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koqabear · 6 months ago

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Divinity for the Damned

“There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin.”

“What sweet bliss it is to follow the teachings of God. To put in your faith and trust wholeheartedly, even if it means getting nothing in return.”

fallen angel! Beomgyu x fem!reader

Genre: horror, religious au, smut, angst

Word count 18.3K

warnings: i was delirious when i proof read this sorry in advance, very detailed descriptions/elements of the catholic church, mc is super duper religious, and innocent, lots of religious guilt, corrupt church members, assault in one scene, sacrilege and blasphemy i suppose, abuse of power, manipulation, guilt tripping, MCD, slight gore, violence, cannibalism…? aha…

smut warnings: dubcon/coercion, manhandling, mind breaking, corruption, virgin!mc, sub!mc, condescending soft dom!beomgyu, blindfolding/sensory deprivation? dacryphilia, fingering, oral (f. rec) edging, overstimulation, teasing, unprotected sex, creampie. lmk if i should add anything!

notes: hi guys! i have no idea how i got here.

[This story contains dark content. Please read the warnings carefully; I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume.]

The day is wintry and cast with a heavy snow; it is advised for citizens to remain inside due to the extreme weathers, flurries falling outside your bedroom window that is tinted with a frost that creeps from the corners. But it is Sunday morning, and a simple snowfall will do nothing to deter your humble duties.

Today, you rush to get ready; the layers of clothes on your form make it difficult for you to pull on your snow boots, thick and warm as your fingers fumble to lace and tie the shoes— you’ve begun to feel overheated, but you’re sure all the layers you have on will not go to waste the moment you exit your home. Standing with a huff of exertion, you pull the coat on you just a little bit tighter; with a gloved hand and one final glance at the clock, you finally open your door and make your way out.

The little village is quiet today. The snow is up to your ankles— it makes the trek to the church a little more difficult than usual, and it’s not as though the gravelly paths were any more helpful. A wind carries flurries into the air, sticking to your clothes and onto your hair— it makes your skin sting and your arms come up to hug yourself instinctually, a hand coming up to rest on your chest, almost able to feel the cross necklace that’s tucked beneath all your clothes— your fingers press against the layers, able to feel the pressure of the delicate charm on your skin.

Shops are open, but they aren’t very busy; it seems as though the snow has turned the place into a ghost town, and you wonder with a frown if a simple change in weather was enough to make people set aside their duties— in the distance, the tall pinnacles of the church begin to fade into view, a sight of a cross at the very top of each one bringing a sense of relief into your system, like a warmth that floods into your veins.

There are twenty minutes left before the mass begins. But even so, you note that there are not many others making their way inside— your frown tugs at your lips a little deeper, and you’re too lost in thought to take note of cracked path before you; your foot is catching and you fall to the ground unceremoniously, yelping at the impact and the snow that drenches your tights and dress within seconds.

Your knees sting; with the multitudes of layers you have on, it’s a lot more difficult to stand— you’re wincing in pain from both the cold and the fall, your gloved hands now soaked as you try to steady them on the ground to help you up; you stumble slightly, the weight of your clothes now doubled as you fall back onto your knees— you huff with frustration, your head hung down in defeat.

“Excuse me, are you alright?”

The voice is gentle and melodic; like a song in your ears, breathy, deep and smooth as you look up with surprise, not expecting anyone else to witness your fall— your face is heating up pitifully and your eyes are widening the moment they meet with those of a stranger, a man whose beauty is almost otherworldly; his hair is long and covered with flurries of snowflakes, decorated along his head and in his bangs like a crown— his face is blushing a soft red from the cold and his eyes are filled with concern; briefly, your eyes flicker up to his furrowed brows, taking notice of the scar that decorates his face, reddened and stopping just above his eye, a small deformity on his otherwise perfect face.

He looks like a prince.

“I–I’m… I’m fine,” you stutter out, still a bit dumbfounded by this captivating stranger, trying your best to remain composed as you take his outstretched hand for help; his hand is warm— no, it’s hot, even through your gloves— the contrast of temperature startling you for a moment; you try not to show it, much more distracted by the way his grip tightens instantly and he’s pulling you up with a surprising strength, the motion so sudden and unexpected that you’re stumbling out of balance; with a swift hand on the small of your back, the man steadies you.

“I’ve… never seen you around before,” you say softly, continuing your attempt to remain casual as you shrug his hands off you, taking a step back and trying to ignore the lingering heat his touch left— and you smile politely, hands folded in front of you as you tilt your head.

“Ah, I moved here recently,” the man explains, sending you a smile that’s just as charming as the rest of him; his eyes scan your sullied outfit, wet with snow and dirty at the knees, and he frowns. “You must be terribly cold. I suggest you go home and change.”

Your hands are patting your clothes off immediately in response; small clusters of snow that stuck to you fall off with every swat of your hands, attempting to rub at the dirt with your soaked gloves as you merely laugh him off and shake your head— you’re glancing back at the church in the distance, and are suddenly reminded of your responsibility.

“I’ll be alright, I assure you,” you say softly, doe eyes bright and optimistic, even if he seems doubtful of your words, “I have somewhere I need to be— it’s much warmer in there anyway.”

“Oh?” he says, raising a brow and scanning over your appearance once more, wondering what could possibly require such dedication from you, “may I ask where you’re headed?”

“Sunday mass,” you say eagerly, your voice sweet and lovely— and though his expression is suddenly unreadable, you remain enthusiastic as you continue, “If you’re not busy, I’d love for you to come— our church is beautiful, you’d get to meet so many amazing people.”

Mass is starting soon— you’re visibly antsy to go inside, yet you remain patient as you wait for the man’s answer— and though you’ve always been used to the polite turn downs from others you’ve offered to in the past, you can’t help but get your hopes up the longer you wait for a response.

He sighs; it’s soft and would have remained unnoticed under your gaze, except it comes out as a smoky puff of air due to the cold weather— his gaze skirts away from yours, lost in thought for a second, and you can feel yourself deflate as you begin to brace yourself for yet another rejection. But then he glances back at you, lips pursing and gaze taking you in slowly as he begins to speak. “I suppose I can,” he says gently, smiling at the way you’re immediately lighting up again, “I don’t have much else going on today anyway.”

A smile spreads through your face; you’re trying to control yourself and remain unfazed, but it’s a lot more difficult than you anticipated as you merely nod happily like a puppy— with his soft lead the way, you’re nodding again and taking him to your safe space.

“You never told me your name,” the man says suddenly, the two of you making your way up the steps to the church— you’re turning to him in surprise, mouth parting in slight shock as you realize that you really didn’t introduce yourselves— and you’re telling him your name softly, your tone a lot shyer than you expected, feeling small under the intense gaze of this handsome stranger. He laughs softly, eyes filled with amusement as he repeats your name back to you— it sounds so captivating and fragile on his lips, and you try to ignore the way the sound sends shivers down your spine.

“Beomgyu,” he says before you can direct the question back at him— and just like he did for you, you’re testing his name with your own voice, taking his nod of approval with a smile.

Conversation dwindles down the moment the two of you enter the building; it is low in light due to the cloudy day and the candle-lit lanterns that don’t fully light up the large establishment, and a warmth engulfs the two of you the moment the heavy wooden doors shut behind you; sending Beomgyu another encouraging smile, you take him softly by the arm and lead him further inside— you promptly stop at a small basin filled with holy water, dipping three of your fingers in and crossing yourself slowly, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting to mouth an unintelligible words— and while Beomgyu is presumably doing the same, you take this time to say a brief prayer.

Beomgyu simply watches you with blank eyes. He makes no movements to follow after you, watching apathetically as your brows twitch and your eyes remain shut for a few seconds more, sweeping his gaze over the area as he will his lips to not upturn in distaste— his expression morphs to one of content the moment you’re opening your eyes to look at him again, the only thing to fuel his feet to move being the way your delicate hand squeezes his bicep gently, as though you were leading a scared animal into the unknown— he can’t help but find your mannerisms amusing, filled with an overwhelming innocence he hasn’t seen in a long time.

As a child, your family moved a lot— going from town to town, your father offered newer and better opportunities due to his trade— and, just like you, your family remained dedicated during it all, never failing to find a church to become a part of, a place to spend their Sundays and worship their God. Because of this, you’ve seen and been in more churches than you can keep track of; able to take in different interiors and atmospheres, different communities and sermons— yet, despite attending more churches than this whole town combined, you’ve found that the one you currently stand in cannot even bear to rival the others— it is wholeheartedly your favorite.

Nothing quite compares to the feeling of warmth and comfort this quaint building brings you, from the friendly smiles others in the community send you the moment they see you, to the smell of incense and flowers that fills your nose the further you walk down the nave, automatically going to your usual pew closest to the altar; the spot is basically reserved for you at this point, anyone who has come to this church at least once knowing that the third pew away from the altar is your favorite spot.

Beomgyu trails a little behind you. A little hesitant, you think— it must be difficult being thrust into such a new environment so suddenly, and you’re stopping in your tracks to turn around and reach for him with a kind smile.

He seems startled by your sudden gesture. His expression is completely lightening up within seconds, and if you hadn’t been dreadfully nervous to offer him your hand so you could walk together, you would have been able to pinpoint the clear scorn in his gaze— instead, all you’re able to see is the way his brows raise in surprise and his gaze turns warm, smiling fondly as he takes your hand; he tucks it snuggly in the crook of his arm before he’s nodding at you to continue walking.

You’re suddenly much more aware of the eyes pinned on you— you’re sure many must be surprised to see you with someone new, always used to you coming in early and quietly, head bowed down and mind already lost in prayer— and in this condition nonetheless, your body heating up slightly as you stare down at the ghastly state of your clothes.

“Relax,” Beomgyu suspires, leaning close to your ear so only the two of you can hear his words; his other hand reaches to place itself over your gloved hand, and again, you can feel the heat of his touch permeating through the wool. “You look lovely. A bit of snow or dirt could never take away from your beauty.”

His sudden compliment has your face heating up and reacting drastically; you can only squeak out a flustered oh, in response, unable to do much more than look in the opposite direction and stare at the scarlet rug that rolls down the nave— and you’re arriving at your usual spot, close enough to the altar that you’re bowing in respect— stiffly, Beomgyu is pulled down with you; his jaw clenches at the action.

The sermon begins as usual and proceeds as it always does— though, with Beomgyu at your side, you seem to have garnered quite a lot of attention to you; from others around you eagerly wanting to wish you and Beomgyu peace, shaking his hand firmly and with looking up at him with awe-stricken eyes, to the priest’s gaze that inevitably falls back onto the two of you again and again, not used to the scrutiny in his eyes as you flush with heat at the sudden realization of what others might be assuming the two of you are— as subtly as possible, you try to make space between the two of you, using the armrest of the pew as your excuse to scoot away as you try your best to remain inconspicuous, pretending to get comfortable and resting your arm against it.

Beomgyu doesn’t seem to pick up on your particular train of thought— he’s sending you a curious glance before he’s closing the space between the two of you again, feeling the way your body stiffens and your back straightens the moment you feel him against you, thigh against thigh; the small pressure of his body against yours enough to have you flustering pathetically, lips pressing together as you try to keep your expression neutral.

But if there’s one thing Beomgyu has learned about you from the short time he’s gotten to know you, it’s that you’re undeniably terrible at keeping a poker face; all your thoughts are written across your expression clear as day and seep into your body language— anyone who has you in their line of sight would be able to immediately pick up on your flustered and shy state.

You’re such an innocent little thing; like a lamb, Beomgyu thinks, gaze visibly boring into your side profile as you attempt to pretend as though you’re unaware of it, even if the nervous fiddling of your fingers gives you away. There’s an air of purity around you that is simply enticing, unable to pretend as though he isn’t endeared to you the moment you finally break and turn to look at him once it is time to receive the eucharist, bright, wide eyes silently asking if he’ll join you— he shakes his head no gently, and you’re nodding in understanding before you finally scurry away to get in line.

Your heart is pounding; you’ve never thought a man could have such an effect on you, your poor brain confused and running laps to try to reason why you can’t even keep eye contact with him for more than a second— you’ve just met him, just a little bit ago, yet even so you can’t help but feel a strange pull toward him, undeniably charmed by both his looks and soothing aura— your hand goes to place itself onto your heart, a weak attempt to steady it’s erratic beating. The charm of your necklace presses against your skin, and as it nears to be your turn, you pray for your heart to have more resilience.

“The Body of Christ.”

Beomgyu watches as you stand dutifully before the priest. He watches as the older man stares down at you with an intense gaze, one that seems to hold silent disappointment; he watches as the priest looks back at him, their eyes meeting and his gaze hardening before it falls back onto you— with a twisted realization, Beomgyu realizes where this emotion stems from.

The priest is careful with you, hand reaching out to slowly place the Eucharist on your awaiting tongue; he’s gentle, as though you were made of nothing but glass, gaze following you even after you’re long gone.

You’re walking back with your hands clasped together and your eyes downcast, undoubtedly lost in prayer again. But even so, you can’t help but sneak a glance at Beomgyu once more, relieved to see his eyes weren’t on you already this time— instead, he’s watching the priest acutely, observing and analyzing his every move— and you feel star-struck by his beauty yet again.

The day outside must have cleared more; at least, that must be the case if there is light shining through the stained glass windows, myriads of colors casting themselves on the floors and the people around you— Beomgyu is not an exception to this, entranced with the sharp reds, purples and blues that cast onto his delicate skin, making his appearance seem more otherworldly than it already was.

His brows furrow. Part of his face is lit up with a faint red from the window, hitting his right eye and the scar above it— suddenly, his eyes are flickering back to meet yours, and you’re jumping slightly in surprise; his eye is practically glowing.

Your gaze becomes downcast again. You try to ignore the feeling of him watching as you kneel down and begin your prayer once more, staring at the altar and at the captivating marble statues, eyes falling onto the candles that hypnotize you by its flickering flame, lost in thought as the taste of wine that lingers on your tongue becomes the only thing you’re still aware of.

Beomgyu makes no attempts to conceal his desperation to leave the moment mass is over. His goodbyes are brief and he manages to pull you along, simply because you’d feel bad if you didn’t accompany him out. You’re almost out the front doors, so close to leaving, only to be stopped the moment you’re stepping outside, not expecting the priest to slip out of the doors behind you, calling out your name and asking you to wait; obedient as always, you’re practically frozen on the steps of the church— Beomgyu doesn’t bother to hide the clear distaste on his face as he hears the priest ask for a word with you; in private.

Without hesitation, you’re scurrying up the steps and meekly asking Beomgyu if he was going to stay— you can’t help but be surprised at the immediate nod of his head in response.

“Lovely seeing you today. Like always,” the priest says, sending you a fond smile that you eagerly return; he’s taking a step close to you, voice lowering slightly as he continues. “This is the first time I’ve seen you attend with someone else.”

“Ah,” you say quietly, evidently flustered by the breach of this subject; you’re turning away from him to glance back at Beomgyu, who sends you a small smile the moment your eyes meet. “I met him this morning— he aided me when I fell, and agreed to join me when I invited him to today’s mass.”

The priest frowns. You’re taken aback by the clear disapproval in his eyes, blinking owlishly as you silently question what’s wrong— the priest is taking another step closer to you, his brows pinched together and his voice cautious as he speaks.

“My child,” he begins carefully, taking in your wide and curious eyes as he warns you, “It is admirable of you to spread God’s word so dutifully. I admire your devotion to both our Lord and this community.”

“However,” he says solemnly, “I advise you to be very careful. You have only just met him after all.”

The two of you glance back at Beomgyu, who leans against the stairway with a blank expression, staring out at the snowy scenery before him as he waits for the two of you to finish; he can feel your stares on him, but he doesn’t bother to look back, already knowing where this conversation must be headed.

“Oh Father,” you say softly, giving him a reassuring smile, “you shouldn’t worry, I know how to handle myself.”

And, Beomgyu has been nothing but kind to you, you think to yourself, though you know better than to rely solely on the limited hours you’ve spent together.

“Of course. Though you can’t blame me for being concerned,” he says, taking yet another step closer to you— the space between you is limited now, and you’re unable to stop the way you retreat subconsciously in response.

“I wouldn’t want anything to happen to,” he reaches up to place a hand on your shoulder, heavy and making you stiffen at the sudden contact; it remains there, thumb rubbing soft circles on your coat, “such a dedicated servant of God. It is my duty to protect you, child.”

He is reluctant to let you go. You breathe out a soft laugh and smile, taking another step back and watching as his hand slides down your arm, his touch lingering and grabbing at your hand momentarily; he squeezes it in an attempt to give you reassurance, and you nod.

“I understand,” you say quietly, pulling your hands in close to your chest, clasping them together as you take another step back, “I must leave now, Father.”

His lips press, as though disappointed to see you leave to soon— but then he nods in understanding, wishing you a blessed day and encouraging you to stop by anytime; you nod, bidding him one last goodbye before you’re turning around and descending the stairs— you miss the way his eyes harden and his brows knit together the second they meet Beomgyu’s, lips pressed to a thin line as he watches the two of you for a moment more.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” you say meekly, feeling a smile grow on your face the moment Beomgyu simply shakes his head in reassurance, boldly taking your hand and placing it in the crook of his arm once again; a gesture that has your body warming up as much as his touch warms you, allowing him to pull you close to him as you walk away— he allows you to speak about whatever is on your mind, listening intently as he glances back at the church one final time.

At the top of the stairway, the priest remains, watching. Beomgyu is unfazed at the sight, and instead of returning the harsh glare the older man sends him, his lips curl into a smile— wide and wicked, showing off his perfect teeth and sharp canines that adorn his mouth, confusing the man before him— and his expression switches in the blink of an eye the moment you squeeze at his bicep subconsciously to get his attention as you speak, leaning in to ask what he thought of today’s mass.

“It was lovely,” Beomgyu says smoothly, eyes crinkling into a fond and kind smile. You’re returning the smile without hesitation, feeling as though it’s become second nature to your being now.

“I think I’ll be seeing you around more.”

≪⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫

The two of you part ways once you’ve reached the center of town. Beomgyu tells you he has somewhere he needs to be, and you explain that you still have a few errands to do; with the promise to see each other again soon, you’re reluctantly bidding him goodbye.

He asked if you’d be willing to show him around the town a bit more; if you’d like to show him your favorite places to eat and visit— you told him yes in a heartbeat.

With new promising plans with this handsome stranger, you felt lighter on your feet— a giddiness that undoubtedly was written all over your face, laughing shyly at the remarks others would give in regards to your good mood; and though the trek back to your little cottage on the outskirts of town was a long one, you didn’t seem to particularly mind it today.

The rest of your day is quiet; peaceful like always, not a soul stopping by to interrupt your day. You’ve fallen back into routine, and with your sudden encounter with Beomgyu earlier, you’ve begun to realize how mundane your everyday life is— you’re suddenly antsy, waiting anxiously for the day to bleed into the next so you’re able to see him again.

Night falls and you have yet to forget about him. Beomgyu’s soft gaze and kind smile, the way he hovered over you and humored your spontaneous offer to join you— his touch that warmed you through your layers of clothing and left your body hot and flustered.

This sudden change in your train of thought has you snapping back to reality; your eyes are blinking into focus and you’re now hyper-aware of the hot water that runs over your skin, the dishes in your hands that you had absentmindedly been washing— and you’re straightening up to stare out your window, feeling a breeze slip through the small opening and hit your warm face; you definitely need it, you think to yourself, scolding yourself for thinking of such scandalous things about a man you just met.

You think you’ll go to bed early; with the final dish placed on your drying rack, you’re off to your bathroom, washing up before you make your way into the bedroom, slipping into nothing more but a thin nightgown; the moonlight casts a glow on your figure as you change, already feeling sleep weigh your eyes as the soft silk of your gown brushes against your skin.

Your bed feels a lot more comfortable than usual; your body is more tired than you realized. The blankets weigh down on you securely, and any restless thought seems to dissolve in your mind the moment your head is resting against your soft pillows— for the first time in a long, long time, you’re able to achieve a peaceful, immediate slumber.

Poor thing; today’s events must have truly exhausted you. After all, being around a demon for such a long time takes a lot of energy.

Beomgyu watches the soft rise and fall of your chest with fond eyes and a small smile. He thinks that the moonlight casts a truly angelic glow on your face, unaware and peaceful to the dangers around you— not much of a difference from your awake self, the man muses.

The energy you emit is as pure as the light in your eyes; innocent, untainted by the horrors of the world. Unlike the rest of this town and their putrid thoughts, their intentions to rip you apart and force you to stoop as low as them, you’ve remained the same: devoted to your God, devoted to live an honest and peaceful life— your being is nothing short of angelic, and Beomgyu has found himself addicted to it.

He’s weakened— you remind him of the life he used to live, the person he once was before he gave in to the beauty of temptation, ensnared for eternity to the carnal sin that allowed him to reject the teachings of his god. He’s lived this life longer than he can remember, memories of pure beings and a light heart long gone; it’s instead been replaced by an insatiable hunger and instincts that led him to you.

Beomgyu wasn’t supposed to find himself here, he supposed. Damned to nothing but a void of flames that seared and marred his skin, to be given bodies of those who shared the same sin as him— indulging in his cravings, but never truly satiating them, just enough to keep his soul hooked and coming back for more, a constant cycle of addiction and hunger and desire.

But this is — you are — different. Just being near you is enough to get Beomgyu’s heart racing, his body buzzing with a slight nervous energy that begs to just touch you, to take you, to use you. His body is weak, drained from its descent from the heavens and its unexpected escape from his perpetual state of limbo, from his punishment. His bones ache and his skin begs to be with you, his soul guiding the rest of him to find you; just one night with you could keep him strong for eons.

Such a cruel hand life has given you. Because now that Beomgyu has found you, he’s made a silent vow to not let you escape from his hands; you’re the perfect prey, innocent and trusting and charmed by the closest thing to ever be graced by God's presence.

He closes his eyes, and hones in on your energy— to properly entangle you in clutches, Beomgyu must begin to plant the seeds in your mind; seeds of doubt and want, seeds that will allow you to see the world as is and bring you into his awaiting, protecting arms.

After a moment, he finally feels it; the soft beating of your heart, the aura that hums like an enticing melody. Deep breaths bring a slow rise and fall to his chest, allowing it to match the rhythm of your own. A harmony is created between the two, and only then does Beomgyu finally feel it— your mind is inviting him in. He suppresses the triumphant smile that makes his lips twitch.

Declining such an offer would be quite rude, wouldn’t it?

≪⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫

You wake with a start.

Your chest feels as though it might cave in and your gown sticks to your skin in an unbearable way, your body exuding so much heat that you’ve found yourself covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Your mind is racing, you feel as though your heart is ready to burst out of your chest— what happened, why do you feel like this?

It takes a minute before everything else floods back in. A wave of shame and horror washes over you, searingly hot against your skin as you find yourself throwing the covers of your bed off your body, reaching over at your nightstand instinctively and kneeling at your bedside; your hands shake slightly as you try to ground yourself with the feeling of the rosary beads against your palms.

Prayers leave your lips like a waterfall; attempting to forget the dream— the nightmare— that your mind conjured, surely nothing but a test of faith and temptation to make you stray from the path you painstakingly set up for yourself.

The beads of the rosary dig deeper into your palms. Your hands press tighter together, your face screwed into a frown of concentration, attempting to rid yourself of the way your mind seems to want to do nothing but wander. Wander to the foreign feeling of a hand gliding against your skin, a smooth path along your bare back and chest, lips that caressed your neck and whispered nothing but praises and promises of divinity and eternal life.

A shudder rips through your body like an earthquake. You must rid yourself of these thoughts.

Your will is strong, but the temptation is stronger; it sings memories and images from your nightmare, appearing at the most inconvenient moments and making your every movement falter— when you change, vibrant images and raw skin replacing the sight of your body in the mirror with one of pure lust and sin, when you prepare to go out, tucking the rosary safely underneath your layers of clothes, and as you spot Beomgyu in the distance, waving at you with a kind smile on his face; shame bubbles hotly beneath your skin, and you hope that the man who asks you to lead the way with bright eyes simply blames the flustered look of your face on the cold, the pure snow around you.

“You must be cold,” Beomgyu muses softly, turning to you and suddenly cupping your face; wide eyes meet his as you merely remain still, unsure of what to do as the feeling of his hot hands cupping your flushed skin only make it burn hotter, embarrassment eating you up as his brows twitch at the feeling; he raises a brow, tilting his head in confusion as he inspects you slowly. “Or… perhaps not? Your face is burning.”

“I’m so sorry,” you manage to spit out, taking a step away from him and averting his gaze entirely, hands pressed firmly against your pounding heart, “I’m sorry if I seem to be acting strange, I’m not sure what has gotten into me.”

Beomgyu shakes his head softly, brows knitted together with worry— oh, you must seem to have lost it, you think to yourself, biting your lip and attempting to brush off your skittish behavior with a soft laugh, Beomgyu must find you strange now.

And whilst Beomgyu continues to feign concern for you, brushing off all your apologies and maintaining a curious facade, his body practically buzzes with excitement; poor, innocent thing, one simple dream was enough to bring you right to where he wanted you— one dream was enough to fluster and break down the solid fortitude you once set up for yourself, the man before you catching you so off guard that you never had a moment to question the sudden turn of events; he had you right where he wanted you, smiling to himself at the way you could barely maintain eye-contact before you were flustering and looking away.

You told yourself it would pass with time. But hours fly by with Beomgyu and nothing changes— if anything, everything simply got much, much worse— the man seemed to have found solace within you, getting comfortable and finding confidence in being subtly affectionate with you; holding your hand and pulling you along to show you something, brushing the corner of your mouth and teasing you for being such a messy eater, and holding a firm hand at the small of your back while you walked— you couldn’t pretend to be unaware of everyone’s stares even if you tried.

“Such a small town, isn’t it?” Beomgyu muses to you, taking in the scenery, the people that wander the streets; he finds his eyes meeting with every person they land on, holding back a sneer at the way their stares linger with fascination, landing on you with a myriad of emotions: envy, lust, disdain, he sees it all. “I feel like there’s someone watching us at all times.”

“Oh, I suppose,” you say sheepishly, as though you were the one to blame for his discomfort, “I apologize, I had no idea it would be this busy today— but it’s natural to be curious, I know they mean well.”

Beomgyu nods thoughtfully at your claim; surely, there’s only so much innocence you can harbor before it begins to become naivety— do you really believe such lies? But of course, you’re filled with nothing but surprises, the clear look in your eyes telling him that your words are more for you to believe than him.

When the sun is beginning to set and the street lamps are beginning to get lit up, Beomgyu sees your mood flip like a switch; you’re getting antsy, you must want to leave soon. It doesn’t take a genius to guess what might be going on in your mind at the moment.

“You must be tired,” Beomgyu says, slowing to a stop before turning to face you; you led him to one of your favorite parks, taking him into the maze of a garden and along your favorite trail, the light and excitement in your face enough to make the scenery around him seem dull.

You look like a deer caught in headlights at his words; was it so obvious? You stammer and try to sugarcoat how you feel unsure of how to tell him that you want to leave now, not because you’re tired of his presence, but because you feel as though you’re not in your right mind at the moment.

Oh, how could you possibly tell him that the reason you must leave soon is because you feel a nauseating urge to repent? That, as soon as you say your final goodbyes, smiling shyly and turning around to walk away from him with a haste, you’re going to make your way straight to the church? The night is cold but your body is far from it, face burning with shame as you walk into your sanctuary with a haste, unsure of how to deal with the fact that you’re thinking very impure thoughts over a man you’ve just met; the very reminder is enough to make your stomach lurch once more.

The warmth of the building doesn’t feel as welcoming anymore; it only makes your body hotter, breaking out with a light sweat as you slowly approach the basin of holy water, dipping your fingers in and slowly crossing yourself— you take a deep breath, ignoring the flames of shame that eat at you as you walk inside.

The confessional is just by the entrance, at the very end of the left wall and tucked in safely from any private eyes. The velvet curtain beckons you, and as you rush over in a haste, you can’t bring yourself to catch eyes with the priest that stands by the altar, having caught sight of you immediately— there was no one else that would come here so late at night but you.

You sit at the very edge of your seat, hunched over and staring at your lap as you wait. You can feel the heat of the single lightbulb above you on your back, searing into your nape as you pick at your nails anxiously. It feels like time has frozen within this small booth you’ve cooped yourself in, the heat of it all only making you more restless as you wait, head ducked down in shame, much too afraid to look into the screen that separates you from the only other person that will ever know about the dark thoughts that plague you.

After what feels like an eternity, you hear footsteps approaching; you peek up instinctively, just in time to watch the velvet curtain on the other side get pushed open— your head goes back down hurriedly.

It’s not too often you come into the confessional, but you still find yourself doing the routine like you were born to do so. Your hand crosses yourself dutifully, licking nervously at your dry lips that part to speak— your voice feels timid and broken, the words you speak heavy on your tongue.

“Bless me father, for I have sinned.”

