strangunddurm

[strangunddurm]

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[strangunddurm]

partners. ( seeley booth x reader )

gif belongs to me

When he opened his emails that morning he was surprised to find he had a meeting with his boss that afternoon. He was in the middle of working a case and had to cut Bones's recount of the trauma on the body short, driving back to the Bureau at adrenaline-raising speeds to attend the meeting. By the time he got upstairs, he was nearly ten minutes late and he could see the disapproval in his boss's eyes as soon as he walked in the door.

You stood up from your chair in front of the desk, turning to offer him a smile and shaking his hand as your new boss explained to Booth that you would now be partners. Booth took a seat in the chair next to yours as you sat down, smoothing his tie as he listened to your list of accolades and raised his eyebrows as the list continued.

"Agent L/N has a lot of expertise that I believe can help you during this case. And perhaps longer if we can convince her to remain in Washington."

After he was given orders to share his office and catch you up on the case, Booth held the door open for you as you left the office. You turned to him when he closed the door behind him, a bashful expression on your features. "Sorry, he really likes doing that. I've been here for two hours and he's listed my achievements sixteen times." 

"It's fine. I went to a lecture you held on the Boggsley case. It was fantastic work." His praise made you blush for a moment. "Four bombings in eight days."

"Yeah, he was trained in the military." You began to explain the case, that Bogglsey was led astray by his former mentor and driven by their hatred of the government, planted four bombs in FBI buildings across the country. Between jet lag and the lack of sleep, you completely lost track of time and whenever you had a lead you followed it up whether the sun was out or it was pitch black outside. "I was able to predict which building they were going after next by connecting the agents inside who had military training. They felt betrayed. Add a crap ton of paranoia it's hard to chase someone who knows how to cover their tracks."

"He blew up your car, didn't he?" Booth held open the door to his office and you thanked him as you stepped inside. You stood to the side awkwardly as he entered, sitting behind his desk and he gestured for you to sit and began to clear room on his desk.

"He knew I was in town and wanted to stop me from finding the bomb they planted. Agents were scouring every floor of the building and I was going with the local police to talk to an eyewitness at the precinct. My ear hurt like hell for a while." You took a seat in front of his desk, "I want to get one thing straight, Agent Booth." He braced himself for you to take over the case, but you surprised him by doing the exact opposite. "This is your case. I haven't been in Washington for a long time, and I intend to follow your lead. You know this case more than I do and have liaised with the Jeffersonian for years. I am simply here to split the paperwork and give a second opinion should you want to hear it."

Booth could hide his relief. Your boss had made it clear that you were more highly equipped to lead the case, but Booth knew Bones was wary of other FBI agents and the Squints would clam up if they thought you were in any way discrediting their experiments.

"I appreciate that. Coffee?" He sent you a smile that you returned, the tension in your shoulders easing told him that you were afraid he would keep you at his desk after your boss's rather obnoxious introduction of you.

"I'd love some."

You quickly realized that if there was a door, Booth was going to hold it open for you. As you walked away from his office, following him to the coffee machine, he began to dive into their first victim and you listened with rapt attention. When you returned to his office, he continued all the way to victim number three who was currently being examined by Dr. Temperance Brennan whom he referred to as Bones. "After the third, we knew immediately that we were now chasing a serial killer. Something you know a thing or two about."

When Bones informed him that she had completed her examination, Booth drove to the Jeffersonian and you asked about the team he worked with daily, and he amused you as he gave you a glimpse into their personalities, but you could see that he respected them and the work they did. And knew that was likely the reason why he had liaised with them for so long, as everyone before him hadn't given them the credit they deserved.

As you followed him through the Jeffersonian to where Bones was waiting with Hodgins, he asked about your last posting across the country and delved into your families, learning he had a son named Parker. When Bones saw another agent, Booth could see her hackles immediately rising as she asked why there was another agent.

"L/N has experience chasing serial killers."

"So do you." Bones argued.

Sensing the conversation rapidly deteriorating, you spoke up, "I assure you Dr. Brennan that I am here only to act as a sounding board for Agent Booth."

"And to give your opinions," Booth added, taking one hand out of his pockets to gesture briefly before turning to Bones. "Now, can we hear your opinions on the body?"

Bones pressed her lips together but led the way to the body and Booth introduced you to Hodgins. You stood next to Booth as the two revealed their findings. You eyed the clear box in which he had stored several beetles, holding it up as he explained how they helped determine where the woman was buried and for how long.

"That's amazing." You pointed to the box, "Do you mind if I -"

Hodgins handed you the box, and you peered inside at the small beetles. But Bones noticed Booth was looking at you, seeing the intrigue in your eyes and the fascinated smile on your lips. You asked how he was able to determine the time of death and Hodges was happy to explain. You thanked him as you handed him the beetles and moved closer to the skeleton as Bones continued her assessment.

Hodgins stood next to Booth, "Is she really a fed?"

"She's got the badge and everything," Booth said dryly, seeing the way kept glancing at you.

"She's hot."

Booth put his hand on his head, moving him away before walking over to you, putting his hands in his pockets as he stood next to you. Seeing the interaction, and the way Booth stood close to you, Bones knew Hodgins wasn't the only one finding you attractive. When Angela arrived a short while later, ready to show her reconstruction, you looked back at Booth when Bones asked him to stay for a minute.

"I'll catch up." He told you, knowing like you did that Bones was going to talk about his new partner.

You walked with Angela who you quickly realized was the least defensive of the team and as you walked to her office, the conversation quickly became personal as she fired question after question that, if not for the friendly smile, felt like an interrogation.

You left her office fifteen minutes later, bumping into Booth in the hallway as he headed towards you. You showed him the photograph Angela had given you that showed what the victim would have looked like at the time of her death. You were impressed with the Squints and understood why he had such respect for them.

"They seem like an incredible team." You remarked as you walked to his car.

"You caught them on a good day." He handed you the reports Bones had given him, and you both got into the car.

You smiled as you put on your seatbelt, looking at Booth as he drove off. "I hope my presence on this case isn't causing friction between you and Dr. Brennan."

"Bones?" He shook his head, "She takes a while to warm up to people."

You nodded, not pressing the matter further as you looked over the reports as he drove to the Bureau. You recounted what Angela had told you on the way to his office, and Booth took a seat behind his desk, smoothing his tie as he smiled at you knowingly.

"She interrogated you, didn't she?"

You nodded, making him chuckle. "But I knew from her smile that she meant well."

As you worked quietly you found the silence was not awkward or stifling, it was comfortable. You stayed in his office, making the occasional trips to the coffee machine and Booth was surprised by how quickly you remembered how he took his coffee, but greatly appreciated it when he took the first sip. The building was almost deserted when you left to avoid being locked in overnight.

"Where are you staying?" He asked.

When you told him the name of the motel, he offered to drive you, claiming it was on his way home, and you knew he was lying but knew it was pointless arguing with him.

Booth looked around the motel parking lot, as he parked in a empty space. "My skin itches just from looking at it."

You giggled, "It's like a time capsule for the seventies, but the bed was more comfortable than sleeping on the plane." You looked at the way his eyes assessed his surroundings and knew he was going to wait until you were inside. "Thanks for dropping me off. But I still don't believe it was on the way to your house."

The words were in the tip of his tongue to offer you to stay at his place, but you were already out of the car, saying goodnight. 

Booth sighed as he watched you head inside and you turned to him with a smile on your lips when you saw he was still there as you predicted, waving before heading into the room. He looked around as he drove off, wondering how that motel had anything that was more comfortable than a plane when it looked like there were cockroaches in the rooms.

The next morning at three am, you got a call from Booth, informing you that he was on his way to pick you up on the way to the crime scene. He had gotten a call about a fourth body matching the M.O. of your serial killer. You looked at the abandoned towering apartment complex with a pensive frown, following Booth as he headed towards the doors. He held a door open and you thanked him as you went inside. When you arrived on the twentieth floor, you quickly broke from his side when you saw a local PD Detective leaning against the metal on the elevator shelf, peering down into the darkness with a torch.

"Hey, hey," You moved him aside, "You are tampering with a crime scene. There could be prints on that panel."

"I called you, didn't I?"

"And while I am grateful for your cooperation, I do not appreciate you potentially contaminating the evidence."

The detective scoffed, his shoulder colliding with yours as he walked away and a moment later Booth had put a hand on his chest, pushing him into the wall. "Apologize. Right now." He ordered.

"It's fine." You sighed. Over the years you had your fair share of run-ins with detectives and even male agents who were more lax than you were.

"No, it's not." Booth turned his head to meet your gaze before his expression darkened as he looked back at the detective, "Apologize."

The detective held his hands up, turning to you, "I'm sorry."

You put a hand on Booth's arm, making the tense agent step away to allow the detective to leave. "Booth, I'm fine. I'm used to it. I've had worse."

"You're my partner." He said and you didn't need him to elaborate as you knew what meaning that word had to him. He had your back whether it was with guns drawn or dealing with moronic local detectives.

You smiled softly, "Thank you."

He nodded as you both made your way to the elevator that was pried open and shined your flashlights down the shaft to see the body briefly. "Urgh! That's fresh." You grimaced, coughing into your arm.

"Yeah," He cleared his throat, "We'll need to get Cam out here. She's the coroner."

You nodded in agreement.

Deciding to pass the time productively, you took statements from the group of teenagers who were drinking in the building who had found the body after trying to take the elevator back down only to almost fall to their death. They were still drunk and weren't much help.

"You walked up twenty flights of stairs to drink some booze?" Booth raised an eyebrow and you glanced up from your notepad with a smile.

"Listen, bro, It's all about the view," He said, "We live in a beautiful city and now and then we should appreciate her more for the sexy woman she is." Booth bristled when the teenager eyed you, "sexy woman she is."

"Listen, bro," Booth began and you put a hand on his arm to cool him down. He glanced at your hand before his eyes darted up to meet your gaze, his chest deflating as he sighed.

You both turned when his name was called, seeing Cam arriving with Hodgins who introduced you to Zack who you were surprised knew so much about your cases. Booth patted his shoulder, turning him away, "Okay, go find something useful before you freak her out even more than you already have."

You shook your head at your partner, a word so foreign as you hadn't worked with a partner for over a decade, but you were quickly growing fond of working with Booth who was always appreciative of any input you could offer. Any other agent you worked with was a lot more defensive about you joining their investigation but while you could see Booth had his apprehensions after meeting you, he wasn't hostile.

"So, we meet again..." Hodgins grinned.

Booth turned to him, putting his hands on his hips and sending the Entomologist an exasperated look.

"The body?" Cam spoke up.

"Over here, Dr. Saroyan." You smiled in amusement as you led her to the elevator that was pinned open.

As she put on her gloves, she looked up at you to see you were watching Booth talking to the group of teenagers and she asked what it was like working with Booth you answered by listing the qualities you had noticed about him thus far. Cam looked up in time to see you looking down at your notepad with a smile on your lips.

You looked up when Booth approached you both and he greeted Cam before meeting your gaze. "We found the third victim last night. She'd been buried for two days. But he kills nine days apart. It's too soon to be our killer."

"The cause of death appears to be a match, but I will know more when I get the body back to the Jeffersonian," Cam glanced up to find his focus was not on her like yours was.

"Statistically it's been proven that when serial killers kill more frequently, forgoing their usual patterns, it's a sign of deterioration." You recounted a case you had learned about at the academy and Cam noticed the smile that formed on Booth's lips when you were rambling, allowing you to for far longer than he would anyone else. "Sorry." You smiled bashfully at your notepad, realizing you were going into far more detail than necessary.

"I don't mind."

You met his gaze, surprised as anyone else would have shut you down as soon as you said 'I heard about this case'. But Booth was proving to be full of surprises. You could make the move to Washington if you were assigned as his partner, and you wondered if perhaps it was a momentary truce for this case. He was just doing his job to catch a serial killer, not as interested as he made you believe he was.

You returned to the Bureau to run the reconstruction Angela had given you through the database and found the woman who was reported missing by her father. You were getting ready to go speak to him when your boss walked in, asking how things were going and you maintained a small smile, although Booth couldn't help thinking it was somewhat strained when you were asked if you had thought about the offer to work in Washington.

"We should really get going, sir, if we want to make it there at a reasonable hour."

He followed you when you left his office, as if fleeing the inevitable conversation, and on the ride down in the elevator he wondered when would be a good time to bring it up. You were almost at the father of the victim's house when he cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly in his seat, failing at appearing nonchalant as he asked what your plans were.

"I don't know yet." You looked out the window with a sigh. "I've enjoyed working with you on this case, Booth. But not everyone is as welcoming as you are to my ideas."

He frowned, looking at you to find you gazing with a forlorn expression out the window, and wondered how much you had to put up with when you were assigned to help agents who needed it but didn't want to admit it as it would bruise their egos.

You took a step back when Booth asked questions about your third victim and decided to take a look upstairs in her bedroom. She was a medical student with a bright future before it was taken from her. Even after all these years it never got less tragic.

Booth lifted his gaze to yours when you returned after nearly twenty minutes and you showed her father the journal you had been reading through, asking who she was referring to when she wrote Hippocrates. He said he didn't know and you showed Booth the journal, standing next to the armchair he was sitting on, resting a hand on the back of it.

"Do you mind if we take this?" Booth asked, holding up the journal.

"No, not at all."

You sent the grieving father a smile as you said goodbye, and Booth handed you the journal as you got into the car.

"Hippocrates mean something to you?" He asked as he started the car.

"Hippocrates was a Greek physician." You told him. "She wrote about the time they spent together." You opened the journal and flipped the pages to find a page you had found particularly interesting, quoting word for word, "I know it's wrong to want him like I do. Meeting his wife made it more forbidden. He could lose his job and his family if any knew. I don't know what to do. I tried to break up with him but we ended up in a motel. His hold was bruising and I have never been afraid of him before." You looked at Booth who was frowning at the last sentence, feeling an uneasy twist in his gut. "I think he's a doctor at the hospital where she works. A married doctor."

"Maybe she decided to break things off or tell his wife?"

You nodded, "It's work checking it out."

"Where did she work again?" He asked.

You told him the address and held onto the door when he performed a dangerous maneuver, heading in the opposite direction of the way you had been going. He got a call from Cam who had finished her autopsy and confirmed the serial killer had claimed a fourth victim.

"He could be covering his tracks." You suggested. "Four women, all the same age, and all of them work in hospitals. Two interns, a receptionist, and a nurse."

"I'd like to know where he finds the time." Booth sighed and glanced at you with a smile when you laughed lightly as you walked down the hallway, approaching the reception desk.

You flashed your badges at the receptionists and when they told you the suspect hadn't shown up for work today, you asked for his address. Booth shared a glance with you before you both walked to his car in haste, he blared the siren as he drove with great skill through the traffic as you recounted the facts, becoming more and more certain that the Neurosurgeon was the killer.

"But why kill them all the same way?" 

"Recreation. He could get a sexual thrill from it." You recounted a case you had read about with a focus on the serial killer finding sexual gratification in the killings and Booth grimaced. "It worked once and he enjoyed it. He felt like these women were taking away power from him, and he was taking it back as he strangled the life out of them."

The car skidded to a stop outside the suburban house and you noticed a swing set in the backyard as you got out of the car, drawing your pistol from the holster on your hip. You glanced at Booth who moved around the car, drawing his gun and you sent him a nod when he met your gaze, showing you were ready. You headed towards the house and heard a disturbance inside as if a lamp had been knocked over. Booth kicked the door open and you went inside, aiming your gun and following the whimpers to the bedroom. You glanced at Booth who nodded and opened the door. He entered with his weapon aimed at the killer who was strangling his wife on the bed, her hands flailing and you noticed the broken ceramic lamp on the ground as you stood next to Booth, aiming your gun.

"FBI! Hands in the air!" When the doctor didn't move, you fired a shot into his shoulder and he fell off the bed, holding his arm.

You rushed to help Booth handcuff him, resting your knee on his back as Booth cuffed one hand and you cuffed the other.

"Nice shot."

"Thanks." You stood up, and Booth hauled the neurosurgeon off the ground. Booth hauled him out of the bedroom and you approached the sobbing wife, calling for an ambulance.

It was late when you returned to the Bureau and you were helping Booth with paperwork when the door opened. You inwardly sighed when your boss, temporarily, walked in and Booth knew this was one conversation he didn't want to hear. He made an excuse to leave the room and you watched him leave, seeing the reassuring smile he sent you before he closed the door.

"Have you come to a decision yet?"

You nodded slowly, "I would like to come to Washington, sir." You began, "But I would like to choose my partner."

He considered this for a moment, "Have someone in mind?"

"Special Agent Seeley Booth, sir. Only if he agrees to it."

"Very well. I will talk to Agent Booth in the morning." Booth hadn't gone far, pretending to read a case file while he watched your conversation through the glass. When his boss opened the door, he slowly made his way over. "I want to see you in my office as soon as you arrive tomorrow morning." 

Booth nodded. You were typing on a laptop when he walked in and Booth wanted to ask what your decision was but was afraid of the disappointment that you weren't staying. That this whole thing was temporary.

You glanced at him when he took a seat at his desk. "Shouldn't you be getting home?" You asked. "I'm surprised your wife hasn't called wondering where you are."

His head shot up, "I'm not married."

"Oh, when you said you had a son I just assumed -"

"Rebecca didn't want to get married. We're separated now. Have been for a while." Booth explained. 

"I'm sorry." You frowned.

Booth shrugged his shoulders and looked at his computer but you could tell the situation had bugged him at one point until he couldn't accept it any longer and broke up with her.

You had known Seeley Booth for two days, but he had quickly grown on you. He was protective, and charming and he followed his gut. And while you followed the facts, Booth was decisive. He knew what needed to be done and didn't hesitate while you would still be wondering what scenario was best.

You stayed until the building was locking up for the night, making the harrowing discovery that you hadn't found all of the doctor's victims. He had been killing for eighteen years and spent a lot of time interrogating him and making a board with all the photographs you could have been given by families of the victims and their bodies which Bones had exhumed and would take days to confirm. As you were tidying up for the night, he told you he was driving you to the motel, leaving no room for argument not that you would. Any time you could spend with him you would.

Your lips twitched with amusement as his eyes assessed his surroundings, growing more horrified by the minute. "Don't worry. I have a gun, and I'm a great shot, as you now know."

Booth glanced at you with a smile, and you hoped that this wasn't goodbye. You wanted to stay in Washington, but only if you could be his partner. And after monitoring your growing attraction to him, you were prepared to set them aside just to be colleagues, just so you didn't have to say goodbye.

So instead you said, "Goodnight. Thank you for dropping me off again."

You get out of the car and turn to him when he says goodnight. "I've really enjoyed working with you, Agent Booth."

"It's been an honor, Agent L/N." He replied with a smile that made you but the inside of your cheek, hoping you weren't blushing.

You walked to the motel room and looked back after unlocking the door when he called out to you, surprised to see him jogging over to you. When his hands cupped your cheeks and his lips glided against yours with a fiery passion, you leaned against the door to avoid your knees buckling. You recovered quickly, placing a hand on his chest and another on the curve of his neck, drawing him closer.

That night Booth spent the night in your motel room, and in the morning he couldn't decide if his back was sore from the mattress or from the many hours he spent above you, drawing out breathy whispers of his name as he filled you over and over.

Despite trying not to wake you, the screech of the bedframe made you stir as he climbed out of bed. You would have his answer by the end of the day and intended to enjoy the rare downtime to finish the book you were reading. After you caught up on the sleep you had lost last night, but you had no complaints, quite the opposite actually.

"Sorry," He whispered, "It's the damn bed."

You smiled as you propped yourself up with your elbow, combing your fingers through your hair in an attempt to look more presentable. "Sneaking off, Agent Booth?"

"I have to go home and change. I can't wear the same suit two days in a row, can I?" He mirrored your smile as he put a hand on the bed, another on your cheek as he kissed you good morning. He allowed himself to linger, not knowing if this was the only time he had left with you.

"After it spent a night on this floor? I'd advise against it." You giggled, biting your lip as you met his gaze. "You're going to be late."

Booth knew time was ticking away and if he wanted to go home, shower and get ready to meet his boss at the Bureau on time he should've left ten minutes ago. "What are you doing today?"

"I was going to finish reading a psychologist's analysis of killers. But I'm too tired to right now."

Booth chuckled, "Good. You need to pick a different genre." 

You playfully rolled your eyes as he went to get dressed. You put on a plain t-shirt and said goodbye at the door, smiling when he leaned in to kiss you. He wanted to ask if you were staying in Washington but he was afraid of the answer. You leaned against the door when he left, sighing as you rested your head on the door, hoping that this wasn't goodbye.

When Booth arrived at the Bureau he was twenty minutes late and he knew his boss was unimpressed as soon as he walked in. He took a seat and listened as he expressed how pleased he was with his work on the case.

"Well, sir, Agent L/N was the one who found the journal which cracked the case wide open. She made the connection from Hippocrates to the neurosurgeon."

"Yes, she expressed her admiration for you as well. You make a good team." His boss's lips quirked as he leaned forward,  resting his arms on the desk, and clasping his hands. "I don't need to tell you how beneficial her knowledge would be to the Bureau." He began, and Booth shook his head. "Yesterday she said she was only interested in the job if she could choose her partner." Booth held his breath. "And she chose you. Now, she did explicitly say that you don't need to feel as if it's an order. It's only if you want her as your partner."

Booth agreed and stood up as his boss explained that he'd call you with the great news before handing him a new case.

That night you were surprised by a knock on the door of the motel and opened the door to find Booth holding a pair of keys.

You confirmed that you would take the job and knew that he had accepted you as his partner. "What are these?" You took the keys, looking at them for a moment before meeting his gaze.

"Keys to your new apartment. If you're going to be staying in D.C. you need somewhere to live." He said. "The rent is reasonable for a one-bedroom apartment and it's on my way home."

"And where is home?" You asked, crossing your arms, dropping them when he told you. "Booth that's forty minutes from here! You went an hour and a half out of the way!" You exclaimed in disbelief, referring to the two nights he dropped you off at the motel claiming it was 'on his way home'.

He turned and began walking to his car, smirking when you stood with your jaw hitting the floor. "Grab your bags, and I'll give you a tour."

The upstairs apartment surprised you as you weren't expecting it to be so nice for the price. The older woman who lived downstairs was renting it out to avoid living in an empty house. When her husband was younger he converted it for their kids so they'd have their own space and you were impressed by the furniture that came with it.

Booth leaned against the doorway while you lay on the bed, sighing when the mattress springs didn't dig into your spine.

"How did you find this?" You asked.

"After my meeting, I went to my desk and looked up apartments in the area. I took some time out on the way back from a crime scene to check it out." He held up the case file he had brought from the car and you sat up, taking the file when he held it out. "Bones is examining the body now. Dental work gave us an identification."

You looked at the dashing agent to find he was already looking at you. "Are you sure you want me as a partner and not just because of last night?"

His lips twitched upwards, "I'll admit that I had a not-so-professional motive for agreeing. But even if I didn't, I would have agreed. You're a great agent and as the last two days have proven we make a great team." He walked towards you, and you smiled as you set the case file aside, as he leaned down to kiss you, hovering over you on the bed.

You undid the buttons on his jacket, slipping your hands underneath, as he deepened the kiss. "Was that the not-so-professional motive you were referring to, Agent Booth?" You teased when he pulled away moments later.

"What did I tell ya? Call me Seeley. Believe me, we've jumped to first name basis."

You buried your head in his chest as you laughed, feeling him chuckle. "Alright. Seeley. What now?"

"We're partners. We're professionals. We're -" 

"Supposed to be working a case."

He paused, "Right." He kissed you before dragging himself from the bed. "Starting now."

You shook your head, giggling when he offered you a hand and got off the bed. "I'll get changed and no you cannot stay." You ushered him out of the room and he turned, pouting which made you laugh as you closed the door. You looked around the bedroom with everything you needed except a duvet and sheets, a wide smile forming on your lips.

You and Booth remained professional in the field. You were partners in and out of the office, but you never let it interfere with your work, although when there were a few close calls you would find a moment to be alone to reassure yourselves that you were both safe. Booth was protective by nature and while he knew you would eventually have to disclose your relationship to the FBI, he held off for nearly a year, so that he could be the one watching your back in the field, but one day you both had gotten too comfortable in his office while the blinds were closed.  An agent had walked in to give you a file and seen Booth kiss you for your brilliance and you knew you had to report your relationship.

And while you may not have been partners on cases anymore, you still shared your opinions on your separate cases when you were at home, and within a few years you became partners in marriage and in parenthood.

[strangunddurm]

Mine

Masterlist

Pairing: Flip Zimmerman x fem!reader

Summary: Flip Zimmerman was a man that liked to eat his cake and have it, too.

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: PinV sex, unprotected sex, fingering, masturbation, swearing, dirty talk, oral (fem receiving). 

A/N: It's been ages since I wrote something so I'm so proud of myself for finally finishing something.

It was common knowledge that Flip Zimmerman was utterly and completely infatuated with you. You were it for him. The one he would marry, build a house for, have kids with. You would be his end, but you were not his beginning.

It was also common knowledge that Flip Zimmerman was on an apparent path to sleep with everyone he could that wasn’t you. Fuck, finger, and fondle like he wasn’t an officer of the law and he wasn’t in a very public bar at that very moment. You could see his hand run along her leg, caressing it with the pads of his fingers before it disappeared beneath the fabric of her skirt.

She threw her head back, laughing like nobody was watching, but, of course, you were. Your eyes were always lingering on his figure, just as his were yours. He watched you as he traced the lace of her panties, as he dipped them under the fabric; he watched you as he guided her lips to his; he watched you as he shattered your heart, always knowing that the comfort of your arms would always be there to sooth him in the end.

You often found yourself wondering: why? Why weren’t you enough for him at this point? Flip had this ability where he could string you along enough so that you, yourself, would feel guilty thinking of another man. Your possible unwillingness weren’t the reason for Flip’s hesitancy to commit, it was his. The unwilling fool in love with the same person he had always loved. Or perhaps you were the fool? Two fools in love that could never let the other one go.

Your friends often wondered why you subjected yourself to the torture of witnessing his lips upon another’s. You didn’t know how to explain to them that you only existed because of him. However demeaning and desperate it sounded, it was true. Whilst others existed for bettering the world or something other, you were made just to be his.

You thought for a while that you could live without him. That you could break free from his hold and flee from the place where everything reminded you of him but it was impossible. It didn’t make sense, how a man could possess you so entirely with just a whisper of attention. You thought it to be your own fault; a bleeding consequence of hope that wrecked your heart beyond anyone else’s repair. All you could do was wait for him. For you would forever be missing him otherwise, regretting not taking the possibility of even the tiniest something.

So, you found yourself there, putting on a front of indifference as you tried not to watch every stupid move Flip made in the arms of another. She was smug. It was so obvious from the way her eyes would flicker over to you every now and then as his lips caressed her shoulder or her neck.

She knew of Flip’s fondness for you, having seen the way he had given you a sliver of attention by the bar, letting his hand ghost over your hip before she had successfully lured him away from you and into her arms.

You were zoned out, barely hearing your friends’ voices as you stared hard at them. Your lip was near bloody from your nervous chewing as you, almost ritualistically, dragged your teeth over it again and again.

“How long are you going to keep doing this to yourself?” The words were spoken in your ear, your best friends arm coming to wrap around you, pulling you into her embrace.

“I…” She didn’t allow you to continue on the miserable spiel that she had heard so many times before.

“I don’t want to hear it. Not again. You need to realise that you’re worth more than whatever the hell this whole thing is,” She pleaded, pressing a kiss against your temple. “You have to stop doing this to yourself.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you sounded so fragile at that moment. Your voice wavered at the end, fading out as everything you felt became almost too much.

“Yes, you can. You just need to realise that you don’t owe him anything. Sitting here completely miserable isn’t going to make him change or do anything different.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve been here with you! Every night we go out to have fun, he comes along and ruins it.”

“No, he doesn’t.” You turned to look at her as you forced the words out harshly. But the look in her eyes made the feigned anger falter.

“I love you. You deserve more. Try to enjoy your life before you realise it’s too late,” She said, squeezing your shoulder.

Did you really deserve more? You had been caught up in the web of Flip for so long that you truly did believe that staying completely devoted to him was the only way forward. You knew he would eventually tire and stop indulging himself in others. It was an unconventional relationship, unfavourable to you in every sense.

But who was to say that you weren’t allowed to enjoy others? Just the way he were? An innocent tryst with another that would scratch that itch not even your fingers could ease late at night.

You let your eyes trail over the inhabitants of the local watering hole. There were the usuals there, sitting at the bar, nursing their beers. A group of frat boys were in the corner, cheering over shots. It wasn’t until a pair of dark brown eyes met your own that your interested was piqued.

You probably wouldn’t have dared made a move if he hadn’t come sauntering over. He didn’t walk like Flip. Flip’s walk was self-assured, dominating in a subtle way. This guy walked in a cocky way, shoulders swaying with every step as he though himself holier than thou. It was off-putting, but you thought you owed it to yourself to at least try.

“Saw you watching me over there.” His attempt at flirting was just as cocky as his walk.

“Oh, hahah..” Your laugh was awkward as you fumble for a reply. “Do you come here often?”

“First time actually, I’m here visiting my brother.” He motioned toward some guy in the back that you couldn’t see.

“That’s nice,” You said awkwardly.

He introduced himself as he took perch on the barstool next to you, shaking your hand weakly.

“So, what do you do for fun around here?” He asked, motioning for the bartender to refill both of your glasses at the same time.

“Ehm… Come here, I guess.” You waved your hand in the air, uncommittedly. Anxiety was flooding your nerves, practically inhibiting your ability to speak. You let your eyes trail over the room again quickly. Flip was still hands-deep in that woman’s skirt, your friends had slipped off somewhere else, getting lost in others.

The man, Chris, held a one-sided conversation without seeming to notice your less than keen interest. The thought of letting go and trying to flirt with somebody else was always easier in theory rather than practice.

It wasn’t his fault, if you were somebody else you might’ve enjoyed it. But all you could think about was the way his eyes were too dark, his hair too light, and his voice to high to remind you of Flip.

“Listen,” He placed his hand on your thigh. High up, bold, wanting. “I really like you, what do you say about getting out of here?”

You didn’t have a chance to respond before a chest pressed against your back.

“She’s not going anywhere with you.”

You felt faint hearing Flip’s voice rumble through his chest as he pulled himself closer to you. His hand wrapped around Chris’s wrist, forcing it away from your leg.

“Hey, man, we were having a conversation here.” Chris was foolish. It wasn’t his fault, he wasn’t from here, after all. He didn’t know the perfectly concealed rage that could simmer under Flip’s skin when he felt like he was being disrespected.

“I’m going to offer you a piece of advice.”

“Flip, don’t-” Interjecting was pointless. Flip did whatever Flip wanted.

“You should take your drink, go back to whatever lowly corner you came from, and stay there. Get it through your thick skull that you’re not wanted here.” Flip roughly pushed the glas of beer Chris had been nursing on the bar, it’s content sloshing over the sides as it almost toppled over.

The silence that followed hung in the air, permeating it, polluting it. It didn’t take long for Chris to visibly crumble under Flip’s stare but it was almost as if he didn’t want to admit it to himself. He didn’t want to give in to the menacing man that had appeared out of nowhere. Reasonable, perhaps, but entirely futile. Flip would always get what he wanted in the end, no matter what.

Chris left without a word, sparing you a pitiful glance before he was gone and all that was Flip took over your senses as he rounded you, coming to a stop so you were chest to chest.

You refused to look at him, staring straight ahead, focusing on the way his chest would calmly breath in and out as he waited.

“Look at me,” His voice was low, steady. You wanted to, of course, but you were stubborn. Just when you were putting yourself first, there he was again. A forever keg in your wheels, keeping you in the same place.

His fingers were soft against your chin as he urged it upwards, making you look at him.

He was smiling. Not a full on grin, but that sweet, cheeky little smile that held so much mirth that you wanted to hit him. It’s like he’d been waiting for this, waiting for you to act out and finally do something for yourself.

“Wipe that smile of your face,” you hissed out. “What could you possible have to smile about?”

“You.”

“Oh, yeah, because it is so funny ruining my fucking life.”

“Ruining it?”

“Yeah, ruining it.”

“You should’ve just said something if you felt that way.” You almost laughed at that. It wasn’t like you hadn’t said something. It felt like all you did was talk, and all he did was not care.

“Cut me a fucking break, Flip. Don’t act like you don’t know what you’ve been doing to me. This- this game you’ve been playing, toying with my heart. One minute it feels like you might actually want me but then the next you go and fucksomebody else and I’m just suppose to pretend that it’s all fine?”

“It’s not?” He said, playfully.

“Fuck you.”

“Stop swearing, and keep your voice down.”

“What? So that your whore won’t hear us?”

“She means nothing,” He said

“So why do you keep doing this? Why keep stringing me along?” You were defeated. Your relationship with Flip was strange. Peculiar. Unexplainable in certain aspects as you yourself did not entirely know exactly what you two were.

You looked up at him, tears brimming in your eyes as all the hurt you had felt over the past however-long caught up to you. He was looking down at you, as if in wonder. Was it possible that Flip Zimmerman was naive to the way he had treated you? To the way he had made you suffer? Had you been imagining it all in your head?

He didn’t look sorry, he didn’t sound sorry, but when the apology tumbled out of his mouth, you accepted it. Perhaps it was you who were naive but you wanted a moment of happiness with him. Even if it was a moment entirely clouded by delusion.

You nodded your head, a small movement of acceptance that made Flip light up.

Flip would always shine brighter than any star you had ever seen. He took your breath away and filled you with a rush of serotonin every time you gazed into his eyes for even a brief second. His eyes were like molten gold, blinding you as they tinkled. Devotion to him and only him was inevitable.

“Will you come home with me?” The answer was obvious. The question had been what you had waited for. Taking his hand and slipping out through the door before any of your friends still caught in reason could stop you.

His hand dipped between your legs, fingers mapping out a path to your most sacred place the second he pushed you through the door of his home.

"Look at you, already so wet for me." Flip chuckled darkly. He knew you couldn't resist him. Your need for him was as deep as his need was for you.

His lips met yours in a searing kiss that took your breath away. His tongue caressed yours as teeth clashed.

His fingers toyed with your panties, teasing you. He knew how desperate you were for anything he would give you.

He took his time, teasing your more and more before he finally was gracious enough to slide a finger inside of you. Just a single finger to test you. You walls clamped down around him tightly, gripping him, coaxing him to give you more. He pumped it in and out of you slowly, so slowly that you thought you might lose your mind if he didn't give you something more, and you voiced so much.

"Please, Flip." What you needed was clear. But that didn’t mean Flip would be so easy to give in.

"You’ll get more, sweetheart. Don’t you worry.” He said sweetly before withdrawing from you completely.

"Flip-"

"You're so impatient." He chided you, tutting teasingly with a lazy smile on his lips. “Go to the bedroom.” He commanded whilst motioning his head in its direction. You were quick to obey, of course, feet moving swiftly as you stumbled your way on shaky legs through the halls and onto his bed.

You flipped onto it in excitement, eager for his touch once again.

“Is this what you wanted? To be one of my whores?” He asked as he undressed slowly, unbuttoning his flannel and letting his jeans fall to the floor before he took a stand by the foot of the bed. He trailed his hands up your legs equally as slow before grabbing a hold of your panties and pulling them off you. You couldn’t get any words out to respond, whining with need.

The evidence of your excitement was clear to him, almost dripping and shining in the low light. A sane man wouldn’t be able to hold back having a women presented so willingly to him with her legs spread wide and skirt bunched up around her hip, chest heaving with excitement. And of course, Flip was a sane man, in some sense at least, for he was quick to crawl in between your legs and mouth attached to your clit.

