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cxrsed-angel · 9 hours ago

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Spring Break Camping Trip (fem!reader smut)

Summary: You return to your childhood home for spring break and enjoys a father daughter camping trip.

Warning:Father-Daughter incest. Age gap, Unprotected sex (p in v), Fingering, could be considered public or semi public. Tent ent sex, I consider it fluff/comfort. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT: Incest WC: 4k. AU

Disclaimer: This is an incest smut fiction, Joel is your dad and it's fictional if you don't like it don't read it <3. I’m not gonna argue, have discourse or defend it if you don't like it thats fine.

a/n: A day late for father’s day but oh well lol it was posted yesterday on ao3 so it counts. Fic is below the read more

"Up and at 'em, sweetheart!" The sound of Joel tapping the wooden door decorated with the flowers he painted on at your incessant asking when you were 6, on your childhood bedroom door wakes you up out of your sleep. You had driven the 6 hour drive to your childhood home, deciding to spend your week long spring break at home with your dad, instead of being alone in your college apartments. All your roommates were in Miami or Cancun or went home too, so you decided that spending time at home with him was for the best. You had texted him the day before letting him know and had completely forgotten he had told you about the camping trip he had planned.

You trying to ignore him hoping he'd go away but clearly you had acquired you're stubbornness from him cause he continued knocking on the door, calling your name. You get up slowly, reaching for you phone and taking glancing your phone getting blinded by the screen to see it is currently 4 o'clock in the morning. You turn it off before lying back down, planning on going to sleep, but he keeps knocking.

"Come on, honey gotta get up." His voice comes through the door.

You groan before sitting up, "Dad!…. It's 4 in the morning." you shout back as white wooden door opens as he comes in, already dressed in one of his signature button-ups, this one being a dark green color, and his blue denim Levi's. You see his figure out of the corner of you eye but you don't move off your pillow.

"Come on, told you we're going camping."You feel the bed dip from his weight as he sits on the edge of your bed, rubbing your shoulder over your green gingham printed sheets trying to get you up.

Your face is still against your pillow muffling your reply slightly. "Yeah, but at 4 am?… I thought we were leaving at like 8?…" "No, I said we're getting there at 8, gotta leave the house at 5:30 am." You grab your other pillow from next to your putting it over your head, letting out another groan.

"Come on, kiddo. Already got your old camping gear in the trunk. We can get some breakfast on the way." You don't move, still under your pillow, not having any plans of getting up or listening to him. You hear shuffling assuming he left but you feel his hands squeeze your side, he starts tickling you, poking and tickling your sides making you screech, laughing uncontrollably one of his go to's of getting you up. "Okay! OKAY! dad! DAD! I'm up! I'M UP, DAD!". You laugh, kicking under the sheets, trying to get away, but he doesn't let you. You take the pillow off over your head, looking up at him, pleading as he finally stops. He laughs before leaning down, giving you a quick kiss on your lips.

"Better see you up, showered and dressed in 10." He gets up from your bed, but you reach out grabbing his hand stopping him getting to far. You pull him back to your bed, making him sit down closer to you. Joel sit already could tell what you wanted by the way you look at him. He leans down, kissing your lips again as you pull him closer to you. He doesn't mind your morning breath. He can tell you're feeling extra clingy and needy since you've been home and didn't have any objections to it. He's always ready to give you some extra attention the days you're home.

He feels your hand go under his button-up, moving down his stomach inching closer under his jeans, already knowing where it was headed and what you were thinking.

"Uh-huh. No, no, sweetheart, we gotta get on the road, I wanna get there early, make the most of our time there." He scolds with no real upset or spite, He grabs your wrist gently, bringing it back to your thigh. You're finally awake, sitting up against the headboard of your bed. Looking up at him. Joel is already sensing the stubbornness and defiance in your groggy eyes, already knowing you're not gonna listen.

You grab his hand, bringing it under the sheets and guiding it between your thighs. Rubbing his hand along the fabric of your lace panties. Joel sighs but moves his fingers up and down your underwear. You were tired and more fully awake, but seeing him first thing in the morning after so many weeks away was making you you want, no need him.

"Pleasee…dad…" You whine, pleading, moving his hand over where you need him, making him feel the wet spot over your underwear.

"Fuck… honey really we gotta head on the road." His mouth says one thing, but his fingers do the opposite, not moving it away despite being able to. He looks down, seeing your arousal moving the fabric to the side, running his finger along your wet folds, your hand remains on his wrist as he inserts his ring and middle finger inside, slowly moving them in and out of you. " 'Been dreamin about me huh?" He asked looking up at your eyes scrunched closes. But wasn't much of a question as it was a statement, he could tell, feeling how wet you were before he even slipped a finger in.

Your eyes open slowly to look at him as you grip onto his wrist as he continues, shaking your head slightly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being right once again. "No…" You mutter between gasps as he continues moving his fingers inside your opening. But it's obvious that that was a lie, and Joel could tell; you could never successfully lie to him, he could always look in your eyes, hear it in your voice, but he caved in regardless, every time. Never being able to say no to those puppy dog eyes you give him to get your way.

He looks at the watch on his other wrist, seeing the time. "Fine.. 45 minutes.…" The bed dips more as he lies down in the full size bed,moving on top of you, moving the covers back off of you. Your hand goes to his belt undoing it and unzipping his jeans, while he hands, he pulls the lace fabric of your underwear down over your hips and off your legs your wet pussy coming into view. He leans down, kissing your wet folds a few times gently licking your clit as he moves his fingers.

"Dad.." You moan gripping his wrist tighter as he slides his fingers in and out of your aching pussy, the sounds of your wetness filling the room.

"Dad….." Joel looks up seeing your cloudy and lust filled eyes, feeling his cock getting harder, under his boxers. He continues thrusting his fingers inside you, opening you up.

"Fuck sweetheart…" His hands spread your thighs further apart, rubbing your thigh softly. "You ready for me, honey?" You nod "Yea.. yes…pleasee." Joel flashes a small smile, taking his boxer down sliding his cock inside you slowly pushing his tip deeper and deeper inside you stretching you out.

"Fuck… you ain't fucking any of those college guys… or girls at Rice huh?" Joel thrust pushing his thick cock inside you fully bottoming out, enjoying the moan that comes out of your lips.

"N-No… no dad…I'm not." you mange spit out between moans, his fingers reaching between rubbing your clit, making your eyes roll back. "fuck dad..dad."

Joel leans over, capturing your lips with his. "I love you," you whisper between kisses. Joel drops his head to the pillow beside you, moaning, he thrusts become faster, sloppier, hitting that spot over and over, bringing you closer to your release.

"I love you too, baby, so much."

"Dad… I'm…" You moan louder, eyes closing as you get closer he nods, bringing a hand up to your cheek, rubbing it softly. "Come on, honey…know you're close… I can feel ya…."

Your eyes squeeze shut as you grab the sheets, finishing around him, moaning as he pulls out slowly. Lying down next to you, catching his breath as you lie back on your pillow. He lies there next to you for a few seconds before getting up with a groan and complaint about his back. Joel puts on his boxers, jeans, and his brown jacket. He leans over your bed and kisses your forehead. "Better see you up and ready to go. 'Don't wanna have to come back up here. Go ahead and shower and I'll meet you outside."

You nod, sitting up, "Okay. I'll be ready."

You finally got up, showered, and dressed, wearing Joel's grey hoodie and some yoga pants, packing your last-minute toiletries, book, and phone in your pink duffle bag as you head downstairs and out of the house, seeing Joel loading the car with the camping gear.

Joel turns around, smiling as he leans against his black truck, seeing your un-amused, tired, and grumpy face, arms folded over your chest.

"Aw, come on, kid, 'used to love going camping when you were younger." Joel reminded as he tossed some more camping gear into the back of the truck bed before closing. He walks over to where you were standing by the porch holding your pink duffel, barely awake. "Don't you have morning classes, or are ya sleeping through the classes I'm paying for? " You sigh shaking you no, "No just… my classes start at 10, I'm not really up at the ass crack of dawn everyday." he laughs walking over amused at the grumpy face you're making putting an arm around your waist, kissing you on your pouty lips. You smell the coffee on his breath, comforting.

"Well, I thought you'd be more excited about the trip. Been talking about spring break since the start of the year." You walk closer to the truck. "Yeah, last time we went camping, I was 12, and my friends are going to go to Miami, not a camping trip with their dad." You put your backpack on the front seat floor as you get in. Joel sighs, coming to the passenger seat, looking at you resting against the open door.

"I ain't sending my babygirl to Miami by herself, don't care how old you get. You don't need a week of drinking, getting high, hooking up with god knows who, and then going back to your college, nu huh? You need a nice relaxing few days with your old man, reconnecting with nature with some fishing, swimming, and hiking, then going back to school." He gives you a kiss on the side of your head before closing the passenger door.

Honestly, he didn't wanna have you out there on a bender in Miami with some "friends" who may or may not take care of you. No, it doesn't matter if you were in your 20s, he wasn't having that. But he also thought a nice weekend away was better for you anyway. He heard the stress in your voice everytime you called, everytime you told him about upcoming exams, papers, some asshole professors, he wished he could do more, but a three day camping trip was the only thing he thought of and he hope it would be enough.

You spot his black tumbler mug you got him, for Christmas a few years back. Twisting it open, satisfied that it was still filled with his black coffee, definitely needed the caffeine this early. You're about to take a sip when Joel sits in the driver's seat and grabs it out of your hand before you could even reach your lips, replacing it with your own pink travel mug filled with you're preferred iced coffee with oatmilk and caramel creamer.

"Here… know you don't like black coffee, yet here you are, you're trying to drink out of mine," he says as you take a sip of the coffee he made perfectly. "Just saying it wouldn't kill you to add in cream or something."

He shakes his head,d putting on a Linda Ronstadt CD after starting the truck.

"Can't I play aux? Blue Bayou makes me fall asleep every time."

"Play what? 'The hell is an aux? No, 'm not in the mood for that screaming… moaning shit you played for me last weekend." He shakes his head as the car pulls out of the driveway.

"I literally gave you an aux cord last weekend you just plug it in And don't shit on Deftones. Last time I show you any music." "That cord? Thought that was a phone charger?" he glances at you with a confused glare before looking back at the road.

"No, you put it in like a charger, but it's... you play... never mind, just play the CD." One day you'll give up trying to introduce new technology to him, You just showed him a few weeks ago how to sail the seven seas for the movies that are on streaming platforms (he refuses to pay the subscriptions for all those sites, "either DVDs, VHS or nothing" was his motto).

It was bout 15 minutes into the drive when Joel looked over and heard your snores, as you're head leaned against the window. He chuckles lightly, looking over at you with your head against the window and your mouth parted, but he did wake you up at 4 am, so he couldn't blame ya. He listens to his road trip CDs and drives to the campsite while you sleep in the passenger seat.

After 1 and a half hours of driving with a gas station pit stop, the truck finally pulls into the Big Bend National Park campsite, the tires rolling over the dirt as he parks the truck. Joel turns the car off, rubbing your thigh lightly to wake you up. But only gets a mumble and a grunt as you shift, not waking up.

"Come on, honey," you groan again. He could tell you were awake and were just pretending. He looks at your closed eyes, and he moves his hands to your inner thighs, rubbing them slowly. He drags his fingers along your clothed core, watching you shift. "Know you're not sleeping…" You squirm more, Joel continues to move his hands until you finally cave, opening you're eyes. "Ah, there she is."

"Dad…" He gives you a short kiss on your lips before removing his hand.

"Come on, baby," he gently shook your thigh a bit before leaving the driver's seat. You look out the window, seeing the last moments of sunrise over the mountains.

Joel goes to the truck bed to unload the camping gear as you get out of the passenger seats, hearing the birds chirping.

"You remember how to pitch a tent?" You nod, still groggy, as you meet him in the truck bed. he hands you the tent bag.

You lean your head on his shoulder, not wanting to pitch a tent at 6:30 in the morning.

"The faster you set it up, the faster you can take a nap, kiddo." You nod, knowing he's right, like he is 95% of the time. You sigh before lifting your head, grabbing his green tent bag, but not seeing yours, the light pink bag that you had since you were 13, and he took you to Bass Pro Shop and got it for you. You look at him as he comes back to the truck to unload more of the gear.

"Dad, where's my tent?"

He turns around, looking over his shoulder from where he was unloading. "Huh?"

"My tent…the pink tent you got me from Bass Pro… had…a matching pink bag…" He looks confused for a few seconds before sighing and nodding. "Shit hon must've left it. I was cleaning the garage and must've moved it, gonna have to share with me." "Dad… seriously."

"Can either share or sleep with the snakes and bears. Which one you want?" He smiles, raising his eyebrows before going back to unloading the car.

"You owe me a new one if you lost it!" You shout as you grab his tent, trying to find a place to set it before pitching it.

A few minutes pass, and the campsite is unloaded. The cooler and supplies are out of the truck and on the picnic table. Joel looks around a bit worried at first when he doesn't hear or see you, till he notices your sleeping form inside the tent.

"You comfortable?" He stands in the opening of the tent, his voice waking you up after you had dozed off.

You sit up, realizing you had left him to do basically everything. "Dad…I'm sorry, didn't mean to leave you to do everything. I'm just tired, I just fell asleep." Joel speaks "Hon-" but you don't hear him.

"I had a paper due on the last day of classes before spring break and was up all night finishing it." Joel nods, understanding, not even mad, but you wouldn't let him get a word out. "But you work every day too and do so much and are up at like 6 am every day for work, it's not fair. I'm so, so sorry.. I'll help, promise. Sorry." Before you could stand up, Joel took his boots off, climbing into the tent, sitting next to you, pulling you under his arm. He lies down, having you lie back down next to him, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Hey, hey, hey relax.... ain't nothing to apologize for. You haven't done anything wrong. I got everything covered, honey. These few days are supposed to be relaxing, don't need you stressin." He kisses your forehead, pulling you closer.

You nod, lying against him. Joel looks down at the grey hoodie from Miller's Brother Co. you're wearing; clearly, it's his. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen it, now knowing why. "This mine?" he tugs on it lightly at the bottom of it.

"No, actually it's mine, it's why it's your size and doesn't fit me right." The sarcasm is clear and evident in your voice, making him chuckle a bit.

"Right smartass… taken anymore of my shit to college or just the hoodie?" He asks poking your side getting a laugh of you.

"Um… nope, think that's it." "Right….not sure I believe ya but whatever you say."

You look up, turning to your stomach, pressing a kiss on his lips, tasting the comforting taste of coffee, and smelling the wood-toned cologne. His beard scratches against your face. You pull away, looking at him.

"You're getting more grays in your beard, you know." You tease, admiring him closely.

He laughs, pulling you closer against his chest. "Yeah, well, you've been causing them for 20-something years." His hand moves up and down your back, sliding under the grey hoodie. Your finger goes over his flannel buttons, ghosting over them, almost unbuttoning them. he sits up on his arms, breaking the kiss.

"Thought you were tired..honey?" He teases as you take his flannel off, as he looks at you.

"I am very tired… but I missed you. Couldn't drive home last weekend, had to study for my exams…" You kiss his lips again. He laughs a bit as his hands move to his hoodie, you're wearing, pulling away from your lips to tug it off over your head.

"I really missed you…" You whine a bit, looking at him, and he sees it in your eyes, how much you have missed him.

Being away at college was the first time you've been apart from him. He knew you were gonna take it hard. He remembered when he dropped you off at your dorm freshman year and how much you cried. He ended up having to stay in a hotel down the street from campus for the first week of classes. You grew accustomed to it over time, and now, in your junior year, you had adjusted. However, being 3-4 hours away, not counting traffic, was still challenging for both of you.

Joel kisses you, sliding your yoga pants down your thighs as you kick them off your legs, he puts them somewhere in the tent, moving his hands between your thighs.

"This morning wasn't enough?" He raises his eyebrows as he hand ghosts over your underwear not yet taking them off, he was a bit surprised you were basically begging for him to be inside you, again. He feels your hand run up his stomach tracing his "happy trail."

You shake you're head, already pulling your underwear down your legs. "No it wasn't."

"I'm raisin' a greedy fucking kid huh.." shaking his hand he lets out a groan, shifting in the tent to pull his pants down, moving himself to the space between your thighs. Not missing the smile, you're giving up as he looks down.

" 'M not greedy! I just loooove you." Joel laughs shaking his head, watching as you take his hard cock in your hand stroke it slowly, rubbing your thumb over his tip making him moan lowly.

He lets out a small laugh at you reply, the way you dragged out your words. He shakes his spreading you legs further apart, "Love me huh…?" he teases you, as he bring his finger to your clit rubbing it softly for a few seconds before slowly sliding his thick cock inside your tight walls. "Fuck honey.. you're so wet…" Joel moans feeling your clench around him as he fills you, bottoming out inside you fully. He slowly moves, taking his cock out slowly before fucking into you again, making you moan and whine. He thrusts, fucking into you faster, enjoying the your moans that slip out of your mouth, as is parts. He leans over you, resting his forehead against yours before, kissing your lips softly yet rough, grabbing his shoulder tightly. His hips move picking up slightly faster.

"Dad…" You whine moving, lifting your leg around his hips, pulling him even closer to you, as you inch closer to your release, fucking deeper into you.

"Can tell you're close, baby…Come on. Cum for me honey." His voice brings you over the edge, coming undone on his cock and Joel follows soon after. Pulling out with a moan, and cumming onto your stomach with a few grunts.

He lies down next to you, breathing hard, coming down for his climax. You also take a moment to catch your breath.

"Hold on, honey." He grabs a paper towel to clean your stomach off. "You okay?" You nod quietly but Joel still wasn't sure. "You sure?" he asks again, and you nod again sitting up to grab your underwear putting them on.

"Yeah, Dad, I'm fine, promise." After getting reassured Joel nods, grabbing his boxers to putting them back on to. You sit up, looking at him, smiling. "Thank you for this, by the way, didn't have to plan this camping trip, I'm really excited to be here." Joel looks at you smiling slightly as he lies back down. "Don't mention it, honey. I'm glad you wanted to spend time with me, hopefully it ain't too boring."

"You're not boring, Dad." rolling your eyes as you lie down next to him.

"We can take a quick nap, then we can go on a hike, maybe grill some hot dogs, enjoy this beautiful day…alright?"

You nod, getting comfortable against his sleeping bag. Joel scoots closer, trying to cuddle against you, moving his hands around your waist, but you move away out of his reach, making Joel scoff a bit laughing. He shakes his head looking at you, laughs,"What… thought you looooved me." Mocking your words from before.

"You're too hot and always sweating when I sleep with you, then it makes me all sweaty and hot," you complain, making him laugh. "Plus, it's already hot as the devil's balls out here without the human heater I have for a father."

You scoot further, taking off the hoodie, just in your tank top, lying on your pillow, closing your eyes, grabbing your stuffed teddy bear you've had since your were a baby, turning your back to him.

Joel laughs, laying his arms above his head. "Well, you weren't complaining and calling me a human heater 5 minutes ago, were you?" He lies down at a moderate distance, knowing that once you fall asleep, you'll end up with your head on his shoulder, arms thrown over him. Or your foot against his ribs, sprawled out. He leans over, kissing your forehead.

"Sweet dreams, kiddo."

#cw: incest #angel writes #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller one shot #joel miller au #joel miller fic #joel miller fem!reader smut #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller x reader fluff #dead dove do not eat #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader

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nevalizona · 1 year ago

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General 4 + 15

Thank you for the ask, Memphis! These were fun to answer! Some of my responses are long, so I'm putting it under the cut aha

General:

4: Were they each other's first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

They are each other's first serious relationship. Neither had experienced anything like that before but had big plans for their future. They sometimes would stay up late and just talk about what things they both want and what they want to avoid when it comes to their futures together. It can be overwhelming for them sometimes, so both would turn to someone they each trusted. Ellis asking Sammy some stuff, like how is he going to know if he found the one? What does being in love feel like? He's embarrassed to ask, but he wants to make sure that's how he's really feeling. Ivy Nicole talks a lot to Father James. She knows he doesn't have much experience in the romance department, but she likes his spiritual guidance anyway. She asks him if he's happy with being a Father and if he ever feels like he's missing something without love. Ivy Nicole loves deep, long conversations like this, and she eats up everything he says. Ellis and her bring their wisdom back to each other at different times, and both are relieved to see that the other *does* love them the same way. Both were giddy for days when they realized that they wanted to spend their futures together, finding their other half.

15: What is their most common argument about?

Okay, so they don’t argue a ton, but when they do, it's often because Ivy Nicole is upset about something. She lets her emotions control her far too much, and sometimes that makes it so she's either incredibly down or way too high. It can just be a lot to figure out how to maneuver her mood swings. She doesn't know she's bipolar and often has moments where she ends the night or after an episode, crying on Ellis’ shoulder explaining that she doesn't know why she feels this way. He tries his best to be there for her, but sometimes, it can be very hard. Luckily, she is never mean to him. A lot of her outbursts pertain to herself as she is rather self-destructive without realizing it. Sometimes, Ellis feels like trying to get her to calm down in any sense is like trying to pull a tooth.

Sammy has had to step in before and be a mediator. Give them each time to explain how they're feeling and how it affects the other. Ivy Nicole does well with this format. She really tries to take in what Ellis is saying and listen to how he is trying to help. Ellis likes that Ivy Nicole feels safe around them enough to open up and try to explain how she's feeling even if she's not sure how to do it.

#stevie snanswers #text #m*fia game #ivy nicole harris #ellis robinson #gonna slowly go through and post the asks i got^-^#i dont wanna spam lol #i hope these make sense/).(\

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broke-on-books · 1 year ago

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😍😍😍

#accidentally slept through my only class today #which whoops sorry. (my 9am english)#which kind of killed step 1 of a plan of mine but thats okay #anyways THEN i had to go downtown to pick up this award bc i forgot to show up to the ceremony like a dumb dumb #but the building was like a 25 minute walk and it was COLD (punishment for my dumb dumbness tbh) but anyways i got there early so i walked #around the block and then went inside and picked up my medal #and i was already far downtown so then i popped my head in a couple of stores as i slowly walked back #got a few things from target. new hair clip nail polish m&ms pens and then a mango. very excited to eat that either later today or tomorrow #then i popped in the calligraphy store and then the comic shop and looked around. saw some white ribbon in the calligraphy store which ive #been looking for but didnt get it because it was a bit wide and kind of expensive and i want a lot for my project idea #(want to write out some of my favorite poems on them in sharpie and then use it to accessorize)#and then i went to the comic shop and peeked around. saw a nubia issue and a few gl 2021s in the discount bin but i didnt get them bc #they were all middle issues and i havent read those books yet although i do want to someday bc my guys were in them. one of the gl 21s even #had simon on the cover so i was very !!!!!!!! thats my guy!!!!!#didnt buy anything there but i did ask the guy to make sure to order a copy of the spirit world tpb so ill stop by to get that in a few wks #and then i went to the bookstore cafe and got a cold brew and did a but of English there. they have tables in the stacks its nice. the one i #grabbed was just surrounded by old paperbacks of sci fi and thrillers lol. didnt see anything id read but recognized a few author names like #card (no enders game though) and the pern lady (idk her name i havent read it). anyways did half a blog post thats technically late (ill #backdate though dw) and then packed up and i grabbed a gyro from the halal cart on that block which i just finished back at my dorm <3333 #anyways good times. now im gonna try and spam some work and go to freaking trivia team for the first time in a month later. oops #blah #oh and i think the halal cart guy may have given me a free soda. unsure abt that though bc its possible it came with and i was just being #silly again. so anyways i had a ginger ale too

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crushedsweets · 4 months ago

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CREEPED VISUAL NOVEL Link, tutorial, extra art, Q&A, some chatter

The CREEPED Prologue is completely free and browser-ready. Gameplay is about 10 minutes. Please read the "tutorial" and notes before playing!

