#godless x reader

[faestunna]

easy white chocolate 😍😍

[tellingtell5]

Midnight Mass 《Remmick, sinners x reader 》

Remmick x v femreader

Summary: The church welcomed a new preacher. Poor souls—they let in a monster. But even monsters fall, and he’s already on his knees for a novice.

A/N: I can't stop with this man. I stumbled upon an idea recently and it just wouldn't leave my head—so I wrote something. I don’t even know what it’s supposed to be, just a story full of sinners, churches, and a Remmick who's starving… for touch.

This story was born from a simple idea that goes like this: "I need a fic where Remmick just straight-up plots on a nun reader and her innocence taunts him. Like he'd weep to see her do the littlest things. When she prays he feels just a little bit of salvation when she speaks it makes his knees go weak. He sees her as his angel." This story wouldn’t exist without @jaythewriter

The irony of it all might have struck him as amusing—had it not been one of the finest ideas he'd conceived in the last few centuries.

That preacher had the misfortune of crossing Remmick’s path, and he, in turn, had seized the chance to rob the Almighty of yet another servant. By his own tally, he was winning.

In the pathetic man’s final memories—memories he had not the sense to lift in prayer as his jugular was torn—Remmick saw what he had long been searching for. A flock. A community who listened devoutly as their shepherd preached from the pulpit, vowing undying loyalty.

The sensation bloomed within him like fire, and a thought took root deep in his mind. He would crawl to the gates of that temple glimpsed in the dying man’s memory—and make it his own. He would become the new shepherd, the one who saved these poor souls from their fate. He would raise a congregation of the devoted, shaping them little by little, through the Word and through blood.

It had not been difficult. One of the sisters had opened the door without question the moment she saw the collar.

“Come in, Father. We’ve been expecting you.”

He hadn’t even needed to request permission to enter—she had simply stepped aside and held the door wide.

The women received him with open arms.

“We weren’t sure how long it would take for them to send another pastor.”

He had smiled and praised their hospitality, drawing blushes from those who had been cloistered longest within those walls.

He could already hear the whispers circulating about him.

“The new Father is so young… and that smile of his… It won’t take long before we adore him.”

Convincing them to change the hour of the liturgies had proven more arduous. He claimed his training had taught him that the veil of night brought one closer to the Almighty.

Dusk, he said, was a sacred time—more contemplative, more intimate.

Though skeptical at first, the sisters soon adopted the change. And they were right to trust him.

At first, only the sisters and a few vagrants—seeking a full belly and warm bed—attended the masses.

But then a rumor began to spread:

The new pastor promised eternal life.

Here. On Earth.

No more waiting for the solace of a cold grave to be reunited with one’s kin.

He claimed to have brought true immortality.

“You are not dust, nor shall you return to it.”

The pews filled with bowed heads, all paying homage to the new Word of God, which now took flesh in the hungry smile of that shepherd.

As they drank of the blood of their savior, he drank of theirs, those faithful who sought redemption at his altar.

He took his time, amassing followers. Drunk on power. He spoke—and countless voices answered with gratitude.

They offered themselves freely.

“Father, help me—I have lost the path.”

“I shall help you find it,” he replied, before reshaping them into creatures of the night.

But among the sea of souls, one figure stood apart.

You.

The girl newly arrived to the parish.

Sent to take your vows.

A novice.

A woman just beginning to kneel at the altar, offering your life to the Almighty.

Had he still breath in his body, it would have caught in his throat when he saw you kneel. It was visceral—the way you did it, as if your very soul depended on it.

His mouth watered at the sight of your bowed head, so deep in prayer.

He lost the thread of thought each time your voice reached him—those whispered fragments of breath, gasping with devotion.

And then you would rise, and your eyes would meet his. Eyes brimming with such innocence it could only be blasphemy.

A weak smile played on your lips, and though no sound escaped, your mouth would shape a single word: “Father.”

He would have to bite his own lip, stifling the sound that threatened to betray what stirred within him.

In those moments, all other prayers faded to ash. None of it satisfied him—because he had not yet claimed your devotion. There was something strange blooming in his chest.

He wanted to be the vessel of your prayers.

The reason you knelt.

The one to whom you begged for mercy

He nearly let the mask slip. That mask of the gentle shepherd promising redemption—he nearly let the wolf beneath show.

The first time it happened was after mass. The congregation stood, lining up for communion. And when his favored lamb stepped forward, he almost surrendered.

You looked up at him from beneath your lashes.

An innocent smile curved your lips.

Your mouth opened slowly; the tip of your tongue peeked out, waiting.

He forgot what he was meant to do—that he should place the host on your tongue and send you in peace.

Another thought crept in: that he could offer you his body in truth—that his could be granted real salvation.

He came back to himself as he reached out with the wafer. The wet heat of your mouth brushed against his fingers.

A broken sound escaped his throat.

And you—

You answered it with a gasping moan so soft, so trembling, it nearly made the sacred offering fall from your lips.

He had no need for the devotion of all those people. What he truly craved was the touch of that novice. The barest graze of your hand would have sufficed. He pictured those fingers—now clasped in sacred supplication—threading through his hair, gliding just above the skin of his shoulders. His knees quivered, and he feared he might fall to them and beg you for mercy, beg you to touch him.

It lasted only a moment—a fleeting breath for you, an eternity for him. You closed your lips and, just before taking your leave, offered him the first words you'd spoken since arriving:

"Father?"

He responded with a guttural hum, void of words.

"You're drooling."

He blinked several times, struggling to comprehend your meaning. When he failed to react, you stepped closer, raised a hesitant hand, and brushed the tip of your fingers along his chin, collecting the trail of saliva. He remained unmoved, lost in thought, lost in the warmth of your living skin against the pallor of his own. A strangled moan escaped him, and he fought the urge to beg you to take it away with your tongue. When you were done, you did not wipe your hand. You left him in silence.

His bones ached. His skin itched—desperate to be touched like that once more. He was fascinated by you, by everything about you. He could watch you for hours, kneeling in silent devotion before a god who never answered. But he would answer. He would reward every one of your prayers.

Something stirred in his dead chest when he thought: if you could give yourself so wholly to a god cruel and thankless, what might you offer a monster who spoke back? A flicker of hope burned within him. A glimmer of salvation. But he still did not know what it was he truly wanted from you—whether to corrupt you and make you his, or surrender to your innocence and your aching desire to save others.

He always chose the first.

The last time his mask slipped was in the confessional, listening to the woes of his flock. He found it dull—time dragged unbearably, which was saying much for a creature such as he.

He was about to leave the cramped chamber when he heard the wood creak beneath someone's weight. The cloying scent of incense that had surrounded him was swept away by something else—something that made his fists clench and his composure waver. Every sense lit up, overwhelmed by your presence. He could not help but wet his lips, seeking the taste of you in the heavy air of the confessional.

He needed to flee that space, now a prison thumping with the echo of your heartbeat. A slow rhythm, one that had lulled him to sleep through the stone walls that separated your quarters from his.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

The sound of your voice struck him like a blow, and he grasped the wooden bench beneath him to stay upright. No words came—he was too dazed by your nearness.

You remained still. From the moment you entered that narrow chamber, the blood beneath your skin had begun to stir, crackling and restless. Just as it always did in the preacher’s presence. You felt like a moth, spellbound by the colour and scent of a newly bloomed flower. Suspended in a kind of limbo, you waited for his reply, uncertain whether you'd spoken your words rightly. You breathed deeply, unaware that each breath drew you ever closer to the Devil himself.

"Speak, child. What burdens your soul?"

Your tongue felt thick, clumsy. His voice had rendered you motionless. It had emerged rough, reverberating through the wooden walls as though he were everywhere—like the Almighty Himself.

"I have had doubts, Father."

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from correcting you, from begging—no, pleading—for you to call him by name. For you to form the true syllables of his being with those lips, those lips that tempted him with every prayer they uttered to God. But he did not. He waited in silence for you to continue.

"Since I came to this congregation, troubling thoughts have come upon me."

You shifted, seeking to relieve your sore knees. The movement brought your thighs together, and an unfamiliar tension began to stir low in your belly. And all the while, you knew—knew with perfect certainty—that the very cause of your unrest was seated just on the other side of the wooden screen. You could see his silhouette leaning in, as if trying to draw nearer to you through the lattice.

The sound you let slip filled his ears. The sweet scent of your desire clouded his mind completely. He let it invade his hollow chest, and in that moment, he swore he could feel his dead heart beat again. He could almost swear he had glimpsed the face of God just by breathing you in.

He summoned your face in his mind and, for the first time in his existence, believed in the divine. If angels walked the earth, surely they would wear your countenance. He wanted to leave that chamber, to kiss you. No—that wasn’t enough. He wanted to drink you. To beg you to touch his body with those hands that had only ever known the flesh of the Lord. To run your lips across his skin—the same lips that had spoken a thousand prayers, now offered to him.

And then he would repay you. He would fall to his knees and press his mouth to every place where your pulse thundered, where your body cried out for pleasure, where—

"Father?"

He had collapsed to his knees within the confessional. The pressure in his trousers had become unbearable. He was utterly lost in the rapture of his own imaginings. You had kept speaking while he spiraled ever deeper into his thoughts.

"Forgive me, I was…" What would he say? That he had been dreaming of destroying a soul like yours? "…I was distracted."

"It’s alright. Please, don’t worry. It’s only natural to have one's thoughts elsewhere. It happens to me often."

There it was—that goodness in you that tore the words from his throat. That left him hollow, aching to be something better than what he was.

"Continue."

He just wanted to hear your voice. Any excuse would do. To listen to the way your heart sped or slowed with every emotion that crossed your face.

