#「 about 」 — ❛ dressed in metal٬ dressed in rain. ❜

[angerworn]

what form of love do you embody?

love as violence.

[ love as bloodshed, crimson as a knife slipped between your ribs ] when ocean vuong said "to arrive at love, then, is to arrive through obliteration" and when franz kafka said "you are the knife i turn inside myself; that is love" and when ada limon said "how do you love? like a fist. like a knife" and when richard siken said "sorry about the blood in your mouth. i wish it was mine".

tagged by: @shieldied tagging: @medicbled, @e1verdugo, @sainterror (theia), @stingslikeabee, @susponte, @guttcrson, @tragertm, @4ger, and you. do it and tag me~

[bruisedboys]

trouble — jacob black

it’s raining and you’re bored. your boyfriend proves to be an effective distraction (if you can distract him, that is) OR in which jacob is busy and you like to cause trouble. based off this drabble!

jacob black x fem!reader, 2k words. suggestive content 16+ pls!!

The rain is unforgiving today. It’s not uncommon for it to be wet in Forks, the rain a persistent, stubborn thing, but today it’s horrendous. Heavy and icy cold, big fat droplets that seem sure to pierce your skin and freeze you to death. It hasn’t stopped since last night and doesn’t seem like it’ll stop for a good few days.

You’re bored out of your mind. You realise rain just comes with living in Forks, and you’re mostly used to it, but you’d really wanted to go shopping with your friends today and the rain squandered your plans the moment you woke up. Jacob’s busy working on his bike in the shed, and everyone else is rained in. You’re stuck on the couch at Jacob’s while the rain comes down in sheets outside. You flick through channels on the TV until you can’t stand it anymore. There’s nothing good to watch, anyway.

You grab one of Jacob’s jackets from the hook by the door and brave the rain, using the jacket as a makeshift umbrella as you jog your way over to the garage, shoes sloshing in the mud.

You find Jacob sitting on the beat-up wooden bench, hunched over his newest project. It’s a bike he found second hand at a yard sale — when he first got it, it looked to you an unrecognisable hunk of metal, hardly a bike at all. But your boyfriend has a way with his hands, and now it at least has two wheels and a proper seat.

Jacob looks up as you come in, though the sound of the rain completely covers your footsteps.

“Hey, trouble,” he says. Then, at the look on your face, “You okay?”

Your frown deepens. “No,” you shake your head. “I’m bored, Jake.”

Jacob chuckles. Trust him to laugh at you when you’re clearly suffering.

“Yeah?” He asks. “You want to come help me?”

You take one look at the frankly confusing array of tools around his feet, and wrinkle your nose. “No, thanks. Can’t we go for a drive?”

Jacob wrinkles his nose back at you. “I’m busy, babe. And the road’s slippery, it’s dangerous. Maybe later.”

You roll your eyes. He can be such a grandma sometimes. Jacob goes back to his bike and you wander around the shed looking for something to do and moping. After a half assed search for some way to entertain yourself, you find an old novel you or Jake must’ve left in here a few months ago — you remember starting it and getting bored, but you’re already knee deep in boredom with no way out, so you decide to give it another try.

You sit in the bed of Jacob’s truck where it’s parked in the back of the shed, legs swinging over the edge. The rain drums rhythmically above you as you start reading. It takes about ten pages for you to get bored again, and five more for your mind to start wandering.

You think about how you could’ve been out shopping right now. Looking at all the lovely dresses in the new store they opened near the cinema. Sorting through books at the second-hand bookstore. Choosing a pretty new bra that you know Jacob would love seeing on you, and taking off of you. The thought gives you an idea. Unceremoniously, you give up on the book and slide off the truck bed, crossing the room to Jacob.

He doesn’t lift his head as you come up behind him, but acknowledges you with a brush of his knuckle to your thigh. You stand over him for a moment, watching him work. He looks hot when he’s concentrated, eyes trained in on his work, jaw set in concentration, arms muscles straining as he twists a particularly stubborn screw. He’s got big, strong hands, which only fuel your desire even more. What’s the best way to drag him away from his work?

“Did you want to help?” Jacob asks without looking up, interrupting your thoughts. You’re lucky he doesn’t catch you staring, or he’d figure out your plan in an instant.

You shake your head. “No. I’m just watching you.”

Jacob hums and goes back to what he’s doing, which happens to involve a lot of strained muscles as he tightens another loose screw with a wrench. You’re holding your breath as you watch his tanned bicep strain beneath the fabric of his t-shirt, and yeah, you’re a minx, but he’s really hot, and you don’t think anyone would blame you for reaching out and touching him.

Jacob doesn’t startle under your touch nor does he acknowledge it. You play it off casual, like you’re only rubbing his shoulder, palm gliding over the hill of it. You can feel his abnormally high body heat through his t-shirt, a nice change from the cold air. You find yourself pushing your hand down the expanse of his shoulder blade and up again, pressing the heel of your palm into his muscle.

Jacob sighs a little under your touch and rolls his shoulder back, leaning into your hand.

“Feels nice,” he murmurs.

You grin. This far into your relationship you’ve learnt that Jacob is a lot like a puppy when it comes to physical affection — he’s a total sucker for it, he melts for shoulder rubs and back scratches, and he turns to complete putty in your hands when you play with his hair (though you won’t implement that just yet.)

Instead, you just hum softly, smiling to yourself as you press both hands to his shoulders. He’s equally warm and muscled all over, and at this point it would take a hoard of vampires to hold you back from touching him. You get a good grip on his shoulders and push your palms into his muscles, massaging him.

It’s mean, because you know what it’ll do to him, know exactly what kind of mood it gets him into. Still, it’s not until you start to push your hands further up towards his neck that he confronts you.

He turns to face you, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Did you want something, sweetheart?” He asks, and you can tell you’ve begun to unravel him by the way he says it, plus he’s called you sweetheart, which almost certainly means he’ll give in.

You feign innocence, though the look on his face almost unravels you.

“Nope,” you lie. “Just watching.”

Jacob raises his eyebrows at you. “You sure? You’re being awfully touchy.”

“You’re really warm,” you say, shrugging.

Jacob squints at you, then shrugs. “If you say so,” he says, and (looking like he’s exercising quite a bit of restraint) turns back to his bike.

You stay where you are and give him about five minutes of peace before you start being cruel. Keeping one hand at the base of his neck, you slide the other up the back of it, pushing up into his hair. You card your fingers through the short strands at the very nape of his neck, and Jacob goes very still. You think he’s holding his breath. When you push your hand further up into the longer strands, and let your nails drag over his scalp on the way back down, he folds.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he murmurs. He drops his tools, scrubs his hands on his jeans and spins on you, hooking one leg over the wooden bench, straddling it so he can properly face you. He‘s giving you a dangerous look that makes your heart race. Finally.

You blink at him, a picture of innocence. “What’s the matter?” You ask sweetly, though you know your smile gives you away. As if you weren’t caught red handed already.

Jacob huffs and rolls his eyes, before grabbing your hips and pulling you forward roughly. You go tumbling into his lap and he catches you, hands hot on your jeans, adjusting you until you’re properly sitting in his lap. Your legs fall on either side of his hips and you giggle, pleased and flustered at his manhandling.

Jacob gives you a somewhat disapproving look, though his thumb rubs fond circles into the fat of your hip.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” He says in a low voice. His eyes flicker to your lips. He looks a bit like he wants to eat you.

“Sorry,” you say. You are kind of sorry for disturbing him, but the heat building in your chest outweighs the guilt. “I was really bored.”

Jacob laughs through his nose. “Yeah, I know, babe.” He spread his hands over your hips and butt and pulls you closer still. Your hands end up on his shoulders again. “You always know how to get what you want, huh?”

Something about the way he’s talking to you makes you so dizzy you can’t speak. You’re silent as Jacob dips his head to press a kiss to one of your wrists, then takes it in his hand and guides your hand up his neck and back into his hair.

“Keep going?” He asks in a quiet voice, encouraging your hand around the back of his head. “Please?”

Well, when he asks like that, how could you say no? You curl your fingers into his hair and Jacob barely gives you time to breathe before he’s kissing you, mouth landing on yours in the sort of kiss you can only describe as desperate. You’re equal amounts of needy as him, pushing forward in his lap and grabbing at his hair with greedy hands.

The rain thunders overhead. Jacob tilts his head, kissing you until your lips part under the pressure. His tongue slips into your mouth and your stomach swarms with butterflies. You grip Jacob’s hair harder, ensuing a sound from him like an angry dog, half moan half growl. It seems your touching earlier got him in exactly the mood you knew it would.

It’s not long before his hands start to wander. First your ass, then your arms, rubbing up and down as he kisses you hard enough to make you forget where you are. Then back to your hips, and you can feel the scalding heat of his hands through your jeans. He grabs you and tugs you further up his lap, close enough that your legs spread as you press against his bulge.

“Jake,” you whisper.

“Mmm,” he moans back. Then pulls away just an inch, lips swollen and forehead pressed to yours. “What, babe?”

You shake your head, breathless. “Nothing, just feels nice when you do that.”

Jacob ducks in to kiss you again. “Yeah?” He murmurs between hot kisses, sounding both pleased and a bit dangerous.

You nod your head, and it’s all it takes for Jacob to rock you against him again, pushing his hips up into yours as he goes. You moan and Jacob makes a similar sound from the back of his throat, heating you all the way through.

It quickly turns into not just kissing after that. Jacob’s kisses turn sloppy. You push your hands under his shirt to feel along the ridges and planes of his chest and abdomen, his skin like a furnace. Jacob guides your hips forward and back and forward again, grinding you against him slowly and breathing hard into your open mouth.

You forget about the rain, the pounding of your heart much louder than the downpour outside. You forget about the cold, your failed shopping trip, and the boring book abandoned in the bed of the truck.

It’s not long before Jacob’s got his hand on your thigh and a warm ache sweet as honey has bloomed between your legs.

Jacob’s busy kissing at your neck, bullying your skin with his teeth and tongue while you go breathless. His hand trudges further and further up your thigh until it’s high enough to abuse the waistband of your jeans.

His hand roves along the length of it, until he reaches the button. He tugs at it, mumbling into your neck a barely intelligible, “Can I?”

You nod vigorously, and your breath catches as he unfastens the button — his thumb skims over your underwear and you make a needy sound you can’t help.

Jacob emerges from your neck, smirking like mad. You’d say you hate him for it, but his thumb is tracing the hem of your underwear and you can’t speak.

“Not so bored now, huh?” Jacob teases in a low voice, but he’s out of breath too. You’ll tease him later for how quickly you managed to unravel him, but right now you can’t form more than two words.

“Shut up,” you manage, then make sure of it by pressing your mouth to his again.

He shuts up.

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed 🤍

[roundedloaf]

an incomplete list of some Things that happened in the olympic opening ceremony

Both Lady Gaga and Celine Dion gave performances

Three teenagers got lost in the catacombs with the olympic flame and got saved by the phantom of the opera

a ménage à trois

20 different pink clad marie antoinettes holding their own chopped off heads watched a metal concert

Dionysius showed up to preach about sobriety??

a guy dressed as Napoleon did BMX tricks

the peace flag was carried by this horsewoman of the apocalypse

The phantom of the opera did parkour. a lot of parkour

3 seperate pianos were rained on

One was on fire

The on fire piano was involved in a very sincere rendition of John Lennon's Imagine

They never actually explained the phantom of the opera bit? I was really expecting him to look different

The minions stole the mona lisa

Are the minions french???

A french man in red white and blue played the accordion while wearing a beret

In conclusion: excellent entertainment, excellent showing off, good luck america trying to top this

[iamgonnagetyouback]

I'VE GOT YOU.⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ●ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ S. REID

SUMMARY ৎ୭ when spencer leaves you alone in his apartment for the day, the last thing you expect is someone trying to break in. scared and hiding, you call him—and he does everything he can to keep you calm until he gets home to wrap you in his arms

WARNINGS ಇ. panic/fear, attempted break-in, mentions of anxiety, comfort after distress, established relationship, spencer being soft and protective

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 2,071

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Spencer’s apartment always smelled like old books, coffee, and something distinctly him. A mix of cedarwood and laundry detergent that clung to the furniture and lingered in your hair long after you left. You weren’t planning on leaving anytime soon, though.

The rain tapped gently against the windows, a soothing rhythm that matched the quiet rustle of pages turning in your lap. Spencer’s favorite worn-out quilt was draped over your legs, the one he pretended he didn’t care about but always reached for first on colder nights. It smelled like home.

You were curled up on his couch, your feet tucked beneath you, a half-empty mug of tea on the coffee table—his mug, of course, because it was bigger and the handle fit your fingers just right. A book lay open in your hands, but your eyes weren’t on the words. Not really. You were too wrapped up in the stillness, in the comfort of this space that had slowly become yours as much as his. You stood up to get Spencer's copy of "In Cold Blood". The book was not the kind of book you'd read on such a cozy day, but the annotations Spencer did on the margins always made you amused.

As you walked through the apartment, you noticed the way it was filled with quiet signs of him. Stacks of books organized in that peculiar Spencer way—alphabetical but with side categories only he understood. A chessboard paused mid-game on the shelf. Notes in tiny, cramped handwriting stuck to the fridge with magnets shaped like planets. One of your sweaters was hanging over the back of a chair, and your favorite slippers sat beside the door, right next to his well-worn dress shoes.

You glanced at the clock. Almost time.

Spencer had texted you hours ago that he’d be home late, some case running over again. But knowing him, he’d be apologetic the moment he walked through the door, even though you never minded. You liked being here. Liked knowing he’d come home to you, liked the way it felt to exist in his space, to feel safe in the silence between moments.

You grabbed the book from the nightstand when something made you freeze. A soft sound.

A click.

Not the comforting kind—the door-click you knew by heart, the one Spencer always made when he came home late with tired eyes and soft apologies. This one was different. Slower. Uneven.

Like someone was struggling with the lock.

Your breath caught in your throat.

You turned sharply toward the bedroom door, heart already picking up speed. That couldn't be Spencer. He had keys. He always had keys.

Grabbing your phone with shaky hands, you turned on the small security app he insisted on installing—“just in case,” he’d said.

You tapped into the feed from the hallway camera.

And then your blood went cold.

There, just outside the apartment, was a man. Tall. Hoodie pulled up, face mostly hidden. His hand fumbled with something near the lock—thin metal glinting in the light. Not a key. Definitely not a key.

You stumbled back a step before catching yourself. Your brain spun. Lock the bedroom door? Hide? Call Spencer? The police?

Your thumb hovered over Spencer’s contact, panic rising like bile in your throat. You didn’t want to believe it was happening, not here—not in his safe, quiet space filled with books and mismatched mugs and soft blankets.

The door rattled again. Louder this time. He was trying harder now.

Your thumb hit the call button.

It rang once. Twice.

“Hey, sweetheart,” came his voice, warm and a little tired. You could picture his soft smile, his coat probably still damp from the rain. “I was just about to stop for coffee. Do you want—?”

“Spence.”

Your voice broke like glass.

He stopped mid-sentence. You could hear it—the shift in the air between you. His brain kicking into overdrive.

“Darling?” he said, suddenly alert. “What’s going on?”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “There’s someone at the door. He’s still trying to get in.” You swallowed, eyes flicking to the bedroom door as another soft rattle echoed from the front of the apartment. “I locked the bedroom. I… I pushed a chair in front. I can hear him, Spencer. He’s not going away.”

There was a pause. A very brief one. And then—

“Okay. Listen to me. You’re going to be alright.” His voice dropped into that calm, precise cadence he used in the field, except this time it was soaked in fear. “Stay where you are. Keep quiet. I’m calling the police right now. I’m just five minutes away. You’re not alone, okay?”

Your breathing was shallow, fingers digging into the floor, trying to ground yourself. “He’s jiggling the lock again.”

“I know. I know, sweetheart. Just stay hidden. Don’t hang up.”

There was some rustling on his end. Then a low, urgent murmur—you could tell he was talking to someone, rattling off the address with a speed only he had.

“Officers are en route,” he said quickly, back on the line with you. “And I’m running. I don’t care what the weather’s like. I’m getting to you.”

“Spencer,” you whispered, your voice cracking, “what if—what if he gets in before—?”

“No. No, he won’t. You did everything right. You’re safe in there. I promise. Just keep talking to me, okay?”

You let out a soft sob, muffled into your sleeve. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” he said, voice suddenly gentler, breaking a little too. “But you’re so brave. You’re the bravest person I know. Just a little longer.”

There was a loud bang from the living room, something knocking over—maybe the umbrella stand. You flinched so hard you nearly dropped the phone.

“Still with me?” Spencer said quickly, his voice tightening.

“Y-Yeah.” You could barely get the word out.

“I’m almost there. Less than a block. I can hear the sirens.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until a tear dripped onto your hand. You squeezed your eyes shut. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“You’re not alone,” he said firmly. “I’m with you. Even if I’m not through the door yet. I’m with you, always.”

You didn’t trust your voice, so you nodded, even though he couldn’t see you.

“Do you remember,” he said gently, “that fact I told you once about Saturn’s rings? How if they were just a little closer, just a few thousand kilometers, they’d break apart completely?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to anchor yourself in the sound of him. “Yeah.”

“But they don’t,” he continued. “They hold. Even with all that gravity pulling and pushing and shifting. They stay exactly where they’re meant to. Just like you’re going to do. You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re holding. You’re not breaking.”

Your breath hitched, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Spence…”

“I’m here. Keep listening. Did you know Venus spins backwards? It’s called retrograde rotation. It’s one of only two planets that does. We used to think something slammed into it to make that happen, but now we’re not so sure. It might’ve always been that way.”

Another footstep outside. You flinched. He heard it too.

“Hey—breathe with me. It’s okay. Just my voice. Nothing else matters right now. Just us.”

You clutched the phone tighter, your eyes locked on the door, but your ears stayed with him.

“And you know what else?” he said softly. “You’re braver than Venus. Because even when the universe throws chaos at you, you don’t spin backwards. You’re facing forward. You’re right here.”

You let out a shaky breath, your body slowly sinking to the floor again. The footsteps were still out there, but they felt distant now—like they belonged to another world entirely. Because Spencer’s voice was bigger. Warmer. Steadier.

And then— Voices. Loud ones. A knock. Strong. Measured.

You held your breath. Frozen.

And then—his voice.

“Love, it’s me. It’s Spencer. I’m here. You’re safe now. Please open the door, sweetheart.”

Everything inside you cracked open at once.

The sound of him—gentle, sure, real—was like something breaking through the panic clouding your chest. You scrambled to your feet, practically throwing the chair aside. It clattered loudly to the floor, but you didn’t care. Your hands fumbled over the lock, your breath caught in your throat—

And the moment the door opened, you flew into him.

Spencer barely had time to step inside before you crashed into his chest, arms around his neck, clinging to him like if you let go, everything would fall apart. He caught you instantly, wrapping you up in his arms, holding you tighter than you’d ever been held.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, kissing your temple, your hair, your cheek. “You’re okay. You’re okay. I’m here now.”

Your fingers clutched at the back of his coat, and your face was buried in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of rain and safety.

“I was so scared,” you whispered, voice cracking.

“I know,” he said, his own voice thick. “But it’s over now. I promise. I’m not letting you go.”

He leaned back just enough to look at you, hands cradling your face with such care it made your throat tighten. His eyes searched yours, still wide with concern, but full of love.

“Come here,” he whispered, pulling you back into his chest, rocking you gently like you were something fragile, something worth protecting.

And you were.

He didn’t rush you. Didn’t ask you to move or let go.

Spencer just stood there, in the middle of the apartment, arms around you and lips pressed to the top of your head, as long as you needed. You were still trembling, but it was easing now—not gone, but quieter—with every slow, steady breath he took with you.

When your legs began to ache from standing so stiffly, he gently leaned down, letting you wrap yourself tighter around him, and lifted you off your feet with ease.

“Let’s get you warm, sweetheart,” he murmured.

He carried you to the bedroom, pausing only to toe off his wet shoes. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t press for details—not yet. He just guided you to sit on the edge of the bed, brushing your hair back tenderly from your face as he crouched in front of you.

“Can I get you something comfy to wear?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “Y-Yeah… please.”

He pulled out one of his softest long-sleeved shirts—your favorite one that smelled like him even after three washes—and some cozy sleep shorts. He handed them to you like they were made of gold.

“I’ll stay right here, okay? Back turned. Not going anywhere.”

You changed slowly, limbs still heavy with adrenaline. But when you pulled the shirt over your head and felt the familiar scent of Spencer around you, something settled in your chest.

When you were done, he helped tuck you into bed, layering blankets over you like he was building you a nest of safety.

“Don’t move,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m making tea.”

He came back with your favorite mug, careful not to spill, and set it on the nightstand.

“I added honey,” he said softly, sitting beside you. “Just the way you like.”

You smiled weakly, reaching out to take his hand instead of the mug. “Can you… stay?”

“Of course,” he whispered, already climbing in beside you. He pulled you into his chest, your legs tangling naturally with his under the covers. One arm curled around your waist; the other rested gently over your hand.

You listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, your ear pressed right against it.

“Want me to read to you for a bit?” he asked, nuzzling into your hair.

“Yes,” you murmured. “Please. Something nice.”

He reached for the worn paperback on his nightstand—a poetry collection you both loved—and flipped it open, finding your bookmarked page.

His voice was low and warm, each word slow and careful like it was meant just for you. You barely registered the poem itself—you just listened to the way he said it. Like a lullaby. Like a promise.

By the time he reached the second poem, your eyes were fluttering closed, your body finally beginning to relax for the first time in hours.

And just before sleep took you, you heard him whisper, lips brushing against your temple:

“You’re safe, love. I’ve got you. Always.”

And wrapped up in Spencer Reid’s arms, you believed it.

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎ please refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work

[evilgwrl]

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Three

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Suggestive themes (smut is coming I promise)

I literally wrote a whole chapter and it deleted </3

Masterlist

You woke up, body slumped against the door as you groaned. The soft strum of pain vibrated through your lower back, the dull ache sending a small zap through you as you stood up.

Groggy eyes drifted to the stained window, the barely visible streak of sun peaking over the forest as you sighed, feet padding against the floors as soft creaks spoke back to you.

You stared in the mirror, dull eyes staring back. You rubbed your face, small streaks of sticky sleep dragging across your palms as you picked them off.

Mortification is all you could feel. Not only are four men in your house, but you touched yourself to one, and another walked in on you. MID ORGASM. You silently prayed they had packed up their stuff and left. Or maybe it never happened and Ghost hadn’t seen anything. Or maybe- fuck it. There wasn’t much use denying.

The chill of the water woke you up as you scrubbed vigorously, almost as if you could wash away the embarrassment you felt.

You dressed yourself before heading to the barn, the acreage becoming more and more visible by the minute as you fed the animals, collecting any eggs in your makeshift apron, before letting the horses roam in the paddock

You took note of the overcast, thick smog of clouds littering across the barely visible sky. You needed the rain, but you also knew it would make it harder for them to leave if it did.

Conjuring that it would make things easier if they woke up and you were gone, you cooked yourself breakfast before heading out, planning to target a small set of shops you were yet to raid, tucked away on a more secluded part of the area. In fear of waking them up, you rolled out the rusting bike from the garage, a small woven basket adorned with half broken flowers as you rolled the worn wheels onto the gravel road.

You didn’t take much with you. Only a bottle of water, a pistol (incase you magically needed it) and two apples as well the large backpack stitched on your back.

The trail was mostly flat, a few rocks causing you to wobble from time to time, but for the most part it was an enjoyable ride. The soft flicker of the sun stretched through the adorned trees, the heaviness of the clouds beginning to weigh on you as you peddled faster.

It was an hour or two trek, you believed, the roaring ache of your thighs begging for the needed break as you pulled into the abandoned town. Sometimes you expect people to run out, waving you down in celebration, but it never came.

You could hear the soft groans of nearby dead, wobbling their rotting limbs towards the bike before turning around. The tinkle of the rusted bell greeted you as you ducked through the aisles. It was a small store, only supplying anything for a couple hundred, most items expired now anyway, but it was worth a look.

You held your bag open, dumping a few cans of tinned vegetables in as well as a bag of sugar, a pack of razors and some long-life cartons of skim milk. With achy thighs, you jumped over the counter, mess everywhere, register half open with nothing inside. It was funny, even during an apocalypse people found the time for money.

You rattled at the metal knob on the staff door, growing frustrated when it wouldn’t budge before you began to kick, slamming your boots against it repeatedly before it eventually swung open. It might have taken you 15 minutes, but it was sure worth it as you snatched up the golden sweetness many would refer to as whiskey.

You headed off with a few other things, half open stock boxes tipped everywhere as your hands grabbed for anything that hadn’t expire, or was about to. With a heavier bag, and a smug smile on your face, you peddled your way home.

“Y’ think she got scared and buggered off?” Soap quipped, mouth half full with an apple, juices spurting across the room as Ghost glared back.

“If it wasn’t for him,” Gaz interjected, thumb pointing towards the masked-man, “she probably would have let us stay.”

Ghost rolled his eyes, replaying the scene in his head for the hundredth time. Sure, he should’ve knocked but he’s glad he didn’t. Half of him wanted her to ask him to stay, to fully satisfy her, to fully satisfy him.

“She wouldn’t have just packed up and left- put far too much effort into all this place to leave,” Price said, voice deeper than usual as he took a swig of water. Time ticked slowly as they waited around, searching every crevice of the house before they landed on a bow and arrow.

Soap snatched it, veiny hands clawing at the weapon as if it was gold. “What’dya say, LT? Fancy hunting some deer?”

“I ain’t hunting for anybody if I ain’t staying-“

“Go hunt a f’cking deer,” Price huffed.

The two me disappeared into the forest as Gaz stepped outside, bottom plonked in the barely comfortable porch chair. The Captain knew you would probably bitch them out, but a sick part of him wanted you to let them stay, wanted you to realise they were what you needed, that they magically landed on your farm for some Godforsaken purpose.

He would make you realise. He knew he would.

You felt like vomiting now, your bones burning as if they had clawed through your flesh, attempting to escape the treacherous journey that you forced yourself to endure.

You almost felt lost. Why did it feel so much longer on the way back?

You smiled to yourself softly as you passed the tree you marked a few months ago, the unmistakable smiley face almost greeting you. Your smile quickly faded when you felt a spit land on your cheek. And then another. And another. Until you were peddling faster as wet pellets hit the ground.

Slippery hands clutched the leather handles as you neared the entrance of the farm. You were drenched now, hair matted to your neck and face as you flicked it behind you, annoyed that you neglected your clip.

Your boots squelched against the ground as you slammed the garage door shut, weak arms clutching your bag as you swung it around your shoulder, weaving in and out of trees as you stumbled up the front steps.

Tumbling inside, you took note of the cleaner house, a small wrapped bowl of vegetables and a bowl of tomato soup (that was probably cold now) greeting you as you kicked off your boots. You stood over the sink as you scrunched your hair out, the trickle of water tapping as you shrugged off your coat, fumbling outside to hang it on the underground clothes line.

For a minute you thought they had left, no manly faces greeting you until you heard the soft clearing of a throat. “Made you some lunch,” he said.

“Thank you… Gaz, isn’t it?” Clammy hands gripped the bowls as you sat down on the couch, the lukewarm mixture sliding down your oesophagus.

“That’s right,” he replied, gentle smile adorning his face as he watched you, trying to observe you, almost as if you were a war criminal he wanted to break in. Military men, you thought.

You sat in silence, yet didn’t find it to be uncomfortable. Though Gaz was incredibly handsome, and well built, you almost felt comfortable in his presence and you couldn’t quite place why.

“Where did you go?” He asked, almost as if he was hesitant to speak. Your eyes flickered to his lap, hands gently rubbing together before rubbing against his denim-covered thighs. He has nice thighs.