Follow Y/N and their dog, Max, through their grandparents' farm and a mysterious forest filled with...less than fortunate people!

PLAY HERE; works best on PC

This visual novel is powered by GOOGLE SLIDES! It has 0 programming and was created by one person in a little over a month, so please bear with any "bugs" and clunkiness!

TUTORIAL

>Click using mouse/trackpad >Go slowly to not break game >Do not use arrow or space keys

EXTRA NOTES:

>Works best on PC/Browser, I haven't tested the full game on mobile yet >In general, clicking the PNGs on the textbox (Apple, Teddy Bear, Hatchet, etc) will lead you to the right page >If you land on a page that tells you to "go back," that's when you should click the back-arrow key. If your cursor disappears, it doesn't register the click correctly >I recommend moving your cursor periodically to avoid it disappearing and sending you to the wrong page

EXTRA ART

some WIPS and the original sprite-style i was gonna choose LOOOOOOOL

Q&A

Q: Is this an x reader? A: This is a reader-insert, but it's not romantic and I try to keep it as neutral and unidentifiable as possible! Q: What's the plot? A: GENERALLY AND WITHOUT SPOILERS, your dog gets you into trouble and you're just looking to help him!

Q: Who is in the prologue? A: Tim, Brian, Toby, and Kate! More will be added in future chapters.

Q: When will future chapters be posted? A: Not sure! This took me about a month to do, and half was spent over winter break. I will try to get chapter 1 posted before summer, but I am a full-time student, employed, have extracurriculars, etc etc

ok thats all i only remember 4 questions feel free to ask more LMAO

CHATTER(because you know i can talk forever)

ok i just wanted to be able to talk about how the process was with this and how i feel about the results and whatnot...

ive been wanting to make a google slides visual novel since i was like 13 LOL it hit the point where i was repeatedly told i should just learn to code but i was like NOOOOO ITS GOTTA BE GOOGLE SLIDESSSS which is totally stupid but hey. i think that gives it some sort of simple charm that reminds me of being 16 and doing little projects in my room LOL i like working with the easiest tools . my bad

anyway. im just very happy LOL. it's not perfect but i feel like i came full circle in a sense?!?! i've been into creepypasta since i was 9 and it comforted me when things were really hard, and when i was 18 i was going through a really hard time and got back into creepypasta as a way to distract myself. i've always had a habit of throwing myself into fiction for escapism when things suuucked.

i'm 20 now but i've met SO many amazing people, had so many fun awesome exciting projects with friends, created tons of stuff im proud of, felt more motivated to create since i was like 13, have been inspired by so many amazing artists/authors on here, etc. just so so so lucky to find community in such a tight-knit cute fandom that thrives off of creativity and playing around! i hope i can keep the momentum and make a couple more chapters this year, but im kinda busy with school and work...LOL . i'm just excited to have this posted so i can have more discussion about it T_T

anyway thank you if you read this far and thank you if you played etc etc yaahhhhhh omg ok BYE THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING im just so grateful to be in this fandom

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houseofaegon · 22 days ago

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Bob and a reader who bruises easily and when they have sex the reader is usually marked up the next day?

Marked ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolt!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. explicit sexual scenes, bruising (reader bruises easily), rough sex, possessive!bob, protective older brother!bucky, strong language, secret relationship, minor angst, fluff, found family, chaotic thunderbolts energy, family dynamics, violence (threatened),

Summary: You and Bob had been sneaking around for months, the thrill of secrecy only fueling the fire and desire. But bruises from the night before threaten to unravel everything—especially when Bucky Barnes sees them and goes into full protective big brother mode.

Author's Note: omg you guyssssssss!!! i had so much fun writing this one. i am so obsessed with the whole secret relationship setup, and bucky going full protective older brother mode???? ughhhhhh I'm obsessed. i love my boyfriends<3 yelena my baby I love love love writing her so much she's sooo ughhh I love her!!!! i love myself some found family<3 keep the requests comingggggg!!!! i’ve got so many on my inbox already i’ve been planning out all of the fics so they’ll be posted soon<3

You woke up tangled in sheets, muscles aching, skin kissed with tenderness. Bob's arm was drapped heavy over your waist, the rise and fall of his chest pressing your back into him, grounding you, like he needed the contact to breathe. He always held you like that after—like if he let go, you might vanish.

A dull ache throbbed deep in your thighs, your hips, the slope of your neck. Each mark a reminder of the night before. Of how careful he tried to be. Of how easily he lost himself in you when the door was closed and the rest of the world disappeared.

It had started slow, like it always did.

Quiet knock on your door, late enough for the others to be asleep or buried in their own distractions. Bob would linger in the hall, hoodie thrown over his head, hands in his pockets like some kind of teenage boy sneaking into his girlfriend's room.

The moment the door clicked shut, the tension would snap. You’d throw yourself at him—starving, always starving—and he’d catch you every time.

Last night was no different. You'd been watching him all day, practically squirming on the sidelines of the gym while he trained with Yelena.

That damn white shirt clung to him, soaked through sweat, riding up every time he moved. His biceps flexed with every punch, his golden curls damp and wild. You caught him watching you more than once, eyes dark, mouth parted.

He looked wrecked before you even touched him.

By the time he showed up at your door, you didn’t say a word. You grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie, yanked him into your room, and kissed him like he was oxygen.

His hands trembled when they touched your waist. “I’ll be careful,” he whispered, even as you guided him to the bed, tugging his clothes off, already breathless.

“You don’t have to be,” you said. "I don't want you to be."

He kissed down your neck, hands gripping your thighs like he was anchoring himself. When his mouth found your pulse point, he sucked just hard enough to draw a moan—and the bruise bloomed seconds later.

He pulled back to look at the mark, already forming, then looked up at you with something feral in his eyes. “You’re so fucking soft,” he groaned. “I’m gonna mark every inch of you. Mine. All of you.”

You gripped his hair, kissed him harder. “Then do it.”

His fingers laced with yours, pinning them above your head as he pushed into you slowly, the stretch of him drawing a gasp from your lips. He watched your face like it was the only thing that mattered.

His thrusts were slow, deep, patient at first—until you begged.

“Harder, Bob. Please. Don’t hold back.”

He shuddered. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I do,” you gasped. “I want all of you.”

His mouth crashed into yours, and the dam broke.

You swore the headboard cracked. The bed groaned beneath you. Your name was a prayer on his tongue, murmured between bruising kisses and gasped apologies he didn’t need to make.

Because you loved the marks. The ache. The secrecy.

The thrill of sneaking out of his room at 3AM, hair a mess, lips swollen. Of pretending nothing happened in the halls the next day. Of brushing fingers under the table during briefings, eyes meeting like a promise.

And in those moments—when no one else knew, when it was just you and him—you felt more his than ever.

You traced a bruise on your collarbone absently as you slipped out of his bed, one of his t-shirts falling to mid-thigh. You bit your lip to hide the satisfied smile. Bruised and adored. Just how you liked it.

The tower was still quiet as you crept back to your room to change, slipping into gym shorts and a hoodie for morning training. You paused once, catching your reflection in your bathroom mirror—faint marks painting your hips, the curve of your neck, the inside of your thigh.

Heat flushed through you at the memory. His hands gripping your waist. His voice—“You’re mine.”

You tugged the hoodie tighter and headed down to start training.

The gym was already humming with low music and the sound of punches hitting pads. Bucky was setting up on the mat, hoodie off, sweat darkening the collar of his black shirt. He gave you a quick nod when you walked in—his version of a good morning.

Bucky Barnes had been like a brother to you since day one. Not in the forced “everyone on a team is family” way—no, this was different. Real.

He was rough around the edges when you first joined the Thunderbolts, all tight-lipped commands and watchful eyes. Cold. Distance. Guarded. But something in you cracked through that hard soldier shell. Maybe it was how stubborn you were. How warm. Unafraid to rile him up, to poke the bear. Maybe it was how you asked too many questions. Or the way you always saved him a seat in the briefing room. Or how you reminded him—without meaning to—what it felt like to care about someone without it turning into war.

You sometimes reminded him of Steve.

He saw him in you. In the way you saw people. In how you never gave up on anyone, not even him. In the way you could smile even after a mission gone sideways and still say, "We're okay. We'll figure this shit out."

You were brave. Kind. Loyal.

You were the thing Steve used to fight for.

And Bucky—he didn’t say it, couldn’t say it—but he clung to that. To you. Because if someone like you could believe in him, then maybe there was still something worth saving inside him.

That’s why he called you “kid,” even though you weren’t.

That’s why he tossed you his hoodie when you were cold, sat beside you when you couldn’t sleep, and taught you how to break a man’s wrist with a flick of your body weight.

He watched over you in the field. Back-to-back in a firefight. A quiet hand on your shoulder after a tough mission. His voice, always steady, always low: “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

He wasn’t your teammate. He wasn’t a friend.

He was your brother. Your family. Not by blood. But by bond. By choice.

And that made what happened next inevitable.

Because when he saw those bruises, the ground shifted underneath his feet. All he could see was someone hurting you. And he'd spent decades trying to protect people like you, people he cared about. He had lost Steve. He wasn't going to lose you.

“You’re late,” he said.

“Barely,” you said, grinning. “Try smiling once in a while.”

He rolled his eyes. “Try not tripping over your own feet.”

“Rude,” you said.

He tossed you a set of gloves. “Let’s go. Standard drills.”

You started slow. Footwork. Blocks. He moved easily, but watched your form like a hawk, correcting gently with a hand at your hip, your wrist, your shoulder.

“Looser on the right,” he murmured. “You’re tightening up too much, kiddo.”

“I’m fine.”

“Mm-hmm.” His tone was skeptical. “Take off the hoodie.”

You froze.

“It’s hot in here,” he added, too casually. “And you’re sweating like hell.”

“Bucky—”

“Off, Y/N.”

Shit.

You sighed, peeled it off, revealing the tank top beneath—and the faint, fresh constellation of bruises that peppered your collarbone and shoulders.

The moment the hoodie dropped to the mat, everything stopped.

Bucky’s whole body tensed.

His eyes locked on the marks. A slow, terrible realization crawling across his face like storm clouds. His voice was suddenly razor sharp.

He stopped breathing.

“What the fuck is that?”

You blinked, already knowing where this was going. “It’s nothing, Bucky.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice dropped, deadly quiet. “Who did this?”

“I said it’s nothing—”

His gaze narrowed. “Don’t bullshit me. Y/N, what is that?” He stepped forward, fingers brushing the side of your neck. His touch was soft, but his jaw was tight. “Who the fuck did this to you?”

“I—” You swallowed. “It’s fine, Bucky. It’s—just mosquito bites, that's all.”

“I'm not stupid. I know what bruises look like,” he snapped, his voice rising. “And those? They didn’t come from sparring.”

You stepped back. "Please don't do this."

“Do not follow me unless you’re gonna tell me the truth.”

And then he was storming down the hall, headed for the common room. Straight into the storm.

Because to him? This wasn’t just bruises.

It was his kid—his sister—hurt, marked, and silent about it.

And he’d tear down the whole damn team to protect you.

But of course, you followed him. You fumbled to put the hoodie back on, trying to catch up with Bucky.

You caught up to him just as he stormed into the common room, boots stomping accross the floor. You barely had time to catch your breath before all hell broke loose.

Bob was sprawled on the couch, legs stretched out, hoodie pulled halfway over his head, curls messy on his forehead. Yelena sat beside him eating chips straight from the bag, one boot resting on the coffee table. Walker was slumped on the other, flipping channels again and again.

"Just pick a damn channel already, jeez," Yelena scoffed.

"We have Netflix you know?" Bob chimed in softly.

The second Bucky entered, everyone looked up.

“Do you know who fucking did this to her?” Bucky barked, voice sharp enough to cut metal.

Yelena blinked, slow and unbothered. She raised one perfectly arched brow and held up her bag of chips. “Wow. Good morning to you too, soldier boy. Want a chip?”

Walker frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this!” Bucky turned, grabbed your armg gently, always gently, and tugged the hoodie sleeve up to show the fading bruise near your wrist. “And that,” he pointed to your neck. “And that.”

“Bucky, please—” you tried, stepping in front of him, but he wasn’t hearing it.

“You better start talking,” he growled, pointing at each of them like they were suspects in a murder trial. “Because if one of you laid a hand on her—”

“Okay, this is very dramatic,” Yelena said, popping another chip in her mouth. “I love it. Are we in a movie right now? Because damn, the drama.”

“I’m being very fucking serious right now, Yelena.”

She shrugged. “Just trying to defuse the tension.”

“And you're not helping!”

“I know,” she said sweetly.

Bucky whirled on Walker next. “Was it you?”

Walker sat up straighter, blinking. “What? No! Jesus—”

“I swear—if you even looked at her wrong—”

“Oh, come on, man!” Walker snapped, tossing the remote on the couch. “I’m not suicidal.”

While Bucky and Walker bickered, Yelena turned to you slowly, her eyes cool but curious. Then—subtle as smoke—her gaze dropped to the bruises peeking from your hoodie, then flicked to Bob.

Bob hadn’t moved. But he was watching. His shoulders tense. His jaw clenched.

Yelena raised one perfectly arched brow. You saw the moment it clicked for her.

Of course she knew.

She wasn’t stupid. She’d seen the way you looked at each other during debriefs. The way you flushed when Bob’s fingers brushed yours in the kitchen. She’d definitely heard the sounds coming from your room last night—because, shocker, spies hear everything.

But she wasn’t going to rat you out to Bucky. No. She gave you the look—the look—tilting her head with the tiniest smirk like, girl, really? him? damn okay.

Then she turned back to her chips like none of this concerned her.

Meanwhile, Bucky was still in full interrogation mode.

“I will find out who did this,” he said, voice rising again. “And when I do—”

“You’re going to do what, Barnes?” Walker snapped back. “Ground us? You're not her dad.”

“I don’t have to be,” Bucky growled. “She’s family. I raised her on this goddamn team while you were still figuring out which way the bathroom was!”

“Oh my god,” Yelena said through a mouthful of chips, “this is better than anything on TV.”

You rubbed your hands down your face and slowly met Bob's eyes, just for a second.

It was enough.

He stood up. Violently. Almost knocking off the entire coffee table.

Yelena sat up straighter, chip bag rustling. "Oh, here we go."

Walker looked from Bob to Bucky, then back. “Wait. Wait wait wait—are we fighting now? In the middle of the living room? Are you guys serious?"

Bucky turned toward Bob, chest puffe like a feral bull. "Say something. I dare you."

“Enough!” Bob’s voice cracked like a whip across the room, thunderous, vibrating in the air like it came from somewhere deeper than his chest.

Yelena froze, chip halfway to her mouth. “Well, there goes the drywall.”

Bucky took one menacing step forward. “What did you say?”

Bob didn’t flinch. His voice was low. "It was me."

Dead. Silence.

Oh, fuck.

You could've heard a pin drop.

Yelena whispered, “Oh my god, I knew it.”

Walker blinked. “Hold the fuck on.” He gasped like he just found out Santa wasn’t real. “Wait—you two?! You’ve been doing it?”

“You?” Bucky spat, stepping forward. “You think that’s fucking funny?”

“No,” Bob said calm. Too calm.

And that snapped Bucky.

He lunged. “I’m going to kill you right now!”

“Bucky!” you shouted, throwing yourself between them just as Bucky’s fist came up.

You caught him mid-swing, grabbing his wrist, bracing your weight against him with everything you had.

“NO! No, no, no—Bucky, stop!” you yelled, pushing back on his chest, eyes wide.

Bob didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His hands stayed at his sides, jaw set like he was ready to take it.

“You did this to her?” he hissed. “You put your hands on her?”

“I didn’t hurt her,” Bob bit out. “I’ve never laid a hand on her in anger—”

“You left bruises!” Bucky shouted, jabbing a finger toward Bob like he was issuing a death sentence. “You don’t get to decide what hurting her looks like! You don’t get to be the one who touches her and makes her lie to me about it!”

“Bucky, please,” you pleaded, voice breaking.

“I didn’t hurt her,” Bob snapped. “You think I don’t know what I’m capable of? I’ve been terrified of it since day one. Every time I touch her, I’m scared shitless I’ll lose control—but I don’t. Because I’d rather die than ever cross that line.”

Bucky’s jaw locked. “That’s not comforting.”

“She’s not a child, Bucky,” Bob bit out. “She knows what she wants."

"But she's my child, Bob! Mine," Bucky roared, voice cracking with something other than rage, like fear. "I've been protecting her since she joined this team. I've bled for her. I would take a bullet for her if it meant keeping her safe. You think you can just crawl into her bed—what? Expect me to shake your hand? Pat your back? You're fucking delusional."

"She's not yours to own!" Bob roared. "You don't get to decide who touches her, who loves her. She’s not some piece of property. She made a choice. I made my choice."

Bucky’s breathing was ragged, fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white. “She’s my family!" he hissed. "And you didn’t even have the balls to tell me.”

“I wanted to,” Bob snapped. “She told me you’d do this.”

“She was right!” Bucky barked, his eyes glossing over with betrayal. “Because I trusted you. You were supposed to be safe.”

“I am.” Bob’s voice dropped. “I love her. I’m careful with her. You know she bruises easily. Everyone knows it. I try. I always try. But she wanted it. She asked me to. I never forced her. I’d never do that to her.”

You stepped in closer, your hand sliding to Bucky’s chest. “He’s telling the truth.”

Bucky stared at you like he didn’t recognize you for a second. “You let him…”

“I wanted him,” you said simply. “And I still do.”

Walker stood up slowly, blinking like a deer in headlights. “Oh my god,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. “Is this… is this a thing? Like a regular thing? You two just… sneak around and… Jesus Christ, you two fuck?”

Yelena nearly choked on her chips.

She turned to him slowly, eyes wide with disbelief. “Walker. My guy. You live here. How have you not noticed?”

“I thought the noise was the pipes!” he said, flailing.

Yelena tilted her head. “You thought the pipes moaned her name at 2AM?”

“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?!”

She blinked. "Walker, if your pipes ever sound like that, you call an exorcist. Not maintenance."

He shook his head, exhaling hard. Then he looked at Bob, fury simmering low. “If you ever cross a line—if you so much as make her flinch or cry—I will end you. You break her heart, I break your face. Deal?”

“Deal,” Bob said without hesitation.

Bucky stared at Bob, his jaw ticking. But then his eyes shifted—back to you. Still tight with anger, but… softer now.

“You okay?”

You smiled—small, soft, but sure. “I promise,” you said. “I’m more than okay.”

You glanced back at Bob. He was still watching you like the room didn’t exist.

“He makes me happy, Buck.”

Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Goddammit.”

He yanked you into a hug, a little too tight, one arm slung around your neck like he was both scolding you and shielding you. You melted into it as he pressed a kiss to your head.

“I swear to God, Y/N,” he muttered, voice low in your ear, “if he hurts you, I’ll kill him myself.”

You chuckled against his chest. “I know you would.”

Bucky sighed and pulled back, plopping down onto the couch like the last ten minutes had aged him a decade. “And for the love of all that is holy—use protection.”

Yelena snorted next to him. “And do not fuck in the communal shower. Please. I beg you.”

Walker looked horrified. “Wait—have they?!”

You and Bob exchanged a look. He blushed. You smirked. Then you crossed the room, and without missing a beat, Bob reached out and pulled you into him. His arm slid over your shoulders like muscle memory, tucking you against his side with an ease that made everyone in the room groan. He looked down at you with that soft, dopey grin, like a damn teenager who just scored the girl of his dreams.

Yelena let out the loudest groan of all. “Oh my god, you’re disgusting. Look at you—so in love. Yuck!” She made a dramatic gagging noise. “This is vile. I feel violated.”

Bob chuckled.

Bucky didn’t even look. He just threw his head back. “Jesus Christ, please stop this. I can’t take it anymore.”

Yelena didn’t miss a beat. “Honestly, Buck? I’m surprised she can still walk after what I heard last night.”

Bob choked violently.

You burst into laughter, burying your face in his hoodie, muffling a wheeze.

Bob cleared his throat, red as a tomato. “Okay, wow.”

Bucky clapped his hands, hard. “OKAY! Great. That’s enough. Breakfast. Anyone?”

Walker, still pale, raised a hand. “I need alcohol.”

Bucky didn’t even hesitate. “You know what? Make it two. Double.”

Yelena leaned back, completely unbothered, tossing a chip in her mouth. “God, I love this team.”

And you? You looked around—at the chaos, the bickering, the laughter—and felt it settle deep in your chest.

You loved them too.

With all your heart.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @the-a-word-2214 @favestxrboy @uraesthete @abbysbenchpr @sammystarswrite @pey2618 @qardasngan @lunaoieoie @orithyia-eriphyle @amatiswayland @madzzz6958 @all-by-myself98 @dark-silhouette @ghost-ghost-13 @wyvernthekriger @gayfiretruck @watermeezer @lvmxla @novausstuff @mommymilkers0526 @natureartisian @feralgoblinbabe @misaki-evans (if you want to be tagged in my future works lmk! <3)

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restinslices · 1 month ago

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A short lil thing based on a dream I had because sharing is caring

CW; smut, Remmick is eating bloody kewchie so this is NAWT gonna be everyone’s cup of tea. Also bitch ignore that blood clots exists. Don’t stress me out

Remmick had wrapped his arms around your waist, his chest pressed firmly against your backside as his nose trailed against a vein he could see in your neck. “When you gon’ stop bein’ mad at me? Hm?” He asked, “need to taste you but you won’t let me”.

“You couldn’t even if I wasn’t mad at you. Started bleeding yesterday”.

“So?”.

You should’ve known better than to think that something that small would stop Remmick from taking what he wanted.

Nah. Needed was a better word.

Because to Remmick, having his face in between your legs wasn’t something he casually wanted. It was something he desperately needed. Something he craved. He craved having his lips wrapped around your clit more than a starving man craved food. He’d likely kill a man if it meant he’d be rewarded by the taste of your cunt, even if it was for just a moment.

There was a type of delight one gets when they eat a fruit full of sweet juice, ripe and fulfilling as you bite into it.

That was the type of satisfaction he got when you let him taste you.

There was always a type of gentleness with Remmick. At least when he set you down. Like he didn’t wanna hurt you before the fun could begin. He would carry you to your bed, set you down gently, leave soft kisses up your thighs that would slowly turn to bites and by the time he actually got to what he craved, he would drink like a man dying of thirst. Desperately, eagerly, he would lick you, humming when his tongue reaches your insides and you tug at his hair.