It’s been about four weeks since you last confessed, you tell him, wringing your hands together as you attempt to find the words to say, feeling as though a heavy lump in your throat prevents you from expressing the truth; it’s too much, you find yourself thinking, the burden and shame of it all bringing a heat to your cheeks, reluctant to voice your sins aloud. Moments pass and you have said nothing, but the priest on the other side remains patient— the silence and the heat of his stare through the screen only makes you more aware of the guilt that sits in your stomach.

“Father, I don’t know what to do,” you sob softly, the dam finally breaking in one, swift motion; words spill from your lips with abandon, unable to keep track of what to say as you scoot close to the screen, barely on your seat as you lean your forehead against the cool wood.

“I have restrained myself all my life, I’ve avoided the temptation that is thrown my way, the dangers presented to me— I’ve remained strong— yet…” you swallow thickly, a shuddered sigh leaving your lips as your hands brace themselves against the screen; your palms press against the sturdy structure, a false sense of security as you hesitate to say the words you’re about to admit, “yet— these past few days I’ve been plagued with nothing but thoughts of lust. Of blasphemy.”

For a moment, there’s only silence. Memories seem to bubble up from the confession, detailed and vivid, playing against your eyes that screw shut as though in pain.

It’s all wrong. So, so so wrong, the warm feelings that stir within unfamiliar as you remember all the thoughts that fill your mind throughout the day.

“It’s unlike me— I’ve never found myself to think anything so crude, so immoral,” you say, hanging your head with shame, “Yet I find that I cannot stop. Father, I’ve prayed and I’ve remained abstinent, but the thought that I fear the most is the one… that makes me doubt whether I’m on the right path.”

On the other side of the screen, you’re faintly able to make out his figure shifting. Your hesitation is evident as you finally admit something you hadn’t been able to accept yourself.

“Father, I’m afraid that I’ll give in.”

More silence follows. You’re sure that the priest must be in deep thought on the other side, but the silence only seems to make you more anxious; how low you’ve come, a voice within you chides, wanting to throw away your purity for a man you’ve just only just met. How vile.

The voice is cold and blunt and unlike your own— the sudden thought startles you, your spine straightening as you look around you, a shiver going throughout your body. Inevitably, you look through the screen once more. On the other side, you’re able to see the faint image of the priest, his head hanging and lost in thought.

You feel as though you’re in a daze for the rest of your time there; you can only nod softly with every piece of advice he offers you, telling you to remain strong and trust that your faith in God will guide you to the right path— he tells you to pray, to devote yourself to the church in any way you can, your penance weighing your heart as you agree to it all.

“My child, be aware that this is another test of your faith. You mustn’t give in,” he finally says, stopping you in your motion to leave, “You are a pure flower, bound to attract others who do not have your best interest in mind.”

Hesitantly, you nod, unsure if you’re deserving of this praise he sings to you.

“If you ever find yourself in doubt, know that you can always come to me.”

There’s an odd feeling that blooms within you at his words; you know you should feel comforted, honored to have someone to support you in your time of need, but instead you can only muster a wry smile, whispering a soft of course before you’re exiting the booth in a haste.

Glancing behind you, you’re reassured to see that the priest has yet to come out; you don’t think you could face him any time soon, knowing that despite the anonymity of the booth, your identity is quite obvious.

No one else resides in the church as you make your way down the nave and down to your usual spot. Your footsteps feel heavy on the rug as you stand before the altar, head tilted up to be able to take it all in properly; the marble statues that look as though they might come to life, the angels that bow down and the intricate details that go to frame the cross in the middle— you stare up at the altar for what feels like hours, the guilt in your heart weighing you as you take a deep bow and go to sit.

Your mind is calm, but your heart is restless; you pray for forgiveness and plead to not be led astray, yet something within you itches to do just that— a tug at your heart, wondering what it would be like to indulge yourself for once— you’ve seen the other members of your church, the way they comply and worship yet change in the blink of an eye once they’re out of this sanctuary— so, would it really be that bad? You’ve seen their actions, know their hearts; they treat you so kindly, worship your lord so devoutly— so, is it really unjust for you to do the same?

Your nails dig deep into your skin, a way to snap yourself out of that train of thought, scolding yourself for thinking this way of others around you— for attempting to reason with the whispers of temptation that attempt to lure you.

How long you spend lost in thought is unknown to you— minutes, maybe hours, your knees sore and your clasped hands clammy as you rest your forehead against them, eyes screwed shut and lost in prayer; it was a meditation of sorts, finally able to cast out straying tangents and focus on one thing. Your breathing is slow, tired, your body slowly giving in to the exhaustion, muscles weighing you down as you continue to pray— it isn’t until you’ve found yourself about to doze off that you realize you must leave.

When you stand, you’re shaken awake instantly. You could’ve sworn you’d be the only one left in the building by now, yet the priest still lingers by the altar, tending to the candles and shifting about— the smile you send when he glances behind curiously and meets your eyes must seem as ingenuine as it feels, because you see his expression fall instantly.

It’s important to rest. You must be seeing things, you think, tightening your coat around you before you’re stepping out of your pew and turning to leave— your steps are unconsciously haste, your arms that wrap around yourself unnaturally tight, yet you still flinch the moment your name is being called— softly, but still echoing throughout the building.

You find yourself feeling reluctant as you turn. Your words are timid as you address him.

“Yes Father?”

Upon your surprise, he is not too far from you— as though he had been mere steps behind, wanting to close the gap between you two as he continues to move forward; he sends you a soft smile, head tilting in curiosity and brows furrowing in worry as he speaks.

“My dear, are you leaving? At this hour?” he asks, watching you nod meekly, “But it is so dangerous; it is far too cold and dark for someone like you to be out alone.”

Sheepishly, you smile, hands wringing themselves without you realizing.

“It’s quite alright, Father. I’m stronger than you think.”

The soft laugh he lets out is meant to be lighthearted, though you can’t help but think it’s one of disbelief instead.

“I’m sure, but you must understand my concern; to let you leave alone like this would be wrong of me.” His smile is fond as he steps closer to you, gesturing behind him as he proposes, “Why don’t you stay here for the night? It’d be much safer.”

“Oh, thank you Father, but I think it’d be better for me to go to my home instead,” you say softly, pressing your hands firmly against your beating heart, “I have a busy day tomorrow, and I don’t think it’d be wise to rest on the pews.”

He laughs again, shaking his head in amusement; your brows knit together in slight confusion, laughing along hesitantly nonetheless.

“Of course my dear,” he starts, your smile widening in hopes that he’s giving up this small fight, “but that’s not what I was referring to.”

“I meant that you should rest here tonight,” he repeats again, voice softening as he continues, “with me.”

Your eyes widen in shock— it’s painted all over your face as well, unsure of what to make of his sudden offer as you resort to letting out an incredulous laugh instead.

“Oh Father, I couldn’t possibly—” you gulp, softening your tone at the sight of his confused face, “It– it wouldn’t be right. I mustn’t disturb you.”

“But you wouldn’t be disturbing at all,” he insists, taking a step toward you, talking animatedly with his hands as he does, “I’m inviting you, afterall, I’d love the company— it does get lonely sometimes, I must admit.”

You attempt to maintain a look of understanding, nodding along to his every word— but you remain firm in your stance regardless as you respond.

“I understand, and I truly do appreciate the offer,” you try again, beginning to walk back despite the slow souring of his face, “but, even so, I really must leave—”

“Why?” he suddenly interrupts, his voice sharp and his expression cold, “why are you so insistent on leaving?”

“I’m tired, is all—”

“Lies.” he shuts you down again. “All of it. For if you were true to your word, you’d have no issue accepting my offer to accommodate you.”

Shaking your head, you shrink within yourself, shoulders caving in as he begins following your steps— you attempt to give him reason, to be polite and kind, yet he hears none of it.

“You come to plead for forgiveness yet are so quick to run back to your old ways,” he says, his every step like a resounding boom in your mind— you deny him adamantly again, but all you get in response is a cold look.

It seems as though you’ve nowhere to go— the doors had been shut due to the cold and your back presses against it, but before you can reach for the handle and open your only exit, you find yourself trapped— the priest’s hand is heavy as it slams on the handle, the loud sound causing you to jump and yelp in surprise.

“Can’t you see? I only want what’s best for you,” you feel as though you might merge with the wood of the door as you press yourself to it, eyes glued to the floor in an attempt to escape the cruel wrath of the priest that towers above you, spitting words of discipline, “It’s dangerous for you out there. You haven’t the slightest idea what would happen to you if you were found like this— alone, helpless, defenseless.”

“I have gone out of my way to provide you shelter, yet you refuse; I know what it is you’re truly adamant to get back to,” he grits, as though it pained him to say— his eyes narrow, watching as you merely tremble and refuse to look at him, finding himself tired of you not meeting his eye— the cry you let out is insignificant as he takes hold of your shoulders, shaking you and crouching down to meet your face.

“And I will not have you whoring yourself out to another man! ” Your eyes are screwed shut now, tears threatening to flow down as you reach for the hands on your shoulders, attempting to pry them off— he pays no mind to your attempts, continuing to scream in your face until you find that you can withstand no more.

“Please! Let me go!”

Your chest heaves. Your wide eyes are brimming with tears and your legs are shaking terribly, just like your hands that have just shoved the priest off you; he seems just as shocked as you are, mouth parted in surprise before he finally goes to regain his composure.

“I-I’m so sorry Father, I–” your voice breaks and you feel the hot streams of tears on your cheeks, a trembling hand reaching behind you in search of the handle— when you find it, you immediately pull it open.

“I–I— I must go, I’m so sorry, please forgive me, I didn’t mean it, I’m so—”

“You do not deserve to be deflowered and tainted by the evils of this world,” the priest says, his voice hoarse and stopping you effortlessly in your tracks; he doesn’t bother looking at you anymore, staring at your feet with a pinched expression of frustration instead. “But if that is what your blasphemous heart truly desires, then so be it.”

When his head raises and his eyes meet yours, you’re stunned— his eyes shine, a forlorn look settled within them.

“You were so perfect, my child,” he says softly, frowning at the fear in your eyes, the heavy heaving of your chest, “you were divine.”

“May God have mercy on your soul.”

Brows furrowing together, you deny him one last time— this time, he simply watches as you slip out the door, fleeing with sharp steps and sobbing quietly into your hands, cheeks stinging from the cold.

The path before you is dim— the trek to your home is long. Without realizing, you think of the priest’s warnings, tears an endless stream as you part your lips in a soft whisper.

“Oh Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection…”

Through the long journey back to your way home, you sob and you pray. By the top steps of the church, hidden by the columns and tucked safely into the darkness, Beomgyu watches. He watches until your figure is nothing but a small speck against the vast landscape of the town, your trembling body and the echoes of your soft sobs ingrained into his mind.

Slowly, he turns back to look at the doors, into the small sliver of warm light provided by your failure to close the door properly.

His eyes catch movement; a grin grows on his face.

≪⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫

Tonight, it seems as though your heart and your mind have finally conceded. Tonight, you dream deeply.

In your dreams, it is all a haze; you’ve found yourself within the holy sanctuary once more, slowly making your way down the nave, past the crowded pews of hooded figures with their heads ducked down, hands folded dutifully in front of you and your eyes pinned straight ahead. The altar beckons you, the thickened, incensed air bringing a calm through your system as you walk. You walk and you walk, eyes pinned on the cross that looms over you.

The path seems to warp— the nave seems never-ending, the carpet slowly becoming worn and darkened with every step you take— your heart beats a little faster now, nails digging into your skin with a subconscious tension; yet you continue to walk, whether you want to or not.

Everything feels so heavy. You feel lethargic and dizzy, feeling as though submerged underwater, limbs moving oh so slowly; the room around you has begun to darken, unable to halt your trek down to the altar no matter how much you try— everything has begun to fade to black, the pews of people turning to dust, the carpet beneath you disappearing beneath your feet— the only thing that remains steady is the altar in front of you and the steps you take.

You can’t breathe— have you been breathing at all? It’s a fleeting thought that crosses your mind, the burning of your lungs and the pressure on your chest sudden and alarming— the smell of incense no longer enters your system, but you can still feel the air thicken around you; somehow, your eyes remain wide open through it all, stuck onto the mesmerizing, pure altar that remains on its fixed point in the distance.

It feels as though hours have passed, and you’ve yet to make any progress. Your body remains still as the darkness around you. Just when you’ve begun to wonder if there will ever be any end in sight, something changes.

It’s subtle, at first— you think it might just be a trick of the mind. The very edges of the altar have started to fade into the darkness, the sharp edges of the pure, white marble statues turning fuzzy— the wings of the angels, the top of the cross, the podium that holds it all up— it’s fading into the abyss, becoming one with the eternal nothingness around you— and as much as you feel yourself panic, wanting to speed your pace, break into a run in a weak attempt to stop it— you can’t. The sound of your steps is like a metronome in your ears, falling against the void and keeping you still. All you can do is watch.

Your eyes remain wide open throughout it all. Your dress sways with every step you take, your body not realizing that soon enough, you’ll be walking towards nothing. The faces of the angel’s are now fading into obscurity, the darkness prickling at Jesus’ nailed hands and thorned crown; your heart hammers against your chest, forced to watch as it pools around Mary’s feet.

The few remnants of the holy altar are slowly being swallowed by this strange darkness; sorrow fills your weak being, wondering why it is that your body continues to walk forward— there is nothing left to go to, the last of Mary’s bowed body getting lost into the abyss— and as your eyes scan her smooth, marble complexion, you catch on a single crimson tear, welling up at the inner corner of her eye, able to watch it grow as though you were standing inches before it— it grows and grows, until it can no longer stay still. The path it runs down the smoothness of her cheeks is striking, a sharp trail left behind as it drips off into nothing.

The last of her fades away.

There is nothing but darkness ahead of you; even so, you continue forward. Your mind has emptied, body becoming lax as the steps you take become effortless, light, like walking on air. Your eyelids feel heavy with sleep, the haze in your brain returning twice as strong.

You can feel yourself walking, but you cannot see anything; not even yourself. A voice within wonders if you might be left to walk forever, towards an end goal that will never show itself to you.

Come to me.

Despite your shock, you do not halt. The voice is soft and sweet, like dripping honey— it’s only three words, but even so, you find yourself entranced, following the command even if you’re unsure whether you’re going the right direction.

Closer, come.

The voice beckons you so effortlessly, like a leash that wraps around your figure, pulling you forward, following your instinct to continue to walk, to explore what it is that calls to you so sweetly.

Unlike the altar that has now been lost on your once worried mind, something has begun to fade into view. It is soft and hazy, with a slight glow that hurts your eyes— unable to make out what it is you’re now making your way towards, eyes dilating and adjusting slowly.

A bright, ruffled shirt, a corset that’s tied tightly, long flowing sleeves covering the hands that rest leisurely at their sides; your gaze is quick to sweep up their appearance, a quick observation before you move onto what tugs at your curiosity the most— only to find that their face remains obscured by the darkness, a slight blur of what could be registering in your mind— you think you see soft, plump lips that curl into a reassuring smile, but it might be wishful thinking, if anything at all.

Slowly, they raise a hand— calling you closer, the path beneath you finally beginning to shrink with each step you take— their fingertips outstretched toward you, as though expecting you to do the same. And even when you fail to mirror their actions, they refuse to falter, accepting you as you are.

It is only when you stand before them that your body finally stops. Your face expressionless as you observe the person in front of you carefully, oddly hesitant to accept their offer. You stand for a moment, left in a standstill as the figure lets out a soft, echoing laugh.

Do not be afraid, they tell you, their words wrapping around you warmly, take my hand.

You blink. Your body suddenly feels like your own, the grounding heaviness of your limbs making you realize that it is now you who controls what you do next; glancing down at yourself curiously, you look back up at the figure, where they remain waiting expectantly.

You take a step closer. Their smile widens slightly.

Good, they say, soft and deep like a purr, closer.

Slowly, you bring a hand up, finding a slight hesitation to make contact with this outstretched hand— and, as though hearing your doubts, the figure chuckles, teasing and lighthearted, as though already aware of what you will choose in the end.

When your skin touches theirs, you feel nothing. It is like air under your palm.

Your grip tightens, unsure if you’ve taken their hand at all; before you can so much as take a breath, their hold shifts, hand sliding forward and deft fingers wrapping tightly around your wrist, fingertips digging into the skin— you’re pulled in without warning, stumbling forward and crashing into their strong chest.

Looking up, you find that you cannot bring yourself to feel afraid— their smile is radiant as they look down at you, the faint outline of their head much too fuzzy for you to understand— the air cracks as two pure wings stretch out, curling around the two of you and moving to cage you in shortly after— feathers fly around the air from the aggressive movement, fluttering around before they rot black, lighting at the quill and turning to ashes, the crackling sounds filling your ears as you look around you in confusion, only to get the sight obscured by the darkening wings that trap you.

Eyes on me, the voice says, echoing in your mind, following their command immediately. The soft smile that remained on their lips can no longer be contained, growing into a grin that shows off brilliant canines that shine down at you. I will give you everything you seek.

Feeling the twinge of hope in your heart, the figure pulls you closer still, allowing your body to press against theirs.

Seek me, they whisper lowly, a hand beginning to snake around your waist, dancing fingertips pressing into the small of your back— leaning down, they whisper softly into your ear.

Find me in our sanctuary, you can hear their grin through their words, and I will give you all you yearn for.

Their lips ghost over the shell of your ear.

Quickly.

Before you can react, they dissolve to nothing.

You’re left alone in the abyss once more.

≪⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫

When you startle awake, you find that it is still nighttime; sitting straight up in your bed, you look out the window— snow falls peacefully, the quietness of the scenery doing nothing to calm your beating heart.

The dream.

Words and messages echo throughout your mind, unsure of what to make of it all. Your chest heaves slightly with confusion, eyes adjusting to the darkness as you glance over at your bedside table— the statue of the cross greets you like always, the soft voice from your dream resurfacing in your tired brain.

Your body is moving on its own accord; your coat, your shoes, all of it is being thrown on before your dazed mind can even process it, still weighed with sleep as you stumble around in the darkness. Only one thought seems to keep you moving, like a restless pull that leads you out your front door.

Swinging it open, you’re met with the freezing winter breeze; the trees sway and creak, snowflakes falling in your direction and landing against the apples of your cheeks— shaking you awake slightly, a quiet voice within you wondering what it is you’re doing, telling you that you should go back inside and rest— but even through this small window of reason you receive, the warmth that leaks from behind your home attempting to wrap around you and pull you back in, the need to seek closure haunts you; your boots crunch beneath the freshly fallen snow, sealing your fate as you haphazardly close the door behind you.

It all feels like a dream still— and you wonder if it is, blinking away the snow that gets in your eyes, your walk through the emptied path that leads back to the center of town turning haste; you feel as though it is something else that is pushing you forward, allowing you to head through this dark and barren path without so much as a light to guide the way, the sound of the wind whistling through your ears and the snow crunching beneath your feet following along.

There must be a reason, your weary mind thinks, a passing thought through the blankness of your mind, passing through the desolate, closed shops, not a single street lantern lit to give you a sense of security, there is something calling you back.

In your right state of mind, you never would have found yourself doing this; after what happened mere hours ago, you wouldn’t have been able to walk in this general direction without feeling guilt and fear weighing you down— in your fully conscious state of mind, you would have stopped to contemplate your actions the moment you began to lace up your shoes— but in this moment, as you slow to a stop and turn to face the stone steps that lead to the first faint, flickering light you’ve seen tonight, you’re none of that— instead, you allow yourself to give in to this strange, delirious state of being you’ve found yourself in.

The tall steps of the church have blurred together. Your head remains bowed, eyes glued to your feet as you ascend, hands folded neatly in front of you as snow falls around you, on your clothes and in your hair.

When you arrive at the top, a hand reaching out for the entrance, you hesitate— your eyes widen, and as though a bucket of ice water has been poured over you, you take in the door that has been left ajar, the lights that are no longer on inside; your hand remains outstretched for a moment, and for the first time tonight, a single question runs through your head.

Why are you here?

Standing straight, you turn to look over your shoulder, out at the town behind you— all is still, eerily so, like you’re the only person there. Even in the distance, in the neighborhoods, you do not find a single light on. A chill runs through your body, suddenly aware that you’re standing outside in the snowfall with nothing but your nightgown and a winter coat on; with blazing cheeks, you rush to slip inside the sanctuary in hopes of getting your confused mind back in order.

The door falls shut behind you, the soft click rendering you in complete darkness; not even the magnificent, stained glass windows are able to provide you with a proper source of light, nervously looking around and taking in the church in this desolate, foreign state.

You’ve heard that old habits die hard— without realizing, you’ve made your way to the basin of holy water, shaking fingers reaching in to be dipped so you can cross yourself— only, you continue to reach in, going in further until your fingertips are touching the cool porcelain of the bowl; head snapping over the sensation, you frown in confusion at the sight of the empty basin— walking over to the one placed adjacently, you squint, reaching in unsurely, only to be met with the same cold feeling.

Strange.

Retracting your hand, you cradle it close to your chest, a frown tugging at your features as you try to brush off the confusion; looking forward once more, you’re left face to face with the marble altar that sits at the end of the nave, beckoning you to come closer.

It must’ve been a sign of God. That is the only explanation that would justify the strange circumstances of it all, making you way down the familiar carpet, the soft sound of your steps enough to rival the beating of your heart in your ears.

Stepping off the carpet, you go to bow in respect— only to hear a strange sound beneath your feet, like a splashing of sorts— glancing down in confusion, your eyes narrow, attempting to decipher what it is you’ve stepped in; a pool of water maybe, looking above you to see if there might be a leak in the ceiling— a few seconds go by, and when you neither feel nor see anything fall, your frown deepens.

“You came.”

Your heart spikes and your gaze drops to the source of the sound, unable to do anything but gasp from the startle— through the darkness, standing behind the altar, a figure speaks to you. The sight is reminiscent and makes your legs shake, a mixture of fear and awe filling your body as you find yourself unable to speak.

“I wondered what it would take for you to finally give in,” the voice, soft and melodic, murmurs; even through the darkness, you can feel their gaze pinned onto you intently. “Such a shame it had to go this far.”

Before you can react, a thunder-like sound fills the empty walls of the church, cracking loudly and causing you to flinch, ducking down and covering yourself instinctively— through your eyelids that remain screwed shut, you see light filling the room around you, the flickering warmth of the candles glowing against your lids, beckoning you to look— after a moment, you give in.

Your hands tremble as you put them down, straightening up and taking a look around you: the candles have been lit up, from the chandeliers and lanterns above you to the small, worn candles at the sides of the altar— your eyes squint, trying to adjust, rubbing the sleep out of them and blinking slowly as you finally take in the figure that awaited your arrival.

A familiar face smiles down at you sweetly.

A loose, white shirt, a corset that ties tightly around the waist, flowing sleeves that pool around his delicate hands— your shaking pupils take it all in, lips parting to speak, only to close once more when you’ve found that nothing can come out. His hair is mused and curls at the nape of his neck, long strands falling into his kind eyes that watch you carefully.

Behind him, two vast white wings stretch out, the grand sight making your eyes widen in wonder.

Before you can control yourself, your knees buckle in shock.

Beomgyu laughs at you, the sound tender to your ears; placing his hands on the table of the altar, he leans forward, looking down at you and tilting his head in curiosity.

“What’s wrong, my lamb?”

All you can do is stare, left speechless and shaken as you remain silent— he laughs again, eyes crinkling in amusement, bright smile on display and adding to his otherworldly appearance.

“Do not be afraid,” he says, cradling his face with his palm, cooing softly at the way you still remain paralyzed with shock, “I only want what’s best for you, little lamb.”

You blink; shifting, you’ve found your clothes have become soaked at the knees, realizing belatedly that you must’ve fallen into the puddle from earlier— glancing down, you wince, only to freeze at what you see.

A striking crimson soils your clothes. It drags into a path that leads off into one of the rooms on the side, your heart sinking and a cold fear striking down your spine.

The scream that rips though you echoes and burns your throat.

Beomgyu frowns. He’s not surprised, nor is he confused; he simply continues to watch you, beginning to round the altar table the moment you begin to crawl back from where you kneel, your legs refusing to cooperate as hot tears brim your eyes.

“Oh no,” he tsks softly, wings folding inward so he can make his way down the nave, brows knitting together as he watches you, the intensity of his gaze keeping your eyes pinned on his as you cry in confusion, attempting to stand shakily, only to fail— he pouts, stepping in the puddle that startled you, watching as you flinch at the sight of the brilliant droplets that splash out and cling to his once pristine, white boots. “Why do you run?”

“That— the-the blood—” you sob, hysterical, unable to get your words out through stuttered breaths, “What—”

“Shh,” he hushes you hastily, closing the distance between the two of you and stepping on your delicate nightgown, forcing you to be still as he towers over you— he leans down, hair framing his face beautifully, mischievous eyes twinkling as his face hovers inches before yours— his wings cage around the two of you, a sight to see as you merely stare up at him in utter consternation, “don’t bother with him.”

A chill runs down your spine, electrifying and forcing you to sit ram-rod straight— through the small cracks beneath his wings, you take in the streaks that have dried against the tiles, the implication of his words causing a feeling of dread to pool within you, feeling as though you might vomit with the next words you speak.

“Who…” you breathe out, shaky and helpless as you stare up at Beomgyu; he had already been watching you, apathetic expression bringing sheer horror to your system, finally noticing small details you had been so eager to gloss over in your earlier haste— the tainted sleeves of his shirt, the messiness of his clothes, his empty, dark eyes— and your face screws into an expression of sorrow, your nails digging into the soiled carpet beneath you.

“What have you done?”

Beomgyu doesn’t react to your question. He remains still, eerily so, before he finally stands up straight, wings spreading proudly behind him; he stares down at you, hands held behind his back and voice flat as he speaks.

“Nothing I haven’t done before.”

Beomgyu thinks this might be his favorite part; he allows himself to watch as you force yourself to your feet, eyes blown out with horror as you stumble back, afraid he might come after you— when you see he has yet to move, you turn and run, the sight familiar as a grin grows on his face; he allows you to slam against the doors, watches confusion flood your actions as you attempt to force the door open, only beginning to take steps to go after you once you’ve begun to pound on the door hastily, hoarse voice screaming and crying for help, hoping for someone to hear your pleas and rescue you.

“You know, there’s no one that would be out on a night like this,” Beomgyu calls out, his voice booming effortlessly over your painful attempts to seek rescue; his steps are slow and cruel, and you look over your shoulder, tensing at the sight of him nearing you, refusing to give up as you try slamming your body against the wood, only to no avail. “No one stupid enough, that is.”

Your body is well beyond bruised by now, pausing your attempts to break down the door in a desperate hope to check the handle once more; you’re rattling it roughly, crying out when you’re met with resistance. Defeated, your forehead slams against the wood, allowing your sobs to wrack through your body, fingers tightening around the handle hopelessly.

“Now now, don’t be like this,” Beomgyu’s soft voice coos into your ear, much closer than you anticipated him to be; you flinch, feeling his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, his chest pressing firmly against your back— his arms wrap around your waist slowly, bringing you in and forcing you to remain pressed against him, “is this not what you have been seeking all along?”

Effortlessly, he pulls you away from the door. Maybe it’s the will to fight that ebbs out of your being, or maybe it’s his superhuman strength, pulling you off and forcing the two of you to walk backwards, your hands falling limply at your sides and your head falling back to stare at the ceiling, glossy eyes barely processing the words he speaks next.

“Come with me,” he murmurs, the searing touch of his hands searing through your clothes, burning your skin, “your heart has been searching for me, you know.”

Allowing him to walk you backwards, you whimper at his words— a sharp reminder of what it was that kept bringing you back here, unwavering guilt sinking your stomach at the faint fire that flickers within.

“No. Please,” you breath out, hushed and hurried as you shake your head, “Please, I beg of you, have mercy—”

Beneath you, you hear the familiar splash of liquid; you yelp in panic, jumping against Beomgyu’s body and trying to look down on instinct— you’re stopped before you can successfully do so, his heated palm pressing against your eyes, forcing you to be left in the dark.

“Don’t.” he says softly, his arm tightening around you, feeling tears pool beneath his skin, “you’re alright, I’m here with you.”

“Such a poor thing. Life has treated you quite unfairly, hasn’t it?” Beomgyu speaks aloud, feeling you hesitate and stumble as he leads you up towards the elevated altar, listening to your jagged breaths with a slightly pitied look. “Perfect and pure all your life, a devoted follower of god.”

“Don’t worry,” Beomgyu says, hand coming off your eyes for just a moment— not that you even noticed, your eyes had been screwed shut all along— only to wrap a cloth around your head instead, deft hands making a careful knot at the back of your head; sliding your clothing to the side, Beomgyu ignores the way you jolt when his soft lips press a kiss to your shoulder. His breath tickles as it fans on your skin.

“You’ve done well, my lamb.”

Beomgyu knows that you will never be able to grasp what is happening; especially not in this stunned state you’re in, the cloth around your eyes already soaked through with silent tears, hands limp at your sides as he takes in your face curiously, noticing your lips that move with silent words.

Even now, you pray.

My Lord and my God, your lips read, whispers of the faint words slipping from you, in my acceptance of the type of death you plan for me, I join your sufferings on the Cross.

Beomgyu watches you hesitate. Your bottom lip wobbles and your throat swallows thickly.

