#The Devil's Daughter Chapter 5 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stylesispunk · 3 months ago

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"Blind Faith" chapter V

Priest!Joel Miller x night club dancer!reader

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summary: The aftermath of you and Joel spending the night together and him finding out the truth of you from someone else's lips. w.c: 6k (short but angsty) Warnings: age gap (joel is in his late 40s and reader in her late 20s), fluff, forbidden love, angst (yes, it's back for a few chapters). Remember, reader is latina. English is not my first language. a/n: Chapter 5 is here. I want to thank every single one of you who read this story and take their time to share it and also to share their thoughts with me. I really appreciate. I'm sorry for the short chapter and I beg you pardon for the angst. REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED. happy reading.

Sorry, posting again, I had a technical issue with the other one.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

The bible defined sin as transgression of the law of God.as the offence of breaking a religious or moral law. Perhaps, as the forbidden pleasures that caused a nervous giggle or perhaps as the shame wandering.

When you broke a vow, you became a sinner.

When you kissed the devil, you became a sinner.

But when you made love—how could you even think of that word?

When Joel carried you to bed last night, he did it with such tenderness he didn’t even think about what you had done.

It didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t feel like his heart was being torn apart by the monster lurking in the corners, waiting to punish him for what he had touched and seen. For what he had tasted like a reeking fruit.

He had met love after seeking for it for such a long time. He had tried it, in all its forms until he met God and found a way to spread it all to people. All the love he couldn’t give his daughter.

All the love that had stained his hands and slipped through his fingers.

And then he found you. And now you were sleeping next to him—your head on his pillow, and your hand resting on his chest, above his heart, beating for you.

He thought—how could something this good, this beautiful, be a sin?

How could it be a sin when the sunlight touched your face just right, making you look like a morning angel? How could it be wrong when his cheeks hurt from smiling at the sight of you?

He refused to listen to the voices in his head.

This morning, he had chosen you.

"Are you awake? ‘Cause I can feel you getting comfortable on my chest," he whispered.

"You stayed," you murmured without opening your eyes.

"Of course I did, baby," he said, without hesitation.

"Do you regret it?" You almost regretted asking—feared what the answer might do to you.

Joel paused, thoughtful. What had happened last night came from something desperate and pure, something blooming inside both of you for a long time. He had fallen—deeply. He loved your touch. He loved how you felt. The sounds you made, the way you moaned his name.

He couldn’t regret it.

He just couldn’t.

"No," he said finally, smiling as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. You looked precious.

Groundbreaking, even.

"You were gentle," you said softly, finally opening your eyes, mirroring his smile.

"You didn’t like it?"

"I did," you whispered, your lips pulling into a small smile. "It was the first time I felt really loved by someone. I’m glad it was you."

Joel’s thumb brushed lazy circles over your hip beneath the sheets, his other hand cradling the back of your head. Neither of you spoke for a moment. The silence was soft, golden, filled only with the rhythm of breath and the quiet thud of his heartbeat against your ear.

“You always sleep this still?” he murmured.

You smiled against his chest. “Only when I feel safe.”

That made him pause. You felt the way his body tensed just slightly next to you, like the weight of your words settled deep in his bones. And then he exhaled, kissed the top of your head. “Then I’ll take that as a damn good compliment.”

You lifted your head a little, meeting his eyes. They were warm, still brown-colored in the light. “You’re dangerous,” you said softly, lips twitching. “I think I could get used to waking up like this.”

Joel chuckled, the sound low and rough with sleep. “You already are.”

You both smiled. And then, your gaze softened.

There were words pressing against your throat. The past clawing for space in your chest. Secrets that hadn’t yet surfaced. You didn’t want to ruin the moment. But you also didn’t want to build this thing on silence.

“There’s... things I haven’t told you yet,” you said quietly, almost like you were testing the weight of the sentence in the air.

Joel didn’t flinch. He just looked at you, all patience, all presence.

He nodded once, encouraging. “You don’t have to tell me now. But if it’s on your chest... I’ll carry it with you. I don’t scare that easy.”

You looked at him. Really looked. And there it was again—that gentleness. That steady, weathered kind of love. The kind that didn’t back away when things got hard. The kind that stayed.

“I’m scared you’ll look at me differently,” you admitted.

Joel’s hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye.

“Darlin’,” he said, voice low, “I don’t love you because I think you’re perfect. I love you because you’re real. You’ve lived. You’ve hurt. And you’re still here.”

You blinked, swallowing the lump forming in your throat.

He smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You can tell me whenever you’re ready. Or not at all. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your breath caught, and your fingers stilled against his chest. The words hung heavy on your tongue, trembling at the edge.

“You’re a priest, Joel. I—” you started, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know what that makes me.”

Joel didn’t move. He stayed right there with you, his hand still on your cheek, his eyes searching yours.

“It makes you the woman I love,” he said simply, without hesitation.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out right away. Your throat burned. “But everything we did... it goes against everything you promised. Everything you believe in.”

“I believe in you,” he said, his voice firmer now, but still low, still gentle. “I believe in this. In us. I’ve spent a long-time following rules that didn’t leave space for the ache in my chest. For the loneliness. For how bad I wanted to be held, to be known, to love and be loved. And then you walked in.”

Your eyes filled, but you blinked them clear, searching his face like maybe you could find a reason to believe him more than you already did.

He leaned closer, his forehead touching yours.

“I don’t feel guilt when I’m with you,” he whispered. “I feel peace. I feel like I found the thing I was always trying to pray for but didn’t know how to name.”

You exhaled shakily. “But what if they find out?”

“Let me to figure this out, okay?” he said, you nodded.

You buried your face against his chest, his arms pulling you in tighter like he could protect you from every doubt, every consequence, every ghost of the past.

“I never wanted to ruin your life,” you murmured.

“You didn’t,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You saved it.”

You smiled against his chest, and his heart beat harder beneath your cheek. You both fit each other so perfectly well it almost frightened you.

You exhaled against his skin, letting yourself stay in that feeling—for just a second longer—until a sudden gasp caught in your throat.

Your eyes snapped open. “Shit—it’s morning,” you whispered, lifting your head quickly, your heartbeat kicking up. “Carmen. She’s probably already home.”

Joel blinked, still foggy with sleep and the softness of your embrace.

But before you could explain, the bedroom door creaked open with that telltale groan you’d been meaning to fix for months.

And there she was.

Carmen.

Standing in the doorway with a grocery bag in her hand, keys still dangling from her fingers. Her eyes widened for a second, taking in the sight of you tangled up in bed, sheets half-pulled around you, and the priest, half-dressed beside you.

You froze. Joel froze. Time froze.

Carmen’s lips parted slightly, as if she might say something.

But then—unexpectedly—she smiled. A little crooked, knowing smile. Not shocked. Not angry. Just amused at the scene in front of her.

She raised one eyebrow like she was about to tease you, then shook her head with a soft huff and stepped back, pulling the door closed behind her without a word.

You and Joel stared at the now-closed door for a moment, suspended in stunned silence.

“…Well,” Joel said finally, voice still raspy. “That went better than expected.”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands, cheeks burning. “I’m never going to hear the end of this.”

Joel chuckled, pulling you back against him. “Guess I should’ve remembered you live with her.”

You smacked his chest lightly, biting down a laugh. “She is already like a big sister to me”

“Oh,” Joel said, and you could feel his grin against your temple. “Then yeah. Definitely never hearing the end of it.”

You sighed, but couldn’t help smiling too. Somehow, the moment didn’t feel ruined—it felt more real. Like the kind of messy, human life you’d both been aching for.

The house felt too quiet, considering the bomb that had just gone off in your bedroom. You pulled your sweater tighter around you, padding into the kitchen with Joel behind you. His hair was still a little messy, his jacket hanging off his frame in a way that made your heart flutter and your stomach drop all at once. Like it was all too much, too good, too fragile.

Carmen was already there, leaning against the counter with a steaming mug in her hand, one brow raised like she’d been waiting for a good punchline.

Joel cleared his throat. “I should get going.”

She didn’t even blink. Just took a slow sip of her coffee and turned to look at him. “You can have a cup of coffee before you go, Father.”

You let out the softest noise of protest and immediately squeezed your eyes shut, mortified. Joel glanced at you, then rubbed the back of his neck with that half-grin like he didn’t quite know whether to laugh or apologize.

“Thanks,” he said carefully. “That’s kind of you.”

Carmen smirked, pouring another mug without a word, like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like it wasn’t the priest from Sunday mass standing barefoot in her kitchen after spending the night with you.

She handed the cup to Joel with a wink. “Milk’s in the fridge, I bet you needed now.”

You groaned into your hands. “Carmen.”

“What? I’m being welcoming.”

Joel chuckled under his breath, the sound low and warm as he took the coffee. “Appreciate the hospitality.”

Carmen gave you a look over the rim of her mug—teasing but not unkind. There was curiosity in her gaze, sure, but no judgment. Just a question she hadn’t decided whether or not to ask yet.

You glanced at Joel, then back at her. “I was going to tell you…”

“Oh, I’m not mad,” she said, shrugging. “I’m just wondering how long I have to keep calling him Father now that he’s defiled my couch pillows.”

Joel choked on his coffee and you dropped your face to the counter.

“Okay,” you mumbled, “I’m moving out.”

Joel leaned beside you, shoulder brushing yours, eyes sparkling with barely contained laughter. “This is... honestly not the worst reaction I’ve gotten from someone.”

Carmen hummed. “You must be real fun at reunions.”

Joel just sipped his coffee and looked at you over the rim. “Worth it.”

You didn’t know how long you sat there, head in your hands, feeling the heat radiate off your cheeks while Joel calmly drank his coffee like it wasn’t the most awkward morning you have had in this town.

Eventually, you peeked up at him, and he gave you a little smirk. The kind that said yeah, this is a mess, but I’m here for it anyway. You didn’t know whether to kiss him again or throw a dish towel at his face. Maybe both.

Carmen was the one who broke the silence, of course.

“So…” she began, drawing the word out like it was the opening line of a soap opera. “You two wanna tell me how long this has been going on? Or do I get to play detective?”

You exhaled, finally lifting your head. “It wasn’t supposed to go anywhere. It just—”

“—happened,” Joel finished gently, voice low. “But it wasn’t a mistake.”

Carmen’s expression softened for a second. “Didn’t think it was. You look... happy.”

You and Joel glanced at each other. There was something so fragile about that look—like both of you were still testing the weight of this thing you were building, wondering if it would collapse beneath you.

He reached out and brushed his knuckles against your hand where it rested on the counter. “I am,” he said simply.

Carmen let out a little sigh and stood, brushing her hands off. “Alright. I’ll keep quiet. But if you’re gonna keep sneaking him in here, at least give me a heads-up so I don’t walk in and get a free sermon with a side of bare ass.”

You groaned again. Joel just laughed.

She winked at you and grabbed her purse. “I’m going out. You two… talk. Figure your stuff out.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving behind a thick silence and the scent of her perfume.

Joel finished the last sip of his coffee, then turned to you. “She took that well.”

You gave him a weak smile, still half-hiding your face. “She doesn’t judge people. That makes her a good person.”

Joel stepped closer, setting his mug down and taking your hand in both of his. His thumb brushed your knuckles, slow and steady.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he said. “Not of me. Not of this.”

You met his eyes, heart thudding hard in your chest. “There’s still things I haven’t told you.”

“I know,” he said, and squeezed your hand. “And when you’re ready—I’ll listen.”

Joel’s eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, and you saw the shift in his fase, the return of responsibility, of the outside world creeping back in.

He sighed, reluctant, brushing his thumb across your hand one more time. “I should go,” he said softly.

You nodded, even though you hated the idea of him walking out that door. Of being left alone with the thoughts clawing at the back of your mind. With the truths you hadn’t found the courage to say yet.

“Church stuff?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” he muttered, glancing down as he pulled his hand from yours. “There’s always something.”

You followed him to the door anyway, arms crossed over your chest like a poor defense against the distance that would stretch between you once he was gone. His hand lingered on the doorknob. He didn’t look ready to leave either.

You stood there, watching him, with hope and fear. You hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear the answer to one more question, once again. The weight of it pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe, but you asked anyway, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

“Do you regret it?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper in the same tone as when you woke up.

Joel’s hand was still on the doorknob, but it stilled at your words. His shoulders tensed for just a moment, before he turned back to face you, his gaze searching yours as though he could read the fear in your eyes.

“No,” he said, his voice low but firm. There was no hesitation, no pause as if he had already thought about it far too many times to feel anything but certainty. “I don’t regret it.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, relief washing over you, but it was short-lived. You still felt the weight of your own truth hanging heavily in the air, waiting to be revealed. Would he still feel the same once he knew everything?

Joel stepped closer, his hand returning to the space between you both, reaching for you gently. His fingers brushed over your cheek, his touch light but reassuring. “You don’t have to keep wondering,” he murmured, his voice a balm to the storm swirling in your chest. “I’m not going anywhere. And I don’t regret a thing. Not even a second.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling at his words, but the doubts remained. His promise was comforting, but still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was so much more to uncover, more that needed to be said.

With a small, unsteady breath, you finally said, “I just… I don’t want to lose you.”

Joel smiled softly, his thumb brushing across your cheek as if to reassure you. “You won’t,” he whispered.

Joel's thumb continued its gentle path along your cheek, his touch tender, as if he could soothe all the lingering doubts inside you. The space between you closed, and before you could fully process it, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was soft, slow, and full of the kind of emotion that could speak volumes without a single word. It was a promise, a silent vow that whatever had passed between you both, whatever uncertainties remained, didn't have to be faced alone. It was the kind of kiss that said, "I’m here. And I’m not leaving." Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. It seemed to be your new favorite sound feeling.

When the kiss finally broke, you were breathless, your chest rising and falling as you tried to collect yourself. Joel’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes closing for a moment as he steadied his own.

“Okay, I gotta go now.” He whispered against your lips.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, though your heart felt heavy with the weight of his departure. "I know," you whispered, your voice softer than usual.

Joel lingered for a moment, his eyes scanning your face as though memorizing the way you looked, storing it in his mind before he had to walk out the door. The air between you was thick with unsaid things, but there was comfort in the way he watched you—like he was still holding onto you, even if just for a few more seconds.

"Take care of yourself," he said, his voice low, sincere. "I'll see you soon."

You nodded again, not trusting yourself to speak.

……………………………………………

Days slipped by, weaving a quiet, delicate rhythm between you and Joel. The stolen moments became your lifeline, each fleeting kiss shared in secret corners, behind closed doors, or when the world was quiet enough for you to be just you and him. There was a comfort in these stolen moments, but also a weight, a secret burden you carried together.

As the final hymn echoed through the church, you found yourself standing beside Joel at the altar, your fingers just brushing the cool surface of the wood as the last of the congregation began to filter out. The air was thick with the scent of incense, the hushed murmurs of the departing parishioners blending with the fading music.

Joel’s hand rested gently on your waist, a comforting weight that grounded you, but even in this moment of intimacy, you could feel the weight of the space around you, the heavy gaze of the women in the pews, their eyes lingering as they whispered in low voices. You didn’t need to hear their words to understand the judgment behind them.

You could feel their eyes on you, each glance a silent accusation. As if they knew. As if they understood the things you were still trying to bury deep inside. There was nothing that could make the judgment disappear.

You stole a glance at Joel, his hand still resting on your waist, his touch a silent promise. He didn’t seem to notice the looks, lost in the rhythm of the post-service bustle, his smile soft, his energy at peace. It made your heart ache to think of how unaware he was of the scrutiny surrounding you. He wasn’t burdened by the same weight. For him, this was his world—his sanctuary. For you, it was both a refuge and a place of constant tension, a place where the world could watch and judge without saying a word.

The women were still looking, whispering, exchanging glances with each other, perhaps noting how close you and Joel stood, how your bodies seemed to fit together naturally. You fought the urge to shrink away, to disappear into the shadows, but you couldn’t. Not with Joel so close, not when his warmth was the only thing that felt real in the midst of it all.

Joel turned slightly, his gaze falling on you, and you couldn’t hide the hesitation in your eyes, the way you shrunk just a little under the weight of those stares. He seemed to sense it instantly. His hand tightened on your waist, though still gentle, his thumb brushing in slow circles against your side.

“Don’t worry about them,” he murmured low enough for only you to hear, his voice soothing. "They don’t know what we have."

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself. "But they’re watching, Joel. They’re judging. You’re a priest… and I’m not—" The words caught in your throat before you could finish the sentence, before you could say what you really felt: I’m not what you need.

Joel’s hand slowly slid off your waist, and the absence of his touch sent a chill through you, though it was gentle, not harsh. His gaze softened, a mixture of understanding and sadness flickering in his eyes. For a brief moment, the weight of his silence felt heavier than any judgment from the others.

He looked over at the women in the pews, their glances still lingering on both of you. The air felt thick, charged with unspoken thoughts. Joel’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t show anger—only a quiet sadness, like he could feel the same sting in your chest, the weight of being watched, of feeling wrong for something so right.

“They don’t get to decide,” Joel said, his voice firm this time, though the tension was still there. “What’s between us... It’s not for them to understand.”

“Can you stay and help me with some things in there?” he asked, his voice directed toward the room at large, but his eyes locked onto yours, waiting for your response.

The women in the pews, still lingering with their quiet judgment, seemed to hold their breath for a moment, exchanging subtle glances, but Joel’s calm demeanor didn’t waver. He wasn’t backing down, not from them, not from this.

You hesitated for a second, unsure whether to take the out he was offering. The idea of being alone with him, in the quiet sanctuary of the church, sounded almost like a relief—a break from the scrutiny. But part of you still felt that nagging pull to stay here, to deal with the stares, to show you weren’t afraid of their whispers.

Joel seemed to sense your uncertainty. “It’s just some organizing. Nothing too serious,” he added, his voice softening as if trying to make it sound more casual. “We can talk more. Just... away from here.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of the moment press on you. With a quiet nod, you stepped a little closer to him, the space between you finally feeling like it might be crossed. The church, with all its weight and presence, had felt like a cage, but here, next to Joel, it felt a little less suffocating.

“I’ll help,” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper, but it was enough.

Joel smiled softly, his hand finding yours once more, and in that moment, the judgment, the whispers—they didn’t seem to matter as much. He had offered you a way out, a space where you could just be you.

The women in the pews remained still, but Joel didn’t wait for any further reactions. He led you toward the back, his hand warm around yours, and the tension seemed to dissipate with every step you took away from the staring eyes.

You followed Joel to the back of the church, feeling the stillness settle between you as you stepped further away from the prying eyes. The door clicked softly as it shut behind you, sealing out the whispers and judgment. The moment you were inside, the air shifted—it felt like a brief sanctuary within the sanctuary, a space where it was just the two of you.

“What do you need help with?” you asked, voice steady, even though your heart was still beating hard, a nervous excitement running through you. You weren’t sure what exactly had drawn you in, whether it was the promise of being alone with him or the need to escape the weight of everything that was outside this room.

But before Joel could respond, before the words even had a chance to form in his throat, he stepped closer, closing the space between you. His eyes were dark with something you couldn’t quite name, something deeper than the usual tenderness.