Never in a million years would he neglect your clit. He’d toy with it, watching you squirm as he applied more pressure and vigor. The more you begged and squirmed, the faster he would go.

And when you finally came, he needs it to be in his mouth and he needs to swallow it. None of that “ugh, I hate the taste of cum”. He needed yours to get through another day.

So with all of that in mind, what made you think he’d stop just because mother nature had paid a visit? Women bled. He knew this. Didn’t matter to him. Your cunt was still the same cunt he fell in love with.

Fingers bloody, mouth even bloodier, he drank from your fountain until you finished on his tongue.

Your breathing heavy, you attempted to close your legs only to have them pushed open again.

“Just once more” he begged, eyes on your clit. “Just need to taste you one more time, okay?”.

You couldn’t say no to such a cute face, now could you?

A/N; Where the hoes making Sinners pfps? HURRY UP-

Ya’ll why I click on who made the gif after I post and they also made a period sex smut thing but it’s way longer? BITCH, GREAT MINDS THINK ALIKE

#i need him BAD #sinners #Remmick #sinners remmick #remmick x reader #remmick x you #sinners x reader #remmick smut #remmick fanfic

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lheesluv · 2 months ago

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drippin’ for discipline (p.js)

jay comes home from his gym session and everything about him turns you on and he’s only taking responsibility for it

PAIRINGS - dom bf!jay x needy fem!reader

GENRE - smut (mdni), established relationship

WARNINGS - p in v, unprotected sex (dont be silly wrap ur willy!), choking, dirty talking, reader begging, dominate jay, manhandling (jay is kind of rough), creampie, oral (f. receive), teasing, light degradation

WC — 1.4k

A/N — jay’s bday post !!! he’s 23 now omg 😖 i’m kinda late for posting for gym jay but ygs i went INSANE. and UGH coachella week 2 was SO good. andddd thank u for 500 guys !! <33

You hear the front door click shut and glance up from your spot on the couch—just in time to see Jay walk in, shirt clinging to him like a second skin, jaw tight, chest heaving slightly from the workout.

His tank top is soaked, revealing every line of his toned arms and shoulders. His hair is damp, sticking to his forehead, and he casually wipes sweat from his neck with a towel slung over one shoulder.

You can’t help it—your thighs press together instinctively.

Jay catches your stare as he drops his gym bag by the door. “Hey.”

You swallow. “Hi.”

He pauses, brows lifting slightly as his eyes trail down your body. “You good?” You nod—maybe too fast. “Just… yeah. Just watching you walk in like that.”

He smirks, slowly pulling the towel from his neck. “Like what?”

“You know what.”

Jay drops the towel on the kitchen counter and walks toward you slowly, his eyes narrowing with that familiar flicker of amusement and something darker. “You’ve been home all day and this is what gets you going?”

You lick your lips as he towers over you, muscles still twitching slightly from exertion, his skin glistening.

“It’s the arms,” you admit breathlessly. “And the sweat. And the attitude.”

Jay laughs under his breath. “You’re shameless.”

And then he’s grabbing your face with one hand, tilting your chin up to look at him. His thumb brushes your lower lip.

“But you’re mine. So if you’re gonna get turned on from just looking at me… then I guess I’ve got a responsibility.”

He doesn’t give you a second to respond—just hauls you up from the couch and lifts you onto the kitchen counter like you weigh nothing. The cold surface makes you gasp, but Jay steps between your legs, spreading them wider with his knee.

“You’re already wet for me, aren’t you?” he mutters, pressing a hand between your thighs over your shorts. He feels the heat there and groans low. “Fuck. You are.”

He tugs your shorts down and off in one swift move, dragging his fingers through your folds, teasing but not giving in yet.

“You want me to fuck you like this?” he asks, voice rough. “Still sweaty, muscles sore, still in my gym clothes?”

You nod, eyes glazed. “Please.”

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, slipping a finger into you slowly. “You don’t beg unless you’re ready.”

And then he drops to his knees, mouth replacing his fingers, his tongue working you open with slow, dirty precision.

He eats like he’s starving, like you’re the only reward after a brutal workout. Your hands clutch at the edge of the counter, gasping his name over and over as your orgasm builds fast and hard.

But he pulls back just before you break.

Your protest dies in your throat when he smacks the side of your thighs— a yelp leaving your parted lips.

“You’ll come when I say, not before.”

His eyes drop to where you're already glistening, swollen and needy. He doesn’t move just yet—he just watches you for a second, taking in the mess that lies in front of him.

And then?

He lowers his head back down, tongue flat and slow as he licks one long stripe up your center.

Your breath catches—sharp and involuntary. His lips curl into a grin against you before he dives in completely, arms hooking around your thighs to keep you right where he wants you.

Your hands instinctively reached to tangle your fingers in his hair— damp from working out. The tug from your fingers causes Jay to let out a moan. The vibrations hitting against your pussy.

Jay eats like a man on a mission—focused, filthy, and completely in control. His tongue circles your clit with maddening precision, the kind that makes your hips jerk forward instinctively.

But he holds you still.

“Uh-uh,” he murmurs against your cunt, voice muffled but commanding. “Let me taste you properly.”

He sucks your clit between his lips and flicks it with the tip of his tongue, and your back arches off the counter. The sounds leaving your mouth aren’t even words anymore, just whimpers, gasps, desperate cries for more.

“F-fuck, Jay. Oh fuck, please.”

And just when you feel your climax start to build—tight and sharp in your belly, Jay pulls back with a wet sound, lips and chin slick with you.

You nearly sob.

“Not yet,” he growls, standing and grabbing you by the waist. “You don’t come without my say.”

He flips you over with ease, your cheek pressed against the cool countertop as he yanks your hips back into him. You hear the rustle of his gym sweats, the low hiss of his breath as he fists his cock behind you.

“You wanted this, huh?” Jay asks through teeth.

Then the head of it’s sliding through your folds—teasing, nudging, just enough to make your legs tremble.

“Say you need it.”

“I—fuck, I need it, Jay—please.”

That’s all he needs.

You feel the thick press of his cock against your entrance as he slides in slowly, stretching you so good your eyes flutter. Jay groans—deep and raw as he bottoms out, his hands gripping your hips like he needs them to stay grounded.

And then he moves—powerful thrusts that hit deep, the wet sound of skin slapping filling the room, your moans echoing off the walls.

Every drag, every grind, every slap of his hips is controlled, steady, meant to wreck you slowly.

“You wanted this,” he growls in your ear, one hand wrapping around your throat as he keeps thrusting. “You started it. So you better fucking take it.”

And you do.

He fucks you, never slowing down, never letting go of that dominant hold on your body and mind. Even when your legs shake and your voice breaks, he’s right there—whispering praise, fucking you deeper, keeping you right where he wants you.

“M-mmh! M-more— fuck, give me more,” you beg through your gasps. Jay scoffs, pulling you even closer to his pelvis. “More? Is this enough?” He asks, demanding for an answer as he thrusts deeply. “Hm?”

You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Words.”

“Yes, fuck, yes, Jay, please!”

“You’re already shaking?” he says, smirking, one thumb brushing up your inner thigh. “And I haven’t even started.”

He pushes in with a deep, punishing thrust that knocks the breath out of your lungs. One hand grips your hip tight, the other snaking around your waist to anchor you in place. He sets a brutal rhythm from the start—hard, deep strokes that make your body jolt forward with every thrust.

“You’re so tight like this,” he groans, leaning over your back, sweat from his chest slicking your spine. “So wet—you did this. You wanted this the second you saw me walk in.”

You nod, eyes squeezing shut, lips parted as moans spill out freely.

“Say it.”

“I did—fuck, I wanted it so bad. Wanted you—needed you—”

“That’s right,” he growls, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your head back gently. “So you take every inch. No running. No tapping out. You made this mess.”

Your second orgasm builds fast—pressure curling low and hot, each thrust angled perfectly to send sparks shooting up your spine.

You cry out, nearly breaking. “J-Jay.”

Jay feels it in the way you clench around him, and he slows down—just slightly, just enough to make you scream in frustration.

“Hold it.”

“I can’t—”

“You can. I said hold it.”

He slides his hand between your thighs again, two fingers rubbing tight circles against your clit while he keeps thrusting. Your body’s on fire now, legs shaking uncontrollably, jaw slack.

“God, you feeling so fucking good, baby,” Jay moaned, the sounding going straight to your pussy, making you clench around him.

Then—finally with a groan,

“Cum for me.”

The second he says it, your orgasm crashes into you like a fucking tidal wave. You scream his name, your walls fluttering around his cock, your whole body shaking with release.

“Gonna cum in you— f-fuck!” Jay gasps, gripping around your thighs tightly.

Jay groans loud and deep, fucking you through every spasm until he spills inside you, thick and hot, hips pressed flush against your ass with a broken groan of your name, he doesn’t pull out. He leans over, lips at your ear.

Then he leans down, presses a kiss to your spine, and whispers, “Still turned on by the arms?”

You laugh—breathless, wrecked, and completely his. “So much worse now.”

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muqingslover · 1 month ago

Note

This question is related to the last ask you posted, but what do you think the lads men most unexpected/unconventional turn-on would be?

Your depiction of Zayne got me thinking, what is that shy man gonna do if mc finds his "weak" spot lol. Cuz yeah, obviously he'd be turned on about his beloved sending him risky pictures BUT the moment mc realises one of his unexpected turn ons that maybe he himself wasn't even aware of? Oh lawd.

[ this one had me thinking for days oh my goodness! Just a heads up, I got carried away with some of these...very carried away.....shhh. ]

Your lips.

Alright, alright, i know it sounds confusing but stick with me here.

I've thrown some of my takes on his kinks around but I didn't want to repeat myself so I spent some time stewing over this.

Eventually I landed on the idea that Zayne would be very particular about sharing anything that touched your lips, especially before an official relationship.

Drinking from the same straw, sharing the same spoon, tasting something you already bit into it— It's an instant way of getting his poor mind to go into overdrive.

He is a very proper and respectful man. He doesn't like to have indecent thoughts about you, but the idea that his lips touched something yours did as well make him all tingly and shy.

Massages.

He loooooves the feeling of your weight pressing down on his hips when you straddle him, though that's not even the tip of the iceberg as to why he is so into this.

Your hands are truly magical when it comes to getting rid of the few knots on his body and the further he relaxes, the further Xavier begins to grow more aware of you.

The comforting weight is slowly causing him to grind against the mattress under him each time you shifted on top of him and the way your hands make their way down his bare spine has him biting the pillow sheets.

Not to mention that the minute your fingernails scratch his scalp in an otherwise affectionate gesture he nearly cums in his pants.

His ears and neck feel so hot he decides to bury his face in the pillow to keep you from noticing.

He would either flip the tables on you at some point or (try to) go to sleep in hope everything would be fine once he wakes up again.

Gentleness.

That's right. You heard me. This man will crumble at your feet every time you care for him like he's a pretty princess.

I'm not necessarily talking about grand gestures. Simple and natural ones are the most effective. The type that you wouldn't even notice you are doing it.

Slow caresses on his shoulder or hands, checking to see if he's alright while cradling his face, patiently explaining something to him, wiping his face if there was something on it, running your fingers through his hair... ECT.

He has a distinct memory of you being so worried about him when he scrapped his hand during his daily troubles— It was no different than a paper cut to him, but the blood made it seem worse than it actually was and that caused you to immediately fuss.

He watched with such genuine adoration as you tended to his wounds; Your furrowed eyebrows as you focused, the soft concern in your voice when you asked if the disinfectant stung and how could Sylus not pretend that it hurt? Just a little bit. Just enough to hear more of your encouragement that it was almost done and he was doing well.

Trust me, it will lead to him kissing you without warning, seemingly out of nowhere, once it's done and prepare yourself for the best night ever.

(I cut this short like four times and still ended up being long....oh well.)

Helping him with his clothes.

Each time you fix his crooked, poorly tied necktie (which he absolutely hates to wear) or straighten up his collar for him Rafayel is fighting back demons.

This also applies to you helping him actually dress up (or undress) and picking out his outfits without him having to ask.

The sight of you standing in front of him, hands swiftly buttoning up his shirt, has him weak in the knees. It makes him feel as you're truly his partner. That this is the married life the two of you deserved to have eons ago.

Speaking of undressing, this naughty fish will absolutely tease you about unbuckling his belt.

He would take a seat on a nearby chair with a dramatic sigh before he asked for you to help him with his clothes because he was oh so very tired to do it himself.

He leans back against the chair as if it was his own personal throne, knees slack as he spread comfortably and tilts his head to the side to rest it on his hand.

"I have an early morning tomorrow, you know. Won't you finish helping me so we can head to bed?" It sounds innocent enough, rather playful even, but the expression on his face is anything but. Just look at the volume on his pants, he ain't fooling anybody.

Hearing his own name + Whispering.

Last but most definitely not least, everyone's favorite boy.

It doesn't matter what's happening the second you say his name his full attention is on you. It's like a very well trained dog.

He can tell what you're feeling, sometimes even thinking, based on the way you call him alone. It comes with the years of experience of being your best friend.

It however also comes with the perpetual problem that his body reacts so well to your voice that it ends up being a little *too* well.

You may be in the middle of an argument yet the moment you say his name Caleb would be fighting back a boner. upcoming fic sneakpeek—i mean what

Another odd turn on of his is when you whisper something in his ear.

It doesn't really matter what you're saying. The sound of your voice so close to him and the way he can feel your warm breath tickling his skin is enough to have this man crossing his legs and praying his bulge is subtle.

You can imagine the nightmare this was during teen years when the two of you would sneak around grandma's house.

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truthscrapper · 19 days ago

Text

Devlog #1 📚 The Very First Devlog

We announced Truth Scrapper with a beautiful trailer this month!!! The response has been absolutely incredible, thank you so much for following me on another funky memory adventure. Throughout the development of ISAT, I have written monthly devlogs on Steam, talking about the making of the game. People liked them a bunch, so…

That’s right. It’s time. For the Very First Truth Scrapper devlog!

In case you just stumbled upon this, I am Adrienne, also known as insertdisc5! I am the creator of timeloop RPG In Stars and Time, and now am working on my next game, memory visual novel Truth Scrapper. It’s gonna be a good one.

Alright! Development talk time. Where’s the game at?!?!

So, right now, I have just finished writing the script for Day 4, so I "only" have the art, code, and implementation to do for that day. Truth Scrapper is divided in 7 days, with three different routes you can go through from Day 6 onwards. So really, I need to write and code 11 days. Which puts me at almost ⅓ through development! WOAHRGH!?? At this point, I know where the story is going, I know what each route will consist of, etc. I just don’t know the Details. The portraits are all done, backgrounds are done sequentially for every day, gameplay is all figured out… TLDR: It’s In Good Shape!!!

“That was a good short paragraph, but can I have the detailed timeline of the game. Please.” ok fine you asked for it.

The Big Timeline (and some images!) under the cut

📚 this image was made so early in development, it didn't even have Betz's shibari-like pink harness

TRUTH SCRAPPER TIMELINE

DEC 2022: I finish ISAT around NOV 2022. I get an idea. I write it down. It was going to be an RPG but nobody got time for that. Main themes and ending are here. I work on pre-production very slowly over the next couple months (because I am recovering from finishing ISAT and still gotta keep working on post-production stuff for ISAT)

JULY 2023: Ok fine let's make a renpy file and figure out if the most important gameplay thing can be done. AKA: can I make a book menu where the game remembers the choices you make, and how complicated is that gonna be for me to add to it down the line. It works and I am happy

📚 this image was made so early in development, it just looks very bad

AUGUST 2023: Character design. They look Not Great and character design takes me like nine months. Plot is getting somewhere though!

NOV 2023: In Stars and Time comes out. People like it I think.

MARCH 2024: I decide I need to work on something, and decide to work on that and apply for the Ontario Creates grant. This game is actually starting for realsies!!!!!!!

MAY 2024: I actually lock down character designs.

JUNE 2024: I hire Dora, who was the producer of In Stars and Time and who rules.

📚 dora and i signing our lives to one another on discord. the bond between a creator and their producer can never be broken

SEPT 2024: I work on da gaem

MAY 2025: Day 3 is implemented. We announce the game. Now we’re here!!!!

Alright, that’s it for today! This first devlog is more about telling you where the game is at, and every month you will have a whole new devlog where I can tell you about all the great things I did that month for the game. You can even comment with questions and I might answer them one day. Ok. Thank you. And as always, DON'T FORGET TO WISHLIST THE GAME ALSO IT REALLY HELPS BECAUSE STEAM’S ALGORITHM IS MORE LIKELY TO SHOW OFF GAMES WITH A HIGH AMOUNT OF WISHLISTS THATS THE REASON WHY GAME DEVS ALWAYS ASK TO WISHLIST!!! OKAY BYE!!!!

Links! 📚 Official Website 📚 Join the Discord 📚 Sign up for my mailing list 📚 Follow Truth Scrapper on Bluesky 📚 Follow ME on Bluesky

#truth scrapper #devlog #indie game #video game #visual novel #ts important notice

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hatethysinner · 3 days ago

Text

ᴍᴀɴ ᴛᴜʀɴꜱ ᴀɴɪᴍᴀʟ

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ x ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ!ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴀᴄᴄᴏᴍᴘʟɪᴄᴇ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: He loved you too much to share. So he took everything else. Your friends, your family, your freedom, all slowly melted away. Now it's just him, the house, and you. And he promises that's all you'll ever need.

ᴡᴄ: 15.2k

ᴀ/ɴ: title taken directly from this incredible song. i loved and hated every second of writing this but i just NEEDED to get it out of my system. while i don't think i particularly delved into anything dd:dne (PLEASE MIND THE WARNINGS AND DNI IF DARK FICS AREN'T YOUR CUP OF TEA <3), i definitely channeled my most unhinged ao3 reads for this. this'll probably be the only time i write a full fic of dark!remmick, but if this really blows up i may actually consider doing more. as always, white girls i promise you can have your fun with this too ❤️. enjoy reading divas! i don't do taglists personally, so just follow me if you want to be updated when i post c:

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: unapologetically dark fic(!!!), exposition dump, obsession, murder, body disposal, vampirism, biting, blood, bloodplay, dark!remmick on steroids, lovebombing, manipulation, isolation, toxic relationship (somewhat established), emotionally/mentally abusive behavior (!!!), threats of violence, codepency, lowkey unreliable narrator, extremely dubious consent (!!!), noncon (!!!), heavily abused power imbalance, dom!remmick, sub!reader, reader is going through it, remmick loves tormenting her, angst, praise kink, light degradation kink, breeding kink, proper use of a gold chain during sex, babytrapping (!!!), p in v, cunnilingus, fingering, overstimulation, dacryphilia, biting, sadism, monsterfucking, religious mentions, loss of virginity, no happy ending, divider usage, written on demon time

You were the kind of girl folks counted on.

Always had been.

Ran your daddy’s general store with a steady hand and a sharp head for numbers. Never late to open, never short on change. You knew what folks needed before they asked. Darning needles, cane syrup, extra tobacco for the older men who swore they were quitting but never really tried. Folks came in more for you than the goods, if they were honest. You smiled easy. Listened well. Learned their names, their kids’ names, and how they liked their goods bagged.

You had a tight circle of friends, girls you’d known since church bonnets and petticoats. Played games on the porch after Sunday school and swapped lipstick behind the store when your daddy wasn’t looking. They called you the smart one. The grounded one. The kind that could hold a whole household together with one hand while balancing the day’s receipts in the other. They said if any of them were gonna marry a good man, it’d be you.

But somehow, that wasn’t the way the road bent.

You were always the one they leaned on. The one who helped fix their hems and cooled their heartbreaks and made sure they got home safe. But when they talked about love, the soft parts, the burning ones, the kind of hunger that made your hands tremble, they never looked at you.

You weren’t the girl men chased after. Just the one who made things easier.

And still, somehow, you were the one he chose.

He came in on a Tuesday.

Dead of night, just before closing. Long shadows bleeding in through the windows, sun already tucked behind the treeline, store mostly empty save for the sound of your broom brushing across the floorboards. You’d flipped the sign but hadn’t locked up yet. Wasn’t late enough to feel nervous.

Not until the bell over the door chimed, and he stepped through.

A white man.

Tall. Pale. Not from around here. And not the type of man who came this far across town, not without a reason. He didn’t belong on your side of the county line. Not unless he was lost. Not unless he meant trouble.

But if he was aware of how out of place he looked, he didn’t show it. He walked in easy. Calm. Hands in his coat pockets and a smile that curved slow and deliberate. He looked right at you, only you, and said,

“Evenin’, miss.”

Polite. Warm. Like this was a place, a side of town, he frequented.

He asked for flour. Then matches. Then something sweet. Said he had a long road ahead of him, but never said where it led. Moved like he had all the time in the world. Studied the shelves like they held more than goods. Like he was trying to learn something about you in the way you stocked your soap and stacked your salt.

His accent was Southern, but different. Smooth, syrupy, with a twist to his vowels, like every word had traveled through someplace older, foreign, before landing in his mouth. He didn’t speak like a man passing through. Spoke like a man digging roots. And when he left, he touched two fingers to the brim of a hat he didn’t wear, like tipping it to you was instinct.

You locked the door behind him. Stood for a moment, broom still in hand, wondering what to make of it.

Then he came back the next night.

And the next.

Always right before closing. Always alone.

He brought little things each time. His name, Remmick, the second time around. An odd name, you thought.

A ribbon he said reminded him of your favorite dress, even though you hadn’t told him which one it was. A book of poems with pages marked and underlined, left at the counter with a quiet “Thought ya might like this one.” A jar of thick, dark honey that looked more like molasses, wrapped in cloth and twine like a gift.

Remmick never lingered too long. Never pushed for more than you were willing to give. Just watched. Listened. Laid compliments at your feet like offerings. Not greasy or crude, but precise. Gentle. Like he meant every word and had studied you long enough to know they’d land.

Said you had a voice that sounded like morning.

Said you were the only person in town worth a real conversation.

Said you smiled like it meant something.

You rolled your eyes. Called him too much.

But you didn’t tell him to stop.

No one had ever looked at you like that before.

Like you were worth slowing down for.

And piece by piece, the walls you’d built without knowing cracked beneath the weight of his gaze.

And slowly, your world started to tilt.

Not all at once.

Just by degrees.

Like a house shifting its weight before the foundation gives.

Your friends never met him. Not once. But they could tell something had changed. The way you smiled at nothing when they were mid-sentence. The way your gaze would drift toward the door, or to the windows, or to some place in your head they couldn’t reach. You weren’t sharing like you used to. Not your stories, not your time.

Still, they were happy for you. At first. Said it must be something special, if you were keeping it close. But even then, there was a pause in their voices when they said it. A little squint in the eyes. A little too much emphasis on the word special.

They’d always said you were the one who’d settle down first. The one with the good head. The one who’d choose someone kind and steady, someone who knew what it meant to take care of a woman like you.

But you never gave them a name.

Never said what he looked like, what he did, where he came from.

And eventually, they stopped asking.

Your parents noticed the shift too.

