#V. Late Night Devil | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gracieheartspedro · 6 months ago

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Me and The Devil

pairing: qz!joel miller x fem!reader

how to help the palestinians and what it means to write for the last of us characters

description: joel seeks out revenge on the man who stole from him. he finds you in the process. 14k words

warnings: mdni!, dark content, DUBCON, joel is a bad man, no mention of age (but joel is older than reader), murder, weapon use (g*ns), mentions of drug and alcohol, excessive alcohol consumption from reader, nicknames for reader (sweetheart, little one, etc.), stockholm syndrome, forced withdrawals from alcohol, mentions of non-con, forced proximity, physical violence/assault, reader is freaky and insane, reader has a vagina and boobs, sub!reader, dom!joel, orgasm denial, masturbation, unprotected p-in-v, oral (m receiving), fingering, throat fucking, cumplay/cum eating, dirty talk, name calling, spanking. PLEASE LISTEN TO THE WARNINGS.

author’s note: hi everyone! this fic came to me literally like... january of last year. it sat in the docs forever. and then my wonderful and beautiful friend @amanitacowboy told me to pick it back up and it spiraled from there. she also helped me edit, so i've forever indebted to you, lindsey!! it's probably the meanest joel you will get from me. some of the story has loose ends, but it's intentional *brow wiggle* (; also thank you @pedgito for listening to me blab about this shit forever. lindsey and ali have heard every detail and tidbit in this fic, I swear. thank you for putting up with me! anyway, hope you dirty lil whores enjoy this one!

You thought he was a myth.

The crime-riddled streets of the Boston QZ seemed to lace different stories about him together. You could not understand how a pill dealer could also kill countless guards and top honchos. People would conjure up the wildest lies about the man, so you were always morbidly curious.

You would sit in your apartment organizing the weapons you and your partner laundered through the streets of the QZ, pondering what it would be like to meet the man. You were never the one to deliver the weapons, only ensuring you were getting what you paid for. Your partner, Roger, would dispense the weapons to God knows who.

It was enough to get you by. You never ran out of rations and your alcohol dependency was never a problem.

You were too young to be this beat down. That’s what Roger would tell you, at least.

But the truth of the matter was that before the QZ, you were free-roaming the US with no purpose. You killed a lot of people. When you arrived at the QZ with an ounce of ‘normalcy’ within your reach, you promised yourself never again. The darkness you harnessed would have to be forced down, sitting in the very pits of your being.

When you met Roger, he just needed someone to live in his apartment and watch his stash when he was gone. You did just that and eventually, you formed an odd bond with the older man. He would let you count his rations and drink his liquor. Four years later, you depended on him to bring you back alcohol in return for your watchful eye. If a shipment came in late, you would panic, thinking your addiction would get cut off. You needed something to numb the scrambling thoughts, violent tendencies, and crippling anxiety.

After one tough deal, Roger stumbles back to your shared apartment, venting about the man.

“Fuckin’ Joel screwed me again. Gave him two .22’s and the motherfucker shorted me a bottle of Oxys.”

You were already too far gone to listen to the rest of the rant, finding yourself dozing off on the couch. The alcohol too often consumed you, sending you into dark nightmares that would have you waking up in the dead of night screaming.

By the time you woke up, though, Roger was no where to be found. Him being gone was not the worrisome part, though.

No, what worried you was all the drugs and guns he left out on display.

Springing up from your spot on the couch, you instantly get to work hiding the paraphernalia. When you grab a handgun from the table where you remember Roger sitting before you close your eyes, you feel eyes on you.

You are still drunk and now your stomach is churning. You feel like you may throw up.

There’s a figure standing by the window. Too tall to be Roger.

Your instant dazed reaction is to hold the gun up, and point at the large man who stands in your messy bedroom. You blink away the sleep that’s still in your eyes and stumble a bit as the intoxication still riddles your bones.

“You were sleepin’ when I came in,” His voice is slow and deep and it sends chills down your forearms.

“Who are you?”

You managed to sound pretty confident, even though you were scared shitless. You had not been so rattled since you almost got bit by some infected a year ago. You can make out his clothes, but that’s about it. Dirty jeans, an old green flannel with holes, and dark brown boots.

“‘M Joel. Roger ever told you about me?”

He finally turns to face you. You’re shocked to see a handsome dark-haired man and not some damaged old mug. His eyebrows are perpetually furrowed it seems, but you could also tell he was annoyed you were pointing a loaded gun at him.

You were so terrified, you could not even speak.

He puts a hand up, holding it over the barrel of the gun. “You shouldn’t be pointin’ that at me, sweetheart.”

You just nod, slowly putting down the weapon. You did not want problems with him. You knew what he was capable of.

You also knew your aim would be off if you did try to shoot, still feeling like you were rocking on a boat.

“Sorry,” You mutter, bringing the gun down and to your side. You swallow hard as his eyes rake your entire body, “Yes, he’s told me about you. Other people have, too.”

He looks pleased with that response. He steps away from the window and begins to saunter over to you. His footfalls are heavy. You assume it is because of his filthy brown boots. Or maybe it was the intimidation factor he was playing for you. He did not need to scare you, because you were fucked up and not on your game. He could kill you at any time. Why has he not killed you yet?

“What have people said about me?”

You gulp, sucking in a whiff of his musk. He somehow still smelled good, even though it looked like he had been rolling in the dirt. His hair was pretty greasy but the curls laid perfectly on both sides. He looks like a guy you would avoid in the street, especially in this QZ. The attractive ones were usually the ones who would take advantage of any woman who looked their way.

“They said you’re dangerous,” You manage, holding the grip of the gun a bit tighter, “That you have killed a-a lot of people.”

“Yeah,” Is all he says, before stepping an inch closer, “Yeah, I have.”

You can not look away from him. You are so rattled at the fact that he is good-looking. You vividly remember hearing a couple of dealers talk about how formidable he was and for some reason, you mocked up a man who looked like The Joker from Batman.

He inspects you and your gun and crosses his arms, almost like he is guarding himself. “Now tell me… What did Roger say when he came home last night? I need to know how to handle this situation without spillin’ any more blood.”

You start to panic a bit, but you know you can’t be rash with your emotions. You did not want to be more blood that Joel Miller spills. You did not need to be a notch in his belt.

But you also did not want to rat out Roger. He had done so much for you and you knew deep down, he cared for you in his own sick ways. If you told Joel everything, would that come at cost to him?

What were you thinking? He was a dead man.

He notices your demeanor change and his eyes soften. “Don’t worry, little one. I don’t kill just anyone. Unless they cross me. You haven’t crossed me, have you?”

You do not know why or how, but tears start to spill from your eyes. You know you are not guilty of doing him wrong, but you have heard before that it does not matter in his eyes. By proxy, you are associated with the man who fucked him over. You would be next.

“I have not crossed you, Mr. Miller,” You start to slur a bit, your face getting wet quickly with more tears, “Roger just said you fucked him over. I was too fucked up to hear the rest. Said you didn’t give him enough oxys.”

Joel raises one hand and grabs the bottom of your chin. His skin is rough and callous against your sheeny skin. His whole aura gives off danger. You are too afraid to look at him. You’re trembling, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“That fucker stole them all, that’s why. When I tried to get him to confess his wrongdoings, fucker dipped out of there,” He explains, using his thumb to push one of your falling tears, “We followed him and luckily he swallowed too many pills even to realize we were breaking in. You were pretty out of it, too.”

“I w-was d-drinking last n-night,” You knew you had to get ahold of yourself. You were like sand in his hands, slipping right through his fingers. You were so easy to get information out of. “Where did you take him?”

Joel clicks his tongue, tilting your face so your eyes would look into his, “Don’t worry bout that, sweetheart.”

“Is he going to die?”

“Probably.” He states plainly, his eyes scanning your figure, “You’re going to show me where his stash is and ‘m gonna take back what’s mine.”

Your heart sinks to the floor. Roger was all you had. Without him running the guns and ammo, you had no way of income. You could not do these things yourself, especially now that Joel Miller knew who you were. No one would come near you when they heard he paid you and Roger a visit.

“I’ll show you,” You respond, trying to steady your voice. “Are you going to kill me?”

It was selfish. With him admitting to having to kill Roger, you knew you were fucked either way. Without a dealer or runner, you had no earnings. You were going to rot away in this apartment, dying from starvation. Joel killing you would be a mercy killing and from the sounds of it, he did not show much mercy.

“Just tell me where everything is.”

You shake your head as you step back away from him. Your instinct is to hand him the gun in your hands, proving to him that you are not a real threat. You grab the barrel and give him the grip, shaking it in his direction. “Here.”

He stares at you, the divots on his forehead still prominent. He slowly lifts his flannel. You first see his hairy tummy and then you see he has a 9mm strapped in his waistband. “Don’t need it, sweetheart.”

You keep the gun extended out to him, “You can have another.”

There’s a beat of silence, a bitterness in the air.

“Are you stalling?” Your blood runs cold. You were not, you were just afraid and unsure of yourself. You also assumed he would want your weapon so you would not use it against him. So many assumptions run through your head, that you are not even aware you are creating more uncertainty for him.

Your eyes drop, looking at the gun. “No, sir. Here… Follow me.”

You turn on your heels, walking back out to the dining room, right off the kitchen. You scoot the table away from the rug, the ammo and pills on the table vibrating as it moves. Joel watches your every move, the same unimpressed expression written on his face. You put the gun down on the table before you get on your knees at the corner of the rug. You pull it back, revealing a large trap door Roger installed before you moved in with him. It had a deadlock on it that was only able to be opened with a code.

You think for a moment, your muddled brain trying to remember the numbers.

8-3-6-7-1-9-6-9.

You say it out loud as you open it. When it clicks, you pull down and unhook it. As you toss it away from you, you hear Joel clear his throat. “Move.”

You instantly throw your hands up, crawling back onto your knees and sliding away from the trap door. You glance back at the tall man, seeing he has his gun trained on you. You did not even hear him pull it out. You sit back, pressing your shoulders into the wall opposite of the entrance of the storage cut-out. It’s lined with different drugs, handguns, some shotguns, and lots of pornography.

Joel chuckles darkly, looking into the unit. “Seems like you two are freaky, huh?”

You never assumed Joel thought Roger was your lover, but the inclination made you want to throw up. You shake your head, “He was. Not me.”

His addiction never really affected you in any way. He saved those vices for when he was alone. You do recall one night accidentally walking in on him doing something very disturbing that was forever etched inside your brain. Jerking off over a pillow with a magazine full of very young girls. You never looked at him the same way after that.

Roger was sick in the head, but he gave you drugs. He gave you alcohol. He gave you a place to stay.

Joel clicks his tongue, crouching down to loot through your stash. “You’re too young for’a man his age, anyway. Too pretty.”

The hairs on your arms and shoulders raise at such a comment. You cock your head to the side, watching the man curiously. He thought you were pretty.

He does not say anything else the rest of the time he is picking up bags of pills. He inspects each one, sniffing some of the bags as he does. The illumination from the window in the dining room lights up his face with golden stripes. It made you take note of his amber eyes. They were not dark brown in the sunlight. You can hear people on the street from the partially shattered panels, some dragged-out footsteps, and some hushed conversations. Screaming for help would be no use, people hear women screaming in the streets in broad daylight and do nothing. This QZ was not about justice. It was every man for himself.

Joel stands up, tucking his gun back into his waistband. His eyes laser toward you and you feel his gaze pierce you. “Stand up, you’re comin’ with me.”

You do not try to hide your fear. While you knew better, you silently hoped that he would just shoot you here, let you drown in your own blood in the comfort of your own home. But he was going to take you to a secondary location. You would be dying on his terms.

You push yourself up off the floor, your feet stuttering as you walk over to him. “Can I put on some shoes?”

He nods almost robotically. He watches you carefully as you drag yourself across the living room. You start to realize how torn up the place really is. Roger must have put up a fight because the side table is in pieces on the rug. You step around the splinters and grab your boots. After you tie up your laces, Joel is yanking you up by your bicep and dragging you into the dark alley your apartment opens up into. You were so fucked.

Joel is a harsh man, but he does not kill you.

You did not understand why he kept you around. You were eating his food, occupying a room in his apartment, and you were going through horrific withdrawals. He refused to give you an ounce of alcohol. The first couple nights at Joel’s, you were so sick that you violently shook for a whole day straight. You begged Joel through the door to shoot you and put you out of your misery. It was the worst feeling in the world. Your heart felt like it may beat out of your chest.

After the third day, your shakes had subsided and your mind was a bit more clear. You still felt like shit, but it was tolerable enough that you just laid in bed and stared at the floral wallpaper in your new bedroom.

You did not mind being spared, but being locked away was almost worse than death. You noted the mold smell the day you arrived in Joel’s apartment. You could not stop smelling it, no matter what you did. You kept telling yourself you would get used to it, but it always lingered. He restricted you to a bedroom where the window was completely caged. You had spotty natural light that only really peaked through in the evenings.

Joel would bring you a small meal every morning, usually stale bread and a mug of water. On rare occasions, his footsteps would stomp over to your rotting wooden door and he’d unlock the door to feed you for lunch. That only happened twice, though, and it was a bare-bones meal. But every night, right after sunset, he would barge in with a Spam sandwich and a cup of ice water. You would sit on the rusty framed-out bed as he sat in the armchair in the corner of the room by the window. Occasionally he would have a sandwich for himself, other times he would just sit there and watch you slowly eat the meal he provided.

And for some sick reason, you always thanked him.

He would never reply, his jaw slack and arms crossed. You only heard his voice a handful of times since he brought you here.

After two weeks of isolation and staring contests over dinner, Joel finally asked you a question after you finished your Spam sandwich. “Do you want to shower?”

You had not washed yourself in weeks and you could smell yourself. The idea of being able to shower was so appealing, that you actually smiled as he asked it.

Joel guided you across his expansive apartment into his bedroom. The entire place was falling apart, but Joel’s room seemed completely untouched by the times. It smelled like pine as soon as you bounded through the threshold. His bed was made up perfectly, with two pillows on each side. His side table only had one single lamp and a novel that’s title was in another language. Joel snatched you away from soaking up his oasis and forced you into the dated bathroom. He shuts the door behind him, clicking when he rattles the handle.

You swallow, “Are you joining me?”

He shakes his head, turning and grabbing the bar of soap on the edge of the vanity. “No, ‘m just making sure you don’t try anything.”

You narrow your eyes at him, not completely believing him. Joel had not made any moves towards you, so you are not sure why you are suddenly skeptical of his intentions. Even if he did try something, you knew you could not do anything about it.

You were at Joel’s mercy. You did not completely comprehend why he was locking you down in his home and you did not get why you were just going along with it. You used to be a ferocious fighter, but after everything with Roger, you did not know where else you would go if it was not with Joel.

You turn your back to him, hesitantly undressing. Your clothes were disgusting, stained with sweat marks that you left when you were going through withdrawals. As you drop them onto the cold tile, Joel clears his throat.

You cannot remember the last time you were nude in front of another man. Another person. It had to be over 10 years. “I got ya some new clothes. I’ll grab them when you get in the shower.”

You just nod. While you were grateful for new clothes, you were still confused as to why you were here. As you turn on the water, you peek back at Joel. He is not looking at you, he’s looking out the window. His hands are tucked in his pocket and you have truly never seen him look at peace. His face is relaxed and his shoulders are eased down.

You use your hand to gauge the water’s lukewarm temperature before you slip in behind the curtain. The bathtub is an off-white color. As soon as you get under the shower head, you note the dirt and grime combining with the water and spinning down the drain.

You use the bar of soap Joel gave you to clean off your frigid skin. The scent is just a hint of lavender. It must have been an old bar and with age, the smell has faded. As you massage it in, you hear the door creak open and click shut. You assume it’s Joel doing what he told you and then your mind circles back to your previous observation.

Why is Joel doing this?

You ponder the idea that maybe he is a sadist psychopath who just likes the idea of having someone held captive. But you had heard a lot about this man, and while he was a murderer, you never heard about him kidnapping or hurting women. If anything, he was easier on women who did him wrong.

But you were not a woman who did him wrong. You did nothing to him. You simply were in the wrong place at the wrong time. You did exactly what he asked and then you went along with his plans for you.

Maybe he was just lonely?

His deep voice slices through your thoughts, “You almost done in there?”

You nod even though he cannot see you. “Yeah, I’m almost done.”

You rinse the soap out of your hair and turn off the faucet. You peek your head out from the curtain and Joel stands there with a towel in his hands. He laid a pile of clothes on the sink and you noticed that your clothes were gone from off the floor. Joel extends the towel to you and you reach around and grab it.

It’s scratchy, but it absorbs all the beads of water off your body. You wrap it around your body, tucking the end under your right armpit. You pull back the curtain and Joel is still standing there.

You step over the edge of the tub, letting some of the droplets run onto the cold tiles. Joel’s eyes never leave yours, but as soon as you step towards the clothes on the counter, his eyes trickle down your body.

Your heart picks up when his hand comes up to your cheek. Your natural reaction is to flinch away from him, but his motion is quicker than you. He wipes away a water drip off your cheekbone, pulling it down to your jawline. “All better?” He asks, his voice low. You nod, sheepishly. “Yes, thank you.”

He smiles.

“So polite. So pretty.”

And then he leaves you alone, clicking the knob shut as he exits the bathroom.

You get dressed quickly. Joel somehow knows your exact sizes because the cargo pants, long sleeve, and undergarments are a perfect fit. You never even managed to find clothes to fit you this well when you were doing your own stealing and looting.

His words rattle around in your head and you start to panic a bit. You start to formulate a plan. You had to stop thanking him. You had to stick up for yourself a bit more. You had to see where your boundaries were with him. You had to figure out his motive.

It was scary. Daunting. But you knew you could not live like this much longer.

You reach out for the door, but the knob was already turned and being pulled forward. Joel stands by the entrance of the door and you stride out, your head held a bit higher than usual. His face shows confusion, but you do not falter.

“I’m still hungry.”

It is like all the air is sucked out of the room. Suddenly, Joel is nine feet tall and you are an inch short. Your voice was confident enough to pass, but it was like he saw right through you.

“I fed you.”

You swallow, your eyes averted from his face for a moment, “Can I have a snack?”

His frown is more memorable than his smile. It is a permanent fixture in his big scary man aesthetic.

“A snack?”

You almost want to laugh at his condescending tone. But you also realize how you are playing with fire and at any moment this man could snap and kill you. You had to know if you were able to test him, see if you could truly ask him for something and he would be willing to give it to you. This would be your lesson.

So you nod, very matter-of-factly.

He is looking at you like you have four heads, but he bites.

“Fine, I’ll getcha a snack. Why don’t you have a seat on my bed?”

His cadence is giving him away. You can already tell he is not good at hiding his annoyance. You hesitantly walk over to his bed, plopping down rather obnoxiously. Your feet swipe the rug like a child’s would as you wait for him to return to the room. When he comes back, he has a single piece of beef jerky between his fingers.

You narrow your eyes at the so-called snack. You hated cured meats and you were sure to let him know that. “Jerky?”

You are really testing him now. And you can tell by the way his chest rises and falls in one quick breath.

“You seem very ungrateful, little one.”

You reach out to grab the bark but he snatches it back in a quick motion. You crinkle your eyebrows at him, trying your best to feign innocence. With the way he is staring daggers at you, you should fear his next move.

“Beg.”

You feel like your chest cannot take any more air in. Your hand is still hanging in the air, trying to reach out to his offering, but his hand is holding it far from your grasp.

You do not want to beg, this standoff would be part of your resistance to his captivity. In your mind, something would have to give way eventually. You could not sit around and just take his crumbs and passive weird behavior. So, you shake your head no.

“Go to your room. You’ve pissed me off,” His tone is abrupt and rushed. You do not want to push this further, knowing that you have made it an inch with him and were not completely ready to run the mile. You needed to game plan your next move.

You stand up, walking painfully slow to the door and leaving his space. His steps trail behind you, ensuring you did what he asked you to do. You can smell his musk, which makes the hairs on your arms stand up. He smelled good for a man as rugged as him.

When you reach your bedroom door, you grab the handle and turn around to face him. He stares down at you, his pupils dilated.

You make one last plea. “So, no snack?”

You regret saying it immediately. He puts the jerky bit up to his lips, opens them deliberately, and takes a huge bite of the meat. It pulls apart with a crackle and watching it, you know it probably would hurt your teeth if you did something like that. His flexed jaw is a lot stronger than yours. His action is animalistic in a way, reminding you of a lion tearing into an antelope.

And for some reason, it brings a rise of heat from your shoulders to your cheeks. Watching his teeth gnaw on the jerky sends your mind traveling to la la land.

His voice forces you out of your thoughts. “Go to bed. Now.”

He stopped bringing you breakfast. Instead of your usual routine, Joel started giving you one small meal a day. You start to resent him and by the looks he is giving you, he is still bitter over your whole scheme with the snack.

You woke up hungry, which only started your day off wrong. You are regretting ever testing him in the first place. You were biting the same hand that literally fed you. The more you think about it, the more you realize that you should be grateful he is even keeping you alive. Why are you even trying to rock the boat with him? In some weird twisted way, he gave you a second chance. You were completely sober from alcohol going on a month now. And while most nights you grieved the burn of it going down your throat, your mind was more clear. You felt more grounded in reality. You did not want to go back to the way you were. Sure, you were hungry, but you were not plastered and sleeping 18 hours a day, and that seemed like a fair enough trade.

But the ache of your chest started to set in. You were feeling impulsive. You do not clearly remember how your body felt before you started drinking so much, but you do recall the aggression that would riddle your bones from time to time. The knee jerk reaction just to let loose. It had gotten you in some very sticky situations, but it was a sort of rush you craved.

After three days of the stalemate, he brought you the Spam sandwich and a short cup of water for dinner. You do not look at him when he walks into the room, and you do not thank him.

You had to get on his good side again. Somehow.

“Are you on a hunger strike or somethin’?” His deep Southern drawl always extending out the end of his sentences. You loved hearing it.

You shake your head no.

“You stopped giving me breakfast,” You grumble, reaching out to the plate he offers you. He shrugs, plopping down in his usual chair in the corner. He does not have his dinner in hand tonight. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“You were bein’ an ungrateful little bitch. I am offerin’ you a second chance here and you are not appreciative,” He states, almost sighing. You grit your teeth at his name for you, but you decide it is not worth the argument.

You take a bite of the stale bread. The moan of your stomach subsides for a moment.

“I am appreciative…”

He sits back, his shoulders flexing under his jean button-up. You scan his body, noting his dirty clothes and muddy brown boots. He was always tracking things into your bedroom from the bottom of his shoes and it ate away at your need for wanting things more clean. Your sober mind needed tidiness.

He grunts, “Doesn’t seem that way, sweetheart. Didn’t thank me just now.”

You try to get your thoughts in order before you respond. You take one careful bite into the sandwich, trying to read the man sitting in front of you. He got you sober. He feeds you and houses you even though he could have shot you in the face for being involved with a man who screwed him over. And he is not a bad view to look at when you eat.

“Thank you, Joel.”

He stands up and saunters over to you. As you swallow your bite, your eyes trail up his large frame. You start to worry a bit. Maybe he did not see your answer as genuine.

His thumb begins to trace the outline of your jaw, before slowly making its way up to your cheekbone. You grasp onto the plate tighter, your eyes piercing his as he focuses in on your lips. When you think he’s about to pull away, his palm goes over your mouth and his hand squeezes your cheeks together. His grip on you is painful, his fingers sinking into the divots of your upper jaw.

“You are receptive to feedback. Which is a good thing…” He trails off. Your heart starts to pound against your rib cage as you wait for the other shoe to drop. His hand jerks your head to the right, inspecting your side profile. “You will be good for me.”

You do not know what he is insinuating and are too afraid to speak up. You dip your head down, trying to promise him silently. Yes, I will be good. Please don’t kill me.

He slowly lets go of your face. He brings his thumb up to his lips and licks the very tip of the finger. You watch him bring it back down to your level. You flinch when he brings it up to the very corner of your lip. He wipes away at something like a father would to his young child who had food left on their face.

Joel was violent. But he was quiet about it and that scared you. He moved with such intention and you found yourself occasionally hypnotized by his aura. He was unlike any man you ever met. It could be the fact that others around you made him out to be some enigma, but maybe he was one.

You finally manage to speak up, the sudden tender touch starkly different from the aggression just minutes before.

“What do you want with me?”

It comes out as a whisper, but with Joel being so close, his ears perk up.

His face does not change from the steeled expression. “Time.”

He gives you breakfast one morning. You have been sleeping in, trying to use slumber as a substitute for food and it seemed to work for a couple of days. Joel brings in a plate with eggs and some stale bread. You had not seen him bring in eggs before and it shocked you. Your eyes almost well up in tears when he hands it to you in bed.

“Thank you, Joel.”

He sits in his usual spot and watches you scarf down the meal. “I am going to be gone for a couple of days.”

Your eyes shoot back at him, confusion laced in your countenance. “What about me?”

“I’m letting you have access to the kitchen and living room. You’re not allowed to leave. The door will be locked from the outside.”

The thought of being alone for that long scares you. Your thoughts start spinning. Why is he leaving you? Why would he let you be alone? Would you be able to eat?

Joel can see the cogs turning in your brain.

“You are leaving me alone?”

He claps his hands on his thighs as he stands, “I have a run to make. I usually have other guys do it for me but I gotta do this one myself. You will be okay.”

For some reason, your instinct is to worry about him. Going out of the QZ walls is always a very dangerous feat and you knew he would be unprotected from the elements and infected. Joel seems more than capable, but anything can happen. What would happen if he died out there?

“How long will you be gone?”

The question comes out desperate and you do not mean it to. You crawl out from under your covers, planting your feet on the ground. You suddenly felt hot. When the cold air hits your bare legs, you realize that you forgot you discarded your pants in the middle of the night. You were just in your underwear in front of him.

Joel’s eyes flicker down your unclad legs. You had a good radar when it came to men checking you out and as much as you did not want to admit it, you knew Joel was doing just that.

His lips twitch, “Not long. Two days, max.”

You cross your legs, holding your hands in front of your crotch in an attempt to try to shield yourself a bit. You watch him meander over to you, his steps purposeful. Once he reaches about a foot away, your breathing slows as his hand trails up your arm.

You felt this tension rise within the room and for a second you think he may act on his reaction to your legs. But instead, he just clears his throat. You are a bit disappointed and you do not know why.

“I’ll be good, Joel.”

You survive the first night. You busy yourself with stuff around his apartment. You decide that you would not snoop through his belongings, only organizing the kitchen cabinets and alphabetizing his record collection. You had found a sense of purpose, filling your day with pointless tasks.

When the second night comes, you decide that you finally need a shower. Joel did not tell you that you could use the bathroom in his room, but you became aware that the other tub did not work and was covered in mold. The smell in the bathroom was enough to make you gag.

You were starting to reek of body odor and you did not want to sleep another night smelling the way you did. Plus, you knew the soap you used when Joel called you pretty was in that shower. He could not be that mad.

So, you tiptoe into his room and wander into his bathroom. When you flick on the light, you notice some of his beard shavings in the sink bowl. To the left of the shower curtain, you spot a jumbled pair of boxer shorts. You feel a pang in your stomach. His face appears in your mind. You cannot stop yourself from imagining him in the room with you, just like he was when you stripped for your shower before.

You step into the cool water, letting it soak you as your hands traveled around your body. Your nerve endings were buzzing as your thoughts pondered the idea of Joel being there with you.

The glimmer of his eyes when you were pantsless days before still rattled around in your head. You had not been desired in so long and with that action alone, Joel made you feel wanted. The tension was so palpable. His close proximity to you, the occasional gentle touches, it was enough to fill your mind with all the dirty possibilities.

Your hand travels down to between your legs. At first it’s only to clean, but as you explore, you cannot help but slip your fingers between your folds. The titillating motion is enough to have you throwing your head back in pleasure. You squeeze your eyes shut, thoughts drifting to how you need an explosive release and you sickeningly want Joel Miller to give it to you.

Your pointer finger and middle spread your folds, rubbing carelessly and eagerly. You have not felt this driven to orgasm in years. You recall the sight of Joel’s stomach the first day you met him. Then you think about the boxers right outside of the shower next to you. Your thoughts spin and suddenly he’s naked in your mind.

Your hand only moves quicker with the thoughts. Your clit is aching with such intensity, you are shuttering and using your free hand to balance yourself on the tub’s wall. The water is pounding down your chest, dripping through the valley of your breasts.

Your eyes open a bit as you try to find your footing and you notice a bar of soap that’s covered in his short hairs. You snatch it up, bringing it up to your nose as your lips quirk up into a smile.

Of course, it smells like him.

You finger yourself faster, his name spilling from his lips as you press the bar into your face. It is almost like you are imagining it is his face stuck to your face.

“Joel… Oh my god, Joel-”

The sound of the curtain being ripped away from its spot makes you completely jump out of your skin. His fierce brown eyes raking down your completely nude frame, hunched over and in a compromising position. He slams his fist against the faucet, shutting the water off in one swoop. You drop his soap to the floor, scrambling backward trying to dodge his rage.

He is pissed.

His hand wraps around your bicep, ripping you out of the tub and onto the tile. Your hip hits the ground first and it sends a shooting pain up your back. He is panting like he just ran a mile, standing over your sopping naked frame.

“What are ya’? A bitch in heat?” He spits. You are so dazed and a bit afraid, you start to shake and raise your hands in defense.

He squats down to you, his eyes scanning your dripping body. His hands work so quick to reach out and grab your face. With clenched teeth, he brings your face close. “Answer me.”

His grip is tight on your face and you do not know if you can even respond effectively. You feel your core pulsate with the way he has a hold of you.

“I-I wanted to s-shower.”

He mocks you, “I-I… You are fuckin’ yourself in my shower like a dirty whore.”

He turns back to check to see if he actually saw you holding his bar of soap. It’s in pieces at the bottom of the tub surround. He pulls his hand away but the sting still remains.

