saw that from this angle you two were perfectly reflected in the full-length mirror that had one of your closet doors, so that ended up turning you on a little more.

The room was filled with the dirty wet sounds of your bare skins bumping against each other, the splash your cunt made when Gyutaro charged into you, and the moans the both of you made. The heating was still on so your bodies were twice as wet from sweat. Your legs were beginning to get tired so in your attempt to get comfortable you lost your balance causing both of you to fall sitting on the bed. You thought Gyutaro would scold you but he didn't say anything and he just settled in to continue fucking you. Even though Gyutaro was doing great, you felt that your pussy was still lonely so in the middle of the action you decided to use your fingers. You spread your legs and looked at your wet pussy in front of the mirror, which brought you to the limit of arousement. It seems that you and Gyutaro had the same strange pleasure in watching yourselves cum so having a perfect view of your core, you started to satisfy yourself as Gyutaro satisfied you.

Your hole was filled by Gyutaro so you only had the top to yourself but you still loved it. Your pussy was opened by the position in which you were sitting, you brought two fingers to your labia and with the middle finger you gently caressed your clit over and over again, at first your movements were slight and provocative until the moment came when you simply needed more. Your fingers treated you more roughly causing you to start getting more and more wet, your hand made wet sounds while you rubbed your fingers against yourself, your vagina was very wet and you loved it, you could swear you could even be dripping because a few drops slipped through your fingers. Your fingers went up and down inside you while Gyutaro kept on doing his thing, he loved seeing you touching yourself for him like he did a while ago. You leaned your head back and rested it on Gyutaro's strong shoulder while he took both of your boobs to squeeze them between his fingers, from above, he could see how wet you were, even staining parts of your thighs white.

"Wow, looks like I have competition." he commented, with a perverted smile.

Gyutaro was a bit jealous of you, you moved your fingers too well which made him wonder if you masturbated yourself before? Or if you thought of him when you did it? He chuckled as he imagined that, as he imagined you in your bed, wide open with your own fingers pumping into your dripping, warm cunt moaning his name when he wasn't with you, you squeezing and cumming pathetically into nothingness.

"You're a little bitch." Gyutaro said, grabbing your face so you could see yourself in the mirror. "I think you're very skilled, does my dirty little girl touch herself thinking about dad when he's not around? That makes me feel very flattered" he planted a rude kiss on your cheek. "Knowing that that cute little pussy drools and squirms for me even though I'm not fucking it."

His words took you to the limit, Gyutaro sank his fingers inside you next to yours and having more than 2 fingers fucking you at the same time, you inevitably were cumming from the depths. The bed below you was a mess, Gyutaro was cumming a few seconds after you so you were both lying on a small sticky puddle of a mixture of your juices. One part soaked into the sheets and the other slid from your open pussy dripping down your thighs. You two were very wet and weak, with your bodies shaking. Gyutaro took to his mouth the fingers that he had inserted in your vagina and snapped out of you while he dropped onto your bed. You stayed seated for a few more seconds, your waist and legs ached so you waited until you were able to move without problem. After seeing your boyfriend behind you, you gently leaned over him to straddle him and kiss him. The kiss started passionately as if you were asking him for another round but then it became sweeter and more sensitive until the two of you separated and you laid your head on his chest.

Gyutaro caressed your head with his fingers while your face was slightly shaken up and down by his heavy breathing. You rested on top of him with your legs on each side of his hips, wetting the skin of his pelvis a little with your cunt. At that moment, your eyelids felt really heavy and sleep began to invade you again until Gyutaro's voice woke you up.

"Wait! Help me turn this damn thing off, it feels like a fucking oven in here." he said, desperately asking for your help to turn off the heating once and for all.

"Sure, plus I think I have to change the sheets." you told him.

You stood up to give Gyutaro some space to stand up as well. While you went to turn off the heating, he removed the wet sheets from the bed and placed some clean ones that he took from your closet so that when you returned, the bed would be ready to sleep.

"Ready." you told your boyfriend.

The cold had subsided so even if you two weren't wearing clothes there wouldn't be any problem. You took the opportunity to go to the bathroom and dry yourself a bit but even so you continued to feel very wet and slippery so you picked up your panties from the floor to put them back on.