"Father, as I was saying… I have been troubled with doubt. I am told I must give my devotion entirely to the Lord. But… another man appears in my prayers. How can I vow eternal devotion, when my thoughts already belong to someone else?"

Desire gave way to jealousy—an emotion he had never known. Bile rose in his throat, and he had to swallow hard to push down the knot of fury rising there. He searched the memories of his converted faithful, those whose minds he now shared. Demanded an answer. But none had seen another man near you. Only images of you, watching him when he wasn’t looking. Only him.

"But it is not only my thoughts, Father. He appears in my dreams as well."

"What kind of dreams?"

He startled himself—he hadn't thought he had strength enough left to summon his voice.

"I’m ashamed to admit it."

Another sound, the whisper of movement. The wood creaked once more beneath your weight as you shifted, trying to ease a pressure that clung to you all day, dull and persistent.

"In those dreams… someone touches me. It’s that man. Not roughly, not in sin. It’s... gentle. Tender. As if I were the one being worshipped."

Silence fell—thick, suffocating. A silence you could slice through like meat.

"...And I like it. When I wake, I find myself wishing it were true."

He couldn’t speak. Not a single word. He tried to root himself to the floor, to keep from leaping upon you like a beast. Because what you were offering—what you had just confessed—was what he had longed for more than anything.

"How am I to give myself wholly to the Lord," you whispered, "if my soul and body no longer belong to Him?"

He opened his mouth, but another voice came out—not his own.

"And to whom do they belong, child?"

Again, that terrible stillness. Another shifting of cloth and knees on old wood. And then the words that shattered him.

"To you, Father."

There was no shame in your voice. Not a flicker of repentance. That’s when he understood: you hadn’t come seeking absolution. You had come to offer yourself.

Like a lamb stepping willingly into the wolf’s mouth—and rejoicing in the devouring.

A gasp rose to your lips but never left them as the confessional door burst open. He stood there, wild-eyed, breathless, as if trying to drink in your very presence. You were still on your knees, looking up at him.

You feared divine punishment. Retribution. But it never came. Instead, he fell to his knees before you.

The desperation in his eyes was raw. He looked up at you the way saints must look up at their holy relics, with terror and awe. He trembled—perhaps from restraint, perhaps from hunger.

"Please."

It was not a command but a plea. You didn't need to ask what he meant—you already knew. You raised a hand, and without hesitation, you buried it in his hair. That shadowed thing, that spiritless wretch, melted under your touch like frost beneath the sun. He crumbled in your palm, begging silently for more.

A sound escaped him—was it a sob? A groan? It broke something in you. You wanted to give more. With your other hand, you reached across his chest, still clothed. He never wore the cassock, and you preferred it that way—it let you see him better.

He leaned into you until his forehead rested against your shoulder, as though that contact alone kept him alive. His breath was a trembling wind in your ear, his chest heaving with a storm he dared not unleash.

He clung to you like a penitent to a relic, a damned soul clinging to the last scrap of mercy.

"Touch me," he whispered—and it was as though the stone walls of the chapel shuddered.

The word was a prayer. A surrender.

He, who had always held the final word. He, who had heard confessions and passed judgments.

Now he begged.

"Please..."

His voice broke under the weight of need. He raised his eyes to you—dark, shining with the sting of frustrated longing.

"I need your hands upon me. Do it. Let you be the one to bless me. With that touch. With that skin."

His fingers fumbled at the hem of his shirt, trembling, unsure. He could not bring himself to remove it—not without your permission. Because in that moment, you were his deity.

Your warmth bled through the linen between you, a slow-burning fire that consumed him from the inside out.

And then, you moved.

Your fingers slid up along his jaw, guiding his gaze to yours. At the touch, he let out a low, aching sound—half sob, half plea. Like a wounded creature unsure if comfort would come.

"Give me one reason to believe," he whispered. "Make me believe I still have a soul."

And you touched him—not with pity, but with dominion.

One by one, you undid the buttons of his shirt, revealing skin marked by sleepless nights and some long-forgotten struggle for virtue. He trembled with each new inch of flesh uncovered. His lips parted with the anticipation, the unbearable sweetness of it.

"Look at me, Father," you commanded, drawing out the title like a dare.

And he obeyed.

Because he was no longer priest, nor man, nor monster.

He was devoted. A thing made of longing, of need—kneeling before the only divinity that might still offer him salvation: you.

When your lips touched his bare chest, he released a sound caught between a sob and a laugh. As if, for the first time, he understood what it meant to believe.

You watch the way his lashes flutter, how his mouth parts as if readying a prayer or a moan.

Your fingers trace the line of his collarbone, slowly, deliberately. His skin is hot — fevered almost — as though your presence alone has set him alight. When your thumb brushes the hollow of his throat, his head falls back just slightly, exposing more of himself. Offering it. Offering everything.

You lean closer. Your lips barely graze his skin — a whisper of contact — and he gasps like it hurts. Or like it heals.

“You’re shaking,” you murmur.

“I’m trying,” he chokes out, “so hard not to fall apart.”

But he’s already unraveling for you. Each second is a thread undone. And you like watching him come undone.

You lower your mouth to his chest. He cries out — softly, beautifully — and fists his hands into the fabric of your habit like it’s the only thing anchoring him to this world. You can feel his need pressing against you, insistent and utterly helpless, but he doesn’t dare move. Doesn’t dare guide your hand.

He’s waiting. Needing. Yours.

You let your hand drift down. Slowly. Testing.

When your palm rests just above his waistband, he inhales sharply, his whole body tightening beneath you. His hips rise, involuntary, and his eyes flutter open in a haze of worship and hunger.

“Please,” he whispers, voice rough, almost broken. “I beg you. Don’t stop.”

And so you don’t.

You undo the button. You pull down the zipper. You feel him shudder — a deep, guttural sound that vibrates through both of you — and you push the fabric down just enough to free him.

The sight of him, hard and flushed and trembling, sends a rush of heat to your core. He is beautiful in his vulnerability. Glorious in his surrender.

You wrap your hand around him, and he whimpers.

No. He weeps.

Not from pain. Not from guilt. But from relief.

He presses his forehead to your shoulder, lips brushing your neck, and you feel the wetness there — hot, desperate tears as he mutters thank-yous and praises under his breath, not to any god, but to you.

Only you.

Because in this moment, you are not a nun. You are a miracle.

And he is your worshipper.

You feel him twitch in your hand, a pulse like thunder just under your palm. His hips strain forward, breath catching again and again against your neck. His lips linger too long there now — not in reverence.

In hunger.

You sense the shift instantly. The way his tongue flicks the hollow behind your ear, how his breath suddenly comes cooler, shivering over your skin like a prelude. It’s no longer just need — it’s instinct. Ancient. Ravenous.

Then you feel them: the tips of his fangs grazing your skin. It’s subtle, gentle. A test. A question.

But you answer it before it becomes a plea.

“No.”

Your voice is firm. You don’t raise it, but the word cuts through him like a lash. He pulls back with a strangled groan, his whole body wracked with restraint.

“I—” he tries, his voice hoarse, desperate, full of shame. “I didn’t mean to, I just—”

You hush him with your touch. You never stop moving your hand. If anything, you tighten just slightly. He gasps, eyes rolling back, head falling against your chest again.

His hands are gripping your thighs now, not to take, but to anchor himself — shaking like he might fall apart if you let go. He’s trying so hard to hold back. But he wants. You can feel it rising in him — this deep, writhing hunger not just for your body but your blood.

And you make him wait. Let him ache. Let him tremble.

He moans something — unintelligible, fervent — and just as his climax builds, as his breath shortens and his whole being coils beneath your touch like a creature about to break — you raise your free hand to your mouth.

Your teeth sink into your own wrist. The pain is sharp, but clean. Righteous.

A thin line of blood blossoms instantly, warm and deep red, and his eyes snap to it like a beast scenting prey.

He stares at it. Then at you.

A heartbeat. Two.

And then you press your wrist to his mouth.

He freezes — utterly still — even as your other hand continues to work him toward release.

He’s panting, eyes flicking between your face and your bleeding wrist. You feel his lips twitch against your skin, and you whisper:

“Now.”

He opens his mouth — wide, reverent — and draws you in. The first pull is soft. Careful. Almost prayerful.

Then the second comes, deeper, more desperate, and you feel him groan against your skin. Feel the growl ripple through his chest as your blood hits his tongue. His hips jerk forward and he spills into your hand with a cry torn between rapture and agony.

He drinks like a starving man.

Your blood slides down his throat, and you watch his body convulse under the weight of it — of you. He clutches you as though you’re the last holy thing left in this godless world. You feel the thank-you he can’t speak thrumming through his veins. You gave him everything — not just your touch, but your life, your essence.

And he gives himself to you.

Completely.

[spikedfearn]

okay but what if I wrote a chaptered Remmick x reader fic where you and Remmick reincarnate across time and space, again and again, until you can learn to get it right

(and what if some of the lives we see you and Remmick live out are some of Jack's past roles like Skins, Lady Chatterley's Lover, Godless, Little Fish, etc)

[the-a-word-2214]

Kindly requesting the Jack O’Connell writers write for Roy, Oliver, and Paddy (love all the Remmick content)

[starry-eyed-wild-child]

🤍🧸lilli🧸🤍

requests: OPEN

moodboard requests: OPEN

🤍 R.Culkin

CHARLIE WALKER (scream iv)

charlie walker x reader moodboard

charlie walker boyfriend headcanons

charlie walker x waitress!reader

charlie walker x movie!geek!reader

CLAY ROACH (city on a hill)

clay roach x reader headcanons

CLYDE (elecrick children)

clyde x reader moodboard

clyde boyfriend headcanons

clyde comforting reader with panic attacks

DANNY COOPER (the intruders)

nothing here yet...

