#Sinners 'n Saints

[sassymajesty]

hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave

[nameless-jamie]

Your Saints and Sinners is such an odd premise, but it works and leaves me craving more, lol

Volunteer Jamie

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! pastor reader

Hello everyone please read Saints and Sinners first, to understand this!

A/N: Ok hear me out. Saints and Sinners is my least liked ff on my blog, because like u said the premise is odd and niche, but if I'm being honest it is by far my fav ff. I have some more content of Jamie Tartt x fem!pastor reader up my sleeve if all of you are interested in that.

Jamie Tartt was back in the confessional booth. Again.

It had only been a week since his last visit, but for some reason, this little wooden box was starting to feel like a second home. Maybe because he's been coming to the confessional booth for about 4 consecutive weeks straight...

Or maybe it was just because he’d developed a completely inappropriate crush on the youth pastor on the other side of the screen.

“Bless me, darling, I have sinned again,” he started, smirking slightly. “Think it’s been… what, six days since my last confession?”

Y/N’s sigh was audible. “Jamie, that’s not really how this works.” They've become somewhat friends. As much as it is possible for them to be, because they've never really seen each other. Y/N knows that he is the Jamie Tartt, but football isn't really her thing, so it's not a big deal to her.

“Well, I dunno, you tell me. I come in here, tell you I’ve been a prick, you tell me to do better, and I try. Pretty sure that’s progress.”

She hummed in consideration. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s weighing on your conscience today?”

Jamie stretched his legs out in the tiny space. “Right, so I’ve been thinkin’—”

“Oh, good.”

“Oi, don’t sound so surprised,” Jamie scoffed. “I’ve been thinkin’ that I actually wanna, like, be a better person and shit. Not just say I wanna be better, but, y’know, actually do somethin’ about it.”

He expected some sarcastic quip, maybe another barely restrained laugh, but instead, Y/N’s voice softened. “That’s… really good, Jamie.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” There was a pause before she continued, her tone taking on a more teasing edge. “And you know, it just so happens that we’re looking for volunteers for a community event this weekend. You could help out.”

Jamie hesitated. “Help out how?”

“Nothing too complicated,” she assured him. “We’re hosting a charity event—part football match, part community outreach. Some of the kids in the area would love to see a real footballer. And there’s also a soup kitchen, if you’re more interested in that.”

Jamie tilted his head. “Hold up. You want me to play footy for charity?”

“Well, more like play nice for charity.”

Jamie thought about it. Volunteering wasn’t exactly on his list of usual weekend activities, but then again, neither was confession, and yet here he was. And, if he was being honest, he liked the idea of finally seeing Y/N outside of this tiny, dimly lit booth.

“Alright,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Sign me up. I’ll even drag a few of the lads along.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, why not?”

Y/N chuckled. “Alright, Jamie. Let’s see how well you do when you actually have to back up all this ‘being a better person’ talk. I believe in you!”

By the time Saturday rolled around, Jamie was beginning to regret his enthusiasm.

The church field was bustling with activity—kids running around, volunteers setting up tables, the faint smell of soup drifting from the community hall. And right in the middle of it all was Y/N, clipboard in hand, talking animatedly with a group of elderly women. Her beautiful looks only feeding into Jamie's imagination.

Jamie had dragged along a very reluctant Sam, Dani, and Colin, bribing them with the promise of free food. When Y/N spotted them, she beamed, walking over with an amused expression.

“You actually showed up,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “And you brought reinforcements.”

Jamie smirked, ogling her a little. “Told you I was serious about this better person thing.”

“Uh-huh. We’ll see.” She handed him a name tag. “Alright, Jamie, you’re with me for now. The rest of you—Colin right? You’re helping with the kids’ game. Dani, Sam, soup kitchen duty.”

As the others wandered off, Jamie leaned in. “So, what’s my job, then?”

“You’re on general duty.”

“Meanin’?”

“Meaning, you’ll do whatever I tell you to do.”

Jamie grinned. “Kinda like the sound of that, love.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t hide her smile. “Alright, let’s start with setting up chairs.”

As it turned out, Jamie Tartt was terrible at setting up chairs. Well, at working in general.

He also managed to nearly drop a crate of bottled water on his own foot, got scolded by a sweet-looking old lady for being “too pretty to be useless,” and somehow, somehow, found himself in a full-blown theological debate about whether God would have been good at football, with said old lady.

“I’m just sayin’ lady,” Jamie insisted, hands on his hips, “if God is all-knowing and all-powerful, wouldn’t he be, like, the best striker ever?”

The old woman—who had introduced herself as Sheryl and had taken a particular liking to giving Jamie grief—snorted. “And you think he’d waste his omnipotence on something as trivial as football?”

Jamie looked genuinely offended. “Oi, football ain’t trivial, Sheryl!”

"Yeah, football is life!" Dani joined in from behind the soup distribution counter, seemingly upset.

Y/N, who had been passing by, paused to take in the scene. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying (and failing) to suppress her laughter. He is actually really cute, she thought.

“I leave you alone for five minutes,” she said, shaking her head.

Jamie shot her a grin. “Oi, tell her, Pastor. God’d be a baller, right?”

Y/N hummed, pretending to consider it. “Well, He did part the Red Sea, so I suppose his footwork would be impeccable.”

Jamie threw his hands up triumphantly. “Thank you!”

Sheryl just sighed. “The Lord give me patience.”

Despite the chaotic start, Jamie eventually found his rhythm. He even ended up kicking the ball around with some of the kids, signing a few shirts, and, to his surprise, genuinely enjoying himself.

One boy in particular caught his attention—tiny, maybe seven or eight, wearing a well-worn AFC Richmond jersey. He hung back shyly while the other kids ran up to Jamie.

Jamie crouched down. “Hey, mate, what’s your name?”

The boy hesitated. “Leo.”

“Nice to meet ya, Leo. You play?”

The boy nodded, kicking at the dirt. “Yeah, but… I’m not very good.”

Jamie smiled. “Ain’t about bein’ good, mate. It’s about showin’ up and puttin’ in the work. Come on, let’s see what you got.”

He spent the next twenty minutes passing the ball back and forth with Leo, hyping him up every time he made a decent shot. By the time Y/N called Jamie over to help with clean-up, the kid was beaming.

As Jamie walked back to her, she gave him a knowing look. “That was really nice, you know.”

Jamie shrugged. “Didn’t do much.”

“You made his day.”

Jamie glanced back at Leo, who was showing off his new skills to some of the other kids. A small smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah, well… guess I could keep doin’ stuff like this.”

Y/N bumped his shoulder, visibly proud of he little saint protégé. “That’s the idea.”

Jamie glanced at her, his usual cocky grin returning. “So… do I get extra credit for today?”

Y/N sighed, but she was smiling. “Jamie, this isn’t a class.”

“Right, right.” He paused. “But if it was, I’d be gettin’ an A+ for effort, yeah?”

Y/N just shook her head, laughing. “Sure, Jamie. An A+ and I'll make sure to tell the Big Man upstairs.”

And for once, Jamie Tartt felt like he actually earned it.

[spotsupstuff]

Biting Notos mentions "Ghastly Things" he did to other iterators in his and Spores' ascension comic. What did he do, how did he do it, to whom, and to what end?

-face in hands- Notos is a primary it/its user!!!! with a she/her as the original pronouns that it doesn't mind bein refered to as even after its change, por favor no he/heem

but the ghastly things include: • waving its status as an Anemoi in front of an Iterator to scare them into compliance/threats (everybody knows that any threat made by Biting Notos will Not be an empty one) • actual physical assault by sending in some kind of virus that an Eo Iterator can't exactly defend themselves from cuz of Notos' position as a superior Iterator (again, place with the Anemoi. this is its least favorite thing to do and usually tries to delay it as much as possible) • what it considers the worst: manipulation. its manipulation might be straightforward between it and the target, but it can Also be done specifically to influence or break friend groups by getting under the skin of one of them. the influence one happened with Spore and her friend group. Notos clawed itself a way under Spore's plating and then with Spore as its metaphorical puppet it quietly forced Gem in an Eye and Sordid Expiation into compliance with Mission Self-preservation

important note here is that Notos is acutely aware that these things are horrible to do, especially to people that are meant to be family. it takes no joy from this and when given the chance, it will try and steer the whole ordeal into a civil conversation. just like it says in the Anemoi as Ancients drawing

it does not wish to inflict suffering. its job as an Enforcer is a necessary burden it took on itself to ensure the survival of Mission Self-preservation. for the greater good of survival of Everyone in the group, it needs to shepherd the less thoughtful and kind Iterators into this. it wouldn't be fair if most of them tried so so hard to stay alive and find cures for their illnesses/problems, but it all failed just because a handful of assholes didn't care enough

its actions are righteous. it regrets having to harm kind souls in order to get through to the ruckus makers (like with Spore who was genuinely sweet and Gem n Expiation who were too haughty to give a shit about everyone else's fates, including Spore's). it was still horrible to mess with the three's relationships, including the two ruckus makers

Biting Notos isn't an Iterator that can say they are proud of most of what they've done in their existence

[modernsainthood]

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Inside me are two art hoes...

The overexcited gurl who wears vibrant knee-high socks that listens to hyperpop mentally having raves in her bedroom, & the self-depricating em0 chick that wears all black whose favorite past time is nerding out about 90s bands. Hbu?

【 ☆ ko-fi | ɪɢ | ᴛɪᴋᴛᴏᴋ | ʏᴏᴜᴛᴜʙᴇ | ♫ spotify ☆ 】

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

𝔎𝔦𝔰𝔰 - 𝔖𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱 𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔖𝔦𝔫𝔫𝔢𝔯

[afflictedminds]

I can’t believe how long it took for me to convince the High Priest to allow me to have social media

Seems using the “the gods request it” line still works like a charm. And that it would be good for me to be able to connect with others on a more personal level online since it would be safer than me sneaking out of the temple again to talk to people in person without a holy knight escorting me. They didn’t like learning I still do that, can’t stop me though. The gods always direct me away from any snitches sight when I sneak out.

Here’s to hoping they don’t find this blog because I didn’t tell them what site I chose!

[ailoda]

updated: 01.02.25

ᯓ★ smut

Delirium (✘): stranded in the middle of the alaskan wilderness with no means of communication after being exposed to a foreign drug, you're reluctant to accept help from the one person who has a shot at saving you. - avenger!reader (@flowersforbucky) (warning: sex pollen, i.e., dub-con, explicit verbal consent prior)

Special Girl (❤❅✘✧): being friends with benefits definitely has its perks, especially when the friend in question is as hot as Bucky Barnes - but when you're feeling insecure about the arrangement, Bucky makes it clear to you that you're more than just a friend. @kinanabinks) (warning: mentions of neglectful childhood)

Scary? My God, You're Divine (❤✘): your marriage to Bucky Barnes was crucial in stopping the rivalry that had been getting rather violent recently between the two families. You agreed to it. But there was one little problem. Although people knew of Bucky as being a ruthless, fiercely loyal, and feared hitman, no one had ever seen his face. In the rare occasions when he’d been seen out during assignments, it was rumoured that he always wore some sort of mask which covered most of his face. So you ended up marrying a man, and had no idea what he looked like. But surely that wouldn’t be an issue. It’s not like his one touch would get you addicted. Who cared what he looked like? It’s not like you could grow to love someone like him anyway… right? - mob!au (@sinner-as-saint)

Sting (✘): TattooArtist!Bucky praising you during a session. (@adrinktostopyourthirst)

↪︎ Fling (✘): your tattoo artist left you hanging and you’re fed up enough to come and collect his excuse. (part two)

Blurred Lines (❤❅✘✧): when choosing a female agent to send back in time to gain young Sergeant Barnes's trust, everyone's in agreement that it should be Sharon. Until Bucky, the man that you barely get along with, speaks up and lets everyone know that it could only be you. (@ellemj)

Closer (✘): you’d never felt like this before, it was like some primal instinct deep down inside of you. You just needed to be close to him. The only problem was that you were already wrapped in his arms and it still didn’t feel close enough. (@tom-holland-parker)

Water Proof (✘): Bucky Barnes is pretty sure that his arm is water proof. He'd been in water with it before. Turns out his arm can handle water, but not p*ssy juice. (@vivwritesfics)

Book Boyfriend (✘): Bucky is better than any book boyfriend. You'll prove it to him. (@navybrat817)

In Your Arms I'm Born Again (❤✘): you want to find out exactly how many times is too many times for the super soldier. (@bonky-n-steeb)

What Are Friends For (✘): when you threaten to swear off men for good after your last bad date, your neighbour and friend offers to help change your mind. (@gogolucky13)

Down Bad (✘): Bucky using his metal hand as a vibrator. (@flowersforbucky)

I Hate You (✘): after ending up on SHIELD's radar, you're moved into the tower against your will. Of course, you can't stand the one man that you have the most in common with. (@ellemj)

Play Pretend (✘): when Bucky is injected with a substance that leaves him desperate for release, you offer your help. (@wkemeup) (warning: sex pollen trope, i.e., dub-con)

A Quiet Escape (✘): during a holiday stay at Clint Barton’s home, you’ve been desperately trying to steal a moment alone with Bucky—your super-soldier boyfriend—but the Avengers are constantly interrupting. Between Clint’s kids, Steve’s “bromantic” grocery runs, and Nat pulling Bucky into sparring sessions, it feels like you’re constantly fighting for his attention. Frustration finally boils over when you confront Bucky about your lack of privacy, only to discover he’s just as eager for some alone time as you are - and willing to do anything to get it. (@thebarneschronicles)

Revenge Sweeter Than Honey (✘): when Bucky’s professor unfairly grades his college assignment, ruining his perfect GPA, he finds a way to get revenge — And doesn’t his sweet little wife look delicious? (@thevillainswhore)

