☽ Oh, she's beautiful

A little better than a man deserves ☽

--- *** ---

"Urgh!" Gutturally unhealthy, deeply hoarse undertones prominently imbued the older man's uneven grunt sloppily dripping from his chapped mouth, while you manifested strong-willedly headstrong to drag his heavier figure on your way to the final destination.

"Don't worry, Timothy! We are almost home!" Incapable of giving up in the middle of your last resort towards your flat, consequently you maneuvered one of your elvish, femininely feather-soft hands to pat affably, lightly his shoulder as friendly reminder to billow elegantly gracious his worries and series of diabolically profound grunts. "We can do it. Believe me!" Reassuringly serene chuckle clicked emphatically the roof of your mouth, whilst the ambitious Monsignor manipulated his pearly-white teeth to gnaw smoothly the inside of his cheek continuously, his citrine-cinnamon brown optics relentlessly coasted its gawk of the neighbourhood houses and trees, besides absent-mindedly reckless scanning in a fleetly swift glimpse the concrete. In the interval, the luminous glint of stark overweariness billowed ruthlessly his citrine-cinnamon brown gaze and your E/C cabochons ominously headstrong imbibed every surrounding you passed at snail's pace.

In a long quarter an hour of embarrassing ambles towards the tall building, throughout you ushered nimbly your fingers to retrieve the keys to unlock the front door and then venture inside until you used the elevator that was amusingly functioning properly.

"Damn!" For a moment when you stood before the door in the middle of the sufficiently expansive hallway and channelling your solely free elvish, creamy hand's orthodoxy pristine fingers to shove the rusty key inside the keyhole, the haphazardness of the explicitive utmost sweeping the beginning of the British compatriot's dry tongue due to the fiercely fiery impulse coursing through his veins caught you off guard followed by his devilishly deep, heartlessly raspy snicker grinding on his mouth to curl his lips curtly. "What place this on earth is, Y/N?" Without awkwardly frosty oscillation searing heinously villainous your vortex of thoughts, everything roared its unfamiliarity to the British compatriot, trying to manage a slight jerk of his head to obscure the generous layer of cloudy thin veil unmasking the sheer vista of the absolute reality painted with the candidly nimble brushes of the vivid nuances.

"Hush, Timothy!" Shortly after turning the key in the keyhole to click once utterly unlocked the front door of your apartment upstairs, the subsequence of the nefariously mousy whine purred when the door swung broadly opened at the pitch-black corridor. "We're finally home!" When you both set foot inside the corridor and you kicked backward to slam shut the front door harmlessly, thus your great deal of arduous efforts to wobble diligently the larger frame towards your bedroom and dropping him gingerly, welcomingly sympathetic on top of the double bed that was adorned with promisingly vibrant amber silken duvet, matching with the conveniently cotton pillows.

"It's really soft. Mmm!" Eloquently elating, cold-blooded low hum under his breath once his back reclined carelessly against the amber silken duvet, consequently he channelled the inevitable protraction of his muscly, masculinely potent arms hypodermically billowing featherly-soft the frail, cozy fabric. It felt like heavenly, real paradise to land on conveniently soft furniture after the long, embarrassingly sluggish walk down the grimly sable streets in three o'clock in the morning.

"Since you are going to sleep on my bed," Once the back of your elvish, weathered hand maneuvered to bedaub the thick luminous coat of sticky, hideously sponginess mantling your forehead and contagiously sweeping your fist, a heavy sigh snorted through your tiny, vulnerable nostrils to sort your mind and to prepare utterly for the insomnia's nemesis. The real epitome of the sleepless nights to take care of one more soul besides yourself. Another sleepless day loomed to mark its own divinely gilt twilight. "I'm taking the couch."

Notwithstanding the circumstances, there were other days and nights like this and equating to the true motives of the insomnia and the heinously vermilion chaos and its rich cataract streaming through the grim reaper of the slumber.

"You won't!" Squinting up in the corner of his smoky quartz gem, austerely brass glaze scorched your petite-frame as your fingers worked on wrapping the amber blanket to swaddle conveniently warm his larger frame after his shoes were eventually discarded to ghostwrite motionlessly bumblebee yellow woolen carpet.