Your mama stopped by more often. Just to check in, she'd say. But her voice always started a little high-pitched when she'd talk. Like she could see something in you she didn’t have the words for. Your daddy didn’t say much at all, but you could feel his silence stretching between you every time he stopped by the shop and found you humming without noticing, sorting flour bags with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

You told them everything was fine.

Told yourself the same.

And it was. He said it was.

Remmick always had a way of making the world sound simpler than it was.

He made you feel beautiful. Sharp. Like the only person in the room worth speaking to.

Like his person.

And the things he said. God, the things he said.

Said you had the kind of soul people wrote songs about. That no one else had ever understood you the way he did. That all your life, people had been trying to water you down. Make you smaller, quieter, more convenient.

But he saw you.

And you believed him.

Of course you did.

He didn’t like your friends, though. Said they talked too much. Said they didn’t get you. Said you always came back from seeing them with your shoulders a little tighter, your voice a little more unsure. That they didn’t want you to grow. That they only loved you when you stayed the version of yourself they could manage.

He said it so sweetly, like it hurt him to say it.

Like it was breaking his heart.

And when he asked, gently, softly, with his fingers stroking the inside of your wrist, if you could spend a little less time with them, it didn’t feel like control.

It felt like care.

He missed you, after all.

He needed you.

And you wanted to be needed.

God help you, you did.

So you let them drift.

One by one.

Until their names felt strange on your tongue.

He said your parents were too involved. Too nosy. Said you were grown now. Said their worries weren’t yours to carry. And when you stopped accepting your mama's visits, when you quit your job at your daddy's general store despite the heartbroken look on his face, it didn’t feel like abandonment. Not then.

It felt like love.

Like a cocoon being spun around something precious.

When he asked you to come stay with him, it didn’t feel like a decision.

Just the next step in the story he was writing for you both.

The manor was beautiful. Isolated. A pristine, white-columned thing hidden deep in the Delta, so far from town it didn’t even register on some maps. Every plank of wood polished. Every curtain soft and silent in the breeze. The kind of place where your voice echoed even when you whispered. Where the sky stretched endless above you, dark and wide and brimming with stars you hadn’t seen in years.

He said it would be safer this way. Quieter. Easier to breathe.

You believed him.

You believed everything he said.

And he rewarded that belief.

The room he gave you was sun-soaked and clean, decorated with strange antiques and velvet-upholstered chairs that looked too expensive to sit in but felt right under you. He stocked the closet with dresses in your size before you ever mentioned needing new clothes. Or giving him your measurements. Set your favorite tea on the windowsill beside a stack of your favorite books.

“Just figured ya’d need some comfort, darlin’,” he said, planting featherlight kisses on your hands. “A woman like you deserves softness.”

You told yourself it was kind. Thoughtful.

You didn’t think to ask how he knew what you liked.

Not until later.

By then, it had already begun.

The soft steps outside your door at night.

The feeling of being watched. Not cruelly. Not even threateningly. But deliberately. Like the world outside had narrowed down to two hearts and one house, and all of it was his.

He made sure you loved him. Or at least that you needed him too badly to leave.

And if someone asked you when the line was crossed,

You couldn’t say.

You never even saw it pass beneath your feet.

Until the night he came home with blood on his shirt.

Not a smear. Not a spot.

Soaked.

Dark and wet and clinging, like the cotton had drunk its fill and was still greedy. His cuffs were stiff with it. His collar painted red. There were flecks on his throat, droplets drying like freckles, and his hands dripped steadily onto the hardwood, drawing crimson lines in a path that led straight to you.

He didn’t speak right away.

Just stood there in the doorway of the sitting room, chest rising slow. Watching you.

There was no panic in his eyes. No guilt. Just a feverish gleam, like he’d returned from something holy and wasn’t quite ready to step down from the altar.

You froze where you were. Half-curled on the sofa, book in hand, mouth parting without sound.

He stepped inside and told you the man's name. Simply. As if announcing the weather.

You blinked.

He smiled. Small. Serene.

“Didn’t suffer long.”

You screamed.

Loud. Unfiltered. Scrambled back until your spine hit the armrest, and the book hit the floor with a thud that didn’t register beneath the roar of your pulse.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t apologize.

Just watched you with that same slow-burning affection he always wore, like this was something you would come to understand in time. Like it was natural. Expected. A truth you’d learn to live inside.

When your voice cracked from shouting no, when your sobs doubled over into heaves, he knelt.

Right there. Blood and all.

He didn’t bother to wash his hands first. Didn’t even take off his coat. He just knelt at your feet like a knight returning from battle, like something ancient and humbled and sure of its place.

“Don’t cry, sugar,” he hummed, reaching for you.

You pulled back.

Didn’t matter.

He closed the gap gently, slowly, as if calming a startled animal.

“Wasn’t for no reason,” he said, voice low and honey-thick. “Ya believe that, don’t ya?”

You shook your head. Weak.

And still, when his bloodied hand cupped your face, you didn’t pull away fast enough.

“There’s things ya don’t know,” he whispered. “Things I can’t tell ya yet. But ya don’t need to know them to be mine.”

You tried to twist free. Failed. His grip was firm, but not cruel.

He pressed his forehead to yours.

The wet heat of him radiated through your clothes as he leaned in close, shoulders still trembling with leftover adrenaline. You could smell it. Copper and something else. Something rich. Like old rust and soil and bone. Like the breath of something deep in the earth that hadn’t surfaced in a long, long time.

He exhaled slow.

“I ain’t want to scare ya,” he said. “But I had to show ya.”

You didn’t speak.

You couldn’t.

“Because this is me,” he continued. “This is what I am. And if ya love me, if ya mean what y’said, then ya have to see all of me.”

“I never said I loved you,” you almost answered.

But the words didn’t come.

Because his hand moved then.

Not to your neck. Not to hurt.

But to your collar.

He brushed the fabric aside, dragging the edge of his sleeve across your skin.

And the blood marked you.

He wiped it deliberately. Across your jaw. The hollow of your throat. The slope of your collarbone.

You gasped, jerking instinctively, but he only shushed you like he was soothing a frightened child.

“Shh,” he cooed. “Just want ya to wear a little of me. That’s all.”

His voice was trembling now. With restraint. With something else.

“I’m not angry,” he added, and it was true. “I’d never hurt ya. Not ever. You’re the only thing in this world I couldn’t break if I tried.”

And you believed him.

That was the worst part.

He leaned back finally, just enough to look you full in the face.

You were streaked in red.

Your cheeks damp with tears.

And he smiled.

Not wide.

Not cruel.

Just soft.

Like it was all going to be okay.

“Y’don’t have to help,” he said. “Not tonight.”

You didn’t answer.

He rose, slow and deliberate, and walked to the kitchen to wash. You sat frozen. Couldn’t bring yourself to look down at your hands.

When the water ran, you heard him humming again. That same lullaby cadence he always used when he thought you were asleep. And when he called your name, voice gentle, it wasn’t a summons.

It was a question.

And you answered.

You stepped into the kitchen on legs that didn’t feel like yours, and you helped him mop the floor. Scrub the blood from the baseboards. You didn’t ask what he did with the body.

You didn’t want to know.

But you watched the way he scrubbed his nails clean, the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at you.

And you didn’t leave.

Not that night.

Not the next.

Now, months later, the blood doesn’t shock you like it used to. You don’t ask who. You don’t ask why. You just wait by the door with towels and vinegar and steady hands.

You still don’t watch him do it. Never have.

But he always leaves the door cracked open.

Just a little.

Just in case.

The house is quiet now. Filled with the sound of dripping water, your own heartbeat, and the hushed, weary creak of the manor’s bones.

He doesn’t pretend to be human anymore.

Not around you.

He lets the teeth stay long, the nails a little sharper. Lets you see the red light behind his eyes when the moonlight hits right.

And still, he kisses you goodnight.

Brushes your curls back from your face.

Tells you you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

And when he says it, you believe him.

You are the best thing he’s ever had.

And he’s made damn sure you’ll never leave.

You woke to the feeling of being watched.

Not the vague kind. Not a creeping hunch. No. This was the real kind. Deep and certain, rooted in the marrow of your bones like an old warning. It had shape now, weight. You knew it as easily as breath.

And sure enough, when your lashes parted and the room slowly unblurred, there he was.

Remmick stood over you like some towering monument carved out of shadow, tall and still and all but glowing in the thin streak of dawnlight filtering in through the curtain seam. His shirt hung half-open, pale chest streaked faintly with water. He must’ve bathed again before slipping in. His hair, dark and heavy, was still damp at the ends, dripping in slow intervals down the edge of his throat.

His jaw was slightly parted. And at the corner of his mouth, just barely catching the light, sat a thick bead of drool.

Not blood.

Just spit.

But too much of it. An unnatural amount.

Like he’d been watching you sleep for a long, long while and hadn’t once closed his mouth.

Sizing you up.

You didn’t flinch.

Not anymore.

Instead, you shifted slowly beneath the blankets, tucking your arms beneath your cheek. Your voice was low, rough with sleep. “You been there long?”

His eyes lit like someone had sparked a fuse. And then that crooked grin curled across his face, proud and toothy. Too many teeth for such a soft expression.

“Couldn’t help it,” he drawled, voice slow and lazy at the edges. “Ya look so pretty when you sleep.”

You huffed quietly. It wasn’t really a laugh, but it wasn’t a complaint either. You didn’t pull the blankets higher. Didn’t hide. Just turned your face into the pillow to block the light.

Behind you, the mattress dipped under his weight.

He climbed in slow, but sure. As he always did, never asking if you needed the space. You felt the heat of him even before he touched you. Always too cold when he wasn’t holding you, always too much when he was.

One arm slipped under your waist. The other folded over your middle. And then he was there, wrapped around you like a vise, breath ghosting against your neck, chest rising and falling in sync with your own. You could feel the edge of his belt buckle press into your lower back, the weight of his thigh hooked over yours, the solidness of his body where it pressed along every inch of you.

You should’ve felt caged.

Sometimes you did.

But this morning, you just felt still. Heavy. Grounded.

He kissed the back of your shoulder. Once. Then again, slower.

You closed your eyes and listened.

“Made breakfast,” he murmured against your skin. “Berries. Biscuits. Got that jam ya like. And tea. Not the bitter one. The kind with the hibiscus.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Didn’t move either.

Just lay there with the weight of him curled around your body, his words threading through the fog in your mind. Your limbs felt like wet cotton, and your heart… well, it didn’t race anymore when he held you like this. It just kept time. Careful. Steady.

Some mornings were like this.

Gentle. Sweet. The world in perfect balance, even if it was only for a breath.

Others weren’t.

There were days where something in him just… shifted.

No warning. No clear offense. Just a quiet closing of the door between you. A change in the air.

He wouldn’t look at you.

Wouldn’t speak.

You’d move through the house like a ghost in your own skin, tiptoeing around the silence. You'd replay every moment from the days before in your head like a broken record, trying to pinpoint the crack. The wrong word. The wrong breath. You whispered his name sometimes, just to see if he’d flinch.

He never did.

And the longer it lasted, the more desperate you got.

You’d sit at the edge of the bed, fingers clenched in your lap, watching the door anxiously. Or trail behind him through the house, trying to make yourself useful. Fixing his tea, folding the blankets, laying out the towels just the way he liked them. Hoping he’d notice. Hoping it’d be enough.

It never was.

Sometimes you cried.

Most of the time, you did.

Not loud. Just soft and constant, curled into a corner of the couch, the fabric beneath you growing damp from the weight of it all. You didn’t ask him to come back. You just wanted him to see.

And eventually, once the sun had vanished and the stars were out, once you were past the tears and into the shaking, silent part of grief, he would return.

Not from outside.

Just from wherever he’d gone inside himself.

He’d find you there, face raw, eyes swollen, mouth trembling with all the things you couldn’t say.

And he’d kneel.

Press his hands to your knees. Pull your face up to his.

He used to wipe your tears, once. With the pads of his thumbs. Gentle. Sweet.

But not anymore.

Now he licked them.

Dragged his tongue across your cheeks, pleased sounds always escaping his mouth as if he was tasting a delicacy.

“Ain’t mean it,” he’d whisper. “Ain’t mean to go so cold, darlin’.”

You never asked why he did it.

You just nodded.

And let the licks turn into kisses.

You tried not to think too hard on those days.

Because when he was good to you?

He was perfect.

Like now.

You felt his fingers shift under your nightdress, splaying wide over your stomach like he was anchoring himself with the shape of you.

“Ya smell like sunlight,” he whispered, almost in awe. “Like warmth. Like somethin’ I wanna keep forever.”

He didn’t say it to get a rise out of you.

He meant it.

He always meant it.

You could feel the edge of a smile pull at your mouth, but it didn’t quite reach the surface. It never did on mornings like this. You couldn’t tell if it was dread or hope that kept it from blooming fully.

He kissed your hair.

“Ya awake?”

You gave the smallest nod.

He chuckled, breath warm and steady against your ear.

“Come eat, baby. Gotta keep ya strong.”

You nodded again.

And let him pull you out of bed.

Because that’s what you did on good days.

You let yourself be loved.

He led you down to the kitchen like you were the only woman in the world who’d ever deserved to be walked anywhere.

His palm rested against the small of your back, guiding, not pushing, and he moved with slow, deliberate steps like each one was part of some silent ceremony only he knew the meaning of. You didn’t rush. You never did, not with him. It didn’t feel right to.

The kitchen was already warm with sunlight slanting through the curtains, soft and hazy, painting the wooden floorboards gold. The stove clicked gently as the kettle cooled. Something citrusy hung in the air alongside the hibiscus. Orange peel or lemon zest, maybe. It was always hard to tell with him. He had a way of combining scents until they no longer smelled like anything but home.

He pulled your chair out for you.

Waited for you to sit.

Then served your plate himself.

He’d made the biscuits from scratch. Just the way you liked them, topped with honey and butter. A few berries had burst open on the side of the pan, their juices bleeding into the crust like bruises, and he placed those pieces carefully at the edge of your plate, like he knew you’d want them last.

There were eggs, too. Soft-scrambled, barely set. And jam. The good kind, dark and smooth and homemade.

He didn’t eat, of course. He never did.

But he sat across from you, arms folded on the table, chin resting on one hand as he watched.

Not like a man waiting for praise.

Like a man watching a miracle.

You didn’t feel self-conscious anymore. Not the way you used to. Not even when he studied the curve of your fingers or the way your mouth parted slightly with each bite. Not when his eyes lingered on the bridge of your nose, the full shape of your lips, the high frame of your cheekbones. Features that other men overlooked, or worse, tried to make smaller. Not when he traced your every movement like he was trying to memorize it.

Just warm.

Maybe a little shy.

But warm.

“You’re gonna spoil me,” you said after a few moments, tone light and quiet.

His mouth curved. “Good.”

You raised a brow, chewing. “That all you gonna say?”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. “What else is there? A woman like ya’s worth spoilin’. Worth feedin’. Worth watchin’. I get more outta sittin’ across from ya than most men get in a lifetime.”

Your breath caught.

You didn’t mean for it to. You knew he liked that kind of reaction. Thrived off it. But still, it happened. He had a way of saying things that left you undone. Like he meant them. Like there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that it was true.

You swallowed and looked down at your plate.

Let yourself smile.

Just a little.

That was the danger of mornings like this. The sweetness. The calm.

You’d forget, just for a moment, what he was.

Let your guard slip.

And he’d let you. That was the worst part.

He never forced it.

Never had to.

“I’ll be headin’ out later,” he said, finally breaking the stillness. “Just before sundown.”

You glanced up. “Errands?”

He nodded. “Might be a while.”

You waited, hoping he’d elaborate.

He didn’t.

You didn’t press.

Not because you trusted him, not completely, but because you wanted to. Needed to. Trust was a gift, and he treated it like one. Collected it. Stroked it. Cradled it in his arms like something he’d stolen.

He reached across the table and brushed his knuckles down the side of your face.

You leaned into it.

Didn’t mean to.

But you didn’t pull away either.

He tilted his head. Studied you.

“I’ll bring ya back somethin’ nice,” he said. “New necklace, maybe. Somethin’ that'll bring out that pretty mouth of yours.”

You blinked. “You don’t have to-”

“I want to.” His hand slid down your arm, resting over your wrist. “Ya always act like ya ain’t allowed to be treated soft. But I told ya already, anybody that didn’t see your worth before me was blind.”

You didn’t respond.

You didn’t have to.

He leaned in and kissed your forehead. Soft. Gentle. Reverent.

And for a second, everything felt so normal.

So painfully, heartbreakingly normal.

Like this was just a house.

Like he was just a man.

Like you were just a girl in love, waiting for the evening to fall.

You let yourself stay in the moment a little longer.

Finished your tea in slow sips.

Let him watch you.

And prayed that the quiet wouldn’t turn. That tomorrow wouldn’t shift. That tonight, God willing, tonight would still be kind.

You knew better than to believe in quiet mornings.

Not here. Not with him.

Still, the stillness of the day had tricked you. It had crept in through the floorboards and settled into your chest, soft as fog, convincing you that peace might last. That today would stay gentle. Safe.

He’d been kind all morning. Sweet, even. Kissed your shoulder while you dressed. Detangled your hair with slow, worshipful hands. Called you baby in that voice like melted sugar as he danced with you to a jazz record. It had been so easy to believe in the calm, to believe he meant it.

But peace, in this house, was never given.

Only loaned.

You’d spent the day in the parlor, patching a hem that didn’t really need fixing, listening to the wind scratch against the shutters. He passed through every hour or so, always with something to say.

“Ya look so soft in this light.”

“That color’s real pretty on ya.”

Always with a kiss to your hairline. A graze of his fingers at your elbow. And you let him.

You let him.

Because it was a good day.

Until it wasn’t.

Remmick lit the lamps earlier than usual. Shadows hadn’t even grown long across the floor yet, but he moved like he couldn’t stand the dim. A low, strange hum sat under his breath. His movements were slow but measured, pressing the collar of his shirt, combing his hair with surgical care. He changed into a dark button-up, freshly pressed, the fabric stiff and lined with faint charcoal pinstripes. He didn’t fasten the top button. Let his collarbone show. The buttons themselves were a pale ivory, too round and too polished to be anything but bone.

He didn’t speak while he dressed.

Didn’t look at you, either.

But when he passed you near the kitchen door, he paused. Tilted your chin up. Kissed your forehead like a benediction. His lips were too warm, too careful.

“Be good while I’m gone,” he said.

And that was all.

The door opened hours later, at a time when you had long retired to your bedroom.

Not with a knock. Not with warning.

Just the quiet creak of the front door swinging open.

You didn’t recognize the man who entered. Not at first.

Older. White. Expensive. That was the word that came to mind first. Expensive. The coat, the cane, the posture. He moved like he owned everything he looked at, and when his eyes slid over the staircase where you watched from just out of view, he barely registered you at all.

He smelled of clean money and fragrant cologne. His voice, when he spoke, had a practiced warmth. Used to making deals, used to being obeyed.

Remmick welcomed him like an old friend. No introductions. Just a nod, and a hand at the man’s back as he ushered him toward the parlor, the two of them murmuring low between each other. You didn’t catch what was said. Didn’t want to.

You slowly closed your door.

But that didn’t stop your heart from picking up.

Didn’t stop the feeling crawling into your bones. The kind that knew this was punishment, even if you didn’t know what for.

You hadn’t said anything wrong today. Hadn’t wandered too far. Hadn’t said no.

He’d kissed your forehead. Cooked for you. Danced with you.

So why?

Why this?

You sat on the edge of your bed, hands pressed to your thighs, jaw clenched until it ached. You wanted to pace, but you knew better. He hated when you fidgeted.

Time bled slowly by. A drip of unease with every second.

Then the parlor door clicked shut.

You couldn’t hear much. Just muffled voices beneath the hum of the hallway light. At first, it was civil. Calm. Two men talking. Glasses clinking. Something poured.

You stared out your window.

And then, a sound.

It didn’t come as a cry at first. Just a thump, low and heavy.

Then another.

And then it began in earnest.

The screaming didn’t start with words. It started with breath. Ragged, sharp, begging. Then the voice rose. Screamed so hard it cracked, pleaded, cursed. The sound of it ricocheted through the walls like thunder. One drawn-out, blood-curdled no, followed by a scream that didn’t end, just collapsed.

You covered your ears.

Pressed your palms so tight it made your head ring.

But nothing could drown it out.

Your whole body trembled.

Not from shock.

From knowing this was intentional.

Because he didn’t need for you to hear it.

He wanted you to.

This was never about the man in the parlor. Not really.

It was about you.

What you’d said. Or done. Or failed to do.

You didn’t know what you were being punished for.

But you felt it, in your gut.

Your punishment had a heartbeat, a voice, a body now. And it was breaking somewhere below your feet.

The screaming stopped eventually.

But the silence that followed was worse.

Because silence didn’t end anything in this house.

It only marked the beginning of the next thing.

You waited.

Not just for the screaming to stop. Not just for the silence to settle. But long after.

You waited until the walls stopped humming with sound. Until the floorboards cooled beneath your feet. Until even the wind outside held its breath.

And then,

You heard it.

The soft groan of the parlor door unlatching. A low creak. A shift in weight across the boards.

His footsteps were quiet.

Measured.

Too soft for a man who’d just done what he’d done. Like he was walking through a church. Or a dream.

You didn’t move. Stayed curled in on yourself at the edge of your bed, arms locked around your knees, eyes fixed on the door like it might rattle open any second. It didn’t.

Not yet.

You heard the stairs instead.

One. By one.

Each step slow and steady, deliberate. Like he was giving you time.

Time to compose yourself.

Time to prepare.

Time to realize nothing was going to stop him from reaching you.

The knob turned.

You hadn’t even realized your door was unlocked.

It opened with a click and a hush, and there he was.

Standing in the threshold like a vision from a fever.

Blood soaked the front of his shirt. Thick and wet in some places, half-dried and flaking in others. It clung to his throat, painted his collarbone, pooled beneath his nails. His sleeves were still rolled, but the pale skin of his forearms was nearly lost beneath the spatter. There were streaks along his jaw where he’d tried to wipe his mouth clean. Too late. Too messy. A smear of it curved across his cheekbone like a smile.

And his claws, long, edged, still drawn, glinted in the low light of your bedside lamp.

But what knocked the breath out of your chest was his face.

Calm.

Completely, terrifyingly calm.

His eyes, those strange, shifting, ancient things, shone soft in the dim. Not wild. Not frenzied.

Just… peaceful.

“Darlin’,” he said, soft as a sigh. “Can ya come here?”

His voice sounded like the morning.

Like nothing had happened at all.

You didn’t answer.

But your body moved.

You hated it. How your limbs betrayed you. How your feet swung over the edge of the bed and touched the floor. How you stepped closer to him, one foot, then another, then another, drawn toward him like gravity had chosen sides.

He didn’t move to meet you.

Just waited.

Like he knew you would come.

And when you reached the doorway, when your bare feet kissed the hallway light, that’s when he touched you.

Both hands to your face. Fingers gentle, claws grazing soft against your cheeks.

Blood smeared warm across your skin.

You flinched.

But didn’t pull away.