Caught Myself A Cute Little Doll (✘): the Winter Soldier caught himself a cute little doll. (@sergeantbarnessdoll)

Pretty Little Thing (✘): your long-time crush, Bucky Barnes, is a regular at the bar where you work, and tonight, it’s impossible to avoid serving him for the first time. (@marvelouslizzie)

Now or Never (✘): based off the prompts "You know my door is always open for you, right?" and "You're already wet sweetheart." (@fandoms-writings)

new! Touch Starved (✘): this was inspired by a tweet and his gif I saw on twitter. You accidentally walk in on Bucky touching himself when he thinks he is alone. Turns out he is thinking about you. (@mrsbuckybarnes1917)

new! I Don't Want You Like A Best Friend (❅✘): Bucky can't decide if the universe loves him or hates him. Maybe it loves to hate him. Maybe it's mischievous. Because he’s in love. He’s madly, deeply, painfully in love with a girl that he knows he’ll never have. Because the heavens created arguably the most perfect creature in their repertoire, dangled you in front of him for his entire life, and chose to rip you away before he had the chance to tell you how he felt. (@brunchable)

↪︎ Part Two (❤✘): it's only been a few hours since you've become official and Bucky want to show you just how much you mean to him.

new! All's Well That Ends Well To End Up With You (❤✘): Bucky isn't going to let an extended mission, a severe thunderstorm, and a delayed flight ruin your first valentine's day together. (@flowersforbucky)

new! Stay For A Fortnight (✘): “yes, ground rules,” you sighed, forcing your eyes to rest on anything but him, “it’s just you and me here for two whole weeks, so we’ll need to come up with a plan.” (@thyme-in-a-bubble)

new! Devil's In The Backseat (✘): a night at coney island with your friends turns out much differently than expected, or getting fucked in front of a mirror. (@flowersforbucky)

new! Sesame & The Sweetheart (❤✘): you've been on a few dates with Bucky now, and the sexual tension is at an all-time high. After another cute date, you realize you can't keep your hands off him for very much longer. (@kinanabinks)

[gloxk]

Sneaky linkin’

(Eren Y. Armin A. Connie S.)

A/N: i’m not COMPLETELY back, but I am making a slight improvement w my mental health… so here’s sum slight for yall🤷🏽‍♀️. I kinda hate this but maybe yall will like it..ion know. Luv ya tho. 17+.

Synopsis: Aot men as sneaky links.

Warning: Smut.. F/M

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Eren! ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ———Back seat bandit

Eren..is definitely a back seat bandit. It’s mainly because he has a nice car, why not show it off?

Now, all i’m going to say is (Persian rugs- jacquees version.) Oh lawwwd, he definitely plays that while giving the most sloppiest, nastiest, messiest, back arching back shots ever. This man does NOT play.

Hair puller, choker, dirty talker. He’s the type to make you tell him how good he’s fucking you. “Uh-huh, right there? You like that baby?” And you better tell him too.

The hair pulling thing just comes by instinct. You could be giving this man the sloppiest head ever, deep throating him till hes hitting the back of your esophagus and all. The type of head that makes him feel like he’s shifting reality. He will tug your hair to get a real good look at your face, saliva dripping down your chin and red coating your face. A face that just screams ‘ Am I making you happy?’. He would stare at you with a shit eating grin just while the camera flash hits your face.

Degrading as fuck. He would just say some shit to boost his ego during sex. “I know you like that shit, stop acting like you don’t.” & “You can scream my name louder than that. Try again.” & “Stop fuckin running.” Don’t be fooled now, he’s also going to talk you through it and give you reassurance. “You doin so good f’me.” & “it’s all yours mami.” & “You look so pretty right now.”

Ugh this man just loves to have his hand wrapped around your body. Around your waist, neck, thighs, hands—it don’t matter to him. He loves touching on you. Any time yall link his hands just find their way over your body.

Connie! ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ——— Any time any where

Connie..is the type of guy who can fuck ANYWHERE. Car, room, closet, random family bathroom at a gas station—he don’t care.

If you’re down, he’s down. Y’all could be out shopping and he fucks you in the dressing room.

This man LOVES when you ride him. He would just watch you in awe while you bounce up and down on him.

Definitely a talker during sex, he loves telling you how good you’re doing. “Mhm—fuck—I love when you do that.” & “Cmoonn look at me while you do it.” & “Arch that back mama.”

Now, he’s a recorder. He records everything. He has a little folder in his phone dedicated to your link ups.

Although he’s gonna dick you down anywhere he can, his favorite place is the shower. Got some music playing in the background (P power - gunna) while he’s plowing into you. The shower couldn’t even cover up your loud moans.

Pull out ? Nah, “You wanna be grown, let’s be grown baby.” He doesn’t believe in wasting, so either you sucking it up or taking that shit.

Armin! ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 ——— munch

Armin..is an eater. He’s gonna eat like it’s his last meal every fucking time. His tongue game is vicious. Absolutely diabolical, the messiest head you will ever get.

Salvia dripping on the couch, tears falling from your eyes due to overstimulation, legs locking around his head—he still wouldn’t stop. He won’t stop till you force him to.

Hold on now, Armin ain’t just an eater, he got good dick too. He’s a saint that’s gonna fuck you like a sinner. Let him get some liquor in his system and you’re going to be begging for round 2.

Speaking of drunk Armin, he’s gonna fuck you against a wall. Just something that’s going to happen one way or the other. One leg in the air while the other dangles just above the floor, his hands gripping on your ass so hard it leaves a mark.

Oh it doesn’t stop there either, he’s going to stumble his way to the bed and take you there too.

Hella vocal whimpering, moaning, whispering. He’s going to let you know your pussy good. “God-you feel so fuckin good.” & “Please keep doing that.”

Loves teaching you new things, different kinks, positions, anything of the sort. I know he just loves exploring and experimenting things with you. He’s a freaky freak for sure. <3

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whore…

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♰ ₥ØĐɆⱤ₦ ĐɆ₥Ø₦₴ ♰

♰ Pairing: slasher!yunho x chubby!fem!slasher fucker!reader

♰ Genre: smut/dark romance/horror

♰ Summary: With a ruthless, brutal killer on the loose the safe thing to do would be to stay as far away from dangerous men as possible. But you've never been the kind of girl to play it safe and when danger comes in the form of a man like Yunho, how's a girl to stay away?

♰ Word Count: 3.4k-ish

♰ Warnings: Yunho's a literal serial killer, neither of you die but someone does, sorta vivid description of a limb being chopped off, voyeruism in a way, slasher fetish, sadism, masochism, dom daddy Yunho, choking, restriction of movement, a lil nipple play, penetrative sex, sex covered in blood, dirty talk, scratching, hickeys, other forms of marking, creampie, manhandling, pet names (baby, princess, good girl), you're both kinda psychos...obviously.

♰ A/N: I'd like to say, "Oh, I wrote this because Halloween is coming up!" but, no, I didn't. I'm just a slasher fucker, okay? A part of this was inspired by one of my favorite horror movies and if you can guess it then let's get married. Love you forever.

On a side note, thank you @dawn-iscozy for suggesting Yunho for this. I didn't regret that decision for a solitary minute.

There’s a killer on the loose. A brutal, wicked man who stalks the night preying upon unsuspecting victims. Some say he only goes after those he perceives as having done something wrong. His own perverse way of balancing the scales, righting the wrongs that the cops don’t have the balls to fix.

Others say it doesn’t matter who you are or what you do. Your chances of being butchered are all the same, sinner or saint. One thing’s for sure, once he has his sights set on you not even god himself can save you from the fate that awaits. You’re gone in the blink of an eye, never to be seen again. At least not in one piece. 

You’ve heard the warnings a thousand times over but none of them struck fear into your heart. On the contrary, you have quite the erotic fascination with his art as he calls it in the letters he leaves behind. There’s something about what he does that taps into a fetish for danger that you dare not tell another living soul about. You want to play with fire, scorch the tips of your fingers in his flames. That’s how you ended up here, straddling the lap of a man who claims to be the killer your sick little heart yearns for. 

You met at a club. The kind where people go to indulge their wildest fantasies, no matter how depraved. You were wandering around alone in a tight latex mini dress that fit the richness of your curves like a glove. You had your hair pinned up the way you do now, waterfalls of curls spilling down to frame your face. Expertly applied black lipstick adorned your kissable lips, drawing men in enough that they’d lose their minds thinking of all the things that pretty mouth could do. The man beneath you was among them. 

He spotted you from across the room, your figure bathed in red neon light as you sat at the bar plotting your next move. You let him buy you a few drinks, loosening you both up enough that secrets began to spill as freely as the vodka in your glass. “I wanna know if I tell you a secret, will you keep it?” the dark haired man whispered in your ear, a hand hovering dangerously close to your inner thigh. You swore that you would, hand over your heart. And that’s when he confessed. Your clear fascination with the man known as the Seoul Slasher had prompted him to reveal himself to you. 

You couldn’t believe it. A real live serial killer, an absolute monster, so hypnotized by you he was nearly drooling down your cleavage. Going against every self preservation tactic they taught you in school, you invited him back to your place for a bit of fun. An offer he excitedly accepted. For a man whose entire modus operandi is control, he was more than happy to relinquish it to you. In no time you had him spread out on your bed, arms and legs handcuffed to the bed frame. 

The entire room’s dark save for the flickering wicks of a few candles sprinkled about the room. You run a hand down his bare chest, sharp nails nicking at his tattooed flesh. He hisses at the sting, grinding his hips up against your core to add some pleasure to the pain.

You let out a giggle, fingers teasing the waist of his pants, “Tell me how you did it.” You flash your doe eyes, tightening your plush thighs around his hips. 

“How’d I do what?” he asks, far too preoccupied with your body to hone in on your words. 

“Those last two guys you killed. I wanna know every gory detail. You can tell me while I ride your cock.”

Your words certainly aren’t falling on deaf ears. He heard you loud and clear. He takes a calculated pause before providing you with a less than satisfying answer. “I used a butcher knife. Chopped them up real easy. Some of my best work I’d say.”

“Oh” you pout, shoulders dropping. You fold your arms across your chest, your disappointment hanging heavy in the air. “You really shouldn’t lie, you know? It’s a nasty habit.”

“Lie?” he scoffs, a nervous smile creeping across his face. His deception has failed and he doesn’t have enough brain cells to save this sinking ship. “I’m not lying, babe. I’m telling you. I used a butcher knife.”

You point an accusatory finger at him, applying pressure right between his eyes. “Dirty, dirty, liar” you sing, “You aren’t the Seoul Slasher.”

“And how would you know?” he asks, unjustly offended at the fact that you aren’t stupid enough to buy his bullshit. 

You lean in close, the warm flames of the candles reflecting in your eyes like hellfire. “Because I’m already fucking him and he’s not too happy about you going around pretending to be him. It’s just bad manners.” 

His smile grows more strained, his nervous laughter tickling the tip of your nose. He can’t tell if you’re serious or not but this is getting a little weird. Even for him. You watch him for a moment before erupting in soft, sweet laughter that mocks him. Reaching underneath your pillow you pull out a gag and shove it right into his mouth, shutting him up for the first time tonight. 

“Baby, I’m done playing now!” you call out like a housewife announcing that dinner’s ready. 

You sit back up, climbing off of him, and skip your way over to the dresser on the other side of the room. You hop up, feet giddily swinging back and forth to the tune of heavy footsteps descending the hallway. The man’s eyes dart over to the closed bedroom door, his heart thumping out of his chest. You can make out a few muffled protests but you dare not take it out. There’s nothing he can say that interests you now. Not that it ever did. 

When your best friend first told you that a guy at the club was going around claiming to be the Slasher, you couldn’t believe your ears. Especially not when the real one was sleeping peacefully beside you. Further investigation proved that your best friend had been telling the truth so he had to be dealt with. Then another popped up and another. This one will make for the 4th and you must admit, as annoying as identity theft is for your boyfriend, you get a kick out of luring them here. 

They always start out so cocky but once the gag’s in and those footsteps come, getting closer and closer at an agonizing pace, they’re not so confident anymore. At first they freeze up just like the corpse they’re soon to be. The shock does need a few seconds to set in. And then they panic, screaming through the gag and tugging at their bindings, their bodies writhing like a fish out of water. This one’s no different than the others. You can guess his next move like a film you’ve watched a dozen times and all of it’s in vain. 

Sweat slicks his brow as the door creaks open and your face lights up like the Fourth of July. You breathe a sigh of relief. There he is. You’ve only been apart for hours but it feels like an eternity. A tall figure steps out of the shadows into the candlelight, revealing a handsome man in tailored black pants and a black button up you pressed yourself. His sleeves are rolled up, tucked just below the elbow where a pair of long black latex gloves begin. He spares the unfortunate soul strapped to the bed a passing glance before approaching you. He leans forward, palms flat on the dresser, caging you in. 

“Did I do okay?” you question innocently, always hungry for the praise he never fails to feed you. 

Yunho nods, gloved fingers stroking your soft cheek, “Oh, my good girl. You did more than okay. What would I do without you?”

Taking your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, he tilts your head up, capturing your lips in a kiss that would soak your panties if you were wearing any. He takes a deep breath as he pulls away, not wanting to but knowing that time is of the essence.

“Did he touch you?” Yunho’s jaw tenses, gloved hands flexing to warm up for the night’s events. 

You peek around him to check in on the dark haired man. His face is wet with tears and he’s sobbing all over your new gag. You pray he hasn’t pissed himself. You’re not in the mood to have to buy a new mattress again.

You look back to your boyfriend and nod. “In the car he put his hand on my thigh.” 

“Thank you for telling me, baby,” Yunho says, kissing you on the forehead. He turns around, eyes darkening as he approaches the foot of the bed. “I’ll start with his hands.” 