“I-I’m sorry, Joel.”

His gaze falls upon you again, a little less aggravated. “Dry off and get dressed. Sit on my bed when you’re done.”

Your mind is all over the place when you sit down on Joel’s bed. He is not in the room but you hear him in the kitchen moving around. You hear the clatter of some plates and then him grunting.

When he barges in,you can tell he is annoyed still.

“You reorganized?”

Your heart pounds with uncertainty. You did not believe that would ever set him off, but you are starting to realize you have gauged Joel incorrectly. “Yes.”

He stops his pacing, his hands still propped up on his hips. “Why?”

“Because I needed to keep busy while you were gone. I also went through and-”

“Alphabetized the records. I saw.”

Nothing was getting past him. Your breathing is labored, the idea of him killing you for helping him be more orderly is so pathetic. You had to go out in a better way.

You clench your hands in your lap, “I did not mean to make you angry.”

He does not say anything, staring at you with an askane expression. He pivots to the dresser beside the bed, opening up the top drawer. He pulls out a pair of gray sweatpants and a beat up white t-shirt. He folds them meticulously, stacking them and then handing them to you.

You reach out for them, putting them in your empty lap.

“Put them on and get under the covers.”

Of all the things he could have said, this surprises you the most. “In my own bed?”

“No, this one.”

You look back at his perfectly made bed. He wanted you to sleep with him?

“Joel-”

“We are tryin’ somethin’ new tonight. Change your clothes while I take a shower with my soap, and be under those covers when I get out,” His outline of directions is seriously rattling you to your core. You felt nervous but almost excited?

You watch him turn on his heels and amble over to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Your stomach sinks when you hear the lock click. You look down at the clothes he gave you, raising them up to check the tags.

Just your size.

His bed is way more comfortable than the mattress you were cursed with. The blue quilt feels soft and worn under your fingertips. You lay on your back, feeling out of your own body. You hear the water shut off in the bathroom and your heart starts racing. You hear the rip up the curtain and some small stomps as Joel must be exiting the shower.

When the door creaks open and you see him standing in only some boxer shorts, your breathing hitches. His hair is brushed backward and his hairy upper body is a sight to behold. You silently wished you had this image earlier when you were rubbing your clit.

He walks over to his dresser, the same dresser he pulled clothes for you out of, and grabs a plain white t-shirt. He tosses it over his head, pushing his arms out of the holes on the side. It was slightly stained at the collar and it was see-through enough that you saw his dark chest hair still.

“You are sleeping with me tonight,” He announces, walking over to the opposite side of the bed. Your stomach flips when you watch him pull the blanket back and crawl under the blanket. You observe how drastic his mood shifted from ripping you out of the shower. Why did he want you in his bed? What was his end goal? Your core is still sticky with your desire. You secretly wish he would just take advantage of you already.

But he does not even turn your direction. You watch him face his back to you, tuck one arm under his pillow and shut the lamp off.

Your mind starts to race. The bedroom door is unlocked, you can see it in the moonlight. You could easily slip out of the bed in the middle of the night and head for the front door and run.

But it’s the same thought that slipped your mind when Joel left you a couple days ago. You could have jumped out a window, rigged the doorknob to the apartment to get out, but you just never did. Instead, you sat idle inside Joel’s apartment and waited for him to return.

And now you have access to him when he’s at his most vulnerable. What was preventing you from sneaking a pointy object into the bedroom and stabbing him directly in the throat?

Because you needed him. And while your demented and violent thoughts of all the ways you could kill him rattled around in your mind, you knew deep down you would never do it. You craved the need to impress him. To be good for him.

He’s silent next to you, not a sound leaving his body. You are not even sure if he is asleep when you slowly turn on your side, facing away from him as well.

Somehow, you sleep better in his bed than your own.

The routine changes after that night.

Joel wakes up as soon as the sun breaks the sky and he leaves you in his bed as he prepares you breakfast. When you hear the door reopen, you always wake up to his frame standing over you with a plate. You rub your eyes as you grab the handoff, propping yourself up on his headboard. He would sit on the end of the bed, nibbling on his own meal.

And then he starts asking you questions.

It starts off with him asking you where you were from originally. You explain how you traveled with a group of people that were essentially raiding other established communities. You had escaped the Baltimore QZ when a bunch of people got infected practically overnight and there was no oversight. When you got out, the people who survived with you became vicious and desperate.

Then he asks you about your relationship with Roger.

You give him the overview. You tell him you relied on him to fund your mind-numbing habits and he left you to look over his stash. When you press him about what he did to him, Joel gives you those eyes. Almost to say “you don’t get to ask the questions here.”

Most days you sat on the couch and read his collection of books. You were not the fastest reader so it took days to get through some of the stories. He had a lot of books about space and a variety of science fiction. He would leave every day, running his usual business. When he got back home, you would still be planted on the sofa, reading. He would slam his keys down and get to work on your Spam sandwich.

Every other night you would shower. After the soap incident, he kept his soap on the very top corner of the shower. When you first noticed it, you smiled sickly.

The sleeping situation is the same every night. You lay on your back, Joel lays on his side, completely facing away from you. Sometimes in the middle of the night, your arms would brush his back and he would stir. You tried your very best not to test his limits even though you had no real clue what they were.

One particular night, the window he kept cracked was letting in the most frigid air. You always ran cold while Joel was like a furnace when he slept. He radiated enough heat to keep a whole house warm. But this night you were shaking under the quilt, your toes feeling like they may fall off.

You turn on your side, facing his expansive back. You are so deliberate with your movement that when your arm falls over his waist, his body jolts. Instead of slapping you away or turning to face you, his body just stills completely, not even a rise and fall of breath.

“What are you doing?” He asks through the darkness, his sleepy voice. Almost wholesome.

You stifle a response, trying your best to sound confident. “I’m cold.”

He finally breathes out, his arm moving down over yours and holding it against his waist. Your heart races so hard you can hardly fathom falling asleep, but at least you were warm.

You start to do it every night, even when the air is balmy outside. You settle on your side, your arm swinging over his waist and pulling your lower half taut with his butt. You never expected you would ever be spooning Joel Miller every night, but here you were, wearing his clothes with your pelvis flush to him.

Your hand finds his hips one night while you adjusted your position. Your hand graces right below his waist and you feel his member half-hard in his boxer shorts. It makes your eyes snap open, the shock of your body waking him up. Your hand does not move, though. You hover it over that spot, curiously wanting to touch him through his shorts.

“Do you feel me?”

His voice makes your throat tighten, unsure of how to respond to such a question. So you just hum and shake your head.

He takes your reluctant hand and pushes it down to his clothed cock, his body pushing back into a bit. Your mind is still a bit fuzzy from your slumber, but when you feel him harden under your touch, you do not want to stop until you finish him.

He is deliberately moving your hand around, pulling it over and under his boxers until you are touching his bare cock. You shutter at how large it feels in your hand and you cannot even see it from how you are laying. Your hand cannot completely wrap around it due to its girth.

“Joel…” You practically whimper, clawing his back to get him to lay back so you can see him. He does not budge, still laying on his side.

Your hand massages the very base of his dick, his curly hair poking your fingertips as you do. You are so eager that as you jerk him off, he grabs your hand to start guiding you slower. When your hand graces his tip, he hisses.

“Gotta take me slow, girl,” He groans, holding your wrist so tight you know it will be bruised in the morning. You do as he says, slowly and methodically following how he likes to be jerked off. After a minute, you can hear his shallow breaths increasing as you bring your speed up just a bit.

“Are you gonna cum?”

You try to say it in a sultry voice, but it comes out rushed and desperate. You just want to see him seize by your own hand. Joel grunts, his grip on your arm practically stilling your movements before he can even finish. You resist his persistent handle on you. You craved to make him orgasm. Eventually, he pushes his hips forward into your hand, sighing as he releases.

You feel the ropes of cum spill all over the back of your hand. As soon as the warm seed empties onto you and his tummy, he rips back the covers and stumbles into the bathroom. He shuts the door so fast, you hardly see him through the dark.

You look at his clear-white fluid on your knuckles and smile in satisfaction.You want him to see your next actions.

The bathroom light spills into the room as he holds out a wash rag to you. It’s obvious it’s the one he just used on himself. You shake your head, bringing your hand up to your lips, extending your tongue, and licking the spend off your knuckles. You swallow, willingly.

He gawks at you, his eyebrows still knitted together, watching you clean off your hand entirely. “Didn’t even need my help. What a good girl.”

You wake up with Joel standing over you. It rattles you a bit, his stare zeroed in on your face.

“Mornin’,” He uttered, holding out a small pile of clothes for you. “We are goin’ on a field trip.”

The last thing you expected after jerking the man off last night was an outing. You sit straight up, holding out your hands for him to shove the clothes in your palms.

“Where are we going,” You stammer, pushing the covers down your legs.

His eyes rake down your body as you stand up, almost standing at attention in front of him.

“You’re comin’ to work with me.”

You look down at the clothes he has given you. Some cargo pants, a short sleeve gray top, and even a new pair of underwear.

This is the first outing you have had since being with Joel, so you are a bit nervous thinking about how the outside world may be. It cannot be any worse than it already was, but you worried about how you would be perceived walking down the street with Joel Miller.

The more you ponder the idea, you start to feel more reassured than anything. If you were placed beside anyone, you would want it to be with the guy everyone feared. No one would ever think to give you a hard time.

Joel’s line of work was dangerous but it was also a powerful role to have in this fucked up world in the QZ. You were on the right side of the insanity, in your opinion. Joel was your protection in some demented fucked-up way.

You get dressed as he makes breakfast. This morning, he decides to make you two some eggs that he said were getting old so he had to make them. He likes his eggs runny, so you had to like yours runny, too.

You two sat at the dining table as you ate. He scarfs his down in a minute, while you take your time to savor the different flavor. You missed eating food that was not Spam or plain bread. Joel notes your painstakingly slow chews.

“Hurry up, we got places to be.”

The people on the streets pay mind to you now. Before, when you did leave your former place with Roger, everyone kept their heads down. Occasionally people would slam into you with their shoulders, acting like they could phase right through you.

When you walk with Joel, people move out of the way.

The alleyway is not too far from Joel’s apartment. He forces you to walk in front of him, copying every step you make with his loud footfalls. He grabs your shoulders to direct you down a concrete staircase that seems to lead to nowhere. At the bottom, a brute man stands with his arms crossed. You hesitantly stop right in front of him, your eyes taking in all the scars littering his face.

Joel grunts. “She’s with me, Pete. Thomas and Garrett in there with him?”

The man, who’s now known as Pete, just nods minutely. Joel pushes the door beside him open and grabs your forearm to drag you through the threshold. It’s a dimly lit hallway that smelled like dampness and gunpowder. There’s two light bulbs dangling from the paint chipped ceiling that guide you to the end of the hallway. Joel pushes open the door, and you smell that familiar metallic smell.

It was a smell that leaked into your dreams occasionally. It’s so overpowering you can almost taste it.

When you walk in, the room is occupied by three men. Two are standing over the other, their bodies blocking the entirety of the scene. You do note the huge puddle of blood on the floor near a knocked over wooden chair. Joel clears his throat and the two men step away looking at Joel, then you. They have to be around your age, maybe a bit older. The blond man speaks up first as he scans your body.

“Bringing your kid along for the show?”

You glance over at Joel who’s jaw tightens. You watch his whole demeanor shift, his body becoming rigid.

“Get out of here, Garrett.”

The blond man furrows his brows, not understanding why he was really being directed to leave. You can sense a bit of hesitance. “Joel, I’m just kidd-”

“Get the fuck out, now. We don’t need you.”

The man scrambles past you and Joel, shutting the door behind him. The dynamic Joel and his men have is very easy to figure out. Whatever he says, goes. The look the other man is giving him is that of unease.

“He confessed that he stole from our stash. More than once.” Joel walks forward, drawing his gun out. Finally, the man on the floor comes into full view.

And you recognize him.

He was a pill smuggler that had come over to Roger’s a couple times before. He always gave off the vibe that he would take advantage of anyone, especially a woman. He would whisper things about you to Roger and you remember a couple times when he had inappropriately touched you. You believe his name to be Don. Maybe Ron.

His eyes are swollen and bruised. His lip is completely split open and he has a gnarly gash on his left cheekbone. He is tied up, his arms and legs bound by ropes and zip ties.

You are not at all phased by blood, but his beaten body is a bit hard to look at. He was not a nice looking man already, and surely the swelling was not helping him.

His lips part almost like he is about to speak up, but Joel swipes the butt of his gun across his face with insane accuracy.

One thing about you was you did not turn away from violence. Now that you are sober, it's easier to recognize that something was off for you to be so unfazed by the savagery. You sickeningly enjoyed watching people get their karma.

You had no context as to why this man was bound and brutalized in this random basement, but you knew Joel had good reason to set him straight.

“Donny boy, I thought we were friends,” Joel’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. He seems in his element as he squats in front of the man, “And you fucked me over good. Sold out people only to get yourself in this position. Pretty fuckin’ dumb.”

Don can hardly sit up, his body completely tilted with his elbow propping up his entire body weight. You can tell he is struggling to respond, but you hear the faintest voice quip up.

“I told the truth, please,” He begs as he attempts to sit up more. Joel grabs his shoulder roughly, balancing his back on his butt. “I won’t do it again.”

You cannot see Joel’s face, but you know he does not believe that. His shoulders slot back a bit as he stands up and turns to face you. His face is straight, not showing any emotion at all. You notice the gun still in his hand, his finger completely off the trigger.

“You know him?”

You just nod, your eyes peering down at the gun he has directed at you. His eyes flicker back and forth, seemingly contemplating what to say next. He pushes the weapon into your hand, his fingers curling around the grip so that your hand would follow suit. You watch every meticulous move, pulling the safety clip, slipping his hand away and gesturing towards the man.

“You’re gonna kill him.”

Your eyes fly open, unsure if this problem should be dealt with by you. The promise you made to yourself when you stepped foot in this QZ rattled around in your brain as you tried not to show Joel your irresolution. Your mouth is dry when you gulp, “Why?”

His hand presses on your back as he pushes you towards the guy. You are about 2 feet from him and Joel’s face is so close to your ear. It’s the closest he has ever been to you. You can feel his breath on your lobe and neck and it makes bumps scatter across your body.

He raises your arms, pointing the barrel towards Don. As soon as he does that, Don starts begging. His voice shaking, sweat pooling on his forehead, tears pricking at the corners of his swollen eyes.

Joel’s voice is so hushed over Don’s pleas. “He is the one who told me about Roger stealing from me. Little did I know, he was stealing from me, too.”

It is like a switch goes off in your brain. Your eyes are trained forward on the trembling man but it is as if the whole world went quiet when Joel stopped speaking. You hear white noise in your ears and your mind shuts off for a nanosecond. Your pointer finger slots between trigger guard and trigger and you squeeze, your aim right at his head.

You feel the spray explode across your face and suddenly you snap back to your reality.

Your body was overtaken by the need to please. The need to impress Joel. It was also like your own sick revenge. This man is the reason Roger was dead. The reason you got ripped from your normalcy. Your brain had no time to catch up to your body’s actions. Instead of flinching or falling backward away from the body of the traitor, you stand over him like he’s some commodity in a circus. With wonder and curiosity, you lower the gun and smile.

Joel steps beside you, his face expressing fervor.

Finally facing him and forgetting the other man in the room who was just a witness to the scene, you speak up.

“Did I do good?”

A small semblance of a grin spreads across his lips. “Very good, sweetheart.”

You and Joel do not stay in the room long after. Very quickly, he ushers you into another room where he checks a cabinet full of guns, looking over each other and counting in a hushed tone. You hear bounding footsteps in the hallway and men talking amongst each other.

The voices are rushed and surprised. One states, “She didn’t even flinch. Joel’s lucky to have her.”

You feel a tickle on your brow and itch it absentmindedly. As you pull your finger back and look at it, it is stained red.

You find a shiny surface in the room of arms and paraphernalia, glancing at your own reflection. The smear of blood goes across your forehead, while the splatter itself is speckled across your cheeks like freckles. Joel stops what he is doing to check you out, his steps trailing up to your back. His breathing is quite labored and as you stare at your own mirror image, you note the look he’s giving you.

His hand goes across your chest, his finger tips starting to dance across your décolletage.

“We gotta clean you up. Can’t have you walkin’ the streets lookin’ like you killed someone.”

He says it while he rubs the blood across your chest, smearing it and massaging it into your skin.

You loved it when he touched you. Even if it was roughly, you counted yourself lucky that Joel felt the need to do so.

“But I did kill someone.”

Your voice does not have any hesitance, you are simply stating facts. Joel’s chin tilts upward, his hand grabbing your shoulder and jerking you around to face him. His face is practically millimeters from the tip of your nose.

He grunts, almost like he’s clearing his throat. “And you didn’t even second guess me. I didn’t even need to push you, you just did it.”

You smirk to yourself, enjoying the slight praise he is giving you.

“And here I thought I was testin’ ya.”

Your eyes flicker up to his, trying to see right into his soul. Testing you?

“Did you not expect me to do it?” You bite.

“I had an inklin’ you’d be loyal. Consistent. Even a bit violent. But I didn’t expect a killer.”

Your chest rises at his statement. You are trying to manage your breathing as his words have a visceral effect on you. It was like he was talking dirty to you. Why did his impression of you mean so much? Ever since you met the man, you were at his mercy and you got off at his reassurance. It was like he was your new vice.

His right hand traces down your bare arm, while his left grabs your jaw. “Let’s get you cleaned up and home, how ‘bout it?”

You agree with a jerk of your head.

Once you walk into the apartment again, you are reminded of the smell of mold again. When the scent hits your nostrils, you scrunch your face. Joel is quick to notice the expression because his eyes and hands have not left your body since you shot that guy. He has been watching your every move.

You toe off your shoes by the front door as Joel tosses down the keys. He takes the handgun out of his waistband and places it carelessly next to them.

When he turns to look at you, he crosses his arms. He is studying you as you unzip the jacket he offered you. It was only to cover the blood that stained your new outfit.

“Take it off slow.”

You shoot him a confused look, still trying your best to follow his instructions. You shrug the jacket off your shoulders, letting it purposefully fall down your arms. The blood on your clothes has left semi-permanent spots on your skin. Once the clothing pools to the floor, you stand there at Joel’s mercy.

He clenches his jaw, nodding slowly as he inspects you. “Now the shirt.”

You do not second guess his next directions. You grab the hem of your shirt and draw it upward over your head. The fabric goes across your lips and nose lifting them up awkwardly. You smile when you drop the next article next to the jacket.

The anticipation makes your pussy pulsate. You have thought about this moment for longer than you care to admit.

“Pants.”

The pants are buttoned so you fumble with getting it undone before you are shoving them down your goosebump-ridden legs. When they get to your ankles, you use the opposite feet to step on the fabric and pull them off your feet. You kick them further away than the shirt and jacket.

You are only in your underwear in Joel’s living room. He is looking at you with such confliction. You have never felt very self conscious until this very moment.

“Should I keep going?”

It is an innocent question, but there is lustful intention behind it. There would be a point of no return if he did answer it.

“I was gettin’ there,” He steps towards you, his guise not giving away any of his next movements. His face was still unyielding. “Panties first.”

Your breathing hitches when his fingers wrap around the elasticity of the waistband.

“I’m still c-covered in blood-” “Shut up.”

You nod, sliding the underwear down and revealing your already dripping core. He sucks in a big breath of air as his hand reaches between your legs and swipes at your wetness with the pads of his fingers. Your entire body tenses, the feeling so foreign and exciting that you cannot contain your gasp for air.

Finally his expressionless face changes to a small twinge of a smile, “Dirty fuckin’ girl. Have been wantin’ this for a long time, eh?”

You are afraid to admit it out loud so you just nod. His fingers still make work through your folds and your knees feel like they may buckle with every swipe. Joel notes your position and grabs your face with his left hand, squeezing your cheeks so hard it forces you to look at him and stand up straighter.

His fingers dip into you briefly, making squelching noise so loud that you both groan.

“Joel,” you whimper, sounding desperate and hasty.

He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours. It is a passionate act you did not expect. You did not know that sex would Joel would mean open mouth kisses, but you are thankful for it. His hand releases its grip on your cheeks and wraps itself around the base of your throat. Your lips slip open for his tongue, letting it explore every inch of your mouth. His fingers are making their slow methodical movements around your clit, driving you absolutely insane with desire.

Your body seems so in tune with every movement he makes, but as you makeout with him, you realize it is because he has molded you this way. To curve and bend to his every will and way.

And you loved every moment of it. You thirsted for this type of control. You knew you would not have to worry or have a second thought, ever. Joel was already ten steps ahead and thinking out everything for you.

He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes flickering between your lips and eyes. You note the red tinge of blood on his lips from kissing yours.

“Get on your knees.”

You obey, whining when you realize that means he would no longer be keeping your pussy warm with his hand. Once your knees hit the hardwood, his hands are making work at his belt and jean buttons.

“You know how to suck dick? Or do I gotta do all the work for ya?”

Your eyes fly open at the vulgarity. You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, “Yes, Joel. I’ve done it before.”

Having his dick in your hand last night was one thing, but seeing it for the first time is jarring. He is definitely the biggest you have ever had the pleasure of being in front of. He can tell by the look on your face that you are a bit stunned.

“Let’s see how you do,” He inches his waist closer to your face and slightly ajar lips, “Open.”

Complying is what you do for Joel.

You open your mouth nice and wide as he inches his cock into your warm mouth. You close your eyes, trying to focus on not disappointing him with your gag reflex. You try your best to relax, but his watchful eye is making you feel disoriented.

He pulls out, letting you take a breath, only to push back in more forcefully. You try to stop his intrusion by putting your hand up on his hairy bare thigh, but it is no use. Your closed eyes prick with tears as Joel pulls out again, this time he is slapping his dick across your mouth.

“Keep those fuckin’ eyes open and on me. Open nice n’ wide and relax that fuckin’ throat.”

His demands needed to be met, so you nod and adjust your position, laying your tongue out. He inches in again and instead of resisting, you relax and watch him through your eyelashes. His face twists as he draws back, his cock getting so impossibly close to the back of your throat. When he hits your gag reflex, you grip onto your own thighs tightly to contain the urge to empty your stomach. He smiles sickly at your reaction. “Poor girl,” He teases, snapping his hips forward again. Another gag. “Can’t fuckin’ take me? Guess we will have to train that mouth and throat, huh?”

He keeps fucking your mouth as your eyebrows draw together in concentration. Joel’s loving every moment, watching you writhe under him. Your wetness is pooling on the hardwood and you can already hint the embarrassment you will feel if Joel notices.

You hollow out your cheeks, attempting to assert yourself in the situation. When you do that, Joel pulls out completely. He leans down to grab your arms and lifts you off the floor, dragging your shins against the uneven wood planks. And to your horror, he notices the wetness on the floor. “Drippin’ on the floor like a wet mop, ain’t ya?”

Joel’s eyes were always dark brown, but they look black with his eyes as dilated as they are. His grip on your arms is very assertive and when he pushes you back over the arm of the couch, you can feel your heartbeat in your ears.

“Please, Joel.”

He grabs you up by your armpits, dragging your body across the couch. When you're lying flat, he settles himself between your legs, holding your right leg taut with his hipbone.

“Keep begging,” He demands, a smug expression taking over his face. His eyes scour your entire body, “My little killer.”

The word sends your body into overdrive and you start grabbing at his body, trying to take what you want. He fights your hands, grabbing both of them and pinning them against the throw pillow right above your head.

You want to confess everything to him in that moment. The very moment you laid eyes on him, you wanted to give yourself to him. In every single way possible.

“I want you.”

“I know you do,” He grabs the shaft of his cock and begins his torture. Sliding it through your soaked folds and humming in satisfaction. You lift your hips, trying to get him to slip it in, but he is always quicker than you. “Desperate, ain’t ya?”

Before your face can react to his mocking, his hips snap forward, fully sheathing himself inside you. The meat of your thigh presses against his waist, trying to hold him in that spot, but he does not let up. The pressure is almost too much but the pain is appallingly satisfying.

You cannot even remember the last time you felt this. Your previous sexual encounters were usually hasty and boring. Most were not consensual and left you feeling gross and deprived of release.

The build up between you and Joel was a months long endeavor that left you feeling borderline insane. You could not help but let your desire for him fester.

His pace is not slow in the slightest, but it is calculated. You manage to widen your legs a bit allowing more space for his thighs to take up. As he kneels between you, you get a great view of his muscular flexed thighs.

Joel was a specimen. You could not stop yourself from admiring such a sight, especially when his hands are all over you and his dick is driving into you over and over. You had never been in love, never seen it first hand even, but you knew you love this moment. You love Joel for making you feel so good. That’s not a feeling you have ever had for anyone, let alone a man in this sick world.

“Oh my god, yes,” You clamor, your hands still locked over your head. The tension you feel in the pit of your stomach feels like it may explode, “Please, please.”

He repositions himself, releasing your wrists and pushing your legs up. You are folded in half while his upper body falls over you. You can already see the glistening of sweat across his neck and shoulders. His body locks you on the couch as he continues rocking into you.

“You don’t cum til I say, got me?”

He fucks into you harder now, and from this angle, you do not know how that will be possible. A couple more thrusts and you know you are a goner.

“I feel it,” You choke, trying to clench to prevent yourself from letting go before Joel’s instruction. “Joel.”

“I said hold that shit back,” His pace only speeds up, like he is chasing his own high, “Not ‘til I say.”

The friction is too much. You tug your lip between your teeth and you bite so hard that you start to taste blood. He is not letting up and you know the rope is about to snap. No matter how hard you try, when your eyes roll back and your body goes rigid, you let the release take over everything.

You are screaming, your voice cracking as you do. Joel’s hip stutter when your pussy tightens up around him, but you know he’s only slowing down because you did not listen.

Your limbs feel like jello and being that you are unable to really shift or move below Joel anyway, you just lay there limp. Joel flexes his arms and you can tell as he pulls away from your body that he is pissed.

“Roll over.”

You knit your brows together, still trying to manage your breathing. “I’m sorry-”

He slaps your thigh, the sting prickling down your entire leg. “Roll the fuck over.”

The motion takes almost all of your energy. When you are on your stomach, Joel hauls your ass towards his pelvis. With your ass up in the air, you can feel the cold air hit your spent cunt. Your head is tilted, only able to see Joel in your peripheral vision. He looks down at your pussy, dragging his cock head through your seams. You note how he smiles coyly.

When his lips purse and spit starts to dribble out, you start babbling all sorts of nonsense. The spit lands perfectly between your pussy lips and the top of his red tip.

“You know what happens to girls who don’t listen?”

You keen as he pushes his cockhead into your cunt, “What?”

“Punishment.”

The thrust is so powerful it has your body almost slamming back onto the sofa. As he ruts into you, the moans that come out of you do not sound human. You are already so sensitive from your orgasm, you know that it takes practically no touch at all to set off the chain reaction again.

His grip on your ass will leave bruises, just like all the other bruises he has given you in the last couple months. You count all of them like trophies. All the time Joel has touched you.

When the grip turns into open hand spanking, you know your ‘punishments’ would be something you would enjoy tempting time to time.

They are brutal. With each thrust, his palm comes down on your left ass cheek. All the while, his right fingers are digging scratches all along your ass and thigh. Between the sounds of the smacks and his balls slapping against your skin, you are being sent back into an ever-growing burn in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuckin’ pussy is squeezin’ my cock,” He mewls, his voice gravelly, “You like gettin’ spanked? Hm?”

You restrain yourself from screaming out that you love it. You settle for just, “Please don’t stop.”

You can hear him chuckle behind you, his actions continuing as he bucks into you.

“You’re lucky ‘m feelin’ nice.”

His hips start to stutter as you continue your mewling over his cock. He reaches out to your shoulders, pulling you upward and locking his arm around your neck. He has you in a loose headlock as he fucks you. Your hands rest on your forearm, your nails digging so hard that you leave small half moons on his freckled skin.

His other arm finds its way between your legs, swiping your clit as his thrusts become more labored. Even with the pace slowed down, the small titillating circles he pushes into your sensitive bud sends you over the edge again. As you fall apart in his arms, he spirals into his own climax, fucking his seed so deep into you that you will probably have it dripping out of you for days.

The husky moans he lets out as he empties himself inside you rattles in your eardrum. It was like music to your ears. You finally got what you want.

“You came again without permission.”

You do not respond, just grunt and fall onto the couch.

Your body is humming still. Joel’s half-hard cock is still standing at attention as he stands up and walks over to the kitchen. You grab the back couch cushion and push yourself up to watch him wander over the sink. His hand reaches for a kitchen towel and he wets it under the sink faucet.

His ass is so perfect and you silently curse yourself for not grabbing it when he was balls deep in you.

“Come ‘ere.”

You scramble up, your legs wobbling with each step. Joel’s eyes scan your entire body again, enjoying the sight of you so bare in front of him. “Didn’t think you were the one for aftercare.”

He furrows his eyebrows, as he extends the towel to you. “I ain’t. Wipe yourself up.”

Your heart pangs against your ribcage. For some reason you thought being so intimate with him would bring something different out. You are sorely mistaken.

The anger you felt earlier, the blind rage, takes over all your nerve endings again. You cannot stop yourself from lashing out after such a high. A high he gave you.

You slap the towel away, tilting your chin up at him. He has never seen you defiant. His face twists in confusion.

“You made me kill for you. Then you fuck me. And you can’t even give me any decency by wiping your fucking cum off of me?”

The words are like vomit coming out of your mouth. You ever thought you would talk back to him like this. It is the kind of thing you could have been killed for months ago. But now, you both are in vulnerable positions. You want to prove a point. Look at me, appreciate me, love me.

“Excuse me?”

His tone is threatening. But so is yours.

“You heard me.”

As silence cuts through the air, you notice the gun Joel put on the kitchen counter next to a broken coffee pot. He sees you eyeing it and goes to reach for it, but you are closer and a bit faster than him. When your hand wraps around the metal, you point it directly at his hairy chest.