Digging his fingers into your thighs, he hauled one of them onto his shoulder and connected his mouth to your sweet cunt.

The sounds of your breathless moans were intoxicating as he suckled your clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the stiff nubb.

Your knees fought against his shoulders as your hand came to cover your mouth, willing any sounds to stay inside of you as you bit down softly as you were overwhelmed by the pleasure rushing through you.

“You taste so fucking good, sweetheart.” Flip praised in a panted breath before diving back in.

You fought to keep your eyes open as your hips moved up and down in a desperate attempt to grind your aching clit against his mouth and nose in search for that perfect sensation that would drive you over the edge.

Your hand slid into Flip’s hair, gliding through it before grasping a firm hold of it as a wave after wave of moans finally made their way out of you.

Flip had already made you come once when he slid his fingers into you, continuing his ministrations on your clit with his mouth. His movement were much rougher than what they had been before, thrusting them into you expertely, hitting that sweet spot of yours over and over again.

Your back arched into the air and mouth fell open at the overstimulation. It was exquisite.

“Oh, oh, Flip. I’m gonna cum.” You whined desperately. “Oh, God.”

You clung to his arm in an attempt to hold on to any sort of sanity but it was all for nought. Your legs spasmed as you came with a cry.

Flip tried to hold you down as he never let up despite your half hearted please, flicking the tip of his tongue over your clit again and again and again. He worked you through your orgasm, never relenting as your silent whimpers spured him on. You had such a tight hold on his hair that it made him groan, sending a wave of vibrations through you that caused you to gasp. He only stopped once your whimpers had grown in volume to a steady whine of pleas.

“You’re such a good girl.” Flip praised as he came up, hovering over you. “You gonna let me fuck you, sweetheart?”

“Yes! Please, Flip.”

He tugged at his hard and weeping cock a few times as he admired you. You were breath taking like this, legs parted, eyes hazy from your orgasm, cunt dripping, ready for him.

"You’re gonna look so gorgeous, covered with my cum." Flip's voice was husky as he leaned down and pulled you closer to him by your face before planting a sloppy, wet kiss on your lips as he came to rest between your hips, a single arm keeping him up.

He dragged his thick and cum weeping cock through your folds a few times, thoroughly coating it in your slickness. The anticipation was killing you. His fingers and tongue weren't enough, you wanted more, needed it.

You grabbed a hold of his shoulders, pulling him closer even to you in desperation.

"Please, Flip." You whispered, ready for him.

The sigh the both of you let out when he finally slipped all the way into your cunt was one of relief. You had missed this, had missed him.

Flip didn't give you time to adjust to him before he started pounding into you at a pace that was brutal in nature, just the way he knew you liked it.

“You’re such a dirty fucking whore.” He spat at you and you clenched around him in response. "Look at you, so desperate for my dick you could almost cry." Being his whore and whatever he wanted was everything you had ever wanted since the moment you had laid eyes on him.

He was so deep inside of you that you barely knew what to do with yourself. Flip's loud groans were bouncing around the walls of his room, blended in with your own gasps from every thrust into you.

Your walls were clenched so tightly around him, drawing him deeper and deeper inside.

"Fuck" You groaned. "Feels so- fucking good." You shakily breath out.

"This is what you wanted right? My cock so deep within you you’ll feel me for days" He cooed, slowing down just slightly, but each thrust was still as sharp, still as precise, and hard, and calculated.

A wailing yes! left your lips. You were sure you would be able to feel Flip's hands on your hips as you would nurse your hangover tomorrow, and most likely the day after that as well. You would feel him in every step you took. Forever.

"Harder." You pleaded.

He pulled out so just his tip was left in you, waiting there for just a second before slamming back into you again, buried to the hilt. The groan Flip let out sent tingles down your spine and caused you to clench even tighter around him, triggering another moan from him.

"I love it when you do that." He praised, followed by another rut into you.

He continued pumping into yours sweet cunt, drawing moans from you that were filthy. The sound of skin slapping and noises of pleasure mixed together as they bounced on the walls and around the room.

His thrusts had picked up in pace one again, ruthless and reckless as he fucked deeper and deeper into you. You were trembling against him, breath hitching, getting caught in your chest as you almost forgot how to breathe. You could feel your release mounting quickly once again, shockwaves gripping your body and rolling through you with every buck into you.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come,"

"No, you're not." Flip withdrew from you completely, flipping down on the bed beside you. You were drunk on the feeling of him, needy and desperate, ready to take everything he would give to you.

His legs were spread, cock standing on full attention, bobbing against his stomach, it's tip coloured an angry red, ready to be inside of you again.

"Come on then." He pulled you out of the short-lived trance you had been in over the sight of him. You though again of how there was something so ethereal about him, something other than just his looks, something that would always draw you back in and keep you on his hook.

You were quick in your movements, throwing a leg around his hips and hoisting yourself upright, causing him to chuckle over your desperation.

"Eager, are we?" He welcomed you with open arms, hands coming up to rest on your hips once again, as he gazed up at you with a smile on his face.

He helped you pull your wrinkled dress over your head, placing open mouthed kisses on every inch of your skin he could reach. His lips attached themselves to your perked nipple, sucking it into his mouth and releasing it with a pop.

"You're so fucking gorgeous." He sounded as if he was in awe simply over the sight of you.

You sank down swiftly, engulfing him with your tight walls, stopping only when you were at the base, stuffed full of him.

"Oh, fuck, Flip!" The change in angle had you convinced that he was deeper in you than ever before, the tip of him nestling against your cervix.

"You feel so good like this." Flip moaned. He tapped two fingers against the side of your thigh, signalling you to move and you were more than happy to oblige. Your feet were securely rooted on the floor and you placed your hands on the walls to give yourself the leverage and support you needed to begin riding him.

He let you control every movement; let you set the pace as you slid up and down on his throbbing cock. Flip's hands were exploring every inch of you that they could reach, massaging your breasts, caressing your thighs, sliding across your back, and then, finally, they found their way to the apex of your thighs and started firmly circling your clit.

Flip let out a loud grunt every time you slammed yourself down onto him. It was a sound you wanted to hear every day, every waking moment and in every vivid dream.

The steady pace that you had managed to keep was slowly becoming nothing as you felt yourself loosing control over your limbs the closer you climbed to that high you were chasing. The muscles in your stomach were tightening rapidly over the coiling tension and your walls gripped him even tighter.

"Say my name."

"What?" You weren't lucid enough to possibly begin to understand what he meant at that moment.

"Say. My. Name." He repeated, making sure to punctuate every single word with a small thrust upward to meet you as you came down on him.

His name spilled out of your mouth just a few seconds later in the form of a moan.

"Who’s making you feel this good?" You weren't as quick to heed his words this time, the building pressure between your legs taking up all of your attention.

His hands were back on your hips, forcing you up, slipping out of you, and then guiding you dominantly into the position he wanted with your face pressed into the sheets and your ass high up in the ar. He was swift to enter you again, you had barely even had time to complain over the loss of him before he was drilling into you.

"Flip!" You shouted his name as you finally came, tumbling over the edge as stars were painted behind your eyelids. Your legs were shaking, spasming, through the waves, words of gibberish leaving your mouth as he made you babble like a brook. He hadn't even faltered in his movements, continuing to pump into you as he chased his own climax. He was panting loudly in between groans and the sound of skin slapping against each other.

"Who owns this pussy?"

"You." Another sharp thrust into you.

"Who owns this pussy?"

"You, Flip. Oh, god, you, Flip!" Small droplets of tears were leaking from the corner of your eyes as Flip was steadily driving you to cum again as he fucked into you.

You hadn't felt this way before, you didn't even know you could feel this way; the overwhelming stimulation that was rushing through your blood, lighting your nerves on fire, making you want to stay right here, right now, forever.

"That's fucking right." Flip came with a deep jerk into you, pulling out to come all over your back before entering you again to give you a few last thrilling pumps.

You laid there on his bed in a heap, totally out of it as he calmly came to rest beside you. He coaxed you onto your back so that he could plant a sweet kiss on your lips. Uttering words that made your erratic heart pump even faster.

“All mine.”

Thank you for reading! Please check out my Masterlist if you want to read more.

Tags in reblog.

[strangunddurm]

Hello! Remember me? lol

I'm 5000 words deep into my next fic and I think I'm aaaaalmost at the finish line.

Here's a sneak peak:

It was common knowledge that Flip Zimmerman was utterly and completely infatuated with you. You were it for him. The one he would marry, build a house for, have kids with. You would be his end, but you were not his beginning. It was also common knowledge that Flip Zimmerman was on an apparent path to sleep with everyone he could that wasn’t you. Fuck, finger, and fondle like he wasn’t an officer of the law and he wasn’t in a very public bar at that very moment. You could see his hand run along her leg, caressing it with the pads of his fingers before it disappeared beneath the fabric of her skirt.

[strangunddurm]

900 notes?? Thank you!!!

Marlboro Red

Masterlist

Pairing: Flip Zimmerman x fem!reader

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings: PinV sex, unprotected sex, self pleasure, fingering, masturbation, age gap, degradation, swearing, dirty talk, voyerism.

Hola! Missed me? I made the mistake of getting a summer job whilst also studying full time. Let's just say, it was painful. Also, I forgot how much I love AD (Flip) and then Venice happened and now I'm back in the trenches.

Flip knew that it was wrong. He knew that he shouldn’t let his eyes linger as he happened to glance over at you, but he couldn’t help it. The way you looked was always mesmerising, forever hypnotising. He was completely enamoured by the way the wind would dance around you and the sun would kiss your skin as you were kind enough to share that beautiful smile you had with the rest of the world. He couldn’t help but grow hard in his jeans over the sight of you. His cock would weep with precum until he could get a moment alone so that he could wrap his hand around his thick length and give a tug at it as he thought of you and the way your sundress would graze your glorious thighs.

The fact that you were always so kind and gracious did not help his ailing thoughts. It made it worse. You deserved so much better than an old, lust-driven man thinking about the way you would look as he spread your legs wide opened and slotted himself between them before taking a long swipe at your soaking cunt. Older man was perhaps a more appropriate title to give himself. Flip knew that he wasn’t old but he was older than you. Old enough to know better. Old enough to know that he shouldn’t be trying to look up the skirt of such a young thing like you. But every time you said ‘hi’ to him, he couldn’t help but fantasise about the way you would look on your knees before him as you took his thick cock down your throat and gagged. He imagined tears leaking from your eyes over the sheer excursion; tears that he would wipe away with a loving swipe of his thumb before you took even more of him.

It’s why he kept away in the beginning. He would force himself to turn on his heel and walk away if he saw even a glimpse of you. It worked for a while, but then you seemed to notice Flip’s attempts at avoiding you. It was a small town after all. Everybody knew everybody and avoiding people just wasn’t possible. Plus, he didn’t want to hurt you; make you feel as if you’d done something wrong. It was hard trying to make his feelings go away when you were you. You were always so keen and eager to hear what was on his mind, to help him with anything and everything. Falling in love with you was easy.

Or, was it really love? It was lust at the very least. Merely the smell of you was enough to trigger the filthiest of thoughts in his mind, made them race until they drove him into madness. But would it be so wrong if he were to taint you with his seed? You wanted him. It was obvious. You had to think about him just as much as he thought about you, if not more.

Flip would notice it every time he would enter the small convenience store that you worked in. The way you would shift, rubbing your thighs together to provide some sort of brief relief to your throbbing and aching clit as his heavy footsteps hit your ears. The way your eyes would shift down to take all of him in, eyes always widening slightly as you pretended not to notice the hard bulge in his jeans. It was clear as day, you yearned for his hard dick to slot itself between your thighs rutting forward to rub against your stiff clit before he fucked you like you’d dreamed about being fucked. The sweetest combination of rough and loving, letting you cry out into the air as he pounded against your soft spot and whispered sweet nothings in your ear. Lingering kisses would dance across your skin until you went to bed and woke up the next morning in peaceful bliss.

You would turn around with that bright smile, eagerly gliding to the cashier’s stand to take his money as he paid for the fresh packet of cigarettes he bought every day just so that he could see you. You knew that he was there just for you. The station had a small vending machine that was always stocked with everything a cop could need. The logical thing would be for him to buy them there but his little pit-stop came to be a ritual that he just couldn’t bring himself to break.

He would give you a ride sometimes, when he started work early enough for him to spot you as you were walking down the highway, on your way to your early morning shift. Seeing the way your hips would swing made him groan before pulling up beside you to ask if you needed a ride. You would always say yes, happily sliding into the passenger seat with a chipper ‘thank you!’. Flip’s truck was a three-seater, making it easy for you to slide up close to him as he took his time, slowly driving through town. It was unnecessary, you didn’t need to sit so close to him, but you would always blame a nonexistent bump for jolting you, forcing you closer and closer to him. Both of you knew that it was a lie but neither of you cared to acknowledge it. It was a lie that benefitted you both. It eased Flip’s conscience and it gave you what you wanted: his closeness.

Did you wear those dresses on purpose? You had to know what your thighs did to him, especially when you would so purposefully press them against him at the smallest turn. Even though he couldn’t feel it through his jeans, your skin burned as hot as hellfire as you seared your mark into his thigh, through his jeans, making sure that he couldn’t think much about anything else for the rest of the day. Flip always had to stop himself from letting his hand slide up your skirt to feel just how wet you were for him as he stroked a finger through your puffy lips. He wanted to rub his calloused fingers against your nub as you mewled for him, watching you come undone and giving you that hazy look in your eyes before he dropped you off with a quick kiss and a tap on your bum.

Your parents had bought that small convenience store before you were born. You had told him about how you had worked there every summer since you were 12, helping as much as you could, and it continued even after you went to college. This summer was no different. You took your place behind the checkout, ringing up orders all day, and Flip was the happiest of all to see your face.

“How are you today, Mr Zimmerman?” Mr Zimmerman. Flip had told you numerous times not to call him that. It wasn’t that the formality made him uncomfortable, hearing you call him Mr Zimmerman had him imagining how it would sound if you panted it into his ear as you begged him to fuck deeper into you.

The convenience store was the scene of his crime. Not that any crime was actually committed, but the social piranhas were bound to zero in on it as the place where it all happened. Gossip was inevitable. You were still in college, a year into grad school, and it didn’t matter that you had been an adult more years than he could count on one hand, Flip was still so much older than you that people just had to talk about it. It didn’t matter if you were the one that pursued him or not. Gossip was gossip and it was bound to travel from ear to ear as mouths moved, dripping with the saliva that lubricated their words.

“I’m good, a bit tired, how are you?” He asked, fixing his eyes upon yours as he sent a crooked smile your way. You smiled back eagerly, leaning forward on the counter as if you were drawn to him, needing to be as close to him as you could. Flip did all that he could to keep his eyes trained on yours, to stop himself from thinking those sinful thoughts. He could almost see your nipples poking through the thin cotton of your dress and it stirred something deep inside of him.

“Good, good, rough day at work?” The two of you made simple small talk for a few minutes before you ran out of the usual things normal people would talk about. Flip made it obvious then that he was reluctant to go, lingering by you, staring down into your eyes for far longer than what anybody would deem acceptable.

You bit your lip as you stared back at him, eyes flickering to the clock on your right to check the time. Five past eight. It was early enough for the store to be empty, waiting for the small rush of workers getting ready for their 9-5 jobs. Colorado being a big-small town ran on routine. It was predictable, everyone had a specific routine that they rarely deviated from Monday-Friday. It made it easy for you to predict when you would have a small break and the next customer was Joyce Hill, arrival time: 8:20.

A lot could happen in 15 minutes.

“Actually, before you go, I was wondering if you could help me with a problem I have in the back?”

-

It was a small room, obese stacks of old, unfinished paperwork crowded the walls and every surface. Small particles of dust lingered in the air, waves rippling through them as the door opened and closed in quick succession.

It was your father’s designated place in the shop, the place where he liked to be left undisturbed. You had barely been in there after your seventh birthday but it was the only place where the two of you could be alone for a little while.

“So, what did you need help with?” Flip played along, hands resting on his hips as he watched you lean against the closed door.

“I have this pain,” You started, twirling the bottom of your shirt and then twisting the hem of your skirt as you bit your lip.

“Pain?”

“Mhmm, this deep ache.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” Flip played along as he became hypnotised by the way your fingers traced your skin softly and he couldn’t help but feel a deep yearning for his own to follow the same path across your thighs and beyond the valley of your breasts.

“It keeps me up at night.” You took a small step closer to him. “Gets me so wet.” You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you heard him groan over your words and whisper out a small “goddamn it.”

You were so close to him now that you could smell his cologne. It was woodsy, filled with smoke and something that was entirely and purely Flip. You couldn’t help the deep inhale that you took, craving the smell of him as you stalked even closer. Your hand came out to graze against his flannel shirt, fingertips following an invisible trail until they came to a stop at his top button.

“I have this urge.”

“Urge?” Flip’s voice almost quivered as he clung to every word you said, wondering if he was lost in a daydream once again or if this was actually happening.

“I can’t stop fantasising about what your cock would taste like.” You said it so casually, as if it was a normal conversation you’d have with anyone.

“Jesus.” Flip tripped over the word, almost choking on it as he heard the words slip past your lips so easily.

Your hand fell back down so that you could press it against him, against the thick, throbbing bulge that was weeping for attention in his jeans. You cupped him, revelling in the heaviness of him as your hand struggled to encompass all of it. It made you press your thighs together, searching for relief for the aforementioned ache.

“I think I could help you with that problem.” Flip tried to keep his voice steady but it was hard, especially with the way you were palming him so deliciously.

“That would be so kind of you,” Kind of you. Flip could almost laugh. Was this luck? Was it lucky of him that the woman he wanted the most was practically begging for him? Most definitely.

You thumbed at the button of his jeans before eagerly popping it and pulling the zipper down painfully slow.

Your hand was just about to slip into his pants when Flip kissed you, catching you off guard at first but you were quick to reciprocate. His beard tickled against your skin as he claimed you, drawing you in closer to him with his hands on your waist. Perhaps it was cliche to say that the two of your fit perfectly but that’s what it felt like at the moment. Flip had been craving the feeling of you against his skin for so long that everything felt cliche and bigger - more meaningful - than it was.

Your arms came up to wrap around his neck, pulling him even closer. Your fingers ran through his hair as you stood on your tippy toes. You still had to pull him down, into you, needing him as close as he could come without intertwining your souls.

Your teeth grazed against his lips, pulling a hiss out of him. His hands pawed at your hips, urging your hips to press into his thigh. He could feel the heat of you, even through his jeans he could feel your wet heat that had seeped through your panties begin to form a dark patch on his Levi’s.

You knew that time was running away from you, threatening the one thing you had craved all summer. You didn’t let him kiss you for too long because of it. You were in a hurry.

You were wicked. Flip hadn’t even noticed the way you had spun the two of you around. Only detaching your lips to push him against the door behind him with a thud. Flip let out a huff of air as you caught him by surprise.

You had a smile on your face that was anything but innocent as you leered at him, eyeing him up with one of the filthiest looks Flip had ever seen that made him want to take you over his knee and deliver onto you a punishment that would make you squirm.

“Did I do that?” It was obvious what you were looking at but Flip followed your eyes down to the hard bulge in his pants. He almost twitched as he saw you bite your lip as he looked back at you.

“You like how hard I get for you?” Flip smirked as he asked.

“I love it.” You stalked closer to him. Your fingers grazed over that little peak of skin that peaked through between his shirt and jeans. The muscles under his skin flexed beneath your fingertip at your touch. A shiver ran down his spine before travelling through his legs, all the way down to his toes.

“You gonna do something about it?” Flip asked lowly, almost challenging you, daring you to do something.

The sight of you dropping to your knees before him was a sight he would never forget. It would play over and over in his mind until he lost himself to oblivion, driven mad by his desire for you. Flip felt eager, like a pre-pubescent teen catching a glimpse of his first boob through a bedroom window as he rode past on his bike. Of course, this was much better, much more. This would change him and steer him down a path of life that was so different from the one he had previously been on. Like a child crossing the threshold into adulthood from a simple, quick glimpse, Flip would soon take the step from being a man to being something so much more.

Flip was giddy beyond belief as your fingers finally wrapped themselves around his thick cock, your fingertips attempting to reach around to one another but being kept apart by the girth of him. You gripped the base of his cock, making Flip’s knees feel weak as you dragged your tender palm up and down his hard, velvety cock. You were steady in your movements, swiping the pad of your thumb gently over his angry red and sensitive head every time you came to the top.

“Fuck yeah, stroke my dick, baby.” His words made you tighten your hold on him - encouraged you to quicken your pace just a little. And just when Flip thought he would need to plead with you to feel your lips wrap around the head of him, you did just that. Your hot and wet lips stretched around his throbbing head as you finally tasted him.

Your lips encased his tip softly, swirling your tongue around him before letting it wander over every inch of him. He was your favourite flavour, a taste you would always search for throughout life. You pulled back, licking your lips as you gazed up at him with eyelids heavy from lust.

“Oh, you like that, sweetheart? You like the taste of my cock?”

“Love it so much,” You were a greedy little thing, going back for more after less than a second of being without.

Your tongue flattened, caressing the underside of Flip’s dick as you took as much of him in your mouth as you could. He was big, bigger than any college boy’s dick that you had ever sucked before and it was almost impossible for you to take all of him. But you tried your hardest, letting your lips stretch as far as they could around him.

Flip’s hand caressed your neck softly before grabbing a hold of the back of your neck and urging you forward. It was everything and not enough, a yearning seated deep within him grew with each swipe of your tongue.

Your hand wrapped around the base of him, pumping his shaft as you sucked on the head of him. Flip could feel the muscles in his stomach and his abs tighten. You dragged your mouth back teasing his slit before engulfing more of him again.

“Christ,” Flip hissed out your name, eyes having trouble focusing as you rendered him as close to speechless as he had ever been. Flip’s hips jutted forward, slipping more of him inside of your mouth. He loved fucking your mouth, loved the sounds of you gagging around him that filled the room.

Your feeling of your tongue caressing his cock almost made him miss the way your hand had moved under your dress, fingers pressing against your clit as you tried to give yourself relief. Almost was the keyword. The sight of you on your knees with his cock down your throat and hand rubbing your most private place was enough to send him over the edge.

“Holy fucking shit.” Flip groaned loudly as his cum shot into your mouth. His hips rutted into you, making you gag around him as he hit the back of your throat. His legs shook, stomach tightening as you pumped him clean of every single drop of cum. “Goddamn it,” Flip finally whispered before taking half a step back, withdrawing his wet, half-hard dick from your mouth when he was completely spent and empty.

“Such a dirty girl.” Flip cooed in praise, completely in awe of you, caressing your cheek softly. He bent down and delivered a sloppy kiss on your lips but just as he was about to let his own fingers reach down to circle your clit, he was interrupted.

Perhaps it was lucky that your father had installed that bell above the door to the convenience store, but it didn’t feel awfully lucky at that moment. The bell rang out, piercing the air with a shrill ring. You felt as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been poured onto you and you stood up with a gasp, barely sparing a glance at Flip before you had made your way out of the door to the office to greet the customer. 15 minutes and 34 seconds.

If you had given him a chance, Flip would’ve told you about the obviously frazzled state that you were in with ruffled clothes, swollen lips, and cum in the corner of your mouth. It wouldn’t take much for whoever was out there to connect the dots. And perhaps it didn’t help the way Flip came walking out of the back room with a certain swagger in his step that hadn’t been there before.

Two pairs of wide eyes took in his form as he rapped his knuckles against the counter, letting you know that he would ‘see you tomorrow’ before making his exit.

-

It pained Flip leaving you there. He wanted to give you so much more, see how you would squirm for him as his fingers trailed through your wet lips. He wanted to feel your hot mouth wrapped around him again and see the way your eyes leaked as you took him further and further.

Flip couldn’t help it when his hand disappeared past the waistband of his jeans the second he closed the front door of his home behind him. His own hand did not feel as good around him as yours had but it was enough to satisfy him for the moment. He jerked the garments to his knees, letting his heavy cock spring free and bob slightly in the air.

Cum was leaking from the tip of him as he stroked himself. Flip kept a steady pace, imagining you in front of him with every thrust into his own hand. He remembered how wet and swollen your lips had been as you wrapped them around the tip of him; how it had felt when your finger had graced his shaft so gently.

Flip’s fist jerked him faster and faster as he came closer to the end, having been so tightly wound up from earlier that it didn't take much before his hips stuttered, his muscles tightened, and he came with a loud, vibrating groan.

It wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough, not now that he knew what your lips felt like around the head of him. He craved more. Craved to take everything you would give him.

-

The high-pitched ding of the bell rang out through the air, signalling Flip’s arrival to all that were in the store. Frank, the town’s local mechanic and the only other customer, greeted him with a low, muttered “Good to see you, Flip” before quickly departing, leaving you two alone.

Flip moved slowly toward the checkout after having plucked a packet of M&M’s from the small carousel by the door. There was a low hum in the air from refrigerators in the back, the low luminescent lights flickering every once in a while. It felt eerie, like everything, every inanimate object, was waiting for something to happen.

“Hi, Mr Zimmerman” You were doing it on purpose, but your tone gave Flip the vague impression that you weren’t as excited to see him as he were you.

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” Flip leaned his hip against the counter, looking down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Packet of Marlboro?” Ignoring his question wouldn’t do you any good, you should know that. But Flip indulged you, nodding his head wordlessly as he watched your every move.

You did everything in your power to avoid his eyes, knowing the hold he had over you if you caught so much as a glimpse of his gaze filled with molten gold.

You slammed the packet of cigarettes down on the counter before clenching your fists by your sides as you waited for his money. Flip didn’t make a move to get his wallet out of his back pocket though. Instead, he stayed there, quietly watching you as he took in everything about you. Flip was a detective for a reason. He wasn’t stupid, he knew you were upset but he liked toying with you.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“No.” You muttered bitterly.

“You sad I didn’t get to eat that pretty pussy of yours yesterday?” You became flustered over his words, the confidence you’d had yesterday completely evaporated.

Flip was teasing you, seeing how far he could push you before you came out and said whatever was on your mind.

“Want me to swirl my tongue over your clit before I drag you down over my cock?” He continued to prod, keeping the expression on his face completely neutral.

“Mr Zimmerman!” You hissed out his name in a warning. “I don’t think this is appropriate.” Had you come to your senses? Surely not. Flip deeply hoped that you hadn’t. He could still see the shift in your hips as he came closer, leaning over the counter to analyse your face. You didn’t take a step back, didn’t shy away or lower your heated gaze. To you, it felt like the first time anyone had truly seen you. Not just looked upon you but actually saw you, and it made you bristle.

The feeling that coursed through you was unknown to you. It was more profound than any feeling Flip had created within you previously, and Flip was the master of your emotions. Despite never indulging in deeper conversations than ones you would have with others, he had a hold on you that you doubted would ever truly go away, no matter if you would part ways for years to come.

“You don’t want my cock between your thighs anymore, sweetheart?” Flip straightened up slightly. If you would ask him to leave he would do so. He would look over his shoulder as he walked out, but he would do whatever you wanted him to, even if he didn’t like it.

But you couldn’t say no. Of course, you wanted that. You wanted to feel him stretch you out like no one before. You craved it. Dreamt about it night after night. Thought about it as your own inadequate fingers would run through your folds and caress your walls.

“How could you do that?” He knew what you were referring to. How he had waltzed out, still zipping up his fly as you were ringing up the customer yesterday. “People are gonna talk, they’re gonna tell my parents!”

It wasn’t that you were ashamed of the fact. A large part of you was happy — proud — that people would know. Your only concern was that the trust your parents showed in you by letting you run the store by yourself was betrayed.

“I’m sorry, honey, I couldn’t help it. Want everybody to know you’re mine,” Flip smirked as he saw the physical response you had to him as he charmed you with his words. His? You would do anything, go along with anything, to be his.

“Let me make it up to you?”

-

The room felt bigger than the day before, widened by the knowledge of what could possibly occur once you closed that door behind you. You should’ve learned something from your mistakes but you couldn’t control yourself when it came to Flip. You needed to feel him between your legs or you felt like you would die if you were to go without it. Here lies the body of you, whose desire drove you to your early demise; death by lust, forever cursed to feel the pulsing ache between your legs and crave the touch of another, never to be satisfied again by your own.

But you weren’t there yet. Salvation would be delivered unto you this day. Flip was frantic in his movement as he pushed up your shirt so that your breasts became bare for him. He didn’t wait, not even taking a second to admire them, before he let his lips attach themselves to your nipple. He sucked it into his mouth, running his tongue over your stiff peak, earning himself a moan from your mouth.

Flip felt as if he had earned this. He deserved this. He’d had a craving for you for so long that he couldn’t hold back as his hands explored everything that they could.

Flip’s hand had travelled up along your legs to the apex of your thigh. He made contact with the delicate string of your thong and you gasped into his mouth as he tugged it down your legs so that he could run his fingers over your pussy. You were so wet for him, completely having drenched his fingers in all that was you.

He worked you open slowly, slipping one finger inside of you gently. You clenched around him, becoming even tighter than what you already were.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” Flip groaned out into your ear as his lips travelled up and down your neck.

It didn’t take him long before he slipped another finger into you and you couldn’t help the moan that slipped out. He stretched you out slowly, making sure you would be ready to take him. All of him.

“Shh…” Flip hushed you, placing his free hand over your mouth in an attempt to quiet you. Your breath came out in short pants against his palm as you tried to control yourself.

Flip curled his two fingers in a come hither motion, stroking your silky walls to bring you closer to the pleasure you craved so much.

“Let me taste you.”

Flip dropped to his knees before you, urging you to take a seat on top of the desk behind you, causing some paperwork to fall to the floor, before parting your legs even more so that his shoulders could fit between them. He held your dress up, bunching it around your hips with his eager hands before digging his fingers into your thighs, hauling one of them onto his shoulder, and connecting his mouth to your sweet cunt.

The quiet sounds of your breathless moans were intoxicating as he suckled your clit into his mouth before flicking his tongue over the stiff nub.

Your knees fought against his shoulders as your hand came to cover your mouth, willing any sounds to stay inside of you as you bit down softly in an attempt to control yourself.

You fought to keep your eyes open as your hips moved up and down in a desperate attempt to grind your aching clit against his mouth and nose in search of that perfect sensation that would drive you over the edge.

Your hand slid into Flip’s hair, gliding through it before grasping a firm hold of it as a wave of pleasure ran its course through your body.

Flip had already made you come once when he slid his fingers into you, continuing his ministrations on your clit with his mouth. His movements were much rougher than what they had been before, thrusting them into you expertly, hitting that sweet spot of yours over and over again.

Your back arched into the air and your mouth fell open at the overstimulation. It was exquisite.

“Oh, oh, Flip. I’m gonna cum.” You whispered desperately. “Oh, God.”

You clung to his arm in an attempt to hold on to any sort of sanity but it was all for nought. Both of your hands flew to your mouth as your whole body started to shake.

Flip tried to hold you as still as he could but never let up as he flicked the tip of his tongue over your clit again and again and again. He worked you through your orgasm, never relenting as your silent whimpers spurred him on. You had such a tight hold on his hair that it made him groan, sending a wave of vibrations through you that caused you to gasp. He only stopped once your whimpers had grown in volume to a steady whine of pleas.

“You’re such a good girl.” Flip praised as he came up, pressing a bruising kiss to your lips. “You gonna let me fuck you, sweetheart?”

“Yes! Please, Flip.”

Flip took a step back so that he could unbuckle his pants, popping the button open before pushing them down his hips, letting his stiff cock slap up against his taught stomach, balls hanging heavily. He spread the wetness of you that still coated his fingers over the head of his cock, giving himself a couple of pumps in preparation.

“How badly do you want me to fuck you?” It might as well have been a rhetorical question for Flip knew the answer to that question very well. But he wanted to hear your answer. He wanted to hear your pleas as you begged him to fuck you full of himself. He wanted you to whine for his cum, to drive you so insane that you would begin to speak in tongues as the tip of him would repeatedly rub against that sweet spot inside of you.

“So badly,” You were practically breathless; completely lost just from the sight of him. Flip loved to see you like this, so dishevelled, so fuckable.

“Tell me how badly you want it.” He breathed out the command.

“I need you to fuck me, Flip, I need you to fill me up, please…” Your tongue ran over your lips at the sight of precum leaking from his tip, remembering how he tasted.

Flip stepped closer, caressing your jaw as he continued pumping his dick. Flip pressed a sloppy kiss to your mouth before the head of his cock teased your entrance, gliding through it to coat itself in your wetness before slowly beginning to stretch you inch by inch. His dick was so thick and long that you wondered if you could even take it all. The slow drive of his hips into you was driving you wild until, finally, Flip’s hips met yours as he bottomed out and the tip of him was nestled snugly against your cervix.

Flip stopped for a moment to let you acclimate, but only for a moment as he could not bear any more. He drew himself out all the way until only his tip was inside of you. You were desperate to feel all of him inside of you again so you wrapped your leg around his waist, urging him to push forward back into you and fill the emptiness that his dick left behind. Flip grinned and sank into her again.

“Shit!” You cried as Flip drove the air from your lungs as he pounded into you. He never stopped or slowed down, continuously pulling almost all the way out and driving back into you again and again in a steady rhythm. Flip admired you as your eyes fluttered close, tits bouncing with every thrust. Your pussy pulsed and trembled around his thick girth, pulling him in deeper and deeper.

He grabbed your hips tightly, sure to be felt the next day, before starting to pound into you in earnest. The desk rustled with every rut of Flip’s hips, hitting the wall behind it over and over again. Your moans were building to a crescendo and Flip attempted to silence them by kissing you. You let him swipe his tongue along the inside of your lips, swallowing your moans before they rang through the air.

Flip drove into you harder and faster, unable to control himself from plunging deeper into you. You felt too good, too hard to resist.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck,” The words tumbled out of your mouth and Flip could feel you coming closer and closer to your end as your walls tightened around him. And just when you thought that you were about to cum, Flip pulled out of you, leaving you whining for him.

Flip guided you up from the desk, turning you around and forcing your front against the desk. He let his hands slide over your ass, spreading you open for him so that he could admire you. You were glistening, folds completely soaked and puffy.

“Please, Flip.” You pleaded, needing him.

“So greedy, honey.” Flip tutted before sliding back into your pussy so effortlessly.

Flip fucked you with slow, deep strokes to begin with, relishing every little squeak and whimper that made their way past your lips as he made you feel so good. He put his hand around your neck, forcing your head up so that he could tilt your head up. He wanted to see you as he pounded into you. He wanted to watch as your face twisted in those throes of passion.

“You like that, sweetheart?” Flip chuckled as he saw your eyes almost roll into the back of your head as he hit that soft, spongy part inside of you.

“You fuck me so good.” You babbled.

His hips picked up the pace, cock beginning to hammer into you, his balls swinging, slapping your clit. Your fingers dug into the desk below you, relishing in the pain as your hips were driven into the wood repeatedly.

“I’m gonna fuck you so full, fill you up until your dripping with me.” Dirty words tumbled through Flip’s lips, praising you and the way you felt.

“You gonna cum for me?” It was so quiet that you barely heard it. “You gonna gush all around my dick, honey?” One of Flip’s hands came forward to rub quick, tiny circles at your bundle of nerves.

Your legs tremble as you cum, back arching and toes curling in pleasure. The way you grew tighter around him made him hiss as he forced himself in, again and again, chasing his own release. White, hot, searing pleasure runs through him as he finally cums, emptying himself deep inside of you, his jaw clenching and neck straining as he bucked into you. Flip groaned, making sure to pump himself completely empty.

Neither of you had heard the chime of the doorbell, but both of you would notice the one-dollar bill and change that lay waiting on the counter, left there by a fleeing patron that fell victim to hearing your combined rapture.