“Uh, I went into a town.. bout two hours from here. Got a few things and I also just wanted to.. get out, I guess.”

He nodded.

Once you finished up, you braced yourself as you ran outside, yet found no horses frolicking frightened in the paddock. Fear ran through you as you sprinted to the barn, heavy footsteps slapping against the mud as you took in the closed door.

You let out a shaky sigh, relieved, when you saw two large, longer heads staring at you from inside, the gentle squawks of hens sounding across the room.

“I hope you don’t mind that I put them inside, figured you would hav’ done that anyway when you got back.” You jumped at the voice, body jolting as you snapped your head.

Price stood there, rough hands clutching a wooden broom as he swept, a beanie now plonked on his head instead of the hat he greeted you with.

“Uh- thanks. Yeah, they’re afraid of the rain.”

“Y’r a good owner, picking up the slack after they were abandoned.”

“I guess so,” you conceded. You looked at him, taking in the way his eyes flickered down your drenched frame, a cerulean blue darkening into a navy.

“Y’r wet.” His tone was sharp, even while stating the obvious, a visible clench of his jaw causing you to tense as you wobbled, suddenly nervous under his gaze.

“Well, I was out in the rain,” you said, almost like it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world. You looked away but could feel him walking closer to you.

“Y’r gonna catch a cold if you don’t change.”

“I’ll survive,” you replied, your voice now dropping to a low whisper. You looked at him, his stare heavy, almost like it was weighting you down. He smiled at you, a hand reaching out before it landed on the flesh of your waist, squeezing as you felt the familiar heat you encountered last night, prickling through you again.

Your breathing was shallow, an occasional hick passing through you as his hand lingered. “Pretty thing, hm?” He gestured, nodding towards your chest as you noticed the faint outline of the rose-coloured brassiere you chose today. You blushed and you were sure you looked silly, a red hue across your face as you barely stuttered a reply.

You turned, almost feeling like you were about to choke. Feeling betrayed by your own body, you pressed your thighs together and you were sure he noticed.

“Y’n need any help staying warm,” he began, “just tell me, sweetheart.”

[ceilidho]

prompt: reader is hired as a live in house cleaner because ghost is always away and he only comes back on leave and he insists she stay in the guest room. Over time he increasingly acts like she’s his live in girlfriend or something. Very confusing for reader lmao.

-

The job comes at the exact right time. 

The way you stumble onto your new job is a bit dicey, if you’re being honest. You’ve been meaning to get out of the waitressing life for a while—the tips are shit and the number of times that you’ve had your backside pinched has slowly but steadily climbed into the double digits. You just haven’t had direction; somewhere to go. 

Your savior comes in the form of a six foot plus soldier. Oh, he doesn’t tell you that, but his body language speaks for itself. 

At first, even the sight of him makes your belly clench and palms sweat like when you watch rock climbing documentaries or parkour videos online (all moist and clammy and you have to wipe them on your jeans before shaking his hand). He’s a one-time customer at your little roadside diner that gradually becomes a repeat offender. 

He comes at odd times, sometimes disappearing for a month or two before he’s back to sitting in the booth at the back of the diner with his back against the wall. You smile shakily when you pour him coffee after coffee. He never eats. Always sits in the same booth, dressed in the same black hoodie that does nothing to hide the sheer size of him and a black surgical mask that he never removes. He has a sixth sense for when you’re watching him from behind the counter, waiting for him to take a sip.

You never do catch a glimpse of his face. Not completely anyway. You know him only by the faint smell of gunpowder and metal that clings to him like a second skin, and the feeling of his calloused hand against yours. 

Like ice slowly chipping off a glacier that one day cracks, a huge chunk splintering off and crashing into the sea, you know nothing about him until you’re suddenly in his house. Simon, he tells you, and the sound of his name awakens something in you. He needs a housekeeper and you need a reason to leave. 

You quit the diner; barely even put in a week’s notice. 

The day you drive up the long beaten road up to his property, a cabin deep in the English countryside, clear blue skies follow you. Clouds crisp, delicate even. Simon takes you through the house, showing you to the guest room where you’ll be staying while he’s away. He never directly confirms your suspicions, but the faint tightness around his eyes when he mentions his job tells you all you need to know. No wonder he needs someone to keep the house in order. Never around to do it himself.

Then he’s gone, swift as a ghost. You wake up in the guest room to a hastily scrawled note on your bedside table and a faint feeling of loss. 

You scrub tiles and dust the top bit of the fan that everyone always misses; you mow the lawn, clean the gutters, and sit under the shade of a poplar tree with a glass of lemonade in the early evenings. If you look up into the tree, you’ll see spiders and squirrel nests. It’s almost therapeutic. 

Weeks pass at a time. Simon reemerges like clear skies between periods of rain. Sometimes even before you wake up, you can feel the change like lighting sizzling in the air, crackling hot under your fingertips and then stumbling into the kitchen to find him leaning against the counter, coffee already brewing. You blush into an apology that he waves off.

Good soldier. Better boss. 

You fall into a routine, something of a cadence that is only interrupted by Simon’s hands on your hips when he moves you out of the way to grab a mug from the top shelf. His finger brushing over the curve of your cheekbone to wipe away flour smudged on your cheek. Then he’s gone again, passing through like a ghost. 

Perhaps he’s a more tactile man than you originally assumed. Something about the way he held himself in those first few weeks in the diner suggested otherwise, the way he seemed to radiate a latent hostility. Do not get close. You read this in the general slope of his eyebrows and the scars across his muscled forearms up until he reaches out to touch you, growing more and more comfortable with you around.

“You alright, love?” said into your ear on a warm night when Simon materializes onto the couch beside you, practically out of thin air. Your heart almost bursts in your chest. 

When you turn, he’s as beautiful as ever, honey burnt eyes staring out from behind a balaclava this time. Still dresses in his standard issue tactical pants, the faint smear of grime and gore around the ankles. There’s a lump in your throat when you smile. 

He smells richer now. Deeper, like the forest floor. Like crawling through mud and spider webs and a thick, cloying miasma of desperation. 

“Sorry—I didn’t know you’d be back,” you apologize, going to rise up to your feet. It feels wrong to commandeer his house when he’s on leave, even though you live here too.

A heavy hand on your shoulder pulls you down, settling you to his side. “Off your feet now—there you go, atta girl. No sense getting up; show’s not even done.” 

He angles you back to face the TV and tugs you into his lap almost effortlessly. You do not look back, even when you feel him slip the balaclava off, hot breath fanning over your neck. Not even when fingers play over the thin line of skin where your shirt rides up. You blink like your eyes are gummy and try not to shudder when his thumb dips underneath your shirt.

[ariestrxsh]

dealer!chris

💸 content warning: smut/angst, masturbation, mentions of hard drugs and guns, enemies to lovers, slow burn

💸 summary: literally just a really hot blurb about dealer!chris smoking a joint on a roof while jerking off to the thought of you

dividers by @/kimjiho1

WHEN SPARKS FLY

chapters: | intro | 1 | 2 | 3 |

Chris found himself up on the rooftop of his girlfriend, Daisy's house after you'd dropped him off and gotten home safely, a lit joint dangling from his pouty lips, and his right hand below his waist, fiddling with his belt. Daisy had been soundly sleeping when he arrived, and he took the opportunity to take care of something that had been nagging him off and on all night.

He unstrapped his gun from his hip and laid it on the rooftop beside him. He unzipped his jeans, undid his button, and reached into his waistband. He couldn't set his cock free quickly enough. He started methodically stroking it, immediately feeling the relief of his own long-awaited touch accompanied by the cool metal of his rings.

He loved nights like this. He cherished the time he spent on rooftops, whether it was with music and a joint, with deliberating thoughts, or even just a late-night masturbation session. He loved the risky element of it, but how private it was at the same time.

The clouds were slowly parting to reveal the starry sky beneath them, the rain had stopped, and the wind was still gently blowing, adding to the intimate moment he was having with himself. "Oh, fuck," he softly moaned as a bit of precum pooled at his slit.

He gently squeezed his cock, the clear fluid beginning to leak down his perfect, mushroom-shaped head as he pumped it in his hand. The cool air rushed over his tip, causing him to shiver in delight as a layer of goosebumps traveled across his skin.

He took a long drag, the ember of the joint glowing in the dark. He gently ran his thumb over his shiny cockhead, sending waves of pleasure through his body. He bit back a groan at the incredible sensation.

He wasn't fantasizing about anything in particular, just basking in the moonlight and letting all the thoughts from the day go, exhaling them with the smoke that escaped his lips. His eyes fluttered shut, and he tossed his head back as he relaxed into the beautiful feeling.

The sounds of the night were soothing, the wind rustling through the trees, the distant music of windchimes clanking together, and Chris' occasional moans of delight. He took another puff from the nearly-spent joint, burning his lips on the roach as he pulled from it.

His chest rose and fell at a quickening pace, and his calm, slow breaths turned into a fervent panting as he started to approach the edge. His mind began to wander to places he'd been trying to avoid. You. He secretly loved your crass personality, your dry sense of humor, and how sexy you were.

He remembered the way your legs looked in that dress you wore earlier. He remembered the perfect curve of your back, imagining how it would look arched in front of him. A coy smile played into his expression when he recalled the way you'd stammered your way through your sentence when he accused you of thinking about him doing this very thing.

Before he could decide whether it was wrong or not to be entertaining a fantasy about you while his girlfriend was asleep in her room beneath him, he started picturing you in some skimpy lingerie sprawled out on your bed. In his imagination, he was on top of you, parting your legs with his knee and running his fingers across your soft skin.

"Chris," he imagined the sound of the wind whistling faintly was you hissing his name between your teeth. He fantasized about the way you'd moan into his mouth as he kisses you and how your body would tighten and squirm as you take what he gives you.

Your name passed through his lips as the motion of his hand sped up, stroking his sensitive cock at an ungodly pace as he pictured you letting go beneath him, your whole being trembling under his touch.

He felt it in his stomach first - that familiar ache, the building tension, and finally the release.

"Fuck," he lustfully whispered to himself. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he pulled his eyebrows together in a look of pure gratification. His cock twitched in his grasp, squirting his pearly white substance all over his exposed stomach and his hand.

He let the sensation overtake him, pleasure rippling through his core and flooding his brain with pure, unfiltered satisfaction as he drained himself. He left his body, becoming one with the stars, one with the moon, and one with the night all before his consciousness floated back down like a feather. He felt at peace.

He felt the joint he pinched in his grasp start to burn the pads of his fingers before he finally put it out. He tucked himself back into his jeans, buttoning them up, and fastening his belt. He stuck his glock back into his waistband, the cool metal contrasting against his warm skin.

He laid in silence for a few moments, enjoying the thrill of being high and the post-orgasmic bliss that lingered in his body for several minutes after. He felt his whole being buzzing with dopamine and adrenaline, two things that didn't come to him as easily since living the fast life.

The thoughts he'd had about you in the midst of his climax almost surprised him. It was the first time he'd allowed his mind to go there without shutting the thought down before it had a chance to play out.

Once his breath returned to normal and he felt like he could stand again, he found his way from the roof to the cinderblock wall on the side of the house and finally, his converse hit the grass beneath him.

He climbed out of his damp clothes that he had sweat in and that had been rained on throughout the night and crawled into bed next to his girlfriend. He was careful not to wake her, shifting around meticulously as he glanced over at her pretty face glowing in the moonlight.

He knew that you were right, that he had to tell Daisy what he was really doing for work, but in that moment when he looked at her, he had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He just knew she wouldn't stay if she found out, and he knew that she certainly wouldn't stay if she'd known about what he'd just done while thinking about another woman.

Guilt kept him awake, staring at the ceiling fan for the next hour or so until exhaustion took its place, finally allowing him to drift off to sleep.

click to read chapter 4 ✨️

taglist: @skye-44 @faiyaz555 @idrk2292 @chrisslittleslut @drewswife @trevorsgodmother @sofisturns @milo-the-dog @rockstarchr1s @bsturnzmtts @sturniolo-girl @theyluvme-2315 @jassturn @brookiecookie-18 @maggot3647 @slut4chriztopher @strnlslvr @sleepysturniolo @lvrsturniolo @sofieeeeex @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @matts-myloverboy @witchofthehour @slutforsturniolosss @whoahoahoahoahoa @ilovechrissturniolosposts @smt-obsessed @sturnioloxlver @that1fangirll @hrtz4alex2211 @drewstarkeysdoll @sp3ncerslvt @sturniolo-munch44 @jakewebberswifee @ssturniolooss @thenickgurl @sturniolo-fann @sst7niolo @babysturniolo @chestersturniolo @riowritesitall @camzeecorner @mattsturnixlo @annedebeijer @scorpioosworld @mattlover-00 @sweetlikesug4rvenom @m11rx @sturniolocharms @mickelodeon-2003

[brownsugarcoffy]

The Hallelujah Heat (2)

Summary

In a small Mississippi Delta town steeped in scripture, reputation, and whispers, Ise Bakersfield has always walked the righteous path as the preacher’s only daughter. Pressed skirts, quiet Sundays, and eyes that cast down low. However, something or rather someone has come to stir the fire within her.

Stack "Elias" Moore is Magnolia Lane’s smooth-talking neighborhood bad boy. It all starts with lingering glances on her porch and soon becomes a heat that haunts her thoughts. What begins as innocent avoidance quickly turns to dangerous curiosity. Their worlds aren’t meant to touch, but temptation knows no bounds... and Ise is about to find out what happens when desire dares to cross the line.

Characters: Ise Bakersfield (OC) x Stack " Elias" Moore

Warning: Vulgar Language, Sexual content, Mention of M*sturbation, Angst, Slow Burn & More..

Chapters: PART(1), PART(3)

NOT EDITED

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The front door creaked as Ise slipped into the house, the scent of rain-soaked wood and old hymnals greeting her like a memory she hadn’t asked for. Her shoes squelched softly against the floorboards, soaked from the mud path leading home. Her fingers clutched at the edges of the heavy denim shirt draped over her shoulders—Stack’s shirt—the fabric still radiating his body warmth, or maybe it was her imagination, still humming from his touch.

The house was quiet, dim, the only light a soft golden glow seeping down the stairwell from her parents’ bedroom.

Then her mother’s voice rang out sharp and clear, slicing through the hush. “Ise? That you?”

Her whole body went still.

“Yes, ma’am,” she managed, her voice small, barely covering the wild thump of her heart.

Her mother was upstairs, probably in her brother's bedroom her parents. It's where she did most of her sewing now that Leroy was no longer here. Ise could hear the familiar metallic clink of scissors against the desk, the soft brush of fabric being pinned into place.

“You got caught in that rain, didn’t you?” her mother called again, not stepping out. “Make sure you dry yourself off quick, so you don’t get sick. Then bring me the buttons and that fabric you got from the shop.”

“Okay,” Ise answered, forcing her feet to move. Her eyes darted nervously up the stairwell. One more second, and her mother might appear at the top with sharp eyes catching Stack’s shirt before Ise could hide the evidence of where she’d really been.

She fled down the hall, clutching the shirt tighter around her, the soft scent of him clinging to her like smoke.

Once in her room, she closed the door and pressed her back against it, breathing hard. The rain had darkened her curls into spirals, now clinging to her cheeks and neck. Her dress stuck to her skin, cold and damp.

And yet—she was still burning inside.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the denim shirt, bringing it closer to her face. Faint traces of cologne, tobacco, and something earthy rose from the fabric, flooding her senses. It was wrong. All of it was wrong. But she couldn’t help how she shivered, not from the chill, but from the memory.

Dear Lord… that kiss.

His mouth had tasted like honey and heat and defiance. The way he’d cupped her face like he was afraid to break her. The look in his eyes was dark, intense, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered..

Then came the voices.

Two strangers passing by, cutting through the trees near the shack. Their laughter loud, unbothered. Her breath had caught mid-kiss, as she had frozen. She pressed a finger over her mouth gently, silently, like a secret protector. They stood there, unmoving, hearts pounding against each other like drums.

If those men had come any closer…

Her father’s voice echoed in her ears, a phantom carried on guilt and memory.

“The world don’t offer mercy to preacher’s daughters who slip.”

That’s what she’d grown up hearing.

Be obedient. Be pure. Be proper.

Be someone worth marrying.

Be silent.

However, tonight she hadn’t been silent. She’d kissed Stack like her soul had been starving for it.

Tears burned behind her eyes as she peeled off the denim shirt, her hands trembling. She looked around her room frantically. Where could she hide it? The closet? Too risky. The hamper? Not safe. Her mother always checked the laundry.

Under the mattress.

She quickly folded the shirt, careful with the sleeves, and tucked it beneath the edge of her bed, smoothing the fabric down like pressing a secret into the earth. She let the mattress fall with a soft thud and stepped back, breathing hard, watching it like it might still give her away.

But the room was still.

She sank down to the floor, pressing her back to the wall, knees drawn tight to her chest. Her soaked dress clung to her skin like guilt, and the cool air raised goosebumps on her arms. She couldn’t tell if the shivers were from the cold or the chaos inside her.

What am I doing?

She felt like she was splitting into two girls.

The girl her daddy preached about. Who wore her skirts long, her voice soft, her head bowed. The girl meant to find a godly man and host the women’s prayer meetings. The good daughter. The example.

And then there was this girl.

The one who kissed a boy in the rain. The one who let her heart break rules. The one who wanted.

She rested her head on her knees, trying to quiet the storm inside her. Her fingers tingled. Her lips still buzzed. She wanted to forget, and yet she wanted to replay it a thousand times.

And the worst part?

She didn’t regret a damn second of it.

The comforting clink of silverware on ceramic filled the small kitchen, mingling with the scent of stewed okra, black-eyed peas, and cornbread warm from the oven. Ise sat quietly across from her father, who’d just come home from work, his face still tired but alert in the way that meant he had things to say. Her mother moved about the kitchen, wiping down the counter, then finally sitting down to her own plate.

The rain had dried up outside, but the storm still clung to Ise in other ways. She wore a clean cotton dress, her damp curls pulled back into a loose braid. Stack’s shirt was long hidden under her mattress upstairs, but her skin still buzzed with the memory of it on her back, the scent of him lingering in her senses like a warning.

Her father cleared his throat, folding his napkin with the kind of precision that said this ain't small talk.

“I heard from an old friend today,” he began, reaching for his glass of water. “Willie Robinson. Used to preach out in Memphis before his stroke. Said his boy’s lookin’ for work—said he’s been havin’ a rough go of it lately. Can’t find nothing steady, so Willie asked if I could help.”

Her mother glanced up, interested now. “That boy must be grown by now. Last time I saw him, he was no taller than my knee, runnin’ around in johns.”

Her father nodded, swallowing a spoonful of peas before continuing, “Name’s John. He’s about your age, Ise. Maybe a year older.”

Ise looked up at that. Just for a second.

“Anyway,” her father went on, “I told Willie I’d help. The church always needs a hand—roof’s still leakin’, back steps need repairin’, and Lord knows the garden could use another pair of strong arms.”

“That’s good,” her mother said. “Be nice to have another young man helpin’ out.”

Ise felt a shift in the air before her father even said the next part. He leaned slightly forward, speaking in that calm, persuasive tone he used when delivering a sermon.

“I also told him you could help John get settled in,” he said, locking eyes with Ise now. “Show him ‘round the church, help him get familiar with the work. You’re already up there most days anyway.”

There was a pause. The only sound was the soft scrape of Ise’s fork against her plate.

He kept going. “He’ll be stayin’ behind the church. That old shed still standing strong—it’s got space enough. Tomorrow, I’ll move the cot and some blankets out there so he’s comfortable.”

Ise’s stomach churned. She forced her voice to stay steady. “You already said yes to all that?”

“I did,” her father replied, not unkindly. “Willie’s a good man, and his boy needs help. We’re called to do what we can.”

Ise’s hands tightened in her lap. Of course we are. And yet, it stung that he hadn’t asked her first. Like her time wasn’t hers to begin with.

“Yes sir,” she said quietly, eyes on her peas. She didn’t trust herself to say more.

Her mother seemed to sense the shift. “Ise, you’ll be alright. It’s just showin’ someone the ropes. Helpin’ a man find his feet. You’ve always been good at that.”

But it wasn’t about being good at it.

It was about the way her father said "he’s about your age" like that meant something. About the way everyone in the church whispered over potlucks and peach cobbler about who the preacher’s daughter might marry one day. About the fact that this wasn’t the first time he tried to steer her.

Does he think if he picks right, I won’t fall the wrong way?

She glanced up again, her father already moving on, discussing the shed repairs and who could help bring the tools over. Her mother nodded, already mentally organizing what supplies they’d need.

Ise stayed quiet. Her mind was already elsewhere. From Stack kiss, to the denim shirt under her mattress and now John. A stranger who was now a part of her father's plan.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Three days later..

Three days of focused work, quiet meals, and long hours under the Southern sun. Ise had kept herself busy helping her father clean out the old church shed, sweeping dust off the floorboards, washing the windows with vinegar and newspaper, and laying down clean sheets for the cot they’d placed in the corner. Her daddy was determined to make the space decent for John’s arrival, and Ise... well, Ise welcomed the distraction.

She hadn’t been on the porch in days. Not during the golden hour when Stack was usually leaning on the banister couple houses down, not during the warm breeze of late evenings when the fireflies glowed and the neighborhood porch lights came on. She kept her head down and her hands moving, and part of her thought that was a good thing.

Kissing Stack on that day in that shack, with the storm outside pounding against the roof had been dangerous. Too dangerous.

That kiss lingered like honey on her lips. It wasn't just the thrill or the way his mouth felt against hers; it was the way her body responded, like she'd been waiting on that moment for years. But they had nearly been caught. The voices of those two strangers passing outside had scared her stiff. That fear still hadn’t left her chest. The heat of it, the shame of what could’ve happened, or worse.. who could’ve found out.

She’d promised herself to let it go. He wasn’t good for her. She wasn’t good for him. She had too much to lose.

Today was John's arrival.

The family had gotten dressed early. Her mother wore her best green hat despite the sun, and her father had shaved clean for the first time in two weeks. Ise wore a light cotton dress, pale yellow and modest, her curls tucked under a scarf. She sat quiet in the backseat of the car as they made their way to the station.

When they arrived, the platform was buzzing with passengers and families hugging goodbyes or waiting with flowers. The train hadn’t come yet.

Her father looked at his pocket watch, frowning. “Running late,” he muttered.

“Like always,” her mother added, adjusting her purse. “These trains never on time in the summer.”

Ise nodded quietly, trying not to let her thoughts drift too far, but that when Ise heard it. The sharp, melodic cry of a harmonica farther down the platform. She turned her head slightly.

“Step right up, step right up — this Friday at Lil’ Water’s Juke! Come get your groove on!”

Her stomach dropped. That voice. She knew that voice.

Her eyes darted over her shoulder, and there he was — Stack — standing next to an older man blowing the harmonica like the Devil himself was paying him in whiskey. Stack's voice rang out bold, smooth, magnetic, pulling eyes and ears from every direction.

He was dressed in a dark pinstripe three piece suit. He was wearing that same cocky, crooked grin that made her want to slap him and kiss him in the same breath. And then his eyes found hers.

A slow, devilish grin stretched across his lips like he knew all her secrets.

Ise snapped her head forward, heart pounding like thunder in her chest.

“You okay, baby? You’re sweatin’ somethin’ fierce. Hope you not comin’ down with fever,” her mother said, worry in her voice.

“I’m fine,” Ise answered too quickly, then softened her voice. “It’s just the heat. I—I’m gonna splash some water on my face in the bathroom.”

Her father nodded. “Go ahead. Just don’t be long.The train could pull up any minute.”

Ise nodded and hurried toward the bathroom, refusing to glance in Stack’s direction, but she felt his eyes on her back. She moved quickly, slipping past clusters of waiting passengers and old folks fanning themselves.

Stacks watched her disappear toward the bathroom. He finished his pitch, gave the harmonica player a quick pat on the shoulder, and walked casually, slowly, in the same direction. He was careful not to draw too much attention. He leaned casually against the wall near the ladies bathroom, hands in his pockets.

When Ise stepped out moments later, her skin was cool, but her nerves were still on fire. Before she could make it more than a step or two, a strong arm reached out and gently pulled her to the side behind the old brick column where the shadows swallowed them.

“Boy—!” she hissed.

“You missed me?” Stack whispered, eyes gleaming.

“What’re you doin’?! You crazy?”

“Maybe.” He leaned in close, his breath brushing the shell of her ear. “You been hidin’ these last few days. I thought I did somethin’ wrong.”

“You didn’t,” she said too fast. “I just been busy helpin’ my daddy.”

“You been avoidin’ me.”

Her jaw clenched. “No. I've been busy.”

“You really gon’ act like that kiss didn’t happen?” Stack asked, folding his arms across his chest. His grin was lazy and teasing, like he already knew her answer.

Ise stiffened, hands pressed behind her to the brick, her chest still rising and falling fast. “What kiss?” she said coolly, arching a brow. “You mean that little slip-up in the shack? That was nothin’. Just a moment. Nerves, maybe. Heat of the storm.”

He stepped in slightly, tilting his head. “Funny. Didn’t feel like nothin’ to me. Felt like a whole lotta somethin’.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she crossed her arms to mirror him, though her posture was tight, like she was holding herself in place. “You got a big imagination.”

“ I am your imagination.”

“You're so full of yourself,” she said, trying to push past him, but he blocked her gently, his arm a cage, his presence intoxicating.

“You ever kiss someone and taste somethin’ so good you gotta take a second to catch your breath?” he asked, his voice a whisper now. “That was you.”

Ise’s throat dried. “Stop—someone could see—my parents—”

“I know,” he said softly. “You care what they think. But me? I ain’t never gave a damn ‘bout what folks say. Still…”

He brushed a knuckle along her jaw, sending shivers down her spine.

“…I’m mindful. I know you got somethin’ to lose.”

Her breath hitched.

Then he leaned in closer, his lips nearly brushing hers but not quite.

“You taste so damn good,” he murmured. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout it since the shack. How you melt against me. How your lips trembled on mine.”

“Stop talkin’ like that,” she said, breathless, shaking her head.

“Why?” he teased. “You scared? Or you scared you want me to say it again?”

“Shut up, Stack.”

“Make me.”

Their eyes locked. Heat pulsed between them.

“Are you done?!”

“Nah,” he smirked, inching closer again. “I ain’t done. “Cause now all I've been thinkin’ ‘bout is when I’m gon’ taste you again. Real slow this time.”

Her eyes darted around, panic and heat battling inside her. “My mama’s just feet away,” she hissed. “If she sees us—if she hears—”

“I get that.” He softened just a touch, like a flame dropping low but still burning. “ But don’t act like this don’t got you twisted up.”

He lowered his voice to a whisper, his lips close enough to stir the curls at her temple. “Don’t act like your thighs didn’t tighten around me. Don’t act like you ain’t still feelin’ it every time you blink.”

Her breathing quickened. Her body betrayed her. Not just by remembering the kiss, but by aching for another.

“You ran last time,” he said, low and deep. “But you ain’t gonna run forever. When you ready…”

He leaned down, brushing his lips near the curve of her neck, not touching, just close enough to make her pulse jump.

“…you’ll come to me.”

Then he stepped back. Just like that. Cool as anything. Ise stood frozen, chest heaving, her blood a riot in her veins. She glanced toward the platform. Her mama was already looking around.

“I gotta go.”

“Go on then,” Stack said, that damn grin still playing on his lips. “But you’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout me.”

She turned without another word and rushed back to her parents.

Ise reached her parents just in time for her mother to say, “There you are, baby. You alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ise said, smoothing her dress, trying to breathe normal. “Just needed a minute.”

Her mother gave her a side-eye, but let it go.

A shrill whistle sliced through the humid air. The train.