Proving a point with violence was always your specialty. Before the alcohol, and now, after the alcohol.

“You fuckin’ bitch,” He bites, his lips tightening inward, “You put that shit down now.”

You are steady with it, your finger not on the trigger, but only millimeters from gracing it. “No.”

“You’re not gonna kill me. Not after all you just did for me,” His voice is more clipped, his words staggered. His hands raise in the air, almost in surrender. “Put it down.”

You are not sure what your next move should be. The rage now turns into confliction.

You have screwed yourself for snapping so quickly at him and now he was never going to trust you. Threatening him with words would be one thing, but pointing a gun at center mass was absurd. While you wanted to get your point across to him, you knew this was overkill. Your fuse was so short and your urges were unkempt. Acting on impulse was going to get you in major trouble.

In the time you are second guessing your actions, Joel’s already springing forward and snatching the gun from you. You are easy to disarm when you are not prepared for a naked man springing at you in your time of contemplation. Joel grabs the gun, pushing you backward into the kitchen counter and points it at you.

“Now…” His southern drawl carries out the word. Your heart is pounding, the same way it was racing last time Joel trained a gun on you. This time was different. Instead of a look of contempt and uncertainty, he appears to be offended by your actions. “You know damn well that shit ain’t gonna fly with me.”

“Joel-” “Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” He steps closer, the gun still trained on you, “You know better, don’t ya?”

The coldness of the barrel on your right collarbone is enough to send you over the edge. Your eyes flicker between his chest, his lips, to his eyes, “I do. I don’t know what came over me.”

His eyes reflect a silent consideration. He is trying to figure out if he believes you or not. You silently pray he does even if you do not fully believe yourself.

“You are too quick to react to someone tellin’ you no. Knock that shit off now or else we will have bigger issues.”

You knew those bigger issues would lead to Joel putting you out of your misery. You would have to work on impulse control. “It won’t happen again. I will work on it.”

“You’re lucky I love that pussy of yours or else you would have a hole in your fuckin’ head.”

Love.

“You love it?”

He smirks at your candor. He did not even realize he said that. “Get on your knees and beg for my forgiveness. You don’t have time to get a big head.”

“On my knees?”

He clenches his jaw, withdrawing the end of the gun from your skin. It leaves a small circle indentation, solidifying that next time, there may be a much bigger one there. “On your knees, little one.”

divider from @/saradika-graphics

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flowersforbucky · 8 months ago

Text

devil's in the backseat

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.7k

summary/prompt: a night at coney island with your friends turns out much differently than expected.

or getting fucked in front of a mirror

author's note: this is my first halloween fic!! this was so much fun to write. if you've read haunting adeline, then you know exactly what inspired the mirror maze scene! also disclaimer i have never been to coney island so if any of this is inaccurate then just pretend ok it's fiction :))

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ only content, sex in a public setting, mirror sex, oral (female receiving), unprotected p in v, friends to lovers, romanogers makes an appearance! kind of grumpy!reader, protective bucky, random men being creepy, language, reader is afab, she/her pronouns, reader pov, no use of y/n, porn with a little plot, fluff

my masterlist

“I can't fucking believe I let you talk me into wearing this.”

You tug the tight, cherry red colored velvet fabric of the babydoll dress in place for the dozenth time since arriving at Coney Island.

“What? You look hot. Plus, our costumes go great together.”

Natasha's costume mirrors your own - except hers is a pearlescent white and instead of a pitchfork and horns, she dons angel wings and a halo.

“I don't feel hot. I feel cold. It's fifty degrees and the sun hasn't even set yet.” If it wasn't for the black thigh high boots that cover the majority of your legs, you'd be shivering in the chilly late October weather.

“It's not my fault that you put off getting a costume until the last minute and had to pick through what little was left at Spirit Halloween,” she mumbles, passing you one of the cups of apple cider that the cashier hands to her. You gladly accept, sucking down the hot liquid in hopes that it will warm you from the inside.

Her phone dings as the two of you walk towards the rides. “It's Steve,” she informs you as she reads the text message. “They just got here,” she looks back up at you with a smirk on her face and a mischievous gleam in her eye. “Bucky decided to come with them.”

You roll your eyes, suddenly hating your borderline provocative costume even more.

“I thought he was leaving for a job in Denver this evening?”

It's not that you didn't want to see Bucky. It's that you didn't want to see Bucky dressed like this. As if you don't already get flustered around him when you're dressed in normal, everyday clothing. The hem of your dress barely conceals the curve of your ass and your tits are practically spilling over the low neckline.

“Guess it's been postponed,” she shrugs, nudging you with her shoulder.

The two of you turn to look in the opposite direction when a familiar voice calls your names. You see Steve, Sam, and Bucky walking towards you. Steve is dressed as a pirate, eyepatch and all. Sam wears a cowboy costume with an oversized hat, concealing the upper half of his face entirely.

And Bucky? Bucky wears jeans and a navy blue Henley.

Yeah, you're regretting any of your life choices that lead up to this moment.

“Well, well, well,” Sam drawls as he tips his hat back enough to take in yours and Natasha’s outfits. “Look what we have here. An angel and a devil. Have you two already entered the costume contest for best duo or should I go add your names?”

“You wouldn't dare,” you scold him. Natasha just laughs, falling into Steve’s embrace as he plants a kiss to her forehead.

“We should, you know,” Natasha agrees. “I think we'd have a pretty good shot at winning.”

“Yeah, right,” you retort, looking around at some of the more elaborate, creative costumes that many of the strangers around you are sporting. You notice a man and woman dressed as Beetlejuice and Lydia Deetz and know that you and Nat wouldn't stand a chance in a costume contest. “And what about you?” You acknowledge Bucky, your eyes skimming up and down his civilian clothes. “Didn't have time to pull together a costume?”

He smirks, his eyes trailing up your figure for a heated moment before he responds. “I'll have you know that I am in costume, actually.”

Steve and Sam both snort in laughter.

“Oh yeah? And what are you supposed to be, exactly?”

He tugs up the sleeve of his shirt, showing off the shiny vibranium that is his left arm.

“I'm the Winter Soldier,” he says with a smug grin. “Obviously.”

“How creative,” you praise sarcastically.

“Cut me some slack,” he feigns insult. “I was supposed to be halfway to Colorado right now. I didn't have time to pull together anything too cute.” His eyes flicker to your dress and boots at the word cute. If anyone else notices, they say nothing.

“What are we doing just standing around here?” Natasha exclaims, tugging Steve in the direction of the rides and games. “I want to ride every ride and eat funnel cake.”

They race ahead of the rest of you, with Sam close behind, leaving you and Bucky to fall into step beside each other.

“So, why did your mission get postponed?” You ask casually, trying to fight down the nerves that threaten to bubble over every time you're alone with him.

“Beats me,” he shrugs. “Fury didn't give much of an explanation. I got the text as I was loading my bags into the car to head out.”

“That's annoying,” you mumble, swallowing the remnants of your hot apple cider. “I'm sorry,” you tell him with a glance in his direction. “I'm sure it was for a good reason.”

He shrugs. “I'm here, so I can't be too mad about it.”

Before you can overthink exactly what he means by that, you're both brought to a halt when a jolly looking man in a Ghostbusters costume steps directly in front of you, blocking your path.

“This little devil looks like she needs a giant sloth!” He exclaims, gesturing towards the prizes hanging above the balloon darts station next to you.

“Oh, no,” you start. “That’s okay–”

“Come on!” The red-faced vendor insists, looking at Bucky. “Don't you want to win your girl a giant sloth? Perhaps a giant giraffe? If she was mine, I'd be winning her any prize she wants. I'll give you five throws for ten doll–”

“Fine, fine,” Bucky relents, digging into his back pocket for his wallet. You notice a faint hint of pink blooms along the apples of his cheeks, but he doesn't correct the man when he calls you his girl. “You've worn me down,” he sighs as he shoves a crumpled ten dollar bill into the man's hand.

The man accepts the money with a satisfied, toothy grin and hands Bucky five darts.

“If you get three out of the five throws, you can choose a prize from here,” the man gestures towards a section of smaller prizes. “And if you get all five throws, you can choose–”

The man is cut off by the sharp popping sound of a balloon, and then a second, and a third, until all five darts have been impaled on the board in a consecutive line in a matter of seconds.

“She'll take the bunny,” Bucky tells him before he can erase the stunned look off of his face. He points to a large, flop-eared purple bunny hanging from the upper row of prizes.

Unlike the vendor, you aren't shocked by his perfect aim at all. Anyone who knows Bucky would have known that he wouldn't miss a single shot. You are shocked, however, that he chose the bunny without even asking which prize you want.

The man in the Ghostbusters costume grabs the bunny and hands it to you, surprise still etched on his face. He mumbles a quick goodnight before he's moving onto the next people approaching the stand.

“How did you know I'd want the bunny?” You ask Bucky, trying to juggle the stuffed animal, your empty cup of cider, and your pitchfork all in your arms.

“You like bunnies, right? It was an educated guess.” He shrugs, moving through a thick crowd of people away from the game stations. “Here, let me carry it for you,” he offers when he notices the large stuffed animal is obstructing your vision. You hand it over to him and he tucks it underneath his metal arm.

“Thank you,” you tell him, your cheeks heating at the realization that he'd remembered such an inconsequential piece of information about you. You do like bunnies. The cold night air suddenly feels a lot more balmy.

“I'm - uh - I'm going to find a trash can real quick,” you say as you wiggle the empty cup in your hand. Truthfully, you just need a moment to collect yourself.

You begin walking in the opposite direction before he can reply, your eyes scanning the throng of people for a garbage can.

So what if he knows that you like bunnies? It's a pretty trivial fact that probably means nothing. You know that Natasha’s favorite animal is flamingos - because she's your friend. It's normal for friends to know things that their friends like.

Right? Right.

“I like that outfit a whole lot, baby. But I think you'd look even cuter in just the boots and those horns.”

You're so lost in your internal monologue that you don't even notice two men closing in on you as you toss the empty cup into a trash can. Unlike most of the people here tonight, neither of them are in costumes. They stand so close to you that you can smell booze on their breath.

“Oh, fuck off,” you groan as you attempt to walk away, but they've effectively blocked you between their bodies and the large garbage can behind you. Wicked grins grow on their faces as you realize that you can't get by them.

“Look, I don’t have the patience for this tonight. Get out of my fucking way.”

“Or what?” One of them taunts. “You'll use that little pitchfork on us? Jokes on you, because we're into that.”

“What if I used it on you?” A familiar voice comes from behind them. “Would you still like that?”

Before they can even turn around to identify the voice, Bucky is pulling him back by the hood of his sweatshirt and throwing him on the ground with little to no effort. The other one attempts to stumble away as Bucky turns his attention to him.

He still has your bunny clutched in his flesh hand - despite the seriousness of the situation, you have to bite your lip to keep from smirking at the sight. You don't know of anyone who could be quite as intimidating while holding a stuffed purple bunny.

“What about you?” Bucky asks, towering over the guy by half a foot. “You got anything you wanna say?”

“I - no - we didn't know she was with someone,” he half slurs, half stutters out. His gaze flickers to Bucky's vibranium hand. The man on the ground manages to stand back up, following after his friend.

“Now you know,” Bucky calls after them as they quickly hobble away.

“I had that handled, you know,” you tell Bucky with a nod towards your pitchfork. “But thank you, anyway. Really.”

He places a gentle but firm grasp on the top of your arms and begins to tug you in the opposite direction, guiding you through the small crowd that had stopped to witness the altercation.

“I have no doubt about that,” he sighs, releasing his grip on you when the two of you are a reasonable distance away. “But I also don't doubt that you handling it would have drawn even more attention.”

He's right. If he hadn't stepped in, your method of handling it would have been even more dramatic.

“They would have deserved it,” you mumble. “I knew I shouldn't have worn this stupid costume.”

“They definitely would have deserved it,” he agrees. “And your costume isn't stupid. You should be able to wear any costume you like without getting harassed by drunk assholes.”

The two of you approach the ferris wheel as it comes to a slow stop, a couple getting out of one of the cars. You and Bucky flash your wristbands to the operator, who offers to hold your pitchfork for you while you’re on the ride.

“Besides,” he continues as you sit down next to each other in the car, the operator locking the gate in place. “I happen to like your costume. A lot.” He turns his head to you, his gaze trailing from the tops of your thigh high boots and up to the felt horns that adorn your head.

There's a shift in energy as the ferris wheel suddenly comes to life, sending you sliding across the limited space of the metal bench seat and right up against him.

“Oh, yeah?” You tease with your face a few inches from his. Close enough to see your reflection in his irises. “Is that why two different people have implied that I'm yours tonight and you haven't corrected either of them?”

“Your costume had nothing to do with that. I wouldn't have corrected them even if you were dressed as a giant banana,” he says, his tone and face both serious. “Does it bother you that I didn't correct them?”

“No,” you answer automatically - eagerly. You should feel embarrassed, but with the way he's looking at you, and how good it feels to be pressed so snug against him, you can't find it within yourself to care. “I didn't correct them either,” you point out.

The ferris wheel comes to a stop to let new people get on when your cart reaches the peak.

“And why is that?” he asks lowly. If you weren't sitting so close to him, you wouldn't have been able to hear him over the obnoxiously loud carnival music that pours from speakers in between the ferris wheel's carts.

He wraps his metal arm around your shoulders, pulling you further into him.

“Because I liked the sound of it,” you answer honestly. Your voice quivers - from nerves, or from a gust of wind that sways the pod still perching at the top of the wheel.

“Is that right?” he murmurs. He places his flesh hand on the exposed skin of your thigh - just above the top of your boot and just under the hem of your dress. His fingertips rest near the crack between your thighs. Instinctively, you spread your legs apart - not much, but enough for him to smirk at your body's automatic response to his touch.

“You like the sound of being my girl?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I do. Is that okay with you?”

He chuckles, his fingers inching further up your thigh. You spread your legs open further, giving him the go ahead to go as high as he wants. He stops when he reaches the apex of your thighs, just an inch away from the cloth of your panties. He applies pressure with his fingertips, his short nails digging into the sensitive flesh and making you clench your legs around his hand.

“That depends,” he contemplates. “Are you my girl?”

You open your mouth to answer when the sensation of his index finger grazing the fabric that covers your cunt makes you forget how to speak. You sit there with your mouth agape as he hooks a finger into the cotton panties.

He eases a finger through your folds, lubricating it in your slick before adding a second finger and massaging the pads of them over your sensitive clit.

“Feels like you're my girl.”

You become vaguely aware of the fact that the ride is now in motion once more, heading back down to the ground, when Bucky places the stuffed bunny on your lap in an effort to conceal what is happening in the cart that you and him share.

He alternates between slow, languid circles and quick strokes against your clit as the ferris wheel makes its way down and then back up again. You can feel yourself soaking your underwear as the world dizzies around you. You hide your face in Bucky's neck to conceal the pleasure written across your face.

You're seconds away from coming against his fingers, the pressure in your belly building to a climax, when he pulls away and tugs your dress into place. Your gaze snaps up to his, shooting daggers, as the ride comes to a slow stop. He looks back at you with an amused smirk as the operator approaches the cart to unlock the gate.

“Sorry about that, sweetheart,” he tells you in a strained voice as he snatches the bunny back from you. “After you,” he motions with his head as the operator holds the gate open for you.

Stunned and speechless at what just happened, you stumble out of the cart and down the stairs to the ride's exit with Bucky behind you - both of you completely forgetting about your pitchfork. You can't help but snort a laugh at the position of the large stuffed animal - directly over Bucky’s crotch.

“Real discreet,” you tell him, glancing down at the bunny and then back up to the semi-pained expression on his face.

“I have to admit, right now this thing is worth every penny that I spent on it,” he sighs, and then removes one hand from the bunny to place it on your lower back. “Follow me,” he instructs with a smirk.

He guides you through the crowd and you follow him without question, just trying to ignore the wet ache between your legs.

You shoot him a quizzical look when you arrive at the house of mirrors. You haven't been in a mirror maze since you'd gotten lost in one at ten years old.

There's an attendant sitting in a chair outside of the entrance who unenthusiastically greets the two of you. Bucky reaches into his pocket, digging out his wallet for the second time that evening. He pulls out a hundred dollar bill and flashes it at the elderly man smoking a Pall Mall.

“Take this and don't let anyone else in until we come out,” Bucky tells him before dragging you into the attraction. You and the gray haired man both go wide eyed.

“What was that?” you cackle as the door slams to a close behind you. Bucky doesn't answer, just grabs one of your hands in his and begins guiding you through the maze of mirrors as if he's been here a hundred times.

The entire place is lit by bright, neon red lights that only aid in further confusing your sense of direction. Bucky doesn’t seem phased in the slightest, finally coming to a stop after a few minutes of maneuvering through the endless mirrors.

“You never answered me, you know,” he says as he drops your bunny to the floor. “When I asked if you're my girl.” He smirks at you, stepping closer to you and backing you against the mirror behind you.

“You just paid that man a hundred dollars to get me alone,” you jab as you pull him to you by the front of his Henley. “I think it's safe to say that I am.”

He smiles as you pull him down to you, crushing your lips to his. His hands trail down your back until they land where your thighs meet the curve of your ass cheeks. You release months worth of tension into the kiss, sweeping your tongue along the swell of his bottom lip before slipping it into his mouth the second that he parts his lips for you. He groans into the kiss, kneading the globes of your ass with his fingers. You can feel a prominent bulge through his jeans against your stomach.

Adrenaline begins to kick in when he pulls away, looking down at you with lust blown pupils. He sinks to the floor below you, kneeling in front of your cunt as he raises your dress around your waist and tugs your panties down your legs and over your boots. He slips them into his back pocket before hiking one of your legs across his shoulder.

You can already feel your juices leaking down your inner thighs before his mouth makes contact with you. When he does, you lean your head back against the glass behind you in pleasure.

He sucks your clit between his kiss-swollen lips with an obscene pop before running his tongue down your folds. He plunges his tongue inside you and you grind yourself against his face, chasing the release that you were seconds away from on the ferris wheel.

He moans at the taste of you and the vibration has your walls clenching around his tongue. You ride out your orgasm on his face, the neon red lights blurring and spinning around you.

Despite the fact that your legs feel like jelly, you pull him up to you as soon as you're able to form a coherent thought. You clumsily paw at the button of his pants and his zipper, and he shoves both his jeans and boxers down over his ass, just far enough to free his cock.

He places both of his hands just under your armpits and lifts you as you instinctively lock your legs around his hips.

The head of his cock nudges your wet folds, your juices coating his length before he nudges it inside you.

You feel full before he's even halfway in you. Your walls constrict around him and he digs his teeth into his bottom lip as he adjusts to the sensation of you.

“Fuck, that's tight. You're perfect,” he grunts as he sheaths the rest of his length into you. You let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a gasp.

He has total control as he cradles you between his body and the cold, hard mirror behind you. He sets a harsh pace, his head ramming against your cervix at the sweetest angle from his position beneath you.

He manages to support you with the strength of only his vibranium arm as he brings his flesh hand between your bodies, once again massaging your clit in rapid circles as he fucks up into you.

You cum around his length in a shockingly short amount of time, digging your teeth into the flesh of his neck as he follows after you, filling you up with hot ropes of his cum.

You stay in the same position after you've both reached your climax, panting against one another in the claustrophobic feeling space.

“We should probably go find our friends,” you say breathlessly with a kiss to the side of his face. “Sam's probably getting sick of being a third wheel.”

He pulls out of you, his cum running down your thighs and ass cheeks. He gently lowers you back down to the ground as he begins to tuck himself back into his pants.

He laughs, cupping your face in his hands as he pulls your lips to his once again.

“If he hates being a third wheel, just imagine how much he's going to hate being a fifth wheel.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes one-shot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #the winter soldier #halloween fic #bucky barnes x fem reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff

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joequiinn · 1 month ago

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In the Shadows | r x reader

Summary | You and Remmick have a little late night rendezvous...

Warnings, Tropes, Themes | fem reader, smut, porn w/out plot, dirty talk, mild choking, biting & blood (obvi), fingering, unprotected p in v, semi-public (outdoors)

Author's Note | This is purely self indulgent bc I've been horny about vampires lately, idk what else to tell you. Remmick 🤝 Ghost lyrics

WC | 3.1k

!!! MINORS DNI !!!

In the shadows, stripped of sin In the shadows, deep within In the shadows, I will make you my angel

The breath upon your neck was hot and sweet, lips hovering so close that it made you tremble. Your back arched with longing, pressing against his chest as you leaned into the touch of his hands along your body; from within him came a rumble of amusement.

“So needy, darlin.” Remmick’s voice taunted low and slow, gliding his nose gently across your skin, lips a phantom along the shell of your ear, “Why rush things…”

You couldn’t help the indecent sound that escaped you, body a tight coil of anticipation as you pushed your rear back into his groin. Like the devil he was, Remmick’s hands held your waist firm, giving a vulgar roll of his hips against you. Despite the layers of clothing between you two, you felt utterly bare under his touch, clenching with desire and taking a deep breath in a fruitless effort to calm yourself.

Ever so gently, Remmick nipped your earlobe, his fangs but a tease on your skin; a full body shiver ran through you, his deep laugh taunting, “Tell me what you want, darlin.”

Your cheeks grew hot, abashed at the prospect - you’d never asked for what you wanted before, nor was it ever made an option to you. Sensing your hesitation, Remmick’s hands fisted in your skirt, pressing against you greedily, the feel of his member against your lower back causing you to moan.

“I won’t give it to you ‘less you tell me.”

You couldn’t help the tightening of your body, unable to resist the pull of his sultry sweet voice. Tipping your head back onto Remmick’s shoulder, you were met with his dangerous smile, the very thing that drew you to him in the first place. He had a face made for sin, dazzling and tantalizing, and the aura to match; how desperately you wanted to take part in it.

He trailed his fingertips up slowly, gliding gently until he could press his palm to your cheek, turning your head so the two of you were nose-to-nose. He took you in through hooded eyes, his tongue wetting his lower lip. You took a sharp breath, his coppery musk daring to make your head spin.

His eyes glinted mischievously, touch teasing, “Hm, cat got your tongue?”

Plucking up a fraction of courage, you murmured against his lips, “Something much worse than a cat…”

Remmick’s smile grew large and hungry, fangs flashing as his fingers swept to your neck again; his other hand continued to tease and tug at your skirt, stomach aflutter.

“I want--” You cut yourself off, bashfully looking between Remmick’s lips and wolfish eyes. You took a shaky breath, “I want you to take me… then take me again.”

His smile was one of utter indulgence, hands tightening; his voice was a deep, hypnotic rumble, “Just what I wanted to hear.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Remmick pushed you up against the wall, pressing his face to your hair and taking in a deep breath of your scent, hiking up your skirt in a single, fluid motion. You arched into his touch again, fingertips flexing without anything to grab and steady yourself; beneath your hands, the wall's texture bit into your palm.

He pushed your skirt up above the curve of your ass, grip digging into your flesh; the warm night breeze danced across your body, much like Remmick's hot breath against your neck.

Remmick kissed hungrily along your shoulder, hips rocking slowly as he slipped a hand into your silk panties, a lustful gasp escaping you at the feel of his fingertips teasing along your skin. You pressed back, head lulling to the side so he could explore the expanse of your neck; his other hand grasped needily at your waist, your stomach, your breast, squeezing tight as he let out a faint growl.

“Look at me.” He whispered against you, a command you obliged without hesitation, turning to face him as if entrance. Remmick pressed his forehead to yours, keeping his grinning lips just out of reach. Tauntingly, he dragged his tongue heavily along your lower lip, drawing from you an absolutely wicked moan, “That’s right, darlin.”

He trailed callous fingertips lower and lower down your front until he was slowly gliding them along your slit; a shuddering gasp leapt from you, to which you felt the rumble of another laugh in his chest. It made you ache for him even more.

At a fiendish, unhurried pace he dipped a single finger between your folds, delighting in your low moan as he eased himself knuckle deep. He lingered cruelly without any movement, staring into your eyes as if daring you to beg for it. You rut your hips against him, moaning at the satisfying feel of simply his finger inside you; a dark groan left Remmick’s mouth.

“Go on, take it.” He said in a low voice, lips brushing against yours with each word. Your knees felt weak from simply the charge of heat between you two, “‘Less you’re wanting for something a little more…”

Remmick slid his finger out of you, but quickly sunk back in with a second one, your gasp like sweet music to his ears. Again, he waited with an impish expression, which grew more gleeful as you rolled your hips, his fingers curling inside you with approval. You threw your head back as his other hand gripped your thigh firmly, helping you grind on him as his erection teased at your lower back.

His mouth scorched a hot trail from your shoulder to your neck to your ear, muttering words of encouragement as you rode his fingers, ass nudging greedily against the outline of his cock. Old paint peeled beneath your nails as you gripped the wall, body rolling in a way that was so unfledged yet so right. As your pace grew more assured, Remmick moaned in your hair, delighting in the feel of your hot, slick pussy clenching around his fingers.

Remmick's free hand moved up your leg and back to your breast, teasing your nipple through the thin material of your dress. With a faint gasp at the sensation, your hips bucked against him; the fingers inside you pressed even deeper as he chuckled with baiting lust. He began to pump them steadily in and out of you, your arousal making him slick, your panties growing damp. Remmick gave a domineering thrust of his hips, grinding on your ass as if to tease you with what you wanted most.

“Darlin, you’re soaked,” he growled deeply; you could feel his lips spreading into a wide, wicked grin against your cheek, “all for little ol’ me?”

Fuck, his goading made you clench taut around him, causing the both of you to moan together. Remmick tweaked your nipple again as his fingers buried deep inside you, moving harder and faster, causing your legs to shake with pleasure. His free hand snaked between you two, squeezing the fat of your ass with a hum before fumbling with his trousers, unbuckling and zipping with a haste unlike him. Just knowing what he was doing caused your pussy to tighten in anticipation, drawing another groan from his throat.

Remmick’s mouth found your ear again, fangs teasing at your tender flesh, “You feel like sin, and I’ve hardly begun… try not to cum for me to fast.”

You inhaled sharply at the instruction - every word that left his mouth just got you closer and closer, it was downright cruel. Remmick held firm to your waist as he pulled his fingers from you slowly; you moaned again, but in the same breath it became a cry of pleasure as his fingertips swirled your swollen, sensitive clit. He hummed amorously in your ear, expert touch making your eyes cross.

As Remmick continued to work his fingers in a leisurely pattern, he guided your hips back a step, his hard length teasing against your ass through his undergarments. Trying to keep yourself steady on shaky knees, you pressed your chest to the wall, to which Remmick gave an approving whistle, clearly enjoying the enticing look of your body at this angle.

Finally giving you some relief, he removed his fingers from your clit, a disappointed whine rising in your throat. He leaned over you, bracing himself against the wall with his opposite hand as you turned your head to find those fiendish, glinting eyes staring at you as if you were a meal; in a way, you would be sooner or later.

Without looking away, Remmick brought his glistening fingers to his lips, tongue swiping out to clean them, making you sigh. The corner of his mouth pulled back into a satiated, raunchy grin, eyes fluttering shut for a long moment in appreciation.

“Oh, the taste of you…”

Remmick breathed deeply, gripping your jaw in his hand, fingers still wet with spit and your arousal. He leaned in, crushing his lips to yours animalistically, causing you to whimper; his hold on you flexed possessively. When his fang faintly pierced your lower lip, he soaked up the single drop of blood with the flat of his tongue.

Leaning his forehead to yours again, Remmick lingered for a moment as if composing himself. He pulled back just enough to flash you a wicked smile before he abruptly slid your panties down around your knees, your body tightening with suspense. Remmick traced his hands over the curve of your ass while admiring you, resting one hand to the small of your back as the other shoved aside his own underwear. From this angle, you couldn’t see his cock freeing from the garment, but you felt his head bounce faintly on your rear, to which you pressed back.

“Wait for it, darlin.” Remmick gripped his erection and traced it against your ass cheek teasingly, delighting in your unabashed desire. He reached down between your legs again to glide his fingertips along your pussy, still wet with need, before he pumped the same hand down the length of his shaft. A shiver rolled up your spine as you felt Remmick position himself behind you.

The head of his cock teased at your entrance while he nuzzled against your neck once more. You thought he was going to whisper more taunts and provocations to you, but instead he thrust up into you swiftly, bottoming out in one fell swoop as he groaned. Unprepared, you cried out from the feel of his cock stretching you, knees practically buckling from the overwhelming sensations of it. Remmick’s hands squeezed tight as he pressed his hips into yours as if he could go any deeper, drawing another mewl from your throat.

“You’re gonna attract an audience making sounds like that.” Remmick growled through clenched teeth, fingers digging so hard into your skin that you knew it would bruise. He drew his cock out of you before plunging right back into your slick folds, and you moaned again, “You like that, don’tcha? You want someone to watch?”

Remmick began pumping into you at a steady rhythm, hips clapping against your ass as he ravaged you. Gasps and moans spilled from your parted lips as he stretched you, thrusts hitting nice and deep. His hands groped greedily at your exposed flesh, nails digging into your ass and waist, sliding under your wrinkled dress to cup your breasts.

“Oh, god--!” You moaned breathily, to which Remmick used his hold to pull you roughly back into his chest, thrusts unyielding as he growled in your ear.

“No god here.”

The danger in his voice and the changed angle of your body caused a strangled mewl to jump out of you, thighs quivering as Remmick penetrated you savagely. His hand blazed a fiery path down your front, sinking between your legs to press his fingers to your clit again, his teeth grazing along your neck. There was no restraining your sounds of pleasure, breathy and desperate as he buried his cock in you, pinching and teasing your sensitive bud.

“So good for me, darlin.” Remmick groaned into your flesh, his unoccupied hand trailing from your chest up to your neck; despite his rough, aching thrusts, he pressed his fingers around your throat tenderly, “Taking me like you were made for it.”