Kneeling down, he slides a large case from underneath the bed and pops it open to reveal his tools. The spread is a pristine assortment of autopsy tools, not a lowly butcher knife in sight. He delicately runs his fingers over them, settling on the fine toothed bone saw. Your gaze never leaves him as he rounds the bed, aligning the sharp teeth of the saw with what you’ve come to know as the ulna. The bone right on his inner forearm. 

Yunho grinds the saw against it and the man’s arm tears open, tattered pieces of flesh splintering off to the side as he carves his way through tough tendons. Blood gushes from the man’s arm, drenching the brand new sheets in a river of crimson. Yunho’s movements are precise and purposeful. The saw taps bone as the body below him convulses violently, the pain beyond anything you can imagine or ever care to. 

Your boyfriend pauses, glancing over at you, and you know it’s about that time. You open one of the drawers beside you, fishing out your phone and a pair of over ear headphones. You sync them up, hitting play on your favorite song, and smile lovingly back at him.

He can’t be as brutal when he knows you’re listening. It’s one of few things about his profession he’s never quite been able to bring himself to expose you to. Even with the man’s cries muffled, being dismantled brings sounds out of someone that could give the most vile person nightmares. You can watch all you want but you won’t hear them.

It’d be easy to say that you weren’t like this before you met him. You were a sweet, delicate flower and this charming psychopath came along, corrupting your young soul. But a girl doesn’t get wet watching her boyfriend dismember people because she had her purity corrupted.

You were never innocent, you’d simply presented yourself as such. Yunho just freed you from the prison of feeling guilty about what got you off. Power. Not being at the mercy of anyone. Yunho treats you like a princess. You’re never left wanting for anything. Your every desire is satisfied. So what if your Prince Charming comes with a body count? Nobody’s perfect. 

Yunho makes quick work of the body. After the slice to his second arm the man’s already at death’s door and the severing of his knees puts the final nail in the coffin. Yunho tosses the body parts to the ground like the limbs of an old doll. Breathless and blood soaked as he licks splatters of scarlet from his lip, he goes in for another cut.

You’re the only other thing he looks at like he does his work. The excitement of the kill is borderline orgasmic, dopamine coursing through his veins with every gruesome cut. Once he starts he has to keep going, chasing his high until it’s finished and the body’s nothing more than scattered pieces of an impossible puzzle. 

Shoving the torso to the floor, he steps back to catch his breath, waving to get your attention. You slip your headphones off, setting them down to navigate the landmine of limbs and entrails to reach your love. 

“You need some water, Yunie?” you ask, throwing your arms around him. The blood weighing down his clothes sticks to your arms, cool against your skin. It used to feel a bit strange but after a few times you’ve come to find it refreshing like a cool shower on a hot day. 

Yunho shakes his head, a dazed look in his eyes. Usually the adrenaline begins to die down after that final cut but it’s only getting more intense. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he salivates over you like a man on the brink of starvation. “No, I need you. Right now.” 

His lips crash into yours at a thousand miles per hour and you don’t even attempt to stop him. Why would you? Bloody gloves cling to your dress, stripping you of the material. You rip his shirt open, sending buttons raining down onto the slippery hardwood floor. Yunho’s hands ravenously explore your body as you rid him of his pants, painting your plush figure in blood like a canvas. 

Attempting to feast upon your body through gloves is as close to torture as he’s ever come so he tears them off, groaning in delight as his bare hands sink into your pillowy ass. He picks you up, tossing you back on the bed, your breasts bouncing marvelously as you land.

You grin watching your boyfriend stare down at you like an absolute animal. His body’s everything dreams are made of, his flawless, rigid cock already leaking in anticipation. You spread your thighs, teasing him with the arousal dripping from your entrance. Bringing two fingers between your legs, you stroke them between your lips, spreading yourself open for him.

“You want it?” you moan, back arching as you pinch your sensitive clit. 

Yunho positions himself between your legs, palming his cock above a pussy that’s clenching wildly at the ghost of what could be. He places a hand on your thigh, admiring the view. You in a sea of blood toying with yourself for his pleasure. What a sight to behold.

“You aren’t teasing me are you?” he asks, gripping your thigh tighter. His voice is low and rough, feral in every way. 

You bring your slick fingers up to the head of his cock, coating it on your juices. “And what if I am?”

You motion to get up, your brain set on tasting his cock on your tongue, but Yunho’s quicker than you, grabbing your wrists and pinning your arms over your head. His free hand wraps around your neck, the veins of his arms pulsing as he applies the right amount of pressure to leave you breathless but not in pain. 

“Do you want it?” He bumps his cock against your slit, missing on purpose to drag it between your folds. Your body shudders as much as it can with his full weight on you. 

“Mmhmm” you hum, knowing he won’t hurt you but loving that you’re completely at his mercy. 

“You know that’s not enough, baby” he smiles, squeezing your throat tighter, “I need to hear it, princess. Tell me you want it. Beg for daddy’s cock.”

He presses his throbbing tip to your entrance but this time he arches into you, giving you the head and nothing more. The stretch of that alone is disorienting, a wave of heat rushing through you. Releasing his hold on  your throat, he brings his lips to yours, parting them to taste the desperate pleas that spill out. 

“I want you to fuck me, Yunie. I’m so needy for your cock. I have been all night” you whine and his tongue traces your lips. You taste delicious. He inches into you, feeding you a little more then stopping. A little more then stopping. And your body jumps with every motion, pitiful sounds pouring from your lips onto his. 

“Fuck me” you beg, an undeniable brokeness in your tone, “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck…” Your voice trails off, eyes rolling back as he bottoms out. He lifts off of you, still holding your arms in place above your head, and thrusts into you ever so gently. You clamp down around him tightly enough that it’s hard to move, your pussy's too needy to let go. 

Yunho grins, cupping one of your breasts, “I didn’t know watching me kill got you so hot. You’re sick, you know that?” He pinches your nipple harshly and you squeal, twisting in his hold. 

“I know” you moan, blowing him a kiss, “But so are you.”

“Fuck, I love you” he growls, pulling you under with another dizzying kiss.

His thrusts grow harsher, your warm, spongy walls drawing him in impossibly deeper. His fingers knead the tender flesh of your breast as he brings his tongue down to soak your bud in equal parts blood and spit. Taking the bud between his teeth, he wraps his lip around it, suckling at it without losing his rhythm between your legs. 

“Yunie. So good. So, mmph, aah…” you’re moaning but he gives one particularly hard thrust to your cunt, knocking the words right out of your mouth. 

You want to touch him so badly. To dig your nails into his back while he fucks into you. To run your fingers through his hair, tugging at the deep brown strands as his tongue swirls around your bud.

“Touch” you pout, wiggling your hands. 

Yunho pops your bud free of his lips, licking his way up your breasts, across your heated skin, along your neck, until you’re eye to eye. “Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“Wanna touch you. Please, daddy” you plead. You’re so helpless. So beautiful.

Yunho watches you squirm, feigning indecision. After an agonizingly long contemplation, he turns your arms loose, the redness on your wrists marking where he held you. Your hands are drawn to him like magnets, scouring every inch of him they can reach just to feel him.

Your nails find his back, digging into the flesh. Yunho buries his face in your neck, moaning at the sensation. “Harder” he whispers, fingers knotting in the sheets beneath you. You dig your nails in deeper, breaking skin, and he’s on the edge of a whimper, the sensation nearly too much for him. 

Slipping an arm around your back, he keeps you flush against him, sinking into you over and over. Your mouth falls open, eyes squeezed closed. You’re saying something but nothing’s coming out. Only whines and moans, the occasional fractured piece of his name.

There’s no bracing yourself for a cock this long and thick. You just have to take it, let it destroy every bit of you until there’s nothing left. A sense of euphoria surges through you and your legs instinctively lock around his waist. 

“That’s it” he coos, fawning over the string of hickeys he’s left on your neck, “Be a good girl and cum for me.” Yunho grabs for your wrists one last time, locking them above your head. He pounds into you so hard the bed creaks, maybe even moves a few inches. “I wanna feel you gushing around this cock.”

Suddenly your breath hitches and your body feels weightless. It’s as if you’re floating above yourself. Watching this gorgeous man fuck you into the mattress like his own personal whore. And you are. You’re more than happy to be. Your senses come back to you in a rush of ecstasy and you’re trembling, crying out as you do exactly as he said. Creaming, gushing, dripping down his length. 

Yunho pulls back, kneeling between your legs to drag his cock out and glide it back in. He goes all starry eyed at the sight of his cock glistening in your cum and soon he’s spilling inside of you. Your needy walls milking his cock of the warm, white liquid that overflows from your delicious pussy.

His hand comes down on your plush belly, enjoying its softness as he feeds you those last few strokes. You’re still moaning weakly when he finishes, laying back on the bed and pulling you on top of him. 

Curled up safe and warm in his arms, you bask in the afterglow, thoughts of the man your boyfriend dismantled little more than a distant thought now. But ultimately it’s difficult to ignore. Especially when your eyes drift up and you notice something dangling in the corner of your eye. 

“Yunie” you say, lightly petting his shoulder. 

Yunho strokes your hair, looking down at you lovingly, “Yes, baby?”

“I think his hand’s still attached to the handcuff.”

[ccwpidsblog]

SAINTS AND SINNERS — iwtv

SUMMARY : Edmée Heart, the dutiful daughter of a pastor, lives a sheltered life bound by rules and expectations. But her quiet world begins to unravel when she catches the attention of Louis de Pointe du Lac and Lestat de Lioncourt, two enigmatic men with dark secrets. Drawn to Edmée’s innocence, Louis and Lestat vie for her affection, each offering her a taste of freedom and danger.

RATING : 18+

CONTENT WARNING: season one spoilers, not entirely accurate to the show but we’re all grown here it shouldn’t matter much, eventual polyamory, heavy religious themes, daddy issues, more to be added

CWPID NOTES 🏹: this is a great way to come back and show how much my writing has improved. redeeming myself from the trash fiction i was writing before. ON A03 N WILL ONLY BE UPDATED ON AO3 (if im not being lazy)

Edmée remembered the Sundays before Louis de Pointe du Lac avoided the sun, somehow, he’d managed to arrive at church after a long night of sin. He was always late, slipping through the heavy wooden doors just as her father’s booming voice began the first prayer. From her family’s high pew, she could see him moving down the aisle, the faint scent of booze and perfume lingering on his clothes—a sinful whisper of the previous night’s indulgences.

He’d take his usual seat beside his brother, his strong frame settling heavily into the creaking wood. His head would bow, his eyes would close, and for the rest of the service, he remained still. Unmoving, like a statue carved from marble. At first, Edmée thought he might be sleeping, but there was something too deliberate about the way he held himself, his hands clasped loosely on his lap, his expression unreadable.

She couldn’t stop watching him. From her elevated view, she memorized the way the sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting fractured colors across his dark skin. He looked ethereal, caught between shadows and light, the kind of beauty that left her breathless and guilty all at once. She tried to focus on her father’s sermon, but her gaze always drifted back to Louis.

At the end of every service, as her father stood by the doors shaking hands and offering blessings, Louis would rise with a graceful ease. He’d move through the small crowd, a charming smile on his lips, and when he reached her father, he always made a point to praise the sermon. “Your words speak straight to the soul, Pastor Heart,” he’d say, his voice like velvet dipped in honey.

Then he’d turn to her mother, taking her hand and pressing a gentlemanly kiss to her knuckles. “A vision of grace, as always, Mrs. Heart,” he’d say, his words smooth and effortless.

But when his gaze finally reached Edmée, it changed. He wouldn’t kiss her hand, wouldn’t offer a compliment. Instead, he’d nod at her, a playful, knowing smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. That smile—the one that made her feel like the only girl in the world and completely invisible at the same time. If her skin had been any lighter, she knew she would’ve turned as red as the pew cushions beneath her.

In passing, he treated her the same. A quick nod, a flash of white teeth. But she noticed how he greeted the other women—the kisses, the murmured words that made them laugh and fan themselves, the lingering glances. With her, there was none of that.

Only a nod. A smile.

And it made her stomach twist with jealousy. The last time Edmée saw Louis was at Grace’s wedding. The church was packed, and the air was thick with the scent of lilies and the murmur of joyous chatter. Louis was everywhere that day—his laugh echoing above the music, his face alight with a rare kind of happiness that made him seem untouchable. He was glowing, his usual quiet intensity replaced by something brighter, freer. Edmée stood by the punch table, nervously clutching a glass, when he approached her. She didn’t see him coming; one moment she was alone, and the next he was there, his presence commanding and electric.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. “Maybe even more beautiful than the bride.”

Her breath caught, her cheeks burning.

“Don’t tell Grace,” he added with a wink, leaning in just enough that she caught a whiff of his cologne—a mix of cedar and something darker, richer. Edmée could only nod, her voice stolen by his closeness, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

Months.

Many months without seeing him.

The pew Louis shared with Paul and his family remained empty every Sunday, a silent memorial to all that had unraveled. No one dared to sit there now, not after everything. Not after Paul’s tragic passing, not after the whispers.

The whispers.

They followed Louis like a shadow, stretching long and dark through the town. The women at her mother’s so-called “Bible studies” spoke of him in hushed tones, their voices dripping with scandal and sanctimony. “Dancing with the devil,” they’d say, the words lingering in the air like smoke. Edmée would sit in the corner, quietly stitching or polishing silver, her ears pricking at every mention of his name. Her brothers were no better. On Thursday nights, they’d gather in the attic for their card games, their voices low and conspiratorial. Edmée wasn’t allowed to join, of course, but she’d found her own way around that rule. If she sat at the top of the stairs, just out of sight, her father wouldn’t scold her.

There, she could catch snippets of their conversations, each word painting a more vivid picture of the man she hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.