His thumbs brushed just beneath your eyes. Not to wipe your tears, there weren’t any yet, but to cup the place where they would be. Where he knew they would be.

“Ya did somethin’ wrong,” he whispered. “Ain’t ya?”

That broke you.

“No,” you whispered, voice breaking.

The tears came all at once. Thick. Hot. Your chest heaved and you shook your head, hands flying up to press against his wrists. “No, please- Remmick, please, I didn’t- I can’t-”

“I know,” he said.

But his grip didn’t loosen.

Your knees nearly gave. Your breath hitched.

And he leaned in close, lips almost brushing yours.

“I’m scared,” you sobbed. “Please don’t make me-”

That’s when he said it.

Soft. Sweet.

Final.

“Y’ain’t got a choice.”

The words weren’t cruel.

Weren’t laced with threat.

They sounded like a lullaby.

And then, he kissed you.

Slow. Deep. Full of pride.

The blood on his mouth smeared onto yours, warm and metallic and thick enough to make you shudder. You didn’t kiss him back. Couldn’t. But your lips parted. And that was enough.

He made a sound, something like a purr, and pulled back, smiling like you’d just said I love you.

“There ya go,” he whispered.

Then, lower: “C’mon, now. Just a little bit of help.”

You shook your head, tears streaking your cheeks.

His thumbs smeared them. Not away. Just… further. Down your face. Into your mouth. Into the collar of your nightdress.

“Remmick, please-”

“Ya can,” he said again, voice even gentler this time. “Ya will.”

And when he kissed your forehead, it didn’t feel like comfort.

It felt like surrender.

He led you to the rear hall.

Step by step.

The floorboards creaked beneath your feet, slow and drawn out like they knew what was coming. The air back here always felt colder. Damper, too. Like the walls remembered every secret ever whispered against them.

One clawed hand pressed low to your back. Not shoving. Not dragging. Just guiding. A lover’s touch, if you ignored the sharp curve of his nails and the way they caught on the cotton of your dress.

The other hand gripped something heavy. Bundled tight in a canvas sheet. Edges stiff with dried blood. You didn’t need to ask what it was.

You didn’t want to know how long it had been wrapped like that.

You didn’t want to know anything.

“Take the feet, darlin’,” he said. Soft. Encouraging. “That’s it. There ya go.”

You hesitated.

Stared at the length of fabric that formed the shape of shins, then ankles, then shoes that had once gleamed polished and proud beneath the parlor light.

The man’s feet were cold.

You flinched as your fingers made contact. Felt the stiffness through the layers. The weight of it settled like stone in your stomach.

You choked.

Your knees bent beneath you, buckling under the weight of it, legs shaking, arms burning.

“That’s alright,” Remmick said quickly, already crouched beside you again. “You’re strong. Stronger than ya think.”

He didn’t offer to take it from you.

Didn’t let you drop it either.

Just walked backward, slow and steady, leading you through the back door as the hinges groaned open.

Outside, the air hit sharp.

You breathed it in too fast. Coughed once. The scent of blood clung to your face, your hair, your hands. And beneath it, rot. Curling at the edges of the canvas like the world had already started reclaiming him.

You swallowed hard.

Walked blind behind Remmick.

The trees pressed in around you, branches brittle with late summer’s death. Moonlight pierced the canopy in sharp slivers. The path was narrow. Familiar. You’d taken it before, but never like this.

Never carrying someone.

Remmick hummed as he walked.

Low and tuneless, like it was something he didn’t know he was doing. A sound of habit. Of focus. Of ritual.

You didn’t ask how he knew where to dig.

You didn’t ask how many times he’d done this before.

You just stood there, trembling, as he knelt in the clearing and began to carve the earth apart with his hands.

Not with a shovel.

With his claws.

They split the dirt like butter, curling soil and root alike with mechanical ease. He worked fast. Efficient. With a kind of composure, almost, like he was preparing a bed, not a grave.

You stayed frozen until he glanced up at you, face slick with sweat and moonlight.

“Almost done,” he said. “Just a little more, sugar.”

He stood.

Wiped his brow with the back of one hand, smearing dirt and blood across his temple.

Then he turned to you, lips stretched into a smile.

“C’mon,” he said gently. “Let’s lay him down.”

The canvas landed with a heavy thud.

You flinched again.

He unwrapped the top half. Not all the way. Just enough for the face to show. Slack-jawed, eyes glazed, neck at the wrong angle.

Your stomach turned.

Remmick crouched again, slipped his arms beneath the man’s shoulders.

He looked up at you. Expectant.

“Go on,” he said, nodding toward the legs.

You hesitated.

“Remmick-”

Your breath caught.

“I said, go on.”

So you did.

You took a deep breath, grasped the ankles again, and followed his count.

One, two, three.

You heaved.

He lifted.

And together, you laid him in the earth.

It wasn’t graceful.

It wasn’t clean.

You gagged once and turned away, bile stinging your throat. He didn’t chastise you. Didn’t rush you. Just stood there in the moonlight, waiting, the grave yawning at his feet.

When you finally turned back, your face pale and your hands filthy, he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Almost done.”

The dirt came next.

Heavy, clumpy, wet.

It stuck to your fingers and your wrists, coated your forearms, gathered beneath your nails like it wanted to crawl inside you.

Remmick packed the final mound himself.

Then stood.

Brushed his hands together with a soft clap.

And turned toward you.

Smiling.

Like you’d just exchanged vows.

Like something had been sealed tonight, sacred and unbreakable.

His eyes shone in the dark, wide and wild and glowing faintly red.

He cupped your face again, blood dried into the creases of his knuckles.

“Ya did good,” he whispered. “So good f’me.”

And you didn’t correct him.

Didn’t move. Couldn't.

He reached into his coat.

The gesture was slow, deliberate. Like everything with him. He could’ve pulled out anything. A blade, a scrap of skin, a love letter scrawled in someone else’s blood, and part of you would’ve just watched, quiet and ready.

But instead, his hand came back gloved in shadow and something glinting beneath a soaked cloth.

He held it out to you. Waiting.

“I brought ya a gift,” he said, voice low and soft, almost shy. Like he was offering you a bouquet.

You didn’t answer.

Just stared.

The fabric, silk, maybe, once cream, was red now. Mottled. It clung wetly to whatever was wrapped inside, dark lines seeping into the seams.

He unwrapped it slowly.

Bit by bit.

Like unveiling something sacred.

A necklace.

Sapphire, deep and cold, surrounded by a constellation of diamonds so small and fine they looked like frozen tears. The pendant caught the moonlight, sparkled like a drop of river water in the sun.

But the chain, thin and gold, was streaked with blood. Still tacky. Still warm.

He held it up between both hands, letting the pendant sway gently between you.

“Belonged to his wife,” he said.

His eyes never left your face.

“Don’t worry. She didn’t put up much of a fight.”

Your breath hitched.

He said it like a kindness.

Like a mercy.

You didn’t ask what he meant. Not exactly. Didn’t ask if that meant she begged. Or wept. Or just stood there, quiet, waiting for her turn.

You didn’t want to know.

You never did.

He stepped closer.

The necklace still dangling in his hand, catching on his fingers. Blood smeared his palm now. Streaked down his wrist. You didn’t move as he reached up, lifted the chain, heavy and wet, and looped it behind your neck.

His fingers were careful.

Precise.

He fastened it with a soft click, the clasp brushing the nape of your neck, cold as a knife.

Then he stepped back. Just a little.

“There,” he whispered, his voice nearly trembling. “Look at ya. My beautiful girl.”

You didn’t look down.

Didn’t touch it.

You felt the weight of it though. The cold metal against your chest. The stick of half-dried blood just beneath your collarbone.

He kissed your cheek next.

Then your jaw.

Then your mouth.

Soft. Tender.

Loving.

Like a reward.

Like a promise.

You didn’t kiss him back.

Didn’t turn your face away, either.

You stood there like a statue. A monument to something twisted and holy. Let him praise you. Let him touch you. Let him cover you in devotion and blood and the sweetness of a love that could burn down a world if it meant keeping you in the ashes.

You weren’t sure what you were anymore.

Not a prisoner.

Not exactly.

Not a partner.

Not fully.

Not a killer.

Not yet.

But his hands, slick and reverent, cradled your face like you were sacred. Like you were his altar. His salvation.

Because you were.

You could see it in his eyes.

He’d ruin himself for you. Had already ruined others. And he’d drown you in that same ruin, over and over again, if it meant keeping you his.

He kissed you once more.

And whispered your name like a hymn.

His girl.

His gift.

His only.

The morning was red.

Not pink. Not gold.

Red.

The kind of light that made the dust in the air look like something alive, like smoke rising off a battlefield no one ever won. It filtered through the bedroom curtains in streaks, bleeding across the wooden floorboards, catching on corners like dried rust.

You stood in front of the mirror with your fingers curled around the edge of the sink, knuckles white, wrists aching from how tightly you gripped. The weight of the necklace still hung heavy on your collarbone. It hadn’t come off. Not when you undressed. Not when you bathed. Not even when you’d scrubbed at it with a rag soaked in rosewater, trying, foolishly, desperately, to pretend that was all it was. A speck. A blemish. A piece of someone else's story, not yours.

But it was yours now.

All of it.

And it wasn’t just blood that had soaked in.

It was his voice, still echoing. The way he whispered encouragements as you dropped that man’s arm into the grave. The way his smile widened when you didn’t run.

The way the man’s eyes stared up from the dirt in your dreams.

You hadn’t slept. Not really. You’d closed your eyes and drifted just long enough for the screaming to follow you in. His scream. Ragged. Human. Then the wet sound of Remmick tearing into him. Again and again and again. It kept looping, each time more vivid than the last.

You looked at your own face now, and all you could see was that man’s.

Mouth open. Arms limp. That flash of horror when he realized he wouldn’t make it out of this house.

Your breath hitched, low in your throat.

Tears stung your eyes.

You blinked them back.

You didn’t hear him come in.

You never did. That was the trouble. He moved through space like something meant to haunt. Silent, smooth, inescapable. The door didn’t creak. The floor didn’t shift.

But you knew.

Your body always knew before your eyes did. The hairs on your arms rose. The air cooled. The stillness deepened into something you could taste.

“Y’ain’t even touched your tea,” he said gently from the doorway, voice all breath and softness. “I kept it warm for ya.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just stared at yourself in the glass, hands trembling against the porcelain. You tried to draw a breath that wouldn’t shake.

Behind you, he stepped closer.

“I’m not mad,” he added. “If that’s what you’re wonderin’. ’Bout last night.”

The words landed like stones on water.

You didn’t respond.

His reflection didn’t show in the mirror.

It never did.

But you didn’t need it to. His voice wrapped around your waist like a second pair of arms, like silk stretched over barbed wire.

“Y’did so good. Did exactly what I needed.” He stepped closer. Slow. Deliberate. “That ain’t small, y’know. What I asked of you. It was big. It meant somethin’.”

You blinked hard, but the tears still clung stubborn at the corners. You clenched the sink edge tighter, like maybe it could tether you. Anchor you. Stop you from suffocating in what you’d done.

“I didn’t want it to mean anything,” you said.

But it cracked when it came out.

Your voice. Your face. Your control.

It cracked all the way down.

You pressed your lips together to keep from making a sound, but your shoulders betrayed you, shuddering once, sharp and tight.

You felt him move in behind you, his presence stretching out like a shadow cast by firelight.

“I know, darlin’,” he comforted. “I know.”

But he didn’t say sorry.

Not once.

And the necklace stayed right where it was. Cool against your skin, glittering like something beautiful, something earned.

Something permanent.

He was behind you now.

You didn’t hear him move. Not a creak of floorboard, not a shift of breath. But suddenly, his arms were around your waist. Strong, steady, certain. Like they’d always been there. Like they belonged there.

You startled, just a little.

But he only pulled you closer, pressing his body to your back with the kind of patience that wasn’t really patience at all. Just control. You could feel the way he held himself, as if something inside him had to be kept still. Contained.

His breath ghosted over your shoulder, cool and damp like a lingering mist. He smelled like clove. And sage. And copper. Always copper.

He rested his chin near your temple, nose nudging lightly into your hair.

“I can take it off,” he offered, voice low and humming. “The necklace. If it’s too much.”

You didn’t answer.

His fingers brushed lightly over the jewels. A whisper of a touch, reverent and slow. He let it linger.

“But I hoped ya’d keep it.”

Your eyes stayed locked on the mirror. On the glinting sapphires. The dried blood now fully gone but not forgotten. You swallowed hard.

“Why?” you asked, barely above a breath.

He leaned in.

Close enough that his lips brushed your neck this time, not your temple. A soft, trailing kiss pressed just beneath your ear. Not hungry. Not rough. But not gentle either.

His voice sank into your skin.

“Because it looks right on ya.”

The words were quiet, but they landed like a hand on your throat.

You didn’t flinch. Not outwardly. Your face stayed calm in the mirror. Your shoulders held.

But inside?

Something gave.

A small, buckling thing. Like a part of you that still wanted to believe you could carry this without changing shape.

He kissed your cheek once, slower now, mouth warm and oddly careful for someone so often careless with your breath.

Then he stepped back.

“I’m headin’ out,” he said, already turning toward the door. “Won’t be long. Won’t go far. Just need to stretch my legs.”

You nodded once.

Didn’t meet his eyes.

You heard his boots on the stairs.

The front door creaked open.

And like always, he left it ajar.

Just enough.

Not enough to invite the wind in. But enough to make a point.

You’re not locked in.

You’re free to go.

But you never did. Not because you couldn’t.

Because he’d folded himself into your bones. Threaded his voice through your thoughts. Left kisses on your pulse like warnings.

Before the door closed behind him, his voice drifted back up the stairs. Just loud enough to reach you.

“I love ya.”

The words sat heavy on the floorboards.

You didn’t say it back.

And you knew he’d remember that.

Would carry it like a splinter under his skin.

Would mention it again someday.

Long after you’d forgotten it.

Long after you’d wished you hadn’t.

You drifted to the garden.

The one Remmick had planted for you, despite his disdain for sunlight. He never called it a gift. Never made a show of it. Just started tending the earth one day, sleeves rolled, mouth quiet, movements deliberate. No shovel. Just his hands. Just his claws, raking slow furrows into the dirt and patting them soft again like he was taking care of something fragile.

You’d watched from the balcony that day, unsure if it was kindness or authority. Maybe both. With him, it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

It was overgrown now.

But beautiful. Wild.

The vines curled over the trellis like they were reaching for something they’d never touch. Lavender bloomed in thick patches near the roots. Moonflowers tilted their faces upward, shy but greedy. He must’ve come through while you were sleeping, added new things. Nightshade, maybe, or something less honest. Plants you didn’t recognize, but that hummed with some secret you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

You crouched beside a clump of jasmine. Ran your fingers along a bloom. Soft, white, too perfect for this place. You et your breath shudder out.

This was what he did.

He gave you things. He built them into your days. Little comforts, stitched between the horrors.

And they worked.

He loved you.

In his way.

It was obsessive. Demanding. It carved pieces out of you, asked for silence when you wanted to scream and closeness when you needed distance. But it wrapped around you, too. Warmed your tea. Laid your slippers out. Whispered your name like a prayer in the middle of the night.

And you.

You didn’t know what you felt.

Not entirely.

But it was real.

Not soft. Not easy. But real.

Real enough to stay.

Real enough to clean up bodies.

Real enough to wear the necklace. Still cool against your skin. Still shining in the light.

You traced the petal again. It trembled slightly beneath your fingertip.

You stood there until the sun dipped low again, until the cicadas started to hum and the air went thick with evening. That slow, syrupy hush that pressed against the back of your throat like a warning. The garden dimmed into blue shadows. The wind stopped moving.

You didn’t need to look at the sky to know it was time.

You went inside.

Back through the back door. Back into the red quiet. The warmth that never left the floorboards. The smell of sugar and copper that clung to the curtains like an old friend. The faint creak of the stairwell. The clock ticking too slow, or maybe just loud.

Back into his house.

Your house.

Home.

And there, waiting for you by the parlor door, was a new pair of shoes.

Sapphire blue.

The exact shade of the necklace.

They didn’t look expensive. Not flashy. Just thoughtful. Too thoughtful. A little too perfect. The soles hadn’t touched ground. The leather looked like cream. Soft enough to bend, strong enough to last.

They were still wrapped in tissue paper. Still perfect.

And on top, a note. Folded twice, edges crisp.

For when you feel like walkin’. But only if I’m with you.

You didn’t cry.

Didn’t smile, either.

You just sat down in the chair beside the box, touched the ribbon. It gave under your fingers, like it had been tied gently. Like it had been placed there just moments before.

And maybe it had.

Maybe he was watching.

Maybe he never stopped.

You looked around the room once. Let your eyes pass over the mantle, the mirror, the empty hallway. Then back to the shoes.

Blue as blood in moonlight.

He wanted you to wear them. To remember him every time you moved. To know you weren’t alone.

That you’d never be alone again.

Even if you wanted to be.

You rested your hands in your lap. Smoothed your palms over the hem of your skirt. And waited.

Because you knew he’d come through the door soon.

And you needed to be ready.

Two bodies.

That was all you saw at first.

The front door swung open on its silent hinges, just wide enough to catch the night air and let in the swamp’s low, humming breath. Then, dragged across the threshold like afterthoughts, came two bodies.

Ankles gripped in Remmick’s fists. One man. One woman. Limp. Unceremonious. Their shoes scraped along the steps with dull thuds, their limbs sagging like broken dolls. Their heads knocked once, twice, against the frame as he yanked them forward over the threshold, then across the floor, right over the woven runner you’d cleaned just yesterday.

He didn’t pause to readjust his grip. Didn’t hoist them up by the arms or cradle the neck. Just dragged them straight across the polished pine, the hem of the woman’s dress catching on a nail, the man’s cuff leaving a damp smear along the grain.

You were already sitting when the door opened. Curled at the far end of the parlor sofa, one leg tucked beneath the other, a book open in your lap. You’d read the same page three times now. Or tried to.

The fire had gone soft, more glow than flame, and the air smelled faintly of lemon oil from the furniture polish you’d used that afternoon. The quiet had stretched long enough to feel foreign. The kind of quiet you always thought maybe, just maybe, meant a reprieve.

But it never did.

And deep down, some awful part of you had known.

You knew it when he left without telling you where.

You knew it when the sun dipped low and the shoes sat untouched beside the door.

You knew it when your fingertips hovered over the necklace at your collarbone, blue and cold and impossibly bright against your skin.

The quiet of the day had been too full.

The stillness too practiced.

The gift too kind.

Now, he was back. And he brought proof of it with him.

Remmick looked up as he stepped inside. Not hurried. Not sheepish. Just calm.

Casual.

As if he’d been returning from a stroll through the garden and not some carnage-stained errand that ended in slaughter.

And he smiled.

Sharp. Crooked. Gleaming even beneath the gore.

His shirt, what was left of it, clung to him in soaked folds. Torn across the collar. Split open down the front. Dark with blood and something thicker beneath. His trousers weren’t better, stiff with drying stains, the cuffs tracking flecks of mud across the parlor floor.

But it was his hands, claws, that made your breath catch.

Those clever, expressive things.

They were soaked up to the elbows, glistening red at the knuckles, sticky across the nails, the fingers flexing slightly as if trying to forget what they’d just done.

The blood hit the floor with every step. Slap. Smear. Slap. The sound seemed to echo, loud against the hush of the house.

And around his neck,

The gold chain.

The same one from all those months ago. When he first walked into your life, quiet and strange and smiling with teeth too white and eyes too old. The chain had caught the afternoon light back then. Made you think of warmth. Of wealth. Of good manners and good shoes and someone just passing through.

Now, it caught nothing.

Just blood.

Draped against the hollow of his throat, the metal barely glinted beneath the gore. But you knew it. Recognized it in a way that made your stomach twist. Not with fear.

With memory.

Back then, he’d brought honey. Compliments. Ribbons.

Now he brought bodies.

And not once, not even as he stepped closer, dragging the corpses across your freshly scrubbed floors, did he look ashamed.

He didn’t stop until they were halfway into the parlor, just a few feet from where you sat.

Close enough that the stink caught up to you. Metal and dirt and something that curled the back of your throat.

You stared.

At the man. At the woman. At Remmick.

At the man who said he loved you.

At the one who’d kissed your neck that morning and murmured, Won’t be long.

At the one who’d bought you shoes.

And finally, finally, looked at you proper.

Then, he smiled again.

Like this was nothing.

Like it was love.

“I got greedy,” he said with a smile that pulled too wide. Too sharp. The kind of smile that didn’t look right on a human mouth. “Ain’t proud of it. But-”

He dropped one of the ankles with a wet thud and dragged a blood-soaked hand through his hair, slicking it back from his brow. The strands clung there, heavy and dark with something not yet dry.

“-damn, if it didn’t feel good.”

The book slipped from your lap.

It hit the floor with a soft thud, pages bending inward like they were trying to hide. You didn’t look down.

Couldn’t.

Remmick tilted his head. The firelight caught in the red sheen along his jaw, the crimson glint in his eyes, the blood on his lashes, the teeth brazenly bared behind his smile. His gold chain lay across his collarbone, no longer shining, just soaked.

“Now don’t start with that look,” he said gently. Like you were being difficult. Like this was a misunderstanding. “Ain’t nothin’ different about this than last time. Just… more.”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it again.

Your throat tightened. Heat rushed up from your chest to your face, fast and dizzying.

“I can’t,” you said. Too soft. A ghost of breath.

He blinked.

You swallowed, tried again, louder this time, firmer. Your voice broke on the last word.

“I can’t do this.”

His smile didn’t disappear. It tilted. Softened. Confused. Like he’d misheard you, like you’d offered a strange joke in poor taste.

“Sure ya can,” he said with a little chuckle. “You’ve done it before.”

“No- Remmick, I mean it.”

You stood too fast and stumbled backward, shoulder bumping into the arm of the couch. Your hands shook. Your legs wouldn’t stay steady. Something inside you wanted to bolt.

“I-I thought I could prepare for this. I thought I’d be ready if it happened again. I tried to be ready.” You gasped, the tears rising too quickly now. “But it’s too much. It’s too much, I can’t- I can’t do it again.”

You covered your mouth with both hands as the sob came. Hot and involuntary. It made your knees buckle.

He didn’t say anything.

Just stood there in the parlor’s golden light, two bodies behind him, the blood still dripping from his sleeves. His shirt was open, clinging to him in places and torn in others, revealing streaks of red drying along the lines of his ribs. The bloodied gold chain at his neck looked too bright against it. Almost sickeningly bright. Like something holy lost in rot, just as defiled.

And yet he watched you.

Like you were the only thing that mattered in the room.

Like the rest of the blood didn’t exist.

Like he liked this. Your shaking, your fear. Or maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe it was something worse. Maybe he needed it.

He dropped the second ankle.

The bodies sprawled in opposite directions, lifeless and heavy, arms twisted beneath them. But his gaze didn’t follow them. Never once did he glance away from you.

He started walking.

Slow, deliberate steps. Not rushed. Not angry. As if trying to convince you to not run away. Even though he knew you wouldn’t.

His claws hadn’t retracted yet.