GABRIEL (gabriel 2014)

nothing here yet...

KAPPA (black mirror)

someone new series masterlist

someone new series moodboard

kappa x reader headcanons

MARCUS (swarm)

marcus x reader headcanons

MIKE (5lbs of pressure)

nothing here yet...

OLLIE SWAY (song of sway lake)

nothing here yet...

SAMUEL LAFFERTY (under the banner of heaven)

samuel lafferty x religious!reader moodboard

🤍J.O'Connell

OLIVER MELLORS (lady chatterley's lover)

nothing here yet...

PADDY MAYNE (sas: rogue heroes)

nothing here yet...

REMMICK (sinners)

honey don't feed it, it will come back (coming soon)

ROY GOODE (godless)

nothing here yet...

🤍 K. Gallner

BENSON (the passenger)

nothing here yet...

COLIN GRAY (jennifer's body)

colin gray x twee!reader moodboard

HASIL FARRELL (the outsiders)

nothing here yet...

HUCK FINN (band of robbers)

nothing here yet...

JAMES HEATHRIDGE (criminal minds)

nothing here yet...

QUENTIN SMITH (nightmare on elm street)

nothing here yet...

SIMON (dinner in america)

nothing here yet...

VINCE SCHNEIDER (scream v)

vince schneider x softgirl!reader moodboard

olderbf!vince x reader headcanons

what I WON'T write

🤍anything involving eating disorders or self harm

🤍male reader

🤍anything involving necrophilia, incest or paedophilia

[the-fiction-witch]

Ya Can Ride All Ya Want Darlin’

Media - Godless (Netflix) Character - Whitey Winn Couple - Whitey X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - 18+ nudity/ eating out/ face sitting/ face riding/ fingering/ blow jobs/ riding cowgirl/ pinv/ full sex/ raw sex Word Count - 1656

Whitey laid on his bed enjoying his day off, magazine in hand trying to absorb the words but mostly looking at the pictures.

But suddenly and without warning the door to his house opened revealing Y/n in her usual long blue dress.

Whitey was of course rather taken aback by her sudden arrival as well as her lack of knocking, “Well hello there Y/n, what brings ya to my humble abode on this fine evein’…” He closed his book and smiled warmly at her, sitting up on his bed. “is everythin’ alright?”

Without a word Y/n slammed the door shut, marched herself across his house and pushed Whitey back down on his bed. She mounted his hips and began kissing him hard and intensely,

Whitey was understandably shocked. He'd known Y/n his whole life they'd grown up together and admittedly he'd always had a crush on her but they'd never kissed before! His heartbeat raced as he grappled with what this surprise meant. “woah now, darlin'” Whitey pulled back from her passionately searching her eyes with curiosity and concern. “This is sudden. Don't get me wrong I'm flattered but, what's the occasion here? Have I done somethin' or are ya finally ready to admit there's somethin’ special between us?” He held her gaze intently waiting for an explanation or he’d hoped a sudden declaration of requited love at last in an I love you, praying silently that this might actually be happening.

"I've been trying to masturbate all night and when it comes to cocks in town it's literally you, the bar keep or the undertaker. And neither of them are young enough to have dicks that actully work. I'm kinda out of options here."

“That’s fair…well then Y/n darlin' I reckon you've come to the right place!” he chuckled, “I'd be more than happy to help ya out with that little problem of yours.” Whitey grinned mischievously, as he pulled her closer. “now why don't ya take off that dress and let me show ya what this cowboy can do…”

Y/n happily pulled them closer and kissed him again,

“mmmhmm just like that Y/n,” Whitey's hands roamed her body as he deepened the kiss, his fingers slipping below her dress and grazing her bare thigh teasingly. “now hurry up and get that dress off so I can see what I've been missin’ all these years.” he grinned against her lips, desire growing in his eyes as he imagined finally making love to his childhood crush.

Y/n sat up on her knees undoing the last few times on her gress and tossed her it off leaving her completely naked on top of him,

Whitey's eyes widened in surprise and awe as he drank in the sight of her naked body. “oh my god Y/n…” He reached up to caress her breast, his thumb rubbing her nipple softly as he pulled her back down for another deep passionate kiss. “you're so beautiful,” he whispered against her lips. “I've dreamed of this moment for so long.” His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve as he kissed down her neck to her collarbone. Whitey's hands continued their exploration as he kissed down her body, pausing to lavish attention on her breasts, his tongue circling her nipples sensitively, causing Y/n to moan in pleasure.

“mmm yes like that,” she sighed, arching her back, thrusting her chest forward.

His hands slid down to her hips, fingers digging in lightly as he kissed lower, tracing the indention of her navel with his tongue before heading further south.

Y/n's breath quickened with anticipation, her heart pounding in her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp gently as he made his way to her most sensitive area.

Whitey spread her legs wider, positioning himself between them. He took a moment to admire the sight before him, his cock twitching in anticipation. “you're so wet for me Y/n,” Whitey groaned appreciatively, his fingers trembling slightly as he caressed her most sensitive area. He leaned forward, circling his tongue around her entrance teasingly before diving in, lapping up her juices. “mmm so sweet,” he hummed, his tongue delving deeper, fucking her slowly with the flat of his tongue.

Y/n cried out, her hips bucking wildly, seeking more stimulation almost trying to ride his face.

Whitey obliged, adding two fingers to her entrance, scissoring them apart as he continued to lick and suck her clit.

“oh fuck yes,” Y/n moaned, her hands gripping the sheets tightly as she neared her climax.

Whitey continued to work his magic, fingers and tongue in perfect sync, bringing Y/n closer and closer to the brink. “ya taste so fuckin’ good Y/n,” he growled, his cock throbbing in his trousers, desperate for release. He added a third finger, scissoring them inside her tight sheath, stretching her to the brink, causing Y/n to scream in ecstasy.

“oh god yes! Don't stop!” Y/n pleaded, her hips bucking wildly, meeting his every thrust.

Whitey wasn't about to stop now, not when he was so close to finally tasting her sweet nectar.

Whitey quickened his pace, his tongue and fingers working furiously as he drove Y/n closer to the edge. “cum for me Y/n, let me taste ya sweet cum!” he demanded, thrusting his fingers deeper, sucking her clit hard between his lips.

Y/n let out a strangled scream, her body trembling violently as she reached her orgasm, her juices flowing freely, coating Whitey's face and fingers.

He lapped up every last drop, growling in satisfaction. “fuck yeah, ya taste even better than I imagined,” he purred, sliding his fingers out of her quivering pussy. Whitey leaned back on his elblows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his cock standing at attention, throbbing with need.

Y/n grabbed at his belt desperately ripping at his trousers,

Whitey watched in awe as Y/n frantically worked at his belt, her eyes fixated on his erect cock. “easy there cowgirl,” he chuckled, helping her remove his trousers and underwear, his cock springing free, standing tall and proud. “Don’t ya worry, ya can ride all ya want darlin’”

Y/n didn't hesitate, wrapping her small hand around the base of his shaft, stroking him gently as she leaned in to take him into her warm, wet mouth. Y/n's warm, wet mouth enveloped Whitey's cock, causing him to groan in pleasure as she sucked him deeply, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head.

“fuck yes Y/n, just like that,” he grunted, his fingers tangling in her hair as he guided her pace, thrusting gently into her welcoming mouth. The feeling of her on his cock, mixed with the taste of her on his lips, was intoxicating. He could hardly bear it anymore, his balls drawing up, aching for release. “oh fuck, I'm gonna cum!” he warned, his hips bucking wildly as he spilled his load into Y/n's waiting mouth, groaning in ecstasy as he painted her face with his essence.

Y/n swallowed Whitey's cum, savoring the taste as she looked up at him with a mischievous grin. “mmm, delicious,” she purred, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a trail of his seed behind. Y/n happily pushed Whitey down on his back and climbed into his lap rubbing his still hard cock between her lips “Come on Whitey? You not gonna keep me waiting are you?”

Whitey groaned in pleasure as Y/n's wet pussy rubbed against his rock hard cock, the anticipation of being inside her almost too much to bear. “fuck no Y/n, I want ya so damn bad,” he growled, grabbing her hips and guiding her down onto his throbbing shaft, feeling her tight heat envelop him completely.

“mmm yes, fuck! Whitey!” Y/n moaned, her nails digging into his back as he began to thrust into her, filling her completely with his hard cock.

Whitey's thick cock thrust deeply into Y/n's hot, dripping wet pussy. He reached down to play with her clit, which made her moan deeply. He began to buck his hips, driving into her again and again.

“harder Whitey!” Y/n begged,

Whitey obliged, pulling her down onto him more roughly as he hammered into her. “Fuck, ya feel so tight!”

Y/n began to scream out in ecstasy, her walls tightening around Whitey's cock as she felt the start of her orgasm. The sounds of her pleasure were music to his ears. He knew he couldn't last much longer.

“That's it baby, cum all over my cock,” Whitey grunted, pounding into her with renewed urgency, his own orgasm fast approaching. Whitey's thrusts grew more erratic as he neared his peak. The sound of Y/n's moans and the tightness of her pussy drove him wild. With one final deep thrust, Whitey exploded inside her, his cock throbbing as he filled her with his hot seed. Y/n's scream of pleasure was music to his ears as she shuddered around him, her own climax washing over her in waves. They collapsed together, panting heavily, Whitey's softening cock still buried deep inside Y/n's spent pussy.

Y/n collapsed ontop of Whitey and snuggled up with him still inside her, "Thanks Whitey."