"Are you gonna get dressed?" Gyutaro asked as he looked at you from the bed.

"Yes, why?" You didn't know why he was asking you that question.

"Nothin', forget it..."

"Do you want me to have no clothes on?...I still felt a little wet so I was going to put them on for that. Do you want me to sleep without clothes on?" you asked him.

Gyutaro seemed somewhat embarrassed but it was what he wanted. He had the look on his face of a child when his mother notices how much he stares at a piece of candy and then asks if he wants her to buy it for him. Gyutaro gave a slight nod, since he was without clothes too.

You smiled at him and took off your panties again. You walked over to the bed with Gyutaro to straddle him and lay your head on his chest like you did earlier. Gyutaro loved that after sex, you slept naked next to him. You used to put your panties and his sweatshirt back on sometimes but it didn't feel as good if he was naked. If both of you slept without any clothes on, he could still feel every part of you crashing against his skin as if you two were one and that unique and intimate closeness with you made him feel in heaven. As he thought of you, he could feel your fingers tracing the marks on his arm and chest.

"We can never sleep together without ending up fuckin' uncontrollably, have you noticed?" he asked, with a small smile.

"Now that I think about it, you're right" you replied with a blush. "I guess we are inevitable, you know."

Both of you laughed and continued to talk about anything until it was almost 2:00 a.m. Gyutaro felt how your body became heavier on top of him, he tilted his head a little to see your face and confirmed that you had fallen asleep. He pulled the sheets over you and gently pulled them over your shoulders, careful not to wake you, then he placed a small kiss on your head.

"I love you." he whispered.

Gyutaro continued awake for another half hour until exhaustion reached his body, he closed his eyes and slept calmly with you.

#gyutaro x reader #gyutaro #gyutaro shabana #gyutaro x y/n #gyutaroxfemreader #gyutaro smut #kny smut #demon slayer smut #kimetsu no yaiba smut #happy new year #happy 2023

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roofconstructionnj · 8 months

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With our expert residential flat roof leak repair services in New Jersey, including Garfield, we provide efficient, reliable, and cost-effective solutions to ensure your home stays dry and secure.

#Expert Solutions for Flat Roof Leak Repair in Garfield #NJ and Across New Jersey

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grandmaster-anne · 1 year

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Gone to rack and ruin?

By Vice Admiral Sir Timothy Laurence | Published 29 July 2020

Country Life Guest Edited by HRH The Princess Royal

What on earth do you do with a ruined, but historically significant country house?

This is a question that plagues the average workaday heritage chairman, causing headaches, insomnia and occasional bouts of teeth-grinding. Here, I will use four examples from the English Heritage portfolio to illustrate the challenges we face. Country Life readers may have their own views about how we should deal with them; if so, I anticipate a flood of letters offering advice. Each site is different and no one solution fits all.

Kirby Hall

Kirby Hall in Northamptonshire was built in the 1570s by Sir Humphrey Stafford and, after his death, by Sir Christopher Hatton, Lord Chancellor. This magnificent house shows all the creative energy and architectural innovation of the first Elizabethan age.

In the 17th century, it hosted five royal visits and boasted one of the finest gardens in England. After four generations of Hattons (all called Christopher in that charming, if rather confusing, English way) it passed to the Winchilsea family, who lived there until the 1770s. Abandoned in the 1830s, it is now roofless, but retains enough of its form for us to imagine how astonishing it would have looked when first built.

John Summerson wrote: ‘The beauty of Kirby’s decline is that it was private and without violence. The house was never burnt, ravaged, used as a quarry or assaulted by mobs.’ English Heritage looks after buildings that suffered exactly those fates, but because Kirby was spared all of them, one can still appreciate there the romance of a lost grandeur.

What should we do with it? The Ministry of Works in the 1960s did its usual thorough, if, by current standards, a little over-zealous, conservation job. Part of the house is still roofed, but leaks are threatening the ceilings underneath. One proposal was to re-roof a further part of the house — the Great Gallery — and use it to display a collection of contemporary furniture, paintings and so on.

That idea has not yet passed the ‘value for money’ test. We are currently working on a modest new exhibition, which will be completed later this year. Major additional work would require a substantial funding package to match.