[strangunddurm]

Please post something? …. Pleasseeee!! You’re the best writer on this whole app!!!

Dear anon <3 Your message truly means so much to me! I've been struggling with writing for the past year and a half. Inspiration has been scarce and I've been doubting my own ability to write. Also, I'm indecisive when it comes to deciding who to write for (so if you have any preferences please send me another ask) But!! I am working on a new fic that I'm hoping to finish as soon as possible.

Here is a sneak peak:

It was common knowledge that Flip Zimmerman was utterly and completely infatuated with you. You were it for him. The one he would marry, build a house for, have kids with. You would be his end, but you were not his beginning. It was common knowledge that Flip Zimmerman was on an apparent path to sleep with everyone he could that wasn’t you. Fuck, finger, and fondle like he wasn’t an officer of the law and he wasn’t in a very public bar at that very moment. You could see his hand run along her leg, caressing it with the pads of his fingers before it disappeared beneath the fabric of her skirt.

[strangunddurm]

@w4nt-h1s-d1ck thank yoooouu!! Shameless self promo but you might also like this one 🥰🥰: https://www.tumblr.com/strangunddurm/676550428400467968/thou-shalt-have-no-other-gods-before-me

Honour thy Father

Pairing: Flip Zimmerman x fem!reader

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: Age gap (reader is if age), sexual harassment (maybe idk), PinV sex, unprotected sex, fingering, masturbation, swearing, dirty talk, possessive, mentions DUI

A/N: okaaaayyy so last repost of this. I’ve been having trouble with my fics not showing up under the hashtags but I think (hope) I’ve solved it.

Your father was the Deputy Chief of the CSPD, and with that came a larger involvement with the police department than you would care to have. Your father’s goal was to one day be the Chief of Police and he was constantly trying to impress all the right people and make sure that he was *well-liked*. This meant a too large number of BBQ’s and get-togethers being hosted at your house.

Heeding your father’s word wasn’t all that hard up until you layed eyes upon Flip. Flip Zimmerman was an enigma. He wanted to fuck you. You knew it. You could see it so clearly in his eyes.

Of course, you also knew it because he had fucked you. The first time you met he had fucked you in your childhood bedroom, 40 minutes after you had been introduced. It would’ve been quicker if your mother hadn’t called you away the first time you had tried to sneak up the stairs.

He had taken you in the bed that still had the same pink bedsheets as when you were 14 and still turning coy over the thought of kissing a boy on the cheek. He had spread you open, hooked his arms under your knees and then drilled into you so deeply that you could still feel him days later. You’d had trouble staying quiet, moans slipping out when he hit just the right spot inside of you over and over again until stars were painted behind your eyelids. His hand had covered your mouth in a somewhat unsuccessful attempt to quiet you.

Unfortunately, Flip seemed to have found some sort of moral compass after that and refused to dip his finger into your *honey pot* again. Not for your lack of trying. Your dresses and shorts had become more and more scandalous in an attempt to get Flip to give in, but unfortunately it wasn’t working.

He hadn’t given you a reason for why he couldn’t fuck you again, he just made up excuses whenever he was alone with you for why he had to leave.

A normal person would’ve taken a hint and given up, but not you. Especially not after you “accidentally” felt his large bulge brush up against the crevace of your ass when he passed you by the grill once. Flip wasn’t exactly lacking in the dick department, but there was no mistaking how hard he got around you.

You suspected that your father might’ve had the usual “Don’t touch my daughter if you want to keep your job” talk to the department but you didn’t really care. You wanted Flip and he wanted you. Therefore, you were going to have him, no matter what your father said.

Flip was in possession of a gift that could make just about anyone weak in the knees if they ever got a taste of his cock. He was big, the biggest you’d ever had. He had stretched your walls with a burn that was addicting, and you had craved it ever since.

You weren’t usually like this. On the contrary, you liked to think that people would chase you and not the other way around. But Flip was worth the chase. Maybe he liked it. Maybe he got off on the thought of you persuing him. Maybe he would lay awake at night, tugging at his cock as he thought about you. You hoped he did, because you certainly thought about him as you fingered yourself after you went to bed.

You thought that luck was on your side when Flip came lumbering through the front door after your father on a Wednesday. Apparently they needed to discuss some case they had but had ran over time at the station. Your mother had this rule that she expected everybody to be home for dinner at six o’clock every weekday. You had despied this rule when you were younger but you were loving it in that moment as it had caused your father to invite Flip over for dinner.

You were seated next to him, right across from your mother and father. You could tell that he was tense, shifting uncomfortably in his seat whenever you would glance over at him.

You pretended like nothing had happened between the two of you. Nothing at all. But you could feel your drenched panties as you smiled at him coyly.

“Are you okay, Flip?” A concerned hand was placed on his shoulder. You could feel his heavy heaves under your touch.

“I’m fine.” He sent you a tight-lipped smile and you gave him a comforting pat before returning your hand to your lap.

Flip excused himself after dinner, claiming to need a cigarette before he and your father continued with their work. You slinked out after him quietly through the back door while your parents conversed quietly in the kitchen.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” You got straight to the point. Flip looked up startled, he hadn’t heard anybody following him out to the back porch, too lost in his own thoughts to notice your quiet footsteps pitter pattering after him.

“I haven’t been avoiding you.” He sounded so tired, so defeated, with a heavy sigh being exhaled as he lit the cigarette he had been holding in his hand.

“We both know you have.” You leaned against the house wall, watching him whilst you kept your distance. He had an unreadable look upon his face and you wondered what was going on behind those eyes.

He was gazing at you with that same look in his eyes that he’d had the first time you met him. The look that made your walls clench and push throb.

“You shouldn’t be out here.”

“It’s my house.” Another beat of silence. It was like he was having an internal argument with himself over what to say next. Perhaps the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other were having a tug-o-war.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” Flip breathed out as he took a step closer after a deep inhale of his cigarette.

“I know.” You smiled up at him in delight. It wasn’t exactly news to you. You weren’t as oblivious as you acted sometimes, you were fully aware of your actions and the effect they had.

“Of course you do.” Another deep drag of the cigarette.

“Are you gonna fuck me tonight?” Flip spluttered and coughed mid-inhale as he registered your words. You watched him in indifference, acting as normal as ever, as if you asked him about the weather.

“Jesus Christ, don’t say that.” He hissed at you. Flip came closer with one large breath and his hand raised as if he was going to use it to shush you but it fell down before he could.

“What?” You wondered how long you could play this innocent act for. You enjoyed seeing him squirm. It brought you an indescribable satisfaction knowing that you were the one with just the tiniest leverage, the tiniest amount of control.

“Somebody could hear you.”

“They wouldn’t care.” They would.

“No, you’re dad would definitely care.”

“So, he had the talk with you?” Flip winced slightly. He was tapping his foot against the wood deck, the sound of it filling the air whenever there was a moment of silence between you.

“You could say that.”

“You shouldn’t listen to what he says,” you pause for a beat. “I never do.” You were so close to him now that you could smell the faint trace of cologne under the heavy blanket of smoke.

He didn’t seem put off by your closeness. Not at all; in fact, he shifted even closer to you so that you were practically chest to chest. Heat was radiating off of him in waves.

“You don’t work for him.”

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” Flip let out such a deep sigh at your question that you thought he might deflate right then and there.

He didn’t respond. He had a bad habit of not responding to your questions. Instead, he watched you with such intensity behind his eyes that you almost felt like cumbusting. You couldn’t deciper what he was thinking, but you didn’t really need to. You could read his body language like it was front-page news. You could practically see the hard bulge between his legs pulsing.

“I thought you liked fucking me, Flip?” You whispered with an innocent smile. “I miss your thick cock pumping into me. Fucking me while my parents are downstairs.” His body practically vibrated from your words and he let out a soft groan. His hand migrated toward you, coming so close to you that you could feel it hover over your leg, but never fully touching you.

“Didn’t you like how my wet pussy felt? How deep you fucked me?”

“Stop it.” His tone was curt and didn’t leave any room for talking back but you didn’t need to say anything. You knew as well as him that you were all he could think about, day in and day out.

“Do you want me to?” He didn’t answer once again so you decided to just leave it at that. You spun around on your heel and marched back in the house.

-

It felt like lip was everywhere you went. He was there behind every turn and hiding behind every door. There were so many moments where you could’ve teased him, could’ve gotten him to give in to what both of you wanted, but you wanted to make a game out of it.

That’s were Kyle came in. Kyle was the perfect boy-next-door type of guy that your parents had practically begged you to date. Perhaps it was a bit mean of you to string him along as you did but you were desperate. You knew that the news of your new “relationship status” was bound to reach Flip eventually. Your father was known for sharing unnecessary information whenever he really got going so he was bound to talk about it at some point.

You had your fun with Kyle. He was a nice guy, but maybe that was the problem, he was too nice. He went along with everything you said, aiming to please you however he could but it was all too sweet. Or well, the problem was that you didn’t want *him,* you wanted somebody else entirely. Plus, you thought the whole, dating-Kyle-to-make-Flip-jealous went on for far too long. There hadn’t been a reason for Flip to come over and he didn’t seem to be coming over, storming with rage, as you had thought he would.

But Kyle turned out to not be as sweet as you thought he was, and you found this out in the worst possible way. A call from the station was the last thing you were expecting when you picked up the phone, at least seeing how it wasn’t a call from your dad. No, it was Kyle pleading with you to come bail him out as he was currently being held under DUI charges. You wondered if Kyle was either stupid or brave having called your house seeing how it was a Saturday night. He knew that both of your parents would be home and that either of them could’ve answered the phone.

You didn’t go there to bail him out, far from it. You didn’t even want to see Kyle, but it gave you the perfect excuse for going to the station, other than seeing your dad. Flip, being the workaholic that he was, was bound to be at the station, despite it being the weekend.

You knew your way through the station like it was the back of your hand. Thankfully, the station was quiet. Quieter than it should be, but that was working in your favour at the moment so you weren’t exactly going to complain.

You saw him before he saw you. He was hunched over an endless stack of paperwork with a cigarette in his hand, looking somewhat troubled as he was talking to one of the other detectives.

He looked up startled when you knocked on the glass door.

He didn’t look happy to see you. Didn’t smile or wave or even move. Instead, his brow furrowed and he looked at you in that way he always did.

He did shoot out of his chair when you finally opened the door and he seemed to realise that you were in fact there in person. The other two men that were in the room with him watched you with wonder as you stood in the doorway and greeted them with a bright smile and a wave. Of course, you recognised their tired looking faces but their names were evading you at that moment

“Hello!” They exchanged a smile before offering you a ‘Hi’ in return.

“What are you doing here? You know your Daddy’s not here.”

“He’s not?” It was an innocent question, after all your father wasn’t there. But the way that your eyes refused to leave Flip’s form as your replied was definitely not. Flip’s eyes widened at your words, casting a hasty look at the men before he scrambled to get on his feet and usher you out of the room.

You could hear the two men’s barking laughs despite Flip having slammed close the door after him. He didn’t let you say anything before he grabbed a hold of your upper arm and hauled you into the closest room available.

It was an old storage room, littered from floor to ceiling with boxes filled with old case files and evidence. Flip made sure to look the door behind you two before turning around to face you and leaning his broad back against the door.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m visiting my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Are you jealous?” He was and he wasn’t, his eyes revealing an all-telling tale.

“He’s not your boyfriend.”

“So, you’ve heard about him.” You flashed another smile, but stayed on your side of the metaphorical line drawn in the sand. You even took a few steps back before turning around and walking further into the maze of paper stacks as you continued to conversation. You could hear Flip follow you; felt him behind you with every step.

“What are you doing with him?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know you don’t want him.”

“Is that so?” You asked absentmindedly.

“We both know so.” His touch burned as he grabbed a hold of your upper arm, spinning you around and backing you into one of the shelves. His nose skimmed across your neck as he took a deep inhale, filling his senses with the intoxicating smell of you.

“I could take you right here.” Flip said, his voice tainted with lust as he pressed up against you.

“My boyfriend wouldn’t like that.”

“Stop talking about him.” A kiss was pressed against your jugular and you let out a whine.

You pushed him a way with a gentle shove against his chest.

“I thought you didn’t want this anymore?” You smiled at him with that sort of smile that let him know that you knew exactly what his reply would be; it was obvious, after all.

“I never said that.”

“You sure made it seem like it.” You said as you crossed your arms in front of you, cocked your hip, and tilted your head as you leered at him.

“You know why we can’t, your fathe-”

“I thought I made it clear that I don’t care what my father thinks.”

Another pause left hanging without a reply. Flip was just a breath away from you, so close you could taste it. You wanted him to lose control. You wanted him to take you right there. You wanted him to lay his claim on you so that everybody knew you were Flip Zimmerman’s. But Flip, unfortunately, seemed to have been blessed with some sort of impeccable sort of self-control since your first time together and therefore would be doing no such thing at the time.

All he gave you was a kiss. It was a perfect kiss, so laced with lust and heat that it left you trembling long after he had left you alone in the storage room to eventually find your way to Kyle and the lonely cell he was housed in.

-

There was a loud pounding on the front door that startled you out of the daydream you’d been having. It was late at night and you were left to your own vices, having been left behind by your parent’s as they went out to dinner with some important person whom you had never heard of.

You approached the door in fear, heart racing as you thought over all of the possible people who could be on the other side of the door. You had grabbed the pocker by the fireplace, ready to wield it like a baseball bat, just incase the person turned out to be a foe and not a friend.

It was at times like this that you wished there was a window that you could peak out of to see who it was

You let out a frustrated sigh when you heard your name being called, recognising that unforgettable voice.

You wrenched open the door, growling out a angry “*what*?”

Flip didn’t reply with words. He was so far gone beyond words, all he could do was show you how he felt, show you through his actions the heat that burned within him whenever he looked at you.

He pressed his lips against yours, fuel by the anger that had been building within him ever since he had heard about you and that *boy*. Flip wouldn’t necessarily label himself as a possessive man, but there was just something about knowing that you weren’t his but somebody else's.

You were more than happy to let his lip dominate yours, small whines of pleasure and desperation slipping out every now and then. Your hands were all over each other, gripping and ripping the clothes of your back in a frenzy. It was a miracle that you made it up the stairs and down the hall to your room with how oblivious you were to your surroundings.

The back of your knees hit the bed with a thump and Flip pushed you down so you were sitting and then laying down on your back, gazing up at him, breath heavy with anticipation as he loomed over you.

You let out a giggle in excitement, waiting for him to make another move, craving his touch like no other. He spread your legs with a steady hand before stepping in between them.

You were a map and he was a captain, his hands tracing over your skin, exploring every crevice that he could reach. He was admiring all of you in your beauty; lips puffy and hair wild. You let out a giggle as he pressed his hips flushed against yours, that obvious bulge between his legs being hard to miss through your pyjama pants. His hands were toying with the waistband of them, tethering at the edge, ready to delve in.

“Changed your mind?” You sent him a teasing smile, the corners of your eyes crinkling as you looked up at him.

Flip took his time answering and for a second you almost expected him to say yes.

“No... No, I haven’t.”

“Good.”

You grabbed a hold of his shirt, dragging him down to connect your lips once more. His hands glided to the side of your hips, grasping and massaging them with each drag of his tongue against yours.

You let out a sigh as his hand finally found its way past fabric and came in contact with the place where you wanted him the most. An electric current ran through you, from your cunt to your cerebrum.

Flip’s fingers were just as skill-full as the first time you had felt them exploring through your lips, collecting the wetness that lingered there with a drag of his fingers.

“You’re so wet for me.” He whispered in your ear and you let out a moan in response that turned into a whine as he withdrew entirely from you as he straightened up.

“Touch yourself for me.”

“Flip I-” You were about to plead, to beg with him to come back but he wouldn’t let you.

“Touch yourself.”

Your hand had made its way into your pyjama pants and to your clit in just a few short seconds. The pads of your fingers circled your clit softly, drawing pleasure from yourself.

You stayed there, lazily letting your finger run through your folds and over your swollen nub. Flip watched your every move, every roll of your fingers, as he removed the last few pieces of his clothing, pants dropping to the ground with a clink of his belt.

He was glorious, standing in front of you with a heaving chest, cock bobbing in between his legs. He was so thick, so long, and your mouth salivated at the sight of him. You wanted him more than you had ever wanted anything in your life before.

Once your fingers were coated thoroughly in your wetness you let them dip into you, caressing your walls with long, languid strokes.

Your other hand came up to caress your bare breasts that had lost their cover somewhere in the hallway. The tips of your fingers twisted and turned your nipple, tugging gently as you kept working the hand between your legs. The palm of your hand kept grinding against your clit with every shallow thrust that you yearned to be much deeper. You remembered the feel of his fingers, how they had felt when he had taken you in that very same room so many weeks before.

“You like that, sweet girl?” His words felt like a gust of wind stroking your skin as they washed over you.

“Yes!” You replied in a shallow breath, back arching and foot hitching up to rest on the edge of the bed before falling to the side to allow your hand room to roam. It felt like your fingers were the deepest they had ever been, but it still wasn’t enough. You needed Flip, you needed his fingers to brush against that soft, sweet spot inside of you that your fingers were just out of reach of. You would always remember the feel of him, of the callouses on his fingers, how every ridge felt as he explored your walls with expert strokes, bringing you to the edge in a way you had never experience before.

“Flip, please-” You pleaded with him. He was so close yet so far away from you, just barely out of reach as he took in the sight of you.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to touch me.”

“Is that it?” A teasing smile took over your face as he leered at you.

“No! I want you to fuck me, please, Flip.”

His hand came in contact with your skin once more. Sliding from your knee to your inner thigh and towards its apex. You were so ready for his touch, eagerly withdrawing your fingers from yourself so that he could replace them with his own.

“You should see yourself,” You knew that you must’ve been a sight to see, so drunk with lust. “So pretty.”

His fingers ghosted over your clit ever so briefly before sliding down to your opening, prodding softly.

“You’re so ready for me.” You were more than ready for him. It was as if this was the thing you had waited for your entire life, the first time had just been a teaser, this time... this time would be different.

Flip slid a single finger in at first, pumping it in and out with slow thrusts, watching your face closely to see the effect he had on you.

Your hips bucked, needing to feel even more of him, but still basking in the blissful feeling of whatever he gave you.

In and out, in and out.

He seamlessly transitioned adding another finger, letting them drag over your ridged walls.

“You like that?” Flip asked with a hum and a smile.

“Yes!” You were practically breathless, your body chasing the high that you knew would be coming.

“Then you’re going to love this.”

Flip grasped the base of his thick and heavy cock, holding it steady as he slid it through your wetness, coating it in your essence. He was torturing you; your entire body was almost buzzing from the anticipation, it felt like it was eating you up, swallowing you whole.

“Put your other leg up.” You were quick to obey, your legs falling open like a butterfly’s wings for him, welcoming him in between your legs even more.

He slapped the tip of his cock against your clit three times, your entire body jolting at the sudden feeling of it Despite the anticipation of it all, it was still felt as sudden when he finally slipped the head of him inside of you. He pushed in, in one painfully slow thrust, burying his thick shaft inside of you. The entire room practically shook from the loud groan he let out as he split you open, your moan intertwining with it as they danced across the walls together.

“You feel so fucking good.” Flip let out a little laugh as he came to a stop, pelvis to pelvis, letting you adjust to the size of him. He loved the feeling of you, of your pulsing walls as they fluttered around him, and you loved the feeling of him just as much. It was addicting.

He waited as long as he could, finally moving as your hips started to wiggle, desperate to feel him drag through your walls, pushing against your sweet spot.

He wasn’t as sweet or as slow in his movements as he had been just mere moments before. His pace was fast, pulling back and pounding in to you with quick short strokes that echoed through the room.

“Fuck, Flip!” You grasped the sheets beneath your hans, bunching it up as you held on desperately with every bounce that wracked through your body.

“Feels so good.” You breathe out shakily between urgent thrusts.

“Yeah?” Flip cooed as he pulled back out.

“You like my cock? I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good.”

His thrusts were sharp and precise with an unyielding and steady tempo. His grip on your hips was so hard you were sure you would be able to feel him for days, in more ways than one. You would undoubtedly feel him with every step you ever took.

Flip pulled out so only the very tip of him was left in you, and then slammed back in, buried to the hilt in the furthest depths of you. You moaned and whined helplessly, breathlessly, sinfully.

‘You feel so fucking good around my cock.’ He praised in a groan. ‘So tight, Baby.’ Flip let go of your hip on one side, letting his hand trail to your bundle of nerves, circling it in tightly and sharply as he continued to pump into your dripping wet cunt. He had you pressed down into the mattress, your back arched as the sound of skin slapping and the wet squelches of your dripping wet pussy echoed around the room. It made you even more drenched; the mixture of your pleasure pooling around the base of his cock.

You admired how his muscles rippled under his skin with every flex as he pounded in and out. His head tilted back up to the ceiling, eyes fluttering close in pleasure.

His pelvis was rubbing against your clit in a delicious way, driving you toward the edge steadily.

You reached up, treading your fingers through his hair to pull him down slightly to connect your lips in a kiss. It was hungry, your need for one another portrayed in every nibble and pass of a tongue.

You knew you were close, you felt yourself slowly losing whatever composure you had left as your muscles tighten over the coiling tension. Your walls gripped him tighter and tighter until finally, your eyes rolled back as you reached your peak, walls spasming and moan bouncing around the room. You were seeing stars as your legs shook uncontrollably from the overwhelming feeling.

Flip was relentless as he continued pumping into you throughout your convulsing climax, determined to make you feel the best you ever had, although the pace was much slower than previously. His breaths were coming out in short pants whilst your own breathy moans as you trembled with every ram of his hips.

You were about to come, you could feel yourself teetering on the edge, ready to fall over when Flip withdrew from you.

“No, please, Flip!”

“Scoot up.”

You did as you were told and Flip came crawling up beside you, flopping on to his back with his dick bobbing in the air.

“Come here.” He extended his arms out to you, guiding you to sit on top of him. You sat right on top of his pelvis, your swollen clit pressed hard against it, sending jolts of pleasure through it with every small movement. You couldn’t help but rub yourself against him, it was an automatic response, an impulse that you couldn’t control. You could feel his dick resting against the crevice of your ass, nestled in there as it weaped.

Your hands rested on his chest as you looked down at him with a drunken smile. You didn’t need any sort of encouragement to move back and sink down onto him. You let out a gasp as you took all of him inside of you. It felt like he was even deeper than before, your walls greedily clinging to ever inch of him as he filled you up.

“Fuck...” Flip breathed out as you clenched around him. “Make yourself come on me.” He ordered, and you were more than happy to comply, quickly moving to the right position so you could easily bounce up and down his cock. Your hips snapped down over and over, hands on his chest to aid with every roll of your hips. This, to you, was the epitome of happiness, of life in itself as you were as close as one could be to another.

“Feel how tight you are around me. Your pussy was made for me.” Flip growled as he watched his cock disappear inside of your tight folds. It was a sight for sore eyes, something which he could happily watch for the rest of his life.

Your hands twitched and legs shook as you kept moving on top of him. You were so close, so incredibly close as you cried out every time the tip of him brushed against that sweet spot inside of you.

“Gonna fill you up,” You faintly deciphered him growling out as you were lost in the throes of pleasure, your mind hazy from the feeling of him.

Your clit was throbbing almost painfully and Flip, as courteous as he was, helped to relieve you of this pain, replacing it with pleasure as he tightly circled it in tune with your every move.

Flip took over as your movements began to falter, holding you steady as he drove his hips upwards, angling his hips slightly higher and driving in with vengeance. Finally, your pussy locked down onto his cock as your orgasm coated him, causing Flip to slow down just enough to enjoy the view of you; your face, the wrinkle between your eyebrows, the way your juices glistened around him as your walls fluttered. Your legs shook, your entire being quacking as your breath hitched and you saw stars whilst you fell apart. He drag it out, lazily thrusting up into you as you whined before he resumed his quick and sharp thrusts.

You had completely surrendered to the waves of your release, basking in it completely as you rested on Flip’s chest, cradled in his arms as drove up into you with his legs bent, feet planted on the mattress to propel himself into you, chasing his own release.

Flip’s orgasm washed over him with a deep jerk upward, spilling deeply into you with a guttural moan as he held you tightly to him. You moaned as the warmth of his cum filled your trembling pussy.

He slowed down, just lazily pumping in and out of you to completely milk himself dry as the last few moments of his orgasm raked through his body.

He angled your face up toward his, planting a sweet but possessive kiss on your lips with a smile.

It was too bad that your moment would eventually be ruined by a father’s angry hollering.

[strangunddurm]

Beautiful, from beginning to end.

Capital (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You think you married the plainest woman on earth, and you look away for one second and suddenly she is not. Typical. At least, for Daemon.

Warnings: Mature language, sexual thoughts, canon typical violence.

Requested: Yes! But since I am particular about my aesthetic, I didn't answer there. Jealousy + arranged marriage. Brought to you by the seven deadly sins.

Gluttony /ˈɡlʌtəni/

​the habit of eating and drinking too much.

Claw Island is as good as getting vanished from the court. You know it. Your Lord husband knows it. Even the tenants know it. Why else would the King order your marriage to Daemon Targaryen?

It was not as much of a punishment as the King had hoped. The Celtigars are a prestigious family, one of the few left with Valyrian blood. While not ones to flaunt their riches or seek for great power, you led a luxurious lifestyle.

The finest wines. Myrish rugs. The newest books. And of course, the riches from the surrounding sea. Beautiful pearls, a fleet that, while small, sailed with speed. The best foods.

The small island was your perfect little world, sequestered away from the troubles of the mainland. What else could a person long for, when they lived in a paradise? Claw Island had it all. Miles and miles of tempestuous sea, soft sands and gorgeous wildlife not seen anywhere else. Humble, but good people. Natural riches enough to last a lifetime.

But as of late, your breathtaking lands did nothing to bring you peace. Sometimes, in truth, as you walked along the shoreline, you wished for a tremendous sea wave to swallow you whole.

It would be better than this. Among the crabs, the sea life and wreckage of old ships, you would feel at ease. At home, even. And finally, finally untroubled. But things were not as you wanted them to be. With your Lord Father at court, someone had to mind the island. And no one knew the lands as you did.

You shuddered to think of something happening to you. In that case, the island, and its people, would go to your husband. Considering how much he hated it here, Prince Daemon would make a poor ruler.

You glare. He glares right back. Remembering your manners, you serve him a cut of spider crab seared in butter. The meal is rich and decadent, a show of the best Claw Island has to offer.

“Crab, Lady Wife?” Daemon raises both eyebrows. “Again?”

“What else does the Prince wish to eat?” You do your best effort at keeping your tone even. You try hard to not raise your voice at him, remembering the rumors about what happened to his last wife. So far, it seems to be working. Despite being older than you, the man behaves as a child. You have found he benefits from being managed as one, too.

Ever since you got married, he has been desperately trying to rile you up. The Prince always seemed to deflate when you refused to engage. He was clearly itching for a fight, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“You seem too willing to indulge in cannibalism for my tastes.” Daemon, in what he surely believed to be the absolute demonstration of cutting wit, smirks. You smile at him, sedate. You have heard enough remarks about crabs to last a lifetime. “It’s worrying.”

You could answer him. Perhaps make a mockery of his inability to perform in bed and the behavior of the female praying mantis. You do not. Instead, you force yourself to give him a tight smile.

“Don’t worry. I will ask the servants to bring you fish.” You took your napkin out of your lap and placed it on the table. Dutifully, you rang the bell to call for a servant.

“Again?” Daemon complained, sounding much like a petulant child. You smiled and went back to your seat. Your crab was getting cold, and it would most likely be by the time your husband’s fish was served. But good manners dictated you could not start eating without him. You resigned yourself to another night of eating a cold dinner.

“You should write to the King, my Prince. I would serve you venison, were it not for the fact that your dragon has nearly extincted the population here.” While you were by no means poor, feeding a dragon was an expense you didn’t care for, especially one so picky as Daemon’s was showing to be.

While a dragon was a marvelous creature, and having one guarding your lands was a great perk, it was also hard. Caraxes ate the same as five grown men in a day, if not more. He didn’t eat just anything you served him, either. Much like his owner, he was picky. He had come with dragon keepers, and needed to be built a shelter.

You had hoped that his serpentine appearance would mean that he would eat a lot in one sitting, then hibernate, but no such luck. Your island couldn’t keep up, no matter how hard you tried. Animals didn’t reproduce at the pace required.

“Of course, my Lady. Of course.” Daemon says, in a dismissive tone. It’s then, when a servant comes in with his fish.

Your crab is cold. Again. Daemon is not pleased with the fish, but seems wary of extending dinner even more. For once, he doesn’t complain.

Dinner is eaten silently. In your head, you make plans for tomorrow's meals. Perhaps oysters, served cold, will withstand the wait better. You finish dinner and settle down to read some before bed.

When the time comes for it, you close your book. Daemon departs with a cold kiss to your cheek. You go to your bed, just as cold and empty as the kiss was, and fall asleep.

It’s around the witch's hour when he comes back to you, getting into the bed next to you. He stinks of cheap perfumes and oils. As he pulls you closer, to be able to hide his face on your neck, you can feel the smell of sex and alcohol induced sweat. It comes from the clothes Daemon hasn’t even bothered to shed before getting in bed with you.

You don’t like him drunk. He gets sloppy. You do better when he hides his indiscretions, the proofs of your failure as a woman. As a wife. He seeks his pleasure from other bodies, never yours. With you, he is unable to perform to completion.

Perhaps the same happens to him with others, on nights like these. That thought soothes you, and it’s the only reason why you allow Daemon to seek comfort in your arms. Sometimes, he has nightmares. It’s expected then, too, that you are the one to soothe him back to sleep.

Shifting in his grip, you rub his back, gently. You card your other hand through the matted strands of blonde hair, as a mother would do to his child. In many ways, you guess he is one. You pity him, your husband. A man with a void so deep, not even all the vices in the world could fill it.

You are unable to fall back asleep. You lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling. When you hear the rooster’s first crow, you roll out of bed. Sleep is not coming for you. Daemon, unperturbed in his slumber, only sprawls more. You tuck him in.

When you get to your vanity, you catch the servants leaving the correspondence for the day on it. She giggles when you point at the bed and the mess of clothes, gesturing for silence. It makes you feel better, that they think your husband comes from the pleasure houses straight into your arms for more than just cuddles.

One of the letters catches your eye. It’s written in the strange alphabet used for High Valyrian, bearing both the royal seal and the King’s name. You don’t mean to pry. In fact, you open it because you are worried your husband has upset his brother even more.

Marriage is like being tied to a ship. When the tides are good and the ship strong, you soar above the sea. But no one wants to be tied to a sinking ship. It’s that fear what leads you to heating a knife on your candle’s flame and lifting the seal.

You read as you brush your hair, unrushed. You know Daemon won’t be awake for at least six more hours. But the more you advance, skipping polite greeting, the more your stomach sinks, and you jump from sentence to sentence.

“And while I understand your dislike of Claw Island, it is a less harsh punishment than you deserve. Much you complained of wanting a Valyrian bride, and now the opportunity presents itself, ripe for the taking. Yet, you do not seem keen on it. Is it, again, the lack of a throne you find off-putting? Perhaps, the lack of a child bride you can manipulate? Your Lady Wife might not have purple eyes or silver hair, as you mention, but she is a maiden in the bloom of youth. Tales of her beauty have graced the court, shared among the eager mouths of her family and previous suitors. Both Lord Velaryon and Lord Mooton agree that the woman is a delight, well-mannered and easy on the eyes. She has impeccable breeding and education. I will not grant you the annulment. I will not allow you to go back to your whore.”

There is a coppery taste in your mouth. Blood, you realize. From biting your tongue so hard to avoid letting out a scream of rage. It feels like being stabbed, countless times. In your back, and in your heart. Betrayal and deep, hurtful sorrow.

What have you done to deserve this? To be blindsided so? You have stood firm through all the humiliations your husband puts you through. Never once reproaching the way he goes out after dinner and does not come back until sunrise. Never complaining of his audacity to search comfort in your arms when he is drunk and stinking of whores. Never once raising your voice at the insults to your people, your home, your family.

But for Daemon Targaryen, it wasn’t enough. You would never be enough. Childishly, when you had first heard of your betrothal to him, you had hoped for companionship, if not love. At least, you thought, you would have a friend. But you hadn’t been enough of a woman to keep him in your bed, you had not been enough of the blood of Old Valyria for him to give you children, and you had not been enough for him to stay married to you.

He took from you, and took from your island and from your family, and not once was he satisfied. Not once, he was sated. And now, Daemon has done the unspeakable. Not satisfied with making a mockery out of you, with his constant unfaithfulness, he seeks to ruin you further. It’s only King Viserys who protects you and your family from further embarrassment.

You have underestimated him, pitying him while he planned your demise. The ruin of your house. You have been sharing your bed with the enemy. The thought frightens you and fills you with anger at equal parts. What will happen, when the King dies and the awful Princess with whom your husband was so taken ascends? Will you be put to the sword, accused of an imaginary crime to get you out of the way? Treason, perhaps? Hands shaking in anger, you fold the letter and reseal it as carefully as you can.

That is the day you decide you will retreat into your shell, like any good crab. You will close yourself over, put up walls and keep him as far away as you can. And you will wait for the day to stab at his heels until his physique reflects exactly the useless kind of man he is inside.

One day, this man might kill you. You will have to make sure he does not get away with it.

Envy /ˈenvi/

​the feeling of wanting to be in the same situation as somebody else; the feeling of wanting something that somebody else has.

It’s not often you are summoned to the court. But your father is about to be named Keeper of the Keys, a prestigious position often held by members of your house before being promoted to Master of Coin. The implication is clear. Soon, another Celtigar will be handling the finances of the Kingdom. It’s a ploy, to intertwine you further with the Royal Family. As soon as King Viserys dies, it will be your father who serves on Princess Rhaenyra’s council.

Hence, the need for a celebration. Traveling from Claw Island to King’s Landing is exhausting, especially considering that you do the journey by ship while your husband does so in his dragon. He seems overjoyed about it, but you can only think of how much the separate travel is costing your purses.

Daemon arrives early, because of course he does. Meanwhile, you spend your time preparing to put on the play of your life. You must be the most dutiful wife in the Seven Kingdoms, or else he might find a reason to get rid of you. Setting apart your most fashionable dresses, preparing gifts for the King and Queen and otherwise looking radiant.

Knowing Daemon, he is already whispering poison in his brother’s ear. You need to dazzle the King and the whole court, convince them you are not only an adequate wife but a perfect one. No stain must be perceived in your reputation.

You arrive punctually, just in time to prepare for the feast. It’s inside the Hall where you meet Daemon, and greet him with a kiss on the cheek. Chaste, but affectionate, performed under the King’s approving look. You are radiant in your house’s colors, with subtle references to Targaryen’s ones.

The feast is torture. Viserys, Daemon and Rhaenyra are all seated at the same table. They get along wondrously, while you, Queen Alicent and Ser Laenor are ignored despite being next to them.

The only thing that calms your heart is watching your father, sitting at the table of the Master of Coin.

“My Queen.” You say to her, hoping to curry favor. The Gods knew you needed as many allies as you could. “I brought you this.”

You take out a beautifully engraved rendition of the Prayers Book. It’s a gorgeous edition, with a gold finish. You hope that at least, if she doesn’t like it, she would think it is a gift to the babe she carries. It’s a thoughtful gift, the kind of thing you excel at.

“Oh, Lady Targaryen!” The Queen says, and takes it, admiring it in the light. Fortunately, she seems truly charmed by it. “It is the most wonderful thing!”

“I have one myself.” You tell her, as if you had not purchased it for exactly this moment. “When I heard you were from Oldtown, I couldn’t think of a better thing to bring.”