Whitey held Y/n close, his softening cock still buried deep inside her warm, welcoming heat. He gently stroked her back, savoring the feeling of her soft skin against his own. “No, thank you, darlin’,” he whispered, meaning it with all his heart.

Y/n chuckled and happily snuggled up as they got cosy and ready to sleep, "Goodnight Whitey”

Whitey smiled contentedly as Y/n snuggled against him, his softening cock still nestled inside her warm, inviting pussy. He gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, “Goodnight, my darlin,” he whispered softly,

"love ya…" She whispered

Whitey smiled, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at Y/n's whispered words, the words he had so desperately wanted to hear from her for so very long, He squeezed her gently, “Love ya too, Y/n,” he whispered, his breath warm against her hair.

With that, they both drifted off into a peaceful slumber, their hearts and bodies intertwined, their love as deep and enduring as the night itself.

[the-preachersdaughter]

somebody hear me out.

“my dear arthur” letter from mary in rdr2 but it’s a roy goode fanfic sOMEBODY HEAR ME OUT

[inkytoru]

GODLESS ENDEAVORS

　　　　( prologue. )

〃✦ ┆ SYNOPSIS: In which Satoru Gojo, heaven’s strongest battle angel, is cast out with the weight of a heretical and sacrilegious crime he did not commit blackening his name. With clouded memory and no recollection of who he was, he comes under the care of you— a mortal carrying the burden of a heavy heart. But what secrets lie within the shadows and smoke? What will you see within the depths of the crystalline blue? 〃✦ ┆ PAIRING: fallen angel!gojo satoru x female!reader 〃✦ ┆ WORD COUNT: 0.5k 〃✦ ┆ A/N: no content warnings, not beta read. 18+ only. ⸻ series masterlist. || chapter one. || join the taglist!

“We, by the decree of God’s right hand, hereby declare Gojo Satoru, highest battle angel of his order…”

In the silence that followed that one pause that would determine his fate, one could hear the collective symphony of bated breath resonate deafeningly throughout the celestial courtroom’s hallowed walls.

“...Guilty.”

That one word rings out with such crystalline clearness that the affirmative toll of the bells that followed afterwards couldn’t hope to overshadow it in volume.

They had said it was for leaking secrets to the Devil himself; a treason Satoru couldn’t remember committing.

Satoru closes his eyes. The chains wrapping his body and his deceptively pure white wings in their cruel embrace jangle slightly with the way he turns around, back faced to those he once called brothers and sisters.

He opens his eyes—strikingly azure, like the skies he once called a perfect day—now forever tainted by the way sunlight streams through the stained glass windows and how the boundless blue of the skies surrounding it met the multicolored shards of glass.

He felt as fractured as the fragments of conjoined glass were.

“If I may, I’d like to suggest we review the details and evidence once more–” begins the bespectacled seraph that steps up behind Satoru, a sword forged from heavenly fire made to break the most fiercely forged of celestial metals positioned hesitantly within his hands.

Another hand rises—one that threatens punishment should he continue speaking. It was an effort Satoru appreciated, nonetheless.

“Nanami Kento, the court’s decision is final. Further objection will result in dire consequences.”

He falls silent, but there was an obvious clench to his jaw. The embers of defiance in his gaze melt into an apologetic look he sends Satoru.

Satoru smiles at him, shaking his head before turning his head to look at him over his shoulder. “It’s okay, Nanamin. This is my cross to bear and mine alone.”

A mixture of emotion crosses Nanami’s features before settling on one of stoicism as he nods.

The exiled angel looks over at the pews where his now former students stood, each looking back at him with tears welling up in their eyes. Yuji rubs furiously at his, while Nobara’s sniffling can be heard.

“Be good you three, y’hear?” Satoru calls out, his commanding voice effectively making his prior charges perk up at the sound of it.

All three respond in unison. “Yes, Gojo-sensei!”

With a fond smile slipping into a mask of impassivity, Satoru looks back ahead at the surrounding audience of his now ex-divine brethren. He remains quiet. There was nothing left to say—his pleas had already fallen on deaf ears. There was nothing left to do but accept what would be his final moments above the clouds with all those he considers near and dear.

“Goodbye, Satoru.” Nanami says as he prepares for his friend’s release into the mortal realm below, the instrument to his exile heavy in his hands.

The cherubs play their trumpets, a final order from God to him.

“Don’t miss me too much, Nanamin!” Satoru cheekily exclaims before his chains fall and disintegrate before hitting the marble floors of the domain he once called home.

So this is how Heaven handles its own—swift, cruel, and certain.

The platform he stands upon opens into the unfamiliar abyss, and he falls.

Down, down, down, as once ivory-colored wings burst into godly flame.

And so fell Gojo Satoru—Heaven’s strongest, now forsaken by the very light he once wielded.

[cuntdestroyer3000]

Your story about Joel made me so horny, fuck I've never felt like this before! You are an excellent writer!!

Ana 🇧🇷

Teeeheeeeee thank u I rlly appreciate that. Idk why but I’ve been kind of unsure what direction to take the story in but I have a part three in the works and honestly I need to just sit down and write it lol. But I’m really glad you enjoyed it, I worked rlly hard on it so thank u again🤭🤭

[follow-my-literature]

CALLING ALL READERS. I NEED YOUR HELP

VOTING ENDS IN 6 HOURS - as of 2:51 on Dec 28

I'm back from my hiatus, and I've decided to reorganize my writings. I have pulled them all and have picked the best ones to keep. Now, I need you to pick which story you want to read first. Make sure to check out the synopsis before you make your choice.

I do apologize, there was an issue with the last poll I had created. Please if you voted before, just take a moment to revote.

*Poll is open for O N E W E E K *One-shots are not included in this list.

all story synopses are located here.

To those who are seeing this and don't enjoy "𝕩 Reader" fanfictions:

I apologize. I just want to reach as many people as possible. I have been away for a long time. Perhaps suggest another way for me to tag if it bothers you since this wasn't an issue when I used to write.

Again:

all story synopses are located here.

VOTING IS OVER.

First story will be

A Palace Full of Cranks

[lostsunlight]

CHAPTER 13 - TRES AUTUEM FACIES PRAENUNTIUS

childe x reader, wc: 7.1k, masterlist, Ao3

cw: nsfw, violence, murder

The next morning came all too quickly. A ray of sunlight hit Childe directly in the eyes, he rolled over and pulled the blankets over his head to block out the world for a few sacred minutes. 

You smiled and carded a hand through his hair, he tilted his head a little to the left. Childe could have sworn he was seeing an angel, soft sunlight illuminating your form, sheets pooling at your hips. 

Childe rolled onto his back and you shuffled closer, the hand scratching his head trailed down to trace his jawline. You admired his freckles, the small nicks in his skin from battle. You moved your thumb over his lower lip and then down his chin and neck. 

You leaned in and whispered against his neck “ Il n'y a pas de douceur comme ton péché ”

“тогда приходи и купайся в нем, дорогая ” He mumbled back, finger tracing down your spine. 

You straddled him and slipped his shirt up over his stomach. Following every scar in an intricate pattern upwards. He gripped your hips to steady you. You traced up his abdomen to the dip in his clavicle. You were leaning over him, chest nearly touching his. 

You traced the scar across his chest, the one he got when he first met you. He traced the scar across your upper thigh, from when you had made your escape.

You opened your lips, inevitably with a million questions. Childe cut you off before the first word. “I know there's a lot to talk about but can we forget the world outside exists? Even it its just while I’m in your arms”

You nodded “Okay” You closed the gap and sweetly kissed him. He held you close to him as you tasted him. He was tangy, with a hint of iron. You hadn’t intended on it being anything more than a kiss but you found your will to break away from him quickly fading.

In the end he was the one to break away, he looked at you with an expression you couldn't quite place. He used his thumb to pry up one side of your top lip, you opened your mouth ever so slightly and he traced your canine before pressing down on your tongue. You sucked and he made an unintelligible sound. He pulled it out and dragged it down your chin, leaving a trail of spit in its wake. He angled your jaw up to access your neck, kissing it in a way that made your core pulse. 

He rucked your slip up so it bunched around your waist, you finished the job for him, pulling it off and throwing it somewhere on the floor. You removed his shirt in turn leaving the both of you in nothing but underwear. He traced the edge of your breast, you sucked in a breath. 

He cupped them, swiping across your nipple, you let out a small whine. He grinned and repeated the action, causing you to grind down. You let out another whimper when you felt his hard length beneath you. He stopped for a second as pleasure shot through his body. 

You ground down again, arching your back. He took your nipple in his mouth and gently sucked. You moaned as one hand supported your back and one pushed you down. He bucked his hips up. Your hands rested on his shoulders as your pussy fluttered, desperately trying to find leverage. 

He stopped to get some air as one hand continued to explore your body, moving lower and lower. The other still circling your nipple. His thumb played with the edge of your panties, you lifted your hips up so he could slide them off. 

You moved down and peeled his boxers, blushing at the sight of his cock. You wrapped your hand around it and gave it a few slow pumps. You looked up through your lashes to see him looking at you with an endearing intensity, his chest rising and falling with anticipation. 

You gave it a few licks and he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. You move back up slowly, intent on teasing him. He lies back as you position yourself, teasing your pussy with the tip of his cock, wetness making it easy.

“Любовник, be gentle” He asks, still sore, he didn't know how much his body could take. He wished he was the one talking the lead.

“I’ll be as gentle as the breeze” you replied, sinking onto his cock. You let out a sound somewhere between a huff and a moan, it sounded like the holiest melody Childe had ever heard.

You bit your lip and rested your hands on his chest, trying to get used to the feeling of being so full, his cock hitting all the right spots inside of you. After a second you lift yourself up, relishing in the feeling. 