All I ask is that you stand beside me and never leave me.

Even through the veil that has been put over your eyes, a stray tear manages to slip through.

Beomgyu should feel bad for laughing, he supposes— but he can’t help it, taking in the melodramatic sight with thorough amusement, watching you flinch and press your lips together tightly. He shakes his head softly, finding himself becoming fond of your antics as he takes a hold of your hand, ignoring the way you startle so easily as he guides you to where he wants you instead.

“Oh dear,” he sighs, leading you to press back against the altar table, stiffening at the unexpected feeling, “I fear you may have misunderstood me entirely. See, I don’t want to kill you, my lamb.”

Your brows furrow; he’s confused you, he can tell.

“There’s something your pretty little heart has been curious about, isn’t there?” he asks, a grin stretching across his face as you shiver, already aware of what he may be hinting at— but even so, you try to remain clueless, even if you’re quite terrible at it. “Something… you want.”

“There is nothing,” you reply, quickly, albeit shakily, “please, I just— just spare me—”

“Now, there’s no need to lie.” Beomgyu coos, placing his hands on your waist, hoisting you up on the altar table in one swift motion; you gasp, hands reaching blindly for something to stable yourself on, one landing on Beomgyu’s shoulder and the other on the marble beneath you— the hand on his body quickly slips off, and Beomgyu finds himself craving for more.

“You’ve been denying yourself for so long,” Beomgyu murmurs, his voice a hypnotizing lull that causes you to gulp. His fingertips dance across your waist, trailblazing a fire that refuses to die down, mixing with the fear that pounds your heart against your chest. “You must feel so, so trapped.”

“There’s no need to pretend here,” he smiles, reaching up to caress your cheek, watching you gulp, fists clenched tightly in your lap, “I’m aware of everything. It’s only human nature, after all.”

Fervently, you shake your head. Your consistent denial is almost impressive to Beomgyu, the facade of confidence you try to exude with your voice both evident and pity-inducing.

“I refuse to give in to the temptations of sin,” you say, the words like a recited script at this point; Beomgyu’s lip curls in distaste.

“It is not sin,” he whispers softly, hands beginning to wander down from your sides to your hips, grasping softly at the skin before moving down, to the tops of your thighs and over your hands that remain clenched tightly, “it is merely the human experience.”

His hands feel hot over your own; you can feel him press against your body from where you sit, undoubtedly looming over you and caging you in as he speaks. His actions are absentminded as he caresses your hand, stroking the skin soothingly as he continues to invade your senses, whispering things that only the deepest, darkest parts of your heart have considered.

“You’ve worked so hard to live a pious, pure life,” Beomgyu says, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watches you frown, finally beginning to listen to the words he feeds you, “even at the face of danger, you remained loyal— even now, you continue to refuse me.”

“But, don’t you see? The lord has brought you here for a reason.” His eyes shine the moment you shift restlessly under his grip, pressing himself tighter against you, “your dreams, your thoughts, they have led you here for a purpose only you can serve.”

You try to refute him yet again; your lips open, but you hesitate, unsure of what to say. You remain quiet instead.

“Will you deny the fate god has bestowed you?”

A soft pout forms on your face; your heart is racing, and your mind must be too, because you don’t bother to react when Beomgyu’s hand leaves your own, trailing down your thighs and prodding your legs open so he can stand between them— too deep in thought to realize that he’s lifting your nightgown up, bunching it at your knees tentatively.

Beomgyu watches you carefully, taking in your silence and smiling triumphantly as he speaks, “Here,” his other hand slides to place itself on the bare skin of your inner thigh, watching with sadistic pleasure as you jolt and yelp in surprise, “I’ll show you what it is you’ve been searching for.”

Your skin is tender as he begins to trail forward, eager to touch you and familiarize himself with you— only to get stopped by your trembling hand, his eyes darting to your troubled face, brows furrowing with confusion as he watches you muster the courage to say something.

“N…Not…” it feels as though nerves and fear have swallowed you whole, having to take a deep breath in order to continue your sentence, “Not here. Not like this.”

“Hmm? But where else could this possibly happen?” he asks teasingly, much too desperate to heed your half-hearted request, “my lamb, it is perfect here.”

“Beomgyu, this place, it’s sacred,” your lips pressed together, using all the courage within you to speak up, “It is a home to me, I couldn’t bear to desecrate it—”

Beomgyu’s fingers dig into the plush of your thigh, able to feel his face hover over yours as he speaks through gritted teeth, eyes burning holes into your skin.

“This was my home too.”

It all happens so suddenly; you’re pushed to lay back against the table, legs forced open as Beomgyu gets closer still, your lips parting in a soft gasp as he successfully bunches your nightgown at your hips, looming over you so he can undo your coat.

“And our lord has decreed that it is here where I finally take you.” he hisses, watches as you can only let our a broken whimper and shift restlessly beneath him; the fire has consumed you wholly by now, he knows, the seeds of lust planted within you far too much for a person like you to bare— even the graze of his fingertips against your bare skin is enough to have you gasping.

“I’ve waited long enough to taste you.”

Your body is alight with nerves, buzzing at the sensations around you— though you see nothing, it heightens your other senses, forced to take note of every motion and touch Beomgyu leaves on you, from his deft hands that undo your coat to the warmth of his body between your thighs, lips pressed together in a mix of anticipation and dread— all you can do is lie and wait.

When Beomgyu’s hands slither back down to your core, you’re a squirming mess; he’s done nothing to you, yet you already seem so broken down and pliant— you’re a sweet sight, bitten lips parting eagerly in surprise once he suddenly plants his hand firmly against your core; your panties are pathetically soaked through, a soft cry escaping you at the heat of his touch against you, hands flying to grab at his wrist— unsure of whether to press him closer of pry him off.

In the end, you do neither of the two. Beomgyu grins at your hesitation, a clear battle still ongoing inside your mind as you allow him to slowly rock his palm against your cunt, rubbing at your clit and causing you to sob softly at the unfamiliar sensation; your back arches and jolts of pleasure strike through you, the underlying guilt of it all causing tears to quickly well up at the corners of your eyes— though, from pleasure or shame, you’re no longer sure of.

“Poor thing,” he coos softly, applying a sudden pressure against your cunt, all to watch the way your back arches in surprise, “it’s quite easy to make you cry, isn’t it?”

“This must all be so new to you,” he hums, rubbing at your cunt until your panties have begun to stick uncomfortably to you, your arousal soaking through and coating the heel of his hand thickly, “so pretty. Like an angel.”

His words cause a wave of heat to wash over your body; you feel restless, desperate for more, yet unsure of how to communicate as you find yourself hesitating each time, the undying guilt within you forcing your fingertips to dig into Beomgyu’s forearm a bit deeper.

“Hmm? What is it you need, my lamb?” he asks, even if he can practically see the thoughts running through your head, reading your body and the way your hips fight to cant against his hand, “Tell me, what do you want?”

The way you shake your head petulantly brings a huff from Beomgyu; he watches as you heat up at his question, lips trembling with embarrassment, chin tucked down into your chest as though it would be enough to hide from his gaze— chuckling, Beomgyu allows a few more seconds to pass, letting you sit with your own confliction, before he finally decides to take pity on you; a shaky gasp escapes your lips as Beomgyu’s hand shifts, middle and ring fingers trailing up until they press against the fabric of your panties, pushing in and teasing your leaking hole.

“Why do you hold back still?” he asks softly, his hand that isn’t teasing you incessantly smoothing down your thigh, stopping at your knee so he can wrap it around his slim waist, “there’s no need to continue this act of yours; do not lie under the eyes of god.”

You cry softly, a cacophony of emotions raging within you as your nails dig deeper into your palms, cunt throbbing and sending sparks of electricity as Beomgyu presses his fingers further into you, stretching the fabric and soaking it with your own arousal— through hushed, trembled words, you finally gather the courage to speak.

“I want…” you hesitate, shifting on the cold marble of the altar table, turning your head to the side in a faux attempt to avoid Beomgyu’s scrutiny, “I want more.”

“I don’t believe you.” Beomgyu immediately chides, his fingers moving to ghost over your clit, a satisfied smile growing on his face as you feel the shocks of pleasure from his movements, already too much for your innocent body, “you expect me to take such a weak request seriously?”

You gasp in surprise as Beomgyu suddenly takes a hold of your chin, forcing you to face him once more as you feel him hovering over you; his breath fans across your face, eyelids fluttering behind your blindfold at the sensation.

“Tell me again,” he says, his fingers applying just the slightest more pressure on your clit, watching as the pleasure breaks you effortlessly; his lips brush against the corner of your mouth, able to feel his coy smile as he speaks. “Tell me like you mean it.”

Beomgyu waits for you eagerly; his touch on your cunt is almost nonexistent, applying just enough pressure here and there as a reminder of what it is you so desperately wish for— it’s so easy to get you to where he wants, he thinks, watching you become overwhelmed by his presence, by the pleasure he continues to give and take away. After a mere few seconds, you finally cave.

“Beomgyu…” you trail off, the sudden use of his name bringing a shiver through his body, the sound sweet and pure like he dreamed it to be, “Beomgyu, I can’t— I feel so strange, please help me— I need more.”

He chuckles lowly at your words; placing a gentle kiss at the corner of your mouth, Beomgyu straightens up, leaving you for a moment in order to hook his fingers under your panties, ready to drag them slowly down your hips.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he sighs aloud, watching with fond eyes as you startle at the sensation, legs jumping to close back together— but he won’t allow it, standing firmly between them and forcing your hips to lift, all so he can pull off the only article of clothing standing between him and what he’s desired for so long; his eyes darken at the string of arousal that follows the seat of your panties, eagerly taking in your puffy, needy cunt, body becoming alight with a carnal need to consume you whole. “You’re perfect. Truly a gift from god.”

He can’t help but grin at his own comment, eyes flickering back up at the altar above him, the candles that flicker wildly— then he looks back down at you, your puffy, tear stained face and your hands that remain tense at your sides, lips pressed together in fear of letting a sound escape— but Beomgyu is much too eager to let you have what you want.

This ashamed and reserved attitude of yours will be no more— he’s determined to have you melt under his touch, fingertips curious as they finally begin to caress your bare cunt, teeth sinking into his lip as he takes in every gasp, arch, and tense your body gives him.

It’s slow and oh so cruel, the way he swipes the pads of his fingertips along your slit, bringing the arousal to your clit and circling it softly, all so he can watch you pant and shiver at the sensations— your hands have moved to grasp at your clothes, jaw clenched as your mind tries to keep up with all these new sensations: you feel so hot and restless, a fiery itch settling deep in your core, only alleviated with the stray sparks of pleasure Beomgyu gives you— it’s too much, yet not enough at all.

“Won’t you let me hear you?” Beomgyu asks, fingers beginning to prod at your entrance, circling it leisurely as he observes you, “it’s no fun like this.”

You can hear the pout in his words, petulant and teasing as he coos out your name, “C’mon, I know you sound as sweet as you look.”

You’re given no warning when his fingers breach your entrance; a yelp escapes you before you can process it, the sudden stretch bringing chills down your spine— it’s just his middle finger first, lithe and calculated as it curls and prods at your walls, feeling you flutter and clench around him as he adds his ring finger in next— you’re letting out a cry at how fast it all happens, a hand reaching down to grasp at his wrist, a mixture of shock and pleasure filling your being.

“Beomgyu…!”

“Again,” he murmurs, fingers beginning to stretch your walls, pumping steadily and curling, listening to the quiet mewls and moans you let out, “louder. Show me how much you like it.”

“Beomgyu… oh–! N-not there, ah–!” You’re a squirming mess, shifting beneath his hold and shaking your head, the feelings far too much for you— Beomgyu doesn’t bother to heed your requests, abusing the soft, spongy parts of your walls that seem to make you react the most; you choke and hiccup pathetic moans, thighs tensing and spasming around him, hands shaking from the tight hold you have on your nightgown; it gets difficult having to chase your hips after a while, Beomgyu’s eyes narrowing as he places a harsh hand down on you, pinning you down against the table, fingers digging into the soft skin as you gasp.

“Stay still.” is all he says to you, palm pressing against your clit as he slowly fingers you, drinking in the miniscule changes of your expression eagerly, “Don’t fight it.”

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” He asks, punctuating his words with a cruel curl into you; you gasp, chest heaving as a tight coil builds up within you, “doesn’t it feel so nice?”

“So sad, you’ve been denying yourself such bliss for so long,” Beomgyu utters softly, cooing at the way you cry and struggle to remain sane, overwhelmed by everything Beomgyu does to you, “won’t you let me take care of you?”

Carefully, he hovers over you, strands of his hair brushing against your cheeks as he presses a soft kiss to your jaw, lips caressing the column of your neck as he smiles softly.

“Wouldn’t you like for me to taste you?”

He’s sure you don’t fully grasp what it is he might mean— but you’re eager nonetheless, a gasp escaping your lips, so soft he might’ve missed it if he hadn’t been so close— the tight clench of your cunt around him is enough of a sign anyway.

You can only hear shifting; your ears perk up as you try to decipher what could be happening, feeling Beomgyu’s hand wander down your thighs, the loss of his heat above you, the flickering warmth of the candles around you— you lay still, with bated breath and buzzing nerves.

Your mouth falls open, a loud moan falling from your mouth and bouncing off the walls.

It’s all too much for your poor, inexperienced body; it’s overwhelming, the pleasure wrapping you up and burning you alive as your thighs attempt to shut, only to close in on Beomgyu’s head that remains steady, large hands splayed on your hips as he holds you down, his mouth continuing his assault against your cunt.

The chants of his name and your broken moans are enough to keep him motivated— he’s lapping at your clit hungrily, moving down to suck at the arousal that leaks from your entrance, perfect nose bumping into you as he sighs and groans against you.

You think you might’ve gone mad; sounds you didn’t think were possible are escaping you, each more pitiful and helpless than the last. Your hands wander absentmindedly, not realizing what it is you’re searching for until they’ve finally curled into his thick hair, tangling strands around your fingers and tugging rashly— you can feel him moan against you at the actions, the feeling bringing a shiver down your spine.

“B-Beom…gyu!” you whine out, hips attempting to wiggle out of his hold, hands tugging his head closer— your eyes remain screwed tight behind your blindfold, tears pricking at them as your mind races to process what is happening to you— between your legs, Beomgyu grins triumphantly, nails digging into your delicate thighs as he licks a long stripe along your slit.

In times like these, Beomgyu can’t help but be reminded of who he is, what his existence is for— his tongue is long, abnormally so, as it enters you, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he laps up your essence and fucks you with it, listening to your startled cries morph into nothing but wanton lust, choking on the syllables of his name and brokenly pleading for him to not stop— as if he could ever be capable of doing so.

You’re delicious, like a ripe fruit that has been eyed for too long, too high on a tree for anyone to take— victory feels sweet on Beomgyu’s tongue as you clench and leak around him, allowing you to grind against him and take the reins of what you want, giving you the pleasure you seek— and he can feel you getting wound up quite quickly, your keens and cries loud enough to rival the screams of fear you were letting out only moments ago— but then again, none of that matters as long as Beomgyu has his hands on you.

You’re almost there, a climax strong enough to wreck you approaching quickly— and as much as Beomgyu would love to feel it, to swallow your cum as it drips out your fluttering cunt— he can’t. Not yet, and certainly not like this. Though it pains him, he pulls away from your cunt that attempts to suck him back in.

The sob you let out almost makes Beomgyu regret his decision; you’re a broken, confused mess, panting like a dog as you cry and wonder why it is that Beomgyu stopped so suddenly— gently, Beomgyu pries your hands off from where they tug at his hair, listening to your disoriented mumbles of his name, reaching blindly for him as he rises to his feet. And you’re left in the darkness once more.

Before you can react, Beomgyu’s hands lift your head, quickly undoing your blindfold, letting it fall against the altar next to your face; your eyes flutter open from the action, brows furrowed as everything slowly comes into focus.

Beomgyu hovers above you, the flickering candlelight around the two of you casting an ethereal glow around his face; it is warm and fond as he looks down at you, plump lips pulled into a gentle smile as he caresses your cheek, letting out a breathy chuckle at the way you fluster immediately, unable to hold his gaze.

“Look at me.” he says, his voice compelling enough to have you following his command, the feeling so natural you haven’t realized you’ve obeyed until you’re meeting his dark eyes— there is no light in his pupils, despite the many sources that continue to fall onto the two of you. He smiles, a hand continuing its reassuring strokes against your skin, the other moving down to grab your thigh, wrapping it around his waist once more. “Don’t be afraid— keep your eyes on me.”

You feel something prodding at your entrance; you stiffen, breath hitching and hands instinctively reaching up to place themselves flat against Beomgyu’s chest— with wide eyes, you stare back at him, unable to break this entrancing spell you’ve caught yourself in, lips parting in a silent gasp as Beomgyu’s eyes soften. Slowly, he pushes in.

The feeling of his cockhead breaching your walls has you gasping sharply, shock painting your face and nails digging into your chest as your back arches slightly— the stretch is new and unexpected, the feeling of him inside you causing your stomach to twist in pain and pleasure— it’s so sudden, you feel as though you’re not ready, yet your body cries for him to continue, feeling him pause and still inside you.

The smile on Beomgyu’s face is practically permanent; words could not explain the satisfaction he feels, the twisted victory he gains from every inch he pushes inside you, virgin walls fluttering and squeezing him like a vice, your wide, doe eyes glazing over with pleasure the longer he takes, the more he allows you to adjust.

Your chest heaves by the time he’s fully inside you, face screwing up as you feel him bottom out, his tip pressing firmly into you— your voice breaks as you call out his name, searching for comfort he will not be able to provide. Instead, he coos softly at you, empty, sugary words and reassurances that are merely practiced in his mind, feathery caresses against your temple as he shushes you, telling you that everything’s okay, that you’ll feel good soon enough.

“I’ve got you,” he purrs, even if you continue to tense every time he shifts, legs twitching at the sheer stretch you’ve suddenly been forced to take. “It’s okay, don’t be nervous.”

When he begins to pull out, criminally slow and teasing, you gasp— and he grins, fully expecting it as he hovers over your lips, only to press a chaste kiss to your nose as he moves to stand straight, only the tip of his cock left inside you.

The sight of you is nothing short of divine; just seeing you like this is enough to bring him energy, greedy gaze taking in your broken expression, eyes flickering to your parted lips that tremble and gasp out his name. He groans softly, the eyes fluttering shut as he takes a moment to appreciate the way your cunt clenches around him, warm and wet, nothing like the scraps he was forced to feed on as punishment. You’re perfect, pure, full of life.

Before he can second guess himself, his hips slam back in.

The pace he’s set is nothing short of cruel; his feather-light touches and chaste kisses had been nothing but a show, all an attempt to lower your guard and allow him to seize you at your weakest; you yelp in surprise and attempt to cling onto him, overwhelmed by the harshness of his cock as it pounds into you, aiming for the most sensitive spots within you that leave you begging and crying out— but whether it’s for him to stop or continue, you’re not entirely sure— your reasoning blurred into one big mess long ago.

It doesn’t take long for Beomgyu to lose himself in the feeling of you; greedy, rough hands grasping at your skin, groping the soft skin of your thighs, your hips, wandering up to squeeze and toy with your breasts— and you can only lay there and take it all, watching him use you to satisfy himself, unable to help the way your cunt clenches and drools at the sight. His hips angle and his cock slams deep against you, hitting a spot he’s never hit before— and you stiffen, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you cry out.

“Oh!” you yelp, tears pooling at your eyes, a hand slamming over your mouth at the sudden noise— but even so, your muffled cries still slip out from the cracks of your fingers. “O-Oh my—! ah—!”

“Why silence yourself?” Beomgyu laughs softly, slightly out of breath as he continues to cling to you, hips rutting wildly into you, chasing that familiar bliss he grew addicted to; he proceeds to aim for that particular spot over and over, watching tears ebb from the corners of your eyes, flowing down the sides of your face and dripping onto the pristine white marble of the altar table. “Go on, say it.”

“Say it, call out their name, let this whole sanctuary know how good it feels,” he hisses, face hovering over yours once more, eager to watch you crumble.

“Call to your god,” he whispers, a soft moan falling between heavy breaths, feeling the way you squeeze and suck him in, your peak approaching much too fast for you to handle, “go on, pray that they forgive your sins and look past the way your tight cunt begs to keep this demon inside you.”

His cock feels like heaven inside you; it’s relentless, slamming into you as his hand falls from its tight hold on your thigh to your clit, rubbing tight circles that cause your body to tighten until it can no longer hold back.

“Oh my God— Beomgyu!” you’re a drooling, tearful, pitiful sight as you finally crash down, sobbing and babbling words that blend together, your hands pulling at Beomgyu’s shirt until you’re bringing him down to you.

Beomgyu’s kiss is celestial. His lips slot perfectly against yours, a soft grunt escaping him as he finally cums inside you; thick, hot ropes of cum flooding your cunt, filling you until you can no longer hold it in— you tremble and you hold Beomgyu close to you throughout it all, your mind emptied out and craving nothing but him.

Your eyes flutter shut; your body tingles, your hold on him weakening as you begin to slump back against the altar. It’s getting harder to move, sluggishly trying your best to keep up with Beomgyu’s sloppy kisses, your chest beginning to cave in as your lungs burn and beg for air.

You want to pull away. You want to stop— yet, you find with a delayed horror that you can’t.

Beomgyu won’t pull away; Beomgyu can’t pull away, feeling his arms snake beneath your figure, one wrapping around your waist tightly, the other slithering up your back and cradling the back of your head, holding it up so he can keep you as close to him as possible.

Your vision has begun to blur; your hands have fallen limp at your sides. You feel weakened, only your lips able to move as they mindlessly follow after Beomgyu, sluggish and messy movements that go on whether you want to or not.

Behind him, a crackling sound emits; the candles around you flicker wildly, divine feathers that were once proudly on display above you beginning to darken and fall, burning off and becoming a charred black— blood seeps from the crevices where feathers slip away, landing on top of you and on the altar you lay on.

His wings are a shriveled, grisly sight. He’s transformed entirely before your very eyes, pulling away slowly and sighing softly into your parted lips. Slowly, his hands slither off you, laying you gently and standing straight to take in the mess he’s made. All you can do is stare back through bleary eyes.

“My lamb,” he says affectionately, bringing a hand up to cup your face; it is only then that you’re able to notice the state of his hands, charred and injured, just like his wings, animal-like claws replacing his nails. They dig slightly into your skin as he smiles down at you, utterly enamored.

“I will cherish this ‘till kingdom come.”

His enchanting expression is the last thing you see. His claw moves faster than the human eye can process as it slices cleanly across the canvas of your neck.

Your body jolts at the action, not a single shift in your expression as your body relaxes against the altar table. Your eyes remain open and dazed with pleasure.

Blood flows from the deep crack of his cut; it flows from your mouth as well, and all Beomgyu can do is watch as the color slowly fades from your skin, the light in your eyes no more. He looms over you in silence, lingering on even when he knows there’s nothing left for him there. A pool of your blood has formed around your head, a twisted halo that stains the marble.

Beomgyu’s eyes remain transfixed on your wound, emotionless eyes watching the blood drip out steadily. Then, they begin to wander, trailing down until they stop at a certain point, hypnotized by the thought that suddenly enters his mind.

Before he can second guess himself, Beomgyu’s hand hovers above your chest.

It is not easy to reach your heart. It is an obscene and difficult process, though Beomgyu doesn’t bat an eye throughout it all; blood coats his forearm once he finally succeeds, a happy hum escaping him as he examines the item in his hands with fascination.

It’s just as transcendent as the rest of you. Taking your life force was enough to make Beomgyu feel normal again, but with this, he’s sure that you would fuel his energy for the rest of his miserable eternity.

His eyes soften; it’s so fragile, it drips onto his skin and sings to him, the last of your innocence begging to be released, to be given peace; instead, Beomgyu brings it closer to him, sighing slowly as he gets one last look at it.

And he bites.

He can almost hear your voice, the memories trapped within as he closes his eyes, chewing and swallowing and biting again. Tilting his head back, he all but groans in satisfaction.

His eyes slowly flutter open. He’s met with the chandeliers above him, the looming altar to his left calling his attention. Apathetically, his head lolls to the side, getting a better look at the statues that stand over him. Taking another bite, he feels blood leak onto his lips that curl into a sickly sweet smile.

He’s never tasted anything purer.

#txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #txt imagines #txt oneshots #txt ff #txt x reader #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #beomgyu smut #beomgyu ff #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu oneshot #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu fanfic #beomgyu fanfiction

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iliketangerines · 9 months ago

Note

PLEASE WE NEED MORE OF PROFESSOR JOHNNY CAGE, BUT THIS TIME COULD YOU MAKE HIM DESPERATE FOR HIS STUDENT? LIKE YOU KNOW THE READERS JUST SO PRETTY HE CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF HER, AND SHES SO SHY THAT SHE GETS FLUSTERED BY EVERYTHING, AND THIS DRIVES HIM CRAZY ( smut 🙏🙏 )

LOVE YOUR WORK🫶🏻😩

no one needs to know pt.2

a/n: i gotchu cutie, and i can't stop thinking about johnny with gray streaks in his hair like bark bark bro.

pairing: professor!johnny cage x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), power imbalance; mentions of pussy eating, blowjobs, overstimulation, spanking, thigh riding, exhibition kink

the second that Johnny had seen you, he was floored

you had come in early to his physics classroom where he was standing up on a chair, trying to figure out what was wrong with the damn projector

his sleeves had been rolled up his forearms, and he had unbuttoned his shirt due to the exertion of trying to fix the overheated projector

and then, you had walked in, and he looked down and saw you, dressed in an oversized coat for the winter and baggy sweatpants, and he found you cute

Johnny blinked, this was his student that he was thinking about, get it together!

but then you took off your coat to reveal a skin-tight short sleeve shirt that was tight enough to reveal the perky nipples underneath your bra, and he was done for

he came down from the chair he was standing on and approached you, reaching his hand out to shake yours and introduce himself as your teacher since you’re the first and only one in the classroom

you glance down at his forearms and a light blush dusts over your cheeks as you hold out your hand and return his handshake

he can feel how soft your hands are in his, and images of your hands wrapped around his cock flash through his mind

he gives you a big smile, trying to put on some of the Cage charm from his sprightlier days, and it seems to work because you duck your head down to hide your blush and take a seat

he walks back up to the front of the class, taking the chalk and writing on the board his name and information, and he turns around to see some more students trickling in

he ignores them, however, opting to just steal glances at you from his laptop

you bite your plump and soft-looking lips as you look at something on your phone, and when your lips stretch into a smile at something, Johnny wants nothing more than to have them stretched around his thick cock and-

concentrate! this is his student. he can’t be having these kinds of thoughts!

and yet, you still run through his mind through the rest of class, and he has to stay behind the computer stand to hide his embarrassing hard-on

but still, he glances at you throughout the class and notices how you keep staring at his forearms, and he smiles inwardly

from then on, he keeps his shirt sleeves rolled up to try and catch you staring at him, and everytime you turn your head away to blush, his ego jumps to impossible heights

he walks up and down the aisles when you guys work on worksheets that he’s handed out, and he purposefully stands next to you as he ‘observes’ the classroom, his crotch next to your face so that he can watch you blush furiously and try not to stare

whenever you raise a hand into the air for a question, he has to stop himself from dropping everything and answering your question

he takes his time to walk to your desk, trying to be as subtle as possible as he flexes his arms and settles down next to you

he can see in the corner of your eye at how your eyes glance up and down his arms and how they flicker between his lips and his crotch

he has to stop himself from having an inappropriate thought coming through his mind

he always puts on a slight bit more cologne those days where you have class with him and leans in a bit too close to you, and he knows it makes your head spin as you stutter through your words and questions

at home, he lays in bed and imagines how soft and perfect you would be for him

he imagines how your lips would wrap around his cock, and how they would stretch and how you would whine and cry at him fucking into your mouth

he imagines how it would be to tease you, flicking your clit back and forth with his fingers as he brings you to the edge over and over again

he thinks your whimpers and moans would be heavenly

he imagines how tight and wet your pussy is and how it would squeeze his cock just right, and he imagines how good you would taste on his tongue

when the first quiz comes around, and he sees your mostly incorrect answers, he has to stop himself from smiling because you would have to come to office hours

except you don’t, and he gets more desperate, judging your test maybe a bit more harshly than others to try and get you to come to his office

and when he sees you receive your quiz back marked in red and sees how your eyes fill with tears and how your lip slightly wobbles, Johnny wants to bend you over in front of the class and fuck you stupid

wants to have you crying out for him as he fucks you on the desk like a whore

especially after he finds you after class talking to another student about making plans to study together for the upcoming quiz

he wants to go up to you, squeeze your tits and finger your pussy while staring at the other student dead in the eye and claim you as his

he wants to spread you open and show how he’s the only one who can make your pussy so desperate and wet for him and how a college student with minimal experience couldn’t do that

he wants to have you crying on his cock, tears streaming down your face and body bruised from how hard he grabs you

but he doesn’t, just seethes from a distance as the other student happily agrees to the study date

that night he imagines punishing you for being a brat and talking to other people to make him jealous

he imagines that your ass would look beautiful marked in red and his bite marks, and that your begging and whimpers would sound like music to his ears

he imagines how your cunt would drool even after a harsh spanking and how he would make you cum so many times that you start asking him to stop

he bites his lip and cums into his fist at the thought and cleans himself up

later in the week, when it’s too hot in the building and he just dresses in a tank top, he nearly hops over his desk and fucks you when you walk in with a short skirt on

fuck, your legs are toned and plush, perfect for squeezing and slapping, and your plump ass is barely covered by the fabric of the skirt, and he wants to smack it

but he also catches how you gape at his arms and how when he flexes it just ever so slightly, you have to turn your head away and rub your thighs together ever so subtly

that night, Johnny had never jerked off so much to the thought of you

it’s a month and a half into the semester, and you’ve had your first exam, and you’ve failed, there’s no way you can come back unless you get perfects on every quiz and exam going forward

when he sees your name pop up in his calendar that you scheduled a private office hour meeting with him, he nearly jumps into the air

he clears his calendar around your meeting with him, making sure no one comes in before or after you for at least an hour, so he can take his time with you

and when you come and he sees how you flush and stammer over his words when he leans in close, he knows he’s got you hook, line, and sinker

and when he sees tears well in your eyes and how your voice slightly wobbles at the thought of failing, he has to stop himself from jumping the gun and fucking you right there

and when he finally does taste you, you’re so much sweeter than he thought, and when he finally fucks you, you’re so much warmer and tighter than he thought

when he sends you off that day, his mind runs wild with thoughts of what he can do to you

maybe he’ll have you cockwarm him with your mouth while he grades exams, maybe he’ll prop you up on his desk and eat you out for the rest of the day

maybe he’ll make you ride his thigh and make a mess of his dress pants while you whine for him to please make you cum

maybe he’ll make you wear a vibrator in class and have to stay quiet as he teaches class

Johnny can’t wait until your next meeting with him

#tangerine writes #tangerine answers #mortal kombat #mk #mortal kombat 1 #mk1 #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat smut #mk smut #mortal kombat x reader #mk x y/n #mk x you #johnny cage #johnny cage mk1 #mk1 johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage x you #johnny cage x y/n #johnny cage smut

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eldritch-spouse · 2 years ago

Text

[The results of the poll came in, thenk you for voting! :]. Fem reader. You live in a house for this one. Sorry for the wait, it got longer than anticipated (4.7k).]