“It’s lovely.” Alicent says, as your husbands ignore both of you. Viserys and Daemon are too busy having their fun to care about what women are doing. “Will you join me in prayer tomorrow?”

“I would be delighted to.” It’s the first genuine smile you wear since your arrival. And it’s the first time that someone from the royal family smiles back.

You do attempts towards Rhaenyra and Laenor. They both ignore you, and so, you decide to keep strictly to conversing with Alicent. You decide to leave Viserys out of it, despite your gratitude to him because you would rather not look like much of a sycophant.

Your happiness at finally making a friend between your in-laws makes you oblivious to Daemon’s silence. During the whole dinner, he barely taunts you. None of the crab-based insults he so favors are present, either. That should have warned you. If you have learned something about your husband is that there is never a time when he is quiet.

He bides his time. The desserts are already served when Daemon delivers his greatest insult up to date. Some couples are even swaying to the rhythm of the music already, no matter if the tables have yet to be cleared.

“I wish to dance, I think.” Daemon says, getting up from his seat. You start to get up too, knowing you cannot refuse him, but he turns towards Rhaenyra. “A dance, niece?”

Rhaenyra preens under the attention and takes his hand. For a second, you stay frozen, hand falling uselessly by your side just when you were about to reach for him. You feel like you are being stabbed. Again.

The humiliation is so great you wish for some great disaster, perhaps one of the couples bumping against a table and overturning it, just to get the attention away from you. Half the hall has now seen you get rejected by your husband. In a celebration meant to honor your father, nonetheless.

You struggle to keep your face emotionless, curved into a polite little smile. You have made a fool of yourself. Hot tears gather in your eyes, threatening to spill.

Noticing your despair, Alicent places a hand on your arm, softly.

“Thank you, Lady Targaryen.” She exclaims, loudly. “With the babe getting bigger and bigger every day, I find it harder to stand. You are very thoughtful.”

Her rescue, as she stands and walks down the dais, helps you save face. Your smile turns more genuine.

“It’s but good breeding, my Queen.” You answer, just as loud. “What kind of noble could see a Lady of your station and not aid her?”

Alicent smiles, and she cradles her stomach.

“Indeed. Only a savage, I would think.” Her glance at her own husband is unmistakable. But Viserys is too busy watching Rhaenyra and Daemon dance to help his pregnant wife. His eyes never leave his brother and daughter, his expression twisted into one of annoyance.

Alicent makes her way towards a table where a few knights sit. Most of them are from Oldtown, and you cannot help but smile at her doing the rounds her husband so neglects. But her rescue, and quick exit, leave you in an uncomfortable position. King Viserys and Ser Laenor are engaged in conversation, including you only when they remember your presence, which means once every half an hour.

Without Queen Alicent, you have no conversation partner. The only thing you can do is watch. Daemon twirls around the room as if he were not a married man, taking every eligible bachelorette in the room for at least one dance. He is enchanting, pulling blushes left and right. He dances twice with Rhaenyra and Laena Velaryon.

You play your part to perfection. Each time he glances your way, you give him an indulgent smile or a sweet tilt of your head. Even when he dances again with Rhaenyra, your expressions don't shift. Instead, you lift your cup to them and even find it in yourself to give a small clap.

It’s torture. It’s exhausting, having to play the devoted but never jealous wife, when he is doing his best to embarrass you. Finally, the King retires, but orders that the celebrations do not stop. You consider making your way towards your father, uncaring if leaving Laenor sitting on his own is rude.

Just as you are getting up, a knight, dressed in a fine green gambeson, steps in front of you. You look up at him, wondering what he could possibly want.

His voice is soft and eloquent, with the barest hint of an accent. His voice reminds you of someone, but you cannot quite place who.

“Lady Targaryen. You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.” You answer him, politely. Is he about to ask you for a dance? Is this a ploy for your husband to embarrass you further?

The knight smiles. He is tall and slender, very different from your husband, yet handsome just the same.

“If I had a wife as pretty as you, she wouldn’t be sitting here.” He compliments, and startles a laugh out of you. It has been months since the last time a man complimented you so. Before marrying, you had quite the suitors, but no one dared practice courtly love with the Rogue Prince’s wife. And your husband never once spoke to you kindly.

It’s a thrill, to feel wanted and appreciated again. You love having his eyes on you. It fills you with a forgotten kind of confidence. As the daughter of the man whose star in court is rising, as a beautiful woman and as the wife of a Prince, you deserve to be admired. It’s not your fault your husband can’t see it, you are desirable. People should be currying for your favor. You shouldn’t be begging for the scraps of a man whose only interest is his niece.

“Would she be on the dance floor?” You tease the knight, falling back into the practiced flirtations that had made you so popular before. You feel like you are glowing again.

The knight shakes his head, a hint of mischief appearing in his brown eyes.

“I would forbid her from leaving my chambers.”

At that, you laugh again, blushing. Despite how charming he is, you are still a married woman. You cannot give anyone reason to suspect or judge you, else Daemon might have basis to rid himself of you.

“I am not your wife.” You say, politely. The knight gasps, as if wounded, making you laugh again. You do not realize someone is glaring daggers at you, entranced as you are by him. “But perhaps a dance might suffice?”

The knight gives you a cheeky grin. He takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, gently.

As he leads you towards the dance floor, you barely notice Daemon looking disgruntled on the edge of it. You look over and see Rhenyra dancing with some tall and broad knight. He is probably jealous of him.

“You must give me your favor, for tomorrow's tournament. We are, after all, celebrating your family.” The knight says, making you focus back on him. His eyes are brown and kind, so soft. They remind you of someone, but once again, you can’t tell who.

“Ah, I see you are a tough negotiator.” You tease, your tone turning slightly more girlish. This time, it is the knight who laughs.

“What can I say? It’s in my blood.” The man winks, as he starts to twirl you around.

“I think, my lord, you have yourself a deal.” You grin.

It’s only when a Hightower knight approaches the stands the next day and offers you his lanze, you realize the mistake you have made.

Wrath /ræθ/

​extreme anger.

Daemon can’t believe his ears. Out of nowhere, a sweet sound reaches him. It’s the sound of a Lady’s laughter, but something about it makes him turn his head.

Perhaps, the fact that the sound has managed to catch his attention at all, despite the loud music, chatter and other laughs. Perhaps it is that the sound is familiar to him. He doesn’t know what it is, but as the piece finishes, he steps aside and tries searching for the source.

It’s then he sees you. His wife. Glowing and laughing on that Hightower cunt’s arm. And no, it’s not Alicent he is referring to. Otto’s spawn seems to have a proclivity for you because this is the other one. The elder.

Gwayne. His hands all over you, a gentle touch to your lower back to guide you forward. And are your eyes brightening? For him? As you pass by Daemon, you barely spare him a glance. He manages to hear a piece of the conversation.

“Your favor, for tomorrow's tournament…” The man has the gall to ask, as if he could win you the flower crown! The nerve of that Hightower pup, to think himself able to win. It’s clear he doesn’t remember the last time he faced Daemon, and while he was already planning on entering, now he knows with absolute certainty he is competing. Gwayne Hightower seems to have forgotten his lesson. He needs to remember his place.

“… Tough negotiator…” Your cheerful voice answers. Probably telling him he has to win if you do so because you are Valyrian and proud like him. Surely, the idea of getting crowned Queen of Love and Beauty appeals to you. You want a flower crown? Daemon will get you the damn thing.

When he was no more than a boy, his father used to have a particularly overzealous hound. Daemon had taken great delight in setting him free just when ladies were visiting. The dog loved sniffing beneath the ladies' skirts and humping their legs. The whole scene often ended up with Daemon getting yelled at, either by the ladies or their husbands. Now, as he looked at the proverbial dog humping his wife, Daemon understood why the ladies' husbands were so enraged.

He should cut his hands. Hightowers. No sense of shame at all, with their whorish ways. They were all the same. There went Alicent, throwing herself at Viserys when poor Aemma was not even in her pyre. There went Gwayne Hightower, placing his paws all over you and trying to charm you when Daemon was still in the room.

Couldn’t he tell you are his? It’s not that Daemon likes you, but it’s an affront to his honor. You are the wife of a Prince. The mere fact that a measly knight thought he could compare it’s outrageous. And the fact that he dared touch you! The nerve!

It’s Daemon who shares your bed, back in Claw Island. It’s Daemon you hold during the night, who pays for your silly little dresses. It’s for him you have clearly gotten all pretty today. How dare he, that Hightower fool.

He can’t have you. Gwayne Hightower is not allowed to just swoop in and try to steal his woman. You are meant to sleep by his side, be his solace. You are not the kind of woman for whom a simple knight would be enough. Just like him, you love the lush life. Could Gwayne Hightower buy you a dress like that? Could he use a dragon to protect your little island?

Daemon clutches at his cup so hard, he thinks he might bend the metal. You are his bride. He is the only one allowed to have you. If he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to, but it doesn’t mean someone else can.

Rhaenyra approaches him again, no doubt wanting another dance. But not even her allure, which is usually so hypnotizing to him, manages to get him out of his bad mood. He hates when other people touch what is his.

Daemon decides to retire for the night, before she can reach him. He needs to think. How he longs for your shared rooms back at Claw Island. At least that way, he wouldn’t spend the night tossing and turning, wondering if the Hightower cunt escorted you back to your rooms, and if so, at which hour.

Strange, isn’t it? Such a small act can cause such a big shift in perspective. So many months, he had spent thinking of Claw Island a prison, longing to be able to come back to court. Now, he sees it as it was. A shell made to protect the most valuable pearl the sea had produced.

Had Daemon known men at court would try to steal his bride, he would have never authorized this trip. Your father could have been named Hand, but you would have never stepped foot outside your castle if Daemon had known. You would not be taken with Gwayne Hightower if he had a say in it.

He had a plan. The knight would make a fool out of himself. Daemon just had to encourage him in the right direction.

Daemon is up and about as soon as the sun is. He strolls towards the space prepared for the tournament, armor in hand. He changes slowly, giving plenty of time for Gwayne Hightower to arrive.

The foolish knight does. So do you, sitting next to your father in the stands, all pretty and glowy under the sun. You wear a red gown that compliments not only your skin tone, but pays homage to both of your houses. After all, both House Targaryen and Celtigar have red on their coats of arms. A clear show that you were meant to be his, and his alone. What would you even look like, if you were married to a Hightower fool? Red and green would look hideous in a dress.

As the highest-ranking competitor, Daemon gets to make the first challenge. To no one’s surprise, he picks Gwayne Hightower.

Daemon waits with bated breath, already seated on his horse. Does the man dare? Oh, he dares! The Hightower cunt gallops towards the stands. You don’t rise, looking towards the Hightower whore. It’s then he realizes you must be truly innocent. You are either doubting the boldness of the man or are not aware of his house, and do not recognize him under the armor.

But as Gwayne Hightower reaches the stand, Daemon close on his heels, he takes off his helmet. You gasp.

The Hightower whore makes a move as if to get up. Her brother’s voice cuts her off.

“I was hoping to get a sign of your favor, my Lady.” The man says to you, and your eyes widen. You stand, shakily. You look at Daemon, then at the cunt, then at him, then back at the cunt. Daemon arches an eyebrow, visor lifted. “For you have already struck me with your beauty, and the fact that you cannot be mine. Allow me the consolation of placing a crown of flowers upon you, and soothe my wounded heart.”

You gasp at the bold declaration. Daemon has to admit it, the cunt has some nerve. Not only has he praised you in ways that are too bold even for a couple courting, but he has slighted Daemon in front of the whole court. He has made explicit mention of your marriage to him.

Viserys eyes him warily. Daemon scoffs. The distrust is unnecessary. Why would he slaughter the Hightower now, when he has the chance to plummet him into the ground without consequences in just a few minutes? Besides, it would be in bad taste, slaughtering the brother of his sister-in-law.

Your father urges you forward, with a forced laugh. You grasp one of the favors from your box, which has only two, and place it upon the Hightower’s lanze. The pretty ribbons sway in the wind. White and red from House Celtigar proudly displayed.

Daemon clears his throat, and presents his own lanze.

“How touching.”

You ignore him, as Rhaenyra approaches. Surely thinking how he will want to wear her favor, after his rejection of last night. Curse him, Daemon thinks. He should have danced with you. If he had known that up jumped son of a rat was going to try his luck, you would have not left Daemon’s arms the whole night.

“Thank you, niece. But today I fancy wearing my wife’s favor. For it would be a shame for her to be lacking her crown once her champion undoubtedly disappoints.” He loudly declares, uncaring if his niece’s face falls. Rhaenyra will get over it. But this has turned into a manhood competition. He can’t let Gwayne Hightower, of all people, win.

“Can I do that?” Daemon hears you whisper towards Viserys and his whore. “Can I have two champions fighting each other?”

Viserys, as if this is the most fun he has had in a while, answers cheerfully.

“Of course, my dear girl.” It probably is the most fun he has had in a while. Really. It must be very amusing to him, after hearing Daemon complain about you for months. Who would have known he would have to fight some Hightower for your attention? Laughable, really. A Prince groveling. “Double the chances for you to get the flower crown, is it not?”

“Of course.” Your father jumps in, clearly trying to prevent a scandal. “Go on, love. Give the other one to your husband. If more are needed, we will get more ribbons.”

You approach Daemon, pretty little favor on your delicate hands. You smile at him, pleasantly. But this close, he can tell you are shaken by the power play happening right in front of your eyes.

Daemon lowers his lanze as you stretch to place your ribbons. You give him a confused and hurt look. He stretches closer.

“Save that one.” Daemon says, as he places a hand on your hair and pulls out the red ribbon that holds it back. “I’m your husband, I get some privileges.”

His gesture makes you laugh. Daemon feels on top of the world. He gives a superior glance to the Hightower cunt, as if saying: Look at me, I do not need half your effort and get double the results.

Daemon is not so deluded as to think the laugh is more than half nervousness and half playing the part of the dutiful wife you are, but to Daemon is still a win. He can see why the other lords want you. With your hair loose, smiling and with your skin glowing from the sun, you are actually quite pretty.

He ties the ribbon around the pommel of the lanze.

“A kiss, for good luck?” Daemon knows he is pushing, but cannot help but be smug. His pretty wife gave him her hair ribbon to tie around his chosen weapon, for all the court to see. Smugness radiates out of his pores.

Without any expectation, the sweet peck you give him is even more of a delight. Even more sweet is the disgruntled look on Gwayne Hightower's face.

Safe to say, the man gets unseated so fast, it has to be the quickest defeat ever registered. The crunch he makes as he falls from his horse it’s the most satisfying sound Daemon has ever heard. The crowd gasps and cheers. The man does not get up.

That will teach him, he decides. Gwayne Higtwoer will never again even look your way. Daemon turns his horse back around, ready to face his next opponent, but it’s stopped by the pages.

“Ser Gwayne Hightower has requested to continue with the sword.” At that, his blood boils. He nearly jumps off his horse, discarding the lanze and unsheathing Dark Sister.

“What will it be, boy? First blood?” He saunters towards the man, and the sight of him this close only serves to anger him more. He shares Otto’s slender build, tall and slight. In Hightower armor, he even looks like him. Daemon is going to enjoy this.

“Why stop there?” The knight asks, hatefully. “Until one of us yields.”

“As you wish.” Daemon charges, forgoing his shield. He is just too angered for politeness. This is not jousting anymore, it’s his hate for Higtowers, and the fact that this man has tried to take something that’s his. He should have never looked your way. Never. And if it’s up to Daemon, perhaps he will leave the arena without the ability to repeat the feat.

The fight is quick and dirty, but even when he has disarmed and cornered him, Gwayne Higtower refuses to yield.

“What are you..?” Daemon asks, utterly confused because the little savage is grabbing Dark Sister with gauntled hands and pulling.

“Just as marriage is not an excuse for not loving…” He grins, teeth bared in a feral little grin, and Daemon lets go of his sword in surprise at the boldness of the fool. “No weapon is no excuse for yielding.”

He loses it, then. Later, he will only remember red. Daemon throws himself at him and starts punching him, until the asshole goes limp on his arms and has to be pulled away from him.

Only the fact that the Hightower fought back is what allows him to keep participating in the tournament, instead of being exiled again. The split lip and bleeding eyebrow do serve to build a case in his favor.

He wins the tournament without any opposition. With bloody hands, he places the flower crown on your head. Your horrified look is not as satisfactory as he would have thought.

Pride /praɪd/

the feeling that you are better or more important than other people.

Daemon manages to get a hold of you before you vacate the stands. You are trying to avoid the crowds, waiting patiently in your seat. He doesn’t allow it, urging you towards his chambers with a firm grip on your wrist.

Some other ladies titter and giggle, pointing towards the two of you. No doubt, they think he is about to ravish you. They are not wrong.

It’s not often Daemon feels desire for you. In truth, while you have a pretty mouth and a soft body, you do little for him. But today, you are enchanting. The flower crown still sits atop of your windswept hair, making you look like a forest nymph. There are a few red stains along your temple, left there by Daemon’s hands when he placed the crown on top of your hair.

Never has there been a woman more deserving of the title of Queen of Love and Beauty. As you walk with him down the halls, he feels a smug sort of satisfaction. Here is the woman half the court wants, Daemon wants to scream. Here is my wife.

The feeling is not unfamiliar to him, but it is in relation to you. His possessive nature so far has only extended towards members of his house. The lust is new, too. Daemon has experimented it many times, but never towards whom he should.

As soon the door closes after you, he kisses you forcefully, only for you to shove him away.

“What are you doing?” You ask, as you spit out some of his blood. You are remarkably strong, having been able to push him while still in armor. But what shocks him the most is the fact that you did it at all. Months of marriage and you have done nothing but smile, regardless of what Daemon does.

“Shh, Lady Wife. Nothing unusual, I assure you.” He pulls you back in, kissing along your neck. This time, you push him even harder.

Daemon stumbles and blinks, hard. Are you rejecting him? He sits down on the bed and takes off his helmet. He has beaten the Hightower fool half to death and won you the silly flower crown. Why would you reject him?

“You prefer him, don't you?” That has to be the answer, surely. You must be having an affair with the cunt. Why else would you reject him? It’s not allowed. While Daemon is not particularly keen on forcing you, you are his wife. He has a right to your body, and you shouldn’t deny him. You know it. Never before have you refused him, due to the same reason. So this must be something else.

“What nonsense are you on, now?” You barely lift your eyes from your work, busy with pouring some water in a bowl and taking out clean linens. Efficiently, as if a seasoned healer, and not a soft lady from Claw Island, you rip them apart.

“Don’t play daft, wife.” Daemon reproaches, scowling. Your innocent act is starting to tire him. You can’t possibly believe him so dumb. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“If this is about Ser Gwayne…” You start and he feels the urge to scream. He can’t help but cut you off.

“Of course it is! Of course it is about that fucking Hightower.” Daemon’s voice goes high-pitched, imitating yours. “Ser, Ser.” He rolls his eyes. “How easily they hand titles now. Is every scum in this realm a knight?”

Your face doesn’t even twitch. That is one of the things about you that drive him to insanity. No matter what Daemon says, he never seems to get a reaction. It’s infuriating. You are all manners and dimples, even in the face of the most vile insults he throws your way. You either have no honor, letting him stomp all over you, or you think him right. Pathetic. Even the Bronze Bitch bit back.

His nostrils flare. Softly, you step between his parted legs and dab at the cut on his brow with a soaked linen. Ever dutiful.

“You do know adultery is a crime.” Daemon says, in a low, threatening tone. You give him a pleasant smile, squeezing water out of the cloth. It runs red and fast down your wrist.

“So is incest.” Your voice is far too cheerful for someone who just got accused of a crime that’s punishable by death if he so chooses. And not only that, but you have the nerve to threaten him.

“I am a Targaryen.” Daemon practically growls. You glare at him. He should be angry, but instead, his loins seem to heat up. Who can fault him? Any man would feel the urge to take you over and over, when faced with those eyes and those lashes.

Surely, after it, you would understand you were his and not Gwayne Hightower’s. It was not such an ambitious plan. Perhaps a lesser man would have trouble with it, but not Daemon. Give him ten minutes between your legs and you would be singing his praises.

“And I am a Celtigar.” His pause has allowed you enough time to form a retort. You press down on the cut on his brow with a viciousness that startles him. Daemon winces in pain. No getting distracted, he notes. Less you murder him when he is not paying attention. “To stifle the blood flow.” You explain, but Daemon can see the bloodlust in your eyes. You want him to hurt. The past few months have not gone in vain, it appears.

“Mine, you are mine.” He replies, gruffly.

You let go of the cloth, hands on your hips. Your mouth opens and closes, astonished.

“You don’t have any right to speak those words to me.” How he longs to grab you and show you exactly who is in charge. There you are, screaming! You! The woman who Daemon doubted knew how to make sounds louder than polite conversation. “Am I not the bride you never wanted? Your chain? Well then, sail free. Go!” You scream, and Daemon needs to pick his jaw off the floor because never has he seen you this angry.

Are you screaming at him? He feels the urge to pinch himself, to see if he is dreaming. But the way you are pointing your finger towards the door seems very real. Still a bit confused by the sudden personality change, Daemon does not obey.

It feels like a dream. Like stepping into a parallel world. The words that come out of his mouth are spoken by a stranger, and he can only watch as you turn more and more furious.

“No. Come here.” Daemon grabs at your gown, trying to pull you into him. He doesn’t really know what he is going to do if you budge. Place you in his lap and placate you with a kiss? He doesn’t get to find out. Grabbing you has clearly been the wrong move.

You slip out of his grip with a harsh jerk. Daemon is not as young as he used to be, but the sight makes his lust bubble up. You are alluring when angry, all passionate lines, and bloody temples. Valyrian, in a way you had never been before, with your darker coloring and soft manners. Yet, when mad? You are a conqueror goddess made flesh.

“No! I will not. I am not yours. We might be married but I will…” You stomp your foot at him, all angry little crab. For the first time, he sees fire in you.

Such a shame this is the moment you chose to grow a spine. He couldn’t understand where you had been all this time. So many months wasted with the meek little wife, when he could have had you instead.

Why had you decided to show you had a personality now, of all times? It was not fair, if it was for that Hightower cunt.

“Why Gwayne Hightower? Out of all the men on earth?” Daemon mutters, clearly not low enough because you answer him.

“This is not about Gwayne Hightower.” You glare, crown of flowers balancing precariously on top of your head. As you move, a few petals fall down. Angry little dryad that you are, you bat them away.

“If not, what is it about?”

“You!” You scream at him. It’s hateful, it's rage filled, it’s everything you are usually not. A true Valyrian goddess, letting mere mortals feel her might. Daemon would have enjoyed the display more if he wasn’t the mortal in question. “I forgot what it felt like to be wanted. To be looked at as someone who was desirable. Do you know how I have felt? Begging for scraps of attention, trying to make this work?”

“Wife…” He pleads because now there are tears in your eyes, and while Daemon doesn’t do begging, he doesn’t do comforting either.

“Do not call me that! Didn’t you petition for an annulment?” And how had you found out about that? While he had not been exactly secretive with his correspondence, he didn’t believe you to be proficient in High Valyrian. He has no time to ponder on it because you intend to go further. “Well, you are in luck! I will make my own request!”

“Viserys will not allow it.” Even if Daemon has to go beg him on his knees to not grant it, you are not annulling this marriage. Not when he is just starting to see the real you.

“Fine! Then I am going back to Claw Island. Stay here.” You scream, and you look so determined it scares him. For a second, he actually thinks you have the power to ban him from the island and force him to stay, giving you plenty of time to receive visitors. Male visitors, all surrounding you, courting you, as if he were already dead and not just exiled.

“Look. I’m sorry. Can we start over?” Daemon offers, in his most pleading tone. He has not apologized since… Gods. He barely remembers how to do it.

“You made me forget I deserved more than scraps.” You laugh at him, as his first apology to someone in more than ten years is the funniest joke existing. Then, enraged. “It will be a cold day in the Seven Hells, when I give you another chance.”

Hurt. He realizes, as you throw the flower crown at his feet and slam the door. Hurt. You are hurt, not angry. He has done the worst thing a man can do to a woman. Damage her pride.

Lust lʌst/

very strong sexual desire, especially when love is not involved.

Much to your dismay, every time you try to speak alone to the King, you are swiftly intercepted. If it’s not Corlys Velaryon asking you to help him pick a book in the library, it’s your Lord Father summoning you to his chambers. It seems like the whole palace is in it because even Princess Rhaenys asks you to stroll with her through the gardens when you lurk too close to Viserys’s chambers.

Daemon was smarter than you thought. He had taken to using your own weapons against you. The need to be polite kept you from rejecting all these new invitations, and so, you often ended up stuck an entire afternoon with nonsensical plans.

As time passes, your rage starts to subside. Much to your disgust, it morphs into shame. You cannot believe how you lost control in front of Daemon. Everything you have worked so hard on could vanish for a single afternoon pf foolishness.

You would rather not be his enemy. When the time comes for the two of you to go back to Claw Island, Gwayne Hightower is still bedridden, despite it already being days. Daemon is a dangerous man to cross.

Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem angry, or even resentful. In fact, your husband has never been more attentive. With the talent of existing just at the right moment, Daemon appears at your side each time there is a door to be opened or a chair to be pulled.

“No one has ever seen him like this.” Queen Alicent marvels, as he watches him go fetch you a blanket in case the room is too cold for your liking. “Whatever you did to him…”

“Nothing, I assure you.” You answer, sternly. You don’t want her getting funny ideas, like that you are dabbling in witchery or the Seven knows what. It’s not something you can afford. Already balancing on a tightrope after the fight, any accusation could be your ruin. You do not trust Daemon’s change of heart. He is probably just biding his time.

Noticing something is amiss, Daemon comes back with the blanket, wrapping it around you. Alicent falls quiet.

Daemon stares at you, his hands lingering on your back more than necessary. He seems to be taking you in. His eyes fixate on your bosom a tad too long before you realize what he is doing, and you cover yourself more with the blanket.

Your cheeks heat up. You cough. Alicent’s brows raise.

“You are so beautiful, wife.” Daemon says, a bit dumbly.

“And you are a fool.” Your response is heated, and stupid, too. But you feel too embarrassed to care. Alicent is still sitting there, with a scandalized look on her face. Anyone would be ashamed to be the object of such obvious ogling, much less when they have never been exposed to it.

You are unused to this side of your husband. At most, when trying to consummate, Daemon would glance at you with disdain and proclaim it was all your fault. His eyes would never watch the heaving of your chest as you breathed, or the sway of your skirts when you walked. Were you superstitious, you would have thought him a man possessed.

Daemon laughs, either at your comment or your expression. It’s good, you suppose. At least he has not taken offense. You would have thought he would be angered, never one to suffer affronts to his pride without reacting.

“Your fool.” He leans down and places a kiss on your forehead, before walking away.

You stare at him. Alicent stares at you. Neither says anything. You are not sure what to make of it. It’s strange. It’s him now, who serves you dinner. The choicest cuts of meat, the sweetest of wines and meads, never asking for anything in exchange.

He has gotten unusually affectionate. Or possessive. Whatever it’s going through his mind, you don’t know. Daemon has never been open about his thoughts and feelings with you, unless they stem from displeasure.

Perhaps it’s a burst of boastfulness. He flaunts you, a hand on your waist, lower arm, whatever he can get away with. He is suddenly interested in the dresses you wear, commenting on them and gifting you new ones just because he thinks they would suit you. You do not miss the fact that the dresses are always in his house’s colors or styles he personally favors, with intricate needlework and embroidery.

It’s interesting. Once again, his testing of boundaries seems to come back. His hands are always playing with the curls at the nape of your neck, or the folds of your skirt. You have even caught him toying with the buttons of your bodice. It borders on the inappropriate.

“You are pushing it.” You say to him when his hands curls around yours as you dance. He is supposed to keep his hand extended for this step. He doesn’t seem to care. The other guests give him amused looks. No one is about to chide a Prince for his lovesick behavior towards his wife. Especially in a goodbye feast for the couple.

In truth, you are starting to think most of the fathers at court are relieved. If the Rogue Prince is chasing after his wife, then he is not chasing their daughters.

“Holding your hand is pushing it?” Daemon holds your hand more securely, as he makes you spin. This is another new and unexpected development. Now, he only dances with you. No heated looks at Rhaenyra, no longing glances towards Laena. You are not sure how you feel about it.

“It is. You are inconveniencing everyone.” You say, as he spins you again with a flourish. Despite wanting so badly to keep being cross with him, you cannot help but laugh with childish delight. What girl doesn’t want to be twirled around and made to feel special? “You are supposed to exchange partners.”

The balance of the dance has been thrown off by his refusal to let go of you. Any time there needs to be a switch, the couples flounder around the two of you. It’s childish on his part, but he seems unwilling to let you dance with another man.

“Oh, you haven’t seen me pushing it yet.” Daemon laughs, and pulls you in until your body is flush against his. It’s improper and probably not allowed. Scandalous, even. Yet again, no one is about to say anything.

Much less you, suddenly realizing that being pressed so close to Daemon is quite enjoyable. He smells surprisingly clean this evening. No trace of alcohol on his skin, or other women’s perfumes. Instead, he smells of the soap he usually favors and some sort of aromatic oil.

“Will you push further, then?” You raise your brows. It’s sort of amusing that Daemon is trying so hard. You would have not taken him for the seducing type, not when he had been so keen on dissolving your marriage.

“I will.” Daemon leans in, to whisper in your ear. His voice is low, thick with desire. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I want you. I burn for you. I need you in my bed, on top of me, under me, any way you will let me have you.”

You give a scandalized little gasp, softly hitting his shoulder. Daemon grins, pulling you in even more. The two of you are so close, you imagine you can feel his heart beating against yours.

“I’m not done.” He chuckles, leaning in to kiss your jaw. Daemon’s lips trail kisses towards your ear, teasingly blowing some air against it. “I want to spend the nights feasting between your thighs, on the valley of your breasts…”

“Stop it! We are in public.” You squeak, yet you look up at him like a flower searching for the sun. The attention he bestows on you is flattering, and you can't help but want to hear more.

“Do you want to hear a secret, wife? Every time you walk, I find myself lost in the sway of your hips. I want to drown on it. Drown on you. Until no trace of another remains, until the taste of your lips is the only thing I know.”

By this point, your skin feels so hot you worry you are about to combust. You gape at him. Not only has he dared to make a bold declaration, but he has done so in a room full of people.

You take a moment to gather yourself. Daemon could be bluffing for all you know, and so, you decide to match him. You brush your thumb against his cheekbone, feather-light.

“Then do it. No one is stopping you. Come to bed. Drown on me. Drink me, take me, ravish me.” You are trembling, and you only realize it when Daemon holds you tighter against him. You feel feverish, voice lowered to an urgent whisper. “Give me Valyrian sons, to hold my island when we are both gone.”

“No. No.” He says, against the curve of your neck, embraced much closer than the dance requires, making a spectacle. “I want them to have your smile and your eyes, and that infuriating curve of your shoulder. Give me daughters with your smart mouth, and your even temper. I want them to be proof of the love I had for you.”

You tremble more. Love. He really said… Oh, by the Seven.

“You are shaking.” Daemon kisses your brow. “Don’t. Unless it is from pleasure.”

Laughter rings in your ears. It's yours, but it feels foreign. You are too stunned to think clearly. Daemon tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Are you still there, Lady Wife?” He taps at your lower lip with his thumb. There is a teasing tilt to his smile, but his eyes are nervous. Vulnerable. Daemon was clearly not planning on confessing tonight. “Or have I broken you?”

“Prove it.” You say, still caught up on the love part. His declaration has sent your mind reeling, and shown you all of your latest interactions in a new light. You don’t know if Daemon knows what he is doing. He is a deeply passionate creature, much like his house’s sigil. Daemon doesn’t do infatuations, nor does he do dislikes. He loves or hates, and there is no in between.

“I will.” He promises, playing with a stray piece of hair that has fallen out of your up do. “Our whole lives. But perhaps I can start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You frown, puzzled. You even pull back from his embrace to be able to look at his face. What an odd thing to say. Despite it, you admire the utter shamelessness he has about it. Were it you the one accidentally confessing, you would be a bundle of nerves.

Daemon doesn’t even blush. Of course, there is the small fact that he believes himself to be the Seven’s gift to humankind. You suppose if you believed yourself to be irresistible, you wouldn’t be nervous either. Cockiness wasn’t something you thought did it for you, but it seemed like you were learning new things every day.

“You will see.” Daemon smiles. You let him keep his secret, figuring it can’t be anything that bad.

You discover what he means when you arrive at Claw Island. A dragon egg waits for you, the fireplace clearly modified in a hurry, judging by the new stones and bricks that were added to the hearth.

“Even if it never hatches, I want you to have it. For you are as Valyrian as we are, and I was a fool not to see it sooner. You are worthy. It should have been on your cradle as a child.”

Greed /ɡriːd/

​a strong desire for more wealth, possessions, power, etc. than a person needs.

The way his eyes trail after you now, it’s quite unfamiliar. Not lust, nor disdain. Something entirely new. Heavier.

Your afternoons have been filled with new entertainment. You coo at the egg, holding it over the fire. Sometimes, Daemon kneels beside you and helps you hold it, making a game of it. How long before either of you gets burned? How long can you endure, hands so close to the fire, before you are yelping and giving it to him?

When you think he is not looking, you speak to it in High Valyrian, whispering soft promises of how loved him or her will be once it hatches. There is no doubt in your mind it will. Perhaps not in weeks, or even months. Yet, your heart tells you there will be a dragon before your life ends.

Every night, you place the egg in the bed next to you. On your side, you curl around it, trying to share your warmth. Daemon reaches forward, sometimes. When he thinks you are asleep, his hand will curl over your waist and touch the egg, pressing it more against your stomach. You wonder what he means by it.

Does he know what he is doing? The low lullabies he half sings, half mutters under his breath indicate a yes. The way his lips curl into a soft smile against your nape show a longing that’s very much not subconscious.

Just as a pot of boiling water, the egg hatches a night no one it’s looking at it. Both Daemon and you are curled in a love seat, engrossed in a book. He is reading something about the doom of Valyria, your legs over his lap. You are submerged in a text about a man’s travels around the Free Cities.

One of his hands is wrapped around your ankle, in the sweetest of chains. Each time he flips a page, he will brush it with his thumb, softly. While not unwelcome, it’s strange. You are not used to being comforted in the same way you did for him during the first months of marriage. While Daemon doesn’t expect any kind of retribution, you find yourself granting it anyway.

The domesticity is quickly broken, however, when a strange noise fills the halls of your home. At first, you are unable to hear it through the background noise, but if you strain your ears, you can just make it out. It’s a shrill cross between a bird’s chirps and someone crying.

“Daemon?” You close your book and stare at him. Unable to help it, you get a little sidetracked, watching his face. His mouth is pursed in concentration, the candlelight giving his features a golden glow. Despite him being several years older than you, you cannot help but find him terribly handsome. Age has only turned him more distinguished. You betted he was dashing when younger, but unlike his brother, he has aged like a fine wine.

Sensing your eyes on him, he gives you a lazy smile.

“Little wife.” His voice comes out in a pleased rumble at having caught you looking. Your face heats up. Daemon's eyes shift from yours, to your mouth, then back to your eyes. You squirm under his gaze, trying to focus.

“Do you hear that?” You force yourself to utter.

“Hear what?” Daemon leans more towards you, his hand squeezing your knee. You give a small, delighted shiver. Good gods, what is it about him that gets you to turn into a puddle of want with the simplest touch?

“Some sort of animal crying.”

Daemon frowns. He tilts his head to the side, as if to listen better. You keep quiet, hoping to aid him. Then, his face breaks out in the biggest grin.