You make tentative eye contact with Childe. You could melt in the sanctity of his gaze - a blush spread across his cheeks, his mouth slightly parted, small moans tumbling out. He skirts his palms up your thighs until he reaches the apex, right below your hip bones. You sink back down, riding him like you were made for it. 

You placed your hands on top of his and then tugged trying to pull him up. He obliged, wrapping his arms around you and drawing you in for a kiss. He finds your clit and you gasp into his mouth at the feeling. Your cunt squeezed around him.

“I-I’m close” you whined, burying your head in the crook of his neck. He lay back down, knowing if he kept fucking you like that he would overexert himself, he would go too hard and as much as he wanted to see that he knew his body couldn’t handle it. 

He kept rubbing your clit as you reached the edge. you sunk fully onto him, knowing you couldn’t fuck him through your orgasm. You moaned a little louder than usual letting the feeling envelop you. It was electric, making your mind go blank for a moment. 

Your legs were getting sore but you were determined to take his orgasm from him. You picked up the pace ever so slightly. Childe lay beautifully underneath you, hands fisting the sheets, brows knitted in pleasure. 

He moans deeply, flinging an arm across his face “C-Cumming” 

Quickly you lifted yourself off him and gave him a few more pumps. He finished, white-hot ropes of cum splattering across your stomach. You kissed Childe again, lost in his being. 

 ✧

After the two of you cleaned up, you went to the kitchen to make breakfast. Childe took the stove while you chopped some bacon

“That was surprisingly gentle compared to last time” You joked 

“Don’t expect me to be so nice next time” he quipped back

“Next time?” Your raised a brow

Childe just smirked. “This morning was a nice surprise, but what were you doing in my bed?”

“You don't remember? you had a nightmare, woke up screaming. You asked me to stay when I came in. Something about a ‘Celestial Narwhal’ again” You frowned, moving over to place the bacon in the pan, it spat back at you

He frowned “No, I don't. I don't even remember a nightmare” He cracked an egg into a bowl and used a fork to break the yolk

“I still have questions about last night, you nearly electrocuted me you were so mad” He poured the egg mix into the pan with the bacon

Childe sighed deeply “Signoria got the gnosis, Zhongli is Rex Lapis and I was used by the both of them”

“So Rex Lapis lives in mortal form now? Why?” You asked, pulling two plates out from the cupboard and placed a piece of bread on each

“Retirement, He didn’t technically abandon Liyue, rather he’s leaving it in the hands of humanity” he snorted, dividing up the scrambled eggs 

You leaned on the counter, trying to think. Wasn’t it his sworn duty to protect Liyue, man couldn’t defend against Celestia, at least not from what you’ve seen. Why not pass the torch to another god?

“And Signoria? Another Harbinger?” You picked up one of the plates and folded the bread in half, taking a bite.

“Yeah, the eighth, ‘Fair Lady’ is a dubious title at best. She’s the one who got Barbatos’ gnosis as well” he grumbled, if looks could kill this woman would be nothing but ashes.

You swallowed "So she's making you do her dirty work?” 

“No, The Tsaritsa sent me for both assignments. She has her reasons, I’m sure the others have hundreds of years on me, of course she wouldn't expect me to pull this off on my own. I'm a warrior not a diplomat.”

“Then why make you a Harbinger?” You took another bite

“I don't have an answer for that, maybe because I’ll best serve as her weapon but the title of Harbinger requires me to act like a diplomat, I don't know. But next time, next time I'll deliver the gnosis straight to her feet myself.

You pick up his mask, “Then go out and prove yourself, Tartaglia. You may not be the most cunning, but when it comes down to the battlefield - you would leaving most of them dead”

He attached it to the side of his head “I will get stronger, just you wait”

 ✧

Baizhu had sent you outside the city to restock herbs, unfortunately for you most of the ones you needed seemed to be around ruins littered with Ruin Guards. You kept your catalyst drawn as you slowly made your way around the perimeter. 

You had thought that you had made it away until you heard the mechanical rumbling of a ruin guard activating. Your entire body tensed as you whipped around. It was your turn to dance.

You drew water droplets from the air, forming a ring of daggers around your head and fired them at the Guard. Circling around the mechanical abomination , making sure to keep your distance to avoid its wide ranged strikes.

You repeated the same attack, just focusing on trying to survive. It stilled, bracing backwards, turrets perched on its body began to glow, aimed directly for you. Thinking fast you ran, forwards, sliding under the guard as the projectiles hit the ground with a sickening bang. You clenched your eyes shut at the sound. You stumbled up to face the back of the guard. 

Drawing your power you created two streams of water twining around the Ruin Guard, briefly immobilising it. You pull in the pressure of the two streams of water and then release it. Causing it to stumble back a step.

It swung at you, knocking you to the side, you tumbled and skidded in the dirt, by some small miracle you landed upright. Clambering back to your feet you tried to regain your sense of surroundings. Your shoulder throbbed in pain.

You had to disable it somehow. How had Tartaglia done it? An arrow to the eye right?

Having nothing to lose you made another dagger and aimed for its eye, it flew past splashing on the stone behind it. You tried again, moving backwards as it advanced menacingly towards you. This time the hydro dagger hit its mark, it came tumbling down. 

It was only a matter of time until it reactivated. Concentrating, you wove a hydro sword from droplets. Approaching it you gathered all your strength and struck it.  Once. Twice. Thrice - the last strike plunging directly into its eye. It let out its last cry and it lay felled before you. Its body disintegrating into nothing more than black smoke flecked with red ashes.

You collapsed to the ground on one knee, hydro sword holding you up. You panted, trying to draw enough air to satisfy your burning lungs. The sword broke into droplets wetting the stone underneath you, causing you to fall further down. You felt no satisfaction from the fight, rather relief you made it out alive.

In the distance you could swear you heard the faint voice of a child. “Hey! Hey you! Come look at this!”

Slowly you drew yourself back up, you stuffed the herbs you had collected in the bag Baizhu had given you. Reforming another hydro dagger just in case you stalked over to one of the inactive Ruin Guards. Behind one of them you found a small child, no older than six clambering over its arms. 

“Have you ever seen something so brilliant?!” he exclaimed with great enthusiasm.

Shielding your eyes from the sunlight you could see the boy was wearing foreign clothes, perhaps Snezhnayan. He had flaming red hair and large blue eyes sparking in the sun. He bore a striking resemblance to Childe.

“You should get down from there, you could hurt yourself boy. Ruin Guards are dangerous things” you exclaimed back 

“Nuh-Uh, Mister Cyclops would never hurt me! And what kind of a stupid name is ‘Ruin Guard' anyway?” He sat on its shoulder rather precariously. 

“Mister Cyclops?” You asked, that was a creature from old legend.

“That's what my brother called them!” He grinned widely, showing a gap-toothed smile “He’s the best toy seller in the world! He's working at the Institute for Toy Research in Liyue. That's where all Mister Cyclops’ come from”

“What's your name?” You ask, trying to get this kid back home to safety

“I’m Teucer! I came all the way from Snezhnaya on a boat to find my brother in Liyue. I can’t find him though…” He frowned

“You came all the way from Snezhnaya alone” You laughed a little in pure shock. This was Teucer, Childes' younger brother. One of the two who didn’t know what he actually was. ‘Toy seller’ must be the excuse he's using to disguise his true role as a Fatui Harbinger until they're ready to learn the truth.

“Uh-huh!” He slid down the Ruin Guards arm “This is the part where I give you this” He presents you with a huge bag of mora

“My brother said to find a nice person and give it to them so they’ll take good care of Teucer”

“He must make a lot of money selling toys then”

“You best believe it! He sends it home to help us as well! Alright now we've gotta make a pinkie promise”

“Why do we need to make a pinkie promise?” You ask

“You need to promise to keep me safe!” He extends his small pinkie and you wrap yours around his after a moment of hesitation

“You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life. You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice. The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend, the frost will freeze your tongue so you never lie again” He recited, his tone too jaunty for the rhyme he just spoke.

“I think I know where to start looking for your brother” You said, crouching down to face him eye to eye. He didn’t have a vision but so long as he held on tightly enough you would be ok. 

 ✧

You waited at the top of the red lacquered stairs in front of Northland Bank waiting for Teucer to scramble up the remaining steps.  As soon as he reaches the top step he sprints towards the open door, you follow languidly behind him. Childe is by the desk talking to what seems to be the receptionist in Snezhnayan. You recognised her as one of Childe’s informants.

He seemed to be doing a little better, or at least he's good at hiding how terrible he feels. If you look close enough you could still see small bags under his eyes.

“Ajax!” Teucer exclaimed, he snapped his head around you see Teucer barrelling towards him, he slams into Child's leg and hugs it

Ajax? 

He switches to Common Tongue “I would know that voice anywhere! Teucer!” He laughs ruffling his hair, his tone significantly lighter than before. “I thought  I would have to wait to go home to see you again. How are the others, Tonia? Anthon?”

Teacher unclasps himself from Child's leg “They all miss you alot! Мама and Tonia pray for you at dinner every night. Папа is still a little sick but he's getting better every day with the medicine you sent!”

Childe frowns “Wait a second Teucer, what are you doing in Liyue? How come I haven't heard anything about this”

Teucer looks at the ground guilty “I snuck onto a ship back home, they said they were shipping toys to Liyue.., a-and I really wanted to see you! When I got off I just kept walking and walking until I found a Mister Cyclops”

Childe sighs and holds his head in his hand, crouching down and places his hands on Teucer’s shoulders “What you did was extremely dangerous, I’m happy to see you, really I am. But just promise you won't ever do that again. Poor Мама must be worried sick”

He clasped his hands behind his back swaying from side to side “Are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you, I care about your safety, that's all. Just promise to never do that again, OK? If this nice lady hadn’t found you things could have been a lot more dangerous for you. Did you say thank you to her?”

