#i do not have... a raven tag yet...

[internetgiraffekid1673]

"She's got a wicked-bluesy voice"

[tigtree]

desperately begging the masses (the aftg fandom) to continue tagging their spoilers even though TGR has been out a couple weeks

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

Just reread a fanfiction that I haaaated twenty years ago when I first read it, and though I find myself not hating it As Much as I did back then (there are elements that are Good, I see now!), I'm still not fond of it. But it's mostly for characterization and worldbuilding.

~ Even before I Actually Went Neopagan, I was miffed at Azar scoffing at other religious beliefs. At the time I was like "Azar was a good person! She wouldn't be bigoted like that!" (Colored more by fondness for Azar over the way she seemed to treat Raven decently. I was like 10 years old when I first read this thing and Didn't Want to Entertain Her Having Flaws.)

Now I just think she wouldn't care enough to scoff at xmas? Maybe she'd be like "When you came to Azarath you swore to leave your old life behind" or something, but not like... leveraging letting Arella celebrate it as a bargaining chip???

~ The take on Azarathean religion never sat well with me. It's hard to quantify (especially now, today, when I've just finished my sixth event of socializing on 30 days, which happened while I'm barely recovered from my stomach Being Awful^tm and I'm mentally exhausted). But Azar was both the High Priestess AND the one they were following / worshiping. She was their matriarch. Her Word was Law. Her citing a Higher Power being the reason she did what she did with Raven just feels... weird to me. Seemed to be conflating it a lot with xtianity, despite her spitting on xmas. Even used capitalized-g God. That's SO mostly unique to Abrahamic religions!

~ This one was there when I was a kid but has only grown STRONGER! I really don't understand why the entire fandom is CONVINCED that ALL OF AZARATH is emotionless and every bit as strictly disciplined as Raven? Like?? That training was specific TO RAVEN. Raven was the ONLY PERSON in Azarath who had to control her emotions or destroy worlds. Sure, I believe they had SOME meditations and scheduled prayer time, theocratic societies usually do. I believe they studied mental discipline for how to uphold peace and not give in to violence and fear. But not strict, emotionless, absolutely-eradicating-all-emotions training. That was RAVEN. Just RAVEN!

Why are people so convinced that The Entire Society functioned the way they trained RAVEN?????? They lacked compassion and violent urges, but that doesn't mean they lacked other aspects of humanity like rage and fear. Those were Very Much There. That doesn't mean they didn't get to enjoy their food, or they all had to live an ascetic life. Raven being raised the way she was without any Meaningful Interpersonal Bonds (arguably, aside from Azar) doesn't mean there weren't meaningful bonds between everyone else. In fact, Arella talks about having friends that died when Trigon destroyed Azarath. In every page we've seen, the Azaratheans knew each other.

And I know, Different Canons, blah blah blah, but in the comics, Raven flat-out said something about children playing in TotNTT #2. Contrasting it against her training. Other children WERE raised DIFFERENTLY! Allowed to play! Raven wasn't because she was RAVEN!

I dunno, it's a generalization that just absolutely BAFFLES me. Maybe because I've studied enough about other religions to understand that There's Nuance and Ways to Practice Meditative Discipline Without Being Entirely Emotionless??? Maybe when other people think of monks, they don't think of Buddhism like I do, but ascetic Catholic monks? But surely even THOSE guys don't mercilessly restrict their emotions, do they???

[passerinesoncaffeine]

the irony of one the first main things established about omori as a character is that he's known for his great memory as if he hasn't lost the entire fucking plot repeatedly for years.

like he has a great memory!! if you don't take into account He's Actually The God Of Repression.

[niceforearmsnicerstaff]

56 for the ask game smile. you can answer this seriously but it is immediately making me think of lukas as the jerma king of the junjile bit. anyway

he would be a wolf lion hybrid mix, king of the junjile but still social and ferocious

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

2025 book bingo time 📚

want a completely arbitrary set of reading goals for 2025? want to try something new in your literary diet but don't know where to start? just like a challenge for the sake of a challenge? just love a good game of bingo?

boy do I have something for you!

for anyone planning to participate, please know that I LOVE attention and talking about books, so I would be STOKED to be tagged on any and all updates about what you're reading or planning to read. I'm so, so excited to see all the different ways these prompts get filled, especially if and when they bring people away from the kinds of things they normally read. not to mention snag some new reading recs myself, hopefully!

and of course, I want to know whenever somebody gets a bingo - and ESPECIALLY if somebody fills the whole board! I don't have any prizes for you, but I can offer a sense of accomplishment :)

note that this is designed to be played as 1 book = 1 space, so even if you read, say, a fantasy graphic novel published in 1923 from an indie publisher that has a bat on the cover, you'd only cross off one space. I'm not a cop and I'm not in charge of what you read, so if it sparks more joy to check off multiple spaces per book then go nuts, but I am throwing that disclaimer out there.

EDIT: the 2025 book bingo challenge is now also on storygraph, thanks to @obi-wann-cannoli!

DOUBLE EDIT: there is also now a discord server for the book bingo, thanks to @drivingmebonkas! you can join it here!

wondering what some of these spaces mean? seeking a couple recommendations to get you started? no idea what a zine even is, let alone how to make one? worry not! I have a guide to all 25 prompts, including recommendations + an example of what I'll be reading throughout the year to fulfill each space. read on beneath the cut!

Literary Fiction: I find that a lot of people are reluctant to check out literary fiction, as it’s often written off as not being about anything but adultery and divorce. If this is you, I implore you to take a chance, acknowledge that adultery and divorce are compelling sometimes, and also remember that lit fic has a lot more to offer than that. At Writer’s Digest, Michael Woodson describes literary fiction as “less of a genre than a category,” which “focuses on style, character, and theme over plot.” My recommendations include Raven Leilani’s Luster, Ocean Vuong’s On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, and Melissa Broder’s Milk Fed. 

I’ll be reading: Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar

2. Short Story Collection: You know, a bunch of short stories together in one book? It doesn’t get much more self-explanatory than that. Could be a collection of stories by a single author or an anthology—it’s up to you! I recommend checking out Mariana Enríquez’s The Dangers of Smoking in Bed (translated by Megan McDowell), Nalo Hopkinson’s Falling in Love With Hominids, and Kim Fu’s Lesser Known Monsters of the 21st Century. 

I’ll be reading: Your Utopia by Bora Chung and translated by Anton Hur 

3. A Sequel: It could be one that you’ve been meaning to get around to, one that’s not releasing until 2025, or the sequel to something you read to cross off another space on this very bingo sheet!

I’ll be reading: Heavenly Tyrant by Xiran Jay Zhao, sequel to 2021’s Iron Widow 

4. Childhood Favorite: Go back and read a book you loved as a child, tween, or teen! There’s no wrong answer here; anything from a YA novel to a picture book would be just lovely, and I can’t wait to see what people pick for this option! I’m not sure which of my old favorites I’ll be revisiting yet—should I go for the warm and fuzzy Casson Family series, or straight towards the mindfucky sci-fi of Interstellar Piggy? Or maybe I’ll go see how Artemis Fowl holds up...

5. 20th Century Speculative Fiction: For those not familiar with the term, speculative fiction can encapsulate science fiction, fantasy, and anything else that falls into the unreal. You’re spoiled for iconic choices here: the 20th century gave us Le Guin’s Left Hand of Darkness, Atwood’s Handmaid’s Tale, Butler’s Parable of the Sower and Kindred, L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time, the beginning of Pratchett’s Discworld series, Diana Wynne Jones’ Howls’ Moving Castle, and countless others.

I’ll be reading: Dawn by Octavia E. Butler, love of my literary life 💜

6. Fantasy: Fantasy comes in a thousand different shades, from contemporary urban wizards with day jobs at the office to high fantasy spellslingers chasing dragons away from castles. Some examples I’ve adored are N.K. Jemisin’s The Killing Moon, C.L. Polk’s Witchmark, Fonda Lee’s Jade City, and Nghi Vo’s Empress of Salt and Fortune.

I’ll be reading: The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi by Shannon Chakraborty  

7. Published Before 1950: This one could not be more straightforward if I tried. You have all of human history (or at least, all the parts that have surviving literature), just not the last 75 years. Dig deep! 

I’ll be reading: Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, published in 1938 

8. Independent Publisher: Did you guys know that just five publishing companies (Penguin Random House, HarperCollins Publishers, Macmillan Publishers, Simon & Schuster, and Hachette Book Group) are responsible for 80% of books published in the US each year, and 25% of books globally? Break away from the big five and see what some small presses are putting out! If you need some ideas about where to start, check out this list of nearly 300 independent publishers with notes on what kind of books they put out!

I’ll be reading: Taiwan Travelogue by Yáng Shuāng-zǐ and translated by Lin King, from Graywolf Press

9. Graphic Novel/Comic Book/Manga: Despite my personal obsession with Batman, the world of comic books is sooo much wider than Gotham City—or anything else that DC and Marvel have to offer. If superheroes aren’t your speed, check out the Southern gothic of Carmen Maria Machado and Dani Strips’ comic The Low, Low Woods, splash around in Kat Leyh’s graphic novel Thirsty Mermaids, or stop waiting for a new season of Dungeon Meshi and go read Ryoko Kui’s manga, translated to English by Taylor Engel. 

I’ll be reading: The Fade, by Aabria Iyengar and Mari Costa

10. Animal on the Cover: Yes, yes, don’t judge a book by its cover—but do go find one with a critter on the cover and give it a read! Absolutely no other requirements here, get silly with it.

I’ll be reading: Shark Heart by Emily Habeck

11. Set in a Country You Have Never Visited: Fiction or nonfiction, doesn’t matter so long as it gives you a little glimpse of a country you’ve never visited in real life. If you’ve somehow visited every country currently recognized in the world, then I guess you get to go read something set in space.

I’ll be reading: A Magical Girl Retires by Park Seolyeon and Kim Sanho, translated by Anton Hur 

12. Science Fiction: A genre just as diverse as fantasy, with a little something for everybody! I recommend Becky Chambers’ Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet for those who want to kiss an alien in the stars and Jessamine Chan’s The School for Good Mothers for those who want a surveillance state dystopia that hits much closer to home.  

I’ll be reading: Womb City by Tlotlo Tsamaase

13. 2025 Debut Author: Read a book by someone who’s releasing their first book in 2025. Fic or nonfic, any genre, no further requirements. Not quite a free space, but pretty close!

I’ll be reading: Liquid: A Love Story by Mariam Rahmani, coming out March 11

14. Memoir: Per Wikipedia, a memoir is “any nonfiction narrative writing based on the author’s personal memories.” Some are funny, some are heartbreaking, some are both! I recommend Carman Maria Machado’s In the Dream House and Roxane Gay’s Hunger, because I tend to lean heartbreaking! 

I’ll be reading: Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner. Again, I like heartbreaking!

15. Read a Zine, Make a Zine: Not familiar with zines? No problem! Check out some of these digital archives for inspiration, and then craft your own zine with this simple guide (or do it your own way, I’m not in charge of you). 

Internet Archives: https://archive.org/details/zines

Gay Zine Archive Project: https://gittings.qzap.org/ 

POC Zine Project: https://poczineproject.tumblr.com/ 

Library of Congress: https://www.loc.gov/collections/zine-web-archive/ 

16. Essay Collection: Like a short story collection, but it’s nonfiction now. Some of my favorites include Samantha Irby’s We Are Never Meeting in Real Life, Elaine Castillo’s How to Read Now, Aimee Nezhukhumatathil’s World of Wonders, and Cathy Park Hong’s Minor Feelings.

I’ll be reading: A Little Devil in America: In Praise of Black Performance by Hanif Abdurraqib 

17. 2024 Award Winner: What award? Any award you like! And boy, there are tons to pick from. Any book that won any award in the year 2024 is free game. If you need some places to start looking, check out some of these:

Lambda Literary Awards, for excellence in LGBT literature: https://lambdaliterary.org/awards__trashed/2024-winners/ 

The Alex Awards, for adult books with crossover appeal for teen readers: https://www.ala.org/yalsa/alex-awards 

Ignyte Awards, celebrating diversity in speculative fiction: https://ignyteawards.fiyahlitmag.com/2024-results/  

Women's Prize for Fiction (self explanatory) https://womensprize.com/prizes/womens-prize-for-fiction/

Others: https://www.bookbrowse.com/awards/ 

I’ll be reading: Biography of X by Catherine Lacey, winner of the 2024 Lambda Literary Award for Lesbian Fiction

18. Nonfiction: Learn Something New: I know very little about archaeology, anthropology, or any other fields that involve studying ancient cities, but Annalee Newitz’s Four Lost Cities: A Secret History of the Urban Age was some of the most fun I had with nonfiction in 2024, because every page brought a brand new discovery. For 2025, find a nonfiction book about a topic you don’t know ANYTHING about, and learn something new!

I’ll be reading: Cooling the Tropics: Ice, Indigeneity, and Hawaiian Refreshment by Hi’ilei Julia Kawehipuaakahaopulani Hobart

19. Social Justice & Activism: Read a book about a social issue, the history of an activist movement, or brush up on a guiding philosophy or ideology. Arm yourself with knowledge, besties, because I have a feeling we’re going to need it! if you need a good place to start, why not try Angela Davis' Race, Women & Class, Mariame Kaba's We Do This 'Til We Free Us, or Molly Smith and Juno Mac's Revolting Prostitutes?

I’ll be reading: White Feminism: From Suffragettes to Influencers and Who They Leave Behind by Koa Beck

20. Romance Novel: Listen to me. Fucking listen to me. I mean a ROMANCE. NOVEL. Not a novel that incidentally has a romance in it. Romance novel, motherfucker. Go check out the romance section and have some whimsy as two people fall in love through the most contrived series of events ever conceived. If you really need a romance that makes you feel smart (that’s still sexy and messy as hell), try Akwaeke Emezi’s You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty.

I’ll be reading: Go Luck Yourself by Sara Raasche  

21. Read and Make a Recipe: Could be a cookbook, could be a recipe you yoinked from the New York Times, could be something your grandparents lovingly wrote down by hand. Could be as complex or as simple as you like, just make something tasty! Some cookbooks I’ve enjoyed are Sohla El-Waylly’s Start Here, Dan Pashman’s Mission Impastable, and John Wang and Storm Garner’s The World Eats Here.

22. Horror: Slashers, zombies, haunted houses, creeping paranoia, you name it! It’s time to get spooky and scary with all kinds of things going bump in the night. Maybe this is the year to finally keep up with Dracula Daily? Not for me, I'm not doing that, but you could!

I’ll be reading: I Was A Teenage Slasher by Stephen Graham Jones

23. Published in the Aughts: A throwback, but not too far back. Read something published between 2000 and 2009. Maybe it’s time to finally get into Twilight? (For legal reasons, that’s a joke.)

I’ll be reading: The Sluts by Dennis Cooper, published in 2004

24. Historical Fiction: You know, fiction that takes place in a bygone era! Please remember, this isn’t just about reading a book that’s old; we have a separate prompt for that! This is about reading something that takes place in the past relative to the time it was written. Pride and Prejudice is historical to us, but was contemporary when Austen wrote it. Think of Brit Bennett's The Vanishing Half, Markus Zusak's The Book Thief, or history + a bit of fantasy in book's like R.F. Kuang's Babel.

I’ll be reading: The Yiddish Policemen's Union by Michael Chabon

Bookseller or Librarian Recommendation: This one is fun, and something I always like to do when I’m travelling and visiting a new bookstore. Ask a bookseller or librarian to recommend something they’ve liked, and check it out! If going in person isn’t feasible, many bookstores and libraries have staff picks on their websites, and the Indie Next List is a monthly list of independent booksellers’ favorite new releases. 

I’ll be reading: The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse by Louise Erdrich, which I bought at Erdrich’s bookstore, Birchbark Books, this summer :)

lastly: tagging people who asked to be tagged to make sure they didn't miss this! @thebisexualwreckoning @perfunctoryperfusions @reallyinkyhands come get your bingo sheet!

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Dating in a Dream - Rook Hunt

SUMMARY: What would his dream be like, exactly the same as in the original story, but with the small detail that he is dreaming that you two are dating?

CHARACTERS: Rook Hunt x Reader 🏹🦐

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; In a Relationship (kinda)

WARNING: Spoilers from Book 7 and Rook’s dream (Eng Server)

WORD COUNT: 2.270 words

COMMENTS: This was written as a companion piece to the original dream story, so the parts that are the same as the game are just summarized.

I hope you enjoy 🏹

Dating in a Dream: Idia / Epel / (Rook) / Vil / Kalim / Jamil / Floyd / ...

“Aether signal tracking successful.” Ortho says when you land in the new dream, along with Grim, Silver, Sebek and Epel. “We have arrived at the designated coordinates.”

After Silver checks if Epel is feeling okay after the trip from one dream to another, you all realize that you are in the Savanaclaw dorm. Which makes you wonder if you are in a Savanaclaw student's dream.

“AH! Mon amour!” You hear a familiar voice say.

You look and see Rook already by your side. One of his hands holds your waist to bring you closer to him, while the other holds your hand to kiss the back of it. But that wasn't the Rook you knew, he was wearing the Savanaclaw uniform, had freckles and messy hair tied in a ponytail under what looked like a cowboy style hat. You see the dreamer's bird flying over him.

“Any vision of you is a merveilleuse one! To what do I owe your and your friends' visit today?”

“ROOK?!” Epel says in disbelief, but then focuses on something else. “Wait... Doesn't ‘mon amour’ mean ‘my love’?”

“I have a bad and cringy feeling about this.” Idia's voice comments through the tablet.

“You're Epel Felmier, a Pomefiore freshman, I believe?” Rook says without taking his hands off you. “And you're in the Spelldrive Club, if I recall... Are you here to visit our housewarden Leona?”

“Can’t you have a conversation without clingin’ to my hench-human?” Grim complains and jumps into your arms to separate Rook from you.

“Hehehehe. I see I haven't been approved by you yet, Grim.” Rook says amusedly. “Very well, it seems that the journey to prove myself to you and have your blessing continues. Until then, a forbidden love this shall be. He he. Comme c'est excitant!”

“LO- Ugh! Why're you in Savanaclaw Dorm uniform anyway?!” Grim asks. “Your hair's all scraggly, and you've got stray leaves on your clothes... Vil would throw a fit if he saw you like that!”

“Vil?” Rook asks in astonishment. “You mean Vil Schoenheit, the actor?”

You all discover that, in this dream of Rook's, Vil does not study at Night Raven College, but instead at Royal Sword Academy. And he and Neige are like best friends. Rook, extremely excited, starts telling a lot of things about Vil and Neige to the point of quoting an interview with the two of them in full. Until he suddenly says something much louder than usual.

“Would you stop yelling?” Sebek says. “You startled me!”

“Oh, pardon me. I got rather carried away there... I just have so few people in Savanaclaw I can discuss Vil, Neige, and film in general with. Which also makes it a blessing to have someone like (Y/N) by my side.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Oh mon cher, you are as big a fan of Vil and Neige as I am. No one can match my adoration like you.”

“Thank you, Rook Hunt, this was fascinating.” Ortho says. “I'd actually like to learn more about them...”

“Truly?! Why, I would be delighted!”

The others show their discontent to Ortho, but he explains that the more they understand the differences between this dream world and the real one, the easier it will be for them to find a way to wake Rook.

Excited to tell them more about Vil and Neige, Rook suddenly runs into the Savanaclaw building. You and the others run after him because you can't get too far away from the dreamer. You run to the closed door of his room where you hear a commotion inside.

“How is it taking so long to fetch one magazine?” Sebek questions.

“D-don't worry, I'll be right out!” Rook responds trying to hide his concern. “Don't open that door, whatever you do!”