TW: Dubious consent (reader is somewhat scared); Altered states of mind; Heat/Rut.

It's the fifth time you've been dumped into this rat's nest today.

Breg is in heat, or rather, the earlier days of such.

You knew trouble was coming when you found the breeder laying on the kitchen tiles this morning, an overheated and overly sweaty body trying desperately to cool itself on freezing ceramic. He had panted like a dog under the blaze of a Summer evening and barely noticed your presence before excusing himself to make undignified noises in the bathroom. Showering, arguing with himself, jerking off? You didn't know, and you didn't care- You just wanted to eat something before any of this madness really kickstarted.

As you shoved toast in your mouth, slowly but definitely not calmly, you got to see the monster stress himself out, walking between rooms with various items in hand. It was almost funny, if you didn't know exactly what was coming. When his rut starts, Breg always behaves like a bear who forgot to stock food before hibernating. Oh but he didn't forget anything, the cabinets are full, and he learned to buy instant meals for you after the first couple of heats where you tried to explain to his fried brain that you can't just eat dead animals he plops in front of you. Nonetheless, you got to see him strip the couch of its cushions, struggle with dragging your mattress into a corner, fetching all the spare sheets, coats, towels and blankets he could find- For fuck's sake, he ripped the curtains off this time.

All to make a padded, crowded mess of your bedroom. It's always the bedroom with him, it smells like the two of you, so it does make sense, you bitterly suppose... You'd rather this than the uncomfortable bathroom.

You barely got to finish your coffee before a clammy, darkened hand had grasped your arm and you were not so gently tugged into the bedroom, to "evaluate" the mess your eccentric (putting it criminally lightly) boyfriend had made. Having gone through the motions of this charade more than once, you already knew the correct steps to make sure everything went well. Turning towards the muddled breeder, you kissed him and complimented his skills, calling the crime against your sanity he had just committed beautiful before physically stepping into it and sitting down.

Predictably, Breg let out an elated trill from deep within his throat and forced you to lie down, tangling you in a mess of warm fabrics before slotting himself above you protectively. Heavy as he is, the monster's weight was crushing, although you managed to nudge him aside when he dozed off above you. In this phase of his rut, you're not really sure if he's going to try to fuck you or just hold you and fall asleep, so there's some leeway to roam if you're sneaky about it.

It was when you were trapped under the monster's cocoon, sweating yourself into an early grave, that the doorbell rang and you realized something horrific.

You have a package outside.

God fucking damn it.

You were usually so careful with timing things perfectly, having the days where Breg was likely to start a heat jotted down in bright red ink on your calendar so that you'd never make plans for those days. You went as far as to orient a lot of your work life around his cycle, which is annoying, but at the very least possible. To think you were stupid enough to order something and not even care to check the estimated delivery date is pathetic. Maybe you did see it- But it didn't click in your brain what those days were.

Well shit, you had thought at the time, I can't just let it sit there.

And you were right. It was an expensive purchase. Brand new equipment, high-value tech for one of your favorite hobbies. It had been a costly sacrifice, and the specs were a rare find. The package itself isn't small enough to pass by unnoticed, you know one of your scummy neighbors can see if it they look twice at your doorstep. It could be stolen! It will be, if you don't fetch it eventually.

You had tried to stay still, knowing the monster in heat wouldn't take kindly to any perceived "escape attempts", but it was nerve-wracking. You're sure that package will be taken away if you don't get it fast. You can't lose it, can't lose all that money, that effort.

Your first attempt was a blunder, having moved too fast and woken Breg before you could even make it out the bedroom. By the second, you simply got unlucky and he woke by himself, fetching you back in a panic. On the third, you could spot signs of irritation, having been tossed to the nest none too gently and snarled at, fondled and groped and ground at until he had successfully put a gross mark on you. You'll admit the fourth incident was more of an attempt to get his musk off you than a dash for the package, but it got you barked at nonetheless, caught by the living room while Breg tried to slur out warnings, shaking you, hand around your neck while you were lead back into the bedroom. You know you hit a nerve with the fifth because his face disfigured for a moment.

But you can't give up.

This is too important to you. He can't understand it, but you need that fucking thing inside your home.

That's why you're up again, having weaseled out of his clumsy trap of coats. It's impressive he was coherent enough to use the sleeves to tie knots around you, but that's about where his expertise ends in this precarious state. You've played it safer this time, letting the breeder calm down, letting him tongue-bathe you -Gross- Feed you, let him fuck your thighs even. All just so his hormonal brain can forget you even tried to step out the nest. He's sleeping soundly, but you go through the effort of putting a shirt you recently wore next to the monster, hopefully to keep him lulled.

Breg shifts in his sleep, picking up on the scent and making weird murmurs before clutching at the fabric- As if it were you there. Almost cute, if not for the fact that you're really stressed.

Instead of walking across the house, you crawl, slow and measured to make sure not even the sound of your breathing could rise Breg. There's furniture askew, remotes and decorations on the floor from the previous times he fetched you in a hurry. Although you do your best to muffle your nerves, your arms shake with anxiety. Anything could make him stir awake, you can't ever run away from him, he could hurt you.

Perhaps it's because you're sheltered, or maybe you have too much faith in the breeder, you could just be stupid- But you weigh those odds against the pain of losing your expensive purchase and, in the end, decided you'd sooner twist an ankle than let it get stolen by a filthy porch pirate.

Reaching the front door is a milestone you smile brightly at. The problem comes when you glance at the keys. They'll jingle if you're not careful, the front door thankfully never creaks, but you know for a fact it makes a distinct click when it unlocks. Kneeling, arm outstretched, fingertips almost grazing the keys, you hesitate.

Should you...?

Maybe you should head back. Pretend you never left, snuggle up to him and just give it up for today. But then, this is only just the beginning, his instincts are only going to get worse from here on out. If you can't reach the package today, then it's pointless to even try your luck the following days! Right, this is no time to falter, you need to get it now.

With newfound resolve, an inkling of it at least, you hold the keys with both hands. One to make sure the others don't clink and clank, the other doing the actual turning. Slow like molasses, calculated, even the way you inhale and exhale is measured. On the last turn, you apply pressure and keep the grip on the key as firm as you can, trying to nudge the lock open gently enough to avoid that telltale click. Sucess! Soundlessly, you feel the door move, fully unlocked.

Yes!

The hardest part is over. Removing the keys from the door, you take great care when depositing them on the carpet. Specifically the carpet, to muffle any sort of faint jingling.

The weather outside is nice, but you're too preoccupied to consider something as simple as that. No, your eyes are locked onto your prize. There, only a couple of feet away, your package! Untouched, neatly arranged, perfectly fine as it should be. You nearly cry in relief, crawling outside, beyond caring if any of your neighbors see you like this- A disheveled, stinky mess wearing only a top and casual shorts on all fours.

When your hands wrap around the cardboard, it feels as if all is well in the world. You made it. You secured your purchase. You don't have to worry about anything else anymore, you can just head inside and-

VROOM

A car zooms past the street. You hear it before you see it pass. At first, you don't even think about it. After all, what could be meaningful about a stranger driving by in a hurry, right?

And then you realize your "boyfriend" is in a hypersensitive state with notoriously augmented hearing.

Ah.

Once more, you hear it before you see it.

A jarring thump thump thump THUMP. And a shiver crawls up your spine hard enough to make you freeze. Oh God. Clutching the stupid cardboard box like a lifeline, you glance upwards, towards the doorway, seeing none other than who you dread the most right now. Breg.

He's positively fuming. You're surprised there isn't literal steam coming off his body. Hunched, tense, but it's not the size of him that scares you. It's his face. His distorted, stretched out maw- Fully extended, gums visible, pushing those horrid teeth outward as he drools on the ground. You know, in spite of his lack of visible eyes, that Breg is glaring daggers at you, specifically.

A steady hissing fills your ears and you know it's over. You know you fucked up- Not directly, but you did. Because you left the door wide open and didn't account for the noise. You're a fool. The first thing your instincts tell you to do is rise and prepare to sprint, but the moment you sit straighter, Breg releases a chilling snarl, so you opt to fold further into yourself and remain utterly catatonic. Can he understand you still, through the haze of hormones? Would he grasp it if you apologized? Should you speak at all?

The choice is made for you.

You close your eyes the moment the ground shakes with his sprinting, choking on the collar of your shirt as you're physically dragged by it and picked up by the breeder. Where before Breg's hold had been more protective than anything, it's now oppressive, squeezing you to his chest, claws denting your meat. The proximity allows you to feel the bizarre bumps on his raised skin, frigid, yet coated by steaming sweat drops. You don't open your eyes until you're airborne for a very short period, falling face-first on the musk-heavy nest.

Breg slams the door to the bedroom shut and pants harshly, landing a fist to the wall several times. Each pound makes you jump and tense, huddling into yourself with tears in your eyes. Oh God what if he's had enough? What if he does that to you?! He makes an ambiguous roar and seems to slam his own head on the wall, but it doesn't crack or chip the infrastructure like his hand did.

You wonder if he's giving himself a concussion on purpose, for your sake.

" B-Breg? " Scared, gawking eyes plead with the breeder stationed at the wall. You note the attempts he makes at steadying his breathing, fruitless, as his chest continues to heave dramatically. What the fuck is happening anymore.

" Whah... "

Oh. He's trying to speak. Usually, he can still do it in the first day or so, this looks like it's an especially intense rut, because of course it is. That's just your amazing luck shining through. You wait patiently for the monster to come up with something in between his slurring mumbles.

" What isss wrong with you?! "

" H- Huh? " His words and voice are distorted by the shape of his extended jaw, shifting his mouth and tongue to make the proper sounds of the language you both speak becomes a challenge.

" WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! " Breg bellows, turning around to face you properly. You resist the urge to crawl under the the mess of sheets and clothes.

" I- I just wanted to get the package. " You try, voice light and tone pleading, searching his face for any sort of recognition -A miracle epiphany that doesn't seem to be surfacing any moment soon- and finding nothing but growing confusion. Irritation.

" NO! " He shrieks, gesturing wildly as if you're the one missing an obvious point. " OUTSIDE. "

" Don't- Don't scream at me... "

He rolls his head, looking away, then back. " Outside- " He hisses, quieter at least. " Don't. Go. Out. "

It would just take one second. One second to get that box in and it would be over. Is it really that big of a sin? Breg starts moving upsettingly fast towards you, when an arm shoots out, you do what you usually have to when he's deep into his rut. Belly up, hands back, legs spread and neck bared. Good ol' trusty "please don't kill me".

It works.

The breeder's motions halt altogether and he seems to stare at you vapidly for a couple of static seconds. His jaw retracts a chunk, but his maw is still stretched, still that haunting grin. Good, he's distracted.

" ... You know you can't... Go outside. " He drools, to which you nod frantically. " Here is safe... Here is... "

You get to see the exact moment when hormones kill off just about any higher thought process in Breg. The monster shakes his head and crawls atop you, looking mildly bothered by the amount of clothes on your figure before lifting the hem of your shirt and burying his head underneath. Surprised, you can only giggle incredulously, feeling his humid hot breath fanning your stomach and chest. The breeder replies with an instinctual chirp and his breathing finally begins slowing down.

There, you think while slowly stroking his gross back, he's going to settle down, maybe hump a little and then fall asleep. Fool.

The monster stirs after a couple of comfortable moments, muttering something incoherent. He stands much too quickly and begins tugging you up as well, expression creased with what you think might be worry.

" What- What are you doing? " His grip on your wrist is uncomfortable when he starts walking out of the bedroom.

He spends his entire ruts making sure you stay in this room, now he's pulling you out? Geez, how many brain cells did he fry this time?

He only starts speaking after you tap him a couple of times. " Need to move! " He hisses, like you're particularly dumb. " ... Another cave. "

Cave...? Oh, the house. Yes.

You try to stand your ground, but given he's holding onto such a delicate part of you, it's not a good idea to pull. If he dislocates or fractures your wrist while in heat, there's no telling when you'd be able to reach a hospital- You can't risk that damage.

" But what's wrong with this one? " Really, you don't see what's wrong about the house for him to be fussing. You only have a couple of night lights on, the place is warm, there's food, he made his nest, what's missing? Is he getting pickier for no reason now?

" Not safe enough! " You're led to the living room while Breg has his weird freak out fit, glancing at the front door.

He must have shut it as he dragged you in, at least that. Unfortunately, your delivery remains outside. Though, in hindsight, if anyone saw that little stunt between you and the irate breeder, there's a pretty good chance they won't be ballsy enough to come fetch it. You certainly wouldn't be.

When it seems the rutting monster is determined to actually go outside, you start offering minimal resistance. Anything could happen with Breg in that state out and about, he could maim someone, he could force you to God knows where, he could fuck you in the streets openly- The scandal would follow you forever. A thousand yard stare settles on your face.

" B- But I think it is? " You have no cards to play with when dealing with a monster in rut. How can you logically counter his points when he's not thinking logically at all?

" NO. " Finally, he releases your wrist, now pacing restlessly, claws dragging over his own arms. He's clearly distressed and angered, but you don't know how to calm him without seemingly making it worse.

" YOU'LL RUN. " The breeder pauses to snarl pointedly in your direction, returning to barely coherent mumbling and frantic pacing shortly after.

Ah. So that's why he thinks it's not safe. Granted, you know damn well you put yourself in this spot. Now you'll have to weasel out of it.

" I- I won't. " Your shaky, tiny voice is extremely convincing, surely. " I p-promise! It- It's alright. "

Breg stops clawing at his arms, mumbling halted, his pacing ends with the monster right in front of you. His looming, tense figure has you fixed on the spot like an ant. Part of you wants to start bawling for help, another desperately wishes to reach out and soothe him.

" You- You liar... " He seethes, glancing between you and the door as you sweat bullets. " You WILL run! I know you will! YOU'LL LEAVE ME- "

His volume startles you again, beneath the anger he's showing, beneath those drooling teeth waaay too close to your face, there's genuine panic in his tone. Almost wheezing for a second. You're momentarily reminded that it's not just you who's at peril here. When Breg gets really aggravated, the way his metabolism kicks up several notches has consequences for him as well. This isn't good for anyone, and in your blindsided excitement about your purchase, you completely forgot that your failed attempts have only been stressing his already overloaded organism out more. Suddenly, a wave of guilt crushes your spirit.

There's not much time to wallow in it, because you're being grabbed. The lack of reaction must have upset the breeder, who's darkened arms clutch your own. " YOU'LL LEAVE. I can't let you leave- Can't let you go- Mates can't escape- YOU NEED ME. " Each rise in intensity has him jostling you back and forth.

Ooh boy, this is not looking good.

You consider opening your mouth to say something, try to appease him by whatever means necessary, but given all of your attempts have failed so far, what's the use? There's got to be another way...

...

"You need me"... Hm, maybe it's not so hopeless.

Keeping your gaze focused on the breeder, you know trying to slip away from his grasp is useless, but your intent is to reach down enough to grasp the hem of your shorts, quietly shimmying the cloth down. At first, the breeder doesn't realize why you're squirming, growling in warning at your perceived attitude, until he has the wit to glance towards the movement, watching you drop the fabric to your ankles and step out of it. His gaze is wholly fixated on your pussylips, a string of drool oozing from the side of his face to the floor. This secret smirk spreads on your face at the state you have him in, feeling mildly flattered even if you know how volatile he is right now.

In an effort to distract the male just a bit more, you part your legs a little, hearing him very clearly snort grossly, inhaling. His grip lessens ever so slightly, and you take advantage of it to start edging your now tattered shirt off. He barely twitches when his arms drop, squatting on the ground like some frog as he edges closer to your pussy, about to stuff his face on it most likely. His members steadily poke out that engorged slit, already soaked in their own precum, more than ready for anything.

Summoning all the bravery you have to stick to your possibly not very bright plan, you tense on the spot, allowing him but one second of calm, before hauling ass. Your goal is not the outside, not at all, you're actually sprinting the way you came from, teeth grit with nerves.

Predictably, it's a very short dash, Breg darted after you not even a second later, hot on your tail enough to physically crash against you on the way inside the bedroom and effectively throwing you onto the nest. You're getting really tired of landing face-down on this thing... But it's exactly what you wanted. Because when the breeder looms over you, hips instinctively slotted against yours, his hand keeping your head still, you get to turn things on their head before he can bark at you.

Quickly, you bump your bare ass against his cocks, making sure to grind and sway like you're the one in heat. You can feel the startling temperature of them on your skin, spreading their slick and his scent on you in a way that makes shivers ripple through you. The movement apparently startles Breg's already muddled brain into stillness again, you can tell he's probably very confused, ping-ponging between irritation and delight.

" Hah, guess you caught me again... " You bullshit, arching your spine beneath the monster as much as you can and bumping harder against him. Breg shudders. " So, will you do something about it this time, or do I have to keep running until my mate fucks me hard? "

Please buy it please buy it holy shit-

There's a chuff above you, you're positive he understood the words perfectly when he makes an excited crooning trill that tapers off into a chirp. He pushes his dicks onto you in response and you know it worked flawlessly the moment he dips to lick from your neck upwards. Good, this is good. Not optimal, but better than getting tossed outside.

The key to making him forget about your stunts is to convince the breeder it was all a sort of "challenge", and to do such, you'll have to keep up this attitude. Sloppy rutting turns into pushing yourself onto him when Breg poorly lines one of his dribbling cocks against your pussy. Having been through this song and dance before, you don't let him get any ideas regarding his twin length, awkwardly reaching beneath you to grasp and gently stroke at whatever parts you could reach.

He's thrilled, but your taste of control is short-lived as soon as he can sheathe himself inside you. It's a stretch, lord knows it always is with him, but he's excited this time, ramming himself. If he wasn't leaking lubrication like a broken faucet, you probably would have gotten hurt. As is, you only scream in surprise, fisting the sheets and ripped curtains beneath you. He moans, low and loud, a cry of pure animal relief. And, perhaps to your chagrin, fulfills your request.

" Hhrk-! "

Not a single second of mercy is spared your way. Breg doesn't care to build you up, his goal is one thing and one thing only, to fuck his cocktease of a mate full of his hatchlings, a fruitless effort. Not that it's ever stopped him from trying, you often get the feeling he desperately thinks he can will a pregnancy into existence, even outside of heat.

The monster on top of you is fast and ruthless, all self-serving thrusts kissing deep into your cunt while his spare cock twitches and occasionally slaps against your mound. It's a far cry from how he usually behaves, obviously, but the novelty of getting the breath quite literally fucked out of you never seems to wear off. Thighs shaking, you can't muster the composure to buck against him very aptly, body wracked with intense waves of pleasurable heat every time the somewhat more pronounced ridges of his fattened girth drag on that spot -Oh, that little spot- That has you sobbing soundlessly. In reality, Breg isn't making any efforts to offer you much, if any, pleasure, but it'd be impossible not to brush against something nice every now and then with this pace. Being used like a favored, dirty little cocksock, all you can do is grit your teeth and try not to drool as much as the monster making a puddle of your neck and hair.

Apparently, Breg begins to get annoyed by the way you'll bounce forward a little too far for his tastes, rumbling. It's really not your fault there's so much horsepower behind those legs, but you'll admit you don't like getting delicious friction disrupted too much either. The monster readjusts, an arm snakes beneath to grab your neck, grip firm but not squeezing, the other captures your right hand under his, your thighs are nudged closer together to trap his unattended dick and finally- Bold teeth latch onto the skin on the back of your neck.

He's done this before, in controlled settings however. You don't think it's a particularly good idea to let Breg's currently sharpened teeth around your neck for long periods of time, so really, the faster he cums, the less danger you're in. It's difficult to think about much of anything when the rutting breeder's pace resumes, this time not as deep but fast enough to make your vision blur, the smack of skin on skin and frantic shared panting putting you in a trance. God, he fucking stinks like this, you can't escape the smell, ever, it's on you now. He growls and occasionally clips out short moans in response to your helpless flexing around his wet cock, surprising you with another chirp.

Ah, precisely. There's something you can use!

Knowing full well you've never been good at it, you cough to clear your throat before attempting, quite poorly, to imitate the sound. You do it twice for good measure, immediately rewarded with an enthusiastic, hard grind that lifts you ever so slightly off the nest while Breg makes a keening sound that melts into a more complex trill. Your eyes roll and you feel yourself cumming hard around him, grunting at the sudden pleasure. Fuck, how do you make that one? He clearly loves it, you have to at least try. Drunk on the afterglow of your orgasm, you let out a series of vaguely similar whistling clicks, not really sure what you're transmitting to the breeder, or caring really.

The monster's hold of your neck tightens enough to make you wince, though the vibrations of his muffled moaning are shamefully arousing as his next series of hard pounds nearly jostle the few contents of your stomach. You know he's cumming when claws dart to hold your hips perfectly still and his head drops on yours, braying out a shameless noise that devolves into harsh puffing and gasping. Naturally, the cock nestled between your now sticky thighs coats your front and the sheets in a stupid amount of pearly cum, making you whine at the feeling while your womb tries to accommodate as much of the other's load as possible- What it inevitably fails to hold having no choice but to ooze and squeeze out, dripping to your front as well.

Long moments pass, though the shaking of your legs only grows, causing Breg to flip you both on your sides before he ends up crushing you. it's gross, you're laying on a small pool of warm seed while he plugs you happily, glancing up to see him smile happily at you through the haze of hormones. Contented and calm, the ideal state. You don't struggle or react much when the male predictably reaches to start tongue-bathing your upper body, merely grimacing at the scent of excess saliva.

Just to make sure things are even and smoothed out between you, you turn slightly, placing a peck on that long neck and chastely licking him back. There's no way you're going to groom him in this gross state, but it appears to be rewarding enough, his tail swatting around violently.

" ... Angel. " He mumbles, head nuzzling yours lazily. " My angel... "

Crisis averted.

#Bregory #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #terato #terat0philliac #monsterfucker #not sfw #minors dni

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crazyyluvr · 6 months ago

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The World Wants to Melt my Face Off I Swear-

pairing: sirius black x gn!reader

summary: If the summer heat was not going to back down, you’re just going to take matter into your own hands. And Sirius is all up for it.

genre: fluff, mild suggestiveness

wc: 698

content: modern au, you and sirius live together, established relationship, reader removes/changes clothes but no gender-aligned body parts are mentioned, HOT SUMMER HEAT, watermelon <3

note: totally didn’t write this because it’s so damn hot and i need a way to cope with the heat, totally not… (i wouldn't do this if I lived with someone, but if I lived alone, I'd 100% walk around in just my underwear — THAT'S HOW HORRIBLE THE HEAT IS HERE)

drabble under the cut :: not edited

Summer was relentless.

It was like the world was getting hotter every year, because you were pretty sure that you didn’t feel like you were going to get burns on your feet just from walking around in your house a few years ago.

Sirius found it amusing to hear you swear to yourself once in a while and complain about the heat radiating off the walls of your shared home. The scrunch of your eyebrows and the way your lip set in a slightly curving pout was adorable to him.

But that wasn’t the only reasons why he enjoyed the times when you get worked up like this.

The long-haired boy liked it because you would change your dressing style at home to accommodate the heat and make sure your body doesn’t feel too warm.

Your usual baggy, long-sleeved style was replaced with tank tops and shorts that left little to his imagination. It was one of the only times you didn’t care about how much skin you were displaying, more focused on keeping yourself from overheating.

You were rummaging around the kitchen one late afternoon, trying to find ice for your beverage. Not even the cold that it got from being in the fridge was enough for you.

Sirius was laying down in your shared bedroom, the air conditioner working overtime to keep the room chilly enough to keep you comfortable. He was already buried under the comforter and an extra blanket and yet he was still shivering a little. How were you this warm-blooded?

"Siri!" You called, voice muffled from the walls, but it reached Sirius's ears nonetheless. He pulled the covers off of him and walked towards the door. He opened it to be greeted by a rush of heat.

"Close it quickly, you'll let the cold out," you said, focused on your task in the kitchen. It was mid afternoon, and the sun was merciless with its bright and hot rays breaking through the windows.

He soft and fond laugh escaped his lips, but he followed your wishes and shut the door gently behind him.

"You hollered for me love?" He said, turning to look at you before stopping in your tracks.

You didn't have a shirt on. (If you have a bra, then you're wearing a sports bra still btw <3)

Your back was exposed to him, showing off the curve of your spine and the contours of your back.

"You want some watermelon?" You asked, still not turning to look at him. "I found some earlier today in the market and left them in the fridge, so now they're cold."

You finally looked over your shoulder when you didn't get a response, only to roll your eyes when you saw Sirius's dumbstruck expression.

"What? It's hot!" You said defensively, putting down your knife and angling your body to properly face him.

He grinned, approaching you and examining your body (as if it wasn't anything he hasn't seen before). "You're hot, babe."

You rolled your eyes again, but a smile slipped past your façade. "Suree..."

Sirius put his hands on your hips, dragging them up your sides and to your shoulders. You shivered slightly from the cold that lingered on his pale fingers.

"We can just have the watermelon later," he murmured, leaning in and placing a kiss on the crook of your neck that was coated in a light sheen of sweat, making you laugh and push him away. "Sirius I'm sweaty!"

"So?" Sirius shrugged, pulling you closer still. "It's not something I haven't dealt with."

You swat his arm, turning around and focusing back on your fruit, but it was hard when Sirius molded his chest into your back, placing kisses on shoulder, neck, and the higher part of your back.

"Sirius, I want to have fruit," You said, voice slightly whiny.

Sirius groaned. "Fineee, but we're definitely gonna do something about this when we're done."

He pressed his hips against you and you gasped when you felt something against you, shoving him away with another laugh. "Sirius Black, you horny man!"

"Only for you, m'love," he said cheekily, winking.

You did end up happily eating your fruit. And helping Sirius with his little (not really little) problem as well.

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #marauders #marauders x reader #hp #it’s so hot in the ph help me #hp x reader #padfoot

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winchester-girl67 · 11 months ago

Text

Wild Hearts (Part 6) - Two Years After Dean Left

Summary: During her gap year, Y/N goes to visit Dean for his birthday in Sioux Falls while trying to figure out her next step in life.

Masterlist

Pairing: AU!Dean x reader

Square: Car broke down @spnfluffbingo

Word Count: 6,763

Warnings: underage, age gap (reader is 18, Dean is 22-23), reader is feeling a bit lost, angst, past injury (scars), mentions of physical abuse by a parent/violence/death/prison, language, slow burn, kissing/cuddling, talks of sex/relationship, fluff

A/N: Written for @spnfluffbingo. Enjoy.

_____

Two years after Dean left.

So far, your gap year wasn't turning out the way you'd hoped. You weren't anywhere closer to figuring out what to do with your life and you didn't have the means for backpacking through Europe. Flights and hostels cost money and though you saved up, it would go fast and you'd already figured out that solo travel wasn't for you.