You could see them now. Long and sharp, extending clean past his fingertips like polished blades. Shimmering wet.

You backed away until your spine met the bookshelf, hands splayed behind you against the wood.

“I’m not mad,” he said gently.

God, why was that worse?

“I just thought ya might help.” he went on.

He was close now. Close enough to breathe in. Close enough to taste the iron in the air. His outline looked too tall in the firelight, too narrow at the shoulders, too still.

You turned your face away, but his hand came up, bloodied, clawed, and cupped your cheek with the same reverence you remembered from quieter mornings. His thumb smeared a tear away.

“You’re cryin’,” he murmured, and it almost sounded like it surprised him.

Then, instead of licking it away, he kissed it. Softly. Slowly. Like he knew that was what you needed. As if that made it better.

You sobbed harder.

“Please,” you whispered, barely able to speak past the tightness in your throat. “Please, Remmick. Not this time. I-I can’t.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips against your nape, his breath traveling hot and sticky down your neck.

And then, in the sweetest voice you’d ever heard:

“Sometimes I think about killin’ ya.”

Your whole body went still.

Not in fear.

Not in surprise.

In something worse.

Recognition.

Because you knew. Knew without needing a second breath, that he meant it.

The words didn’t drop like a bomb. They slid in like a knife. Quiet. Precise. Familiar.

He tilted his head, brushing his knuckle down your jaw like he hadn’t just said the most horrifying thing you’d ever heard.

“Every day,” he whispered. “Mornin’ and night. Before ya wake. After ya sleep. When you’re liftin’ the kettle, or brushin’ out your curls, or sayin’ my name like it still means somethin’ soft.”

His eyes were wide now, blue burning red at the center. Hungry. Hollow. A flame with no wick.

His hand drifted down your throat. Light as a feather. He traced the line of your pulse with the back of his knuckle, sighing at the flutter under your skin.

“Don’t mean I want to,” he said. “Not in the way you’re thinkin’. I’d never do it to hurt ya. It ain’t about that.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He stepped in closer, just close enough that your breath bounced off his shirt. Soaked and stiff with blood, the collar dark and curling at the seams. You could smell it all over him now. On his breath. In his hair. On the chain pressed tight against the hollow of his throat.

“Sometimes,” he started, “I see ya sittin’ there with a book in your hand, brows furrowed, lips pursed, and I think: God, I’d like to still that moment forever. Seal it. Keep it. Bury it right inside me so no one else ever gets to see it.”

His hand dropped lower.

Over your ribs.

The curve of your waist.

“Sometimes,” he went on, his voice still syrup-sweet, “I think about your blood spread out over the floor like a paintin’. The kind of red that don’t fade. The kind that says y’were mine.”

You whimpered.

And it made him shiver.

“But then ya smile at me,” he said. “And I think, no, not yet. Not yet. Let her smile again. Let her ask me what I’m hummin’. Let her scold me for trackin’ dirt into the kitchen. Let her keep bein’ good.”

His hands moved again. Gentle. Worshipful.

He wrapped them around your hips and turned you, slow, pressing you backward until your thighs brushed the edge of the sofa.

Until you could see the bodies again.

Still sprawled on the parlor floor.

Still leaking onto the wood.

Your knees locked.

Remmick lowered you down like you were made of glass. One hand cradling your spine, the other smoothing your skirt beneath you. He sat beside you, far too close. Turned to face you as if there was space to spare.

His claws scraped your knee where the fabric had risen.

“Y’see, darlin’,” he said, cupping your face again, “it ain’t about cruelty. It’s about closeness. I love ya so much I can’t figure out what to do with it. It don’t burn clean. It don’t settle.”

His eyes gleamed.

“I wanna take ya in. Swallow ya whole. Wear your name on the inside of my mouth. I want ya with me, inside me, forever. That’s what this is.”

You were shaking now.

Tears welled, but you couldn’t blink them away. They just sat there, blurring the edges of him. Of the room. Of the lifeless shapes still cooling on the floor.

“Ya think I don’t see it in ya too?” he lied, so confidently that you almost found yourself believing it. “That same want? That same ache? Ya look at me like I’m already inside you.”

You made a choked sound. Couldn’t tell if it was protest or grief.

He kissed the corner of your mouth again.

Then lower.

Your jaw.

Your throat.

His hands roamed with reverence, but they were still stained.

And it was still happening.

“Sometimes,” he breathed, lips brushing the shell of your ear, “I think I’ll wake one mornin’ and do it. Just let it happen. Let my love finish what it started. But I haven’t yet.”

He leaned back just enough to look at you.

His kissed a tear from your cheek.

“I haven’t,” he said again, softly. “Y’should remember that.”

You should’ve screamed.

Run.

Shoved him back.

Instead, you stared at him through tear-glossed lashes. Silent. Spinning. Unmoored.

He leaned in once more. Kissed your cheek like it was something fragile.

“Y’don’t ever have to be afraid of me, sugar. Long as ya stay.”

And for a moment, just a moment, you almost believed him.

Remmick’s lips brushed yours, feather-light at first, a barely-there caress that left you reeling. You could taste the copper tang of blood on his mouth, feel the warmth of it against your skin. Your breath caught as he pulled back slightly, just enough to feel his breath against your face. A soft huff of air, a reassurance.

But then his hand slid up your spine, blood smearing across your dress, and all softness fled.

This time, when his mouth met yours, there was no gentleness. No hesitation. Just hunger, visceral and consuming. He kissed you like he wanted to devour you whole, his lips slanting over yours, his tongue pushing into your mouth and claiming every inch of it as his own.

You whimpered, fingers groping at his shoulders, but whether to push him away or pull him closer, you didn’t know. Your thoughts were muddled, thick with fear and revulsion and a deep, wrenching want you couldn’t name. He tasted like death. Like sin. Like every dark fantasy you’d ever had but never dared speak aloud.

He yanked your head back to bare your throat, kissing down it, hot and open-mouthed, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your skin. His other hand, which had been stroking idly up and down your side, slipped under your skirt. You tensed, a protest rising in your throat, but he shushed you before you could voice it.

“Shh, now,” he murmured against your throat, fangs ghosting over your skin. “You’ve been achin’ for this. Starvin’ for it. A man’s hands. A man’s mouth. And ain’t it a mercy it’s mine givin’ it to ya?”

His fingers brushed your inner thigh, dragging through the wetness that had gathered there. You could feel the scrape of his claws, even through the fabric of your panties. A shudder ran through you, and you hated yourself for it. Hated that some twisted part of you wanted this, wanted him, even like this, covered in blood and filth and the evidence of his crimes.

He teased you through the thin fabric, his touch light and maddening. Circling. Flicking. Dipping just inside the edge before pulling away again. You whined, hips bucking of their own accord, desperate for more. More pressure. More friction. More something, anything to ground you in the midst of this debauched nightmare.

“Please,” you gasped, not even sure what you were asking for. For him to stop? For him to keep going? For the world to open up and swallow you whole, so you didn’t have to reckon with this unfamiliar depravity?

He chuckled, dark and indulgent. “Greedy girl,” he chided, his breath hot against your ear. “Don’t worry darlin’. I’ll give ya what y’need.”

He punctuated his words with a hard press of his fingers, rubbing rough circles over the damp fabric. You cried out, back arching, lungs seizing with the intensity of it. It was too much. Not enough. Your thoughts were fragmenting, splintering under the force of your need. You felt like you were drowning in it.

In him.

And still, he whispered filthy things in your ear, coating your skin in his words. Telling you how much he loved you. How much he needed you. How he’d do anything to keep you, even this. Especially this.

Remmick sucked at your throat, slow, deliberate, letting the warmth rise, letting you squirm. Then, without warning, he bit down. Deep. Sharp. A growl rumbled from his chest at the sound you made, part gasp, part sob, and he shivered like it thrilled him. “That’s it,” he breathed, lips glossy with blood and spit. “Sing for me, sweetheart.”

He growled as he left a map of his obsession on your flesh, fingers finally shoving your panties aside to slide through your slick folds.

Inside, something was screaming. Screaming for you to run, to fight, to do anything but this. To not let him take you like this, stained with the blood of innocents, surrounded by the evidence of his madness.

But your body... your body was betraying you. Arching into his touch. Soaking his fingers. Trembling with a heat you’d never known before. A heat that was as twisted and all-consuming as he was.

He pushed his fingers inside you, and you cried out at the stretch, the burn of it. He was big, bigger than you’d ever had, and the scrape of his claws against your inner walls only added to the intensity of it. It hurt, God, it hurt, but with every flex of his fingers, every curl and twist, you were hit with a new pang of euphoria, a pleasure so sharp it was almost painful.

You were so close, teetering on the edge of something huge and shattering, when he suddenly pulled his fingers out, leaving you achingly empty. You whimpered, hips bucking, seeking, but before you could even form a protest, he was pushing your legs apart, baring you completely to his gaze.

And then, without warning, he was on you, his mouth hot and wet and voracious. He ate you out like an animal, fangs still bared, growling into your flesh like he wanted to consume you whole. The sounds he made were obscene, wet and slurping, echoing in the quiet of the room like some kind of debauched symphony.

You thrashed beneath him, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling, pushing, trying to get him closer, get him away, you didn’t even know anymore. The pleasure was cresting higher and higher, coiling tighter and tighter, a spring on the verge of snapping. You felt like you were being flayed alive by it, torn apart piece by piece by piece.

And when you finally broke, it was with a scream that tore from your throat like a wound. You came so hard you saw stars, your vision whiting out, your lungs seizing, your body convulsing. And through it all, he just kept lapping at you, drinking down every drop of your pleasure like it was the finest wine. Like he couldn’t get enough of your taste, your need, your everything.

Your breath came in sharp pants, thoughts equally scattered. Fragmented. Lost in the haze of pleasure and horror that clouded your mind.

And then, with a monumental effort, you pushed him away. Or tried to. Your arms felt weak, your muscles trembling with the backlash of your climax.

He looked up at you, his face soaked with your arousal, a feral smile spreading across his lips. “I’m not done yet, darlin’,” he growled with a low rumble that vibrated through you. He tore at his clothes, ripping the blood-soaked shirt over his head, exposing his crimson-streaked torso. You tried to protest again, but he shushed you with a kiss, a deep, consuming kiss that left you tasting yourself, him, and the metallic tang of blood.

He lined himself up at your entrance, and you could feel the heat of him, the thickness, the promise of what was to come. You tensed, a flutter of panic in your chest. “Remmick, I-” you started, but he cut you off with another kiss, his hips surging forward, impaling you in one swift, brutal stroke.

You cried out, a sound of pain and pleasure mingled together, your nails digging into his back as he filled you completely. He was nothing you could’ve prepared yourself for, stretching you to your limits, the sensation was nearly unbearable. He started to move, his hips rolling in a rhythm that was both primal and precise, each thrust driving him deeper, harder, more relentlessly than the last.

“God, ya feel so good, sugar,” he moaned against your neck with a huff that made you shiver. “So tight. So wet. Y’were made for this. Made for me.”

You could feel the soreness building, the ache of being stretched, of being taken so ruthlessly. Your body was overwhelmed, every nerve ending firing, every sensation heightened to almost unbearable levels. You whimpered, your hips bucking in time with his thrusts, unable to do anything but take what he was giving you.

Remmick’s eyes were wild, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he drove into you. “Look at ya,” he panted, voice so thick with lust you could barely understand him. “So beautiful. So perfect. Ya take my cock like a dream.”

He leaned down, licking the tears that streamed down your face, his tongue hot and wet against your skin as he purred. “Ya taste so sweet when you cry.”

You tried to divert your attention, to escape the intensity of his near-crimson gaze and the raw, animalistic need that burned in his eyes. It was a need that terrified you to your very core. Your eyes darted around the room, seeking anything to anchor yourself to, anything to distract from the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

Your gaze landed on the necklace that swayed from his neck. That blood-soaked gold chain that glinted dully in the firelight. That gold chain that followed you from the life you once had to now, wrapped in Remmick’s embrace, his body moving against yours in a rhythm as old as time.

He noticed your distraction, a cruel, knowing smile playing on his lips as he reached up and took the necklace into his mouth. He bit down on the gold, his teeth sinking into the metal with a force that should have bent it, his eyes never leaving yours.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he groaned, the words muffled around the jewelry. “Focus on that. Focus on me. On how good this feels.”

And God help you, he was right. It did feel good. So good it hurt. So good it was almost too much to bear. The pleasure was a sharp, piercing thing, a knife’s edge of ecstasy that left you breathless and dizzy. With each thrust, each roll of his hips, each brutal, delicious stroke, the pressure inside you built, a coiled spring ready to snap, your body teetering on the brink of something monumental.

You could feel the guilt gnawing at you. A dark, insidious thing that clawed at the edges of your mind, trying to break through the haze of pleasure. How could you find enjoyment in this? How could your body respond so eagerly to his touch? To his invasion? You knew the depth of his depravity. The extent of his crimes. You were a willing participant. An accomplice.

You were ashamed of the moans that fell from your lips, ashamed of the way your body moved with his, ashamed of the desperate, keening cries that escaped you as he brought you higher, closer to the edge of oblivion.

Remmick's hips continued to roll in a relentless rhythm, his body glistening with sweat, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. He leaned down, his voice a drunken, fervent whisper against your ear, his words a mix of promise and threat. “M’gonna put a baby in ya, sugar. Gonna fill you up. Watch ya get all fat ’n slow ’n pretty.”

His words sent a shock of panic through you. A cold, paralyzing fear that cut through the haze of pleasure and left you reeling. You tried to push him away, your hands pressing against his chest, your body tensing as you tried to escape the inevitable. “Remmick, no-” you gasped, your voice hoarse, your eyes wide with a mix of terror and pleading. “You can’t-”

But he was relentless, his body pinning you down, his strength overpowering yours in a way that left you feeling helpless. Trapped. He captured your wrists in one hand, holding them above your head as he continued to move inside you, his hips never ceasing their brutal, demanding rhythm. “Shh,” he cooed, his voice a low, soothing purr that contrasted sharply with the wild, untamed look in his eyes. “You’ve been askin' for this. You’ve been beggin' for it. I know you have. And I’m gonna give it to you.”

He leaned down, tongue invading your mouth, exploring, conquering, silencing your protests as he continued to move inside you.

You tried to turn your head, to break the kiss, to gasp for air, but he followed, his lips never leaving yours, his breath mingling with yours, his tongue continuing its relentless exploration. He kissed you deeply, thoroughly, his lips moving against yours with a suffocating desperation, as if he were trying to pour every ounce of his being into you. To consume you wholly.

“Remmick, please-” you managed to gasp as he finally broke the kiss, your chest heaving, your body trembling with a mix of fear, pleasure, and something else, something almost akin to desperation. “I can’t-”

But he only smiled, a slow, knowing smile that sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of anticipation and trepidation. “Ya can, sugar,” he insisted, the lack of choice you had in the matter laced on every word. “And ya will.”

With a final, shuddering thrust, he buried himself deep, his whole body seizing tight as he spilled inside you, breath caught somewhere between a grunt and a gasp. His mouth found your shoulder, and without pause, he bit down. Hard. Fangs sinking deep. The pressure broke through your skin, and the sound that left him was low and guttural. Like it came from the oldest part of him.

The pain hit first. Bright. Hot. A sudden wash of heat that bled through your dress and soaked down your arm. You cried out, not just from the hurt, but from the way it tangled with everything else. Your spine arched, your chest heaving, your head going light from the sheer force of it.

Remmick didn’t stop. Didn’t pull away. His hands gripped tight around your hips, and he moved through the aftershocks like he couldn’t bear to let the moment end. The bite held you still. Anchored. The only sound in the room was the ragged pull of his breathing and the faint sound of blood dripping onto the sofa.

When he finally stilled, he didn’t let go, or pull out.

He licked over the wound slow, careful, as if tasting something rare. As if trying to commit it to memory. A quiet sound rose in his throat, something between a hum and a sigh, and you felt it against your skin.

You were shaking.

Spent.

And he held you like you were something precious, something ruined, something he couldn’t stop himself from needing.

The sheets smelled like lavender. Fresh. Clean. As if nothing had ever happened at all. As if you hadn’t just laid beneath him in the room where the bodies had gone cold, their blood still tacky on the floorboards.

As if he hadn’t taken you with that same blood smeared down his chest, soaked into his sleeves, crusted along his jaw.

As if he hadn’t whispered love into your mouth while fucking you raw against the parlor sofa, his hands pinning yours down, his hips relentless, the broken cries that spilled from your throat sounding too much like pleading and too little like pleasure.

And then, when it was over, when your body was wrecked and shivering, your legs too weak to stand, he’d kissed your forehead like a lullaby, scooped you up in his arms like you weighed nothing at all, and carried you to the bath.

The tub was already full.

Of course it was.

Warm. Steaming. Waiting for you.

You’d wondered, hazily, if he’d drawn it before or after.

He didn’t speak as he undressed you. Just peeled the ruined nightgown from your skin with slow, reverent fingers. His claws retracted now, nails blunted and gentle. No urgency. No demand. Only care.

The water lapped up around your body as he eased you in, one hand holding your back, the other at your hough, lowering you as though you might break apart in his arms.

He didn’t get in with you. Not at first.

Just knelt beside the tub and cupped water over your shoulders, your breasts, your thighs. Ran a cloth down your spine. Washed you in long, slow strokes, like he was trying to scrub the memory of the bodies from your skin before it sank too deep.

But it already had.

Still, you let him work. Let him wash your hair, comb it through with his fingers. Let him tilt your head back and rinse it clean. Let him trace every curve of your body like it was scripture.

He scrubbed the blood from your shoulder with painstaking tenderness, kissing the half-healed wound in between passes, calling you his miracle, his mercy, his girl.

His voice never rose. Not once.

Not even when you flinched from his touch. Not even when you cried.

He kissed your eyes dry.

You thought about the quiet days. The good ones. When he made breakfast in the morning and left hibiscus tea on your nightstand. When he sang while he cooked. When he brushed your hair with such delicacy you almost forgot what his hands were capable of.

And you thought about the other days. The long silences. The backhanded questions. The hollow, hateful stares that brought you to tears.

Your body ached in places you didn’t have names for. Inside and out.

And he was so gentle now.

You wanted to scream.

Instead, you let him rinse the soap from your skin and lift you out of the tub. Let him wrap you in a towel, thick and warm, smelling faintly of clove and firewood.

Let him dry you off. Let him carry you to his bedroom, both of you silent now, except for his breath brushing against your temple.

The mattress dipped under your weight. The pillows caught your head like a secret. The blanket was heavy in the best way, and his arms found you again before you could move away.

Remmick curled around you like a second skin. One arm beneath your waist. One over your belly.

His fingers didn’t move. Just stayed there, still and steady, like they could already feel what had been made between you.

His mouth was at your neck again, breath soft, lips barely brushing.

And still, you didn’t sleep.

You just stared into the dark, remembering the warmth of his voice when he called you good. Remembering the snap of bone. The wet sound of flesh giving way. The feel of his body slamming into yours with no hesitation, no mercy, like love could be beaten into you if he just took enough of you for himself.

He shifted behind you. Pulled you closer.

There was no space left between your bodies.

None between the truth and the lie of it.

And you still didn’t move.

You kept your eyes open. Fixed on the wall.

And thought about everything.

About your daddy’s store. You thought about that first. The sound of the bell over the door, bright and sweet as wind chimes. The gentle sweep of the broom on the front steps every morning. You thought about how the sun used to come in through the big front windows, painting long streaks of gold across the shelves. You used to watch the dust swirl in the light and think it looked like magic.

You thought about the girls you’d grown up with. How you used to sit on porch rails with your legs swinging, eating too much candy and daring each other to run barefoot down the gravel road. You wondered where they were now. If they were married. If they had babies.

If they thought about you.

You wondered if any of them had come by the store. If they’d stood on the same wooden floorboards you once stood on and asked your daddy where you’d gone. If they were told you were gone for good.

Or maybe they didn’t ask at all.

Maybe they figured you’d run off with a man, like so many girls did when the world backed them into a corner and made them choose between being loved or being lonely.

You thought about your mama next.

About how she used to wrap your hair at night, hands gentle but firm, fingers slick with oil. She never let you skip it, not even once. Not even when you pouted and said you weren’t a baby anymore. “Still my baby,” she’d say, tying the scarf with a kiss to your forehead.

You thought about what she’d say now. Whether she’d still hold you close, or just hold your face and try not to cry. You didn’t know if she’d recognize you.

Not like this. Not with him.

Remmick shifted behind you in the bed, stirring as if he could feel your thoughts pulling you too far. He curled tighter. Pulled you in with him. One arm clutched low around your waist, the other curling beneath your ribs. Like he was trying to mold his shape to yours. Like if he could just hold you close enough, you’d stop trying to leave, mind or body.

And maybe he was right.

Maybe he could fold you into him, press you so deep into his chest you’d forget where you ended and he began.

You blinked slow.

Your throat ached.

The room was quiet. The air was warm. The shadows on the walls flickered and stretched like they didn’t know where to settle. The lamp on the dresser hummed soft and low, casting gold against the covers, turning everything honeyed and still.

There was no lock on the door.

No chain at your ankle.

No order in his voice.

But it was a cage all the same.

A soft, warm, gilded cage.

And you had stayed.

Because where else was there to go?

You’d imagined leaving. Dozens of times. Pictured it clear as glass. The road winding long and empty behind you. The night cool on your skin. Your heart in your mouth.

But every time you chased that dream far enough, it ended in the same place.

Here.

With him.

You’d made too many trades along the way. Traded silence for safety. Traded truth for comfort. Traded fear for something that looked too much like love to name it anything else.

And now you had nothing left to bargain with.

You’d redrawn the line a hundred times, and now the chalk had run out.

So you stopped thinking.

Let your muscles go slack.

Let the ache in your chest press itself into the mattress. Let the silk of his voice echo in your head.

You’re safe, darlin’.

My beautiful girl.

I love ya.

And finally, you let yourself go.

858 notes · View notes

pedroscurls · 15 days ago

Text

forever, with you (one-shot)

summary: you tell joel how you really feel... during karaoke night at the tipsy bison. and to your surprise, he does the same.

pairing: jackson!joel x fem!reader content warning(s): EXPLICIT CONTENT (18+ ONLY, MDNI) established relationship, alcohol consumption, joel is singing y'all (i think that's the only way he knows how to express his emotions), joel lives!!!, grinding, heavy make-out session, groping and hair pulling (both from reader and joel), cowgirl, unprotected piv, creampie, dirty talk, no use of y/n. word count: 4k a/n: so sad that there's no more tlou and no more joel, so the only way to fix that is to write ;) anyway, i've been listening to a lot of country music lately and every time i do, joel's always on my mind lol. these two songs came on and this idea just couldn't leave my head. so please enjoy and if you like it, leave a comment - it really does make my day <3 (also the song in case you didn't know will forever be the song that reminds me of joel bc it just fits him so well.) fyi - this isn't proofread, just wrote this in like 2 hours and wanted to post it lol songs: how do i live by leann rimes | in case you didn't know by brett young

“When are you gonna sing for me?” you ask him, batting your eyelashes up at him as he’s leaning against the counter of the kitchen island with a mug of coffee.