“Mrr! I'm hearin' weird noises comin' from inside.” Grim says.

“Apologies for the wait! I found more things I positively need to show you... Whoa!”

Fearing that Rook might be under attack by the darkness and ignoring his pleas for them not to enter, they break down the door and enter Rook's room. To find a room completely filled with Neige merch on one half of the room and Vil merch on the other half.

Rook laughs in a strange, almost threatening way and says that since they had seen his room they could no longer leave... without joining him in reverently watching DVDs of his favorite actors! So he forces everyone to sit with him to do it. And of course he makes you sit right next to him.

He made you all watch those DVDs for FIVE HOURS!

“The fact that they played arch-enemies just made those final smiles so... so... beauté!”

“Mrah... After marathoning all those movies and stage plays, I'm exhausted.” Grim says in a sigh.

Ortho thanks Rook for all that information and says that it is already very late and that everyone should go back to their respective dorms and get some sleep. Before they leave, Epel asks Rook about the SDC and he replies that Vil and Neige sang together and he just watched.

“We can have another watch party whenever you like. Perhaps we can put that show on next time. Bon nuit, everyone!”

As you all left Rook’s room one by one, you stayed behind to be the last to leave. Maybe you even did it on purpose to see if Rook would do something. And he did.

As soon as Epel leaves and you are about to leave next, Rook suddenly appears in front of you to casually close the door behind Epel.

“I wonder what I did wrong to receive such cold treatment from you, mon cher.” He tells you with a theatrically brokenhearted look. “I understand not getting a bisou de bonjour with so many people around you. But not even a small, discreet bisou d'adieu?”

He gets closer to you and caresses your cheek, looking you sadly in the eyes. Seeing that you don't back away from his touch, he continues.

“Oh, where did I go wrong? What mistake could I have made to receive such a cruel sentence as deprivation of your touch? Is it my bail conquer your love all over again?” He brings his face closer to yours with a seductive smile, and he sees that you don't move away, quite the opposite. “Or should I continue to claim innocence?”

“(Y/N)!” Grim shouts from the other side of the door. “What are you still doing in there?”

“Did something happen?” Silver asked.

“Stop wasting time human!” Sebek complains. “We all must go for now.”

Rook moves away from you.

“Ah... My diligent jailers. You must go with them so that their worries will cease. But I see that you are in good and capable hands.” He takes one of your hands and kisses the back of it before opening the door for you like a gentleman.

And if you thought about taking advantage of that moment to kiss him, you realized that he seemed to be... enjoying his... “punishment”. So you decided to save that possible kiss for later.

Outside Savanaclaw's dorm it was already night and you and the others talked about Rook's dream and how you could wake him up. Epel has the idea of recreating SDC's performance because it was the crucial moment that the darkness was trying to make him forget. Make him remember that Vil actually despises Neige to the point of doing what he did and Rook's betrayal. You, Epel and Grim taught Silver, Sebek and Ortho the dance steps of the choreography of Absolutely Beautiful so you could take the places of the remaining members of the original group.

The next day, you were the one tasked with getting Rook to go to the Coliseum. You sent him a message to meet you in front of it.

The time you had set was approaching, but you couldn't see Rook. He must have been getting ready to surprise you. You looked around as if you really believed you would be able to see him in time. Suddenly you feel a kiss on your cheek. You look, but you don't see anyone. You look back to the other side where he is right there next to you with a smile.

“Greetings and bonjour, mon cher. I'm here as you requested. What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to show you something.” you say.

“Show me something?” Rook smiles. “Coming from you, I wonder with excitement what that might be.”

You take him inside the Coliseum so he can see the replica of the SDC stage up close. You go up on stage to dance with the others and Rook starts to get emotional because a part of him starts to remember that day. The dream begins to distort as if Rook were to wake up, but at that moment two darkness figures appear: Vil and Neige, both in RSA uniforms.

As if it were a real performance, the two of them take the stage after your group and start singing together, which moves Rook again, but in a way that makes him go back into his dream world.

Epel is angered by this and gives Rook a speech about what really happened that day and who they both know Vil really is. His Roi du Poison, their queen is way, way, WAY more poisonous and beautiful! And if he really believes that cheap copy comes even close to the real Vil, and he choosing him over the real one, that makes him more of a traitor right now that he was when he cast that vote for Royal Sword Academy!

And this is what makes the dreams shatter and Rook wake up.

Darkness Vil and Neige try to convince him to back down and accept singing with them, but Rook responds by preparing his bow and pointing an arrow in the direction of the two fake figures. Darkness Vil stands in front of Darkness Neige to protect him.

“What noble friendship you share...” Rook says with tears in his eyes. “And yet that very harmony is proof of my terrible betrayal!”

Rook and the others fight the fake figures and make them melt into darkness.

“Oh, dear pommette! To think I would be woken from my slumber by one bearing a poison that can put anyone to sleep.” Rook hugs Epel so tightly that he gasps for air. “Apologies...” he sobs “Oh, pommette, I can only beg you to forgive my betrayal.”

Epel tells him that he doesn't need to cry, but when he offers him a handkerchief, he realizes that he doesn't have one with him and the two comment on how Vil was right in telling him to carry one. The others talk about their own struggles in their respective dreams so that Rook knows that he wasn't the only one who forgot important things, that this was how those dreams worked to trap them.

“Merci! Oh, merci beaucoup! I cannot thank all of you enough. But there is one of you to whom I owe more than thanks, I owe an apology.” He walks up to you with an embarrassed and regretful face, and he kneels in front of you. “(Y/N), I'm so sorry for causing you so much discomfort. I never hid my love for you, so this part shouldn't have come as a surprise to you, but I can only hope that my behavior has not crossed any boundaries of yours. Please, forgive my shameless audacity. Whatever I can do to be worthy of your forgiveness, please tell me. I will do anything to redeem myself and have a fraction of your trust again.”

He was being so dramatic and still had tears in his eyes that it looked like he was trying to save himself from a death sentence for a horrible and unforgivable offense. The thing is... you like him too... and this was your chance to reciprocate the feeling.

Luckily for you, a simple, almost imperceptible smile from the corner of your mouth is enough for Rook to understand everything.

“Unless...” He stands up and looks you in the eyes with a smirk. “In truth, you enjoyed the experience of having me as your lover.”

You don't need to say anything. Your smile, whatever kind it is, is more than enough for him to understand perfectly. He holds one of your hands. That's how he saw, from the glove he was wearing, that he was still wearing Savanaclaw's uniform.

“In that case,” In the snap of a finger, Rook was back in his Pomefiore uniform and signature bob-cut. “Should we make it real?” he kisses the back of your hand. “Would you be so generous as to make my dream come true, my dear trickster?”

If you try to kiss him, he will stop you with a finger on your lips.

“Non, not yet.” he says despite the pity in his voice. The finger that interrupted your kiss slides to caress your cheek. “As much as I long to discover the wonderful feeling of your lips on mine, this must be something to be discovered in reality, not in a dream. I will wait impatiently for that moment. But sometimes it is this agony of waiting that makes everything so much more special... and intense.”

“ARE YOU DONE OR NOT?!” Grim complained. “Hurry up, we have another dream to go to!”

.

When you return to the real world, no matter what the state of Twisted Wonderland, Rook will find a way to lure you to a secluded place to finally taste your kiss.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[spencerreidenjoyer]

like the back of my hand | spencer reid x reader

wc: 1.8k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: needy!spencer, boyband reid loml, porn without plot, established relationship, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, mindless pwp tbvh....

a/n: had this one sitting in my google docs for a while so I finally decided to clean it up and post it. was worried about there not being any plot/story to this but my lovely friend meggie encouraged me to just send it. ily <3

You mean this with so much love, but Spencer Reid is needy.

To be fair to him, he is a twenty-eight year old who recently lost his virginity to you, but how eager he is to initiate sex is staggering. 

You’re lying in bed together at the end of a long day, both you and Spencer enjoying the quiet time to wind down. He’s finally home after a gruelling week away from you, all the way in Los Angeles to catch another serial killer. The nice thing about being with Spencer and getting to know him so intimately so quickly is that you feel so in tune with each other – both of you comfortable and content cuddling in bed and soaking in each other’s presence.

You’re sitting up against the headboard of the bed on your phone, while Spencer lays his head in your lap. You usually don’t pick up on things like this, but Spencer’s flipping through the pages of his book much slower than usual – which is still much faster than the pace at which you read, but it still has you concerned.

Your fingers run through his hair, fluffy and messy from having air-dried. “You okay, baby?”

“Hmm?” Spencer hums, sounding rather distracted.

“Something on your mind? You’re reading much slower than you usually do.”

Spencer looks up at you, blinking. His eyes are wide and puppylike, and you want to kiss him. Yet, his answer skillfully avoids your question. “I thought I was the one who usually keeps track of that sort of thing.”

“Well, yeah, but I couldn’t help but notice it. What’s up?”

Spencer sits up, looking away from you for just a moment as he considers what he should say. Then, “I wanna have sex.”

Your eyes grow wide, amused with his bluntness. Spencer usually is a little more self-conscious, a little more socially awkward, but all that seems to go away when he’s asking you to fuck. His one-track mind is fixated on you, especially when he wants you. You’re amused – he’s pushing thirty but he sounds like a monkey-brained college student when it comes to sex.

“Well, romance me first, then,” You say, giving in all too easily, because you often can’t say no to Spencer. Spencer smiles, his stupidly large hand cupping your face, and he leans in to kiss you. It’s sweet, romantic even in the mundanity of your current situation, and you hum as Spencer kisses you deeply. 

Spencer’s other hand trails around your waist, sliding down to grab your ass. You squeal against his lips. He hums, satisfied, pulling you close, grabbing whatever he can get his hands on. You laugh, “Needy.”

“Have you been romanced enough yet?” Spencer smirks, eager for you and your approval. He kisses your jawline, down your neck, like he can’t pull himself away from you.

You shrug. “I think you need to touch me more.”

Spencer’s brows raise curiously. “Now that I can do.”

Spencer cups your breast through your shirt, touching you all over with a reverence, an adoration, a desire that has your cheeks feeling warm. He leans in to press his lips to your neck, practically ravenous as he kisses down the column of your neck.

You’re turned on already, Spencer’s eagerness making you hot under the collar. You feel his hands roam over your body, making you feel special, wanted, desired. You don’t necessarily feel sexy in your oversized t-shirt and sweats, but the way Spencer kisses you makes you feel like you are – or at least, you are to him. 

“Spencer,” you gasp against his lips, as you feel his hands slide underneath your shirt, his calloused hands on your skin, the slight roughness of his fingers making your hair stand on end as he touches you. Spencer flicks his thumbs over your nipples, gropes you just a little. It makes you moan.

Then, Spencer’s hands slide down to your waistband, and he looks up at you for your approval. You nod, shuddering when the cool pads of his fingers press against the warmth of your skin, dipping past your sweatpants and underwear. You sigh, as Spencer easily pushes them off. You get comfortable with the pillows behind you, Spencer easily making his way between your legs. 

He kisses your thighs reverently, the slight stubble on his chin and his lips on your sensitive skin feeling ticklish. Still, Spencer’s hands are firm on your legs, firm in holding them apart. You shudder as you feel Spencer’s breath on your skin. He’s so gentle with you it makes you feel lightheaded. 

“Spencer,” you moan, when he wraps his lips around your sensitive clit. You’re so wet already, heightened by the feeling of Spencer’s mouth on you. You watch his jaw flex as he laps at you, mouth moving as he eats you out sweetly. It’s almost ritualistic, the way his eyes flutter shut, the hypnotised trance he enters as he goes down on you. 

You wouldn’t say you had a high sex drive, at least not until you met Spencer. Spencer didn’t seem like the kind of guy either, his nerdy, slightly awkward exterior making you very quick to assume that he would be a little awkward with sex. And sure, he was, when you first slept together, but now that he’s absolutely comfortable with you, he’s unashamed in wanting sex – wanting you. And his brazenness turns you on, which leads to the two of you fucking a lot.

You dig your nails into his scalp as Spencer flicks his tongue over your sensitive, hard clit, his motions relentless, eager, wanting to push you over the edge. You cry out with pleasure, watching the way he eats you out with a sense of pride, proud that he’s just so into it. 

You feel his hot breath on your cunt, hear his quiet moans as he pleasures you. You watch as he grinds against the mattress, just slightly, using the friction to get himself off too. 

“Darling– Baby, can- Can I fuck you?” Spencer’s voice is muffled against your cunt. He sounds desperate, needy, distracted like he can’t take his mind off of it. 

You whine, pushing your thighs to squeeze his face just slightly, like you can’t bear to let him go. You feel Spencer’s tongue retreat, missing the warmth on your pussy, and then he’s coming back up for air. His face is wet with your slick, and his big, wide eyes are staring up at you. “Please?”

You pout slightly. You can’t deny him, not when he looks like that. 

You tsk, rolling your eyes playfully. “Fine. You better fuck me as good as you eat me out.”

“I will! I will,” Spencer answers enthusiastically, eager as he fumbles with his pants. When his cock bobs up against his stomach, you giggle, amused with how eager he is for this– for you.

“Oh, you want me so bad,” you tease, unable to stop the grin on your face. 

Spencer smiles, sheepish. “I do. So badly, baby.” He cages you in, his tall frame making you feel so small, and his curly hair is messy and all over the place when he leans forward to press his lips to yours.

You whimper when he kisses you hard, eager and needy, and all you taste on his lips is you. Still, the way he makes out with you is dizzying, so intensely hot, and you don’t even care that you taste yourself as he practically eats your face. 

“Spence– Baby–” You barely get the words out between Spencer’s mouth on yours, but you wrap your legs around his waist and try and pull him closer to you, hoping that his horned-up brain will get the message. The motion bumps his cock against your soaking-wet cunt, and the both of you shudder at the sensation. 

With his lips kissing down your jaw, your neck, Spencer rocks his hips against you, sliding his cock along your wet folds, your hole leaking slick to make everything even more messy. His tip bumps against your swollen clit over and over, as he ruts against you like a horny teenager instead of actually fucking you. The friction is delicious, so good, but not what you or him actually need right now.

You groan. “Sweetheart, come on–”

“Mm?” Spencer hums, distracted. He’s never had this short of an attention span, but you suppose pussy tends to slash his genius. 

“Fuck me,” You bite, no malice in your voice. “Properly.”

“Okay, yeah, okay,” Spencer mumbles, only pulling away from you to look down at where your bodies are pressed together. He grips his cock before pressing himself against your entrance, his hands shaking with his eagerness to touch you. Spencer slides in with relative ease, considering how wet you are, and you whimper as the thick head of his cock pushes inside of you. 

Spencer kisses your cheek sweetly as he presses inside of you, the slow drag of his cock against your walls so perfect. He fills you up perfectly, feeling like he’s made for you.  

He fucks you hard and fast and messy, the slick sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you downright obscene. His brows are furrowed and his eyes are squeezed shut as he puts all his energy into pounding into you, desperate to make both of you feel good. When Spencer gets like this, you know he’ll stop at nothing to get there.

Every one of Spencer’s thrusts hits deep inside of you, making you feel so damn full. Your arms come around to cling onto him, shaking with the force of his thrusts. “Spence–! Baby, oh, fuck!” 

He grunts, a needy little noise, panting in your ear. “You’re so tight. Oh, you– You feel so good, please–”

You sob as he fucks into you hard, unrelenting, so eager to make you feel good while he chases his own pleasure. His brows are furrowed in concentration, sweat beading at his temple, and his gorgeous hair is in his eyes, bouncing with each hard thrust. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Spencer rambles, in between fucking you and kissing you literally everywhere, like he can’t get his lips off of you. “You’re so perfect. I love you.”

“You only say that when you’re inside of me,” you laugh breathily, clearly joking. 

Spencer grumbles, a low sound in the back of his throat. His mouth stays on your neck, and you feel his teeth graze against your skin. You feel him suck a spot into the column of your neck. “Don’t say that. I always tell you that I love you.”

“You do,” you giggle, holding him close, running your hand through his hair. “You always tell me how pretty I am too, don’t you?”

“You’re breathtaking,” Spencer says, sounding a little winded, since the only form of cardio he gets is sex with you. “Literally.”

“Okay, I love you so much, but I don’t know if your puns make for great pillow talk, honey,” you smile, kissing his cheek. “Now make me cum, love.”

Spencer grins, absolutely smitten by you. “Yes, ma’am.”

[harunayuuka2060]

Malleus: ...

MC: *is feeling hopeless after their extensive research, as most of the results pointed to the impossibility of returning to their world*

Malleus: Child of man.

MC: Yes...

Malleus: Don’t give up yet. These are ancient records, and they shouldn’t be enough to determine the outcome.

MC: ...

MC: There’s a lot going on in my head right now. It might sound funny, but I’m already thinking about Plan B and Plan C in case I end up permanently stuck here.

MC: I mean, it’s not like I have much to lose... Haha...

Malleus: ...

Malleus: Still, I’m telling you not to give up. Who knows? The answer might reveal itself when the right opportunity comes along.

MC: ...

MC: *smiles* Wow, your horn got wrecked, and suddenly you’ve become so wise.

Malleus: Is that how you normally show appreciation for advice?

MC: I have a broken sense of humor—just deal with it.

Malleus: *pouts*

MC: *laughs*

Silver and Sebek: Prefect!

MC: Eh? Oh! Hey!

Sebek: Are you running an errand, human?

MC: *sigh* Yeah.

Silver: We're here to help.

MC: Huh? Really? But why?

Sebek: We noticed that Grim attended class alone, so we figured you might need a little assistance! Not that Grim has ever been much help to you, anyway!

MC: Hey, don't diss Grim.

Sebek: Hmph!

Silver: Prefect, are there any places you still need to go?

MC: Yup. Crowley wants me to pick up his order from the newly opened pastry shop.

Silver: I see. Let's go.

Sebek: And while we’re at it, you should get some for yourself too!

Silver: It'll be our treat.

MC: ...Okay. *grins* I'll order some for Grim too, okay?

MC, Silver, and Sebek: ...

*They stumbled upon a group of Draconia enthusiasts discussing the dream world, and it just so happened that they were talking about MC. The three couldn’t help but eavesdrop.*

"They said that person contributed a lot to saving everyone."

"Nah, I doubt that. I’m sure all they did was tag along."

"That’s right, that’s right! Of course, Night Raven College wouldn’t want them to feel left out, even if they didn’t do anything!"

Sebek: These humans— *about to confront the group*

MC: *pulls him back*

Sebek: What are you—

MC: Let's not waste our time here.

Sebek: But— *then noticed their expression*

MC: ...

Sebek: ...

Sebek: *groans in frustration* Fine.

Silver: ...

Silver: Prefect, are you alright?

MC: Yes. It's their opinion. I can't do anything about it.

Silver and Sebek: ...

[hello-from-nrc-infirmary]

Spring Equinox

Starting Hours

"What did he say?"

Vern is quiet, his chest aches like his heart is carrying stones. "Koa, I'll go head.. you um.. stay here and wait."

"Pardon? That would be unwise, considering-"

"-I will command it," the sprite shoves his phone away.

The elk stares at him for a few moments, waiting. Firm silence meets the familiar. Taking a step back, Koa flicks his ear. Vern can feel the small pull as the elk gathers magic at his antlers before slicing the air open. He places a reassuring hand on Koa and gives the elk a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

Swallowing the dull ache, Vern steps through the portal. His stomach churns with it. Pausing, he takes deliberate breaths, allowing his surroundings to come into focus.

Everything is loud, bustling. The wind from the mountains is a little warmer. Even the sun seems to shine brighter. Another year, another Equinox. He has to see Shirley first, the Southern Street.