Your body shuddered at his words, pussy clenching tight around his cock and causing Remmick to grunt gutterally. His hand tightened around your neck as he took in a deep breath of your scent, plunging himself more urgently inside you. The fingers swirling your clit grew rougher and faster, your toes curling as desire began to crescendo.

“Rem--I--” the insistent thrusts of his hips made it impossible for you to get a word out, eyes rolling back as your body quivered.

“Don’t tell me you’re already there.” Remmick taunted wickedly, turning your head so the two of you could meet eyes; in your lustful daze, you could barely focus, causing a cruel smile to spread wide across his lips, “Look at you… Gonna cum, darlin?”

You nodded, his fingers applying more pressure to your neck, causing you to gasp at the disruption to your air flow. Remmick’s eyes shone darkly in the moonlight, fangs gleaming with invitation as your walls tightened around him. He thrust roughly and unrelenting, fingers on you whirling just right, watching your face devolve into a look of total ecstasy. His hand on your throat tightened just that little bit more, and with it your orgasm came over you like a storm, body trembling in Remmick’s grasp. He smiled deviously, tongue dragging longingly over his teeth as he drank in the sight of you; that possessive look made your moans even more depraved and desperate.

Remmick barely faltered his urgent thrusts, even as your body quivered with release; he relinquished the hold on your neck and clit to keep you upright, grabbing your hips as he sank deep into you. The stimulation made you see stars, your mewling unrestrained as your legs shook and your body throbbed.

Remmick’s grunts grew rougher, as if the sight of you coming undone got him closer to completion; he pressed his forehead into your hair, his sounds of pleasure making your own moans spill out frantically. His hands bruised against your skin, thrusts sharp and aggressive as he slowly lost control, and despite the aftershocks of your orgasm, you couldn’t help but clench around him, drawing a hiss from between his teeth.

“Bite me--!” You cried out breathily, as you tightened your hands into fists, overstimulation making you want to cum all over again. Remmick growled desperately, pressing his body against yours till you were practically flush to the wall, taking him nice and deep as your legs shook with pleasure. The abrupt change in angle had you whining, Remmick’s lips blazing along your neck and shoulder until he pressed his face close to yours.

“Say it again, darlin.” He instructed darkly as his movements became frenzied and fierce.

“Please,” You whimpered, “I want you to bite me.”

The guttural sounds in Remmick’s chest were feral as he groaned out, “Drain your neck like I drained your cunt.”

“Yes--!” You yelped, not that he was asking permission.

And suddenly his teeth broke skin, puncturing your neck so hard and fast that for a moment you didn’t feel it. When the pain caught up to you, an unrestrained cry sounded from deep within your throat, body taut and pussy contracting from the white hot searing; you could feel the blood coursing through your veins, a cold seeping into your extremities.

Remmick’s cock slammed up inside you before his hips stuttered to a halt, unruly grunts vibrating in his chest, moans loud and untamed against your neck. Your own cries of delight and pain fell past your lips as your head lulled to the side, offering as much flesh to Remmick as he desired. His body went rigid for a few long moments as he drank from you, cock twitching inside your pussy, spilling his seed.

Feeling lightheaded, you couldn’t be sure how long you two stayed like this, legs shaky and bodies buzzing with release. You gasped for breath as Remmick held tight to you, lips still pressed to your neck, cock still buried in you; his chest heaved laboriously against your back, and though you felt wobbly, you brought a hand up to gently cup the back of his head. Your fingers curled in his hair, your touch causing him to take in a deep breath of your scent.

You realized that your neck no longer stung as it had a minute ago -- he’d stopped drinking from you, though you could still feel the prick of his fangs latched on. A contented hum rose in Remmick's throat as he slowly pulled away from your neck, pain flaring momentarily from the fresh wounds; a faint gasp, whether from pain or pleasure, escaped you.

Remmick nuzzled fiercely into your hair, breathing scratchy and deep, his hands holding you possessively. A warm drop hit your collarbone, and you couldn't be sure if it was simply spit or if it was your blood, though it made your toes curl nonetheless.

“Darlin thing…” Remmick grumbled as his grip flexed on your hips as if he hated the idea of peeling your bodies apart. When he eased his drained cock out of you, a vulgar moan fell from your lips, his cum slowly dripping down your inner thigh. Behind you, Remmick corrected his underwear and trousers before taking you aback by gingerly helping you with your own attire, panties pulled back up your legs and dress eased over the curve of your ass.

And in the next breath he spun you around hastily, pushing you back into the wall with his body, eyes gleaming wildly as he gazed upon your face. You gasped and licked your lips unconsciously at the sight of your blood trailing down Remmick’s chin, which caused a macabre smile to break out across his lips. He leaned in good and close, arms braced either side of your head, hips pinned against you, forehead lowered to yours. Tentatively, you reached out, fingers gently gripping the front of his shirt as you drank in his post-sex appearance - menacing and devilish and as charming as he ever was.

Remmick’s breath was hot on your skin as he pushed closer, lips hovering just out of reach, teasing you yet again with your own yearning. You leaned into him that little bit more, causing a chuckle to rise from his throat as he whispered, coppery lips grazing yours with each and every word.

“Go on, then - have a taste. I'm not done with you yet…”

#remmick x reader #remmick x you #remmick smut #remmick sinners #sinners #sinners movie #sinners 2025 #sinners fanfiction #remmick fanfic #a fics*

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animusrox · 4 months ago

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MY LETTERBOXD

TOP 10

1. Dune: Part Two 2. The Substance 3. Hundreds of Beavers 4. Anora 5. Dìdi 6. Nosferatu 7. Nickel Boys 8. The First Omen 9. Sing Sing 10. Civil War

GRADE A

11. No Other Land 12. Robot Dreams 13. The Peasants 14. Conclave 15. Smile 2 16. Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes 17. We Grown Now 18. Memoir of a Snail 19. The Last Stop in Yuma County 20. A Real Pain 21. It’s What’s Inside 22. Red Rooms 23. Sometimes I Think About Dying 24. A Different Man 25. Better Man 26. The Brutalist 27. Heretic 28. His Three Daughters 29. Hard Truths 30. Evil Does Not Exist 31. Late Night with the Devil 32. Alien: Romulus 33. MadS 34. Rebel Ridge 35. Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person 36. Challengers 37. Strange Darling 38. Flow 39. All We Imagine as Light 40. Longlegs 41. Saturday Night 42. The Apprentice 43. Terrifier 3 44. The Seed of the Sacred Fig 45. A Complete Unknown 46. A Quiet Place: Day One 47. Juror #2 48. Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl 49. Oddity 50. Kneecap 51. Touch 52. Mayhem! 53. The Order 54. In a Violent Nature 55. Small Things Like These 56. Twisters 57. Hit Man 58. Woman of the Hour 59. Stopmotion 60. The Wild Robot 61. Deadpool & Wolverine

[Tap 'Keep Reading' For My Full Graded List]

GRADE B

62. The Devil’s Bath 63. The Bikeriders 64. Sasquatch Sunset 65. The Lord of the Rings: The War of the Rohirrim 66. Monkey Man 67. Last Straw 68. Abigail 69. Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga 70. Tiger Stripes 71. The Book of Clarence 72. The Instigators 73. I’m Still Here 74. The Coffee Table 75. The Return 76. Problemista 77. Trap 78. MaXXXine 79. Love Lies Bleeding 80. You’ll Never Find Me 81. Between the Temples 82. Marmalade 83. Blitz 84. Speak No Evil 85. Asphalt City 86. Piece By Piece 87. Wicked Little Letters 88. We Live in Time 89. Super/Man: The Christopher Reeve Story 90. V/H/S/Beyond 91. The Dead Don’t Hurt 92. Suncoast 93. Maria 94. My Old Ass 95. Immaculate 96. The Truth vs. Alex Jones 97. Cuckoo 98. Daddio 99. We Were Dangerous 100. The Outrun 101. Infested 102. Monolith 103. Azrael 104. The Last Showgirl 105. Babes 106. The Fire Inside 107. Lisa Frankenstein 108. Here 109. Thelma 110. Queer 111. Out of Darkness 112. Y2K 113. Handling the Undead 114. Bad Boys: Ride or Die 115. I Saw the TV Glow 116. Arcadian 117. Transformers One 118. Never Let Go 119. The Piano Lesson 120. Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F 121. Wicked 122. Gladiator II 123. Carry-On 124. Blink Twice 125. Self Reliance 126. Fly Me to the Moon 127. Boy Kills World 128. Kinds of Kindness 129. Nutcrackers 130. Skincare 131. Ezra 132. The Front Room 133. Mothers’ Instinct 134. Inside Out 2 135. Omni Loop 136. Girls State 137. Beetlejuice Beetlejuice 138. Your Monster 139. Babygirl 140. Mufasa: The Lion King 141. The Greatest Hits 142. Horizon: An American Saga - Chapter 1 143. Magpie

GRADE C

144. The People’s Joker 145. Nightbitch 146. Road House 147. Young Woman and the Sea 148. Am I OK? 149. Music by John Williams 150. The Killer’s Game 151. Oh, Canada 152. Wolfs 153. Sting 154. The Idea of You 155. Don’t Move 156. 1992 157. Werewolves 158. The Killer 159. The Shadow Strays 160. Rez Ball 161. MoviePass, MovieCrash 162. The Fall Guy 163. Lee 164. The End 165. Godzilla × Kong: The New Empire 166. The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare 167. Madame Web 168. Caddo Lake 169. Watchmen: Chapter II 170. Watchmen: Chapter I 171. Salem’s Lot 172. The Exorcism 173. The Watchers 174. Kill 175. Jackpot! 176. Rumours 177. Damsel 178. My Spy: The Eternal City 179. Drive-Away Dolls 180. IF 181. Spaceman 182. Joy 183. Joker: Folie à Deux 184. Megalopolis 185. Monster Summer 186. Lovely, Dark, and Deep 187. Bob Marley: One Love 188. Kraven the Hunter 189. Moana 2 190. I Used to Be Funny 191. Goodrich 192. September 5 193. Hold Your Breath 194. Apartment 7A

GRADE F

195. The Platform 2 196. Arthur the King 197. Shirley 198. Back to Black 199. Land of Bad 200. Poolman 201. Emilia Pérez 202. The Room Next Door 203. I.S.S. 204. Brothers 205. Knox Goes Away 206. Mean Girls 207. Krazy House 208. Slingshot 209. Mr. Crocket 210. Argylle 211. Sonic the Hedgehog 3 212. Winnie-the-Pooh: Blood and Honey 2 213. Afraid 214. Tuesday 215. Spellbound 216. Justice League: Crisis on Infinite Earths Part Three 217. Justice League: Crisis on Infinite Earths Part Two 218. Justice League: Crisis on Infinite Earths Part One 219. The American Society of Magical Negroes 220. Subservience 221. Time Cut 222. Night Swim 223. Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire 224. Red One 225. This Is Me…Now 226. Despicable Me 4 227. The Union 228. Ricky Stanicky 229. The Beekeeper 230. Honeymoonish 231. Hot Frosty 232. The Deliverance 233. The Garfield Movie 234. Lift 235. Atlas 236. Trigger Warning 237. House of Spoils 238. Borderlands 239. Tarot 240. Venom: The Last Dance

Bottom 10

241. Imaginary 242. Unfrosted 243. It Ends With Us 244. Dear Santa 245. The Crow 246. The Strangers: Chapter 1 247. Harold and the Purple Crayon 248. Rebel Moon - Part Two: The Scargiver 249. Dirty Angels 250. Miller’s Girl

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itsumoegao · 10 months ago

Note

"I just don't understand why you work so hard to be alone." - 🪶

Lonely Sentences

@bearratic

📗 It was a necessity. He had to be alone in this, the less people involved the better. Only the vestiges knew of Deku's long planted scheme for the League. His nerves still jumped for action from the moment his classmates rescued Kacchan to now, always on edge and ready to strike but ... patience. The viper coiled with tight tension in every muscles of its being, victim in sight but not yet in range. Not yet. He still had to wait in the grass.

It would help to include others, especially someone who remotely gathered intel like the crimson feathers along Hawks' back however, Izuku did not know where the hero's loyalties lie. No matter the number of missions they worked together on, Deku learned little. He couldn't afford a single slip up. A house of cards one beat of those blood wings could collapse at any second and there was no starting over from the bottom if they fell.

Therefore, isolation, he let be. Masked face turned in the blond's direction, hand rising then forming a fist. "You don't seem to be so sociable yourself, Hawks." He pointed at the avian. "I never see you hang around anybody." Except for Izuku himself but they were paired for tasks, that was out of convenience.

#bearratic #Resolved Action ◾ Answered Asks #V. Late Night Devil #Thank you v much !!

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stylesispunk · 3 months ago

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"Blind Faith" chapter V

Priest!Joel Miller x night club dancer!reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

summary: The aftermath of you and Joel spending the night together and him finding out the truth of you from someone else's lips. w.c: 6k (short but angsty) Warnings: age gap (joel is in his late 40s and reader in her late 20s), fluff, forbidden love, angst (yes, it's back for a few chapters). Remember, reader is latina. English is not my first language. a/n: Chapter 5 is here. I want to thank every single one of you who read this story and take their time to share it and also to share their thoughts with me. I really appreciate. I'm sorry for the short chapter and I beg you pardon for the angst. REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED. happy reading.

Sorry, posting again, I had a technical issue with the other one.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

The bible defined sin as transgression of the law of God.as the offence of breaking a religious or moral law. Perhaps, as the forbidden pleasures that caused a nervous giggle or perhaps as the shame wandering.

When you broke a vow, you became a sinner.

When you kissed the devil, you became a sinner.

But when you made love—how could you even think of that word?

When Joel carried you to bed last night, he did it with such tenderness he didn’t even think about what you had done.

It didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t feel like his heart was being torn apart by the monster lurking in the corners, waiting to punish him for what he had touched and seen. For what he had tasted like a reeking fruit.

He had met love after seeking for it for such a long time. He had tried it, in all its forms until he met God and found a way to spread it all to people. All the love he couldn’t give his daughter.

All the love that had stained his hands and slipped through his fingers.

And then he found you. And now you were sleeping next to him—your head on his pillow, and your hand resting on his chest, above his heart, beating for you.

He thought—how could something this good, this beautiful, be a sin?

How could it be a sin when the sunlight touched your face just right, making you look like a morning angel? How could it be wrong when his cheeks hurt from smiling at the sight of you?

He refused to listen to the voices in his head.

This morning, he had chosen you.

"Are you awake? ‘Cause I can feel you getting comfortable on my chest," he whispered.

"You stayed," you murmured without opening your eyes.

"Of course I did, baby," he said, without hesitation.

"Do you regret it?" You almost regretted asking—feared what the answer might do to you.

Joel paused, thoughtful. What had happened last night came from something desperate and pure, something blooming inside both of you for a long time. He had fallen—deeply. He loved your touch. He loved how you felt. The sounds you made, the way you moaned his name.

He couldn’t regret it.

He just couldn’t.

"No," he said finally, smiling as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. You looked precious.

Groundbreaking, even.

"You were gentle," you said softly, finally opening your eyes, mirroring his smile.

"You didn’t like it?"

"I did," you whispered, your lips pulling into a small smile. "It was the first time I felt really loved by someone. I’m glad it was you."

Joel’s thumb brushed lazy circles over your hip beneath the sheets, his other hand cradling the back of your head. Neither of you spoke for a moment. The silence was soft, golden, filled only with the rhythm of breath and the quiet thud of his heartbeat against your ear.

“You always sleep this still?” he murmured.

You smiled against his chest. “Only when I feel safe.”

That made him pause. You felt the way his body tensed just slightly next to you, like the weight of your words settled deep in his bones. And then he exhaled, kissed the top of your head. “Then I’ll take that as a damn good compliment.”

You lifted your head a little, meeting his eyes. They were warm, still brown-colored in the light. “You’re dangerous,” you said softly, lips twitching. “I think I could get used to waking up like this.”

Joel chuckled, the sound low and rough with sleep. “You already are.”

You both smiled. And then, your gaze softened.

There were words pressing against your throat. The past clawing for space in your chest. Secrets that hadn’t yet surfaced. You didn’t want to ruin the moment. But you also didn’t want to build this thing on silence.

“There’s... things I haven’t told you yet,” you said quietly, almost like you were testing the weight of the sentence in the air.

Joel didn’t flinch. He just looked at you, all patience, all presence.

He nodded once, encouraging. “You don’t have to tell me now. But if it’s on your chest... I’ll carry it with you. I don’t scare that easy.”

You looked at him. Really looked. And there it was again—that gentleness. That steady, weathered kind of love. The kind that didn’t back away when things got hard. The kind that stayed.

“I’m scared you’ll look at me differently,” you admitted.

Joel’s hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye.

“Darlin’,” he said, voice low, “I don’t love you because I think you’re perfect. I love you because you’re real. You’ve lived. You’ve hurt. And you’re still here.”

You blinked, swallowing the lump forming in your throat.

He smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You can tell me whenever you’re ready. Or not at all. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your breath caught, and your fingers stilled against his chest. The words hung heavy on your tongue, trembling at the edge.

“You’re a priest, Joel. I—” you started, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know what that makes me.”

Joel didn’t move. He stayed right there with you, his hand still on your cheek, his eyes searching yours.

“It makes you the woman I love,” he said simply, without hesitation.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out right away. Your throat burned. “But everything we did... it goes against everything you promised. Everything you believe in.”

“I believe in you,” he said, his voice firmer now, but still low, still gentle. “I believe in this. In us. I’ve spent a long-time following rules that didn’t leave space for the ache in my chest. For the loneliness. For how bad I wanted to be held, to be known, to love and be loved. And then you walked in.”

Your eyes filled, but you blinked them clear, searching his face like maybe you could find a reason to believe him more than you already did.

He leaned closer, his forehead touching yours.

“I don’t feel guilt when I’m with you,” he whispered. “I feel peace. I feel like I found the thing I was always trying to pray for but didn’t know how to name.”

You exhaled shakily. “But what if they find out?”

“Let me to figure this out, okay?” he said, you nodded.

You buried your face against his chest, his arms pulling you in tighter like he could protect you from every doubt, every consequence, every ghost of the past.

“I never wanted to ruin your life,” you murmured.

“You didn’t,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You saved it.”

You smiled against his chest, and his heart beat harder beneath your cheek. You both fit each other so perfectly well it almost frightened you.

You exhaled against his skin, letting yourself stay in that feeling—for just a second longer—until a sudden gasp caught in your throat.

Your eyes snapped open. “Shit—it’s morning,” you whispered, lifting your head quickly, your heartbeat kicking up. “Carmen. She’s probably already home.”

Joel blinked, still foggy with sleep and the softness of your embrace.

But before you could explain, the bedroom door creaked open with that telltale groan you’d been meaning to fix for months.

And there she was.

Carmen.

Standing in the doorway with a grocery bag in her hand, keys still dangling from her fingers. Her eyes widened for a second, taking in the sight of you tangled up in bed, sheets half-pulled around you, and the priest, half-dressed beside you.

You froze. Joel froze. Time froze.

Carmen’s lips parted slightly, as if she might say something.

But then—unexpectedly—she smiled. A little crooked, knowing smile. Not shocked. Not angry. Just amused at the scene in front of her.

She raised one eyebrow like she was about to tease you, then shook her head with a soft huff and stepped back, pulling the door closed behind her without a word.

You and Joel stared at the now-closed door for a moment, suspended in stunned silence.

“…Well,” Joel said finally, voice still raspy. “That went better than expected.”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands, cheeks burning. “I’m never going to hear the end of this.”

Joel chuckled, pulling you back against him. “Guess I should’ve remembered you live with her.”

You smacked his chest lightly, biting down a laugh. “She is already like a big sister to me”

“Oh,” Joel said, and you could feel his grin against your temple. “Then yeah. Definitely never hearing the end of it.”

You sighed, but couldn’t help smiling too. Somehow, the moment didn’t feel ruined—it felt more real. Like the kind of messy, human life you’d both been aching for.

The house felt too quiet, considering the bomb that had just gone off in your bedroom. You pulled your sweater tighter around you, padding into the kitchen with Joel behind you. His hair was still a little messy, his jacket hanging off his frame in a way that made your heart flutter and your stomach drop all at once. Like it was all too much, too good, too fragile.

Carmen was already there, leaning against the counter with a steaming mug in her hand, one brow raised like she’d been waiting for a good punchline.

Joel cleared his throat. “I should get going.”

She didn’t even blink. Just took a slow sip of her coffee and turned to look at him. “You can have a cup of coffee before you go, Father.”

You let out the softest noise of protest and immediately squeezed your eyes shut, mortified. Joel glanced at you, then rubbed the back of his neck with that half-grin like he didn’t quite know whether to laugh or apologize.

“Thanks,” he said carefully. “That’s kind of you.”

Carmen smirked, pouring another mug without a word, like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like it wasn’t the priest from Sunday mass standing barefoot in her kitchen after spending the night with you.

She handed the cup to Joel with a wink. “Milk’s in the fridge, I bet you needed now.”

You groaned into your hands. “Carmen.”

“What? I’m being welcoming.”

Joel chuckled under his breath, the sound low and warm as he took the coffee. “Appreciate the hospitality.”

Carmen gave you a look over the rim of her mug—teasing but not unkind. There was curiosity in her gaze, sure, but no judgment. Just a question she hadn’t decided whether or not to ask yet.

You glanced at Joel, then back at her. “I was going to tell you…”

“Oh, I’m not mad,” she said, shrugging. “I’m just wondering how long I have to keep calling him Father now that he’s defiled my couch pillows.”

Joel choked on his coffee and you dropped your face to the counter.

“Okay,” you mumbled, “I’m moving out.”

Joel leaned beside you, shoulder brushing yours, eyes sparkling with barely contained laughter. “This is... honestly not the worst reaction I’ve gotten from someone.”

Carmen hummed. “You must be real fun at reunions.”

Joel just sipped his coffee and looked at you over the rim. “Worth it.”

You didn’t know how long you sat there, head in your hands, feeling the heat radiate off your cheeks while Joel calmly drank his coffee like it wasn’t the most awkward morning you have had in this town.

Eventually, you peeked up at him, and he gave you a little smirk. The kind that said yeah, this is a mess, but I’m here for it anyway. You didn’t know whether to kiss him again or throw a dish towel at his face. Maybe both.

Carmen was the one who broke the silence, of course.

“So…” she began, drawing the word out like it was the opening line of a soap opera. “You two wanna tell me how long this has been going on? Or do I get to play detective?”

You exhaled, finally lifting your head. “It wasn’t supposed to go anywhere. It just—”

“—happened,” Joel finished gently, voice low. “But it wasn’t a mistake.”

Carmen’s expression softened for a second. “Didn’t think it was. You look... happy.”

You and Joel glanced at each other. There was something so fragile about that look—like both of you were still testing the weight of this thing you were building, wondering if it would collapse beneath you.

He reached out and brushed his knuckles against your hand where it rested on the counter. “I am,” he said simply.

Carmen let out a little sigh and stood, brushing her hands off. “Alright. I’ll keep quiet. But if you’re gonna keep sneaking him in here, at least give me a heads-up so I don’t walk in and get a free sermon with a side of bare ass.”

You groaned again. Joel just laughed.

She winked at you and grabbed her purse. “I’m going out. You two… talk. Figure your stuff out.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving behind a thick silence and the scent of her perfume.

Joel finished the last sip of his coffee, then turned to you. “She took that well.”

You gave him a weak smile, still half-hiding your face. “She doesn’t judge people. That makes her a good person.”

Joel stepped closer, setting his mug down and taking your hand in both of his. His thumb brushed your knuckles, slow and steady.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he said. “Not of me. Not of this.”

You met his eyes, heart thudding hard in your chest. “There’s still things I haven’t told you.”

“I know,” he said, and squeezed your hand. “And when you’re ready—I’ll listen.”

Joel’s eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, and you saw the shift in his fase, the return of responsibility, of the outside world creeping back in.

He sighed, reluctant, brushing his thumb across your hand one more time. “I should go,” he said softly.

You nodded, even though you hated the idea of him walking out that door. Of being left alone with the thoughts clawing at the back of your mind. With the truths you hadn’t found the courage to say yet.

“Church stuff?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” he muttered, glancing down as he pulled his hand from yours. “There’s always something.”

You followed him to the door anyway, arms crossed over your chest like a poor defense against the distance that would stretch between you once he was gone. His hand lingered on the doorknob. He didn’t look ready to leave either.

You stood there, watching him, with hope and fear. You hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear the answer to one more question, once again. The weight of it pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe, but you asked anyway, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

“Do you regret it?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper in the same tone as when you woke up.

Joel’s hand was still on the doorknob, but it stilled at your words. His shoulders tensed for just a moment, before he turned back to face you, his gaze searching yours as though he could read the fear in your eyes.

“No,” he said, his voice low but firm. There was no hesitation, no pause as if he had already thought about it far too many times to feel anything but certainty. “I don’t regret it.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, relief washing over you, but it was short-lived. You still felt the weight of your own truth hanging heavily in the air, waiting to be revealed. Would he still feel the same once he knew everything?

Joel stepped closer, his hand returning to the space between you both, reaching for you gently. His fingers brushed over your cheek, his touch light but reassuring. “You don’t have to keep wondering,” he murmured, his voice a balm to the storm swirling in your chest. “I’m not going anywhere. And I don’t regret a thing. Not even a second.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling at his words, but the doubts remained. His promise was comforting, but still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was so much more to uncover, more that needed to be said.

With a small, unsteady breath, you finally said, “I just… I don’t want to lose you.”

Joel smiled softly, his thumb brushing across your cheek as if to reassure you. “You won’t,” he whispered.

Joel's thumb continued its gentle path along your cheek, his touch tender, as if he could soothe all the lingering doubts inside you. The space between you closed, and before you could fully process it, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was soft, slow, and full of the kind of emotion that could speak volumes without a single word. It was a promise, a silent vow that whatever had passed between you both, whatever uncertainties remained, didn't have to be faced alone. It was the kind of kiss that said, "I’m here. And I’m not leaving." Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. It seemed to be your new favorite sound feeling.

When the kiss finally broke, you were breathless, your chest rising and falling as you tried to collect yourself. Joel’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes closing for a moment as he steadied his own.

“Okay, I gotta go now.” He whispered against your lips.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, though your heart felt heavy with the weight of his departure. "I know," you whispered, your voice softer than usual.

Joel lingered for a moment, his eyes scanning your face as though memorizing the way you looked, storing it in his mind before he had to walk out the door. The air between you was thick with unsaid things, but there was comfort in the way he watched you—like he was still holding onto you, even if just for a few more seconds.

"Take care of yourself," he said, his voice low, sincere. "I'll see you soon."

You nodded again, not trusting yourself to speak.

……………………………………………

Days slipped by, weaving a quiet, delicate rhythm between you and Joel. The stolen moments became your lifeline, each fleeting kiss shared in secret corners, behind closed doors, or when the world was quiet enough for you to be just you and him. There was a comfort in these stolen moments, but also a weight, a secret burden you carried together.

As the final hymn echoed through the church, you found yourself standing beside Joel at the altar, your fingers just brushing the cool surface of the wood as the last of the congregation began to filter out. The air was thick with the scent of incense, the hushed murmurs of the departing parishioners blending with the fading music.

Joel’s hand rested gently on your waist, a comforting weight that grounded you, but even in this moment of intimacy, you could feel the weight of the space around you, the heavy gaze of the women in the pews, their eyes lingering as they whispered in low voices. You didn’t need to hear their words to understand the judgment behind them.

You could feel their eyes on you, each glance a silent accusation. As if they knew. As if they understood the things you were still trying to bury deep inside. There was nothing that could make the judgment disappear.

You stole a glance at Joel, his hand still resting on your waist, his touch a silent promise. He didn’t seem to notice the looks, lost in the rhythm of the post-service bustle, his smile soft, his energy at peace. It made your heart ache to think of how unaware he was of the scrutiny surrounding you. He wasn’t burdened by the same weight. For him, this was his world—his sanctuary. For you, it was both a refuge and a place of constant tension, a place where the world could watch and judge without saying a word.

The women were still looking, whispering, exchanging glances with each other, perhaps noting how close you and Joel stood, how your bodies seemed to fit together naturally. You fought the urge to shrink away, to disappear into the shadows, but you couldn’t. Not with Joel so close, not when his warmth was the only thing that felt real in the midst of it all.

Joel turned slightly, his gaze falling on you, and you couldn’t hide the hesitation in your eyes, the way you shrunk just a little under the weight of those stares. He seemed to sense it instantly. His hand tightened on your waist, though still gentle, his thumb brushing in slow circles against your side.

“Don’t worry about them,” he murmured low enough for only you to hear, his voice soothing. "They don’t know what we have."

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself. "But they’re watching, Joel. They’re judging. You’re a priest… and I’m not—" The words caught in your throat before you could finish the sentence, before you could say what you really felt: I’m not what you need.

Joel’s hand slowly slid off your waist, and the absence of his touch sent a chill through you, though it was gentle, not harsh. His gaze softened, a mixture of understanding and sadness flickering in his eyes. For a brief moment, the weight of his silence felt heavier than any judgment from the others.

He looked over at the women in the pews, their glances still lingering on both of you. The air felt thick, charged with unspoken thoughts. Joel’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t show anger—only a quiet sadness, like he could feel the same sting in your chest, the weight of being watched, of feeling wrong for something so right.

“They don’t get to decide,” Joel said, his voice firm this time, though the tension was still there. “What’s between us... It’s not for them to understand.”

“Can you stay and help me with some things in there?” he asked, his voice directed toward the room at large, but his eyes locked onto yours, waiting for your response.

The women in the pews, still lingering with their quiet judgment, seemed to hold their breath for a moment, exchanging subtle glances, but Joel’s calm demeanor didn’t waver. He wasn’t backing down, not from them, not from this.