Sutton Scarsdale Hall

Sutton Scarsdale Hall in Derbyshire is another example of the rise and fall of a noble country house and is one of our greatest conservation challenges.

It was a Baroque masterpiece, built in the 1720s for the 4th Earl of Scarsdale using some of the notable craftsmen of the day. The splendid exterior stonework was carved by Edward Poynton of Nottingham; the Italian master craftsmen Arturi and Vasilli carried out the fine stucco decoration in the principal rooms, remnants of which are still visible.

The cost of the building over-stretched the Scarsdales — an all-too-familiar story, I’m afraid — and the house was sold in the 19th century to a local family, the Arkwrights. In turn, they were forced to sell in 1919 to a company of asset strippers.

Despite the fact that Lord Curzon’s 1913 Ancient Monuments Consolidation and Amendment Act had by then provided the Government with protective powers, many of the hall’s finely decorated rooms were sold off as architectural salvage.

Amazingly, some still survive, but sadly not in Derbyshire: three interiors are displayed at the Museum of Art in Philadelphia and a pine-panelled room is at the Huntington Library in California. The latter was given to the library by a Hollywood film producer, who had used it as a film set for Kitty in 1934. He had bought it from the newspaper magnate and collector, William Randolph Hearst.

More happily, the hall was saved from intended demolition in 1946 by Sir Osbert Sitwell. His descendants handed it to the nation in 1970.

The roofless hall stands proudly on a prominent hill, an important part of the visual landscape of the area and visible from Bolsover Castle across the valley. However, the exposed hilltop location and lack of protection from a roof or glazed windows make the building itself, and especially the exceptionally important plasterwork, acutely vulnerable.

We are currently spending considerable sums patching and making good, but, for a charity such as us, this cannot be a long-term solution. What should we do? One option would be to re-roof the whole hall — at huge expense. Another would be a partial re-roofing to cover the best areas of plasterwork.

A third would be to devise some form of tailor-made protection for the plaster-work in situ, but anything of this nature would have significant aesthetic impact. We have even thought of a private investor taking it over and turning it into a hotel or apartments. All options remain under consideration.

Witley Court

My third example presents a very different set of issues. A new house was built on old foundations at Witley Court in Worcestershire in the early 1500s, but eight generations of the Foley family (all called Thomas — rather proving my earlier point) progressively modernised the Tudor original in Jacobean, then Palladian style, enlarged the park, built a new parish church next door and, in the early 19th century, commissioned John Nash, the leading Regency architect, to remodel the house extensively.

In 1837, ownership passed to Lord Ward, later Earl of Dudley. During the Dudleys’ tenure, the house was transformed into a ‘Victorian palace’ in the Italianate style made fashionable by Prince Albert at Osborne.

The whole house and church were encased in Bath stone; a new wing and a conservatory were added. Among many additions to the gardens was the magnificent Perseus and Andromeda fountain, fed from a new reservoir in the hill behind.

As happened so often elsewhere, the estate began to be broken up after the First World War and, in 1937, a serious fire gutted much of the building. From then until it was taken into public guardianship in 1972, it was stripped of materials and vandalised, but, thereafter, it was stabilised and made accessible. The great fountain continues to operate for an hour each day and looks magnificent after a major restoration in 2004 and further work in 2016, the latter generously funded by Unilever.

Visitors can now enjoy the park and gardens and wander through the house, where the fire has revealed the various stages of its development.

There are no plans to re-roof the main house, but how can we enhance the pleasure of visiting the place and bring more of its history to life? For example, we are considering digitising the many excellent photographs of the interiors taken during its heyday, so that people can call them up on their mobile phones as they walk round.

We would like to refurbish the conservatory as a cafe. This would require expensive works to bring in services, yet those might enable us to produce more events there, following the very successful art exhibition held in 2019 — perhaps that was a harbinger of things to come.

Belsay Hall

Now, at last, for something with a roof — Belsay Hall in Northumberland. The site comprises three distinct, but related elements: a medieval castle, a 19th-century hall and, linking the two buildings, an outstanding garden. The Middleton family has owned the estate since 1270 and still lives nearby.