His feet carry him down the familiar brick street. It's uneven, easy for grass and flowers to slip through the cracks. He takes his time to talk with any who greet him. Part of him hoping to delay the inevitable.

Humans and fae alike are crammed around Shirley's studio. They're there for the distillery next door. It makes his ears ring and getting to his sister's store difficult. Too many glance overs, too many questions. He sighs heavily when the door to the studio shuts behind him.

"There you are!!!"

Vern lets Shirley abruptly squeeze him. He mentally notes that she seems taller. "I said I would be..."

She releases him, glancing behind him, "where's Sil-Sil?"

"E-excuse me?"

"Oh! Uh, Silver," she laughs and drags Vern towards the back. "I gave him a nickname."

He's quiet as he looks over the two outfits in front of him, "he... will um... be here later..."

"Oh," Shirley almost sounds deflated, "I'm sorry-"

"-What's with the blue dress?"

"I wanted to like get ahead of things so... I started on it," she seems happy as she shows him some floral details. "So like, I don't have the accessories in for it yet, but I'm totally thinking of like... matching it with the details around the neckline! Don't worry, I already thought of silk gloves-"

Vern's chest tightens. His stomach is in knots as it plummets. "Shirley, it's... it's beautiful... but we haven't decided on anything..."

"Er.. w-well... I know, but like... I'll just shove this one back into the closet."

He nods as she steps away. Turning his attention to the glittering gold details of the other outfit. It certainly screams spring. Muted greens with a pop of pale pink. The gold accessories look fairly heavy. Absently, he drags a finger through the tiny bells dangling from the metal hip accessory. The delicate chimes give him a little ease.

"I can help you put that all on! You'll like... totally need it"

"R-right..."

Shirley scribbles something on a piece of paper and hands it to Vern. "Here, the locks for the gold parts can seal with magic. Traditionally, that's like.. a spouse thing to do? Something about a protection spell. So... make sure Silver gets that."

"O-oh..." he nods as she brings him to the changing area. "I will..."

'What's wrong with me today? It's just another Equinox. Just another 24 hours. It's fine. I will be... no, I'm fine. It's just nerves and a bit of dread over Victor.... and mother's Willow's Wane. I'll have to visit Lux, Stravi, Gin, Sasha, Franz, and... I need to focus'

Ooc// hmm... this one is a bit more angsty than I meant... oh well!!!

Hm.. should I release the design for his equinox attire? I have the design version.. I could make a card... I'll have some time soon...

(We just gave them 2 birthday cards)

and? It looks cool!!

(Fair.)

(Tagging): @nrcbookclub @night-raven-miscellany @aurora-retainer-silver

[punkssavior]

better than sex.

cm punk x fem!reader

part two of 'tired of you'. i decided to give these sweeties a prequel since you guys seemed to love their relationship as much as i do (before it ended, duh). this fic is also much fluffier than the last. ur fuckin welcome ;)

link to 'part one' is here. this fic takes place 3 years prior.

tags! @xkittypunkerx @idaisyy @ringoffiction @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling @eringobragh420 @meadow-field

content warnings: mentions of blood/violence (very brief!), hookups, oral (f!receiving), car sex, occasional pet names.

wordcount: ~12k

Nights out were supposed to be fun.

Right?

What originally began as a multi-club run and bar hop quickly turned into a mishmash of fallen through plans, after the group of college friends you’d decided to meet up with began acting out of line.

“You told me to meet you at Aurora!”

“I’ve been standing out here for at least thirty minutes!”

“Well— can you tell him to hurry up please? I’m freezing my ass off out here!”

You hugged your brown, faux fur jacket tightly to your chest, walking out of the thumping New York City nightclub named Aurora. Your friends told you to be there at 10:30 sharp, which you were, after taking 2 trains and a taxi to get you there.

Surely your ‘friends’ weren’t intentionally trying to swindle you, leaving you standing out in the cold as they spontaneously decided to shake up the meeting plans.

Surely that wasn’t the case, you hoped.

The weather was unforgiving, that small fur coat and matching boots barely keeping your body at a livable temperature. You always hated going out in the winter, especially since none of your clubbing outfits were suitable for harsh winds and possible snow.

God, this was a drag.

The strip that Aurora was on was very secluded, resembling more of a dark alleyway than a place for bustling nightlife. As much as you hated to admit it, in order to prove to yourself and your parents that moving back to New York by yourself was a good idea, you were a little bit scared to be alone right now.

There was an event happening in the venue down the block, and you could tell from the colorful lights beaming out of the small glass windows and the neon sign at the entrance. But other than those two leakages of light, you hadn’t a clue what was going on.

With yet another huff of frustration, you pull out your phone once again and dial the number of your friend, Cassie.

It goes straight to voicemail.

“Cass,” you sigh into the microphone, “If nobody’s coming to pick me up, just fucking say it already. I mean, I’ve been standing out here for what, an hour? At this point, I might as well walk home! Y’know what, yeah! How about this, I’ll walk home so you and your stupid friends don’t even have to worry about getting me a ride! Take your dumb, fucking clubbing plans, and shove them up your—”

“You okay?”

You shriek, the feeling of a cold, rough hand resting on your shoulder by your neck causing you to whip around. Without thinking, you wind up your fist, and whack whatever, whoever, it was, square in the nose.

“Shit!”

The now embodied voice falls limp in agony, breathing heavy from the practically lethal blow as you take a step back.

Woah.

You gasp quietly, covering your mouth with your hands. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry—”

The man doesn’t answer; instead, he’s keeled over, now resting his hands on his knees. You stare down at him for a moment, in pure shock at the way you were able to just swing around and punch this poor guy in the face. You supposed it was a good omen for your survival skills.

“Don’t— don’t sweat it,” he finally answers you, his raven-colored hair hanging above the ground and over his features as he collects himself. You can see him gathering his breathing, his shoulders moving beneath his tight, dry-fit athletic top when he shakes his head.

“Are you okay?” your voice betrays you, as you take a step closer to his crumpled up figure. You knew deep down that stepping this close to a random guy on the street was one of the first things they taught you not to do in grade school— but you felt particularly bad in this situation.

Beneath where his face was parallel with the ground, you see a drop of blood hit the pavement beside your feet. You take a step back, to your original position.

“I’m fine. Happens— more often than you’d think,” he says, slowly coming to and standing up straight.

When he looks at you, you almost feel the need to gasp. The lower half of his chiseled face was doused in blood, caught in the crevices of his now forming smile. You admire him in a moment of utter shock, your gaze bouncing between a pair of hazelish eyes and a lip ring.

“Do you— get punched in the face by girls on the street often?” You attempt to lighten the mood, now feeling like a mouse as you notice just how much he towers over you.

“Girls on the street? No, never. But grown men in speedos? Absolutely, all the time.”

You wanted to speak again, but were stunned by the growing amount of blood that poured from his nose. But he took it like a champion, using the white tape dawning his wrists to sop up some of the flow. You also couldn’t help but notice the red X’s drawn on that wrist tape, now stained with crimson.

“You sure know how to pack a punch with those little ass hands,” he chuckles wryly, glancing down at the hand you’d punched him with. You follow his eyes, noticing a small speckling of red across your knuckles. “Might I ask why your first thought was to lay one on me?”

“May I ask why you thought it was a good idea to approach me on a dark street corner?”

“You were yelling into your phone. Seemed agitated.”

A smile fights its way onto your cheeks, and you shake your head, “An agitated young girl cursing someone out on the phone seemed approachable to you?”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

You laugh, still taking him in. He was built, surely some kind of gym rat or athlete. You assumed he’d just gotten done working out, evident from the way his forehead glistened with sweat despite the rapidly dropping temperatures outside. He also carried a confident air to the way he shot back up after being punched in the nose, a catty smile and eyes that were green enough to kill a man.

You were now simply infatuated with looking at him.

“I’m Phil, by the way. I’d shake your hand but I don’t think you want any more of my blood on your person.”

Hot blush falls across your cheeks, but you take his hand anyway, absolutely unbothered. “I’m Y/N. And I’d take looking like a crime scene over turning down a handshake from the first man I’ve ever punched in the face any day.”

Phil smiles, and it’s more warm and inviting than you’d ever expected from a man who looked like him. His jet-black hair was a stark contrast to the olive tones of his complexion, only making those damned green eyes pop out at you like a picture book.

“Y/N,” he repeats, savoring your name on his tongue, “Do you work out?”

“I don’t.”

“Hm.”

You cross your arms over your chest, ignoring the small spatter of blood on your hand in order to tuck it away from the harsh cold. “Why do you ask?”

Phil shakes his head, pressing an index finger to his temple, “Still just reeling from that absolute roundhouse to my nose.”

“Did it hurt?” you inquire, wincing as you notice the blood continuing to drip onto his black shirt.

“Would you believe me if I said I barely felt it?”

“In your dreams, maybe,” you scoff, watching Phil as he digs into his pocket to pull out a crumpled up tissue, “You think you’re tough or something?”

Phil laughs, a hearty, genuine chuckle that almost felt like he was mocking you. You fold in on yourself slightly, unable to pull your stare away from the way he was delicately wiping his scarlet coated, busted nose.

“Some would say I am. But it’s up to you to believe that.”

“Are you picking a fight with me, Phil?”

Looking mildly offended, he scoffs, “I don’t fight chicks. In fact, I typically let them swing at me with little to no consequence.”

You harumph at his comment, shaking your head. The nerve of this guy to act like your first ever punch didn’t hurt him? How dare he.

“Well, it seems to me like that blow to your nose knocked a few screws loose in that pretty head of yours.”

You expect him to fire back with a witty comment, anticipating the ping-pong of banter. But instead, his smug smile pokes dimples into his cheeks.

“You think I’m pretty?”

Silence falls over the two of your bodies, the winter winds now whipping around you as you froze in time. You were completely speechless, Phil just standing haughtily before you and allowing you to take in his question.

“I, uh— I didn’t— didn’t think…”

“Didn’t think? About what you said? You had that quip ready and loaded.”

“It was an expression,” you feign innocence, your eyes growing wider by the second, “Y’know Phil, I don’t appreciate your tone.”

He laughs, just laughs. Everything under the moon tonight seemed funny to this guy and you hadn’t a clue why.

“It’s weird hearing you say my name this many times within the span of five minutes.”

You raise a curious eyebrow, slowly getting the feeling that a facade was being dropped, “You’re not used to people saying your name?”

“Not necessarily. Most people call me Punk.”

Punk. How fitting, you thought. Fitting enough for a man who has let his nose bleed for the better half of ten minutes while dressed exclusively in black. You push your lips to the side, mind still reeling about what exactly he was hiding behind that nickname.

And, respectively, what he was hiding beneath that tight ass shirt.

“Punk. Would you prefer it if I called you that instead of Phil— ‘er whatever?”

“Whatever floats your boat,” Phil, Punk, shrugs, his arms mirroring yours crossed against his chest, “Do you have a name that you’d prefer me to call you?”

Immediately, your mind went elsewhere. Far off elsewhere.

“I don’t think so, no.”

He takes a moment to think, his pupils enlarging when his eyes scan over your figure and eventually stop down at your brown fuzzy boots.

“Bunny.”

“What?”

“Those boots. Looks like you skinned a rabbit for those babies.”

You press your hand to your chest, awestruck by the abrasiveness of his words, “Heeeey! They’re fake, asshole!”

“Fake or not, they remind me of bunnies. That’s just how it’s gonna be.”

Punk looks back down at your boots, and you can’t help but cross your legs and stand at ease like a soldier. You wished you’d had gum to smack or a bubble to pop; for he had you feeling like a complete amateur in a battle of wits and compliments.

“So that’s the script we’re sticking to,” you mumble, trailing off, now self conscious of whether or not your jacket and boots actually look like you were compliant in animal cruelty.

“You tell me, Bunny. How does it sound coming out of my mouth?”

His words snap your eyes back to attention on his face. He juts his tongue out to wet his bottom lip, and you can’t help but notice the piercing that sat directly in the middle of it. You freeze at the sight of it, which you seemed to be doing a lot the more you noticed the smaller details of his person.

“Sounds nice,” you hum, satisfied. A bit distracted by his attractiveness and the small gap between his front teeth.

You were still telling the truth.

“Perfect. Now that we’ve gotten the semantics of politeness out of the way— care to explain why you’re out here alone on a cold winter night in a miniskirt?”

“I’m surprised it took you this long to point out that I was wearing a miniskirt, actually.”

Punk chuckles dryly, “I was concerned about the loud, hurtful obscenities you were yelling into your phone and here you are thinking I’m a shallow pig.”

You sigh in defeat, having lost the battle of wits once and for all. Punk seems to notice the sudden deflate in your ego, as you look out into the street.

“I was supposed to be clubbing with my friends— but they fucked up all the plans and now here I am. Standing outside in the cold. Just so happen’ to also be in a miniskirt and boots that apparently make me look like a bunny.”

“They left you here?” Punk asks, the concern laced through his voice far more prominent than the sarcasm.

“They didn’t even show up.”

The more you mulled over your unfortunate plans for the evening, the sadder you felt about how it all went down. You didn’t think that those low-lifes ditching you would have such an effect on you, but you just decided it’d be best to choke it down.

“That’s fucked up. I’m sorry, Bunny.”

“It’s fine. No skin off my teeth.”

Punk’s sharp face softens for a moment; you still can’t help but stare. The juxtaposition of a soft brown rabbit, Bunny, standing meekly before a tall, raven-haired, vampire was driving you insane. The thought of his blood splattering across your knuckles, the thought of him wiping up the mess, amused by the collateral damage and completely unphased by the pain.

Anyone else would run off, terrified of leaving their fate in the hands of a hard-headed stranger they’d met on a poorly-lit street corner.

Anyone else would be scared.

But not you. You weren’t scared of Punk.

In fact, you rather liked him.

“You cold?” He breaks the silence, sniffling as if to regain the sensation and feeling in his nose.

“Very.”

You take a deep breath in, remembering the little clutch purse that you’d brought that held all of your clubbing essentials; a singular tampon, a wallet, headphones for the train, the keys to your apartment and a loose cigarette.

Y’know, in case of emergency.

Soon enough, that cigarette is between your lips. You fish around the bottom of your tiny handbag as Punk just stares you down, nailing your furry brown boots to the pavement.

“Fuck,” you grumble, rolling your eyes, “Do you have a lighter?”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Bummer.”

After looking down at your purse for so long and almost forgetting that he was standing there, you catch Punk’s gaze. With a straight face, he reaches up, and plucks the cigarette from your mouth.

“And you shouldn’t either.”

Your shoulders slump, a whine stuck in the back of your throat, “Can’t a girl take the edge off?”

“Every time a pretty girl smokes a cigarette, an angel loses its wings.”

It was still very cold. But the way Punk so graciously and spitefully took the cigarette out of your mouth and tossed it into a nearby subway grate made the pit of your stomach grow warm. You couldn’t deny the effect he was having on you. He was ballsy— fearless. Ten minutes into knowing him, you’ve already grown quite fond of this dynamic.

“Fine. No smoking. But can we at least go somewhere warm if you’re gonna keep asking me questions?”

“Is my body heat not enough for you?” Punk quips right back, somehow closer than you remembered him being.

“Standing here with you has been fun, but—it’s thirty degrees. Take me somewhere warm or else I’ll start screaming that you’re an axe murderer.”

Amused by your empty threat, Punk smirks. He took a moment to think to himself, before reaching into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulling out a set of car keys.

“I’m parked in the garage. I assume you need a ride. No way Bunny’s gonna hop on home all by herself.”

“Bunny would’ve gotten home just fine.”

Your arms are still crossed against your chest, attempting to subdue the chattering of your teeth. But rather than leading you towards the garage in question, Punk stays still. His eyebrow raises at you, his lips pushed to the side.

“Well? Aren’t you gonna lead the way?”

“Aren’t you missing something?”

“Missing what? I have all my shit—”

You begin to frantically tap at your pockets, feeling silly once you remember that damn miniskirt.

“Here, I’ll make this easy. What’s the magic word?”

“Oh come on.”

Punk stands his ground, his teeth now sunk into his bottom lip, “I’m not going anywhere until I hear you say it.”

You huff like a child, stomping your foot against the ground out of pure instinct. The weather was taking over your senses, making your hands freeze up and the back end of your jaw clench.

“Fine—Please, Mr. Punk? May I please go sit in your nice warm car so I don’t get hypothermia and die?” You have your own fun, and let your eyes go wide and shimmery.

“Only since you asked so nicely.”

You could tell that the little show you put on made Punk stiffen up, a slick attempt to play it cool left him digging his hands into the pockets of his sweats before turning to lead you to his car.

Good call, Punk.

“So, now that you know my reasoning for standing outside of a nightclub with my ass out, how about you tell me what you’ve been up to on this fine Friday night?”

As the two of you walk towards the parking garage, shoulders occasionally knocking in time with the clunking of your boots, you turn to admire his side profile. He walks, looking straight ahead, almost as if he were attempting not to get sucked back into those eyes of yours.

“I actually had a match tonight.”

“A match? What are you, a boxer or something?”

“Every time you take a guess about me, you get closer and closer to the actual answer,” says Punk, sparing you a sideways glance, “One more guess and you’d be right on the nose.”

“The only thing that I can think of when you say ‘matches’ is boxing—”

“—Wrestling,” he jumps the gun, “I’m a professional wrestler.”

Oh.

“Makes sense why my punch didn’t hurt.”

You pout dramatically, feigning for a reaction out of him while the two of you walk through a practically empty parking garage towards a beat up Chevy Malibu in the very last spot.

“Why the long face, Bunny?” he asks, his car honking as he unlocks it, “Did you want it to hurt?”

That comment in particular makes you blush. You felt small enough next to him as is, but his wordsmithing abilities left you breathless. He smiles at you, rounding the hood of his car to hold open the door for you. There was something a little more complex than pure satisfaction hidden beneath those eyes of his.

You wait until the two of you are sitting side by side in the car before answering, thinking the thrill of anticipation is what’s getting him going, “No. I didn’t expect to punch anyone tonight at all. Just— kinda bummed that my first ever punch was square in the nose of a man who gets punched for a living.”

“You’ll get there someday. Maybe next time I’ll cry a little bit— just to make you feel better.”

You scoff, reaching over to push him in the shoulder. He takes it lightly, but you’re stuck on the firmness of his bicep.

“You keep implying that there’ll be a next time. What if I never see you again after tonight?”

Punk leans his head against the car seat, his eyes fluttering towards the windshield as his Adam’s Apple bobs. An open, empty parking lot with a singular flickering light really set the mood for the circumstances.

“Is that what you want? To never see me again?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But it was implied.”

Your face pinches. You wished you had that cigarette right about now. Punk’s face was unreadable, and you couldn’t stand it. This entire situation left you feeling a bit dizzy.

“You’re such a jerk,” you blurt out.

“And you’re kind of a brat. ‘Suppose it’s a match made in heaven.”

Feeling defeated, you huff, and fold your hands in your lap. You don’t think you’d ever met someone who could keep up with all of your quips. You were smart, but he was smarter. You were snappy, but he left you tongue tied.

“Wanna get milkshakes?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

There it was again. That ping in your stomach every time he shot you down. It was getting to be amusing— the more he deflected and kept up that cocky attitude, the more you wanted to push his buttons.

“It’s late,” he mumbles behind a half-lit smile, reaching down to fiddle with his wrist tape, “Any more sugar in you and you’d be wound up like a toy.”

“You don’t know that,” you defend, mimicking his movements and twisting the costume ring on your middle finger.

“You’d be surprised at how well I can read people. Especially clever girls like you.”

You were a button pusher by nature, but Punk was made of rubber. Everything you had to say bounced right off of him. You couldn’t stand it, he was perfect. He was so fucking hot that it made you want to claw at walls and break through windows. It was absolutely infuriating.