“It hatched! You amazing, wonderful woman.” He praises, pulling you into him. The hug is awkward, but it doesn’t last because you are too eager to see the baby dragon. Your dragon. You squirm out of his hold and rush out of the room, not even bothering to put on shoes, Daemon hot on your heels.

When you open the door to your chambers, you find the cutest thing ever. A baby dragon, slimy and confused, sits in the middle of his egg in the fireplace. It’s all big, dark eyes and long limbs, much like a baby horse. Unable to resist the temptation, you reach towards them.

“I do not…” Daemon tries to stop you, but the baby dragon climbs right up into your arms, curling close to your chest. Eager to touch it, you let it climb over your shoulder and nuzzle you, even if the sudden weight makes you stagger a little.

“That was really dangerous.” Your husband reprimands, trying to lift it away from you. The baby dragon snorts towards his direction, as if attempting to breathe fire. It only manages to give a cute little sneeze. Daemon glares.

“Aw, you are just like a baby.” You coo at the dragon, petting its head. Daemon looks even more disgruntled.

“Your dragon tried to burn me.” He complains.

“It’s a baby, husband. They don’t know any better.” You rub the scales on its back, soothingly. Unwilling to let go, you find yourself looking around your bedroom. “Let it stay here? Just for tonight.”

Daemon glares. You give him your biggest, most pleading eyes. He relents.

“Fine. But it’s not sleeping on the bed with us. And only for tonight.”

“Only for tonight.”

A month after, and the baby dragon is still sleeping in your bed. He has taken to laying between Daemon and you, leeching off your warmth. Daemon complains of having to sleep on the edge of the bed and his back being sore, but despite it, never once asks you to send the dragon outside with Caraxes.

The trouble starts, how not, with a trip to King’s Landing. This time, you ride with him, as a passenger to Caraxes, while the baby dragon follows. When Daemon lands, the dragon keepers fret around your baby, unsure of what to do with the unexpected visitor.

You command him to stay by your side, despite the protests of the dragon keepers. You are arguing and complaining and shielding your baby while Daemon only watches, amused.

Perhaps the commotion attracts more people, or someone calls for them, but you end up cornered as King Viserys makes his way to the dragon pit.

“What do we have here?” He asks, smiling at you. You give him a nervous look. Your dragon has gotten bigger, and so, you can not pick him up gracefully, but you usher him behind you regardless.

“Nothing, your grace.” You say, lacking your usual charm. You feel nervous about leaving the baby dragon on his own in the dragon pit. What if the other dragons don’t like him? What if he gets lonely?

With one hand, you reach for Daemon. His fingers meet yours halfway, squeezing reassuringly. More often than not, being a woman, your orders were not taken seriously. But if your husband gave an order, people would rush to obey. You hope he intercedes in your favor.

“Daemon, please.” You say, under your breath. “Don’t let them send him away. He will behave.”

“What do I gain, little wife?” He asks, interlocking your fingers together. Daemon gives his most charming grin to his brother, before pulling you into him. You go willingly, body lax and pliant for him. “A kiss, perhaps?”

“Please.” You turn to look at him, hoping to move him. This close, once again, you feel slightly distracted. Your husband smells so nice, and his hands feel so good around your waist, it’s no hardship at all. You press a kiss to his cheek.

“Must you always arrive with such a ruckus?” Viserys frowns. Daemon gives him a small smile.

“You know me.” Slowly, he starts to lead you towards the Red Keep, a hand placed protectively on your lower back. The message is clear. Daemon wants you to make your dragon follow you. You don’t even need to order it because your baby, smart as it is, is already following. The dragon keepers step back, muttering unhappily.

“Is it going inside?” Viserys point at your dragon. Foolishly, you had been hoping he didn’t notice, and so, your stomach drops. But Daemon doesn’t falter, strolling confidently inside as if he owned the place.

“He will behave. As long as no one touches her.” Normally, you despise when people talk about you as if you are not there. Currently, though, you can only feel relief that your dragon is not getting sent to sleep outside in the cold. He is just too little for it.

Viserys walks you towards his private dining room. A blonde child runs around, playing. The Princess and Ser Laenor are already there. And Alicent is even more heavily pregnant than before.

“How have you been?” You ask Alicent, sitting next to her. You half expect to be left out of the conversation as you were a few months before, and so, choose to sit next to someone who has been kind to you. The baby dragon hops on your lap when you take your seat.

Alicent looks absolutely horrified.

“Good enough.” She speaks, blinking slowly. It’s clear she cannot believe her eyes. She stares at the dragon in a mix of awe and fear.

“He is harmless.” You explain, petting it as if it were a small dog and not a baby dragon. “Do you want to pet him?”

Alicent reaches forward with a trembling hand. The dragon sniffs her, and curls to sleep again.

“… And I was thinking of changing the layout of the hall, to make sure he fits…” You hear Daemon complain, and your ears immediately perk up. Is he talking about your baby?

“So you keep it inside?” Viserys asks, sounding disbelieving.

“I have never seen such a close bond.” Daemon boasts. He sounds as if he is proud of you, you realize. It makes something warm flutter in your stomach. No longer are you the wife he never wanted and tried to get rid of. “Damn thing sleeps on the bed with us. It’s better trained than a dog, seriously. We should have given Celtigars dragons a long time away.”

“Why not leave it outside?” From where you are seated, you can’t see his face, but you imagine by his tone, Viserys is smiling.

“She will riot. She loves him as her own son.” Daemon explains. You keep your eyes trained on the nervous Alicent, who has managed to lay her hand on top of your dragon’s head. She looks about to bolt.

“Isn’t he the nicest thing?” You say to Alicent, excited. “He thinks I am his mom, or something. Isn’t it great?”

Alicent does not look as impressed as you hoped for, but she gives you a kind smile. She seems willing to tolerate your eccentricities if for the sake of not having to make conversation with Rhaenyra.

“Very nice.” She compliments. “Pretty colors. Prince Daemon was very kind, giving it to you.”

“He is.” You smile, softly. “Although he complains all the time.”

Alicent shrugs. This time, both of you tune in the conversation between Daemon and Viserys.

“Perhaps, as you build him something outside, you can distract her with an actual baby.” Viserys says. Alicent looks torn at the comment, and you can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by the topic.

It’s not something you had thought about before. Well, you had. Never with him, though. As a girl, you dreamed of being a mother, and as a woman, Daemon and you had discussed the issue of heirs already. You had spoken about it during your last goodbye feast, in this same castle. But those words had been spoken in the height of passion, and neither of you had done anything about it.

“Trust me. Next time she holds a babe, it will be a proper human one.” Daemon says, and his hand finds yours over the table. You look up at him, meeting his purple eyes. He looks hungry. Starved, even.

You lower your eyes demurely. Viserys laughs. And Daemon, greedy as he is, lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

Sloth /sləʊθ/

the bad habit of being lazy and unwilling to work.

The light filters in through the open curtains, giving the room a soft glow. Daemon’s face scrunches up, bothered by the sunlight in his eyes. He has tried to convince you to sleep with them drawn, but you are unwilling. To you, the best way to wake up is slowly, with the sun. Or so you say. He is not very convinced.

Daemon stretches. You reach for him in your sleep. He gives himself a moment to savor it, the fact that he can finally pull you closer. The dragon is finally gone from his bed, although he is no way near distracting you with a babe.

Dragons are not pets. Daemon had been taught that since the cradle, even before he had a dragon of his own. Their control over them was only an illusion, and so, they should be trusted but feared. He had lived by that rule, never once questioning it. Until you.

Watching you raise yours as if it were your own child had proven interesting. You lacked his education about them, but you made up for it by sheer enthusiasm. The fact that your dragon had not bitten your hand off yet or burned you to a crisp could only mean two things: You were some sort of forest nymph, or they were mistaken about their approach to dragons. He knew which one he thought was true.

How much was nature, and how much was nurture in their relationship with dragons? Trying to answer that question would occupy his entire lifetime. Daemon hoped that watching you gave him some insight. Even if he ended up discovering you were a nymph in disguise or some sort of goddess of the hunt. He wouldn’t regret it, fascinating as you were.

No matter how much food for thought you gave him, Daemon had been enjoying the joys of marriage. Perhaps, a little too much. Seeing you with the baby dragon had awoken some unexpected feelings. Targaryens were dragons, after all. When the time came, you would make a good mother. Not only were your instincts well-developed, but you seemed to thrive on having something to nurture.

Ah, the joys of domesticity. Daemon loves that you trust him enough now to allow him to witness you at your most fragile. Asleep and wearing a soft white night shift, you are deliciously innocent. Giving, too. You do not complain when his hands find your hips or when he pulls you flush against him. Nor do you move away when his face hides in your lovely locks, mussed with sleep.

Your expression is open and vulnerable in ways you are never when truly awake. Your eyes open just the tiniest sliver, before you hide your face on your pillow, rubbing against it like the sweetest kitten.

He adores you like this. Worships you, even. Obsessed with the curve of your hip, or the soft flesh above your womb. Daemon can’t help but rub it, hoping to manifest a child into existence without actually fucking you.

If he believed in such a thing, as so many fools in this realm did, Daemon would say this was the Seven Heavens. But he knew the truth. Just like you, who worshiped the Old Gods of Valyria, Daemon did too. How could he not when he had a tiny goddess sharing his bed?

Your nose scrunches up. You twitch. Worshiping a little nymph, now that was hard work. Especially when the nymph in question does her best to escape his personal worshiping time.

If Daemon could spend all day in bed, just like this, he would. He would trace your features with his mouth, peppering your face with soft kisses. He would feast on the soft curve of your neck, drink up all your sweet little noises. Trace a path down your soft limbs, draw nonsensical patterns on your stomach. But you are an energetic little thing, always jumping out of bed, no matter the pleasure he tempts you with.

Convincing you to stay is hard, but Daemon likes to think it’s an art he has perfected. It’s not a ritual, by any means. Each morning goes differently. Sometimes, you need to be kissed silly. Sometimes, you need to be gently worshiped and coaxed back to sleep. But his favorite mornings are the ones that go like this.

“I have to go check on the tenants, down by the shore. The rain season just started.” You complain, as he noses along your hairline. Suddenly, Daemon’s arms are empty. He opens his eyes to find you sitting up and pulling your robe over your night shift.

You look delectable in red. He should buy you more robes like that one. Especially because he is about to ruin it.

“Did you say at what hour you are going?” Daemon sits up as well, toying with the edge of your robe. You bat his hands away, playfully.

“No.” You are hurriedly standing up, perhaps knowing what comes next. Daemon grabs your robe, and pulls you back in, using all his strength.

No matter how much you try to keep your feet planted on the floor, you end up tumbling back into bed. You give a girlish shriek, a smile already forming on your face. You struggle, kicking the blankets off the bed.

“Come back here, you little minx.” He tugs you by the ankle, making you laugh. Your hair is sticking up in all directions and your chest heaves up and down with the exertion of putting up a fight.

Daemon secretly loves it. He would never tell you because you would be outraged, but he enjoys the idea of overpowering you. Perhaps, once you fully trust him, he could ask you to play like that. But for now, he takes what he can get.

“Or else what Lord husband?” You tease, still trying to escape him. More blankets and furs are sent flying off the bed. You give a mean little tug to his hair.

“That was it!” Daemon complains, and starts tickling you. The night shift rides tantalizingly up your hips, giving him an unintentional show. He feels his blood warming, arousal turning into a dull throb in his loins. Your legs kick wildly, you squirm on the bed, and your eyes fill with tears from laughing so much.

It’s only when your poor body can’t take it anymore, and you are crying from laughter that he stops. He thinks of how it would feel, to overwhelm you in a different context, make your body take and take until tears ran freely down your temples. A different sort of crown for his forest nymph, one made from her own silver tears. The visual is too much for him to take without giving himself away.

Daemon lies on top of you, smothering you with his weight. He licks a few stray drops of sweat from your neck, making you flay once again. There will be a day when play wrestling will turn into something much less sweet. That day, though, it’s not today.

“Get off!” You complain. “That’s disgusting.”

“I could eat you up.” He teases, nuzzling into your neck. It's the truth. Daemon loves the taste of your skin and your smell. If he thought he could get away with it, he would crawl between your thighs and feast on you. “You are delicious, wife.”

“Daemon.” You push lightly at him, trying to get up. Again. But your words lack their previous conviction. Daemon can tell he is getting to you. “It’s getting late.”

“The tenants can wait. Let us hide from the world a little longer.” He pleads, clinging to you. Under him, exhausted after the play wrestling, you go limp. He knows he has won then.

You spend the whole day in bed. The tenants end up being visited closer to sundown. Daemon does not regret it one bit.

[strangunddurm]

Y’all don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this one

Well I just finished Chapter 13 of What to Expect but tumblr won't let me post it??

ANYWAY HERE IT IS ON AO3!

[strangunddurm]

All on the Line - Ch. 1

Adam Sackler x Fem Reader

Words: 2.3k

Tags/CW: I’M BACK… WITH ANGST, strangers to lovers, angst and feels, semi-public sex, v fingering, oral sex f-receiving, tags will be updated

Summary: Once bitten, twice shy. You’re fucking done with love. You got your heart broken and fear the risks of opening up to anyone new, but a chance encounter at a party might just change all of that. That is, if Adam Sackler has anything to say about it.

Read it on AO3!

Summer night. Windows cracked open to the cool sky. Voices humming around you.

Little gems of condensation bead on the outside of your drink, gathering into rivulets that lazily drip down to where your hand wraps around the glass. Your gaze follows your thumb as it slides back and forth, wiping the droplets away only for them to be replenished by the heat of your surroundings.

The sound of your name draws your gaze upward to find looks of concern on your two friends’ faces.

“Babe,” Kessiah says, brows furrowed and lips slightly pouted.

“What?” you ask in a half-hearted attempt to pretend you weren’t entirely oblivious to the conversation happening around you.

She knows she dragged you here, knows you wanted nothing to do with this house party or any of the requisite socializing… but at this point, you had to be forced out of the house for your own good. She’d herded you into the bathroom for a long-needed shower and laid out your favorite outfit on your bed while you washed off the days of tears crusted on your cheeks.

Now you’re clean, dressed, upright, and around other humans, but it’s clear you’re not looking for extra credit points in the chit-chat department.

“You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?” she asks, scrunching her face in pity.

“Kinda hard not to,” you grumble.

Ezra shakes his head and huffs out a breath. “This guy treats you like dirt for months and you’re the one moping around when you split? No. It’s time to take out the fucking trash.”

You humor him with a small laugh and half a smile, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. “You’re right, you’re right.”

“I know,” he sighs.

“It still fucking hurts, though.”

“Which is why I think it’s time for a good roast.”

Keep reading

[strangunddurm]

could you do suggestive from smut list 1 with perv!eddie?

Dragon’s Lair

Eddie Munson x f!Reader

summary: after a private conversation with eddie, you find yourself waiting for anything in his favorite arcade.

word count: 2.0k+

warnings: oral sex (m receiving), voyeurism?, public sex

You tap your fingers against your arm as you stand outside of the building, staring at the door. You could turn around right now, he said you didn’t have to do this. He said your comfort was more important than some stupid fantasy. But here you are, remembering that conversation just a few short weeks ago—

Eddie’s eyes moving with his smile as he steps into your shared apartment. He hangs his van keys on the hook by the door, right under your calendar that reads March 1989. A month he’s dreaded the last few years of his life. His coveralls are unzipped, arms out and tied around his waist. His hair is still up and he makes sure to kiss your head as he passes on his way to the kitchen. He reaches above his head before he says a word to grab a glass from the cabinet, and moves to turn on the tap. Filling the glass, he takes a few big gulps before his eyes finally settle on you. “Babe, you could not guess some of the places Steve has said he’s had sex in.”

And you listened to him ramble on and on and on about Steve and his sexual experiences. Your eyebrow quirks up when he brings the glass back to his lips when he tells you Steve asked about what his fantasies were. “Well, are you gonna tell me that part?” You ask, closing the magazine on your lap and reaching forward to place it onto your coffee table. You watch as Eddie’s cheeks begin to heat up. Curls from his bangs fighting to stay swept back.

“Uh… I’ve had this reoccurring dream we fucked in the arcade… you know? Dropped the kids, Dustin really, off to play. Just snuck away into the break room or something for a quickie or something. Always wake up with a mess.”

So here you stand, inching closer and closer to the door. Hands seemingly moving on their own and pulling the door open wide. You settle in on a game in the corner (the one you know Eddie likes). He’s been here for hours, waiting on you. And if you hadn’t shown up by the latest time you two had settled on— he’d be okay with it. He’d never fault you for wanting to turn your back on something like this. His heart pumps hard in his chest as he catches a glimpse of you digging coins from your pocket. He decides to watch you for a few moments. Let you get a few games in as he took in the fact that his dream was coming true.

His heart skips a beat when you look up and your eye catches his. There’s a small knowing flash in his eye as a feeling that isn’t known to you begins to creep up your spine. Is it embarrassment? Longing? Eddie’s excusing himself from where Dustin had been chatting off his ear. And if the feeling wasn’t embarrassment, it sure was when Dustin notices you here and waves, “Hey! Come play?!”

Eddie rolls his eyes as he steps closer, head dipping down to smile at you almost flirtatiously. He really has started to play this up, you think. One of his hands gracefully encapsulates yours, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss against your delicate skin. “You okay?” His voice is all the reassurance you need to nod, putting on your own smile.

“I suck at this game.” You admit, backside pressing to his front as he steps behind you— gently pinning you to the machine as he starts another game.

“Just watch me.” He mumbles, kissing your shoulder gently as he does. You feel the heat begin to creep into your cheeks as your hands are gently laying over his. The movements he makes obvious he’s not trying to win— but trying to get your attention on something else. His chin hooks over your shoulder, kissing your jaw again gently. “Just say the word and we’re done.” he whispers, low enough you’re sure none of those around you could hear.

You just nod, fully intending on following through with your promise. He tries for you. This is one thing you know you could do for him. And if you let yourself think about it, you start to admit to yourself the thrill may be just as good for you as it is for him. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” You turn your head to look at him, hoping he catches the hint. His hand moves from the game and brushes your hip, giving a small pat as he looks over his shoulder to check where Dustin is. He flashes you a pretty white smile before you’re sauntering away, stashing yourself into the men’s bathroom— just like you had talked about.

Eddie waits a few moments, watches the hall that you had disappeared in just a while earlier. He can hear the clock ticking in his ears and he’s growing harder by the second just thinking of what’s waiting for him. How either he’d see you on your knees— using his jacket to kneel on— or he’d see you bent over, hips pressing into his pelvis as he fucks you in one of those cramped stalls. Begging you to stay quiet so no one finds out. He can feel his cock jump at the thought, he bites the inside of his cheek, taking another look at Dustin, who is clearly beginning to grow bored playing alone, and then the time on his watch. Fuck it. Pushing away from the game, he maneuvers through the crowd. He stops at the door of the restroom, looking both ways down the hall before he shakes his head. There’s a smile on his face and his curls are falling in his eyes. “Puppet?” He sings as he pushes the door open.

You’ve taken up residency in the middle stall, biting your lip to keep from replying to Eddie’s call. You watch as you see Eddie walk past through the crack in the door. You hear the gentle thud and squeak of his shoes against the linoleum. You’ve memorized the sounds of them, every time Eddie’s in a rush to get out the door— they’d be scuffing up the hardwood in your apartment. You hear the stall door next to you open and a desperate chuckle. And then there’s a heavy thud on your door. You see the toes of Eddie’s white Reeboks peeking under the door. “Don’t have to hide, puppet.” He keeps his voice soft. Just as nervous as you are. You can hear him fiddling with a buckle on his jacket as he pushes open the door. A loud creak hitting your ears, making you cringe there in front of him. He just smiles.

“Found me.” You grin as he steps forward, kicking the stall door closed behind him. Your lips connect in a fervent heat as you press him against the backside of the door. Your hand blindly reaches for the lock, securing it as his hands settle against your hips. “Gotta do this quick, Dustin’s gonna notice we’re gone.” You whisper against his lips as his hands start to slip into the pocket of your jeans— tugging you impossibly close to his body. The chain on his own jeans jangling as it shifts against your body.

Eddie’s nodding, giving your ass a squeeze through your jeans before slipping his hand around between your bodies— rubbing over your clothed mound. “You’re perfect you know that? thank you,” He whispers, lips so incredibly close to your ear. Your breathing hitches as his gentle circles start to increase in intensity, the wet patch forming in your panties growing bigger and bigger with each passing second. “Gonna be a good girl for me? just like you promised?” He uses his other hand, gripping your chin to tip your head up to look him in the eye. “you take care of me and I take care of you, huh?”

You whimper, swallowing hard before you nod. The way “good girl” rolls off his tongue makes you so dizzy, your knees almost buckle. And Eddie moves his hands from your chin and covered cunt, beginning to unbuckle his belt. And he just smiles, leaning back against the door of the stall. He’s carefully sliding his jacket off and tossing it to the ground in front of you, your hand catches his as you reach for the scrunchie on his wrist. Pulling it off, you tug just about all of your hair up and drop to your knees in front of him. Only leaving a chunk at the front for Eddie to fiddle with. The leather of the jacket barely makes a cushion for you to lean on— but Eddie lets out one of the most pitiful sounds you’ve ever heard as he looks over you right there just for him.

You pop open the button of his jeans, feeling his fingers begin to twist at your hair. “your teeth.” He mumbles all soft, and you just nod, leaning forward to drag the zipper down with your teeth. Another strained sound erupting from Eddie. Your nose brushing against the front of his underwear as you do. Sitting back on your heels, you pull his cock from his boxers. Sighing happily as your lips part only slightly, eyes flirting halfway closed before you’re pressing the gentlest kiss onto Eddie’s hip bone. “Come on, pip.” He whispers, fingers threading against your scalp the best that they can.

Your hips shift your position, lips parting more and you run your tongue down the length of him. His heart beats quicker as he starts to think of anyone walking through that door and seeing your knees and his tell-tale white shoes underneath the stall wall. Your tongue glides over the tip of his cock, lapping up the beads of salty pre-cum before you’re sucking in a breath. You watch as Eddie leans his head back against the stall door, before you’re swallowing him down between hollowed cheeks. You relax your jaw as Eddie’s grip on your head begins to tighten.

You begin to move slowly, tongue swirling around his cock and earning the sweetest praise, “Fuuuck, puppet. Just like that.” Eddie’s voice is low. Looking down at you as you start to suck him harder, faster. Eddie’s looking desperately for anything to ground him right now as he feels himself getting closer and closer. He settles on the way the flannel you had tied securely around your waist fans around you. Eddie’s hand drops the section of hair he had been playing with and moves it to the back of your head to hold you still. He peeks down at you, making a point to catch the slight nod of your head before he starts to rock his hips into your mouth. Fast, hard, sloppy. His thrusts are uneven now, he’s so close to tumbling over the edge. He’s admiring the tears pooling up in the corners of your red rimmed eyes, the drool slipping down your chin. And when you wink at him— he’s cumming. Shoulders hunched over you as both of his hands hold you against his crotch.

As he fills your mouth, you close your eyes. Swallowing sweetly as he pulls away. He makes quick work of tucking himself back into his jeans and buttoning them up. But he pauses, tugging the scrunchie from your hair and looping it through his belt buckle before he secures it. He helps you stand, brushes off your knees as you wipe your mouth and eyes on your t-shirt. Eddie smiles as he leans down to grab his jacket, craning his neck awkwardly as he presses a kiss over your jean clad clit. Your breath catches in your throat and he smiles wickedly, “When we get home, pretty. You’re not leaving the bed.” His hand is reaching behind him, opening the door and allowing you to leave the stall before him.

But just as he walks out behind you, the main door to the bathroom opens— Keith standing there. He’s shocked to see you at first. But then he takes in your appearance. Your red eyes, drooled on shirt, and creases on your knees. Eddie’s jacket is draped over his arm, a tinge of red in his cheeks as he smiles knowing he had caught them.

But, Keith just sighs as heavy as he can— stepping aside to let you through. Which just makes you and Eddie laugh as soon as the door shuts behind you.

tags ;; @peachyproserpina

[strangunddurm]

-ˋˏ ULTRAVIOLENCE ˎˊ-

laters-gators 6k followers celebration

I cannot believe that we’ve hit a huge milestone again so early. For this event to come at a time where I really needed a pick me up means the world. 6,000 of you little people out there follow me to see my words on your phone/tablet/computer screens, all because you like them. That’s insane to me!

As a token of appreciation, we’re back at it again with a follower celebration! This is a way for me to say thank you!

before we begin, some rules: (Read these carefully or your ask will be deleted!)

➸ Reblog to spread the word! ➸ Please see my inbox rules and who I write for before sending in asks. ➸ You can send in as many asks as you want, but some events will be restricted to non-anons only!

➸ This inbox for this event is open now! I will begin posting on the 24th! Inbox closes on the 26th ❤︎

how to send an ask:

The inbox for this event is open now! To participate in this event, please send an ask via the link here, or the ‘Tell Me Something Sweet’ button at the top of my blog, and set out the ask with the corresponding emoji at the start. It makes my life much easier this way!:

“ 🐺 - Blue Jeans. ”

“ ☁️ - 29: ‘Thigh Riding’ with Marc Spector. ”

“ 🗝 - Joel Miller and Teacher!AU!”

open to everyone:

➸ Blue Bannisters [🗝]: Send me a character and a concept/aesthetic and I will make a mood board with a 100 word drabble.

➸ Chemtrails Over The Country Club [🐺]: Send me a Lana Del Rey song and I'll write a drabble with the character it most reminds me of!

➸ Lust For Life [⛓]: Send me any word and I will send you a paragraph from my WIPs that contains that word - if there are any! Choose wisely!

➸ Honeymoon [🐚]: send me the link to a fic you have written and I will tell you my favourite parts and lines!

➸ Norman Fucking Rockwell [☁️]: send me a number from this smut dialogue prompt list and a character of your choice and I will write a drabble!

open to non-anons:

➸ Ultraviolence [💿]: Send me a number from this smut prompt list and a character of your choice and I will write a drabble!

➸ Born To Die [🎙️]: Send me your favourite song and I'll ship you with one of my Blorbos!

Event Masterlist:

coming soon...

➸ Ultraviolence [💿]:

➸ Norman Fucking Rockwell [☁️]:

➸ Born To Die [🎙️]:

tagging a few mutuals who may be interested (you can ignore if you like!): @foxilayde ❤︎ @nexusnyx ❤︎ @psychedelic-ink ❤︎@inklore ❤︎ @charnelhouse ❤︎ @writefightandflightclub

[strangunddurm]

@lovvecraft thank you for the reblog 🫶🏽

Thou Shalt Have No Other Gods Before Me

Masterlist

Pairing: Flip Zimmerman x fem!reader

Summary: Flip Zimmerman believed there to only be one God whose name was his own.

Word count: 7.4k

Warnings: Age gap (reader is of age), sexual harassment (maybe idk), PinV sex, unprotected sex, fingering, masturbation, swearing, dirty talk, religion, blasphemy.

A/N: Maaaaybe don't read this if you're religious. I was raised Lutheran so I mostly drew inspiration from that ☺️

It took him a while to get you as he wanted; squirming under him as his lips were hot on your neck and his fingers were deep in your pussy, caressing your walls until tears were leaking from your eyes from the pleasure.

Flip could remember the first time he had seen you as clear as day. You had come bounding into the police station with a basket of freshly baked goods and a sinfully sweet dress that swung by your knees. The preacher’s daughter. Your father had been a few steps behind you, but Flip had been so preoccupied with devouring every inch of you that he could see that he had completely overlooked him.

You were new in town and Flip knew that there would be more than a few dirty bastards at the precinct that probably wanted to sink their filthy claws into you. He didn’t even want to begin to think about all those boys at the community college and what they got up to whilst daydreaming of you. Honestly, sometimes Flip thought that the filth that was man should be completely eradicated from earth, and he’d thought of it even more since he’d met you.

Flip couldn’t allow that, of course. You were so pure, you deserved to be with somebody who could treat you right; somebody who could treat that pretty pussy you had between your legs like it deserved to be treated; somebody who was a God amongst men.

You needed to be licked at until your legs shook as you came gushing all over his face, and after that, to be fucked with your ass high up in the air as he drove into you from behind, the tip of him pounding into that soft, spongy part of you that would make your walls clench around his thick shaft as you milked him. He wanted you to moan into his ear as he made you cum with just his fingers and a few kisses on your neck.

Flip found himself to be more... charitable after that. The time he would usually spend tugging at his cock on a Thursday afternoon when he got off work early was spent volunteering at the church, right alongside you.

Of course, Flip wasn’t a religious or God-fearing man, far from it. He did not believe in any sort of higher power that so many people devoted their lives to. Yes, he was born Jewish, but hadn’t given much thought to religion past the time he’d become self-aware. Why was there a need for a god to dictate your life when he could make all the right decisions himself?

It started small. He took his time getting you, coming across as the nice guy — but, of course, he was a nice guy, so it wasn’t all completely an act.

Volunteering at Colorado Hills Church on Thursday’s consisted of cleaning up after the gardening group that you held every week at 3 P.M. It was just him, you, and another irrelevant man who would put away the heavy tables and gardening tools. You were always so grateful for his help, thanking him over and over again before disappearing and reappearing again with a steaming hot cup of coffee whenever he took a break to inhale a cigarette.

Flip would always make sure to come just a few minutes earlier than he needed to so that he could catch the last few moments of your class. He could admit that it was nice seeing you in your element, the way you flourished as you fluttered around the kids that were learning about some new vegetable every week. He couldn’t help watching your every move, every laugh that rang out of you and every smile that wove its way across your face.

It took a month before he got you alone for the first time. 4 weeks of spending his Thursday afternoons with you and fisting his cock until he came all over his stomach when he came home. You made him so, so incredibly hard. His cock would painfully throb in his jeans as he saw you bend over in those short dresses you would wear, always the picture-perfect image of a preacher’s daughter.

It was all an act. Flip knew it, you knew it, anyone who took their time to think about more than their head between your thighs would be able to see it. You had everyone fooled, everyone except for him. Flip noticed the way you would squirm anytime he looked at you, the way you would subconsciously rub your thighs together and bite your lip. It was the reason why Flip liked to tease you. He knew that sending you even half of a smile was enough to make your panties drenched and he thrived on that little tidbit of information.

“Just us today?” You jumped as you heard his voice from behind you and Flip couldn’t help but let out a chuckle of amusement as he saw the flustered look on your face.

“Yeah, just us.” You let out a nervous giggle as you stared up at him with wide eyes and Flip thought you reminded him of a doe-eyed deer, caught in the trap of the hunter.

“Good.”

“I- I...” You stuttered, words falling over a cliff into a pool of nothingness as you became tongue-tied. Flip liked the way he could reduce you to a complete mess with less than a handful of words.

The last few stragglers of kids had already left so you were all alone in the garden, in your own oasis, surrounded by high shrubs and cold concrete walls that separated the rest of the world from you. He had you all to himself, right where he wanted you.

“What do you want to do first?” He awarded you the pretence that you were the one who decided what to do, that you were the one that completely dictated the when, where, and how. It was cute.

“Ma- Maybe we could ehm... start with the- the tools.” It was the usual routine, starting with the tools, then the bags of soil, and then the large planter tables. But it made you feel like you had some sort of semblance of control when he let you point and order him around.

Flip got to it quickly. He lifted from his knees, hoisting the unopened bags over his shoulder with ease and then gathered all the scattered tools as you tried helping as much as you could. You were like a little mouse, scurrying around like a flustered mess as you made minimal small talk whilst stumbling over your words.

He took his opportunity when you dropped the overly large box of seeds of all kinds. He didn’t rush over to help you, taking his time to set down the boxes he had been carrying before meandering over to help you pick up the scattered bags.

“Clumsy, are we?” You smiled down at your hands as you shrugged your shoulders. Flip made you flustered, he unnerved you and made your heart race at such a pace that you found it impossible not to fumble with even the simplest of tasks. Walking in a straight line without stumbling became something that you barely knew how to do.

“Sorry…” You didn’t know exactly what you were apologising for but the urge to blurt it out came over you before you could stop yourself. Flip let out a chuckle before he put the last few bags back into the box and straightened out to his full height.

It was clear to Flip that you were completely mesmerized and spellbound as you looked up at him, his impressive physique entrancing you completely. He liked you like this, looking up at him as if he was your saviour, the one that would deliver salvation to you as you prayed at his feet.

Flip held out his hand, reaching down to help you up. He didn’t let your hand go immediately once you were on both feet, but you didn’t either. It was all very cliche, but Flip wasn’t one to complain. Life, once again, was working in his favour. You were becoming more and more entranced by him, adoration growing in your core like a flower in April whose petals furled out in an unperturbed instance, there in less than a moment.

“Thank you.” You whispered quietly as if you were afraid that the wind would overhear a secret only meant for his ears. Flip thought that your eyes looked beautiful in that moment, glittering in the sunshine that you bathed in. “For always being so kind and helping.”

Flip probably didn’t deserve a thank you. He was, after all, solely motivated for selfish reasons that involved less than supposedly true Christian values. But who cared about Christian values when they were sourced in the book of God that fueled such hatred in the world; when the Most High created evil that degraded the earth and defiled the innocent? He did not strike down the sinners as he promised; instead, warlords were beloved for the chaos and strife they caused the world, praised for ungodly acts as something akin to Lucifer whispered in their ears and blackened their hearts.

“You’re the one that should be thanked.” You looked surprised over his words; like it was the last thing you expected to come out of his mouth; like you had never been thanked before in your entire life.

“I just do what I am told.” You released his hand abruptly, twirling on your heels and walking off.

There was a shed behind the church that housed all the gardening tools you used for your classes. It was a quiet place, a private place that was perfect for any adventure you did not want anyone else to see.

Flip had to duck to get through the door without hitting his head. It was a surprisingly organised space; you were meticulous when it came to what went where. There was a small single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling that cast an ominous light over all that resided within the four walls.

“Do you enjoy doing all of this? All this volunteering?” Flip’s voice was gruff as his eyes flickered across the small hut, taking in all the details that he had already seen with a renewed interest.

“Of course.”

“I think you’re lying to yourself.” It was easy to hear your sharp inhale, there wasn’t exactly much that could drown it out except for Flip’s own breathing. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, unsure of what to say.

“You shouldn’t say such things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Such… Such blasphemous things.”

“What is blasphemous about that?”

You didn’t have an answer for him, and he didn’t expect you to. Besides, ‘blasphemous’ was practically synonymous with ‘human’, especially when it came to the disgrace of men. The disgrace that so many men fell victim to, and they then excused under the guise of religion and worshipping a holy man. In Flip’s eyes, letting the figment of a man dictate a life of discontent which was shrewd with greed seemed pointless. It was better to own up to whatever mistakes one made. Not that Flip made mistakes, but others did, and he pitied them for it.

“We are all blasphemous beings; don’t you think so?”

Your mouth fell open and your eyes widened over his words. He moved closer to you; a predator stalking prey.

“Even God must have blasphemous thoughts when he has to witness beauty such as yourself every day.”

“Mr Zimm-”

“Call me Flip.” He was so close to you now that he toed at your shoes.

“Flip, you shouldn’t say such things here.”

“Would it be better if I just thought them?” Flip didn’t need the excuse of being God to be able to read your thoughts, it was all clear as day, right there upon your pretty face.

“I think it would be, actually.”

“Do you ever think such things?” He asked with a crooked grin.

A pause in your resumed movements of nervous organisation. Your head turned slowly to look up at him with the hint of an unwilling smile on your lips. He returned it by a widening of his own, coaxing an answer out of you with the silent promise of something beyond mere friendship.

“Maybe sometimes.”