So you bought yourself a car and it was a used piece of junk, but it was yours.

You weren't technically sure if you could categorize it as a car, though. It was more of a rusted piece of tin that would stall like a toddler having a tantrum, for no reason! It was only ever meant to get you from point A to point B, not go on cross-country road trips to see a boy who was never your boyfriend.

Yet here you were, on the side of the road on a particularly balmy day in January, waiting for a tow-truck. You'd almost made it all the way to Sioux Falls and you were so excited to surprise Dean with a blast from his past for his birthday. Then the engine overheated with a jarring clunk sound and you were forced to pull over as it stalled out again. Smoke billowing from under the hood. Stupid car. Stupid road trip. You should've flown but you wanted the time to think. Now you had too much time.

You were wrapped in your long winter coat and sat on the hood of your car. It had long since cooled and the smoke cleared but the dark paint attracted the sun and it was warm as you waited for the tow-truck. You had called the garage that you knew Dean worked at, but you got his uncle on the phone and were expecting him to show up. Instead when the truck finally arrived it wasn't an old man driving it.

"Y/N," Dean said with a look of shock as he stepped down from the truck on bowed legs.

Damn it, surprise ruined. You forced a nervous smile.

"Hey, Dean. How's it hanging?" You said, sliding down from the hood of your car to meet him halfway to his truck parked in front of you. You stood a foot away from each other and shifted your weight from one leg to the other. Not quite the embrace you were hoping for after so long. "Damn it, I should've said something cooler... Surprise!"

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

That wasn't much of a warm welcome either.

Why was this so awkward?

"Uh- um, you know, sightseeing." You pointed to the snow covered field to the right of the quiet highway, squinting at the trees in the distance.

"Yeah because Sioux Falls is the number one tourist destination. In the middle of winter." He said, glancing in the direction you had pointed with nothing substantial to look at.

You'd argue the field still had its charm. Snowflakes sparkling in the sunlight.

Dean looked back at you and cocked his head like he knew you were hiding something. His eyes burrowing into you, set on digging out the truth without the use of words. Somehow it worked and you folded your cards.

"All right, you caught me." You rolled your eyes dramatically, "You sounded kind of sad on the phone when you said you'd be spending your birthday alone and I... didn't want you to."

You left a little late but drove nonstop for as long as you could and made it there with half a day to spare. Tomorrow was Dean's twenty-third birthday!

"Sammy's only gonna be gone one night, I'll still have the morning with him before he leaves for his field trip." He said, still not believing you.

It was partially true, it was the reason you used to convince yourself to come. But the reason you risked the drive in such an unreliable car was different. And he knew it.

"He's in University, they don't call them field trips anymore." You teased but he remained stoic.

You talked on the phone and texted all the time. You should be able to read him better but video calls were glitchy at best lately with the weather and it takes time to be able to read someone's body language again after years apart.

"Why are you here, Y/N?"

"Can't a girl show up for no reason but to celebrate your birthday? I thought you wanted me to visit." You remembered the postcard he'd sent asking you to on your gap year.

"I wanted you to call first. I would've paid for a flight." He said, shoving his ungloved hands into his pockets, likely to keep his fingers warm.

It was winter after all, there was a nip in the air. He didn't wear a toque but the tips of his ears were still protected by his hair which he had let get longer since you last saw him.

You sighed regretting the road trip and feeling stupid for thinking he thought about you as much as you still thought about him. Maybe he wanted you to call first so he could talk you out of making the trip. But then maybe you were over thinking this and letting your insecurities get the best of you. That has been happening a lot lately.

You shrugged and played with your mittens, "I needed to clear my head and driving halfway across the country sounded like a good idea to do that."

He sighed a visible manifestation of his breath, "What's going on? You sounded fine last time we spoke."

"Nothing, I am fine." You chewed on the inside of your cheek and blinked away watery eyes, "I just have no passion for- like, anything."

"I don't know what you're talking about, you are extremely passionate in everything you do." Dean said, somehow knowing this had to do with you struggling to figure out your whole future at eighteen. Sure, some kids had known what they wanted to do since grade school but for you, it felt like it was next to impossible, "You'll figure it out."

"Okay, okay, enough." You said, raising your mitten-clad hands.

You didn't want to think about it anymore. You were finally in a place to explore your feelings with Dean and although that's not why you drove out there, you'd be lying if you said it wasn't in the back of your mind.

"Where are you staying?" He asked, changing the subject.

"About that...? I fit on a couch pretty good."

Dean smiled, he knew exactly what you were getting at and he had the space since he and Sam had moved into their own apartment. "Good thing I got a couch then."

His attention shifted to your car parked on the side of the highway. His eyes scanned over the dents, scraped paint, rust and bald tires; the side mirror barely held on with duct tape and the bent antenna. The radio was staticky at best. His jaw tightened.

"Is this your car?"

"Yeah," you answered tentatively like it was an obvious answer and you knew you were in for a scolding.

"This is your car? This is the car that you decided to drive practically cross-country in?"

Here it was, "Um, yeah."

Dean walked past you to get a closer look at the car. "Y/N, this car couldn't limp to the next exit if it wanted to."

He kicked the tire and frowned back at you. No doubt seeing the extent of the worn tread. And he knew you knew better than to drive it that far. After he started his job at the Singer's Garage with his uncle he'd made sure to give you a lesson about car safety in case you took out your parents' car, let alone get your own. His attempt at teaching you to change a tire via glitchy video chat was by far the most epic of fails.

"That's kind of the problem, it doesn't want to." You quipped, giving him a cute smile to ease the tension but it didn't work.

"Who sold you this piece of junk, anyways?" He asked, looking away from you as if your smile was blinding him.

He kicked the tire again.

"I don't know... Chuck, I think." You said, trying to remember the name of the salesman who sold you the car back home.

"Chuck?" He repeated and laughed silently without humour.

"Yes, Chuck. Why do you keep repeating everything I'm saying?"

"Chuck as in Chuck Shirley's Used Car Lot outside town? Y/N, he's a cheat. He sells nothing but lemons. You should've called me, I would've told you where to go." He sighed in frustration and bit his lip, shoving his hands deeper in his pockets.

"I wanted to surprise you, that was the whole point and I didn't want you to tell me not to come." You said and his green eyes immediately found yours. Your chin quivered either from the cold or what you were about to say next. You weren't sure which. "You don't really seem happy to see me."

"You think I'm not happy to see you?" He asked and his stare softened.

You bit the inside of your cheek, "Well, you are doing that weird repeating-everything-I'm-saying-as-a-question thing again."

"What if you broke down?"

"Uh, I did break down." You pointed to the hunk of tin on four wheels just sitting there.

He rubbed the back of his neck, "I mean, what if you had broken down somewhere I couldn't get to you. Y/N, you could've gotten yourself stranded in the middle of nowhere. Or worse."

"I'm pretty sure two hours outside of Sioux Falls is the middle of nowhere."

"You know what I mean. There are strange people out there."

"I know, I'm looking at one." You teased and pushed his shoulder playfully but he didn't react, "Why are you so worried? Dean, I'm fine, I'm standing right here. You could even do something as crazy as -Oh, I dunno, hug me?"

He cocked his head at you and pointed, "You don't get to own the monopoly on worrying."

He was right, you were always worrying about him especially when you lived in the same town. And the current role reversal was throwing you for a loop. Just another thing you couldn't control.

You pushed back your hair and sighed, "Fine, but can we fast forward to the Dean that's actually glad to see me? I'm starting to think this was a really bad idea."

"In that car, it was a really bad idea." He agreed and you stared at your shoes, holding yourself. "But I am so fucking glad to see you."

He grabbed your shoulders and bent down so his forehead rested against yours. A single tear got away from you as your anxiety about seeing Dean again and everything in between boiled over and you wiped it away with your mitten.

"Really?" You sniffled but it could've been from the cold.

"Yeah, really." He pulled you in for a hug and you rested your cheek against his warm chest. Your arms wrapped around his waist and your hands clutched his jacket in case he decided to pull away before you were willing to let go. "Of course ‘really’, Y/N."

You hummed, "Hm, I'm starting to think this was a good idea again."

You held onto him until your fingers got stiff from the grip you had on him and pulled away. Dean looked down at you and brushed your hair behind your ear. A cold gust of wind turning the shell of it as red as your nose and cheeks. You had probably sat out in the elements a little too long.

"There's no way you're driving that home, by the way. I'm still mad but I can't believe you're actually here. It's like you haven't changed at all." A smile replaced his frown and he looked you over as if he expected you to look a hell of a lot different or maybe older with the time and distance between you.

"It's been two years, a lot has changed, I'm eighteen now!" Your hands went to your hips as you glared up at him.

The truth was that it had only been two years and your reflection in the mirror hadn't changed a lick. You hoped it would, that you'd wake up eighteen and an adult and that mirror would reflect that, but it didn't and you weren't about to admit that even you didn't feel your age. You technically haven't felt any older since you got your license. Birthdays after that kind of lacked lustre.

Maybe that was what it was like getting older though. First you stop feeling like your birthday is a big deal, stop feeling any older despite the number, then the milestones get further and farther between and eventually you have to think about how old you are. Maybe that’s how it was for Dean and maybe that’s why he seemed so far away.

"You're so cute." Dean said and roughed up your hair.

You hated the way it made you feel like a kid counting to ten on your fingers and shoved his hand away. Sure your life was a little unorganized at the moment which probably led to this epiphany about birthdays that you were having but that didn't mean you were a child. He didn't treat you like a child when he met you at sixteen and now you were legally an adult. So what was his problem?

"And you're still strange." You squinted.

"And wonderful, though, right?" He cocked an eyebrow and smirked, remembering the compliment you gave him the first night you met. 'You're strange and kinda wonderful.'

Dean didn't tinker with your car's engine much before he gave up and hooked it up to the tow truck. You didn't think that had any indication on how good of a mechanic he was and more about the state of the engine itself. Every time he tried the key the lights would come on and the starter would spark but the engine kept quiet. You didn't know much about cars other than the basics he'd talked about since you ran out of other stuff to talk about over the phone. But still practical and theory were two very different fields and you couldn't tell the starter from the alternator, though Dean said neither of those seemed to be the problem.

On the drive back to Singer's Garage Dean let you pick the music and you tuned into a country station that he seemed to hate from the first note. So after a song you switched it over to classic rock which you knew was his favourite. The next couple hours were spent listening to him hum along, out of tune, to songs old enough that your father listened to them when he was a teenager. They weren't bad though and you loved the way Dean seemed happier.

You hoped it was real and not some facade he was putting on for your sake. Somehow, you didn't think it was.

Maybe he didn't need you to save him from his birthday alone after all, but he seemed to want you there. He took side glances at you the whole drive back; that had to mean something.

You walked into the garage after Dean. An older man stood at the desk in the office wiping the grease from his hands on a rag. It didn’t seem to help though since the rag itself was already covered in days old worth of oil and grease. He tossed it to the side of the desk when he saw you walk in with Dean.

"Hey, Uncle Bobby, this is Y/N." Dean smiled and wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

"Ah, the infamous Y/N. Me and the Mrs. have heard a lot about you." Bobby said and you blushed.

Dean talked about you when you weren’t around.

"Bobby," Dean warned, side eyeing you and Bobby held his hands up with a smirk pulling at his lips.

"You didn't tell us she was coming to town, son." He said and you saw how that word ‘son’ affected Dean.

Like he actually had a father worth getting to know, one that cared and worried and you loved that for him. Dean deserved to be surrounded by good people that treated him better than his blood had.

He had hindered his own wants since childhood almost to the point that he denied himself of anything good until now. The lighter air about him, especially in the presence of his uncle, made you hope that he'd found a balance and that his move to Sioux Falls was for more than just Sam after all.

You might've been trying to find yourself, so to speak, but maybe you weren't the only one. There was a twinge in your gut that made you feel like you were losing him, to another town, another life you weren’t a part of, and eventually another girl. Even if there wasn't one in the picture now.

You hadn’t talked about relationships and he never mentioned any interest in anyone but you knew you weren’t together either. Dean was all sorts of awesome and a little broken but you admired everything about him; how he could stay calm through uncertainty, say exactly what he thought at any given moment and give up so much for the people he loved without asking for anything in return. You’d never met anyone else like him and compared every boy that asked you out to him, before you inevitably turned them down and skipped prom altogether.

Dean would’ve given you a blast for skipping so you never told him. Instead Benny and Cas took you sand surfing and out to Donna’s for ice cream afterwards. It was sweet and nostalgic and perfect. You wound up spending most of your time with them after Dean and Sam left. The three of you bonded over your love for the boys and the void they left in your life even though you’d only known them for a fraction of the time and still kept in contact with Dean. But sometimes the phone calls weren’t enough and it was just easier to spend time with someone who understood all of that and Benny really was a teddy bear once you got to know him.

You felt safe with them and the age gap didn’t seem to register when there was no chance of attraction. You were hung up on Dean and they knew that. Besides, Benny and Cas still flirted a lot, but never with you. You thought they’d make a cute couple if they ever realized the feeling was mutual and not just casual.

"He didn't know. It was a surprise." You said with a shy smile.

"And you ran into a bit of trouble, I see." Bobby said, walking over to your car that was parked outside the open garage door.

He took a look under the hood that Dean had propped open after disconnecting it from the tow truck and made a face. The same face Dean had made when he looked.

"Nothing Dean can't fix, I'm sure." You said and Dean rubbed the back of his neck.

“I could fix it but the cost would run more than the worth of that car. You said the engine overheats and stalls out regularly, not to mention that it still doesn’t want to turn over. Sorry, Y/N, but without an overhaul of the engine it’s basically a paper weight.”

“I guess, I’m flying home after all then, eh.” You sighed, staring at your two-ton paperweight.

You helped Dean around the garage for the rest of the day. Mainly working on this ridiculous orange shop truck, changing brakes and fluids. He said it was basically ready to sell and that’s how they made business during the lulls in customers. By finding salvageable vehicles and fixing them up. He also made you rotate the tires, though they looked brand new, and you were positive that was just his way of ensuring you knew how to change one; by the fourth tire you felt like a pro.

It was only a few hours before they closed up early for Dean’s birthday dinner. They were celebrating early with Bobby and Jody since Sam wouldn’t be home for dinner on his actual birthday and Bobby invited you along.

Dean took the luggage from your car and stuffed it into the trunk of his Impala. You noted the dents in the front bumper were still there and the headlight was taped up with clear plastic. Dean said he’d been scouring salvage and junkyards for parts but had yet to find any to fit Baby with. You could tell he regretted the damage he’d done to her; it wasn’t her fault, just like how their upbringing wasn’t his. You could tell he connected with her on some spiritual level that people connected with inanimate objects.

When you got to Bobby and Jody’s, a short haired woman greeted Dean with a hug and you with a smile. Until she learnt that you were Y/N and then she pulled you in for a bear hug like you were family. You wondered exactly what Dean had told them about you. However, whatever it was seemed to make a good impression.

Dinner was great and you fell into easy conversation with Sam about his courses. He’d taken the heaviest workload he could and was struggling with studying, so you said you’d send him your playlist for concentrating. You had used it a lot throughout high school and only added to it over the years. It was a mix of easy listening pieces, movie scores, and instrumental works you knew Dean would probably hate.

Dean was delighted in the way you scarfed down your slice of cherry pie. Jody apparently made it for him every year and it was by far the best you’d ever tasted. No wonder he’d bragged about it for as long as he did.

By the end of the night you were full and exhausted from your time on the road. You had only stopped at one motel along the way, and it was a good day’s ride to Sioux Falls from home. So, as much as you would’ve liked to spend the night partying it up with Dean, you were thankful that he just wanted to get back to his apartment and watch a show on Netflix with you.

Dean carried your bag up to their apartment and let you get first dibs on the shower. Sam, of course, went to bed as soon as you got back. It was late and he had that field trip the next day that he needed to be refreshed for. Dean didn’t seem to mind though, he was mostly concerned that you weren’t too tired to hangout. You lied and assured him that you weren’t since you were determined to be awake when the clock struck midnight. But you passed out on the couch as soon as he hit play.

You woke up well past midnight to Dean carrying you. You were too tired to protest and kept your eyes shut when he laid you down in his bed and tucked you in. Then he left and you fell asleep again mumbling a ‘Happy Birthday’ that he wouldn’t have heard.

In the morning you realized he had spent the night on the couch and you woke up snuggled into comforters that smelt like him. The only thing you missed was the heat of his body. It felt weird to miss something you never had.

“Hey, birthday boy.” You yawned, meeting Dean in the kitchen and wrapping your arms around him from behind.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” He said, patting your arms on his waist.

You heard him sizzling something on the stove. A drop of grease spit from the pan and landed on your arm, “Ow.” You released him and rubbed the spot on your arm, “What’s with you and bacon?” He chuckled and you hopped up on the counter stifling another yawn. “Where’s Sammy?”

“He left.”

“Already?”

“It’s the middle of the afternoon, Y/N.” He said and turned to face you. He looked equally as tired, probably from that damned couch.

“Sorry,” you muttered, “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You were tired and it’s not like either of us have anywhere else to be today.” He shrugged and smiled, “I wanted to ask yesterday but I didn’t wanna pry. How long can you stay?”

“September,” you said hopefully and he laughed.

You technically hadn’t applied to college yet, but you were planning on taking something in the fall. You just didn’t know what and you were trying not to think about application deadlines.

You helped Dean make an early dinner since you hadn’t eaten yet. You peeled potatoes for his ‘famous bacon mashed potatoes’ and he grilled a steak on the small balcony sized barbecue outside. It took longer than a regular barbecue and the sun was setting by the time you sat down with your food in front of the TV.

You were starving and ate quickly while Dean ate at his regular pace. His affinity for adding bacon to almost every recipe including mashed potatoes doing little to curb your appetite. It was actually pretty good and you both grabbed seconds.

"This looks familiar," Dean chuckled, tugging the fabric of your hoodie between his fingers.

Your dinner plates abandoned on the coffee table to be rinsed and washed later.

"I should think so," you grinned and blushed. "It's yours -It was yours, it's mine now."

You clutched the fabric of your hoodie in your hands. It was the sweater Dean had given you the night you met. You'd forgotten to give it back that night when he dropped you off at home and kept it ever since. It was worn but it was your favourite sweater now. It provided warmth and comfort over the years and there was no way you were giving it back.

"Looks better on you anyways." Dean laid his arm along the back of the couch behind you.

"That's what I thought." You smiled at him and his other hand brushed your cheek, his fingertips grazing your jaw as he tucked some hair behind your ear.

"Did I tell you how happy I am that you're here?" He asked, his voice just above a whisper.

The show you were watching faded into the background and all you could hear and feel was the heartbeat in your chest thumping wildly. He held your gaze as his palm warmed your already fiery skin. You wanted him to kiss you but he didn't.

"You saved me, Y/N, I never told you that. I was just barely hanging on when I met you. Surviving everyday just for Sammy, but then you showed me the beauty in life and made me wanna fight for myself again. When I looked at you I saw a future, a glimpse of something that kept me going and maybe it was a fantasy, it felt like a dream, but now-"

You turned and kissed him, tucking your legs underneath yourself so you could push up on your knees to meet his lips with a little weight. Dean's hands clutched your waist, fingers pressing into your skin and you wrapped your arms around his neck.

It wasn't the kiss you wanted. He held back and a tear trailed down his cheek. You pulled apart your lips and he sniffled, his hands still gripping you like you would disappear.

“This can’t work.” He whispered and met your eyes, shaking his head. “You’re everything I want but this won’t end well, it can’t right now, Y/N.”

What? You pushed your brows together, "I would never hurt you, Dean."

"No, but I won't let you hurt yourself either." He pushed you away.

“You’re scared. Of this, of us. That’s it, isn’t it?” You asked, pointing between you.

He sighed and rubbed a palm down his face, “Y/N, you know that’s not true.”

“It’s not just about me, Dean. There’s another reason you’re holding back.”

“Cut me some slack, Y/N, it’s my birthday.” He said, playing the birthday card pretty fast like he had it in his back pocket.

But you didn't drop it.

You placed your hand on his heart and raised his to lay over your breast. Each heartbeat thumping wildly enough to feel the vibrations in your palms.

"Do you feel that? Our hearts are wild, Dean. They wither in cages waiting to be broken. Do yourself a favour. Don't cage your wild heart, set it free." You pleaded. He was the only one you ever wanted, a feeling that was mutual as much as he fought it. "I know you love me."

He kissed you then and it was like lightning coursing through your veins. All thought was lost and your bodies mended together as he crawled over you. Your back pressed into the couch and he held his weight over you as his tongue gained entry to the warmth of your mouth. The air in your lungs replaced with the air in his and his hands grabbed at yours, linking your fingers together and pushing the backs of your palms into the cushions next to your head.

You panted and hummed, breathing heavily through the nips and sucks to your lips and throat. You angled your hips up to his, wrapping your legs around him and pressing your heels into his backside but Dean didn’t close the distance to give you more friction. He just kept kissing you.

You separated your hands from his and pawed at his henley. Dean sat up, pulling you with him and letting you push his shirt up his chest. You tugged it over his head and away from his arms, tossing it to the floor next to the couch.

He leaned in to kiss you again but you stopped him with a hand to his chest. The lamp next to you was lit and it was the first time you'd seen him bare chested. You felt the raised skin beneath your fingertips as his chest rose and fell with each breath.

The scar you had only seen the tail end of that night on the beach ran from his collarbone down the left side of his chest and into the waistband of his jeans towards his hip. Dean sighed when he saw the tears in your eyes and reached for his shirt.

"No, wait," you grabbed his hand and settled into his lap, wrapping yourself around him in a tight hug. You rubbed your hands over his shoulder blades feeling a myriad of raised skin, forming other unseen scars that covered his back. Your chin quivered, faced with the irrefutable proof of the pain his father inflicted on him and you let the tears drip onto the skin of his shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I knew what he did to you but somehow I still didn't know."

"It's over, Y/N, he's never going to touch me or Sam ever again. Not even when he gets out of prison. I'll kill him myself before that happens." He said as if he was promising himself.

You went to kiss him again but he turned away and pushed you off of his lap. You sat next to him on the couch and he slipped his shirt back on and rubbed the nape of his neck, then sighed as looked at you.

That look of lust in Dean's eyes was gone and now he was stopping whatever this was between you before it got out of hand. Even if it was the last thing either of you wanted.

"Y/N. My heart will always beat wild for you whenever we're together, but it's also like I can't think rationally when we're close like this. My mind and body are clouded by this fleeting feeling and when it's gone neither of us are going to feel any better about this. And that's exactly why this can't happen now. You're still trying to figure things out and I can't stand in the way of that. You're not done growing yet. So for now, my heart stays here," he tapped the left side of his chest twice, "And I'm not caging it, I'm containing it because if I released it, it would devour you."

"Couples grow together, Dean. Haven't you ever heard of growing old together."

"Couples grow together when the time is right." He brushed the sweat-dampened hair from his face.

"How do we know when the time is right?" You asked.

"Because it'll be easy... natural.” He explained, cupping your cheek with his palm and running the pad of his thumb along your cheekbone.

"I want it to be easy now." You said, grabbing his wrist as he pulled his hand away.

"Trust me, me too. But when we get there, it'll be worth the wait because there will be nothing standing in our way. You'll know it's what you want." He said as if he still wasn't sure you wanted him.

"I know that now. I want you now." If there was one thing you were sure about, it was that. Your feelings for him had only cemented since you were sixteen.

"You think you know that now, Y/N. You're still young." He said like he still saw the girl he'd first met and finally pulled his hand away.

"Just because I haven't figured out what I want to study doesn't mean I'm a baby. I may never know, Dean." You frowned.

You were more than old enough to know what you wanted in your romantic life. You wanted a man to treat you right like you knew Dean would. He'd proved it time and time again in almost every other way.

"I never said you were a baby. I just want you to take this time to focus on yourself. Be selfish for once. Do you really think it'll be easy to start something now when I live halfway across the country and who knows when we'll get to see each other again." He explained making too much sense for your dopamine soaked brain. "I won't lose you to some meaningless fling when that's the complete opposite of what I want."

"Maybe, I could go to college here." You thought out loud but you liked the sounds of it.

"Or maybe you could figure out what you want rather than make decisions based on me."

"But, Dean-"

"Y/N, how can I ask you to move here for me and shape your life around me when this is only my home for the now."

"What do you mean?" You asked and sank back into the couch, feeling unwanted.

"Sam wants to transfer to Stanford Law after his degree here in USF. That gives me time to get some work experience and him some time to get to know the closest thing we have left to family. That means three and half years from now California will be our home and I don't know what comes after that. I can’t ask you to move with us, take you away from your family, your home, your friends, interrupt your own studies; that’s not fair to you. Maybe one day, when I can take a breath, when we’re both settled... All I want is you happy.”

He was right. You had a chance at a life of your own, the only problem was that it wouldn’t include Dean. Not in any physical form anyhow and you were torn, between building a future, and the boy who taught you to care.

"You make me happy." You decided.

"No. I would make you happy for now but it wouldn't last. You deserve more than that, more than I can give you right now. I plan on changing that, I plan on being the guy that can make your dreams come true, but right now, that's just a fantasy." He explained and shook his head like he could see a future that you couldn't.

One where you were together, but how long would that take? A fantasy. That's exactly what it felt like, a fantasy, meaning it would never come true. He would just keep waiting and wasting time until it was too late.

You knew you didn't want that.

"You're saying 'right now' a lot but tomorrow never comes, Dean."

"Our tomorrow will." He said with conviction in the greens of his eyes. "Just not today, Y/N, sorry."

"All right...” You sighed when you saw Dean’s pout. The way his eyes pleaded for you to understand and you did. Being open to love took more than just turning a certain age and it wasn’t your time yet. “Okay, it’s okay, Dean, I get it.” You smiled, “Happy Birthday."

Dean wasn’t ready. You could see he was overwhelmed and he was still figuring things out for himself. He was willing to wait for you two years ago, now you could wait for him.

You stayed the rest of the month, helping out Dean in the garage with small jobs. Bobby didn’t object even though it probably took you twice the amount of time to change oil as it would if they did it themselves and they had to double check everything you did. Short of retightening a few bolts though, you thought you got the hang of it pretty quick.

When January turned to February and things were starting to get too comfortable, you knew you couldn’t continue to hide in Sioux Falls forever. You had to get back home and take that next step. Otherwise, you were in for a life standing still.

“Y/N, can you come here for a minute?” Dean called from the front door of his apartment.

“Hey,” you walked out from the kitchen, having just put a lasagna in the oven.

Bobby and Jody were coming over for dinner and Sam would be home from class soon.

“Put your boots and coat on, I’ve got something to show you.” He bit back a beaming smile and raised his brows.

“What’s this all about?” You asked, dressing in your winter gear.

“You’ll see,” he smirked and pulled your toque down over your eyes like a blindfold.

“Ugh, Dean, I don’t like this.” You said, stretching out your arms to feel around.

“Two minutes, trust me.” He said, directing you out of the apartment and into the elevator.

You squirmed with his hands on your shoulders as he directed you out into the parking lot, snow crushing under your boots from the storm the night before. You trusted him but you were starting to lose your equilibrium.

“All right, open your eyes.” Dean said, pulling off your toque to reveal the monstrosity of a truck in front of you; with orange paint the shade of a pumpkin. It was the shop truck you had helped him with your first day here. “Before you say anything, you’ll need wheels to get you home and then to college and anywhere else life takes you. I know you think the paint job is ugly but this truck is safe and reliable and best of all, I won’t worry about you driving it. Well... I’ll worry less.”

You shook your head, “The colour is perfect,” and it was, “And I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

“You already have, Y/N. You worked at the garage for no pay.” He said as if a week's pay would've been enough to afford the truck.

“That was fun and you and I both know that I held you guys up all week.” You said and cocked your head with a shy smile.

“No, you didn’t. We liked having you there, you boosted our morale, and Bobby and I wanted to do something to show our appreciation.” He said, holding out the keys for you and jingling them. "Please, just let me do this for you."

You nodded, “I love it.” You launched yourself at him, hugging him tightly around the waist. “Thank you.” You kissed his cheek again and again.

“Now, next time you visit I won’t have to worry about getting a call from you broken down on the side of the road.” He laughed, hugging you back and resting his chin on the top of your head.

“You won’t because it’s your turn to visit me next time.”

_________________________

Part 7

_________________________ Dean: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33 @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891 @leigh70 @globetrotter28 @backseat-of-deans-67chevy

SPN: @hobby27

Wild Hearts: @justrealizedimmascifygurl @evieluvsjamie @kimberkingrivers @vicmc624 @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch

#spnfluffbingo2022 #au!dean winchester x reader #au!dean x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x y/n #dean x #dean winchester x #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #supernatural reader insert #spn reader insert #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #wild hearts series

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sierracolorstheworldofwords · 6 months ago

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The kitten-- Jareth x reader

Like a pouting child, the Goblin King sat on his throne. Outside, the thunder growled, the sky threatening to unleash his fury upon the inhabitants of the labyrinth. To drown all who stood within the storm's path! To diminish everything and everyone!

Or at least, to make them feel as sour as he did.