It rumbled into the station, loud and steady, wheels grinding against iron. Steam hissed from beneath it like a dragon exhaling, the scent of coal and hot metal drifting through the air. Folks gathered their things, children sat up straight, and church fans stopped moving.

Ise watched as the train came to a stop. The conductor stepped down, calling names, calling cities. Businessmen in suits, women in hats and gloves, a soldier in uniform pour out of the door. Then she saw him.

John.

The ride back from the train station was slow and quiet at first. The sun dipped low in the sky, casting an orange tint across the dusty road. Cicadas buzzed from the tall grass, filling the silences between conversation.

Ise sat in the back seat beside John, her hands folded in her lap, her spine stiff against the leather cushion. Her parents were up in the front. Her father drives, while her mother humming faintly to herself.

John shifted beside her, trying not to stare but doing it anyway. He was tall, broad in the shoulders, with skin the color of rich molasses and a face that had both boyish charm and the sharpness of a man who’d seen just enough life to know how to carry himself. His suitcase sat between his boots, and a worn duffel was tucked by his feet.

”Appreciate y’all picking me up. Your father’s been real generous helping me get settled.”

he said, breaking the silence with a light tone,

She gave a short nod, her eyes fixed out the window. “You're welcome.”

He chuckled softly. “Not much of a talker, huh?”

“I talk. Just not when I don’t feel like it.”

That made him smile, but he didn’t push further. “Fair enough.”

They rode on, the gravel popping beneath the tires, the scent of hot earth and summer leaves drifting in through the window cracks. After a few minutes, John tried again.

“Your dad says you’ll be showing me around town, helping me get situated at the church.”

Ise’s lips pressed together. “I guess so.”

He turned slightly, angling his body toward her without leaning too close. “I don’t mean to be a burden. I’ll figure things out pretty quick. I’m good with my hands, and I don’t spook easy.”

“That so?” she said flatly.

He smiled again, this time slower. “That so.”

From the front seat, her father interjected, “John’s roof is gonna need patching and the windows needs fixing. Ise knows the place inside and out, so she’ll show you what’s what.”

John nodded. “Appreciate that, sir.”

Ise’s mother turned slightly in her seat to look back. “You hungry, John? I made supper. We’re eating before Samuel takes you over to the church.”

“Yes, ma’am. I haven’t had a real meal since Memphis.”

Her mother smiled at that. “Well, you gon’ eat good tonight.”

John smiled politely, but his eyes returned to Ise. “You cook too?”

Ise finally turned to look at him, her gaze sharp, unreadable. “I help. When I want to.”

A small pause, and then John gave a low chuckle. “You always this sweet?”

Ise didn’t miss a beat. “Only to people who don’t ask dumb questions.”

That earned a laugh from her father, who slapped the steering wheel lightly. “She get it from her mama.”

John held up both hands, a grin spreading across his face. “Alright then. I’ll tread lightly.”

Ise turned back toward the window, hiding the small, almost unwilling smile that tugged at her lips. He wasn’t like Stack didn’t carry that same wild edge, that reckless spark, but something in John’s calm confidence made her feel like she was being watched with real intention. It unsettled her, but she reminded herself: this was just a favor her father was doing for a friend.

The smell of cornbread, fried chicken, and sweet onions filled the small kitchen, where laughter and clinking silverware echoed off the walls. The table was full—bowls of okra, a platter of hot biscuits, and a pitcher of iced tea sweating through its glass.

John sat with his back straight, shoulders squared as if still riding the train. His “yes, ma’ams” and “thank you, sirs” came easily. He passed dishes, complimented the food, and answered Ise’s father’s questions like he was in church. Ise noticed he didn’t eat like someone trying to impress,he ate like someone who appreciated the meal.

Her father was all smiles. “You know, Ise knows just about every board and nail in that old church,” he said, spooning beans onto his plate. “She’ll be good company while you get to work.”

Ise didn’t look up from her cornbread. “We’ll see.”

John glanced her way with a short smile. “Long as she don’t mind a little dirt and sawdust, we’ll get along fine.”

Her mother chuckled. “Oh, she can get her hands dirty when she wants to.”

“That’s right,” her father added. “She just need the right reason.”

Ise’s fork froze halfway to her mouth. Her eyes slid to her father with a look that said: don’t push me.

He just smiled into his greens.

John caught the strange silence and looked between them, confused but polite. “Well, I’m grateful either way. I came here to work. Whatever else happens, happens.”

Ise finally met his eyes, cool but not unkind. “Good mindset to have.”

John nodded once, unsure if that was a compliment or not.

The conversation moved to stories from her father’s youth, talk of town politics, mention of the church’s roof and a leaking pipe. Ise listened quietly, her mind half-present. Across the table, John fit in easily. Too easily.

Her father wanted her to see what he saw: a good man. Hardworking. Respectful. Solid.

But Ise wasn’t looking for “solid.” She wasn’t looking at all.

The last thing she needed was some tidy man from Memphis with good manners rushing to find a young thang to give his last name too. Ise was not trying to be someone's homemaker doll just yet. There was more she wanted to do and see in this world.

After dinner, her mother packed leftovers and her father gave John details about the shed behind the church. Ise decided to slip out onto the porch.

The night air was thick and fragrant with jasmine. Crickets sang from the grass, and far down the road, the faint hum of blues music drifted in from someone’s open window.

She leaned against the railing, arms folded.

She felt him before she heard him.

John.

He came out with two glasses of iced tea and offered her one.

“Figured you might want something cold,” he said.

She accepted it but didn’t say thank you.

They stood in silence a moment before John spoke again.

“Your folks seem like good people.”

“They are.”

“You’re... not exactly what I expected.”

She raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I dunno. You’re quiet, but you look like you got a lot going on in that head of yours.”

She sipped her tea. “Better than being loud with nothing going on.”

He laughed under his breath. “Fair enough.”

She didn’t return the smile. “Let me be real clear about something, John. My daddy might be hoping for something between us, but I ain’t.”

John blinked, surprised, then recovered. “I hadn’t thought about that, honestly.”

She nodded once, satisfied. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

Then she pushed off the rail and walked back inside, leaving John on the porch, watching the stars, his smile fading into something thoughtful.

Later that night.

The house had settled into its nighttime stillness. Her father’s deep voice and mother’s soft laugh had long been swallowed by the hush of sleeping walls. Ise stood in front of her mirror in the low glow of her bedside lamp, her fingers undoing the small buttons on her blouse, slow and distracted. She had smiled through dinner, offered pleasant conversation, even bowed her head during grace. Her mind… her mind had never made it to the table.

It stayed behind.

At the train station.

With him.

Stack.

Her breath caught in her throat just remembering the way he’d pulled her aside with that bold kind of ease that shouldn’t have made her stomach flutter. The bathroom door had barely clicked shut before his fingers curled around her wrist, dragging her into the narrow space between the freight crates and the wall. The scent of him smells like tobacco, musk, and sugar.

Her legs pressed together instinctively.

He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear with words that haunted her every time she blinked.

“I've been thinkin’ ‘bout is when I’m gon’ taste you again. Real slow this time.”

Ise gripped the edge of her vanity to steady herself as the memory slid through her body like silk over bare skin.

She stepped out of her skirt, let it fall to the floor. Her nightgown waited on the hook behind her door, but she didn’t reach for it yet. Instead, she walked barefoot to her bed, heart fluttering with anticipation, fingers twitching with knowing.

She knelt beside her mattress, lifting it slowly and pulled out the denim overshirt. Her fingers trembled as she brought it to her face, pressing her nose to the collar. God. It still held the heat of him, like the fabric refused to forget his touch. She inhaled deeply, greedy for it, for him. She wrapped it around her shoulders, then slipped beneath the covers.

The weight of the shirt settled over her like a phantom of Stack arms. Her thighs rubbed together under the sheets. Her body ached in that low, pulsing place that made her feel breathless and wanton.

He wasn’t supposed to talk to her like that.

She wasn’t supposed to want it.

But she did.

She wanted the sound of his voice in her ear, rough and slick like molasses. She wanted his fingers skimming the inside of her thighs, wanted to feel the scrape of his stubble against her neck, her chest, her—

Her hand slid slowly down her belly, hesitation curling in her breath, but the desire won.Her fingertips found heat beneath the cotton of her panties. A gasp slipped out.

She closed her eyes and imagined himnstanding over her, shirt undone, tongue wetting his bottom lip, that wicked gleam in his eye that said he knew exactly what she needed.

"Nice and slow. Show me how sweet you can be.."

She moaned softly into the pillow.

Lord help me.

“God, why does he smell so good?” she whispered, voice catching in her throat. “This ain’t right.”

"Bet you moan real pretty when no one’s around, huh?”

“Stop it…” she whispered now to herself, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “Stop thinkin’ ‘bout him.”

But she couldn’t stop.

She wanted to hear him say her name again in that cocky, raspy way. She wanted to feel those callused fingers trace the inside of her thighs.

“Fuck…Stack.” She sucked in a sharp breath. Her fingertips continued to brush where she ached, and her body shivered like a struck match.

“Jesus…”

"Let me show you somethin’ sweet, preacher’s girl."

She whimpered.

She could hear him, feel him, smell him. It was all too much. Her body trembled with want, hips rising slightly, searching for that edge.

“Stack…”

The name slipped from her lips before she could stop it. Soft, breathy, soaked in lust.

Her climax crept in like a slow wave. Then crashed hard, shaking her from the inside out. She cried out against the pillow, muffled and breathless.

Stillness returned slowly, her body sinking deeper into the mattress, muscles soft and warm. She stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling. Shame hovered at the edges of her high, but it didn’t touch her yet. Not while the ghost of his scent clung to her skin.

Beneath the sheets, Ise whispered to the shadows, “God forgive me...”

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Two days later...

John had settled into the small shed behind the church. It wasn’t much. It had bare walls, a cot, a nightstand with a rusted lamp, but he didn’t complain. He unpacked neatly, kept his boots by the door, and rose early with the sunrise. If he missed Memphis, he didn’t show it. He got right to work, hammer in hand, following Ise’s father around like a respectful shadow.

That morning, as the day began to stretch hot and bright, Ise’s father handed her a folded bill and a short list written in pencil.

“Take this into town,” he said. “Need you to pick up some boards and sealant. Ask for Ruben, he’ll know what we need.”

Ise wiped her hands on her skirt and reached for the keys that dangled from a nail on the wall. She was already imagining herself in the driver’s seat of the pickup truck, wind tangling her braids, sun heating her forearms through the open window.

But her father’s voice cut through that dream.

“John’ll be driving.”

Her hand stopped short of the keys. “What?”

“He knows how to drive a stick. And I want him to get familiar with town anyway.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, and forced a smile that barely covered the sharp twist in her gut. “Right.”

John stood near the doorway, wiping his hands with a rag. “Ready when you are.”

She didn’t answer. Just grabbed the list, shoved it in her pocket, and stomped past him out the church door.

By the time they were in the truck and pulling onto the dirt road, she still hadn’t said a word. John glanced over at her, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“You always this quiet, or just when I’m around?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not I wanted to be the one driving.”

He laughed, a deep, easy sound that grated on her nerves more than it should’ve. “Didn’t mean to steal your joy.”

“You didn’t steal anything,” she snapped, arms crossed, staring out the window. “Just had a different plan in mind.”

“I get that,” he said, and for once, there wasn’t a smirk in his voice. “But I’ll make it up to you. Next run, you drive.”

She cut him a side-eye. “You don’t need to make anything up to me. We’re not friends.”

John blinked, not offended, but surprised. “Did I say we were?”

She didn’t answer.

They rode in silence for a stretch, the gravel humming beneath the tires. Fields passed on either side, dotted with wildflowers and leaning fences. The air inside the cab was thick with heat and the scent of dust.

“Can I ask you something?” he said finally.

“If I say no, you gonna ask anyway?”

“Probably.”

She sighed. “Then go on.”

“Why do you seem so... mad about me being here?”

That made her turn her head fully, her expression unreadable. “I’m not mad.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I just don’t like surprises.”

John’s fingers tapped on the steering wheel. “Well, I’m not trying to be one.”

She scoffed lightly and looked back out the window.

“I know your daddy’s hoping I’ll be something I ain’t,” John said after a moment. “Some kind of answer to a question I never asked.”

Her eyes flicked back to him.

“But I ain’t here for that,” he added. “I’m just here to work.”

She studied his profile—his strong jaw, the curve of his brow, the sincerity in his tone. He wasn’t like Stack. There was no mischief, no fire. Just a steady presence.

She wasn’t sure if that was a relief... or lack of interest .

“I appreciate the honesty,” she said.

He smiled again, this time not cocky but warm. “I figure we’ll get along fine. Long as you stop looking at me like I kicked your dog.”

She couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “You didn’t kick anything.”

“Good,” he said. “Let’s keep it that way.”

They pulled into town just as the sun reached its highest point. Ise’s mood had lifted only slightly, but she had to admit he wasn’t trying to trap her in anything. At least not yet.

Still, she couldn’t shake the thought of Stack grin at the train station or the promise in his voice when he said she’d come to him when she was ready.

The sun hung low, casting long amber streaks over the town as Stack flicked his cigarette and leaned against the faded brick wall outside the corner store. The day was slow, full of grit and sweat. The Mississippi heat clung to everybody's skin like a second layer. Cornbread and the rest of the crew were sprawled out nearby, talking trash and slapping down dominoes like they had something to prove. Laughter cracked the air like firecrackers. Music buzzed faintly from someone’s open window. It was an ordinary afternoon, just like any other.

Until it wasn’t.

Cornbread paused mid-laugh, his eyes squinting across the street. “Ain’t that Ise?” he said, pointing with his chin. “Who’s that man she with?”

Stack didn’t react at first. He didn’t have to. Someone else chimed in, “Her old man letting her out with a man now? Must be something in the water.”

That’s when Stack looked up and there she was.

Ise. Stepping out of the pickup truck, her green sundress clinging to her waist in the breeze, her thick hair braided into two. Stacks’s eyes didn’t flicker, didn’t show a thing, but inside, something shifted.

She was standing next to a tall man with clean clothes and Sunday manners all over him. He was smiling at her like he was already halfway in love. Talking soft. Close.

Stack didn’t know him.

But he knew what he was looking at.

He drew in a long pull of smoke, held it in his lungs. Ise smiled and laughed at something the man said. It was polite, not flirty, but even that was enough to crack something under his skin.

He exhaled slowly.

“She ain’t yours,” he told himself.

And she wasn’t.

Hell, she couldn’t be. Sweet-faced and well-kept. The kind of girl who sat in the front pew every Sunday and helped her mother bake pies for the church picnic. The kind of girl who wasn’t supposed to let some juke-joint wanderer kiss her with his hand braced beside her hipscand his mouth pressed hot against hers.

But she did.

She tastes forbidden.

She didn’t know he was watching. Ise and the man headed inside the hardware store, talking low, walking side by side. Stack turned his gaze away just as she disappeared behind the door, but his thoughts followed.

He knew he should pull back. She wasn’t for him. Never had been.

Not with her daddy up at that pulpit every Sunday, preaching about sin and temptation like they were the same damn thing. Not with her mama watching like a hawk, praying Ise didn’t end up with some boy who wasn’t cut from holy cloth.

The way she’d scurried off from him at the train station, lips still warm, pretending nothing happened.

He should’ve let it go right then.

Should’ve looked at her like any other pretty girl in town and left it at that.

But he couldn’t.

There was something in the way she looked at him before she caught herself. It's like she felt something too.

He'd known about her beauty long before they’d exchanged a single word. Ise had always stood out. She was quiet, with eyes too big and too knowing. She walked like she was taught to be seen and not heard. At least, that’s how she was a few years ago.

But lately…

She’d been watching him.

Quick little glances when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. She paused by her porch when he stepped outside for a smoke. Her gaze lingered too long to be innocent. That’s when Stack started seeing her differently. Not as some preacher’s girl with clean nails and curfews, but as someone yearning.

She looked soft on the outside, but there was heat behind her eyes. Curiosity for something she wasn’t supposed to want.

He’d played it cool at Cornbread’s party when he slipped into the kitchen. Him flirting and teasing her as he watched her squirm with that mix of desire and denial. Then came their shared kisses in the old shack. In that moment, Ise kissed him like she couldn’t breathe without it.

Then she ran. Pretending like nothing happened. He couldn’t blame her. Not really.

She had everything to lose. A reputation. A name. Parents who watched her every move and would burn the world down if they caught wind of her fooling around with someone like him.

He flicked ash off the tip of his cigarette, watching the ember flare.

Stack couldn’t stop thinking about her. The way her breath hitched when he got close. The soft sound she made when they kissed and the way her lips trembled but didn’t pull away.

He hadn’t imagined it.

And he sure as hell wasn’t done.

“You playing?” Cornbread muttered beside him, not looking up from the dominoes. “Or does someone catch your curiosity?

Stack arched a brow. “Nah. Just watchin.”

Cornbread gave a slow, knowing smile. “Uh huh. Just be careful with all that watchin.”

Stack kept his face neutral, cool as the breeze, but inside, something locked tight in his chest.

Cornbread knew.

How much, Stack didn’t ask.

Didn’t matter because Ise wasn’t as untouched as she looked. Not to him. Not anymore. She could play house with church boys and smile sweet for her parents all she wanted.

But sooner or later?

She will come to him and he will be waiting…

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Two days later….

The summer sun was finally starting to bleed out of the sky when Ise stepped through the screen door of Charlene’s house. That old familiar scent hit her instantly. Peanut oil and a hint of talcum powder mixed with the sweet aroma of pound cake cooling on the counter. Even though it had been over a year since Charlene left for Spelman College, everything in the house still looked the same. The crocheted doilies, the faded floral sofa, the little ceramic angels on every shelf.

But Charlene wasn’t the same.

Not anymore.

Now she had that city shine. Her hair was in a new style. Shorter, layered, and shaped into a soft halo that framed her glowing face. Even the way she walked had changed. Her hips swinging with a kind of casual confidence Ise couldn’t imitate if she tried.

They were upstairs in Charlene’s bedroom, where time felt like it had paused. The same velvet pink walls. The same vanity with its peeling gold trim, but now there were new things too. Like records from up north, perfume bottles shaped like women’s silhouettes, and a stack of letters tied with ribbon beside the bed.

Charlene flopped down, propping herself up on her elbows. “Alright, catch me up. What’s been going on around here? What’s the juke joints lookin’ like these days?”

Ise joked. “Girl, my daddy would burst into flames if he even thought I was at one of those places.”

Charlene burst out laughing, throwing her head back dramatically. “Uncle really don’t let you do nothin’!”

“That’s an understatement.”

Charlene rolled onto her side, her voice softening. “I swear, you’re like a bird with its wings clipped.”

Ise looked down at her hands, fingers clasped in her lap. She didn’t want to admit how much that felt like the truth.

She’d wanted to go to college too. Had even been accepted to a small women’s seminary in Georgia. However, after her brother was drafted, everything changed. Her father said she was needed at home to help with her mama, to help keep the church running, to be his good, God-fearing daughter. That was all she had tried to be.

But now, watching Charlene move with freedom, hearing the faint trace of blues music humming from the little radio in the corner, Ise felt something twist deep inside her chest.

“How about the men?” Charlene asked, stretching. “They still slow as ever?”

Ise scoffed. “Girl, I don’t know about these men.”

That much was true, but it was also a deflection. Only one man had caught her attention.

Stack.

She could still hear the way he said her name. His voice teasing, low, slow like molasses. She could still feel the weight of his eyes on her, the ghost of his laugh brushing against her ear, and the taste of that kiss. The one she had started. The one that made her feel something dangerous and wild and not holy.

Nobody knew about that and nobody could.

“Still not curious?” Charlene asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Not really,” Ise said quickly, too quickly.

Charlene stared at her for a beat, then gave a slight smirk and let it go. “Mmm-hmm.”

Then her face lit up again. “You know what? You need a night. Just one. Stay here tonight, and when my parents go to bed we are sneaking out. Hit a joint, hear some live music. Just like old times, but better. We’re grown now.”

Ise’s mouth fell open. “Girl. No. I can’t. If my father finds out…”

“He’s not gonna find out,” Charlene said smoothly. “Just leave it to me. I’ll call him and ask. Say we’re up here talkin’ about God and college and scripture or whatever he wants to hear. You know I got the voice for it.”

Ise couldn’t help but laugh. “You ain’t right.”

“Come on! You’ve been cooped up, servin’ the Lord and scrubbin’ floors like it’s your job. Don’t you want to feel alive again? Just one night. One good song, one drink, one dance where nobody knows your name.”

Ise hesitated. Her stomach fluttered.

She did want that.

She wanted to make her own choices, even if they were the wrong ones. She wanted to stop being good even if just for a little while.

She took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll stay the night.”

Charlene screamed. “Yes! Finally! The good girl cracks!”

Ise shook her head, smiling in spite of herself.

Charlene sprang into action. “I’ll go ask your folks. Just need to figure out where we’re goin’.”

Ise was about to shrug when something flickered in her mind. The memory of Stack yelling out a name at the train station

“Lil Water’s Juke Joint,” she said softly.

Charlene raised an eyebrow. “Lil Water’s? Huh. Thought you ain’t know no juke joints.”

Ise stiffened. “Oh—I just… overheard somebody talkin’ about it. At the station the other day.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Charlene didn’t sound convinced, but she didn’t push either. “Alright then. I’ll call Lucinda, see if she wanna be our ride. I’ll tell her to park a couple houses down. We go through the back. You still remember how to sneak?”

Ise nodded slowly, pulse quickening.

She wasn’t sure what was pulling her more. The idea of stepping out into the night like she’d never done before, or the thought of seeing him again. Either way, she knew she was inching toward something that couldn’t be undone.

Some part of her buried deep beneath the good daughter, the obedient girl wanted to get burned.

The night air buzzed with heat and the thrum of crickets as Lucinda’s car rolled to a slow stop a few houses down from the glowing hum of Lil Water’s Juke Joint. The old coupe rattled like it was holding in a secret, the bass of the blues spilling out from somewhere up the road, heavy and sultry like honey in summer.

Ise sat in the back seat, heart galloping behind her ribs. Her palms were slick with sweat, and she could already feel a hundred warnings from her father echoing through her chest. Nothing good happens after dark. Be mindful of your reputation. Your body is a temple.

But in this moment, her temple had been painted red.

Charlene had pulled out one of her going-out dresses from a suitcase lined with silk scarves and perfumes. The dress was deep plum, hugging Ise’s curves like it had been sewn just for her. Sleeveless, with a low back and just enough shimmer to catch every flicker of moonlight. Charlene had curled her hair into soft, bouncing waves and dusted her cheeks with something red. A touch of gloss on her lips, and for the first time in her life, Ise looked like the kind of girl who could make a man forget his name.

When she turned toward the mirror, Ise didn’t recognize the woman staring back.

“Lord have mercy,” Lucinda said from the front seat, peeking over her shoulder with a grin. “Preacher’s daughter turned fox in one night. The Lord work fast.”

Ise blushed, tucking her curls behind one ear.

Charlene leaned over and gave her hand a squeeze. “You look beautiful, Ise. And free. That’s all I wanted.”

The girls stepped out of the car, their heels clicking on the gravel road as they made their way toward the juke joint. Lil Water’s sat nestled behind a stretch of pine trees, its red neon sign flickering like a secret it was daring you to tell. The building was old with clapboard wood stained with smoke and sweat and years of dancing feet—but alive. Music oozed through the walls, slow and dirty blues, thick with soul and seduction. Laughter, clinking bottles, and the scent of fried catfish wrapped the air in something rich and forbidden.

The front porch was crowded with men with hats tipped low, women swaying like wind, hips moving in rhythm to music that could make the moon jealous. A man on a stool strummed a guitar, his cigarette burning slow between his lips.

Charlene leaned in and whispered, “This is exactly what you needed.”

Ise nodded, though her body was tight with nerves.

As they stepped through the door, the world changed.

Inside was a different kind of church. Dim red lights glowed like embers over wooden floors slick from years of dancing. The band onstage played behind a haze of smoke, their rhythm dirty, low, full of suggestion. The crowd moved as one. Laughing, grinding, swaying in a heatwave of temptation. No shame. No judgment. Just bodies chasing rhythm.

Lucinda had already disappeared into the crowd.

Charlene grabbed Ise’s hand, pulling her toward the bar. “Come on. First round on me. After that, we let the night take us wherever it wants.”

Ise nodded, barely hearing her because she felt him.

Stack.

He hadn’t even touched her, but his presence crawled over her skin like silk and smoke. He was leaning against a post near the back nursing a glass. He was dressed in black suit and with that same sly grin, a toothpick dangling between his lips. His eyes found her immediately and locked onto her like she was the only thing in the room.

And when he saw her in that dress, his grin faltered just a bit.

Ise looked away, heart thundering.

He didn’t come to her. Not yet. He just watched. And somehow, that was worse.

Charlene passed her a glass, something dark and strong. “Drink up, cousin. Tonight, we’re living.”

Ise took a sip, the burn crawling down her throat like fire and God help her, she liked the heat.

She had no idea what the night would become.

But she knew this:

She wasn’t the same girl who had walked into Lil Water’s Juke Joint and the look Stack gave her from across the room promised things no good girl was supposed to taste.

Ise was already hungry and she wanted Stack to be her meal.

Smoke curled from darkened corners, swirling into the rafters with the lazy rhythm of a slide guitar. Bodies packed the dance floor, sticky with sweat and heavy with desire, moving like shadows under dim light bulbs that flickered and hummed. The place smelled of whiskey, perfume, and heat. Everything that made a night unforgettable and a morning full of regret.

Stack stood at the post in the back, half-lost in the haze, nursing a glass of gin. His polished shoes were crossed at the ankle, his hat tilted low over his brow as he watched the night unfold. Clean lines, sharp suit, and a stare that cut through the smoke. Stack wasn’t just part of the scene. He was the scene.

Then the door opened and Stack felt it before he even saw her.

A hush, a slight shift—like the joint itself held its breath.

Ise.

She stepped in slowly, uncertain, flanked by Charlene and another girl he didn’t know. However, Stack's eyes didn’t move from hernot for a second.

She looked nothing like the preacher’s daughter she was supposed to be.

Ise’s hair was curled, her lips painted in a shade meant to tempt, and the dress she wore clung to her body like it had been made just for sin. The dress was dark red.

Red was his favorite.

Soft curves and unsure steps. Stacks saw the nerves beneath the surface, but he also saw want. Buried deep, maybe even from herself, but it was there.

He smirked into his glass.

She didn’t know how to carry that look. Not yet. But Lord, she wore it well.

Most folks would see a sweet, well-raised girl who had no business stepping into a place like Lil Water’s, but Stack had seen more than that. There was a fire beneath all that innocence. It was confirmed that day in the shack. It wasn’t him who kissed her first, It was her who moved the first chess piece.

She kissed him like it was a mistake, then fled like she’d sinned. But he knew better. There was a crack in her mask. A hunger that slipped through.

Now, here she was dressed for trouble, but trying not to look like it. Watching the dancers sway, pretending she didn’t notice the stares, or the way Stack’s gaze pinned her from across the room.

She could fool herself if she wanted to, but Stack saw it clear as day.

Ise wasn’t just curious.

She was aching for something wild. Something she’d been told her whole life she couldn’t touch.

Stack was going to be first to make her go crazy.

[holybibly]

𝔇𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔲𝔰 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 | 𝔚𝔬𝔬𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯

𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: smut, Priests!AU

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 9,9k

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: It is said: "The best way to get forgiveness for sins is to repent." Priest Wooyoung will tell you how to do this.

𝔚𝔄ℜ𝔑ℑ𝔑𝔊: Priest!Wooyoung, Hierophilia, church sex, religion kink, dirty talk, masturbation, humiliation, blow jobs, rough oral, power play. spanking, fingering, orgasm delay, overstimulation, dom/sub and more.