“What are you doing to me?” you ask; once again, not thinking, moving your hands animatedly, “It’s like you’ve got a forcefield on my brain or somethin’.”

Punk scoffs, eventually reaching the end piece of his wrist tape and beginning to slowly unravel it, “I’ve been told I have a weird effect on people.”

“Weird is a fucking understatement.”

You were telling the truth. The chokehold that Punk held over you loomed like a storm cloud— his eyes, his moody face, that thick, toned body and that damn black hair. You were a sucker for an emo boy, but you didn’t think that obsession ran deep.

Until right now.

A brief silence passes, and it’s tense. You keep sneaking glances at him as he waits for the car to warm up. He keeps catching your eyes every time they wander down to the little sterling silver ring pierced into his lip.

“So,” he begins to say, turning up the temperature dial all the way, “Finally warm enough for me to ask some more questions?”

“Well yeah, I guess… God, you make it sound like I’m in the interrogation room.”

“I meant that sincerely, dick. I was asking if the temperature of the car was to your liking.”

Although having met him under an hour ago, a comfortable smile slides across your face. You sigh dramatically, kicking up your feet onto his dashboard and letting your furry jacket fall open to reveal your cute little clubbing top.

“Sure, I’m warm. Hot, even. Might start sweating soon. This jacket’s a bitch and a half.”

“A cold-blooded woman. I like it.”

“It’s one of my most redeeming qualities,” you retort, gaining back some of that confident spark you lost in the crossfire of Punk calling you a brat, “So, what? Are we playing twenty questions?”

“Twenty questions?” Punk repeats, his sentence trailed with laughter, “I’ve been out of the scene for a long time— didn’t think it was long enough to have to resort back to icebreakers.”

“Hey, don’t laugh! It’s a good way to get to know someone! Here, ask me anything. No holds barred.”

Punk rolls his eyes begrudgingly, his massive ego somehow bruised at even the mention of such a childish game. He thinks to himself for a moment, ultimately caving when he looks over and sees your newly exposed chest.

“Alright, fine. I’ll bite. What’s your favorite color?”

“Lame,” you blow a raspberry at him, “it’s blue.”

“Y’know, I’d like to see you ask a better question.”

You sit up slightly in the car seat, uncrossing your legs from the dash and putting them back in their correct place on the floor. In one last attempt to commandeer the power dynamic in your favor, you place your elbow on the center console, and stare deeply into his eyes.

“Thought this one would’ve been a no-brainer, but— do you have a girlfriend?”

Punk scoffs, as if he were offended that you’d even assume, “A girlfriend? No.”

“Hm. Good to know. I’ll keep that on the back-burner.”

“Must be my turn again,” The cheeky expression lingers on his face— you could tell he was amused just by looking at you.

“Yep. That’s how the game works.”

“Okay,” he puffs, mimicking the batting of your eyelashes and the little twinge of flirtiness in your smile, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Nope. Not a boyfriend for miles.”

He nods, his lips pursing, “As you said, it’s really just— good to know.”

Twenty questions was an awful game. Despite being the one to suggest it, you were also the first to admit it. There was so much nothingness to be discussed when it came to getting to know someone— and asking mundane questions seemed far too manufactured for the way you typically liked to handle things.

Punk already seemed to take a liking to you, it was evident in the way he acted thus far. His body language, the way he was teasing you. It was just so comfortable. And comfort was a good thing in most cases.

But in this case, comfort wouldn’t do.

“My turn,” you blurt excitedly, repositioning your legs back up onto the dashboard, “I’d like to take this question to address the elephant in the room.”

“Elephant���?”

You smile at Punk, watching his eyes follow your movements, the tail end of his sentence getting lost somewhere in his distracted mind.

“You keep on staring at my legs, Punker. You wanna get your head between ‘em?”

“Pardon?” he asks, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallows.

“You heard me, pretty boy.”

In a flash, Punk’s body is strewn across the center console. He’s kissing you.

Holy fuck, he’s kissing you.

His lips are soft and inviting, a stark contrast to the heavy breathing and wandering tongues between you as he presses his chest into yours. It was a whirlwind, you could barely keep up with him. You decide to pull away for a moment, honing in on those beautiful Kelly greens.

“Shit,” Punk laughs, his palm cupping your cheek and letting the remnants of wrist tape scrape against your skin, “I’m sorry.”

“What the hell are you apologizing for?” you breathe out, feeling like your back was superglued to the leather.

Punk retreats back to the driver’s seat, running a hand through his hair. He’s panting, that wicked smile still painted across his face, “Nothing, nothing— I just—”

And just like that, you’re attached at the lips once more.

You figured the less time spent talking right now would be for the better; getting to know someone was just semantics, anyway. If you think someone’s hot, and that person shares the sentiment, you firmly believe that you should get into their pants as quickly as possible.

Especially when that someone is a suave, punk wrestler who had some sort of bionic force field over your mind.

You deepen the second kiss, practically dislocating your hip as you stretch over the center console. You want to get closer— the inside of the car and the lowness of its ceiling preventing you from positioning yourself in the ways that you want.

“Get on top of me. Right now.” Punk’s words knock against your now plump lips, raw from all the teasing.

You oblige without another word, hoisting yourself over the console and straight into his lap. You think you have it all under control, despite the wobbling of your knees each time you look into his eyes.

“You’re very demanding,” you tease.

“And you seem— insatiable.”

Once you lower your hips onto his lap, a collective sigh fills the car. Not much was released from the tension in your lower half, but you fit into his lap like the last piece of a puzzle. He spread his legs comfortably beneath you, wasting no time in attaching his broad, blistered hands to y our waist.

Punk chuckles to himself, watching you adjust your ass so that it wasn’t digging into the steering wheel.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“This is just— an odd situation we’ve gotten ourselves into,” says Punk, reaching up to run his hand across your chest to the nape of your neck, “We met less than an hour ago. Now you’re straddling me in my car.”

“I’m a woman that knows what she wants as soon as she sets her eyes on it,” you whip back, taking your pointer finger and finally getting to run it across that dastardly handsome lip ring.

“I like you more and more each time you open your mouth. Makes me wonder what else it can do.”

Punk’s sentence trails off when his hand slowly snakes its way into the back of your hair. You smirk at his gentle quip, a subtle push in the right direction.

“Wanna find out?”

He pulls you back in, breathing in deeply as he nips at your bottom lip with his teeth. You moan at the feeling of his hand in your hair, tugging at the roots like he was trying to pull you away, but couldn’t stand to be far from you for longer than a second.

You swivel your hips against his, the tight biker shorts beneath your miniskirt leaving zero room for the imagination. When your hip makes one last dig, Punk’s entire body jolts— he takes that pent up frustration out on your soft flesh, nipping at your jaw towards your neck.

“Fuckin’ Christ, you’re—”

“Everything and more?” you gloat through heaving breaths as he starts a trail of love bites down towards your clavicle, “Super hot and amazing?”

You can feel Punk laughing beneath you; as if he hasn’t let himself enjoy life like this in a long time.

“You’re— unreal.”

With his words, you scoop up his face in your hands. It was hard not to just talk his ear off and shower him in praise for the foreseeable future, he checked every box for you as far as a man goes.

“What? What about me is so unreal?”

“Just— everything,” he hums, his eyes foggy and in a daze, “Can’t really put my finger on it at the moment.”

“Why not?”

“You’re like a fuckin machine gun. Loaded with questions.”

“Kiss me harder,” you purr, lifting your hips and planting them back down firmly onto the growing bulge in his sweats, “Maybe that’ll shut me up.”

Soon enough, you’re back in the game. Punk had taken the liberty of shrugging you out of your fuzzy jacket— the one he liked so much that he pulled a nickname out of his ass for.

He took time showering you in kisses; one would think a man of his stature wouldn’t be so delicate. But he treated you like he was picking petals off a daisy— and you were more than satisfied with that.

“Wanna take this to the backseat?” Punk grunts as your hands start to grasp at the hem of his shirt, he notices your struggle.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“Figured you’re tired of the steering wheel digging into your ass.”

You smile warmly at his cute little quips, wanting nothing more in this moment than to pinch at his cheeks, “Why thank you for being so considerate, Mr. Punk.”

You grace him with one more searing kiss, letting him linger in the aftermath before rising from his lap. Making it to the back with grace, you slide into the seat behind the passenger as Punk stares at you from the front.

“I would have opened the door for you. You didn’t have to pull out a whole gymnastics routine.”

With flushed cheeks and a smile, you shrug, “It’s more fun this way.”

“Whatever you say, Bunny,” Punk chuckles, shaking his head as he pushes open the driver’s side door.

You sit timidly in the backseat for the few seconds that you’re alone, your body pumping with adrenaline. It was hard to believe the turnaround of how this night was going— from shitty, fallen through club plans, to meeting someone who may or may not be the love of your life. It was all happening so fast, you could barely keep up.

“So.”

Punk’s voice and the slamming of the car door snaps you out of your spaceout. You turn to him with an amused face, instantly brought back down to earth when you notice how he’d comfortably spread his legs. A silent invitation.

“Sooo…”

“Come here often?” he jokes, drumming his fingers against his knee and eyeing your figure.

“That was so fucking corny. You’re such a loser.” You laugh, mimicking his eyes and traipsing them down his frame.

Dear God, he was divine.

“Quit the name calling and c’mere, you fuckin’ minx.”

As if his words were a wish and you were a genie that granted them true, you slowly crawl over to him, softening your eyes and tossing your hair over your shoulder as you once again get comfortable onto his lap.

The kiss from earlier picks back up— it felt almost redundant to do so. But you couldn’t get enough of the taste of his lips, and he couldn’t stand resisting the scent of your vanilla perfume.

“How far do you wanna go?” You breathe out, not entirely thinking with your head screwed on while he claws tightly at your hips.

“As far as you’ll take me. Seems like you’ve got the energy.”

“What? Can’t keep up with me?” you pout, leaning in to nip at his jawline and graze his stubble with your teeth, “So much for being an athlete.”

Punk snorts, you’d almost forgotten how strong he really was. He pulls you closer to him, your chest fully flushed against his.

“Don’t test me. Just because you’ve got the libido of a rabbit doesn’t mean I can’t keep up.”

“Ahhh, I don’t know— you got that kind of stamina in the bedroom? Or do you save the real show for when you’re in the ring?”

“Bunny wants a show, huh? I’ll give you a fuckin’ show—”

Like flipping on a light switch, Punk’s entire demeanor changes. The oozing sense of a desire to be in control clouded the small Chevy Malibu like smog. His hands detach from your waist, with one hand cupping your face and the other sliding up towards your throat.

You were loving this energy— he was like a leech. Feeding off of your lust like it was keeping him alive. When his hand eventually clamped down against the sides of your throat, you moaned out, pushing out a weak smile through newly forming tears in your eyes.

“Punk—” you squeak, but it wasn’t loud enough to grab his attention. He was kissing you with so much fervor and passion that it almost knocked the wind out of you.

Your position quickly switched. He was now on top of you, crammed into the backseat of this entirely too small sedan, his hips meeting yours and causing friction in your lower half. The bulge in his pants was making you want to take whatever he was willing to give.

It was almost desperate at this point.

“Shirt. Off. Now.” The odds were seemingly back in your favor. You’ve been wanting to see what was hiding beneath that tight athletic top the moment you saw how his back muscles contorted beneath it, illuminated by the streetlamp after you whacked him in the nose.

“Help me,” he huffs, struggling to reach between your bodies towards the hem of said shirt, “Help me get this damn thing off.”

You chuckle at his eagerness, the clumsy fumbling in an attempt to peel off Punk’s shirt allowed you to see a bit more of the sparkle in his eyes as he laughed along with you. Once the shirt was off, the most you could do was stare.

Tattoos. So many of them. You wanted to run your hand across all of them and paint along the colorful, traditional style. He was truly a work of art.

The heat of the moment had never left, but for a second, it felt as though you and Punk were the only two people on this planet. He hovers above you, panting at the sight of lust in your eyes. His dark hair was like a set of blackout curtains that framed his face just right. You couldn’t help yourself. You pushed a lock of that hair behind his ear, catching what you assumed to be a bashful, blushed grin.

“What? What are you smiling at?” you ask through giggles, letting the back of your hand trail his jawline.

“Nothing, nothing— you’re lookin’ at me stupid right now.”

“I’m sorry,” you hum, “I can’t really help it. I—didn’t know you had tattoos.”

“I’ve got quite a few, yeah,” he nods, speaking to you as if his bulge wasn’t millimeters away from where the both of you needed it to be, “Glad you like ‘em.”

“I don’t have any tattoos, sadly. ‘Wish I did. The adrenaline rush of a needle getting shoved into your skin over and over again seems like it would be better than sex.”

Punk’s eyes flicker with desire, his gaze firmly planted onto your lips as you spoke. He was one track minded, from what you could tell. Though you weren’t sure which track he’d been focused on running.

“Better than sex huh? You say that like I don’t have you here, pinned to my backseat.”

“It was a euphemism, jackass,” you snarl, craning your neck to reach up and peck him on the lips, “Doesn’t mean I don’t still want a tattoo. Or, to be pinned to your backseat.”

“Maybe tomorrow we’ll go get you a tattoo, eh? Set you up with an artist and everything. That way you can really tell me if being under the needle is better than sex.”

The kiss picks back up for the hundredth time, though it was the fiercest kiss of them all. Soon enough, Punk was shimmying you out of your miniskirt and biker shorts, and pushing your knees towards your chest.

“Is it fucked up that I’ve been thinkin’ about seeing you like this since I laid eyes on you?” He takes his time with you, settling to the best of his abilities while crammed into the back of his own car.

The only sound you could muster was an airy giggle, his blistered hands rubbing circles atop your knees as he slowly started to spread you wider.

“Tell me. Tell me right now if it’s fucked up and I’ll stop.”

“What? Are you crazy?” you say, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him, “I should punch you again for thinking that way.”

“Mmmh, I’d like to see you try.”

You understood why Punk kept implying that there’d be a next time. Because the way his gaze roamed down every dip and curve of your body and stopped to linger on your clothed core…

…You couldn’t imagine being here, in this moment, with anyone else.

“Can I just say— you’re fuckin’ heavenly,” Punk grumbles, his hands finally finding the lacy trim of your underwear.

“All these compliments are gonna start getting to my head, Punker. Choose your next words wisely.”

He chuckles, knowing full and well that he was holding the reins. You had him, basically, in a headlock. Your ankles clasped around the back of his neck, keeping him hostage towards the center of your thighs.

“Want these off?” he asks, pulling at your waistband.

You think for a moment, letting Punk take a second to drink you in, in all of your aphrodisiacal glory.

“Mmmh, no. Kinda’ wanna see you work for it.”

His eyes suddenly narrow with challenge, a newly formed drop of sweat beginning to roll down his forehead at the sheer impetuosity of his current position.

Face first towards your pussy.

Punk doesn’t say anything. Instead, his eyes lock with yours— your head begins to spin as he lowers his, not breaking his stare for even a second. He takes his rough-padded fingers, and pushes aside the dainty lilac colored fabric of your underwear.

“Work for it,” he mutters, scoffing under his breath as he feels your entire body jolt, “Yeah fuckin’ right.”

Punk dives into you with expertise and precision, his tongue initially dragging a long, torturous swipe up between your folds. The pressure of his tongue against your now aching core felt like you were just launched into the air from a slingshot.

You gasp. You whine. Your legs had suddenly gone limp and dropped beside him. You attempt to claw at his colorful, painted shoulders but instead, end up reaching all the way to his back to dig your nails straight into his spine.

He hums in what you assumed to be delight, ripples from his vocalization sending a shock wave through your body, whilst he continues to prod at your entrance with his tongue.

“Holy fuck—” you breathe out, the sensation of his nimble tongue causing your legs to spasm, “Fuck— fuckin’— shit!”

With his head still buried between your thighs, Punk laughs. He simply can’t help it.

“You’ve got a mouth like a goddamn sailor,” his eyes pop up to look at you momentarily, but that wouldn’t do.

“Keep your comments and questions reserved for after the show, thank you.” Shaking your head, you push his mouth back down to where the attention was needed.

After all was said and done, you still couldn’t believe you were here right now. It seemed far too early into the evening to call any shots, though it was far past midnight now, but there was a stirring feeling in your gut about Punk.

The stirring could've been attributed to the agility of his tongue between your thighs, but the bigger part of you knew that this feeling could only be described as butterflies.

Butterflies. That’s exactly what it was. From what you knew about him so far, Punk was a gentleman. Treating you delicately like he was pruning a rose bush, but with just enough of that rough, jagged edge that made you swoon.

Back to the present. You’d been digging your nails into Punk’s toned back for so long that you started to notice red etchings in the place of your hands.

“Oh my God,” was all you could muster. His tongue flicked mercilessly at your sensitive clit— the way his head dipped and swiveled only proved the attention he was paying to you.

He really was working for it.

“Keep goin’… fuck, please keep going. I’m— so close.”

With your words, Punk’s head pops up. He replaces his mouth with his fingers, immediately pushing two of them inside you and stretching your walls along with it.

“What’s that? You’re close, you said?”

His eyes shot through yours like bullets, his face now morphed into, possibly, the most determined expression you’ve ever seen. He takes those two fingers and curls them deep inside of you, the sounds of your arousal suddenly echoing throughout the car.

“Yes— yes I’m fuckin’ close… Are— are you mocking me?” you pant, weakly chuckling at the mercy of his fingers.

“Mocking you? C’mon now,” he interrupts himself with a grunt, his voice rich and sticky like honey, “I just wanted to clarify… and hear that pretty voice while you cum for me.”

Stars begin to cloud your vision. Your heart rate was picking up at rapid speeds, chanting yes yes yes yes yes over and over again as if it were some sort of demonic hymn. Punk had you hypnotized, borderline possessed. His face melts in time with yours, studying your expression as you chase your orgasm towards the finish line.

“Punk, oh fuck. God, yes. Faster. Faster!”

“Give it to me, Bunny. Gonna cum all over my fingers like a good girl? Yeah.”

Punk nods to you, as if it were a sign to let loose. He was coaching you through this like he was born to please you, hitting all of the correct spots with his large digits and occasionally ducking down to lap up your juices.

“So fuckin’ wet for me, baby. So fuckin’ good. I know you’re almost there.”

Seconds later, he does the unthinkable, and presses his palm flat against your lower stomach. You whine at the now building pressure, still cursing and surprised at the fact that you hadn’t drawn blood from his shoulder blades after grabbing them so roughly.

His body shifts upwards, keeping his balance by still pressing deeply against your abdomen. He muffles your moans with a searing hot kiss, biting at your bottom lip to heighten both the pain and the pleasure.

“Cum all over my fuckin’ hand, baby. I wanna’ make a mess of such a sweet, pretty girl.”

You do as you’re told, naturally, your body jolting in pure bliss as release crashes over you. Your legs stiffen, and go weak once again, letting Punk grace you with one last dirty kiss before pulling away to ease you.

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, your body still in a state of shock.

“Mmmmmh,” Punk hums as he massages one of your thighs, still coaxing you through your high with his two fingers, “That’s it, Bunny. Let it all out.”

You finally get a second to relax your shoulders, your neck falling limp as you rest your head against the car door. It was hard to believe just how fast your heart was beating— that was probably the best orgasm you’ve had in months.

“Feelin’ okay?” Punk breaks the heavy, sweaty silence, abruptly pulling his fingers out from you and making you gasp. He seemed to be extra cautious now, making sure your lightheadedness wasn’t too much of an issue.

“I— Shit… Fuck, I’m sorry. Don’t really— have the words.”