Without saying a word, he reached for you, his hands gentle but insistent, and before you could blink, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was urgent, but not frantic. It was a kiss that seemed to speak volumes, a quiet promise and a raw longing all in one. His lips were warm, familiar, like home. You leaned into him, responding instinctively, your hands finding their way to his chest, then his shoulders, drawing him closer as if you could melt into him.

When he finally pulled away, his breath ragged, he looked at you with a look you couldn’t quite read. It was the kind of look that made your heart stutter, like he was balancing on the edge of something dangerous, something beautiful.

“I needed that,” he whispered, his voice low and rough. “Needed to remind myself... that it’s real. What’s between us.”

You pressed your forehead to his, your breath still shaky. “I know,” you murmured. “I needed it too.”

Joel closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as if trying to center himself, then slowly pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His lips brushed against yours once more, soft and gentle, like a fleeting promise. The kiss was brief but filled with an undeniable warmth, a reassurance that neither of you had spoken, but both could feel.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “I don’t want to complicate things... but damn,” he murmured, voice still thick with emotion, “I don’t think I can stay away from you. Not now.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the gravity of the moment pulling you in even deeper. You wanted to say something, anything, but for a few moments, all that filled your mind was the soft press of his lips against yours, the way the world outside didn’t matter when he was this close.

“I don’t want you to stay away,” you whispered, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt, still feeling the warmth of his skin beneath it. “But we can’t keep doing this... hiding.”

Joel sighed, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know we can’t. Just let me figure out some things out first.”

You nodded.

The music thrummed through the club, the beats pulsing in time with your movements as you danced on stage. The crowd was alive, the lights flashing in rhythm with the energy of the night. You had felt good these past few days, something you hadn’t realized you had been missing until Joel came into your life. His presence had soothed something inside you, made you feel lighter even amidst the chaos.

As you danced, your gaze swept over the room, past the crowd of familiar faces, until your eyes landed on a man sitting alone at a table in the far corner. Something about him felt... off. You didn’t recognize him, and yet there was something strangely familiar about the way he was watching you. His eyes locked onto yours instantly, and your breath caught in your throat.

You felt a chill race down your spine as recognition clicked in your mind. The man wasn’t a stranger after all. You knew him. The familiar weight of his stare was enough to send a jolt of unease through your body. His presence stirred memories you had long since buried, and a lump formed in your throat.

He stood immediately, his movements smooth, calculated. His eyes never left yours, as though he had been waiting for this moment, for you to notice him. The rest of the world around you seemed to blur, the music almost drowned out by the rapid beat of your heart.

Your body froze for a moment, instinctively trying to push the old memories back into the recesses of your mind where they belonged. But they refused to stay hidden. You remembered the way he used to look at you, the feeling of his gaze lingering on you like a weight. And now, here he was, standing in front of you, no more than a few steps away.

You kept dancing, forcing yourself to maintain the rhythm, but your movements felt mechanical, disconnected from the energy you’d felt just moments ago. You couldn’t stop looking at him, even though every part of you screamed to look away.

The man stepped forward, his pace slow, deliberate, as if he wanted you to know he was in control, that he had your attention. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. There was no warmth, no familiarity in his eyes, only something colder, something that made you want to retreat.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not yet. The mask you’d carefully crafted in this life, the strength you’d built up, told you to stand tall.

As his presence loomed closer, your breath caught again. You didn’t want to acknowledge what had been stirred inside you, but it was too late. He was here. And there was no escaping the truth now—he knew you, and you knew him. But you weren’t ready to let anyone else know that yet.

You stepped down from the stage, heart pounding in your throat, legs moving before your mind could catch up. The lights faded behind you, the music a dull throb compared to the noise in your head. You pushed past the curtain, your breath ragged, chest tight like something heavy had just landed on it and wouldn’t let go.

“Hey, hey!” Billy’s voice caught you just as your hands met the wall behind the stage, steadying yourself. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

He reached for your arm, stopping you before you could disappear into the dressing room. His eyes searched yours, concern etched across his face, his brow furrowed deep. “You looked like you saw a ghost out there.”

You couldn’t speak. Your mouth opened, but the words got stuck somewhere between your ribs and your throat. You looked at Billy, wide-eyed, like maybe he’d understand if you just stared hard enough.

He squeezed your arm gently. “Was it someone out there? A guy?” he asked, more quietly now.

You shook your head rapidly. Billy’s jaw tensed, clearly not buying it, but he didn’t push. Not yet.

“You sure?” he asked, softer this time, like maybe if he lowered his voice, you’d give him something—anything.

You nodded, eyes darting toward the curtain again. “Yeah,” you lied, forcing a shaky breath. “Just… got dizzy. Lights were too much tonight.”

He let out a small breath, half a sigh, half a frustrated grunt. “You’ve done a hundred nights like this. You’ve never looked like that before.”

“I know,” you whispered, avoiding his eyes now. “It’s nothing. I just need a minute.”

Billy looked like he wanted to say more—like he was piecing something together but couldn’t quite make it click. His hand hovered for a moment, then dropped to his side.

“Alright,” he said finally, voice tight. “Please don’t tell me the priest got your pregnant or something”

You stared at him, the breath catching hard in your lungs.

“What?” you said, barely above a whisper, like maybe if you asked it soft enough it would disappear, like maybe you hadn’t heard him right.

Billy just shrugged, like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just tossed a grenade into the space between you.

“I mean,” he went on, tone casual but the edge in his voice unmistakable, “you’ve been different. Glowing. Hiding. Jumping like that? Either someone’s following you… or something’s growing inside you.”

Your heart pounded so hard you could feel it behind your eyes. You tried to laugh it off, but it came out wrong—too thin, too sharp.

“You’re insane,” you said, shaking your head, turning toward the dressing room again.

“I’m not wrong, though,” he called after you, softer this time. “Am I?”

“No, you’re wrong,” you snapped, turning back to face him, your voice sharper than you meant it to be.

Billy blinked, surprised at the fire in your tone—but you weren’t finished.

“And why the hell would Carmen tell you anything?” you asked, stepping toward him now, anger and panic bubbling up in equal measure. “She promised me she wouldn’t say a word.”

His brows furrowed. “Well, she saw it firsthand”

You cursed under your breath, realizing too late what you’d let slip. You’d been so careful, so quiet, and now it was unraveling faster than you could stop it.

Billy let out a slow, humorless breath, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I wasn’t trying to start something. I just—she is worried. Said you’ve been off, she mentioned you and the priest spent the night together so I put two and two together.”

You didn’t know what to say. Your hands trembled at your sides, the weight of the night suddenly too heavy to hold.

“I’m fine,” you said finally, flatly. “And whatever Carmen said, it wasn’t her place.”

Billy nodded slowly, eyes still locked on you like he was seeing something he couldn’t unsee. “Maybe not. But if something’s going on… you shouldn’t be dealing with it alone.”

You turned your back on him before he could say more, disappearing into the dressing room and locking the door behind you. You pressed your palms to the sink, breathing hard, eyes staring at your reflection under the buzz of fluorescent lights.

You weren’t glowing. You were unraveling.

Fearing the outcomes of the next events, he had found you.

“mierda,” (shit) you hissed under your breath, your voice trembling. “Mierda… mierda.”

The words slipped out in a harsh whisper, bitter against the cold tile and flickering light. Your hands clenched the edge of the sink so tightly your knuckles went white, the metal biting into your palms.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will the pressure away, trying to quiet the spiraling thoughts, the image of him sitting in the audience.

“¿Qué mierda estoy haciendo?”(what the hell I am doing? you muttered, shaking your head, the panic twisting deeper in your gut. “Esto no puede estar pasando…” (This cannot be happening)

What you did it know was that everything was close to explode. That same man was walking towards the church right now.

The knock came sharp and heavy, echoing through the quiet church halls like a warning. Joel looked up from his desk, a furrow cutting across his brow. No one knocked like that unless they meant business. He stood, brushing his hands against his slacks, and made his way to the door with slow, deliberate steps.

When he opened it, he was met with the figure of a man standing tall and rigid against the dying light. He looked like he’d stepped out of a different world—combat boots, weathered clothes, and a scar slicing just above his brow. His jaw was tight, his posture trained and stiff, like someone who hadn’t stopped moving in a long time.

But what struck Joel most was the familiarity in his voice when he finally spoke.

“Someone told me you're the priest of this town,” the man said, accent thick, just like yours.

Joel narrowed his eyes, uneasy. “Who are you?”

The man paused for just a breath, eyes scanning Joel like he was assessing a threat. “I need help,” he said.

Joel stood a little straighter. “Help with what?”

The man looked past Joel, into the dim light of the chapel behind him, then back again. “I’m looking for someone.”

Joel’s chest tightened, the air suddenly colder in his lungs.

The man reached into the inside pocket of his worn jacket, fingers steady despite the weight of the moment. He pulled out a small, weathered photo—creased at the corners, the edges curled from time and touch. He held it out without a word.

Joel took it hesitantly.

And there you were.

Smiling. A soft, radiant smile he hadn't seen from you in real life, at least not like that. You looked younger, lighter, standing in sunlight with your head tilted just slightly, like whoever took the picture had said something that made you laugh.

Joel felt like the ground slipped out from under him.

His throat tightened as he looked back up at the man, who was watching him closely, like he was reading every flicker of change across Joel’s face.

“This woman,” the man said, his voice colder now, more deliberate, “is my fiancée.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak.

“She disappeared a while back,” the man continued. “People told me they saw someone who looked like her here. Said she was working at a club.”

Joel’s fingers folded around the photo, not giving it back. His heart was racing, his mind trying to catch up with what this meant—what you had left behind. What you hadn’t told him.

He stepped back a little, voice low. “And what are you planning to do… if you find her?”

The man didn’t blink. “Bring her home.” He paused, and for the first time, something raw crept into his voice. “She ran. But she’s still mine.”

Joel’s heart cracked wide open in the silence that followed.

Your smile—that smile—burned into the back of his mind, now shared with a man who claimed you as his. Who spoke of you not like a person but a possession. She’s still mine.

Joel swallowed hard. The ache was almost unbearable, but his face didn’t flinch.

He handed the photo back without a word. “I don’t know her,” he said, steady but hoarse, like the lie scraped its way up from his chest and tore something loose on the way out.

The man studied him. “You sure?” he asked, eyes narrowing, voice sharper now. “You look like you do.”

Joel met his stare head-on, shoulders squared, holding himself with quiet steel. “A lotta faces pass through here. Can’t say I remember them all.”

The man didn’t move for a beat. Then, slowly, he tucked the photo back into his jacket and gave Joel a long, unreadable look. “If you see her,” he said, “tell her Gabriel’s looking for her.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away.

Joel stood there at the doorway long after he’d gone, the cold creeping into his bones. The weight of your smile still lingered on his hands; the truth heavy behind his ribs.

He didn’t know what to do so he walked to the only place he had met protection, the illusion of peace.

But tonight, the silence screamed.

He reached the altar and sank to his knees, the wood biting into him, but he welcomed the pain. He bowed his head, not in reverence, but in ruin.

Being tied to a faith he had burnt with the fire of his own sins hurt his skin. He could feel it crawling over him, pressing into his chest like a brand. It wasn’t the first time guilt had lived in his bones, but this was different. This was personal. This was you.

He felt awful.

Betrayed.

And drowned in his thoughts.

He couldn’t breathe. The air in the church felt thick, wrong, like it knew. Like God himself was watching.

Were you really the woman he had come to love, or were you nothing more than a figment of his worst intentions? A fantasy dressed in soft laughter and whispered confessions?

He had claimed you, he had loved you that night, he had held you in his arms while you slept, singing soothing lullabies to you.

He had allowed his already bruised heart to be loved by you.

You.

You, the one who looked like the sun.

You, the one who kissed all his scars.

You, with your angelic smile.

you.

"The one."

The one who, in one mere second, had shattered his broken heart into tiny, merciless pieces.

Pieces that now dug into his palms, bloody and trembling, as he clasped his hands together in front of the altar.

A man of faith, praying.

God, forgive me, his lips moved silently, over and over.

Forgive me for loving her. Forgive me for not knowing who she was. Forgive me… for still wanting her.

Tears stung the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall.

Because he wasn’t sure if he was mourning the truth…

…or mourning the lie he wished you weren’t.

Tags < 3 @jasminedragoon @mandaloriankait @jellybeanxc @spencercmlover @lilac-boo @disco-fairy75 @correapunk @existentialdreadofhumanity @secretcheesecakenacho @laliceee @exzidss @missladym1981

@drewharrisonwriter @hjzghi-blog @picketniffler @nobodyssfool @pedritosgirl2000 @koshkaj-blog @cigarxttxs @sweetpeakarolinaaa @wandasimp-69 @canteenee4 @obivari @shortandderanged @casualbananapatrol @stevie75 @hammerhead1776 @brittmb115 @strangersdotmp3 @goodvibesonly421 @jackie923 @lunpycatavenue @capuccinodoll

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jsooly · 5 months ago

Text

death in the family (2) / sully family x human!daughter/sister!reader

synopsis, dad and mom to the rescue. scared for the kids’ safety, they agree to leave… without you?

p.s. i've seen your requests so far and i love every single one! i'm super excited to write them <3

(1) / (2) / (3) / (4*) / (5) / (6*- ur here! ☆)

+ chapters with an * beside it means that it’s following atwow plot line as opposed to disconnected scenarios

neytiri had a strong sense of premonition, one that could only develop when dealing with such troublesome children. she knew from the moment jake grounded lo'ak, he would try and do something to regain the freedom he lost.

her youngest son always manages to surprise her with his roguish innocence. not only did he go to a forbidden place, he didn't pull back the moment he laid eyes on the recoms and put his sisters in danger alongside him.

did he think all the rules she and jake gave them were arbitrarily made up?

"neteyam, update your sister on our situation." jake called over the wind. "we might be out late."

behind him, neteyam nodded and pressed his comms.

"lightning bug, this is pathfinder, come in." neteyam was always the best at keeping up code names. lo'ak often slipped in a 'dad,' 'mom," or 'bro' here and there, but as with all things, neteyam takes his father's instructions to the last letter. "hello?"

neytiri cast a confused glance to her husband. it was unlike you to not respond.

"come in, bug, this is devil dog. answer us." jake spoke into his comms urgently.

"did anyone see her before we left?" neytiri asked, pulling her ikran back to match pace with the two boys.

"no, mother."

jake shook his head, running through his memory for a glimpse of you at high camp. he grunted when he came up empty. "m'sure she's just sleeping or something. we got a bigger problem right now."

“i know a quick way!” neteyam yelled over the wind, guiding his ikran to a shortcut.

jake and neytiri dove behind him, hoping it wasn't too late for their children.

. . .

you awoke with a groan, brows creasing as the blur in your vision mellowed out.

"y/n!" tuk squealed softly, thrashing in her captor's grip. “you’re bleeding!”

huh?

your eyes scan the circle you've found yourself in. the recoms got the children on the ground, bound by their queue or neck. faintly, you could hear spider's voice chatting with the commander.

and yes, you were in fact bleeding.

the bullet that grazed the length of your arm left a nasty laceration from your elbow to your shoulder. it burned like hot oil was carefully poured in a line on your skin, and ached like a ten day workout.

you began to sit up when a foot smashed into your chest. the wind was stolen from your lungs and you dropped back to the ground with a choked gasp.

you shot lo’ak a warning look right as he jerked against his captor’s grip. with an unhappy growl, he settled down.

“keep her on the ground.” quaritch snapped.

quaritch. that’s who this guy was—this avatar, rather.

“i hope you realize you almost killed three of my men,” the commander squatted on his hind legs but still managed to tower over you. “thankfully they were saved by that shit aim of yours.”

the three injured were off to the side, grunting in pain as they pulled your deep rooted arrowhead from their flesh. you remembered when you weaved blue and yellow, inspired by neytiri’s signature green and yellow, in the fletching of every single arrow sunken into them. removing them was a slow and painful process, the blade cutting just as much coming out as it did going in.

in a surprising revelation, you found yourself… thoroughly enjoying their struggle.

shit aim or not, they’ll remember the pain when they saw those blue and yellow tufts again.

you scowled, pushing the soldier’s boot off your chest roughly. they must have understood you weren’t much of a threat in your throttled state, because they didn’t move to restrain you further.

lo’ak hissed in na’vi. “(why didn’t you bring the gun?)”

you scoffed at his impertinence. “(i thought the worst you’d come across was a viper wolf, not dad’s greatest enemy. why didn’t you run away when i told you to?)”

a recom nudged your head with the barrel of their rifle. “hey. shut up.”

“(yeah, yeah, i know i was stupid.)” lo’ak cut you off, saving himself from further verbal assault.

“(that's right, and your stupid ass shouldn’t have come back.)” you clicked your tongue.

lo’ak’s face was painted with something between guilt and stubbornness. “(i was trying to help you!)”

“(you had the others to think of!)”

“but—”

"what would it take for you to shut up?!" quaritch whirled, irked from being puled out of his conversation (though it looked more like an argument) with spider. “it’s like a zoo in here, all the yipping and yapping.”

he stalked over to you, eyeing you curiously as he rested his hands on his belt. "matter of fact, why do i even need you?"

the recom behind you pressed the barrel of their gun firmly against your scalp. the distressed whines of tuk wasn't unheard by you, nor was kiri's uncertain promises that everything will be okay.

“hold off, lyle.” quaritch squinted at your face, scanning your features with a laser-like precision.

“don’t tell me… you’re that little brat that was always at his feet, weren’t you? well, wheels is more accurate.” he laughed heartily, looking at his company in condescending awe. “man, that jake sully just keeps getting better and better.”

. . .

night fell and your situation didn’t improve at all. but it didn’t worsen, either.

in the night, pandora grew even more dangerous and the way the recoms were patrolling the area meant they weren’t taking any chances underestimating her.

but then a call rang through. every kid turned their heads towards it. she was easily mistaken for the night noises of pandora’s wildlife, but to her children, neytiri’s voice was instantly recognizable.

you heard a thudding off to the side but saw nothing. before you could even turn your head back around, an arrow flew past your head and into the skull of the man holding kiri.

green and yellow fletching. it was over for them.

the next moments happened in a blur—

quartich pushed spider out the way, letting bullets fly towards the treetops.

lo’ak ripped the pin from a grenade, the burst of gas disabling some soldiers. he sunk his teeth into the recom behind him, tuk following his lead and doing the same.

once he took care of that, lo’ak launched himself onto the man holding you hostage, jumping onto his back and using the momentum to throw him off balance and face-first into the dirt.

“come on,” he grunted, pulling you up and onto his back. you grit your teeth when he squeezed your injured arm, and he murmured apologies when he heard your pained heavy breathing. “tuk, come on!”

he grabbed his baby sister’s hand. running off into the tall bushes and leaves, you caught the glint of neytiri’s arrowhead as she loaded another projectile into her bow.

you didn’t know where kiri or spider were at the moment. still, your brain finally allowed you to pass out from shock and blood loss knowing your parents were there to get everyone to safety.

. . .