“...seen him with him again...” “...spends his nights where no decent man would...” “...more dead than alive, if you ask me.”

The words made her chest tighten, her heart ache. She couldn’t bring herself to believe them. Louis de Pointe du Lac, the man who nodded at her with that secret smile, who complimented her at Grace’s wedding, couldn’t be what they said he was. Could he?

But her father’s rules were ironclad. She couldn’t ask, couldn’t go looking for answers. The world outside their home was a forbidden one, especially now. Edmée’s days were measured in prayers and chores, her nights spent reading scripture or mending clothes by candlelight. Her father had made it clear: the streets were no place for a proper young lady, especially after dark. The world out there was dangerous, filled with temptation and sin. But tonight, as she stood by the forbidden window, the temptation was unbearable.

The house was quiet, her family long asleep. The window, a heavy thing with rusted hinges, had always been forbidden. “Nothing good comes from looking where you shouldn’t,” her father had said countless times. But tonight, Edmée couldn’t help herself. She pressed her fingers to the cool glass, peering into the moonlit street below. At first, there was nothing. Just the empty streetlamps and the soft rustle of the wind through the trees. But then, she saw him.

Louis

He was walking slowly down the cobblestone street, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, his head slightly bowed. The gaslight caught his face, illuminating its sharp angles, the deep shadows beneath his eyes. He looked different—thinner, wearier, as though the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders.

Her breath hitched in her throat. She pressed closer to the glass, watching him with the kind of hunger she didn’t dare name.

“Not tonight,” Louis said, his voice low but sharp. Another figure emerged from the shadows. He appeared with a startling grace, stepping into the lamplight as if conjured from the darkness itself. His hair gleamed like spun gold, his sharp, angular features both striking and unnerving.

There was a wildness about him, a dangerous energy that made Edmée’s heart race in an entirely different way.

“Louis,” Lestat’s voice purred, low and teasing, the sound carrying up to her window. “Out for another pensive stroll, are we? Tell me, do you plan to sulk your way through eternity, or is this just for tonight’s entertainment?”

“I’m not in the mood for your games, Lestat,” he said, his voice soft but heavy with frustration. “Oh, but you never are,” Lestat replied, stepping closer. “And yet, here I am, devoted as ever. You should be flattered, mon cher.”

From her perch, Edmée couldn’t look away. The two men stood in stark contrast—Louis, somber and grounded, and Lestat, all sharp smiles and restless energy. Their connection was undeniable, charged with something she didn’t quite understand but found utterly captivating.

Lestat reached out, brushing an invisible speck from Louis’s shoulder with a flourish. “And speaking of devotions,” he said, his tone turning sly, “you’ve been spending an awful lot of time on this street. Seems that you miss the little church mouse lately? What’s her name again? Edmée?”

She could see the shift in Louis as he seemingly snapped, finally turning to face Lestat. “Leave her out of this,”

Lestat’s grin widened. “Oh, mon ami, you wound me. I only meant to say she’s... enchanting, in her own way. So innocent, so untouched by the world.” He tilted his head, his gaze flickering upward as though he might sense her watching.

Panicking, Edmée ducked away from the window, her heart pounding in her chest. She pressed her back against the wall, trying to steady her breath.

Had he seen her?

Had they seen her?

Who was he?

What was he to Louis?

As she sat there in the dark, the questions swirled in her mind, each one more troubling than the last. And though she couldn’t explain why, she felt as though she had glimpsed something forbidden, something that would change everything if she let it.

[nameless-jamie]

Saints & Sinners

A Jamie Tartt Short Story/Imagine

A/N: So I had a really weird idea for a fan fiction, but I wasn't sure if it would make sense to make a long version, with a lot of chapters out of this little imagine. I hope you like it!

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x fem! pastor reader

Jamie Tartt was not a church person. In fact, he was barely a morning person. But after Dr. Sharon told him he needed to start "finding an outlet" for his lingering prickish tendencies, he somehow found himself here—sitting in a dimly lit church, at the ass-crack of dawn, waiting his turn for the confessional like a proper little saint he's trying to be.

The thing was, Jamie wasn’t religious, his family was, though. He didn’t not believe in God, but he also didn’t think the Big Man was keeping tabs on whether he acted like a knob on any given day. Still, the whole confessing thing felt like a weirdly structured therapy session, and Jamie liked the idea of confessing and having his sins be 'blessed away' from his guilt. So, here he was.

He slid into the confessional booth, already regretting it.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned, or whatever," he started, slumping against the wooden panel. "S’been, I dunno, 10 years since my last real confession? "

A soft chuckle filtered through the screen, and Jamie’s brows furrowed. That wasn’t the chuckle of a usually old bloke of a pastor who sat through confessions like Jamie was used to from his childhood back in Manchester.

"Go on," a woman’s voice said, warm and teasing.

Jamie blinked. That was new. Unexpected. He was about to confess his deepest flaws to a girl with a voice that could convince him to commit more sins. Brilliant.

He cleared his throat. "Or bless me, Mother, I guess?"

There was a pause. Then, softly amused: "I’m not a nun. But close enough. Go on."

Jamie exhaled. "Right. So, my name's Jamie, by the way, and- I may have—technically—been a bit of a prick to my mate Colin in the past. Or maybe to all my mates..."

"And what exactly did you do?" the voice prompted. Definitely young. Definitely amused. Definitely making Jamie’s palms sweat.

He hesitated, then sighed. "Well, I might’ve said he looks like a jaundiced worm.’"

There was silence. Then—she laughed. A real, genuine laugh. Jamie wasn’t sure what was funnier: the fact that she found it amusing or the fact that this was probably the first time a youth pastor ever cackled at someone’s sins.

"That isn't that bad, a little banter among mates, right?"

"And I said it to his hometown paper, they printed it..."

"Oh my God," she breathed, trying to stifle her giggles. "What does 'jaundiced worm' even mean?"

Jamie grinned. "Dunno, but it sounded right at the time. Also, uh, might’ve flirted with my other mate Bumbercatch’s mum. But in my defense, I apologized."

"You what?"

"Uhm, I said I apologized." Jamie huffed. "And, like, it weren’t that bad—"

"Jamie," she interrupted, still laughing, "how do you even—No, never mind, I don’t want to know."

Jamie smirked. "Yeah, well, you laughin’ at me ain’t exactly helpin’ me be a better man, is it love?"

A beat of silence. Then: "Are you flirting in confession right now?"

Jamie smirked a the pastor's straight-forwardness, leaning back. "Dunno, am I?"

She let out a soft sigh, and Jamie could hear the eye roll in it. "Do you ever turn it off? The attitude? Seems like you're the type to never do."

"Not if I can help it."

Another pause. Then, softer: "I’m Y/N, by the way. Youth pastor of this church. If you wondered... I'm not usually here, but I've been running the confessional lately."

Jamie’s smirk faltered. Oh. He just now realized, he had been flirting with a real pastor. 

His brain short-circuited. His body short-circuited. And suddenly, this confessional booth felt real small. He looked at the sky as if to say sorry to the Big Man for flirting with his...daughter?

"…You’re a pastor?"

"Yep."

"And you… run the confessions now?"

"Sure do, as of now."

"So, if I confess frequently, I'll see you like, every week?"

"Yep, if you have that much to confess..." she prodded.

"Hell yes! Oh sorry didn't mean to say hell... you know in a place like this" Jamie gestured around the confession booth, not really sure if she saw it. "I've been worse. I'm trying to be better now, but can sure be a right prick from time to time. Wait, let me get this clear, a female pastor just laughed at me bein’ a knob? In the fuckin' confessional booth?"

"Seems that way."

Jamie inhaled sharply. "I think I might need a minute. Overthinking my religion right now."

Y/N laughed again, and Jamie swore his entire soul ascended. Not in a religious way, but in a Jesus Christ, that’s attractive way.

"Right," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "S’pose this is where you tell me I gotta say some, uh, Ave Marys?"

"Hail Marys," she corrected, still clearly entertained.

"Right, Hail Marys…" Jamie trailed off, nodding like he knew what that meant. He did not know what that meant. And he surely doesn't know how to say a proper Hail Mary.

Y/N hummed knowingly. "You have no idea what those are, do you?"

Jamie narrowed his eyes at the wooden divider smiling while trying to catch a small glimpse of her. "Reckon you’re enjoyin’ this too much."

"Maybe a little," she admitted. "But listen, forget the Hail Mary's, I'll give you some good advice instead—if you really want to make things right with your mates, stop trying to be liked and start showing up for them. Let them see you’re different instead of telling them."

Jamie frowned. "That actually, like… makes sense."

"That’s kind of my job."

Jamie exhaled, then smirked. "Think I might need more spiritual guidance, Pastor Y/N. You free next week?"

"You mean for confession?"

"Sure. We can call it that."

She sighed again, but he could hear her smiling. "You’re welcome back anytime, Jamie. But maybe next time, actually repent instead of flirting with your pastor."

Jamie, for once, had no comeback. No cheeky quip. Because for the first time in his life, he had a very real problem:

He might be developing unholy thoughts about a bloody youth pastor. Just from hearing her freaking voice!

And that? That was definitely something to confess about next time.

[softieekayy]

Intertwined

Hannibal Lecter x reader

Word count: 1.8k

Hannibal Lecter was a stoic man with stoic impressions. He did his job, he left and he came home. Not many people knew much about him and the one who did, Will Graham, was a mystery of his own.

Having said that, there was one person who knew his entire soul, for their souls were entangled with each other. Hannibal’s wife. She knew him and his antics like the back of her hand. It was to be expected, especially since they’ve known eachother since Hannibal was a young man in medical school and her a young teenage girl with a crush on him. He never entertained it through, no, he always taught her things that she found useful later in life. It was fate who decided that they would spend the rest of their lives together.

Hannibal would do anything for his wife, she was his sun, moon and entire universe. He worshiped the floor she walked on. Not to mention that the young Mrs. Lecter was a beautiful woman with shiny hair and satin like skin. She was ethereal and people often thought she was an angel posing as one of their kind simply because of her beauty. Her beauty didn’t end physically, not at all. The young woman was a saint. She wouldn't hurt a fly, in fact, she would nourish it and then set it free.

“Why is he so hard to cut up!” (Y/n) whined to her husband, stomping down her expensively clad feet in a tantrum, blood seeping into her satin, champagne coloured shirt, staining the material. In one hand she held a butcher's knife with blood coating it, the body beneath her indicating the frustration she very obviously felt.

“Well, darling” Hannibal grunted, “cutting people with knives like this isn’t easy.”

“Yeah I see that now, my love.” She muttered back, reverting to her former position on her knees and hacking away at Mr. Zaine Lammer’s arm. A disgusting man he was, objectifying Hannibal’s wife to him. The dinner the couple held was for charity. Just because they killed people didn’t mean they were monsters. (Y/n) still loved and cared about children and would never harm them, they can be tuned and molded into anything you’d like. Unfortunately the same cannot be said for adults.

Hannibal looked over to his, completely entranced by the pure and utter annoyance on her face. She knew Hannibal killed, it wasn’t a secret to her. She’s helped with the crimes. However, (Y/n) preferred the killing and setting up the scene part, she did not like the hacking away at the body. No, she left that to her dear husband to do. Not that Hannibal minded. He’d prefer for her to not get touched by the blood of filth.

“Ugh. I give up. I can’t do this anymore.” The young woman stated, throwing her hands up in exasperation. Hannibal laughed at his wife’s reaction, making her glare at him.

“Don’t laugh at me Hans!” She told him, a small smile threatening to break out on her face. Hannibal looked at her, not saying anything but rather just observing. His wife was the most beautiful lady to have ever walked the earth. An angel that was put amongst sinners. He put down his knife and walked over to her, putting one arm around her waist and tugging her closer to his body, her hands resting on his chest.

“Hi.” She whispered softly with an equally soft smile gracing her face.

“Hello.” Hannibal whispered back, leaning down to steal a quick kiss from his wife.

He remembers meeting her like yesterday. She was a young little thing, younger than him, about 8-9 years or so. Yet when Hannibal saw her, she was the most beautiful person he’d ever set eyes on. The young woman had just been coming into the book store, soaked from the rain outside, hair sticking to her face and yet she still had a smile painted on her dark red lips. Hannibal watched her as she greeted the older man who ran the shop warmly before shedding her coat to let it hang. She turned around and caught Hannibal staring yet she gave him a smile too. Her quick movements reminded Hannibal of a cat, yet when he looked into her eyes for a brief moment, he saw his own reflection.

“I’ve never seen you around here.” She tells him, running her fingers across the spines of books before pulling one out. It was an old book with a forest green cover.

“I don’t live here, I’m just here to visit my aunt.” Hannibal didn’t tell her that Lady Murasaki was long dead and that he was just here to visit her grave. His aunt was a crucial part of his life, she shaped him into the man he is today.

The young woman nodded in acknowledgment, her hair moving along with it.

“Well it’s nice to meet you..” She trailed off, waiting for Hannibal to introduce himself.

“Hannibal lecter.” The older man introduced himself, shaking her hand gently. It was as soft as she looked. In return (Y/n) introduced herself. The two grabbed their books and spoke about everything and anything. Hannibal learned that she went to medical school here and frequented this bookstore often, hence her close relationship with the owner. Hannibal told her of Lady Murasaki and how he’s in charge of keeping her home. Before they knew it, time had passed and it was the dead of night, Hannibal walked her home and from there it took them to now. A married couple.

“We should really clean up.” (Y/n) grimaced, pulling away from Hannibal’s embrace to look at the mess on the floor. Hannibal agreed with her, the blood won’t come out easily if it’s been too long.

Hannibal pulled away from the embrace and went back to chopping up the man while his wife began to mix the solutions for cleaning.