He chuckles softly, taking it upon himself to reach out and lift you, propping you upright against the carseat. “I’ve rendered the chatterbox speechless? Never in a million years…”

“Oh shut up,” you whine, feeling the remnants of slickness between your thighs, “It’s gonna take a lot more than that to get rid of me.”

After a few tender moments of giggles, swatting at each other playfully, and threatening to punch Punk once more, you had resumed the position onto his lap. While still crammed into the back of the Malibu, his large, blistered hands roamed your sides and sent shivers down your spine. He had also asked you’d be opposed to keeping your skirt off for the time being.

Of course, you didn’t mind.

“Where’d you learn that shit, Punker?”

“Hm?” Punk seems to be lost in you, his eyes wandering down to the love bites he’d left on your neck.

“Oh come on. You just whipped me through fucking space and time and you’re gonna act all humble about it? Where’s your pride?”

“I don’t think it’s anything to brag about. Real men make girls cum. It’s as simple as that.” He punctuates his thought with a kiss to the tip of your nose, his eyes narrow and hazy with adoration.

“Oh, so you save all your gut-punch-trash-talking for the ring, huh?”

Your comment makes him laugh. It’s hearty, and rich; he’s so lost in your eyes that you’re afraid he wouldn’t be able to find his way back.

“If you came to one of my matches, you’d find out. But why don’t we save the shop talk for another time and get you home? It’s getting late.”

Your chest aches, the words echoing against your skull. Take you home? The thought of going home after one of the most exhilarating nights of your life so far felt like an arrow through the back. You didn’t want this to end, you didn’t want to leave this car. You didn’t want to leave this parking garage.

You didn’t want to leave Punk.

“Do you have any plans tonight?” you ask softly, the first time you’d put your guard up since you were standing on the sidewalk.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Come home with me. Stay the night.”

You blurt it out faster than you could process your thoughts— though you always were a firm believer in trusting your gut.

“You serious?” He tucks a rogue strand of hair behind your ear; he seemed to have put his guard down for a fleeting moment, too.

“Serious. I’ve got a nice king-sized bed all to myself and a vinyl collection that’ll make your dick hard.”

“Once again, unreal…” Punk chuckles, shaking his head. You feel his body rumble along with it and can’t help but hold onto him tighter.

“…Sure. I’ll stay the night. But if you’re lying about that record collection, I’m driving back and leaving you out on the sidewalk where I found you.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal. If you don’t have a raging boner the second you step into my place, I’ll sell you my soul.”

“A deal with the devil,” Punk smiles warmly, before pulling you in for one last kiss that’s as sweet as molasses, “Prettiest damn’ devil I’ve ever seen.”

—

After a playful, sexually tense car ride that seemed to last an eternity, Punk finally pulled up to the front of your place. Throughout the entire duration of the drive, his hand was anchored to your thigh, rubbing slow, soothing circles that occasionally veered off between your legs; you talked his ear off about work, friends, and all of the other quirks that made your life worth living.

He also told you more about his wrestling career, and how he was working small indie shows in hopes to sign a bigger contract. You listened to his ramblings about what it takes to be a wrestler, not without asking him a million questions, of course.

You learned that his full ring name was CM Punk. And quickly realized that the ‘CM’ could stand for just about anything— Cookie Monster, Curtis Mayfield, Car Muffler. The possibilities were endless for you. But truthfully, hearing you talk and joke around was the only thing that mattered to Punk.

Your curious mind and nonstop motormouth quickly became one of the things that Punk liked most about you.

But he wouldn’t admit that aloud.

“So, this is the place huh?” Punk hums, tossing his head back at you with a bit of tension from before that still lingered, “The place that’s supposed to blow me away with a rockin’ record collection and a promised king-sized mattress.”

“Mhm. Welcome to my dojo. Usually there’s no boys allowed— but tonight, I’ll make an exception.”

Soon enough, Punk opened the car door for you, allowing you to slide out and stand beside him on the sidewalk in front of your apartment. You lived in a duplex in Brooklyn, in a somewhat seedy neighborhood that you quickly took a liking to after living in it for almost half a year. Your neighbors were kind, considerate, and never asked questions.

You hoped that’d remain true after tonight.

The two of you walk up to the porch, laughing playfully at the misfortune of your miniskirt before reaching the door. But before you fish out your key from your clutch, you spin around, and press your back against the screen.

“What’s the password, Punky Brewster?”

His eyes widened with challenge, a smug expression on his face, “How should I know? It’s my first time here.”

“I can give you a hint if you’d like,” you purr like a cat, trailing your index finger down his chest as he steps a smidge closer.

“A hint, huh? Lucky for you, riddles turn me on.”

You laugh heartily— you haven’t laughed this much in months. He was surely a spitfire for the ages; the only person for miles who was willing to keep up with your attitude for this long. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes seemed to shimmer as he gazed down at you, the overhead lighting of your porch giving him a faux halo.

Fitting.

“This isn’t a riddle. It’s simple. You have something that I want. And I need you to give it to me.”

“Something that you want— interesting. Is it a physical object? An action? C’mon Bunny, cut me some slack. My brain’s fuckin’ fried.”

A desperate chuckle passes his lips, and he just can’t help but reach out to caress your cheek. Still reeling from previous events, you nudge your face right into his palm.

“I feel as though I’m being fair. You have something I want, and I need you to give it to me.”

You were implying that you wanted a kiss. It was simple. Merely because you couldn’t stand the thought of your lips being detached for longer than the time it took to walk up your front porch.

After thinking to himself for a moment, your cheek still cradled in his palm, the lightbulb flicks on in Punk’s mind.

“Oh. You fucker. I know what you want.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you shrug, chewing on your bottom lip.

“Only ‘cause you’re greedy. C’mere.”

Leaning in to kiss him for approximately the fifteenth time tonight still felt like slow motion. It wasn’t until your lips finally reconnected that the tension left your shoulders.

‘Mrrrrooowww’

A loud mewl from behind snaps the kiss. Punk stares at you in shock for a moment, but you knew exactly what that sound was. “What the hell was that?”

‘Mrrroowww’

At your feet sits a little tortoiseshell cat. The neighborhood stray.

“Jesus Christ, scared the shit out of me.” Punk steps back, teetering with uncertainty in an attempt not to step on the animal. You didn’t think such a small creature would knock a big man off his balance so easily.

“Scared?” you scoff, bending down to scoop up the familiar cat, “Of this little guy?”

Punk’s eyebrow raises, curiously admiring your Snow White-esque way of going about this. “Is he a friend?”

You chuckle at his sarcasm, petting the purring feline and letting him rub his head in your palm. “I guess you could call him that. This is Channing Tatum. Mr. Tatum, Tater Tots, Tater for short. He comes by every morning and night to hang out for a bit. I think we, uh, interrupted his busy schedule.”

“No shit. That’s his fuckin’ name?” Punk guffaws, crossing his arms in disbelief, “Who named him that?”

“Who do you think?”

Punk chuckles, running a hand through his hair, “Naturally.”

“Yeah. I feed him n’ stuff,” you rattle off like you were born to, still petting Tater and watching as he cocks his head towards Punk in curiosity, “He’s put on a few pounds since I moved here, but I plead the fifth. This dude’s got hookups at every house on this block.”

“Smart man. He’s a hustler.”

It took Punk a moment to reach out and pet Tater, the tattoos on his knuckles catching the light of the porch. DRUG FREE was scrawled across his hands in black ink, making your mind race with even more questions to ask him. But you didn’t want to bore him, or piss him off. So instead, you just soaked in the moment.

“What do you feed this guy? He’s got buff shoulders and a toned bod. Might have to hijack his diet.”

“I’ll give him a combo of wet and dry food every day,” the two of you were now petting Tater simultaneously, and he was loving every second of it, “plenty of water, too. Hydration is important for cats, you know.”

The loud purrs disrupted the peaceful silence between you and Punk. You catch his eyes in a sideways glance— he wasn’t looking at Tater anymore.

He was looking at you.

“I give you cat people a lot of credit. Cats usually hate me,” Punk smiles, leaning in to hear the loud, rumbling purrs coming from such a small creature, “This one might be special.”

“He’s pretty good at feeling people’s energy. He gets it from his mama.”

“Didn’t realize I was signing up to be a step-father.”

An airy chuckle leaves his chest, but you clam up. For no particular reason. “Why don’t we go inside? I’m still fuckin’ cold.”

There’s a pause in space and time. You set Tater down gently onto the porch and watch him scurry off, knowing he’ll be back promptly at eight in the morning for breakfast. But the way you clammed up just then didn’t go unnoticed by Punk, you just assumed he chose to ignore it.

You led him over the threshold of your apartment, tapping the tips of your fuzzy boots on the side of the door to rid them of any dirt, mud, or grimy New York snow-sludge. Punk mimicked your actions, as if he’s been here before.

“Shoes off?”

“Shoes off.” You repeat, pulling off one boot at a time as your ass hits the floor. Punk slides out of his Nikes, propping them up against the wall beside yours.

“Your place is nice,” Punk whistles, his hands on his hips as he admires your living room/kitchen combo.

“It’s not much, but it’s all me.”

“No roommates?” He asks, shuffling towards your kitchen island and poking his nose into one of your drawers.

“Nope. I got a discount on this place because the roof was caving in on my side. My dad’s a contractor, he came down from upstate and fixed it for free.”

“Jesus,” he glances at you on the floor, you were now sitting criss-cross applesauce. He can’t help but stare as you unzip your fuzzy coat, haphazardly tossing it onto the back of the couch.

“Meh, it’s no big deal. Knowing that the roof may cave back in any day now really keeps me on my toes. Gets me motivated, you know?”

Your dry humor makes Punk laugh, the gap in his teeth catching beneath the kitchen lights. When you finally stood up, and walked over to him to stand at the opposite side of the kitchen island, the two of you were now in a face-off.

The energy switch was minuscule. His eyes narrowed, as did yours, as you braced your hands against the granite.

“Want anything?”

“You know what I want.”

You scoff, “I meant like, a glass of water. Or something of that nature.”

“A glass of water, sure,” Punk agrees, watching you vigilantly as you round the corner into the kitchen where he was. He was standing in front of the fridge, causing your back to slide against his when you went to open it.

The energy between you was like static— it was jarring and abrasive, sending little shocks down your spine. He doesn’t waste much time, spinning around to hold you from behind.

“Punk,” you say, your throat now gone dry.

“Hm?” His face had moved towards the crook of your neck, lips hovering behind your ear, “what’s up, Bunny babe?”

“You’ve got a real personal space problem.”

“Not like you mind it,” he retorts, lips finally connecting to your neck as he leaves soft kisses in their wake.

“I don’t. Just trying to be a good host. That’s all.”

“Am I invading your space? Do you want me to stop?”

Punks hands move from your waist, scooping up your breasts to massage them, all in one motion. The action makes you whine, and clench the glass of ice cubes in your hand. He was licking and biting at your neck, nearing the spaghetti strap of your clubbing top.

“No, no. I don’t want you to stop.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

Punk spins you fully to face him, leaving the refrigerator door open and idle. The cool air hits your back and meshes with the contrast of how hot and searing his lips feel against your neck.

He really loved to bite at you, maybe he was a vampire.

In one motion, Punk takes the glass from your hand and sets it down on the counter behind him, pulling you into his waist as he rests his back against the granite. It was a ridiculously slow, methodical dance he was pulling, his breathing heavy against your ear as he can’t decide whether to hold your hips, or your ass.

You take your now free hands and lace them around his neck, finally able to fully flush your body against his without being restricted by the confines of a backseat. He hums in delight when your tits press against his chest, and pushes you away to get a better look.

“I don’t know what it is, but you’ve got me whipped. Not gonna lie, it was taking everything in me not to pull the car over and fuck you on the side of the highway.”

You blush at his admission, “I wouldn’t have been mad at that. Though I don’t know how fucking in that small ass car would’ve went.”

“Anything is possible. We could’ve made it work,” Punk smirks, brushing a lock of hair out of your face, “I’ll keep it in mind for next time.”

Making out with someone against your kitchen counter wasn’t particularly a dream of yours. But the way Punk held you tightly and let his hands roam across your ass beneath your miniskirt, sans biker shorts, made you want to fall asleep and never wake up.

You moan into his mouth, letting the rough, sloppy kiss take over your senses. Punk moves you fluidly, whisking you away from the counter towards the wall.

“P-Punk—” you sputter, due to his hand hovering around your skirt.

“Yes?” He asks softly, almost too sweetly.

“Can I just—show you around?”

Punk sighs, pulling away from you to scratch his neck. His hand slaps his thigh when it drops, motioning for you to ‘go ahead’ with a lazy smile.

You slither out from his hold, making sure to sway your hips and drag your hand along the granite of the kitchen island, “So. This is the kitchen. Obviously. We’re standing in it.”

You point around, and his eyes follow, occasionally reminding you of his presence with an “uh huh” here and there. Once you make it towards the stairs, you stop and spin to face him.

“You don’t care at all, do you?”

Punk’s cocky expression doesn’t falter. He’s leaning on the wall, his strong, tattooed arm hovering beside your head, which is how he was standing while you pointed out every single knickknack on your shelf.

“Bunny. Baby. You think I don’t care?” he clutches his chest, feigning hurt, “I bet I can recite everything you just said back to you.”

“I don’t fucking believe you,” you retort, crossing your arms with a pitiful pout, “You’ve been staring at my ass for so long to the point where it’s got bullet holes.”

At that moment, Punk wanted nothing more than to run the pad of his thumb along that plump bottom lip, but he kept his inner monologue at ease.

“The cat statues were a housewarming gift from your bitch friend Cassie, the one that ditched you tonight.”

Your eyes widen as Punk leaves the wall, stepping back over to the shelf. “The matchbox is from the restaurant that you worked one shift at— and then quit on the spot after a customer said your top was too low cut.”

“You found the bottle caps on the street in Queens, bought that seashell from a neighbor, and stole that pool ball from a billiard bar—”

A stammer gets caught in your throat as Punk, quite literally, repeats your words verbatim. “—Am I missing anything?”

“I—”

“You wanna tell me again that I’m not listening?”

“Oh fuck you,” you say sternly, but are unable to hide your smile when Punk pulls you beside him to take a gander at your trinket shelf.

“I’ve been trying, baby. But you’re not easy and I know that. If asking you about your frequent yard sale visits is what it takes to get you in my arms, I can do this all night.”

Smooth. He was so goddamn smooth. To spare him the satisfaction of giving him what he wanted the moment he asked for it, you slide out of his grasp once again, and scurry up a few stairs. The stairs that lead towards your bedroom.

“If you’re looking to do this all night, we’re already halfway there.”

“Time is a construct,” Punk scoffs, crossing his arms with that same lethal stare and mimicking your posture, “Show me to the bedroom, please.”

What started as a slow ascent quickly turned into a game of cat and mouse. You giggled as you flew up the stairs, hearing Punk’s heavy, socked footsteps gaining on you from behind.

“Stop it! You’re fuckin’ scary!” you shriek, clipping the corner of the stairs towards your bedroom door.

Your back is pressed against the door now, with Punk slowly creeping towards you. His broad shoulders grow taut against his athletic top with each eerie step.

“So I scare you. You’re admitting it?”

“What?” you raise an eyebrow, face flushing of all color, “you don’t scare me. You were just—running at me like it’s hunting season.”

“I wasn’t tryna’ scare you. But I mean, I could be scary if you wanted.”

You swallow. Hard. You’d only seen certain facets of Punk’s personality in the three hours of knowing him. And despite your curious nature and the inexplicable magnetic grip he held over you, the thought of him scaring you never really crossed your mind. You wondered what it was like to actually be threatened by him.

You wondered if he’d even give you the chance to know it.

“Really?” you stammer, your voice betraying you and fleeting off when he reattaches his hand to your waist, “You’d be scary for me?”

“Well, of course I would. It’s all an act. I can be whatever you want me to be, Bunny baby.”

A sinking feeling reaches the pit of your stomach, your insides growing warm and fuzzy with each passing moment.

“You’re quite the talker, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been told I have a magic mouth. Tongue included.”

You shake your head, chewing at your bottom lip whilst your eyes flick between his facial features, a stirring sense of God knows what clouding over your mind.

“Can I be honest?”

Punk nods solemnly, at full attention.

“I uh, haven’t done this in a while. I know I’ve only known you for like, three hours but— I don’t know. Don’t wanna mess this up.”

His face softens at your admission; you couldn’t quite get a read on him, but his expression had yet to reach this level of vulnerability. The steel cage that guarded that pretty, tough face seemed to snap, the corner of his lips tugging up into a sincere smile.

“Hey, it’s alright. I know I lay it on kinda thick when it comes to all the flirting but— truth be told, it’s been a while for me too.”

“I just— I wanna see you be scary. I wanna see you get mad. I wanna feel your jaw tick whenever you get irritated.”

Oh God, you were feeling yourself near the start of a class-act ramble. Shut up. Stop talking, you thought, for the love of fuck, stop talking.

“But I’ve also had so much fun making you laugh. And— calling you dumb names like Punky Brewster. I didn’t wanna leave the sidewalk. I didn’t wanna leave the car. I didn’t want you to just— take me home.”

“Shit,” Punk laughs, just as you mentioned, “you’re such a damn sap.”

Your body language grows more timid. Almost as if you were moving backwards from the progress you’d made whilst out on that sidewalk or in the back of that busted up Chevy. But truthfully, you didn’t want to mess this up. You had finally felt as though you’d found someone who was your perfect fit. A match made in fucking heaven.

“Is that a bad thing?” you mumble, looking down to muddle with your thumbs.

Before he speaks again, Punk sighs, tutting you with a click of his tongue before reaching up to pull your eyes back into his.

“No. It’s not a bad thing. And please, don’t you ever give me those sad puppy eyes again, ya’ hear?”

“I know, I know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you admit sheepishly, “forget I said anything?”

“Oh, fuck off. Are you kidding me? That was just about the sweetest damn thing that’s ever been said to me, and you want me to forget it? Y/N, seriously. It’s okay.”

When he speaks your name, something about him snaps you back to reality. Maybe it was the fact that the emptiness that you felt in your chest from getting ditched by your friends filled right back up the moment you gazed into his eyes, but Punk genuinely had a hold over you.

And from the way he was taking in all of your babblings and praise, you could assume that he was feeling it too.

“Don’t get all pouty on me. I fucking hate that you’re not smiling right now,” says Punk, rubbing your chin with his thumb. You force out a smile that was hidden behind your own self doubt, starting to slowly feel comfortable again.

“Can I show you my room?” you hum, the nervous chewing of your lip morphing into a sultry gaze.

“You can show me anything, anytime.”

After the short lived grand tour, you and Punk made it to your bed. The promised king-sized mattress seemed satisfactory, getting rave reviews all around. It didn’t take long for Punk to sprawl across it, with your head seeking refuge on his chest.

“I’d kill to have a bed like this,” Punk says, running a hand across the side of your face, “I’ve got a fucking twin back at my place.”

“A twin? Jesus fuck. You’re like, six feet tall. There’s no way you can sleep comfortably in that.”

“You’d be surprised. Usually I’m so tired after my matches that I just— crash without thinking. I’ve got a roommate too, but he's never around. Always out doing fuck all and coming home at four in the morning.”

You shake your head, hearing the soft thumping of Punk’s heartbeat meshing with the mellow Led Zeppelin record that you’d chosen to play on your stereo. “Having a roommate must suck.”

“It isn’t exactly a dream, but he helps keep the rent paid. That’s all that matters to me.”

“Y’know— if you just stayed here all the time you wouldn’t have to worry about roommates.”

Punk laughs, his chest rumbling, “Wouldn’t that make you my roommate?”

“Well, to quote a great and honest man; I can be whatever you want me to be.”

“Using my own words against me huh? Damn, you’re good.”