“…hunting us. he’s targeting our family.”

“you cannot ask this! the children. everything they’ve ever known—this is our home!”

the words came in one ear, out the other. your head pounded, the thumping echoing in your chest, your ears... the whole world spun around you in a dizzying whirl.

“he had our children. he had ‘em under his knife!” jake's voice sliced through the fog in your mind. you felt him shift beside you, his calloused hand lifting your arm as he rewrapped your gauze.

rewrapped? how long were you out?

“look at this,” jake said, shaking your arm gently, his anger seeping through the tenderness. “he didn’t even hesitate!”

neytiri's voice cut in, louder now as she approached her husband. “my father gave me this bow—” she choked on the words, “as he lay dying. and he said protect the people—”

“honey—”

“you’re toruk makto!” neytiri's hoarse cry electrified the air, pained and anguished. “majake, we must fight.”

“this will protect the people!” jake pushed himself up, his frustration erupting, the words tumbling out in an rush of heat. “they’ve got spider. that kid knows everything. if the people harbour us, they will die.”

in a rush of clarity, your eyes cracked open. still drowsy, the words took a while to finally register in your brain. if they harbor us? where are we going?

“oh, y/n,” neytiri gasped with relief, kneeling beside you and running her slender hand over your head. “you are awake. thank you, eywa.” she whispered.

“are we leaving..? home?” your voice was barely a whisper.

neytiri’s shoulders dropped, her eyes unfocused. jake sat beside her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders in a silent promise of comfort.

“look, i got nothing.” he whispered gruffly, low and worn, more to her than you. he met her gaze, a silent plea for understanding. “i got no plan. but i can protect this family. that, i can do.”

neytiri blinked tears from her eyes, her breath catching in her throat. jake pulled her in, his grip tightening.

“dad.” you cut through the tension, your voice unsteady as you sat up. with a bewildered look on your face, you recaptured his attention. “are we leaving?”

jake gave neytiri a look drenched with grief. he scooted closer to you, his palm resting on your cheek. his thumb brushed your skin, as if to soothe your doubt.

then, in a picture of irony, a father reassuring his daughter delivered a killing blow—

“we’re leaving, baby. you’re… going to stay.”

—

“what?” the word tore itself from your throat, disbelieving.

the roof of the marui thundered under the feet of your siblings. done with eavesdropping, their protests rang through the air.

"you're leaving me behind?" you shot up, your feelings about the breach of faith plastered all over your face.

"jake?" neytiri's voice was sharp, a note of surprise in her words as she glanced at him, eyes narrowing.

"it's bad enough that we're not prepared for other environments." jake reasoned. "bringing a human there would make chances for uturu even slimmer."

"'a human?'" you recoiled, the sting of his words cutting deeper than expected. you, his daughter, reduced to just a human?

jake sighed, gazing at you helplessly. "you know i didn't mean it like that, baby."

“you wanna 'protect the family' and you’re abandoning me?” you said bitterly, the disbelief palpable in your voice. “suddenly i’m not a part of it anymore?”

jake’s eyes narrowed, irked by your insinuation. “of course you are part of the family.”

you rolled your eyes. didn’t feel like it.

“why were you even out there in the first place?” jake shifted closer, his eyes sharp as a blade as they bore into you.

“looking for another reason to ground me?” you shot back, voice wavered as the hurt in your chest spread.

“watch it, kid.” jake snapped, tilting his head dangerously. the command in his tone made you want to shrink, but you fought it down.

you massaged your temples, pain flaring up your arm as you were reminded of your body's current limits. jake reached out to you with concern, but you stepped back slightly, avoiding his touch. you couldn't face how pitiful he must look, not when the anger and hurt were still too fresh.

"dad, you're not serious." lo'ak came storming in. "you can't—"

"not now, boy." jake's words were clipped, unable to look his family's in their eyes.

"but sir—"

"lo'ak." neytiri cut in firmly. do not push any further.

"y/n, you will stay with norm and max. that's final." jake said, his tone resolute but tired.

you meet jake's eyes and for a moment you wonder if this was all a bad dream and you’re still passed out on the floor from the gash in your arm. you wonder, did he make the decision lightly, or did he truly have no other options? you wonder if he thought you were old enough to be on your own.

did he realize you had no purpose outside of this family he welcomed you into? if you couldn’t follow them, where else did you have to go?

“dad, i…” you faltered, unsure of what you were trying to say. out of the corner of your eye, you saw neytiri clutching her head in frustration, her gaze fixed on you with silent pain.

“i can adapt. i promise. if that’s what you’re worried about…” you continued, the words spilling out before you knew what you were saying. you weren't above begging, not if it meant staying with the only home and family you've ever known.

jake clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly, anxiety and desperation flooding his every movement. “not like this, y/n. the ocean na’vi, they… they are more wary of sky people. even more than our own clan.”

your eyebrows furrowed. “i’ll keep to myself.” you whispered, hope trying its hardest to cling to your promises.

he sighed, turning away. a weight seemed to settle on you both. “no, y/n.”

“yes, i’ll keep to myself. like i always have!" you voice was rising, and your voice croaked as you pleaded with your father. "i won’t get in anyone's way. i won’t talk to anyone. i'll pull my weight too, i’ll cook and—”

"no." jake's voice cracked, anger bubbling over. “i said no! you will stay with norm and max.”

“i don’t want to stay with them.” you were reduced to childish retorts. the only thing you wanted to communicate was how much you needed them and it was flying over his head.

jake grabbed your wrist, lifting your arm slightly. he immediately dropped it when he saw your face contort in pain. “that. that is the best outcome for a run in with this guy. i’m not risking any of you getting hurt, or worse!”

“and your solution is to leave me alone with him around?” you were jake's prideful daughter, something that was only ever a problem when you got into fights. neither of you were willing to back down. so you returned his screaming match with one of your own. “no one else here would care if i was captured, and you know it.”

jake frowned. “that’s not true.”

"yes, it is. and you'd leave me here anyway!" your body couldn't decide which to choose: fight or flight? teetering between anger and distress, your hands trembled. “i don’t have a clan or an avatar to fall back on!”

“it’s final. i’ve decided.” jake's expression was unreadable, his resolve set. he cast a sideways glance at neytiri, who looked onward with silent disagreement. he ignored the churning feeling in his chest.

you laughed humourlessly. “i don’t—what’s so different about adapting to the water than the forest? it’s a learning curve i’m familiar with, i can—”

“you think it was easy bringing you in?” jake's voice dropped to a growl, and he caught your gaze with a searing glare. “you think it was easy raising you, here? i’m not doing that again.”

—

silence fell over the marui, the weight of his words pressing down on everyone. tuk held onto kiri’s hand, both girls’ gazes stuck to the ground. it was a miracle lo’ak hadn’t shoved himself into the argument. instead he was channeling that energy into pacing back and forth. neteyam was the only one strong enough to hold his head high, but a big sister’s eye could catch the way he blinked too fast and his drooping posture.

anyone would see jake was protecting his family, but all you could see was your father abandoning you. was... raising you so much of a burden as he made it out to be?

“jake.” neytiri’s call was soft, a tinge of disappointment filtering through. she rest her hands on your shoulders, as if trying to ease you into something you couldn't understand.

you shrugged her off. a burning ball of emotion was stuck in your throat, and with every shaky breath, the dam was threatening to break.

“it’s… he made himself clear. i’m going.” you muttered, gulping the heartache back down to burn up in your stomach.

jake tensed up when you finally complied. he reached out to you instinctively, but his hand paused midair. “baby, wait. please. you don’t have to go now.”

“stay, y/n? don’t go.” tuk whispered when she clung to you, her request a tether you couldn't bring yourself to break.

you felt claustrophobic. suffocated. like the universe itself was collapsing inside your chest.

"dinner?” neteyam offered a compromise, his voice tentative. ever the dutiful son.

when you looked at neteyam, all you could picture was that little kid who looked up to you as if you hung the stars in the sky. you remembered—you were still the oldest.

you glanced around the room at your siblings’ quiet dejection. in the moment, you didn't want them to go but you didn't want to stay either—in any case, you didn’t want to leave on this note.

“dinner.” you agreed, your response barely audible, snatching your effects from where they lay on the ground and storming out.

jake, stretched between guilt and uncertainty, began to start off in your direction. neytiri pulled him back, her grip tight on her husband's wrist.

“give her time.” she said simply, the three words heavy with unspoken sentiments. she barely met her husband’s eyes before stalking off.

the silence persisted long after you left.

. . .

thanks for reading <3

taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @dae-dreamer @delirious-dolce @strawbaerriesvt @avatar-lover @ryiana @lxon-kxnnedy @zukki33 @chalahyung01 @ssc7514 @shmaptainbonky

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last-words-ofashootingstar · 20 days ago

Text

Hard Times

Masterlist + Soundtrack

❥Kim Hongjoong x fem reader

18+ MDNI. fun fact; minors will explode if they touch my blog

♡'･ᴗ･'♡genre: yandere, ANGST, smut

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: DEAD DOVE. DARK FICTION. listed more specifically on each chapter: step-dad hongjoong, featuring uncle bumjoong doing his best + best friend hiyyih being an angel, reader calls hj dad on accident / jokingly + he likes it a little too much, age gap (reader young adult, hong in his late 30s), serious daddy issues, soul crushing grief + survivors guilt (reader survives a crash that takes her parents), flashbacks give a glimpse of them before the accident, depictions of deep depression, medication, emotional manipulation (lowkey going both ways), unhealthy attachments + extreme taboo relationship, hardcore daddy / ddlg kink (wow shockerrrr), hongjoong is a freak with a corruption kink and likes making virgin reader: squirm / cry / call him daddy / suck on his fingers, honestly dubcon (she shouldn't be making these decisions in her headspace to begin with + hong blurs the lines of consent)

✫彡wordcount: 22k (AND COUNTING)

➯a/n: siiiigh when will i learn to keep things as simple one shots— IIIIN MY DEFENSE... eeeh i got nothin lmao just daddy hongjoong stuck on the mind 😪

taglist ? ➾ open !

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

────୨ৎ────

"I can't help you if you don't tell me what you need."

"I need you to hold me."

────୨ৎ────

Teaser

────୨ৎ────

Chapter One

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: brief hospitalization, attempted suicide, emetophobia, non sexual nudity, no smut

In Which: After the untimely death of your family, your step-father steps up and takes care of you.

────୨ৎ────

Chapter Two

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: alcohol, possessive behavior / jealousy, there's nowhere hongjoong's tongue doesn't go: making out + cunnilingus + hickeys, body worship, fingering, pussy + thigh job

In Which: Navigating your day-to-day becomes increasingly less difficult with your step-dad proving, time and time again, he always has your back.

────୨ৎ────

Chapter Three

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: virginity loss, kim "just the tip" hongjoong, epilogue included

In Which: You've finally reached some level of stability, and life isn't so bad with Hongjoong by your side.

────୨ৎ────

Hard Times

⇆ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻

ılıılıılıılıılıılılıılıı

♫Hard Times - Ethel Cain♫

1:43 ━━━━●───── 5:03

"A little girl who needs her Daddy real bad."

"In the corner, on my birthday, you watched me. Dancing right there in the grass."

"Too tired to move. Too tired to leave."

♫Now this house ain't a home - ATEEZ♫

0:58 ━━━━●───── 3:44

"You never know what's around the bend."

"The world is cold to me, so cold. The world is dizzying to me, so dizzying."

"I endure one day, then one more — hoping someday I'll reach that place."

♫Home - Daughter♫

2:10 ━━━━●───── 4:18

"Keep the nightmares out, give me mouth-to-mouth — I can't live without you."

"I don't stand a chance in these four walls."

"Now he's moving close; my heart in my throat."

♫Devil On My Back - Chrissy♫

0:35 ━━━━●───── 3:13

"And when you're crying, are you lying about who you're crying for?"

"While I'm not getting better, you're waiting patiently. You're being strong for me."

"He used to touch himself to photographs of me..."

♫Skin - Marika Hackman♫

2:10 ━━━━●───── 4:18

"I'm jealous of your neck — that narrow porcelain plinth of flesh... It gets to hold your head, and I'd rather preform the task instead."

"I am too naive."

"To shed some light, the fire must get in."

♫Watch You Sleeping - Blue Foundation ♫

2:25 ━━━━●───── 6:33

"I want to carry you, but you won't get up. It's really killing me, you know it's killing me."

♫Jupiter - Flower Face♫

0:24 ━━━━●───── 4:31

" 'Til my body overflows in the summer afterglow. I love you more than you will ever know."

♫Work Song - Hozier♫

2:31 ━━━━●───── 3:49

"In the low lamp light I was free — heaven and hell were words to me."

♫Daddy Issues - The Neighborhood♫

1:18 ━━━━●───── 4:19

"And if you were my little girl, I'd do whatever I could do. I'd run away and hide with you."

♫Francis Forever - Mitski♫

1:02 ━━━━●───── 2:29

"I don't know what to do without you... I don't know where to put my hands."

♫Cinnamon Girl - Lana Del Rey♫

"If you hold me without hurting me — you'll be the first who ever did."

1:54 ━━━━●───── 5:00

────୨ৎ────

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phyx-m · 8 months ago

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Beneath The Silk

Heian-era Sukuna (True Form) x Reader

You’re forced into a marriage with the King of Curses as part of a scheme to end his life. With your cursed gift, it should be an easy task. You couldn’t be more wrong.

Masterlist below the cut.

🔗 Originally posted on AO3 (I thought I would post on Tumblr, though I may not be as active/slow to update. Forgive me!)

Status: Ongoing/63 Chapters

🔗 Music playlist (if you're into that)

Explicit. NSFW. Minors DNI.

Tags and warnings: Cannibalism, non-con elements, forced marriage, blood and gore, violence, female reader, slow burn, smut, Sukuna has two cocks, Sukuna’s extra mouths, heavy angst, eventual romance, trauma, reader is touch starved, Heian era, historical inaccuracies, character development, panic attacks, protective Sukuna, possessive Sukuna, tension, sexual tension, manipulation, touch her and die, soft Sukuna, Sukuna POVs, enemies to lovers, slight canon divergence, reader has powers but won't use until later, misogyny, cursed techniques aren't explained, reader has a sister, finding yourself, falling in love, child abuse, size difference, additional warnings at beginnings of chapters, dismemberment, not beta read.

Masterlist

🔗 Prologue

🔗 Chapter 1: A Walk In The Forest With The Devil

🔗 Chapter 2: Rip And Tear

🔗 Chapter 3: Sanctified To The Thing With The Pink Hair

🔗 Chapter 4: The Belly Of The Beast

🔗 Chapter 5: Nightly Visits

🔗 Chapter 6: The Tip Of Your Tongue

🔗 Chapter 7: Duality Of A Different Kind

🔗 Chapter 8: The Remedy For Bad Dreams

🔗 Chapter 9: The Space Between

🔗 Chapter 10: A Snake Shedding Its Skin

🔗 Chapter 11: The Tragedy Of Want And Need

🔗 Chapter 12: Falling, Too

🔗 Chapter 13: Ruiner

🔗 Chapter 14: All The Hands Past Midnight

🔗 Chapter 15: All The Hands At Dawn

🔗 Chapter 16: Everything Unwanted

🔗 Chapter 17: The Lies We Tell Ourselves

🔗 Chapter 18: Snake Den

🔗 Chapter 19: Something's Burning

🔗 Chapter 20: Still A Monster

🔗 Chapter 21: A Warm Place

🔗 Chapter 22: Small Blade

🔗 Chapter 23: Rotting Wound And A Hole In The Wall

🔗 Chapter 24: The Devil At Your Back

🔗 Chapter 25: Something Wicked This Way Comes

🔗 Chapter 26: The Other Daughter

🔗 Chapter 27: The Great Collapse

🔗 Chapter 28: Fingertips To Flesh

🔗 Chapter 29: Shatter

🔗 Chapter 30: Sans Silk

🔗 Chapter 31: The Flower In The North

🔗 Chapter 32: One Final Breath Of Lungs To You

🔗 Chapter 33: Ruin

🔗 Chapter 34: All Oil And Flame

🔗 Chapter 35: Goodbye, Little Red Flower

🔗 Chapter 36: A Burial Of Things

🔗 Chapter 37: Liminality

🔗 Chapter 38: The Imbalance Of Being Known

🔗 Chapter 39: Beautiful Thorn

🔗 Chapter 40: The Taste Of Salt

🔗 Chapter 41: The Taste Of Sweet

#true form sukuna #heian sukuna #sukuna x you #sukuna smut #slow burn #beneath the silk #jjk #dark romance #dark content #sukuna fanfic #dark fantasy #sukuna x reader #jujustu kaisen fanfic #enemies to lovers #ryomen sukuna #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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enjakey · 8 days ago

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THE CERTAIN ROMANCE OF WINGS AND WAR- series masterlist

PAIRING: [DAD!JAKE SIM x FEM!READER]!MAFIA AU

SETTING: Seoul, Korea → Santorini, Greece

TW/N: cheating, blood, drugs, mentions of sex, alcohol, lots of cussing, mentions of murder, guns, therapy, psychological trauma, abandoning children, adoption care, estranged families, physical abuse, anger issues, characters make terrible decisions, some characters have sexual relations but not romantic, mentions of a lot of fucking each other over (betrayal), can't trust anyone.

In a world where people grow wings when they’re in love, all anyone seemed to want is to find their soulmate.

Jake thought he’d found his perfect love. The wings on his back said so. But the woman he trusted disappeared overnight, leaving nothing but betrayal in her wake. For her, love was just a tactic. Business was the only game she played.

Raised by a powerful mafia family, Jake eventually took the reins of the empire when their father stepped down. Sunghoon stood as his right hand, while Jungwon and Niki- inseparable and unflinching- were the muscle that held their world together.

By their side was Y/N and her family- allies bound not just by loyalty, but legacy. Her father had built the syndicate with theirs, and the two families rose together.

Their world seemed untouchable- until it wasn’t.

Jake’s misplaced trust would spark a war no one saw coming. And when it led to the death of Y/N’s brother, Jay, the fallout shattered everything. Love had brought wings. But betrayal would leave scars that followed them for years- across cities, across borders, across time.

Oh… and Jake had a daughter now.

Chapter breakdown

Prologue 0; the beginning of the end

PART ONE; five years later

Chapter 1; prolonged interlude

Chapter 2; a long lost friend

Chapter 3; abominable rendezvous

Chapter 4; to run or not to run

PART TWO; six months later

Chapter 5; abscond

Chapter 6; redamancy

Chapter 7; cheers to a new beginning

Chapter 8; an elaborate ruse

Chapter 9; the cherry on top

Character breakdown

The first mafia family (the adopted children of David and Helen)

Jake Sim

Park Sunghoon

Yang Jungwon

Niki

The second mafia family (the children of Martin and Nayna)

Y/N

Jay Park

Additional characters

Emily- Jake’s ex

Erwin- Emily’s twin

Lola- Erwin’s girlfriend

Heeseung- Y/N’s fwb

Alice- Jungwon’s girlfriend

Chelsea- Jay’s soulmate

Sophie- Niki’s fwb

Natalie- Sunghoon’s estranged sister

Athera- Jungwon’s 2nd love interest

Sunoo- Y/N’s coworker

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no-phrogs-in-hats · 2 months ago

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Masterlist MDNI

Hello! This is my brand new masterlist because I accidentally fucking deleted my original one that contained the links to every single piece of fanfiction I've written since 2021. This one is much more organized, though, and it's a lot prettier too!