“Do you think we’ll go to hell? Just for some unclean thoughts?” Flip almost felt bad for the audible gulp you swallowed over his words.

“No?”

“No.” Flip didn’t believe that there even was a hell to begin with, but he didn’t need to tell you that right at that moment.

“Do you ever do something for your own pleasure?”

“Pleasure?”

“You know… enjoyment, happiness, satisfaction, pleasure.”

“Sometimes.” You squeaked out. Had you ever been this close to a man that wasn’t related to you before? Had you ever felt the heat of another rolling off them in waves so strong that it felt like it would pull you under, down into the deepest darkest pits, and never let you free?

“So, what do you do?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t?” Flip could see the amusement that danced in his eyes reflected in yours.

“I-“

“I like to watch you.” Flip said when it appeared that you weren’t going to come up with something.

“Me?”

Flip hummed and lifted his hand to stroke a single finger across your cheek. “Watching you brings me happiness.”

“Really?” Any other person would have been creeped out by his confession, but not you. You, subconsciously, chased the thrill that accompanied his admission. It was evident in the way you shifted your hips ever so slightly, angling them toward him in a desperate attempt to be delivered pleasure.

“I enjoy watching you, too.” You whispered. He wouldn’t have heard it if you had been anywhere else. Flip didn't even try to pretend to be bashful. A shit-eating grin grew on his face as satisfaction took over his entire being.

“Sometimes, I touch myself thinking about what’s hiding underneath that skirt.” Flip said.  Did your walls clench as you heard those words? Did your thighs quiver as you thought about him between them? Flip wanted nothing more than to bury his face in you and lap at your clit as if he was a man starved and dying, the elixir of life dripping out of only you.

“You do?”

“Haven’t been able to get you out of my head.” You were backing away from him now, but it was only to lean against the wall, needing something steady to ground yourself for fear that your knees would give out as Flip continued. “I think about what you would taste like, the moans you would let out, what you’d look like as you cum.”

This. This was blasphemy. But you didn’t want Flip to stop. You wanted him to say every filthy thing he’d ever thought and then whisper them in your ear again as his hands explored every uncharted crevice of your body.

You hadn’t even noticed him move but, suddenly, there he was. He crowded around you, caging you in between his arms as you pressed even further into the wall behind you, heart racing in your chest from the excitement bubbling within you.

It felt like hellfire spread all over your skin as his paw of a hand came in contact with the outside of your thigh for the first time. You thought it would consume you and burn you to the crisp, leaving you right there in a pile of ash so that whoever was unlucky enough to find you would know you’d sinned. Stricken down by the Lord’s anger for succumbing to Lucifer’s lust.

He just held it there, enclosing your thigh in a soft but firm hold. He wanted to claw at you, to claim you as his and his alone but he didn’t let that come across in his movements that were almost lazily caressing you. Up and down. Up and down the outside of your thigh.

It travelled under the hem of your dress as you held your breath, watching it disappear as it moved closer and closer to your most unfathomable place. You wanted to shout all your sounds of pleasure from the highest building for all to hear, thanking the Lord for delivering this brazen man to you, but you didn’t say anything. Not a sound made its way past your lips. Was it for fear of scaring him away? From scaring yourself? Admitting that you wanted him to touch you would, in your mind, mean that you gave in, you gave in to the carnal pleasures of man that you had spent so long withstanding. But how could it be so bad to want a simple touch? Surely, anyone in your position would also give in to the temptation of this mortal man.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” Flip cooed. “You want me to touch you here?” One lonesome finger trailed over your cloth-covered pussy, causing you to squirm against the wooden wall.

“Or do you want something else?” He withdrew his hands from you, placing them on either side of your head. “You want me to kiss you?” He wouldn’t have to move much to press his lips against your own. Flip was so close to your face that he could feel every soft exhale on his lips, his nose brushing against your own with every heave of his chest.

Flip pressed a kiss to your cheek, so close to your lips that you could almost taste him already; the tendrils of smoke and coffee that would mix and infuse your senses. You hoped he would taste like he smelled, absolutely divine.

It was your own head that turned to connect your lips. His lips were soft, pillowy, and completely sublime. Teeth knocked against each other as your eagerness took over and Flip chuckled. Never would he have thought that you would be this greedy for him this early on. He had hoped, of course, but it did not go beyond that. Isn’t it funny how in a sinful kiss, your most vulnerable moment, you had never before felt as pure as you did at that moment? It is a promise of realness, evidence of the primal desire that ignited a need deep inside of you.

Your hands came up to pull at his flannel shirt, using it to pull yourself closer to him in desperation, clinging to him. His lips were sweeter than anything you had ever tasted before, like the nectar of the gods, something you would crave throughout the rest of this life and the next.

Flip couldn’t help but let his hands run wide, up along your waist, brushing along the side of your breasts, and coming to cradle your neck. Such a simple touch yet it held all the power as he squeezed just enough for you to become breathless. He drew back to look at you for a moment.

“Tell me what you want.” He urged. It wasn’t enough for him to feel it through your actions, he wanted to hear you beg for his touch, for him.

“I don’t know.” So innocent.

“You do.” You stared up at him for a few beats of a moment, gnawing at that lip that he wished to pull at with his own teeth. You were hesitant as you grabbed a hold of his wrist, guiding it back to under the skirt of your dress and to the place that was aching for him.

Flip’s touch was electric as it travelled over the hem of your panties, fingering at it as you grew wetter and wetter from his teasing. He was watching your face for any sign of regret, but there was none, your eyebrows were already furrowed over the anticipation of more.

“You want me to touch you here, sweetheart?”

“Yes!” You said with a yelp and a startled hand came up to cover your mouth in surprise.

“You need to keep quiet if you want this.” Flip tutted with a shake of his head.

His hand slipped into your soaked panties, fingers easily finding your clit and circling it tightly a few times. The whines and moans that were released from you sounded heavenly, Flip thought ironically. His fingers left your clit, sliding them down just a bit further to feel your wetness.

“So wet for me already.” Flip groaned out. You were practically dripping for him as you writhed against his hand, craving a feeling you didn’t know. You felt like crying when his fingers left your sacred place, holding up his glistening finger to the light.

“Look at that.” Flip said, astonished.

Flip slipped the finger into your mouth, feeding it in and out as his thumb and middle finger pressed your cheeks together. You could taste yourself on your finger He couldn’t wait to get his cock in between those perfect lips, to watch you as you struggled to take him. Your tongue swirled around his index, coating it thoroughly before he withdrew it with a plop! It was glistening with wetness as he brought it back underneath your skirt to explore your folds for a short while longer before he slipped a finger inside of you.

“You’re so fucking tight, sweetheart.”

It was a foreign, unknown feeling that spread through you as he pushed in. You had never felt so full, and it was just a single finger. It was obvious from the hard bulge that was pressing against the side of your hip that his cock was much, much thicker.

Flip let you adjust for as long as he could, but the throbbing of your walls around his finger wasn’t good for his self-control. Eventually, he began pumping it in and out of you slowly. The moan that slipped out of you was low, erupting from the deepest, darkest parts of you.

“Yeah? You like that?” His hand hoisted your leg further up on his waist, spreading you open even more for him. “You want more? Think you can take it?”

You nodded your head desperately, words having forsaken you in the throes of pleasure.

Another finger joined the first as he pumped them in and out of you slowly enough so that he could feel every ridge of your walls but fast enough so that you were becoming completely breathless. You were so ready for him that the second finger stretched you easily.

You wanted to cry out as his thumb started rubbing over your clit, your walls clamped down hard around his finger at the new feeling, but he connected his mouth to yours just as it was about to drop open.

Flip kissed you like it was the last thing he was ever going to do. He was rough as he pressed his lips against yours, and you returned his hunger for you with your own for him. His tongue explored everything in its way as his hand continued pumping two fingers into you slowly.

A bubbling warmth was spreading through every nerve in your body. Your brain was in a haze, you were unable to focus on anything as the white-hot pleasure built inside of you.

Flip disconnected his lips from yours to watch you. You were a vision, and he couldn’t hold back anymore, the urgent need to see you cum taking over him. Flip started thrusting his fingers into you, causing you to squeal in surprise and claw at the wall behind you.

”Oh, God!”

”You shouldn’t utter God’s name in vain, sweetheart.” Flip chuckled teasingly. “Also, I thought I told you to be quiet.”

He was drilling into you so quickly you were sure you could see stars behind your eyes as he curled his fingers to hit just that right spot inside of you.

“Oh, Flip-” You moaned out breathily, slightly curling into yourself as waves of pleasure washed over you, your eyes falling shut. The loud sounds of the wet squelches of your pussy bounced around the small walls of the garden shed.

“Look at me!” He breathed out sharply. He needed to see your eyes and the emotions behind them as he thrust his fingers into you repeatedly. He needed to so you cum for him as you fell aperture completely for the first time.

It was hard to concentrate enough to open them, it took you a second to do it, right as you fell over the edge into rapture. Your legs shook uncontrollably as you came, and Flip had never seen a more angelic sight. He wanted to watch you like this for the rest of his life.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit.

He was the one that tasted you this time, suckling the nectar of you from his fingers and groaning over the taste of it.

”Taste so good, completely divine.” He sent you a wink as you watched him with wide eyes.

He had never seen you look so rattled, it would be clear to anyone that you had just been thoroughly ravaged from the uncharacteristically unkempt look of wrinkly clothes and hazy eyes.

“You okay?”

“Yeah…” Were you? You were unsure, but it was only because you yearned for more.

“Good.” Flip pressed another kiss to your lips, this one much sweeter than all the others.

Flip reluctantly left the shed to tend to the last bits of the gardening things. He wanted to do more, for both you and himself, but he knew that he needed to take his time. His cock was rock hard in his jeans as he drove home, throbbing in desperation as he replayed the face you made as you came. He could worship that sight for ages.

Flip let you simmer in your feelings after that. He wanted you to come to terms with the lust you felt for him in your own time. He wanted you to be the one that would come to him. It was hard for him... not touching you. It was so hard that he thought he must’ve found himself in hell on earth. He wanted to knead your supple thighs, to flick at your clit with his tongue, to watch your face twist in ecstasy as he sank into you for the first time.

“Just us?” Déjà vu? You appeared even more timid and shy this time than last, something he had not thought possible. You were reluctant to meet his eyes, that shy smile that you usually wore was gone without a trace.

“Yep, just us.” Your voice sounded strained, and your eyes avoided looking at him as they flickered around the garden, trying to find something, anything to distract you from him.

Flip made you nervous, he made shivers run down your spine in both the best and worst way. He had completely disrupted your life with his presence. He had tainted your thoughts, made the devil whisper unclean things in your ear as you laid awake in your bed at night, hand subconsciously drifting down to your clit to rub at it, but it was never enough; it was never the same. You craved his touch, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his cock pressed against you. You needed to know what it looked like, what it felt like inside of you, and it was a need that scared you.

You tried keeping your distance as you worked, but it was impossible. You could feel him everywhere you went, even when Flip wasn’t looking at you, nor you him, you could still feel his presence, hyper-aware of him wherever he was.

You almost felt nauseous as you felt him follow you into the church when you were done. It wasn’t that you feared him, you could never fear Flip, it was another Him whose judgement petrified you. However, you were obviously not fearful enough as you — lacking all taught self-constraint – turned around a flung yourself at him, lips locking with his.

Flip let out a startled but delighted hum as he stumbled back half-a-step in surprise.

“Have you missed me?” He teased, only being allowed to disconnect his lips from yours for the fraction of a second. That carnal urge was there again, taking over your limbs and propelling you towards him.

“I’m taking that as a yes.”

You had missed him. Of course, you had. It was hard not to miss him. Flip was the kind of person that you would always remember, no matter who you were. He was unforgettable, a distinctive memory of a spectacular person that would always be there, somewhere in the back of your mind. Forever.

His hands roamed over your body, touching, and caressing you everywhere he could as you tugged on his hands, his belt, the button and zipper of his jeans before reason finally caught up with you again and you wrenched yourself away from him.

“What is it?”

“We can’t do this – shouldn’t be doing this – it’s not right. God says-”

“I am your God.”

“You’re a man.”

“What’s the difference?” Flip tilted his head, watching you with genuine curiosity and a raised eyebrow.

You didn’t know what to say; your mouth fell open, but no words came out as your mind raced to find an answer. Was there truly a difference?

Someone once said that the gods envy us, and Flip, wholeheartedly, believed it to be true. The one God envies us, his creation, feeble humans. We live life side by side with thrill, with unforeseeable possibilities and opportunities that could end within a fraction of an instance. Every moment could be our last and God doesn’t have that privilege. He lives every day knowing that the end will never come; the inevitable salvation of oblivion will never reach him. Eternal life is a futile promise that is whispered in the ears of delusional fools as they devote their lives to a false god. God was simply a man skilled with dreams and distorted fantasies who Flip saw as nothing more than an equal – if even that.

“You can devote your life to me, and I assure you that I will bring you more happiness than He ever could.” His fingers were trailing up the inside of your thigh as he whispered into your ear. A small whine left you in an exhale as you tried to clench your legs together, tried to banish those dirty thoughts from your mind but it was impossible. Flip Zimmerman had infiltrated all your defences, broken down your walls, and riddled your mind with sinful thoughts. He was so close to dominating your being in every sense of the word.

“My father-”

“The preacher doesn't have to know, sweetheart. In fact, I think it’d be better if we kept this just between you and me, don’t you agree?” A kiss was placed right underneath your ear and another moan slipped out of you. The scent of him was everywhere, travelling like a mist over your skin, caressing your cheeks, and poisoning your mind so that the only thing you could think about was him.

“Yes...” Flip had a way of making you hazy when you were around him, of making you question everything you’d ever known just so that he would deliver that heaven-sent pleasure again and again.

And now, here you were, all alone in the house of God, ready to devote yourself to this impious man.

Your hands came back up to cradle his neck, pulling him back down to you so that you could kiss on him, love on him.

Somehow, the two of you made your way between the pews, Flip firmly guiding you to lay down on one of them as he kissed down your body and finally found his home with his head buried between your thighs.

You squirmed as he kissed his way up and down the inside of your thighs, his beard tickling your skin as you whined and sighed. He was so close, yet he was so far away from where you wanted him. You combed your hands through his hair, tugging at it in frustration, pulling a laugh from Flip as he slid your panties down your thighs, agonisingly slow, before pocketing them.

“You need to learn to be patient, my sweet.” Flip loved seeing you like this; it was a welcomed change.

“Now, thank the Lord and give me a Hail Mary.” Flip didn’t know much about Christianity, but he knows enough to know about the love for redemption and forgiveness that plagued the servants of Christ.

“What?” You sat up just enough so that you could see him leering at you, half of his face hidden by your dress and mound.

“You heard me, sweetheart.” He was teasing you, wanting to see you flustered, hear how you stuttered over your words as he pleasured you. Flip would be the only one you would pray to at the end of it all, but he would allow this just to humour himself. He was slowly becoming your everything, your one true god.

“Hail Mary…” His lips connected with your clit for the first time, and you were sure in that moment that you had entered through the pearly gates.

“Oh, Flip!” Your hands tightened in his hair as he lapped at your swollen clit. “Full o- of grace-e,” You stuttered out, trailing off as Flip sucked you into his mouth before flattening his tongue, dragging it through your soaked lower lips.

“I can’t hear you.” He taunted. He spread your legs wider, forcing them to stay in one place as the rest of your body writhed. His tongue probed at your entrance, slipping into you with little resistance. That nose you loved so much brushed against your sensitive clit with every stroke of his tongue.

“The Lord is with thee! Blessed- blessed art thou-u am-amongst women and blessed is… is the fru-uit of thy womb, Jesus!” Your back arched off the pew as that blinding heat raced through your body once more. Steadily building in your stomach before erupting, spewing flames everywhere.

“Amen!” You practically shrieked it as you came, eyes rolling back in your head and legs shaking as they tried to clamp shut.

“Amen.” Flip hummed in agreement, withdrawing from you, and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Your chest was heaving from your frantic breathing. There was an exhausted smile growing on your face, completely saturated with satisfaction and you couldn’t help but giggle quietly to yourself.

Flip couldn’t stop himself from pressing a bruising kiss to your lips. You moaned happily, opening your mouth when you felt his tongue swipe against your lower lip. Your hand came up to grasp at his shoulder, steadying your weak body.

“I want more.” You said as his kisses grew lazier.

“Greedy.” Flip wasn’t complaining, he was going to give you more, of course. He would always give you more if you wanted it.

He guided you, moving you from the narrow, wooden pew down to the cool stone floor. You were laying on display for him, right beneath the podium where your father would preach his sermon to the congregation, just as he did, every Sunday.

The sound of his belt coming completely undone bounced through the room. You were anxious for what was to come, not because of God or what he would think, but because this was your first time, just like any ordinary person would be.

Flip pushed down his pants just enough so that he could pull himself free from the confines, and you marvelled at the sight of his rock-hard cock. Your mouth salivated as you saw it pulse, the tip angrily red. He was weeping for you, pre-cum leaking out of the tip as he pulsed painfully. He fisted himself a couple of times with a groan.

Flip’s dick was so thick from head to base that he himself almost had a hard time wrapping his hand around it. It had just the right amount of curve that he knew he would be able to coax out a myriad of orgasms out of you.

“You look so pretty like this.” You really did. You were a sight that Flip himself could worship for the rest of his life; your legs having eagerly fallen open for him, pussy glistening in the light from how wet you were, and your sinfully innocent skirt pulled up around your waist as you clasped your hands in the fabric as if you were trying to steady your racing heart.

“Please, Flip, I need you.” You whimpered.

He stood on his knees before you. He felt powerful as he watched you on your back before him, leaking in desperation for his cock.

“Tell me how much you want it.” He tilted his head.

“More than anything, God, please, Flip!” Who was he to keep you from this? A man who was more than God would be merciful and

“You need to stop pleading to God, sweetheart, He’s not gonna help you.” Flip spread your legs just a bit wider before wrapping his hand around the base of his cock lining himself up with your entrance. He made sure to coat himself thoroughly in your wetness, dragging the head of him through your soaked folds.

You gasped at the first feeling of him as he prodded at your entrance. You rutted your hips upward, hoping that he would just finally slide in. The angels and all of Colorado Springs surely had to hear your cries of pleasure as he finally pushed in, all the way to the base of him, bottoming out as the tip of him nestled against your cervix ever so lightly.

This is what you were created for, only this and nothing else.

You adjusted to him quickly, hands coming to grasp at his hips, urging him to move. Small traces of pain tainted the incomprehensible pleasure that washed over you, but you couldn’t stop now. You didn’t want to stop now.

Flip didn’t keep a slow pace for long, replacing the long and languid pumps he had started off with for harsher thrusts into you.

“You like that, sweetheart?”

“Yes, oh fuck, harder!” Your head lulled to one side, hands clawing at his back as if you wanted to be even closer to him than you already were.

Flip had you right where he wanted you. The preacher’s daughter getting stuffed to the brim with his thick cock on the floor in the Lord’s house, safely under the watchful eyes of the man on the cross and your father in heaven.

“Look up at your God as you sin, see how he watches over you while I’m fucking you, while you're begging me to fuck you.” He pushed your head to the side, his hand pressing your cheeks together so that you would focus on the deity before you; the man who had sacrificed his own life for yours.

A particularly rough thrust into you made you cry out even louder causing Flip to stop abruptly.

“Sweetheart, as much as I love every single fucking sound that comes out of you, you need to keep quiet.” Despite there not being anything scheduled, anybody could come in at any moment, it was an open church, after all, free for the public to come and pray as they wanted.

Those hands of God ran down your body, sliding over your sweetest places and rubbing against your most sensitive areas as Flip pounded into you. He was so deep inside of you that you barely knew what to do with yourself.

You couldn’t keep quiet, no matter how hard you tried moans still slipped past your lips and Flip was eventually forced to quiet you with his hand over your mouth.

Your walls were clenched so tightly around him, drawing him deeper and deeper inside.

“Fuck” You groaned. “Feels so- fucking good.” You shakily breathe out.

“Yeah? Do you love it when I pump my cock into you?” Flip cooed as he asked, slowing down just slightly, but each thrust was still sharp, still precise, and hard, and calculated, rotating his hips just enough to hit that special spot inside of you.

A breathy yes! left your lips.

“More.” You demanded.

He pulled out so just his tip was left in you, waiting there for just a second before slamming back into you again, buried to the hilt. The groan Flip let out sent tingles down your spine and caused you to clench even tighter around him, triggering another moan from him.

“If only you knew how fucking good you feel, sweetheart.” Flip praised, followed by another harsh rut into you.

He continued pumping into your sweet cunt, drawing moans from you that were filthy, thoroughly fucking you into the cold stone floor. The sound of his balls slapping against you every time he thrust into you was driving you insane.

His thrusts had picked up in pace once again, ruthless and reckless as he fucked deeper and deeper into you. You were trembling against him, breath hitching and getting caught in your chest as you almost forgot how to breathe. You could feel your release mounting quickly once again, shockwaves gripping your body and rolling through you with every buck into you.

“Say my name.”

“What?” You weren’t lucid enough to possibly begin to understand what he meant at that moment.

“Say my name.” He repeated, making sure to punctuate every single word with a small thrust upward to meet you as you came down on him. “And make sure He hears you.” Caution had left Flip, abandoned him in the heat of the moment. He thought that the congregation needed to hear the beauty that was his name falling from your lips.

His name spilt out of your mouth just a few seconds later in the form of a half-strangled moan.

“Louder.”

“Flip!” You shouted his name as you finally came, tumbling over the edge as stars were painted behind your eyelids. Your legs were shaking, spasming, through the waves, words of gibberish leaving your mouth as he made you babble like a brook. Legs shaking, blood rushing in your ears, and your heart thumping painfully in your chest as it contracted. Flip hadn’t even faltered in his movements, fucking you through your orgasm, continuing to pump into you as he chased his own climax. You could just barely make out his own groans in your ear as he bounded and leapt closer to the edge.

It did not matter to Flip what anyone else could – or possibly would – say about the two of you. He was meant to spend the rest of his earthside life between your thighs.

You hadn’t felt this way before, you didn’t even know you could feel this way; the overwhelming stimulation that was rushing through your blood, lighting your nerves on fire, making you want to stay right there, until kingdom come.

Flip delivered a sweet pleasure that sent you oscillating between heaven and earth, torn between life and something other.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” Flip grunted as he watched himself disappear inside of your body over and over again.

“Want you to come inside of me.” Flip had successfully turned you into a wanton whore, desperate for his seed to taint you, and he did. He came deep inside of you, hips continuing to pump into you as he made sure that you got received every single last drop of him. He would now and for always be with you in every step you took, dripping out of you in your memories.

In Flip’s mind, God is beneath him; he is inferior because he forbids the very thing that makes you human – the harmless pleasure that hides underneath swinging skirts and in between loins.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit; as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever.

Amen.

Masterlist (+ Link to my taglist)

[strangunddurm]

😭😭 thank you!

Blessed be the Bride

Masterlist

Pairing: Flip Zimmerman x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: oral f receiving, flip has a fat cock , PinV sex, unprotected sex, fingering, masturbation, swearing, dirty talk, vagina-having-person-related words, cheating.

A/N: I gotta be honest with you guys, I don't really know what to write next so well see when the next Flip post will be :)

Life on Park Lane had been less than exciting since you moved there. You had never imagined yourself as a housewife; yet here you were, dolled up and all pretty, cooking food for your husband that was on his way home from work. You did what the proper thing was and bound yourself to one man who had proposed marriage but it didn’t necessarily make you happy.

You were content with the life you lived but it didn’t go much further past that. You didn’t hate it, didn’t love it. You were practically indifferent to the life that you lived because you knew it was for the best.

You played your role well. You got up early in the morning to make your husband breakfast, packed him his lunch, and then made sure to keep every inch of the house spotless as he was at work. Every day was the same but you didn’t have time to get bored before you met him. You barely had time to be properly married before you had felt his hands slide up the inside of your thighs.

Flip Zimmerman lived right next door to you, in a house that was too big for one person but which he had inherited from a grandmother he barely knew. He was the talk of the street when he moved in. More than one housewife suddenly found a lot more time to be out in their gardens and porches when he was home. You couldn’t blame them. He was an attractive man and the fact that he was single didn’t help the ache between the ladies thighs when they saw him.

Your husband liked the fact that a police detective lived next door. Of course, he would probably not like it as much if he knew about the way your pussy would clench every time you caught a glimpse of Flip’s broad back.

Your husband didn’t treat you bad, but he wasn’t overly interested in pleasing you like you wanted to be pleased. Maybe that’s why you didn’t shy away the first time you had brushed up against Flip in a way that was far from being simply an accident or anything along those lines.

It had happened soon after you moved to Park Lane. At the moving-in party that you hosted for all of your neighbours. Flip stood out against the rest and it wasn’t just because he was the only one alone and the tallest in the room, it was the fact that Flip had a personality that was intoxicating. He drew you in, enchanted you like no other person had done before.

Your stomach had fluttered from butterflies, heart raced, and head rushed as you took his hand, gazing into his eyes as you shook it. It was safe to say that you had never felt this way with another person. You hadn’t thought you could feel this way with another. The concept of love wasn’t something you necessarily believed in, but the lust you felt for Flip was undeniable.

“You can call me Flip.” He had said after you addressed him as Detective Zimmerman, and you had given him your own name in return.

“Do you need help with anything?” It was just the two of you alone in the kitchen when you asked him to get a bowl from the top shelf.

There was plenty of space for him to get it without him having to brush up against you but he did. He did it deliberately, pressing that hard bulge against your backside, encasing you completely in his presence as he crowded around you.

Your breath had hitched, getting caught in your throat as your clit throbbed, yearning for his touch.

“This one?” He asked quietly, a whisper in your ear that danced across your skin with his breath. You nodded wordlessly, but your eyes weren’t focused on the bowl he was pointing at, they were focused on his hands as you thought about how his fingers would feel as they curled inside of you.

You had tried staying away. You really had. You had done everything to get your mind off of the man living next door but it was hard, close to impossible even. You spent more time with the other fellow housewives on the street, baked all of the impossible recipes you had always wanted to try, spent more time taking cooking and pottery classes, yet nothing was never enough. You would eventually always find your way back to thinking about Flip and wondering what he was hiding in that blue denim of his.

Your husband didn’t deserve to be cheated on but you craved the affection that you were so sure Flip could give you. Of course, you were going to tell your husband eventually. Divorce him and let him find somebody that was going to treat him better, and only after that would you let yourself act on whatever feelings you had for Flip. But then you found out about the secretary.

It always had to be a secretary, didn’t it? You would be lying if you said that you were heartbroken over finding out about your husband's infidelity. Because all you felt was happiness and relief over the fact that you could now, without any guilt, act upon your own feelings for another.

You took extra care as you made lasagna to bring him and he looked as happy as you were when he opened the door and invited you in. It happened often after that, infidelity hidden under the pretence of bringing a lonely detective an extra plate of food. Sometimes, Flip would come over and help you with something in the house that your husband was unable to deal with.

It wasn’t all that hard to fake. The thrill of getting caught raced through your veins and you were giddy from the excitement of it all.

Flip had slipped through the backdoor without you even noticing it at first. His arms came to wrap around your waist and his lips found their home on your neck before he laid you down on the soft carpet of your living room.

The first few kisses had been welcomingly timid before they started building in tension as he got you more and more worked up. He was, as always, dominating you, caging you in until you were wrapped up in a cocoon of him and unable to think about anything but him.

Flip made his way down your body greedily, matching your hunger for him with his own for you. He bunched the dress you wore up even further around your waist so that he could see you. All of you. He placed a trail of kisses along your inner thigh, teasing you as he went.

You could feel his heated breath just a few inches away from your wet core. He pushed your thighs apart even more, making sure to spread you wide for him.

The first steady lick that ran through your folds, from the bottom of your slit up to your hooded clit had you arching your back as your hands came down to grasp at his dark hair. He delivered a swift kiss to your clit before his tongue darted out to roll over it over and over again.

An exclamation of “Oh, Flip!” left you in a half breath, barely loud enough for him to hear as you tried to keep quiet.

Flip lapped at you, sucking at your clit and then letting his tongue run over your clit at a steady pace as you writhed under him.

His tongue explored all that it could reach, pushing inside of you as you bucked. His arms wrapped around your knees to hold you still, burying himself even more into your slickness as he started pistoning his tongue in and out.

You tried to keep quiet, aware that despite being out of sight, somebody else could very well hear the pleasure that Flip was bringing you as it echoed over the water.

But of course, Flip being Flip didn’t want you to be quiet. He wanted everyone to know that he was bringing you a pleasure that would always and forever go unmatched by anyone else. Flip had made it clear that he didn’t have a husband, and he especially thought that your husband was far from deserving of you.

He withdrew from you, looking up at you through your legs, basking in the sight of a flustered you.

“I can barely hear you, Beautiful.” He teased. “Don’t you like it?”

“Flip, I-”

“I can stop if you want.” He knew what he was doing to you, judging by the smirk that was plastered on his face, glistening with the essence of you.

“No! Please, Flip!” Your hands that were still in his hair pushed against him, trying to get him to continue.

“What do you want? Use your words.”

“I want you to- eat my pussy, please, Flip,” You whimpered.

Flip let out a hum as he admired the desperation in your eyes for a bit longer. But he was gracious, he didn’t let you wallow in your self-pity for too long before his tongue licked over your clit whilst he maintained eye contact with you. He loved seeing the way your eyes would roll back in your head, surrounding yourself completely to pleasure as you ground your pussy against his mouth whilst his flattened tongue lapped at you in long and slow strokes.

You were sure you were about to cum as he slipped a rigid finger into you, knuckle deep, whilst steadily flicking his tongue over your clit as he savoured the taste of you. Flip pumped his finger in and out of you, twisting back and forth as he went before curling them to hit just that sweet, sweet spot inside of you.

It felt as if your entire being was trembling from the electric currents that were lighting your nerves on fire. Each time he sucked your clit a little bit more forcefully resulted in a roll of your hips as pleasure fully took over you.

The small mewls that had once slipped out you so quietly had now increased steadily in volume to roll loudly out of you in pants.

“Tell me you’re all mine, my pretty little cunt, all mine.” Flip growled.

“Yes! All yours!”

You were so close. Your legs were shaking, cramping from the release that you were teetering on the edge of. Your thighs wanted to close around Flip’s head to trap him between your legs and never let him go.

You trembled as you came, crying out his name in a high pitch as he sucked your clit into his mouth

But he withdrew from you, wet mouth coming up to kiss you in your lips instead just as you were about to tremble and cry out as you came. A mixture of him and you running down his chin.

“I need to feel you around me as you cum.”

His pants were quickly pushed down just enough so that he could free his throbbing cock to give it a tug before dragging it through your glistening wetness. Flip was rock hard for you, tip leaking as it pulsed painfully before he stretched you completely, sinking in until all of him was enveloped in your tight cunt. Your pussy clenched around the thick length of him as he stretched you out to the fullest.

“Fuuck, you always feel so good.”

He withdrew until only the tip of him was left inside of you, admiring the way your wetness glistened around him and the way you took him so well. Flip slammed back into your quivering pussy again before setting a steady rhythm. He hammered into you with steady, hard thrusts, bottoming out every time.

“You like how I stretch your pussy, Beautiful?” He teased, loving the sight of you, head trashing as you lost control of your body slowly but surely.

Flip pushed your knees up as far as they would go against your chest. It felt like he was deeper than he had ever been before you, bottoming out into you again and again.

Your hands were clawing at everything around you, pulling at his tunic to get him closer to you, to get his lips against yours again. A squeal tore its way out of you at the new angle, only being muffled by his lips against yours.

Flip stayed like that, thrusting hard into you at the angle that made you see stars until another orgasm tore through your body, more violent than the last. He continued pumping into you, despite how hard your legs were shaking as your walls spasmed around him.

“Yes, that’s it, Beautiful. You look so pretty when you cum.”

Tears were rolling down your cheeks from the overstimulation but, still, you didn’t want him to stop.

Your skin was burning, chest heaving, and cunt almost at the point of wetness that it squirted around Flip every time he thrust into you. His lips were rough on your neck, nibbling as you bit your lip, trying to control the babbling he was the root cause of.

Flip had you roll over on your side, coming behind you to spoon himself against your ass, his cock nestling against your ass as you rested your head against your arm. He grabbed a hold of his base, coaxing your knee and leg up to grant him access to you again.

He easily slid his rock hard cock into your wet pussy again. You welcomed him into you, eyes fluttering shut as you took him deeply, loving the feeling of his lips against your neck as he rocked into you.

One of his hands slid from your waist to your thigh, holding it up to spread you wider for him as your back pressed into his chest.

“Fuck, Flip, harder!” You cried, grinding back against him as he rutted forward.

“Yeah? You like that?” Flip snapped his hips harder, admiring the way your tits bounced with every time his hips connected with yours, the sound of smacking flesh mixed with the squelch of your juices filling the house.

“Hear how fucking wet you are? All for me.”

“Oh fuck-” You whined, head lulling to the side even more.

“You gonna cum for me again? Be a good girl?” You bucked back against him, chasing that high again that was so steadily building in your stomach. “Can feel you getting tighter for me.”

Flip was grunting in your ear, a steady stream of curse words leaving his mouth as his own orgasm was close behind yours.

“Cum on my cock, Sweetheart.”

Your muscles tensed before a wave of convulsions rang through your body. You cried out his name into the air around you as your orgasm gripped your body in shockwaves. Your walls clamped down on him, spasming through tremors that finally triggered his own release.

Flip’s breath hitched as he came deep inside of you with one last thrust whilst your walls spasmed around him. His entire body tensed as he pressed as close to you as he could, hips stuttering and jerking through his climax.

Flip finally pulled out of you, cock still lightly twitching as it was completely coated in the same mixture of the two of you that leaked out of you in a slow, lazy river. He let out a huff as you laid there on the fluffy carpet, basking in the bliss that had exhausted you both so. Flip’s arm was under your head, drawing you closer to his chest as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

“He’ll be home soon,” You didn’t want to acknowledge your husband’s soon-to-be presence but it was unavoidable. “You should get home before he sees us.”

“Let him see.”

[strangunddurm]

𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲

Chapter One of 80’s Mean Trouble

Summary: Suffering under a FEDRA military regime, you attempt to convince a stranger to stand and fight alongside you. Word Count: 5.1k CW/TW: this story is DARK. Very “nothing happy ever happens in TLOU”. Before the events of TLOU. Mentions of injury, detailed violence, gore. Implied PTSD. Setting up the story. Future smut -> Like… Next chapter smut. Authors Note: This is the first part of a series I have been planning for weeks now! It’s dark and angsty and will follow Joel's relationship with the reader from when they first meet. Each chapter will be titled after an 80s song, this chapter's being this song by U2. Huge thanks to @strangunddurm for supporting me through writing this! Tease: “I’m just passin’ through. Ain’t gotta be no trouble,” the stranger informs you.

Pain wakes you. Throbbing, it sears through your eardrums, a ringing noise worming its way between the wrinkles of your brain and drumming a headache against your skull. Tentatively, you raise your palms to your face. Delicately feeling your way across the concave that sinks into your cheekbone, you’re sure the sole print of the soldier’s boot had branded your skin in a bruise around the broken bone. You’re almost too scared to turn towards the mirror and check.

At first, the ache is all you can acknowledge; laying across the mattress at an awkward angle and feeling the pulse of discomfort across your body. But consciousness digs her nails into your flesh, and the rush of last night’s atrocities comes flooding back.

The echo of the screaming soldier’s demands ricochets within the shells of your ears.

"Stand down. Stand down!"