The hall’s designer, Sir Charles Monck, drew on the classical ideal he had seen on honeymoon in Greece and transposed the style of a Greek temple into an English villa from 1807 (Fig 6). Its sense of space, balance and rigorous architectural logic were unlike anything seen in Britain. Incidentally, Monck demolished the old village of Belsay on the site and rebuilt it in its current position outside the park — the sort of thing you could do in those days.

He deliberately quarried the stone for the hall in a way that left space for a unique garden, the ravines, pinnacles and sheer rock faces he created inspired by the ancient quarries of Syracuse, Sicily. The gardens still showcase the interplay between natural beauty and the sublime, between wild and tame, from natural woodland through the exotic-ally planted quarry to the more formal terraces and garden rooms near the house.

The family moved from the draughty castle to the new hall on Christmas Day 1817. Sadly, flaws in Monck’s internal guttering system led to wholesale infestation with dry rot. By 1980, when the family handed the buildings and garden into public guardianship, it was unoccupied, unfurnished and stripped of much internal wood and plasterwork. The silver lining of this cloud is that it is now possible better to appreciate features of its design. Standing in the beautiful central atrium,

it does feel more like a temple than a house. The windows are huge, allowing in plenty of natural light, and the acoustics are exceptional, thanks to the empty rooms, vast cellars and a network of flues.

Sound, light and empty space may hold the key to its future use; it is an ideal place for creative programming. We have in the past held innovative fashion and art shows there and have staged acoustic experiences, one with voices broadcast down the chimneys. There will, I am sure, be more of this.

We are in the middle of a major project, part funded by the National Lottery, which includes urgent conservation work, a full restoration of the gardens and a new cafe. The Middleton family and its trustees remain engaged, supportive and, I hope, appreciative of the promise of a new lease of life for Belsay.

These four examples illustrate the enormous technical and financial challenges we face with these and other houses. It’s not unreasonable to ask: why are we doing this? What is the purpose behind a heritage body preserving and/or conserving a building?

Well, we want the places to be informative — to tell us something about the people who built them, about their architectural style, about the people who lived in them or who visited them. It’s all part of explaining the story of England to current and future generations, not only to please or inform expert historians and architects, but to encourage a much wider body of people to see and enjoy our buildings.

From school groups (we host many) to local enthusiasts and anyone who has become fascinated by these places — perhaps after reading about them or seeing a Google arts fly-through online. We hope they will all want to see more, to learn more and enjoy (that word again) the experience.

We have to ask: should we preserve such buildings as they are now, strip them back to their original state when first built or restore them to how they appeared at the height of their glory? With our intact houses — such as Osborne, Apsley or Audley End — the answer is as self-evident as it is with a completely ruined castle or abbey: there really is no option. However, my examples here and others fall between those stools. There are no straightforward answers; we have to look at each on its own merits.

Total returns to past glories are rarely feasible, but allowing further decline is not in our DNA. More commonly, we seek to stabilise each place in a state of ‘sustainable conservation’ — a condition that we can maintain in the long term, avoiding costly repeated repairs. It is an evidence-based way of prioritising work according to historical significance, current condition and a better understanding of the specific causes of deterioration. Once in that state, the typical approach is ‘adaptive re-use’: bringing a building back to life by giving it new uses, which complement, rather than obscure the original.

Above all, these houses must be nurtured and loved so that they can tell their part of the story of England. English Heritage will do what it can, helped by the communities living nearby, many of which provide terrific support — and, perhaps, by the occasional generous benefactor.

#tim laurence #article #english heritage #country life

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solinarimoon · 1 year

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On Raven's Wings - Chapter 7

AN: I apologize for such a long absence in updates for this story. I have not abandoned it! Thank you to anyone who is sticking with it.

Warnings: canon-compliant character death, death by fire, amnesia, loads of pent up angst and regret

Word Count: 3.543

Raven’s Masterlist

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Jerking awake, Liva coughed and covered her nose with her tiny hands. She sat up, continuing to cough and peering over the edge of the loft where she slept. Terror and panic welled up in her stomach and gripped her chest as she cried out. Flames were licking the edges of the long house and sparks rained down from the thatched roof overhead. Smoke was collecting near her, drifting up to the ceiling. Crawling back, Liva cowered against the wall and covered her head with her arms.