"Timothy, I'm not leaving you in woe to sleep on the couch!" Once the British aristocrat channelled his virginally nimble, trembling fingers to work on bundling firmer the amber blanket comfortably, thus his utter focus bore into your petite-frame yet and his charming facial attributes struggled sluggishly mousy to elaborate the austere grimace twisted beyond his light-heavy wrinkles. "I will be still good even if you are sleeping on more comfortable place, you know!" The haphazardness of the intensifyingly megawatt, unnerving doldrum ticked the uneasily advancing seconds at snail's pace as if the time has eventually halted and the clock's arrows no longer conjugated the unceasing functioning of their spirally indication of the real time.

During the uncomfortable, frosty doldrum's asphyxiation of the walls isolating you ajd Timothy from the general population's enormous world that emanates from the galore of rich urban prospects depicting the absolute reality, what it incredibly flabbergasted the British aristocrat was your altruistically benevolent nature engulfed into his comfort and safety. Even though the demon's invincible impending commands of leaking his wickedly bone-chilling intentions and his fiendishly ominous stubbornness bleated in heinous ministrations of plea to persuade you to not spend your night on the couch, the older man genuinely cared about you in general. Not only your health condition part of his concern was, but also your condition and current humor.

"Timothy, understand me it's for your own good! What would happen if your spine is deformed?" All of a sudden, the embarrassing hush dwelled out of the site as you managed to clear docilely, modestly your throat after your petite, brittle hand muffled when you dawdled to not dump the possessed holy priest all alone. Yet the beamingly sympathetic smile decorated your face. "Huh? What about the worse tribulations we would face by then?" The meekly strictness of your posed rhetorical questions dazzled the devotional man of the cloth softened his facial features, transfixing his smoky quartz cabochons to glaze you. "Quite ironic to behold the future Cardinal with deformed spine. I don't want you to suffer physically or in any kind form of it."

"What about the other days?"

"We shall see what will happen next, however, for now you will sleep on my bed!" The sharp emphasis of the last words to puncture your emphatic strictness rumbling through your vocal tissues even if they were creamily calm, soothing tingled alarming tones into the older man's ears. "Hopefully that's clear for you!"

"Yes, Y/N!" Maneuvering to raise an arch of his dark, thick eyebrow subconsciously, he manifested to bob his head in fair agreement.

"Good! I will be right back in a few minutes as if you need something urgent, call me by shouting!" Shortly before retiring to the corridor and then to the impending destination - namely the kitchen, throughout you pressed a celestially nirvanic, angelically loving peck to the top of his head and ghosting gingerly the curve of his ghostly pale façade as he offered you a vibrantly poetic, vague smile at you. "Okay?"

"Mhm!" Afterward your pristinely delicate, dainty fingers crooked around the silver classy door handle within a single click the door swung mildly opened due to the pressure.

--- *** ---
--- A Couple of Days Later or So ---
--- 1st of December, 1964 ---

As soon as a couple of days became a victim of the megawatt swift progression passing at snail's pace and bleeding into the early December that was the final month of the early decade's divinely golden apogee peak, a handful of events accommodated fluently. Even if they were a handful of events, nevertheless, at least a wee inkling of action and the unnerving tick of the passing hours articulated their progress in the time in general.

Each passing second, each passing minute, each passing hour, each passing day lugged its own candid burden of surprises and woes. The time was genuinely valuable. Brilliantly valuable. Not only anything could alter in a single second, further it would be genuinely a change for better or worse.

During your stay at home with the aspiring Monsignor and looking after him with great deal of efforts, you had a week off work at least. Until the forthcoming, explicit conjuration of the possessed Monsignor, you didn't have any intentions of getting back to work or side-eyeing from your utter responsibilities to aid him to recover from the spiritual possession. The sole exceptions to flee your home cusped between arranged encounters with one of your buddies, venturing into the chain store or otherwise doing other wee chores that fueled your hectic daily schedule.

In spite of the rueful incidents you rarely encountered with the British compatriot due to his spiritual possession, he quickly adapted to the domestic atmosphere and became even more fond of you. You became even more doted on the holy priest.