His mood soured even more as he watched the source of his woe– a naughty kitten the color of ashes, chasing after a ribbon. Meanwhile, you, his love, his stars and moon entertained the damned horrid beast who knocked over his crystals and ran amuck! The monster who clawed his curtains and dipped her footprints into his ink, coating his desk in little paw prints.

Really, he could handle that if you weren’t so busy cooing over the charming beastie.

Finally, like the sun peeking through the clouds, you set your gaze on him. Smiling from your seat on the floor. He frowned. You were getting your pretty clothes dirty!

“Jareth!” you called, waving him over, “Come play with me and the kitten!”

He shifted, crossing one leg over the other, and the few goblins in the throne room watched, sensing the displeasure within their king.

“Jareth!” You called again.

With a huff, he waved you off.

In response, your shoulders slumped, a frown forming on your lips, before you scowled, wagging a finger, “You better not be brooding!”

He sent you his own scowl in response.

“That's the fifth time today!” You cried, shaking your head, before returning your attention to the kitten, “At least you don't brood!”

“I heard that.”

“Serves you right.” you put the ribbon aside now, offering her a finger to sniff, before she led your touch to underneath her chin, “he's no better than you! At least you purr, my sweet Eloise.”

“And that!”

“And,” you continued, “At least you have cute little paws. What's he got? Hm? What does my little Jareth have?”

“Stop babying the kitten! And I'll tell you what I have, darling, class! At least I don't lick my ass in public–”

You turned to him, “So do you lick it in private then?”

Jareth shook like an overheated tea kettle as he glared at you. The splotching started at his neck, before slowly ascending, turning his cheeks and ears a bright, cherry red. In response, you snickered and grabbed the ribbon again. A smirk coated your lips as you swung it. Eloise scrunched herself into position, wiggling a bit before pouncing on her target. Or, at least, she tried to. Letting out a noise, she landed on her stomach, before determinedly chasing after the ribbon again.

“Don't think I don’t hear you snickering over there.” He muttered, “honestly, how can you torture me so, dearest? Do you detest me?”

You continued playing with the kitten. The goblins watched, some fascinated, but others clearly disgusted. You couldn't ignore him! He was the Goblin King!

“Well?” he demanded.

You continued your fun.

“You're horrible!” He wailed, “Terrible! Atrocious! You're torturing me, darling! Tearing me apart, limb by limb!”

He now lay himself over the throne, his legs draped over one arm. He threw a hand across his head, and the goblins around him chittered, clamoring to comfort him. To them, he looked like a martyr, or a sacrificial lamb being sacrificed to the gods.

“What’s the matter, your majesty?” one asked.

“Yeah, sire, what can we do?”

Another held back sobs, “S-sire, what’s the matter?”

“Yes! Whatever the matter, your majesty?”

“Oh how you wound me my love!” Jareth pretended to close his eyes, only to look at you through little slits as he continued with his caterwauling, “Oh my love, how you torture me! How you pain me!”

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics.

“It feels as if you have taken a knife and stabbed me, twisting it within my chest!”

The goblins gasped, some now huddling around the throne while shedding tears, their poor lips warbling as they looked at their luxurious, glorious, king.

“Oh, darling!” Jareth cried.

Finally, you turned to him with a glare, “Yes dear?”

He glared back, sitting up, “Get away from that horrid creature and pay attention to me!” “I asked you to come and play with–” “And get my clothes dirty on that floor?!”

You sighed softly, shaking your head.

To think, the being who always thought of himself as a gothic byronic hero couldn’t get along with a cat. Yet, you figured it’d be lovely to get one– since he had the temperament of one, and you thought it’d be nice to see your gargoyle of a king play with a kitten. Said king didn’t even notice you frowning, or if he did, he was too caught up in the performance to comfort you.

“How you must detest me! Torturing me with such ideas!” His voice was smooth and hazy like wine, and the goblins drank it in, “And you pain me, darling– scolding me whenever I scold that kitten.”

You glared at him, causing him to gasp, laying a hand upon his chest.

“What a horrid creature you are, precious!”

Now, the goblins glared at you. They were stupidly overprotective of him, and even worse, stupidly overindulgent. Perhaps, you should’ve indulged him more, and even went to him, and sat upon his lap, but you quite liked where you were. Gathering Eloise in your arms, you cradled her to your chest, gently kissing her forehead. She protested a moment, before settling into your arms.

“We’ll get rid of that beast, your majesty!” a goblin bayed.

The small crowd nodded.

“And we’ll make that human pay!” another yowled.

“Pay! Pay!” the goblins cheered, “Make the human pay for upsetting the king!”

Outside, the once howling wind stilled. The thunder stopped, even the clouds froze. Jareth grew still now, his hands now clenching the sides of the throne. His jaw clenched, and he turned towards the goblin who tried to rally the crowd. Standing, he loomed over the tiny creature, and you couldn’t distinguish where his long, black cape ended, and where the darkness began. His features elongated, sprouting, sharpening– ears turning into sharp arrows that jutted from his wild mane of blond hair.

“What did you say?”

The sky outside broke, thunder cracking it in half, followed by a lighting flash that slashed the air. Eloise let out a whimper, burrowing into your neck, but you didn’t cower. Just like Jareth, you couldn’t help but love what you loved, and love it wholeheartedly. Though, unlike your darling, you weren’t loath to admit it.

The goblin was pinned into place by the king’s dark, deep gaze, and the fool looked at you, but you simply turned away to coo at Eloise. The creature was at the king’s mercy,now.

“B-but your majesty–” the goblin squeaked out, shaking in fear.

“But? But what?” He asked.

Jareth didn’t need to yell– his voice was all encompassing, sticking like snowflakes onto frostbitten skin. It sent a shiver down your spine, but still, to spite him, you continued to pet the kitten. Someone was clearly jealous.

“Y-you said– y-you–”

“I said? I said? You ought to focus on your own words, you spineless fool! You threatened my love. You were tempted to make my darling pay– for what? Hasn't my heart always been merciful to insignificant specks like you?”

His heels clacked against the chilled silence of the room as he descended, stopping in front of the small group. They looked towards you again. Jareth leaned down, grabbing the nearest one by the throat.

“Do not look at my love.” he seethed, “Look at your King. Look at me.”

You sighed, “Jareth.”

He turned towards you, a sneer on his lips. You simply blinked at him. The poor goblin didn't know who to be more afraid of. The Goblin King, or You, the one who didn't, couldn't, and wouldn't back down from him.

“You’ve been glowering all day.” you said, “And specifically, you’ve been glowering at your love all day, along with our kitten.”

His stiffness melted. He looked at you.

“Our kitten?” he murmured, edges melting, eyes widening.

“Our kitten,” you insisted, meeting his gaze.

The goblin was dropped like an old doll, and he tilted his head, finally noticing the frown on your lips.

“Darling,” he murmured, “Why on earth are you frowning?” “Do you want to get rid of Eloise?”

He looked at you for a moment, eyes wide, and his gaze ventured towards the kitten who now looked at him in return.

“As much as I love her, I love you too,” you said, biting down your lip, “and I want you to be happy. Not to mope all day because of a kitten.”

His heart squeezed at the sight of you. Misty eyed and so connected to the little black cloud in your arms. It’s why he loved you, really, because your love was all encompassing, because it ate him alive, and he was scared that if you loved anything else, he’d lose it.

“Oh darling,” he murmured, before coming towards you, and dropping to his knees, cradling your face, “No. You love that funny thing. And..”

“Yes?” He lowered his voice, “I have been a bit jealous.”

“Of a kitten?”

His cheeks flared. He looked away. Outside, the rumbling lowered its volume, undecided.

“Yes.”

“Jareth–”

“Please don't scold me.”

You sighed, “She's not going to replace you–”

“You did say that you'd take her over me.”

“That's true,” you said, “especially if you keep being jealous of a kitten! Or keep trying to push her away! She's our kitten, Jareth, but I wanted us to both love her, to take care of her.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you, and I wanted to share our love.”

Jareth stared at you, lips parted, revealing his sharp teeth. They caused the goblins to shudder in horror, but you simply smiled at him, reveling in his surprise. Then, his cheeks turned a pale pink, and the goblins watched in a mixture of horror and awe as Goblin King melted before you, turning into a man who sheepishly rubbed at the back of his neck.

“I think she hates me,” he admitted.

“She doesn’t hate you. She just glares at you when you glare at her. It’s what cats do!” He pouted, “You’ve been neglecting me–”

“She’s a kitten! You’re a man! I’m your lover! Or are you into incest?”

He let out a disgusted noise, “Of course not!”

“Then I'm not going to baby you like I’m your mother, Jareth! I'll take care of you like a lover. And we'll take care of Eloise together! Now hold the kitten and do some magic and give her some treats.”

“Am I doing the magic for you, or her?”

“Both.”

With that, he took the kitten into his arms, and she whined as she was separated from you. Eloise looked up at Jareth through narrowed, displeased eyes. Her tail swished angrily behind her.

“Blink slowly at her.” you whispered, now scooting beside him, and leaning onto his shoulder.

“What?” “Just do it.”

He sighed, and did as he was told.

The kitten froze, and you shifted Jareth’s arms, so she was cradled against his chest..

“Do it again.”

He did it again.

This time, Eloise settled against him, still a bit miffed, but otherwise, doing alright. Grabbing his freehand, you stripped off his glove and guided his fingers to the spot behind her ears. A grin spread across your face as she began to close her eyes.

“See?” you cooed, “You’re both exactly the same. Charming.”

His lips curled, and his smile spread as you kissed his cheek, before settling back onto his shoulder. Outside, the thunder lessened to a purr, and Eloise joined the noise, closing her eyes in contentment. You poked his side.

“Are you still jealous?”

“Me? Jealous? Of a kitten? That’s quite silly, darling.”

You raised a brow, “You’re right. You’re lucky I like silly things, aren’t you?”

“And you’re lucky I like silly things like you. Imagine babying a kitten.”

“Imagine being jealous of one and wallowing in self pity.”

He sent you a glare, making you giggle.

Finally, he did sigh, “Will you ever forgive me for being so foolish?”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, and you smiled, “If you’ll never be so foolish again. Save your jealousy for more practical occasions. Although, you won’t need to worry about anyone taking me away from you. I have everything I have here.”

You settled by his side, and he continued petting little Eloise, before kissing your forehead. Outside, the thunder finally faded, revealing the pale hazy blue of the sky. He sighed in content, and the residents of the labyrinth exhaled in relief, all except a group of goblins, who, with a snap of his fingers, were sent to live within the bog of stench. Honestly, their screams were music to his ears.

#jareth the goblin king #jareth #labyrinth 1986 #goblin king #the goblin king #goblin king x reader #my writing #fan fiction #reader insert

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katbam · 2 months ago

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Robot AU yapping edition

this is Based on USUM events because i haven't read the manga and at this point i am afraid to start 🥴

So this can be a bit ooc.I am cringe and I'm not even free

anyway just some thoughts about them they keep me sane

Faba:

🟢 Gets demoted back to being an intern and despite his attempts to hide it, has a massive crisis about it that really doesn't get better with time. Man's ego is way too big to learn something from all of this and instead he's just walking around feeling bitter and betrayed and like he deserves better.

🟢 And because he "deserves better!!11" he convinces himself that while he's doing all the humiliating intern jobs he could "borrow" aether resources for his own very important side projects

🟢 Wicke helps him with access to places, letting him borrow her card sometimes. Partly because she's convinced he'd learned his lesson and partly because she's very concerned. Being the closest thing to a friend faba has she knows how much the feeling of control matters to him, so if the man needs some time in his old office or lab to feel sane and adjust to his new position..

🟢 Faba decides his first project is going to be an assistant for efficiency reasons and not at all because he craves someone to follow his orders and give him attention.

🟢 Also thinks he's being very subtle making said assitant cater to his taste in men 100%. I'm not even sure he meant it, but somehow while working on Colress's appreance it suddenly hits him.

Colress:

🔵 The transparent parts of his body are because convincing synthetic skin costs Faba a fortune so he reluctantly had to settle for only using it on important areas.

🔵 Both the material his body's made from (something like ballistics gel) and his coat are designed to prevent overheating and it works a little too well. So he's usually very cold to the touch most of the time. Refrigerator man

🔵 Is actually the perfect assistant at first. Proving himself very useful in following Faba's lead but it doesn't take long for him to suddenly develop independent ideas and plans for their work much to Faba's disdain.

🔵 And being a machine that doesn't need sleep or to go to work, Faba simply can't catch up with him. So one day it's waking up to Colress doing stuff in HIS lab unauthorized. The next day his phone and laptop are acting all wierd. Then the next day the damned robot has modified himself with god knows what. The control is slipping away you know??

🔵 He's absolutely Fascinated by humans and by what they can achieve despite being such flawed and fragile beings. Studies Faba constantly since he's the only human interacting with him and also the perfect example of this. Faba has no idea

🔵 Has inserted himself into every single one of faba's devices. Faba has no idea 2

🔵 Has only one expression and it's :)

This is what i have so far haven't though much of the actual relationship between them which i can't wait to do!!!! If i have more thoughts i think I'll just draw them . Or try at least mdgkrk

#researchethicshipping robot AU

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08melancholie · 12 days ago

Note

reader: I want to take a nap but I’m cold

Micah: my hands are warm *puts hand on readers cheek*

reader: ooh yes they are ………… wanna take a nap with me?

and they take a nap together

honestly i saw that coat bro is OVERHEATING in that thing, he's gotta be pretty damn warm.

now imagine how nice it'd be to be wrapped up with his coat while pressed to his body.. guys.

fluff fic idea coming to me...... winks

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witchofthesouls · 1 year ago

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(Okay, a snippet of the fic idea from the ask meme Burn your sins and wash away your virtues submitted by @skyite: )

< I am my brother’s equal, child of clay and stardust. My power may have waned after the long eons of my exile, but I am still tethered to Cybertron and its children for Solus is mine and I am hers. Prima is not the only one to ordain new champions for Primus, nor are you merely one of my lineage, little far-song echo of my own brand. If I am the Breaker, then you shall be the Reaper. >

And like a lifetime before, a lifetime where June was the only survivor and a god gave her a chance to go back, even if he never told her where, nor when, nor as what, Megatronus then levied himself down and breathed fire into her face and she had no choice to inhale it all. Damn the consequences because she already made her choice. Even with a body of metal rather than flesh, June melted and warped, painted bubbling, fuel flashed to steam, and robes were eaten by flames, her optics shattered and her chest imploded as she was wreathed in the very essence of his own power.

She transcended beyond pain and agony, beyond physical sensation, and would have flown away, freed from being fettered to a body if it wasn’t for the cage of Megatronus’ hands and he plucked her away and opened his own chassis. In her newfound awareness, she saw Megatronus what he truly was as he set her upon a new pyre made of his own churning spark.

< Arise, new Prime of my own frame, and Judge wisely for you shall reshape this world as I have done. >

___________

When Soundwave looked deep into the twisting flames of Solus’ legendary Forge, all he saw was a funerary pyre and Cybertron remade in the aftermath of its ashes and fury.

___________

Soundwave woke up, gasping for air. His entire frame boiling, despite the frigid temperatures several stories beneath the surface and in the sanctum where followers give tidings and thanks to the closest approximation to Megatronus’ Shadows. He shook with uncontrollable spasms and vents wheezed as cooling systems struggled immensely with Soundwave’s entire frame overheating to extreme levels. Even his own systems were prioritizing life-support and disabling others: his vision, weapons, transformative sequences, and all communications were among the considered lower priorities.

A pair of slim servos, blessedly cold and steady, held him down and dripped fresh coolant over his frame and cold fuel into his lips until the dire warning signs downgraded enough to allow him back his own sight and voluntary movement.

When he saw Juno’s face, blackened by soot and smeared in ashes, it was Megatronus Prime's own optics -twin suns of fuchsia blazing in the dark above him.

The dream was disjointed: the massive height of Solus, Liege Maximo’s gleaming horns, Megatronus’ melting glyphs, and the living flames of the Forge’s vision, but grounded in reality was the phantom cool touch of a scythe and the sword-shuttle-needle in both his hands as well as the heavy coating of residue upon his frame and smoke in his intakes.

Face bare and in his own voice, he rasped out the very name given from the blaze-turned-firestorm:

“Hail, Nemesis Prime.”

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tetraharmonic · 1 year ago

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Rating the TriStamp Designs based on Suitability for Desert Travel

So, to give this post some context, in my character design class from two semesters ago, it was a super big thing for our professor that characters were dressed to the environment, ie hot weather causing folks to wear short-sleeved clothes, or combat focused characters dressing based on their style of combat and mobility requirements. I was doing some sketches yesterday and realized, man, some of them are actually fucked when it comes to the environment itself. And...well, here's my hotcakes.

Zazzie the Beast: 9/10

Clothing is the loosest out of the group, with the lightest over all colors. The outfit has not just one but two possible ways to cover the face, such as the mask and that scarf thingie. The main reason I'm marking the fit is for the pants, which would give them one weird sunburn. They'd also need more warmth once the suns go down.

Meryl: 8/10

Loose fitting and light clothing is a huge plus. She also has layers, allowing her to adjust better as nightfall hits. However, she has almost no face and eye protection, which would leave her with a nasty case of windburn.

Knives: 7/10

Tight fitting clothes trap the sweat against your skin, increasing the odds of overheating. His feet are also bare, so you know good and well that they're going to get roasted and burnt by the hot sand, causing blisters at best. However, having the cloak could, in theory, keep him cool during the day, and its looseness should allow for more airflow. Would've been a 6, but I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt when it comes to his skintight suit. Who knows, it could be some real damn breathable fabric.

Roberto: 7/10

Light colors, layer potential. He's doing really well in terms of clothing. However, a suit coat would absolutely be too heavy for day wear. Also, he doesn't have any sort of face, eye or ear protection, so fighting the sand would be difficult.

Legato: 7/ 10

Same thought process here as Roberto. His clothing is light on the outer layers, which could help with heat management. However, his under layers are black, which would make him feel a whole lot hotter in the case that he had to remove his jacket, which he probably will need to, because it looks thick as hell. No facial protection.

Wolfwood: 6/10

Dark clothes, not good. But they're at least pretty loose and unbuttoned quite a bit. He has eye protection in the form of sunglasses, which would help with both sand and UV protection. Loafers might be an issue, though. If he can't keep the sand out of them, he could end up with some vile blisters.

Vash: 4/10

Has eye protection. It doesn't look like it would block much sunlight, but it would help for the sand, so that's a massive boost. However, tell me that jacket isn't going to be hot as hell out there. I dare you. He's also wearing very tight-fitting black clothing, which is not going to work out too well for him. He also runs the issue of his prosthetic. There isn't any way for him to keep sand out of the joints, which will, after some time, render his prosthetic unusable or extremely uncomfortable. His undercut gives him an extra point, though, because it'd help with the weight of hair and help keep his head cool.

Livio: 3/10

Dark clothes, not very lose. No eye protection. He'd be absolutely fucked. Keeping his hair out of his eyes will provide a slight advantage when it comes to seeing things, but it's completely irrelevant when compared to the horrible sun exhaustion this poor man is going to face. And he's got a turtle neck so he's just going to have more sweat trapped close to his body with nowhere for all of that to go. Dehydration and heat management would be a horrible issue for him, besides the fact that the metal thing on his face would heat up from the sunlight and begin to scorch his skin or even blind him. His outfit when he was young would've been fantastic, if his shorts were longer, but, yknow, three layers of black suits.... Poor dude. Someone get this man a kool-aid pouch.

Thats all for now folks. Enjoy!

#might do a redesign based on my research #rambles #trigun #tristamp #trigun stampede #tetraharmonic #knives trigun #legato trigun #zazie trigun #roberto trigun #meryl trigun #vash tristamp #wolfwood tristamp

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downrightembarassing · 2 years ago

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Salt

I started this when it was 105 out and all I could focus on what how gross it felt. Now it’s winter. Enjoy.

Cad Bane x dear reader, 18++++, NSFW, swearing, alien anatomy, alcohol use, M/F, yeah I didn’t proofread, Cad’s an ass and I’ll stand by that, kinda gross but what else do you expect from me

Inspo from a wonderful piece of art by @deepbluespace4 (definitely don’t read this if it’s not your thing, no worries) and of course anatomy inspo from @sinisterexaggerator

———————————————————————————

It’s hot. Way too hot. Thank kind of heat that permeates everything, sucks your energy dry, and leaves you repulsed by your own flesh.

Sweat drips from your hairline, down your neck, to tickle down your back before absorbing into the tight tank top or continuing further to soak into the top of your cotton underwear. The thin shirt, barely there shorts, hair up in a messy bun, anything to take advantage of air movement to cool your overheated skin.

…if there was any air movement, a breeze would be too much to ask for on this god forsaken rock you found yourself on. The water bottle is empty again, you really should get up a refill it…for the fourth time, and it’s not yet halfway through this planet’s day cycle. With a curse you leverage yourself up from your position by the ship’s open cargo doors. You had settled there at sunrise, attempting to take advantage of the desert morning chill, but the doors had opened with a blast of hot air accompanying the rising suns. Grumbling to yourself you refill the bottle and grimace as warm water slides down your throat.

That damn bounty hunter said this was a quick stop, so where the hell is he?

Resettling yourself at the doors, your mind drifts. Cad Bane, you had heard of him before, but it was a surprise when he contacted you for help on a job. Sure, you are an accomplished thief but no where near as notorious as the blue Duros. Once he explained his plan it made sense to bring along someone with your skill set, and the amount of credits he had offered bordered on obscene.

So here you sit, sweating on this blast furnace of a planet, waiting for Bane to return. He had mentioned meeting up with an informant early this morning before swinging a long leg over his speeder and disappearing into the haze.

You spread your legs further apart and lean back, attempting to minimize skin on skin contact and the feel of your sweat soaked limbs sliding across each other. Nothing seems to help, not even that trip to the refresher earlier. As soon as you had stepped out to dry yourself perspiration broke out all over your body, mixing with the water to leave trails down your skin.

Everything is just hot, sticky, and gross. The taste of salt from your sweat has become a constant companion, lingering around every sip of water. Idly you wonder if Bane would react if you just stripped down to your thong and spread yourself out on the durasteel floor of his ship. A small giggle escapes you, that might get a reaction from the stoic hunter. He had been professional, bordering on cold, since he hired you and seemed to ignore your presence on his ship.

——-

Another hour ticks by before you see the telltale dust from a speeder in the distance. Finally, the hunter is coming back and you can escape to the cool depths of space. Rousing yourself from your seat, you glance back and are disgusted at the moist imprint of your thighs on the floor.

Cad Bane parks his speeder and steps through the open cargo doors, pausing as he adjusts to the dimmer light. He is all hard planes and angles, lean limbs wrapped in a massive trench coat, and those searing red eyes contained under a broad brimmed bolero. One large hand reaches into his jacket, pulls out a bottle, and tosses it to you.

Reflexively you catch it. It’s cold to the touch, spare chips of ice clinging to the base. Immediately you press the cool glass to your overheated cheek.

“What’s this?”

The blue Duros pulls an identical bottle out and cracks the lid. “It’s da local hooch, figured ya needed a cool down since we’re stuck on dis planet fer another day.”

“Fucking wonderful.” You mumble, closing your eyes and soaking in the chill of the bottle before it warms. Condensation drips down to the base, falls to your chest and runs down the swell of your cleavage. You can feel the slightly cooler trails of water as they wind tracks through the salt on your skin.

——-

Bane freezes, the bottle halfway to his hairline lips. He watches the trail of moisture slowly slide down her chest, making patterns on her sweat slicked flesh.

Her attire is a pleasant change from her normal garb. The tiny bottoms, barely there top, hair up exposing her sweet neck…so different from the loose pants and sweaters she normally wears around the ship.

He can see so much of the smooth, pliant skin slick with moisture.

He can sense the heat radiating off her body.

He can smell the salt.

Hiring the little mammal worked well with this job, and he was pleasantly surprised to find her mostly naked back at his ship, almost glowing with radiance. Guess leaving the AC off to save energy had other perks.

With a slight sneer he takes a swig of the hooch. It’s passable, not the worst he’s had.

A harsh cough echos around the room, followed by a groan. She’s finally tried her drink.

“What the hell is this stuff? It tastes like shit!”

Bane’s sneer shifts into a smirk as he replies. “Best dis skughole can offer I’m afraid.”

He watches her grimace and take another swig.

——-

As repulsive as the alcohol is, it’s helping. The day continues to heat up, but you’re able to focus on your growing buzz. The bounty hunter has even loosened up, and the two of you swapped stories for a bit before a comfortable silence grew.

With a groan you stretch your shoulders and eye the Duros. Sweat continues to soak through your clothing, as you spread yourself out on the floor. Legs wide, torso propped up by an elbow, and the now warm bottle casually held in your hand. Between the heat, the salt crusting your shirt, and the alcohol in your bloodstream you’re ready to strip. Professionalism be damned.

“How are you sitting there in a damn leather trench coat?!” You moan. “I’d have passed out by now.”

Bane idly swirls the dregs in his bottle. “Duros are cold blooded sugar, I don’ regulate heat like ya’ warm bloods.”

“I feel so damn gross!” You groan “Duros don’t sweat either?”

He takes a sip. “Dis’ temps just fine by me, and nah darlin’. None of that secretin’ stuff.”

“Lucky, I just want to peel everything off.” you whine back, pulling your shirt away from your overheated skin.

The bounty hunter arches a brow ridge at you. “Don’ stop on my account.”

You shoot the Bane a mildly surprised glance. Is this a courtesy or something more?

Whatever it is, it’s too hot to care at the moment. With a sigh you peel off your soaked shirt, no response from the Duros, and with the liquid courage in your system you lift your hips to pull down the cotton shorts.

It’s not any cooler in your breast band and skimpy thong, but at least there’s less fabric clinging to your body. Leaning back you take another sip of your drink.

It’s terrible…and warm now, but focusing on that helps you ignore the sweat trickling down your limbs.

Spread your legs a little wider, lean back a little further, rest your head on the durasteel. The Duros doesn’t care anyway.

——-

The Duros in question watches the human strip.

Watches her peel the clothing from her warm body.

Watches her spread herself across the floor of his ship.

He sees the sunlight dapple across the sheen of moisture. She’s soaked in it. The reflections bead along her skin, trailing into the curves of her body.

He can almost smell the warmth…can definitely smell the salt.

She arches an eyebrow at him.

“Like what you see Cowboy?”

He grins at her, baring all the fangs his heritage graced him with.

“Careful sugar, don’ wanna get dis ol’ hunter excited.”

She laughs and stretches. Again he watches the play of light across her slick skin.

“Yeah right.” She scoffs “It’s so disgusting out. I can’t even imagine how gross sex would be.”

To prove her point she rolls to the side, intending to show him the damp patch of floor under her body, but all Bane sees is the thick flesh of her ass barely contained in her tiny underwear…the sweat dripping down to soak the fabric.

A quiet rattle emits from his chest, deep and feral. Just a small vibration, a warning she misses.

——-

You roll back over and meet the scorching red gaze of the bounty hunter. His eyes roam across your exposed form and his fingers twitch.

Huh. Guess the notorious Cad Bane might be interested in something besides credits.

In an alcohol induced rush of confidence (and a move you probably will end up regretting later) you arch your back, teasing the hunter just a little…tiny…bit more.

You smirk at him. “It’s still too hot to do any of the things you’re thinking of buddy.”

“Don’ be so sure sugar…”

A short bark of laughter bursts from you. Sliding a hand through the pooling sweat on your abdomen, you offer it to the Duros. “See this? It’s gross. I don’t want to touch myself right now, let alone touch anything else.”

Those fathomless deep red eyes go slightly unfocused. He inhales deeply and his thin lips pull back, exposing a mouth full of predatory canines.

Your body tenses. Through your slightly buzzed haze you realized you might have pushed him just a little…too…..far.

——-

Watching her run those sweet little fingers along her body, sliding across the slick heat of her skin…well enough’s enough. The cocky little mammal is going to learn a lesson about teasing a hunter.

When her body tenses he moves. She barely has time to squeak before he is on her. From her relaxed slouch half leaned against the wall he contorts her body into a position to please himself.

Pressed against the wall, both forearms tacked above her head in a bruising left handed grip, him on his knees, legs spread above her hips while he forces her head to the side. The Duros leans in, breath brushing her ear. A tiny tremor travels down her body and his lips break into a cruel smirk. “Itssa’ bad idea ta tease li’l lady.”

Finally he bends his head to her neck and takes his first taste. One long lick, from her shoulder to just behind her ear. The tang of salt and heat fills his mouth as he almost delicately scrapes his teeth along the column of her throat.

A breathy whimper escapes as her lips part.

Cad Bane grins wider and continues.

——-

It all happened so fast. One moment you’re laying in a puddle of your own sweat and the next you’re pinned to a wall panting as Bane devours your body.

You should have stopped him, told him no. This is definitely a bad idea. But as soon as his tongue traced up your neck, tasting salt from your shoulder to your hairline, you moaned and tilted your head for easier access. His tongue was…cold? Cooler than your flushed skin and it felt divine.