A lazy smile spreads across your face as the two of you laugh, completely consumed with the moment. And each other. The scent of his cologne mixed with the sweat and adrenaline from hours prior— you were debating offering him a shower. You were also debating whether or not you ever wanted to let him leave.

You’d soon find out that the answer was never.

“Y’know Bunny, you’re alright.” Punk breaks the peaceful silence, sitting up and leaving your head to go with it.

“Just alright?” you tease, letting out a sigh and running your hand through his dark locks, “I thought I was heavenly. Unreal. Whatever other fuckin’ SAT words you pulled out on me tonight.”

“You told me the compliments were getting to your head.”

“That didn’t mean I wanted you to stop.”

Punk pulls you into a kiss; it’s the most fiery, the most passionate one of the evening. It was getting far too late now— you could almost see the sunlight peeking over the horizon through the coin slots in your curtains. You’d officially stayed up all night.

But you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

[berrryparfait]

sweet, sweet dessert ⋆୨୧˚

❥ req by: @sadfragilegirl | prompt

— ༉‧₊ᐟ featuring: xavier x fem-afab!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: the food is delectable, the ambience serene. your first date with xavier is going perfectly—so much so that you just might decide to grab dessert on the way home instead. 「you're taking me to new places...」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: [nsfw] fluff and smut, wholesome dinner date, not-so-wholesome car sex, reader realizes she's falling in love

— ༉‧₊ᐟ word count: 1.6k

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: touch – keshi

✧ a/n: sorry this took a while! i loved this prompt so much i wanted to make sure i did it justice XD

Everything about tonight is perfect.

Soft, jazzy music plays in the background, their sensual symphony occasionally interrupted by the soft clinking of champagne flutes and idle chatter between lovers. Everyone here is dressed to the nines, including you.

You take a seat opposite your date, fanning the underside of your dress out elegantly and trying not to let your nerves get the best of you. Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re afraid he can hear it—afraid he’ll figure out he’s the cause of your anxiety. How could he not be? He looks undeniably gorgeous in that finely-pressed suit, his hair styled neatly and his skin almost glowing in the warm candlelight.

But the gentle expression on his face reassures you. You notice the way his eyes light up when you sit down across him, and it calms you. “You look beautiful,” he remarks shyly, and you reply with a simple thanks.

Is this what a date between two introverts looks like?

You tell yourself to stop freaking out and enjoy the evening. After all, how many times in your life will you get to dine at a fancy place like this, with a genuinely good guy like him?

“I took the liberty of asking the chef to prepare his finest, no specifics included. I hope that’s okay with you.” He looks away then, a sheepish blush spreading across his face.

“Of course. I love food surprises,” you giggle. Was that weird?

Xavier smiles at the sound of your laugh, and your breath catches in your throat. God, he’s so sexy. “Me too. I also sleep a lot, if we’re revealing fun facts about ourselves.”

You laugh at his “fun fact”, relieved. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a deep sleeper.” A lie. He looks sleepy already. But not in a way that implies he’s bored—more so that he missed his daily afternoon nap. “My turn. I think you’re very charming, Xavier.” It’s a bold statement, bolder than you would’ve tried with any other guy.

But he makes you feel safe, somehow. He’s not like the others. It’s a strange feeling; you’ve barely known each other a week and you already trust him with your life.

He blushes furiously, smirking. That was a really hot smirk. “I think you’re quite charming yourself, <y/n>.”

Suddenly, the temperature in the room skyrockets. The air has shifted—at least from your point of view. All this flirtation has escalated things from zero to a hundred, and you’re shocked—maybe even scandalized—by the thoughts that materialize in your head. Slow down, you ravenous slut. The guy doesn’t even know your favorite color!

You decide to shove those thoughts aside for later tonight. This is your first date, for goodness sake. Why are you thinking about his—

“Where do you work?” he interrupts your train of thought, a favor you’ll have to repay him.

The two of you fall deep into possibly the best conversation you’ve ever had, switching from topics like movies to siblings and music to lifelong dreams. He’s an incredibly insightful person, yet he never speaks out of turn and waits patiently while you fumble for the right words. He’s a great listener.

It turns you on.

I’m a horrible person, you think to yourself, berating your cycle for ringing in ovulation week now. “Are you alright?” he asks, mildly concerned.

Fuck, he noticed you zoning out. “Yeah, of course! Sorry, you were saying?”

That little smirk again. “I asked if you wanted to get dessert.”

“I never say no to dessert.”

“Shall we drive out?”

…

You step into the passenger’s seat of his car and try your best not to gape. It’s the most beautiful car you’ve ever seen, maybe, all smooth surfaces and shiny metal plates. He climbs in next to you after shutting your door, and instantly you’re consumed by his scent; pine leaves and fresh herbs. It leaves you feeling thick and heady and pools right in your core.

Stop. Thinking. About. It.

“Ready?” He starts the engine and waits for your cue.

You nod, unable to form words. Think about dessert. Strawberry shortcake. Crème brûlée. Lemon sherbert. It works for a while, before you notice the thin veins on his hands and the way his side profile looks in the dim moonlight.

This is the most painful drive ever. “Where are we going?” you ask, hoping for a distraction.

“There’s this really good ice cream place not far from here. I was thinking I could drop you home after.”

“That sounds great. Thanks.”

You sit in silence for the next fifteen minutes, watching the trees pass as he expertly navigates his way through the darkness. You aren’t exactly in the most accessible of areas right now, driving from one town to another and all.

He slows down then, staring at his GPS. A crease appears between his brows. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to park in this corner for a little while to check if we’re going in the right direction. This GPS can be faulty at times.”

If it were anyone else, your suspicions would’ve been raised. But Xavier has a way of making you feel completely at ease. You know in your heart that he wouldn’t try anything on you. Besides, you told a bunch of your friends about your date tonight, and they know who to call if anything were to happen to you.

As he fiddles with the GPS, pushing all these little buttons you would’ve had no idea how to work out, you attempt to avert your gaze from his slender fingers and that annoyingly seductive scent. It doesn’t work this time. Thoughts of dessert can only get you so far when there’s a whole dish sitting right next to you.

On an impulse, you do something you would’ve never done before tonight. You lean in close and gently kiss him on the corner of his mouth.

It’s a small peck, but his eyes go wide. He straightens and looks at your lips, struggling to even speak. “I—You—”

“Shhh…” you whisper, suddenly feeling brave. You stretch over the gear stick to plant another kiss underneath his eye, then one on his cheek. You’re in an uncomfortable position right now, back arched across two seats with your ass up facing the foggy window, but you don’t care. You’re so turned on right now he’s all you can think about.

He doesn’t pull away from your advances, instead slowly running his hands around your waist to guide you onto his lap. Every few seconds, a car zooms past. It’s exhilarating.

You settle inches away from his groin, placing your elbows on his shoulders and your hands on the back of his seat. When your lips meet, sparks explode from your chest, and your brain is flooded with him. The way his lips taste—feel. The warmth growing between your legs.

He kisses you back eagerly, his breath against your lips as he mutters, “What…about…dessert…”

“Fuck dessert… Later…” You grind against him, and he whines at the sensation. He’s hard as a rock, and he knows it.

Fucking on the first date? Why the hell not.

You reach for his belt, but he gets there first. He fumbles a little, too engrossed in your kisses, but he pulls it free with a single, devastatingly sexy tug.

Your hands grasp at his zipper and boxers next, and with one fluid movement his hard length is exposed to you. Fuck, he’s big. You clench at the sight of him, your clit throbbing.

Realizing that precious time is being wasted, you lift yourself up on your knees and pull your dress up to your waist. He pulls your wet panties to the side, drowning in the sight of your dripping pussy mere inches from his tip.

You slide onto him, feeling the length of his cock rub against your walls for the first time. It’s too much—the pressure, the friction. He throws his head back in pleasure, eyes squeezing shut as you clench around him.

Slowly, you begin to bounce on his dick, your moans echoing within the car as every pump sends your mind into a thoughtless spiral. His thumbs are digging into your waist, his fingers around your ass. “Fuck— You’re so—tight—” he bites out, his breaths belabored and strangled. He pushes the neckline of your dress down, freeing you tits and letting them bounce in his face.

It’s overwhelming. The feeling of your clit hitting the hard plane of his stomach. His tip planting wet kisses on the back of your cervix. The wet noises and vulgar squelches permeating the air. His cock pounding against your g-spot. The thought of you fucking a guy you just met in his car.

A guy you may or may not be falling in love with.

“I’m going to cum— I’m—” You both come undone at the same time, warm spurts of cum filling you up as you shake uncontrollably in his grip, your mind completely blank save for the blinding intensity of your first orgasm in ages.

When you’ve slid back into your seat, cum still dripping from your pulsating cunt, you’re both utterly exhausted. He’s the first to recover, his pants growing softer as he reaches for a blanket in the back seat and drapes it over your body. “Do you…need anything?”

You smile at him wearily, a warm glow emanating from every inch of you. He’s so sweet.

“I’d really like some dessert.”

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[yelenasbraid]

treat you better — joe burrow

summary — Work is rough. Watching your boyfriend beat himself up over loss after loss is rough. It doesn’t take much for you to break.

warnings — fem!reader, angst, fluff, language, implied/cut-off smut

requested by — anon <3 (IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG! i didn’t forget about you 🫶🏼)

tags — @wickedfun9 @joeyfranchise @starsinthesky5 @willowsnook @softburrow @joeburrowshaircurl @ebsmind @blairsworld22 @xxvampxhoonxx (comment/send an ask if you want to be added!)

ENDLESS MEETINGS. That’s what work felt like for the past several weeks. Meetings to fix a problem that wasn’t going to get fixed because it was a problem at the head. Meetings to address behaviors that only one person was doing. Meetings that should have been an email. Aside from the meetings, you’re having to deal with men who doubt your abilities as a woman to do your job, which you were hired for. The comments, the stares, everything that these men did to you worked you over. You’ve told them, handed their ass to them, but nothing stopped until your boss got a handle on it.

Then came the projects. The endless hours critiquing and correcting every bit of information that came your way. The hours you spent deconstructing an idea in order for your boss to present it in its entirety.

Today wasn’t much better. You made a mistake and you paid for it, the printers weren’t working, and you had zero down time. You barely had time to check your phone and answer a text from Joe before someone came in and asked your opinion on something. When the end of the day came, you let out a breath. You practically ran to your car, throwing yourself in and locking the doors. No one was going to get any last assignment out of you. No one was going to make one more comment about how the Bengals couldn’t seem to grab a win.

You drove home in silence. Your mind wandered to the conversations you had during the day, the things you did, and the people you spoke to. You were tired of hearing about the losses, the way that “Joe just can’t seem to get a win under his belt” and “it’s like he doesn’t know how to play football.” You wrung the steering wheel, your mind wandering further down a road you knew you shouldn’t be on.

Flashback

“Just leave me alone, y/n!” Joe’s never raised his voice at you. Never in the 3 years you’ve been dating. The loss to the Ravens, the second time, was hitting him harder than you anticipated. Of course, you knew that the losses, how they piled up, they were gnawing at him. They were eating him raw. You could see it in his eyes, in the way his hands shook. He was crumbling under the pressure but didn’t want to admit it.

“I just want you to be ok, Joe. That’s all.” You argued, your tone pleading. He stepped away from you, scoffs puffing from his lips.

“I don’t need you to coddle me. I’m a grown adult, now leave me alone,” He wasn’t asking. The demanding tone he had wasn’t of enjoyment either. You stared at him, your expression as hard as his was. Your nose twitched as you watched him retreat up the stairs to your shared bedroom.

It wouldn’t be shared that night.

End of flashback

Ever since that night, Joe’s been trying to make it up to you. He’s been moody, but he’s not stupid. He’s realized that he made a mistake, that he used his words to tear down instead of lift you up. You could see he was trying, but it didn’t take away the stress of your job or the stress of making sure Joe was ok.

You pulled into the garage, pressing the garage opener in your car to shut the door behind you. You stepped out, your eyes heavy. You didn’t spot Joe’s car, so he must not be home yet. It wasn’t always that you beat Joe home, but the days you did, you made sure that he came home to a warm meal. It was the least you could do, plus, cooking was therapy.

You walked into your home, the coolness of the air wafting over your hot skin. You walked up the stairs and into yours and Joe’s shared bedroom. You changed out of your work clothes and put something comfortable on. Your head was foggy, your eyes out of focus as you slipped one of Joe’s hoodies over your head. You grabbed your phone, walking back downstairs to start dinner.

Dinner tonight would be something easy, something you both liked. You grabbed your ingredients, the exhaustion from the day catching up to you. You opened a cabinet for spices, and ran into the cabinet when you forgot to close it. You opened the fridge to grab some cheese, and you smacked your head off of it trying to close it. You dropped one of the spices and it spilled all over the floor. You ran your hands through your hair as you tried to compose yourself, hot tears pooling in your eyes.

“It’s ok, just get it in the oven,” You sniffled, cleaning up the spilled spices and finishing preparing the meal. The rest of it went smoothly, for the most part. The door opened and shut, signaling that Joe was home. You looked up and smiled softly at him.

“What’s all this?” He asked with a soft smile, dropping his bag and walking further into your home.

“Dinner,” You answered. He could tell something was off. Your eyes were heavy, your shoulders slumped, and your hair was in messy strands around your face. You were exhausted.

“You didn’t have to,” He walked up to you, his expression soft and inviting. He knew he had been a dick, even if you’d tell him it was warranted. He hoped this wasn’t an attempt to ‘get back into his good graces.’ You never had to. It was often the opposite, that he would have to get back into your good graces.

As he walked over to you, you pulled out the glass pan that you were going to put the chicken in. Your hands slipped as you stood up, the pan falling from your fingers and crashing down on the floor. This wasn’t just any pan, this was a pan that Joe’s mom, Robin, bought you. It wasn’t cheap. Your hands covered your face as embarrassment and disappointment settled into your chest. Hot tears stung your eyes, tears uncontrollably rolling down your cheeks. You inhaled shakily as you went to grab a broom.

“No no, hold on, don’t move,” Joe’s hands went out to stop you from moving, his eyes scanning the floor for glass. He didn’t want you to step on any and cut your foot. Your hands covered your mouth, tears welling up in your eyes as Joe grabbed the broom. He swept the broken pieces away, kneeling down to grab the smaller, almost invisible pieces that were around your feet.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I know that was expensive and I should have been more careful-”

“Y/n, babe, it’s just a glass pan,” Joe tried to console you, watching how increasingly upset you got. You looked like a little girl, the way your arms were in front of you as if to protect you. You watched him, hot tears rolling down your raw cheeks. It was just a pan, why were you reacting this way?

“What am I supposed to put the chicken in now?” You wiped your tears, bending down to try and find another pan. Joe stepped beside you, placing his hands on your hips and guiding you away from the cabinet.

“Let me help you,”

“No, I was supposed to make this nice dinner for you when you got home. I was supposed to make sure that even if you had a bad practice, you could have something good when you got home,” You reasoned, your tone sharper. Your eyes were still red with tears, but you were serious. Joe could see that. Joe could see that you wanted to do something nice for him, and you felt like you failed. He could see that you felt like you were a problem, and Joe’s heart twisted.

“What happened at work?” Joe hummed, cupping your cheeks with his hands. He knew that the past couple of weeks have been rough, but he didn’t know just how rough they’d been for you. You sniffled, backing away until your hips met the counter.

“All of these projects,” You started, “the comments too, they’re getting to me,”

“What comments?” Joe asked, interest piqued. This was the first time he’s heard of such comments.

“Just…everything, really.” You hugged yourself. You weren’t sure if you wanted to tell him that part of those comments were about the losses the Bengals have recently suffered.

“Lay it out for me,” He encouraged you, settling his hips against the counter opposite of you. He watched you, carefully examining how you shielded yourself. Why? What happened? Who hurt you?

“Some guys just keep pestering me, asking if I really know what I’m doing. They keep talking to me like I’m 5, even if I’ve got a degree in what I’m doing. They keep lying to me to see if I catch on,” You explained, rubbing your temples. There was more, there was always more. Joe listened on, his face tight as his arms crossed over his chest. You’ve had this problem before, and the fact it kept popping up infuriated him.

“I’m sorry, babe,” He hummed softly, letting his expression fall, “You’ve gone through hoops to get that taken care of,” He affirmed. He knew you did. He knew you’d spoken to them, your boss had spoken to them, and it was always the same guys. There was something else, he could see it on your face.

“I have! I just…I’m just happy to be home,”

“They said something else, didn’t they?” He asked you, rather pointedly. You looked at him, and you remembered the nights where his eyes were cold, frozen over with the pain of the loss. He was still recovering from the previous one.

“Joe,”

“What else did they say?” He encouraged, keeping his tone level. He stayed where he was, encouraging you like you did him. Spilling your guts wasn’t the easiest thing to do. You bit your lip, running a hand through your hair. You inhaled deeply before exhaling.

“They kept mentioning the games, specifically the losses,” You started, watching Joe freeze, “Of course I said something, nearly got fired for it, but they know better,” You digressed. Silence hung between you, new feelings stirred up in the both of you. Joe was disappointed, mainly in himself, for not winning more. He was angry that those losses were being used against you, like you could do something about it. You watched him, heart pounding as you analyzed his features.

“I’m sorry, baby,” You whispered, and Joe quickly shook his head, walking up to you.

“Look at me,” Joe hummed, softly cupping your cheeks in his hands. Your cheeks were soft, but they were damp from the flow of tears, “You have nothing to apologize for. You're not the one of us that plays football; they shouldn’t be having issues with you. Don’t ever apologize, I’m sorry this season’s been hard,” He reassured you.

You felt more tears fall, your chest heaving with the attempt to hold back your sobs. You nodded, resting your forehead against his chest. He cupped the back of your head and kissed your hair, letting his lips linger there. He needed to do better, he needed to be better. He needed to stop taking out the losses on you. You were his world, and he felt like he was polluting it.

You pulled away, Joe’s thumbs wiping your tears away and the hair from your eyes.

“The chicken still needs to be cooked, though,” You informed him. Joe laughed, nodding his head. He grabbed a different pan, placing it on the island. He sprayed the pan, then placed the chicken in the pan.

“I hate raw chicken,” He shivered, making you laugh. You grabbed the pan from him and slid in the oven, which had already been preheated. Joe wrapped you in his arms again, giving you the slightest of squeezes.

“I’m sorry that work has been hard,” He hummed, “You don’t deserve that, you never do,” He sighed. Guilt started to eat away at his insides, telling him that he should have picked up on the signs earlier, that he should have said something earlier.

“It’s not your fault, Joey,” You muttered into his chest, pressing your lips to the skin that peaked right out of the collar of his shirt.

“I know, I still feel guilty,” He pulled away, gazing deeply into your eyes, “I should have paid more attention,” he admitted softly. You leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“Hun, you being here helps. Bad days at work shouldn’t completely dictate our moods,” You chuckled, which he laughed along as well.

“I know, and I’ll be better at not letting it ruin my day,” He agreed with his award-winning smile. He leaned down and kissed you again, a deeper hunger to his kiss. You felt it, and you felt your stomach churn with excitement. You smile as he backed your hips into the island, his hands cupping your neck. He pulled away, catching his breath.

“What was that for?” You asked, watching as a new and darker emotion swam in his eyes.

“Repaying you for dinner, and maybe all the shitty things I’ve said,” He hummed as he attached his lips to your neck, immediately making your eyes roll back. Your fingers found his hair, giving it a small tug as his teeth nipped and tugged at your skin. With every building emotion, the fire in your gut, you forgot about the chicken. Then again, that wasn’t what you were concerned with. Your body begged for Joe, and that’s exactly what you were going to get.