Through the silver mornings, vibrant noons and nocturnally sable evenings you scarcely separated from each other, although the very absence of his appetite. He hasn't masticated anything in the past few days after the conjuration. Oddly, little did you know what were the real, authentically diabolical symptoms of his lacking appetite and evading to consume modicum of food to fill his stomach. Fortunately, glasses of water, the cups of divinely stream, vibrantly hot tea and coffee couldn't compensate his ravenousness eventually. Even one single glass of water or a cup of stream hot caffeine liquid fleetly oppressed his hunger.

Not only during the breakfasts, lunches and dinners' episodes you postponed to hop out of the kitchen table, but also you discussed opulence of authentically meaningful topics that were either simple or leaned to more complex. Shortly after the meals and the brief snacks, consequently you took turns to wash the dishes though you rather kept to your word to do the chores instead of Timothy. Miraculously, your interactions regulated to truly frequent and you got to know one another better.

Last but not least, during Timothy's stay in your apartment, you didn't earn any visits by the former licentious jazz nightclub singer. Little did you know how may react the head nun of the nefarious, old mental institution as soon as she fathoms the real location of the sheltered pious holy man at your home.

Oddly, he adapted to wear some of your deceased grandfather and father's garments even if they resembled quite unworn, antique. Miraculously, the vast virus of cozy comfort when the comfy fabric guarded his tangible muscles and flesh against the unavoidably stark exposure to the chilly climate to ripple his delicate epidermis with cataract of electrifying goosebumps, brightened his face and adapted fully to not wear any single garment that was his entire tenure. A few days after the first exorcism and his uncommonly inevitable phenomenon of avoiding to masticate something, the dim weight loss was clearly conspicuous.

Every time whenever it was a matter of question to ask him about his hunger or to savour a tiny bite of the meals you demandingly cooked for yourselves, his response equated to a jerk of his head and his portentously stubborn rejections to satiate his appetite even when his body's organs rumbled furiously.

When you finished your cup of coffee you shared with the British aristocrat, subsequently you managed to retire to the countertop as your starkly pristine, frail fingers waltzing around the drenched sponge to lather frequently, monotonously the egg-greased, filthy lily-white plate's surface until the food chunks lastly petered out.

"Please, don't do it!" In the interval, what it struck you dazzlingly vibrant was a larger, milkily veiny hand ushered to paw delicately, affably your shoulder, exceedingly exhorting you to not slat her your celestially pearly time in following meekly your daily schedule's chores and engagements that were nothing than a lavishness to accommodate your spare time for something different. Something unique. Something outstandingly extraordinary. Something that may be worth more of your time to be efficiently accomplished even if takes more efforts and stint. "I'll take care of it!" Reassuring honey, huskiness punctured his devilishly mellifluous British lilt's persuasion, tingling angelic hymns into your ears and the heart pulses' heatedly ferocious amplification scorched your fragile heart to thump restlessly barbaric in your ribcage. His nostrils gently buried in your H/L mane of luxuriously silky H/C strands stunningly curtaining your façade and ushering the stealthy inhale of your mane's deliciously breathtaking fragrance, prickling the relentless lake of goosebumps budding your overall arms and legs.

"No, Tim! I'll be good if I do it on my own." The hoarseness of your bashfully girlish chuckle hardly died on your tongue, squinting up at him with your peripheral eye to follow his fingers' timidly boyish movement gliding from your shoulder up to your delicate earlobe and then snatching orthodoxy gently a fistful of locks to promisingly welcoming tuck them behind your ear. "You can go to rest or do something you like."

"No, no, no! You did enough of that in the past few days since I'm here!"

"You are recovering and you haven't even eaten anything in days." All of a sudden, the oscillation to adjust your posture to turn to face categorically the British compatriot accommodated to your reflex, boring your E/C embers into his cocoa brown, luminous with childlike altruism and sanguinarily kindness. Even if the vile essence, yet, populated his frail skeleton and the bright topaz shades mottled to meld against the natural chocolate brown, the doubtless poetic and vibrantly profound twin characters highlighted his brown sanctums to be a home of hallowed benevolence and pure innocence. "Look what, Tim! I'll be good if my hands hurt or I can't even walk to the bathroom to take a shower or to clean myself after the huge housework that keeps me freshly motivated to take a good care of you! You are like a guest there, not a slave." The deplorably wry, doe smirk etched past your nude pink, fatherly-soft lips to obscure any wee inkling of despondency and lividness.