Read my works on Ao3 here

18+ server here

Things to keep in mind when sending in requests:

I do not write dom! or top! reader. I'm very sorry, but I am the biggest fucking bottom and sub in the world and if I wrote dom!reader, I would not do them justice.

I will only write x readers

I do not write AOB (unless you wanna pay me; I have nothing against it, just not my cup of tea)

I do not write monster fucking (again, unless you wanna pay me; I have nothing against it, just not my cup of tea)

Please be as detailed as possible. When writing a request, I want to adhere to your preferences as closely as possible.

I will not go below the age of 25 for the reader.

Not mandatory, but I do work very hard on my writing, so feel free to leave a tip here if you want:) Buy me a coffee here Cashapp Venmo

Agatha Harkness

Step by Step !NSFW!

Say it Like You Mean it !NSFW!

Back in the Closet !NSFW!

Back in the Closet Part 2 !NSFW!

Avenger!Agatha

Lifeboat 14

Billiards !NSFW!

21 Days !NSFW!

Snacks, Candy, and Prenatal Vitamins

Suburban Sunrises and City Sunsets !NSFW!

A Night Out (On the Couch) !NSFW!

Read on Ao3 here

Avenger!Agatha 2.0

Laugh Tracks

Laugh Tracks Part 2 !NSFW!

Death and the Fool

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Read on Ao3 here

Sweet as Sugarcane

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Read on Ao3 here

Maya Mason

What do you Know? !NSFW!

Sin City !NSFW!

Polly Gray

Trench Coats and Lingerie !NSFW!

Narcissa Malfoy

Read With Love here on Ao3 (WIP)

Larissa Weems

20/20 Vision !NSFW!

You're a Pain in my Ass side

Take a Look in the Mirror !NSFW!

Grape Juice Stains

If I Could Turn Back Time

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

Read on Ao3 here

Baby Steps

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Read on Ao3 here

Brienne of Tarth

*No longer being written for

I Will Always Love you, Sir Brienne of Tarth

Late for Dinner

Love and War Part 1

Love and War Part 2 !NSFW!

Leonora Lesso

*No longer being written for

A Cup of Tea and a Bit of Kindness

Take a Break

Addison Montgomery

In the Shadows and Under the Sheets !NSFW!

Addison x reader imagine

Regina Mills

How to Throw a proper Punch (Daughter!Reader)

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Prologue

chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

read on Ao3 here

Valentina Allegra de fontaine

To be written

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pxnsneverland · 2 months ago

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Riding With Devils | biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 1)

(gif source: shadowhaert)

plot summary: Sophie Ann Sutton appears to have the perfect life as a high school senior in a small town. With straight A's, a thriving social life, and a scholarship to her dream college, she feels invincible—especially with her loyal best friend by her side. But everything changes when she crosses paths with Austin, the dangerously charming son of the local biker gang's leader. Their worlds collide in an electrifying romance that defies all expectations, pulling Sophie into a whirlwind of rebellion, excitement and danger.

pairings: austin butler x oc

word count: 4295

warnings/notes: I decided to start another biker!Austin story after re-watching The Bikeriders. Hope y'all enjoy :)

Chapter 1: The Unlikely Knight

It was the kind of decision Sophie Sutton would later describe as "temporary insanity," but at eleven thirty on a Tuesday night, it felt like the most rational choice in the world.

"Come on, Sophie. One night of breaking curfew isn't going to derail your entire future," Maggie insisted, leaning against Sophie's bedroom doorframe with the casual confidence of someone who had never worried about college applications or parental expectations.

Sophie glanced at her desk where her half-finished English essay sat beneath a stack of college brochures. "My parents would literally murder me if they found out."

"They won't find out. They're dead asleep by ten every night. You've said it yourself a million times." Maggie flopped onto Sophie's meticulously made bed, disrupting the decorative pillows arranged by size and color. "Besides, Jimmy will be there."

The mention of Jimmy Carson—with his quiet intensity and habit of quoting poetry when he thought no one was listening—made Sophie's stomach flip in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.

"That's supposed to convince me?" Sophie asked, though she was already mentally cataloging what she would wear.

"Don't pretend you haven't been stealing glances at him in AP Lit for months." Maggie grinned. "Plus, Mel's Diner has the best milkshakes in three counties."

Sophie adjusted her pearl earring—a sixteenth birthday gift from her grandmother—and caught her reflection in the vanity mirror. The perfect daughter. Student council president. Early acceptance candidate for Radcliffe. What would happen if, just once, she didn't live up to the image?

"Fine," she said, surprised by the steadiness in her voice. "But we're back by one, no exceptions."

Maggie squealed and threw her arms around Sophie. "This is going to be the best Tuesday night of your life, I promise."

As Sophie changed into a sky-blue dress with a Peter Pan collar—rebellious enough to sneak out, not rebellious enough to abandon her standards completely—she couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental was about to shift in her carefully constructed world. The descent down the trellis outside her window was less graceful than Sophie had imagined. Romance novels never mentioned splinters or the undignified scramble to keep one's dress from catching on the wooden lattice. When her feet finally touched the dewy grass, she felt a rush of adrenaline that was equal parts exhilaration and terror.

"See? Easy as pie," Maggie whispered, already waiting below. Her friend's carefree smile gleamed in the moonlight, a stark contrast to the knot tightening in Sophie's stomach.

"If my father hears that car start..." Sophie murmured, glancing back at the darkened windows of her house. Each one represented a different disaster scenario in her mind—her mother's disappointed sigh, her father's lecture about responsibility and trust.

"That's why we're walking to the corner. Jimmy's picking us up there." Maggie linked her arm through Sophie's and pulled her across the lawn. "God, you look like you're walking to your execution. It's midnight milkshakes, not armed robbery."

But to Sophie, the weight of this small rebellion felt enormous. Seventeen years of carefully following every rule had created deep grooves in her psyche, and stepping out of them felt physically disorienting. Still, with each step away from her house, a strange lightness began to spread through her chest. When Jimmy's battered blue Chevy appeared at the corner, headlights dimmed to conspirator levels, Sophie's heart performed a complicated gymnastic routine. He leaned across the passenger seat to push open the door, and the interior light briefly illuminated his face—those serious eyes, the slight curl at the corner of his mouth that suggested he knew secrets about the world she was still learning.

"Ladies," he said, his voice deeper than it ever sounded in the fluorescent glare of classrooms. "Your chariot awaits."

Maggie nudged Sophie forward. "Shotgun for the first-time rule-breaker."

Sophie slid into the passenger seat, hyperaware of the worn leather against her bare legs, the faint smell of pine and something uniquely Jimmy—like old books and guitar strings.

"I wasn't sure you'd actually come," he said quietly as Maggie climbed into the back.

"Neither was I," Sophie admitted, surprising herself with her honesty.

Jimmy's smile then—slow and genuine—made the risk suddenly worth it. "Well, I'm glad you did."

As they drove through the sleeping town, Sophie watched familiar landmarks transform in the midnight hour. The courthouse square, normally bustling with activity, stood silent and dignified. The storefronts along Main Street, with their darkened windows, seemed to hold their breath alongside her. For the first time, Sophie felt like she was seeing her hometown as it really was, not as the backdrop to her perfect-daughter performance.

***

Mel's Diner glowed like a lighthouse at the edge of town—neon signs buzzing in the darkness, promising warmth and secrets and possibilities. Sophie had driven past it hundreds of times but had never been inside after ten o'clock, when the respectable families cleared out and the booths filled with night shift workers and teenagers with nowhere better to be.

"Here we are," Jimmy announced, pulling into a spot near the entrance. "Home of the famous Blue Ribbon milkshake and the only decent jukebox left in Millfield."

Sophie hesitated before opening her door.

"Having second thoughts?" Jimmy asked, his voice gentle.

"About a dozen," Sophie admitted. "But I'm still going in."

The bell above the door chimed as they entered, and several heads turned their way. Sophie felt instantly conspicuous in her sky-blue dress, like she was wearing a sign that read "Good Girl Breaking Rules." The vinyl booths were cracked in places, patched with silver duct tape that caught the overhead lights. A burly man in a trucker cap gave her an appraising look before returning to his coffee. In the corner booth, a group of leather-jacketed boys from the technical school across town played cards, cigarette smoke creating a hazy cloud above their heads. None of them wore pressed clothes or pearl earrings.

"Well, if it isn't Miss Student Council," drawled a raspy voice from behind the counter. The waitress—Doreen according to her name tag—had teased blonde hair and knowing eyes that seemed to see right through Sophie's façade. "Slumming it with us common folk tonight?"

Sophie felt her cheeks flush hot. "I—I just wanted a milkshake."

"We all want something, honey," Doreen replied with a wink, sliding three sticky menus across the counter.

Maggie, completely at ease, sauntered toward an empty booth. "C'mon, Sophie. Stop standing there like you're waiting for someone to check your hall pass."

Jimmy's hand found the small of Sophie's back, guiding her forward with a gentle pressure that sent electricity up her spine. "Don't mind Doreen," he murmured. "She gives everyone a hard time."

As they slid into the booth, Sophie noticed a girl about their age with jet-black hair and multiple ear piercings watching them from the counter. The girl's eyes locked with Sophie's, and her red-painted lips curled into something between a smirk and a sneer.

"That's Roxanne," Jimmy explained, following Sophie's gaze. "She's in my art class. Talented, but..."

"But what?" Sophie asked.

"Let's just say she's got reasons to be suspicious of anyone from our side of town."

The jukebox in the corner switched to a Janis Joplin song Sophie's mother would have called "inappropriate," its raw emotion filling the diner. Two mechanics still in their work clothes began arguing loudly about a carburetor, their voices carrying across the room.

"What can I getcha?" Doreen appeared at their table, pencil poised above her order pad, chewing gum with methodical precision.

"Three Blue Ribbon specials," Maggie ordered confidently. "And a basket of those chili fries everyone talks about."

"Comin' right up, princess," Doreen said, her eyes lingering on Sophie's pearl earrings.

When she walked away, Sophie whispered, "I feel like I'm wearing a costume to a party where everyone knows I don't belong."

"That's because you're still playing by their rules," Jimmy said, reaching across the table to touch her hand. His fingers were stained with ink, evidence of the poetry he was always scribbling. "Maybe tonight isn't about belonging. Maybe it's about figuring out who you are when no one's watching."

Sophie opened her mouth to respond to Jimmy when the rumble of an engine cut through the diner's ambient noise. It started as a distant growl, quickly growing to a thunderous roar that vibrated the silverware on their table. The jukebox seemed to fade into background noise as heads turned toward the large windows facing the parking lot. A single headlight sliced through the darkness, illuminating the lot in stark white light before coming to rest directly in front of the diner's entrance. The motorcycle's engine gave one final, defiant rev before falling silent.

"Oh hell," Jimmy muttered, his hand tensing on Sophie's.

The rider dismounted with fluid grace that suggested complete ownership of not just the machine, but the very space around him. Even from inside, Sophie could see his broad shoulders beneath a worn leather jacket, the confident tilt of his head as he removed his helmet. Blonde hair caught the neon glow of the diner sign, creating a halo effect that seemed almost deliberately ironic.

"Who is that?" Sophie whispered, though something in her already knew the answer.

"Austin Butler," Maggie breathed, a hint of both fear and fascination in her voice. "His family runs the Devil's Mark motorcycle club out past the quarry."

The diner's bell chimed again, this time with an ominous finality. Austin Butler stepped inside, scanning the room with electric blue eyes that took inventory of every person present. His gaze lingered for a moment on their booth, a slight curl forming at the corner of his mouth—not quite a smile, more like recognition of something interesting.

"Evening, Doreen," he called out, his voice surprisingly soft yet carrying the unmistakable weight of someone accustomed to being heard. "The usual."

"Coming right up, trouble," Doreen responded with none of the edge she'd directed at Sophie. Instead, there was something almost maternal in her tone.

The card game in the corner had paused, the players nodding respectfully as Austin passed. He returned the gesture with casual authority before sliding onto a stool at the counter, his back to the room yet somehow still commanding it.

"Aw hell," Jimmy said under his breath.

"What?" Sophie asked, even as she felt a strange electricity humming beneath her skin. "Is he dangerous?"

"Not exactly," Jimmy glanced nervously toward the counter. "But where Austin goes, the rest of the Devils usually follow. And they don't exactly appreciate people from our neighborhood in their territory."

"This is their territory?" Sophie's eyes widened. "It's just a diner."

"After midnight, it might as well be their clubhouse.”

Sophie watched as Roxanne slid off her stool and approached Austin, leaning in to whisper something in his ear. Austin's gaze flicked up from Roxanne, looking directly at Sophie. The diner seemed to shrink around them as their eyes connected across the room. Everything else—the clatter of dishes, the murmur of voices, the hum of the refrigerator—faded to white noise. Sophie couldn't look away, caught in the gravity of those startlingly blue eyes that seemed to see right through her carefully constructed façade. A knowing half-smile played at the corner of his mouth, as if he recognized something in her that she herself hadn't yet discovered.

"He's looking at you," Maggie whispered, her voice tinged with equal parts excitement and alarm.

"He's not," Sophie replied automatically, though she hadn't broken the eye contact. She felt her cheeks flush warm, her heart drumming an unfamiliar rhythm against her ribs.

Jimmy cleared his throat loudly. "Can we focus on enjoying our night without worrying about the local criminal element?"

Doreen arrived with their milkshakes—towering concoctions of ice cream and whipped cream in frosted glasses—breaking the moment. Sophie lowered her eyes to the table, suddenly fascinated by the pattern of water rings on the laminate surface.

"Something wrong with your milkshake, honey?" Doreen asked, noticing Sophie's distraction.

"No, it's perfect," Sophie replied, taking a deliberate sip through her straw. The sweetness hit her tongue, momentarily grounding her back in reality.

***

The next hour passed in a blur of conversation and laughter that felt increasingly forced on Jimmy's part. Every few minutes, Sophie would feel the weight of Austin's gaze, and despite her best intentions, she'd find herself looking back. Each time, he'd be watching her with that same inscrutable expression, as if she were a puzzle he was piecing together from across the room.

"I need to use the ladies' room," Maggie announced suddenly, sliding out of the booth. She gave Sophie a meaningful look. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do while I'm gone."

"That leaves a pretty wide range of options," Sophie replied with a nervous laugh.

As soon as Maggie disappeared down the hallway, Jimmy shifted closer on the vinyl seat. "Finally, a moment alone," he said, his voice dropping to what he clearly thought was a romantic tone. His arm stretched across the back of the booth, fingers brushing Sophie's shoulder.

"We're hardly alone," Sophie pointed out, gesturing to the half-full diner.

"You know what I mean." Jimmy's hand moved from her shoulder to her hair, twirling a strand around his finger. "I've wanted to get you alone for months."

Sophie leaned away slightly. "Jimmy, I—"

"You know, I always thought you were too uptight," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "But sneaking out tonight? That shows there's more to Sophie Sutton than perfect grades and student council meetings." His hand dropped to her knee, warm and insistent. "I bet there's a lot you'd do if you just let yourself go a little."

"Jimmy, please," Sophie shifted away, uncomfortable with his sudden forwardness. "I'm not interested in—"

"Come on," he pressed, moving closer until she was trapped against the wall of the booth. "I know Maggie told you I would be here tonight. And you insisted on sitting in the front of the car with me. You sat next to me in this booth instead of with Maggie. Tell me you weren't looking for something more." His fingers tightened on her knee, inching higher along her thigh.

Sophie placed her hand firmly on his, stopping its progress. "I said no, Jimmy."

Across the room, Austin's posture changed subtly. Though his back was still to their booth, something in the set of his shoulders suggested heightened awareness. His head tilted slightly, like a predator catching a scent on the wind.

"Don't be such a prude," Jimmy whispered, frustration edging into his voice as he leaned closer. His breath smelled of chocolate and something sharper—had he been drinking? She hadn’t even noticed the scent in the car above the overpowering smell of pine. "Everyone knows good girls like you are just waiting for someone to break through that ice."

"I think you misunderstood why I came tonight," Sophie said, trying to keep her voice steady despite the panic building in her chest. She glanced toward the hallway, willing Maggie to return.

Jimmy's hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer. "No one's watching, Sophie. You can drop the perfect girl act."

"It's not an act," she insisted, pushing against his chest. "And I'd like you to stop."

"Just one kiss," he persisted, his grip tightening. "Then tell me you don't want more."

Before Sophie could respond, a shadow fell across their table. Jimmy froze, his expression shifting from determination to alarm as Austin Butler loomed over them, his presence filling the small space like a thundercloud.

"The lady said no," Austin stated quietly, his voice carrying an undercurrent of danger despite its conversational tone. "Twice, actually. I've been counting."

Jimmy's face flushed red. "This is none of your business, Butler."

Austin's smile didn't reach his eyes. "See, that's where you're wrong." He slid his hands into his pockets with casual menace. "When a girl says no in Mel's after midnight, it becomes my business."

"We were just talking," Jimmy protested, though his hand had already retreated from Sophie's waist.

"Didn't look like talking from where I was sitting." Austin's gaze shifted to Sophie, softening fractionally. "You okay?"

Sophie nodded, unable to find her voice under the intensity of those blue eyes. Up close, she could see a small scar bisecting his left eyebrow, giving his face an asymmetry that only enhanced its appeal.

"Good." Austin returned his attention to Jimmy. "I think it's time for you to switch seats. Give the lady some breathing room."

Jimmy glared at Austin, then back at Sophie, his jaw working with barely contained anger. The diner had gone quiet, all eyes on their booth.

"Fine," Jimmy finally spat, sliding out abruptly. "You want to play damsel in distress with a guy like him? Be my guest."

He stood, fishing his car keys from his pocket with trembling hands. "I'm not sticking around to get my face rearranged for a girl who can't make up her mind."

"Jimmy, wait—" Sophie started, suddenly aware of the predicament this would create.

Jimmy's voice had turned ugly. "Maybe he can give you a ride on his motorcycle. I'm sure Daddy would love that."

With that, he stormed toward the exit, shouldering past Maggie who was returning from the restroom.

"Jimmy? Where are you—" Maggie called after him, but the slam of the diner door cut her off. Through the windows, they watched him peel out of the parking lot, tires screeching against asphalt.

Maggie slid back into the booth, eyes wide. "What just happened?"

"Your date decided to bail," Austin said, still standing beside their table. "Left you ladies without a ride home."

Sophie felt the blood drain from her face. It was nearly one in the morning—her curfew deadline—and they were stranded miles from home. Her carefully orchestrated rebellion was spiraling into disaster.

"I can call my brother," Maggie suggested, though her expression betrayed her doubt. "Though he'll definitely tell my parents..."