𝔄/𝔑: And so it is that I have come to please you with something wicked. I don't know why I get so inspired, but I don't care. My opinion is that Priest Wooyoung is hot as hell, that's all. There will probably be another work released this weekend, but I won't tell you what it is. Of course, the unholy hours are available as usual. It's time to repent for the sins, bunnies, and, as the saying goes, Hell's empty, all demons outside.

You have never thought of yourself as a religious person, not under any circumstances whatsoever. You never knelt down in front of your bed, covered your eyes with trembling eyelids, and whispered softly, "Hail Mary,"  before you went to sleep in your cold and lonely bed. 

Never asking God's mercy and forgiveness, you were as far from faith and piety as you could be. The last time you had been to church was years ago, when you came to communion with one of your distant relatives.   The feeling was all too familiar, yet as alien as the shattered fragments of a mysterious dream you remembered having long ago. You walked slowly up the rain-slicked stone steps of your hometown's old church, as smooth and dreary as the weather today. The thin branches of the dead trees, devoid of the usual green foliage you knew wrapped around them at the beginning of each spring, reached up to the sky as if in prayer—brittle and outstretched—like the hands of a sinner. 

"What am I doing here?" You asked yourself as you wrapped yourself more tightly in your soft cashmere coat and let out a convulsive sigh.

You didn't know how to answer that, and you couldn't seem to find the right one. That place... it seemed to call your name, and you couldn't resist the mysterious magnetism. The church was old and gloomy—the kind of church that people do not tell you the most pleasant stories about. Your eyes wandered over the faded, dark boards and the pointed spire, topped by a crooked, spiky cross that looked almost sinister as the rain swirled around it. The place had an air of desolation about it, and for a moment, you wondered if it was haunted. 

It was the same church that your mother had gone to when she was a child, always dressed in her most beautiful clothes and with ribbons of silk woven into her hair. 

"Did this place always look as spooky as it does now?" you asked her once. 

The cold wind whipped through your long hair as you pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the church and made your way in. The rusty metal hinges sobbed pitifully at the sound of your action. The inside of the church was musty and smelled of incense, and visually, it was the same as millions of other churches: furnished with rows of wooden pews, with dusty Bibles lying in compartments attached to the backs of the pews. Narrow Gothic windows, decorated with the faces of sexless angels, stretched up to a vaulted ceiling.

There was no one there, which was what you would have expected, considering that there were only a few cars in the car park when you arrived here. You felt stupid for being here, completely unaware of what the purpose of your visit was in the first place.

The echo of your footsteps on the dark, faded midnight-blue velour floor was the only sound in the church. As you walked towards the back of the church, where the neatly decorated altar stood, your fingertips glided weightlessly along the cool edges of the old pews. Dark and full of suffering, the heavy crucifix hung over the altar like an unbearable sacred burden. There was a small confessional not too far from it.

One day, when you were a little girl, your grandparents took you to the church and insisted that you have a confession of your sins. Sitting behind the curtain, you felt so grown up; the small room seemed so much larger in comparison to your petite body. With your head bowed, you solemnly told the priest that you sometimes took a few extra biscuits when your mother wasn't looking, and he, in turn, instructed you to recite the Hail Mary a few times.

As you approached the confessional, you lazily tugged at the heavy velvet curtain, running your fingers over the faded fabric, which was worn in places. You wondered what sins you could repent of now; you didn't often reflect on what you'd done or seek forgiveness, at least not from an all-powerful divine being you weren't even sure existed. You opened the curtain and jumped at the sharp sound of metal rings as they scratched against the beam on which it was hung. The inside of the cabin was dark, and there was a smell of dust in it. You coughed and breathed in the small particles that stuck to your tongue in an unpleasant way.

"Hello, my dear."

You jumped at the slight echo of the soft, melodic voice that came from behind the metal bars of the confessional. Leaning against the door, you pressed a hand to your chest, feeling your fast heart pound. Squinting, you hoped to get a better look at the dark figure of the priest on the other side.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was here." You said it quietly. "I... I was just lookin' around."

"You're new, right?" The voice was beautiful; with every vowel the person formed, you could hear some kind of melody, low and languid, almost seductive, and you suddenly realised that your hands were covered with goose bumps. Was the temperature in the little cabin any cooler than it was in the rest of the church? You couldn't be sure, but you found yourself unconsciously pulling the tails of your coat closer to your body.

Intrigued by the man on the other side of the small grate, you took a step further into the small room and looked around.

"Something like that."

"You don't come to places like this very often?" The voice made more of a statement than a question.

"No." You agreed with it. "I can't remember when I've been to church lately." You whispered in reply, so quietly that you could hardly be heard.

Silence fell between you, and, not quite understanding what you'd done, you reached out and pulled the curtain, shrouding yourself in darkness. Through the metal bars, you saw a slender man's figure and carefully sat down on the velvet bench.

"So why did you come here today, then?" The priest asked, although there was something in his tone of voice that told you that he already knew the answer, perhaps even better than you did. Was all this small talk a normal part of confession?

"I... I'm not really sure, just an instinct." You crumpled the soft fabric of your cloak between your fingers, growing more nervous with every second of the small talk between you and the mysterious priest.

"I understand, of course." He replied with a note of familiarity, as if he heard the same thing every day of his life.

Feeling even more insecure than before, you raised an eyebrow and shifted into the uncomfortable seat beneath you. There was something special about this priest, but you couldn't put your finger on what it was.

"Is something bothering you, dear?"

You bit your lower lip as you tried to process what he said. Was something gnawing at you? Was there something that was bothering you to such an extent that you were beginning to feel pangs of conscience? Deep down inside of you, in the depths of your mind, where you didn't dare to go?

"Maybe?" You finally managed to say it, but it sounded more like a question. Your whole body was on edge, and you couldn't understand why it was so. You weren't afraid, no, but there was definitely a sense of something out of the ordinary. Something that was forbidden.

"You've been doing a lot of thinking lately, haven't you?" The man asked you a question, and all of a sudden you found yourself with your eyes half closed in bliss as you enjoyed the silky texture of his voice. It sounded like an angel was singing, but with a dark undertone. "You have been asking yourself questions, perhaps even too alarming ones."

You nodded weakly in acknowledgement of his words; despite the barrier between you, he seemed to be aware of your silent response.

"You're afraid you're bad." He said simply, and you could almost swear that he was laughing at the last two words, there was a hint of mockery in the tone of his voice.

Hearing him say that made your mouth dry up and you coughed slightly, trying to clear your throat.

"Holy Father, what makes you say things like that?"

"Are not all of us afraid of something like this at some point in our lives? We are afraid of ourselves, afraid of our sinfulness."

There was a blink of confusion on your face, a complete bewilderment at the strange turn this conversation had taken. And yet, somehow, you felt compelled to go on and hear more.

His voice dropped to a hoarse, velvety whisper that sent waves of heat down the length of your spine and caused you to squirm in your seat. Was this how you were supposed to feel at this moment?

"Let me tell you a little secret, dearie."

"I-am I listening?" Your heartbeat quickened as a single streak of pale light fell on the man behind the small bars, and for a moment you saw a dark, fox-like eye.

"We are all bad men. Every single one of us."

A shiver ran down your entire body, and you could feel the stuffy air in the confessional getting hotter and hotter.

"Even you, dearest child." He moved closer to the mesh holes in the barrier that separated the two of you, and you could make out the shape of his lips, diabolically curved and full. "Especially you."

"F-Father…"

"Wooyoung." He fixed you. "My name is Wooyoung. "

You repeated his name softly, sliding your tongue over each letter; your voice was barely above a whisper, but you could hear the man inhale sharply as his name came out of your lips. His name was sinful and sweet, almost wicked, like a serpent that tempts you to do the most evil of deeds. This man cannot be a priest at all. But if he was not a priest, who was he then?"

"You are," he began, and you could almost feel the smirk on his beautiful lips as he spoke. "Very naughty girl.

Oh, my God. This wasn't really happening. Was it? No, he couldn't have meant it. He was a priest, for God's sake.

"And what is your suggestion that I should do about it?" You asked shyly, looking down at the palms of your hands, which were now covered in shallow marks from where your nails had dug themselves into the damp skin. You couldn't see Wooyoung, but you were sure that the look in his eyes would be nothing less than piercing and malicious. "Should I say the Hail Mary several times? Pray for atonement for what I have done? You haven't even told me why it is you think I'm a sinner."

He let out a dark, dry chuckle, and you heard a muffled sound as you guessed that the palms of his hands were making hard contact with his thighs.

"Shall I show you?"

"Show me what?" Your eyes narrowed and a strange sense of anticipation began to well up inside you.

"How do I have the knowledge that you are a sinner?"

You chewed on your lower lip in thought, and then you cleared your throat with a kind of self-assured finality.

"All right. But I'm beginning to think that you're a little overconfident." You added that last part in an attempt to lessen your sense of vulnerability in front of this man. You had doubts that anything would change, but something told you that you would need all the confidence you could have.

Hearing your words, his hand reached out and pressed against the grating metal, and he let out a low purr. Up close, you could see the prominent veins that ran down Wooyoung's slender hand, his long fingers adorned with a number of expensive rings, and you tried desperately to suppress a certain feeling that threatened to force itself upon you.

"Go on, touch; don't be afraid." He called to you, and you stretched out obediently, repeating what he said, carefully placing your fingertips on the grating's metal.

Instantly, your entire world was enveloped in a bright, unholy light, and with each turn of your head, you saw clear images of unspeakable darkness, depravity, and longing. You recognised them as your dreams, as fleeting thoughts that you tried to push away, as shadows that danced on the walls of your bedroom in the late hours of the night. All of these images had been ripped right out of your mind.

You jerked your hand away from him as if it had been burned, and you cried out in pity as tears streamed uncontrollably down your cheeks. You blinked and suddenly found yourself back in the dark confessional, multi-coloured spots dancing in front of your eyes as if they were mocking you and your mind.

"What the hell was that?" You wanted your voice to be aggressive and forceful, but the words sounded weak and pathetic as soon as they left your soft lips.

"You see?" The coldness in his voice burned like a fire within you.

"Those... those are not my thoughts." You murmured in fear as the confessional seemed to grow colder and colder by the second. "They were not in mine."

Were they?

Now you could see your own breath steaming, and in one quick, desperate movement, you rushed to the curtain, tore it aside, and stepped into the light. As soon as you were out of the stall, you slumped limply into the front pew of the church, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to figure out what the hell had just happened.

There was a rustling sound in the cabin before the door on the priest's side of the room opened slightly, and a man stepped out of the darkness—Wooyoung. He was of average height and was dressed entirely in black, like a second skin, with the exception of a crisp white collar. His black hair flowed like silk down to his sharp jaw line and framed the chiselled features of his face. With fierce dark eyes and full lips that curled into a wickedly seductive smile, he was handsome—beautifully handsome.

You should have been afraid of him after what he had just shown you. You should have turned around and run away and never looked back—away from this church and away from Wooyoung. As you have always sworn, you should have left your hometown forever.

But you didn't. The man in front of you, whose eyes seemed to have an even greater darkness in them, had completely hypnotised you.

"You are not the Holy Father." Your breath caught in your throat as he came closer. There was an unreadable expression on his handsome face as he looked down at you. "Who the hell are you?"

He smiled mischievously, and you saw something completely evil in his eyes.

"I am the man who is going to rid you of all of your sins." The sound of his voice was like sugar itself—hilariously sweet.

"W-what? Are you going to make me say my prayers?" At this, he laughed uncontrollably, vulgarly, and at the top of his voice.

"Oh, poor, sweet child." He said this in a drawl, dragging the toes of his immaculately polished black shoes along the floor and carefully folding his hands behind his back. "Absolutely not. I am going to make you repent for all of your sins."

He came to a halt just a few feet in front of you, tilted his head, and looked down at your body. There was a sense of nakedness and vulnerability under his piercing gaze. You felt completely helpless.

"Throughout your entire life, you have committed so many sins that it will take me a long time to get you to repent for them," he said. Wooyoung was talking about it as if it were the most common thing in the world.

"All right. But I'm beginning to think that you're a little overconfident." You added that last part in an attempt to lessen your sense of vulnerability in front of this man. You had doubts that anything would change, but something told you that you would need all the confidence you could have.

Hearing your words, his hand reached out and pressed against the grating metal, and he let out a low purr. Up close, you could see the prominent veins that ran down Wooyoung's slender hand, his long fingers adorned with a number of expensive rings, and you tried desperately to suppress a certain feeling that threatened to force itself upon you.

"Go on, touch; don't be afraid." He called to you, and you stretched out obediently, repeating what he said, carefully placing your fingertips on the grating's metal.

Instantly, your entire world was enveloped in a bright, unholy light, and with each turn of your head, you saw clear images of unspeakable darkness, depravity, and longing. You recognised them as your dreams, as fleeting thoughts that you tried to push away, as shadows that danced on the walls of your bedroom in the late hours of the night. All of these images had been ripped right out of your mind.

You jerked your hand away from him as if it had been burned, and you cried out in pity as tears streamed uncontrollably down your cheeks. You blinked and suddenly found yourself back in the dark confessional, multi-coloured spots dancing in front of your eyes as if they were mocking you and your mind.

"What the hell was that?" You wanted your voice to be aggressive and forceful, but the words sounded weak and pathetic as soon as they left your soft lips.

"You see?" The coldness in his voice burned like a fire within you.

"Those... those are not my thoughts." You murmured in fear as the confessional seemed to grow colder and colder by the second. "They were not in mine."

Were they?

Now you could see your own breath steaming, and in one quick, desperate movement, you rushed to the curtain, tore it aside, and stepped into the light. As soon as you were out of the stall, you slumped limply into the front pew of the church, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to figure out what the hell had just happened.

There was a rustling sound in the cabin before the door on the priest's side of the room opened slightly, and a man stepped out of the darkness—Wooyoung. He was of average height and was dressed entirely in black, like a second skin, with the exception of a crisp white collar. His black hair flowed like silk down to his sharp jaw line and framed the chiselled features of his face. With fierce dark eyes and full lips that curled into a wickedly seductive smile, he was handsome—beautifully handsome.

You should have been afraid of him after what he had just shown you. You should have turned around and run away and never looked back—away from this church and away from Wooyoung. As you have always sworn, you should have left your hometown forever.

But you didn't. The man in front of you, whose eyes seemed to have an even greater darkness in them, had completely hypnotised you.

"You are not the Holy Father." Your breath caught in your throat as he came closer. There was an unreadable expression on his handsome face as he looked down at you. "Who the hell are you?"

He smiled mischievously, and you saw something completely evil in his eyes.

"I am the man who is going to rid you of all of your sins." The sound of his voice was like sugar itself—hilariously sweet.

"W-what? Are you going to make me say my prayers?" At this, he laughed uncontrollably, vulgarly, and at the top of his voice.

"Oh, poor, sweet child." He said this in a drawl, dragging the toes of his immaculately polished black shoes along the floor and carefully folding his hands behind his back. "Absolutely not. I am going to make you repent for all of your sins."

He came to a halt just a few feet in front of you, tilted his head, and looked down at your body. There was a sense of nakedness and vulnerability under his piercing gaze. You felt completely helpless.

"Throughout your entire life, you have committed so many sins that it will take me a long time to get you to repent for them," he said. Wooyoung was talking about it as if it were the most common thing in the world.

"What if I have no desire for repentance?" You said it in a defiant tone. You wanted to be brave; you wanted to be strong and confident, but something deep down inside of you told you that Wooyoung was not the kind of person that you couldn't help but obey. His whole aura told you that if he wanted to, he would fold you up like an origami piece. But there was nothing you could do about it; you had to test the waters to see what would happen if you refused to bend to his will.

He looked at you so intently that you felt he wanted to eat you alive right then and there.

"But I have a feeling that's not the case, is it?" He said this as he ran the tips of his fingers along your jaw. You tensed as he touched you, feeling a cold shiver run down your spine as Wooyoung lazily ran his thumb over your lower lip. "I think you want to get on your knees before me, child. You wish to repent."

Your eyes widened at the sound of his words, and a smirk of arrogance spread across his perfect scarlet lips. Why haven't you fought back?

He leaned forward so that his gorgeous face was only inches away from yours. You squeezed your thighs together as warm wetness began to pool between them, realising he was even more beautiful up close, like sin itself.

"I could smell the sweetness of your cunt from the moment you walked into the church, you little slut." His voice dropped a couple of octaves, and you shivered at the feel of his hot breath on the skin of your body.

The vulgarity of his words made you gasp, but you couldn't deny how your mouth watered at the sound of his velvety voice saying the words 'cunt' and'slut'. God, he was doing something to you, but you were... You were attracted to it.

"I smelled that smell when you walked into the confessional, when you heard my voice, when you said my name." His eyes sparkled in a devilish way, trapping you in his gaze, and if you hadn't been so excited, you would have noticed the black shadows dancing along the edges of his irises.

He was speaking to you in an almost patronising manner now, and you froze in place as he pulled your lower lip down and gently ran his thumb along the inside of it until the pad of his finger was slick with your saliva.

"Wooyoung..." You exhaled, looking down at your hands, fidgeting aimlessly in your lap. Your cheeks were hot and flushed, and by the way Wooyoung looked at you, with a predatory hunger woven into the perfect features of his face, you could tell that your shyness was only turning him on even more.

"There's never been a girl in my life that has been so desperate for a fuck as you have. Your desires ... they are almost tangible." He was so close to you now that his hot lips touched the round of your cheek, sending a wave of electricity through your body as he spoke. "I have met many sinners in my life, as you can imagine."

"Are you going to punish me for that?" He raised an eyebrow before straightening up and looking down at you, seemingly completely satisfied with your answer. A majestic expression of all-encompassing power was frozen on his face as he spoke.

"No, darling, of course not. I wouldn't want to punish you, but I am going to make you repent. And the first sin you will have to do penance for will be lust." Wooyoung said, and you found yourself biting your lower lip at the commanding tone of his voice. "Stand up." He gave you the order.

You did as he asked you to, got up from your seat, and stood in front of the so-called priest. He moved around you in a circle, as if considering what to do with you, never allowing you to escape his dark gaze. His tongue stretched out to lick his plump lips in a sensual way; finally, he sat down on the spot where you had been a few seconds before and ran his hands over his muscular, thick thighs.

You were standing in front of him, completely at his mercy, your head bowed in respect as he looked at you like a predator from his seated position, your skin burning under the weight of his gaze. You could almost feel his eyes as they crawled over your body, peeling away layer after layer until they reached the very core of your soul.

"Get undressed." There was a metallic edge to Wooyoung's voice as he crossed his legs and leaned back, his long hair falling over his handsome face, making him even more vicious. "Now."

You opened your mouth to speak, words of protest hovering on the tip of your tongue, but you closed it immediately, realising that it was better not to protest. The feeling of submission came again, sharp and clear, and you quickly pulled off your cloak and threw it to the ground behind you. The soft fabric pooled on top of the midnight blue velour. Then your jumper and your jeans joined it, your hands shaking as you unbuttoned them and pulled them down to your hips.

As you shyly wrapped your arms around yourself, you suddenly realised that your nipples were hard and swollen and could be seen peeking out from under the thin white lace of your bra.

Wooyoung leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his sharp chin resting on his palms, before he glared at you.

"You have to undress completely, darling."

You nodded obediently, reached behind your back to unhook your bra, and with timid reluctance, pulled the lace straps off your shoulders. You lowered your eyes in shame and looked down at the floor, while Wooyoung kept his gaze fixed on you.

"In atoning for our sins." He began to speak softly, reaching out to your face and gently guiding your chin so that you looked up at him. "We do not have the luxury of being modest." Wooyoung patted your cheek in a condescending manner before he hooked his fingertips into the waistband of your panties, which were nothing more than a thin piece of white lace. He let out a sweet moan as he slowly pulled them off of you, inch by inch, revealing the smooth skin and the wet folds of your pussy.

You blushed as you watched him rub the lace between his fingers, and a thoughtful look came over his handsome face as he said.

"They're wet, darling." He finally said it in a sarcastic tone, his lips curling into a disgusted grin. "You really are a whore, aren't you? You walk around in wet panties and have depraved thoughts, and no less so than about a person who wears holy garments." Despite the roughness and harshness of his words, you could still see the mischievous gleam in his eyes. He tucked your panties into his trouser pocket.

"It's really pathetic, isn't it?" His tongue flicked over his plump lower lip until it was glistening with saliva, and a quick glance down at his crotch showed that he was hard. "You are so lucky that I am here to help you rid yourself of all the sins that you have committed, my child."

The humiliating nature of the situation was turning you on far more than you were prepared to admit. Your clit was throbbing with pain, so intense that it was beginning to distract you, and your thoughts were constantly wandering off in a thick, lustful haze.

"Show me how you touch yourself at night when you are alone with all those sordid thoughts. I want to see you give yourself over to sin." Wooyoung ordered you as he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest in a casual manner. It was impossible to ignore his erection in this position, and your mouth fell open a little when you noticed just how massive the bulge was.

"Y-yes, sir." You whispered. Your mind was spinning with lust as you parted your legs slightly for easier access, your hand hesitantly touching the warm, soft flesh of your inner thighs, shuddering as you discovered the abundance of your juices running down it.

"Keep going, darling. Don't be shy." In response to his words, your fingers touched your neglected, throbbing clit, spreading a sticky, warm wetness and massaging it in slow, firm circles. You whimpered softly, partly from pleasure and partly from the thick humiliation that was blooming in your throat, to which Wooyoung only gave a wicked grin.

"Come on, we both know that you can do it better than that." He reproached you. "I'd like to see you fuck yourself, darling."

You swallowed hard and hesitantly let your fingers slide between the wet folds of your pussy. Your behaviour was beginning to irritate Wooyoung, and all the playfulness was gone in an instant, and a venomous bitterness appeared in his voice. With the silver of his rings digging uncomfortably into your skin, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around your wrist. His gaze was as intent and as dark as the night, and you shivered at the sight.

"Didn't you hear what I said? I said, fuck yourself."

It was such a rude and vulgar thing to say, especially coming from someone who was a priest, and it took your breath away. In obedience to his command, you immediately slid two fingers through the soft, wet folds and into your cunt. You let out a long moan as you felt your silky walls stretch around your fingers, and, trying to get more of the feeling, you began to move them back and forth. Trying desperately to keep your balance in this awkward position, your knees were getting weaker by the second, and you could feel yourself starting to orgasm.

"You don't expect me to believe that your slutty little cunt can only hold two fingers, do you?" Wooyoung mocked him, biting down on his plump lower lip with her perfect set of teeth. 

Gritting your teeth against the invasion, you sighed heavily and added another finger. The soft walls of your vagina squeezed your fingers like a velvet vice with every move you made. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push away the shame that was quickly engulfing you like the flames of hell. The wet, squelching sound of your fingers moving in and out of your pussy was nothing short of vulgar.

"Harder, show me all of it." Wooyoung's sharp command came out, and you did your best to obey, curling your fingers and rubbing them roughly against the small, spongy bundle of nerves inside you. You were breathing heavily, your forehead and neck glistening with sweat, and your lips red and swollen when Wooyoung finally told you to stop. It was cruel, the way he waited patiently and calculatedly until you were about to come, only to deny you, but you couldn't bring yourself to complain; it was your punishment after all.

Your fingers picked up the glistening wetness that flowed from your cunt, and as you looked at Wooyoung, you brought it to your mouth and wrapped your lips around your fingers, licking it and sucking every last drop of it.

He rose sharply from where he sat, shading you and towering over you like the very embodiment of God—or the Devil? Wooyoung wiped away the beads of sweat that had formed on your hairline, with a look of genuine affection on his handsome face. This tenderness did not last for long, however, and after a few seconds, he was back in his unrelenting position of authority.

"On your knees, dear." You did so without hesitation, your knees immediately touching the faded and discoloured velour.

"Look at you, stripped of all your dignity, on your knees, writhing in despair, like a bitch in heat. Aren't you a sight to see?"

You blinked slowly, looking up at him with a fawn's wide-eyed innocence, squeezing your legs together as another wave of excitement surged from your needy cunt. Wooyoung taunted you; there was no way he would show you mercy—you could see it in his eyes as he looked at you coldly, his pretty mouth pressed into a thin line.

"You have no pride, my dear, but you must still do penance for that, to be sure you will have forgiveness for that too." He lifted one foot and placed it on the seat of the bench, presenting you with a polished, expensive-looking shoe. "Clean it for me. With your mouth, my dear."

You raised an eyebrow at Wooyoung but didn't argue, for fear that he would punish you more severely and in more subtle ways if you didn't comply. His boot looked clean enough; not a single scuff could be seen on the shiny leather, and as you moved closer to the bench, you ran the tip of your tongue along the leather in an experimental way. It didn't taste like much, which was a relief to your anxiety, and soon you were flattening your tongue and licking the hard material as if your life depended on it.

"Good girl." He cooed, but there was very little in the way of kindness in that reassurance. As if you were nothing more than a pet, his hand stroked your hair. You were relieved when Wooyoung pulled away and removed his foot from the bench, shuddering at the thought of all the dirt you were putting in your mouth.

"Look at me, my darling."

Your eyes fell on the large bulge at the front of his dark, neatly pressed trousers, and you moved away from the bench so that you were now level with his crotch. A beam of red light shone through the stained glass behind him, reflecting off the black stone of his ring as Wooyoung ran his fingers over his belt. As he slowly unbuckled the belt, the church was silent, except for the faint jingle of the metal buckle. Your gaze lingered for a moment on the image of the Virgin Mary that stood in the corner of the church. Was there judgement in her eyes? Was there a sense of disgust? Her face was as divinely serene as ever, and you couldn't tell.

Too handsome to be a saint, he bowed his head towards you, long strands of black hair falling down to frame his face. Wooyoung unzipped his trousers, taking a moment for a lewd touch of his bulge before pulling out his hard cock. The head of his cock was wet and turgid; a thick drop of pre-cum rolled down its length, and you wanted to follow its movement with your tongue.

"What do you crave, huh?" He asked, hissing as his hand slid up and down the length of his thick cock.

"Do you crave something that can't be satisfied?" His words flowed in a rhythmic flow, and his tone was so soft that you could almost swear that he was singing to you. It was the voice of an angel that was calling out to you. "Do you take all that they give you, only to find that you're still starving to death?" You bobbed your head up and down, desperate and needy, and parted your lips as he rubbed the head over your lips, staining them with pre-cum, making them slick and shiny. You were giddy, stunned by the pure, erotic beauty of this man, this stranger, whom you had so willingly allowed to pollute you in this house of God.

"You're a greedy little animal, aren't you?" Wooyoung taunted you with a throaty grunt as he slapped his cock against your cheek. You kept your hands on your hips, waiting obediently for further instructions. You grew more and more restless by the second, not having his dick in your mouth or in your hand.

God, you were one hungry little thing, you really were.

From where you were on your knees, he looked ethereal, his full lips moulded into a perfect, sensual shape. It was fascinating to watch such a man let himself fall apart like that, his chest rising and falling and sweat forming on his forehead as he moved his hand over his thick cock.

He let out a low, guttural moan as he picked up the pace and came closer and closer to the edge, throwing his head back towards the vaulted ceiling. You were so turned on that you were sure your juices were already dripping onto the carpet beneath you, forming a small puddle, a dirty declaration of your desire. The unpleasant throbbing of your cunt only intensified as you witnessed Wooyoung's approach to orgasm, his breathing choked and ragged.

He looked down at you and licked his luscious, almost sinful, lips.

"Open your mouth, dear." As if you knew he wanted it, you parted your jaw and lowered your head to his cock. Wooyoung jerked his cock a few more times before he released a silky stream of hot, salty cum into your open mouth, an animalistic roar of pleasure escaping from his lips like music. "Don't even have a thought about swallowing."