You hesitated for a second, unsure whether to take the out he was offering. The idea of being alone with him, in the quiet sanctuary of the church, sounded almost like a relief—a break from the scrutiny. But part of you still felt that nagging pull to stay here, to deal with the stares, to show you weren’t afraid of their whispers.

Joel seemed to sense your uncertainty. “It’s just some organizing. Nothing too serious,” he added, his voice softening as if trying to make it sound more casual. “We can talk more. Just... away from here.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of the moment press on you. With a quiet nod, you stepped a little closer to him, the space between you finally feeling like it might be crossed. The church, with all its weight and presence, had felt like a cage, but here, next to Joel, it felt a little less suffocating.

“I’ll help,” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper, but it was enough.

Joel smiled softly, his hand finding yours once more, and in that moment, the judgment, the whispers—they didn’t seem to matter as much. He had offered you a way out, a space where you could just be you.

The women in the pews remained still, but Joel didn’t wait for any further reactions. He led you toward the back, his hand warm around yours, and the tension seemed to dissipate with every step you took away from the staring eyes.

You followed Joel to the back of the church, feeling the stillness settle between you as you stepped further away from the prying eyes. The door clicked softly as it shut behind you, sealing out the whispers and judgment. The moment you were inside, the air shifted—it felt like a brief sanctuary within the sanctuary, a space where it was just the two of you.

“What do you need help with?” you asked, voice steady, even though your heart was still beating hard, a nervous excitement running through you. You weren’t sure what exactly had drawn you in, whether it was the promise of being alone with him or the need to escape the weight of everything that was outside this room.

But before Joel could respond, before the words even had a chance to form in his throat, he stepped closer, closing the space between you. His eyes were dark with something you couldn’t quite name, something deeper than the usual tenderness.

Without saying a word, he reached for you, his hands gentle but insistent, and before you could blink, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was urgent, but not frantic. It was a kiss that seemed to speak volumes, a quiet promise and a raw longing all in one. His lips were warm, familiar, like home. You leaned into him, responding instinctively, your hands finding their way to his chest, then his shoulders, drawing him closer as if you could melt into him.

When he finally pulled away, his breath ragged, he looked at you with a look you couldn’t quite read. It was the kind of look that made your heart stutter, like he was balancing on the edge of something dangerous, something beautiful.

“I needed that,” he whispered, his voice low and rough. “Needed to remind myself... that it’s real. What’s between us.”

You pressed your forehead to his, your breath still shaky. “I know,” you murmured. “I needed it too.”

Joel closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as if trying to center himself, then slowly pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His lips brushed against yours once more, soft and gentle, like a fleeting promise. The kiss was brief but filled with an undeniable warmth, a reassurance that neither of you had spoken, but both could feel.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “I don’t want to complicate things... but damn,” he murmured, voice still thick with emotion, “I don’t think I can stay away from you. Not now.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the gravity of the moment pulling you in even deeper. You wanted to say something, anything, but for a few moments, all that filled your mind was the soft press of his lips against yours, the way the world outside didn’t matter when he was this close.

“I don’t want you to stay away,” you whispered, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt, still feeling the warmth of his skin beneath it. “But we can’t keep doing this... hiding.”

Joel sighed, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know we can’t. Just let me figure out some things out first.”

You nodded.

The music thrummed through the club, the beats pulsing in time with your movements as you danced on stage. The crowd was alive, the lights flashing in rhythm with the energy of the night. You had felt good these past few days, something you hadn’t realized you had been missing until Joel came into your life. His presence had soothed something inside you, made you feel lighter even amidst the chaos.

As you danced, your gaze swept over the room, past the crowd of familiar faces, until your eyes landed on a man sitting alone at a table in the far corner. Something about him felt... off. You didn’t recognize him, and yet there was something strangely familiar about the way he was watching you. His eyes locked onto yours instantly, and your breath caught in your throat.

You felt a chill race down your spine as recognition clicked in your mind. The man wasn’t a stranger after all. You knew him. The familiar weight of his stare was enough to send a jolt of unease through your body. His presence stirred memories you had long since buried, and a lump formed in your throat.

He stood immediately, his movements smooth, calculated. His eyes never left yours, as though he had been waiting for this moment, for you to notice him. The rest of the world around you seemed to blur, the music almost drowned out by the rapid beat of your heart.

Your body froze for a moment, instinctively trying to push the old memories back into the recesses of your mind where they belonged. But they refused to stay hidden. You remembered the way he used to look at you, the feeling of his gaze lingering on you like a weight. And now, here he was, standing in front of you, no more than a few steps away.

You kept dancing, forcing yourself to maintain the rhythm, but your movements felt mechanical, disconnected from the energy you’d felt just moments ago. You couldn’t stop looking at him, even though every part of you screamed to look away.

The man stepped forward, his pace slow, deliberate, as if he wanted you to know he was in control, that he had your attention. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. There was no warmth, no familiarity in his eyes, only something colder, something that made you want to retreat.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not yet. The mask you’d carefully crafted in this life, the strength you’d built up, told you to stand tall.

As his presence loomed closer, your breath caught again. You didn’t want to acknowledge what had been stirred inside you, but it was too late. He was here. And there was no escaping the truth now—he knew you, and you knew him. But you weren’t ready to let anyone else know that yet.

You stepped down from the stage, heart pounding in your throat, legs moving before your mind could catch up. The lights faded behind you, the music a dull throb compared to the noise in your head. You pushed past the curtain, your breath ragged, chest tight like something heavy had just landed on it and wouldn’t let go.

“Hey, hey!” Billy’s voice caught you just as your hands met the wall behind the stage, steadying yourself. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

He reached for your arm, stopping you before you could disappear into the dressing room. His eyes searched yours, concern etched across his face, his brow furrowed deep. “You looked like you saw a ghost out there.”

You couldn’t speak. Your mouth opened, but the words got stuck somewhere between your ribs and your throat. You looked at Billy, wide-eyed, like maybe he’d understand if you just stared hard enough.

He squeezed your arm gently. “Was it someone out there? A guy?” he asked, more quietly now.

You shook your head rapidly. Billy’s jaw tensed, clearly not buying it, but he didn’t push. Not yet.

“You sure?” he asked, softer this time, like maybe if he lowered his voice, you’d give him something—anything.

You nodded, eyes darting toward the curtain again. “Yeah,” you lied, forcing a shaky breath. “Just… got dizzy. Lights were too much tonight.”

He let out a small breath, half a sigh, half a frustrated grunt. “You’ve done a hundred nights like this. You’ve never looked like that before.”

“I know,” you whispered, avoiding his eyes now. “It’s nothing. I just need a minute.”

Billy looked like he wanted to say more—like he was piecing something together but couldn’t quite make it click. His hand hovered for a moment, then dropped to his side.

“Alright,” he said finally, voice tight. “Please don’t tell me the priest got your pregnant or something”

You stared at him, the breath catching hard in your lungs.

“What?” you said, barely above a whisper, like maybe if you asked it soft enough it would disappear, like maybe you hadn’t heard him right.

Billy just shrugged, like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just tossed a grenade into the space between you.

“I mean,” he went on, tone casual but the edge in his voice unmistakable, “you’ve been different. Glowing. Hiding. Jumping like that? Either someone’s following you… or something’s growing inside you.”

Your heart pounded so hard you could feel it behind your eyes. You tried to laugh it off, but it came out wrong—too thin, too sharp.

“You’re insane,” you said, shaking your head, turning toward the dressing room again.

“I’m not wrong, though,” he called after you, softer this time. “Am I?”

“No, you’re wrong,” you snapped, turning back to face him, your voice sharper than you meant it to be.

Billy blinked, surprised at the fire in your tone—but you weren’t finished.

“And why the hell would Carmen tell you anything?” you asked, stepping toward him now, anger and panic bubbling up in equal measure. “She promised me she wouldn’t say a word.”

His brows furrowed. “Well, she saw it firsthand”

You cursed under your breath, realizing too late what you’d let slip. You’d been so careful, so quiet, and now it was unraveling faster than you could stop it.

Billy let out a slow, humorless breath, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I wasn’t trying to start something. I just—she is worried. Said you’ve been off, she mentioned you and the priest spent the night together so I put two and two together.”

You didn’t know what to say. Your hands trembled at your sides, the weight of the night suddenly too heavy to hold.

“I’m fine,” you said finally, flatly. “And whatever Carmen said, it wasn’t her place.”

Billy nodded slowly, eyes still locked on you like he was seeing something he couldn’t unsee. “Maybe not. But if something’s going on… you shouldn’t be dealing with it alone.”

You turned your back on him before he could say more, disappearing into the dressing room and locking the door behind you. You pressed your palms to the sink, breathing hard, eyes staring at your reflection under the buzz of fluorescent lights.

You weren’t glowing. You were unraveling.

Fearing the outcomes of the next events, he had found you.

“mierda,” (shit) you hissed under your breath, your voice trembling. “Mierda… mierda.”

The words slipped out in a harsh whisper, bitter against the cold tile and flickering light. Your hands clenched the edge of the sink so tightly your knuckles went white, the metal biting into your palms.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will the pressure away, trying to quiet the spiraling thoughts, the image of him sitting in the audience.

“¿Qué mierda estoy haciendo?”(what the hell I am doing? you muttered, shaking your head, the panic twisting deeper in your gut. “Esto no puede estar pasando…” (This cannot be happening)

What you did it know was that everything was close to explode. That same man was walking towards the church right now.

The knock came sharp and heavy, echoing through the quiet church halls like a warning. Joel looked up from his desk, a furrow cutting across his brow. No one knocked like that unless they meant business. He stood, brushing his hands against his slacks, and made his way to the door with slow, deliberate steps.

When he opened it, he was met with the figure of a man standing tall and rigid against the dying light. He looked like he’d stepped out of a different world—combat boots, weathered clothes, and a scar slicing just above his brow. His jaw was tight, his posture trained and stiff, like someone who hadn’t stopped moving in a long time.

But what struck Joel most was the familiarity in his voice when he finally spoke.

“Someone told me you're the priest of this town,” the man said, accent thick, just like yours.

Joel narrowed his eyes, uneasy. “Who are you?”

The man paused for just a breath, eyes scanning Joel like he was assessing a threat. “I need help,” he said.

Joel stood a little straighter. “Help with what?”

The man looked past Joel, into the dim light of the chapel behind him, then back again. “I’m looking for someone.”

Joel’s chest tightened, the air suddenly colder in his lungs.

The man reached into the inside pocket of his worn jacket, fingers steady despite the weight of the moment. He pulled out a small, weathered photo—creased at the corners, the edges curled from time and touch. He held it out without a word.

Joel took it hesitantly.

And there you were.

Smiling. A soft, radiant smile he hadn't seen from you in real life, at least not like that. You looked younger, lighter, standing in sunlight with your head tilted just slightly, like whoever took the picture had said something that made you laugh.

Joel felt like the ground slipped out from under him.

His throat tightened as he looked back up at the man, who was watching him closely, like he was reading every flicker of change across Joel’s face.

“This woman,” the man said, his voice colder now, more deliberate, “is my fiancée.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak.

“She disappeared a while back,” the man continued. “People told me they saw someone who looked like her here. Said she was working at a club.”

Joel’s fingers folded around the photo, not giving it back. His heart was racing, his mind trying to catch up with what this meant—what you had left behind. What you hadn’t told him.

He stepped back a little, voice low. “And what are you planning to do… if you find her?”

The man didn’t blink. “Bring her home.” He paused, and for the first time, something raw crept into his voice. “She ran. But she’s still mine.”

Joel’s heart cracked wide open in the silence that followed.

Your smile—that smile—burned into the back of his mind, now shared with a man who claimed you as his. Who spoke of you not like a person but a possession. She’s still mine.

Joel swallowed hard. The ache was almost unbearable, but his face didn’t flinch.

He handed the photo back without a word. “I don’t know her,” he said, steady but hoarse, like the lie scraped its way up from his chest and tore something loose on the way out.

The man studied him. “You sure?” he asked, eyes narrowing, voice sharper now. “You look like you do.”

Joel met his stare head-on, shoulders squared, holding himself with quiet steel. “A lotta faces pass through here. Can’t say I remember them all.”

The man didn’t move for a beat. Then, slowly, he tucked the photo back into his jacket and gave Joel a long, unreadable look. “If you see her,” he said, “tell her Gabriel’s looking for her.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away.

Joel stood there at the doorway long after he’d gone, the cold creeping into his bones. The weight of your smile still lingered on his hands; the truth heavy behind his ribs.

He didn’t know what to do so he walked to the only place he had met protection, the illusion of peace.

But tonight, the silence screamed.

He reached the altar and sank to his knees, the wood biting into him, but he welcomed the pain. He bowed his head, not in reverence, but in ruin.

Being tied to a faith he had burnt with the fire of his own sins hurt his skin. He could feel it crawling over him, pressing into his chest like a brand. It wasn’t the first time guilt had lived in his bones, but this was different. This was personal. This was you.

He felt awful.

Betrayed.

And drowned in his thoughts.

He couldn’t breathe. The air in the church felt thick, wrong, like it knew. Like God himself was watching.

Were you really the woman he had come to love, or were you nothing more than a figment of his worst intentions? A fantasy dressed in soft laughter and whispered confessions?

He had claimed you, he had loved you that night, he had held you in his arms while you slept, singing soothing lullabies to you.

He had allowed his already bruised heart to be loved by you.

You.

You, the one who looked like the sun.

You, the one who kissed all his scars.

You, with your angelic smile.

you.

"The one."

The one who, in one mere second, had shattered his broken heart into tiny, merciless pieces.

Pieces that now dug into his palms, bloody and trembling, as he clasped his hands together in front of the altar.

A man of faith, praying.

God, forgive me, his lips moved silently, over and over.

Forgive me for loving her. Forgive me for not knowing who she was. Forgive me… for still wanting her.

Tears stung the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall.

Because he wasn’t sure if he was mourning the truth…

…or mourning the lie he wished you weren’t.

Tags < 3 @jasminedragoon @mandaloriankait @jellybeanxc @spencercmlover @lilac-boo @disco-fairy75 @correapunk @existentialdreadofhumanity @secretcheesecakenacho @laliceee @exzidss @missladym1981

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puck-luck · 5 months ago

Note

i think … a lot … about jack getting pussy drunk and whining whenever you say you can’t take anymore bc he just needs to feel you around him at all times

warnings: sub!jack, use of “miss” in a sir!kink type way, ambiguous “is jack with another girl or not” (up to you. idc which one you choose), sex as therapy <3, begging, dirty talk, praise, references to thigh riding, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, oral m!receiving, handjob, fist-fucking, making out, pain kink, unprotected p in v (with creampie), riding, desperate!jack, spit, cum and spit as lube.

pairing: sub!jack hughes x dom!fem!reader

wc: 4,444

It was only a matter of time before Jack came crawling back to you. After all, this is what he does– he gets in a funk or a slump or whatever you want to call it, and then he spends the night with you.

It started as a one-time thing. Then, two times. Then, it became a ritual, almost. Now… well, now, this ritual has grown into one of Jack’s most important superstitions. When he’s not playing well, he comes to see you, and he comes when he sees you, and suddenly– oh! He’s got his mojo back.

Three hours after tonight’s game, another overtime loss that you’re sure Jack blames himself for, he knocks at your door. He’s later than usual, often coming over as soon as he’s able rather than letting a few hours tick by. Still, when the door swings open and you go to greet the boy, Jack’s all over you.

He overwhelms your senses with no preamble. His hands are running over the curves of your body without a set path or plan, displacing your baggy sweatshirt and pulling at your comfortable pajama bottoms. You can taste the mumbled pleas on Jack’s tongue. The begging that doesn’t coat your tongue falls on your ears and Jack is nothing if not persuasive.

“Need you,” Jack says. He finds your hand, clutching your wrist and bringing your palm to his cock. He grinds into your touch. “Fix it. Take it all away, make me better.”

You’ve never liked the way he says that, like your touch is the true fix to every single one of his problems. You don’t like the way Jack asks you make him better because that’s not what you’re doing. Jack treats it like magic, but in reality, all you’re doing is taking control. All he’s doing is relinquishing that control for once, letting his mind finally clear after being run rampant with play after play and mistake after mistake. He doesn’t admit it to the world, but Jack beats himself up after a bad game– and after a series of bad games, he comes to you.

“Okay, baby,” you reply gently instead of scolding him, catching Jack’s hands and clasping them in your own. “Let’s go to bed. I’ll make you come.”

You lead Jack down the hall to your bedroom and you can’t help but wonder why he was late. You’ve been waiting for him for a few days now, knowing that he’s going to need you. You admittedly don’t keep up with the Devils because you’re a fan. In reality, you don’t care about hockey all that much. The exception, as it always seems to be, is Jack Hughes.

Once inside your bedroom, you sit on the foot of the bed. Jack stands before you, eyes darting around the room and coming back to you awkwardly. You tilt your head to the side and fall back into the same role that Jack needs– the authoritarian, telling him what to do. “Are you going to undress for me?” You ask, an air of impatience painting your words. “Or are you going to stand there all night?”

Jack’s eyes widen and he blinks. He pushes a hand through his hair, saying, “Yeah– yes,” before he pulls his shirt over his head by the back of his collar and rushes to remove his pants.

Before he can remove his boxer-briefs, you stop him and beckon him closer. Jack steps forward, between your legs and looks down at you, chest rising and falling evenly, albeit a little fast.

You fit your palms over his thighs and feel him out over the briefs. The strong muscles of these thighs– fuck, you remember the first time you took control, when Jack had finally broken after minutes of trying to maintain a shred of dignity and begged to have his cock inside of you, needing to feel you, but you’d denied him and continued to rut against his quads until you came. Jack had been left straining in his shorts, and when you switched to his other thigh to make it just as damp as the first, he’d come with just one brush of your hand against his length.

You scratch down his thighs and Jack whimpers, his eyelids fluttering at the sensation. Like a good boy, his hands are clasped behind his back. He’s allowing you to do whatever you want– something that you’ve proven, time and time again, is better than when Jack manhandles you onto the bed and takes what he needs. In making him wait, and in making him practice a bit of self control, you give him something he can’t find anywhere else.

Which is why you think he’s here today. Late.

“What took you so long, sweetheart?” you ask, bringing your index finger to the waistband of Jack’s briefs and tracing the lettering there. “I’ve been waiting for you to come see me.”

Jack lets out a breath, his head dipping shamefully. He refuses to meet your eyes.

“Jack,” you say, your tone growing sharp. “Tell me.”

“I don’t want to,” Jack replies. His voice is pouty. “It’s embarrassing.”

You withdraw your index finger from the band of his shorts and bring it to the front of his underwear, tracing over the line of his cock. “Jack,” you repeat, scolding him. “You know that you don’t have to be embarrassed in front of me.”

Jack just whines in the back of his throat, shaking his head. His hair falls forward, into his eyeline, but he doesn’t remove it. He uses the curtain to hide his face even further.

You pump his cock once over the front of his briefs, then pull the waistband down an inch. The tip of Jack’s cock, hard and red and leaking already, becomes visible. Then, you pull back and lean back on the bed, propping yourself up by your elbows. You’re still fully clothed and your legs are crossed, whereas there’s a blush starting to creep down Jack’s neck.

“I can’t touch you until you tell me, baby,” you tell Jack. His eyes find yours, his head barely tilting up, and he already looks betrayed. To make matters worse, you bring your right hand to your stomach, then push it up further beneath your sweatshirt. You sigh and roll your head back as your thumb and index finger find your nipple, pinching it and rolling it beneath the fabric. Just because you can’t touch Jack doesn’t mean you can’t touch yourself.

“Y/N,” Jack protests weakly. He wants your attention back. Sweet boy– he’s never been able to watch you pleasure yourself without feeling left out and neglected. Still, he stands before you with his hands clasped behind his back, cockhead peeking out from his waistband. A dribble of precum has bubbled from his slit and fallen down the underside of his tip, path completely visible to you.

“That’s not what you call me when we’re together like this,” you correct in a bored voice, raising your eyebrows at Jack and bringing your hand to your other nipple.

“Miss,” Jack corrects in a rushed voice. “Please.”

You’ve never been a fan of the word Mistress, feeling like it’s too 1800s-Evil-Vampire, and while you love to take care of Jack, you’re not exactly his Mommy. You’d gotten the idea to be ‘Miss’ when you’d teasingly said “Yes, sir,” to Jack after a session, and he’d slurred out a little fantasy about letting one of his teachers reward him for doing well on a test. Everything seemed to click into place and you’ve been ‘Miss’ ever since.

“Baby, I’m not touching you until you tell me why it took you so long to see me,” you remind him. You take your hand from beneath your sweatshirt and lean back on it, in the same position as before. “Tell me now and I’ll even get my lips around your cock, J.”

Another blurt of precum rises from his slit, his cock twitching in his briefs. “Please, I can’t say it,” Jack fusses, looking away from you and shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t– it’s just stupid.”

“Oh, honey,” you simper, coming back to a sitting position. “That bad?”

Jack doesn’t reply.

You’ve known all along what the problem is– or, at least, you’ve suspected. It wasn’t long after your last hookup that Jack told you he’d started talking to a girl and that he wanted to see if something could work out with her. You hadn’t really minded. It wasn’t like you and Jack were dating or exclusive; you dom him when he needs it and other than that, you don’t talk. It’s pretty much the definition of a ‘working relationship.’

You lean forward and press your lips to Jack’s tip, a chaste and sweet kiss that you might even give his lips when he’s being good for you, or when he needs that extra reassurance. “Let me guess, baby,” you say. “You tried this with her, didn’t you?”

The tips of Jack’s ears turn redder and he nods, in tiny, aborted movements.

Sympathy floods your being. “Oh, sweetheart,” you say with another kiss, flicking your tongue over his slit to collect the precum. “She wasn’t able to take care of you the way I can?”

Jack shivers and shakes his head.

“Poor thing.” You pout at him, then bring your lips to his v-line and kiss there. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make you feel better. I’m here.”

You kiss down his abdomen again, finding his tip and fitting your lips over it gently. You suck his cock methodically. You’re not moving up and down. You’re not sucking gently, then harshly. You’re just consistent, creating suction around his tip that slowly brings him closer to the edge. You blink up at him, watching as Jack’s breathing grows more rapid and he has to roll his head back on his shoulders and look up at the ceiling to compose himself. You bring a hand down between his legs and find his balls, palming them and rolling them in your hand.

“Gonna–” Jack warns, his hips twitching.

Moving for the first time, you nod. You squeeze his sack too, just for that extra confirmation, and because you know that it makes Jack jump.

He spills over your tongue, a wanton breath leaving his mouth. His legs are a little shaky as you continue to swallow against him, continue to fondle him over his briefs. It’s only once his breath evens out that you draw back and instruct him to lay on the bed.

Jack follows your directions easily, happy and placated from his climax. He lays back on the pillows, lifting his hips when you tuck your fingers into the sides of his waistband and start to remove the briefs.

You pull your sweatshirt off and fit yourself against Jack’s side, rubbing your palm along his torso before bringing it to the side of his face. Jack’s eyes are hooded and his smile is relaxed, turning to face you because of your guided hand. You bring your lips to Jack’s, rewarding him silently for the way he handled his orgasm. He didn’t thrust into your mouth, nor did he shoot off without warning you. He followed your lead and did everything right.

You continue to touch Jack’s torso as you kiss him, growing bolder in both areas. As you lick over his bottom lip, which is chapped and broken from his incessant worried chewing, you thumb over his nipple. That draws a hum from Jack, so you do it again, feeling the sound vibrate between your bodies and rumble against your lips.

The kisses are lazy and Jack is insatiable but submissive, sucking on your tongue and capturing your lips sweetly because you’re allowing him to do so.

“Thank you, Miss,” Jack murmurs against your lips.

“You’re welcome, J,” you reply at the same volume. “But we’re not done yet, angel.”

“No?” Jack asks, pulling away with a smile.

“Mm-mm,” you say. You bring your lips back to his, then loop a leg around his. The crotch of your shorts brush his thigh, but you’re not planning to do anything with his thighs today. “Just relax and keep kissing me, baby.”

You take his hand and bring it to your chest, encouraging Jack to play with your tits over the lacy white bralette you’d been wearing under your sweatshirt. He enthusiastically does so, shifting his body closer to yours so that his reach isn’t at an awkward angle. Jack’s thumb finds your nipple almost immediately, already hard from how aroused you get seeing him like this, and he toys with you.

At the same time, you’re starting to toy with him. It starts with a light brush over his cock, which is fighting hard to become fully stiff again. You trace your fingers over his tip, mapping the organ as if you don’t know it intimately by now. It’s when you rub a finger over his slit that Jack’s cock jumps and really starts to react.

“Fuck,” he breathes out against your mouth, eyelids fluttering open. “That feels good, Miss.”

“Hm, yeah?” you ask. You rub his slit again, letting your fingernail catch on the divot. Jack’s abdomen tenses and he moans. “Are you going to get hard for me again, J?”

“Yeah,” he agrees easily, thrusting his hips up tentatively and pinching your nipple.

“Oh, you want to fuck my hand?” You loop your fingers into a circle around his base, then drag them up to the middle of his shaft. “Make yourself feel good ‘til you’re ready to come again for me?”

Jack’s eyes light up. “Yeah,” he repeats. “Can I?”

You chuckle fondly pushing yourself up onto your elbow and planting a kiss on the tip of Jack’s nose. “Yeah, baby. Show me how bad you want to come, okay? Don’t stop ‘til you’re almost there.”

Jack nods, his head swiveling up and down until you give his cock a squeeze and prompt him to begin. It’s then that his head falls back on the pillows and his hips start to move, abdomen flexing and tensing with each thrust.

You watch his stomach for a minute, watch the abs appear and soften with each twitch of his hips. Jack’s cock is steadily, but surely, coming back to its full length. His breath hitches on a particularly rough thrust, faltering until you tilt your chin up and smooth a kiss onto his neck, right over his pulse point. Jack gasps and begins to pump his hips harder, faster.

“Shit.” He chokes on the word as you suck a bruise onto his neck, your movements slow in contrast with his own. “Do you want me to–”

“Does it feel good, my love?” you ask, whispering the pet name in Jack’s ear before nibbling on his earlobe. You know how crazy he goes for it, even despite knowing that you both crave nothing more than what you have in bed, in this relationship. Jack isn’t your love, but nothing makes him fuck you like hearing you say that.

His breath turns into a weary pant. “Fuck, Miss, I’m going to come if you say things like that,” he whines, his hips blurring in your peripheral vision. You’re watching the sweat bead at his hairline and his eyes squeeze shut in pleasure, especially as he gets close.

“Make yourself come all over my fist, J,” you command sweetly, tightening your grip on his cock until Jack’s mouth falls open and his head tips back. His hips never stop moving, not even when the first spurt of cum escapes from his slit and starts to run over your fingers.

Jack is making sweet little noises as he uses your fist to extract all the cum from his cock, whimpers that have you pressing kiss after kiss to his neck, jaw, and cheek.

“So good, baby,” you praise under your breath, just loud enough that Jack can hear it. “That was perfect. My sweet boy, coming for me just like I asked.”

He needs praise when he comes to you, and you’re never shy about giving it to him. In the beginning of your relationship, it was hard for Jack to listen to your commands and anticipate what you wanted. It was hard for him to be good, even though he wanted to satisfy you. Jack had been active for years before he met you, and he was always an equal partner or the more dominant person in those relationships. With you, it’s the first time that he’s been so reliant on another person to bring him pleasure, to know what’s best for him. It took time, but you’ve both figured it out by now– and you know what he needs.

So when his hips stop moving, and his breath starts to even out, you use the cum on your hands like lube. You keep stroking his cock, your grip as tight as it was when he came.

“M-” Jack stutters, his eyes wild when he finds yours. “Miss?” he asks.

“Hm?” you reply, focusing on his cock and the way that you’re preventing it from softening, continuing the stimulation so that it remains erect.

“Fuck- it, oh my God,” Jack lets out, his breath heaving out of him like he’s been punched.

“What is it, baby?” you ask, pretending like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. You’re not a fool– you know that it’s hard for men to come multiple times in a night, much less one right after the other. That sort of thing feels impossible, biologically unfathomable, but you’re determined to pull a third from Jack tonight.

“It- it’s too much,” Jack whines out, voice breaking. “Miss, fuck, that’s too much.”

“Do you want me to stop?” you ask, twisting your hand around his tip before pressing the tip of your thumb to the crown of his cock. You press into the underside, massaging the sensitive skin, and stare at Jack expectantly.

“No, fuck, keep touching me,” he begs, despite the way his hips are twitching on the bed, away from your touch. “I can- I can come again. Please, in your pussy? I’m… ‘m being good.”

“Are you?” you tease, squeezing Jack’s shaft before you resume working over him. “Or are you trying to tell me what to do?”

Jack flounders for a second, opening his mouth and closing it with no sound escaping.

You quirk an eyebrow and lean down, letting a line of spit fall onto the head of his cock. You rub a bit of the liquid against Jack’s slit, which has his eyes rolling back, and then you use the saliva to make the movement of your hand easier.

“No, no, whatever you want,” Jack says, the words coming out in a rush.

“That’s right,” you say. You come up and kiss his lips, plush and slack beneath your own. He’s losing himself a little bit, so you’re determined to bring him back to center. “I know you didn’t mean to demand anything, baby.”

“No, was an accident,” Jack agrees. “Didn’t mean it, Miss, honest.”

“I know, sweetheart, it’s okay,” you tell him. You kiss him again, briefly, and Jack returns it this time. He’s desperate to prove himself and demonstrate how good he can be. “I was going to give you my pussy anyway. Do you want to make me come, J?”

“Yes.” Jack nods, wildly, touching your sides and trying to pull at your pajama shorts. “Want you to feel good too, Miss.”

“That’s my boy,” you say with a smile. “My good boy. Always so eager to please.”

“Mhm,” Jack whines, pulling you close and kissing your neck. “Need it, need your cum. Wanna feel it around me.”

God, when he starts to really lose his inhibitions, his words sound that much better. He’s begging you and you’re not even on top of him.