“Rag…” she coughed, the smoke burning her throat, “Ragnar! Sigrid!”

“Liva!” She heard Thyra shout followed by a bellow of rage from her grandfather amidst the roar of the fire growing more and more steadily. She looked back over the loft to see them all.

Liva’s hoarse voice cried out again, breaking with a sob for her grandfather. Turning to look up at her, Ragnar stalked over raising his arms.

“Jump to me, child.”

She grabbed up her nightdress around her legs and shifted to the balls of her feet, still kneeling. She coughed harder now. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, streaking through her smoke stained cheeks. Getting her balance, she pushed herself off the ledge into nothingness only to be snatched from the air roughly and firmly a mere moment later. Ragnar crushed her to his chest, brushing his hands through her hair swiftly and resting his forehead against Liva’s own as he settled her bare feet to the floor. The tender moment lasted no longer than a second, before he bodily swung the young girl into the waiting arms of her aunt.

“What do we do?” Thyra pleaded for a solution. “Mother, what can we do?”

Coughing more, Liva buried her face in Thyra’s arms as the young woman looked to her mother. Thyra’s fingers dug into Liva’s shoulders as she hugged the girl from behind, enveloping her and trying to shield her from the panic.

Sigrid looked from her daughter to share a meaningful stare with Ragnar. Stepping forward, she hugged the two girls close while shouting over the sound of the timbers burning and beginning to crash.

“There is a weak spot in the wall, just behind the loom and furs. Air drafts in from the cracks while we sit and weave. Do you remember?”

Thyra nodded her head and gripped Liva impossibly closer. Liva knew of the spot her grandmother spoke of. Often she had fallen asleep laying at her grandmother’s feet, listening to her stories as she wove the yarn Liva and Thyra spent all year spinning. She wove cloth and Liva liked to imagine she wove her stories into the fabric as well. The sound of the weights tethered to the dangling strands shifting along with her fingers as she wove always matched evenly with the cadence of Sigrid’s stories. And the draft from the winds slipping through the cracks in the wall brushed along Liva’s face as she rested.

It was this corner of the home that her grandmother spoke of now.

“It is weak from rot and age and would not burn well. It will give way if forced upon. If the flames have not found it, you can shove against it and make a way out. Go, Thyra. Take Liva and go.”

Ragnar’s voice broke through as he gripped his daughter’s arm in farewell, “Find Uhtred and Brida. Once you are out, run to the woods and find them.”

In the next instant, Liva was on her knees, crouched next to Thyra and pressing herself against the rotted logs in the wall. They were soft and shifted under the weight of their thrusts. With Thyra shoving with all her weight against the logs, Liva scrambled and scratched, digging at the earth beneath the wood. She cried out and covered her head with her hands when a loud crash of a fallen beam landed behind them followed by a whoosh of flames rippling closer.

Thyra shifted herself back from her knees to her bottom and kicked out viciously at the wood. It began to splinter more and soon a hole large enough for them each to squeeze through took shape.

“I’ll go first and you follow,” Thyra gripped Liva’s hands, wiping away the girl's tears and smudging the soot on her cheeks.

She turned and shifted herself, crawling and wriggling to squeeze through the hole. Liva waited tensely, little cries of worry slipping past her lips.

As soon as Thyra was through, Liva crawled forward, slipping her head through the wood and peering around. She saw Thyra standing only two paces away, peering around a corner, looking for any unwanted attention.

Liva’s younger and smaller frame didn’t have nearly as tight fit getting through the hole. But as she scrambled through and cleared the wall, she heard Thyra cry out. Shakily, Liva stood up and watched two men round the corner and grab at Thyra. They looked enormous. Dark and terrifying, silhouetted by the flames of her family's home.

Liva froze in panic. A raging, bellowing sound rang out from the front of the longhouse. Ragnar the fearless was going to Valhalla. Time seemed to stop. Liva was aware of Thyra struggling against the grasping hands of the two men. She was aware of another crash as the roof of their home continued to collapse. She could hear shrieks and cries and shouts all garbled together one over the other.