Austin seemed to consider something, then turned toward the corner booth. "Hey, Ray," he called to one of the leather-jacketed card players. "Feel like a midnight escort mission?"

A muscular guy with a neatly trimmed beard looked up from his cards. "What'd you have in mind, boss?"

"These ladies need a ride home. Safe and sound, no detours."

Ray studied Sophie and Maggie for a moment, then nodded. "Sure thing." He collected his cards and stood, revealing his impressive height.

"I don't know..." Sophie hesitated, looking between Austin and Ray.

"Look," Austin said, his voice dropping so only she could hear. "You've got two options. Call your parents and explain why you're at Mel's after midnight, or let us get you home before anyone knows you were gone."

Sophie's green eyes locked with Austin's blue ones, searching for any sign of deception. Her brain ran through a dozen scenarios at once, each ending in disaster. But something in his steady gaze made her hesitate before rejecting his offer outright. "Why would you help us?" she asked quietly.

Austin's mouth quirked up at one corner. "Maybe I'm a sucker for damsels in distress."

"I'm not a damsel," Sophie replied automatically.

His smile widened, revealing a flash of perfect teeth. "Clearly." He leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping further. "Look, Princess, I don't make a habit of leaving girls stranded in the middle of the night. Even ones from the right side of the tracks."

Maggie tugged at Sophie's sleeve. "We should take the ride, Soph. My parents will kill me if they find out."

Sophie glanced at Ray, who stood patiently by the door, then back at Austin. "Just a ride home? No... detours?"

"Scout's honor," Austin said, raising two fingers in a mock salute that somehow suggested he'd never been anywhere near the Boy Scouts.

"Fine," Sophie conceded, reaching for her purse. "How much do we owe for the milkshakes?"

Austin waved her off. "On the house tonight. Right, Doreen?"

The waitress nodded from behind the counter. "Sure thing, honey. You girls get home safe now."

Outside, the night air had cooled considerably, raising goosebumps on Sophie's bare arms. Ray was already waiting beside his own motorcycle.

Austin walked to his motorcycle, a gleaming piece of machinery decorated with paintings of devils, skulls and fire. He pulled a helmet off one of his handlebars and handed it to Sophie. “Put that on.”

Sophie stared at the helmet, her fingers hesitating before making contact with the smooth surface. "Wait, I thought Ray was giving us a ride."

"Ray's taking your friend," Austin said, nodding toward Maggie who was already being helped onto the back of Ray's bike. "You're with me."

"I didn't agree to that," Sophie protested, but her voice lacked conviction even to her own ears.

Austin's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Would you prefer to walk? It's only about five miles."

Sophie glanced at her watch—12:47. Her window of plausible deniability was closing fast. "I don't even know you."

"Sure you do. Austin Butler. I sit behind you in assembly every Thursday. You give those speeches about school spirit and community service." He swung his leg over the motorcycle with effortless grace. "You never look back at the last row, but we're there."

The fact that he'd noticed her, had been watching her all this time while remaining invisible to her, sent an unexpected thrill through Sophie's body.

"Come on, Princess. Decision time." He patted the seat behind him. "Your reputation or your curfew. Which matters more tonight?"

Sophie took a deep breath and put on the helmet, adjusting it over her carefully styled hair. The weight of it felt foreign, like a crown made of different metal than she was used to wearing.

"Hold tight," Austin instructed as she awkwardly mounted the bike behind him, her dress riding up despite her attempts to keep it modest. "And I mean tight. This isn't like riding in Daddy's Cadillac."

Sophie cautiously placed her hands on his sides, barely making contact. Austin laughed, the sound vibrating through his back. He reached behind and grabbed her wrists, pulling her arms all the way around his waist until she was pressed against him, her chest flush against his back.

"That's better," he said, and Sophie was grateful the helmet hid her burning cheeks.

The motorcycle roared to life beneath them, a primal vibration that traveled up through Sophie's body, settling somewhere deep and unfamiliar. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Ray and Maggie following close behind, Sophie instinctively tightened her grip around Austin's waist. The town blurred past them, transformed by speed and moonlight into something magical and forbidden. Wind whipped at her dress, and Sophie found herself not caring about the state of her hair or whether her hemline was appropriate. The exhilaration of movement, of freedom, overwhelmed everything else.

Austin took a corner faster than necessary, causing Sophie to press even closer against him. She could feel the solid planes of his body, smell the leather of his jacket mixed with something distinctly male. Nothing in her carefully ordered life had prepared her for this—the raw physicality of being pressed against a stranger, trusting him with her safety while breaking every rule she'd been raised to follow. They reached the edge of Sophie's neighborhood far too quickly. Austin slowed the motorcycle to a quiet purr, rolling to a stop at the corner where Jimmy had picked them up hours earlier. It felt like days had passed rather than mere hours—as if she'd crossed some invisible boundary in her life with no possibility of return.

"Which house?" Austin asked, his voice low enough not to carry in the silent street.

Sophie pointed toward the white colonial three doors down. "The one with the trellis."

Austin's eyebrows raised slightly. "The trellis, huh? Didn't figure you for the Romeo and Juliet type."

"I'm not," Sophie said quickly, then hesitated. "Well, I wasn't. Until tonight."

He killed the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening after the constant rumble. Behind them, Ray pulled up with Maggie, who dismounted with surprising agility for someone who'd never been on a motorcycle before.

"That was amazing!" Maggie whispered, eyes bright with excitement. "We should do this every Tuesday!"

Sophie shot her a warning look before carefully swinging her leg over the bike, mindful of her dress. The world felt strangely still after the speed and vibration, as if her body was still moving while the ground remained stationary. "Thanks for the ride," she said, removing the helmet and handing it to Austin. Her hair tumbled down in wild disarray, freed from its usual perfect styling.

Austin didn't immediately take the helmet. Instead, he studied her face with an intensity that made her breath catch. "You know, you look different when you're not trying so hard."

"Different how?" Sophie asked before she could stop herself.

"Real." The word hung between them, simple yet profound.

Ray cleared his throat. "We should roll out, boss. Patrol car's been making rounds near the park."

Austin nodded, finally accepting the helmet from Sophie's hands. Their fingers brushed, the brief contact sending an electric current up her arm. "You should get inside, Princess. Wouldn't want to push your luck on your first night of rebellion."

"It's not my first," Sophie found herself saying, though it absolutely was.

Austin's smile was knowing. "No? Then maybe I'll see you around the next time you decide to break the rules."

Before she could respond, he kickstarted the motorcycle back to life. With a casual salute that somehow managed to be both mocking and respectful, he and Ray pulled away from the curb, their engines gradually fading into the night.

Stay tuned for part 2!! Click HERE to view!

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maximumqueer · 1 year ago

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I think there are a couple of reasons why there is so much "controversy" (if you can even call it that) surrounding chapter 1118. Part of it is just misogyny. There are unfortunately a lot of misogynistic fans in shonen spaces, and One Piece is no exception. They don't like that a girl gets a cool power up, especially if its similar at all to the male protagonist, who has to be depicted as cooler and more powerful than every other character (but especially the women) at all times.

And that mindset bleeds into the the second reason. Being that the people mad at this chapter (in my opinion) don't really understand One Piece as a story. They treat it as a more stereotypical shonen, when in it far from that, and Luffy as a stereotypical shonen protag, when he is anything but. Some of the complaints that I've seen directed at Bonney's Nika-like form is that it robs Luffy of what makes him special as a character and undermines the importance of Gear 5/Nika.

To tackle the first part, Luffy's power set has never been what has made him special. We've seen already that devil fruits can have similar abilities. Monet and Aokiji both have ice based powers, Catarina Devon and Bon Clay can both mimic how other people look. Hell, we've already seen a devil fruit user with similar powers to Luffy in the form of Katakuri, and I don't remember fans being angry about that. Luffy isn't the only person to awaken his fruit, nor is the only person to have awakened the Nika fruit. And he won't be the last, because that's how devil fruits work. When Luffy dies, the Nika fruit will respawn and someone else will carry on the name of Nika. This is even more obvious with haki. At least half of the characters Luffy has fought in the New World had conqueror's haki, just like him. What does make Luffy special is who he is as a person. It's his ability to reignite hope in people. His nigh unwavering belief in both his own and others dreams, and his ability to inspire that belief in others.

As for it undermining Gear 5. Luffy's awakening has always been about freedom, but not just for himself. Nika is a god of liberation, not personal freedom. If anything, Luffy being able to instill such a deep and profound sense of freedom into a person that they are able to take on a Nika-like form FURTHERS its importance, especially thematically.

Its also is worth mentioning that Bonney's Nika transformation is the perfect culmination of her and Kuma's arc. For a young girl, who spent the majority of her life trapped inside because of a terminal illness brought on at the hands of the world nobles, whose father - in order to cure her so she could have freedom - sold his body to the world government (after previously escaping enslavement by the very same people). For her to achieve complete and total freedom, and for Kuma to be there to see it, to know that in the end he succeeded, and that his daughter is now wholly and truly free - having taken the form of the god he worshipped - is beautiful. Is the perfect way to bookend both of their arcs.

(Also Luffy literally ENCOURAGED Bonney to take on her Nika form. And he laughs with delight when she is successful. He is HAPPY for her.)

All this to say, Bonney's Nika form is fucking awesome and I can't wait to see her and Luffy kick ass together in the next chapter.

#one piece #one piece spoilers #one piece meta #egghead arc #egghead spoilers #one piece 1118 #monkey d luffy #jewelry bonney #gear 5 #sun god nika #character analysis

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vaxxman · 6 months ago

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Oh I'm sad to see people didn't like comic 7, I thought it was very well done.

This isn't an invitation to an argument, I just want to say my opinion because I'm seeing a lot of people criticising the last chapter.

We got a lot of answers and everything that seemed conveniently placed for plot was completely in the scope of how the previous stories have worked before. I thought it was funny that soldier lived in a cave of Australium. It's just as convenient as Medic having a deal with the devil and the mercs being unable to die. Or Grey Mann having a daughter who no one wants to punch in a fist fight. Or Sniper's parents coincidentally being involved with the sinking of New Zealand.

I think it was a very good choice to not let the mercs do anything plot driving in this chapter, because this conflict was never a conflict that could have been ended by the mercs. They wouldn't even have cared, heh. We've known that everything was carefully orchestrated by the Admin, so it could only have been resolved by those who are part of the bigger conflict. Hence Miss Pauling, the Admin and Saxton do most of the plot. Everyone else already had a lot of screen time in the previous chapters, but none of their stories were truly contributing to the actual conflict at hand, so the story can't come to an end until we actually see the person who's been pulling the threads actually come to terms with what she was doing. I'm very happy that her ultimate plan turned out to just be a pointless act of revenge, since we've all known from the start that the gravel wars are pointless. This is just one more dimension deeper into how pointless it is.

Managing to resolve the story and making sure all characters receive a happy end the way they did was more than I had hoped for comic 7. But just to summarise how I think everyone received their peace of mind across all comics:

1. Sniper: Finds out he's adopted -> figures out his step parents were his true family after all

2. Spy: Really wants to tell Scout that he's his dad -> actually manages to say the words, even if he wasn't honest with his appearance

3. Soldier: Delusional hater of commies -> marries a Russian woman and stops claiming racist things, because Zhanna as a person was more important to him than whatever he believed about Russian people. Still weird, not with less delusion but genuinely a sweet father and husband. Exaggerated and maximally silly way of how to actually change people's racist opinions in real life.

4. Scout: Upset that he can't get laid and thinks he has to be More Man -> glows up by becoming a dad who steps up and is less preoccupied with getting the girl of his dreams. His kids are what matters to him now and he becomes like his mom

5. Heavy: Worried about his family in Siberia -> his sisters show him they don't need him to protect them all the time and everyone moves to America so he can be with them. His sisters get to live freely.

6. Engineer: Is involved with the conflict since his grandpa, and is contractually unable to stop it -> tells Miss Pauling to sink all Australium in a trench so this never happens again

7. Saxton Hale: Wants to go back to the time when he was still actively doing things, gets his company stolen -> gets his company back but realises it doesn't make him happy. Leaves his company and joins Maggie again because fighting alongside her was what he's always wanted since we got glimpses of his past

8. Miss Pauling: Thinks the Administrator has a great plan that desperately needs her -> learns the plan was nothing at all and decides on the spot to end it by not giving Admin any more Australium because she realises she has been feeding into the conflict

Medic, Demoman, and Pyro never had a personal conflict to resolve. Medic had his moments to shine by sabotaging TFC and being in hell then coming back. Demoman had his arc with his liver leaving him and defeating the robots due to the alcohol in his blood. Medic scooped out parts of his brain to keep him unquestioning about his eye. Pyro is just a very simple character, and I say that with no judgement at all. Pyro is happy with arson, but also with a Dalmatian as their pet.

Everyone is still friends with each other and have their own little families. They come together to celebrate Smissmass at Scout's place. I think Saxton's last line "or do you want to live forever" was so well placed, being a nod to the meme from Expiration Date, as well as pointing out that, obviously, things have to come to an end we should embrace that ending when we see it's time.

And as always. If anyone doesn't like that any of these things, we are still free to make our own stories and reinterpret characters.

#60 seconds till mission begins rambles #this may be easier for me just because I wasn't hoping for ship interaction #but I just really much thought the story was really really good regardless of what gets confirmed and what gets debunked #also for everyone who says its over now #keep in mind bidwell and reddy are Blue and Red and are now in the position to continue the feud #keep in mind Engie tells Pauling that she owns all Australium now and if she wanted to she could do what she thought admin was doing #its all still set up to continue #or not #but my point is this comic was so much and I'm just sad seeing people claim it wasn't satisfying because of certain personal disagreements

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plutoswritingplanet · 1 year ago

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Ring Of Fire (Lucifer x Female!Reader)

a/n: again, no one asked for this, but i've been rewatching supernatural and there is something about season 5 Lucifer that just hits the spot for me. this one will be multiple chapters (i swear), a bit on the darker side. Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Dub-Con (nothing too scandalous), Soulmates (but not really), follows season 5 storyline, Kinda Depressing, Strongly Inspired by "Preacher's Daughter" by Ethel Cain

Summary: Knowing God has an actual plan for you would be comforting for most people. You, however, seem to be always down on your luck.

PT.2

The foliage is damp with the night's air, water seeping into the fabric of your jeans, as you sit in the low bushes, watching. Smoke still fills your lungs, and grief still fills your heart, Jo and Ellen's faces etched just beneath your eyelids. Tears stain your cheeks, drying slowly on your skin, forming an uncomfortable crust. It's been such a long time since you've experienced loss such as this. One that rips something out of you and refuses to give it back. You must've grown too comfortable since Dean has been brought back, life needed to bring you back down. Your hands hurt from the tight grip you hold on a branch of a nearby tree, nerves locking you in place, as you watch Dean approach the Devil. Except, you're not there anymore.

It's warm inside Bobby's home, and you've changed out of your past outfit, scattering it on the floor, never to be used again. Still, you can feel phantom moisture on your knees, elbows, on the palms of your hands. Coldness, like nothing you've ever experienced, seeps deep into your bones, taking root within you. No candle, no prayer, no ancient exorcism can cleanse you of the revelations you've seen tonight. Your head feels heavy, when you drop it onto the pillow, as if some weight is pressing you further down, through the comforter, through the bed and the wooden floor. Through all the layers of Earth, until you're right where you're supposed to be.

It's unfortunate, you thought back then, compelled to reveal yourself from your hideout by one command you couldn't ignore, he looks just like any human. Tall and lean, with a little softness to his body. His clothes were unassuming as well, casual. As if he just took a stroll through the woods from a supermarket. No one told you the name of his vessel, who he was before he said yes, why did he do it. His eyes were ordinary as well. Blue and gray, aged, tired. Human.

It would've been so easy to pass him on the streets, not knowing. He could've been one of the patrons in the countless bars you've visited while on the hunt. Handsome, yes, with an aura of a beaten dog around him, that, in any other circumstances would've made him irresistable to you. You could never refuse a hopeless case, now you supposed you knew why.

Sam made you tea. It sits untouched on your night stand, steam flowing in dancing ribbons into the ceiling. Somehow, you can't seem to force yourself to drink it, even if you know the intention behind it has been kind. You couldn't eat as well, the smell of cooking coming from Bobby's kitchen reminded you too much of the smell of smoke coming from the exploding hardware store. And his smell.

Burning coals, cedar wood, jasmine, all of them were pleasant once. Now, you know they will always be stuck in your head with only one association. Lucifer.

Even thinking of his name brings a wave of shivers running down your back, as you curl into yourself on the bed. Your fingers scratch at skin of your jaw, trying to regain some sense of autonomy. Still, you can feel a phantom of his icy touch, where he grabbed your face like his hands were meant for it. And in a way they were. At least, that's what he told you.

The demons gathered around the mass grave didn't even react, as you ran out of your cover, pushed to reveal yourself by the sight of Dean's flying body. Because how else would he coax you out, if not through the hurt of your boys? In hindsight, you were glad Dean was unconscious for the most part of this ordeal. After the night's events, it was hard to look him in the eye, you didn't need him witnessing your downfall over your head as well. Sam tried to make his way over to you, feet sliding cautiously through the grass, but suddenly Lucifer's eyes were on you, and you could feel your fate get sealed then and there.

He clasped his hands in front of him, pursing his lips as he took you in, cowering on the ground, trying hard to find Dean's pulse.

- You boys brought me a gift - he mused, eyes crinkling with some strange emotion - You shouldn't have.

One gesture later, you're up on your feet, limbs trembling as he abandoned his shovel in favor of making his way towards you. You're frozen, fear seizing you in a tight grip, and you can't seem to think straight, as you watch him approach. Last day on Earth, you muse, life flashing before your eyes, when he raises both his hands. And then he grips your face, gentle yet confident, and the world around you spins. He's cold, so cold it's unnatural. Your lips fall apart in a silent gasp.

- Do you know who you are? - he asks in a quiet voice that suddenly makes you understand why he's temptation incarnate - Do you know why you were put on this Earth?

All you can do is stare, confusion creasing your eyebrows. His breath reaches your collarbones, as he lowers his head slightly. You can hear him chuckle to himself. The sound makes you shudder, fear and anticipation mix within your gut.

- All those years of hunting, struggling... - your life seems so trivial, coming from his lips - It all lead you here, to me. Doesn't that sound lovely?

It doesn't. It most definitely doesn't. Tears of confusion prick at the corners of your eyes, your breathing quickens. Panic settles into your nerves like a paralyzing blanket. Because here stands a threat of magnitude you couldn't even dream of. The Satan, the Devil, Bible's biggest villain. And he knows something about you, that you cannot comprehend.

- It's really quite pathetic, when you think about it - he muses, hands leaving your face in a flash, as he starts to pace in thought.

Swaying in your place, you risk looking at Sam, his confusion mirroring your own. Dean is still unconscious beside him. There's a thin smudge of blood running down his forehead, and you want to move so badly. You've spent years caring for these boys, being there for them, whenever they needed you. Yet, at this crucial moment all you can do, is stare in horror.

- My Father's last ditched attempt - Lucifer turns to you with a tight smile that doesn't reach his eyes - To give me my own special little bag of worms. To own, to care for, to change my mind.