“I promise” The both of them look at you “And thank you Miss. Nice Lady!”

You shook your head “It’s really no bother, I just wanted to make sure he got back to his brother safely” You said, putting on your best performance you could, you were no actress but you had a feeling you were somehow pulling it off.

“I can't thank you enough Miss…?”

“Yulia” you supplied

“Could I trouble you to take care of him for a few more hours? I have some business I need to attend to” He asks

“As long as you’re alright with me taking him to Bubu Pharmacy, I guess I could show him some of Liyue”

“Thank you so much” The receptionist hands him a small pouch of mora, he walks up and hands it to you “Consider this as Teucer’s entertainment fund” He whispers the next bit “Thank you for not revealing anything, he's still too young”

He steps back and turns to the receptionist “Ekaterina, I’ll death with that outstanding debt collection right away”

“But Master Childe wouldn’t it be a little improper to ask you to deal with a debt collection?” Ekaterina asked tentatively 

He shrugged “I made a bet with and agent and I lost, might as well get a littler exercise out of it” 

He walks out, pausing just before he exits “If you need me I’ll be by Qingxu Pool”

You and Teucer took to the streets of Liyue, he flitted around fascinated by the city. 

“Did you know that Anthon thinks the people in Liyue are made of stone. Ajax sent us a letter telling us they were boring old humans” He said, skipping ahead of you. 

You made your way to Bubu Pharmacy to drop off the herbs. You left the package with the new Herbalist Gui

“Let Baizhu know I’ll be in tomorrow for my shift!” You said waving goodbye.

Teucer tugged your hem “I’m hungry!” he whined

“How about we head to Wamin Restaurant? The chef and his daughter are the best cooks in Liyue” 

Teucer nodded enthusiastically and bolted down the stairs, you chased after him “Hey! Wait! You don't know where you're going!”

The boy didn’t seem to care, weaving through the crowds of Liyue without a care in Teyvat. You filled behind, trying to keep track of him. You caught back up to him and steered him across a bridge to another part of the city. 

Teucer scrunched his nose as soon as he stopped “It smells… choking in here”

Chef Mao evidently overheard that was you winced 

He took in stride as he gave a booming laugh “Choking smell? You must be referring to our signature jueyun chillies!”

“Chillies? But… I can’t easy spicy food”

“What do you like to eat, Teucer?” you asked calmly

“Hmmm, something with lots of sugar and extra virgin olive oil!”

You looked at Chef Mao and apologised “I’m sorry, well go find somewhere else that caters to Teucer's tastes”

Chef Mao waved his hand nonchalantly “We can do special requests no problem”

“Are you sure?” you asked slightly taken aback

“Easy work! Go find yourselves a seat”

“Thankyou” You and Teucer chirped

You and Teucer found a free table near the back corner of the restaurant, he scrambled up on the seat and swung his legs, he looked around, clearly fascinated by Liyuean culture. 

“Are you the Yulia that Ajax told us all about in his letters?” 

“S-sorry” you asked, trying not to choke on the sip of water you just had

“You have the same name and you look like the way Ajax described in his letters! Why didn't he know you at the bank?”

You were silent for a second, trying to come up with a good enough lie “Sometimes people in the toy industry have to pretend to not know each other, so when they announce a new toy everyone’s surprise”

A terrible lie but it would have to do but Teucer seemed to buy it judging by the way his eyes lit up. 

You wouldn't believe Childe mentioned you in his letters home, and what was with ‘Ajax’, was that his true name?

“Really! You’re a toy maker too!”

Thankfully one of the waitresses came around with the food, Teucer gave it a suspicious look before taking a small bite with the fork given to him.

“Mmmm! Just how Tonia makes it” He ate the whole meal and licked the plate clean. 

After paying Chef Mao with the money Childe gave you, you promptly left the restaurant.

Teucer already had a look on his face that suggested he knew what he wanted to do next. Out of the corner of your eye you spotted an older lady selling kites on the wharf. 

“You wanna go check the kites out Teucer?” You asked

He gave a vigorous nod and bolted off. You were again left to catch up to him. By the time you approached the stall the old woman was giving a Teucer a through explanation of what kites even were

“Snezhnaya is too cold and windy for kites! They would just get stuck in the snow” He said inspecting every single kite “I don't see one of a Mr Cyclops..”

The woman looked confused and you leaned in to whisper “He means a Ruin Guard” She gave you a warm smile in thanks. “I do do custom builds but it’ll be extra and I’ll need a few days to complete it”

You nodded, Childe could always pick it up and send it Snezhnaya, he was paying for it anyway. After haggling for a few minutes you agreed on a price and Teucer looked satisfied knowing that he’ll get a kite soon.

You walked along the harbour marketplace  “Do the people here ever freeze?”

“I don't think it snows in Liyue at all”

“Never?” He asked, confused

“Never” you chucked back, for all his rambunctiousness he was a cute kid. Teucer was distracted again by a fish merchant peddling his wares. 

“Wow! The fish here are so small!”

The merchant looked like he just got slapped “Whose fish are you calling small! I’m trying to run a business”

Seemingly oblivious to the merchants offence he prattled on “The fish in Snezhnaya are double, no, triple the size of this”

You stood back, as much as you wanted to intervene you did find the merchant's annoyance amusing, especially towards a clueless child.

“Are you gonna buy a fish or not?” he seethed, glaring Teucer down

“In Morepesok there are legends of giant fish and it's supposed to be super yummy. I told my big brother about it and he went hunting. A few days later he returned with a giant fish slung over his shoulder. Anthon and me were so happy!” He yapped on

Morepesok, so that's where he's from

The merchant looked just about ready to punt Teucer, sliding in you bent down to Teucer's eye level “How about we go find your brother”

Teucer looked about ready to explode with excitement when you said that. Taking that as a yes, you whisked him away to Qingxu Pool.

 ✧

Approaching Qingxu pool you would see Childe conversing with a blond Fatui agent. A group of pissed off treasure hoarders lingered nearby. 

Childe glazed over looking floored to see you and Teucer approaching, the Fatui agent raised a brow and ignored the two of you. 

“As I was saying, after Signoria’s departure you are the only Harbinger in Liyue. You need to initiate the new recruits. They’re just south of Lingju Pool” He reported in a thick Snezhnayan accent

Childe turned to look down at Teucer “I’m really sorry but I have to work”

Teucer looked about ready to burst into tears “But.. But I just got here”

You placed a hand on his shoulder “Hey, it’s OK, we can go back to Liyue Harbour and look at more toys? Why doesn’t Yulia take you to Wangshu Inn?”

Teucer hung his head, looking utterly dejected “Fine” 

As you started to walk back Teucer broke free of your grip, bolting after his brother. Rushing after him you barely caught up. You had no idea how he was able to run for so long as he weaved through the underbrush and through the ruins. 

Finally catching up to the small child, you caught him peeking over a rock at his brother giving a speech 

“You can't do that!” you forced out trying to catch your breath, ducking beneath the rock with him

“Shhh! I’m trying to hear Ajax speak!” he whispered to you, placing a finger to his lips to emphasise the point

“From this day onwards you will honour the oaths you have made to Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, and you will stop at nothing to bring victory to Snezhnaya. You shall sweep through the lands like the icy winds of the furthest north, as strong as the hoar frost of Zapolyarny Palace” He spoke to the newest recruits, inducting them into The Fatui, a smile of passion gracing his face

“Her Majesty expects of you loyalty, ruthlessness and precision. For the trials we face are harsh and our enemies are like..”  Teucer popped his head over the rock and waved. Taraglia looked like lighting had struck him 

“... Like kites and rattle drums. Who shall become reputable foes of Mr Cyclops in the marketplaces of Liyue.” He let out an unsure laugh as the recruits looked around in confusion. 

Teucer nodded as if this was normal “Uh-huh kites are fun too”

“This is of course an analogy, as they say - the marketplace too, is a battlefield” He glanced back over to Teucer and you, you bit your lip trying not to let out a laugh with how absurd the situation was.

“So as your… Sales manager I demand you obey every order. A refusal shall be considered a betrayal and the price of betrayal is to be dishonourably discharged from the…Liyue Institute of Toy Research” He finished the speech with an awkward look on his face

The recruits still looked at each other and Tartaglia in confusion. Muttering among themselves. 

“Forget it. Perhaps some hands-on training will suit us better. After all a strong body is proof of one’s capacity” He says jumping down

Some of the recruits chattered in excitement at the possibility of a Harbinger himself wanting to spar with them personally.

Thinking fast you covered Teucer’s eyes and whispered “Were going to play a game where you have to guess what's going on OK?”

Teucer, seeming delighted at the prospect of a game, eagerly nodded “Alright!”

Tartaglia, still weak from the abyss, took on each new recruit with ease, a master of battle with mere beginners. 

Teucer hummed “He’s showing them how to make a Mr Cyclops isn't he?”

Before you could answer he pried your fingers apart to see what was actually happening.

He stared amazed, focused on Tartaglia’s movements as not a single blow landed on him. After all the recruits had had their turn Tartaglia dismissed them, they signalled off and left for the nearest camp to officially begin their training. 

As soon as he dismissed the recruits he made a bee-line right towards Tartaglia “Ajax! You were amazing”

“Teucer, Yulia, what are you doing here? I thought Yulia had taken you to play at Wangshu Inn” He laughed but he looked at you for an answer. 