[456-is-the-way]

A/n: I made a previous pot earlier today, announcing I will be making more Squid Game fanfictions. If you want to be tagged in them, please comment or dm me, and I will make a list. Also, if you have any suggestions for a character x reader, please let me know/ in the request box, dm, or comment here, and I will also tag you! After this part, I have an In- Ho x reader coming up soon! And more. So keep looking on my page!!

Tag list: @carolinevoight ALSO anyone know why it won't let me tag people? Some people i couldn't get on here 🥺

Triggers: Death, Mild Gore, Mentions of Torture, and SMUT

Squid Game Masterlist

Seong Gi-hun x Reader

Game of Hearts pt.2

The clock struck 12 when a knock came to her apartment door. (Y/n) took a deep breath grabbing her wallet then making her way to the door. She had to mentally prepare herself all night long; this was nothing more than a professional friendship. She stayed awake pondering why this happened to her. (Y/n) never acted out with a client like this. But her endless hours with Seong Gi-hun , all the unspoken works, lustful gazes, and gentle touches she hoped something good could be true. This entire time was just them becoming… closer friends? The next knock broke her out of the trance. (Y/n) let the door fly open her breath was taken away just as quickly seeing Gi-hun. He told her this was just a professional outing yet here the same man is dressed up to perfection. Gi-hun’s raven hair was slicked back perfectly and a fitted tuxedo to match.

“Are… you serious Gi-hun?! You said casual but what is with…all this?!” (Y/n) exclaimed out of breath already from just the sight of him. Gi-hun pouts softly those expert puppy eyes find their way down to her. “N-no.. d-don’t give me that look!” She whined placing both hands on his chest gently pushing him away.

“I know but you always look very nice and I figured why not dress up for our special day out?” He grumbled, continuing to give her that pouting face. (Y/n) groaned before grabbing his hand.

“Be lucky you are cute.”

“Wait you think I’m c-” He was cut off being dragged out towards this car. ‘Remember this is all professional,only friends.’ She thought.

_1 Year Later_ (Start of season 2)

The following year had been a mess for (Y/n). It felt like Gi-hun purposefully made extra time for them, daily meetings, friendly dinners, and how close he would get. Hovering over her while she worked or pressed against her from behind. It all was very confusing, all these signals just to be told they are friends…All she could do was smile and agree. However, today changed everything when (Y/n) and one of her workers found the salesman. Gi-hun felt his pulse rate spike as they were on a phone call. “Be careful! Do not get too close, I am on my way.” He said slamming on the gas pedal.

“I will be fine Gi-hun! Shit we are on foot again. My tracker is on so I will be fine.” She said, The race against the clock had Gi-hun sweating in fear of losing (Y/n) . At this point having the salesman in his grasp didn’t matter.

“Hey! Are you there!? (Y/N) answer me!” Gi-hun yelled as he heard scuffling , the sounds of a fight. “Fucking answer me!” He cried before the phone went dead. This was worse than any other nightmares he experienced. Worse than all those dame games combined. Gi-hun slammed on the brakes, jumping out of his vehicle running down the alleyways turning each corner; the only sound was his own heart beat ,thumping against his chest. “(Y/N)!” He yelled and looked around before falling to his knees seeing blood all over the ground. His heart sank, falling to his knees seeing her phone there on the ground. He rubs his tears away before calling his other contacts. He would tear down all of Seoul if that's what it took….

Seong Gi-hun had searched the surrounding areas and had men everywhere looking for you but nothing. The man finally decided to go back to his hotel to ponder everything but hope was fading quickly. That's when it happened he froze seeing the hotel door was not locked as usual, you are the only one who had a key to his place. Gi-hun pulled his gun out walking into the building. Each step felt like it made the hall grow in size. Was it even possible? He didn't know if it was dizziness or the idea of finding your dead body. A tense feeling formed hearing your whimpering coming from one of the rooms. Gi-hun rushed into the door nearling falling as he did. (Y/n) was laying on the bed tied up soaked in blood. It set a fire in Gi-hun seeing her in this condition. He pulled the blind fold down, her eye bruised and tear flowing down them. “(Y/n)...” He whispered, undoing your binds.

“Gi-hun.” She gasped, leaning against his embrace. “I am sorry the girl I was with told him I knew where you would be… He made us play some games… I won and he shot her. Gi-hun he is in the room he-” (Y/n)’s eyes widen as Gi-hun cuts her off with a passionate kiss. (Y/n) leans in moaning loudly fisting his raven hair.

“(Y/n) listen to me… Stay here I will be okay. I promise here’s my weapon. If I don't come back I want you to shoot him.. I love you okay? I want you to stay here, don’t move…promise me.” He begged, (Y/n) nodded slowly.

“I promise.” She whispered, giving one last kiss. (Y/n) closed her eyes tightly, unable to watch Gi-hun disappear. Now she laid there breathing heavily. Her body flinched hearing the gun shot go off. (Y/n) knew she promised Gi-hun to stay put and the shot shattered that. She darts to the door, opening it to find Gi-hun standing there with soft eyes.

He took (Y/n) by the hand gently leading her to one of the bathrooms, “Clean up and I will get you new clothes.” Gi-hun turned around but (Y/n) grabbed his arm.

“Don’t leave me…” She whispered. Gi-hun nods looking down into her eyes. His own widen seeing as (Y/n) starts to unbutton her shirt. “Its okay to look.” (Y/n) reassured Gi-hun, after the comment he couldn't pull himself to look away from her gorgeous body. The blood soaked clothes hit the ground and the bloody mess ran down towards the drain. (Y/n) sighed deeply letting the water fill up. “So we aren’t just friends…are we?” The long awaited question was finally asked.

“No, we are much more than friends.” Gi-hun whispered .

“THEY WHY?! After the last 2 years of leading me on… did you not realize how it made me feel when you kept reminding me we are just ‘friends?’... I won't accept ‘I was trying to protect you’ as an excuse.”

He frowns picking up the rag to clean (Y/n)’s back,” Listen… I have nightmares every night about the games and ever since I met you my nightmare was seeing you die there. These people are fucked up, (Y/n) you seen what that guy is capable of and it was just you and the other girl. Imagine that but only your friends being forced to play these twisted games. I realized I had dragged you in far enough not including gaining feelings for you which I could tell were mutual. I never meant to hurt you but I knew I would rather you be heartbroken than dead because of me.” (Y/n) rubs her tears away, not giving him a response yet continues to allow Gi-hun to wash her body. “Let me get you a towel.” He whispered gently, turning around to get her one of them once she looked over to her Gi-hun felt body go warm. He was struggling this whole time to be a gentleman but seeing (Y/n) naked before him sent his blood flowing south.

It would be hard not to notice the bulge in Gi-Hun’s pants as he stood there like a deer in headlights. “I assume it's been a while?” (Y/n) asked and poor Gi-Hun could only nod in response, unable to form proper words. Step by step she took her time walking towards her handsome partner. She gabbes Gi-hun’s hand as he blindly follows her into one of the many rooms the hotel has.

“(Y/n)-”

“Gi-hun shut up.” She pushed the door opening before turning around sitting on the bed pressing her breasts together. “Strip.” Her voice is low and commanding. Like an obedient puppy he instantly began to strip, first his shirt. (Y/n) was surprised by his nice lean body having some muscles around his arms. She smirked as Gi-hun slowly pulled his pants,along with his boxers, down revealing his throbbing cock. “Lay down.”

Gi-hun quickly throws himself on the bed causing her to giggle. “Sorry but god you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He was sitting up as she crawled on top of Gi-hun. He eagerly found her lips grabbing a fist full of her (h/c) hair groaning as his cock grinds against her wet cunt. “God you are a soaked baby.” He reached down rubbing her clit roughly earning angelic moans from her mouth.

“Fuck Gi-hun!” She gasped as he flipped them over, pressing her into the bed. Gi-hun kissed her neck roughly, his hands glinds up and down her body. “Mmm, I need you!” She pleaded which all it took as he plunged into her warmth. He groaned loudly, not hiding any of his vocal pleasures.

The sounds of their heavy breathing and slapping skin filled the room. He moaned as (Y/n) rolled her hips up, “God baby.” He growled, thrusting harshly as the bed started to shake. “I'm so close.”

She pulled him closer. “Please baby cum in me. Load me up!” (Y/n) begged, pressing her body up against Gi-hun’s. He reached down rubbing her swollen clit helping her orgasm. “FUCK!” The female cried out as her inner walls clamp down, milking his cock dry.

Gi-hun shakes from the pleasure forehead pressed against her. “That was amazing.” He whispered before pulling out collapsing beside her. He nuzzled (Y/n)’s cheek as the cuddle under the covers. He sat there pondering the next move to make because in the salesman’s pocket was a card… If he went he wanted to make sure (Y/n) would be safe and taken care of…

_October 31st 9pm Club HDH_

“Stay here and promise me you will be safe? I don't want you to get hurt.” Gi-hun whispered. “I love you baby.”

(Y/n) took a deep, “I will be okay my love now hurry up and go. It's only 3 hours before it's time to meet and I know it’s a decent drive.” She kissed Gi-hun once more before he left. (Y/n) took a moment going to the window as their team set out to the Club HDH. After she was positive they were gone (Y/n) reached into her own pocket pulling out a card, on one side a triangle, square, and circle was printed, on the other a time and location.

‘If you want to ensure his safety the only way is to join yourself. We both know how he is, don't we?’ Those words from the salesman were stuck in her head. (Y/n) knew Gi-hun had to join the games… she wouldn’t allow him to go alone. Gathering her stuff she ran out to follow her GPS to the pick up location…

[creganslover]

Cregan Stark with

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m right here, okay? I’m not gonna leave you. I’m never gonna leave you.”

cregaaaaaaan <333 sorry if its short!

warning/s: mentions of kidnapping, slight violence, cregan being worried

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You had gotten taken, someone had managed to sneak into Winterfell and had a target upon you, Cregan Stark’s spouse. They were smart enough to attack at the time when Cregan had been off to the Wall to check on his men in training. 

All of Winterfell had been alerted of your missing presence, causing alarm and panic from your people, with Cregan left with no knowledge of your taking. 

Until a raven had been sent to the Wall. 

Cregan was absolutely fuming, the spouse he had promised to return to, that he promised to take care of until snow seeped into his bones- taken at the time of his absence. 

His horse took him home, few of his elite men following suit as Cregan was nearly going berserk with worry and agitation, the folk witnessing as their Lord torn the walls apart with his booming voice, demanding as to why his spouse was not guarded that night and why had they let the intruder take them easily. 

Cregan began thinking of the possibilities of who could have done this, it could have been anyone, sending out patrols whilst getting no ounce of sleep, mind running million miles an hour. Were you well? Had they hurt you? Or worse, killed you? 

Yet the news of an unknown camp sighting came within the sights of Wolfswood, Cregan hopped onto his mount before one could even speak his name. 

It had been a long search, a day or three when Cregan and his men narrowed it down and found indeed the camp within Wolfswood, overhearing the men laughing and celebrating the capture of you followed by your cries made his blood run cold. 

In a matter of moments, their entertainment was cut short by Cregan appearing, demanding his partner be released or face such consequences, the leader had been surprised and made the mistake of taunting Cregan, not knowing he would go through the Seven Hells and back for his other half. 

Cregan gave the signal, and his men came out from the woods, dealing with the goons. Cregan then searched until he had stumbled upon a lone tent, his heart fearing the worst as he neared and grasped the flap of the tent. 

There you were, shivering and tied to a post. Thankfully, you did not look too harmed nor defiled, Cregan kneeling as you shook, realizing it was him as he cut off your ropes, wasting no time in embracing his burly frame, shaking in his hold. 

Cregan wrapped his strong arms around you, murmuring in his deep voice, clutching you tighter as he rubbed warmth onto your back. “It’s okay,” he began. “They’re gone, it’s okay. I’m right here, okay? I’m not gonna leave you. I’m never gonna leave you.” He told you, shrugging off his own furs to wrap around you. 

You can ensure that once you get back to Winterfell, Cregan would punish those who had failed to protect you that night, sending them to the Wall as he replaced them, you had also noticed him be hesitant when he is required to leave you, even for a short while. But as you kept reassuring him when you had felt better and regained your strength and life, Cregan could slowly see your usual self coming back. 

Cregan entered your shared chambers, wanting nothing more but to get back to you after his responsibilities, shrugging off his cloak of furs before he joined you on the bed. “Are you alright?” He always asks, holding onto your hand. 

Leaning in to nuzzle against his form, you sighed in content as you placed your hand over your man’s chest. “I am, do not worry.” You reassured. 

“Thank you, Cregan.” You voiced after a beat of silence, which he returned with placing his lips against yours, giving your hand a light squeeze. 

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

cregan tag-list: @misswynters

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

It feels like hope.

Pairing: Hot Priest!Joel Miller x f!reader, no outbreak

Words count: 5700

Rating: Strictly +18, MINORS DON’T INTERACT

Warnings: pov second person, no use of y/n, priest kink, catholic guilt, religious kink, smut, unprotected p in v (use protections IRL!), reader has breasts and vagina and hair that can be pulled and wears a shirt and a skirt, apart from that no other description is given, age is not mentioned but they’re both grown up adults and reader is only inexperienced because she grew up in a very catholic family, fingering (f receiving), oral (m receiving), sex in a rectory, hair pulling, blasphemy all over the place 💀, pussy pronouns she/her, drinking, two hits on nipples, improper use of liturgical objects, cream pie, pet names (angel, baby), reader calls him "Father" during sex, mention of hell, mention of porn videos, mention of masturbation, improper use of prayers, God named in vain, another thing that I won’t spoil... listen, this thing is filthy, probably the filthiest more immoral thing I've ever wrote, ok? If you think you can't handle it just scroll down to another story.

This is a revised version of something I had already posted and then deleted because I personally didn't like it.

It took me months to come to an end with it, I don’t know why, I’ve changed a lot of things, I’ve changed the pov, I’ve changed dynamics etc… I really really hope you will enjoy it and please be gentle with me, I really tried hard even if you would think it’s no good.

English is not my first language and I have no beta so any mistake is all my fault, I’m sorry.

Title is a Fleabag quote, specifically from our beloved hot priest “when you find somebody that you love, it feels like hope”

Thanks to everyone who has shown interest in this story, thanks to those who were there from the beginning (you know who you are and I love you) and thanks to anyone who will read 🩷

(Just added a brief note at the end 😉)

Mood board credits: @probablyreadinsmut Thank you Sam so much for having spent time creating this beauty! 🥹

Archive tags: @pedrostories ♥️

It all started on a Sunday. 

You came to your neighborhood church expecting a nice function and you exited knowing you were doomed. 

That Sunday you met the new parish priest.

From the first moment you felt like something in you was compromised. 

You couldn't even explain it to yourself and you had never felt like this, it was something so unfamiliar. 

A need you’ve never felt before.

Your eyes glued to his holy form, adoring his raven curly hair, his scruff, the curve of his neck, his strong nose, plump lips, broad shoulders, thick thighs, big hands.

Courteous and kind as he greeted parishioners leaving the church, he shook your hand and you felt a jolt.

You weren’t like this before, you did things to do good to others before. But now…

Volunteering for every event, clothing drive, bake sale, children's shows. You were always there for the ride. Making excuses to talk to him.

Wondering if he had any more freckles than the ones on his neck, how warm his skin would be, how manly and intoxicating his scent would be, what his kisses would taste like, what his fingers would have felt like inside your cunt, peeking at the outline of his cock under his black pants.

A perfect Christian girl who would have make your mother proud on the outside, a raging hell of arousal on the inside.

You couldn’t believe that he was him who had awakened this new person inside you, insanely hungry, wanting, needing to taste, lick, bite. 

His low gruff voice grueling from his chest echoed against your damp inner walls so much that you were almost afraid to get up after the mass and see a stain where you were seated.

It was more and more difficult every time to fight your urge, stay on the tracks of life that you were taught to live, no sex before marriage, no masturbation because it’s a sin, no impure thoughts because you were a good girl.

Yet now you could hear them, all those voices crowding your head, pushing you towards something you had been taught was wrong.

Entering the church you were trembling, guilt pulsing in your gut.

Everything was quiet and serene, your eyes wandered on the frescoed walls, the organ, the large altar and the wooden benches neatly lined up in rows in the central nave, your steps sounded uncertain and timid on the marble floor.

You entered the confessional feeling your heart beating wildly in your chest, palms sweating and your mouth dry.

You could hear his breathing through the grate.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned” 

The following silence weighed like never before.

“Open your heart to the Lord so He can forgive your sins”

And you had confessed. 

The words slipped from your mouth like pearls from a broken necklace, finally rolling free between your lips revealing your every sordid thought.

The girl shaped by catholic parents to be a modest virgin, mother and maid, perfect smile and delicate manners was in reality a shameful bundle of filth.

You were a sinner.

A sinner eaten out from dirty thoughts.

You told him how you couldn't stop thinking about him, how you had questioned your feelings and who you were as a person, how you hadn't spent a night without touching yourself thinking about him in many months.

You told him about your desire to kiss him and more. So much more. Everything.

Every single time you lowered your hand in your panties, every single time you squeezed your breasts, driven by instinct and desire, every single time you thought of him as Joel. Just Joel, a man.

You just wanted to let go of the weight on your chest, coming clean. If you said it all out loud you would have realized how crazy it was.

You heard the door snapping, a few heavy steps close to where you were seated, the door opening to your side.  

Suddenly he was there, standing in front of you.

He said nothing, only grabbed your arm, dragging you to the rectory.

Dust in the air danced beneath the soft light that came in from two small windows high up.

There wasn't much in the room, a cupboard where liturgical objects were kept, a table, a wardrobe where the clothes for the service were hung.

Nobody was there except the two of you, you could hear the rumble of his breathing and your heart drumming behind your rib cage.

He was staring at you. 

Your mouth sealed, a lump in your stomach.

You thought about the day he tried to teach you how to play guitar.

You were here, together, helping with the Christmas party. He was sitting strumming when you walked in, you tried not to surprise him from behind by pretending to cough and he turned to you. He didn’t stop playing as he greeted you, you told him “I didn’t know you played” and he invited you to try. As you sat down your legs were shaking, he gave you the guitar and you just stared at it, fingers uncertain and mind empty. 

“It’s not that hard” he told you and he leaned over you taking one of your hands in his and placing it on the neck of the guitar, moving your fingers over the strings “like this. Now play”

You strummed on the guitar and an unpleasant sound came out, you both laughed softly at your clumsiness and a flood of pleasure slicked your panties.

His breath on you was like a caress, you felt the minty scent grazing at your nostrils.

For a moment, just for a moment you thought, “I could turn around right now and kiss him. A few inches and my lips would be on his.”

Your desire flowed before your eyes, leaving you with nothing else to look at.

“But I can’t. I can’t.” 

You've tried to swat away that sinful thought with another strum on the guitar but nothing disappeared, instead it burned in your core even strongly than before.

You thought about that day when the rain caught you on your way to set up the bake sale, how you walked into the rectory soaked from head to toe, how he looked at your shirt stuck to your skin that left little to the imagination, how you instinctively covered yourself when you just wanted to let your arms hang at your sides and let him look at you. You saw a reaction in his eyes as he mumbled that he was going to get you a towel, just a moment before he regained his composure, and it was enough. You knew that he was not indifferent to you. That night you touched yourself imagining what it would be like if he took your shirt off, if he placed his lips on your neck, his tongue on your breast, his cock inside you.

You started to navigate on porn sites daily, out of curiosity first and then because you needed to see, you needed to imagine, you needed to visualize something so unfamiliar and strange to you. 

You were ashamed, but at the same time you couldn't help it, it was the only resource you could think of looking for and it was there, on your phone, private, no one would have known. You didn't even imagine you would find so many, a whole catalog of big dicks, huge tits, positions that your brain couldn't conceive.