His massive blue hands roam across your skin, dragging patterns through the sheen on your body. Every pass cools a little of the heat outside you and stokes more heat inside you. At some point he’s unwound your breastband and now he’s palming a breast when leaning in to take your nipple into his mouth. At the first touch of his cooler lips you moan and arch, forcing more flesh into his mouth.

Right. Cold blooded.

Sharp canines nip and tug at your skin, sending little shivers of pain through you as he sucks. The hand not pinning your wrists moves down to fondle your remaining nipple and the chill of his touch has both peaking.

He continues his exploring, tasting, absolutely consuming every inch of skin he can reach. It reminds you less of foreplay and more of a predator deciding if a meal is worth the effort. A shiver of fear creeps down your spine, adding to the arousal building in your core.

Massive blue hands slip slide across your torso, down your back, over your thighs as his mouth continues to abuse your chest. With you legs half bent you can feel moisture trickling down from behind your knees, over your calves, to drip on to the floor. It’s distracting…it’s disgusting.

You manage to find your voice and gasp out “Bane!”

He ignores you and continues his explorations. His hands move lower and lower, sending little flickers of arousal to your core. But your mind is focused on how gross you feel, slipping in your own pooling sweat.

You try again. “Dammit Bane, it’s too…fuck…too hot. Later, we can do this la……FUCK.”

During your tirade the bounty hunter sinks one long, knobby finger into your tight cunt and begins to slowly pump. Subconsciously you tilt your hips, allowing him better access to fuck you on his fingers.

“Not so bad now issit.”

He’s finally lifted his face from your chest. He might not sweat, but the secretions pouring off your body have done enough. His face, from nose plate to chin is wet. It’s dampened the edges of his body suit where he’d rubbed himself against your dripping flesh.

Gasping slightly, you open your mouth to respond. The sight is vile, the salt and moisture coating you both shines on his strange skin. Instead your breath hitches as the Duros inserts another long finger and begins working your body closer and closer to climax, ignoring the fluids covering his face and hands. Your retort dissolves into a high pitched whine.

It feels too good. His long digits, almost twice the size of your own, reach deeper into you than you previously thought possible. He’s curled them slightly and every pump presses against a spot that sends white hot sparks up your spine. He releases your wrists to trace the lines of sweat down your abdomen before pressing firmly just above your pelvis.

You cry out, a sharp surprised noise of pleasure. His hand thrusting into your cunt increases it’s pace, pounding into you as your eyes roll back and you surrender to the sensations he’s pulling from your body.

He watches you closely, watches as you tense, breathing sharpens, eyes wind shut in preparation for your climax. It’s so close, one more pound into that delicious bed of nerves…..

He stops completely, quickly removing those mild melting digits from your throbbing cunt.

Your eyes snap open, slurring out a needy sound of denial.

“Patience li’l lady, had ta get ‘cha ready fer a Duros.” He leans back and straightens his bent form.

He’s still straddling your hips as he begins to strip. Layers of leather, metal, and fabric are cast aside quickly, with a few droplets of your sweat flung around the room. With a final smug look he hooks his thumbs around the waistband of his trousers and, with a surprising amount of showmanship, frees his alien anatomy.

Your brain stutters. There’s two ridged cocks, stacked on top of one another, with copious amounts of slick leaking from the deeper blue tips. They are inches from your lips. On a whim you learn forward and swipe your tongue across a tip. It’s salty…like everything else.

Bane emits a rattle, it’s dangerously close to a purr. Your cunt throbs in anticipation.

“Turn ‘round.”

Slithering your legs through the puddle of sweat you comply. He doesn’t move, knees wide and gaze burning as he watches you present yourself. Peeking back you see one massive hand stroking his twin length, slicking himself while he watches you struggle on the slippery floor.

It’s almost gentle, the way he caresses the meat of your ass while lining himself up, tracing the moisture that beads across your flesh. Both heads probe your entrance, pressed together by his other massive hand.

Slowly, oh so slowly, you feel the deep ache as he splits you open. The stretch is incredible, mind numbing, as the pressure mounts the deeper he goes. Shivers begin to build, mouth hanging slack, while the hunter slides in.

Not soon enough, way too soon his hips press in to you. The spread in your core is incredible, every nerve ending alight with stimulation. He pulls back slightly and slams back in.

White flashes at the edge of your vision. A hand slips in the puddle, and you roughly fall to your forearms. The hunter continues.

———

The sounds echoing through the ship are obscene, wet flesh against wet flesh as the Duros pounds his lean hips against your ass. His hands crawl across your body, gripping tight enough to bruise to keep from slipping in your sweat. One large hand slides up your back, tangles in your hair, and pulls.

The effect is electric, pleasure hums down your curved spine as you’re pressed closer to his lean frame and his cocks press new nerve endings. Moisture pools between you as his chest slides back and forth along your back. You can feel every scrape on your skin from his fangs as the salt is pressed in.

The adjustment in position drives him deeper into your wet heat and you cry out, gasping as each hard thrust pushes you closer to euphoria. His grip on your hip tightens, grabbing muscle and fat without any care for the marks he’s leaving. Even with his brutal grip his hands struggle for purchase on your soaked and dripping skin.

Sweat runs down your forehead, into your eyes, and you shut them tight against the sting.

Your back arches further.

He winds you up tighter.

He rasps into the skin of your shoulder “Gonna fill ya up sugar” before clamping his teeth into the soft skin where neck meets shoulder. You feel the pain of his canines piercing your skin, the sharp bite of the salt seeping into the wounds.

With his words the rhythm changes, you feel him harden. The stretch of two sends you over the edge, cunt clenching as your climax rips through you mercilessly. The peak is vicious and dirty, magnified by the denial earlier, and pleasure floods your body. Screaming out your euphoria, nails scraping against the floor, your mind blanks as the space between your bodies floods with heat.

The Duros’ lean hips stutter, rhythm breaking completely as your walls pulse around his lengths. Teeth still buried in your shoulder, he groans and hilts, filling you up with his cooler release. Unconsciously you shiver as it leaks out around the base.

——-

You lie there in a tangle of limbs, some of them yours, some of them his. It doesn’t matter what leg belongs to who, your sweat coats everything. Even the smallest movement slicks more moisture between your entwined bodies.

“Fucking hell….dammit. I told you this was a bad idea.” You moan. The aftershocks of your climax fade and revulsion replaces its glow. Everything…just EVERYTHING is hot, slick, and sticky. It’s the most gross you’ve ever felt, his release dripping down your thighs to mix with your own twining through your sweat. There’s no escaping it, heat and moisture and salt feel like they’ve permeated down to your very bones.

“Dat’s right, thanks for da reminder doll.” he rasps, as the Duros gropes for one of his wrist gauntlets. He’s still buried to the hilt in your spread, oversensitive sex and you grunt slightly at the movement. One dexterous finger, still wet from your body, presses a control key at the base of the gauntlet leaving a halo of moisture on the device.

Immediately a solenoid clicks somewhere deep in the ship, and a blessedly cool (if somewhat stale) draft runs across your overheated skin. Goosebumps prickle across your entire naked body.

Bane adjusts his arms, preparing to pull his rapidly softening members out of you.

Oh hell no. You grab his forearm, fingers gripping tight in disbelief.

“Your ship has AC?!” You’re voice cracks in surprise and rapidly building anger. “You have AC and you didn’t….all fucking day I was here…..what the FUCK Bane?!”

He spares a glance down at you, noticing the rapid cooling of your flushed skin. A smug smile crawls across his face.

“It was a damn good way ta get’cha naked,” he shrugs, “anyway runnin’ it’a waste a fuel.”

#I’m so sick of fiddling with this #so here you go #cad bane x reader #writing

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middleearthpixie · 2 years ago

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Wanted Man ~ Chapter Four

Summary: A price on his head, Loki of Asgard finds himself stranded on Earth and in need of one woman's help in order to free himself from the bounty and try to reclaim what he sees as his rightful throne in Asgard.

McKenna Carlin just wanted to put a horrible day behind her. She had no idea that things would get worse before they get better…

Pairings: Loki Laufeyson x ofc McKenna Carlin

Characters:McKenna, Loki

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.2k

Tag List: @fizzyxcustard @court-jobi @guardianofrivendell @piggledy-higgledy @evenstaredits

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here!

The first pale rays of sunlight had just begun sneaking in through the slits in the curtains when McKenna opened her eyes and stretched. Cinder was long gone, no doubt curled up on the sofa or under the coffee table.

The sofa.

She frowned as she stared up at the ceiling. In the far corner, by her closet, a dark water stain made a yellowish mark that bled through no matter how many coats of paint she applied. But that wasn’t what had her frowning.

Did she dream everything that happened last night?

It would make sense. Since really, why would some Asgardian god crash land in her apartment and ask to bunk with her for a while? It was silly. Her mother always chided her for her vivid imagination, for seeing things that really weren’t there, no matter how much she insisted otherwise.

So that had to be what happened. She went for a run. Overheated herself. Came home and didn’t have time to eat, so when she fell asleep, her imagination went into overdrive. That explained everything. Besides, gods didn’t come to Earth in real life. That only happened in books and movies.

She threw back the covers and got up. “Coffee. I need coffee. Then everything will be right in the world.”

Yawning, she padded down the hallway, and came to a dead stop at the kitchen.

Loki was sound asleep on the sofa, with Cinder curled up on him as if he belonged there.

“Damn.” She sagged against the doorway and rubbed her eyes to make sure she was really and honestly awake. When she finished, and the Asgardian was still on her sofa, she swore under her breath. “I need more than coffee.”

He looked very comfortable, even with a twenty-pound bag of gray fur sound asleep on him, and not quite as pale as he had in the darkness last night. But, in the daylight, the fading bruises and cuts in various stages of healing on his face were much more visible. The Hulk certainly had done a number on him.

McKenna glanced up at the ceiling just above the front door, where she suspected Loki fell through. “I just hope no one else does the same,” she muttered, shaking her head as she continued into the kitchen.

At the coffeepot, she frowned. Did Asgardians drink coffee? Should she wake Loki and ask him? And really, was it a good idea to wake any sleeping god, never mind the sleeping god of mischief?

Probably not.

But…

“You’ve lost it,” she muttered, slapping her hand to her forehead. “Just make enough damn coffee and if he wants it, he’s welcome to it.”

So, she scooped coffee into the filter, added water, and pressed the switch and a few minutes later, the heavenly aroma of fresh coffee filled the kitchen. She poured herself a mug, doctored it with half-and-half and two sugars, and went to see if the paper had been delivered.

The door no longer glowed green, but she paused before touching the doorknob. What would happen if she breached the green glow? Would she be blown back into the room? Or would she be vaporized on contact?

Cinder hopped off his bed and curled his way about her ankles, his motor running like mad. He was ready for his breakfast. If she was going to test the fates, she’d better just get it over with and touch the damn door handle already.

One… two… three…

Nothing happened.

The door opened easily and the paper was right where it should be, on the small welcome mat. She picked it up and closed the door before Cinder could make a break for it, and the cat purred his way behind her as she went back into the kitchen.

She sipped her coffee and skimmed the front page. The usual depressing news. War. Suicide bombings. Shootings. Gang violence. Usually she skipped the front section and went to the comics first. Made the crappy news so much more bearable.

But an item on the inside of the front page caught her eye. There was a small blurb about a meteorite that hit somewhere in Brunswick. No one was entirely sure how large a meteor, or where it landed, but they all knew it definitely hit.

“I’d say it was about six foot, maybe six-two,” she muttered, sipping from the mug. “With black hair and dressed like a refugee from ‘Rock of Ages.’ And it landed in my living room.”

She was halfway through the rest of the paper when the floor creaked and Loki sniffed his way into the kitchen. “What smells so good?”

“Coffee. Mugs are in the cabinet to the left of the sink. Sugar’s next to the pot. Half and half is in the fridge. Help yourself.”

She peered over the edge of the newspaper, smiling at the sight of the all-powerful god rubbing sleep from his eyes with one hand while he reached into the mug cabinet with the other. His dark hair was tangled and tossed from sleep, not nearly as smooth as it had been the night before but far wavier.

“How did you sleep?” she asked, taking in the creased, wrinkled leather getup he wore. Sleeping in leather couldn’t have been comfortable, no matter how cool the apartment was.

“The sleep of the dead,” he replied, taking down the biggest mug she owned. It could easily hold half the pot and she rarely drank from it, unless it was Cup of Soup and she was sick.

“Really? You didn’t sweat too badly?”

“Why would I?” He moved to the coffeepot and she tried not to wince as he proceeded to empty the pot into it.

“Because that’s leather.” She pointed to him, gesturing from top to bottom. “And it can’t be comfortable.”

“I was fine and I thank you for the blanket.” He joined her at the table, sitting across from her and took a tentative sip. His nose wrinkled. “Bitter.”

“Try some sugar. Or some half-and-half. Or both, if you’re feeling squirrelly.” She closed the sports section and held it out. “Do you want this?”

He lowered the cup. “Why would I? Your sports don’t interest me.”

“Really? Just wait. If you stick around for football season, you might change your mind.”

“I doubt it.” He took another swallow and winced again. “Where did you say the sugar was?”

McKenna sighed as she got up to retrieve the sugar, the carton of half-and-half, and a spoon. “Here, but don’t go crazy. Too sweet isn’t any better. And I’m sorry. I don’t really make great coffee. I keep meaning to get a Keurig, but just never seem to have the extra cash lying around, you know.”

“A Keurig?” He dumped a teaspoon of sugar into the cup, added a splash of half-and-half, and stirred.

“You know, a single-serve coffeemaker. You buy coffee in little pods and it brews one cup at a time. Just the right coffee-water ratio.” She switched off the coffeepot and pulled out the gold filter to dump the grounds in the trash. As a fresh pot brewed, she turned back to him, leaning against the counter. “How long do you think you’re going to need my help?”

“I don’t know.” He took another tentative sip and this time, smiled. “I like this.”

“Well, what did you do? I mean, aside from destroying half of New York, that is? I mean, that was probably enough to begin with, but was there anything else?”

He sat back in his chair and gave her a long, if sleepy-eyed, look. The bruises looked a little more faded than they had last night—now they had a faint yellowish tinge to them as well. “I made a bargain that, in hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have done. And now—”

“It’s time to pay the piper?”

“There was no piper involved.”

“No, it’s just a saying. You know, the bill came due. Time to face the music. Pay up.” She shook her head as he just stared at her. “Do any of those make sense to you?”

“No.”

“I mean, you’re regretting making the deal because you owe someone something and they aren’t too shy about demanding it, right?”

“Something like that, yes.” He lifted the cup to his lips for another swallow.

“And all I have to do is let you sleep on my sofa for a while.”

“That’s it.”

“And they won’t come looking for you here?”

“How would they know where to find me?”

“Well, someone knows you’re here. Sort of. I mean, they just don’t know it’s you, or else I’m pretty sure someone would be knocking my door down to get to you, but they know something weird crash landed around her last night.” She walked back to the table and opened the front section of the newspaper to show him the snippet about the meteorite. “They think you’re a space rock, though.”

His slight smile faded as he read the article, but when he looked up, he still didn’t seem all that concerned. “I highly doubt the Chitauri are reading any Midgardian newspapers.”

“The Chitauri?” She sank into her chair and reached for her cup. “That’s who’s after you? Who are they?”

“No one you need concern yourself with.” He lifted the front section and turned the page.

At first, it annoyed her that he wouldn’t tell her, but as she watched him peruse the rest of the paper, she realized it was probably for the best. The less she knew, the happier she’d be. At least, she hoped that was how it would work.

The silence that descended was a somewhat comfortable one. The paper crinkled when he turned a page, the coffeepot beeped to let them both know it was done brewing, and she studied him as he kept his head bent over the news.

Finally, she broke the silence. “If you’re going to stay here, we need to find you something other than that to wear and getting that—” she gestured to his clothes—“cleaned will probably cost a fortune.” She leaned forward and squinted. “Is that gold?”

“I am a king,” he told her. “Or, I was, anyway. And I will be again.”

“Somehow, I think we’re going to have problems finding a dry cleaner who specializes in leather and gold.”

“Don’t you have a laundress?”

“Yeah. Me. I’m the laundress and I take leather to the dry cleaner.” She finished her coffee and moved to pour another cup. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Then you need to change into something a little less… conspicuous. I used up the last of the eggs yesterday, so if you want to eat, we have to go out.”

“Perhaps you didn’t notice, but I didn’t exactly land with a change of clothes.”

“I might have something that will fit you. Come on.”

He followed her down the hallway to her room, where she pushed open the door and said, “Don’t judge me by the mess. It’s been a long week.”

He smiled as he crossed the threshold. “It goes a little beyond mess.”

“I told you not to judge.” She winced as she looked around at the pile of clothes almost spilling out of the laundry basket on the floor by the dresser, and the stack of clean clothes on the vanity bench still waiting to be put away. Of course, it had to be a pile of underwear and bras right there on top.

Her hopes that maybe he wouldn’t notice—or if he did, that he’d have no idea what it was he looked at—were dashed as he turned to her with a grin. “Lace. I’d never have guessed.”

“Yeah, well… I’m full of surprises that way.” Shut up! She had to fight to keep from doing a face palm as she scooped up the offending lacy things and shoved them in her already overcrowded underwear drawer. It took three tries to get the drawer shut, and when she turned back, his grin had morphed into a full-on smile.

She cleared her throat. “Over here.” She walked over to the low dresser across from hers and pulled open the top drawer. There wasn’t much in it, a few pairs of old, faded Levis. A pair of socks. A couple of faded tee shirts. “Um… I don’t have any guy underwear. You’re on your own for that. We can go shopping after breakfast, I guess.

“But, for now,” she yanked out a pair of jeans worn to velvety softness and the least faded tee shirt she could find, “these should fit you. You look like you’re about the same size as Joe.”

“Joe?” He took the clothes. “Who’s Joe?”

“He was my boyfriend. Now he’s just someone I used to know.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “You can get dressed in the bathroom down the hall. I’m just going to jump into the shower here and then we can go.”

He looked at the pile of clothes and then up at her. “Thank you.”

She hadn’t expected thanks, not when he seemed so arrogant at first. But perhaps there was a little more to him than met the eye. “You’re welcome.”

He left and she closed the door and locked it, then padded into the bathroom to start the shower. When the water was hot enough, she climbed in and groaned with appreciation as the hot water washed away the last of the sleep.

“Where might I find a towel?”

McKenna froze, mid-shampoo, as the steam carried Loki's voice into the shower. What the—? She stuck her face into the spray to blast any shampoo from her eyes. “How did you get in here?”

“Through the door.”

“I locked it.”

He chuckled. “I know, but I needed a towel. And I might find one where?”

“Are you kidding?” The shower curtain wasn’t exactly clear, but wasn’t opaque enough for her liking as she poked her head around it. “Get out!”

“I will. If you’ll tell me—”

She pointed to the organizer. “Take your towel and go away. Now.”

His grin brought heat to her face that had nothing to do with the water temperature and she had the sickening feeling the curtain wasn't opaque at all to him. Furiously she rinsed and conditioned and finished her shower in record time, and then wrapped herself in a bath sheet and stormed her way into the main bathroom.

It was like walking into a rainforest. The steam was so thick, she could only barely make out the fixtures and shower, and it made the air almost unbreathable. Loki stood at the sink, squinting at the rapidly fogging mirror, and he slowly peered at her over one shoulder as she marched over to thrust her hand into the shower. The water was scalding. He ran only the hot tap.

The tap squeaked as she turned it off. “We need to set some ground rules here.”

“Midgardian fashion is interesting,” he replied, giving her a slow up and down perusal. “I think I like it.”

“Very funny.” She tightened her grip on the bath sheet. Just in case. “One, if a door is locked, you don’t use magic to open it. I locked it for a reason. Two; I pay for water, so don’t waste it. And three, for the love of God, are you trying to scald the skin from your back? Use the cold water as well. And turn it off when you’re finished.”

“Do you have more of that ibuprofen?” he asked.

She just stared at him for a moment. “That’s all you have to say?”

“I agree to all of your ground rules. Although, you have nothing to fear. I only saw your silhouette.” As she breathed a sigh of relief, he added, “And it was lovely.”

“Argh.” She glared at him. “And you’ll forget what you saw. Got it?”

“Of course.”

He said it with a smirk, and she didn’t believe him for a moment. “There’s some in the medicine cabinet. Do you need me to open it for you?”

“I think I might manage on my own, now that I know about childproof caps.”

“Good. Hurry up. I’m starving.”

With that, she left him to his shower, although she did debate about walking in on him. Fair was fair, wasn’t it? She even went so far as to try the doorknob, but he was a quick study. The door was locked.

Of course it was. She went back to get dressed in jean shorts and a New York Yankees baseball tee shirt with three-quarter length sleeves. She blasted her hair with the dryer, and then pulled the mess up into a ponytail. A little makeup and she was ready to greet the world.

As she passed the bathroom in the hallway, the door opened and Loki stepped out in a billow of fog. He blocked her. “What form of torture is this?” he demanded with a scowl.

This was the fly of the jeans and she swallowed hard, both trying not to laugh at his look of outrage and not to faint at the sight of him, shirtless, in the jeans. Not easy. Not easy at all. After all, he was a god.

“Sorry. I thought… Just be careful of the zipper. And go slow. I cannot emphasize that enough. Slow.”

“Are they supposed to be this tight?” He took a couple of awkward steps away from her.

Oh. Dear. God. The Levis looked just as impressive going. “They should loosen up a little as you move around. We can look for new jeans for you as well.”

“Jeans.” He fidgeted with the waistband, grimacing as he turned and strolled toward her. “I don’t think I like them much.”

“Give them a chance. They’re one of the best things about Earth.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

She looked up at him. Damn, she hadn’t realized how gorgeous he was, and the leather and gold outfit absolute hid his amazing physique all too well. Gods apparently stayed in great shape. Bands of muscle roped his upper arms, across his shoulders, and she could probably scrub her laundry on his abs. Not good. Not good at all.

His hair dripped onto the towel he had draped about his shoulders. His amazingly broad shoulders—stop it!

The tee shirt she’d given him lay folded on the vanity, and she reached around him to snatch it up and thrust it at him. “We need to go before I pass out from hunger.”

He offered up a curious look, but tossed the towel aside and tugged on the tee shirt, which fit him as perfectly as the jeans. And she thought he’d blend in with everyone else. Not likely. Women at least would notice him everywhere they went.

Tall. Dark. Handsome.

Damn.

“We should go,” she said, her mouth strangely dry. “Now.”

“As you wish. Lead the way.”

She threw down some dry food for Cinder, made sure his water bowl was full, grabbed her purse from the kitchen table, and then swiped up her keys from the small dish on the table just inside the front door.

#Loki #Loki Fanfic #Loki x ofc #Tom Hiddleston #Thor #Romance #Is it hot in here?#Jersey girl #Marvel #Marvel fanfic

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banannabethchase · 2 years ago

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Matt meets up with a possible client at his Christmas Tree farm on a cold January day. He'll beat the storm to get home on time. Or will he get stuck in a Hallmark movie?

This started by me and Sarah cracking jokes about Matt being Adam's sugar daddy back in the ROH days and him buying Adam a chainsaw, and then it spiraled and this...happened? I dunno it's 98% tropes and 2% Matt saying the word Lumberjack in the horniest voice ever. Enjoy.

Mini playlist (it's a Hallmark style fic, I'm giving it a Hallmark style playlist): Last First Kiss - One Direction You and Me - Lifehouse Everytime We Touch (Yanou's Candlelight Mix) - Cascada Wait a Minute - Sub-Radio

Matt adjusts his tie as he parks, the lack of traffic causing him to be over half an hour early. The charming office is surrounded by stumps and smaller pine trees, and it’s easy to imagine what it would have looked like a month or two ago: Page’s Tree Farm, full of pine trees the perfect height to settle in the living room for the holidays. Truly, the place is as quaint as he could have possibly imagined. Matt makes sure his car’s windows are rolled up and wraps his coat tightly around himself. The forecast said the storm was going to be big, but he’s lived in the Midwest for almost a year now. Sure, California doesn’t see any snow, but he saw some back in March of the previous year. He’ll be out of here before it even starts.

He walks up the path, but the door to the shop and office area appears closed. He pulls on it – locked.

“Damn it,” he mutters, adjusting his scarf up around his ears. The temperature is dropping faster than he expected. “Mr. Page?” he calls, peeking around the sides of the small building. “Mr. Page? Anybody?”

The sun disappears behind thick, grey clouds, and Matt makes his way around the sides of the office to see an open path. He’s torn between deciding if it’s a creepy murder path or a charming woodland paradise. For his own peace of mind, he decides on the latter.

As he steps over a few snow piles, he hears some sort of rhythmic thudding from the woods, and he follows it. “Mr. Page?”

The thudding continues, and Matt reaches a clearing in the area. And feels his entire brain short circuit and fall out of his ass. Matt stares as Mr. Page – it’s gotta be him, Matt recognizes those curls from the photo on the website – swings an axe up and crushes it down on a felled, dry, Christmas tree, cutting clean through it. Like it’s nothing.

Matt is suddenly incredibly overheated in his peacoat, dress pants way too fucking tight. He needs to say something. Needs to call out to him. It’s only polite to announce your presence, right? His mother would be so disappointed. He just stares. Not a single hello or how are you. He’s a sham of a good California boy.

He’s finally jolted out of it when Page lets out this incredible grunt – manful is the only word Matt can come up with to describe it – as he swings down on the thickest part of the trunk.

Stupid tight work pants, but also thank god for the tight work pants.

Matt clears his throat. “Excuse me.”

Mr. Page finally looks up, tossing the blonde curls over his head like a damned swimsuit model in plaid and jeans. “Oh!” He lights up, smile on his face. “Hi. Sorry, didn’t see you there. Are you Mr. Jackson?”

Matt nods, and deliberately doesn’t add, if you’re nasty, because he’s a good man on a business trip and whatever the eff is going on in his pants is completely external to this situation. “Glad to finally meet you in person.” He walks over to Page, sticks out his hand. “You can call me Matt.”

“Matt,” he says, and the goddamn lumberjack of a man has a lumberjack of a handshake, too. His hands are big. Matt is screwed, and not in the way he wants. “You can call me Adam.” He gestures to the stacks of cut wood all around him. “As you can see, I’m in desperate need of your services.”

Matt lets out the most pathetic little whine at the back of his throat, because God and everyone else is trying to kill him right now. “Yeah. I, uh. Chainsaws and other tools.” Matt winces. He’s not making it any easier on himself. “That’s my specialty.” He’s okay with dying now. He’s supposed to be the put together adult here. He’s got years of experience selling things people don’t need, brokering deals with bigger companies to get their investments without losing his and Nick’s majority share of the company. He’s convinced big shot lumber companies to choose his product over that of the leading major business.

And here he is, pitching half a tent in his nicest suit pants over a guy who looks like he could carry him bridal style into a firelit log cabin and fuck him within an inch of sanity. He’s a terrible businessman.

“Perfect,” Adam says. Even his smile is sexy. This doesn’t feel fair. “I got a good group of people working for me, see, but it’s a small town, and they, uh. They’re all characters.” Adam laughs, running a hand through his hair, pushing the few curls that had fallen to across his eyes out of his face. “We’ve busted eight chainsaws in a season. Which is quadruple what I’m used to breaking in a full year.” Matt winces, and he hopes it looks sympathetic. “So I’m looking to invest in a relatively large order.”

Matt nods, back in his game. “Right. And we at Jackson and Jackson are happy to provide you a bulk discount.” He smiles. “We’re always glad to be chosen over the big chains.”

“Well, I sure as hell wasn’t going to Home Depot,” Adam says, laughing. Matt puts that detail in his back pocket. “Plus, small businesses have to support each other, right?”

“Glad to be your first choice,” Matt replies.

Adam’s smile gets a little sheepish. “Sort of. You guys called me back before the Lowe’s rep.”

“I can’t fault you for going with the most timely,” Matt says, taking the time to feel smug, because he deserves to be. Punctuality is his greatest virtue. His only one, if the way he can’t stop thinking about what those hands can do has anything to say about it.

“I got a bunch of old Christmas trees to turn into firewood for the local shelters,” Adam says. “I have people donate them here when they’re done with ‘em, so we can break the trees down and turn them into something useful. But it takes about three times as long without the chainsaws.” He gestures to the pile of trees in the corner that Matt is just now noticing. “They rot quick, though. How soon can you get the saws to me?”

Matt resists a sigh. Of course he’s a humanitarian. Of course he puts his personal time and resources into helping others. Because this isn’t stupidly Hallmark enough. “Let’s workshop that in your office. It’s uh,” he gestures behind him, “it’s beginning to snow.”

Adam looks up, frowning. A few snowflakes flutter perfectly onto his hair. “Huh. You’re right. Didn’t even notice how cold it got.” He swings the ax like a stupid movie character, catching it in his hand. “I always forget how much more energy it takes to cut wood with this.

“Well, that’s a problem I’m here to solve.” Matt shoots him his best smile, because if Adam’s going to be hot, he will be too, damn it. “Let’s go crunch some numbers.”