You felt the thick stream of his cum begin to flow down your tongue and into the depths of your throat, but you ignored the instinctive urge to swallow. Wooyoung pulled his trousers back on, buckled his belt around his waist, and sat back down on the bench with a cold indifference. There was not a single trace left of the erotic image that you had seen just a minute ago.

He patted his muscular, thick thighs and looked at you defiantly, and you obediently walked over to him and sat down on his lap.

His warm thigh pressed against your cunt without pity as soon as you sat down, and you pressed against him desperately in pursuit of the pleasure he hadn't allowed you to have yet. At the same time, Wooyoung slapped your bare bottom with the palm of his hand.

"You have been impertinent to me, which means you have an anger that makes you want to sin. And that is one of my favourite sins, my dear. Wooyoung said as he put his hands on your hips to stop you from squirming on his leg. "To see all the terrible things people can do just because of a little anger is both fascinating and funny."

He lifted you slightly and placed you on his lap. You obeyed him without saying a word. He manipulated you like a doll, positioning you so that you were completely on top of him, your long hair falling in your face and your head tilted forward. You clenched your jaw as hard as you could, terrified of what would happen if you let a single drop of his sperm come out of your mouth. You winced and whimpered as he wedged his knee between your legs again, his hand brushing the tender junction of your ass and thigh.

"I can feel the rage burning deep inside you, my child." Wooyoung held your hands behind your back as he restrained you, tears welling in your eyes. He used his other hand to press down on your lower back and used his knee to press down on your wet cunt. You let out a scream, the piercing sound muffled by your closed lips. The texture of his cum seemed to get thicker the longer it remained on your tongue, and you had to clench your jaw tighter, praying that nothing would accidentally drip out. You couldn't afford to be disgusted by how bitter and cold it had become, coating your mouth with every slight movement you made.

"Isn't that so? Answer me, dear." He growled as he began to massage your ass so hard that you could feel his nails digging into your soft skin.

All you could manage was a pitiful "mmmm.".

"Angry, naughty girl." He said, his voice full of fake sympathy as he ran his fingertips along your thighs in preparation for what was to come. "We can't let this pass unnoticed, can we? You need to repent."

Without warning, he slapped your ass so hard you almost forgot the cum in your mouth. Your body jerked forward before he caught you and brought you back. He didn't give you any time to recover from the blow, as he landed a second one on the opposite side of your ass. Your eyes welled up with tears and concentration as you struggled to keep your mouth shut. Tears started streaming from your eyes down your flushed, hot cheeks as he hit you again with even more sadistic aggression than the first two times. Wooyoung continued his merciless assault, each blow harder than the last, until he landed a particularly hard blow that you were sure would leave a bloody handprint on your skin. The force of the blow was almost enough to bring you to a scream, and for a moment, your lips parted. A small stream of cum ran from the corner of your mouth and down the side of your chin.

You hoped that he hadn't noticed, but you realised that you were out of luck when he let go of your wrists and took a firm grip of your hair instead. As he leaned down to speak roughly into your ear, he dug his nails into the battered, red skin of your ass as he pulled your head back.

"I will have no choice but to extend your punishment if you make a mess, my dear." When he warned you, Wooyoung's voice was deep and quietly ominous, like the ocean on the brink of a storm. He waited for a nod of understanding from you before he let go of your hair and returned to his previous position, running the palm of his hand lovingly over the swollen expanse of your ass.

You closed your eyes and took deep, slow breaths as Wooyoung spanked you over and over again without stopping. You would probably have enjoyed the spanking if it hadn't been for the added responsibility of holding a tonne of cum in your mouthYou s you squirm under his touch. His knee was still pressed relentlessly against your cunt, and his trousers were no doubt slippery from your excitement, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through your body every time you jerked in response to another loud slap against your skin. The sound was almost deafening, echoing off the walls of the old church in a dull echo.

Your punishment turned Wooyoung on once more, his hard cock pressed against the side of your body.

"It's turning you on, you little bitch." The tone of his voice would have been venomous, but it still remained angelic in some way. "I shouldn't be surprised about that. It doesn't matter what kind of touch you have, is it? You're such a needy slut that even the most innocent of touches makes your cunt wet." He ran his fingers through the tangled hair at the back of your head and let out a mocking chuckle. "You can swallow now, darling."

You swallow the cold, sticky cum, gasping in relief as it slides down your throat, immediately following his request. You could still taste it on the inside of your mouth, a faint hint of savoury sweetness tickling your taste buds. After he had spent a few seconds stroking your battered bottom in gentle, soothing movements, he grabbed hold of your sides and lifted you up until you were back in a sitting position on the edge of his lap. For the second time that night, he unbuckled his belt, sliding his trousers and boxer shorts halfway down his hips and freeing his thick cock.

Your stomach churned at the sight of Wooyoung's big, thick cock, but you knew better than to give in to your dark desires. All you could think about was how much you wanted to feel it—to run your hand along its veiny member, to curl your lips around its warm, velvety length, to jump on it and take it so deep into your cunt until you were sure you could feel it deep inside your belly. Wooyoung was absolutely right: you didn't care how he touched you at all. You were longing to feel his touch in any way that was possible.

"Pampered little sluts like you are always too used to being given everything they want without having to lift a finger to get it." He said this as he used his thumb to massage the wet head of his cock. He lifted you up and guided you to straddle him, his hands gripping the soft curves of your hips. Your breath caught; you were so close to your desire that you could almost taste it on your tongue.

"Is that what you wanted, darling?" Wooyoung hummed sweetly as he wrapped his long fingers around your wrist and pressed your hand down onto his cock. Instinctively, you grabbed hold of it, sinking your teeth into your lower lip as you ran your fingers along the prominent veins that adorned the length of his cock.

"Yeah, Holy Father." You said it breathlessly. "God, yes. This is what I have been craving so much."

"You little whore, you ought to know better than to take the name of the Lord in vain in the presence of a priest." Wooyoung teased, and you could feel his hot, cinnamon-scented breath on the back of your neck. The pleasure rippled through your body.

"Please, Wooyoung, please, I want to repent." You came close to whimpering. Your hips jerked in Wooyoung's tight grip in search of some kind of relief, and he reached forward to hold you tightly.

"You must try harder, darling. I want to see you try to repent." He placed his hands on either side of you, and the corners of his sensual lips curled up slightly into a wicked grin as he leaned back against the bench and looked at you from under his half-closed eyelids. You leaned forward and held his cock upright by the base. Sitting up, you rubbed the flushed head along your soft, wet folds, pushing it past your entrance and stretching the small hole with his thick, hot cock. Your heart pounded in your chest, pounding against your ribs as you slid on top of him all at once. At the obviously intense pain of his thickness stretching your narrow, silky walls, tears streamed from your eyes.

"Dear Lord." You let out a loud moan and rolled your eyes back as he suddenly filled you to the brim. Wooyoung didn't move, maintaining a majestic coolness, but you could see him sucking his plump lower lip into his mouth when he could feel your pussy enveloping him, a soft hiss coming from the back of his throat.

"That's it, my darling." He praised you, not being able to control himself, and he began to knead your plump tits in his hands. You squealed and barely moved your hips, still trying to get used to the idea of having something so massive and so hot inside of you. "I want you to fuck yourself on my dick. Can you do that for me like a good girl?" he asked.

"Yeah, Holy Father." You replied breathlessly. You leaned over Wooyoung's shoulder and grabbed hold of the edge of the bench with both hands to prop yourself up. As you began to move slowly, up and down on his cock, Wooyoung pressed his mouth to your sensitive nipple and ran his tongue over it.

You were starting to sweat, but you continued to fuck yourself as ordered, gaining momentum with each thrust of your hips.

The lewd sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the empty church and mingled with the muffled, lascivious moans that escaped from your throat. You had never experienced ecstasy like this before, and you were not sure if you would ever be able to experience it again. You were insatiable, moving your hips in an almost painfully hard rhythm, your knuckles white from the force of your grip on the bench. The head of Wooyoung's cock reached your cervix, and you saw stars, unable to think of anything else but your inevitable orgasm and the devilishly beautiful man beneath you.

"Fuck, oh, fuck, Wooyoung, please..." You screamed out the words in an incoherent manner, completely consumed by the intense pleasure you were feeling. Wooyoung was a lot less eloquent than you and tried to control himself, but it was obvious that he was going crazy as well, judging by how hard he was pressing down on you. You could be sure that the marks that his hands had left on your body would be there for a long time to come.

He growled as he lifted his hips up towards you, and streams of tears began to run down your cheeks with renewed force. It hurt, but you loved the pain, you craved it, and you knew you wouldn't be able to forget it for weeks and weeks.

"I'm so close... oh fuck, I'm... I'm..." You let out a loud moan and threw your head back.

With that, he pushed you away from him with such force that you fell off his lap, your ass touching the cold velour carpet, his cock coming out of you just as you were about to come. You sobbed pitifully and looked up at Wooyoung with your eyes wide and glassy as he rose to his feet, his cock glistening with the wetness of your cunt.

"I don't think you're sincere enough in repenting; you're still full of sin, full of forbidden and dark desires, my dear." Wooyoung said it in a dismissive manner as he looked down at you. He leaned down and ran his long fingers through your hair, pulling you up until you were kneeling. "I know what you want, negligible girl. You want to cum. But unfortunately for you, today I'm the only one who can do it."

He mocked you, taking pleasure in the look of misery on your face as he forced your mouth open. He then shoved his cock into your mouth, letting you taste the arousal of your own as it covered him, and without any warning at all,, he began to fuck you in the face at a fast, merciless pace. Gagging on his cock and taking shallow breaths through your nose as he pushed down your throat, using your hair as a rein to guide your head, there was nothing you could do but take what was given to you. You felt his cock twitch, and then your nose was pressed against the smooth, hot skin of his pelvis, one hand holding you in place as warm ropes of cum shot down your throat. He released you and threw you on your side like a rag doll when he was sure you had drunk every last drop.

Too humiliated to look into the eyes of the gorgeous man who had brought you to this state, you began to sob, pulling your knees to your chest. There was no more holiness in Wooyoung than there was in the devil himself. Like the wolf in sheep's clothing, he wore a robe. At the moment, you were nothing more than a whimpering mess, bruised and humiliated, with a sore throat and trembling lips.

And yet somehow your cunt was throbbing and leaking, desperate for filling.

"Please, Wooyoung..." As the words left your lips, you felt numb and didn't even know how you could speak. "Please."

From where he was standing, he looked sinfully delicious, towering over you like a fallen angel dressed in black and sin as you lay on the floor, and you watched in disappointment as he tucked his dick back into his trousers. With what little strength you had left, you tugged at the hem of his trouser leg, and he tilted his head questioningly, a sensual smile crossing his plump lips at the sight of your hopeless state.

"Please. I don't know what you want me to repent for, but please.... Just... please. I'll do anything for you. Wooyoung..." You were on your knees, pressing your cheek against his thigh like a cat begging for food.

"What do you want, my child?" He asked in a voice that was patronising and majestic. He gently stroked your cheek with his thumb, wiping away some of the tears that had partially dried as he did so. "Wasn't that enough for you? Isn't it enough that my cock fills your mouth and your cunt? Are you going to ask me for more when I have already given you so much?"

You lowered your eyes in shame.

He grabbed you roughly by the shoulder and jerked you to your feet, throwing you onto the bench as he did so. Wooyoung licked his lips as he admired the sight of your naked body as it lay on the wooden bench, the angry red marks on your skin, and the blackened bruises that adorned your thighs.

"Do you want to cum? Is that what you want, you little slut?" Wooyoung asked you as he dropped to his knees and spread your thighs wide open. When you didn't answer, he smacked you hard on the inside of your thigh. "Answer me, bitch."

"Oh my God." You sighed, melting at the teasing sensation of the cold air of the wind on your hot and needy cunt as he spoke. "Y-yes Holy Father. That is what I want."

"Isn't it?" Wooyoung purred, holding your hips in place so that they would remain open for his pleasure. "I will be gracious to you, because that is what God commands us to be."

Suddenly, he lowered himself forward and buried his gorgeous face in your pussy, stroking vigorously between the folds of your pussy and collecting your sticky secretions on his tongue. You moaned wildly, one hand tangled in his black silk hair, reflexively rubbing your pussy all over his face. He wrapped his plump lips around your clit, sucking just enough to leave you stunned, and ran his tongue between your soft folds, swollen from his previous actions. Squirming helplessly under his ministrations, you cried out as he let go of one of your hips and slipped two long fingers inside you.

It was brutal—the way he moved his fingers inside you in a merciless way, his mouth working fervently over your clit. The edges of your vision became blurred, and soon you could feel the walls of your pussy beginning to contract, a sign that your climax was nearing.

"I... I... damn!" He flicked your head once more with the tip of his tongue, and then you came, throwing your head back in euphoria as you were consumed by your orgasm. Your cunt vibrated as Wooyoung laughed mockingly, and it was then that the whole situation became clear to you: you had been fucked, well and truly. He wasn't going to let you breathe; instead, he continued to play with your throbbing clit, a third finger thrusting into you with a dirty, lewd slurp.

"This is too much..." You whimpered as his tongue moved quickly around your sensitive clit, and his fingers spread you lightly as they went. You had no choice but to accept what he was giving you—the pleasure coursing through you so strongly that it became unbearable—but you were sure that was what he wanted—to punish you with what you craved so much.

He ran his fingers inside of you, guiding them so that they hit the deepest places that no one else had ever been able to reach. He twisted and turned them, brushing against something that was spongy and sensitive, and for a moment all you could see was white as you came for the second time. Just as you had feared, Wooyoung had no intention of stopping; now he was sucking on your clit with such passion that you could barely move, and you fell limply to the back of the bench, your legs twitching under his tight grip. He continued to push his fingers deep into you, your body shuddering weakly each time the tips of his fingers made contact with your cervix.

"Wooyoung, please stop." You begged, but all he did was laugh maliciously and spread his fingers out inside of you, stretching you even further. He pulled away from your clit with a loud pop, and you were on the verge of a sigh of relief until he removed his fingers from your core and replaced them with his sinful lips.

"N-no, that's too much, please!" Now you were sobbing openly as he lowered his head to lick the stripes between your folds, his thumb circling your defenceless clit, his long silken hair tickling the sore skin on your inner thighs.

Wooyoung sucked one of your labia into his mouth before he pushed himself deeper into your entrance and began to fuck you with his skilled, long tongue. You felt the familiar tightness in your stomach once more, and the muscles in your thighs clenched as he pinched your clit with two fingers. The coil in your stomach snapped without warning, and then you came, but this time everything was different: a wave of clear liquid burst from your overstimulated cunt and soaked Wooyoung's face and the front of his perfect shirt.

Eventually, he pulled himself away, his lips curling into a wicked grin as he looked down at the mess that you had made.

"You filthy little thing." He laughed as he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and licked his wet fingers at the mess. "So, what do you think? Have you come to understand how you can repent of your sins?"

"Y-yes, Holy Father." You said you were clenching your legs in a protective manner in case he decided to go for another round.

"Good." He rose to his feet again, looking just as untouched as he had been the first time you had seen him, except for his hair, which was slightly dishevelled.

Your whole body was aching, from your sore ass to your swollen cunt, from your hips to your back. You were sure that for the next few weeks, Wooyoung would be the only thing on your mind.    "I will be waiting for your return, my child. I need to be sure that you have understood the righteous path and that you are living without sin. Do you understand me, dear?"

"Yes, Wooyoung, I am definitely going to come back to confess."

[angerworn]

top 100 characters

[llamagoddessofficial]

LLAMAAAAAAAA

WRITE MORE ABT FARMER (when you get the chance ofc)

AND MY LIFE IS YOURS!!!!

Your life. Hand it over

---

It was the thickest rain you’d ever seen. It didn't fall like normal rain, it fell in layers, great arcs of water that thrashed the ground one after the other, stormy waves hitting a shoreline. The roar of it landing on the world around you was almost deafening - a problem, considering it was three in the morning, and you were walking in almost pitch black. Any other night you would’ve been guided through the seemingly-endless farmland by recognising the hedges and hearing the animals... right now, you were guided only by the weakened blueish light of your headlamp, and the best that your memory had to offer.

You spotted it, in the near distance. The tiny light of another lamp was flickering back and forth in the rain, moving with the speed and efficiency of a hard-at-work man who couldn’t wait to get out of the terrible weather and go back to bed. You quickened the pace, marching down the field, your waterproof pants were coated in cold mud up to the calves; you were glad you couldn’t feel it. The only wet part of you was your face, and hands - you needed the latter out to hold the big metal flask you were carrying.

You didn’t mind the wet and cold. You stomped on regardless. All you cared about was the sight of that head lamp, getting closer and closer in the relentless wind and rain. You could just about make out the things he was looking at, illuminated by his lamp... the part of the fence he was doing his best to repair.

Before you knew it, you were within shouting distance. But there was no point, he wouldn't hear you. A particularly strong gust rushed across the field, you felt a carpet of rain hit you in the back, and the wind shoved you ungracefully forward. You let out a little yelp but managed to stop yourself from falling over.

... You heard your name over the rain. He had noticed you. You looked up - his headlamp was angled slightly downward, rather than straight ahead, so it didn’t dazzle you like you expected it to. Sans was dressed in his usual farm gear, his heavy boots and thick waterproof pants, and the rain had washed his green jacket cleaner than you’d ever seen it before. His hood was pulled securely up over his skull and he had a fence post the size of you in one hand like it was nothing.

... And he was looking at like he’d seen a ghost. It was rather comical.

“There you are!” You picked up the pace for the last few steps, jogging over to him, before you finally came to a stop. Phew, you’d been walking for almost five minutes in the storm. It felt good to finally see him. Despite the cold, you were pretty flushed from the exercise, hot under the combination of your sweater and coat.

“what the hell are you doing out here?” His green eyelights glowed under his hood, like two soft fireflies, a much more pleasant colour than the cold lamplight both of you were bathed in. It was as if only the two of you existed in the whole world... two headlamps in an endless sea of dark and wind and water. “it’s two in the morning,”

“Three, actually,” you chirped. It was somewhat hard to hear him over the rain hitting your hood, but you just stood a little closer to him. Your hurried breaths formed clouds, you could see them in the combined lamp glow.

He put down the fence post. It dropped with an heavy thunk. “did papyrus send you?”

You just held the big metal flask out to him. It had a black strap attached to the side of it that was sodden by now. He accepted it, seemingly out of instinct, staring down at it before glancing back up to you.

“... uh... thanks. what is it?”

“Soup!”

He blinked. “soup?”

“Yeah. I woke up to the rain, and I figured you’d be out here, because you’d mentioned the fence needed fixing properly before the storm hit." You pulled your coat sleeves over your now-free hands. "Though I did ask Papyrus if you’d actually headed out before I left. I’m not that crazy.”

He was still staring. The rain continued to roar, you had really hoped it would've eased up by now. But it seemed to be only getting worse. Probably for the best Sans was repairing the fence now, before everything completely flooded come morning.

“I know, I know," you continued when he didn't reply. "I’m dumb for going out in the rain, I’ll get wet. But I’m fine, see? I put the waterproof pants on over my boots, like you said. It’s been raining like hell and the only part of me that’s wet is my hands!”

“you... came out all this way, to bring me soup?” he said, softly. You almost didn't hear him.

“Yeah. Pumpkin soup. Knowing you, you didn’t eat anything before you left.”

He had gone quiet. That wasn’t like him. He was looking at you very intently, with great big eylights. Another gust of wind sent a wall of rain into the two of you. You visibly swayed, but Sans didn't seem affected by it.

Was he upset that you might get cold? He didn't look upset, his eyelights were so round, almost sparkly.

“I promise I’m not cold," you pressed. "This is the coat you lent me. See? It’s - ” 

Sans moved forward a step. It was all he really needed to close the gap between you. He put an arm around you, despite the flask in hand, and swept you in against him; you were too startled by the sudden movement and proximity to move or do anything. His free hand came up, sliding between your coat hood and the side of your cheek, cupping your face.

He leant in and kissed you.

...

For a moment, you couldn’t hear the rain. You couldn’t hear anything at all. All you could think about was how smooth his hand was, how nice he smelled, how hard your heart was beating, and how warm he was. After so long walking around in the rain, being pulled in close to him felt incredible.

He felt so strong, too. All night, you'd been pushed around by any breath of wind, no matter the direction. In his arms? Nothing moved you. Nothing could shake you.

... Your eyes closed. Maybe it was the dark and gale and rain, maybe it was how early it was in the morning. But you just didn’t want him to let you go.

...

Sans pulled back. Your eyelids fluttered open again. There were raindrops on his skull, and the lamplight was dancing over his bones. His eyelights are such a pretty colour. He was looking at you like he wanted to pick you up and walk home with you.

...

Then, in an instant, the reality of what he just did appeared to hit him. So close to him, you could watch in real time as his eyelights shrank into pins in his sockets, and his smile twitched in what you could only describe as total internal panic.

... You, too, started to do the worst possible thing - think.

Sans just... kissed me. Sans just kissed me.

... You both just stared at each other, he was still holding you. You had no idea for how long. Sans’ eyelights kept flickering between your eyes and your nose, and you kept staring blankly at him, dazed and suddenly very confused.

...

“I-I should, head back,” you started, nervously.

“yeah. uh... yeah.” His hand came off your face, and he let go of your waist, stepping back again. You immediately missed the warmth. “thank you for the soup."

You nodded.

"i’ll..." He sounded shaky. He held onto the flask with both hands, maybe to stop himself from fidgeting. "see you later?”

"You too," you stammered.

... Wait. Shit.

No idea what else to say or do, you stood there like an idiot for a few seconds, trying to formulate something to say or some interesting witty way to turn that fuck-up into a joke and end the conversation - but you had absolutely nothing. Your head was spinning, your heart was still beating a mile a minute, you couldn’t believe that had really just happened. So you just turned right around and started walking.

...

Holy fuck, you thought, pulling your hood tight over your head. What the hell am I going to tell Papyrus?

[airybcby]

જ⁀✦ you will love me until you resent me

( barou shoei x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — who do you think i am? not posting a barou fic? PSHHHH

♡ word count — 1.9k

♡ content — shoei barou x fem! reader, established relationship (11ish years), emotional distance, barou loves soccer more, good communication (SEE I CAN WRITE IT), mention of marriage, set it where barou plays with the ubers still, have reader & barou at age like 25, high school sweethearts

♡ synopsis — Loving Barou Shoei was really a waiting game. And waiting was a game you were getting tired of playing.

── .✦ i hate to look at your face and know that we're feeling different

You’ve spent the last eleven years waiting.

You’ve waited through rain on metal bleachers, in the sticky heat of summer practice camps, on cold winter nights when he trained past midnight. 

You waited when he wasn’t home from Blue Lock right away. 

Waited while he fought tooth and nail for relevance on a field that never let him rest. 

You waited while he proved the world wrong.

And he did. Shoei Barou became the King. 

At twenty-five, he plays professionally for Ubers in Italy, one of the most feared strikers in the league. 

You see him on billboards, in sports magazines, highlights edited with fire and crown filters by rabid fans online. 

There’s even a mural of him near your apartment — blood-red eyes and that infamous sneer painted across three floors of brick.

Everyone says he’s untouchable. A monster. A selfish teammate.

But they don’t know the way he used to hold your pinky under the table in high school because he was too proud for public affection but couldn’t stop touching you. 

They don’t know he cried when he didn’t get selected for a regional tournament when you were sixteen, burying his face in your hoodie. 

They don’t know he kissed you in the school gym during golden hour and whispered, “Ya don’t wait for me. I’m gonna be somebody, y’know.”

You laughed then. “I’ll wait anyway.”

That was your first mistake.

You sit at a candlelit table for two in a tucked-away restaurant. 

Your dress is black, simple, a little too formal for the quiet place, but you wore it because he said he wanted to do something nice. 

Just us. Like before he texted.

That was three hours ago.

The waiters are polite, pitying. They stop asking after the second hour. 

The food is packed for takeaway. You tip well. 

You smile and say, “He probably got caught up with training. He works really hard.”

You walk home alone, heels clicking like accusations.

You’ve smiled through more engagement parties than you can count. 

Your friends, one by one, entering new chapters of their lives — rings glinting under warm lights, arms looped around their beaming fiancés. 

Always, someone asks the same question:

“So when are you and Barou getting married?”

And always, you answer with what you’ve been told a thousand times:

“When he’s done with soccer.”

The room laughs, someone clinks a glass, and you smile like it doesn’t burn going down. But inside, you know the truth.

Barou Shoei will never be done with soccer.

There’s an old medical form in your bag. 

One of those standard things — name, DOB, marital status, emergency contact. 

You paused at the top of the page longer than you should have.

Single

Your empty finger mocks you as you check the box. 

There’s not a space for long term relationships that don’t know when they’re going to get the dream wedding one of them has always talked about.

Emergency Contact: Mother

It hurt more than it should’ve. 

Especially when you remembered his promise from two months ago: “I’ll come with you to your appointment, I swear.”

He didn’t even text that he couldn’t make it.

Just silence.

You learn to cook things that don’t burn easily. 

Rice with a timer. 

Slow-cooked dishes you can reheat when he doesn’t show. 

You’ve watched water burn waiting for him — and that’s not even a joke. 

You’ve waited with twenty-episode marathons. 

Waited with your makeup done and heels by the door. 

Waited in silence, in pajamas, in tears, in anger.

You are a master of waiting.

You once joked that waiting for Barou was like being in a long-distance relationship with someone who sleeps six inches away from you.

He didn’t laugh.

He comes home late most days. Not late like midnight sneak-ins. No — late like you’re already in bed, but not asleep, listening to the front door creak open and close again. 

You keep the lights on in the kitchen just in case.

He eats standing. Sometimes, he doesn’t eat at all.

You try to ask about his day.

He grunts, distracted.

You ask how practice went.

He nods.

You say you missed him.

He doesn’t respond.

You’ve memorized the pattern of his protein shake routine. The whir of the blender. The clunk of the bottle against the counter. The splash of the shower. The sound of him brushing his teeth. Always without a word.

He doesn’t look at you in the mornings anymore. You wonder when that started.

“I think we’re drifting,” you say one night, voice low.

Barou’s sitting on the edge of the bed, still in his training pants, hair damp, scrolling through videos of his last match.

He pauses.

“Don’t start.”

Don’t start.

Like your loneliness is a false alarm. Like your hurt is a habit he doesn’t want to deal with. You open your mouth, but he’s already pressing play again.

You turn away.

You tell yourself you are strong. 

That you are better than this gnawing ache, better than this life you’ve been holding up on your own shoulders while he shines under stadium lights.

But you feel it — something inside you rotting slowly, resentment blooming where love once lived.

You’ve defended him through everything. 

Every media headline that called him arrogant. Every friend that asked how you could possibly deal with his ego. 

You’ve stood by when they called him selfish, told yourself that he just loves the game more than most people do.

But sometimes, you think he loves the game more than he loves you.

And you don’t know what’s worse — the thought that he does… or the thought that maybe he always did.

One night, you try to talk again.

“Do you still love me?”

Barou blinks, caught off guard. He’s sitting on the couch, freshly showered, jaw tight, a match replaying on mute behind him.

His brows furrow. “What kind of question is that?”

“Oh it’s just…” you stumble over your words. “Just a silly trend I saw people doing!.”

You lie right through your teeth.

He looks at you like you’re crazy. “Of course I love you.”

You nod slowly. “I love you too, Sho.”

Silence.

You stand. You want him to stop you. You want him to say something, anything, that proves he sees you — that you’re not just some furniture in the apartment he comes home to. But he doesn’t.

So you walk into the bedroom alone.

He doesn’t follow.

You dream of a life where you are chosen.

Not just as a trophy at the end of a career, not just as a future promise when everything is “settled,” but as a priority. 

As someone worth dinner reservations. As someone worth showing up for.

Most wives of pro athletes say it’s lonely.