And then she was running. Straight into the forest. Her bare feet pounding against the undergrowth and her arms pumping at her sides. She was vaguely aware of someone pursuing her. A danger that was tracking her down.

She had never run so hard in her short life. There was a burning in her lungs from the smoke and the ash. There was a burning in her legs from fleeing through the woods in the cold. And a burning in her mind at the terror and confusion waging war on her young psyche.

In a matter of mere minutes, she had awoken to chaos and lost all she held dear in her world. And now she was running for her life. She knew to head towards the hills in the forest to the West. That way led towards the blacksmith’s charcoal fire. It led to Uhtred. But which way was West?

Chancing a glance over her shoulder, Liva gasped hard seeing her pursuer looming in the distance. His legs were longer but hers was a child’s stamina and she fled for her life. Liva turned back and continued running, clambering up a steep hill to her right.

Up.

Up towards the hills.

When she reached the top, she turned sharply back again crouching and looking for any sign of the man. Her breath came in quick, shallow rasps. She quickly wiped sweat and soot and tears from her eyes, trying to clear her blurred vision. Smoke from the burning hall was melting amongst the trees and shrubs of the forest. Giving her a final shelter and hiding her path from the man.

She thought she could hear him crashing around and fading away, but she was too scared to risk moving to look. Minutes passed. Only a few brief minutes, but Liva stifled her coughs and tears until she could hold them at bay no longer. Choking on the smoke and the grief, the child stood and looked to the sunrise. A sun rising over the still flaming remains of the hall of Ragnar. Sobbing, Liva stepped back. A sudden and intense need to flee gripping her.

Continue West. Uhtred and Brida will have seen the smoke. They must have heard the screams. She knew she must find them. Stepping back again and shifting to turn, the leaves under her toes slid and gave way. She fell, tumbling a short ways before something hard smacked her head and then the smoke filled her vision until all she saw was black.

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Hiding a shaky breath by sipping her wine, Liva paused and looked up at the faces of those surrounding the table. She found the words had come easily once she had started. Keeping her eyes down, staring unfocused at the wood of the table, the events of that night had tumbled from her lips. A story that wanted…that needed to be told.

But she knew these next words, the questions left unanswered would not come so easily.

“That is terrible, Liva.”

It was Osferth who spoke first. Liva gave a short nod in agreement at the simple truth from the gentle and comforting presence of the warrior monk at her side.

Hild found her voice next, also offering support and condolence.

“It is a miracle you survived such a horror.” Liva looked up to see a genuine concern radiating from her.

A large, calloused hand reached out to grasp her own. Uhtred squeezed her hand tightly, but she could not meet his eye. She could not face whatever thoughts would show on his face.

Liva’s chest had begun to tighten and she was fighting back a large lump growing in her throat, when Finan spoke up from the other end of the table.

Clearing his throat, the Irsihman asked what Liva felt sure they all wished to know.

“So what happened to you after?”

Liva found herself staring at Finan and unable to answer his question. The silence around the table grew.

“You hit your head. What happened after? When you woke up?” he clarified, trying to guide a response from her. Trying to get her to answer the question at the front of everyone’s mind. For the briefest moment, Liva’s focus shifted beyond Finan.

Sihtric sat, arms folded across himself with tense shoulders and his jaw firmly set. His stare did not move from his plate.

Liva opened her mouth to speak but found her throat constricted and dry. She took a sip of her wine, lowering her eyes and fixing her gaze on her own hand fidgeting with the rim of her goblet.

“I do not think you will accept my answers,” she replied, finding a strength and steadiness to her voice that surprised her.

Uhtred still said nothing. Only squeezed her hand again. She still could not look at him.

It was Hild who reassured her.

“We may surprise you, Liva.”

Live chanced a glance up to meet Hild’s face. She saw nothing but genuine concern. Another slow breath and then she continued, haltingly. Her words unsteady and unsure.

“My truth is that I do not know what happened to me. I only know that the next I remember…my next solid memory is standing at the edge of a field. A man with a bow kneeling in front of me, asking me what happened. It was Gallen. And he and his wife took me in and raised me. Everything else in between…”

She shrugged her shoulders. Lifting her face to meet Finan’s face and then HIld’s she let her silence grow.