His cock is still hard enough for you to slip it inside, so when you’ve managed to remove your shorts and panties, you straddle his lap. You hover above him at first, holding Jack’s base and drawing his tip through your wet folds. Despite not touching yourself so far at all tonight, you’re dripping for Jack. This– what you have going here– is incredibly sexy.

Jack bites his bottom lip to suppress a whine, which is when you finally start to lower yourself.

At first, you let his tip breach your hole. You stay there, adjusting to the intrusion and flexing your muscles around his sensitive cockhead. Jack’s bottom lip shakes from the effort of staying quiet, still trapped between his teeth, and his eyes are silently begging you to keep going.

So you do. You continue to sink lower, and lower, taking your time with his cock. It’s a few minutes before you sink down on him until you’re flush with his hips.

Jack takes a shaky breath and looks up at you, eyes bright and dazed from the oversensitivity he’s experiencing. You watch his pupils dilate when you clench down on his cock, then how they return to their previous size when you relax. His hair is curling in clumps over his forehead, cheeks and nose dusted in pink blush. Jack’s mouth stays open as you start to move, grinding against him.

You keep your hands on his abdomen to steady yourself, moving your hips in sensual circles until it’s too good. You start to need more, so you begin to rise and fall on Jack’s cock, fucking yourself in short strokes at first, although they grow deeper and deeper with each pass.

Jack’s hands come to your hips and rest there, not quite guiding your bounces but certainly feeling the way your sides flex and move. His eyes roll back into his head, mouth parted wide in a silent scream. His eyebrows draw together and he gasps for breath.

“Does it feel good, sweetheart?” you ask coyly, knowing that Jack can’t decide how it feels. The pinch of his eyebrows spells pain, but the way his hands touch you and pull at you tells you that he wants nothing more than to have you atop him, gripping his cock with your gummy, wet inner walls. “Do you think you can come one more time for me?”

“I don’t know,” Jack admits in a shattered voice. “‘s hurting, but I want to, I wanna come…”

“Oh, it’s hurting?” Your voice is wracked in sugary-sweet, sarcastic sympathy, slowing your hips and rising off of Jack, leaving just his tip inside. You lean forward, his cock millimeters from slipping from your warmth. “I don’t want my baby to be in pain, maybe you can get me off another way.”

“No, no–” Jack yelps, his eyes flashing open and his fingers digging into your hips. He uses his strength to drag you back down onto his cock, until it’s sheathed inside of you again. “No, Miss, please, I’ll be good– I promise I can come again, please, I need your pussy–” He thrusts up once just to show you that he can, cutting himself off with a loud moan.

“Begging for me, J?” You tease, touching his bottom lip and rocking your hips.

“Yes, Miss, fuck, I need it, I need to be inside you, can’t be good without you,” Jack babbles, saying everything that comes to mind. His hips are still moving into yours and it feels good, and he’s so desperate to show you what he can do, that you don’t berate him for taking matters into his own hands.

You lean down to kiss him, squishing his cheeks together between your thumb and fingers. Jack whimpers and kisses back, his thrusts more like involuntary shudders. His tip brushes your g-spot and, in a welcome turn of events, stays there. It nudges your spot with each aborted thrust, bullying the spongy area inside of you and making your own mouth fall open.

Jack licks inside. “Please,” he keens before tangling your tongues. His hips pull you down, in time with the shallow movements. “Miss, please.”

“Keep going, baby, you’re going to make me come,” you tell Jack in a soft voice, petting over his features and smoothing his sweaty hair out of his face. You touch his lip again and slide a finger onto his tongue, which Jack takes and sucks like he’s latching onto your nipple. Your stomach jumps at the sight and you sigh, a noise that spurs Jack on even further.

He clutches your sides desperately and breathes heavy around your finger, his mouth falling open when you squeeze his member with your cunt. You take advantage– removing your finger from his mouth and lowering down until your lips are an inch away. You gather some spit in your mouth, emulating the Jack that you see on the ice whenever you watch him play, and direct the wad toward his tongue.

Jack seizes when it hits, his cock pressing as deep into you as it can go. Cum flows from his tip, a weak stream from having come twice already in the night, but it fills you regardless. It hits your spot, and Jack’s cock jumps inside you, unable to stop twitching from oversensitivity.

As his eyes go starry, probably seeing white from the strength of his orgasm, you fall apart on top of him. Your own climax hits you like a brick wall, making you throw your head back and grind on Jack’s length. You have to ride it out– regardless of the desperate, pained noises Jack is making– and it has never felt better.

“Miss, fuck, oh–” Jack repeats mindlessly, even after you pull him from your entrance and fall into his side. You’re a mess, leaking all over your clean sheets, and Jack is no better. He’s sweaty, covered in a light sheen, and his skin is splotchy with the blush that crawled down his neck with each orgasm. “Fuck, I… I don’t even…”

“I know, J,” you coo softly, petting over his hair. You brush your lips over his cheek. “You don’t have to say anything, angel. Let’s go to sleep, baby, let me cuddle you all night.”

Jack curls into your touch, throwing his arm over your waist and shoving his thigh between your legs. He buries his head in your neck and kisses it softly, holding you tightly until he falls asleep.

You expect that he’ll be gone in the morning, like he always is. For now, you pet his hair and whisper soft praises in his ear until his breath is even and quiet and he’s fallen asleep, body wrapped around yours.

#puck-luck's fics #andy writes anything🍄#jack hughes #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes smut #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x y/n #jh86 #sub jack agenda!#nhl #nhl smut #nhl fanfiction #hockey smut

782 notes · View notes

bonbonly · 5 months ago

Text

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when I'm down on my knees, you're how I pray - when bishop!max decides to stay for the christmas festivities, chapter!charles leclerc finds it harder to hide his true religion: you. (this is a continuation of Temptation) 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: this is a dark fic! you have been warned! do not read if you are not comfortable with dark fics or any of the following: noncon/dubcon, slapping, p in v, fingering, lactation, oral (m receiving), stoning, almost burning at the stake. this fic contains heavy catholic themes/guilt, and also includes angst and redemption. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 9.4k 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: based on popular demand, i've made the sequel for Temptation! (read it if you haven't already!) writing this series made me a charles girlie omg

from the light through the cathedral's glass windows, the heavenly father centered his glory around the statue of virgin mary carrying her holy son, the loving baby jesus. above the ledge from where you stood, you glimpsed down to see the swarm of people shuffling into the main altar, getting on their knees as your child's father offered the lord's blessings to each loyal devotee. you watched the gentle smile on his face as he bowed his head, forming a cross on his chest with his hands. a soft amen fell from his lips, his eyes creased together as he giggled at something a child had said to him. his soft nature contrasted his demeanor towards you every night when he snuck into the attic to deliver another basket of bread and milk. he was a different man past the hours of the cathedral, the devil himself. you glanced down to your blissfully asleep bundle of joy in your arms, his tiny hands wrapped your finger as you gently rocked him back and forth. you could've loved the being in your arms had it not been out of a horrendous union that brought you turmoil more than love. you could've had the heart to smother him in kisses like any mother would to their child, to gift him every joy in the world had he been born to a man that you loved.

"you look cold, here have my cloak," charles leaned forward to kiss your forehead, draping the fabric over your shoulders. his head nestled onto your shoulder, ignoring the disdainful expression on your face. both your eyes fell down to your son, his soft coos echoing in the dark room where charles stored his obsessions. love was not in his vocabulary. for if he loved you, you knew he would let you go. charles gave your cheek a soft kiss, letting his warm lips linger on your cold skin, so that you could understand he would always be a part of you. a reminder of your new life as the mother to his child, another servant of god. your shoulders sagged at the declaration inside your head: this was your life. this was how you would spend the rest of your years. buried away in a dark attic where no man shall ever know of you existence - save your son - and you would rot away without the luxury of having a stable family. you envied your friends who were married and had a robust family tree, a dozen children to their name which they had wanted willingly. charles could see the sadness in your eyes, the way your head cast downwards with tears rolling down your cheeks. his breath hitched when the rays of light shone down on you; he saw the weeping virgin stand before him for a split second, her pain from the earthly world, from him. his eyes cast down to his child giggling with his arms outstretched for his father, and charles picked up the infant.

"leo is looking very healthy," he whispered, his eyes flickering to you for confirmation. you slowly nodded your head, your gaze transfixed onto the stone cracks. "i expect some words from you, mon ange."

"he is very healthy," you murmured, slowly lifting your gaze to face his. his eyes hardened into a glare, not happy with your attitude as of late. you acted as if it was the end of the world. what better pleasure would a woman such as yourself have if not being a servant of the lord, the mother to his child, his only possession far greater than the rosary he hung around his neck. he placed his son in the wooden cradle secretly made a long time ago when he first learned you were pregnant, and he grabbed hold of your arm to have you stand on your feet. his fingers dug into your jaw, forcing you to stare at him,

"what is wrong with you? have you forgotten your duties?" he questioned, watching you squirm under his grasp. your pitiful attempts to push him off were swatted away with his free hand, "you could've been a whore on the streets had i not rescued you. the grace of the holy father has led you to me, this is your chance at salvation and yet you act as if you'd rather live in perdition than with the heaven i have gifted you!"

he watched your tears collect onto his fingers, those rosy lips of yours now a small pout. he sighed out loud, repenting for his mistake of treating you so harshly and he leaned down to capture your lips into a kiss.

"oh, ma chère reine, come now. i am only doing this for your good," he kissed away your tears, caressing your face with his thumb. "it is not good for you to cry, i hate to see you cry. i only want to ever see you happy, n'est-ce pas vrai?"

your response is ignored as he sweeps you off your feet, carrying you to the bed he had placed besides the cradle. there was a small curtain that separated the "room" between yours and your son. charles laid you onto the mattress as if you were a dandelion, at any second you could be blown away out of his arms. his lips found your forehead once more, his touch gentle that for a moment, you were fooled into thinking that maybe he did love you. maybe, despite all the horrible things he had done to you, you could be safe in his arms. with parted lips, he cradled your face in his hands to pepper your face with kisses. your weeping eyes, your red nose, those cold cheeks and those rosy lips that always beckoned to him like the devil that you once were. his lips traveled down your neck, providing your bosom with open-mouthed kisses that were sure to leave marks. you were his, and had it not been his fate to serve for the lord, he would've married you as soon as your belly swelled with his child. it would've been a child out of wedlock and it still was but he didn't really care, but you were a mother. a beautiful mother that gave birth to such an extraordinary child. he undid your corset, letting the fabric slide down as his fingers popped through the strings of your shirt, revealing your swollen tits, already leaking with your milk.

the cross on the valley of your breasts was now a pale scar, and his fingers ghosted over the memories of events precisely a year ago. when he made you his. you weren't even looking at him, your attention on the curtain with your son's soft snores flooding the room. it sickened you that there was no comfort anywhere. charles rolled your nipples around with his thumbs, applying pressure on your hardening peaks as your milk trickled down gently. he squeezed them, leaving his mouth wide open to catch your strays. you always tasted so good. he almost envied his own child for being able to nurse off of you. he moved to nestle himself between your legs, hiking the skirt up. he kissed your ankles, using his free hand to push your panties to the side. spitting onto your cunt, he watched his own saliva glide down your folds, spilling onto the bed beneath the both of you. he would've taken his time with you had he not been occupied with his role as the chapter priest, but nonetheless his throbbing cock was free from its confines and he pushed into your velvety walls, groaning at the sensation. even after birthing a child, you still felt so good. so warm. you felt like home to him. he rocked his hips against yours, smiling when you finally broke your vow of silence to moan out loud and he leaned over to capture your areola in his mouth, drinking up the milk you had to offer him. his thrusts were always sharp, burying himself to the hilt to ensure that even without him filling you up, you'd always feel him inside.

"si parfait et tout à moi," he whispered, tilting his head up to watch you throw your head, completely gone in pleasure. he wrapped his arms around you, pressing your body flush against him, his cock drilling into you with fervor. "that's it, you can cum for me..."

that's all you needed to let yourself go, lips parting into an oval shape as you let out a guttural moan, sobbing into his arms. he silenced your whimpers with his lips, his cock still pummeling into you with erratic thrusts that signaled his climax was approaching. his goal was to fill you up again and again, hoping you'd be able to grow his family. you were so beautiful like this, slumped out against the bed, completely spent. upon hearing leo fussing, he dressed himself up quickly and scooped the baby up in his arms. you deserved some rest anyway.

"you have such a beautiful mother, you are so lucky leo. the lord has bestowed everything you ever need to you, un garçon vraiment très chanceux" he smiled. your eyes traveled up to the debilitated ceiling, unsure if your body could take the toll of having any more children. leo's birth was so tiresome, and it didn't help that you were kept as a secret. charles had acted as if he wasn't the actual father of the child, and he had your face covered so that no one could see that you were back from the supposed dead. you barely had time to recover from giving birth when charles immediately placed you on the wagon to head back to the cathedral. it was a nightmare you never wanted to relive ever again.

charles had left you and the baby to sleep, locking the door behind him. he trusted you enough not to try and escape him, but he knew for sure if you were willing to stay with him. the lord worked in mysterious ways, and perhaps his doubts were best to be cleared after a few hours of prayer. as he descended the back staircase, he passed by father gasly's cell who grinned at the sight of his friend.

"father leclerc! i was just wondering where you could've gone, mon cher ami, you almost could've missed it!" the french man slapped his hand onto charles' back, guiding him down the hallway.

"missed what?"

"bishop max is coming to spend christmas week with us. he was issued by the pope to see how large the spirit is during the holidays," father gasly explained, and charles rolled his eyes. since the day he joined the church, he'd always hated max. it didn't help that max had such close connections to the former pope at such a young age. if charles was the golden boy to his church, max was the son of the catholic religion. it was so clear that in another 10 years, max would become the pope one day. charles hated him for it, he already saw what was going to happen: max would come over and gloat in his face. he always used to beat him to prayer, getting the guidance offered by the senior priests first and charles would get the crumbs. he sucked his teeth, stepping into the main altar to find archdeacon vasseur laughing along with a man in a pointed hat, a cane in his hand that he tossed from one side to another. the archdeacon glanced over the man's shoulder to see charles, a wide grin on his face as he greeted the young man.

"ah, father leclerc! look who has brought glory to our cathedral with his presence!" the old man laughed, and charles' jaw went taut at the sight of max standing there, a crooked smile on his lips.

"ah, father leclerc! such a pleasure to see you again!" max's accent was still as thick as charles last remembered,

"good to see you again bishop verstappen," charles bowed his head slightly, feeling all his anger boil up to his head. he bit his tongue, remembering father bozzi's words from a year ago: never let your emotions get the best of you. keep that tongue of yours in check. charles clutched onto his rosary, hoping the holy cross would burn into his palm so that he would remain silent.

"you may call me father, no need for even more formalities," max laughed, "now i haven't been to this cathedral in quite some times. looks a bit worn, does it not?"

"we have so many visitors that our focus is mainly on them," charles snapped, ignoring the blatant side-eye father gasly was giving his friend. max raised an eyebrow, a hint of an amused smirk on his lips,

"i suppose so. i might need to go around this entire place. do some checks and see what could be added before christmas. pope hamilton said this place was one of the holiest in the world, and it ought to look like it." max adjusted his hat, glancing around the altar with an indifferent expression on his face. using his cane, he pushed charles to the side before walking off.

"what did pope hamilton see in him to promote him to bishop?" charles seethed, and father gasly nudged him with his elbow,

"father leclerc, jealousy does not suit you. if he heard you, he'd have you-"

"let him hear, i don't care. walking into my church and acting like he owns the place," he scoffed.

"your church?" father gasly snickered, "is this church not in the rightful ownership of the holy father? you don't own anything save your bible and rosary."

charles stared at his friend with a very dark expression on his face. he did have ownership. maybe not to the church, but definitely you and your child. he held his tongue, moving towards the altar to get onto his knees and pray. the father from the heavens had to ensure nothing bad would happen with max's presence. christmas was only a few days away, and the last thing charles' needed was a reflection on his cruel actions. no matter how many times he convinced himself that he was doing the world good by having you as his personal whore, he still felt like something was amiss. the light from the cross above him always seemed to dim when he stood before the altar. the organs did not sing the same tunes it once did when he pressed his fingers upon the keys. a mystery that he could not understand. the rosary around his neck reflected the light from the glass panels, right onto his heart. his eyes were closed, however, blind as always to the message the lord gave him.

max had past the hallway to the individual cells for the priests, but his eyes quickly caught hold of the staircase that was covered in sooth and dust. he frowned, running his fingers over the railings and recoiled in disgust at the dirt that stained his pale skin. he shook it off and grabbed his cane, tapping at the wood to make it wouldn't collapse onto him if he decided to climb the staircase. when his checks were through, he carefully ascended up to the top of the cathedral where the gargoyles slept peacefully. the bell-ringers were out for break so he wouldn't have to deal with their thousand questions. from what he could see, it was an open empty space, a clear view to the village down below. there was a room at the end of the passageway that had a few windows. he assumed it was for the bell-ringers to take short breaks and was about to head back downstairs when he heard a slight hum travel through the air. he circled back to the room, taking note of the lock on the door. pressing his ear against the door, he could hear a baby laughing while another voice sang soft lullabies. max moved to the window, peering through the bars to see you sitting on the ground, holding your son up as you took note of the way his legs scrunched together. you bent down to kiss his nose, watching his little face light up.

"didn't know the church held its own nursery here," max watched you stare at him with wide eyes, fear in your features as you held your baby firmly against your chest, his little head nestled in your neck.

"w-who are you? h-how... what are you doing here?" you questioned. even the bell-ringers had never come over. charles had convinced them all that they could do their duty one floor down. the well kept secret was now in the hands of a man you didn't even know.

"no need to fear me, schat." he smiled, "i'm bishop verstappen. i've come here to celebrate christmas with your church."

there was some sort of an edge in his voice, something that you could not explain. you glanced around your room, trying to avoid his sharp gaze. you never realized how suffocating this room really was until now. you set leo back down in his cradle, feeling your back being burned just being in his line of sight.

"you live here?" max inquired, the sound of his cane raking against the bars of the window making you clutch your ears. the metal scraping brought back horrid memories of the confines charles had you in, the whip of air as the flog drew red marks on your tits. you clutched your chest, still feeling the edge of the rosary being dragged on your skin to form the cross.

"y-yes," you breathed out, peering over your shoulder to see what new devil was at your doorstep. he frowned, tilting his head,

"interesting. and who knows about you? other than me of course."

you debated on telling him the truth. should you tell him the events from a year ago? but what if he was just as bad as charles? what if he found out you were originally a heretic and wanted to kill you? you gulped, deciding to play safe in the moment, "father leclerc, but he is nice enough to gift me bread and milk for the baby and i. aside from him, no one else knows."

"father leclerc does charity work? that's new of him," max snickered, "he keeps you locked away in here, though. do you offer him service for his hospitality?"

"n-no," you whispered, gulping, "none of that kind."

"a child out of wedlock," max pointed towards the cradle where leo was fast asleep, "and father leclerc has pitied you for it? he never was the type to do so. he was always stuck up from what i remember."

"he has changed."

"very much so indeed." max's lips formed into a thin line, "well, i shall see to it that you are free from your confines. a woman such as yourself should have the right to roam around this cathedral freely. as long as no one sees your baby, you should be safe." had he known the truth of your situation, you knew he wouldn't have been so kind to you. you nodded your head, listening to his footsteps fade away. you collapsed onto your bed, head in your hands as you thought about what would happen if charles came to hear of this.

charles was listening to a father lament about his dying son, torn between wanting to give him a proper burial but not having enough money to do so. he furrowed his brows, feeling sympathetic towards the man and he took off one of the rings given to him a long time ago by his late father. it was made out of gold, and he usually wouldn't have parted with it but he figured his father would rather the ring be used for something good than just an accessory. he dropped the ring into the palm of the man's hand and bowed his head,

"it is not quite equal to your son's burial but as stated from genesis 23:6 - none of us will withhold from you his tomb to hinder you from burying your dead," charles began, watching the man's face light up, "bury your son with the money the ring offers. if one dares question you, bring him to me and i shall discuss with him. may the lord guide your son's soul to the heavens. i shall send a chaplain soon to your quarters for his last rites."

the man held onto charles' hand, kissing it gently with tears in his eyes, "thank you, father leclerc. thank you, thank you. the holy father has done us all great service by having you among us."

charles' chest tightened at his words, a sensation that became more frequent these days. guilt was eating him alive, but he did not know why. he knew he was continuing the lord's work, being a very devout servant. but in the back of his mind, he remembered you all alone up in that cold room with leo, the sad look in your eyes. he watched the man exit the tall doors of the cathedral, and he caught hold of the statue of virgin mary carrying the infant jesus. his chest tightened once more, remembering the weeping virgin he saw in your eyes earlier. right when he was about to head back to his cell, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. much to his dismay, it was bishop verstappen and charles rolled his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek.

"father verstappen, did you have a nice tour of our church?" charles glared at him, wanting to make his disgust extremely evident.

"mhm, very nice. i just didn't think you to be so charitable. giving away your father's ring just like that?" max sighed,

"i had nothing to bury my father in when he passed away. i only wish for this man's son to not suffer the same fate. everyone deserves to be buried," charles responded.

"tsk, tsk, tsk, you have gotten much softer, father leclerc, last i remember you were very keen on banishing my soul to hell if given the opportunity."

"that hasn't changed, actually. i'm just trying to be cordial since pope hamilton sent you here." charles growled, "charity is a good thing."

"i never argued with you about it, i'm just surprised the extent to which your charity goes." max narrowed his eyes, "and in the name of charity, i hope you haven't abused your rights as a servant to the lord. the kleine duif wishes to escape her cage. don't keep dogs tied up for too long."

charles gaped in horror as max walked off with a knowing smirk. he straightened his shoulders, glancing up to the ceiling of the cathedral before grabbing his rosary and heading up the back staircase. unbeknownst to him, max saw the chapter priest swiftly ascending the staircase and the bishop laughed to himself, realizing that he had charles exactly where he needed him to be: beneath him at all costs. the pretty dove upstairs was a sight for sore eyes, and by no means was max a perfect man. he had flaws, too. as any man would. years of celibacy could not be easily achieved in this modern world. not when women such as yourself always tempted the innocent priests into sin. he wondered if charles had ever touched you, ever marked you as his. there was no way he wouldn't have, but charles was always known for being so perfect and prudish that it wasn't far out of the question to assume that he was only helping you and nothing else.

charles had unlocked the door to your room, his chest heaving in anger as he saw you laying on your bed with those empty, forlorn eyes. he slammed the door behind him, marching over to see you sitting up on the bed with a finger to your lips.

"you'll wake the baby," you chastised him, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you to him,

"did anyone see you?" he hissed, "answer the truth. if you lie to me, i won't hesitate to have you punished for your disobedience to me."

you swallowed, thickly and shook your head slowly. he could see your eyes gloss over, the rosary shining in your eyes. he grabbed your hair and yanked it backwards, disregarding your pained whimpers,

"do. not. lie. to. me." he punctuated each word with a slap to your face. you bottom lip quivered, your scowl deepening, "tell me the truth. who saw you here? was it max?" he would never give the title to a man he hated, much less the respect he deserved.

"max saw me," and you brought out your hands to try and calm charles down, "b-but i didn't tell him anything. i only said that you had me here to save me from the outside world. you were giving me a place to hide my baby and me!"

he raised an eyebrow, "and how should i believe you?"

"you have to trust me, charles!" you begged, growing frustrated at his lack of respect for you, "if i wanted to jeopardize your future at this church i would've done that a long time ago!"

"oh, really?" charles laughed bitterly, "so you've thought about that before have you not? is that what you're telling me?"

"charles, no!" you cried out, struggling to escape his firm grip in your hair, "you're not listening to me! the door was still locked, all max did was ask who i was and i lied to him! he does not know about our arrangement, he does not know anything!"

"get on your knees," charles hauled you off the bed, dragging you onto the stone floor, "open that mouth of yours. unless your mouth serviced me, i'll assume you have used it to speak lies."

you groaned out loud, clamping your mouth shut as you glared at him. that defiance, that anger in your eyes. he'd last seen it when he first captured you. if looks could kill.

"open your mouth, espèce de petit diable," he commanded, his voice brooking no disobedience. "take my cock into your lying mouth and let it purify your wicked tongue." he pressed the swollen, throbbing head of his cock against your lips, rocking his hips to let his cock slide against your sealed mouth. his fingers tightened in your hair, yanking it harshly and when you cried out in pain, he slipped his cock inside your throat, giving you no space to breathe as he began to fuck your throat harshly. tears streamed down your cheek, your drool seeping down your chin as you stared at him with pure hatred in your eyes. he took note of the expression on your face and he snarled as he forced your head to the base of his cock, your nose pressed against his pelvis.

"take the holy sacrament deep in your lying throat. let it purify your wicked soul." He held you there, buried to the hilt, as he ground his hips against your face, his heavy balls slapping against your chin. "god commands it," he panted, his voice filled with lust, "you cannot deny his will. you cannot refuse your sacred duty to serve his servant, to serve me."

you struggled to swallow all of his cum when he came, coughing and gagging uncontrollably, spluttering out his semen. you watched him tuck his cock back in his robes, grabbing your hair once more so that you could look at him, "let this be a reminder, mon cœur, i won't be so forgiving next time. no one sees you, no one other than leo and me." and with that, he stormed out of the room and locked the door. you laid on the ground with a hoarse throat, sobbing on the floor. was this the "lord's" method of punishing you for being a heretic? in what world was this supposed to make you love the holy father? your questions are silenced by the exhaustion that took over your body. your bitterness was only heightened when you noticed how leo was still fast asleep. the plump baby always slept without a care in the world after he had his dose of your milk. you wished you could sleep in peace like that.

it was a rule that after you misbehaved, you would have to seek forgiveness from the holy father. the only way to do this was to walk with charles down to the main altar very late at night when everyone was asleep. he took note of your busted lip from his abuse earlier in the day, running his thumb over your bottom lip as you winced in pain. he muttered a soft apology, kissing your forehead before taking leo from your arms. you needn't burden yourself so much, besides your only focus should be on being forgiven for your sins. while you moved forward to begin your prayer, father gasly had woken up from his sleep to grab some water when he saw charles holding a baby in his hands. he frowned, approaching the latter,

"father leclerc, whose child is that?" he asked, and charles was just about ready to punch his friend. having to explain himself out of this one would be quite difficult. charles glanced down at his son, taking note of his peaceful features. his little fingers were wrapped around charles' forefinger, and he smiled at the sight. it reminded him of the older man from earlier in the day, asking to bury his son. charles' felt the air in his lungs freeze for a split second, imagining if he would have to do the same for his little boy in the future. it was a thought that scared him. he never wanted to lose leo, he never wanted to lose you. he inhaled, sharply and looked up at father gasly,

"i saw this little boy at an orphanage. i didn't have the heart to leave him out there in the cold so i took him in. he's beautiful isn't he?" charles' cooed, kissing leo's nose.

in the meantime, you had gotten to your knees and clasped your hands together. no matter how many times charles taught you how to pray, it never was an easy task. not when you still refused to believe in the existence of a higher being. if such a god existed, why didn't he save you? why would he have let you be tormented like this? you stared at the cross, tears welling up in your eyes at how hopeless everything seemed. you casted your eyes downwards, remembering what charles had said to you months before when you were faced complications in your pregnancy. your eyes had to be hidden. no one should know about your existence. no one should recognize.

"and if in the case someone meets your eyes, and sees you as (y/n) (l/n) the whore who used to dance in festivals and preach hersey with her followers, i shall find a diamond-encrusted dagger and gouge your eyes out so that no one shall remember what you used to look like..." charles' words echoed in your ears. you shook as you pretended to pray, your head empty with silence surrounding you. you felt a presence besides you, and you turned to tell charles that you had finished your prayer when instead you faced max.

"he's finally let you out, what a surprise," he whispered. you snapped your head back to the cross, your breathing now rapid as you tried to calm yourself. he took note of the way your breasts - from the small glimpse he had under your cloak - rose and fell in quick successions. "schatje, i've told you before, you need not fear me. i won't do anything to you."

"i cannot risk it. i cannot bring attention to myself," you whispered, and max rolled his eyes,

"there's barely anyone awake at this hour. come, i know a good place." he held out his hand, standing up on his feet. you hesitantly accepted his offer, finding it strange that he was treating you so kindly. he was asking, rather than demanding. you knew following max into the confession booth would land you in much more trouble tonight, but sat down besides you with a very soft look in those blue eyes. "here, you can tell me anything, schatje. how did you end up here? who is your child's father? whatever you wish to tell me you can."

perhaps it was out of desperation to finally have someone to properly talk to, but you revealed everything to max. you told him about your previous life, you told him how charles was obsessed with you, how he fucked a prostitute dreaming about you and how he burned your house down when your parents were away, kidnapping you and storing you away in the top of the cathedral in that hidden room to teach you the bible. you told him of your baby leo, how he had your eyes. you cared for the baby, but you could never bring yourself to love him. you sighed out loud after finishing your tale, staring at max as you waited for his reaction. he merely licked his lips, leaning his head back on the wall of the booth as he processed your tale.

"so the baby... is charles'. i knew the bastard wasn't pure," he chuckled, dryly. your face fell, having expected him to say something else. you were oblivious to their rivalry, already caught up in your own misfortunes. max tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, "ah, my poor lady, you have gone through so much. what all did he teach you?"

"he used to read the-" you stopped when you saw max shake his head,

"no, no, not about the bible. what did he teach you in bed?" he pried your lips open with his thumb, letting your mouth envelop around his digit as you began to suck. "such a good little slut, fuck... i can see why he chose you. i have to give it to him."

"for christ's sake, pierre," charles snapped out of the formality he usually gave his friend, "pierre, snap out of it. the baby was abandoned, no more questions out of you." he was still stuck up in the cell of father gasly, rolling his eyes at the millionth question he had to answer.