But at least their husbands look at them when they walk into a room.

You start going on walks. Long ones. 

The kind where you leave your phone behind. 

You sit in parks and watch strangers. 

You eat lunch by yourself in cafés and people-watch. Sometimes, you think someone will recognize you — Barou’s girlfriend. 

You’ve been in enough blurry paparazzi shots. 

He mentioned you in a post-game interview once. Said you were “solid.”

You think about that word a lot.

Solid.

Dependable.

Always there.

Like a rock he sharpens himself against.

The apartment was quiet again.

Barou had left his shoes by the door, bag slung against the hallway wall like always. You heard the shower running earlier — short, hot, the kind he liked when he was worn out. 

The lights in the kitchen were still off, though. You hadn’t moved from the couch.

He walked out into the living room with damp hair and sweatpants slung low on his hips, drying his face with a towel. 

No shirt. No apology. 

He never said sorry unless he meant it — and somehow, that made it worse.

You had made dinner. Again. You weren’t hungry anymore.

He sat down beside you like nothing had happened.

"They offered me the extension," he said, voice low, like he was trying not to sound too eager.

You exhaled slowly through your nose. "Of course they did."

Silence sat between you like a guest overstaying its welcome.

"I told them I needed to think about it."

That made you pause.

You turned your head toward him, brows pinched, unsure you heard him right. “You... told them you needed to think about it?”

Barou didn’t look at you. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, palms clasped tight between them.

You laughed, trying to push the edge out of your voice. “Oh, come on, Sho. You love soccer, it’s—”

“I love you too.”

It hit you like a brick to the ribs.

You smiled, but it came out wrong. “Yeah, I know, but—”

“And you just always look so sad.”

You froze.

He looked at you now. Really looked.

Your mouth parted slightly, and for the first time in a while, your expression cracked wide open.

You didn’t know what to say. 

Sad? Were you?

You couldn't remember the last time you were truly happy.

Or maybe you couldn’t remember the last time you weren’t sad.

Your voice was quiet when it came out. “I’ve loved you since we were fifteen, Shoei. I think I can wait a little longer.”

You wanted it to sound steady. Loyal. But you heard it — the tremble in your throat, the small break that betrayed you.

He frowned. “You shouldn’t have to.”

“Really, Sho. It’s okay. We’ll just... schedule stuff for when you’re not busy!”

That’s what you’d done for the last several seasons. Scheduled and rescheduled. Pushed birthdays and anniversaries to off-days that never came. 

Made dinner for two and ate alone while restaurant lights dimmed and waiters gave you polite smiles that almost hid the pity in their eyes.

It had never worked.

His jaw clenched. “We shouldn’t have to schedule.”

“And you shouldn’t have to give up soccer.”

“It’s soccer or you.”

Your gasp was sharp, sudden, like your body couldn’t stop it from escaping.

You stared at him. This man — tall, tired, sharp-eyed — who still looked so much like the boy who used to fall asleep with his head in your lap while you played with his hair. 

Who used to bike to your house in the rain just to hand you a crumpled love letter he didn’t have the guts to read out loud.

He breathed out like it hurt. “I don’t want that. You and soccer — you’re it for me.”

You blinked fast, but your eyes still stung.

“You’re not choosing,” you told him, more to reassure yourself than him. “You’re just... thinking.”

“I told them I needed until the end of the off-season. We can talk about it. Okay?”

You nodded. Your chest was tight. Your hands, clasped together, were cold despite the warmth of the room.

He reached over, tangled his fingers with yours — clumsy but trying — and it made you want to cry. 

Not because he was pulling away, but because for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t.

And still... the moment felt like standing at the edge of something.

You used to think love would be enough.

Maybe it still could be.

But maybe... maybe love wasn’t just the waiting. Maybe it was also being seen.

And tonight, for the first time in months, you were.

So you leaned your head against his shoulder.

The television played quietly in the background, and outside, the city lights blinked like a heartbeat.

His thumb brushed slow circles over your knuckles. You didn’t know what would come next.

He still had a choice to make.

And so did you.

But for now, you sat there — in the space between all you’d been, and all you still could be — and held his hand like it meant something.

Because it did.

Because it always had.

you're damn right barou is the one guy i'll write happy stuff for!!

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⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[komelliko]

manipulative!boss!sunday x timid!secretary!reader

summary: Now that he finally has you alone in his office, Sunday decides to further his goals of dominion. wc: 2.3k - this is nsfw! cw for dubcon! sexual fantasy, piv penetration, office sex, desk sex, softdom!sunday, huge massive misogynistic hypocrite sunday a/n: The guillemets «» are used to indicate Sunday's Harmony powers this time!

part 6 (nsfw) / part 7 (nsfw)

---

You've broken out your old typeboard to compensate for having to sit in an office all day. Most people don't bother with typeboards anymore. Not when phones can record speech or pull up a keyboard on the screen, and not when typeboards are so.. noisy. The flurry of smooth metal buttons clacking like cold rain on a tin roof is a sound that makes the younger Oak Family interns anxious, but you enjoy the sound. When you can't hear the clicking of your shoes against the floor as you walk around, the sound of the typeboard is a decent enough substitute. 

Sunday has been watching you from his desk, reading over grievances relating to The Family's congregation. He couldn't care less about the complaints of some of these corrupt, selfish reprobates. Not when watching you cross your legs and stare harder into the screen of your typeboard is more entertaining. 

He wonders to himself: Do you even notice the way his eyes linger? How his watchful gaze sticks to you like dew on a fresh blade of grass? How the slightest smile forms at the corners of his lips from the way your trousers are just short enough to show a sliver of ankle, soft and bared? 

Should you have no reason or means to protest, Sunday would sit in front of you and remove your shoe himself, gloved hands starting at your short sock, ascending to cradle your ankle, then disappearing up and underneath the leg of your pants to stroke your calf, fingers running calmly over your flesh as the outline of his hands stretches the fabric of your trousers. He smiles as he ponders if that, too, is something you would never even consider from him. 

Sunday leans back in his chair, his legs spread slightly open. There’s no reason for him to be ashamed of anything, he surmises to himself. His handling of you has been modest, after all, compared to the filth of Penacony. He’s seen what avaricious, lustful men do when they feel they can exercise their will, and he hasn’t done anything of the sort. None of those men enact their will for the sake of responsibility. 

Sunday gets up from his chair, which only draws his attention to how tight his pants have become. Still, he’s sure you won’t notice when he asks you: “Dear, I’ve been looking for something Madam Ellis sent me, but I’m afraid it got itself lost in my desk. While I fetch myself some water, can you look for me?” As you get up to do so, Sunday goes to fill a small paper cup of water from the dispenser near the door. He takes a single sip, glances to see if you’re watching him, and quickly disposes of it, locking the door to his office and gripping the handle. 

« Oh, Triple-Faced Soul, may your hands seal this entrance and isolate this space, so not a sound may pass through. »

You bend at the hips to search through the drawers of Sunday’s desk. It’s a learned habit: Even with how long your pencil skirts often are, crouching while wearing one has always felt way too risky, especially for the secretary of a Family Head. Whether this was Sunday’s intention or not when he put them in the dress code, you suppose you can never be sure. 

There’s this dull throbbing you feel as you scan over every paper and file, felt in tandem with your heartbeat, that settles itself in your core. Even as you try to take your mind off of those odd moments with Sunday, the knowledge you gained from them is something you can’t shake, tucked snugly within your body with no plans of extricating itself. It’s… not exactly lust, you reason, but more so an anticipation or a dread. You can feel the anxiety pool between your thighs as your eyes scan blankly over words you’re no longer reading; Whatever you want to tell yourself the feeling is, it’s potent and it clouds your mind.

By the time Sunday is back and pinning you against his desk, you've forgotten why he told you to look through it entirely. —In all fairness, it was meant to be a trap.

"I don't think I thank you enough, [Y/N].” His voice is soft and gentle as he keeps one hand resting on your hip, the other snaking around to find the button of your pants. “I can’t imagine what I’d do without you in my life, dear. I’m a much more fragile man than I present myself to be.” His eyes lock on the door at the end of the room. It would be entirely irresponsible to have left the door unlocked or even open, and Sunday wouldn’t dare take such a risk when a man like him had too much at stake. Still, his nostrils flare as he pictures what it would be like to fuck you in front of an audience. That Avgin scum especially. Perhaps the gambler deserved a demonstration of Sunday’s claim over you, both to send a message and to humble him. Damned wretch. 

You can feel his clothed cock poking against your backside even better now that Sunday has let your pants fall to your ankles. You stay put, your heartbeat thrumming in your ears as you switch between looking at the desk you’re pressed up against and the door in front of you. It would only be sensible to at least raise your concerns (even if making a scene was something you couldn’t bring yourself to do), but… that sense of anticipation building inside of you wants to be sated, even for a little bit. Even if your conscience disagrees.

Two of Sunday’s fingers breach you, and you flinch as they begin to move, stroking you from the inside. Just like before, Sunday lets out a groan, albeit softer and more controlled. You can’t see his face, but his eyes are now focused on where his knuckle ends and you begin, fluid dripping into his palm. Sunday is moved by the sight of it—by its beauty, and by the equal beauty of your mewling noises as he continues to finger you. As he moves closer to you, hips flush against his hand flush against your cunt, Sunday lets his other hand explore your bare legs, gloved fingers running over the soft flesh of your thigh.

“You don’t need to keep quiet, my love,” he reassures you, quickening the pace of his fingers. “I promise you, nobody can hear us right now. It’s just us.” Sunday takes a breath, and as he grazes your g-spot you nearly gasp with him. “I don’t ever mean to frighten you, you know. Sometimes, we simply have to be more forward when it comes to what is ours and what isn’t, yes?” Your brows furrow. What the fuck is he talking about? It would probably be easier to process his words if he hadn’t just slipped a third finger into your cunt, though, so all you can respond with to voice your confusion is a low moan.

“More than anything, I want you to be willing,” Sunday continues, maybe for no better reason than to hear the sound of his own voice over your cries of pleasure. “I want you to want this as much as I do, as often as I do. Only then can I be truly happy with myself. Do you understand that, my love?” You nod out of instinct, and Sunday takes it as his cue to finally free his erection. After cleaning the juices from his hand off on it, Sunday removes your panties, steadies your hips with his hand, and then penetrates.

Another mess of unintelligible noises leave your mouth from the feeling of him inside you. You’re too far gone to have reservations, so all you do is push your hips back into the feeling and grip the ledge of the desk. Your hair must be a mess by now, your face flushed and tear-pricked, your clothes wrinkled and wholly unpresentable—After all this work to get to the top through work alone, you should probably feel like this is an insult. Still, Sunday begins to thrust, and you can’t find it within yourself to care.

“[Y/N]! Mmh, Aeon— You’re divine,” Sunday gasps, his grip on your hips only tightening. “Oh, was this worth every minute of waiting! I’ve been so patient, darling, so incredibly patient.” As Sunday finds his pace, his hands begin to wander, the smooth cotton on his gloves running up and down your naked thighs and hips, gently kneading your flesh. In the safety of the closed-off room, he lets himself moan freely, gasping and crying out every time he feels himself bottom out inside you. Sunday flexes his abdominals to keep himself standing lest he falls over on top of you and loses himself in his own pleasure, the muscles in his stomach quivering and twisting. You’re sure that if you could see it, the sight wouldn’t be awful—Sunday has always been a very attractive man. Maybe his gaze softening into a semi-pained expression of ecstasy would enhance his beauty, if he didn’t have a pattern of fucking you from angles where you couldn’t see it.

Sunday reasons to himself that this instance is merely a fluke—An instance of your union (and of his rightful assumption of responsibility) that shall be the exception and not the norm. It’s the sin of haste that has him fucking you like a common whore, your cyprine rolling down your thighs and reaching your knees as his hips rhythmically collide with your ass. Regardless, it’s a sin that does not define him, and one he will not let define him: Any further instance will take the proper course and order, no doubt occurring in his room, on his bed, in the appropriate romantic fashion. 

Still, he finds he's getting close—In no doubt due to how perfect you are, how wonderful you feel around him. So, his thinking shifts: Who could blame him? Who could find this worth scorn? As you continue to suck him in further, further, greedily, he surmises that perhaps this act is no transgression. It is only the just thing to do, to give you what you so clearly and desperately need.

You hear Sunday ask you something, or maybe warn you, but you're too far gone to understand his words. The way his hands continue to run up and down your slick-soaked thighs has you paralyzed, and if you had any room to think between his thrusts your first thought would be to worry about whether the puddle of drool you've left on his desk has leaked onto any of his papers. You just let out another moan in response, another weak and mumbled "Sunday", and his own response is to start fucking you harder, effectively shutting out any chance of processing it. 

You can only make out bits of what he starts to whimper and mewl as his nails dig into your hips: "union", "perfect", "meant to be". A string of noises sounding awfully close to "I love you", too, amidst babblings sounding like your name. Sunday leans over, and you can feel his stomach press up against your back, his fingers prying your legs further apart. 

"The power you have over me is unthinkable, [Y/N]," he whispers in your ear. "You alone dominate every thought, every waking moment of mine." Sunday whimpers some more, his breath tickling the shell of your ear as it drowns out the squelching noises. "Please, you must understand. I need you as much as you need me. Nothing else can take precedence."

"Mmh, Aeons," you cry out, not really in response to his words more than in response to the way he's drilling into you. "Sunday, I'm-"

"Yes, yes I know," he coos back. "Don't hold back, please. You deserve this."

Sunday is barely able to even snake a hand down to attend to your clit before he feels you clench hard around him, your head thumping against the desk as the high of your orgasm overwhelms you. His hips start to move erratically, attempting to help you ride out that high, but soon it proves even too much for him to last through. Of course, you had given him permission to not 'pull out', so what issue could there be?

A wave of fatigue falls over you as reality sets back in, like a cold sobering splash of water to quell the summer heat. Your hair is a mess, you don't have anything on hand to fix your makeup, and your pants and underwear are likely ruined. As you shift in place, you can feel strewn papers underneath your stomach, all of them likely crumpled. You're not sure how much time was spent doing this that you could've spent working on sending emails or looking over reports. 

The anticipation has been satiated, and all that remains is an awful sense of dread.

Sunday plants a kiss on the shell of your ear and finally pulls himself out of you, even more cum and cyprine rolling down your legs. You're too exhausted to shut them to try and stop it. Sunday, too, is exhausted, given the fact that you feel him bend over to rest on top of you, his stomach once again flush with your back. 

"What excellent judgement I had in choosing you," he sighs dreamily. "You fit me like a glove—Quite literally, I've found." Sunday chuckles, and you feel his hands worm around your sides to wrap around you. "Thank you, [Y/N]. Geniunely."

The moment is interrupted by a phone call. Sunday gets off of you to pick it up, almost immediately discounting you. 

"Sister?" he asks, phone pressed up against his ear as he starts to redress himself. He fumbles through redoing his belt with one hand as he adds "No, I'm not busy at all. -Uhm, mind the noise, we're trying to rearrange my office. No, no, you're not bothering me at all, dear sister..."

Your head falls to meet the edge of the desk again. It will be at least half an hour before you get the motivation to move and look at yourself again.

---

a/n: someone teach this fuckass kfc bucket the concept of aftercare tag list: @j1yu425 @crepezinhos @i-am-tiredd @8x9d @ruruize @herrscherofprocrastination @ikevampharem @hirwishin @jill7848 @breadlmao @belovedoftheanemoarchon @moongirl-1 @qualitysaladfarmstatesman @cupcake54492

[moody-alcoholic]

These Violent Delights

Chapter 2 - Show Me This Life

Summary: Poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe. 7.5k words. You’re trying to learn more about yourself and the people around you, which is easier said then done, especially now you’re moving across the country. At least you can trust them right..?

CW: a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, typical a/b/o universe tropes (scenting), talking about periods, alcohol, language, mentions of past abuse, nightmares, angst.

Previous - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

“Professor?” He’s not listening to the downright annoying voice behind him. His hands balled in fists as he looks at the broken earth. They came as quickly as they left. He sniffs the air. 4 of them, all men, and the omega she’s gone too. He can’t smell her death in the air. There is no point in a clean up effort, even if there was it could take months. The omega is gone. That’s his priority, to find her and take her back. 

“Professor?” 

“What!?” He snaps turning round to see Miles stood behind him gripping a tablet. He watches the alphas eyes dilate as the scent of anger fills the air. He doesn’t want to see him right now, or anyone. He wants his omega.

“It was the CIA.” He says reaching out with a tablet. The professor grabs it out his hand looking at the profile. 

“Who is she?” His voice still filled with anger. He needs answers, he sees the name Kate Laswell. It doesn’t ring a bell. 

“I’m not sure we’re working on it.” He says. Pathetic. Useless. 

“Get out of my sight!” He shouts, thrusting the tablet in the man's hands. He turns back around as the first drops of rain are starting to fall. Now the place will be flooded too. The smell of death hangs heavy in the air. He closes his eyes breathing it in. It’s metallic, harsh, he can taste it in the air. He wonders if any of it is her blood. Her scent is fading with each gust of wind.  

Kate Laswell.

The name spins round in his head. How did the CIA find out? He thinks back to the visitors he’s had over the past few months. It could have been any of them. He’s just come back from DC to secure more funding, what was he going to tell them now? The lab is destroyed and the omega gone. His phone buzzes in his pocket. He wants to ignore it throw it into the sinking earth and forget about it. He lets it ring out watching the sky darken as heavier clouds move in, he can feel the electricity in the air making the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. 

How dare they take his omega.

Johnny comes to see you after breakfast. He always looks so cheerful, beaming as he comes over. 

“‘Mornin lass sleep well?” he asks 

“Yeah.” You reply, you had good dreams again, Dr. Piper was there too.

“Wanna go for a walk? Thought you could use a change of scenery.” He winks at you. You nod almost too enthusiastically, swinging your legs out the bed. He brings over your slippers and a dressing gown. You put them on following him out the room. He loops his arm in yours leading you out the ward and towards another building. You enjoy the fresh air and the sun on your face.  

“What’s Dr. Piper doing?” You ask, stopping to look through a door window. 

“She’s been teaching us all about you, and us I guess now we’re all in the same boat.” He says, as she’s sat typing on a laptop. John and Kate must trust her enough to give her access to a laptop, that makes you smile. 

“Think I could join?” You ask. 

“I don’t see why not, but what do you need to know about yourself?” He chuckles. You’d be surprised. You walk through the door. Piper's head looks round from the laptop and she smiles. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” She asks. 

“Fine, I would like to get out of the hospital.” You say smiling, she nods looking past you at Johnny. 

“I heard you’ve been teaching them.” You say. 

“Yes, as much as I can. I’ve been helping Kate go over the research they took from the lab.” You don’t know why that makes you swallow hard. 

“Can I join? I’d like to know more about what was going on.” You say trying not to sound nervous. She smiles. 

“Cause you can, although some things you might already know.” She says. 

“What are you talking about today?”

“Scenting, hopefully, maybe get the alpha’s to control their scent more.” 

“That would be nice.” You say before you can stop yourself. She smiles as you hear the door behind you open. The scent of alpha fills the air. It’s not John though the presence is darker. It’s Simon. The hairs stand up on the back of your neck, you’re too scared to turn, you don’t want to turn. You look at Piper, she looks sympathetically, she wont project her scent onto you, you know that. They need to get used to you and you used to them. Besides, one of them might be claiming you next month.   

“Where have you been hiding, ey?” You hear Johnny say.

“None of your business sergeant.” A gruff voice comes back. You slip down into a seat not taking your eyes off Piper. You hear a chair scrape back as Johnny sit’s down talking with him. It’s a few minutes later when you hear John and Gaz arrive. Kyle you learned his name, but he likes to be called Gaz. The smell of John’s alpha washes over you, it’s more calming then the other man, even Piper can feel it. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Gaz asks you as he sits next to you. 

“Fine.” You say smiling at him. You look back over at Piper as she begins her lesson. 

A lot of the information you already know, how scent works, where it comes from. Alpha’s have the strongest scent but also have the hardest time controlling it. Betas are very good at controlling scent and masking, it’s common for beta’s to use their scent to calm alphas and omegas. Omegas are the best at detecting scent, it’s a defense mechanism at the end of the day. Being able to smell the threat before it’s right next to you.

“You’ve all scented the omega, what about each other.” She says stepping to the side. “Any volunteers.” You almost step up automatically but instead it’s John who steps up. Piper walks around him. 

“Kyle.” She motions at him, he steps up. 

“Stretch your neck your, your hormones will do the rest. Remember the scent comes from the back of your neck.” She explains. You watch as Price bears his neck towards Gaz. His nostrils flare as he breathes the scent in. The scent of his alpha fills the room, you can see Gaz wobble as he breathes it in. It makes you chuckle, the memory of new betas passing out after scenting you or an alpha. Doctor Piper moves to pull Gaz away and she helps him back to a seat. He looks out of it, and John won’t be the only alpha he has to scent today.

“Who’s next?” She asks the room, her eyes landing on you for a second. You get up walking over to him. You’ve only ever scented one alpha before. The professor, John’s scent is already overwhelming enough. You get up going towards him, he smiles at you, it helps put you at ease as you reach up. He’s taller then you and you have to step up on your toes. 

“Scenting each other is important for packs, once each member has gone through the process of projecting their scent onto one another it creates a bond between you all.” She explains. A pack. You never thought you could be part of a pack before. You close your eyes leaning in to scent him. 

“The ground after rain.” He says quietly as his scent fills your nose. You slowly open your eyes, your mouth hanging open, pupils dilated.

The ground after rain and smoke, that’s John’s scent.

You smile at him, you don’t need Piper's help to get back to your seat. John’s eyes stay on you as you sit down.

The next few minutes you’re blissed out enjoying the alpha’s scent, it’s calming, safe. It’s only when John’s finished you start paying attention. The two beta’s go next if not just to give you all a break. It’s followed by an explanation of masking, the ability to hide your scent, betas are the best at it. You feel the energy in the room change when Simon eventually walks next to Piper. 

“Two alpha’s in a pack is unusual, doesn’t mean it cannot work though.” She says, you can tell she doesn’t seem that confident. John goes first then Gaz and Johnny. It’s only you left. You get out your chair walking over to him slowly. His scent is strong, he looks down at you through his mask as you tip your head up to him. He bares his scent for you. The ground after rain and something you can’t name, it’s metallic, it makes a lump form in your throat.  

You back up from him, he’s not as scary as he seems now. He makes your head spin as he turns to look at you, his eyes meeting yours. He has dark brown eyes, you let out a breath, smiling at him. You feel Pipers hand on your arm. Goosebumps rise on the back of your neck. You turn going back over to your seat. 

“Okay, that wasn’t so bad.” Piper continues as she presses her hands together. “The calmer you are, the less prominent your scent is. If you’re stressed or upset you’ll have a harder time controlling it.” You look over at Simon, he sat down next to John instead of going to the back of the room.

You stop listening to Piper, keeping your eyes on him. What was the other smell, the ground after rain, something else, thick and heavy, harsh as it hit your nose. You flare your nostrils trying to breath him in but you can’t smell him anymore. 

Dr. Piper talks about masking and how to spot it. She says as soon as there is a beta specialist here, they will be able to help them more, she can only do so much. You know from your own experience that a lot of things are just instinct. The last thing she talks about is scruffing.

A pit forms in your stomach, you’ve never had good experience with that. That’s the point though you’re not supposed to. You remember back in the bunker, the professor would sometimes do it for no reason, sometimes for hours on end. Your hand goes up to the back of your neck. 

“For alpha’s and beta’s it’ll just feel like someone has jolted you, or hit you hard in the back of the neck, it’s painful. For omega’s it’s completely immobilising. It’s only to be used in extreme situations, I personally would argue there should never be a reason to do it. There are less invasive ways to subdue someone without resorting to scruffing.” She looks round the room, her eyes landing on you. You would happily go the rest of your life without being scruffed again. 

The door to the room opens and you turn to see Kate walk in with a tablet in her hand. Dr. Piper wraps up her speech moving back over to her laptop as Kate walks up to hand the tablet to John. You’re watching them as you hear Johnny move to sit next to you wrapping his arm around your shoulders. 

“So what do I smell like?” He asks. You smile, breathing him in. 

“You smell like clean sheets, straight out the dryer.” You say. 

“That’s boring, anything else?”  He asks huffing. 

“It’s a good smell, a nice smell, safe.” You reply smiling. You’ve always felt safe around betas. You both watch as John get’s up pressing something on the tablet. 

“We’re going to be moving to Washington.” 

“DC?” Johnny asks. 

“The state.” John says.

“Lot’s of rain, you'll be right at home.” Kate says. Dr. Piper looks over from the laptop. You watch her eyes flick between Kate and John. 

“I’m sure it won’t take you long to pack?” He asks looking round the room. Johnny and Gaz are already on their feet. 

“C’mon love, I’ll take you back.” Johnny says holding his hand out for you. 

“It’s okay, i’ve got it.” Dr. Piper says smiling. Johnny winks at you before he leaves with Gaz. You’re not sure what all the winking is about, but it makes you smile, heat rushing to your cheeks. Once the room is empty Dr. Piper comes to sit next to you. She rests her hand on your thigh. 

“I have some clothes for you so you’re not suck wearing hospital scrubs all the time.” You smile at her nodding.

“You did well today, you should be proud of yourself.” She says squeezing your leg. 

“Simon is intimidating.” You admit still thinking about his scent, the scent you can’t place. 

“He’s an alpha, you’ll get used to him.” She says standing up. 

“Let’s go get you changed and something to eat before we leave.” She holds her hand out for you. You take it as she picks the laptop up. 

“You’ll like Washington.” She says. “It’s by the ocean, lots of evergreen forests and sea air.” You smile at her, that does sound nice. 

You’ve never been on a plane before. It’s massive, bigger then you expected, it’s a cargo plane. You can’t help staring at it in awe, you watch soldiers driving crates up into it. You see Kate and John talking outside the ramp of the plane you stick close to Dr. Piper letting her lead you up to them. Kate turns to look at you. 

“It was nice to meet you, I’m sure we will see each other again at some point.” Kate says, reaching her hand out. 

“You’re not coming with us?” You ask, she shakes her head. 

“No, I'm needed elsewhere, I’ll be in touch though.” She smiles. You feel sad she’s leaving at least you had one other woman around. Piper’s hand presses on your back leading you into the plane. You’re looking all over the place, something always pulling your eyes in a new direction. Piper walks you to the front of the plane through a door into a room with what you recognise as ‘normal’ seating. Johnny and Gaz are already sat down talking. 

“Hey lass come sit with us! We’ll let you have the window seat!” Johnny calls waving at you. You turn to Dr. Piper who nods at you smiling. Johnny and Gaz move, letting you sit by the window. 

“Excited?” Johnny asks, sitting back down next to you. 

“Nervous, I’ve never been on a plane before. Does it go fast?” You ask. Gaz chuckles. 

“Oh yeah, like hundreds of miles an hour.” He says nodding. You swallow looking back out the window. You can see people walking around, driving around in strange looking vehicles. 

“How long will it take?”

“About 4 hours.” Johnny says. You look back over at them, looking past Johnny at Gaz. His head is turned away from you as he looks out the window in the other aisle. 

“You know I had an aunt who was afraid of flying.” Johnny says. You turn to frown at him. 

“I’m not scared.” You say. Johnny smiles. 

“Well if you do get scared you can hold my hand.” Johnny winks. 

“Christ.” You hear Gaz chuckle. You hear the door open and see John and Simon walking in taking seats behind you. 

“LT’s scared of heights.” Johnny says nudging you. You hear him sigh behind you. You can tell it’s not true but you smile anyway, you know he’s just trying to put you at ease. You watch out the window as you hear all kinds of banging and new noises. When the plane starts to roll back you feel strangely nervous. You can tell Johnny picks up on it nudging you to pull your attention to him. 