"I don't want you to be the one struggling physically at least just because of my sake, Y/N! I want you to be the one to relax and I'm not a slave!" The bare altruism heartened encouragingly warm your heart to let the reins off of yourself when it comes up to the daily housework that might be exceedingly exuberant for certain nobodies. Nobody has never embraced with open arms to replace you during your chaotic housework, chores or engagements. "Life is too short to waste your time on something that even drains out of your youthful energy to do something you desire." The unholy words sprawling its stormy tempest of waves to slap the gilt sandy beach's endless blanket flavoured soarly the older gentleman's tongue tip, in fact, yet he served solemnly the priesthood and any kind of a word that wasn't even embroidered in the priest's common vocabulary was far cry from adequate.

Or on the contrary...

Unquestionably bizarre.

"Life is too short to regret anything you haven't even tried and you haven't even complained how easy or difficult it appears to be even if you've ultimately desired it." In the meantime, the British aristocrat channelled his solely free mammoth hand to stealthily villainous to card the drenched, foamed sponge, etching broader his amiably goofy smile, unnaturally sculpturing its curves to stabilize the oral slit's expanse. "It's like missing the train for your dream destination, you know!"

"I didn't know you are such a fan of the chores, honestly!" Then his chocolate brown jewels, ignited the fiercely invincible flames of annoyance when they examined in a scrutiny each discrete detail inside the kitchen's interior like the generously dim layer of dust comfortably settled on the kitchen table paired with the handful of days-cleanless, dust-stained-clad window and the small blotches of greasy fingertips mapping the oyster-white refrigerator.

"My goodness! For how long haven't you bothered to clean there?" The suddenness of his close interaction with the kitchen table and a tad childish irritation nimbly leaked its scintillating grimace, darting its ferocious glance at each direction where the imperfections of cleanlessness taunted him.

"A few days ago!"

"A few days ago?" Repeating after you, his bottom baby-pinkish cherub lip twicted to escort diligently your utterance as Timothy re-participated in your company before the counter and the kitchen sink, while you struggled your throat muscles to flex to chug the bitter lump constricting your expanse. "Huh? That's awhile since you've lastly dared to-" Thereafter the possessed clergyman ushered you to retreat from the kitchen sink as his virginally handy fingers worked to lathering the remaining food-greased plate and the small quantity of coffee brown dregs pooling the mug's porcelain surface warily and lathering every prominent fragment of the small entity until the luxurious cataract of foam dribbled its thick stream down.

"Tim, you've been so gracious and helpful even when you washed everything I dumped in the kitchen sink for a whole day! You aren't some kind of a flunky!"

All of a sudden, the front door's resonant reminder conveying its prominent message to you and Timothy about the uninvited guest currently awaiting for a frank response. The abysmally inexorable peal emanating from the front door boisterously joyous hummed, scouring its own ballad into your flexible ears, in first place caught you off guard and versatilely weak paralysation stung your bones and muscles, in spite of the humdrum, recurring stream of jet water showering the filthy entities and lowly droning to pitch the kitchen's background.

"Just wait there! I'll be fine as it won't hurt a trip to the front door to check that intruder!" The haphazardness of pressing a tenderly downy smooch to his cadaverous, amusingly warm cheek melted the older gentleman's brittle heart once your feather-soft touch of your nude pink, lusciously brim lips grazed his flesh. "I will be right back in a handful of minutes as safe as houses!" Gracefully hedonistic purr ousted from his brim mouth as you zinged out of the kitchen and managed to approach the front door momentarily, maneuvering to check through the door eye hole to acknowledge fully the current uninvited guest's physique.

Sister Jude.

Bizarrely, how the head nun of the ill-famed mental hospital has found out about your recent residence and even not bothering to check on her boss? What kind of business her childlike inquisitiveness brought her to research your lair? Or rather, who has sent her to your lair for certain unanswered, untouchable questions until their mystery leaked?

Oodles of questions fiendishly inescapable, promisingly iron-willed incited to refill the patches of your very thoughts until the answers leaked eventually. Ruthlessly restless paralysis unkindly roared your facial muscles to numb your young-looking, refreshing facial attributes. An eerie flat line of emotionlessness, glassiness replaced your radiantly inviting, jovial smile corroded abruptly in the limbo. Each crystally effervescent pattern of exhilaration fell out from your complexion. Each naturally profound, abstractly artistic colour patterning your complexion ebbed off its chromatic tissues and unhealthily reckless etiolated nonetheless.