Then it’s your malar bone screaming, straining beneath the pressure of the boot on your head that crushes your skull into the concrete beneath you. Through your blurred vision, you can just make out a white Iris flowering through the crack between the sidewalk and the greying tarmac of the road.

Bullets rip through unsuspecting victims, tearing their bodies apart. At first, their legs continue to run, the projectiles piercing their flesh so fast that they continue their momentum before crumpling in a heap on the floor. Their blood seeps into the marbled texture of the road and stains the white centre line.

A tiny hand clutches a bloodied teddy bear, rigor mortis refusing to release the fluffy companion.

Your duvet contains your breakdown, keeping all your pieces together as you shatter. Guttural wails of despair act like shards of glass, ripping apart the inside of your throat until you can only manage a whisper to vocalise your agony.

An acrid scent floats through the partition between your window pane and the frame. The wood is all rotten, pulling away from the glass and letting in the cold in the winter. With heaving breaths, you inhale the swirling smoke into your lungs, coating your tongue with something that tastes disgusting.

Charcoal and sulphur. Flesh and hair.

You close your eyes.

-✩-

The pointed barrel of a gun oversees your daily tasks. Flesh sloughs from the bones of the charred corpses you dispose of, leaving a film of ash and secretion across your palms. The piles of bodies you haven’t got around to setting alight are beginning to putrefy, the scent so strong you can taste the sour rot. Soldiers watch, amused by your retches. There’s no vomit; you haven’t eaten in days.

Sunshine beats down on you, singeing blisters into the curve of your exposed shoulders. The skin there is pulled taut by lack of moisture, wrinkled.

There is no water available. What’s left of it sits at the bottom of a canteen, clipped to the utility belt of the armed soldier. His assault rifle is trained on you, omniscient. Condensation dribbles down the metal of the flask, gathering along the ridge at the bottom before dripping down onto the sidewalk. The droplet splat darkens the dusty cement flags, drying under the beating sun within moments of settling.

What a waste.

The brutality of the killings, hidden under cover of pitch blackness, was difficult to discern. Flashes of imagery under the spotlights and torches set alight did little to display the horror. The harsh sunlight lays bare the evil, the deceased's dried blood staining the floor— a shadow of their existence.

The fifteen-minute breaks from your labours aren’t so much recess than they are a game of ‘statues’. You sit and remain perfectly still. To draw attention to yourself is suicide, painting a red and white target between your eyes. You didn’t need the practice rings; the blackening bruise across your face screams ‘bullseye’.

You settle back against a brick wall, noting the way the rough texture of the clay grazes your sunburnt skin but having little energy to remove yourself from the discomfort. Exhaustion rattles your ribs in an exhale, and you squint against the sunshine, glancing around at your fellow labourers.

They look like you. Eyes red and swollen from an evening of mourning, fury grinding their teeth and grief wetting their cheeks as they watch their loved ones burn.

“You look like shit.”

You glance skyward to find Stephen standing over you, eyes dragging over your battered form and pinching his brows together in concern. He doesn’t look much better, a fresh split across his jaw still raw, flowering a purple bruise around it.

“Yeah. Tends to happen when they try to curb stomp you,” you mumble, subtly tilting your head towards the infantry. They’re laughing with each other, joyous despite the bodies that lay at their feet. Stephen sniffs, pushing strands of his blonde hair out of his eyes with bloodied knuckles.

Comfort settles between your ribs with Stephen at your hip. Your friend and fellow bombing survivor, he’s been a constant throughout the years since the outbreak. It’s odd remembering the moment you stepped out from quarantine, neck sore from the infection test and delirious from lack of sleep, to find this younger blonde guy offering a cereal bar and a gentle smile that disarmed your panic.

“You’re safe now. They can’t get you in here.”

“How many’ve you counted?” He queries, sinking to the floor beside you with a pained groan, clutching his ribs with his palm.

You hesitate at first, chewing on the inside of your cheek. The number of fatalities was explosive, and your answer could detonate a lethal reaction for the prying eyes of the paratroopers trained on the group.

“Seventeen,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around your shins and resting your forehead on your knees. Stephen answers with a charged silence, unsure how to respond.

The protest had been peaceful, with dissidents arriving at the gallows to object to the hanging of the QZ’s rations keeper. Charged with stealing, the wrinkled, greying older man had simply offered a singular ration card to a hungry child. The military had been restricting food for weeks, and members of the zone were beginning to feel the pinch. Gaunt, with his eyes sunken and cheeks hollowed, the elder couldn’t bear to see the little boy suffer.

When the number of cards handed out tallied to 302, rather than the previously discussed 301, the older man was pulled from his desk and dragged to the FEDRA office by his ankles. The citizens of the El Paso QZ were hungry, afraid, and now angered by this display of brutality.

It took less than an hour and the throwing of a small grey pebble for the soldiers to open fire.

“They executed him this morning,” Stephen spoke softly, his anger displaced by the more prominent, far more unforgiving emotion of grief.

“So I heard.”

“Don’t you think now is the time to do something?”

You snap your head over to Stephen with a look of shock, shaking your head slightly.

“Stephen,” you whisper, fearful of being overheard. Even a dream of a possible revolution had your heart thrumming wildly against your chest. You had no interest in being hung from the gallows for even thinking of a plan, not after seeing the fatal result of a peaceful protest.

Yes, before the shooting, you had been willing to stand against the brutal regime FEDRA had instated. Then they tried to stomp your brains across the sidewalk.

“You saw what they do to protesters; they killed us-“

“That wasn’t a murder, that was a massacre,” Stephen declares, and you feel your lungs seize. Hot blood splatters across your face. Bodies fall beside you. A plastic toy fire engine, crushed beneath the wheels of the armoured military vehicles.

“Hey!” Stephen digs his elbow into your ribs and you wheeze, clutching your chest as you smother the burn of your oxygen-deprived lungs with a deep inhale.

“These people are angry. They’ll stand and fight if someone gives them a voice- We’ll all starve before they can shoot us if this continues.”

Blackened smoke billows from the barrels in the centre of the square, the charred meat scent nauseating as it clings to your hair.

“Who would lead it?” You manage a whisper, but the four-word question sticks in your throat as you watch the flames engulf the vague outline of a corpse.

A shaky sigh sounds beside you, a hum of consideration as Stephen attempts to compose his answer. The crackling flames punctuate each syllable. “You’re the only ringleader from the protest that lived.”

Thudding heels sound against the concrete. The firing of bullet sprays strains your eardrums. A white Iris sways in the breeze.

You relent, shaking your head.

“Citigroup at 2 am. Do not let them see you.”

-✩-

Alarmed, you rip your pistol from your belt with trembling hands. Fingerprint shaky on the trigger, you approach the meeting room that you and the rebel group had been convening in. That door wasn’t closed when you last left it.

The civilians Stephen had managed to recruit through quiet word of mouth increased with each blisteringly hot day. Spurred on by the stench of death in the summer air, a collective agreement hung wordlessly amongst the citizens of the QZ; ‘enough is enough’. That first night following the massacre, ten brave people came to the rendezvous at the Citigroup bank. A week later, over 150 had offered up their lives for the insurrection, including a few soldiers you had vigorously vetted to ensure their coats were turned.

Despite the vast number, each member of the group knew the rules. Most critical of all, “leave the meeting room door propped open”.

Walking to the closed door steadily, you take purposeful, flat steps to ensure the soles of your feet don’t make a sound. Your ears are honed in on the inside of the room, listening for a boot scuff or an infected groan. Instead, you are met only with silence.

Fear grips the back of your neck, and its hand is ice cold. A shiver runs through you, goosebumps pimpling the skin of your forearms as you ready yourself to launch into the room.

One, two, three and scan for military. Ready? One, tw-

The slow, deliberate cocking of a pistol freezes your countdown like someone’s pulled the red wire of a suicide vest. Limbs frozen in place, your eyes focus on the marbled flooring as you stay perfectly still. You can’t breathe, and the boot applies pressure to your face. You can feel the gravel of the tarmac cutting into your cheek-

“Don’t make me hurt you,” a gruff voice speaks, voice practically a whisper. It’s a male. Texan accent. You don’t recognise it.

“I didn’t mean to bother you.” You surprise yourself with your even tone despite the terror that works its way between your ribs at the sound of a stranger's voice. FEDRA stopped taking people into El Paso’s Quarantine Zone four weeks ago, choosing instead to issue the order of ‘shoot-to-kill’ any survivors seeking sanctuary. It was impossible that you didn’t know everyone here, yet you couldn’t place this voice to a face.

“I’m just passin’ through. Ain’t gotta be no trouble,” the stranger informs you. His actions speak otherwise because you can feel his gun still aimed pin-point precise at the base of your skull.

“I could lay my gun down and kick it to you?” Your offer seems to appease your alien neighbour, offering you silence. You continue to plead for your life as you slooowly place your pistol down onto the shiny floor. “We have been using this room for a week; I hadn’t realised someone else had claimed it.”

“I haven’t,” the stranger remarks as you kick your pistol away. He stops it with his foot; you can hear the gun skid and come to an abrupt halt. “Like I said, jus’ passin’ through.”

Cautiously, you begin to pivot on your heel, hands aloft above your head with palms outstretched in surrender. Your captor makes no move to stop you as he slowly comes into sight.

Silver. It surprises you at first, the threads of silver in the stranger's hair. You had imagined a young, pompous male, someone who had a delusional confidence that he could take on a whole FEDRA army by himself. No, this man had survived beyond his post-outbreak prognosis thanks to what appeared to be military training— he held his gun like he was infantry.

His wrist holds the gun aloft steadily, poised. His brown eyes are set on his target with a sharpshooter's intensity. His walking boots are caked with dust from the desolate lands outside the quarantine zone. It took extreme endurance expertise to enter a manned fortress like El Paso, a military precision you desperately need.

Flitting your eyes to the floor, you see your pistol lodged between the marble and his leather sole. Your cheekbone aches.

"Getting in is one thing," you calmly advise the gutsy stranger, tearing your sight away from his feet to ease the phantom pain in your face. "I don't see how you plan to get out unless it's in a wheelbarrow full of corpses."

The stranger doesn't outwardly respond to your observation, but you watch his gaze harden. He knew. He already knew he was stuck.

"How long have you been here?"

"Three days."The hunger pangs would be setting in now. Whatever rations he had brought to make the trip were not enough to sustain the energy he was burning to survive.

Hesitantly, you lower your arms until your hands fall by your hips. The stranger does little to indicate he perceives this as threatening, though he keeps the barrel of his gun trained between your eyes.

"What's your name?"

A hesitation.

"Joel."

"Joel," you repeat gently in a venture to indicate you have no intention of escalating this stand-off. "Did you enter the city alone?"

Watching Joel consider his answer gives you hope. He is aware of how dangerous this place is, it seems. After a moment of deliberation, he offers you a simple, singular nod.

"You are valuable," you admit, "I need someone with your survival expertise, just as you need help getting out of the QZ before FEDRA hangs you."

“I ain’t in the business of try’na stage a coup,” Joel drawls, figuring out your plot before you even have a chance to spell them out. He’d probably found the plans you’d hidden in the meeting room. He’d been here long enough to understand the brutality of the military. In truth, he would have discovered the oppressive regime within minutes of his arrival.

Finally lowering his gun to his hip, Joel offers you some breathing space. He’s not stupid, though- he leaves the safety off, and his finger is set on the trigger.

“You’re ‘in the business’ of trying to get out of here alive, though— and you won’t do it on your own,” you insist, watching Joel’s expression falter at your certainty.

“Not interested,” he answers firmly. “Got enough guns trained on me as it is.”

You had no doubt that a singular man who could enter highly manned QZs without detection had ruffled a few feathers along the way. Joel appeared dangerous, a menacing presence you severely lacked in your group of would-be revolutionaries, but you weren’t about to beg for his services.

“Then I can’t help you,” shrugging your shoulders, you open the main office door and prop it open with the brick you had set there a week before as a makeshift doorstop. Joel had kicked it away to close the door, the texture of the cement block scratching the smooth reflective surface of the marble floor. “That’s a sham-“

A low, deep growl sounds from Joel’s stomach, cutting off your half-assed attempt to guilt-trip him into relenting. You pause, watching him shift his stance as though he was unsettled that his body had fessed up his dire situation. You pounce.

“… Would you at least like some food?”

-✩-

Chaos. Chaos was the only way to describe the utter craziness that unfolded every time your team of ragtag revolutionaries would get together. It was like a drunken rabble without the intoxication.

It wasn't often that citizens of the El Paso quarantine zone found reason to laugh. You can't recall, before the massacre, the last time you heard someone truly struck with hilarity. In the safety of the bank, locked in the meeting room, giggles are free-flowing amongst yourselves as you all recall relic memories that no longer matter.

Office crushes, tripping up at the school dance in front of everybody, lovers tiffs.

It’s almost like a family gathering sans barbecue, and it’s evident that Joel feels like an intruder.

Tucked away in the corner of the room, Joel attempts to make his broad frame as small as possible. Even as he eats from the peaches can, fork scraping the ridged metal, he makes an effort to restrict his communication to a simple but heartfelt thank you despite being almost immediately accepted into this patchwork family.

Regardless of how joyous the team is, silence befalls the large room when you stand from your chair at the head of the table. There is no need to wait for conversations to die away; all communication ceases simultaneously. Only one voice matters now.

"Stephen," you speak with an air of authority that far surpasses the confines of your body, "What are our numbers?"

"Just over 200 members," Stephen announces, and it makes the hair on your arms stand at attention. That was over half of the QZ's population. Considering the elderly, injured and infant citizens, you realise that almost every able person had signed up to fight. Hope twists in your stomach like a serpent, offering its Eden apple to you. You refuse to let it take root – you're not out of the woods yet.

Nodding your head slowly, you take a deep breath in. This was it. If you were to leave it any longer, the likelihood that your coup plans would be discovered far outweighed your chance at victory. You didn't want to offer your neck to the noose when you could feel freedom brush your fingertips.

“What about weapons?”

“A number to be a little less optimistic about,” he admits, and you feel yourself wince. You knew the likelihood of arming every revolutionary with a gun was impossible. When the military took over the QZ and turned it into a fascist’s wet dream, they stripped each citizen of their weapons under the guise of promising to serve and protect against the infected. The few firearms you did have, some twenty or so, had been smuggled into the bank by the limited turncoat members.

“You gonna stage a coup against FEDRA with no guns?” Joel’s voice speaks from the corner of the room, his gravelly tone booming across the quiet and ricocheting off the marble walls.

“Sounds like my only option,” you admit.

“Sounds like suicide.”

“Got any better options, old man? You decided not to fight. Why are you complaining now?” You point out Joel’s cowardice with little remorse, watching as his jaw ticks. His skin ripples over the tense muscles there, hollowing his cheeks slightly. You see your broken cheekbone in your mind's eye.

“Ain’t complainin’,” he grumbles, dragging his fork through the syrup left in the peach can. The metal prongs scrape against the aluminium in a shrill ‘screech’. “Just pointin’ out that you’re at a severe disadvantage.”

“Gee, I think a blind man could see that, Joel.”

“Hey now,” Stephen speaks up gently, trying to ease the hostility in your voice with a gentle palm on your shoulder. “The man’s entitled not to risk his life for a couple-a strangers. He doesn’t know us.”

"I don't know him, but I gave him some of our rations, which are very limited, I might add. It's called common decency." You fall just short of pointing out that Joel appears to lack even a scintilla of decency.

Stephen settles his palms on your shoulders and physically turns you away from the unbothered stare of Joel Miller, focusing your attention back on the task at hand. "We have around 50 guns. Only five of those semi-automatics."

Nausea settles into your stomach, twisting and churning around its emptiness. It's not enough. You know it's not enough. FEDRA armed its militia with weapons of war designed for battlefields. Guns that were once used against terrorists in Iraq were now turned against American civilians. You suppose those details don't matter anymore – there were no borders, no countries.

America died when its government bombed the streets.

There was no other option. There would never be a more opportune time than this, despite the odds. The longer you waited, the more likely they'd strip you of all hope.

Stealing yourself against the creeping concerns, take a shaky breath in. Reality scrapes at the edge of your mind, warning you of the inevitability you faced when you fired that first shot. Your face aches, crushed beneath a leather sole. The studs bury into the flesh of your cheek, branding you with the military's signature brutality.

You’d rather die trying.

"Those of you with military experience will be armed with heavy-duty weapons, we don't have many, so we have to get the most use out of them," you begin articulating your plan, fingernails biting into your palms. "The rest of the weapons guns, mostly pistols, they'll go to those of you to have experience with firearms. Again, we need accuracy."

Swept dribbles down the temples, and you feel the concrete penetrate your skin. The pressure is like a vice, unrelenting in its desire to crush you under its weight. You won't let it.

"The rest of us will use anything we can; knives, shovels, hammers. Everyday objects that give us the best chance of survival."

The energy in the boardroom is bleak, the majority of you realising your inevitable fate. There would be more of you in the ground than standing by the end of this.

Sitting back in your seat, you rub your temple, afflicted with the ghost of a headache. You feel the guilt eating at your consciousness already, feel the grief of losing so many good people despite them breathing before you. They are dead men walking, and you all know it. The absoluteness is suffocating.

“Ooh, man,” Stephen sighs dramatically, and immediately the tension in the air thins at his voice, some of the team smiling before he even has the chance to say his one-liner. “This is something Bono would write about- can Sunday Bloody Sunday be our revolution anthem?”

“We’re not having a revolution anthem, Stephen. Besides, it was a anthem for victims of The Troubles. It’s taken,” You lay down the law, but even you can’t help how the edges of your lips pull up, threatening a smile. In the moments you feel like you’re drowning, with waterlogged lungs suffocating you and the blackness inching in, Stephen is always there to say something affectionately stupid. He’s your white iris.

“Well, you’re fucking boring,” he winks at you, and laughter sounds throughout the room. Hearty, honest giggles that make him grin, crinkles forming at the edges of his eyes.

An eruption of conversation that follows, discussions of which songs would make it on the insurgent playlist and off-key sing-alongs of Rebel Rebel. Amongst the chaos that returns, you note Joel.

He’s sat back against the wall, clutching the empty can of peaches with his fingertips and observing the doomsday mania. It’s possible that you’re dreaming, that the imaginary boot has taken out your frontal lobe and squashed it beneath its ever-present pressure, but you’re convinced you can see a hint of a smile beneath that thin moustache.

-✩-

Blinding Texas heat beats down on your skin, the setting sun blistering your scalp and pinkening your cheeks with its dying rays. Sweat dribbles down your temple as you trawl through the troughs re-designed for growing vegetables. Sickly-looking carrots, premature for their season, are spindly, far too small to feed a QZ as large as El Paso.

It didn’t matter, regardless; all the food would go to the ones with the guns. They hound you now, peering over your shoulder at the measly spoils of your labour.

Desperate to ensure your plan went undiscovered, each member of the coup group decided to continue with their daily tasks up until the call to arms tomorrow evening. Without empty spaces in the workforce, there was no reason for FEDRA to assume a deposition was underway. Still, each member issued with a gun was armed and ready for anything. Your pistol burns a hole in your hip, steel red hot in the Texan summer sun.

Sweltering, you wipe your sweaty forehead with the back of your forearms. It does little to help, simply smearing your perspiration across your sunburnt skin. You feel sticky, almost delusional as the edge of sunstroke begins to work its claws into your mind— but fear keeps your hands working, unearthing each of the anaemic-looking carrots despite the throbbing in your temples.

Barrels face each task force member today, the military cracking down in response to an honest mistake. He hadn’t meant to, Stephen, when he blew a fuse for one of the main generators this morning. They’d called him in, on his off time, to fix the shitbox machine, whining about how it had whirred and eventually spluttered to a stop, shutting off half the floodlights and leaving parts of El Paso in the dark.

He’d pleaded for another opportunity, facing down the screaming soldier and insisting he could right his wrong. Your heart had threatened to burst out between your ribs, lungs tying in a knot and suffocating you as you watched them push him around. Threatening to take away his ration card with further failure, they allowed him one more chance.

The floodlights were back up in just short of ten minutes.

Regardless of the small success, the military had cracked down significantly this morning, brandishing their weapons and aiming them at anyone they considered slacking.

Tossing the carrots you had harvested into the grimy blue bucket they had offered you, you take a moment to catch your breath. You ached all over, exhaustion ringing in your ears like a bomb had gone off in your skull. Sleep. So desperate for sleep.

Glancing around the streets, you can barely think straight as you cast your eyes over everything and nothing simultaneously. Soldiers with their fingers on triggers, carts of miscellaneous items stripped from the people shot at the QZ’s entrance, sunlight reflecting off a fellow labourer’s belt buckle.

Joel in the window of the abandoned bakers.

You fumble, nearly dropping your trowel at the startling sight. Joel’s watching you, his dark eyes set firmly on your face as he raises his index finger to his lips. Quiet.

Swallowing thickly, you cast your eyes down at the grey soil, bone dry and inhospitable for the seeds that the soldiers demanded you plant. What was he doing out here in broad daylight? Was he making his break now, deciding he had to get away before the carnage of the coup? He was more spineless than you took him for.

Angered by his insensitivity, you squint against the blinding sunshine to glare at him through your lashes. Joel appears unbothered, offering a slight shake of his head as his hand inches towards the revolver on his hip.

Wha-

“I said move along!” A shout sounds up, loud and imposing from a soldier across the street at the ration card table. It was nearing the end of the shift, and workforce members lined up to receive their measly ration cards. They are antsy, shifting their weight from one foot to another as the FEDRA agent argues with the unfortunate bastard at the head of the queue.

“Not until you give me my card; I’ve worked a twelve-hour shift- thirteen if you count the generator!” Stephen. He’s agitated, voice also picking up to match the aggressor's volume. Fear pools in your stomach, dropping your trowel into the soil as you attempt to stumble to your feet.

“You have been denied your ration card, son. Now, I said move along,” the uniformed goon shoves the barrel of his pistol into Stephen’s sternum with a bruising force, shoving him back into the line of people awaiting their ration cards. They prop him up, preventing him from stumbling backwards.

It rings in your ears, how time seems to slow as Stephen props himself back up, fury pinching his brows together. He opens his mouth to argue, go say something argumentative to the soldier's demand.

You remember what fireworks used to look like. How they’d explode into tiny shards of light and sparkle as they fell to the ground. You’d stare in awe at the New Year's celebrations as they painted the sky with pyrotechnic glitter.

Stephen’s skull shatters into minute fragments of bone, his brain painting the concrete below his body as his knees buckle beneath his dead weight and crumples to the floor. The soldier slowly lowers the pistol that he’d pressed to your friend's forehead, the gunshot echoing out across the almost silent Quarantine Zone.

Then it’s like someone hits fast-forward. Screaming. You’re screaming as the boot applies pressure, as your cheekbone cracks beneath the vice. Flashes of the massacre whip around in your head, the fires burning, the wetness of the blood that splashed your face as a person fell dead beside you. Your chest heaves, sucking in oxygen, yet your vision continues to darken around the edges

Fumbling, you rip your pistol from your hip and point it at the FEDRA officer with a trembling aim. His eyes start towards you, quick to match your standoff and raise his weapon.

Shots ring out before your synapses even have a chance to order your finger to pull the trigger, his body slumping forward and hitting the pavement with a sickening thud. Forward. The bullets come from behind.

The place erupts, citizens ripping out their weapons and firing on soldiers. Those unable to fight usher themselves swiftly into buildings to avoid the hail of gunfire. It’s carnage.

Joel stands over the body of the fallen soldier, gun smoking in his hand. He uses the outside of his foot to turn the slumped corpse sideways and retrieve the weapon that had clattered to the floor alongside it. You note the blood that smears the leather of his boot.

Arming himself with both pistols, Joel glances your way with a firm expression as he urgently shouts your name. Bullets whistle in the air, and sounds of dying screams drown out his address, but you know what he’s saying. Know it's go-time.

Nodding weakly, you wipe your tears with the back of your forearm. Your chest heaves, your jaw ticks and you raise your gun, eagle eyes searching for anyone with a FEDRA badge to paint the walls with.

- - -

This is the end of Chapter One! Please comment/reblog and let me know what you thought of this first chapter and if I should continue! The extreme smuttiness and angst starts from here on out! Feel free to ask to be added to the taglist down below so you don't miss future instalments :)

@hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @welcometostayingawake @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @hold-our-destiny @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @cottagebunny9 @bit-dodgy-innit @peachyproserpina @pedrosprincess

[strangunddurm]

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐁𝐨𝐲 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Previous Joel Fics: Mule [5.1K], Atta Girl [10.2K]

Summary: Ellie steals one of Bills magazines and you and Joel decide to see what the fuss is about.

Word Count: 3k

CW: Possible spoilers for episode 3, but I haven’t seen it! Based on the game. Heavily inspired by my bestie @foxilayde. A much lighter fic than the last few, a little bit of dry comedy, a little bit of playful Joel, but also a little bashful. Consumption of porn magazine, companions to lovers(?), p in v sex, fingering. Not proof read.

Tease: “Can feel you squeezin’ me. You gonna c** for me?”

“N-Now Ellie, that ain’t for kids-“

“Woaaah!” Ellie had exclaimed, holding up the magazine rustling in her hand by her fingertips, her arm outstretched to take in the whole double page, “How- How the hell would he even walk around with that thing?!”

That had piqued your interest, eyes snapping up to the rearview mirror. Ellie was giggling, grinning from ear to ear as Joel turned in his seat to snatch the paper emblazoned with PLAYGIRL in red lettering from her hand.

“Would you jus’-“

“Hold your horses!” Ellie had insisted, “I wanna see what all the fuss is about!”

You hadn’t said anything at the time, chuckling at the way Joel’s cheeks flushed as Ellie asked all kinds of inappropriate questions. It was only when she discarded the pornographic magazine on the floor of the truck at the end of her smutty inquisition and fell asleep on the back seat upon Joel’s insistence that you made a note of where she had dropped it in the footwell.

Joel, having stopped to rest, slept in the front seat. His head tilted forwards; a gentle snore indicated he was out cold. With some courage and a little luck, you managed to grab the magazine without waking either of the sleeping duo and exit the truck.

Settling back in the bed of the pickup truck now and minding how uncomfortable it was to lean against the metal, you set a flashlight against the floor, open up the worn pages of the filthy magazine and chew nervously on your lower lip.

Of course, you weren’t to judge Bill for his sexuality. You never had before the outbreak, and there certainly wasn’t any point in being a bigot when the world had ended. In fact, thumbing through each crinkled page, you can’t help but thank Bill for his impressive collection of smutty male pages.

Each page had a collection of pictures and articles on everything from the ‘best sex positions for your zodiac signs’ to ‘average penis size of men around the world’. Clearly photographed in the 80s, based on the moustaches alone, each man photographed in a multitude of poses was muscular, slathered in oil, and donning the tiniest speedos while exhibiting the most prominent bulges beneath the aquablade fabric.

Ellie was right, how do they walk around with those things?

One, in particular, caught your eye; the sunset-orange speedos sat snug against the globes of his ass. The muscles in his back were defined, rippling with each of his poses. They were so clear beneath his golden tan you could probably label each picture like an anatomy textbook. He was pretty, and he made your face warm up.

“That your type?” A gruff, rumbling voice makes your body jolt in shock, inhaling a petrified gasp.

Joel had stepped out of the truck while you were distracted by the glutes and pectorals of the gorgeous male models, catching you off guard as he walked up behind you. He crossed his arms over his chest, biceps straining the sleeves of his denim shirt.

“Mhm- N-No! No, I was just reading about how standard American men have a less-than-average dick length,” you lie smoothly to cover up being caught red-handed, using some of the data you had read a few pages back. “What about yours? Is your moody personality compensating for something?”

“You ain’t funny,” he answers flatly, refusing to rise to your childish jabs as he climbs up into the truck bed with you. You catch a glimpse of the pistol buried in the waistband of his jeans, and your pulse races faster than it had with any of the round bums you’d seen in the pages.

“I’d say I’m hilarious. It’s the trauma of experiencing The End. It builds chara-cter,” you ramble, only stuttering when Joel manages to pry the glossy papers from your hands. His eyes scan over the page with a look of disinterest.

“But outta date, don’t you think?” He grumbles in that grumpy, man-child way he does that always has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. He’s pointing at the very 80s-style porn staches.

“Dunno, wouldn’t exactly call your facial hair ‘trendy’,” you scoff, watching him flick to the page titled in bold capitals: EXCITING SEX TRICKS TO TRY!

It’s ridiculous. You’re both grown adults, and it’s not as though the two of you were born during the outbreak. You’d both been through high school, and no doubt had sexual partners before Cordyceps took hold of the world. However, the prospect of talking sex with Joel Miller was mortifying.

You can feel the heat creeping up your throat as his eyes scan the sections of information with such indifference that you’re almost sure that he’s bored. Perhaps he was. It wasn’t as though you had caught him taking some time to himself during your great journey.

Joel is so lost in the writing that you allow yourself a moment to take in the slope of his nose, the slant of his cupid's bow framed by his greying moustache. Beneath his creased, frowning brow, his long lashes surround the deep brown of his eyes as they flick back and forth across the page. He was a handsome man. Was there no one waiting for him back in the Boston QZ? He’d never sa-

“The fuck is guddlin’?” Joel speaks out, shocking you from your thoughts with a start. You blink slowly, probably looking really fucking stupid as you choke on the words stuck in your throat when Joel looks up at you with a quirked brow.

“I-“

“I mean, I know guddlin’ in a fishin’ sense,” he interrupts, pointing to the page and prodding it with the tip of his finger, “Not in a-… Not in this sense, though.”

“Does-… Does it not explain?” You ask him quietly, your mouth suddenly very dry. Joel gives a light shrug, his eyes wandering over the page in search of a definition.

“Oh- Here,” he points out. He takes a second to read, his tanned skin tinged with pink as the words sink in. “Uhm… It’s- Well, it’s-“

Poor Joel looks as though he’s seconds away from an aneurysm attempting to explain the bizarre sex act without actually saying it. You scoff, snatching up the crinkled magazine and reading over the asterisk in small print at the bottom of the information page.

‘To insert one's finger(s) into a woman's vagina to pleasure her digitally while simultaneously having penile-vaginal intercourse with her.’

You pause, your lips parting as you look at Joel with a weak laugh. He’s rubbing at the back of his neck, eyes cast somewhere on the horizon in an attempt to avoid your own. He’s as embarrassed as you are, it seems, clearing his throat with a weak chuckle.

“Well,” he mumbled, eyes flicking to the magazine, ���Must’a been good for it to end up in that.”

You nod slowly, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you glance down at the black and white print that appears to all blur together in embarrassment. “Mhm.”

You can feel your pulse between your thighs, your skin tingling beneath what you assume is Joel’s gaze. It’s crude, utterly filthy, but you can imagine the stretch, the feeling of his weapon-calloused fingertips coaxing your g-spot as he slowly sinks into you.

Slowly, with trembling hands, you close the magazine with a nervous laugh, discarding it with a half-hearted toss over the edge of the truck bed and onto the roadside. “Stupid shit anyway…”

Your aimless comment is met with silence, and you’re far too humiliated to face the notion of looking at Joel. You imagine he thinks you’re insane, having caught you reading and enjoying this filth.

“… Take it you ain’t tried that before?” Joel’s gruff voice cuts through the sound of the crickets in the surrounding grass, and you can’t help but laugh, simply shaking your head and avoiding his gaze.

A delicate brush of skin against your ankle sparks something raw up your spine. You look at it quickly, seeing Joel’s fingertips tracing the rough circumference of the joint beneath them. Your skin prickles pleasantly, and you look up at your partner- your smuggling partner- through your lashes.

His expression is firm, but his eyes betray his outward calm display. They’re flickering between your lips and eyes, his exhale slow as he attempts to force out some words he appears afraid to put out into the atmosphere.

“Do you… Do you wanna try it?”

It’s haphazard, delivered clumsily, and so utterly unlike Joel. You can see the cringe in his expression when the sentence settles in the air, and your heart lurches when you see he’s sincere. That he wants you and that he’s letting you know after years of hiding it from you.

God, you don’t even give him another second to doubt himself. You’re scrambling into his lap, straddling it and pressing your mouth to his in a kiss that hurts more than it pleases, his teeth scraping your lower lip and your tongue tracing his own.

You can feel it through the thin, worn denim of his jeans, the jump of his cock when you settle your crotch down against the seam. His hands are vicious, grasping handfuls of your thighs, your ass, your hips. He could bruise the shape of his fingerprints into you, and you’d thank him, would beg him to put you through the pain again to brand you as his.

He groans out your name into your mouth, but it sounds more like a growl rattling in his chest. You’re fumbling in the low lighting with his belt buckle, the clinking of the clasp bringing you relief when you free Joel’s hips from their leather confines. It’s almost frantic, the pace you set as you try and fail, try and fail before you successfully pop the button of his jeans and yank them over his hips. There’s not enough time to rid him of them completely, so Joel settles with the waistband resting just above his knees.

“C’mere,” Joel husks, his lips brushing yours as he speaks and forces your cargo pants over your hips without even bothering to let down the zip. It hurts a little, smarts, but it sparks something desperate in you when you realise it’s pulled down your underwear too, leaving you exposed to his gropes.

One hand grasps the globe of your asscheek, giving a brutally harsh squeeze. The other sinks between your thighs. Joel’s groan of delight when he finds the insides of your thighs soaked causes your cunt to throb before he’s even touched it.

"Is that all me?" He asks you, his voice dipping to a deep, spine-shuddering hum. He sweeps the calloused pad of his index fingertip up the inside of your thigh and through your pussy lips. You can hear the wetness there when he notches against your clit, when he sinks the very tip of his fingers into your entrance. "That all me, or did you like the pornstache more than I realised?"

You usually would scoff in Joel's face, tell him to stop being so ridiculous and self-absorbed, but he's slowly circling your frayed bundle of nerves with his thumb, and your jaw is slack. You can't even think of a witty retort, just grasping feebly at the collar of his denim shirt.

"I'm gonna take what I want from that lack of response," he fills the silence for you, an infuriating smirk settling on his lips as he sinks his fingers inside of you.

The lack of resistance and eagerness from your cunt catches you both off guard, Joel groaning in delight as you take the length of his digits so easily. "Fuck~”

You whimper out Joel’s name, thighs trembling on either side of his lap as he coaxes his fingers towards him inside of you and wasting no time in finding the spot that would bring tears to your eyes.

“Ah,” he breathes, a smirk playing on his lips when he sees your torso crumple inwards as his touch brushes something electric inside you. “Ah- that’s it, ain’t it?”

It’s pathetic. You want to answer him, even sob out wordlessly as the wave of pleasure crashes through you at the delicate touch, but your words are stalled in your throat as Joel circles that sensitive wall inside you with his nimble fingers.

“C’mere,” he growls, seeing your expression contorted desperately and deciding he can’t wait much longer. One hand is still busy with building your orgasm, and his other clumsily pulls down his boxers and exposes his ruddy length.

Joel gives you barely a moment to absorb what it is you see, managing to process the pink tinge to the velvet skin of his cockhead and the smear of precum that glistens under the low lighting before he’s hoisting you over him, knees on either side of his hips.

It’s filthy and disgusting and raw, the way he uses his free hand to sweep his cock across your clit. It sparks something dangerous deep inside your abdomen, another wave of increasingly unmanageable bliss that wraps around your spinal cord and constricts your lungs. You barely choke out his name, your fist punching his shoulder as if to say, ‘stop teasing!’ before Joel sinks into your wet heat with a broken rasp of your name.

Tight. Everything is coiled up so tightly inside you as the width of Joel’s cock-head pushes past your entrance, your walls swallowing him and squeezing him as he sinks in slowly. Your fingernails are digging into his shoulders through his denim shirt, tears of bliss welling in your eyes as he fills you completely. All the while he continues to circle and poke and prod at your g-spot, simultaneously building up your orgasm and wrecking you.