"oh come on, charles," pierre scoffed, dropping his act of formality as well, "it's a cute baby. what awful creature would leave this baby to die?" he turned to face the infant, peppering his little face with kisses before pressing his cheek against his own, "can i keep the baby, charles? he's so cute."

"he's not a dog, pierre. he's my-" charles paused, clearing his throat before continuing, "he's an infant."

"an infant abandoned so close to christmas! and he has come to our church! is this a sign from the lord?" pierre asked, and charles' shoulders sagged. he ran his hands over his face,

"pierre, give the infant back to me. i assure you, it's..." charles paused, picking up max's voice from the distance, "is that father verstappen?"

"possibly, i've been told he likes walking around churches at night since the lord has a different ambience then... isn't that right, leo?" pierre cooed, nuzzling his nose against the baby's face. the infant merely giggled in response, trying to grab onto the chaplain's nose. charles bit his lower lip, the realization of having left you alone at the altar crossing his mind. he smacked his hand on his forehead, hurrying out of the cell.

"wait, the baby!" pierre called out, and charles shook his head,

"you can take care of leo for the night," and he hurried down the hallway, grabbing a candle. his fingers looped through the hole of its holder, and he stormed around the dark cathedral, spinning in circles to see where you could've gone. you weren't in front of the cross, you weren't in the aisles. he stopped for a moment, hearing the squelching of juices coming from the confession booth. he could see a small candle through the holes, the shadows of two bodies dancing together like the flames before him. charles' heart sank for a moment, praying that it wasn't you. it shouldn't be you. you were his, only his. he swung open the door to the confessional, and saw a sight that burned his eyes.

max had the top of your dress bunched down to your waist, his lips wrapped around your nipple, drinking your lavish milk while your greedy cunt sucked his fingers. your head thrown back as you let out soft moans, bucking into his hand as his palm rubbed against your clit. max released your tit with a pop, licking his lips as beads of your milk dribbled down his chin and he brought his mouth to kiss your jaw. he was grinning like a madman, eyes snapping to face charles' anguished expression and he picked up his pace, curling his fingers inside you, scissoring your poor cunt as you let out strangled moans, trying to be quiet. you squirted all over max's fingers, your juices coating the walls of the confessional, breathing heavy.

"the dove's quite the slut, father leclerc," max snorted, "so beautiful and perfect. she'd be my personal whore if i took her with me back to rome," he smiled, licking his fingers and sucking on them to relish your taste. "oh schat, you taste amazing."

"get the fuck out of here," charles hissed, jerking his thumb to the side. max slid you off his lap, standing up and straightening his robe. he pushed past charles, placing his cane at charles' neck,

"she told me everything. you're lucky you're loved so deeply by this church, or i would've convinced them to throw you out a long time ago," he threatened, letting the edge of the cane dig into charles' chest. the sharp pain made him grit his teeth, and when max left to return to his special quarters, charles' dark eyes slowly turned to you. you were shaking in the corner of the confessional, hooking the sleeves of your dress back up your shoulder as you got to your knees,

"charles please, i didn't mean it... it just happened so suddenly, i don't know how to-" a sharp sting bloomed on your cheek as your head snapped to the side. charles' shook his hand, the crack of his lap even hurting him. he looked at you with such disgust,

"i should've known... the devil hasn't left you, has she? she's stored in your heart, n'est-ce pas vrai putain?" he pressed his finger against the scar on your chest, forcing you back up against the wall. his hand shot out to grab your throat, dragging you out of the confessional and onto the aisle. your head hit against the wooden furniture, your temples throbbing in pain as you felt him bunch up the skirt to your dress. without much preparation, he thrusted himself in you in one-go, clamping your mouth shut to silence your screams. he did not care if he was defiling you right in front of the holy cross. this would be a mistake you'd never make ever again. he was your rightful owner, not max. his fingers dug into your hips, hips snapping against yours as he continued to drill his cock into your overstimulated cunt your previous orgasm had still left you in a daze because of max's skilled fingers, and now with charles' cock ravaging you, you were crying and begging for him to have mercy on you. your tits were leaking with milk, your body unable to control the sensations you were feeling. charles' hands groped your tits, squeezing your milk out for his tongue to catch and soon he flipped you onto your stomach, bringing his cock right back into your spent pussy. your gummy walls tightened around him, trying to push him out but it only motivated him to drive further into you. he grabbed your hair, yanking your head to face him as your back arched.

"why can't you see it?" charles hissed, slapping your ass firmly, "why can you never understand? you belong to me! only me! you're mine!" and with each thrust of his hips, his hold on you was loosening. you were sobbing onto the carpeted floors of the cathedral, burying your face in your arms as his cock stretched your unwilling walls into oblivion. "how many times do i have to prove myself to you?"

charles' dropped his head down to the back of your neck, his weight pushed onto you as he continued to snap his hips relentlessly. you could feel tears on your back. charles' tears. "why can't you understand?" he whimpered, wrapping your throat with his hand as he brought you closer to him, "will nothing i do satisfy you? what more should i do?"

his words didn't make sense to you, and you couldn't follow along with what he was getting at. not when he was destroying your poor cunt like this. he pulled out of you just shortly after you silently screamed, cumming around his cock and instead flipped you onto your back so that you could face him. his cock was still achingly hard, the tip all red and angry, waiting to cum. a needy moan escaped his lips, his hands fighting the urge to finish himself off, to let his cum coat your skin. but he was denying himself. instead, he glanced down at you as began to sob,

"you know how much i love you?" he whispered, and your eyes widened, realizing that he had finally said the words you knew he would never feel, "my love for you... i love you... i love you so much. why can't you...." he took in a shaky breath, standing up and confining his cock inside his robes, "i love you so much. i just want to be with you, to be loved by you. i love you so much, why can you never see it?"

since charles' confessions, he distanced himself away from you as much as he could. he'd give sermons and return to his cell. the door to your room was permanently unlocked, giving you access to roam around the cathedral as much as you pleased. it was a stark difference from the man you once knew, and you didn't know if he finally cleared his soul, or if this was a storm brewing. father gasly took care of leo so often that you felt free from the confines of being a mother. charles' would escort you to pierre's cell, insisting that a proper woman could only take care of a child even though the both of you knew it was just so that your son still remembered who his mother was. you'd walk the hallways of the cathedral at night, admiring the various statues and glass panels up close, taking note of its details. charles would stand in a corner, never once meeting your eyes. the thought of even touching you made his skin crawl. his chest always felt heavy, a newfound burden taking a toll on his body with each step that he took around the cathedral. the light on the holy cross no longer dimmed when he stood before it, instead it shined brighter. a chance for redemption, but he did not know how to gain your forgiveness. everything that he had done to you finally freed his clouded thoughts; he was a monster. he was the very devil he had claimed to have seen in you. his lust brought his own ruins, he felt ill every time he gave a sermon about avoiding all sins. he'd whimper in his sleep, feeling like a kicked puppy as he replayed the nights where he'd keep you awake to satisfy his carnal urges. he'd wake up more frequently at night, crying to himself at how unfit he was to be a chapter priest. he should be publicly stoned to death for what he had done. he always felt more than he should, father bozzi always told him that. it surely didn't help his emotions when he saw bishop verstappen talking with you more frequently in the darkness of the night. you were opening up to him more often, actually smiling and enjoying his presence, in a way that you never did with charles. he deserved it, rightfully so. he'd shuffle back to his cell, taking leo into his arms from father gasly and would hum some small lullabies to usher the infant back to sleep. he could not stare at the statue of virgin mary anymore, could not stand to see the imagery of the weeping virgin. he brought this upon you. it was all his fault. he had to make it up to you, but he just didn't know how exactly.

bishop verstappen had slipped a piece of paper to charles to watch out for something important later in the day, a special early christmas present for the chapter priest. it was the morning of christmas eve, most of the people were getting ready to settle with their family for the night. the church had been fully decorated, the bell ringers coming with big wide smiles on their faces as they ran to and fro, getting small gifts from the archdeacon for their work throughout the year. charles had let the church discover leo's existence the night before, letting each of the divisions of priests fawn over his "adopted" son as they put it.

"commendable charity work," father sainz smiled, "you really know how to represent what christmas is really about." and charles smiled, thinly.

you had followed bishop verstappen into the streets of your village. the bright light so foreign to you after so long. you brought your cloak over your face, watching the small children run around. some of the faces you recognized as your neighbors' children, the very ones you'd laugh and play with after you finished your work at your stall. you smiled warmly at the memories, laughing as they nearly bumped into you in excitement for some magic show happening around the corner. the sounds of families giggling and embracing each other on the streets made you miss your own parents. you had to know what happened to them. what would they think if they saw their daughter well and alive. and your friends! frederick, oscar, all of them! you knew they must've missed you. you turned to max, grinning at him as you held onto his hand,

"i want to see my parents. they have to be here." but you failed to see the way his arm recoiled at your touch, the way he stared at you as if he had something far sinister in his mind. he merely pulled off the hood of your clock and with an accusatory finger, shouted at your face,

"the witch! she's a witch! she's back from the dead!"

charles had been on the second floor of the cathedral, pressing the keys to the organ to entertain his son who looked at the instrument in awe. he nearly missed the yelling downstairs if he hadn't stopped toying with the organ. he glanced down to the main altar to find bishop verstappen waiting downstairs with his hands behind his back, a grin on his face. charles could feel that something was wrong, but nevertheless, he approached his enemy.

"what's going on outside? a commotion?" charles' inquired, patting leo's back as he bounced the infant in his arms a couple of times. he took note of the crowd outside the gates to the cathedral and he furrowed his brows, moving to investigate before max grasped onto his shoulder.

"you're free from the devil, father leclerc." max smiled and charles scowled,

"what do you mean?"

"you have such an esteemed reputation at this church," max scoffed, rolling his eyes at the stupidity of charles, "we wouldn't want to ruin it. no one knows about this child, you can't keep the truth hidden forever. so you get rid of the truth."

"i... i'm not following along, what?"

"for fuck's sake," max groaned, shaking his head, "i accused her of being a witch, of coming back from the dead. she'll be burned at the stake later today, and you can thank me for it. all your guilt, all your lustful thoughts, all of it will be gone if she's gone. perfect, is it not? i would've kept her as my personal slut like i said earlier, but there's bound to be a million other women like her."

"are you insane?" charles yelled, startling leo who began to cry, "who asked of this from you? she... she trusted you!" he gulped, thinking about how you must've felt at this moment. putting your trust into a man after he had ruined everything for you, only for this cunt to betray you so openly in front of everyone. charles' anger knew no bounds and he shoved max to the side, storming out of the church to see the sight of you on a stick, hoisted into the air. your head hung low, bruises all over your body after being being stoned and flogged accordingly to your crime. charles' gasped out loud, pushing past the crowd to see them bring you over to the pile of hay in the center of the town square, ready to set fate. he watched the other priests, ones that he knew so well, cheer on for this heretic's damnation. leo cried louder, the screams hurting his ears and charles shielded his son into his chest, and with anxious eyes faced you. with what little strength you had left in you, you glanced up to the sky with tears cascading down your cheeks, blood spilling out of the inside of your mouth and there he saw it.

no longer was the weeping virgin just a flicker of his imagination or a sight meant to fool him, she was there right before him. he could see your tears as the holy water he used in his sermons, the glow around your head ready to accept your fate. no, he couldn't do this. after everything that he had put you through, he had to redeem himself. charles would never forgive himself if he stood to the side and let everyone take advantage of you, not to the virgin mary that he worshipped every day and night.

"enough with this foolishness!" charles' bellowed, stepping onto the pile of hay as he glanced down at the crowd surrounding you. "all of you stop this nonsense!"

he took in a deep breath, waiting for each idiot to silence themselves to let him speak. "enough... what are you all doing?"

"she's a heretic!" one man cried out.

"she's come back from the dead!" another hollered.

"a witch, a witch!" the crowd chanted in unison, and charles stomped his foot and screamed,

"silence!" he took in a deep breath, glancing down to see leo staring at him with wide eyes. he always had your eyes. he gulped, tilting his head back up to face the crowd once more, "today is christmas eve. tomorrow is christmas morning. you want to mark this holy tradition with the killing of a woman? is this what our holy father has taught us?"

he watched the crowd shift awkwardly and he continued, "she has progressed much in her religious journey. she is not back from the dead. she was actually... learning the glories of our savior. listen to me, all of you, put aside your fears. she will not... she won't hurt any of us."

"then what do you expect us to do with her? she's not welcome in this village," charles' stared at the man who said this; it was your own father. he sucked his teeth in, shaking his head and sighing loudly,

"we send her to exile. she stays alive, but she shall never step foot in this village ever again." charles' declared, and despite the crowd coming to agreeance, he glanced to see you staring at him with a look of horror in your eyes. he gulped, turning his back to you as he held onto leo, hoping that the holy father would commend him for saving your life.

the wagon sat outside the back of the cathedral. it was snowing outside, too cold for leo but he had his son bundled up in the finest fabric to ensure his little toes wouldn't get frostbite. he stared at the cross from behind him. something felt... empty inside his heart. he had saved your life, but the thought of sending you to exile. it was all his fault, all of it was his fault. and no matter how long he stayed at this church, no amount of penance could save his damned soul for what he had done to you. he watched you seat yourself on the wagon, face all bruised as you weakly smiled at him.

"thank you, charles... for what you did back there." you whispered, groaning in pain as you shifted in your seat. you saw the pained expression in his eyes, and you cupped his cheek, letting him feel the warmth of you skin. "what you did charles, that was real love."

he fell to his knees at your words, tears pricking at his eyes, "no... no, don't say that. i've done awful things to you. i've been a horrible person. my lust clouded my thoughts, i... i really love you. i can't bear the thought... of... no, i can't let you leave me." he grabbed hold of your hand, bringing it to his forehead as he sobbed. his cheeks flushed into a rosy shade of red as he glanced up at you, "t-take me with you. i can't... i can't live here. not after what i've done. i'll come up with you. we can live together in a small hut, we can just be by ourselves and i'll make it up to you, i swear i will, just give me one more chance mon ange-"

"no, charles," you snapped, "no... i deserve to be free. i deserve to have the life i wanted. and as for leo..." you stretched your arms out, ready to take your infant but charles shook his head,

"i refuse. i refuse to let you go, i refuse to let you take away my son. i love both of you. just say you forgive me, say you'll take me with you."

you sighed out loud, groaning under your breath as you felt a sharp pang of pain course through your veins. you bit your lip, "i think we can come to a compromise then."

your wagon departed with your belongings. you never once looked back at charles as you left. you had said what he wanted to hear: "i forgive you. a life for a life. your debt is paid." but it wasn't enough for him. you left leo to his care, knowing that despite how he had treated you, he would never commit horrors to his child. charles could learn to properly love. you knew he had it in him. his heart was always large, always taken by emotions.

he felt too strongly. it was his curse.

he took leo back into the church, and set him down on the table right before the holy cross. he glanced up to see the holy spirit shine before him, wiping away his tears. there was still a long road for him back to salvation, but he promised that he would attain it. he would make up for all the sins that he had committed. he would spend the rest of his life craving for the love that he felt for you. if only you had stayed. the longer that he served for the church, he realized that he was wrong all along. the holy father could not save his soul no matter how hard he tried. all the countless sermons, the masses, the christmas and easter holidays, the verses from the bibles, the holy crosses, the tears from the weeping virgin, all of it was in vain.

because you were his religion.

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thetxtdevil · 5 months ago

Text

Hybrid TXT Thoughts

content: nsfw/smut, hybrid, human fem.reader, very vague smut, p in v, no wrap, cuddlefuck, mention of somnophilia, biting/nibbling, pool sex, outdoor sex, kai's scenario mentions mental health, let me know if I'm forgetting anything

average word count: 380 (each member)

the devil's note: thank @fairyofshampgyu for inspiring me :) I did use different animals for the boys because I wanted to be different 😎 I hope you enjoy!!!

Panda!Yeonjun 🐼

Yeonjun is a unique hybrid. It often leaves people guessing what he is as he seems docile but his body is big and broad body makes them think otherwise. It's not until they stop and admire Yeonjun’s smokey eyes, small round black ears hidden in his dark hair, and his cheeks lifting in a happy grin is when they can identify that Yeonjun is a panda hybrid. Panda!Yeonjun is a chill addition to your home most of the time laying around snacking on various foods. He’s so cute when lounging on the sofa you just want to snuggle your big bear, and he will never stop you from doing so. Panda!Yeonjun may be lazy at times but he does put in the effort to show his appreciation towards you. Yeonjun cooks for you and keeps you company. Panda’s are vocal so he wants to hear about your day and talk about everything and anything. Panda!Yeonjun doesn’t like confrontation though, so when he hears you masturbating in your room he doesn’t say anything. He’s too lazy to move and give you privacy, it's not like he would, he actually likes just listening to you, the wet sounds, pathetic whines, and your smell are nice.

However, one day something washes over Panda!Yeonjun and his tired eyes feel more alert. His body is fully awake and he’s not in the mood to just hear you. Continuously walking back and forth in front of your door, it wasn’t until you walked up to him and asked what was wrong is when he lunged at you. Big hands pawing at your body, knocking you into your comfy bed, and just like how Yeonjun is vocal in a normal setting he’s blabbering during sex. Telling you all the dirty things he wants to do to you, “Do you not realize that I can sense that you touch yourself, and how you’d be happier if you asked for my help?” His long dick pushes into your cunt hitting where your fingers couldn’t touch, and he made sure you always had relief when doing it with him. Pandas love to eat so it’s natural that Yeonjun loves to eat you out. He loves making love in the laziest ways, he was so grateful when you taught him that he didn’t have to do the most elaborate things in bed and instead, he can easily spoon you into heaven. Also, somnophilia… preferably him receiving it.

Raccoon!Soobin 🦝

Such a cute not-so-little thing. Raccoon!Soobin stands awkwardly with his ringlet tail swishing behind him as he waits for you to finish your food. You had to convince him to stop feeling like he has to eat your scraps and that he can eat freshly made food. Your heart gushes when you see Soobin’s dark circles surrounding his thankful glimmering eyes. Raccoon!Soobin is very active at night, dark eye bags worsen when he stares at the bright screen of your TV as he plays video games. You had to start inviting your friends over during late afternoons just so they could see your hybrid. You’d giggle every time your friends would gush over Raccoon!Soobin, his little ears standing up and his striped tail standing tail liking the attention of your friends. He's usually sweet and kind however, one game night with your friends he was looking for someone to demolish. Getting into arguments and winning every round simply from his annoying behavior.

When your friends leave, you turn to your heels wanting to punish Raccoon!Soobin for his behavior, to your surprise he was sweet and cuddly again. Rubbing his head all over you, if you turned your head to somewhere else other than him, he’ll whine. Pouty lips grazing your neck, “Weren’t you impressed by my gaming skills tonight? Did I do good?” His words and the bulge poking at your leg made you realize that his behavior tonight was that he wanted to show off how good of a mate he is. You may be weak for Raccoon!Soobin but you let him have his way eating you out and making sure he has seconds and leftovers. Then showing off his length to stuff into his pretty little owner’s cunt. Little nibbles here and there but scratches a lot. Groans when your leave red trails on his back. Raccoon!Soobin is very curious about your presence in bed so he’ll be at it until dawn and then you’re trapped under his sleeping body.

Otter!Beomgyu 🦦

Such a gentle little creature, so soft so cuddly, content with life. Otter!Beomgyu’s long brown hair permanently has wet tips and the same goes for his sleek tail. If he’s not in your bathtub he’s in the apartment’s community pool. You’re happy when he’s calm and sleepy, Otter!Beomgyu gives the best hugs when sleeping. Always spooning each other, he thrives when he has arms wrapped around him. But of course, he needs to use all of his energy before he can settle. Hand in hand walking to the community pool you arrive to find it mostly empty except for one guy doing laps. Beomgyu is bummed, otters a territorial and this is his territory, the word “community” is not a thing when he’s in there. What really sets him off is when he notices your lingering eyes on the muscular man in the pool. Imagine his big dark eyes full of distraught, pink lips in a big pout, and his little otter ears bending down. Otter!Beomgyu rushes to the edge of the water and dives in begging you to watch him do tricks. He glides through the water practically racing the other guy, you feel yourself getting dizzy watching the hybrid swirl through the pool.

Eventually, Otter!Gyu’s hectic playing made the other guy run for his money, or so Gyu thought. Floating on his back, giggling to himself as he watches the man leave, his attention is right back to you. “Come on, y/n, want you to play with me!” You shake your head, and you tell him he’s been in there for too long but when you get close to the edge the otter’s paw grabs onto you pulling into the pool. You gasp at the sudden sensation, not only by the cold water but by the exploring hands of Beomgyu. Before you know it you’re pushed against the cement wall as Otter!Beomgyu sucks hickeys onto your neck letting everyone know that you’re his. And his cum in the pool will also let everyone know that the place is his… Shower and bathtub sex believer, imagine Gyu lighting candles and surrounding the tub *sigh* so romantic. Otters rub their faces and hair for reasons but Beomgyu’s reason is to turn him on. Carding your fingers through his hair will make him cum so hard.

Squirrel!Taehyun 🐿️

Such a cute hybrid but don’t tell that to his face, Squirrel!Taehyun is a feisty little thing. He might be tiny but he works out to the point that it makes you a little afraid. Watching him at the gym go from one machine to the next in a flash, jumping everywhere wanting to try something new is the most entertaining thing. When Squirrel!Taehyun is not active he likes to follow you around helping you with the most mundane things all the while making cute little noises as a sign of admiration. He is playful in a way that he likes to tickle you with his tail. The first time you got the hybrid you hugged him close and couldn’t stop yourself from giggling from the fluff of his tail. Squirrel!Taehyun doesn’t talk about his feelings much so you use his tail to translate what's on his mind. He also uses the fluff of his tail to his advantage, after an argument he’ll tickle you until you smile, when you’re cold he’ll wrap his tail around you and this gets him closer to you.

Squirrel!Taehyun loves the outdoors, the fresh green grass, the warmth of the sun, and how beautiful you look sitting next to him on the picnic blanket. Reaching your hand for the last strawberry you then run into Tyun’s hand reaching for the same thing. He’s quick to grab fruit holding it up away from you. Whining, “you had more than enough give it to me.” You climb on top of the hybrid reaching for the strawberry but in a blink, you’re on the ground with the squirrel on top of you. A little smirk creeps on his face watching you squirm, biting the strawberry then kissing you sharing the fruit. He was quite thankful that you were in a dress and in the backyard so it was easy access to fuck you right there. Since then Squirrel!Taehyun begs you to have a treehouse in the backyard so that he can have a special place to read and do other things… Don’t be surprised when he pulls you into the ultimate fuck sessions in the treehouse. Something about the outdoors just gets his instincts going. The cool breeze makes your nipples harden and the scent of wood results in Taehyun fucking you in all positions. Just imagine shelves full of books and toys.

Service Dog!Huening Kai 🐕‍🦺

The first time meeting each other was a breeze, instantly clicking, making jokes, and being comfortable with each other’s presence. Puppy!Kai is playful and cuddly, always up for adventure with you even if it's going from the living room to your bedroom. However, He gets a little too comfortable when you have an episode with him for the first time Service Dog!Kai freezes. He sensed something in the air, he knew that you seemed off, it wasn’t until you called out for him he was stunned but instantly went into work mode. Service Dog!Kai is there sitting next to you, nosing you to sense any change to your current state. Poor Puppy!Kai will never forgive himself after that moment, you try again and again to tell him that it’s okay, mistakes happen, but he’s stubborn. Service Dog!Kai is also stubborn about your health, he will not let you up until your heart rate is appropriate. He is ready for anything, pills? He has a bag full of them. Sweet treat? Has the mobile app ready. Your big, sweet puppy links arms with you everywhere you go and makes sure that he’ll never falter when you have an episode.

After a day full of stressors and being overstimulated, Service Dog!Kai leads you to your bed where you two nap until dusk. Kai can sense your resolved mood, your scent is calmer, and your heart rate is settled, you also start to cling to him more. Your gentle hands scratching Puppy!Kai’s black-folded ears causing small whimpers to escape his lips. Crawling up to you, he focuses on your body language reading that you’re comfortable. You sandwich the hybrid’s handsome face with your hands making Kai’s fluffy black tail wag wildly. You then pull him to kiss you. His whole body covers you like a warm blanket, kissing you softly, repeatedly asking “Is this ok?” “Are you comfortable?” Your kisses get more passionate and hungry, it makes it hard for Kai to hold back. Puppy!Kai quickly learns how sex reduces anxiety, he loves sensing your arousal state while sucking on your tit as his fingers play with your clit. Puppy!Kai now always asks for sex as a remedy, wanting your mind to just think of him if not fucked dumb.

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil 🐾

taglist: @naoristerling, @inkigayocamman, @izzyy-stuff, @incogrio, @blue-moon-514, @biteyoubiteme, @hyukascampfire

divider: @bernardsbendystraws

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animelovelover123 · 3 months ago

Note

Could u do dmc readers + Sparda x male reader?????? PLEASE!!!!

I hope you like this! Because I was a bit confused by your request (not sure if you wanted a longer Sparda story or if you mistyped and wanted a bit off all the boys), and I am what I like to call gender blind in stories. The story uses different pronouns than what I use IRL? They have different body parts? They do things my gender can't do? Whatever, I almost never notice and when I do, I just keep reading while changing it in my mind. I have the same "blindness" when it comes to tense. If a story has incorrect or inconsistent tense, it apparently bothers a lot of people, but I legitimately almost never notice it. I understand what is happening in the story, that's all that matters. This is just how my brain works. All this is to say, I hope you like this. ^^;

Devil May Cry Boys Riding You

Pairings: Dante, Reboot Dante, Vergil, Reboot Vergil, Nero, V & Sparda x Male Reader

Trigger Warnings: brief reference to consensual knife play

Dante

Dante has always swung both ways; he just never makes a point to announce it. At most, Lady and Trish will drag him to gay bars, and the regulars there will call him the “gay cowboy”. He flirts with whoever and whenever he wants, when he feels like it, and as of late, you have his attention.

He is slow at first, becoming friends with you and slowly figuring out if you are open to the idea of being together. Once he finds out you are though, within 24 hours, he is straddling your hips.

Despite being a tall, muscular man confident in himself and his masculinity, Dante is a switch that likes to be filled sometimes. There was something comforting about it, being connected with someone, trusting them with your body, it felt nice.

When he finally shimmies his way down onto you, he sighs as if in relief and lets most of his weight sink into you. “How you doing there, beef cake?” He asks in a somewhat teasing tone. “Feeling okay?” This ends up starting a conversation. He needed a bit of time to adjust since he did not sleep around much, and silence just wasn’t an option right now, so he chatted. He makes jokes, talks about life, and odd things that come into his mind. It offered an interesting mix of relaxed conversation, like you were having a pleasant date and getting to know each other, and intense intimacy with occasional jolts of pleasure when Dante shifted over you.

When things did start to ramp up, with one hand on your stomach and the other on one of your thighs so he could easily switch between bouncing and rolling his hips, he kept talking, saying both dirty things and playful things.

And when you were both finished, he flopped down over your chest, your dick still buried inside him, and cuddled up like a big dog.

“Mmmm, mind if I sleep like this? Feels… nice~”

Our big strong boy wants to be close with someone. Please let him cuddle on you, even if he squishes you a bit.

Reboot Dante

Despite being known as a man whore who takes a new woman home every other night, he has messed around with men on occasion. He can suck a dick, knows how to take one.

So when you catch his eye at a club, your manhood doesn’t turn him off. He strides over and starts hitting on you confidently and without shame. He is aggressive in his flirting, like usual, and whether you are used to sleeping with guys or not, he will have you in a taxi heading to his place before the night is up.

When you arrive at his trailer, your cock still hard from the partial hand job you got in the car, Dante pushes you down onto the built in couch. He turns on some music and strips for you, taking his time so you can marvel at him with a smug grin on his face. And with a bit of spit in his palm and a couple strokes of your dick, he was ready to mount you.

Dante usually prefers to be serviced, having people dance for him and suck him off, so he did not have that much experience riding a guy, but what he lacked in technique he made up for in intensity and power.

He holds the back of the couch behind you and slams himself down onto your cock. His lips ravage yours, barely giving you the space to breathe, let alone say anything. The trailer bounces and rocks as he lets loose.

The only chance you got to catch your breath was after you both came. That was only for a couple minutes, though, as soon as he started bouncing his hips again.

“Come on, baby, turn that limp noodle back into a meat sword, I’m not done with you yet.”

When I write Reboot Dante, I purposely try to make the story seem a bit dirtier, more vulgar, because that represents him well. Sometimes though, like the last line, I am like “eww, you weirdo”.

Vergil

Vergil is not one for romance, seeing it as a waste of time that holds him back from gaining power. You, however, are different. You make him feel different.

That doesn’t change the fact that he will assert his power even when in the “submissive” position.

“Do not close your eyes.” Vergil demands when he notices your embarrassment, making you not look as your manhood is enveloped by your lover's tight hole. He grabs your chin and turns your face towards him. “Open them. Witness the gift you are receiving, taking in every sensation no matter how intense it gets.” He squeezes your cheeks just hard enough to cause a bit of pain and make you open your mouth so he could shove his tongue into it, even devil triggering that part to get a bit deeper. When he does pull away, his hot breath washes over you in a pant. “Because it WILL be intense.”

Vergil is in control the whole time. Even when the angle of his downward thrust does make him shudder, jolt, or moan, he won’t be passive.

He grabs your shoulders to force you to sit up. He’ll thread his fingers into your hair to move your head wherever he wants it, whether that be to his lips or his chest.

He moves your hands to his ass and orders you to grope him.

He tells you when and how hard to buck up into him.

And if you have already talked and consented to some intense play, then he will indulge in one of his favourite positions; him riding you while holding the Yamato to your throat.

The desire to have Vergil spit in your mouth was high people. You're welcome to those who don’t like it, and I am sorry for those who crave it.