“This is the best part you know.” He says putting his hand out palm up, you lace your fingers with his without thinking. He gives your hand a squeeze as the plane turns. You hear the engines start then before you know it the plane is barrelling down the runway. You squeeze Johnny’s hand way too tight until you feel the plane lift off the ground. As soon as that happens you relax. 

“See, not so bad.” Johnny says nudging you. You nod at him before looking back out the window, watching the ground get further and further away. You watch the plane go through the clouds as it turns, making your stomach drop. You squeeze Johnny’s hand tighter, there’s a quick stabbing pain in your side as you rearrange your position. 

“Do you have any family?” You ask Johnny without looking away from the window. 

“Yeah, you?” You weren't expecting him to ask you. You turn to him, pulling your hand out his. 

“I don’t remember my dad. My mum liked to bake, I have this memory of her. It was a sunny day, she always smelled of apple’s or cinnamon.” He has a sad look in his eyes. You don’t want him feeling sorry for you. You look back out the window. 

“What happened to them?” Johnny asks. 

“They died.” You say. There’s another scent in the air, it makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. You know that scent, it’s Simon. 

When you land, you travel a few hours on the road to get to the base. The whole place is surrounded by dense woodland. It makes you happy seeing so much nature. It's an army base but it's deep in the forest. You saw the ocean Dr. Piper was talking about while the plane was landing.

You've never seen an ocean before.

When you get into the barracks the smell of fresh paint hits your nose. The walls are bare and tall, there are windows with grates over them. You’re walking into a sparsely furnished living room, a sofa, a dining table and chairs. There’s a TV, you’ve not seen one of those in years. A kitchen in the corner, it’s only a small with a sink, fridge and oven. 

Apparently this building is just for you and them, the people who saved you. 141, you've heard people call them.

“Ooo, fancy.” Johnny says as he comes in behind you throwing his bag down. You move to let the rest of them come in. Fluorescent lights flicker on and you walk in looking round. There’s a corridor that leads to an emergency exit. 

“I call the biggest room.” Johnny calls from behind you. 

“You can’t just call a room.” Gaz says. 

“Yeah, says who?” Johnny asks going over to the sofa with Gaz following after him. John’s hand comes to rest on your shoulder. 

“Why don’t you go pick first?” He says watching Gaz look inside the kettle. You turn to look at him as he moves his hand. He nods you in the direction of the hallway. You smile at him and head down. 

The first two rooms are an office and what looks like a shared bathroom. You continue down to the next two rooms. They’re both bedrooms, they’re pretty much identical, a bed, a wardrobe and a desk. You keep going all the way to the end of the hallway, there are 6 rooms 3 on each side. You find yourself at the last room to the left. It has a massive window looking out over a field, you can see the walls of the base. 

You walk in the room running your fingers over the desk. It’s bigger then any room you’ve ever had before. You look in the distance through the window, you can see trees, more trees then you’ve ever seen. You're surrounded by an evergreen forest. It makes you happy, maybe you could convince John to let you explore it one day. You lift the handle on the window. It only opens a small amount but you can smell the fresh air, hear the trees swaying in the wind. This is your room. 

“What do you think?” You turn to look at Dr. Piper standing in the doorway. You smile going over to her. 

“I like it.” You say. 

“Wait till you see the lab they’ve got ready for me.” She smiles. You close the door behind you as you leave, locking it and pulling the key out. You look at the room opposite you, Dr. Piper's bag is already on the bed. You’re happy she’s going to be close to you. You make your way back down to the common room where you can hear laughing and talking. It makes you smile. You haven’t been in an environment like this before. 

“Tea?” Gaz asks from the tiny kitchen. You blink at him, looking as he stands there with mugs in his hand. 

“I’ve never had tea before.” You say walking over to him. 

“Want to try it?” He asks, you look at the bags in the cups as he pours the water in. The smell fills your nose, it's herbal. You nod watching him spoon sugar into some of the cups. He pushes one towards you then reaches into the fridge taking out some milk. You hear the door to the building open turning to see Simon walk in. He walks over to Piper and hands her something. She thanks him as he walks away. His eyes meet yours and you smile at him. You wish you could see if he was smiling back. At least he’s not sending shivers up your spine any more. 

“Want to come see the lab?” Piper asks coming back over to you. Gaz pushes a mug in your hands. You shake your head. 

“I’m going to try tea.” You say smiling and following Gaz over to the sofa. Piper smiles. 

“I’ll see you in a bit then.” She nods at you heading out. You sit down on one of the sofa chairs. 

“This is rubbish, all these channels are American, how are we supposed to watch the footy now?” Johnny says as you watch him flick through the channels. You warm your hands on the mug pulling your legs up onto the chair. You blow on the tea waiting for it to cool, Johnny lands on a news channel. You watch it mesmerised by what’s happening. You get distracted by John coming out of the office, he walks over to pick up a mug and comes over to see what’s on the TV. 

“What do you think?” He asks looking at you, you look confused for a second then you remember the tea. You bring it up and take a sip. It’s warm and milky, you can’t place the flavor but it’s sweet. You nod at him and he smiles. 

“Where did Dr. Montgomery go?” He asks. 

“She went to the lab.” Johnny says without looking up from the remote. You take another sip of the tea, your stomach growls and you realise how hungry you are. John checks his watch. 

“You should all get something to eat before the mess closes.” Johnny jumps up off the sofa while Gaz downs the rest of the tea. You place your half drunk cup on the coffee table with the others. 

“C’mon lass before they eat all the cake.” You smile at that. 

“Is there really going to be cake?” You hear John laugh as Johnny throws his arm over your shoulder. When you get to the dining hall there are still a few people hanging out. You pick up a tray following Johnny and Gaz’s lead. You see foods you’ve never seen before you want to try everything. Johnny recommends things and you end up with two plates of food. And 2 servings of chocolate pudding which you end up eating first. Johnny and Gaz chuckle at you while you go round your plates trying a little of everything until you’re full. 

You eat so much you feel like you can’t move when you’re done. Johnny steals one of your plates to finish off your mash. You lean back wondering why you’re so hungry, you count in your head again. It’s definitely not your heat. There’s the stabbing pain again. It’s not in your side anymore it’s in your abdomen. 

Shit. It’s already the end of the month, your period should be any day now.

You sigh, you’ll need to tell Piper and ask her for a mattress protector. You don’t think John would be happy if you ruined the bed on the first night. You listen to Johnny and Gaz talking about past missions. You can’t help but catch people looking at you. It makes you feel self-conscious, you feel like Johnny and Gaz can pick up on it too because before they start a new anecdote they decide to leave. 

It’s late evening as you’re leaving the mess hall with Gaz. Johnny said he needed to ‘hit the gym’ so you were left alone with Gaz. You don’t mind, following him as he leads you across the grounds back towards the barracks. 

“Do you have a family?” You ask him trying to distract yourself. 

“Yeah, a big one actually.” He says smiling. You smile back at him. 

“Do they all live in the UK?” 

“Yeah London.” He smiles. 

“Do you miss them?” 

“All the time.” He sounds sad, you feel bad. “I can show you some photos, I have some in my room.” You nod seeing him smile. There’s the pain again, a stabbing pain in your bowels. You stop, Gaz stops too turning to you. 

“You okay?” He asks. 

“Yeah, I just need to see Dr. Piper.” You say. You look over at the red brick building. 

“That’s where the lab is right?” You ask. Gaz nods.

“Want me to come with you?” You shake your head smiling at him. 

“I’m good.” You say walking off towards the building. 

Dr. Piper is filling up a cupboard with new lab supplies when a door slams closed, making her jump. She turns looking round the lab. 

“Hello?” She calls, gripping the test tube rack. She takes a breath in. Alpha. 

“John?” She asks, looking round the stack of boxes. She takes a step back backing up into something. The contact makes her jump, spinning round to see Simon standing behind her.

“Jesus, have they thought about putting a bell on you lieutenant?” She breathes feeling relieved. He hums making his way round to the other side of the table. 

“Price wanted me to come and see if there was anything you needed?” She can’t read his expression under his mask. He has such a looming presence in the room, John told her Simon was taking the changes the hardest. She only had time to quickly look over the files John had given her on him, maybe there would be some answers in there. Maybe she could get him to talk. 

“I think I’m good, got enough equipment in here, we're going to give the CDC a run for their money.” She says trying to lighten the mood. He looks at her nodding. A man of few words, along with his overpowering alpha sent, he’s always the most intimidating person in the room. 

“Has John made any progress on finding the people I recommended?” She doesn’t expect an answer from him but she’s already decided she’s going to get him to talk to her. 

“Working on it.” He says looking in a box of supplies. She nods, pressing her lips together. She tries to remember what she learned in her psychology classes. Her eyes follow the bulking figure around as he heads over to the door of her office.  

“What made you work for someone like the Professor?” He asks, she smiles, keeping her distance. 

“I agreed with his original vision for the project. I was fresh out of med school, he was offering a unique career path.” She explains watching to see his reaction. He’s good at hiding it, he’ll be a good alpha.

“What changed?” 

“He started getting more extreme. His experiments getting more and more unethical. He started to lose track of his goals.” She moves over to open another box of lab supplies. 

“Why didn’t he kill you?” He asks, walking towards her. 

“I was close with the omega, the professor had broken his bond with her. She needed someone safe, she could trust-”

“So he could keep torturing her.” He cuts her off, she looks up at him, his arms crossed. His eyes are digging into her, she can feel the anger in the air let alone smell it. 

“I’m a doctor first, I never hurt her.” 

“Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night.” He says, his words harsh causing her to sigh and close the box up. 

“Like you’ve never killed anyone.” She scoffs.

“I’m a soldier.” 

“I’m a doctor.” 

“Just because you didn’t pull the trigger doesn’t mean you haven’t killed people.” He says 

“She’s alive, that's all that matters!” Piper snaps. 

“And that makes you think you’re different then him?” He scoffs. Piper shakes her head, taking a step over to him. 

“You don’t get to judge me. I did what I had to do to keep her safe, alive.” She says, tipping her head to the side watching his expression. His scent doesn’t change. His eyes are still digging into her. 

“I read the report, over 15 years she was down there.” His voice is low, it makes the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. 

“You don’t get to judge me.” Piper repeats, she can’t lose her confidence now. He shakes his head, his anger is heavy in the air. She should back down, everything in her body tells her to run and hide from him. 

“You haven’t told her about the professor yet?” He asks. Shit, she was hoping to avoid this conversation. She lets out a sigh.

“Did John ask that?” She asks. He doesn’t say anything, she stands her ground. 

“You say you’re one of the good guys but what else doesn't she know? Does she know who he is?” His alpha is on full display, his scent thick in the air. It makes her back down, she can’t avoid it this time. He shakes his head. 

“Her own father, christ, she should at least know he’s alive.” 

“Why do you care so much?” Piper says backing up, she doesn’t want to but she can’t help it. A new scent fills her nose. Omega. 

You step out from round the corner. Hugging your chest, tears in your eyes. Simon and Piper both turn to you. You feel like you can’t breathe, you stare, mouth hanging open as they watch you waiting to see what you’ll do. 

Your dad. It can’t be real. He wanted to claim you. 

You feel sick, you can’t even remember what you needed from her now. You take a step back, before you know it your body is turned and you’re sprinting out the room. You sprint as fast as you can across the grass back towards the barracks. You don’t stop, throwing yourself through the door. You don’t even register Gaz calling you as you rush past him to your room. You slam the door, turning the lock. You brace yourself on the desk sucking in gulps of air. Your lungs are burning.

He’s your father. 

He’s alive.

There’s noise in the hallway.

“What happened?” It’s John’s voice. You can smell the alpha in the air. Simon is here too. Someone tries the door handle. Then there’s a knock. Dr. Piper calls your name. She is the last person you want to see. She’s knocking on the door. 

“Go away!” You shout, your voice breaks. 

“He’s not your biological father, he married your mother to get to you!” Piper calls through the door. You don’t care, you're angry you want to scream. You go over to the door pulling it open. It almost knocks Piper off her feet. 

“That makes it better then, he just groomed me instead! Why don’t I remember him!” You snap. You look round at everyone standing in the hall. Your eyes flick to John, he looks confused, worried, they all do.

“It was a side effect of the first formula, it effected your memory.” She says. 

“I remember my mother.” You say. Dr. Piper shakes her head. 

“Who do you think of when you think of her?” She asks sympathetically. You think of the memories, of her baking, you playing in the house on the hill. It’s a sunny summers evening, you can even imagine the birds singing in the trees.  

“My mum, the house on the hill-.”

“With the pies, it’s a summer evening.” Piper finishes. She reaches out to grip your shoulders. You flinch but she holds you in place looking into your eyes. 

“Think hard about who you see when you think of your mother.” You close your eyes out of spite. You try to imagine her face but you can’t. You let out another sob, why can’t you picture her face. She’s always so real in your head, the pies, the garden.

You squeeze your eyes. It’s Dr. Piper, she’s who you see, she’s who you always think of when you think of your mother. You open your eyes, you can hardly see her through your tears. You back away from her. 

“She was so real.” You say between sobs. 

“I know, she had to be. You needed something to cling onto. Something to keep you grounded.” She says, taking a step forward but she doesn’t enter your room. 

“You lied to me!” You shout at her wiping your tears away. You’re angry, you don’t think you’ve ever felt this angry. 

“We did what we had to do to keep you safe.” She says, you can hear the pleading in her voice. 

“We? You mean you and the professor.” You say dropping your shoulders. You can’t believe what you’re hearing, you trusted her. You want to hate her, you wish you could hate her. You turn back to look at her, she looks sad, you can smell the sincerity in the air. You want to scream at her, you want to be mad, you never want to see her again. You rub the back of your neck. You feel betrayed. 

“I’m so sorry.” She says. You don’t want to see her anymore. You reach over and slam the door in her face. You wish you had a nest you could crawl up in. You don’t even have that. You hear their voices from the other side of the door.

You don’t care, you throw yourself into the bed pulling the covers over your head. For the first time you wish you were back in the bunker. Back in the tiny room you called home for the most of your life. You close your eyes. You wish you could think of your mother but the memories are tainted now. 

...

When you wake it’s dark out, the window is still cracked open and you can hear the wind blowing through the crack. Your head feels heavy, your throat dry, you get out of bed. The room is cold but you leave the window open, you want to smell the fresh air. You take a breath opening the door, Dr. Pipers door is closed, all the doors are, there’s no noise in the building now.

The only light you can see is coming out the bottom of the office. You take a deep breath in as you pass it, it’s John. You go into the kitchen looking through the cupboards for a glass. You hear the office door open as you run the tap. John sticks his head round the corner, you watch his nostrils flair. You don’t care that you smell distressed, it must be strong enough for him to pick up on it though. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks as you sip the water. 

“Fine,” it’s a lie, you don’t really know how you feel. He takes a step towards you. 

“We were going to tell you, Dr. Montgomery  thought you should get settled in first.” He says, you put the glass in the sink. 

“It’s okay, I’m sorry I acted the way I did.” You say, you don’t know why you feel like you have to apologise but you made a scene. You’re not supposed to do that. Omega’s are to be seen and not heard. The professor's words spin round in your head. 

“Don’t be silly, come on I have something for you.” He says, you nod following him. He goes into his office, the room is smaller then the bedroom, there’s just enough room for the desk, a sofa and some filing cabinets. Everything is still in boxes though as he bends down picking something up off the sofa. He turns handing you a pile of pillows and blankets. 

“Dr. Montgomery said you might want to nest.” He sounds unsure what that means, you reach out taking the pile in your arms. You want to still be mad at her. She’s right though, you want a nest. It makes you nervous as you look up at John, the last nest you made was destroyed. John would never do that, you trust him. 

“Thank you.” You say feeling the soft fabric. You wish you could run off and make a nest in the forest, surrounded by nature where you can watch the birds. Maybe high up in a tree somewhere where no one can reach you. 

“If you want some space from her I can keep her busy.” You look up at him. You wish it was that simple.

“We’re bonded, if I’m away from her for too long I get moody, sad, lonely.” You wish you could explain it, the feeling of not being with someone you bonded with. He’ll understand, if he claims you, that’s the strongest bond there is. It’s the same reason you can’t bring yourself to hate her, no matter what she’s done. 

“If there is anything you need you just have to ask.” He says his hand comes up to squeeze your shoulder. You breathe him in, his calming alpha scent fills your nose. You trust him, you feel safe around him. 

“Thank you.” You say as his hand drops, he smiles at you. 

“You should get some rest, it's late and we have a lot to do tomorrow.” You nod, turning to leave. You make it to the door hearing him following behind you. 

“John,” you stop swallowing the nerves. “Do you think maybe one day we could go for a walk in the forest?” He’s going to say no, why did you even ask? You squeeze the pile of bedding biting the inside of your cheek. His hand lands on the small of your back as he pushes you through the door turning the light off and locking the door. 

“Maybe, I’ll see what I can work out.” He says. You smile walking down towards your room. You turn back to look at him walking into his room, it’s right next to the office. He smiles at you as you walk through your door. You dump the pile down under the window. You wish it would open more so you could stick your head out and breathe in the cold night air. This would be a nice place to build a nest, you’re too tired now though. You leave the curtains open and climb back into bed. You can see out to the sky from the bed, there is no moon tonight, but you can see stars. You’ve never seen stars before, it makes you smile. 

You dream you’re walking through the forests with John. It’s warm but the sun is broken up by trees. You can hear the birds singing up in the trees. The air is thick with electricity, you end up by a lake. The sky is dark, there are rumbles of thunder in the distance. John comes up behind you, his hands land on your shoulders. His hands are strong, firm as they squeeze you.

You lean back pressing your back against his chest. You close your eyes as the scent of his alpha fills your nose and you relax into him. There’s another crash of thunder, it shakes you and your eyes flash open. There’s no lake anymore, John’s gone too. You smell apple pie, when you turn the forest is gone and replaced by the house, the house on the hill. You try to back away but something is stopping you. Hands grip your arm nails digging into your skin. 

“Why are you trying to run?” The voice is low and harsh in your ear sending shivers up your spine. It’s the professor, he’s forcing you to walk towards the house. You try to stop but he picks you up in his arms, you kick and thrash trying to claw at his skin. He laughs, his arms wrapping round you tighter. The smell of pie is replaced with the overwhelming smell of blood.

You can hear Dr. Piper’s voice. It takes you all your energy to push against him in a last ditch effort to escape. It doesn’t matter though, he lets out a deep laugh, his hand coming round to grip the back of your neck. You scream as pain radiates down your spine, your body goes limp, you can’t fight it, you try to call out but your breath catches in your throat and everything goes black. 

the whisky wasn’t cutting it. It’s his second glass and his nerves were higher then they had ever been. He’d been ignoring calls all day, leaving it to his assistant, his prodigy; Miles Ashford. He’s spent the past year as his assistant. At first he wasn’t sure why he kept him around, but he needed someone to keep his work up to date above ground. He’d promised him an omega, once he had perfected the formula. He was so close. He stood up, downing the rest of the glass, the alcohol burnt his throat. He was so close, almost perfect. There’s a knock at the door. He walks over to the drinks cabinet again reaching in and taking the bottle of whisky out. 

“Come in!” He calls. He watches as the door creaks open and Miles walks in. He walks in slowly, making sure he’s definitely allowed in before closing the door behind him. The professor sits down behind his desk. 

“I spoke to your contact at the CIA. He knows who Laswell is.” Miles put a folder down on the table. “She’s been on vacation for the past week.” 

“Red herring?” The professor asks, pouring whisky in his glass. Miles shakes his head.

“She was investigating you but Shepherd did his job, threw her off the scent then she went on vacation.” Miles puts another folder on the table. The Professor recognises it straight away. Doctor Piper Montgomery. 

“She’s been putting feelers out for old staff members. I think she’s searching for someone.” He says. The professor picks his glass up. 

“I should have put the bitch down when I had a chance.” He says, shaking his head. “Where is she?” 

“She was in New York but now she’s missing.” Miles says, the professor's eyes dig into him as he thinks taking a sip of the whisky. He lets out a long sigh. 

“Find out who she’s talking with and why. If you find her, kill her.” 

“What about the CIA?” Miles asks. 

“I think General Shepherd is capable of keeping that under control.” He lets out another sigh. Miles nods, he turns to leave the professor looks down at the file on the table. He looks at the image of Piper sticking out. Anger boils up inside him as he finishes the drink. Fucking bitch. He should have killed her when he had the chance. This is her doing he can smell it from a mile away.

He grips the desk slamming the glass down as hard as he can. It shatters the broken glass digs into his hand, ripping the flesh. He grits his teeth at the pain bringing his palm up to his mouth. He can already feel the flesh trying to repair itself.

He pulls the picture out the file. It’s a picture of you and Piper. You’re looking at her, your expression soft, his thumb runs over your face. There’s an aching in him. He needs you back, he needs to claim you. He’s going to find you, no matter what it takes. 

Next

Dividers by Plum98 & gild-ui

Special thank you yet again to rememberwren <3

[rememberwren]

/•Harmless Fun 5•\

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts

Simon and Johnny talk.

-

The soft rain continues into the night, enhancing the petrichor of the city: metal and concrete and gasoline. You are tucked away safely in Simon and Johnny’s bed, your dress and virtue intact, where you will remain until the late afternoon if your quiet snores are any indication. Simon had slipped the shoes from your feet, rolled you onto your side, and covered you with a blanket just in time for Johnny to limp into the bedroom and ask him to smoke out on the balcony together. 

Simon doesn’t smoke often anymore; it makes his night terrors worse. But he misses the lazy, relaxed feeling it gives him while awake, so it’s no real harm to say yes. Buttoned up in their jackets, they stand out on the balcony together passing a joint back and forth, the very image that he could have walked in on earlier that week only with you and Johnny instead. 

Johnny opens his mouth. 

“Don’t,” says Simon. 

He throws his hands up, nearly dropping the joint. “How’d you know what I was going t’ even say?” 

“I know you,” Simon reminds him. Johnny has had that look on his face ever since you passed out asleep in the car ride on the way home: brows pressed together, full mouth pouting in a way that is entirely unintentional. Simon has been the cause of that look more times than he cares to admit—and tonight is one more time added to that list. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Hafta.” 

“Says who?” 

“Says I.” 

“Leave it alone,” he says. That’s as close as Simon Riley gets to begging: repeating something twice. 

“Do you believe me when I say that I would if I could?” 

Simon glances at Johnny. The light flooding from inside the apartment casts his face in warm shadows. There is a pleading in his eyes, a begging to be understood. Johnny’s never had to beg for that; Simon’s always been able to read him well, the other man used to wearing his heart on his sleeve and Simon used to seeing much more than he ever says. 

He sighs and impatiently reaches for the joint, taking a hit that burns his lungs. “Make it quick then.” 

“You don’t want me to fuck her anymore. You’ve changed your mind.”

“Haven’t.”

“Aht, aht—look me in the eyes and say it.” 

Simon does, and it makes Johnny frown. 

“Then what is it? You’ve got a bug up your arse, I just can’t figure out the species.” 

“I love your way with words,” Simon says, silently cutting himself off. He hands the joint back to Johnny, his head swimming a little. 

The truth is simple and devastating: Simon’s jealous. It’s not an emotion he’s used to (though self-denial is often in his repertoire). He doesn’t know what to fucking do with it, like a man who has given up smoking and now doesn’t know what to do with his hands. When you had first arrived on their doorstep, the attraction you felt for them had been obvious—except was that Simon fooling himself? Were you attracted to him at all, or just Johnny, Johnny with his pretty pale eyes and charming smile and uncanny ability to make even the most unpracticed of people fall in love with him? 

You smoke with Johnny, cuddle on the couch with Johnny, have movie dates with Johnny when Simon is away. The most interaction he’d had with you involved your anxious stammering and quick retreats. 

Yes, tonight had really put it into perspective for him. When it came to the two of you, Simon was likely only ever going to be on the outside looking in. 

“I’m losin’ yeh,” Johnny murmurs, his words tinted by smoke. 

“Never.” 

“Don’t put yer mask on, Simon Riley,” Johnny says with tenderness that Simon doesn’t deserve. “Not when it’s just the two of us. All that shite we said about her when we were fucking—it was just the sex talking, wasn’t it? You were talking out your arse.”

“When have you ever known me to do that?” 

Johnny doesn’t say anything for a while. The rain is soaking through their jackets. Johnny leans against him, looking for warmth, and Simon is happy to slip an arm around his waist and pull him closer. 

“I want her to want me,” he says at length, voice nearly lost to the nighttime city sounds. Somewhere, a siren is wailing. Simon sympathizes. “I don’t know why.”

“Everybody wants t’ be wanted.” The thought of being lumped in with everybody nearly makes him sick, but he supposes Johnny has a point. It’s human. Unfortunately, so is Simon. “She wants you, LT. Nay—it’s not up for discussion. For a man who sees everything, yer eyesight is broken.”

“It’s not worth the breath it’d take to argue with you.”

“Just how I win all our arguments.”

“Fucking her without talking to her first would be a mistake,” he says.

“I’ll talk to her. But I want you there.”

“When you fuck or talk?”

“In an ideal world? Both.”

“Keep dreaming, Johnny boy.”

“I don’t need t’ fuck her, you know,” Johnny reminds him. He looks up at Simon, all eyelashes. “You’re the only thing in this world I need. If fucking her puts any doubt in yer silly head—“

“It doesn’t. I know what keeps you coming back to me.”

“What’s that?” Johnny asks with a grin, feigning ignorance. He crushes the lit end of the blunt to ash on the metal railing of the balcony and tosses the roach over the edge. Finding Simon’s hand buried mostly in his jacket sleeve, he laces their fingers together, comfortable and lazy.

“My winning personality,” Simon deadpans. 

“Oh, obviously.” 

“My charming good looks.” 

“That one’s true.” 

“My cock.”

“She’s got one of those.”

Simon stares. The silence stretches on, Johnny’s smug grin unchanging. “Dunno how to break this to you, Johnny—“

“A toy, LT,” Johnny stage whispers. 

Simon’s eyes narrow. “How’d you get this intel?” 

“My own eyes. But it was an accident, swear to Jesus,” Johnny says, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you haven’t materialized behind him. “The other day when you were taking so bloody long in the shower and I had to piss—she was working, so I went into her bathroom.

“She didn’t have the curtain drawn on her shower and there it was, staring me in the eye, LT. Blue monstrosity with a suction cup on the end.”

“Fucking hell.” 

“Big as you, at least.”

“Don’t fucking tell me that.” 

“If I have to think about it, then you do too. Thinking about her in the shower, hands against the walls, bouncing away on that cheap bit o’ plastic, wishing it were one of us.” 

Simon lets himself picture it: the water sluicing rivulets over your skin, creating constellations of drops on your closed lashes. Your mouth wet and open, hoping the roar of water against the tile covers up the sound of your moans and gasps. 

“You’re a menace.” 

“One of my good qualities, what keeps you coming back to me,” says Johnny. He shivers, half of it for show. “Can we go back in?”

They go back in and strip off their damp clothes right there in the living room, balcony blinds wide open. Simon opts to take the couch, though he hardly fits, and Johnny takes the bed to be with you in case you are sick in the night. 

When Johnny slips into the dark bedroom, he can hear the soft sound of your snores. All seems well. A knot of worry in his chest unwinds, and he tugs on a clean shirt, determined not to look like an opportunistic bastard if you wake up in the night and catch him in bed with you. 

You are still there when the sun rises, and Johnny with it. No matter how many years it’s been since he’s left the SAS, the internal clock is ingrained in his subconscious. He lets himself roll onto his side and stare at you: the shape of your brows, your softly parted mouth. You’re drooling on Simon’s pillow. 