Seeing those women pleasuring themselves scared you but at the same time attracted you, you wanted to be like them, you wanted to reach that pleasure, you wanted to try their way of using their hands, you wanted to refine your clumsy way of reaching that heat between your legs.

You sinked into it.

If your parents had known, if your community had known, you would have been branded an unworthy woman, a pervert, a slut.

But your parents were far away now, your whole life was somewhere else and you were proud to have freed yourself from the golden cage they had locked you in. You were an adult now, it was the moment to choose for yourself. If they hadn’t always denied you any other vision of the world, if they hadn’t forbidden you to have the experiences that everyone has in their youth, maybe it wouldn’t have happened this way.

His mouth was a thin line, tensed, you looked into his eyes and you saw nothing than dark.

So much different from the gentle detachment he had always shown to everyone, his look was a mixture of concern, agitation, maybe a hint of fear, but most of all - to your great surprise - sexual arousal.

You could see him cracking behind those eyes, you could feel his mind filling with all sorts of questions.

His voice was barely a whisper but sharp as a blade when he finally spoke “Are you even honest with that ‘I am a good christian’ thing? Say the truth”

You hesitated, the uneasiest bitter taste in your mouth.

“I-” your throat felt like atrophied “yes” you tried to say.

“No, you’re not. The least you could do is being fucking honest with Him” he raised his finger pointing it at the ceiling.

You’ve never heard him cursing before.

You looked down feeling the weight of your stomach turn to lead and then concrete and if you thought you were free now you felt even more guilty. 

You said the only thing your brain could think of at that moment and you knew what you were asking for, you knew what it would do to him and you knew that in this way you would drag him down with you. And yet you did it anyway, because desire was stronger than anything, than faith, than lies, than truth.

“I need-I need to repent. Teach me” you pleaded “teach me how to be good”

Something lit up in his gaze, like a spark of hell, a glow of lust.

He turned around and you hungrily followed his every move.

His hands moving expertly, the cupboard opening, him taking out the mass wine and pouring it into a chalice.

You saw him down the entire glass, without hesitation, without a shred of tremor.

You felt like you were watching a hurricane approaching, just waiting for the wind to suck you in without being able to do anything else.

You wanted it. You wanted it to sweep you away, to make you someone else, braver, indomitable, someone who wasn’t afraid to say what she wanted because of a belief that had been instilled in her, someone who was simply herself. 

We are all born with guilt, you told yourself. I am tired, tired of dealing with mine so much.

You just wanted to feel alive, to feel something authentic and fierce, no half measures. 

You wanted to be desired in a way that felt relentless and desperate, like air that is necessary to keep humans alive, something unique and undeniable.

Could Joel read it in your eyes? He was so good at reading people, you could tell it right away. 

He had guessed a lot about you, he had noticed how coffee was a weakness of yours - and his - and he offered you a cup first thing in every meeting.

He had noticed how nervous Danny, a parishioner who liked to play the fool with any woman present, most often in front of his wife, got you and made sure to never leave you alone with him.

He had noticed how much you enjoyed sewing and had assigned you the costumes for the play and praised your work. 

And he did the same with the guitar that day when he saw how enthusiast and curious you were about it. He didn't say it openly, but his gestures spoke for him.

He came closer to you again, bending the chalice to your mouth and said “drink”. Sharp, cold, an order.

At that point you didn’t care it was something you were not supposed to do, forbidden, maybe unholy even, you just drank. 

You were dealing with a part of yourself that always existed but you had put that in a box.

Joel looked into your eyes sternly and said: “Show me the good Christian that you think you are. Pray.”

“What?”

“Pray. Right now” 

“What prayer?” You asked, confused.

“You're not starting off well, you should know that.” He smirked, caught you in fail.

“Act of contrition” you whispered and he nodded “yes. That’s right.”

He was just inches away from you, his crucifix hanging between your bodies, grazing at your stomach. 

You began to recite in a low voice, stumbling over your words, your brain couldn’t think straight:

“O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest… all my sins because of thy just punishments, but most of all because they offended Thee, my God, who art all good and deserving all my love.”

You said it dozen of times before and yet it seemed totally different in that moment. 

Joel took off his rosary, letting it dangle from his hand and swing across your chest. Beads brushed against the cotton bra you wore under your blouse, making your nipples harden, you could feel them pushing against the fabric.

“Go on”

“I- I firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace to sin no more and to avoid the near occasion of sin. Amen”

“Take off your shirt,” he told you in a whisper.

Something shifted inside him “and your bra”

His voice was no longer the same, it came from deep within him, frighteningly authoritarian but to you it seemed like a magic instrument that was hypnotizing you.

You did what he told you. 

You were half naked in front of a man for the first time. It could have happened before, much before, but of course you couldn’t because you never got married. No one was supposed to see your body except the man you were going to take to the altar. That’s what they taught you.

Joel looked at you, entranced, almost in disbelief. You wondered how long it had been since he’d seen someone else’s naked body, what effect it had on him. 

You were more alike than you seemed, both of you denied something because of religion. 

You were both more needy and frustrated than you were allowed to admit. Tension hung in the air like a fog that clouded both of your gazes.

Every time you had talked to him you had noticed the way he looked at you but you thought it was all in your head, like you were a poor naive girl who was building castles in the air, but now you knew that wasn't the case.

It was another thing you shouldn’t have done but you prayed deep down that he wouldn’t decide to stop.

He raised his arm, clutching his rosary. You felt a slash through the air and then a sharp smack on your nipple.

You looked down shocked as the pain quickly turned into a dull pleasure rising from the pit of your tummy, to fade more and more, becoming a tingling sensation.

You liked it.

You wanted more.

He did the same at your other breast and all the breath you had left in your body had slipped past your lips in a lustful sob.

He took one of your nipples between his fingers, twisting and pinching it and you couldn’t help but moan. A sound you never made for no one and you made it first for a priest.

His body pushed you against the wall, his breath on your neck, his fingers didn't stop torturing your nipple. Everything you saw was red. Red like the passion you had never felt before, red like the blood that pulsed in your veins, red like sin.

“Kneel” he said firmly.

You were equal parts scared of making a fool of yourself and eager to try.

You knelt down, feeling the cold of the floor touch your shins. 

His eyes were as uncertain as yours, it was new territory for both of you but you saw a flame burning in him and you felt it inside you. 

His face was serious, tense, as if he was ashamed of what he was doing but couldn't contain. 

He was punishing you and punishing himself at the same time.

You weren’t afraid though, you were ready to face what was eating you up and you trusted Joel for some reason. You could see in him that he wouldn’t hurt you. At least not more than you wanted.

Your tentative fingers undid his pants, letting them sag around his ankles. A pronounced erection protruded from his boxers as his eyes almost begged you, they weren’t cruel and ruthless eyes, but rather needy and guilty.

You moved your hand closer to his crotch, hesitating for a moment before placing it there, testing the sensation, opening your fingers around it to realize how thick it was. You could feel the heat through the fabric. You caressed it, feeling the tremor that shook Joel's body. Your eyes couldn't tear themselves away, it was the first time you had seen one in person, you were amazed and attracted. You continued to caress him until you heard a grunt leave Joel’s lips and a stain wet the front of his boxers. You were struck by how much he was growing under your hand and the smell, like musk, pungent but not unpleasant.

You remembered the videos you had seen, how women did it, looking into the men's eyes lustfully, with a confidence and naturalness you had never acquired. You wanted to be like them, but you were afraid of being ridiculous or grotesque.

You slowly pulled down his boxers, gasping at the sight of his cock springing free. 

Joel had his eyes fixed on you, they were encouraging somehow, he made you feel safe but the trembling of your fingers did not stop. You took his shaft in your hand again and were surprised at how soft his skin was there, velvety. You watched that thin layer of skin retract as you moved your hand up and down like you had seen in the videos, it felt incredible. It was heavy, hot and throbbing. It was uncut. His big balls hanging right under. You ran your thumb over the tip, collecting the pre-cum that was leaking, spreading it around.

Joel was quiet, he let you do it.

He was touch starving, just like you.

You lowered your head and licked him, just with the tip of your tongue. A timid lick, like a kitten.

His taste, matching the musky scent you could smell, invaded your mouth in an instant. You had never tasted anything like it. You braced yourself, while Joel waited, and licked once more, this time starting at the base and working your way up.

Joel groaned.

You pulled away, looking into his eyes, he brought a hand to your cheek and then to your chin and took it in his palm. 

“You are so beautiful” he whispered.

And you felt beautiful, you felt like someone was really seeing you for the first time. And you loved that that someone was him.

You took a deep breath and lowered your head onto his cock, you knew you couldn't fit it all in your mouth, but you wanted to take as much as you could.

“Don’t force yourself” Joel murmured as your lips touched his skin, causing another whine.

“I want to do it” you replied resolutely, you were loving hearing him whimper beneath you.

His length slid across your tongue, wet and salty, your lips closing around it.

You closed your eyes and focused on that feeling, just holding it there, nestled inside.

“Suck it,” Joel commanded gently, bringing a hand into your hair and twining his fingers there.

You were unsure how to do it, you tried to suck it in as if you were using a large straw, with all the breath you had.

Joel flinched, almost losing his balance “Easy, baby” he muttered

You pulled away again, eyes widened “oh my god, I’m sorry” almost afraid of having hurt him but he immediately reassured you "no it's okay, just... go slower, go slower if you don't want me to come right away”

“Uh- okay” responding timidly to the smile that was spreading across his face.

You began to suck again more calmly, holding the base tightly with your hand, feeling it pulsate between your fingers and on your tongue.

It was an addictive sensation, spreading through your synapses like a drug.

Obviously you had never tried any drugs, but you imagined that the sensation might be similar to something like that.

Joel still held your head, his grip tightening as you continued, you could feel his body tense and respond, and you liked it. You liked it more than you ever liked putting on your Sunday best and going to say prayers with your parents like you always had.

There was actually a prayer that was ringing in your head and it was Joel's, who softly repeated "just like that, you're being so good to me”

It was exhilarating.

You felt like you had a true gift, for once in your life.

An obscene gift, but still.

You had the courage to run from your mom and dad and then at what felt like a minute later you found yourself there, naked from waist up, on your knees, sucking a priest cock.

You’ve never felt more alive.

Deep down you were exactly that person there, not a whore like everyone you knew would say. Just a woman, a woman who wanted what other women wanted. Sex, pleasure, being important to someone or just not being condemned to do what others wanted for you.

You continued to suck as Joel's breathing became heavier and more labored.

At that point he was just uttering disconnected phrases like “oh my God” and “Yes, go on”, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

Suddenly he started shaking violently, almost falling, as something warm and sticky hit your throat. You knew what it was and you were eager to swallow, as you had seen done in so many videos.

A little of it slipped from your lips, down your chin, onto your neck.

Joel's hand was still in your hair, it almost hurt but it was a delicious pain that you were enduring, a small punishment for the rush of adrenaline and excitement that was coursing through you.

You kept holding his cock in your mouth until you felt it relax.

“Get up,” Joel said gently, still out of breath, as he was fixing his boxers and pants.

Your knees almost gave out, you leaned against the wall feeling wetness on your panties.

Joel came closer to you, placing a hand on your cheek, pulling you into a deep kiss that left you stunned for a second and then you were more than happy to reciprocate. His tongue in your mouth explored feverishly, you wondered if he could taste himself from your lips.

He pulled out saying “I’ve never done anything like this before” and you replied “me neither.” 

And then he was on your lips again, nibbling at your lower one, placing his hand on your thigh, raising it under your skirt, up to your drenched panties, grazing them with his fingers.

You squirmed, moaning a “yes, please” from down your throat, a tingle spreading on your outer lips, in your tummy, up to your chest.

He put his hand inside your panties, brushing your skin.

“What should I do with you?” He asked, in an almost desperate tone, as if he knew he couldn't stop and was asking permission not to.

“Make me come” you pleaded “Please.”

He sighed, pulling your panties aside and sliding his index and middle fingers between your folds, gathering your wetness up to your clit, starting circling it as you writhed. 

It was different than when you did it yourself, his fingers bigger and stronger, his touch a little clumsy but still effective and intoxicating.

His mouth landed on your neck, stifling a moan, sucking a hickey where it joined your shoulders, nibbling hungrily at your skin.

“Have you ever done this before?” 

“Just…me” 

He smirked “have you ever put your fingers inside you?” 

“I- yes.” there were no point on beating around the bush, you told him that you touched yourself thinking about him. You were already deep down into that dizzy. 

“Put your fingers in me” you added immediately “I want to feel them, please Joel, I want to know what they can do to me” 

“You sure?” 

“Yes, yes.” You breathed.

He prodded at your entrance,  just a little bit, making you whine just with his fingers tip.

The rosary lay abandoned on the floor, you could see it out of the corner of your eye and you didn't care about that eyewitness symbol of what was happening between you two.

You would have liked him to put it around your neck while he fucked you, fully participating in that sinful act. 

You were surprised yourself at what you were thinking but somehow it made you even more eager.

You felt two of his fingers sink inside you, filling that void that you had never been able to fill enough on your own, stretching you. 

It hurts a little at first because they were bigger than yours, but then it was more heavenly than anything else. If you were made for anything, it was to be there in that moment.

Joel looked ecstatic “God, she’s so… wet” he whispered “and warm” His face was the representation of pleasure, lips slightly parted, his eyes wide, his pupils dilated, his heavy breathing blowing on your neck.

He began to move his fingers inside you rhythmically, each thrust making you shake and sob, a litany of “yes” coming out strangled from your mouth.

He went slowly, taking his time, as if he was savoring every second of your pussy tightening around his fingers.

He placed his other hand on your breast again, cupping and squeezing and then twisting your nipple. Big hand full of your tit.

It was beautiful. You didn’t know how or why people could deny themselves that, but you certainly wouldn’t do it again, not after having Joel inside you. He curled his fingers, looking for the right way to make you feel the pleasure you wanted, the one you kept asking for.

“You like that, baby?” He asked with an hopeful tone

“It feels so good, so good” you told him, clinging to his neck, digging your nails into his soft skin as you felt like you were losing your mind. You didn't care about losing it, your mind had ruled your life for so, so long.

“Please don’t stop” you murmured, tightening your other hand on his wrist, guiding him “don't stop”

You felt your essence slowly leaking out of you, spreading over Joel's fingers and your outer lips, you had never been so soaked, never so much as under Joel's touch.

Your eyes suddenly fixed on that little piece of white cloth that was around his neck, that little piece that made all the difference in the world and made what you were doing terribly wrong in the eyes of others and God and Joel kissed you again like a man deprived and starved, his lips trembling and dramatic, asking silently for more and more, like they were drinking from yours.

He was all over you, like a sailor through a  violent storm, he clung to whatever he could, as if it were a matter of life and death. 

Tasting him like this, the smell of his skin, his warmth, his clerical clothes rubbing against your half-naked body, made your head spin.

You moved your hand onto his collar, grasping it with your fingers, pulling it, until it came undone, you squeezed it as you came copiously, repeating Joel's name and God's, cutting off your moans, abandoning your head on Joel's shoulder.

It was all too much and yet not enough, you wished it would never end. Joel held you tight, one hand moving behind your back, as his fingers continued to sink into you. The blinding pleasure that had invaded every fiber of your body was raging like hell’s flames inside you, like a sinful but also purifying fire, wrong and right, heavenly and hellish.

And then it slowly faded, giving way to a sense of satisfaction that had never belonged to you.

You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh, hard and demanding again.

Joel grunted, pulling his fingers out of you, taking them to his lips, gathering your juices with his tongue.

“I want… I want your cock, Father” you whispered, at that point you felt greedy, delirious, drunk on sex.

His eyes widened, being called “Father” was making him even more aroused and dizzy.

You grabbed his balls from above his pants, holding your hand tightly on them “please, Joel”.

If you were going to Hell for this, you might as well go all the way.

Joel pushed you against the table on the other side of the room, making you sit on it, unzipped his pants again, pulling out his cock without hesitation, as if he had finally accepted his fate.

His fingers were big but his cock… you wondered how it would all fit inside you.

“I’ll go slowly” Joel reassured you “It will fit” he said, brushing your folds with the tip, aligning his cock with your entrance, as if he had guessed your thoughts. His eyes were blacker than ever as he prodded his shaft past through your lips.

It felt overwhelming, so big and pulsing, it hurt but you almost immediately felt a fullness that you had never felt and a sense of belonging, your pussy opened like a bud, widening and molding for him.

If you were made for anything, it was to be there in that moment.

“She’s tight, so damn tight” Joel gawked “fuck” 

You whimpered, looking at his face, so serious, pleasure written all over it and you felt like it was right, it had to be right if it was that good.

“Make me yours, Father, make me good” you pleaded. 

Joel growled as he slid in and out of you, slamming against your walls, your pussy making obscene squelching sounds every time he moved, dripping all over his cock and the table.

It didn’t even seem embarrassing to you to be so inexperienced, you both were. You didn’t know if Joel had had sex before but you guessed he hadn’t had it in a long time anyway. 

You didn't know if it was the way it was supposed to be but you felt like it was natural, not like in the videos you'd seen which were probably mostly choreographed to please the eye.

It was sex. Pure and simple. Urgent, hungry, even uncontrolled.

And the way your body reacted, melting like wax under Joel's hands, arching into his touch, bending to his will, and seeking all the friction you could get, told you that this was the right way for you.

“See?” Joel mumbled “You’re taking me so well, baby, a perfect angel for me”

You twisted your legs behind his back, pushing him against you as much as you could, kissing the exposed skin on his neck. It drove you crazy that he was still dressed, you wanted to rip off his shirt and run your hands down on him, feel his warm skin on yours so you did it. You placed your hands on both sides and you just popped every button, revealing his broad chest, feeding your eyes with every single detail and your fingers with every shape and curve.

“Never had a cock inside before but that pussy is made for mine, I swear to God she is” he started desperately rutting into you, deeper strokes every time, taking God’s name in vain, murmuring some prayers while he pounded into you. You could feel his big vein brushing at your walls, his big mushroom hammering your cervix, the most intense rapture you’ve ever felt.

He pulled at your hair, forcing you to look him in the eye, murmuring “that’s what you wanted, huh? Dragging me to hell with you?”

Your eyes filled with tears at the thought. It was true, somehow you corrupted him, but you were willing to face that just to feel something so strong. You weren’t sure about him though.

But again, he was there, right there with you, with his cock inside your cunt and you didn’t force any of it, he could say no, he could stop, but he choose the sin. Now blaming you wasn’t so saintly nor kind, but you understood why he did that. He needed to blame someone other than himself, and you were there, open arm taking the weight for him.

Your ass slid back and forth on the wood of the table with each thrust, one of his hands was on your nipple again while the other held you behind your back. He then moved to your clit, applying pressure on it, circling it with two fingers.

You looked down only to see his cock sinking between your lips, his balls bouncing and the bush of hair that adorned his groin glistening with your juices.

You could smell the sex in the air, your mingling scents becoming one, your pleasure merging and becoming one as he shot huge spurts of cum into you.

He muttered a prayer, asking God for forgiveness, his voice exhausted, hoarse, broken by orgasm.

And then you woke up.

Your room was quiet, the crucifix that your mom gave you hanging on the wall behind your bed.

It took a few seconds for your sleepy, blurry gaze to settle on it, you were sweaty and shocked.

You closed your eyes, shutting them and cursing under your breath. 

You unrolled your body from the sheets and then stood up and picked up the crucifix. Your days as a good, God-fearing girl were over.

A/n: if you don't know what is dream and what is reality in the story at this point, that's what I wanted, I hope it's not too confusing but I wanted to try something new. I hope you liked it and thanks for your time 🩷