“I wanted to see you so I ran away from Yulia” He said proudly

“He’s rather slippery you know, reminds me of someone I already know” You commented 

Childe chucked and Teucer bounced up and down on his toes “I wanna learn to fight like you! I wanna look cool like you”

“Fighting isn't about looking cool, you know. If you want to get better you need to have a reason as to why you're fighting. I’ll teach you but you've got to know why you're doing it”

Teucer gave it a second to think “I want to learn to protect Tonia and Мама and Anthon!”

“That's a good answer, but now you need to go home, Tonia must be worried about you” He said, trying to coax Teucer home in any way possible

Teucer frowned “Only if you do one small thing for me” Cleary resistant to the idea of leaving his brother again 

“And what would that be?” He cocked his head

“I wanna see The Liyue Institute of Toy Research” Childe’s jaw twitched 

“Let’s see, yes, The Institute is just south-east of here isn't it?”

✧

The three of you stood outside the abandoned factory, leaned in and murmured to Childe “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

He murmured back “Dottore abandoned this place a few months ago when he lost interest, it’ll be fine” He said dismissively

You grabbed his arm forcing him to look at you “Do you even know what it’s like inside?”

“Well.. no, but you have me and it's my duty as a brother to protect Teucer.” He spoke to his brother “You ready?”

He pushed his way inside of the factory, Ruin Guards littered the floor. “Ajax, Yulia said that Mr Cyclopes are dangerous”

“Did she now?” He gave you a look and you raised your eyebrow. Your catalyst floated alongside you just in case. “What a silly thing to say. Maybe don’t go repeating that though, your far too young to think about such things” He added tentatively 

“Yeah! Mr Cyclops is my friend and he’ll defeat the bad guys and protect the world” Teucer relied, skipping along the path in delight

“Right. With Mr Cyclops around the bad guys won’t ever hurt you” You said, stepping over a loose arm. Without even replying Teucer ran off to play. The grated door shut behind him. 

“Teucer! Hey! Wait up!” You yelled, voice echoing against the walls

“C’mon there's another way up there” The two of you ran, Childe drew out his bow and activated the hydro monument flooding the empty pool in front of you. You ran and he skated over the short distance. 

A few pyro slimes littered the way to the console, within a few seconds you hand Childe had vaporised them. He pressed the console and opened up the door to meet up with Teucer

“Oh, the door opened! Was that you?” He said, not even bother to look at Childe

“Yeah, Teucer give me a moment I need to make sure everything's -” Before he could finish his sentence Teucer had gone off into the next room. 

He pulled a hand across his face “Maybe I shouldn't have spoiled him so much” he grumbled.

“Let's go, we've got no time to lose”  You made your way carefully to the next room. Steam making it harder to see. 

“These Ruin Guards have all been strung up, I wonder where they're being taken to?” You mumbled, looking at the countless mechanical weapons above you

“I don’t know - but if it's any chance where Teucer is we need to get there before things get ugly” He replied, voice getting tenser. You made it past the elemental slimes and through the metal labyrinth. You saw Teucer’s form through the iron bars. 

Childe called out “Teucer! You see that stone cube over there? I'm going to count to three and were going to press it together. One, Two, Three” The gate ground open and Childe hugged Teucer.

“Are you hurt?” he mumbled into his hair. 

“Hurt? No way this has been so fun!” He grinned

“Fun for you maybe, we've been scared to death” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Wait… what's over there.” He takes a step forward “A giant room full of Mr Cyclopes! Is this where he takes his friends when they come to visit?”

Childe sighed, just about done with Teucer’s antics “It is. Impressive isn't it? Now, how about a game of hide and seek?”

“Uhh.. Now? But” Childe cut him off 

“I have a surprise for you” Teucer brightened up “You can look for it later but now you need to close your eyes, turn around and count to sixty” 

“But sixty is a really long time” he whined, obliging anyway. 

You stood next to Childe, preparing yourself for the onslaught. The guards came down, and you drew your weapons. A ring of hydro daggers floated behind you while Childe drew his dual blades. 

“There’s not much time, let's clear this place out” he said to you, you nodded in return

You didn't bother with the theatrics Childe put on as you aimed for the eye plunging through it with your hydro sword. Teucer’s countdown creating unhelpful background noise. 

“Forty-eight, forty-seven forty-six, forty-five...”

You found yourself surrounded by a circle of Ruin Guards advancing towards you, Childe bursts through and takes a few of them down, one approaches him behind his back, you disable it, jumping off one of the disintegrating bodies to end it for good. 

“Twenty-six, twenty-five, twenty-four...”

“Hey! You skipped a few numbers!” Childe exclaimed as he dodged an arm coming down towards him. The ground shook as it made impact. You tried to swallow your growing fear and keep quiet for Teucer’s sake. 

A Ruin Guard nearly hit you, you retaliate, swinging your sword at it blindly. An arrow thrown by Childe hits it and you finish it off. 

“Five, four, three, two…” You use the last second to throw your sword at the mechanical sentinel and rush over to Teucer to block his view. Childe stood alone surrounded by endless enemies.

“One! Are you ready” He asked, ready to play

“Just ten more seconds. Still hiding” he bit out as calmly as he could

“Hmph! Who’s the cheater now? Fine, ten seconds that's all you get” He replied indignantly 

He laughed and turned as a guard was just about to punch him.

"Ten, nine, eight..."

A flash hydro turned to electro as he dashed towards the centre of the room, creating a shockwave that blasted the guards back. His Foul Legacy emerged, jumping up followed by a cape of stars he plunged down destroying everything in his wake.

“Four, Three..”

He landed and looked directly at you, a glint of light emerging from his eye. He dashed off into an unknown corner.

“Two, One! Coming ready or not!” Teucer turned around to see the corpses of the guards laying around in the steam, a few still sparking. He stood in awe before giggling and running to clamber over the guards

“This.. This is everything I ever dreamed of!” He yelled in pure excitement

“This is the surprise your brother prepared for you, what do you think?” You prompted, scrunching your nose at the faint traces of the abyss. 

“I love it! I’m gonna go find my brother!” He sprints off looking behind the guards.

You approached the dark corner Childe was hiding in. You found him slumped against the wall, he peered up at you

“Thank the Tsaritsa you found me first” he coughed. “I don’t know what I would do if Teucer found me like this. It would just about shatter the dreams I’ve worked so hard to build for him”

“You need to get home now” you knelt down in front of him taking his pulse, his skin was cold and clammy and his heartbeat was slow. Using his Foul Legacy form so soon after the last time must have wiped him out.

“No, I can get myself back. J-just get Teucer to the bank. I’ll get one of my agents to take him from there” He coughs again, hacking up that signature black-flecked phlegm. He presses a small figurine into your hands “Give this to Teucer won't you?” 

Reluctantly you stood “Get back safe alright?” 

“I always do” He took a deep breath and stood up shakily. 

“Pinkie promise me” you asked, he gave a small, soft smile and hooked his pinkie with yours. You started the first part of the rhyme “ You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life.”

“You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice. The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend, the frost will freeze your tongue so you never lie again. Teucer taught you that?” 

“Yeah…” You glanced to the room seeing Teucer was nowhere near the two of you. He just gave a small laugh and limped back towards Liyue Harbour

You found Teucer still looking around the Ruin Guards mumbling to himself “I can’t find him anywhere.. Where did he go…”

“He already left” you said, walking up to him

“What? Without me?” he said, upset

“A huge number of people wanted to buy Mr Cyclopes. Here he gave me something to give to you” You handed him the small action figure of a Ruin Guard

“Wow! I didn’t know they came in this size. Ajax really is the best big brother ever!” He turned the figurine around in his small hands

You gave him a soft smile “C’mon, don’t you reckon it's time to head back to Snezhnaya?”

 ✧

As soon as you approached the bank a stern Fatuus spoke “Ma’am, young master Teucer, I've been waiting for you. The Lord Harbinger extends his gratitude to you miss. A boat has been arranged to take you back to Snezhnaya young master”

“But what about my brother?” He questioned, sadness lacing his voice

“The Lord Harbinger has instructed me to tell you that you will see him soon in Snezhnaya” He replied coldly, leaving no room for questions. Teucer looks up at you and you crouch down to give him a hug

“Stay safe OK? Let your brother know when you get home” 

“I will! I can’t wait to tell everyone that I finally met you” He let go and stepped back, being led away by the Fatui Agent. You see Childe signal to you out of a shadowy corner. You went over to see him holding himself up with one arm on the wall.

“Why didn’t you say goodbye to him?” You place him arm over your shoulder

“Partings are special moments, I don't want his last memory of me to be of me like this. All haggard and weak. Still… I wish I could have seen him off” He gave a sad smile as he looked down at the red-lacquered wood of the bridge.

You began to escort him back to his apartment. He shook you off and walked a short distance ahead of you. Eventually he unlocked the door and collapsed onto the couch in exhaustion. Groaning as he finally let his body rest.

“You told your family about me” You comment, voice flat

“That I did” he mumbled, You felt the rage quell in you, rage that he put you and Teucer in danger like that, that he pushed himself so hard. You took a deep breath in, trying to calm down.

You spoke softly, sitting down on the couch. His head in your lap, you tangled your fingers in his hair gently. A lock of his hair was lighter than the rest, something new.

“Why?” You looked down at him, he looked tired and yet content

“I-I don’t know.” He admitted. He coughed violently. 

“You. Childe, Tartaglia Ajax. Harbinger, Abyssiling, Boy. Are a man of inherent contradictions. You care so deeply about your family's safety and mine to the extent that you had me make contracts with you and yet, you put us in dangers way. You took Teucer and I to an abandoned factory of Dottore’s for what? Your brother's entertainment?”