“I don’t sing,” he answers, bringing the mug to his lips. Joel moves his gaze to you and lets the corner of his lips lift upwards at the sight of you. He loved his mornings, especially since you had moved in. It was easier to fall asleep with you next to him and he loved waking up every morning with your body curled against his own.

“Liar,” you pout. “Ellie told me that you wanted to be a singer when you were younger.”

“Doesn’t mean that I can sing.” He sets his mug down and then moves an arm to wrap around your waist, pulling you between him and the kitchen island. Joel smiles when he feels your arms snake around his neck, lacing your fingers at the nape of his neck.

“But you play guitar,” you answer. “You’ve got this whole cowboy vibe going on and—”

“Baby,” he chuckles. “Just because m’from Texas don’t make me a cowboy.”

“Are you saying you don’t identify as a cowboy?”

“Well, no, I ain’t sayin’ that.”

“Ah, so you do think of yourself as a cowboy?”

“Okay, enough of that,” Joel says, leaning down to press his lips along your neck. He hears you giggle quietly, wrapping your arms tighter around him.

“There’s a song I heard the other day… Save a horse, ride a cowboy?” You grin mischievously.

Joel pulls back to look down at you, eyes darkening at your implication. “Don’t start, baby. I gotta be on patrol in ten minutes.”

“How about tonight then? Can you save me a ride?” You wink, moving a hand to cup his cheek. You brush the pad of your thumb across his facial hair, biting your lower lip.

“Tease,” he growls. “I’ll save you a ride as long as we skip karaoke night.”

“No,” you shake your head. “We’re going to karaoke night and then I’ll ride you, cowboy. Sound like a deal?”

Joel narrows his eyes and moves a hand down to squeeze your ass, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. “Fine, but I ain’t singin’.”

You move your hands to his chest and grip the lapels of his jacket. You pull him flush against you. “Deal. Now, you gonna give me a kiss before you go or just grab my ass—”

“You are feisty this morning, baby.” Joel chuckles, leaning in to press his lips firmly against your own. He wastes no time in moving his lips with your own, feeling your fingers card through his hair. He lets out a low groan when he feels you tug on his lower lip, pulling away slowly to look down at you. “Okay, gonna have to stop or else I’m gonna miss my shift.”

“Yes, sir,” you tease, gently pushing against his chest to give yourself some distance. “I’ll see you later, cowboy.”

Joel nods, leaning back in to peck your lips. Neither of you had been able to say those three words—both afraid that admitting what you both already feel will somehow make things more difficult, more scary. You both had lost people that you loved and cared about, and neither of you can ever fathom losing each other.

“See you, baby.”

Later that night, you’re leaning against Joel—laughter echoing the Tipsy Bison with other patrons. You’re both sitting at a table with Tommy and Maria, Ellie and Dina, and Benjamin sitting on his mother’s lap. Joel smiles to himself, keeping his arm loosely wrapped around your shoulders as he looks around—contentment and peace overcoming him.

You’re nursing your second glass of wine and Joel stares down at you, getting lost in the sound of your laughter and the way your smile meets your eyes. He never thought he’d ever get another chance at this—at having a family—especially not in this world where it seemed to take everything from him.

Joel leans in and presses a soft kiss to your temple and it causes you to look up at him with a smile that only seems to be reserved for him. His hand brushes along the back of your shoulder as you snuggle up close to him.

“Hi, cowboy,” you whisper.

“Hey, baby. You havin’ fun?”

You nod, moving your hands to rest over his lap. “I’m gonna sing.”

“You’re what?”

“Alright, who’s next?!�� Someone exclaims, holding the microphone in the air. Joel looks down at you, eyes slightly wide and his head shaking already. You stand up and raise your arm in the air, grinning down at Joel who looks visibly shocked and concerned.

“Baby, what are you doin’?”

“I told you—I’m gonna sing.” You walk over to the front stage and take the microphone, swaying slightly on your feet as you point at Joel. “This song… It’s dedicated to my man over there.”

The entire table hollers and cheers, causing Joel’s cheek to heat up as he clears his throat uncomfortably. Everyone’s looking at him now, but he can’t take his eyes off of you. My man—a sense of pride pools in the pit of his stomach as you announce to possibly the entire town who you belong to and the corner of his lips lift upwards.

Tommy and Ellie look over in his direction, grinning to themselves at the look on Joel’s face. He shifts in his seat when the music starts to play—How Do I Live by LeAnn Rimes—he knows that song anywhere and he feels his breath catch in his throat. He doesn’t know if you can sing, but that doesn’t matter. The words of the song—the meaning behind it—shakes him and has the tips of his fingers itching to reach out for you.

Because yes, he loves you too.

So fucking much that it scares him.

Just as much as it scares you.

“Joel, baby,” you begin, your voice echoing throughout the entire Tipsy Bison. “I just want you to know that I love you. Have loved you… and will always love you. So, this is for you.”

You grip the microphone—liquid courage coursing through your veins. All you can see is Joel and everyone else just fades into the background. You just told this man that you loved him for the first time in front of the entire town and it terrifies you—what that means now—and the possibility of ever losing him.

How do I Get through one night without you If I had to live without you What kind of life would that be?

Joel’s brows shoot upwards at the sound of your voice filtering the entire room. You can sing and it just makes his heart beat even faster. He feels Ellie gently wrap a hand on his shoulder and he brings his own hand to rest over it. Momentarily glancing away from you and to the younger girl, he smiles—truly smiles—and Ellie whispers.

“Holy fuck, she can sing.”

“M’surprised too,” he answers.

“Now you have to sing too.”

Joel bites the inside of his cheek and shrugs, pulling his eyes away from Ellie to look back at you as you continue singing. Your eyes never leave him and he can see the way it glistens with unshed tears.

How do I live without you? I want to know How do I breathe without you if you ever go? How do I ever, ever survive? How do I, how do I, oh, how do I live?

You slowly walk over to him and Joel straightens up in his seat. His eyes move along your frame and once you’re close enough, he reaches out for your hand and you take it without hesitation. Slowly moving to sit on his lap, arm draping over his shoulder, you continue to sing as you stare directly into his eyes.

Without you, there'd be no sun in my sky There would be no love in my life There'd be no world left for me

Joel’s arm wraps around your waist as he keeps his eyes focused solely on yours. He wasn’t usually the type of person who liked to publicly display any kind of affection, but right now, he doesn’t care. He’s fueled by those three words that have since echoed in his mind—you love him too.

Please, tell me, baby How do I go on if you ever leave? Baby, you would take away everything, I need you with me Baby, don't you know that you're everything good in my life? And tell me now

He reaches up with his free hand to cup your cheek as a fallen tear slides down your cheek and hits his thumb. Joel nods in understanding as he stares into your eyes—he knows you’re scared too, knows now what this means. The fear of losing you to this world—it scares him too.

How do I live without you? I want to know How do I breathe without you if you ever go How do I ever, ever survive? How do I, how do I, oh, how do I live? How do I live without you? How do I live without you, baby? How do I live?

The song slowly comes to an end as you lower the microphone to wrap both arms around him, burying your face against the crook of his neck. Joel smiles to himself and holds you tightly to him, hand slowly rubbing your back as the microphone is taken from you.

“Well, that’s gonna be hard to top,” someone says with a quiet chuckle, speaking into the microphone. “You’re one lucky sonofabitch, Joel.”

Joel nods in his direction before he gently pulls back to look at you, hand still cupping your cheek. “That was one surprise,” he whispers. Everyone else’s attention diverts away from the two of you once another person begins singing.

“I blame it on that second glass of wine,” you smile nervously. “And you don’t have to say it back. I just—”

Joel interrupts you by leaning in to press his lips softly against yours. “You amaze me, y’know that?” he mumbles, pulling away slowly.

“Why didn’t you tell us you could sing?!” Ellie exclaims and you climb off Joel’s lap to sit back in your seat next to him. She’s grinning at you, arm draped over the back of Dina’s chair. “Now you and Joel definitely need to start a band.”

“Well, he doesn’t sing,” you tease, leaning back against him. “At least that’s what he tells me.”

“He’s lying. He sang for me once.”

“Ellie—” Joel begins.

“Oh, he did?” you ask, brow arching. “Was he any good?”

“You know, he didn’t sound like shit.” Both you and Ellie erupt into a fit of giggles and Joel can’t help but smile to himself. Despite him being the main center of the teasing, he didn’t mind. You and Ellie had always gotten along and having you move in with them just made everything feel complete—like you had been the missing puzzle piece in both of their lives.

“He used to sing all the time,” Tommy chimes in, grinning over at Joel. “He always had a guitar draped around him, singing songs he’s made up… All the girls loved it. Ain’t that right, big brother?”

Joel rolls his eyes as he brings the glass of beer to his lips and takes a long swig. “That was a long time ago.”

“So, what I’m hearing is that you’ve sung for other girls, but you can’t sing for me?” you tease, biting your lower lip.

“Ain’t like that,” Joel answers.

“And why’s that?”

“Because he loves you,” Tommy and Ellie say simultaneously. “Those girls—he just wanted to sleep with ‘em. But you… Well, you’re different,” Tommy adds.

You grin broadly, staring up at Joel who won’t meet your eyes. You lean up and gently kiss his cheek before resting your head on his shoulder. You finish your glass of wine and Joel finishes his beer. He kisses the crown of your head and stands up from the table, pointing at the drinks.

“I’ll get us all a refill.” Joel squeezes your shoulder and disappears into the crowd to walk towards the bar. He glances over his shoulder to see your attention focused on Dina and Ellie, laughing to yourself as he feels a pang in his chest. He knows he has to sing and there’s a lingering nervousness that sits in his belly. Joel walks over to the emcee of the event and whispers into his ear, the younger man grinning and nodding.

After a few minutes, the music stops abruptly and the lights dim until it shines only on the front stage. With a shaky breath, Joel steps onto the stage and takes a seat at the stool, reaching for the guitar as he looks down at it. This was his comfort zone—playing guitar and singing.

“Oh shit, it’s Joel,” Ellie whispers.

Your eyes widen and you look over at the stage, the light illuminating his presence as he adjusts the microphone in front of him. Then, he speaks into it.

“Guess I can’t have my girl showin’ me up,” he says with a quiet chuckle, his voice filtering the room. “So, baby, this is for you. I know it ain’t easy loving me, but I thank God every day that you do.” Joel begins plucking the strings on the guitar expertly, a small smile lining his lips. “And I just—I want you to know I love you, baby. More than you’ll ever know. You and Ellie—you saved me.”

Joel leans back and away from the microphone to take a deep breath, his fingers moving along the guitar as he glances down to watch what he’s doing. You glance over at Ellie who’s grinning so broadly as she reaches for your hand and you squeeze it tightly. Tears sting your eyes as you watch him, his singing voice now echoing the entirety of the Tipsy Bison.

I can't count the times I almost said what's on my mind But I didn't And just the other day I wrote down all the things I'd say But I couldn't I just couldn't Baby I know that you've been wondering Mmm, so here goes nothing

Joel then looks up to lock eyes with you. His lips lift upwards as he continues to play the guitar, continues to sing. Everything else around him but you fades into the background and all he can see is you.

In case you didn't know Baby I'm crazy bout you And I would be lying if I said That I could live this life without you Even though I don't tell you all the time You had my heart a long long time ago In case you didn't know

Joel doesn’t look away from you. The smile that lines his lips remains, his dimple on his right cheek appearing almost instantly. He’s overcome with so much emotion and he wants so badly just to take you away from here and back home to give you the love and care you deserve.

All of the things that I've been feeling Mmm, it's time you hear em You've got all of me I belong to you Yeah, you're my everything

Joel continues singing as he now sheds a couple of tears. He continues to pluck the strings of the guitar until the end of the song and the lights turn back on. Everyone in the Tipsy Bison stands up and claps as he sets the guitar back on its stand, his ears and cheeks burning up at the sight of praise everyone in the town is giving him.

He pockets his hands into his jacket as he steps off the stage and walks directly towards you. You stand from the chair and meet him half way, arms immediately snaking around his neck as Joel pulls his hands out of his pockets to rest on your waist. You stand on your toes and peck his lips, hands running through the curls at the nape of his neck.

“I love you, baby,” Joel whispers.

“Take me home?” you ask quietly, holding him close to you.

“Yeah, let’s go home. I did promise you a ride,” he smirks.

Both you and Joel don’t get home until an hour later—not wanting to look suspicious amongst the rest of the group. The lingering touches, the soft kisses in between… Joel needed you just as badly as you needed him. Ellie had told the both of you that she would be spending the night at Dina’s, giving you and Joel much needed uninterrupted time.

The moment you both walk inside, Joel pulls you to him, arms snaking around your waist as he lowers his head to press his lips firmly against your own. You whimper against his lips, feeling him walk you further back to the couch until the back of your knees hit the soft cushions. Pulling away from him briefly, you look up at him and turn him around, hands pressing firmly on his chest as you push gently.

Joel falls back against the couch with a quiet grunt, legs spreading wide as his hand reaches for your own. Gently tugging you down, you straddle his hips and wrap your arms loosely around his shoulders.

“So, you love me, huh?” you tease, rolling your hips against his own as you brush your lips against his.

“Yeah, baby,” Joel grunts. “I love you… so fuckin’ much.”

You grin, fingers carding through his hair as you feel his hardened bulge beneath you. A quiet moan escapes you as you close your eyes. “I love you too, Joel.”

He growls at that and brings one hand to your hair, pulling you against him as his lips crash against your own. Joel moves his lips urgently against your own—messy and rushed, desperate and fueled by need, by relief that you feel the same way he does. His other hand rests on your hip, gripping it tightly as he darts his tongue out to flick against the roof of your mouth. You gasp and feel his tongue slide past your lips, tangling it with your own.

You reach down to bunch up your skirt to your waist, the wetness pooling between your legs and staining your panties. You brush your clothed sex against the fabric of his jeans, his bulge hard and prominent underneath you. He growls and moves the hand from your hip to your ass, squeezing it tightly into his palm as he urges you to rub against him faster… harder.

You pull on his hair, causing his lips to pull away from yours as you stare at him. Dark eyes filled with lust stare right back at you as you tug on his hair again, causing him to tilt his head back, exposing the length of his neck down to his chest. You let out a quiet groan, leaning in to brush your lips across his jawline and down to his neck. Joel’s eyes flutter as he keeps his hand entangled in your hair, feeling your teeth graze his skin.

“Fuck,” Joel whimpers. “Gonna cream my fuckin’ pants if you don’t take me out right now and sit on it,” he growls.

A loud gasp escapes your lips as you gently bite down on the side of his neck, wrapping your lips around the mark and sucking roughly. He bucks his hips into your own and tightens his grip around your hair to pull you back and away from him. He stares up at you, licking his lower lip hungrily. Joel feels you move back against his knees, giving you enough space to reach down and undo the button and zipper on his jeans. He lets out a sigh of relief when you lift yourself enough for him to push down his jeans and boxers to his ankles.

You clear your throat at the sight of him—so hard, so girthy, leaking already with precome.

“You wanted to ride a cowboy?” Joel whispers lowly. “Then take me for a ride, baby.” He reaches down and pushes your panties to the side, running the tip of his finger along the length of your sex. He growls to himself, a smirk lining his lips at the feel of your wetness. “Oh, baby—I’m gonna slide right on in, ain’t I?”

You nod, lifting your hips and taking a hold of his length. You stare deeply into his eyes as you brush the head of his member against your sex, eyes fluttering at the feel of him brushing against your opening. “J—Joel…”

“I got you, baby,” Joel nods, hands placed on your hips as he slowly lowers you onto him.

Once he breaches your opening—the fat tip of his length sliding into your tight, wet heat—your eyes flutter, forcing your eyes to remain open. “I love you,” you whisper breathlessly, slamming your hips down firmly against his own as he fills you to the brim. Your hands move to his chest, gripping the fabric of his flannel as you stare into his eyes.

“T—This might be my new favorite position,” Joel groans as you begin to lift your hips only to slide back down onto him. His hands move to your ass, gripping each cheek tightly in each hand as he guides you along his length. “Fuck, look at you…”

You lean forward—forearms resting on his chest as you begin to bounce along his length. Every time you come down, he feels deeper and bigger. You can feel how wet you are, how easy it is to move up and down his girthy manhood. His fingertips dig into the flesh of your ass as he tilts his head back against the couch, your breasts bouncing from beneath the fabric of your fitted white t-shirt. As you slam yourself down onto him, you feel the hair at his base brush against your clit. Yearning for more friction, you lean back and rest one hand on his chest and the other on his knee as your hips roll forward and backward.

“Oh f—fuck,” Joel growls, eyes staring at your movements. He can feel the pit of his stomach tighten as your walls tremble against his throbbing length. “That’s it, baby… Fuckin’ use me…”

“Joel!” you moan loudly, the feeling of being so full of him as his hair at his base tickles your clit repeatedly bringing you closer and closer to the edge of release. Your eyes fall shut as the hold on his flannel tightens. “Oh god, baby… I—I’m gonna—”

Joel growls lowly and sits upright, leaning forward as his arms wrap around your waist. He keeps you firmly held against him as he pushes his hips forward once you roll your hips into him, the tip of his length hitting your cervix just right. You release his hold on his knee and flannel, wrapping your arms around his shoulders tightly as your body shakes with the orgasm that overtakes you. You can feel your arousal dripping onto him and he reaches down to lift your hips just slightly to give him enough room to piston his hips into you.

“Fuck, baby…” Joel groans, burying his face against your chest as the sound of his balls slapping against you once he thrusts repeatedly into you echoes throughout the entire house. “You feel so fuckin’ good—like you were made for me… This pussy—it’s fuckin’ mine.”

Joel feels your breasts bounce against his face as he slams your hips down firmly onto his lap in time with his thrust upwards. You can feel his come paint your walls, filling you warmly as he shudders against you. He rolls your hips forward and backward slowly, panting heavily against your chest. You keep a tight hold on his shoulders, hands playing with his curls at the back of his head as you breathe heavily—body still sensitive and trembling.

Joel slowly ceases your movements and pulls back to look up at you—a dazed and truly fucked look on your face with a small smile lining your lips.

“I think I like riding you,” you whisper, leaning in to peck his lips.

“I think I like you ridin’ me too,” he agrees as his hand comes up to rest on your cheek.

“I love you, Joel,” you say quietly.

“I love you too, baby,” he answers without hesitation. “Forever sounds really good with you,” Joel admits.

“Yeah,” you smile. “Yeah, it does.”

535 notes · View notes

outtathisworld-imagines · 1 month ago

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Sweet ‘n’ Salty

——☀️——⚡️——☀️——⚡️——☀️——

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Warning: Smut! MDNI 18+. Just pure filth tbh. Unprotected sex, Oral (M&F rec) There is a lot going on here. Pretty much porn without plot. It's got all your favs including a threesome (MMF), cum-swapping, Bob is a lil bit of a perv, fingering, dirty talk, double penetration, teasing, eating out, masterbation, lots of innuendos, suggestive language, and just yeah…you’ll find me in an cold shower. Mentions of other MCU characters. Not proofread.

A.N: no one asked for this but y’all got it. Two of my faves with a whole load of filth. Enjoy!

Please let me know what else you guys would like! I do have a few other fics on the back-burner (for now!) that I'll start to post soon and just let me know if you'd liked to be tagged in further works too ✨

——⚡️——☀️——⚡️——☀️——⚡️——

Bob couldn’t help but stare.

Sometimes he didn’t even realise he was doing it, but the dynamic you had with Bucky always made him look. Not quite friends. Not quite lovers. Not quite conventional.

The two of you were making dinner, he watched as your body was playfully trapped between him and the counter as you cut up some vegetables. He watched as Bucky tried to act grumpy at something you had said but the upward twitching of his lips said otherwise. He watched as you effortlessly danced around him while preparing a meal for everyone.

You playfully swatted Bucky’s hand away as he tried to pull you in, preventing you from reaching the oil. With Bucky’s strength, he succeeded, tugging on your dress and pulling him into his arms causing you to laugh. You scooped up some of the sauce with your finger and let him taste, his tongue tracing along the very tip and humming in approval.

“He’s watching,” he whispered in your ear while swaying you “Again.”

You lightly chuckled “Let me go or else no one is getting dinner.” He did, not willing to listen to the droning of Alexei and John about not getting their next meal. Bucky didn’t pry on why you avoided his worlds. Instead he snapped his head around, Bob suddenly realising he had been caught.

“You okay there, bud?” Bucky asked and you looked at him out of the corner of your eye. Not quite listening but not quite cooking either.

Bob frantically nodded “Y-yeah! Are you guys? Do you need any help?” He sputtered out.

You gave him your attention, looking right through Bucky. “I’m okay for now, thank you, Bob. If you could maybe get everyone to the table in about 30 minutes- that would be great!” You sent him a smile and got back to the task at hand. Bob left the two of you be, you suddenly felt Bucky’s presence behind you again. “What?”

“He’s like a deer in the headlights.” He snorted and you rolled your eyes, despite the fact he couldn’t see you do the action.

“Leave him alone. He’s…sweet.”

“Oh yeah, what does that make me?” Bucky chuckled and you smiled to yourself.

“Salty.” You turned around and pecked his lips. “A salty old man who yells at the kids in the street when they speed past us on their bike.”

“Hey! That guy almost knocked you down!” He defensively retorted back.

“Oh, my hero.” You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and teased him in a mocking tone.

Bucky let out a low growl under his breath. “You’re screamin’ for a spankin’, baby.” You looked at him, brow raised as if it was saying that he shouldn’t threaten you with a good time. “I’m gonna set the table before I’m gonna have to bend you over it.” He squeezed your hip before going to the dining room.

You and Bucky did have a very unconventional relationship. You often heard murmurings from the team and others about you both.

‘What exactly are they?’

Was the number one question tossed around the watchtower. But you let them talk, you didn’t care and neither did he at whatever they said.

You slowly stirred the sauce in the pot in front of you before gasping at two hands being placed on your waist, forcibly dragging you from your wandering mind. You turned down the heat “You’re too stealthy, Barnes!” You lightly scolded him and he chuckled against your neck.

“Table is set.”

“Five minutes for dinner,” you said “Just finishing off the sauce.”

Bucky squeezed you a little tighter “Five minutes you say…” his suggestive tone sending a shiver down your spine in the hot kitchen. “Five minutes and you could have my sauce dripping down your throat.”

“God!” You playfully pushed him away “Always so needy for me.” You smirked and he trapped you between his own body and the counter yet again. Bucky took control of stirring the pot as your hands rested on the countertop and you pressed your ass against his crotch, causing him to lowly groan. His free hand came up to your chest quickly yanking down one side of your top and exposing your lace-clad breast. He began toying with your nipple, the lacy material causing a pleasant friction between your skin and his hand. “It’s almost ready…” you haphazardly warned as you leaned back into him again, the crown of your head against his shoulder.