“That’s it,” he husks, breathless as he helps you settle down to the hilt of his dick. He’s nudging your cervix, and you feel so impossibly full that your body is trembling around him, pushed to its absolute limit as your tears stream down your cheeks. They drip from your chin, leaving deeper wet stains across the faded blue of his shirt.

Then he’s shoving his hips upwards and into you, and it’s like you can’t hold onto him tight enough. You’re scrabbling for some kind of grip that can brace you against the simultaneous stimulation of his thrusts and his fingers circling something mind-numbingly raw inside you. The rusty parts of the van creak beneath the motion, and between your slurred curses and weak cries of his name, you’re trying to warn him to be quiet, not to wake Ellie.

You can barely manage to coax him on, eyes rolling back and forehead falling forward onto his shoulder as you give in entirely to the creeping orgasm that picks up your spine.

“C-Can feel you,” Joel stumbles over his own words and laughs, his cock twitching inside you as he continues to drag in and out of your abused pussy, “Can feel you squeezin’ me. You gonna cum for me?”

You want to slap him. Want to make him walk to Pittsburgh with this cocky attitude, this cavalier facade that is so unlike his usual brusque persona. Instead, you’re keening for him, nodding your head against his collarbone and squeaking out your best impression of a ‘yes, Joel, please, please!’

Shit- it’s coming. You feel it racing through you before he even delivers his devastating blow. You think it can’t get any more intense, that it can’t feel any better than this, until he’s pushing his hips upwards and manoeuvres his hand to brush his thumb against your swollen, sensitive clit.

The print of his thumb doesn’t even make it a full rotation before your orgasm comes roaring forwards, slamming through your body to the point it’s almost painful in the best way. You’re quick to smother your scream of his name, biting down hard on the denim fabric at Joel’s throat and releasing the devastating shout of his name into the fibres between your teeth.

Poor Joel stumbles with how hard your body clamps down on him, his galloping thrusts reduced to sloppy stutters of his hips as a grating, pained groan rattles through his ribs beside your ear. Distantly, you can feel him pulsing inside you, filling you until his cum is spilling down the sides of his cock.

“God-“ He chokes out, voice catching in his throat as you heave for breath. It’s not as though he has the energy to lift you from him, still buzzing. You’re somewhere else entirely, vision blurry and consciousness far outside the dermis walls of your body.

Slumped against Joel, you focus on breathing. How do you do it again? In and out… In and out. It’s embarrassing, the way he’s left you unsure of essential bodily functions. The ease with which he’s numbed your mind and body.

Ironically, though, he makes it easier to find your way back to yourself. His steady, albeit heavy, breathing ticks like a metronome, easing you down from the impossible high you’ve ascended beneath his touch. He smells like salty sweat, like mud that cakes his boots and the truck's tyres.

“You think maybe we should pick that magazine back up?” Joel mumbled into your hair, oddly quiet and almost shy despite the blunt delivery of the query.

Pausing, you glance up at him through your lashes and catch a tinge of embarrassment on his cheeks. He’s staring down at the sidewalk next to the tyres, no doubt eyeing up the pages strewn across the cement flags.

“… Well,” you whisper, voice hoarse, “You never know what survival skills we might need. With your blueprints for Molotovs and upgrading weapons and my articles on ‘bizarre sex positions’, we’re bound to survive the apocalypse-“

“Alright, darlin’,” Joel attempts to speak you down from your amused ramblings, made awkward by the crudeness of the conversation once again.

“I mean, what the fuck is the ‘Pretzel Dip’?”

“Fuck if I know,” he admits with an air of chagrin.

“… You’re not much of a playboy, are you Miller?”

“Shut up and put your pants on.”

END

@hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @welcometostayingawake @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @astroboots @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @hold-our-destiny @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @cottagebunny9 @bit-dodgy-innit @peachyproserpina

[strangunddurm]

600! Thank you, thank you, thank you! 🥹🥹🥹🥹

Thou Shalt Have No Other Gods Before Me

Masterlist

Pairing: Flip Zimmerman x fem!reader

Summary: Flip Zimmerman believed there to only be one God whose name was his own.

Word count: 7.4k

Warnings: Age gap (reader is of age), sexual harassment (maybe idk), PinV sex, unprotected sex, fingering, masturbation, swearing, dirty talk, religion, blasphemy.

A/N: Maaaaybe don't read this if you're religious. I was raised Lutheran so I mostly drew inspiration from that ☺️

It took him a while to get you as he wanted; squirming under him as his lips were hot on your neck and his fingers were deep in your pussy, caressing your walls until tears were leaking from your eyes from the pleasure.

Flip could remember the first time he had seen you as clear as day. You had come bounding into the police station with a basket of freshly baked goods and a sinfully sweet dress that swung by your knees. The preacher’s daughter. Your father had been a few steps behind you, but Flip had been so preoccupied with devouring every inch of you that he could see that he had completely overlooked him.

You were new in town and Flip knew that there would be more than a few dirty bastards at the precinct that probably wanted to sink their filthy claws into you. He didn’t even want to begin to think about all those boys at the community college and what they got up to whilst daydreaming of you. Honestly, sometimes Flip thought that the filth that was man should be completely eradicated from earth, and he’d thought of it even more since he’d met you.

Flip couldn’t allow that, of course. You were so pure, you deserved to be with somebody who could treat you right; somebody who could treat that pretty pussy you had between your legs like it deserved to be treated; somebody who was a God amongst men.

You needed to be licked at until your legs shook as you came gushing all over his face, and after that, to be fucked with your ass high up in the air as he drove into you from behind, the tip of him pounding into that soft, spongy part of you that would make your walls clench around his thick shaft as you milked him. He wanted you to moan into his ear as he made you cum with just his fingers and a few kisses on your neck.

Flip found himself to be more... charitable after that. The time he would usually spend tugging at his cock on a Thursday afternoon when he got off work early was spent volunteering at the church, right alongside you.

Of course, Flip wasn’t a religious or God-fearing man, far from it. He did not believe in any sort of higher power that so many people devoted their lives to. Yes, he was born Jewish, but hadn’t given much thought to religion past the time he’d become self-aware. Why was there a need for a god to dictate your life when he could make all the right decisions himself?

It started small. He took his time getting you, coming across as the nice guy — but, of course, he was a nice guy, so it wasn’t all completely an act.

Volunteering at Colorado Hills Church on Thursday’s consisted of cleaning up after the gardening group that you held every week at 3 P.M. It was just him, you, and another irrelevant man who would put away the heavy tables and gardening tools. You were always so grateful for his help, thanking him over and over again before disappearing and reappearing again with a steaming hot cup of coffee whenever he took a break to inhale a cigarette.

Flip would always make sure to come just a few minutes earlier than he needed to so that he could catch the last few moments of your class. He could admit that it was nice seeing you in your element, the way you flourished as you fluttered around the kids that were learning about some new vegetable every week. He couldn’t help watching your every move, every laugh that rang out of you and every smile that wove its way across your face.

It took a month before he got you alone for the first time. 4 weeks of spending his Thursday afternoons with you and fisting his cock until he came all over his stomach when he came home. You made him so, so incredibly hard. His cock would painfully throb in his jeans as he saw you bend over in those short dresses you would wear, always the picture-perfect image of a preacher’s daughter.

It was all an act. Flip knew it, you knew it, anyone who took their time to think about more than their head between your thighs would be able to see it. You had everyone fooled, everyone except for him. Flip noticed the way you would squirm anytime he looked at you, the way you would subconsciously rub your thighs together and bite your lip. It was the reason why Flip liked to tease you. He knew that sending you even half of a smile was enough to make your panties drenched and he thrived on that little tidbit of information.

“Just us today?” You jumped as you heard his voice from behind you and Flip couldn’t help but let out a chuckle of amusement as he saw the flustered look on your face.

“Yeah, just us.” You let out a nervous giggle as you stared up at him with wide eyes and Flip thought you reminded him of a doe-eyed deer, caught in the trap of the hunter.

“Good.”

“I- I...” You stuttered, words falling over a cliff into a pool of nothingness as you became tongue-tied. Flip liked the way he could reduce you to a complete mess with less than a handful of words.

The last few stragglers of kids had already left so you were all alone in the garden, in your own oasis, surrounded by high shrubs and cold concrete walls that separated the rest of the world from you. He had you all to himself, right where he wanted you.

“What do you want to do first?” He awarded you the pretence that you were the one who decided what to do, that you were the one that completely dictated the when, where, and how. It was cute.

“Ma- Maybe we could ehm... start with the- the tools.” It was the usual routine, starting with the tools, then the bags of soil, and then the large planter tables. But it made you feel like you had some sort of semblance of control when he let you point and order him around.

Flip got to it quickly. He lifted from his knees, hoisting the unopened bags over his shoulder with ease and then gathered all the scattered tools as you tried helping as much as you could. You were like a little mouse, scurrying around like a flustered mess as you made minimal small talk whilst stumbling over your words.

He took his opportunity when you dropped the overly large box of seeds of all kinds. He didn’t rush over to help you, taking his time to set down the boxes he had been carrying before meandering over to help you pick up the scattered bags.

“Clumsy, are we?” You smiled down at your hands as you shrugged your shoulders. Flip made you flustered, he unnerved you and made your heart race at such a pace that you found it impossible not to fumble with even the simplest of tasks. Walking in a straight line without stumbling became something that you barely knew how to do.

“Sorry…” You didn’t know exactly what you were apologising for but the urge to blurt it out came over you before you could stop yourself. Flip let out a chuckle before he put the last few bags back into the box and straightened out to his full height.

It was clear to Flip that you were completely mesmerized and spellbound as you looked up at him, his impressive physique entrancing you completely. He liked you like this, looking up at him as if he was your saviour, the one that would deliver salvation to you as you prayed at his feet.

Flip held out his hand, reaching down to help you up. He didn’t let your hand go immediately once you were on both feet, but you didn’t either. It was all very cliche, but Flip wasn’t one to complain. Life, once again, was working in his favour. You were becoming more and more entranced by him, adoration growing in your core like a flower in April whose petals furled out in an unperturbed instance, there in less than a moment.

“Thank you.” You whispered quietly as if you were afraid that the wind would overhear a secret only meant for his ears. Flip thought that your eyes looked beautiful in that moment, glittering in the sunshine that you bathed in. “For always being so kind and helping.”

Flip probably didn’t deserve a thank you. He was, after all, solely motivated for selfish reasons that involved less than supposedly true Christian values. But who cared about Christian values when they were sourced in the book of God that fueled such hatred in the world; when the Most High created evil that degraded the earth and defiled the innocent? He did not strike down the sinners as he promised; instead, warlords were beloved for the chaos and strife they caused the world, praised for ungodly acts as something akin to Lucifer whispered in their ears and blackened their hearts.

“You’re the one that should be thanked.” You looked surprised over his words; like it was the last thing you expected to come out of his mouth; like you had never been thanked before in your entire life.

“I just do what I am told.” You released his hand abruptly, twirling on your heels and walking off.

There was a shed behind the church that housed all the gardening tools you used for your classes. It was a quiet place, a private place that was perfect for any adventure you did not want anyone else to see.

Flip had to duck to get through the door without hitting his head. It was a surprisingly organised space; you were meticulous when it came to what went where. There was a small single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling that cast an ominous light over all that resided within the four walls.

“Do you enjoy doing all of this? All this volunteering?” Flip’s voice was gruff as his eyes flickered across the small hut, taking in all the details that he had already seen with a renewed interest.

“Of course.”

“I think you’re lying to yourself.” It was easy to hear your sharp inhale, there wasn’t exactly much that could drown it out except for Flip’s own breathing. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, unsure of what to say.

“You shouldn’t say such things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Such… Such blasphemous things.”

“What is blasphemous about that?”

You didn’t have an answer for him, and he didn’t expect you to. Besides, ‘blasphemous’ was practically synonymous with ‘human’, especially when it came to the disgrace of men. The disgrace that so many men fell victim to, and they then excused under the guise of religion and worshipping a holy man. In Flip’s eyes, letting the figment of a man dictate a life of discontent which was shrewd with greed seemed pointless. It was better to own up to whatever mistakes one made. Not that Flip made mistakes, but others did, and he pitied them for it.

“We are all blasphemous beings; don’t you think so?”

Your mouth fell open and your eyes widened over his words. He moved closer to you; a predator stalking prey.

“Even God must have blasphemous thoughts when he has to witness beauty such as yourself every day.”

“Mr Zimm-”

“Call me Flip.” He was so close to you now that he toed at your shoes.

“Flip, you shouldn’t say such things here.”

“Would it be better if I just thought them?” Flip didn’t need the excuse of being God to be able to read your thoughts, it was all clear as day, right there upon your pretty face.

“I think it would be, actually.”

“Do you ever think such things?” He asked with a crooked grin.

A pause in your resumed movements of nervous organisation. Your head turned slowly to look up at him with the hint of an unwilling smile on your lips. He returned it by a widening of his own, coaxing an answer out of you with the silent promise of something beyond mere friendship.

“Maybe sometimes.”

“Do you think we’ll go to hell? Just for some unclean thoughts?” Flip almost felt bad for the audible gulp you swallowed over his words.

“No?”

“No.” Flip didn’t believe that there even was a hell to begin with, but he didn’t need to tell you that right at that moment.

“Do you ever do something for your own pleasure?”

“Pleasure?”

“You know… enjoyment, happiness, satisfaction, pleasure.”

“Sometimes.” You squeaked out. Had you ever been this close to a man that wasn’t related to you before? Had you ever felt the heat of another rolling off them in waves so strong that it felt like it would pull you under, down into the deepest darkest pits, and never let you free?

“So, what do you do?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t?” Flip could see the amusement that danced in his eyes reflected in yours.

“I-“

“I like to watch you.” Flip said when it appeared that you weren’t going to come up with something.

“Me?”

Flip hummed and lifted his hand to stroke a single finger across your cheek. “Watching you brings me happiness.”

“Really?” Any other person would have been creeped out by his confession, but not you. You, subconsciously, chased the thrill that accompanied his admission. It was evident in the way you shifted your hips ever so slightly, angling them toward him in a desperate attempt to be delivered pleasure.

“I enjoy watching you, too.” You whispered. He wouldn’t have heard it if you had been anywhere else. Flip didn't even try to pretend to be bashful. A shit-eating grin grew on his face as satisfaction took over his entire being.

“Sometimes, I touch myself thinking about what’s hiding underneath that skirt.” Flip said.  Did your walls clench as you heard those words? Did your thighs quiver as you thought about him between them? Flip wanted nothing more than to bury his face in you and lap at your clit as if he was a man starved and dying, the elixir of life dripping out of only you.

“You do?”

“Haven’t been able to get you out of my head.” You were backing away from him now, but it was only to lean against the wall, needing something steady to ground yourself for fear that your knees would give out as Flip continued. “I think about what you would taste like, the moans you would let out, what you’d look like as you cum.”

This. This was blasphemy. But you didn’t want Flip to stop. You wanted him to say every filthy thing he’d ever thought and then whisper them in your ear again as his hands explored every uncharted crevice of your body.

You hadn’t even noticed him move but, suddenly, there he was. He crowded around you, caging you in between his arms as you pressed even further into the wall behind you, heart racing in your chest from the excitement bubbling within you.

It felt like hellfire spread all over your skin as his paw of a hand came in contact with the outside of your thigh for the first time. You thought it would consume you and burn you to the crisp, leaving you right there in a pile of ash so that whoever was unlucky enough to find you would know you’d sinned. Stricken down by the Lord’s anger for succumbing to Lucifer’s lust.

He just held it there, enclosing your thigh in a soft but firm hold. He wanted to claw at you, to claim you as his and his alone but he didn’t let that come across in his movements that were almost lazily caressing you. Up and down. Up and down the outside of your thigh.

It travelled under the hem of your dress as you held your breath, watching it disappear as it moved closer and closer to your most unfathomable place. You wanted to shout all your sounds of pleasure from the highest building for all to hear, thanking the Lord for delivering this brazen man to you, but you didn’t say anything. Not a sound made its way past your lips. Was it for fear of scaring him away? From scaring yourself? Admitting that you wanted him to touch you would, in your mind, mean that you gave in, you gave in to the carnal pleasures of man that you had spent so long withstanding. But how could it be so bad to want a simple touch? Surely, anyone in your position would also give in to the temptation of this mortal man.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” Flip cooed. “You want me to touch you here?” One lonesome finger trailed over your cloth-covered pussy, causing you to squirm against the wooden wall.

“Or do you want something else?” He withdrew his hands from you, placing them on either side of your head. “You want me to kiss you?” He wouldn’t have to move much to press his lips against your own. Flip was so close to your face that he could feel every soft exhale on his lips, his nose brushing against your own with every heave of his chest.

Flip pressed a kiss to your cheek, so close to your lips that you could almost taste him already; the tendrils of smoke and coffee that would mix and infuse your senses. You hoped he would taste like he smelled, absolutely divine.

It was your own head that turned to connect your lips. His lips were soft, pillowy, and completely sublime. Teeth knocked against each other as your eagerness took over and Flip chuckled. Never would he have thought that you would be this greedy for him this early on. He had hoped, of course, but it did not go beyond that. Isn’t it funny how in a sinful kiss, your most vulnerable moment, you had never before felt as pure as you did at that moment? It is a promise of realness, evidence of the primal desire that ignited a need deep inside of you.

Your hands came up to pull at his flannel shirt, using it to pull yourself closer to him in desperation, clinging to him. His lips were sweeter than anything you had ever tasted before, like the nectar of the gods, something you would crave throughout the rest of this life and the next.

Flip couldn’t help but let his hands run wide, up along your waist, brushing along the side of your breasts, and coming to cradle your neck. Such a simple touch yet it held all the power as he squeezed just enough for you to become breathless. He drew back to look at you for a moment.

“Tell me what you want.” He urged. It wasn’t enough for him to feel it through your actions, he wanted to hear you beg for his touch, for him.

“I don’t know.” So innocent.

“You do.” You stared up at him for a few beats of a moment, gnawing at that lip that he wished to pull at with his own teeth. You were hesitant as you grabbed a hold of his wrist, guiding it back to under the skirt of your dress and to the place that was aching for him.

Flip’s touch was electric as it travelled over the hem of your panties, fingering at it as you grew wetter and wetter from his teasing. He was watching your face for any sign of regret, but there was none, your eyebrows were already furrowed over the anticipation of more.

“You want me to touch you here, sweetheart?”

“Yes!” You said with a yelp and a startled hand came up to cover your mouth in surprise.

“You need to keep quiet if you want this.” Flip tutted with a shake of his head.

His hand slipped into your soaked panties, fingers easily finding your clit and circling it tightly a few times. The whines and moans that were released from you sounded heavenly, Flip thought ironically. His fingers left your clit, sliding them down just a bit further to feel your wetness.

“So wet for me already.” Flip groaned out. You were practically dripping for him as you writhed against his hand, craving a feeling you didn’t know. You felt like crying when his fingers left your sacred place, holding up his glistening finger to the light.

“Look at that.” Flip said, astonished.

Flip slipped the finger into your mouth, feeding it in and out as his thumb and middle finger pressed your cheeks together. You could taste yourself on your finger He couldn’t wait to get his cock in between those perfect lips, to watch you as you struggled to take him. Your tongue swirled around his index, coating it thoroughly before he withdrew it with a plop! It was glistening with wetness as he brought it back underneath your skirt to explore your folds for a short while longer before he slipped a finger inside of you.

“You’re so fucking tight, sweetheart.”

It was a foreign, unknown feeling that spread through you as he pushed in. You had never felt so full, and it was just a single finger. It was obvious from the hard bulge that was pressing against the side of your hip that his cock was much, much thicker.

Flip let you adjust for as long as he could, but the throbbing of your walls around his finger wasn’t good for his self-control. Eventually, he began pumping it in and out of you slowly. The moan that slipped out of you was low, erupting from the deepest, darkest parts of you.

“Yeah? You like that?” His hand hoisted your leg further up on his waist, spreading you open even more for him. “You want more? Think you can take it?”

You nodded your head desperately, words having forsaken you in the throes of pleasure.

Another finger joined the first as he pumped them in and out of you slowly enough so that he could feel every ridge of your walls but fast enough so that you were becoming completely breathless. You were so ready for him that the second finger stretched you easily.

You wanted to cry out as his thumb started rubbing over your clit, your walls clamped down hard around his finger at the new feeling, but he connected his mouth to yours just as it was about to drop open.

Flip kissed you like it was the last thing he was ever going to do. He was rough as he pressed his lips against yours, and you returned his hunger for you with your own for him. His tongue explored everything in its way as his hand continued pumping two fingers into you slowly.

A bubbling warmth was spreading through every nerve in your body. Your brain was in a haze, you were unable to focus on anything as the white-hot pleasure built inside of you.

Flip disconnected his lips from yours to watch you. You were a vision, and he couldn’t hold back anymore, the urgent need to see you cum taking over him. Flip started thrusting his fingers into you, causing you to squeal in surprise and claw at the wall behind you.

”Oh, God!”

”You shouldn’t utter God’s name in vain, sweetheart.” Flip chuckled teasingly. “Also, I thought I told you to be quiet.”

He was drilling into you so quickly you were sure you could see stars behind your eyes as he curled his fingers to hit just that right spot inside of you.

“Oh, Flip-” You moaned out breathily, slightly curling into yourself as waves of pleasure washed over you, your eyes falling shut. The loud sounds of the wet squelches of your pussy bounced around the small walls of the garden shed.

“Look at me!” He breathed out sharply. He needed to see your eyes and the emotions behind them as he thrust his fingers into you repeatedly. He needed to so you cum for him as you fell aperture completely for the first time.

It was hard to concentrate enough to open them, it took you a second to do it, right as you fell over the edge into rapture. Your legs shook uncontrollably as you came, and Flip had never seen a more angelic sight. He wanted to watch you like this for the rest of his life.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit.

He was the one that tasted you this time, suckling the nectar of you from his fingers and groaning over the taste of it.

”Taste so good, completely divine.” He sent you a wink as you watched him with wide eyes.

He had never seen you look so rattled, it would be clear to anyone that you had just been thoroughly ravaged from the uncharacteristically unkempt look of wrinkly clothes and hazy eyes.

“You okay?”

“Yeah…” Were you? You were unsure, but it was only because you yearned for more.

“Good.” Flip pressed another kiss to your lips, this one much sweeter than all the others.

Flip reluctantly left the shed to tend to the last bits of the gardening things. He wanted to do more, for both you and himself, but he knew that he needed to take his time. His cock was rock hard in his jeans as he drove home, throbbing in desperation as he replayed the face you made as you came. He could worship that sight for ages.

Flip let you simmer in your feelings after that. He wanted you to come to terms with the lust you felt for him in your own time. He wanted you to be the one that would come to him. It was hard for him... not touching you. It was so hard that he thought he must’ve found himself in hell on earth. He wanted to knead your supple thighs, to flick at your clit with his tongue, to watch your face twist in ecstasy as he sank into you for the first time.

“Just us?” Déjà vu? You appeared even more timid and shy this time than last, something he had not thought possible. You were reluctant to meet his eyes, that shy smile that you usually wore was gone without a trace.

“Yep, just us.” Your voice sounded strained, and your eyes avoided looking at him as they flickered around the garden, trying to find something, anything to distract you from him.

Flip made you nervous, he made shivers run down your spine in both the best and worst way. He had completely disrupted your life with his presence. He had tainted your thoughts, made the devil whisper unclean things in your ear as you laid awake in your bed at night, hand subconsciously drifting down to your clit to rub at it, but it was never enough; it was never the same. You craved his touch, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his cock pressed against you. You needed to know what it looked like, what it felt like inside of you, and it was a need that scared you.

You tried keeping your distance as you worked, but it was impossible. You could feel him everywhere you went, even when Flip wasn’t looking at you, nor you him, you could still feel his presence, hyper-aware of him wherever he was.

You almost felt nauseous as you felt him follow you into the church when you were done. It wasn’t that you feared him, you could never fear Flip, it was another Him whose judgement petrified you. However, you were obviously not fearful enough as you — lacking all taught self-constraint – turned around a flung yourself at him, lips locking with his.

Flip let out a startled but delighted hum as he stumbled back half-a-step in surprise.

“Have you missed me?” He teased, only being allowed to disconnect his lips from yours for the fraction of a second. That carnal urge was there again, taking over your limbs and propelling you towards him.

“I’m taking that as a yes.”

You had missed him. Of course, you had. It was hard not to miss him. Flip was the kind of person that you would always remember, no matter who you were. He was unforgettable, a distinctive memory of a spectacular person that would always be there, somewhere in the back of your mind. Forever.

His hands roamed over your body, touching, and caressing you everywhere he could as you tugged on his hands, his belt, the button and zipper of his jeans before reason finally caught up with you again and you wrenched yourself away from him.

“What is it?”

“We can’t do this – shouldn’t be doing this – it’s not right. God says-”

“I am your God.”

“You’re a man.”

“What’s the difference?” Flip tilted his head, watching you with genuine curiosity and a raised eyebrow.

You didn’t know what to say; your mouth fell open, but no words came out as your mind raced to find an answer. Was there truly a difference?

Someone once said that the gods envy us, and Flip, wholeheartedly, believed it to be true. The one God envies us, his creation, feeble humans. We live life side by side with thrill, with unforeseeable possibilities and opportunities that could end within a fraction of an instance. Every moment could be our last and God doesn’t have that privilege. He lives every day knowing that the end will never come; the inevitable salvation of oblivion will never reach him. Eternal life is a futile promise that is whispered in the ears of delusional fools as they devote their lives to a false god. God was simply a man skilled with dreams and distorted fantasies who Flip saw as nothing more than an equal – if even that.

“You can devote your life to me, and I assure you that I will bring you more happiness than He ever could.” His fingers were trailing up the inside of your thigh as he whispered into your ear. A small whine left you in an exhale as you tried to clench your legs together, tried to banish those dirty thoughts from your mind but it was impossible. Flip Zimmerman had infiltrated all your defences, broken down your walls, and riddled your mind with sinful thoughts. He was so close to dominating your being in every sense of the word.

“My father-”

“The preacher doesn't have to know, sweetheart. In fact, I think it’d be better if we kept this just between you and me, don’t you agree?” A kiss was placed right underneath your ear and another moan slipped out of you. The scent of him was everywhere, travelling like a mist over your skin, caressing your cheeks, and poisoning your mind so that the only thing you could think about was him.

“Yes...” Flip had a way of making you hazy when you were around him, of making you question everything you’d ever known just so that he would deliver that heaven-sent pleasure again and again.

And now, here you were, all alone in the house of God, ready to devote yourself to this impious man.

Your hands came back up to cradle his neck, pulling him back down to you so that you could kiss on him, love on him.

Somehow, the two of you made your way between the pews, Flip firmly guiding you to lay down on one of them as he kissed down your body and finally found his home with his head buried between your thighs.

You squirmed as he kissed his way up and down the inside of your thighs, his beard tickling your skin as you whined and sighed. He was so close, yet he was so far away from where you wanted him. You combed your hands through his hair, tugging at it in frustration, pulling a laugh from Flip as he slid your panties down your thighs, agonisingly slow, before pocketing them.

“You need to learn to be patient, my sweet.” Flip loved seeing you like this; it was a welcomed change.

“Now, thank the Lord and give me a Hail Mary.” Flip didn’t know much about Christianity, but he knows enough to know about the love for redemption and forgiveness that plagued the servants of Christ.

“What?” You sat up just enough so that you could see him leering at you, half of his face hidden by your dress and mound.

“You heard me, sweetheart.” He was teasing you, wanting to see you flustered, hear how you stuttered over your words as he pleasured you. Flip would be the only one you would pray to at the end of it all, but he would allow this just to humour himself. He was slowly becoming your everything, your one true god.

“Hail Mary…” His lips connected with your clit for the first time, and you were sure in that moment that you had entered through the pearly gates.

“Oh, Flip!” Your hands tightened in his hair as he lapped at your swollen clit. “Full o- of grace-e,” You stuttered out, trailing off as Flip sucked you into his mouth before flattening his tongue, dragging it through your soaked lower lips.

“I can’t hear you.” He taunted. He spread your legs wider, forcing them to stay in one place as the rest of your body writhed. His tongue probed at your entrance, slipping into you with little resistance. That nose you loved so much brushed against your sensitive clit with every stroke of his tongue.

“The Lord is with thee! Blessed- blessed art thou-u am-amongst women and blessed is… is the fru-uit of thy womb, Jesus!” Your back arched off the pew as that blinding heat raced through your body once more. Steadily building in your stomach before erupting, spewing flames everywhere.

“Amen!” You practically shrieked it as you came, eyes rolling back in your head and legs shaking as they tried to clamp shut.

“Amen.” Flip hummed in agreement, withdrawing from you, and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Your chest was heaving from your frantic breathing. There was an exhausted smile growing on your face, completely saturated with satisfaction and you couldn’t help but giggle quietly to yourself.

Flip couldn’t stop himself from pressing a bruising kiss to your lips. You moaned happily, opening your mouth when you felt his tongue swipe against your lower lip. Your hand came up to grasp at his shoulder, steadying your weak body.

“I want more.” You said as his kisses grew lazier.

“Greedy.” Flip wasn’t complaining, he was going to give you more, of course. He would always give you more if you wanted it.

He guided you, moving you from the narrow, wooden pew down to the cool stone floor. You were laying on display for him, right beneath the podium where your father would preach his sermon to the congregation, just as he did, every Sunday.

The sound of his belt coming completely undone bounced through the room. You were anxious for what was to come, not because of God or what he would think, but because this was your first time, just like any ordinary person would be.

Flip pushed down his pants just enough so that he could pull himself free from the confines, and you marvelled at the sight of his rock-hard cock. Your mouth salivated as you saw it pulse, the tip angrily red. He was weeping for you, pre-cum leaking out of the tip as he pulsed painfully. He fisted himself a couple of times with a groan.

Flip’s dick was so thick from head to base that he himself almost had a hard time wrapping his hand around it. It had just the right amount of curve that he knew he would be able to coax out a myriad of orgasms out of you.

“You look so pretty like this.” You really did. You were a sight that Flip himself could worship for the rest of his life; your legs having eagerly fallen open for him, pussy glistening in the light from how wet you were, and your sinfully innocent skirt pulled up around your waist as you clasped your hands in the fabric as if you were trying to steady your racing heart.

“Please, Flip, I need you.” You whimpered.

He stood on his knees before you. He felt powerful as he watched you on your back before him, leaking in desperation for his cock.

“Tell me how much you want it.” He tilted his head.

“More than anything, God, please, Flip!” Who was he to keep you from this? A man who was more than God would be merciful and

“You need to stop pleading to God, sweetheart, He’s not gonna help you.” Flip spread your legs just a bit wider before wrapping his hand around the base of his cock lining himself up with your entrance. He made sure to coat himself thoroughly in your wetness, dragging the head of him through your soaked folds.

You gasped at the first feeling of him as he prodded at your entrance. You rutted your hips upward, hoping that he would just finally slide in. The angels and all of Colorado Springs surely had to hear your cries of pleasure as he finally pushed in, all the way to the base of him, bottoming out as the tip of him nestled against your cervix ever so lightly.

This is what you were created for, only this and nothing else.

You adjusted to him quickly, hands coming to grasp at his hips, urging him to move. Small traces of pain tainted the incomprehensible pleasure that washed over you, but you couldn’t stop now. You didn’t want to stop now.

Flip didn’t keep a slow pace for long, replacing the long and languid pumps he had started off with for harsher thrusts into you.

“You like that, sweetheart?”

“Yes, oh fuck, harder!” Your head lulled to one side, hands clawing at his back as if you wanted to be even closer to him than you already were.

Flip had you right where he wanted you. The preacher’s daughter getting stuffed to the brim with his thick cock on the floor in the Lord’s house, safely under the watchful eyes of the man on the cross and your father in heaven.

“Look up at your God as you sin, see how he watches over you while I’m fucking you, while you're begging me to fuck you.” He pushed your head to the side, his hand pressing your cheeks together so that you would focus on the deity before you; the man who had sacrificed his own life for yours.

A particularly rough thrust into you made you cry out even louder causing Flip to stop abruptly.

“Sweetheart, as much as I love every single fucking sound that comes out of you, you need to keep quiet.” Despite there not being anything scheduled, anybody could come in at any moment, it was an open church, after all, free for the public to come and pray as they wanted.

Those hands of God ran down your body, sliding over your sweetest places and rubbing against your most sensitive areas as Flip pounded into you. He was so deep inside of you that you barely knew what to do with yourself.

You couldn’t keep quiet, no matter how hard you tried moans still slipped past your lips and Flip was eventually forced to quiet you with his hand over your mouth.

Your walls were clenched so tightly around him, drawing him deeper and deeper inside.

“Fuck” You groaned. “Feels so- fucking good.” You shakily breathe out.

“Yeah? Do you love it when I pump my cock into you?” Flip cooed as he asked, slowing down just slightly, but each thrust was still sharp, still precise, and hard, and calculated, rotating his hips just enough to hit that special spot inside of you.

A breathy yes! left your lips.

“More.” You demanded.

He pulled out so just his tip was left in you, waiting there for just a second before slamming back into you again, buried to the hilt. The groan Flip let out sent tingles down your spine and caused you to clench even tighter around him, triggering another moan from him.

“If only you knew how fucking good you feel, sweetheart.” Flip praised, followed by another harsh rut into you.

He continued pumping into your sweet cunt, drawing moans from you that were filthy, thoroughly fucking you into the cold stone floor. The sound of his balls slapping against you every time he thrust into you was driving you insane.

His thrusts had picked up in pace once again, ruthless and reckless as he fucked deeper and deeper into you. You were trembling against him, breath hitching and getting caught in your chest as you almost forgot how to breathe. You could feel your release mounting quickly once again, shockwaves gripping your body and rolling through you with every buck into you.

“Say my name.”

“What?” You weren’t lucid enough to possibly begin to understand what he meant at that moment.

“Say my name.” He repeated, making sure to punctuate every single word with a small thrust upward to meet you as you came down on him. “And make sure He hears you.” Caution had left Flip, abandoned him in the heat of the moment. He thought that the congregation needed to hear the beauty that was his name falling from your lips.

His name spilt out of your mouth just a few seconds later in the form of a half-strangled moan.

“Louder.”

“Flip!” You shouted his name as you finally came, tumbling over the edge as stars were painted behind your eyelids. Your legs were shaking, spasming, through the waves, words of gibberish leaving your mouth as he made you babble like a brook. Legs shaking, blood rushing in your ears, and your heart thumping painfully in your chest as it contracted. Flip hadn’t even faltered in his movements, fucking you through your orgasm, continuing to pump into you as he chased his own climax. You could just barely make out his own groans in your ear as he bounded and leapt closer to the edge.

It did not matter to Flip what anyone else could – or possibly would – say about the two of you. He was meant to spend the rest of his earthside life between your thighs.

You hadn’t felt this way before, you didn’t even know you could feel this way; the overwhelming stimulation that was rushing through your blood, lighting your nerves on fire, making you want to stay right there, until kingdom come.

Flip delivered a sweet pleasure that sent you oscillating between heaven and earth, torn between life and something other.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” Flip grunted as he watched himself disappear inside of your body over and over again.

“Want you to come inside of me.” Flip had successfully turned you into a wanton whore, desperate for his seed to taint you, and he did. He came deep inside of you, hips continuing to pump into you as he made sure that you got received every single last drop of him. He would now and for always be with you in every step you took, dripping out of you in your memories.

In Flip’s mind, God is beneath him; he is inferior because he forbids the very thing that makes you human – the harmless pleasure that hides underneath swinging skirts and in between loins.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit; as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever.

Amen.

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