Within another hour or so they were done. (Y/n) stood at the entrance of the basement with her hands over her hips, heaving lightly from all the scrubbing she did. Her once neatly done hair was now falling out of its place messily. Hannibal disposed of the meat in the freezer before walking back to his wife and kissing her on the side of her head, gently leading her upstairs with his hand on the small of her back.

“With all that leftover meat, we ought to have another dinner party. There’s only so much we alone can eat.” (Y/n) grumbled to Hannibal as they both reached the first floor of their home. She walked into the kitchen and took out two wine glasses before pouring her and Hannibal some.

“I agree.” Hannibal nodded. “We should invite Will, Jack Crawford and Alana Bloom for dinner these days.” He finished, taking a sip of his wine, watching his wife’s stare on him harden.

“You know I don’t like her yet you keep inviting her. Don’t be surprised if she ends up as our dinner one day.” (Y/n) warns him, anger seeping through her voice. The young brunette clearly had a crush on Hannibal, everyone around her could tell. Hannibal used that crush to manipulate her. His wife on the other hand, wasn't too fond of another woman making heart eyes at someone who belonged to her.

“You worry for no reason, even in death my heart will belong to you. Alana Bloom can’t match your intelligence or grace.” Hannibal comforted his wife, running his hand up and down her arm and she tucked herself closer into him. The younger woman hummed in response, taking Hannibal’s hand in her own and playing around with his fingers.

“I still don’t like her. That smug little face she makes towards me whenever you talk to her. All I can think about at that moment is how nice my hair pin would look coated in her blood.” (Y/n)‘s hand clutched tightly around Hannibal’s as she thought about Alana bloom. The brunette woman never failed to enrage Hannibal’s wife.

“She’s not worth you pretty little thoughts.” The older man told his wife, dragging his nose from the back of her neck to the side of her head, planting a living kiss. (Y/n) smiled slyly, turning her body to face him fully.

“You think me wanting to feel Alana’s blood on my hands is pretty?” She asked him, still smiling and toying with his hair. Hannibal latched his arm around her waist and pulled her atop him.

“I think everything you do is pretty.” He tells her and she hums. The two sit in silence for a while, sipping on their wine. No need for mindless chatter, being by each other's side was all that they needed. Hannibal knew that his wife would never betray him under any circumstances and she knew that Hannibal would never do anything to harm her. However they both knew that to drag attention away from one another, they may need to harm each other. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, it ripped Hannibal’s heart apart to even think about hurting his pretty little wife. His pretty wife with doe eyes. His pretty wife with a sinister smile. The two were a match in every sense possible, both hunters who enjoyed the art of killing. They were skilled and under Hannibal’s expertise and care, his young wife went from an amateur to someone just as talented as Hannibal.

“It's getting late, moonshine.” Hannibal uttered into her hair, nosing her hairline. She was wrapped around him, like a cat. Hannibal thought that if reincarnation was real then his wife must’ve been a cat in her past life.

“Yes, honey, I know. However there are no plans set in place for tomorrow.” She grinned, turning around and crawling onto him fully now. Hannibal held his wife by the waist, grinning.

“Are you suggesting we stay up late tonight Mrs. Lecter?” He asked her, caressing her hair. The two smiled like a lovesick teen age couple. So in love that it made others sick. Jack Crawford was one of them, he’d known the famous Mrs. Lecter since he’d met Hannibal.

“Yes I am. In fact, I’m suggesting that we go out for some ice cream.” She tells him, running a finger down the buttons of his shirt. Hannibal gasps in faux shock.

“Scandalous. You’re so very scandalous.” He tells her, shaking his head in disappointment. They both know it’s just an act anyway, Hannibal would bend over back wards for her. (Y/n) giggled before getting up and grabbing her coat. She waited for Hannibal to join her giddily, like a child who had far too much sugar.

“Shall we go?” Hannibal asked her, offering his arm for her to hold. (Y/n)’s hand softly tucked itself into the crook of Hannibal's arm as they headed out. Into the dark of the night, like wolves hunting for prey.

Tagging my lovelies: @jake-g-lockley @shawty-writes-a-little <3

[modernsainthood]

The matching album art covers for our singles~ The theme songs for each of our OCs Starshine's Cyber Fantasy! and Birth of a Subculture Baby are both NOW available to stream everywhere on Spotify and all other platforms! Thanks for listening & looking. ⋆˙⟡♡ 【 ☆ ko-fi | ɪɢ | ᴛɪᴋᴛᴏᴋ | ʏᴏᴜᴛᴜʙᴇ | ♫ spotify ☆ 】

[all-alone-he-turns-to-stone]

The Most Innocent Sinner

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Summary: For everyone, she's the shy, pure, little Y/n. Dating Dean Winchester is like going on dates with the complete opposite of her. So it is a very nice surprise when Dean learns how kinky she actually is by finding her collection of sex toys.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Rating: 18+

Content warning: Sex toys, masturbation (male and female), dirty talk

Square filled: Dildos for @spnkinkevents / “Now that’s something you definitely shouldn’t try at home.” for @jacklesversebingo / masturbation for @anyfandomkinkbingo / “Unfortunately, I’m turned on by that.” for @anyfandomgoesbingo

A/n: Finding a title is so hard. I got stuck on this one for way too long. Big thanks to my friends that helped me!

From the outside, Y/n looked like a Saint. Cute, she wasn't very tall and almost sickly shy, and her social anxiety didn't help her case at all. 

Since she didn’t have many friends, Y/n spent her time at the library surrounded by stories that made her forget how alone she felt. The characters on these yellowed sheets would never judge or criticize her, it was a comfort in which she really liked to immerse herself, especially after a hard day.

It was also where she met the Winchester brothers for the first time.

For someone like Y/n, the complete opposite of popular, invisible to people even when she was in the same room with them, the Winchesters were the pinnacle of perfection. Bodies built like gods, well-defined faces, piercing eyes, they gave off a strong and dominating aura that attracted the gaze of everyone in their path. And Y/n was no exception.

The moment the two brothers walked near her table at the library, there was no longer any need to read. Her book closed by itself in front of her, as she no longer held it open, her eyes fixedly stuck on the two men. Following their directions with her gaze, she turned her head, almost hurting her neck.

The colors around her suddenly seemed more vivid. The sounds, sweeter to the ear. She strained her ear to better listen to their conversations. And it was then that the stories she loved reading so much... Became reality.

Y/n had always had a habit of making herself fade away. Not wanting to attract attention, remaining discreet and making herself as small as possible. But the moment she saw them, it was like a light bulb went on inside her, and filled her with a life she had never really felt. And she decided to change that.

She didn’t want to hide anymore.

It was an adventure awaiting her, just like in her books. Filled with villains, monsters, but also angels, laughter, food and finally, a place where she belonged. It didn't take long for her to take part in their lives, quickly becoming a full member of their families. Although she wasn’t trained to be in the field hunting monsters, her lifelong experience of extensive reading was too vital and important to refuse her help.

Initially, Y/n was assigned to research. It was perfect for her, she could show them how efficient she was at this task so they would give her more to do eventually. Quickly, she climbed the ranks in the Winchesters' trust and became closer to them.

Everything about her personality was perfect to fit with Sam's. And yet, as the months stretched into years, she inevitably grew closer to Dean. Some will say that opposites flock together, and they are not wrong. Dean was the opposite of Y/n, stubborn, he didn't hesitate to say what was on his mind and loved seeing the adorable expression that invaded her face when he made inappropriate or worse, sexual comments. Immediately, Y/n would disappear from the room almost like magic, or she would become so embarrassed that he took pity and immediately changed the subject.

Y/n had a purity that Dean never had, and it was one of the reasons why even after all this time knowing her, he was still reluctant to let her come with them on hunts. Or even to involve her in anything that could endanger her or defile this purity. If he could keep her from losing that sparkle in her eyes, he would, no matter the cost.

After a few months of dating, Y/n finally agreed to live in the bunker with them. Dean helped her move in, putting her things in a room other than his, and although not sharing the same bed disappointed him a little, he understood why. She wasn't ready, and he insisted on her comfort. He was willing to wait for her as long as it took.

“If I had known you had that many boxes, I would have brought in extra hands,” Dean huffed, placing yet another heavy box on the ground. Straightening up, he raised his arms above his head to stretch his back.

“Sorry, all my books,” Y/n shrugged and lowered her head, embarrassed.

With a quick wave of his hand, Dean signaled that it was nothing. “It only takes a little longer but it’s no problem,” he quickly said to reassure her, so she wouldn’t feel bad about having so much stuff. After all this time knowing her, he knew how important her books were to her.

Her 500 books which weighed bricks to transport…

“I'll go get another box,” she accepted Dean's answer and as she passed him on her way out, left a quick kiss on the cheek. It was Dean's turn to react, his face quickly turning red.

“Okay, in the meantime, I'm going to start…” Glancing at the mountain of cardboard, Dean sighed again. “Cleaning a little…”

Sam wasn't there. Although he proposed his help for moving her stuff in, Dean's ego was more powerful. As a boyfriend, he had to take care of his girlfriend himself. Without help. Showing her that he was there for her, and that she would always be his priority.

Dean had been in several relationships in the past. And he loved each woman with all of his soul. But each time, his work, his family or the apocalypse had forced him to leave. It had been a very difficult task each time, but he had done it.

Just the thought of leaving Y/n had the same effect as losing a limb. It was unthinkable.

Ah shit. He was in love.

Him, in love?

It was the first time.

… Wait a minute.

He was in love with her.

This realization hit him harder than he expected. Dean took a few steps back, his head spinning quickly. He was in love. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Never in his entire life had he felt this kind of thing for someone, feelings so strong, so true. When they were together, he felt so good, like he had finally found the thing he was missing. The person he needed.

Dean took another step back, and inevitably, his legs encountered a box. He lost his balance and, trying not to cause a landslide, had to hold himself against the nearest thing… Another box.

This one was strangely and unfortunately lighter than the others and failed to stop him from doing damage. Luckily, Dean kept his balance and avoided the embarrassment of falling on his butt, but the box fell to the ground.

“Son of a bitch,” he grumbled as he hurried to pick it up. As he took it, he noticed that it was not closed properly. It was definitely not his plan to go through Y/n's personal belongings, but when he opened the box to close it better, he couldn't help but see what was inside.

And it wasn't his fault. The first item on top was a box that displayed the inscription of its contents, and his curiosity, well… took care of the rest.

“What the…” taking the item in question, Dean examined it. His hunter's eye detected every detail, inscriptions, the wear on the cardboard and even the place where the packaging had once been sealed before opening. The sticky paper seemed to have been removed so quickly, the color of the cardboard remained stuck on it. It was exactly as if its owner, eager to have the object, hadn’t been concerned by the breakage of its packaging.

SO. It was still possible that the contents were not what was written in black and white on the packaging. It was still a possibility. Dean understood, it was his duty to get to the bottom of it once and for all. Otherwise, the question would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Heart racing for no good reason, Dean placed his fingers where the paper was torn off and pulled the tab. Then, breathless, he opened the box and peered inside.

“Son of a bitch,” his mouth breathed along with the last of his oxygen. No... he couldn't believe it. As if he needed further proof that his eyes had already given him, Dean reached into the box and pulled out the object.

It was still in its bag, but an opening proved its frequent use. Both soft and very hard, it was of regular size and of a pretty pink shade. Dean didn't need to take it out of the bag to know that underneath was the little hole to get charged, the wire still in the box.

In his hand, Dean held the thing he never thought he would hold… Let alone find among his girlfriend's stuff. The sweet, pure, shy Y/n.

Scared that she would come back and see him like this, Dean quickly put the pink dildo vibrator back in its box. A thousand questions swirled through his mind and his heart still hadn't stopped pounding in his ribcage. In his eagerness and nervousness, Dean almost dropped the box, so he had to pull himself together to put it back exactly where he had found it.

And that was when he saw them.

There were plenty of them. A dozen even. Some had their original packaging, others had boxes without inscription. Curiosity rose in Dean who forgot the presence of his girlfriend and owner of these toys in the bunker. It was like suddenly he was alone in the world as he began to pull out everything he had in front of his eyes, his pupils dilating with each new discovery.

Small portable vibrator. One that looked like a butterfly, insertable and vibrant. A… dolphin? A flesh-colored dildo, including ball and base with suction. A magic staff. Purple, pink, black, the colors were added one after the other. And then suddenly...

Dean came across the largest box.

It was curiously and surprisingly big for what was inside. Dean couldn't help it. It was heavy, there was no doubt about the contents, but he had to see it with his eyes, hold it in his hands, and absorb reality.

It couldn't be that big... right?

And oh my god.

“Now that’s something you definitely shouldn’t try at home…”

Examining it from every angle, he still couldn't understand. The words “bad dragon” were forever imprinted in his brain along with the image of that purple and blue hued dildo. It was imposing, as tall as it was wide, and the different textures were strange but pleasant to the touch. And inevitably, his brain went in that perverse direction he imagined...

Her moans filled the room and the echo was carried throughout the whole bunker. Sounds of pleasure? No. Of frustration. She moaned as she tried as best she could to get the dildo into her entrance, which was still too tight for such a monster. But her determination only grew with her goal, and the idea alone of being able to have all those inches inside her was so exciting that she almost didn't need any lube.

“Oh fuck,” breathed through her lips as the head of the toy finally pierced the breach. Her head tilting back, she wiggled on the dildo to widen her entrance to accommodate the rest. Kneeling over the toy made it easier for her to maneuver her body and part her lips for guidance. And when finally the dildo was inside her, a long sigh of relief mixed with the pleasure of having succeeded hissed between her lips.