Bucky’s lips met the nape of your neck, ignoring your words as you had earlier with his. His teeth sunk into the lobe of your ear and you stifled a moan as he continued to touch you and stir the sauce. Your hand trailed down his side and slipped under the waistband of his jeans just enough for you to snap the edge of his boxers. “Go on, baby. You know you want to. Dinner can wait a few minutes.” As tempting as that was, you were precise and knew you didn’t have time to take anything further. “Besides,” he continued as you mindlessly let your hand wander “We’re giving someone a good show.” You froze, Bucky continued. You already knew who it was, he didn’t even have to tell you.

“Dinner’s ready!” You yelled to everyone, including the person by the door watching who quickly scampered. You hastily moved, fixing your top before grabbing the pot from Bucky. “You absolute fucking slut- you did that on purpose.” You tried to sound angry but Bucky knew you better than that.

“You enjoyed that, huh.” He tried to stop you in your tracks but successfully dodged him. “Don’t tell me you haven’t missed it.” You shot him a pointed glare. “Don’t tell me you don’t want it.”

“I’m telling you to sit your ass at the dinner table before I sit it for you.” You passed him dishes to take through. He complied, but not forgetting your little chat that he would explore later. You let out a large huff and composed yourself before taking through the rest of dinner.

“Looks great Y/N! Thank you.” Ava smiled, taking a dish from your hands. You started to plate some things up from everyone, apologising as you squeezed between everyone to serve.

Bob glanced up as you bent down. “You want both?” You asked an innocent enough question, his mind traveled elsewhere.

“S-sorry?” He almost choked on his words. Looking at your chest and then a quick glance to Bucky, his mind replaying the scene he just witnessed moments ago.

“Do you want both?” You repeated “Carrots and potatoes?” His shoulders eased at your clarification of the question.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he nervously smiled, his eyes looking at the plate and then between you and Bucky. “I’ll do both.”

—•—

“What’s on your mind?” You asked, tracing your fingertip over Bucky’s chest as it continued to frantically rise and fall as he caught his composure after having his way with you later that same night.

“He loved watching us.” Your hand stopped and you looked up to him, beads of sweat making him glisten in the warm candle light. “I think we could-“

You stopped him “What makes you so sure he would? He gets nervous watching us hold hands never mind anything else.”

Bucky laughed “C’mon, wouldn’t you be flattered if you were asked?” You smacked his chest and then lay back down on it to hide your grin. “I can feel you smiling, Y/N.”

Caught.

“I’m guessing you miss it too then?” You asked and he hummed a yes. “It has been a little while.”

“God I miss those days where three of us would just fuck and end up in a sweaty pile.” He admitted and you bit down on your lip, still grinning. “I know how much you like to play with shiny new toys, and be played with, in the bedroom. Besides, wouldn’t be any different doing it with him.”

“It was different though.” You sat up, trying to reason with him, a pro and cons list forming between your two naked bodies. “Steve was different. Steve was happy and willing to. We really knew Steve.”

“And we knew Zemo?” He counter argued.

You blew a raspberry “Low blow. That’s a completely different comparison all together. He fucked anything that moved.” Bucky’s eyes never left yours. “And you knew how much I wanted that coat of his! God, I would have done anything for that.” You glanced over and saw it in your wardrobe. “He was such a slutty mess.” You lowly laughed, mainly to yourself.

“We all were that night.” Bucky added and sat up next to you. Brushing his fingers over your shoulder and arms. “Then how is it any different from the times with Nat? The three of us were super nervous then- mainly me and you because boy she was playing her cool well.”

Your eyes fell to his torso, a sad smile forming over your face at the mention of her name. “You know they were all different…” your voice never raised above a whisper. “They just…were.”

“Let’s at least test the waters with this, maybe see how he reacts to a soft-launch proposal? We drop some comments here and there, pop in a few of those moments we had in the kitchen, huh?” Bucky’s lips ghosted over your shoulders, softly kissing all your favourite spots that he came to know well over the many years you had known each other. They eventually reached your lips, his hand entwining with your hair and deepening the kiss. You smiled against his mouth as he pushed you back down onto the bed, indicating he was ready for round two with you. “You never know, Bob might actually want this.” He said running his hand up and down your waist before letting his lips roam the rest of your body, the soft kisses he pressed to your breasts made you smile. “How could he not want you…?”

You bit down on your bottom lip and cupped his cheek as he looked up to you. “I suppose…” you playfully gloated “And how could he not want you?” Bucky winked at your words. “But if you want me to fully get on board…” you spread your legs for him “You’re going to have to really convince me.”

—•—

You were enjoying some of the sunshine out on the balcony when a clearing throat caught your attention. You peaked out over your sunglasses. “Yes?”

“Can I squirt some white stuff on you?” Bucky asked and you rolled your eyes at his vulgar double entendre as he shook a bottle of sunscreen.

“Squirt away, Barnes.” You gave him a hint of satisfaction, especially since you knew a certain someone was in earshot. The second you stepped out in your bikini, Bobs eyes were glued to you. Bucky dropped his arm and shook the bottle almost suggestively at you fully knowing Bob would see a deeper meaning within it.

“Can’t wait to coat you, baby.” He said, voice loud enough to ensure Bob would hear. You turned your head to smirk.

“This is so mean, Buck,” you said quietly and then gasped loudly feeling a cold patch being sprayed over your stomach “YOU FUCKER! That’s cold!” You looked down, the streak of white looking beyond suggestible. Then you glanced over to Bob who was gawking. You decided to test the waters along with Bucky. “Rub me, Bucky.” His brow raised and his hand smoothed the sunscreen all over your stomach and torso.

“Roll over,” he asked and you did just that, feeling him straddling your thighs as he rubbed sunscreen slowly over your ass before giving it a playful spank and then moving to your back, unhooking your bikini top with ease. “He’s still watching…” he said in a sing-song voice. “He wants this.”

You snorted “One- we’ve barely even started. Two- we have no idea if he does or not yet. Give it a couple of days of this.” You told him “I mean he’s-” you turned to look at him “He’s not there?” Bucky’s head snapped around, you were right, he was gone. “Maybe it was too much.”

It was too much for Bob, so much that he had to go to his room and relive himself after the scene he had just witnessed.

A day later you were chilling in the living room, your legs draped over Bucky’s thighs as you read and he caught up with some tv. “Can’t believe you’re as old as this book, dude.” You mindlessly said aloud while reading the Hobbit, Bucky’s hand snapped the hem of your shorts in retaliation of your comment. His fingers continued to linger there.

“Oh sorry to disturb, I was just getting my sweatshirt.” Both of you looked up and locked onto Bob who looked like he was about to implode for imposing with his milkshake in hand.

You smiled softly at him “S’okay, you’re not disturbing me. Is he disturbing you, sweetie?” You asked Bucky in a sickly sweet voice.

“No, honey, not disturbing me either.” Your pet names made Bob swallow and nod hard.

He grabbed his sweatshirt from the chair near you both and you decided to pursue your mission a little further. “What flavour of milkshake do you have?” Bucky looked at you from the corner of his eye, you could feel his fingertips digging into your thigh.

“Vanilla.” Bob replied.

“Can I taste?”

Bob glanced between you, Bucky and the milkshake in his hand. “S-Sure…” he didn’t sound sure at all as he reached it out to you. He was naive to think you would take it from him but instead you placed your hand over his on the cup and parted your lips, your tongue reached the straw first and you drew out the motion of suggestively wrapping your lips over the top of the straw, looking up at Bob through your eyelashes as you did.

“Tastes so good,” you pulled back, emphasising licking your lips. “I love vanilla…”

Bucky smirked “Nothing vanilla about her though, Bobby.” He said under his breath and you bashfully swatted his words away.

“Ignore him, he’s just being naughty now.” You flippantly commented and Bob nervously laughed before walking away quickly. Your smile dropped the second he left, Bucky felt the force of a cushion you tossed at him. “This plan is shit. Why did I let you take charge with this?” You groaned.

“You love it when I’m in charge.” He brought your leg up to his mouth and kissed your knee.

“Calm your pants before you cream them,” a beat passed before you added with a mischievous smirk “Sargent Barnes.” A nod to his previous comment and massive kink of his. Bucky pounced on you, frantically kissing your cheeks before you pushed him away with a serious look your face. “He’s too nervous, Buck.”

“Everyone always is! It’s fine, we’ll keep working our magic on him.”

Bob returned to his room practically gasping for air. Mixed feelings swirling inside him like a piece of abstract art he couldn’t quite comprehend. It was confusing. It was thought-provoking. It was…exciting. He had no idea what to even think of you both, especially over the last few days. In his eyes you guys were such a sweet? Cute? Hot? Sexy? Couple…? Words were being tossed around in his head and he threw himself down on his bed yet again, pulling down his pants just enough and getting off to thought of you both.

Bucky was in the kitchen making you a drink when Bob walked in the next evening. He was cutting up limes and unknowingly entrancing Bob with his fingers as he exhibited his knife skills.

“Hey, Bob. Drink?” He asked and Bob shook his head no.

“I’m good for now, but thanks.”

“No worries, I’m on bartender duty tonight for Y/N.” He laughed to himself and Bob cracked a small, albeit nervous, smile. Bucky decided to use this time wisely. “When I made her this for the first time she was like putty in my hands.” He heard Bob gulp as he sliced through the fruit. “You probably don’t want to hear this…” he nonchalantly added.

“No, no, no!” Bob quickly added, mentally scolding himself for sounding eager. Bucky was trying to hide his grin. “I mean, I don’t mind.”

Bucky decided to continue as he made your drink. “She was so goddamn soft, every inch of her was like I was in a dream.” He reminisced as he shook up the cocktail shaker. “You ever had someone like that Bob? Because man if you do- or if you have the opportunity- don’t pass that up.”

“I see,” he added, those feelings still swirling inside him as Bucky decorated your glass.

“She likes it.” He said “The rim.”

“I’m sorry?!” Bob choked out at another one of Bucky’s double entendres.

He pointed to the glass as if it were obvious, pouring the liquid into it before handing it over to the man who was clearly too pure for the world. “The salt rim on the glass. Where the hell is your head?”

“I do like head and a salty rim,” you sauntered in cracking a joke, Bob almost cracked the glass in his hand at the innuendo. “Is this my marg? Thank you!”

“No-no problem!”

“I hope he isn’t annoying you. He can be a pain in the ass.” You took a sip.

“Quite literally on my birthday! And some special occasions if I’m lucky.” You nudged Bucky with your elbow before the both of you looked at Bob with a tight smile.

A mildly painful silence passed. “You guys are kinda…” Bob began trying to find the right words, looking between you both. “Interesting.” Before he could elaborate, John called on him to help with something.

Bucky turned to you “He didn’t say no!” He tried to sound promising.

“Yeah because he said ‘interesting’. What does that even mean?” You took a longer sip. “Maybe threesomes just aren’t his thing.”

“I never said they weren’t.”

Your heads snapped to the door so fast you were almost convinced they would have fallen off. There he was standing in the doorway twiddling with his fingers. “You coulda just asked…”

“It’s not something you often drop into casual conversation to be fair,” Bucky spoke for you both, he could tell you were still frozen in surprise. “It can be a little complicated.”

Bob lowly laughed “Have you seen me? I’m beyond complicated.” A silence filled the room again. “Y/N?” He called out for you “You’re pretty quiet. You okay?”

You nodded before asking the question you didn’t realise how desperate you were to ask until now. “You wanna be our third?”

Bobs smile said yes but he replied “Give me a bit to think about it if that’s okay. It’s not something I’ve often- or rather ever- been asked. I wanna relish in this moment.” He walked away leaving both you and Bucky in the kitchen.

“See!” Bucky finally spoke up “He didn’t say no!”

—•—

An excitement was rushing in both yours and Bucky’s veins. It was a thrill neither of you had in a while but you were happy for your proposal to be considered by Bob.

The three of you briefly shared looks every now and then throughout the watchtower over the few days that passed as he had the decision playing on his mind. By the end of the week you were sitting late one night in the living room with a movie on when footsteps approached. “Hi,” you breathed out and turned off the tv.

Bob sat beside you, is body hunched over and his elbows resting on his knees, eyes forward when he asked. “Do you love each other?”

You blinked, not a question you had considered he would ask. “Very much,” you replied. “But from the outside looking in, I can understand why our love would look different.”

“What is he to you? Like is he your boyfriend?”

A question you had heard so many times. “He’s my Bucky. And I’m his Y/N. That’s the way it’s always been, and will always be.”

He sat up straight, giving you his full attention. “Are you happy with that?”

“I am. We love that we are free- with each other and sometimes others. We have always been very open, lots of talking, lots of understanding. That’s why it’s love, but it’s our own love. Others don’t have to understand and we are okay with that.” You explained and Bob nodded his timidly, you reached across and placed your hand over the top of his. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. It’s a big ask.”

Bob barely heard a word you said, the electricity from your hand on his sent a shockwave through his body. He barely even heard another set of footsteps walk into the room. “Everything okay?” Bucky asked in nothing but a pair of boxers causing the pair of you to go wide-eyed at the sight. “I was just seeing if you were coming to bed.” He was telling you but looking at Bob.

You let out a sigh that wasn’t quite tired but not quite awake either. “Yeah, I’m on my way. We were just having a chat.” Bucky raised a brow, intrigued to what was discussed. “Just a good chat, Bob is still thinkin-“

“I’d love to go to bed too.”

His words created a new tension in the room. Your own hand clutching his ever so slightly tighter as Bucky’s jaw tensed. Bob looked to you, then to Bucky and then to your hand. “Incase you didn’t hear me…I’d love to go to bed too. With you both.”

“Now?” Bucky directly asked, you were stunned into silence.

Bob tugged on your fingers to capture your attention “I’m not very tired right now, are you…?” A wide smile spread across your face as you looked at the two men.

“I’m not tired.”

Another silence filled the room before Bucky’s dark chuckle broke it. “Jesus, Bob just kiss her already. It’s okay.” He stalled and his head staggered. You smirked and leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on his lips. The touch instantly melted away Bobs nerves and he was glad he wasn’t the one to start- mainly because he had no idea where to. He deeply sighed as you took charged and deepened the kiss. Bucky walked forward and sat behind Bob on the sofa before whispering in his ear “She likes when you bite her lips,” throwing gentle guidance his way as he took it on board and sank his teeth into your bottom lip, causing you to gasp.

Bucky’s hands roamed over Bob’s shoulders as he bit on your lip again “Good boy,” you murmured almost unknowingly, completely letting yourself go already. The praise caused Bob to push you forward with his body, not breaking the contact of your lisp against his. Bucky laid on top knowing you already had Bob wrapped around your little finger.

Bobs head moved and was inches away from Bucky’s “Can I try?” He asked, eyes flickering between Bucky’s eyes and his lips.

“Try what?” He asked and Bob was suddenly starting to understand the dynamic the pair of you had more.

“Can I try everything.” He replied and you let out a soft giggle.

“We don’t have do to everything tonight yanno…If you like it, we can do this as often as you want to.” You assured and watched as Bob’s nerves began to melt away as his lips captured Bucky’s. The two boys could hear your deep breathing and decided not to leave you out. Their heads moving to yours and quickly turning into messy, sloppy kisses between the three of you. As Bob’s and Bucky’s tongues danced across your own you could taste how different Bob was. He very much as sweet whereas Bucky was salty, being reminded of your conversation in the kitchen with him.

“We should move this before someone walks in,” Bucky pulled back with flush, kiss-stained lips. “Besides Bob, wouldn’t you rather have Y/N naked right about now because I sure would.”

He smirked against your skin as you said “Your wish is my command.” The two boys helped you up and then practically ran you down the hall to the room you and Bucky shared. Bob caught brief glimpses of it before he was being kissed by you both again. Parts of you and him scattered throughout. He could see the influence with Bucky from his bike helmet and leather jacket, you from the piles of books and fresh flowers. You quickly stripped and headed to the bed, the two boys still entangled in a kiss.

You cleared your throat deliberately, Bucky looking at you with a proud smirk while Bob’s jaw dropped at the sight of your perfect naked form. “A wish comes true.” He breathed out and reached out for you. Bucky gently pushed him forward.

“Why don’t you get her warmed up for me, Bob,” he suggested taking a seat in the corner “Show us what you can do…”

“He loves to watch,” you added as Bob approached you, his knees finding the edge of the bed first before practically falling in front of you. “Play with me as much as you want.” Bob began frantically kissing you and without a beat passing plunged two fingers into your hot, wet pussy. “Oh GOD!” You yelped and Bucky darkly laughed.

“That’s it Bob, don’t show her much mercy because she’ll do the same to you. Go fucking for it.” Bucky palmed himself at the sight of you, how pretty you looked under another man. God how he missed this. He couldn’t help himself and took off his boxers, jacking himself off at the sight of you being mercilessly fingered by Bob.

Bob was in a sinful haze, his chest about to burst with the exhilaration flowing through his veins. “Fuck, you’re both so fucking hot.” He swiftly pulled his fingers out and tasted you on them, bringing them close to your face so you could too. Bob almost orgasming at the sight of you and of Bucky too. “I wanna fuck you so bad,” he blubberingly admitted causing you to let out a sweet laugh.

“Don’t worry, Bobby, we will have time for that. We don’t want your first time to be rushed, do we now sweetie?” You called out to Bucky you moaned in approval of your words. “You want to eat me out, cutie?” Bob went weak at the knees over your honeyed tone asking a filthy question. He scooted down and plunged mouth first straight into your pussy, really showing you that he couldn’t wait. “Oh, god! Bob! That’s so, so good.” You groaned, back arching as you looked out to Bucky who was almost cumming on the chair at the sight. You reached out for him silently with your arm and he came over to you both in the bed, his knees resting by your head as you opened wide for him and let him fuck your mouth.

Bob looked at the sight, moaning into your wet folds and causing a delightful tingling through your whole body which transferred onto Bucky. “That pussy is the gates to heaven.” Bob agreed with another hum. “Ain’t she a dream, Bob.” Bucky said “A fucking gorgeous dream. The two of you are.” He admitted, the praise making Bob burry further between your thighs. Bucky played with your nipples as you continued to suck him off. Bob pulled back, causing you to lowly groan against Bucky’s cock.

“Sorry, beautiful, I’m wearing too many clothes for this.” He admitted and stood back.

“Let us help you take them off.” Bucky said, pulling himself away from your warm mouth. You shakily stood up and removed his belt while Bucky removed his top, kissing his chest while doing so.

“You can have the fun part, baby.” Bucky watched as you fell to your knees and undid the button of his jeans pulling them down and leaving him in his boxers before you hooked your fingers around those and pulled them down. Bob’s cock sprang free, yours and Bucky’s jaw dropped.

“Holy shit.” You gawked at the sight of him.

“I agree. Where have you been hiding that?”

Bob blushed at the words being laid upon him as he stepped out of his clothes around his ankles. Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock as you slowly slid him into your mouth, with each millisecond passing, Bobs moans became louder and Bucky kissed him in order to stifle him a little. One of Bob’s hands reached your head while the other tangled with Bucky’s hair. “Oh fuck-fuck-fuck!” He moaned against Bucky’s lips. “Is she always this good?”

Bucky smirked “Always.”

Bobs hips jolted forward as you gagged on his length, the sound making the two men feral. Your mouth then moved to Bucky’s cock and he groaned, involuntary biting into Bobs neck, making him yelp with pleasure, before kissing the same spot. “Doing such a good job, Y/N.” Bob whimpered out. “Fucking hell, I’m gonna cum again just waiting the two of you like this.”

You stopped and pulled back a little. “Again?” You questioned, Bucky also raising a brow.

Bob bashfully smirked “You don’t think I got myself off at the sight of you two? Especially after seeing you in the kitchen or when you were out on the balcony…” you and Bucky wickedly smirked.

“Did you want that to be me cumming all over Y/N’s chest that day?” He peppered a kiss over his lips and cheeks as you stood up and did the same.

“Did you want that to be you cumming all over my chest…?” Bob gulped at your words, suddenly feeling like a gazelle between two lions. You turned your head a little to face Bucky, roaming your hands over his body. “Maybe we should put him out of his misery, baby. He’s been such a good boy. Don’t you think he deserves to cum?”

Bucky mocked a pondering expression. “Hmm…I dunno. We wouldn’t want it to be over too quickly…”

Bob let out a gruff growl “Please, god, I’ll be so good for you both. We can fuck all the time, always, so much, just please let me fucking cum in or on or both on the pair of you already!” He burst causing you and Bucky to widely smile at his wild outburst. A far cry from the sweet, timid Bob you both thought you knew.

You shared a look with Bucky “He has been so good so far. We should let him.” You said and Bob grinned.

“Fine, since it’s the first time and you’re so excited. But next time, we’re going to be playing with you a lot longer…” he warned. “You can do the honours tonight,” he said moving to the bed again “I’ll cum in her mouth, you can cum in her pussy. Let’s fill up those holes of hers with us.”

The three of you were on the bed, mouths and hands roaming every inch of someone’s body, not knowing we’re one limb started and the other ended. Bucky was the one who grabbed onto Bob’s cock, thrusting it in his hand just enough to make him moan into your mouth. “Fuck me, both of you fuck me. Ruin me.” You begged. “Don’t just cum in the one place, I want it all.” Bucky and Bob shared a glance and a smirk that silently created a plan.

Bucky thrust his cock into your mouth as Bob took a deep breath and sunk his cock deep into your dripping pussy. Both boys let out a ‘fuck’ in unison under their breaths as you lay on the bed and let them both fuck you in harmony. Bucky was reaching his climax first, gripping onto the bed frame and Bobs shoulder. “Gonna cum, fuck you’re both so fucking sexy.” With a groan, his hips bucked and a shot of hot cum ran down your throat, not before he pulled back and finished across your chest.

You began to come undone on Bobs hard cock, an orgasm washing over you as you yelled out both thier names like you were chanting life-altering scripture. Bob burst at the sight, screaming, cursing and moaning as he came inside you, finding the strength to pull out in enough time to also finish off of your chest and stomach, both boys leaving white shiny ribbons across your rapidly rising and falling torso.

The two boys licked your chest clean before sharing a kiss and then kissing you, letting the cum on their tongues drip onto your own, allowing the sweet and salty taste of three of you to dance over your tastebuds. Bob collapsed beside you, latching onto your side.

Bucky kissed your forehead as he grabbed you a washcloth, beginning his gentle aftercare of cleaning you up, even cleaning up Bob with a gentle smile on his face before joining the two of you in bed again one he has done that. You were sandwiched in between the two boys, a level of bliss you had been unfamiliar with for a while.

Bob had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face as he drifted off to sleep, enduring the afterglow of an intense new high, one he had never experienced before.

“Holy shit. That was fucking incredible. You two are fucking incredible. I can’t wait to do more. I can’t wait to try everything.” He couldn’t help but blissfully chuckle. You and Bucky shared a tired smile. “Wish you guys had asked me sooner.”

—•—

You were dishing out dinner a few days later, the two boys looking at you, starving.

But not for the meal you had prepared.

The rest of the team were blissfully unaware, chatting amongst themselves as you squeezed yourself between Bucky and Bob, your new favourite place to be. “Both?” You asked Bob, again talking about the food on the platter you were holding.

He subtly licked his lips, his lust-blown pupils darting between you and Bucky.

“Both.”

—•—

PART 2

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