- What?

Your own voice sounds foreign to your ears. Lies. Those had to be lies. He's Satan after all, manipulation was his forte. Yes, that had to be it. Just another, messed up way at getting an upper hand over Sam.

This time, you nearly scream when he advances towards you, his cold hands immediately finding purchase on your face, covering your jaw and your cheeks. He presses against your face so hard, you have to take a step back as he comes closer still. Sam's figure flashes out of the corner of your eye, and suddenly you feel the rough surface of a tree bark digging into your back.

- You - for the first time you can hear some tension in his voice, something more than cold indifference - You were made for me, Honey. Just like Sam is destined to be my vessel, you're destined to be by my side. To own, to care. - he repeats those words like a mantra, and you want to throw up at how genuine he sounds.

He smiles at your terror. Tears start to flow freely from your eyes, falling on his cold fingers, skipping down his arms in smudges. His hands start to move, a perversion of a caress, as he ruffles your hair. Your head bounces off the tree, and you try with all your might to free yourself out of his grip. Your limbs flail at your sides, and you crane your neck so far back, your muscles start to strain. He doesn't let go, pressing himself closer, one of his hands coming up to grip your hair. Your nails dig into his cotton shirt, as you push against his chest to no avail.

- No - you whisper, your rejection falling flat against his unaffected stare - I'd never...

- See, but that's the best part - his sudden enthusiasm scares you deeper, than any passive stare ever could. - Unlike Sam...

You backpedal into the tree again, as he leans closer still. His cold breath mixes with your short, panicked ones, and your stomach churns, when he tilts his head in curiosity, as if he's experiencing this intimacy for the first time. And in a way, you suppose he is. Then, his eyes meet yours, gray captivates you, and you hold your breath on instinct.

- You don't have to say yes to me.

You're not even allowed the decency of taking a gasp of air, when his lips press into yours. It feels beyond weird. He's unnaturally cold, and there is a sort of unpracticed sloppiness in the way he fights for your mouth to fit against each other. Reminding you of your first, inexperienced romances, he smashes your faces together until you feel both sets of your teeth through the flesh. Then, he pulls back just a smidgen, taking in your terrified face. Something flashes through his expression, and he sighs, leaning back towards you, stopping just short of your left ear.

- Kiss me like you mean it, or I'll make Dean eat his intestines.

He looks at you, just once, letting you know this is not a game. Your heart stops.

Dean's unconscious body starts to move by the tree, and never in your life have you felt so helpless. So, when Lucifer unavoidably leans back down, you give him all you've got. Your body arches, hands come up to his hair, and you will yourself not to feel grossed out by the feeling of his cold tongue slipping past your teeth. It's a fight for survival, you remind yourself, as his hands move to your back, rubbing your skin like a horny teenager in a bathroom stall. The short supply of air you've been granted runs out quickly, and as pressure builds in your lungs, you start to push against the Archangel's chest. He doesn't register what you're doing, not at first, confusing your sudden unwillingness as some sort of late attempt at rebellion. That is, until you bang your fist against his shoulder, letting out a muffled scream.

Finally, he detaches himself, hair even more disheveled than before. You take a heaving gasp of air, as you brace yourself against the tree, your vision swimming ever so slightly. Lucifer watches you, his body hunched over, as if he's observing some middle schooler's science project. There are new tears in your eyes, just waiting to fall. Your hair is disheveled and your lips are puffy from his unpracticed assaults. His right hand comes up to his face, and he bites on his index finger in thought.

- You really are human - he muses to himself, and with every fiber of your being, you try to explode his head with your brain - That's no fun, you'll break so easily...

- Fuck you - your words make his eyebrows raise, and he straightens out with a flourish.

- Fuck you - he repeats, mocking your tone - Yeah, I probably will - you watch, disgusted, as he sends a wink towards Sam.

Then, he's back to his shovel, back to his mass grave, where he completes the ritual.

You can't move, not really, even when Sam tugs on your shoulder. Your head runs empty, realization of your current predicament far from registered in your brain. You stay frozen in your spot, when Castiel arrives, taking the three of you back to Bobby's house. Only, when the Angel's hand pushes against your rib cage, only when you feel Enochian symbols burn into your bones, do you lift your gaze. Apologetic doesn't really cover the way Castiel looks at you, and the pity painted on his face drags you down more than any Devil could.

Sam is the only one to truly understand, when you fall to the floor, shock, anger and dread spilling out of you like a broken faucet. He's the only one that truly knows how it feels to have your bodily autonomy stripped away by the literal Devil. How it feels to have a threat of such magnitude hanging over you, every day. Which is why, he's the one to lift you in his arms, and get you to the guest room, lead away by the concerned glances of the rest of the men. He's the one to make you tea, bring you fresh clothes. He opens the window when the smell of dinner makes you retch. And finally, he's the one to explain, what really happened back on that hill to the rest of the group.

From your fetal position on the bed you can hear Dean curse, throw something somewhere. All the ways he knows, how to show he cares. Despite everything, it makes you smile, face pressed to the pillow that smells like cigarette smoke and beer. You're doomed. There's nothing you can do against God's plan, and you can feel that thought take root in you like an invasive species ready to destroy every crop in it's path. Still, despite it all, a sense of security falls upon you like a decieving blanket.

- What sort of a messed up game is this? - Dean screams somewhere in the house, you assume it's at Cass, the only one even remotely aware of your destiny.

The idea, that God made you specifically to be Satan's personal therapist sounds far fetched at best, but given how the last couple of months have been going, you're more inclined to believe in the absolutely worst scenarios. You don't even need to hear Castiel's response. The sound of glass breaking is telling enough. Then, a door slamms somewhere, and the house falls into heavy silence.

You can't think. Can't allow yourself to fall apart more than you've had already. So, you focus on the sound of your own breathing, interlinked with your heartbeat. Steady, alive. Your eyelids are heavy, eyes burn with drying tears, so you close them and sigh. Exhaustion pinns you in place, sinking you into the blankets. Darkness welcomes you like a long lost friend.

Your boys will find a way, they always do. And Lucifer can't find you, not with the wards Castiel has put on you. You'll have to thank him i the morning, you think, and it's the last conscious thought you have, before slipping into sleep, shivering like an abandoned child.

#my writing #supernatural #lucifer x reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn lucifer #spn #spn x reader #spn lucifer x reader #supernatural lucifer x reader #there will be three more parts so treat this an introduction #and there will be smut in the future #also some dark themes but yall know me i can't write anything else #anyways someone talk to me about season 5 or ill explode

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kinkyniragi · 5 days ago

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Dirty hands

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader Genre: Dark, psychological smut 18+ Summary: Lillian “Lily” Harcourt, daughter of Chief Inspector Harcourt, a man sworn to fight crime in 1920s Birmingham, is given a dangerous mission: Get close to Tommy Shelby. Charm him. Uncover his weaknesses. And betray him. But the closer she gets, the harder it becomes to remember which side she’s on. The mission was never meant to feel like this. CN: Power play, p in v and a and stuff, rough and kinky like always, Tommy just claiming her whole body with all he has. Please note that this is all just fantasy. Things that happen in my stories should always be consensual. Take care. Author’s note: This is my longest one so far. For better readability, I’ve split the story into separate chapters, one will drop each day for 7 days straight! If you want to be among the first to read it as soon as it’s out, just ask me to be added to the taglist! Feel free to leave comments and share my story if you enjoy it – I truly appreciate every bit of motivation to keep writing.

***

Chapter 1: The First Lie

Chapter 2: Charming the Devil

Chapter 3: Invitation to the Unknown >>>Out now<<<

Chapter 4: Buried Beneath >>>Out now<<<

Chapter 5: Torn >>>Out now<<<

Chapter 6: Lily (Out: 7/4/25) Chapter 7: Toxic Games (Out: 7/5/25)

***

Taglist

@jbrownta @mythicalcowboyatheart @shelbybabysblog @simpfortoomanymen @moonbeamott @gothic-chinadoll @weaponizedvirtue @ashibairo @darkdaydreamer New to the Cillian party, so just let me know if you (don't) want to be tagged to my next stories!

@sunnydays200 @emily-barber17 @wtfmariaclara @cillmurphyslover @niggette @cillliaannnnn @ihavedepressionyah @scarlettlight06 @mofinsafin @notavailibles-world @meadowshelby @posy-lou @zanytalecherryblossom-blog @narlytude @cassandratyrellm @floweradroble1123 @whoreforzendaya @go-mimi30 @myheadspaceisuseless @softcaesar @queenv319 @qkiq @zita90 @aryannavspx @ashamedtobewhitemanswhore27 @aradianti @egoluv @ailynkali @hrhfuturects @venvsfly @sweetsweet52802-blog @nana-bells @isabelaaaaraujo @allison7048 @whore4man @yslvtre @hanxuh @simp-for-bucky-barnes @oscengrim @gacrux @amberyalenka @peakysgiri @cillianlove

#tommy shelby smut #thomas shelby smut #cillian murphy smut #peaky blinders smut #thomas shelby #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #cillian murphy #cillian fanfic #cillian fic

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spiritcc · 10 months ago

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RATING ALL FROGWARES WATSONS BY LOOKS ONLY

the mystery of the mummy

waist snatched. shoulders broad. lestrade uh *googles* is not him

3/10 *to the side* are you sure this is the right characte-

the case of the silver earring

ough.....

his sadness and internal confusion have captivated me enough to grab my forehead and suppress a sob. you cant lose it before your patient, after all...

even his head looks like he had a lobotomy why is this al-

5/10.... crying...

awakened/lupin/jack the ripper

he is done being a victim but there is just not enough polygons in his body to protect him

the neutral photoshop gray outfit is not helping his case either

6/10 slightly better than before. but cardboard-level excitement

testament of sherlock holmes/crimes and punishments

my lord if it isnt a highly esteemed gentleman right here

determination in his gaze, silver in his brow, a Thought on his face. as beautiful as the day he was born

beautiful warm lighting illuminating my man to new heights

david burke/10

the devils daughter

feels like watching a man relapse. this is the bad ending

his character was genuinely nice and pleasant in the game itself, he was lovely. obviously to compensate for the cards that life has dealt him with everything else

barbershop ass. 2015/10 for the year this fashion had to die in

chapter one/awakened

i am going to hunt you like a lowland gorilla this is getting intervention worthy

he is now literally sick and requires CPS involvement

THE FUCKING TEXTURESSS THE SIN OF 14FPS DRAGON AGE INQUISITION

0/10. holmes only took him in because he resembled his literal imaginary friend named jon whom he killed fight club style. this is real.

this cant continue like this. frogwares' cheese had slipped off they damn sandwich. we need to rescue this

dai gyakuten saiban/the great ace attorney

holy shitttt shittddd holy shitttt holyyyyyyy shidddddd

japanese watson with both cultures preserved OUGHHHHHH

the gray. my god the gray.

OUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

100/10 YUJIN MIKOTOBA 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

#frogwares #dai gyakuten saiban

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moth-mortuary · 1 month ago

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ℭ𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔩𝔢 ℭ𝔲𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔫 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

𝔏𝔞 𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔡𝔦 𝔑𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯𝔤𝔞

Prologue: La Vergine di Norimberga

Chapter 1: The Loop That Never Breaks

Chapter 2: Bite the hand that feeds me

Chapter 3: Look for the truth in the back of your hand

Chapter 4: I saw the devil in my front yard

Chapter 5: Say my name like a slur

Chapter 6: For a daughter who bites her words

Chapter 7:

ONGOING [17.785 Words]

Ao3 WATTPAD [NOT ALWAYS UP TO DATE]

#masterlist #the twilight saga #twilight #carlisle cullen #carlisle x reader #carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle x you #carlisle cullen x you #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #carlisle cullen fanfiction #twilight cullen #twilight carlisle

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doomhands-jr · 1 year ago

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The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 5

Delinquent!Noah Sebastian X Pastor's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Rough sex, NoahxOFC, slight degradation, religious trauma Masterlist

Banner by @flowerynerds

______

Early November was among your least favorite times of the year. It wasn’t yet cold enough to snow, but the rain was frigid. Halloween excitement had worn off and there wasn’t much to look forward to until Christmas (Thanksgiving was fine, you supposed, but you were staying on campus while your parents were on a missions trip to Africa).

Your socks had gotten wet on the walk to the worship center. You loathed wet socks, even partially wet socks. They stuck to your toes in the most uncomfortable way, freezing them while the rest of your foot stayed dry. Any time your socks got wet, you’d hyper-focus on the sensation until they either dried out or you changed them, and since you were obligated to spend the morning overseeing community service, they were about to be all you could think about for the next four hours.

All you could think about, that is, until you happened to glance up and spy Noah slouched on a bench near the church entrance. You stopped short, double-checking the time on your phone. 7:46. It was unlike him to be early, let alone fourteen minutes early.

He hadn’t noticed you approach, too busy staring at his lap. He fidgeted with an object in his hands—something you couldn’t see. You took a deep breath, squared your shoulders, and continued walking.

The day after Halloween, you made a pact with yourself: you would get over Noah Davis. It wasn’t because he was a bad guy or anything. You actually quite liked him and found him to be an overall positive influence.

The problem was that he was too much of an influence. You found yourself second-guessing your morals, wanting to agree with him before you’d fully thought everything through. You wanted to believe everything he said, regardless of whether or not it was true. And you knew it was partly because you wanted so badly to give into his temptation.

Not that giving into temptation was necessarily bad. But you’d grown up listening to and believing everything the men in your life had told you, simply because they were in positions of authority. That hadn’t exactly worked out in your best interests.

Were you going to let another man influence your beliefs just because it would justify chasing the things your body craved? And oh, did it crave.

That wasn’t to say Noah didn’t make a lot of very good points - you were inclined to agree with them, but you had to sort that out slowly and on your own. Without the influence of him or his body pulling you in any one direction.

On top of that, it was inappropriate of you to entertain feelings for him—you were in a supervisor role.

The full truth was that letting go of the idea of him? It hurt. Giving up something you really wanted for something you thought would be better for you in the long run was never easy. But you were determined to do it. God had something better in store for you, you were certain of it. And Noah’s body was simply a distraction—a pitfall for you to avoid.

And who knew? Perhaps you were doing Noah a favor as well, not giving into him so easily.

The moment Noah noticed you, he stood up, straightening the legs of his jeans. You kept him in your periphery but didn’t look directly at him. Looking at him was too hard. You didn’t want him to know that though, so you did your best to be friendly. “Hey,” you said, greeting him with a friendly wave and glance, noticing your voice came out meeker than you intended.

“Hey,” he replied, and his voice carried a soft, hollow timbre that already had your heart squeezing. This was going to be more difficult than you thought.

You kept your eyes on the ground, allowing him to fall into step beside you, and headed straight for the church doors. Pulling out the key and unlocking them gave you something to focus on that wasn’t him, and for that you were grateful.

“How was your week?” he asked.

“Good. Boring,” you said, eyes scanning along the light blue carpet in front of you as you walked through the foyer. “Yours?”

“Enlightening.”

Enlightening. How were you supposed to ignore that?

“Oh?” you asked, curiosity getting the better of you. You still held firm in not looking at him, one glance at his soft smile and your resolve would crumble. You knew it.

And then, in an attempt to seem normal, you glanced. Not directly at him, but in his direction. Enough to catch the soft smile on his face and knowing kindness in his dark eyes. The way his long hair spilled out from underneath his hood.

You dug your nails into your fists as punishment and looked back down at the floor, where your feet guided you to the supply closet at the end of the hall.

“I think I owe you an apology for how I behaved on Saturday,” he said. He stopped in front of the closet and turned to face you head-on. It was getting harder to avoid direct eye contact.

He remained silent, providing you an opportunity to respond, but you couldn’t will your mouth to open and instead settled on offering a quick nod.

“I should have warned you about the crowds. And about the content for some of the music we play... And for agreeing to play that last song.”

“Noah, the whole crowd wanted it,” you reasoned, fiddling with the latch on the supply closet. “I’m just one person.”

“Just,” he interjected, holding a hand up, “let me at least apologize for the way it affected you.”

The tension in your shoulders slackened infinitesimally and you allowed your eyes to travel to his inked hands. His fingers were so long. It ached, how much you wanted to gravitate toward them, feel them caress your face, envelop his thumb in your mouth and have him drag it down your chin…

Catching yourself mid-thought, you looked away again. “I suppose I can allow that.”

He puffed out a short breath, relieved at your acceptance. “It wasn’t cool of me to let you go into that unprepared,” he continued, voice filled with genuine regret. “I wish I would have handled it better.”

You chewed on the outer corner of your lip. The sentiment felt too heavy for the moment, and you needed to end the conversation quickly. “Thank you for saying that.”

“I also want to apologize for what happened after.”

Your stomach dropped. You’d really rather not talk about that. It wasn’t exactly your proudest moment. You’d fully embarrassed yourself with your overreaction to what happened at the party. But more than that, you’d experienced genuine temptation for the first time in your life, and had only barely made it out of there without completely walking back on all your scruples. Even talking about it meant risking being pulled back down the rabbit hole he was about to apologize for. Either way, you couldn’t help it when, in a moment of weakness, you glanced at his mouth. His smile faded and something more earnest took over his face. His lips parted a millimeter as he sucked a breath in through his teeth and you found yourself mimicking the movement without trying.

“If your beliefs surrounding…” he took another deep breath as he searched for the right word, “…physical intimacy are important to you, I want to do a better job of respecting that. From now on, I’ll be hands-off.” He raised his palms in surrender.

His words wrapped around your body like a rope, compressing, crushing your ribs, and holding you together.

Last summer, when Isaac had ended your kiss, it didn’t surprise you. In fact, it was something you had almost expected him to do. He performed Christianity like it was a Broadway show and he was the principal actor. It was almost a game to him, it seemed. How many points could he earn with God during his time on Earth? How big of a mansion would he be rewarded with in Heaven? How many virgin brides?

You smelled a hint of Isaac’s performance in Noah. But there was something else there underneath. An eagerness to respect you in the way that actually mattered. He wanted to get it right.

“Noah,” you sighed, feeling like he was perhaps taking this apology thing further than he needed to.

“I also want to give you this back,” he said, fishing out your silver ring from his back pocket and holding it out to you. “I’m sorry for removing it in the first place.”

You stared at the silver ring. The symbol of the promise you’d made when you were thirteen and had no idea how anything worked.

Now, for you, it symbolized a lie that had been spoon-fed to you. It symbolized blind obedience to the men in your life and a life you had no control over.

You deflated.

“Keep it.”

Noah’s eyebrows lifted, lips parting in surprise and confusion. “Why?”

You looked anywhere but the ring in front of you, settling on a speck of lint that dusted the shoulder of Noah’s zip-up.

“I just don’t want it anymore. It feels too constricting.”

Huffing, he stepped forward and grabbed your left wrist, bringing it to his hand. His touch sent warmth cascading down your arm and into the rest of your body.

Slowly, delicately, he slid the ring back onto your finger. The cold metal contrasted starkly with the warmth of his palm. His hand lingered there for a moment, thumb swiping the length of your finger.