Reboot Vergil

Vergil has always been a man that carves his own path forward, the masses and oppressors be damned. So when he falls for you, he has no qualms about publicly dating another man, knowing full well that the bigots would throw slurs and hatred at him for it. If anything, he enjoyed proving them wrong and shoving in their faces how their 3rd wife is also having an affair between botox shots they paid for while you're loyal and sexy naturally.

Despite this confidence in public, he was actually kind of shy when you take a more dominant role in intimacy. It is a mix of him not having much sexual experience (he has none but he tells you otherwise because he fears it will make him look pathetic), him being used to being in control, and how you make him feel things he has never felt before and at an intensity he can’t handle with composer (though this one he won’t admit to you, let alone himself).

When you do convince him to try riding you, he needs to face away from you to do it. In this reverse cowboy position, you can’t see his face, how it twisted up in that lewd, shy, embarrassed, but pleasured way. You can’t see how his chest heaved. You won’t be able to see how disheveled you make him.

You can still spot the blush on his face and ears, though. You can hear how heavy his breaths are. And you can see how often he runs his hands through his hair or just grabs it, messing the perfectly sculpted style up.

And if you really want to make him fall apart, and get a grumpy boyfriend for the next week, you can suddenly sit up, touching him and making it so that no matter what, you can see his red face and watery eyes.

Until then though, you get to watch his gauche movements, but you get a clear view of his pale ass and how your cock disappears into him.

Reboot Vergil acts cool, calm, and in control. He likes to dominate, but poor boy does not know how to take it and not be a mess.

Nero

Nero was unsure at first.

Riding you? Really? He knows you are both guys but…

Despite agreeing to date you, Nero was still self-conscious about being submissive. He has always tried to get strong, live up to others in his family, to prove himself to others. This desire for recognition has affected your relationship, making it hard for Nero to be submissive and vulnerable.

Him riding you becomes a middle ground where he can be in some control while still testing this potential side of your blossoming relationship. Unfortunately, he is still self-conscious.

After several adjustments, Nero is able to truly get into the moment. The lights are off, your hands are off him, and he has his headphones on playing his favourite tunes. It wasn’t his usual hard rock and metal tunes, but softer rock and some instrumentals.

This setup lets his mind drift, and his body move instinctually. Music flows through him as his body rolls back and forth, one hand holding his headphones and the other stroking his own cock to the beat of the song.

His eyes stay closed at first, and his expression flickers between focus, discomfort, and pleasure.

Once his confidence is up a bit, he opens his eyes to look down at you, as best he can in the dark, at least. He pulls one side of his headphones back so he can hear you and the noises you’re making.

“You like that? Feels good getting your cock fucked by me, doesn’t it?”

And finally, you’ll know when he is close when he takes off his headphones, leans over to slip them on you, letting your body be filled with music while he puts his hands on the mattress on either side of your head and slams down onto you in earnest.

It's kind of weird, but for some reason, the way I wrote this, with the music calming Nero and then him offering it to you, feels like a drug illusion. Not intentional. I was going off of this hot fanart I saw of Nero (with a pussy) riding someone with headphones on. It is a good piece of art, and if I ever find it again, I will link to it.

Even when doing something as primal as lovemaking, V was artistic. He may prefer being a bottom, but he still found that simply stripping down and bouncing over you was rather boring and could be much more exhilarating.

So, whenever you or he are in the mood for a sensual ride, he asks you to sit down. He, like most other times you two do it, goes slow to draw out the pleasure. He sits on your lap, fully clothed, facing away, his legs on either side of yours, and grinds his rear against your lap. Bit by bit, you two will shed your clothes, taking time between each removal to tantalize and stimulate, until finally your manhood slides between his small, tight cheeks with the help of a generous amount of lube.

Actually taking you inside is rather hard for him, his body always tensing up when it feels the intrusion. Just like with your clothes, he takes you in inch by agonizing inch until he is fully seated. He falls back against your chest, his own raising and falling as he drags in breaths. In this stressful moment for him, he would appreciate it if you would hold and care for him to ease his body and heart.

When he finds the strength, he will lean forward again, place both his hands you’re your knees, and undulates his hips. He moves them forward, back, in circles, stimulating not just his insides but every sensitive nerve along your shaft as his warm inner walls massage you. His back, and consequently his tattoos, move and roll in a mesmerizing way in front of you.

He goes slow, lost in a kind of trance, simply focusing on the sensations going through you both, the sounds falling from both your lips, not wanting to go too fast so that it ends too quickly. More often than not, you will have to bring up the intensity by wrapping an arm around him and grasping his own weeping prick. Despite trying so hard to go slow, once you have him in your hand, his body moves on its own, bucking up into you as it chases the high he had been trying to deny himself. He does not last long like this, throwing his head back and opening his mouth to let out a low, blissful moan as he covers your hand and dirties the floor.

Again, he needs a moment to recover, but as soon as he can, he leans forward and lifts himself a bit, leaving you halfway sheathed inside, and holds still. This was his signal for you to take over, to grasp his bonny hips and start thrusting up into him, chasing your own ecstasy.

For the finish, if you can pull it off, he prefers to take you bare back and you pulling out just before the end so he can feel your hot seed pant his back, mixing his black ink with your white seed.

This scene was actually from a short story idea I had that showed the difference between Dante/Nero, Dante/V, and Nero/V fucking. Never came to be, but at least I could use this scene I liked.

Sparda

Sparda is a demon. Even though he has become more human over time, sex still has an instinctual drive behind it. Copulation was for fathering spawn, that is what instincts dictate. However, you changed that, and, like many things in his life, you showed him a better way. A way that may not result in children, at least not without some trickery with his eggs, but was instead actually enjoyable. It was not a rough act done quickly to do what needed to be done. With you, it was beautiful, loving, and euphoric.

He trusts you with his heart and body, so when you bring up the possibility of doing this position, he is more than willing to try.

He acts rather differently depending on the circumstances. When you two are simply together casually, he's kind and sophisticated. When he is taking you, he becomes more aggressive, baring his fangs, growling, and grasping you roughly. When you take him, though, or in this case, as he takes you into his seemingly burning hot warmth, he acts more vulnerable and needy.

Perhaps it was his demonic instincts telling him to be more submissive when taking a cock, but he would take in shacky grasp, ask things like “am I pleasing you?”, and either leaning back to rub his stomach where he could feel you inside him or leaning over so he could place his hands on your chest.

There was one more quirk Sparda had when your cock was thrusting into him, and in this position it became a lot more dangerous. It sometimes made Sparda wonder if he was a hermaphrodite because when you take him, such as now, his hunger for your essence was beyond comprehension. And with you under him, you could not escape his holding you down by dropping his weight on you.

“Please, my love, I need it. I need you to finish inside me, to fill me up with your warmth. Mark me as yours, give me all the love that makes you humans so wonderful. I want it all, it is for me alone, every last drop. And when you are done, I want to do the same to you.”

It was shaping up to be another long night with your demon knight.

Honestly, this is my least favourite, which sucks because this was the one character that was specifically asked for. If you are unsatisfied original requester, let me know, and I can make a better, longer Sparda story with a male reader.

#devil may cry imagine #devil may cry x reader #v x reader #dante x reader #nero x reader #devil may cry #vergil x reader #reboot dante x reader #reboot vergil x reader #dante dmc #sparda x reader #dmc devil may cry #male reader #reader #reader insert #x reader #riding

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s-awturn · 9 months ago

Text

Night Reveries || F1 Dilfs

cw: vulgarity, pure obscenity, consensual somnophilia, soft approach, fetish for compliments, body worship — reader receiving —, use of pet names, dirty language, fingering, eating p-, p in v.

requested ( x ) yes ( ) no

by: anon

a/n: Unfortunately the epilogue of Moon Spell isn't coming out the way I want and I'm very, very angry about it nothing is going the way I want and I can't finish Moon Spell just any way, so I'm going to move up the requests I have, After all, an empty mind is the devil's workshop and I'm not going to let the devil work in my head.. I hope it met your expectations, it's been a while since I've taken orders.

p.s.: suggestions on how to finish Moon Spell?? Plsss

starring: Toto Wolff, Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Jenson Button, Mark Webber, Kimi Raikkonen.

TOTO WOLFF:

The day was dawning when he resolved all the pending work issues, he was so focused on getting everything organized that he didn't even notice the tiredness in his body, but when he finally finished, could feel how tense and sore his shoulders were. He closed his laptop and left his eyes on the desk. Toto wouldn't be available to anyone for the next few days, except his wife, who was sleeping peacefully at the end of the hallway.

Lazily, he dragged himself to the guest room's bathroom, where you and Toto usually left a few pieces of clothing for situations like this, where they ended up working late and didn't want to disturb each other's sleep. Toto put on some light pants and went to the suite he shared with you, and there he found you, sprawled on his side of the bed, wrapped in his pillows. He felt his heart warm at the sight and decided to lie down on your side of the bed and wrapped his arms around your waist, you gave a satisfied sigh and snuggled into him, making Toto feel all your soft curves, he breathed into your neck, feeling your perfume and He ended up grunting when you pressed your ass against his hip, without interrupting your sleep.

He buried his face in her neck, feeling filthy from the thoughts he was having, he couldn't stain the innocence of her rest with his perverse desires, but it didn't make it any easier to have her ass against his dick. God, it made it seem like you hadn't had sex in weeks, when he had made you cum just the morning before.

You moved completely in his arms, and turned to lie facing Toto, wrapping your leg around his waist, fitting yourself as best you could into the larger man's body, making Toto growl softly. Just when he thought it was going to get better, you made it worse, because now Toto's cock was right under you, hardening even more in your heat.

“mein gott” He groaned, pressing you tighter against him. How selfish would he be to wake you up just to fuck you?

It was better to try to sleep, to ignore the stinging heat building in her stomach and the moisture that escaped from your panties and stained his pants. What the hell had he done to be tortured like that?

But his ramblings were thrown into space when he felt you mount him, moving your pelvis against Toto, he took advantage of the consent you had given him and He pulled the lace of your panties aside, he couldn't see, but he would give you all his money if you weren't glistening with wetness.

“It’s almost a sin to waste such a feast, schatz,” he said, licking his lips. Toto got rid of his cotton pants and rubbed his cock against your pussy, drawing cute moans from you, he held you by the waist, high enough to reach your breasts so you could ride him. “You’re dripping in me, fuck,” and with that, he entered you slowly, stretching you around him, his grip making him bite his lip until it bled. In slow, gentle thrusts, he managed to hit her cervix over and over again.

“Toto? What are you-” you fell silent as you felt the thrust harder, hitting sensitive spots on you. “Toto...” you moaned, grinding yourself into him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, love, I’ll take care of you,” he assured, letting you enjoy what he wanted to give you. You moaned again, digging your nails into him.

It wasn't selfish if you wanted it too, right?

SEBASTIAN VETTEL:

Six weeks, three days, nine hours, twelve minutes and thirty-one seconds.

This was the time that you and Sebastian had not seen each other, the racing season was in full swing, Seb was still at the top with an impeccable performance, and your job didn't allow you to accompany him on his trips. All this distance was driving you both crazy, he couldn't wait to be home again, enjoying the two weeks of summer vacation allowed. He couldn't even think about anything other than you, nothing else was occupying the pilot's mind as he parked in the garage of the house you shared.

But since nothing was perfect, he had only managed to return in the middle of the night, it was around four in the morning and he would find you sleeping soundly. With that in mind, he went straight to the bathroom, since sleeping with you was all he had left. Sebastian took a quick shower and returned to the room wearing only a towel, to see you in nothing but his shirt, his heart clenched with the longing he felt for everything about you: your loud, spontaneous laugh, the way you frowned when you read, your unique habits. He missed the way you hugged him or ran your nails down his back. Of everything.

He put on a pair of sweatpants and lay down with you, at the same time you literally trapped him between your legs, thinking he was his pillow. Sebastian's hips fitted into yours, exactly where he needed them.

You sighed sleepily and moved your pelvis, rubbing yourself against him. He muffled his heavy breathing, wrapping his arm around your waist as you buried your face in his neck, as if the scent of his soap — that you wore every day he was away — would be different on his skin. He pressed you tighter against him, feeling you grind your pussy against his half-pumped cock.

“scheiße, puppe” (fuck, doll) he swore in German, biting her lip hard. “you’re not making this easy for me, love,” he murmured, holding you.

He took a deep breath, trying not to let it affect him any more than it already did, but feeling the familiar heat of your pussy against his cock was melting his neurons.

That was something common between you, you and Sebastian had already woken each other up several times with sex, and he considered waking you up this way.

But shit, it was too early for him to wake you up and there he was, hard as a rock and you were rubbing yourself against him without knowing it.

He tried to distract himself, not to think about you grinding against him, the wet spot spreading across his pants as you moved against him, your heat radiating off him, as if the sweatshirt was nothing between the two of you. Sebastian drew circles on her thigh, not even close to feeling as sleepy as he should, and slowly he slid his fingers across her skin until he reached the elastic of her panties and without much difficulty, Sebastian tore the seam of her panties, giving him easier access to her folds.

And by God, you were dripping.

He slid his fingers between your labia, groaning at how slippery you felt, accepting his touch so well.

“oh my god, baby, you’re killing me,” he said, playing with your clit, feeling you thrust your hips into him. “okay, okay, I got you, puppe.”

He gave up on maintaining his composure — if ripping your panties and fingering you wasn't already inelegant — and pulled down the waistband of the sweatpants he was wearing, he used it as a relief when freed from the restraint of the clothing, he let you rub yourself against him, letting your soaking wet pussy lick his cock. You breathed heavily, moaning sweetly as she ground your clit against the glans of his penis. Sebastian helped you mount his cock, sniffing in your ear as you slid down his shaft until your hips were joined.

“like this, love” he slid until only the head of his cock was inside you, smiling evilly as you wiggled, still fast asleep. He thrust slowly, feeling you slowly open around him. “your sweet pussy already has the shape of my cock, doesn’t it puppe?” he asked rhetorically, increasing his thrusts as her moans became more frequent. You whimpered, digging your nails into his back, rubbing yourself against him, feeling the friction of his hips against your clit making you even more horny. You tightened around him and Sebastian literally growled in your ear.

“Seb” now you were wide awake, wanting him to go faster, harder. “Seb, mhmm, please”

“whatever you want, puppe, anything” Sebastian growled, this time the sound of the clash between you echoed through the room. “i missed you so much, baby.”

“me too, me too,” you stuttered, wiggling your hips.

You two didn't stop, not even when the sun came up in the sky, after all, you had weeks of longing to appease.

FERNANDO ALONSO:

He sat up in bed, in disbelief at what had just happened. At forty-something, Fernando had come in his sleep, just like a teenager going through puberty. If he wasn't so pissed off, he would have certainly laughed at how absurd the situation was, he looked at the state of his underwear, completely wet with cum; he could blame himself, mainly because his last thoughts before going to sleep involved you, in situations that couldn't be talked about at family lunch. So it was your fault.

You were the one who made him have a wet dream and made him cum while he was still asleep. He got up, furious with rage, and went to take a cold shower, to try to get rid of the heat that had taken hold of him, and even under the cold jet of water, nothing could lower his extremely hard cock. Quite the opposite, it only left him cold and angrier. “i don't have fifteen fucking years left to masturbate in the shower, shit” he complained to himself, feeling his cock throb and resting his head on the cold bathroom tile. Fresh memories of the dream came back to him, your soft mouth welcoming him so well as he fucked your throat until he heard you choke.

“Fuck” he complained, getting out of the shower, the cold water didn’t help at all, the only thing that would calm him down was you, sitting on him until you both came. He barely dried himself and went to the bedroom, finding you asleep between the blankets, you hated pajamas and any nightwear, so you slept almost naked, if it weren't for your panties. Fernando grunted as he climbed onto the bed, not caring about wetting the bed, he wanted to eat you, so that's what he would do, after all he had your consent since you started dating.

Somnophilia was your favorite fetish, much to his surprise.

He kissed your body sloppily, leaving small marks on your belly, thighs and breasts, but none of this interrupted your sleep, you remained asleep as if nothing was happening. Fernando bit and sucked your nipples until you spoke, nothing he could understand, then he continued, moving his hands down your waist until he got rid of your panties, the Spaniard opened his legs a little to look at your sex, slightly wet and that could get soaked in a few minutes with his mere touch. He dragged you to the edge of the bed and literally buried his face between your thighs, growling at the scent of you. No other woman had such an effect on him as you did, you could make Fernando excited just with your doe-like gaze, your scent then, drove him crazy.

He wasn't gentle, so what if you woke up? Then he would have an opportunity to fuck you hard, just like he did in the dream. Fernando grabbed her legs tightly, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of her thighs and in the roughest way possible, he ate your pussy. Licks, sucks and even light bites were given, making you writhe in your sleep, he could hear your confused moans, but that didn't stop him, the pilot kept eating you until you were grinding on his face, wanting more kisses, more bites. You didn't care much about the pain, quite the opposite, you loved it when he was rougher.

“Nando?” you woke up confused, finding your boyfriend between your legs, his mouth still glued to your pussy. Your eyes rolled back in your head and you fell back onto the bed. “w-what hap-happened?”

“nothing,” he grunted without pulling away, you wiggled in his mouth, sighing in pleasure as you felt his tongue on you, where you needed it most. “I'm enjoying my privileges of being able to fuck my little whore whenever I want”

You trembled, about to cum, but he pulled away and pulled you to your knees in front of him, your face level with his hard cock. You looked at his hard penis and then at Fernando, he traced the outline of your lips with his thumb and stuck his finger in your mouth “suck”

And you obeyed, wrapping his thumb with his tongue, as if it were his cock in his mouth. Fernando got even harder, if that was possible.

“good girl” he praised before slamming his cock into her lips, “open your mouth for me, tesoro”

JENSON BUTTON:

Once again, you obeyed, and damn, who said dreams don't come true?

As he had done for years, Jenson woke up in the early hours of the morning to get some exercise, he liked to spend his time on the treadmill or hitting the sandbag in the small gym you kept at home. He lost count of how many times he called you to train with him, but you were not a morning person and you would never trade a few extra hours of sleep for morning workouts.

It was close to nine in the morning when he returned to the suite you shared, his plans were simple: set out some clothes, take a shower and let you sleep as much as you wanted, but when he entered the room, nothing went according to his plans.

Because, you see, Jenson had just had an intense workout and He was bursting with endorphins and serotonin, but none of that compared to the way his body reacted to seeing you sleeping. Clinging to his pillow, with the sheets piled up on her hips, wearing nothing but socks. Nothing special, right? Not for Jenson, fuck it, he didn't need much to get hard and ready for you, just like a boy in puberty.

He tried to push away the dirty thoughts that permeated his mind, not that the two of you were against somnophilia, but you had never actually tried it. He remembered an old conversation between you about achievable fetishes.

“being woken up with sex” he said simply and your eyes widened as you bit the straw of your gin and tonic, that made you think. You never stopped to think about that and the prospect of waking up to Jenson fucking you made you squirm in your seat. “what does that look like to you?”

“interesting, we can try it someday... but we need to establish signals so we can understand when this will be well received by the other person”

“fair, what do you suggest?”

Having a good night's sleep was the main point, and the absence of clothes, since you were both fans of pajamas. He took two long steps towards the bed and confirmed his theory by lifting the sheet, except for your socks (because you hated sleeping with cold feet), you were completely naked. He cursed in a grunt and Jenson felt his erection throb.

“fuck, peach” he cursed and kicked his sneakers away, and his workout clothes followed suit, he also threw the sheets away and gazed at his sleeping figure, your breasts crushed against his pillow, your pussy exposed by the position you were in. “and one more time i’m going to take your first time, peach” he murmured, wetting his fingers in his mouth before sliding them into your folds. you grunted but didn’t wake up. “relax baby, I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, and carefully, He made you lie on your back and spread your legs.

He rubbed your folds again, cursing as he felt your juices wet his fingers, making it easier for him to move against your clit. You were so responsive, responding so well to him. Jenson saw your chest fill with more oxygen, you gave a loud and long sigh at his touch on you, but none of that shook your sleep, on the contrary, you seemed to be far from waking up; he caressed your thighs before leaving small kisses down your breasts, abdomen and groin, no matter how many times Jenson saw you naked, you were still the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. And he never seemed to get tired of watching, ever.

He lay down on the bed, feeling the sheets rub against his erection, eliciting a hoarse moan from him, all he wanted was to get inside you right away, but fuck, he'd be damned if he didn't taste you. He rubbed his hips against the bed and before everything became torment, he kissed your pussy and placed your legs over his shoulders. Jenson hummed at the taste of you on his tongue, and it seemed to fuel his hunger for you, he spread you open with his fingers and licked your clit until you whimpered in your sleep. Like an addicted man, he suckled your clit until the bud was swollen and shiny with saliva and stimulation, Jenson made sure to rub his mouth all over you, just like you did when you rode his face, using him to bring yourself to orgasm; his fingers played with your needy entrance, feeling you throb around his digits, eager for anything he could give you.

“holy shit, peach,” he cursed, licking you with increasing need, Jenson felt you wet his chin to the point of dripping onto the mattress. You were about to wake up, because your grumbling increased and all your attempts to close your legs were useless, Jenson was holding them as if his life depended on it. “you’re so fucking wet, can you feel how easily my fingers enter you? Imagine what it will be like when it’s my dick instead of my fingers.”

He spread his fingers inside you, making you arch your back and thrust your hips against him, your eyes flew open and you whimpered. Not that he would complain about being strangled by your thighs.

“Jense, fuck I-I was-” your voice trailed off as he licked his fingers from your still-filled hole to your aching clit. “Oh my God, shit!” you swore, grabbing his hair and pushing him further against your pussy.

“was what, peach?” he whispered, kissing your folds as if they were his mouth, making you roll your eyes and grind against his mouth. “Huh?”

“i-it doesn’t matter” you breathed between moans “please Jense, please let me ride you” you begged him, shaking “I-I want to cum in you”

Jenson gave you one last lick before pulling his fingers out of you and giving your pussy a light slap, making you scream. He still took his time, fingering your folds, letting your pleasure completely cover his fingers. He pushed his fingers against your lips and you sucked every drop of your juices, moaning at the taste of you, making him groan at the sight.

“come ride me, peach” he pulled your thighs until you were on his lap, the pink head of his cock pressed against your clit, which made you both moan. You were close to cumming, He then, no need to say anything. “ride me until you cum, princess” he pushed his thick member against her throbbing hole. You moaned and he grunted, thrusting in until you felt the swollen head of his cock hitting your g-spot.

MARK WEBBER:

You wouldn't mind waking up early if that's how Jenson was going to wake you up.

He woke up with sudden movements in bed and it and it wouldn't be a surprise if you were in the middle of a nightmare, with your thesis approaching the final stage, you rarely had a peaceful night's sleep. But not that night, Mark caught a glimpse of the time on the clock radio, six thirty in the morning; he rubbed his eyes and prepared to wake you before you woke up in tears, however, a plaintive moan made him freeze in place, just looking at you sleeping.

“Mark... Please” you begged, still asleep. He watched your fingers twist the comforter and your legs close tightly. “Please!”

Your pleading voice made his hackles stand on end, he blinked in astonishment a few times until he came to the conclusion that you were having a wet dream. About him. This certainty made his blood run thicker through his veins, warming his entire body; you and Mark had an unspoken agreement, if one of you woke up with the other having this kind of dream, could and should move forward. Have you ever had the chance to wake Mark up with a blowjob or literally sitting on him sometimes, but the Australian has never had the chance to have you in his sleep.

If hearing you moan his name in your sleep hadn't already turned him on, the knowledge that he could fuck you while you were asleep did.

Fuck, if he wasn't feeling like a teenager there.

He carefully pulled back the duvet so as not to wake you and settled between your legs. The wet spot on your pajama shorts made him smile; Mark lay in the space between your thighs and pulled the delicate fabric away from its glossy folds.

“what do you need, doll?” he asked, sliding his fingers slowly into her pussy. A fun fact about people who talk in their sleep: will answer anything they are asked.

He saw your face scrunch up and he circled your swollen clit with his thumb, chuckling softly as he saw you jump.

“i-i want you,” he replied softly, still sleeping soundly.

“really?” he continued to tease the sensitive little spot, you trembled even more

“yes yes please” she begged him

“okay baby, anything you want” he ripped her shorts and covered her pussy with his mouth. He himself couldn’t contain the moan of satisfaction as he felt his taste flood his mouth. You were incredibly wet and his fingers slid easily inside you. You cried out at the suction on your clit and melted completely when he let his teeth roll lightly over the swollen bud. Mark watched as tears wet your closed eyes and you squirmed more, letting go of the comforter to grab his hair.

“Mark!” you exclaimed, your back coming off the mattress and your eyes flying open, but they didn’t stay open for long. “f-fuck, so good!”

He hummed, letting go of your thigh to grab your breast over your shirt, you placed your hand over his, tightening the grip. You were close, your cloudy mind couldn't identify anything other than his mouth eating you with such desire and your orgasm growing in your stomach.

Whimpering whimpers escaped her throat as he pulled away, his chin soaked with her juices and his dark eyes shining.

“come sit on my face, doll” he lies down on the bed and you crawl on top of him. He hugged your hips and made you sit on his mouth, hitting exactly where you needed it, you held on to the headboard so you wouldn't fall on him, your legs went weak with each stroke of his soft tongue on your clit. You wouldn't last much longer.

He made you move, riding his tongue like it was his cock.

“Mark- baby, I-I’m g-gonna-” you stuttered, biting the inside of your cheek.

"come on doll, cum for me, go" he asked without taking his mouth off you and you gave in, your body shaking violently as you came in his mouth. It took all of Mark's self-control not to cum in his pants like a teenager. He felt rock hard and his balls ached with the urge to cum, but this moment was about you.

Always about you.

He carefully placed you on the bed and saw you smile, tired, the thin layer of sweat made you shine and he brushed away the strands of hair that stuck to your forehead.

“was it good?” he asked, watching the white t-shirt stick to her breasts, outlining the hard nipples.

“fucking very good, love” you replied breathlessly, but your tiredness seemed to evaporate when you saw the bulging mark of his cock against his pajama pants. “but it might be better” and you pushed him on the bed, sitting down exactly where he wanted you.

KIMI RAIKKONEN:

That was one way to wake up.

“i want you to fuck me while I sleep,” you had blurted out as he read the newspaper over breakfast. Few things could surprise Kimi Raikkonen, and you were certainly one of them.

He choked on the tea he was drinking and put down the newspaper, you were too focused on your own magazine to notice his incredulous look. How did you say things like that so naturally?

“what the fuck, Y/N?!” he said a little exasperated.

“why the surprise? I didn’t say anything out of the ordinary, Raikkonen,” you said, still focused on your magazine. He dropped the paper for good and ruffled his blond hair, becoming even more exasperated. “i really want you to fuck me while I sleep, I’ve always wanted to, but I’ve never trusted anyone enough,” you confessed, finally looking at him, “but I trust you and I want you to do this, as rudely as you can.”

Ever since then, your request has been plaguing his mind (both of them, to be honest), he couldn't distract himself from your words and whenever he actually stopped to think about it, he ended up excited. You really were a surprising little thing.

At night, you put on your cute pajamas, kissed him and didn't let him forget your request, giving him your best puppy dog look “please, Kimi, I want it so bad” and your lip trembled, making the request even more believable. “you have my consent to be as hard as you want, I will love it”

And with that, you rolled over and fell asleep almost instantly, leaving him awake with a hundred questions and an aching erection between his legs. Kimi watched the first few hours of your sleep, her mind still spinning around your request, if you wanted it, there was nothing wrong, right? You had assured him that you wanted it. But Kimi was still reluctant.

He never considered the idea of having sex with you while you were sleeping, nor did he expect you to want it. Who would have thought that behind her cute baby face was hiding a little whore who likes hard sex? He rested his head on the headboard, the clock indicated that it was past two in the morning.

He looked at you, your fluffy silk pajamas that hid nothing from his imagination, your soft curves, your sleeping face. You were driving him crazy.

“fuck” he cursed and kicked the covers away, watching you try to snuggle against him. Kimi saw your nipples harden from the cold, marking the delicate silk of the babydoll.

i want you to fuck me while I sleep

Your request reverberated in his mind as he watched you until the moment all fear left him and Kimi ripped your pajamas, dividing the silk into two pieces. Kimi made you turn over in bed, with your chest against the bed and your ass in the air, high enough for him to be able to fuck you in your favorite position.

He should have picked up on the signs that you weren't so innocent, that you didn't want to be treated like a princess. His beautiful little girl wanted to be treated like a prostitute, how could he refuse? Kimi grabbed your hips and brought your wet pussy against his mouth, humming with your taste, you let out a cute little moan, without waking up, Kimi loved your taste, loved knowing that no one else left you dripping like he did and all he had to do was give you a few kitten licks and you would lick his chin. He took his time, eating you out until your lube dripped. He ran his fingers through you, taking what he could and slid your juices onto the tip of his member, and without any shame, he thrust into you until there was no space between you both, his moan mixed with yours as you slowly woke up, with each raw beat of his hips against yours, your naughty smile grew. Kimi took your hands and pinned them behind your back, holding you while his cock hit all the right places inside you, you would wake up sore, used and happy. With his other hand, he landed a hard slap on your ass that would leave marks the next day and grabbed your hair, leaving you on your knees on the bed.

“is this what you wanted, pretty girl? to be used like a dirty little whore? just for my pleasure?”

Yeah, yeah, yeah Kimi!” She exclaimed, writhing for him to go deeper, but Kimi held her back.

“No, no, quiet”

“But Kimi-” she cooed, wanting more. And in response he landed a slap on her clit, which made her moan louder and roll her eyes.

“I told you to be quiet, or you won’t cum today.”

a/n¹: oh jeezz, this was 🔥

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#f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 headcanons #sawturn headcanons #sawturn #toto wolff x reader #sebastian vettel x reader #fernando alonso x reader #jenson button x reader #mark webber x reader #kimi raikonnen x reader #formula 1 smut

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