His heart throbs with fondness for you, and with anxiety. He’s nearly positive that you have feelings for Simon as well—he’s caught the way you stare, the way your eyes will track the other man’s movements when you’re all in a room together—but of course he can’t be sure. Not until you make a move or say as such.

Years ago, your interest in Simon might have made him jealous, back when all the attention needed to be his for him to feel anything at all. Maybe it was a sign of getting older, tamer; or maybe it was just about growing safe in his love with Simon, in knowing that they belong to each other absolutely and in perpetuity, but now it thrills him—the thought of sharing and being shared. 

It turns him on, too—sharing. A thought he should not be having while in bed with your half unconscious figure. 

Don’t do wrong by us, he thinks, reaching out to tug the covers up around your shoulders more. Give us a proper chance. Let us fuck it up for our selves, if we must—just give us the chance. 

Out in the living room, he hears the creak of the sofa; Simon is awake. 

Rolling onto his side, he shifts his bad leg out of the bed first, wincing at the early-morning stiffness which seems worse than usual. He’s limping more on his way to the bathroom, but left his cane in the other room. 

“Genius, I am,” he mutters, flipping on the bathroom light. “Just another reason why Simon keeps me ar—what the fu-uck.”

Sometime in the night, part of the ceiling in the northwestern most corner has fallen, wet bits of ceiling tile congealing on the tiled floor. Through the hole (big as two of his fists held together) he can see ceiling beams. Water continues to drip, creating a vast puddle that nearly reaches his toes. 

“Jesus fucking wept,” he says. 

-

Sometime during Simon and Johnny’s perusal of the bathroom, two calls to the maintenance superintendent, and numerous Scottish curse words, you wake. 

You have cotton mouth, your head practically stuffed full of the wooly substance. Your dress has ridden up around your waist, panties bared beneath the sheets and blankets. All around you are the scents of Simon and Johnny, and you have just enough time to wonder what they were doing in your bed before the bed depresses, Johnny at your side coaxing you further into wakefulness. You’re not in your bed; you’re in theirs. 

“What’s going on?” you mutter. 

“Maintenance is coming to look at the bathroom. Figured you’d want to be wearing something else when they got here.”

“What’s wrong with the bathroom?” 

“Ceiling’s caving in,” says Simon from where he leans in the doorway of the bathroom, his hip cocked against it, arms crossed and closed off. 

“Sleep well?” Johnny asks.

“Like the dead.”

“Never heard the dead snore like that,” he says, making your face flush with warmth. 

You grab his pillow and lob it at him half heartedly. There’s a knock on the door in the other room, startling you the way knocks and doorbells always do. The imminent threat of strangers in your space. Jerking down your dress to the proper length, you kick off the blankets and scuttle out of the bed, doing the shortest walk of shame in history. The last thing you see is Simon at the front door waiting for you to disappear before giving the maintenance person entrance. 

Heart thudding, you let your back rest against your bedroom door and wrack your brain to remember the finer details of what had happened last night.

There had been joy meeting up with your girlfriends for the first time in ages—you had saved for so long just to be able to afford a single night out. It was like old times—until it wasn’t. Then you were alone, single in a strange bar watching the last of your friends slip out the door with no more than a wave and a ‘what can you do?’ grin. You had shed some tears at the bar, earning the bartender’s pity. And the pity of a few others, though the name of the man who had given you attention for half the night escaped you.

After that, things got very fuzzy. You must have called to ask Ghost for a ride home. He had offered it, after all, before you had left the apartment in the first place. Even drunk, you had known better than to ask for a ride from a stranger. 

Then—God.

Oh God. Johnny. The backseat. You had come on to him. He had even tried to stop you, but you hadn’t taken no for an answer. The memories rush over you like a tidal wave, one after the other, bringing with them mortification, horror, dread. 

You bury your face in your hands, ashamed and terrified all at once. You had hit on your married friend, against his will, with his husband in the driver’s seat. There would be no coming back from this. 

You needed to talk to Johnny and Simon, urgently. An apology was due at the very least. You wouldn’t be surprised if they kicked you out of the apartment altogether. Stripping out of your dress, you drag on the first clean clothes you can find and slip out into the living room, stomach rolling, to find Simon and Johnny speaking together in hushed voices. They stop at the sight of you. 

“I need to talk to you,” you say to Johnny, before you can lose your nerve. 

“I need to talk to you,” says Simon solemnly. 

“Make that we need to talk to you,” Johnny amends, casting Simon a look.

“Well I need to talk to someone,” the maintenance guy says. 

The three of you jerk, having forgotten the stranger’s presence and no one very eager to be the one to speak with him. Simon heaves a sigh and tilts his head toward the front door in a silent order. The two of them disappear outside, voices just audible on the other side of the door. 

“We should wait fer Simon,” says Johnny. 

“Alright,” you give in, choosing to sit at the far edge of the sofa. You clasp your hands together to keep them from shaking, feeling just as likely to panic as you are to burst into tears. Simon’s disappointment and anger are the last things you want to face, but you suppose that you have earned them. 

After a moment of silence, Johnny asks innocuously: “While we wait—can I use your bathroom? Sorry, it’s just, since ours is out of commission—”

“Of course, my bathroom is your bathroom.” But then you remember... You stand hastily. “Actually, let me just…tidy up really quickly. It’s a mess in there.” 

Johnny doesn’t grin, but it is a near thing. “Alright, lass. Whatever you need to do.” 

[zwhoreo]

Luffy accidentally eating/taking aphrodisiac and reader has to deal with the results.

HAPPY 2024!!! :D here’s my longest fic ever as a celebration

can’t come down - aphrodisiac luffy x f!reader

smut with some angst

summary: thinking it was regular chocolate, you accidentally give luffy several doses of a potent aphrodisiac. now he needs you to take care of him

contains: accidental intoxication, luffy in discomfort/distress, tears, some uncomfortable sex, overstimulation, luffy and zoro in a brief sexual situation

words: 4.8k

_______________________________

It’s all your fault. You’ve hurt him, the little angel. A pleasant but burning pain, he’s attached to you, drooling on your neck and he’s been going for hours and he’s rubbing inside you ceaselessly, you’re dripping with him. He’s whimpering, this sweet boy. His eyes are blown out and hazy and he won’t stop just gazing at you, open-mouthed whimpers while he rubs inside you so deep and rough that god, you can feel it blooming and aching in your stomach, squeezed as you breathe so with every breath he moans in frustration and desire. Luffy just wanted chocolate, it’s all your fault.

______________________________

This town is seedy and dark. You like it because you can’t find these sorts of shops in regular port towns, places selling hallucinogens and fake medicine and alcohol for 100 berries a bottle. The sex shops don’t even board up their windows, that’s why you and Nami thought why not, let’s explore.

It’s not a serious shopping trip, more of a chance to laugh, tease each other, indulge in curiosity. This store’s set into the ground, beneath a metal stairway, it’s starting to rain so you two run for cover in the most interesting place.

The sex shop, which is very dim, all lantern light, is filled with things neither of you had ever seen before or thought to consider. The salesman is pushy, coming from behind the counter to try to sell you things you certainly hadn’t come there for. You laugh and walk around and whisper to each other. And even though you’re in a loving relationship these aren’t things you’ve thought to consider. Luffy wouldn’t like any of this. You would never do something to hurt or confuse him, not when you’re both vulnerable like that. But these low prices intrigue Nami who tells you that hey, why not get some cute lingerie?

“They’ve got a whole wall of it!” She points to the colorful selection of lace and silk and you do admit, it’s beautiful. It’s not something Luffy would care about really but you’d feel pretty in it, maybe. They’ve even got these cute little translucent night dresses that look so comfortable.

So you approach the salesman with your arms full of lingerie and he looks eager to be selling to two beautiful women. He keeps talking about deals and discounts, and with a little wink he throws in a special offer, with those two night dresses you’re buying you get free aphrodisiacs. Chocolate aphrodisiacs in a little white box and he keeps telling you these things are powerful. It’s a special deal, just for you. And with laughter and encouragement from Nami you say why not. You take them, even though you don’t think you’ll ever use them.

___________________________

Weeks go by. That little box, it rests forgotten in some dresser drawer. You tend to forget things at sea.

And there’s this island, more of an ocean mountain really, with jagged cliffs for beaches but there’s a small jungle on top, there might be food or resources up there. So Sanji and Zoro are going to go, and Luffy absolutely insists on coming with them. He’s all excited about it, hyper, rolling on his feet because he’s been kept away too long on the ship and he wants to explore.

But he’s not feeling quite himself. You’ve been short on food and Luffy’s had it bad, never satisfied after meals for the last couple days. That’s why this ocean mountain is the center of your universe with only the promise of a grove of mango trees, a flock of quail. So he’s begging you, pawing at your knees as you sit in bed and begging to get something to eat before he goes exploring. You try to help, maybe there’s something in a drawer, you get to your knees and dig through your dresser while Luffy crouches behind you, leaning on your back, you feel his warmth through your shirt. He’s impatient so he bites the back of your neck, tender but sharp.

You find the little box. You have no memory, in that moment, of where you got it. There’s no label, and you later think to yourself why the hell was there no label? but of course it doesn’t cross your mind right here. It’s a little box of chocolates and before you even have a chance to remember, Luffy snatches them out of your hand and says thank you and kisses you quickly on the cheek, cupping your face, his lips wet from hunger. And he sprints away, leaving you blushing, sitting there on your floor with a little smile.

_________________________

He’s beginning to feel very warm but it’s just the sun, probably. He takes off his cardigan, carrying it on his arm. His skin glistens golden in the light, a perfectly burnt brown, but now he’s going red with flush creeping from his face to his shoulders. Luffy’s breathing is irregular now, shuddering. He looks around, the trees wavering just a bit in a cloudy haze through his eyes.

“Sanji?” And he reaches for Sanji’s hand because for some reason he craves contact right now. But Sanji pulls away, feeling the layer of sweat coating Luffy’s palm. “I feel weird.”

Sanji’s eyes wander him. He can sense there’s something not right in Luffy’s stare, something dulled and far away. Something’s wrong, what’s wrong?

“Luffy?” Sanji doesn’t know what to do in these kinds of situations. “You should go see Chopper,” he says finally with his hand on Luffy’s shoulder, gingerly.

“Don’t wanna go back yet.” Luffy’s complaining despite the discomfort. And when he sees that Sanji won’t tell him anything he wants to hear, he turns and disappears into the underbrush, maybe water will help, something cold.

So he comes to this little pond, crystal clear and dappled by sunlight, there’s frogs on the lilly pads. If he wades to his thighs he won’t pass out, probably. There isn’t much care for himself in this moment, just a need to get rid of this burning. So he strips off his jeans which helps, strangely. A breeze hits his now bare body. He feels raw in a way he never has before.

That’s a yearning need to touch himself, but no, Luffy doesn’t think about that. He’s hot so he needs to get in the water. He stumbles on the rocks because his vision isn’t quite right. He shouldn’t go to his waist but that’s where the burning is. Ankles then knees then thighs, ripples lap between his legs, he’s left panting and tingling, that water is hitting nerve endings and with every wave comes friction that makes his body twitch. He wants more.

His hand flies to his cock as if by impulse, all of a sudden. There’s no thoughts now, just need, his hand rubs himself messily even though Luffy has no control, no concept of what he’s doing or why.

God, please.

He bends over a little, head down. Beads of sweat from his brow speckling the water as his whole body shakes back and forth and his muscles spasm. Frustration fogs his mind, with every pump it only stretches his skin, not enough friction, his hand is clamped down so tight that it’s doing nothing for him. He feels like crying. He hates that he wants to go home.

But this isn’t home. And as Luffy moans unabashedly this sounds like cries from pain, which they are, a bit. So it’s Zoro who hears him and without a second thought he’s tearing through the underbrush, tripping over his own feet, led blindly by his worst sound in the world — Luffy crying.

He shouts his name and crashes through the trees, he’s in the clearing and looking around desperately but what he sees makes him yell again. There’s Luffy, the love of Zoro’s life, completely naked and wading in the water of that crystal clear pond and moving sporadically as he rubs his cock, so painfully rock hard, over and over in this animalistic desperation as he cries and whimpers. He doesn’t know where he is or who’s around him and he doesn’t see Zoro.

Until he’s shoved from the side, a powerful push that sends him tumbling into the water, cruel cold water that sucks him in and starts a familiar panic within his heart that makes him forget for a moment about that burning inside him.

“WHAT THE FUCK, LUFFY?!” Zoro pulls him by his hair, shaking him, throwing him on the rocks and looking at Luffy with these stricken eyes, unable to comprehend what he’s seeing. His composure in that moment is shattered, his fists are clenched.

They’ve seen each other naked so many times. They’ve bathed and held and carried each other with nothing between their skin, it’s just how it happens sometimes when you’re that close. But this intimacy, this state Luffy’s in, it’s like nothing Zoro was prepared to see or could even really imagine out of Luffy. Something is horribly wrong.

“Zoro…” and Luffy’s taken up in his arms because no disgust or awkwardness comes before helping a friend who’s hurting. “I feel… I dunno… what’s- …”

Luffy’s voice is so slurred, his body is tense and so solid but yet somehow he’s still melting. Zoro’s finding it hard to look at him, do anything other than just sit there and hold him, uncomfortable at how he can feel that heat from between Luffy’s legs radiating and blooming condensation on Zoro’s skin. He has absolutely no idea how to even begin to approach this situation. So he’s rough and sloppy as he dresses his friend, his cardigan’s on and his sandals are on and his hat has been slammed over his eyes. But Zoro, teeth gritted, has to shove Luffy’s cock in his jeans himself because this boy is useless like this. He’s silently vowing to never talk or think about this moment again, how sticky his hands now feel, how Luffy moans as he’s touched and leans into Zoro and how his cock twitches with an overpowering need to fuck anything that’s close.

Zoro won’t think about this again. He just picks Luffy up and carries him away without saying a word.

______________________________

You’re just looking out the window. Unmoving sun, unmoving sea. You want to eat or go somewhere and maybe you should’ve begged and made them take you on the island.

Is it the island, or do you just miss Luffy?

But it’s not long before your door is kicked open, you jump, eyes wide, whipping around to find Zoro cradling your boyfriend, who looks sick. Fear shoots through you and closes your throat especially when you see Zoro’s eyes, vacant and upset and he looks dissociated, blank.

“Oh god, Luffy.” You run to him and your hands go to his face and just stroke his cheeks, he’s sweaty and burning up like he’s caught in a deep fever. “What happened?” Your eyes are wild and scared as you turn to Zoro.

“I don’t know what you gave him. Just… deal with it.” Zoro dumps Luffy into your arms and you stumble as he curls up into you, drooling all over your neck. And Zoro gives his shoulder one last squeeze and turns away, closing the door behind him, running off down the hall, somewhere where he can’t hear that crying anymore.

And yes, Luffy’s crying. You set him down on your bed, rubbing the back of his head and holding his hand. “Hey, hey, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Dunno what’s happening…” Luffy’s eyes are pleading and endlessly deep right now. His legs are kicking against the air and he keeps shifting around, he can’t sit still.

With his free hand he’s rubbing between his legs like he’s scratching an itch, but he doesn’t stop, your gaze follows him and oh, oh fuck. He’s got this tight, obvious hardness in his jeans. Straining so hard the zipper is shaking with tension. You’ve never seen anything like this.

Your mind is racing, this isn’t just horniness, Luffy has never been sexsick like this before.

You trace it all back and nothing was wrong when he left. Just bright eyed innocence, affection, nothing strange. And suddenly it hits you, that box, those chocolates.

Oh god. Oh my god.

You fed him an aphrodisiac. An aphrodisiac from a sketchy shop in an old-town basement, a powerful drug, just one would keep you up a whole night.

And you let Luffy eat them all.

“Lu… god, I’m sorry,” is all you can say as he crawls into your lap and breathes on your face. You take off his hat and ruffle his hair. How can you even explain this to him? He’s not going to understand. “I’m so sorry. This is my fault, I gave you an aphrodisiac by mistake.” You’re choked up. You hurt him.

“…” Luffy’s mouth is hanging open, drool coating his chin, dazed, so confused. “Hm?” His voice is even gravelier than normal.

“Those weren’t normal chocolates. They make your body… ready for sex? It’s supposed to be a fun thing. B- but I forgot they weren’t just normal chocolates! God, I’m so sorry.” You’re breaking down, you’re cuddling with him now, head on his shoulder.

“Oh.” You can’t really tell how much he understands. And his voice is quiet when he asks, “when’s it gonna go ‘way?”

“…I don’t know. I’m gonna try to help, ok? Let’s fuck for a few hours and get it out. It’s gonna be ok, Lu.”

His pupils expand when you say this, his eyes going from brown to deep black. He wants that so, so bad. He’s just sort of figuring that out now. “Heh, yeah.” He squirms in your lap, cock so hard you can feel his zipper sliding down on its own, as his breath gets heavier, this desperate ball of energy spasming in your arms.

Then he smiles. And he attacks.

He flips you onto your back and groans, hips thrusting into yours as his lips find your mouth, saliva leaking past your lips, you swallow as they part. You’re wearing these soft cotton shorts and you feel his aching cock smacking the fabric as it pushes and strains to break free from his pants with every motion. He moans so loud you know everyone can hear. Now he’s drooling again, spitting on your face because he’s lost control of his jaw, you’re winded but you grab his face and kiss him, he didn’t even know he needed this.

He falls on you now. He’s all splayed out and whining and just kissing you as if he’s been challenged, teeth and tongue working through every part of your mouth. He’s loud when he kisses, and now every breath is a groan of want.

“Undress me…” you whisper to him, grabbing the back of his neck, he seems like he’ll explode if he keeps on like this without being deep inside you.

With a strangled “Mh,” Luffy’s fingernails scrape your skin in a desperate attempt to pull off your dress. He’s ripping cloth, damn, you can hear him ripping cloth. Nothing you can do now.

But you can tell as your skin shines bare and he tears his own clothes from his body, as his sweat drenches you and that heat like a tropical hurricane all over but especially where it pools between his legs and oh you’d be scared if you looked there now, you can tell he’s about to just go in you with no thought or reason and harder than he’s ever gone before. So — and you hate to do this — you grab his shoulders. You stare him in the eyes.

“Luffy. Listen to me.”

your eyes reach his soul, he tries to look at you with anything close to coherence, he wants to follow your lead, he doesn’t understand anything right now. But there’s a hailstorm inside his mind. But he tries to listen.

“Don’t be too rough, please, can you promise?” Your voice is shaky because you’re not sure what he’s about to do. Luffy would never intentionally hurt you but he’s powerful, his body is strange, he works in ways neither of you understand. He has the power to really, really damage you and the carelessness to not see it happening. So you beg him with your eyes.

“I promise,” he gasps softly, one hand curling behind your neck, and he presses his face against your cheek, trying to harden his eyes in the gentle seriousness of the moment. Luffy is incapable of feeling sadism towards you of any kind and he’s at war with his body and the energy bursting within him right now. But he promises.

You smile and your feet rest on his hips and thighs, you feel him sizzling beneath your touch. The surface of his skin wavers before your eyes from the heat, you understand now the idea of mirages, he looks covered in amber rain even as his skin burns beneath your hands.

“Slow,” you ask softly in his ear, making Luffy whine in hunger.

There it is. What you don’t dare look at you can feel. Swollen and throbbing it feels like a whole other animal is just clawing there beneath that rice paper skin. You can feel his heartbeat in the tip of his cock as he touches you and it speeds up thousands of times in an instant. His thighs clamp around yours and his nails are sharp and Luffy groans in your ear. He’s made of nerve endings that send him twitching writhing with every tiny movement. He needs you now.

He pushes himself in and every bit of friction sends him convulsing against you, squeezing you tighter. You can feel the struggle in his muscles to hold back but that deep, tangible yearning for relief. He’s in and you’re both gasping for air. You’re not used to the size or the heat or that artificially induced power that’s overcome his body. But you’re proud of him and you tug his hair to tell him a quiet thank you, you’re ok, he’s keeping you safe.

All your touches are too much. His hips move messily against you like he doesn’t have the capacity to understand what to do right now. But he’s just going to follow that deep primal craving so he rocks into you with all his weight, crushing you again and again, eyes closed, mouth trying to find yours.

It’s the movement but also the way you’re being held. It’s a scary heaven. He’s going deep and he’s not pulling out just throwing himself against you over and over as if there’s any more he has to go. He’s whimpering and his body is shaking in need.

But he goes faster and now this is what you’re scared of, weighted rubber moves and stretches with momentum, he’s squeezing you tighter and tighter and with each slam against your body his cock buries into you so impossibly deep as his skin stretches and snaps within you. You whine and try to steady him but Luffy’s in this cloud right now. His teeth are digging deep into your neck and he’s drooling all over you, saliva dripping down your shoulder and chest.

When he cums it’s so hot it feels like lava. There’s so much of it. That relief at the slowness, liquid soothing beaten flesh, that’s heaven as you lay beneath him, wrapped in his arms. Is it over? No, no it isn’t.

But first, while he’s stunned and unable to move, you squish his face in your hands. “Luffy,” you breathe heavily into his mouth, “be more gentle. Please. You’re gonna hurt me.”

His eyes are wide and concerned. “I hurt you?” he whimpers from his swollen, shiny lips.

“I’m ok, don’t worry, just please be more gentle.” And you smile at him. That sets something off in his heart and you feel him harden again inside you.

He grins, lifting you back so you’re pressed against his chest, on his lap. And he shoves you down against him as you squirm in his arms, he rolls your hips on his as his strong hands take total control of your body, hungry eyes gazing at you with deep, immeasurable lust. From this new position he has so much control, he’s using your body for his release in as loving a way as possible, biting at your skin. You’re left to twitch in his grasp and hug him, letting yourself bask in this incredible tsunami.

The bouncing and stretching of his cock isn’t as bad in this position although you’re still impossibly full, limp in the overwhelming motion. But that heat is becoming uncomfortable, your cheek from its rest on his shoulder is covered in layers of sweat and you feel it pooling around every point of contact. He smells like burning rubber and thick, palpable sweat. His skin begins to sear your hands and you only realize what’s happening when he starts to steam. Billowing steam clouding your room and soaking you in hot, wet air like you’re in an erupting volcano. You’re not sure which gear he’s changing to and you don’t want to find out.

“LUFFY!” You yell through your haze and hit his back and it’s so hard to talk to him like this, his moans are drowning out your cries, he’s moving faster and faster and his hair and mouth and the area between your legs is already lost in clouds of white steam. “STOP!”

He yelps and rolls off of you. Your words cut his heart. You’re both drenched and your bed is soaking, your hair in your eyes dripping down your face mixed with tears you didn’t even know were there. Luffy looks confused, disoriented, he’s still steaming but it’s slowing now, his skin is dulling to its usual hue, his hair falls back over his face. He doesn’t know what to say.

“You were changing gears,” you murmur under your breath. “Luffy, that could’ve been bad.”

“I’m- I’m sorry…” he whimpers and looks down at himself. There’s still a cloud of blinding steam circling up the shaft of his cock, blooming from his tip and shimmering in droplets rolling down the red, tight skin. He looks at you with puppy eyes, needing your arms again.

You let him crawl to you. You let him place his head under your hand to be pet and comforted. He feels terrible but he feels sick, too, a sickness only cured by the deepest and most indescribable pleasure. He’s melting in your arms, as needy as when he was given to you, eyes blurry. You let him rest his head in your lap and drink in your scent, blankets tucked between his legs for the slightest friction.

“It’ll feel better if you don’t go so fast,” you say softly, stroking his wet hair. And he nods.

“Can I have more now? I’ll be better to ya. I really promise.”

His hands feel gentler now. You let him climb your body and capture you in another deep kiss. And with your legs crossed behind his back you let him fuck you again and chase his second orgasm and he’s right, he’s better now. He’s fighting with his body but he’s better.

When he cums again it feels boiling hot. It’s shot after shot deep inside you and he tugs your hair, bites your shoulder, strokes your lower stomach before moving down to rub at your clit which is incredible because he never thinks of that. This drug is making him different, his mind is overwhelmed by sex in a way it never is. Part of you likes it a lot. It’s new. It’s fun.

It doesn’t take him long before he’s hard again and dragging his cock through your walls in deep, deliberate strokes with his tongue in your mouth. Luffy is a million miles above the earth. With every orgasm his world shakes and crumbles for an instant before it’s rebuilt again in waves of desire that send him higher, higher. He’s a million miles above the earth and even as hours slip by and his body is drained again and again, he can’t come down.

__________________________

At some point the ship has set sail again. Clouds crawl by the porthole and the ocean rocks you both but you and Luffy stay in that soaked bed and get lost in each other for so long that you don’t even know what’s real anymore. You can’t tell sensation from sensation. Neither can he but he can’t come down.

There was that perfect sweet spot where you had just swam in each other in bliss and peace. You didn’t have to stop his gear changes anymore because his body had adjusted to this new universe. And you were in tune with each other. But now, now it’s bad again.

But in a different way.

Luffy is exhausted but so desperate still. His tears have started again and he doesn’t know what to do and he can’t even move and every part of his body aches. You’ve never seen him like this during sex, he’s never weak or tired. But his body is drained.

But that drug won’t let go.

“You ok?” you’re whispering, hand on his face. You lift Luffy in your arms and place him on his back. His eyes won’t leave yours, he’s starry eyed and love struck through his tears.

“Mh…” is all you can make out. He looks down at himself, his body is dripping wet and his cock is hard again, throbbing hard in overstimulation.

Every touch seems like it’s painful to him now. But he wants more so, so bad. So you place a pillow under his head, you curl up against his body, and you rub him with your hand. Your arm gets tired but you keep going for as long as you possibly can. And sometimes Luffy will open his mouth in a silent, breathless moan, sometimes his body will convulse and his cock will twitch. But his orgasms are dry now. There’s nothing left in him.

The last one, that’s when he grabs your face. With his last bit of strength he rolls onto you and clutches your cheeks in his hands and just stares at you, not letting you move, his thighs squeezing your leg. He rubs himself off on you one last time and with a final shudder he’s done. It’s all gone. It’s over.

He collapses into your arms, too tired to breathe anymore. You expect him to just sleep right there but instead he twists onto his back, batting at your face with his palm lazily, playfully. He giggles. He looks dreamy and dazed. But happy, actually. Really happy.

“Feeling alright?” You’re worried. You’re guilty, still. You’re praying nothing hurt him or made him sick.

“Mhm. Feel good!” Luffy’s beaming as if he already forgot everything that happened. He’s glowing, chest rising and falling heavily. But he tilts his head questioningly, “you?”

“Yeah. Just sore.” To which he rolls onto his elbows, kicking his legs in the air, he holds your body, he gives your hips a soft kiss. He’s appreciative, he’s so soft now, honey skin glowing in the sleepy sunshine.

But everything is wet. Your clothes on the bed next to you, the sheets, your bodies and hair. So with your arms around his shoulders, because it will be hard to walk for a while, the two of you throw on robes and step outside. You forgot the smell of fresh sea air after that mist of sex and sweat. Luffy’s heart beats against yours, calm and healthy, steady.

He sets you down and you take him in your arms, now, laying him against the mast. You take a towel to his hair, drying him, the sun on the wind sending the dewdrops you’re made of falling away from your shoulders in rainbows. You’re glittering, you and Luffy.

You should get you both some food soon, you should give yourselves a real bath, you should go and comfort Zoro and assure him that you’re both ok. But not yet. You don’t want that yet.

You avoid the eyes of the others as they pass below. You don’t want to talk about this with anyone but Luffy right now, the boy who looks like an angel resting below you, chiseled glistening body, sunlight divinity. He opens his mouth, he kisses your fingertips as you brush hair from his cheeks.

He wants to talk to you at first but he finds that his eyes are too heavy. He just yawns instead, and bares his teeth in a smile. And he holds your hand tightly with this deep, profound gratitude. You hear him whisper, beneath his breath, that he loves you.