It felt oddly reminiscent of a proposal, but in reverse. With this ring, he promised to leave you alone.

Something harsh and sour coated the back of your throat and you swallowed bitterly.

“I want you to have it back anyway,” he said, voice gentle and kind as he let go of your wrist. “If you want to remove it again, that should be your choice.”

You rolled your eyes, twisting the ring back off your finger and holding it out to him in your palm. “I don’t want the responsibility of keeping this. Can you please take it?”

He stepped back from you, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Ugh,” you scoffed and tossed it in the empty mop bucket in the corner of the supply closet, willing it to disappear. You turned back to face him with your hands on your hips. “You know you’re being a little dramatic about this, right?”

Your eyes flicked back up to his face. He looked from you, to the bucket, and back, but stayed silent.

“I allowed you to take it off because I wanted you to, not because I was under some sort of spell. Plus, I should be apologizing for how I left.”

Noah closed his eyes and shook his head firmly. “No way, don’t ever feel bad for setting boundaries. I’m actually glad you left when you felt uncomfortable instead of letting me pressure you into something you didn’t want.”

You shifted your weight from foot to foot. This much respect was new for you—not just from Noah, but from any man in your life.

“I still feel bad,” you confessed, twisting your hands together in front of you.

“Please don’t,” he said, arm reaching out a few inches as if he intended to touch you, but then he thought better of it and pulled back. Your eyes chased his hand as it fell back to his side, wishing he would have followed through. “I was in the wrong, not you.”

“Why are you doing this?” you asked.

A smile played on the corner of his lips. “I suppose you could say I’m turning over a new leaf.”

Inside, you smiled at the throwback to the conversation last month. Outwardly you pouted, rocking on your heels. “I liked the old leaf.”

“Tough,” he said, grinning defiantly. “Get used to this one.”

You crossed your arms and nodded over to the supply closet. “Well, can the new leaf go grab the broom and dustpan so he can get to work?”

“At your service, Angel,” he said, sidestepping you to get into to the closet.

“Angel?” you asked. “What happened to Mary?”

“Mary’s too boring,” he called over his shoulder, digging around the various mops and cleaners. “I like Angel better.”

“Can’t you just use my real name?” you asked.

“No,” he said reemerging from the closet with two brooms and two dustpans in tow. He smiled his full Cheshire-cat grin, lips stretching wide over his too-big teeth in a way that let you know he already won whatever debate you were about to start.

You decided not to press the matter. You also preferred Angel to Mary. At least it didn’t have the virgin connotation.

You waved him off. “Whatever. Just get to work.”

Noah winked and did just that, keeping his head down and minding his business until Nick showed up, six minutes late.

“What are we doing today, boss?” he asked. You pointed over to where Noah was sweeping.

“Aye, aye!” he said with a salute and started toward Noah.

“Actually can you hang back a second?” you said in a low voice. He paused mid-step, turning on his heel and leaning in with his full attention. “I wanted to talk to you.”

He sighed, eyes dropping to the floor. “Look. I know it wasn’t cool of me to sleep with your friend, but you should know—,”

“—I was actually going to thank you,” you cut him off. Nick’s brows pulled together.

“What?” he asked, mouth parting stupidly.

You nodded, fidgeting with the sleeve of your sweater. “She told me about how nervous she was, about how patient you were with her and how you walked her through the process, and that you insisted on making sure she was sober enough to give consent. Not all guys would do that for a girl they just met. Let alone someone whose first time it was.”

Nick blinked, then released the tension he’d been holding in his jaw, allowing his face to relax into a smile. “Of course. I’m not an asshole. Or, well at least not a complete asshole.”

You chuckled, signaling with your hand for him to join you while you meandered over to the other end of the foyer where Noah was working. “Ava can be pretty reckless at times,” you said, lowering your voice now that Noah was within earshot. “She gets in over her head. I appreciate that she had someone like you who prioritized her comfort and safety.”

“She’s not bad. You have good taste in friends.”

“Thanks,” you said, smiling fondly at the moment of shared appreciation for your friend.

“Now get to work,” you said, when the air got too thick. The last thing you needed was to allow Nick to burrow his way into your heart alongside his friend.

The workday passed by relatively easy. There were no major philosophical conversations to be had, and no interruptions from unwelcome strangers. The two men worked diligently for the whole session, and when it was time to go, they put their own supplies away.

“Hey,” said Noah while you all made your way out. “I was thinking about something.” He slowed his steps and allowed Nick to pass the two of you.

“Yeah?” you said, matching his pace.

“You’ve seen me in my element. I thought it was only fair if I returned the favor.”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“I want to hear you sing.” He said it softly, lisp coming out on the last word and oh. You paused mid-stride to turn to him.

“Why?”

Noah looked at you as if you’d offended his bloodline, head rearing back in a scoff. “Because I’m curious? And I want to support you the way you supported me?”

“That’s not necessary,” you rushed to assure. The last thing you wanted was to have to perform in front of him. That was a level of vulnerability you weren’t interested in. Especially since he had such an extensive background in music and could easily judge you if you weren’t up to his standards.

“Will you let me do something nice, please?” he said, holding his arms out to the side before letting them drop back to his hips with a slap. “Isn’t the point of this entire community service thing to help me be a better person?”

He’d seen the corner he could back you into before you did. You couldn’t, in good faith, protest something like that without letting your cards show.

“I have a showcase coming up in December,” you said. “Here. At the church.”

Noah tucked his lips between his teeth and smiled in triumph.

“Are you sure you won’t burst into flames the second you step foot in a worship service?” you asked.

“Guess we’ll see,” He said, with a quick shrug of his shoulders. You continued walking down the path leading back into town.

“Isaac’s going to be there,” you said, reluctantly. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” he assured you, making the sign of the cross over his chest and clapping his hands together in prayer.

You sighed and shook your head. “Good. See that you are.” Without anything better to say, you followed up with “now get out of here.”

Noah huffed out a laugh at your attempt at standoffishness and jogged to catch up with Nick. Your gut twisted at the thought of him coming to watch you sing. Even more so at the idea of the regular churchgoers seeing and potentially interacting with him, but you chose to trust that this would be a good thing. That Noah would keep his word.

Noah in a church. Standing in the middle of a church-going audience. You shook your head, unable to realistically picture it, but that didn’t stop a grin from sneaking up on you whenever you thought about it.

_______

November came and went in the same way a cloud would—slowly, and easily unnoticed unless you paid special attention.

You and Isaac continued to work together on his project. He brought up passing a collection plate around during the event so the two of you could raise money for charity, which you thought was a great idea.

“That way, we can give back a little,” he said, pinching the cross charm he wore around his neck between two of his fingers and sliding back and forth along its chain.

“I’d love that,” you said, feeling more energized about the showcase.

You and Isaac sat across from each other at a table in a room off to the side of the main worship area, often used for small group meetings, Bible studies, and Sunday School. Song books and sheets of music littered the table, musty from years of use. You sat doodling swirls in the margins of the notebook in front of you.

“How have we been marketing the event?” he asked, flipping through pages of a hymn book.

“I made an event page on Facebook,” you said, “and have been posting about it to the campus Facebook page. A few other local groups, too.”

“Good,” he said, nodding, but not looking up from the book in front of him.

“I’ve also been passing out flyers and posting them around campus to drum up some excitement.”

“Excellent,” said Isaac, smiling.

Surprisingly enough, working with Isaac hadn’t been as painful as you’d expected. He remained focused on planning out the logistics of the showcase, appropriately delegating tasks to you as needed, but taking on the bulk of the work himself.

You liked this Isaac. He was at his best when he had a goal and worked diligently to achieve it. When you’d first developed an interest in him, it was when he was pursuing a leadership role on the worship team. Before then, he’d always been a scrawny, nerdy kid that existed only in the fringes of your memory. You’d seen him in church and at school but hadn’t paid much attention to him.

It wasn’t until your teen years, when he’d grown his hair out and started learning how to play guitar that you’d truly noticed. One day, he’d asked to perform a song in front of the congregation. You couldn’t even remember the song, but you remembered being transfixed by his singing.

That was the beginning of the crush you’d been nursing for over four years. It had largely dissipated, but it still peeked out every once in a while, in moments like this.

He closed the book in his hands, setting it down on the table and straightening out some of the papers in front of him. “How’s the community service going?” he asked without looking at you.

Your warm feelings for him slipped away just as quickly and easily as they had arrived.

Tension flared in your neck, pulling your shoulders up to a defensive position. Aside from that telltale sign, however, you chose to play it cool.

“It’s fine,” you said, joining him in arranging the stack of music sheets in front of you so you had something to focus on aside from him.

“You better get a move on,” he said, setting his stack of papers aside and resting his elbows on the table. He spoke directly to you. “You only have a month left before you never see them again. Not a lot of time to bring people to Christ.”

Truthfully, you’d forgotten all about that. He was right—the job had been handed to you with the specific instructions towitness to these men, but you were starting to think you no longer agreed with that cause.

“Did you talk about Hell?” he continued. “That sometimes works for me.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Why not?” he asked, brows furrowing with confusion. “You have to do something. Their souls are on the line.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this,” you snapped, shifting your chair back from the table and standing. You had some homework you should be getting to, anyway. “Can we drop it?”

“No!” he barked, standing up to be on your level. He splayed his palms on the table, leaning his weight on them and eyes boring a hole into you. Even from across the table, his height was menacing. Not as tall as Noah, but definitely tall. “That’s the whole point of you being there. You have to make sure they know what’s at stake if they keep going down the path they’re on.”

“It’s not that simple,” you said, voice raising in volume.

All this talk of eternal damnation set you on edge. You still hadn’t even figured out where you stood on the issue. How were you supposed to preach to someone who had made up their mind long ago? And who was Isaac to tell you how to talk to them when he’d only briefly encountered them once and made a fool out of himself in the process?

“What’s complicated about it? They repent or they go to Hell,” he stated with a huff, blowing his fringe bangs out of his eyes.

The pressure he was putting on you was familiar—much like the pressure your father had always put on you to “go out and make disciples” but things weren’t as black-and-white as they were when you were a child.

How were you supposed to preach something you weren’t even sure you understood or believed in? Blindly giving into the pressure to convert as many people as you could to a faith you only half-trusted felt more and more like a betrayal of yourself.

Not only that, but in your experience, people simply did not want to hear the gospel preached at them. You’d tried once—when you’d joined a local theater production of Fiddler on the Roof as a stagehand. There was one girl there who you’d made fast friends with—Stephanie.

You spent all summer trying to share the Good News with her. At the end of three long months, she agreed to accept Christ into her heart, allowing you to lead her in The Prayer. It was the defining moment of your adolescence. You’d managed to validate your existence by saving at least one soul.

It wasn’t until the wrap party later that week that you overheard her making fun of you to some of the other cast members, all huddled together in a corner of the theater, that you realized she’d gone through with it as a joke.

There was no explaining that to Isaac, however. He was so caught up in everything he’d been taught that it would take much longer than you had time to explain everything, and that was if he even listened, which he didn’t seem interested in…

…much like the people you were supposed to evangelize to.

“I have to go,” you said, turning on your heel and walking out of the warmth of the worship center, into the frigid rain. Isaac called after you, but you broke into a jog, heading—well, somewhere.

You didn’t know where you were heading, actually. Your rain boots clunked haphazardly on the sidewalk, splashing through puddles as you ran. You contemplated going back to your dorm, but knew Stevie was home. It didn’t seem like the place to be.

You weren’t interested in any of the usual places on campus, either. The wind and rain bit at your skin, chilling you through the oversized Sherpa-lined hoodie you’d worn.

Your feet guided you to the crossroads that would lead you back to campus, and you turned in the opposite direction, running headlong toward town.

Your breaths grew uneven, whether it was due to the energy you were expending, or the crushing weight of your religious obligations.

You were supposed to lead these men to God, lest their souls be cast into Hell for eternity.

Except, did you believe in Hell anymore?

You weren’t sure. You supposed it could exist, but was it really that easy to wind up serving a permanent sentence for an impermanent crime? For simply getting the theology wrong?

That didn’t seem like something a loving god would do. And if it was, did you really want to devote your life to serving someone like that? Someone who could be so utterly cruel to his creations for making simple mistakes?

You were angry. For the first time, you felt a glimpse of the anger Noah had expressed that night. He was right to feel angry. There were so many contradictions—so much about the church that just felt backwards to you. And whenever you raised legitimate questions, you were always met with the same answer:

God works in mysterious ways.

It was a mantra the church elders repeated, but it felt more like a cop-out. A common method of spiritual bypassing.

You wiped the rain that had been pelting your face with your sleeve, unsure of how far you’d ran when a familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Whoa!”

___________

At no point in his evening did Noah anticipate running into you—figuratively, and certainly not literally. But when he spotted you bounding toward him with a panicked expression, that’s what nearly happened.

Upon further reflection, you were probably aiming to run past him, but in the moment, it looked like you were on track to collide directly into his chest.

“Whoa!” he called out. Your attention snapped from the sidewalk in front of you to his face, and in the process, your left foot miscalculated its landing. It slid out from under you, giving you a half a second to react and catch yourself on a steel signpost. It was a good thing you had quick reflexes, otherwise you’d have planted ass-first into the muddy puddles lining the street.

“Easy,” said Noah, catching you by the elbows and helping you regain your balance. He observed your soaked hoodie, the way your breaths came out staggered, and the rapid rise and fall of your chest as you caught your breath. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, struggling to catch your breath.

Noah blinked at you, eyes narrowing in on your expression. Something was off about the way you looked around you nervously.

“You sure?” he asked again.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You looked up at him, fake smile plastered on your face to better sell the lie, but eyes blown wide as if you’d been trying to outrun a predator. Noah wasn’t buying it.

“You tell me,” he said, observing your footwear.

You looked down at your rain boots and back up to him. “I wanted to go for a run?” you said. It was framed as a question. Half-acknowledging that you’d been caught, but hoping he would drop it anyway.

“Right.” He humored you for now. He’d get to the bottom of it eventually.

“What are you doing here?” you deflected. Your breathing had begun to slow. You tucked your wet, matted hair behind your ear and looked up at him with curiosity in your eyes. The tension in his chest began to fade the more you relaxed. As if his nervous system was inextricably tied to yours.

“I was about to grab some tea,” he said, nodding towards the small hole-in-the-wall café across the street. Your eyes followed, then dropped to where he still held your elbows, and he released them. “Care to join?”

“Sure,” you said. He nodded and gestured for you to follow him before stuffing his hands in his pockets.

The two of you crossed the street, Noah taking the opportunity to glance backwards to see if he could gather any context clues and opened the door for you when he found none.

He gestured toward the counter, indicating for you to order first, and sidled up behind you, standing protectively close, just in case there was indeed a threat.

“Want to take this to go?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said, placing an order for a decaf cinnamon latte. Gross. Too sweet for his taste. “To go, please.”

Noah placed his own order for a green tea before the barista could give you your total. You looked up at him with a question on your face, and he handed his card over to pay for both orders without pause. Perhaps he could buy some of your time.

The two of you stepped to the side while you waited for your drinks to be made. Noah leaned casually against the counter, putting his height on display and moving just enough into your personal space that you’d have to take notice.

“Why were you running in the rain?” he asked.

You looked him over, taking note of his new proximity. “Long story.”

“Do you always deflect this much?” he asked.

You smiled sheepishly. “I’ll tell you, just not right here.”

That was enough to put Noah fully at ease. Perhaps it truly was nothing and he’d just read into your body language too much.

Noah caught you glancing over his body out of the corner of his eye. He smiled to himself. He knew he was attractive. At this point, using his attractiveness to his advantage was almost second nature to him. He drummed his fingers against the counter, feeling a slight surge of energy when he saw you studying the tattoos on his hands and trying not to be obvious about it.

Noah knew he could be cocky at times. His own attractiveness became clear to him in high school, when he hit a growth spurt and got his first tattoo. He received much more attention from girls than his friends did, and it increased exponentially the older he got and the more his once-lanky body filled out. By the time he dropped out of high school, well before his sixteenth birthday, he’d lost his virginity and then some. He couldn’t remember what his body count was up to, but he’d guess it was approaching triple digits.

He tried to stay humble about it, knowing that too much attention wasn’t healthy for his ego, but he did, at times, like to indulge.

Like right now. He was aware you were looking at him. He knew he could invite you back to his studio, that you’d probably say yes, and that you were very conflicted about your attraction to him, because this might be the first time you’d wrestled with sexual attraction to someone who wasn’t bound by the same laws of purity as you.

He’d give you time to figure out what you wanted. He wouldn’t outright pressure you the way he had last time. But he also wasn’t going to stop himself from craving you, or from responding the way his body told him to when in pursuit of something he wanted.

He slid his hands across the counter, allowing his weight to drop to his elbows, and leaned towards you. He was tall enough that his face still hovered slightly over yours when he looked you in the eye.

Many times, people were intimidated by the weight of his full attention on them. They’d step back or break eye contact to diffuse it. You, however, just looked up at him with a question on your face.

Oh, he liked that. He liked you not being intimidated by him.

“So,” he said. A segue into nothing. A great move on his part since he had nothing to say.

“So,” you mimicked, knowing smile teasing the corner of your mouth upward. A warm, sensation rippled through Noah’s diaphragm. He didn’t smile though. He wasn’t going to break his façade so early.

“What…,” he began. He looked out the window as if he’d find a cue card with the prompt he’d need. He didn’t. “…do you like to do? For fun?”

A clumsy introduction to a conversation. Possibly the clumsiest he’s ever made.

You licked your lips and nodded to yourself, amused by his attempt. Without his permission, his eyes darted to your lips. He chided himself and looked away, hoping you hadn’t noticed the rookie mistake.

“Angel,” yelled the barista, shaking him from his thoughts. Noah had given them his nickname for you as the name of the order. It went over the way he expected, with you rolling your eyes and begrudgingly offering him a smile. Glee spread into his cheeks and he shot a grin at you before turning to the hand-off plane.

You grabbed your drinks, handing Noah’s to him and led the way back outside into the rain. Your lead didn’t last long—Noah’s long legs easily overtook you and he had to make a concerted effort to slow his pace so you could keep up.

“I like movies,” you said eventually.

“What?” he asked.

“For fun,” you said. “I like to watch movies.”

Oh. Right. He’d forgotten about that.

“What’s your favorite?” he asked, this question coming out much smoother than the last, and Noah felt like he was back on track.

“Three-way tie for all of the Lord of the Rings movies.”

Noah stopped short. “Are you serious?” he asked. You nodded.

Without thinking about it, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and gave you an overly dramatic kiss on the top of the head, not worrying for a second about how you’d react. This time, you did get shy, shrinking into yourself and making a noise of protest before he let you go.

The power was back in Noah’s possession for the time being.

“What was that for?” you asked, smoothing out your hair. In the dark street, Noah couldn’t see the flush on your cheeks, but he knew it was there.

“I love Lord of the Rings,” he said. It was true. He’d been an avid fan of the films since grade school, back when he and his friends used to pretend to be the fellowship. Tall and slender with long hair, he’d been cast as the elf of the friend group, though he’d secretly always resonated more with Aragorn.