“So you remember nothing,” Finan questioned her, not unkindly but with a clear skepticism at her confession. “Nothing from the time you knocked your head to when someone found you?”

Liva nodded, “I remember nothing of meaning. Or nothing that makes sense anyway. The memories,” she paused, worrying at her lip, “they’re like ghosts. Not truly there. When I try to remember them they fade away. Always at the edge of my sight and never full on. They are a child’s memories. Jumbled and confused. Lots of green leaves and trees and brush. And small hands covering my own. And,” she stopped shaking her head slightly and knotting her brow in concentration. She shook her head again, more firmly then continued, “I feel sure someone helped me in the forest. You can see the scar just below my hairline.”

Liva ran her fingers through the fine, flaxen strands that framed her face brushing them back to reveal a faint white mark. She fingered it gently and continued, “it would have bled a lot with how hard I must have hit it. It remained bruised and swollen for days and days. But when Gallen found me, my face was clean and a bandage was wrapped around my head.”

“Perhaps it was Hlin, the protectress guarding your life in the wood.”

Skade picked up her cup and leaned back from the table. The woman had listened quietly to Liva’s story, her face betraying no emotion. But now she continued, the fanatical craze growing in her eyes, “Or it may have been Vithar. Silence and Revenge. These are his domain.”

“I have never sought out revenge,” Liva sneered. Her words spoken as much to herself as to the woman across the table.

“Not looked for it, but would have taken it had the chance presented itself. No,” Skade smirked in agreement, “but something has stolen your memories from you. And why would your mind need those thoughts removed?”

Before Liva could bite back a remark across the table, Osferth’s soft voice pushed back against Skade’s musings.

“She was a child with a head wound. And some kind soul helped her.”

“Baby monk is right,” Finan interjected, quickly chancing a glance towards Uhtred at the head of the table. “It is often so in battle after someone gets a good, hard hit to the head. Things grow fuzzy.”

Hild spoke up in Liva’s defense next, offering Liva a warm smile, “And I think it matters little if a person can remember all the details from an event that is years since past and held so much pain already. What matters is that a sister who was lost is now found.”

Liva’s brow furrowed slightly although her mouth slid upward in a timid smile at the group’s easy defense of her story. Accepting her truth on its face. She had not anticipated such kindness. And even with the guarded reserve coming from Sihtric and the instigating remarks from Skade, Liva was glad to have spoken her story aloud.

“I am sorry, little bear.”

Uhtred’s words broke through her thoughts and his hand gripped hers tighter. He had remained quiet while she spoke. So his voice, quiet but firm at her side startled her.

She sensed there was more her brother wished to say, but his voice was not cooperating. She squeezed his hand in return and gave him a sad smile.

“Well since we are telling stories, Munnin,” Sihtric’s voice, quietly slinked from the end of the table, lilting and full of the weight of mead.

Finan scoffed and shifted back in his chair, putting a heavy hand on Sihtric’s shoulder and muttering under his breath, “Och, will ye no leave anything alone tonight, ye little shit.”

Quickly, Osferth stood to help as Finan muscled Sihtric out of his chair and began ushering him out of the hall. Uhtred, Hild, and Skade all watched on, each with varying looks of anger, shock, or enjoyment playing across their faces at the chaos that arose.

Liva quickly stood, her chair toppling backwards and clattering onto the ground. The calm and peace she had felt from giving voice to her story about the hall burning replaced instantly by the same sharp anger she had felt in the forest when she and Sihtric had both drawn their blades.

At the sound of her chair hitting the floor, Osferth’s had turned, his attention distracted, allowing her to step past him.

Stepping up to Sihtric, Liva planted her feet. Her hands were curled tightly into fists at her side and she clenched her teeth as she looked up to meet the Dane’s eyes.

Carefully, Finan tried to place himself between them, but with Sihtric staggering he only succeeded in placing an arm between the pair while supporting Sihtric and stopping Liva from stepping closer.

“Go on then, Kjartanson.”

If he was back to calling her that bloody raven then she would name him his father’s son. Her words struck their mark and she watched as Sihtric’s eyes that had been fogged over from drink snapped to red hot focus.