"Answer the door, Miss L/N!" Another humdrum ding of the front door escorted uncomfortably after peering through the door eye hole and you ushered your pristinely long fingers to slither sleekly to the rusty key and working on it to waltz until it clicks unlocked and afterwards open the large entity sufficiently wide to have a closer interaction with the senior woman of the cloth. "Thank ya for the answer, L/N! Good day to you!"

"Good day to you too, Sister Jude!"

"I'm here to check on the Monsignor!" A heavy sigh expelled through her frail lungs as her femininely strong, spidery palish fingers cradled the handle of the aspiring Monsignor's suitcase, forcelly bundled up tightly with luggage, flicking up her caramel brown depths to examine you in a studious scrutiny from head to toes, trying to detect your body language's genuine notion instantly. "In addition to I have also packed his luggage since Father Kellan and Father McKenzie informed me about his stay there." Demonstrating straightforwardly the classy, jet-black suitcase that resembled at first sight pretty heavy, consequently thoughtlessly the blonde stepped inside the corridor as you slammed shut the front door politely, mousily without an ado. A primly cheesy, resiliently enigmatic smirk chiseled neatly across her naturally roseate, plumpish lips. "Until the next exorcism that will be due in a few days only."

"Would you like something like coffee or tea," The uneven pause due to the oscillation forcefully fiery searing your mind after the blonde casually, aimlessly stormed off to the kitchen where presumably she might find the British compatriot, whereas you kindly timorous's escort ghosting your presence to not miss any step of Jude's current visit at your home. "Or just a glass of water, Sister?" The sheer, sympathetic politeness puncturing your outspokenly magnanimous nature whenever you had formal interactions with anybody that wore a higher title in the hierarchy exuded its rich waterfall of golden altruism glinting up its realistically vivid crystals.

"Nah! I'll be fine without either." Once you and Judy paid a visit to the kitchen, consequently the ambitious Monsignor just finished with washing the mug and plate after squashing efficiently cogent the teal sponge and adjusting it dry alongside the kitchen sink that no longer leaked its luxurious cataract of jet water to splash against the surface. "Good day, Monsignor!"

"It's good to see you, Sister!" Meanwhile, Timothy retreated to seat on the dinner table gracefully, flicking up his coffee brown big, rotund bijous to imbibe the older woman accompanying you.

"How is the whole situation with yar stay there?"

"It's fine. I have already adapted to live with Y/N. It's humble, howsoever, it's still undeniably wonderful the place we share together!" The haphazardness of the nimbleness of your brim lips to seize its pensive, attentive purse while you were all ears during the both devotional members of the church's colloquy. Although the dozens of sheepishly nonchalant stutters expelling out of the possessed gentleman's throat, the true sensation of heartwarming compress molting relentlessly your heart due to his truthfully ingenunous revelation as you and Jude seated on the kitchen table, maintaining mutual eye contacts per a couple of seconds whenever it was anybody's turn to conjugate its own confession. "I'm praying regularly whenever I have to! Furthermore, Y/N takes a really good care of me and she's always next to me whenever I need her council and help."

"Hmm, fair enough!" Ferociously antagonistic, vast jealousy foamed the Bostonian's hazelish-brown huge, round cabochons, detectable beneath the thin veil of misty limbo that was unnoticeable or fortunately readable in the corner of Timothy's eye. Pensive, hoarse cough, in order to clear her throat dramatically cold-blooded, dryly, was muffled by her white-knuckled, dainty hand clawing her mouth, whereas launching a twinkle-toed glimpse, astoundingly luminous with mild irritation whenever the nun had the chance to eye you. "I'm genuinely happy ya have adapted to a foreign household that quick, Timothy, besides Miss Y/N is a fairly responsible and mature hostess and respecting each other's privacy."

"You don't have to be immensely worried about him, Sister! He's in good hands after the first conjuration."