“I love the view…”

Dean hadn't missed a single thing. Standing in the doorway, he watched, admired, and nourished himself with the magnificent view before him. Kneeling on the bed facing him, she knew he was there. Even though her eyes were closed, she felt his presence, heard his heavy breathing. And then there was the rustling of his clothes every time he adjusted his position or reached for his swollen crotch.

It was one of the hottest things she had ever experienced. The desire was so strong it was palpable. The smell of sex filled the room. A moan passed her lips as she opened her eyes to look at him, her breath leaving her lungs, making the air almost unbreathable because it was so saturated.

"Oh. No."

The sound of a heavy object hitting the ground brought him back to consciousness. Then it took him several seconds to realize the voice that had spoken just before the impact, what it had said and who it belonged to. Turning towards the door, Dean's eyes were wide open, the green almost disappearing from his irises because his pupils were so dilated.

Her face was not in any better condition. As her eyes, wide with fear and shame, moved between what he was holding and the box behind him and finally settling on him, Dean could see the embarrassment quickly filling her being.

“What is this?”

Still shocked by his discovery and what it implied, these words were the first and only ones that had managed to escape his lips. Obviously, he knew what it was, and what it was for. However, he needed to hear it from her mouth. To confirm what his eyes had already understood.

His question only made her more uncomfortable.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” she muttered under her breath, lowering her head and crossing the distance between them to grab the dildo and remove it from the hunter’s hands. All this to hide the evidence that had already been consumed, unfortunately. “Please, forget about it,” she pleaded, still refusing to meet his gaze. Her hand resting next to Dean's on the dildo, she tried to take it back, but was surprised to see that he didn't want to let it go. “Dean?”

“It’s impossible,” his voice was low, almost a breath lost in the tension of the air. “Unfortunately… I’m turned on by that. And here I thought you were all pure and shy…” Taking a pause in his words only made the state Y/n was in worse. Next to Dean, she felt his breath against her cheek, and the heat of his body. It was heavy, his chest moving in time with his harsh breathing. As if he had to do everything to hold back. “I waited for you to be ready, and I'll still wait but… Y/n…” As she still refused to raise her head and meet his gaze, Dean took his other hand, the one that wasn't holding the dildo, to gently lift Y/n’s chin. “Thinking about you touching yourself with that… oh fuck, it’s hot, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” A shy smile appeared on her lips, her eyes watering at how she was embarrassed but still... Very excited by this idea.

“Oh yeah,” Dean swallowed, his green eyes darting from Y/n's lips to her eyes, then back to her lips. Like two magnets held too far apart, but at the same time too close, it was inevitable.

Dean pressed his mouth to Y/n’s, kissing her forcefully. The dildo was quickly put aside, both needing their hands to touch the other. Dean placed his on Y/n's waist, and her around his neck. Her nails scratched the soft part of his neck, leaving red marks he would never see. It was intense, they almost devoured each other with an insatiable appetite. Opening her lips, Y/n stuck her tongue out barely, just enough to give access to Dean who was quick to push his tongue into her mouth. The kiss became languorous, messy, even, and Y/n backed into a box and almost fell. Dean broke the kiss to ask if she was okay, but she silenced him by replacing her lips on his to continue the kiss.

Their mouths didn't leave each other as clothes flew around the room, some getting stuck on boxes while others fell to the floor. Eventually, they managed to maneuver through the mountains of boxes to get to the bed. Y/n plopped down on the mattress and laughed against Dean’s mouth which only took a second to find its way back to hers. Now both were shirtless and their hands explored each other without stopping.

Finally, Y/n broke the kiss to speak.

“I want you to watch me.”

“What?” Dean was panting, his erection so painful in his pants he was afraid it would explode at the slightest touch. Like a hungry lion demanding its prey, he tried to grab Y/n's lips but she refused him access by placing her fingers between them.

“I want you to watch me use the toy…” If she was an angel a few moments ago, the Y/n he had, lying under him on the bed, half naked, was a little devil hidden under the appearance of a Saint.

Just the thought of seeing her in real life masturbating with the monster he had found made Dean gulp and push himself up so he was on his knees. His face was so red, he had trouble understanding how there could still be blood in his length.

“Are you sure? I mean, I… I can’t say no to that, fuck, but… I don’t want you to feel forced or…”

“Dean,” she interrupted, a smile tugging at her lips. “I really want to. And I know you want it too.” Y/n took a deep, slightly shaky breath before continuing. “So… Bring me the one you want me to use… And get comfortable.”

Dean swallowed and looked at his girlfriend's face. Since he had known her, they had never been this far in their intimacy. And he would never have imagined that she had this in her. Obviously he was surprised, but it was a very pleasant surprise. Like an excited child on Christmas morning, Dean rushed to the box of adult toys and once again admired all the choices presented to him. Each of them infused an image, each more erotic than the other, into his mind. For a moment, he hesitated to take the monster he had found shortly before, but decided that for now, this view was better in his mind. And he didn't want to embarrass Y/n even more than she was, what she was proposing was very intimate, very sexy, but also terribly hard to do. To open up like this, to show yourself like this...

Dean returned to his girlfriend, a box in hand. “This one,” he held out the box, knowing full well what it contained. Y/n took it, hesitated for a few seconds while staring at it in her hands. Just as Dean was about to repeat that she didn't have to, that they could continue to just makeout and that was okay, she opened the box and took out the toy.

It was a simple one. No vibration, just a flesh colored dildo with suction at the bottom. It wasn’t the biggest she owned, but it was still big, almost as big as Dean’s cock. So to see her use this, he could easily picture him in her…

Just the thought sent another wave of arousal down his pants.

“Do you need a moment, or lube or…” Dean was still standing up near the bed as she was on her knees on the mattress. For the first time, he was clueless and didn't know what to do. And yet, it was not his first time, nor the last, that he had more kinky moments with his partner. But Y/n was different, she wasn't just his sexual partner, but the woman he loved. And the prospect of getting even closer and more intimate was worth more than any sex he could have.

“I want you to watch the whole thing,��� Y/n replied, lifting her ass off the mattress just enough to undo her pants and pull them down along with her panties with just one hand. In an almost expert manner, she finished undressing herself with one hand, her other never letting go of the toy. “You can sit down, you know,” she laughed when she saw Dean still standing where he was, stiff as a stick.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” he sat on the edge of the bed and turned his body towards her. It was like he was back at 15 with the most popular girl in school, ready for his first time. Nervousness filled his entire being, along with excitement, and if he wasn't so experienced years later, his erection would have disappeared or he would have come prematurely in his pants.

Dean silently thanked all the girls he had in the past that strengthened his stamina.

“How do you want me to use it?” 

Dean could see how nervous she was. It was the first time she was completely naked in front of him, and her body was shaking ever so slightly, shivers that covered her soft skin in goosebumps. But yet, through that nervousness, she was freaking sexy. Still kneeling, she was slowly stroking her intimacy with the toy, coating it with her wetness. And without asking, Dean knew she wouldn’t need any lube.

“Just… Like this, you can ride it…” The words got out of his mouth by automatism. Truth was, Dean was half there now, so excited and focused on her, a part of his mind was shut down. It was so hot, he couldn’t detach his eyes from her body, the way the toy rubbed through her lower lips, how her hips rocked back on it, and her face, so soft, so cute, so embarrassed… With eyes burning in a strong passion.

“Okay,” she whispered. Time seemed to slow down. Dean could feel his heart beating in his head and in his crotch, the intensity growing with each movement she made. Straightening up, she placed the dildo behind her, careful to align it with her entrance, and opened up her legs to let Dean continue watching. 

And he could see it all.

It was better than everything he could ever imagine.

The toy was big, but she was probably very wet and very used to it, because it didn’t take long for her to lower down on it. Inch by inch, the dildo disappeared into her entrance until it was almost completely gone. Her body was bent back, her chest glistening with sweat and the cutest moan left her lips.

“Fuck,” Dean groaned. It was too much, so he rushed to open his pants, just enough to free his aching cock. The simple touch sent thousands of electrical shocks of pleasure through his body, but still, his eyes were fixed on her. “You’re so hot, I don’t think I’ll last long,” he held the base of his cock stronger to avoid his climax.

“I don’t think I’ll last long either,” she whimpered. She had started moving already, slowly, up and down on the toy. Since she was on the bed, the succion was useless and she had to hold it with one hand. Dean could see how wet she was on the dildo, and imagined how warm it had to be inside.

Another groan whistled through his teeth.

“Hmmm,” she moaned, picking up speed. “It feels so good… Dean… Look at me…”

He didn’t notice, but his gaze was so focused on the toy and her pussy, he didn’t even look at her face. Blinking hard, he looked up, and when he saw her face, twisted in pleasure, he couldn’t help it.

His hand started moving on his cock at the same rhythm as her.

“Can’t wait to be inside of you,” Dean muttered through his rashing breath. “Must feel so warm in there, and you’re so wet, fuck, sweetheart, you’re killing me.”

As an answer, she moaned and closed her eyes for a second. But quickly, she set her gaze on him again, even if it had to be the most embarrassing thing she ever did. She wanted to watch him watch her, watch him stroke his cock, watch him cum with her. “Soon… I promise, soon, you’ll have me, you’ll fuck me as much as you want, whenever you want… I'm ah... All yours, Dean..."

"Y/n." Dean could only say that. Again and again, moaning her name as she continued moving on the toy. "Y/n..."

"Dean, I’m gonna cum, oh my god, I’m…”

It was stronger than her. Never before did she come with only a dildo in her, it always took her hands or a vibrator on her clit to reach the end. But right now, in front of her boyfriend masturbating with her, it was too much. It felt so good. 

In an explosion of pleasure, her orgasm ripped through her in a scream. She closed her eyes, her body shaking, her wetness flooding under her and on her bed. But she so didn’t care about this right now.

It took a few moments for her to regain her hearing back, and a few more moments to open her eyes. It was strong, and she suddenly felt so tired, like the world came crashing back on her. Feeling like she could sleep for a whole day without waking up.

Y/n landed her eyes on the man in front of her. Dean had his head bent back, eyes closed, mouth parted. Lower, his cock was still a bit hard, and his release was covering his hand.

“Oh,” she said sadly, realizing she didn’t see him cum. At least, they came together.

“Oh,” Dean repeated, finally opening his eyes to land them on her. “That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen and done,” he admitted, a silly smile filling up his face. So he was too, drunk on pleasure.

“Yeah,” she admitted, feeling her face flush with embarrassment. Wow. They did it. They actually did it. Her joy, thought, left her face quickly as she realized something. “Fuck.”

“What is it?” Dean immediately went on protective boyfriend mode when he heard the change in her voice.

“I think I…” Y/n’s voice was small, so small and shy as she lifted herself from the spot she was in, removing carefully the dildo from her, and looked at the mess she made. “It never happened before, but now my bed… I don’t think I can use it anymore… Oh no…”

“Sweetheart,” Dean rushed to her side, quickly putting himself back in his pants even if he was messy with his release as well. “It’s alright. There’s plenty of other room in the bunker, with other beds.”

“But,” she stammered, her gaze looking down at her hands. “What if I want to… Use your bed, with you?” 

Y/n ended up looking up at him, their gaze meeting.

A soft kiss on her lips answered her question, and all of her insecurities washed away.

“My bed is yours, sweetheart. We can always use this room for your books, I’ll ask Sam to help building shelves and-”

Another kiss, this time, more powerful, interrupted his sentence. “God, I love you so much.”

Babum.

The words he never said back before.

Dean thought they would be hard to say. Impossible, even. But he surprised himself with how easy it actually was.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Forever taglist: @nitnat6245 @eevvvaa​​ @wickedinspirations​@fictional-affairs @awkward-and-indecisive​​ @peachyaliien @katbratsupernaturalwhore

Supernatural Tag List: @peachyaliien @sexyvixen7 @stixnstripesworld @charred-angelwings @treat-winchesterswith-kindness​ @lyarr24 @fiftyshadesgrl @this-is-me19

Dean Winchester Tag List: @akshi8278​​ @kazsrm67​​​ @wtrpxrks @deanwanddamons @thoughts-and-funnies​​​ @charred-angelwings @jensendreamland​ @deanswaywardgirl​​​ @happyt0exist @waynes-multiverse​​​ @djs8891 @mimaria420 @this-is-me1​​​ @syrma-sensei

[grapejuicestyless]

Pay The Price

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: Karma is real, and those who do bad have to pay the price for it. But, sometimes, those who don’t do anything at all pay for the crimes the bad people commit.

He said she would pay. From the moment she watched Kiara shove the blonde boy with the short buzz cut off of the bow of the ship, and he surfaced screaming indecent words through the water that poured into his mouth, she knew just how much truth he held in those words.

Kiara was safe, but it always worked out that way for her. Rafe had said it best. Though by choice, she was a Pogue, by nature, she would always be a Kook. Until all the money she once had was used dry, she would never stoop down to the levels of desperation that her friends had. And because of that, Rafe held a soft spot for the curly headed girl.

She never believed he had the heart to go through with it though. Rafe wasn’t a good person. His hands were doused in mass amounts of blood that he proclaimed were necessary for the success of his survival and the growth of his future. Yet, all the death seemed unnecessary when the same prosperities were achieved through the act of simple, honest affection snd care towards those who can only help you. Still, though they shared different perspectives, Y/n sympathized with the broken boy.

He would always be the shell of a man. A young Kook who was desperately grasping onto broken baggies filled with snow and loud party music to drown out the absence of his father. He cried for help, and yet his desperate pleas were met with nothing but silence.

And so, the only response he ever got from his father would forever ring through his head. And the primal urge to fulfill what his father believed he needed to be rained supreme over whatever shreds of goodness remained within him.

Y/n went with John B that day, and JJ had pleaded for her to stay, an unease that refused to settle deep within his stomach. He gripped onto the sleeves of her shirt that once belonged to him and begged for her to stay because if Singh couldn’t manage to stick a knife through his heart, the idea of getting lost again would kill him.