It takes longer than Matt expects, because Adam is good. He haggles and suggests and flirts just enough to make it work appropriate, and, infuriatingly, makes some really good points. It takes two hours to narrow down a deal that gives them both what they want. Matt wrangles an advertisement in Adam’s main hallway and a recommendation for Jackson and Jackson on the website. Adam gets 15% additional chainsaws for free in their five-deal agreement, but he throws in a smile, so Matt sort of considers it a win for himself, really.

“Well, if you’ll sign here,” Matt says, spreading out the paperwork Adam had printed from his own office computer, “we can get it all ironed out. I’ll scan it and send it to my brother, Nick, and he can fax or scan you a copy of the finalized documents by tomorrow morning.”

“Great!” Adam says. “I mean, if the power stays on.” He glances out the window. It’s practically a sheet of white outside. Matt feels himself start to panic, just a little bit. “Oh, shit. That storm came earlier and harder than we thought.”

It takes everything in Matt’s power not to make a wildly inappropriate comment at that. “I’ll be fine.”

“Like hell you will,” Adam says, and it’s forceful but not unkind. “You been out in weather like that? I’ll be surprised if you can get your tiny ass sedan out of the parking spot!”

“I’ll be fine,” Matt says, rolling his eyes.

He is, he finds, decidedly not fine. The car turns on, but even with Adam digging out the wheels, the snow has practically locked him in the space. “Well,” Matt says, stepping out of the car and brushing snow out of his hair. “This sucks.”

Adam shrugs. “Maybe it’ll let up early since the storm started early.” He gestures to the office. “Come on. It’s cold out here. I’ll light the fire and we can hopefully wait it out until the storm calms down.”

Matt pauses for a minute. He’s got the deal done. He did his job. He wants to leave this place and let himself have the inappropriate fantasies of what he wants this man to do to him happen in the privacy of his own goddamn home. But he’s got literally no alternative.

“Alright,” Matt says. “Yeah.” He rubs his hands together.

“You want a whiskey or something when we get inside?” Adam asks.

Matt shakes his head, distracted at the way that Adam walks next to him so closely. With the setting sun and the oranges spreading across the snow, the shadows strike him in ways Matt couldn’t have imagined. He swallows. He’ll stay focused. He’ll stay professional.

Matt and Adam walk into something like a back room behind the store and the offices, something much more cozy and personal. Matt takes in the children’s paintings on the walls, the pictures of dogs and a group of friends on the bookshelves. He reads the titles; everything from Rick Riordan to the Marquis de Sade to Ta-Nehisi Coates. It’s full of strange shelfmates, things Matt would have never thought to put together. He reaches out, unable to resist tracing the spine of a clearly well-loved copy of The Iliad.

“Yeah, sorry,” Adam says. “My stuff doesn’t all fit in my apartment, so my bookshelf has made its way down here over the years.”

Matt nods, not really hearing. He takes in all the titles until he finds himself seated on a big, comfy armchair with a hideous pattern. “It’s lovely,” he says, almost too quietly.

“Thanks.” Adam’s voice is quiet, gentle, soft.

Adam lights a fire with some of the logs he’d cut earlier that day, which Matt manages to convince himself not to get a boner about, and the two of them chat mindlessly as reruns of How I Met Your Mother play in the background. The snow doesn’t let up, they exchange mentioning. The sun sets and the room gets a few degrees colder, but Matt doesn’t mention it, just leans closer to the fire. It’s just a coincidence that it means he leans closer to Adam, too.

They’re halfway through singing along to a Robin Sparkles episode when the TV shuts off and the lights flicker once, twice, and go off.

Adam sighs somewhere in the darkness. “Well, fuck. I was hoping we’d avoid that this storm.” Matt hears rustling. “Give me a few minutes. I’m going to go check the breaker box.”

“You good out there?”

Adam’s laugh is better than any music Matt’s ever heard. “I got this. Done it a hundred times.”

Matt wants to argue that, duh, he knows Adam can handle it, but Matt wants to be of some kind of help. Adam’s out the door before he can explain that, though, so he gives in to his basest impulses and goes too close to the fire, just to get a little warmer.

“Power’s out,” Adam says, walking back in with a flashlight and a gust of wind. There’s snowflakes tangled in his hair. Matt wants to brush them out for him. “Snow’s halfway up the door to your car, too. Sorry, Matt. Looks like you’re stuck here.”

“Oh, no,” Matt argues. “I couldn’t impose.”

Adam laughs, something rumbling and joyful that sends shivers through Matt’s body. “God, you city kids are cute. Nah, baby, nobody’s getting out of here until maybe noon tomorrow, at the earliest.”

Matt squirms at the pet name, unsure he’s deserved it but addicted to the way it sounds out of Adam’s mouth already. “How are you getting home then?”

Adam points upwards. “The stairs. I live on the second story of the business. Makes it easy to take care of everything.”

Matt blinks. “Oh. Well that sounds convenient.”

“It is.” Adam takes Matt in, looking him up and down in a way that gives Matt goosebumps. “You gonna be comfortable in that suit overnight?”

Matt looks down at himself. While immaculately tailored, Matt’s gotten hives just from sitting in the comfiest of office chairs for too long in these pants. “Um.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Adam says. “Come with me. You can borrow pajamas. I’m sure they’ll be a little big on you, ‘cause you’re so short -”

“Hey!”

Adam shoots him a grin. “Despite your vertical challenges, they should work well enough.”

About ten minutes later, Matt finds himself in Adam’s bathroom, in Adam’s apartment, looking like an absolute buffoon. He’s wearing a Dolly Parton t-shirt and it fits okay around his arms, but it’s a little long. That’s not the problem, though. Adam was right – the pajama pants drag on the floor. They catch under his feet as he shuffles around while he brushes with the dollar store toothbrush Adam found under a giant box of Lysol wipes he’d gotten back in June of 2020. He tries to make his beard and hair look at least partway presentable, then pauses, because he doesn’t know why he’s so nervous to leave the bathroom.

He's making sure his half up top knot is angled right, because reasons, when the flashlight flickers once, twice. Then goes out.

“You okay, Matt?” comes Adam’s voice from somewhere in the upstairs apartment. “I think your flashlight went out.”

“I can see that,” Matt calls back. He feels around for the doorknob, and does his best to shuffle out the door. Unfortunately, he trips over the pants and crashes into something sturdy and warm.

“Hey,” Adam chuckles, grabbing him by the biceps and hauling him back up. “You okay?”

Matt’s suddenly delighted for the darkness, with the way his cheeks are burning. “I’m good,” he says, and he hates that his voice sounds a little fluttery. “Unfortunately you were right about the pants.”

“I’m right about a lot of things.” He places his hands on Matt’s shoulders. Matt thinks it must have been accidental, the way Adam brushes some of his hair off of his shoulders and rests his fingertips against the side of Matt’s neck. “I, uh, you wait here. I’m going to grab some more flashlights and light some candles, okay?”

Matt nods, forgetting it’s dark. “Oh, yeah. Course.” Fuck his weakness for people playing with his hair, even when it’s an accident.

He hears rustling again, a little crashing, then sees a light beam cross across the room until it settles on him. He feels too seen, examined.

“There you are,” Adam says, voice warm. “Here, this one’s yours. We probably want to go back downstairs so we can keep an eye on the fire. Don’t want to burn the building down.”

“Oh, definitely not,” Matt says. “That would be, like, the worst business deal in history.”

Adam laughs somewhere in the room, and another light flashes on. “Alright, help me carry these candles downstairs. We’ll set them up around the place. Just nothing too close to the books, okay?”

“Oh, sure, the big city boy’s too stupid for fire safety,” Matt cracks, shooting a grin at Adam as they make their way, carefully on Matt’s part, down the stairs. “I can do some things right.”

“You sure can cut a deal,” Adam says. He sets a candle on the bottom step of the stairs once Matt is out of the way. “You haggle like the grandmothers who show up here demanding a discount because of a dead tree branch.”

“I think I’d agree with them,” Matt says, lighting a candle on a dresser, far from the photo of a strange little man in an elf costume. “There should be at least a five percent discount for a defective limb.”

“How dare you!” Adam argues. He glows oranges and reds by the light of the candle in his hands. “That’s my home grown product!”

“If it’s diseased, it needs a discount,” Matt replies. He relishes the way Adam’s jaw drops in horror, the little smile in his eyes that he fights to show on his lips

“You come into my house,” Adam says, voice dangerously dark but eyes still sparkling, “on the day of a fucking discount chainsaw deal and a snow storm…the bit failed, but you get where I’m going.”

Matt legitimately throws his head back, laughing, falling back against the couch. He feels Adam slide toward him, just a little.

“You want a drink or something?” Adam asks. He sounds a little – there’s something in his voice. Something Matt wants to hear more of.

“Oh, I don’t really drink,” Matt starts, but, as he watches Adam’s face fall, “but I’ll take, like, a ginger ale.”

“I got ginger ale!” Adam says. He’s almost eager as he leaps up and darts across the apartment to the kitchen. Matt can see only a sliver of him as he hears the fridge open. “Oh, and, uh, well, I have leftover pizza. You’ve got to be hungry.”

Matt is, a little bit. “What kind?”

“Pepperoni,” Adam calls. Matt leans to see Adam, butt sticking out, face first in the fridge. It’s a good view.

“Perfect.”

They eat quietly, both of them watching the fire flicker. Matt hasn’t had pizza this good since this little Italian place he grew up with back in California. It doesn’t help the situation that the pizza’s cold, though, and he begins to shiver once he’s done.

“You cold?”

Matt nods, admitting defeat.

“We can get a little closer to the fire, if you want,” Adam says. “Sit on the floor.”

Matt drops to the floor and scoots on his knees over in front of the fire. The blaze hits him like a wall, and he half falls over.

“See, okay, I said on the floor, not in the fire.” Matt can practically feel the laughter in Adam’s voice.

“Oh, shut up,” Matt giggles, reaching out and smacking Adam’s arm. He doesn’t miss the way Adam licks his lips at the touch, and he decides, in that moment, to up his game. What happens in a log cabin in a snow storm stays in a log cabin in a snow storm, right? “Do you have a generator or anything? I’m starting to get bored.”

“What, I’m not enough entertainment?”

“I mean, I’m sure you are,” Matt says, trying not to let on that Adam’s fallen right in his web like a sexy little fly, “but, I mean, TV?”

“No generator,” Adam says. “I’ve got Clue, though.”

“Can’t play that with two people,” Matt says, shaking his head. “Plus, I’d annihilate you. It wouldn’t even be merciful.”

Adam scoffs. “Please. I’d win with ease.”

“Well, next time we get stuck in a snowstorm with a third person, I’ll take you up on that.” He peeks over Adam’s shoulder, trying to figure out where Adam may keep the games. “What else you got?”

“Life?”

Matt rolls his eyes. “That game is boring.”

Adam blinks. “Life is boring?”

“I’m sorry, if I wanted to rehash my early twenties, I’d be in southern California right now,” Matt says with another hair toss. “Pass.”

Adam shrugs, taking a sip of his ginger ale. Matt mirrors him before he even realizes he’s doing it. “Uh. I have cards?”

Go Fish is more boring than staring at fire, they discover, and they set it aside after the third game that Matt wins.

“Alright, we’re – we’re out of ideas.” Matt sighs. “What could we possibly do…” He trails off, a little too smug about the way Adam’s eyes follow every move he makes. He taps his finger on his bottom lip, twists a little, stretches out in front of the fire. “Truth or dare,” Matt finally says after his little show.

Adam, who had definitely been staring, shakes his head. “Huh?”

“Truth or dare,” Matt asks again. “It’s the only option left.”

“Dare.”

Matt grins. “I dare you to go outside and put your bare ass in the snow.”

“Child’s play.” To Matt’s surprise, Adam stands up and walks out the door before Matt even gets a chance to stand up. He manages to get to the door by the time Adam plops down in the snow. “Easy. This is shit I did in middle school. Up your game, Jackson.”

“Fine. Truth or – ”

“Oh, no,” Adam says, standing. He looks way too smug for a guy who just had his pants down and his ass in the snow. “It’s my turn. You know how to play truth or dare, right?”

Matt rolls his eyes. “Ugh. Fine. Truth.”

“Who’s the worst customer you’ve ever had?”

“Oh, easy!” Matt launches into the story of Brecken Callahan, an absolute dickwad who tried to shit talk Jackson and Jackson, then tried to demand Matt let him in on investing in the business.

Adam follows the story intently, eyes flickering from Matt’s wildly gesturing hands to his lips.

“Okay, now you, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

Matt senses an opening. “Are you gay? Straight? Bi?”

Adam’s smile is slow, dirty, delicious. “I’m bi. Truth or dare?”

“Truth?”

Adam leans in a little closer to Matt. “How many people have you fucked?”

Matt tilts his head, counting on his fingers. He hopes the blush creeping across his body isn’t too visible in the firelight. “Eight. Ten, if you count blowjobs.”

“Of course I count blowjobs.”

“Then ten.” He stretches his arms above his head, tilting his head back, exposing his throat. When he opens his eyes again, Adam’s mouth is hanging open. Works every time. “Truth or dare, lumberjack?”

“Lumberjack?”

Matt raises an eyebrow as he plays with the ends of his hair. “Am I wrong?”

Adam opens and closes his mouth, then sighs in defeat. “Yeah, fine. Truth.”

“How many people have you – have you slept with?”

“Six,” Adam answers, automatically. “Truth or dare?”

They’ve moved closer to each other, the chill in the room gone for the heat between them. Matt’s practically touching Adam now. He’s ready to go in for the kill. Matt swallows. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Adam says, eyes locked on Matt’s.

“Are you hard right now?”

Adam’s eyes widen with shock, the shadows from the candles and firelight reflecting off of them, then they settle. His smile is slow, dancing across the face like the light. “Why don’t you see for yourself?”

It’s as good an invitation that Matt thinks he’s going to get. Reaching out to rest a hand on Adam’s thigh is easier than it should be. Adam leans back against the couch, opening himself up to Matt a little bit, all guards down. Matt can see it, now, the thick outline in the grey sweatpants. “That’s, uh. That’s a yes.”

Adam lets out a low laugh. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Matt nearly whispers, so close to Adam it feels magnetic. He doesn’t lean in, though. That’s not how the game works.

“I don’t gotta tell you what I want you to do.” Adam tilts his head up and kisses Matt, threading his fingers through his hair and pulling down against Adam’s body. Matt melts into the touch, crawling into Adam’s lap, throwing a leg over Adam’s hips. Adam takes the opportunity to slide a hand into Matt’s sweatpants, grabbing a handful of his ass. Matt presses against Adam, mouth opening against his, and he almost collapses against Adam’s chest as Adam licks into his mouth.

Matt gets a little dizzy with it, but he gives as good as he gets, running his hands up the front of Adam’s shirt and yanking it up. He hates that he has to pull away from Adam’s mouth, where the taste of ginger ale still lingers, to get the shirt off. Adam laughs as he struggles to get it over his head.

“Truth or dare,” Adam says, shirtless, glowing like Apollo in the orange sparks of the fire. “Works every time.”

“This was my idea.”

Adam laughs, biting at Matt’s throat. Matt hopes it bruises like proof. “I’m the one who said I didn’t have any other board games.”

Matt’s responding laugh is cut off as Adam sucks, hard. There’s going to be a mark, alright. “You try this on all the boys?” Matt asks, leaning down to trail kisses along Adam’s jaw.

“Only the pretty ones,” Adam replies. He slides his hands up the back of Matt’s shirt. “I fucked up when I gave you my clothes. I made my own kryptonite.”

“Effing nerd,” Matt laughs, but rewards Adam with a sucking kiss to the neck. Adam’s hips seem to twitch up outside of his control, a little gasp coming out of his mouth. Matt chases is as it skates off of Adam’s tongue, falling back against Adam like he was built to be there. His hands are so goddamn big as they splay across Matt’s back, as they push the shirt – Adam’s shirt, god – up and over. Matt pulls back so Adam can pull it over his head. His eyes skate across Matt’s chest.

“Fuck, you’re ripped,” Adam murmurs, and he leans in, biting at Matt’s collarbone, down his chest, at a pec. Matt squirms against it, desperate to get closer while also getting more naked. Adam grabs at Matt’s biceps. Matt flexes a little, because he’s always been a bit of a showoff, and Adam lets out this half-hysterical little laugh.

“What?”

“Your biceps are the size of your head,” Adam says, sounding a little dazed. “You could probably, like, bench press me.”

Matt shrugs. “I’ve been working on building muscle.”

Adam laughs again, eyes glazing over. “God, I’m glad you were the consult on those fucking chainsaws.”

“Me, too.”

They fumble against each other until Adam gives up and hauls them both to their feet. They twirl around each other like it’s choreographed as they move up the stairs into Adam’s apartment, Adam catching Matt every time he nearly stumbles on the pajama pants. Matt is suddenly consumed by the smell, touch, feel of Adam all around him. He wants to drown in it, wants it to pull him under.

“What do you want?” he asks Adam, willing to give him whatever the answer is.

“You,” Adam murmurs. His lips burn a trail along Matt’s jaw. “All of you.”

“But specifically,” Matt asks, voice broken off into a bit of a moan as Adam’s hands go for his ass again.

“Wanna get inside you,” Adam says, and it’s enough of a growl that Matt gets a little weak kneed. Adam takes advantage of it, pulling Matt’s legs out from under him so his back falls to the bed. He’s miserable, for just a second, until Adam covers him again, that long, strong body on top of him, pressing him into the mattress.

He won’t hold himself responsible for the moan that comes out of his mouth, but Adam hears it, laughs against Matt’s throat. “You good?”

“Yeah, inside me, good,” Matt babbles. “Now?”

“Wait, baby,” Adam says, and it’s the pet name again, and Matt’s a fucking mess. Adam pushes the pajama pants down and off of him. He’s hit with a wave of chill until Adam’s hands are back on him, manhandling him to where Adam wants him on the bed. Matt rolls over at the touch, pliant, malleable, and all he wants is those hands everywhere.

“Can I…?” Adam asks, massaging Matt’s ass.

“Yeah, please,” Matt says.

“You’re so much politer in bed than in business,” Adam says, but he leans down to nip at the back of Matt’s neck, so he doesn’t really have the mind space to respond. There’s a few infuriating moments where Adam’s hands are nowhere near Matt, but he comes back soon enough. Adam’s finger is already coated with lube, slick as it glides between Matt’s cheeks and teases around his hole. Matt pushes back against it, and is rewarded when Adam gently rests his hand on his lower back. “I’ll give you whatever you want,” Adam murmurs. “You just gotta ask.”

“I want you in me,” Matt whines, and he’s not proud of it, he isn’t, but he doesn’t have control of it in them moment.

Adam laughs, low and tantalizing and –

Matt lets out a slow exhale as Adam slowly presses his finger in, so gentle, so hesitant. “You can go faster,” Matt practically begs.

“See, that’s what I wanted to hear,” Adam says, sounding far too put together in the moment. He moves just the way Matt wants it, rougher and faster, and Matt can’t help but press back against it.

“Jesus,” Adam says, “wouldn’t have expected this.”

“Why not?” Matt gasps as Adam teases at adding another finger. “You expect me to be a boring lay or something?”

Adam hums, sliding another finger inside of Matt like it’s nothing. “I just expect the people who come to my tree farm to, you know,” he laughs as Matt gasps at the twists of his fingers, “not be so good at taking my fingers."

Matt keens as he pushes back on Adam’s fingers. “Hope I’m not too much for you to handle.” He looks behind him to see Adam with a positively hungry look on his face. Before he knows it, Adam flips him on his back, pressing his wrists to the bed.

“Too much to handle,” he scoffs, twisting his fingers inside of Matt almost hard enough.

“Fuck me and we’ll see if you can keep up,” Matt says, because it’s been long enough, and he’s not sure if he can wait any longer. Adam pulls his fingers out of Matt, with one last twist that gets Matt exhaling sharply, and reaches over to a drawer. Matt watches him, knowing his gaze is hungry, as he pulls out a condom and more lube.

“Took you long enough,” Matt says, grinning, because he’ll never resist the opportunity to be a little bit annoying.

“You keep that up and maybe I won’t fuck you,” Adam replies, and his stare is so heated that Matt shuts up immediately. He watches, propped up on his elbows, as Adam slides on the condom and slicks himself up. Matt exhales slowly in anticipation, desperate to have that length pushed into him, fucked into him. He doesn’t have to wait long.

“You okay?” Adam asks, hand on the back of Matt’s thigh, propping his leg up. “Like, you…?”

“If you don’t fuck me, I think I’m literally going to explode,” Matt says, trying to level Adam with the same stare he’d given Matt earlier.

Adam laughs, presses a kiss to Matt’s calf, and looks back at him. Matt wants to dive into those eyes. “Okay,” Adam says.

He pushes in, so goddamn slowly, and Matt sees stars. He can’t help himself from sighing, dropping his head back on Adam’s pillow, a little smile playing across his lips.

“You look so good like this,” Adam murmurs, pressing another kiss to Matt’s leg. Matt forces his eyes open – it’s not every day he gets to see a masterpiece painted in front of him. Adam groans a little as he pulls back and pushes in, eyes closed. Matt can’t tear his eyes from Adam’s face, watching his eyebrows draw together, his hair dance across his forehead. He wants to memorize it.

And then Adam picks up the pace, and Matt loses all thoughts in his head.

“Good?” Adam asks, like it could be anything but.

Matt nods. “Yeah, so good. Don’t stop.”

Adam lets out that little laugh again. “Good to know.”

Matt tries to push back against Adam, give as good as he’s getting, but the way Adam slams into him is so deliberate and focused it knocks all sense and planning out of his head. He reaches up to brush a thumb across Adam’s mouth. He presses a kiss to it, then draws it into his mouth, making Matt whimper with the way he sucks at it.

“God, you’re…you’re so…” Matt can’t finish his sentence, arching back as Adam thrusts at a new angle.

Adam laughs, a little choked, a little desperate. “Yeah? You, too.” He ducks his head in against Matt’s neck, pressing kisses, and Matt lets it all wash over him. He clings to Adam’s arms, his waist, his neck, desperate to get his hands on as much of him as possible. The world shrinks to the two of them, to where they connect.

“Matt,” Adam groans, his voice tight, “fuck, I’m – ”

“Yeah,” Matt says, and he slides a hand in between the two of them, curling his hand around his own cock. He doesn’t even need lube – he’s leaking enough to make the motion slick and right. “Me too.”

Matt gets himself there before Adam, coming in strong pulses all over Adam’s chest and his own. Adam’s response is to get unsteady, a little wild, a little rough with his thrusts. All Matt can do is hang on to it, riding through the aftershocks until he feels Adam come inside him with a groan that sounds a whole lot like Matt’s name.

Adam takes care of the mess and then his face is buried in Matt’s shoulder as he collapses. Matt pets through his hair with his fingers, something he hopes is soothing. He’s feeling pretty exhausted himself, though, body thoroughly wrecked and mind calm. “Damn.” Adam presses his face against Matt’s neck.

“Damn is right,” Matt laughs. Adam stirs a little bit against him, lifting his head. Matt can’t resist brushing the hair out of his eyes. The man really is pretty.

“You okay?” Adam asks. “I got a little, uh,” he laughs, “a little enthusiastic.”

“So okay,” Matt says. He grins and drops his head back against the pillow, feeling warm and cozy. “Better than okay. I feel great.”

“Good,” Adam says. “Wouldn’t want you to rescind your chainsaw deal.”

“I could make a hilarious joke about me taking care of your wood,” Matt mumbles, suddenly sleepy.

“You could,” Adam says. He yawns. “I don’t know if I have the energy left to laugh about it, though.” He pushes himself up.

“What? No,” Matt says, before he can stop himself. “Where are you going?”

“Gotta take care of the fire and the candles,” Adam says through another yawn. “Can’t burn the place down.”

Matt nods and follows Adam out of bed, throwing on the grey sweatpants.

“Those were mine!”

Matt points to the elastic at the ankle. “These I can keep up. They are mine now.”

With a shrug, Adam pulls on the red plaid pants. “I guess they are.”

Matt blows out the candles while Adam makes sure the fireplace is safe for overnight, and they trade kisses as they make their way back up to Adam’s room. It feels more homey, domestic, familiar than it should be. Matt blames it on being tired, but he knows, somewhere, that it’s more than that. They fall into bed and under the covers together, and Matt is so exhausted – two hours of driving and the business deal of a lifetime can drain you – that he falls asleep without realizing he’s curling up in Adam’s arms.

He wakes up suddenly, light streaming in through an unfamiliar angle. He blinks, twisting a little when he feels the weight over his waist. His body flushes warm at the memory of the night before. Adam looks near angelic as he sleeps, lips slightly open in a sweet pout and hair fanned over the pillow. Matt shifts back into the bed, soaking in the warmth.

“Hi,” Adam says, voice gravelly. “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” Matt replies. He snuggles in and Adam opens his arms, pulling Matt flush against him. “Sleep okay?”

“I should be asking you that,” Adam says into Matt’s hair. “Since you’re my guest and all.”

Matt leans back into him. “Your guest wants to know if you think the power’s back on.”

Adam sits up, leaving a hand splayed on Matt’s hip like it belongs there. “Looks like it. My alarm clock says it’s 2am, though, so it hasn’t been on for too long.”

“Makes sense,” Matt says. “It’s cold in here.” But he’s awake now, and he sits up, a little disappointed at the way Adam’s hand slips off his waist. He wraps his arms around himself, shivering a bit.

“Is that you hinting you want to wear more of my clothes?” Adam asks, grinning. “I got a hoodie you can borrow if you want to be all high school about it.”

“With that attitude I don’t want anything,” Matt lies.

Adam grins at him, like he knows, like he feels it too. “Sure you don’t.”

The shower takes longer than expected to warm up, but Matt’s not too worried. It’s huge for such a small apartment, and Adam crowds in behind him, hands on his waist.

“Okay if I join?”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” Matt laughs, tilting his head back. Adam goes at the hickey Matt had noticed in the mirror from the night before, and Matt squirms against it, desperate for more and less all at the same time.

They soap each other up, and Matt falls against the wall as the body wash rinses off him, pulling Adam in for a lazy kiss and letting his hands wander. Adam grins at him. “Can I blow you?”

“The eff kind of question is that?” Matt asks. He’s been a little hard since Adam joined him in the shower, but he’s at 100% already. “Of course you can.”

Adam drops to his knees. “As you wish.”

“Oh, don’t go all Westley from Princess Br – ” But he cuts off, because Adam is good at more than just negotiation with that mouth.

It takes an hour for the two of them working together to dig out the tires, and another, more fascinating hour of Adam looking like a mechanically-inclined cowboy on an ATV with a plow attachment, before there’s a fighting chance of Matt driving out of here. He wants to stall, but he’s not sure what he could do, realistically. Nick’s already called him three times, panicking, and he’d had to promise he’d be back in the city by five to go over the final plans for the next deals and the Q1 meeting that’s planned for tomorrow.

But he doesn’t want to leave.

“Alright,” says Adam, looking like a dream as he swings a leg over the ATV and jumps off of it. “That should do it. Driveway’s ready, car’s out of the snow.” He gestures. “I didn’t even try to pop a tire or anything.”

Matt can’t help but smile. “And why would you do that?”

Adam sighs, walking up to Matt, hands settling on his hips. “Because I am a dopey, romantic freak, and I want you to stay.”

Matt wants it too. He wants it so, so badly. But he can’t. “I want to stay too,” Matt says. “Wish I could. But, uh,” he looks up at Adam. “Maybe next time you could come visit me in the city? We could fake a snow day and turn off the lights?”

Adam’s grin is like sunshine. “I’d love that.” He leans down, and Matt knows it’s the last kiss, for now. He makes it last, though, tries to make it so all he can taste and smell is Adam for the foreseeable future.

When he finally pulls back, it feels the way he did when he and Nick told their friends they were leaving California. The kind of goodbye that aches. The kind of goodbye you’re not supposed to feel with a one time hookup. “Keep in touch. And not just professionally.”

Adam presses a kiss to Matt’s forehead, and it feels like a promise. “I will,” Adam says. He reaches for Matt in a move that feels like it has some interesting potential, but he just grabs at the pocket of the sweatpants and pulls out Matt’s phone. He points the phone toward Matt’s face, and it unlocks. “I’ll put myself in your phone.”

“You’re already in there,” Matt says, grinning. “Remember? Business deal and all that.”

Adam points the phone in his face. “I renamed it Sexy Lumberjack Adam.”

“Well,” Matt says, taking the phone back, “you’re not wrong.”

He waves goodbye, feeling awkward, and slides into the seat of his car. “I, uh. I hope I’ll see you soon.”

Adam nods, then frowns. Like he’s rushing, he half runs his way over to Matt’s car. “One more kiss for the road?”

Matt sighs, relief coursing over him. “Of course.”

It feels like hope.

“Text me when you get to your house,” Adam says as Matt swings the door closed.

Matt nods.

It’s the first thing he does when he pulls into his driveway.

Home!

It’s only seconds before he gets the reply. See you soon <3

#Lookee here it's more smutty fluff #The return of Sara and the Smluff!!#in which Sara writes #HangMatt #Hangman Adam Page #Matt Jackson #wtf i like wrestling now???#sarahcakes613

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