“Which one is your favorite?” you asked, falling back into step alongside him. Even with his slower pace, you had to take long strides to keep up.

“Return of the King,” said Noah without missing a beat. “I get chills every time the beacons are lit.”

“Did you know that in The Two Towers, when Viggo kicks—,”

“—he breaks his toe,” Noah cut you off. He immediately knew where you were going with it. Everyone with even the most basic appreciation for Lord of the Rings knew. It had become a calling card among fans to know that bit of trivia, but he still took pride in finishing your sentence.

The pride within him swelled tenfold when you smiled as if you’d never been more impressed or pleased with him in your life. He couldn’t help but fall a little bit in love with you.

Which was not good, considering how much harder it would be to restrain himself around you. God, he wanted nothing more than to seduce the religion out of you. He wanted to turn his pockets inside out, use every trick in the book to get you into bed, but he would probably end up embarrassing himself if he did, because his charm didn’t seem to faze you.

He knew it wasn’t a matter of attraction. You showed all the signs of being attracted to him, yet you still had the self-control not to act on it, and that drove him wild.

Had he been wrong about you? He thought the reason you were still a virgin was because your resolve had never been tested, but he’d definitely tested it on Halloween, and you’d resisted.

Which Noah had not expected.

And though he had reacted poorly at the time (which he now found extremely embarrassing), he’s started to like that you shut him down. He’s always appreciated a bit of a chase—a smidge of hard-to-get. It made the game all the more exciting for him.

But this was different. You weren’t playing a game. You simply existed as yourself, with no agenda he could detect. And maybe the part of him that needed someone to help tame his ego would like you to continue shutting him down, as much as it killed him.

“I play video games,” he said, breaking out of his thoughts when he noticed he’d been silent for too long. “For fun.”

“What games?” you asked, not missing a beat.

“I’ve been playing a lot of Fallout recently.”

If you told him you played Fallout, he would propose to you on the spot.

“I never got into video games,” you said, and Noah breathed a sigh of relief, because he didn’t need to be any more whipped for you. “Where are we going, by the way?”

“Oh,” he said, halting his steps. “Um, I was thinking of going back to the studio, if you were okay with that.” Nerves in his sides and in his throat tingled uncomfortably. You hesitated, and Noah wondered if the memory of what happened last time dwelled in the back of your mind, like it did his.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” you said after a beat, and picked up your pace once again. Noah exhaled softly, nerves soothed for the time being, and followed.

That was another thing: whenever he was with you, his nervous system oscillated wildly between feeling completely relaxed and supremely on-edge. The constant spikes in his adrenaline translated into excess energy that built up beneath his skin and all he wanted to do was sigh it into your mouth.

The three-block walk back to the studio was over all too soon. When the two of you arrived, Noah unlocked it like he had last time, and like last time, you sat in the same position on the couch.

Noah decided sit on the other end of the couch, rather than his usual desk chair. He faced you, legs crossed underneath him.

You turned to mirror his pose.

“So,” he said, this time knowing what he wanted to ask. “Nice night for a jog, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said, clearing your throat and retreating further into your hoodie.

“Not the best shoes for running, I have to say.” He nodded over to the rainboots that rested by the door in a small puddle.

You chuckled nervously, then worried at your lip. “I needed some air,” you said.

“Why?”

You bounced your knee up and down, collecting your thoughts. There was obviously something eating at you, and it concerned Noah that you were struggling so much to talk about it.

He relaxed his gaze, trying his best to train his face into a neutral, open expression.

“Okay,” you prefaced, exhaling a deep breath and twisting the cuff of your oversized sleeve in your hands. You looked anywhere but him. “So I have been questioning a lot about my faith recently. You know this.”

Noah nodded, stomach rolling with pride and with something slightly sicker and more selfish, knowing he’d been a catalyst of sorts for your questioning. He fought it back down, not allowing his feelings to distract him from listening to you.

“Yeah,” you nodded back at him, pulling your sleeves over your hands and bunching the ends up in your fists. Noah liked you this way. Cozy. Vulnerable. “And some people in the church are starting to notice.”

“Ah,” he said, understanding dawning on him. It was hard to ignore the changes in your behavior and demeanor. You’d become more confident over the last few weeks, less eager to please and more willing to stand up for yourself. He wasn’t surprised the church had caught onto it. The same thing had happened to him when he started deconstructing his beliefs—they saw it as a threat.

“When did you stop believing in Hell?” you asked, shifting the subject slightly.

“Oh,” he said again, feeling rather like a broken record.

You looked up at him, eyes growing wet with tears that threatened to spill over, and Noah began to see just how important this conversation was for you.

You waited patiently while he gathered his thoughts. His thumb traced along a seam in the leg of his jeans, grounding him while he tried to recall long-repressed memories.

“I don’t think there was any one significant moment.” He finally spoke, pausing to sip at his tea, savoring its bitterness. “It was more like I slowly came to understand that it was bullshit.”

“What made you realize?” you asked. Now it was Noah’s turn to carry the weight of your full attention. You hung on his every word, eyes trained on him as if you were looking into his soul and it made it difficult to focus. The collar of his shirt was suddenly too constricting. The room had grown warm. The knot of hair at the nape of his neck was tied too tight.

“My grandparents,” he began, clearing his throat. “They overused the threat of it. So did the church leaders. It started to feel empty after a while.”

You nodded, eager for him to continue speaking. “How long did it take to stop believing once you noticed?”

“Longer than it should have,” he confessed, heaving out a breath. “But in my defense, the stakes were pretty high. Had to figure out if I was willing to wager an eternity of torture on it.”

You hummed in thought, attention finally lifting off him and drifting to the space between the two of you.

“Noah, I think I’m…,” you began, but didn’t finish the rest of your sentence. He caught the hitch in your breath. The slight shudder in your shoulders.

He was pulled to you, as if there were a thread tugging at him. He needed reach out and touch you, so he did, placing his hand on your knee and rubbing his thumb back and forth. Something in his bones told him to stay quiet and let you figure this out.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself.

“I’ve never struggled with my faith before,” you began, and Noah nodded to show he was listening. “But now, it’s like I don’t know what to believe. I used to feel so sure. And some things I still feel sure about, but everything around it is like…crumbling.”

Noah watched you deliberately, hoping you felt you had his full attention, save for his right hand, which twirled a frayed thread from a rip in the knee of your jeans. To his surprise and delight, you inched closer to him. He made sure not to let it show. He needed his body language to match your tone—to be open and receptive. To be what you need.

“I feel like I was lied to,” you continued, voice breaking. “For my whole life, I was told that I had to act a certain way and believe in certain things. Things that I’ve struggled with for a long time. But I still did because I was afraid of ending up in Hell.”

You paused to sniffle. “And now I’m starting to think that it might not all be true, but I’m scared to think that, because what if it is true? And I do go to Hell? I just feel like…like the ground is being washed out from under me.”

Noah’s tongue prodded the inside of his cheek as your voice became watery. You were so close to a breakthrough. He didn’t want to say or do anything that would interrupt it, but he also wanted to cheer you on.

“I don’t want to become angry and bitter,” you confessed. “But I am angry. And I don’t know at who or what.”

“Are you afraid of being angry?” he asked, hoping it was the right question. This was toeing the edge of his jurisdiction.

“Kind of,” you said. “But it’s more than that. I’m afraid to start questioning, because I’m afraid I’ll abandon my faith altogether. Noah, I don’t know who I am without my faith.”

“Do you want to figure that out?”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy, threatening to spill over.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

Noah could kiss you. He wanted to kiss you, wanted to hold you by your jaw, make you breathe all your worries into his mouth so he could digest them and free you from the confines of your crushing guilt. Whatever suffocating remains you couldn’t exhale, he would swallow whole.

He yearned to crush his body against yours, to card his fingers through your hair and tug at the root, to hear your soft whimpers as he licked along the soft spots of your neck. He wanted the pressure of your thighs wrapped around his hips as he slid home over and over again.

Noah wanted you to take your anger out on him. Wanted you to sink your teeth into his throat, claw your nails down his back, to spit out your unfiltered rage. He wanted you to slap him hard across the face for having the audacity to dream of doing such lewd things to you.

He didn’t do any of those things, but he did take both your hands in his.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you still believe in God?”

You sniffed and nodded. “I think so.”

“Okay. What do you think he would say if he saw you like this right now? If he loves you like he says he does. Do you think he’d be disappointed?”

You sniffed again, blinking back your tears and shook your head.

“How would he feel?”

“I think,” you began. Noah could practically see the cogs turning in your yead. He willed—almost prayed for—you to come to the right conclusion: one that didn’t end in self-hatred or shame.

“I think…he’d be proud of me,” you said.

Noah squeezed your hands in encouragement, manifesting a breakthrough for you. “Why would he be proud?”

“For having the courage to ask these questions.”

Noah’s dick was known to twitch at odd times. But this, by far, was the weirdest.

“To me,” he said, trying his best to ignore the feeling in his dick and focus on the task at hand, “it seems like you’re notabandoning your faith. You’re realizing that it’s so important that you’re willing to risk going to Hell to make sure you get it right.”

A strangled sob escaped from you and you dove into him, wrapping your arms around his middle and burying your head into his chest.

Noah couldn’t breathe, and not because you held him in a vise grip. He draped his arms across your back, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head and praying to God for the first time since he was fifteen that he wouldn’t get a boner.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered into his chest. “I feel like I’m always crying these days.”

“It’s fine,” he said. You smelled like rain and vanilla and something floral he couldn’t place. He tried his hardest to touch you as lightly as possible because if he gave into even the most innocent of his desires, his hands would be wrapped around your throat and he’d be burying himself in you.

You adjusted, crying into his shoulder now, and he could feel your hot breath steaming across his neck. Yes, he knew you were crying and that wasn’t exactly the sexiest thing in the world (at least in this context), but it took every ounce of self-control he had to not put you through the couch. You were half in his lap. Despite his prayers, he was semi-hard, and if you shifted your weight even an inch, you’d be able to feel.

When your sobs finally slowed and your breathing went back to normal, Noah continued to stroke your back with his palm.

Having you in his arms was like flirting with the devil. A serpent, offering him a bite of fruit he knew was forbidden, lest he be cast out of Eden, but the sight and scent and touch of which proving to be far too sweet to resist.

All too soon though, you were self-aware again, recognizing what you were doing and where you were. You pulled back to look at the tear-stained mess you left and had the loss of your touch not been excruciating, Noah would have been grateful because his self-control was just about spent.

“Gross,” he said, pulling the fabric of his shirt out and away from his skin. You had snotted on it.

“Sorry,” you said, laughing and getting up to find a tissue, and Noah was looking at your ass. No other thought ran through his head besides the stern acknowledgement that he was looking at your ass and nothing on this earth would stop him from looking at your ass until you turned back around.

“Feel better?” he asked, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

You nodded, face all red and splotchy.

“I should go,” you said, and his heart twisted and wrenched away from his ribs, but he agreed because he needed to put his cock in somethingimmediately or he was literally going to die.

“Call me if you need anything,” he said.

“I don’t have your number.”

Noah reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, opening a new contact page and handing it to you. Your fingers brushed over his when you took it and he wondered if it was on purpose.

You tapped the screen a few times and handed it back to him. He opened a new text, typed his name, and pressed send. A few seconds later, your phone pinged.

His heart untwisted a millimeter. He had a tether to you now.

“Thanks,” you said. “For everything.” You stumbled back into your rain boots and walked over to where he was still sat on the couch (he couldn’t stand up without giving himself away by that point), and touched your lips briefly to his cheek bone. His skin burned under the touch and he didn’t even have a chance to respond before you were across the room and out the door.

Noah tipped sideways off the couch and rolled onto the floor, sprawled across the narrow passage between couch and desk.

He took a deep breath, feeling like his heart was about to beat out of his chest, then rolled onto his stomach and did twenty push-ups in a row.

His dick was burning a hole through his jeans and if he didn’t do something immediately, he was going to bash his head into the floor.

He pulled out his phone, with one number in mind.

Noah 9:37 PM: ?

Madison 9:37 PM: ;)

Noah 9:38 PM: 5?

Madison 9:38 PM: ✔️ _________

Noah just about ran the few blocks to Madison’s apartment. He walked in unceremoniously, ignoring her roommates, and took the stairs two at a time all the way up to her room.

She was there, sitting on her bed with a hungry smile twisting on her lips. She wore a sports bra and the shortest shorts Noah’s ever seen, but he barely looked at them.

He kneeled in front of her, grasping her shoulders in his hands.

“What’s your safe word?”

“Candyland.”

Noah nodded.

“That’s the only word you’re allowed to say,” he commanded. Giggling, she fell back on the bed, opening her legs wide for Noah to wedge himself between.

Noah closed his eyes, focusing on breathing in and out through his nose and his hands found the flimsy fabric of Madison’s sports bra. She gave a yelp when he just about ripped it off her, flinging it across the room. He turned his focus to her shorts to do the same.

Once she was rid of her clothes, he ran a finger between her hairless folds to find she was already wet. Madison was always reliably wet.

Even so, he stuck two of his fingers in his mouth, collecting saliva before he plunged them into her, moving them up and down, scissoring them the way he knew she liked. It wasn’t long before she expanded enough to accommodate him.

Fumbling while removing his own clothes, he wasted no time taking his heavy cock out and stroking it. He reached into the familiar top drawer of her nightstand, producing a condom and rolling it onto himself. He cradled his throbbing cock and lined it up with her entrance, glancing up at her to check in, and she nodded.

Noah didn’t go slow. He pushed into her all the way as deep as he could go with a snap of his hips, and once he was fully sheathed, he finally he felt like he could breathe.

He groaned low as he began to thrust inside her. She moaned loudly, draping her arms around him, and the second he registered her touch, he grabbed her arms and pinned them above her head. With one hand, he held them there, while the other crushed her jaw between his fingers.

“I need you to listen to me,” he growled, looking her directly in the eye. “Do not move. Do not make a fucking sound. Any other night you can do what you want but tonight, if we do this, you are a fuck doll. Got it?”

She bit her swollen lower lip and nodded eagerly.

“Open,” he said.

She opened her mouth for him and he spat into it.

“Swallow,” he hissed.

She closed her mouth around his saliva and swallowed it obediently.

“Good. Now hold still.”

She preened, eyes rolling back into her head and lips dropping open.

Noah relaxed, finally feeling in control for the first time that evening since running into you. He folded Madison’s legs up over her, found purchase on the backs of her thighs, and began his descent into his lowest and most carnal self.

Madison, to her credit, didn’t make a sound. She didn’t move. She braced herself against her headboard and held her position like a dutiful fuck doll.

Noah didn’t make a habit of treating women like objects, and he didn’t like that he was doing it right then. In many ways, he was disgusted with himself, but tried his best to get over it, telling himself the ends justified the means.

He threw his head back and breathed deep, the heavy musty smell of sex permeating through the air, but Noah didn’t care much about that. He pistoned his hips into her, squeezing his eyes shut tight, wishing he was anywhere and anyone else but the depraved man he knew himself to be.

Wanting to feel at least a little better about what he was doing, he took a thumb and rubbed quick circles into Madison’s clit to reward her for letting him use her body like this.

She whimpered. He didn’t care enough to tell her to shut up again. Any sounds from her were just white noise.

God, Noah hated himself. Hated how absolutely weak he was, submitting to his body without even trying to put up a fight.

He never stood a chance, though. How did you do it?

He sighed and picked up his pace, reveling in the tight warmth of cunt.

Had your roles been reversed the other week? Had it been you on your knees in front of him, practically begging him to give himself over to you, he would have done it without question. Had you given him any hint of desire—had you given him even an inch, he would have taken the whole fucking mile and he would have doubled back just to do it again. What made you so much more capable of resisting?

Madison pulsed around him, and when something splashed against his abdomen with each thrust, he realized Madison had released onto him. She did that sometimes. Whatever. He was used to it. He kept going.

He thought of you masturbating. He thought of you thinking of him while you touched yourself, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your white panties, whining his name while you made a mess of your bedsheets. He thought of you thinking of him tying you down and forcing you, and he could almost cry, he was so hard.

He tried not to think about the fact that he was fucking someone. He wasn’t really. He was using a body to masturbate because he knew it would give him a bigger release than he could get with just his hand.

And fuck, did he need release. He needed control. He needed to defile something beautiful and make it as ugly as he was inside.

Recognizing he wasn’t going to get what he needed in this position, he pulled out, flipped the girl over easily, and pushed back into her with a hard smack to the soft flesh of her ass.

She yelped, but made no other sound, and that was enough for him.

He thought of you coming undone beneath him. Of you weeping with the release of years of pent-up sexual energy. Of your makeup smearing down your face as you cried his name out to the heavens like a prayer for salvation.

He fucked Madison at a punishing pace. She arched her back and whipped her hair around to look over her shoulder at him, and as soon as he noticed, he stared at a random spot about two-thirds of the way up her wall.

Madison gave a choked, strangled sort of sob before everything grew more wet and her pussy began to flutter around him.

Noah would have to finish soon. Madison always got overstimulated if she was forced to keep going.

He gave a low, guttural growl and picked up his pace, needing to get as much energy out of himself as fast as he possibly could. The headboard slammed into the wall over and over, the bed creaked beneath him. Madison was a sobbing, sputtering mess as she tried desperately to keep still and silent for him.

“Just a little more,” he muttered angrily under his breath, picturing you on the brink of orgasm, body tensed up as you began to tip over the edge. “Come on.”

He dug his hands into Madison’s hips, slamming his body into hers and using his full strength to get as deep into her as he possibly could.

His lower abdomen tightened and his balls pulled up with the tell-tale sign of impending climax. He wrenched himself away from her, ripped off the condom, and gave himself a few quick strokes before he spilled himself onto her trembling body. Then he collapsed onto the bed, half on top of her, and curled himself around one of her pillows.

“I’m sorry,” he said, emotions washing over him like a tidal wave. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Madison said, cradling his trembling body into hers. “Noah, that was amazing. Don’t be sorry.”

Noah shook his head, throat closing in as he struggled to breathe. “I have to go.”

“What? Noah, don’t be ridiculous. It’s late. Just stay.” She said—his cum dripping down her shoulder and back as she sat up to look at him.

But Noah was already up, scrambling to pull up his jeans and find the shirt he’d thrown somewhere in his lust.

He all but ran out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door. He ran the several blocks it took to get to his house. He slowed down momentarily as he entered through the front door and past the main living space, but it was only to fend off questions from his roommates.

Once in the safety of his room, he collapsed to the floor, crawled to his bed, and knelt.

“I…,” he began, whispering into his clasped palms. And then he blanked. Because he didn’t know who he was praying to, or what for. All he knew was that he was praying.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually settled on. And that’s all he could find to say for the moment. It wasn’t enough. Taglist: @reyadawn @sundamariis @noahsebastions @cyber-tiny @livingdeceasedgirl @just-randomm-stuff @xxkittenkissesxx @treacheryinblue @flowerynerds @1toreyouapart @badomensls @rain-down-on-me @poisongirl616 Let me know if I missed anyone!

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