“Hey, you know me.” She promised him softly in the evening light, the soft humming of the boat vibrating the pristinely white floors. “I’ll come back.”

He believed her. He hung onto every promise she ever made because it was true. If JJ knew nothing, he knew her. He knew there was no way she would turn away from him, because he knew just how hard she had always tried to make him feel seen. So he let go of her hands for the last time that day, trusting her completely that this was the right thing to do, and she towed behind John B the entire trudge to the old church where he swore he heard his father calling for him.

But JJ shouldn’t have trusted her, not because she hadn’t proven herself to him, but because she was selflessly following one of her best friends into an unknown territory lined with threats where if it truly came down to it, he would choose to save his father every damn time.

The pleasantries were nice, for a moment. The tight hug and the teary eyes as a father and son reunited. But soon, extra footsteps rang through the old church, but not those that were welcome. They were loud, unholy, threatening. Those of a sinner. Though, looking back now, if she knew what she would have known now, Y/n would’ve known that there was never a single saint standing beside her that day.

They ran, through the thick tree lined roads and down the uneven, rocky paths where no cars could reach. Though, that seemed to be untrue because right behind there trailed two black SUV’s that looked striking similar to those that had imprisoned Kiara and Y/n just mere hours ago.

“John B, run!” She cried out behind him, her hand splayed out on his back to shove him forward towards the small clearing between the wet brush. It was getting dark quickly, colder, even in such a warm climate the chill was getting to them. Their noses were turning red and the skin was forming small bumps across the span of their entire bodies.

They made a turn to loose them, one quick turn that should have granted them freedom. Y/n followed John B blindly, secure in her trust that he would never lead her into danger, but John B was just as blind as she was. The blind leading the blind into a darkness neither of them could navigate.

They were so close when suddenly, her foot caught onto a rock. A wet slab of earth sending her falling down the slick hill and separating her from John B. He called out for her, a soft groan echoing from the bottom of the hill. She was bleeding from her temple, a scratch against the skin that leaked in thin streams of crimson down the curve of her cheek and dripped off the edge of her jawline. She could barely make out anything around her, she was just getting a grasp of her surroundings.

She thought he’d come to get her when she saw the tall frame standing in front of her. The much larger, warm hand grasped her cold hand, pulling her up on her wobbly knees. Y/n wanted to breathe out her thanks to her savior, to hold onto him and pull him close. But it was so dark, he was only a shadow, only the ghost of the person she thought she’d seen.

“Checkmate, bitch.” The voice teased softly, the voice that Y/n associated with the Kook from figure eight that she often found herself sympathizing with in her daydreams.

“W-what?” She stuttered out, trying to step back only for his arm to wrap tightly around the small of her back. It was a threat wrapped around a wet dream, the idea of being held so intimately, so protected by the enemy, but to feel every tender touch like a threat made her blood run cold.

When John B finally made his way down the hill, he didn’t see the same man that Y/n had looked at with terror. He saw the aftermath of her punishment.

Sitting underneath a low hanging tree, the heavy branches dripping onto the ground around her, Y/n sat folded nearly in half, just half of the girl she was a few minutes ago. Slumped over, her knuckles gripping onto the leaves, her hair hung over her face, hiding the maroon that stained her skin and the hole that left her breathless.

“Hey, hey, you okay?” John B kneeled on front of the girl, someone he often saw as the sister he never got. Often, they curled up in bed together when they were still young, sharing pajamas and exchanging stories from their day, as if they hadn’t been attached at the hip for the entirety of it.

He didn’t see it at first, how her hand covered her stomach in pain, the shakiness of her limps and the uneven pressure she applied with her weakening fingers. She tilted her head back slowly, finding a nice resting place against the dying bark.

Her eyes were glossy, clouded over in a dark pain John B had only seen once before. A pain that ended in a murder trial and the haunting image of the old sheriff bleeding out on the tarmac. She let out a choked breath, her mouth opening and squeezing shut to catch her breath, desperate to keep whatever little oxygen she could retain.

“Hey…hey, Y/n/n, what’s going on?” He questioned, oblivious to the main issue right below his nose. But it was so dark, so incredibly dark, it was a miracle in itself he could find her at all through the winding brush.

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” She spoke in one breath, but the instability of the volume of her voice gave away the weakness in her bones, as the choked out gasps of pain alerted John B to where her bloody hand laid covering the wound that leaked through the thin fabric adorning her fragile body.

“Shit…hey, no, come on, we gotta go. We gotta get you help.” John B tried to lift her immediately after spotting the dark spot spreading on her abdomen, but her shrieks of pain made him stop, and she begged him to put her down.

“John B, we got to go, boy.” Big John rasped, but it fell on deaf ears, the ringing echoing through John B’s mind so loud, it drowned out even the threatening sounds of the SUV’s tires scraping against the mud.

“Rafe got me good, huh?” She hiccuped with a weak smile, eyes looking up at the sky, her final destination. She couldn’t bear to witness the grief in her friend’s eyes.

“I guess he was right.” She coughed, and with her bubbling breath, a thin line of her blood trickled down the center of her chin, a splatter of blood dripping down her shirt. “I really did pay for it.”

She laughed it off, her dying. She laughed because she thought that if she took it a little less seriously, then maybe John B would be less inclined to grieve for so long.

“No, you won’t. We’ll carry you to a boat, and we’ll get you help back in Kildare, okay?” John B planned it out like it was promised, but the knife was twisted deeply beneath her skin, the crunching sounds still playing on a loop in the back of her mind.

Y/n shook her head weakly, and the wetness that rimmed her eyes spilt down all at once. She smiled through the whole process, the feeling of her chest expanding, and then quickly imploding. The squeezing of her lungs beneath her ribs, the cracking of her heart as it began to slow. Her eyes felt heavy, and so did her body. She let her hand fall limp to her side, no longer trying to stop the bleeding that couldn’t be prevented.

“John B, you got to listen to me.” Y/n snapped John B out of his useless plans and breathless rambling. When they locked eyes, they both knew it would be for the last time, and reality hit them both hard, and John B gave up on any schemes he could have conjured up in her final moments.

“T-tell them I ran off.” She pleaded softly. “Tell them you lost me on the way back, that I made my escape and I abandoned you.”

“What? No, why?” He couldn’t understand it. They would resent her for it. No—JJ would hate her forever for it. Why would she take an eternity of hatred to spare the guilt from John B. To protect him from the potential blame the others might try and place on him.

“Please, just promise me. Promise me you’ll tell JJ, okay?” She coughed weakly, and neither of them could tell if what stained her face was blood, tears, or saliva, but John B wiped it off of her pretty face anyway.

“Tell him that I love him, okay?” She hiccuped through her tears, her weak smile turning more into clenched teeth and furrowed brows. This wasn’t peace, because if it were, JJ would have been the one to hold her, and her friends would be the ones looking down at her with smiles knowing that she had been at ease with her leaving, not Big John.

“Tell him yourself.” John B tried to argue.

Y/n shook her head.

“Please, tell him for me, okay?” She whined, the light behind her eyes fading.

“John B, we gotta get out of here, son.” Big John spoke up, the sound of footsteps crunching beneath the leaves only growing closer. It settled in then that there was no way he could lift her over his shoulder. She would be dead in minutes, and in the end it would only kill him too. He had to live to tell her story.

“Okay.” He nodded his head, pressing a kiss to the center of her forehead with wobbling lips.

“P4L.” She smiled, even as her eyes fluttered shut, it never faltered. Not until the last breath squeezed its way out of her lungs and her muscles died along side her.

He wanted to scream, to kick something, to do something, but it was just him and his dad now. A trade he didn’t know he was making when he abandoned the others on the stolen yacht, a sacrifice the others would never know about.

Even as the pair silently sailed back to the familiarity of their home, they sat in silence, which was weird because John B had always envisioned the second they reunited, it would be filled with laughter and memories. Now, as he looked at his father, all he saw was the haunting reminder that his family was no longer with him. That no matter where he put the grave, and no matter how beautiful he made it, he would never be close to her again, and he would never even know where to look to find something like her again.

When John B returned back to the safety of the overgrown greenery and the old, worn in hammock that hung in the backyard of the Chateau, suddenly, he realized it had lost its charming appeal. It didn’t feel like home anymore, it felt empty. And the sad expression on his face remained stuck as he leaned off the edge of the dock to wash the red out from under his nails.

Her body was forever lost, but her blood ran deep between the waves of the ocean back home, and it always would.

When the others slowly filed into the backyard like old times, it was the first question on their tongues. “Where’s Y/n?” And it was a question that John B hesitated on.

He almost told them the truth as they all sat around the fire, it danced on the tip of his tongue. But then, he locked eyes with JJ, and her final words rang through his mind.

“She uh…she ran off. Decided to take her chances on her own.” John B lied though his teeth, and when he locked eyes with the broken gaze of the tow headed blonde across from him, for some odd reason he couldn’t bring himself to tell his best friend that she loved him.

It was selfish, maybe, to reject the dying wish of someone so deeply loved and special to him. But in some twisted, messed up way, to John B, if he ignored it, if he waited to tell JJ what she had said, then it meant that she wasn’t really gone. She would still be alive, just far away like his lie foretold, as long as he didn’t treat it like she had died.

“No, man you’re lying. Come on, where is she?” JJ laughed through the heavy silence, clapping his dry hands together and standing up so quickly, the stool beneath him toppled over into the dirt.

John B just looked down between his thighs and shook his head.

“Y/n wouldn’t do that, okay? I know her, and she wouldn’t do that.” He argued with wild eyes. John B may have grown up with her, but JJ was always the closest to her, an extension of each other. They practically hung off of each other’s arms. The image of her head up upon JJ’s shoulder, resting happily during annual fire pit nights was comforting and not at all rare. He should’ve known he wouldn’t believe she would abandon any of them for a second.

“Well she did, JJ, okay?” He wasn’t sure why he snapped at him, it wasn’t his fault she wasn’t there. His anger couldn’t fill her absence better than silence could, yet the wound was still fresh, and he couldn’t even close his eyes to blink without seeing the fading smile from her paling face. Her death.

JJ didn’t stick around long after that, going to god knows where to do god knows what. Someone should have grabbed onto him. Y/n would have. She would have talked to him like nobody else existed, because nobody else mattered but them in that moment. She would have stopped him and held him in a way he allowed no other. But she wasn’t here now, as odd as it felt to admit, even in John B’s head, and so nobody even tried when he stormed off into the sweltering night.

“The storms coming quickly, this isn’t looking good.” Pope observed obviously from behind the wheel of the rusted fishing boat Rafe had borrowed from his old drug dealer. It was a sketchy deal, but a desperate one to lead the even more desperate Pogues to the sandy shores of Morocco.

“No shit, we’re not prepared for this.” Kiara added sarcastically. Her knuckles white against the edge of the small table shoved in the corner. There was a card game left unfinished sprawled over the old wood, the uneven sea making both Kiara and Sarah too anxious to try and continue.

“This was a bad idea.” Sarah pointed out the obvious.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Cleo sighed, pulling down every lever that she recognized to help stabilize the boat.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Sarah asked nervously as she observed the frantic girl.

“I know enough!” Cleo shot back all too sharply.

“Y/n would know what to do.” Sarah swallowed, and the air in the small cabin seemed to grow heavier. In that moment, everyone as a collective was glad JJ was out on the open deck getting wasted by the hands of an old bottle of Hennessy stashed away on the boat.

He would’ve sneered and laughed bitterly about how Y/n wasn’t here anymore. How she chose to leave, how she didn’t matter anymore. They all recognized it as a projection. The truth was, JJ still loved that girl deeply, but it was all too well known that the blonde boy always ran from his terrifyingly strong emotions and pushed the blame to those who didn’t deserve it.

The thought reminded John B that the boy was out in the approaching storm, and after some internal debate on whether to leave him out there in the fresh air or to drag him into the warm dry cabin, he decided on the latter. Though, he was sure the boy could have survived the violent weather, he always did have the survival instincts of a cockroach.

“JJ!” John B called out, careful of the wet spots on the deck as rain misted down onto his tan skin. Not far from him stood his best friend, a nearly empty bottle dangled loosely in his hand and his legs crossed carelessly against some stacked barrels. He looked out at the violent waves, seemingly at peace with it.

“C’mon man, it’s getting pretty bad out here.” John B said, clapping a hand over his shoulder. The blonde simply shook it off.

“Nah.” He said plainly. His breath reeked of alcohol. “I’m good.”

“JJ, dude seriously, come on. You’ll die out here.” John B laughed. JJ didn’t seem to find it funny.

“No, I’m serious man, go on in. I’m good out here.” JJ smiled, his hands clinging onto John B’s shirt all while drunkenly taking another swig of the nearly empty drink in between his knuckles.

John B wasn’t having it, pulling him along only for the heels of JJ’s boots to dig into the rotting wood, stopping both of them in a harsh halt.

“Come on man, what’s your problem?”

“What my problem? Why can’t you just leave me alone?” JJ argued back. “Theres no harm in me staying out here, alright? I’m just a dead weight anyways.”

It was moments like this that John B prayed for Y/n the most. It was times like this when JJ was nearly unretrievable from his state of self deprecation that Y/n managed to pull him from every damn time. But Y/n wasn’t here, and John B had only one last card left to play.

“Actually, I have something to tell you.” John B spoke. Granted, in hindsight, now was not the time to show off his good fortune, the success of his relationship and how easily his life seemed to be falling into perfect place. Yet, it was all he could think of to pull JJ out of his slump like trance.

“I’m gonna be a dad.” John B said proudly, and when he was met with no response, his smile faltered for a moment before he continued speaking. “You’re like my brother, JJ, I’ve known you since third grade. Sarah and I want you to be the Godfather. I can’t imagine anyone else doing it.”