"I don't think his physique is leaning to the average." Suddenly the older lady's raspy Boston lilt spotlighted remarkably her inkling of incredulity after scanning her boss's large frame like his leaner fleshy segments of his anatomy inclining to analogized to bony, nevertheless, yet neatly toned, contouring his outstandingly extraordinary masculinity even if the priest attires didn't appareled his anatomy at all. "I didn't remember him that," The remarkable curve of the blonde's jaw chattered unevenly in medley of awe, bewilderment and harsh odium due to the unhealthy pallid hue darkening the clergyman's skin tone and the unusual emaciation as a result of not consuming any single quantity of food to fuel his stomach. At least, the British aristocrat's weight didn't lean to underweight or somewhere the inadequate scale at all. "That pallid," The former sleazy jazz nightclub singer bleated a blatantly cold-hearted, dry cough that was immediately muffled, nausea swamping the pit of her stomach. "That astonishingly boniness! Oh God! I'm still wondering if yar truly deserving even to be called a responsible, mature hostess towards the poor priest, ya little girl! It's like feeding the dog that will keep barking aggressively at you!"

"He rejects to eat for a handful of days. It's not my fault at all even though I'm not living in poverty."

"I see!" Even when the former promiscuous nightclub singer's spidery alabaster fingers dumped the suitcase to settle comfy on the carpeted floor under the lacquered, hardwood kitchen table, a heavy sigh snorted through her nose incredulously, manifesting her brass trustlessness to your methods of your initiative to supervise the priest. "Timothy, I have question about that little girl that looks after you lately!" The suddenness of the strictly cold-blooded certitude billowing up the older lady's rhetorical utterance, begging for the British aristocrat's daredevilly imperative attention to be utterly drifted towards her, subsequently the grimace innervating her smile to peter out and the antagonistically arduous scowl darkening her oval profile.

"Mhm!"

"Is she hiding something she is afraid of exposing it clearly and yar the only one to prove the sheer brilliance of it?"

In a long moment of lucently bleak silence asphyxiating the walls of the very site, bittersweet lump seethed your feminine Adam's apple while exchanging a ruefully friendly ogles with Timothy and then shifting your attention to the hostilely scintillating, crude glare, twisted past the Bostonian's façade, the background noises of the droning vehicles and the richly jovial symphony of the birds outside solely chanted its own ode of the urban vista.

"Come on, Timothy! Just spit it out! The burden in your chest!"

"She isn't hiding anything, Jude! She's an undeniably marvelous and the loveliest person that has ever dared to look after me, trust me! You are barking up the wrong tree."

"Okay! Since I collected fair amount of information about your nowadays life, I also left your suitcase under the kitchen table with your luggage." When you and the pairing lifted up your rears from the chairs, thus you retired to venture in the hall, in order to say farewell to the holy woman. "Anyway, Ms. Y/N L/N, I'm truly grateful to ya for accepting me in yar home and not giving me a cold shoulder as I thought at first!" Shortly before the blonde aimed to the front door, you traded with one another a politely formal handshake, linking your both petite hands, whereas the British compatriot felt like a third wheel between you and his right hand.

"Needless to thank me, Sister! Goodbye and safe travels!"

"Goodbye!"

Once the raw slam of the front door stormily fanned the religious holy woman during her impending destination to descend the stairway, the blood boiled ferociously fiery and pure adrenaline coursing through her veins. It unnerved her how she would never win back the aspiring Monsignor's heart ever again at the thought of a young woman swathing his flimsy heart with her cordial sympathy and diabolically insatiable warmness erupting his ultimate focus to you. Even though Frank was amidst her fewest candidates to be Jude's actual knight in the shining armor of spellbinding its contagiously bewitching phenomenon of the pink love, yet the last interaction she traded with Timothy was never the same ever again. It felt like as if they're solely friends or on the contrary prone to demonstrate signs of acquaintances that didn't share a close, deep relationship as well. 

Author's Note: And here we go with the new chapter of Hypodermic Transgression even though it seems peculiarly bizarre that I updated it slightly earlier than the usual. Likewise, I'd like to apologize for the postponing updates with Wings of Light, but I want to write the final chapter of 3rd Volume as perfect and realistic as possible, besides long. 

Since the recent chapters of Hypodermic Transgression will have more frequent scenes with Timothy and the female reader, we're going to see finally mama female reader taking care of Tim. 

Don't forget also to share your thoughts on the new chapter with me! I'd love to hear your opinions if you genuinely enjoyed and liked! :))