“Ask me your questions from the woods again. There is no knife at my throat this time,” she glowered, “I will give you answers.”

She was vaguely aware of Uhtred’s own chair crashing to the floor as he stood up at her remark. There was a scuffling and bodies shifting noisily and in an instant Osferth and Hild were between Uhtred as the man stalked towards the three.

Liva and Sihtric’s eyes bore into one another, laced with rage. Finan tried without success to maneuver between them or pull them apart.

“Ask me,” she shouted, while she felt Hild’s arms come around her waist and try to pull her away.

“Why weren’t you at Dunholm,” Sihtric bellowed back, forcing himself forward and out of Finan’s hold.

In an instant, his face was in hers. So close his forehead pushed back on hers for a moment.

“Bloodhair brought his people to Dunholm. We were there. And Ragnar was there. But little Liva, Little Munnin was nowhere to be seen.” His words were full of biting ferocity. Liva felt spittle fly from his lips. His rage fanned her own anger and the confession spilled from her lips just as furious tears ran down her cheeks.

“I was there!” She roared.

Sihtric’s face flashed from anger to shock and confusion. The shoving and disorder surrounding them faded at her words as they all registered what she had said.

Liva allowed the tears to continue to roll down her face as she choked out her next words.

“I was at Dunholm. I saw you,” she shoved him hard once in the chest and he took a step back into Finan’s arms.

“I saw all of you,” she turned and looked at the faces of the people around her.

“Then why not reveal yourself then, Liva? Why not…. To Ragnar?”

She could hear the confusion, a stunned pain in Uhtred’s questions.

She turned towards him, half lunging and half collapsing into Hild as she cried.

“Because I was a coward, Uhtred.”

Sobs choked her words.

“Because my father abandoned me long before our home was burned to ash. And because,” she looked past them all to see Skade standing on a chair to better see their quarrel. The woman grinned her self-satisfied grin, reveling in the chaos.

“Because I let the witch’s words worm their way into my mind. She gave me fear and doubt and it is why I lost any chance to ever speak to my father again. And it is why I am loath to see others heed any vile lies that spill from her lips.”

Liva pushed herself away from Hild. The abbess had held her and steadied her since gaining her side. But now, Liva wrestled herself away and gave no moment’s pause before letting her anger move her forward.

Snatching a dagger from Finan’s hip, Liva rushed at Skade. She swung the blade high, aiming for anywhere she could strike.

Warrior reflexes on high alert, Uhtred was on her in an instant. His arm wound around her waist, while his other grabbed her wrist, forcing her to drop the blade.

It all was over in mere moments. Liva slumped against Uhtred’s chest and grasped to hold onto his arms as he enveloped her from behind.

The only sound came from the logs burning in the hearth and their own heavy breaths while they all processed the last several minutes.

Tears still flowed down Liva’s face, unchecked. When she looked up, it was Sihtric’s face, his eyes on her that she could not turn away from.

His brow was ridged in bewilderment and uncertainty. And his eyes looked on her more softly.

A chuckle from Skade to their backs broke the quiet. She stepped down from her chair and wound herself around to Uhtred’s side, placing her hand atop Liva’s own. Liva’s rage had quelled but she felt the anger burn bright again at the feel of Skade’s hand on her skin.

“Though you say you do not seek out revenge, Liva Ragnarsdottir, does not mean you will not avenge when opportunity strikes. Perhaps avenging Ragnar is the path the Gods have laid at your feet. Whether you seek it or not.”

Liva could not stay to hear any more of Skade’s lies. She wanted to argue with her. Strike out at her again. Scream and cry and tell her and everyone else in the room that she did not care what path the gods set before her.

She wanted to tell them all how she had watched them from the rafters of the roof at Dunholm as they sat together and schemed. She wanted to yell that she had instead turned her back and ran. That she was a coward.

Instead, she twisted herself away from her brother and stalked past everyone’s staring eyes. She flung open the door to the hall and as she walked away, she heard the sound of more scuffling along with HIld and Osferth pleading with Uhtred. There was a sound of flesh hitting flesh and a body dropping to the ground with a grunt.

She did not turn around to see who had been hit.

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