JJ shook his head quickly. “You wouldn’t want me around that kid, John B. I promise you that.” He took another large gulp of the alcohol.

“JJ I…I literally just asked you to be the Godfather, what are you talking about?”

“John B, what do you know about raising a kid, huh?” JJ cut his friend off suddenly, snapping at the mere mention of anything changing within the group. It was almost like it hurt him to imagine having to shift the dynamics once again.

“Not a single thing, JJ!” John B argued back quickly, trying to keep his cool.

“Exactly.” JJ raised a finger to John B’s face, the bottle swishing around tauntingly between the pair. “No exactly, alright? You don’t know shit. You’re gonna screw up this kid just like my old man screwed me up.”

“Thats what you’re gonna go on about?” John B tried to talk over JJ, but it was useless.

“Just like your old man screwed you up.”

“Stop.” John B warned, looking towards the sky for strength.

“And whats worse, is you’re gonna put Sarah through that!”

“Hey!” John B shoved JJ backwards slightly, his brows furrowed in a deep frown.

With one small step forward, John B’s hands were on JJ’s chest, grabbing at the fabric of his shirt until he was pressed against a nearby crate, leaning back with his eyes focused on his best friends face.

“Chill out, hey, chill out, okay?” John B said firmly, his grasp not letting up.

JJ simply threw his head back and laughed. He laughed like it was all some joke, like it was funny to him. But it wasn’t. None of this was. Not the fact that he was going to be a father so young, not the fact that they were heading into a storm, and certainly not the fact that Y/n was dead.

“Yeah, John B. You’re gonna be a great dad.” JJ smiled sarcastically, his tone bitter and condescending.

“I am gonna be a good dad.” John B nodded solemnly, his eyes fixed on the drunken glaze that covered the blues of his friends.

He wanted to leave then, he nearly decided that it wasn’t worth it anymore. For a second, he let the bad thoughts in, he let himself sit with the idea that maybe JJ should just sit out in the cold and let the waves take him. But what good would it do for any of them. John B didn’t want his other best friend dead, not when he knew it was all only just projections he was receiving from JJ.

JJ was sad deep down, and he knew it. He knew that JJ was jealous, angry, bitter. He had every right to be. That was supposed to be him after all. Him and Y/n, happy as can be, traveling the world together and surfing the tasty waves that crashed onto foreign shores.

He stopped himself before he could get beyond the threshold, pausing as he thought over his words. The very phrase he was never able to confess to JJ, the phrase that held the last remains of life in his heart, and the only living piece of Y/n he selfishly kept to himself.

“She loved you, you know.” John B broken the silence once more. He closed his eyes to not cry, but still he couldn’t face his best friend.

“What’re you one about now, huh?” JJ chuckled, the now empty bottle placed down firmly behind him. Heavy footsteps only grew closer behind John B, and it wouldn’t be long before he knew he would have to face him, see the pain spread across his friend’s face at the truth.

“Y/n.” John B said plainly, turning on his heals to look at JJ with glassy eyes. “She told me to tell you before she…”

“Before she left?” JJ finished John B’s sentence, throwing his head back for the millionth time and looking at his friend with a mix of anger and sadness.

For the first time in years, John B shook his head in denial for the narrative he had accidentally painted for JJ, all while trying to get over his own grief that was slowly consuming him.

“No.” John B breathed out. “Before she died.”

“Bullshit, she left, remember? Just like the spanish, she fuckin’…packed her shit and left you for the wolves, right?” JJ sputtered, his eyes now filled with something more than drunken frustration, but pure disbelief.

“JJ, Y/n is dead.” John B finally confessed, and he swore he felt his chest growing heavier, smaller, the air thicker. “She made me…” He hesitated on his words. “She made me promise to tell you that she ran away. And that she loved you…that she loves you.”

John B corrected himself like she was still alive. Though the prominent ache in his chest was enough proof that Y/n was gone. Even just speaking about it, he felt himself growing teary eyed. He felt the lump in his throat expanding as it rose, threatening to come out in a sob.

He couldn’t look, but if he had the courage to, he would have seen the same expression on JJ’s face. The grief, the loss, the pain. Only, on him, it seemed to run much deeper than John B.

“How?” JJ asked finally, breaking the silence that was growing increasingly heavier as time passed.

“We were trying to get away…the…Singhs men found us and we were running. At some point I…I lost her I guess and when I found her, she was…she was already beyond saving.” John B confessed softly.

JJ’s breath hitched, imagining the scenario in his head. He could see it now, her poor body sat in the mud, her desperate eyes looking for the familiar face of a friend, only to be met with darkness. His heart clenched tightly in his chest.

“Was she scared?” JJ let out a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“If she was she didn’t show it.” John B said, and JJ let out a weak laugh.

“Typical.” It made John B laugh too.

“Yeah.”

Silence fell over the pair again, the cold air suddenly nice against the heat that was burning in both of their chests.

“She…she was sorry, for leaving. For not getting to say goodbye.” John B told JJ calmly, using his palms to swipe away any tears that threatened to fall.

“Did she…did she say how it happened? Did you see? How she died?”

John B swallowed hard, vaguely aware of the blonde with the same threatening buzzcut that sat chained up just below the deck, but completely aware that the minute the truth came out, the culprit would finally get what he deserved for his crimes. A punishment John B had always been to intimidated to enact.

“She was stabbed. The guy twisted the knife and everything. She lost so much blood by the time I got there and she…she said that…she paid for it. She had it coming. That…” Even now, certain that he wanted to get the truth out, the name got stuck in his throat. “That Rafe got her good.”

JJ said nothing as he pieced together the scene, sobering up almost instantly. Not only was he reeling in the guilt of losing his best friend—no, the love of his life, but also in the fact that he had blamed her for something someone else had inflicted upon her. The very same person who was currently stowed away just underneath his feet.

There was no stopping JJ once he pushed past John B, unintentionally throwing him violently into the door frame as he made a sharp turn towards the stairs. There was a new found rage in his eyes so deadly, John B was certain he’d never see something quite like it ever again.

“JJ, JJ, stop!” John B called out quickly, frantically running after him. But he only drew attention to the situation more, because by the time he and the others managed to squeeze down the small stairwell, JJ was already stood over Rafe, who was long passed out, his head pressed against the wall and his face bruised beyond recognition.

“JJ!” Sarah shrieked, but John B held her back. He tried to ignore his wifes sobs of terror, too focused on keeping her away from the uncontrollable anger that their friend was currently releasing onto the deserved victim.

“You took everything from me!” JJ shouted through gritted teeth, not even phased by the blood that coated his knuckles and splattered across the bright white walls. “You piece of shit! You killed her!” He wailed, his punches slowing into soft taps as Rafes breathing slowed into soft wheezes for air through his definitely broken nose.

“A-and I blamed her for it the whole time. I-I fuckin’…I loved her.” JJ sobbed, ignoring the metallic smell of his hands as he used his palms to hide the vulnerability behind his tears that poured so wildly down his flushed face.

“I loved her, and I’ll never get to have her again.” JJ shouted through his hands, muffling his cries of pure grief, of unfathomable sadness that hit him all at once.

Pope was holding him within two strides, his arms wrapping around his friend as he too pieced together what happened, not needing as much context to understand the motive behind the violence.

In that moment, nothing more but the sounds of heavy sobs and thick, choked breathing echoed through the shaking boat, the storm long forgotten as the truth finally bubbled to the surface, leaving anything and anyone in its wake completely torn open.

Then, there was a moment of clarity for JJ, a singular hope that was based around the security of a magic that didn’t exist. He knew then, he had to get the treasure they were searching for. Selfishly, he didn’t even care about the money. He knew what he wanted, and he knew what his one wish would be once he got his hands on that crown.

And it would all be okay, if only he hadn’t had to have paid the price.

[ailoda]

updated: 01.02.25

ᯓ★ mob!au

Run For Your Life (❤✘): he was away from the city for a while, chasing after some bastards who betrayed him. But the traitors were no longer breathing now and Bucky Barnes was finally able to come home to the city he ruled. Mostly, he was excited to come back and see his girl again. However when he got to the strip club where you worked as a waitress, he didn’t find you there. They told him you didn’t work there anymore. No one knew where you went, or why you left. Nobody even knew your real name. Now it was up to him to search the whole wide world to find a nameless girl – one he was obsessively, mindlessly in love with. (@sinner-as-saint) (warning: stalking tendencies)

Passionfruit (❤✘): you spend a well deserved lazy day with your mafia husband and son… plus Bucky getting a little handsy. (@kurogxrix)

Look Don't Touch (❤): you accidentally walk onto your husband and his men during a meeting, clad in nothing else but a tight-fitting top and a baby in your arms. The sight is enough to send the many men drooling, but Bucky reminds them that you’re only his to look at, and will always be. (@kurogxrix)

The Alchemy (❤❅✘): about a decade ago you left your home and ran away, looking for a fresh start after having had your heart broken by the boy you loved. Now you’re back and turns out Bucky Barnes – the same man who once broke your heart – is adamant on tormenting you some more. But why? Why does he want you back at all cost when he was the one who once pushed you away and crushed your heart like it meant nothing to him? What secrets has he been keeping for almost a decade? Most importantly, what truly happened that night he broke your heart? (@sinner-as-saint) (warning: forced marriage/marriage of convenience, possessive behaviours)

4 Minutes (✘): you and Bucky had limited time to spend intimately during the past few days, leaving you both extremely sexually frustrated. When your son’s occupation offers you 4 minutes of free time, Bucky’s damn adamant on making your legs shake in less than 3. (@kurogxrix)

Protector (❤✧): ironically, the man with blood on his hands and a permanent target on his back was the one you’d never felt safer with. (@cherryrogers) (warning: mild violence, assault, stalking, mentions of illness, death)

Honey, There Is No Right Way (❤❅✘): when you agree to be the feared mobster Bucky Barnes’ sugar baby, you expect to get enough money to pay your bills. what you don’t expect is to fall head over heels for him. (@bonky-n-steeb)

A Love For The (P)ages (❤): Bucky might be the baddest mob boss in the city but he’s the softest and sweetest husband in the Universe. (@jobean12-blog)

Stealing Hearts (❤❅✘): his mansion was highly secured, and yet, breaking in and trying to steal from him was rather easy for a skilled thief like yourself. Key word: trying. Of course you got caught by his men. And the mob boss was known to be ruthless, cold, merciless – the list of his villainy was endless – so you thought he’d end you the moment he laid eyes on a thief like you. However, he didn’t. Instead, he made you an unusual offer. One you couldn’t resist. (@sinner-as-saint)

Come Home (❤✘): Bucky comes home to find you and your son asleep in your bed and his heart damn near explodes with how much he loves his family. And after putting your baby to sleep, Bucky proceeds to show you just how grateful he is to have you and how much he loves you… (@sinner-as-saint)

I Am Your Fall (❤❅✘): you’re hiding from your past, in Madripoor. You did nothing wrong, other than mix dangerous business with a lot of pleasure. You couldn’t go home because… he would find you, and Madripoor was the only place he didn’t do business, or had any allies or friends. But little did you know that the mob boss had finally found you, after obsessively looking for you ever since you left, and left him in pieces. He didn’t want revenge, he just wanted the one thing he had hopelessly fallen in love with; who also happened to be the one who had betrayed him and hurt him more than anyone or any bullet ever did before - you. (@sinner-as-saint)

Fallin' For Ya (❤): Bucky finds himself standing in front of your door with a bouquet of roses, wondering when he’s ever allowed his stone-cold mafia heart to fall in love with you. (@kurogxrix)

Yours To Wield (❤❅✘): with the enemy threatening to obliterate your family, you’re left with no choice but to take the hit just so he would spare your loved ones. Belonging to a mafia family requires sacrifices to be made at every step, and in order to save your family you make the ultimate one - you offer yourself up to the enemy. Bucky Barnes isn’t a man one negotiates with, he owns this city and whatever he says is considered law. But when you come to him with an irresistible offer, he bends his own rules for you. What starts out as an agreement becomes so much more, and the two of you find love where it wasn’t supposed to be. But rare are the love stories which don’t include some sort of war. (@sinner-as-saint)

Lover Boy (❅✘): it's the Bridgerton carriage scene, but make it mob!Bucky. (@cryptidcasanova)

Starting Over (❤❅): when Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending. (@sashaisready)

Guard Dog (❤❅): Bucky doesn't take too kindly to people hurting his wife. (@auroralwriting)

Adore Her, Dior Her (❤): what good is having all that money if he can't spend it on the woman he loves? (@queers-gambit)

Ending, Beginning (❤❅): after months of physical therapies, Y/N was finally back in town and ready to jump right back into business as usual. Bucky, however, disagreed; he didn’t want her anywhere near the club anymore. (@leascorner)

The Threat of Intimacy (❅✘✧): a beautiful bride marrying the man of your dreams. But when faced with what comes after the vows and first dance as Mr. and Mrs Barnes, you suggest that a particular arrangement be made. (@darkdemeter)

Bad Romance (❤❅✘): in Brooklyn, everyone knows the unwritten rule: you don’t cross James Barnes. When you return after nearly half a decade, things are anything but the same. After the murder of your Uncle, you begin to learn that no one is who they say they are, and that you may have accidentally given your heart to a mobster; The White Wolf of Brooklyn. More dangerous than that, he’s given you his. (@samthemarvelfan)

Promises (❤❅): when your parents are murdered in cold blood, you turn to the most feared man on the east coast for answers. (@preciousbarnes) (warning: graphic depictions of murder)

new! Suite Spades (✘): at the club where you danced it wasn’t unusual for you to have regulars, they were normally gross married men but there was one regular that stood out from the rest, your favorite. a grumpy ‘business’ man with a black metal arm. (@lostalioth)