You took a breath and continued “You told your family about me, what if those letters got intercepted?” You spoke evenly

You looked into his eyes, the purported windows of the soul only to find they were shut. letting nobody in. You realised that he not only contradicts everything you initially stood for, but everything he lived for. He didn’t want to release Osial but he did anyway. He hates the Fatui’s deception but deceives his own siblings. He acts so genuine and yet he wears a mask.

“You could have gotten yourself killed like that” You try not to scold him

“I nearly did, transforming that fast fucking hurts. But it's something I need to do to keep my family safe. The abyss taught me that wrath will always be the cost of protection” He fully relaxed into your lap

“What happened to Ajax, What happened in the Abyss?” You prodded further, no indication of anger in your voice

“Truths you wouldn't want to know, what Celestia did to Khaenri'ah, the roots for my loyalty to the Tsaritsa. Ajax died in the Abyss by my own hand” 

“Then who are you if not a loyal dog to the Tsaritsa, Ajax?” There was a faint glint of light in his eyes as you spoke his true name. 

“I am nothing but her vanguard, without her I am a soul lost in the snow. The boy who clambered out of the abyss and attempted to grasp the gods”

“Ajax isn’t dead is he? Buried somewhere in the snow he still lives and breathes” Your fingers twitch in his hair

“Don't try and crack this mask” He said, not even having the energy to try and be intimidating

“Watch me break it in two” You replied 

Translations! Tres autuem Facies Praenuntius -> Three Faces of the Laughing Harbinger Il n'y a pas de douceur comme ton péché/тогда приходи и купайся в нем, дорогая -> There is no such sweetness as your sin/Then come and bathe in it darling Любовник -> lover

[faestunna]

giver (no woman like you)

PAIRING: roy goode x fem!reader

WC: 8.2k

WARNINGS: mentions of parental issues, male violence, misogyny, guns/weapons, sexual insinuation, hunting/killing animals (for food), reader is stubborn and unaware, death, violence (shooting), drinking, pining/yearning, use of ‘whore’ for prostitute, unprotected sex (p in v), fingering, bath/shower sex, dirty talk, praise kink, riding (girl on top), nipple play, creampie, cute cuddling

A/N: well…this is it, everybody. big thank you to @spikedfearn for a discussion on how roy’s praise kink, @amaranthine-enihtnarama, @iceemochaa, @remmicks-salvation for the motivation to write, @fuckoffbard for literally everything, @confetti-cakemix and my lovelyyyy wifey @eternalstrigoii for beta reading! this fic is based off of this request, so thank you anon 😌 roy goode is my no. 1 jack role so this is long overdue! this takes place before godless, so no need to watch/know the show. please enjoy!

masterlist

You had a habit of finding yourself in places where you didn't belong. As a child, it was your father grabbing you by the back of your frock after he found you wandering near the library. "Girls don't need to concern themselves with books," he'd said. Didn't stop you from reading almost every one of them.

It was back in Courthill when he caught you watching the deputy's target practice.

“You should be courting the boys, not shooting at ‘em.”

So, it was no surprise that you found yourself as another lonely wanderer through the vast Western frontier. You’d slipped out the back door of his farmhouse that had never been a home. And considering there hadn’t been a single sign of a search for you in the past five years, clearly, you weren’t missed. Maybe you’d been presumed dead.

It was no matter to you now. Courthill was long behind you, and living on your own as a young woman in the West had taught you more than your father ever had.

You’d done bad things, but no worse than any man. You’d killed, but no more than a woman’s survival called for.

Now, as you found yourself wandering in some forsaken town during the hottest month of the summer, you couldn’t help but remember your father’s words. There was no telling if you were even in Texas anymore. Your only possessions consisted of a sack swung over your shoulder carrying spare clothes and a canteen.

The scorched dirt crunched underneath your boots. This town wasn’t yours and you weren’t about to stroll around it like it was, but no matter how low you held your head, you felt the glare of cautious, watchful eyes.

It wasn’t everyday someone would see an alluring woman like you dressed in her father’s trousers—a few sizes too big—boots that were stuffed at the toe to fit, and a gambler hat faded by the sun. The most noticeable accessory was the silver pistol on your belt. But it wasn’t the stolen clothes that gave it away.

It was your hair. Uncut and hanging just above your waist. And the fact you hadn’t made an attempt to hide it under your hat showed you weren’t trying to be someone you weren’t.

You were just another runaway.

There were whispers, none of which you could make out, but enough to know you weren’t exactly welcome in this place.

You had to leave. Soon. But the next civilization wasn’t for another eight miles—too far to go on foot in this heat.

“Who is that?” A young boy asked his mother; she shushed him, and turned him away.

Like the sight of you was a walking sin.

The rim of your hat hid your eyes as you walked past them. A sharp turn to your right led you to another street lined with wooden buildings bent from the Western wind. This road was quieter and emptier; you preferred it that way.

Then, like a miracle, you heard the sound of a deep, throaty snort. Your gaze shifted to an alley between a small house and the telegraph office where a hitching post stood in the dirt. Tied to it was a black mare, standing strong despite the sun beaming down on her.

Bullseye.

You were careful not to make any sudden sounds as you approached the post. She shifted her weight, head hung low just like yours as steam faintly curled from her nostrils.

“Easy, girl,” you hold your hand out gently.

On her back was a worn leather saddle and two sacks hung over her hips. Braided reins wrapped around her snout. This one belonged to someone, and as a stranger to this town, you had no place in taking her.

A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, you thought to yourself.

Once you were close enough, you set your hand on her cheek, gently rubbing the soft fur with your thumb. “Long day?” You half-cooed, scratching underneath her chin. The mare snorted in response.

Looking over your shoulder to see that no one had noticed you yet, you began to sort through the sacks. An empty canteen. A couple of golden, shotgun shells. A stale, half-eaten piece of bread wrapped in cloth. A handful of silver dollars. You took the money, but everything else was nothing of value to you. You threw the sacks to the ground so the dust floated in the air like a cloudy sky you hadn’t seen in days. A bead of sweat dripped down your cheek as you hurriedly tied your own bag to the saddle, moving to undo the knot around the hitching post.

If your heart hadn’t been beating so hard that you could feel it in your eardrums, you might’ve heard the quiet footsteps behind you.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” a low, gentle voice called out to you.

You almost gasped, your fingers still fumbling with the reins. Turning on the heel of your boot, you noticed the figure at the end of the alley.

A man dressed in black half-smiled at you.

“Afternoon, sir.”

“Is there, uh,” he began to slowly approach you, and you readied yourself to pull the gun from your side. “something I can help you with?”

Perhaps he was just a kind man looking to help a random woman in trouble. But you didn’t plan on finding out.

“Oh, not at all,” you smiled warmly. “Thank you.”

You finished untying the knot of the reins, quick to get out of this town as soon as possible.

But before you could secure it in your hand, the man behind you clicked his tongue against his teeth. In almost an instant, the mare rushed to him, the reins slipping from your hands with a burning sensation. You hissed at the feeling and immediately pulled the pistol from your hip.

The horse stopped by his side. The man looked over to see your gun pointed directly at his chest. Aimed for his heart.

Roy Goode had met a lot of strange people in his life. He’d been to a lot of strange places, and never had he met such a woman like you—standing in your stolen boots and holding your pistol at him; you could take his life in an instant, and he doesn’t doubt it. He takes the reins in his hands and twists it around his palm.

“Thieves don’t do too well here,” he said, though it didn’t feel like a threat.

Dust swirls in the space between you. “I didn’t know it was yours,” there’s an edge of defensiveness and even shame to your voice. “I’ve stolen worse from worse men.”

There’s a ghost of a smirk on his face. The man studies you for a moment and nods once. “That why you’re out here alone?”

If you had thought of something clever enough to say, you would’ve, but your mind draws a blank. You’re fixated on the pair of blue eyes watching you. Without noticing, you’ve lowered your weapon to your hips already.

“What’s your name?”

You glared at him for a moment. “And why should I tell you?”

He smiles. “It’d be kind, at the very least. Wanna know who I’m talking to.”

“(y/n). (l/n).”

The man nods. “Well, Miss (l/n), horses aren’t just toys to be stolen,” he says, gently petting the mare’s chin and running his fingers through her mane. “You want something that runs, you earn it.”

“And how would I do that?” You tilt your head.

The man mounts the horse with an impressive ease. He settles into the saddle like he’d been doing it his entire life. Now, the tilted smirk on his face widens. “Don’t suppose you’re any good with a rifle?”

You glance off in the distance for only a second.

You could bolt off right there and then. It’d probably earn you a bullet in the leg, but you were quicker than you looked.

Most men in the West would have shot you on the spot for messing with what was theirs. Not this one. You clicked your teeth at the realization that your options were severely outweighed.

Any good with a rifle? “Good enough.”

Whoever this man was, he wasn’t completely with the law.

Yet, he didn’t seem to think himself above it. You nearly objected when he paid a rancher on the outskirts of town for a horse, saddle and all, but who were you to deny a gift? Besides, it had a lovely chestnut coat that you admired.

The town was far behind you as you slowed the horses’ galloping to a gentle stroll beside one another. To anyone who didn’t already know you, the two of you actually made quite a nice-looking pair.

Canyon walls surrounding you stood tall, practically glowing a golden rust in the late afternoon sun. Gravel and dirt crunched underneath the horse hooves; small songbirds gently chirped off in the distance; the dry air whistled a tune. The sweet music of the West.

Neither of you spoke much.

There was a polite “thank you” for the horse and a brief conversation about sunburn, but other than that, you were complete strangers. Perhaps it was a way of leaving the scenery undisturbed, or maybe it was that you didn’t have anything to say until one of you was sick of the silence.

Fortunately, he gave in first. “So what’s a young lady such as yourself doin’ in these parts?”

“I’m not a lady,” You had no qualms against this man, but a part of you scowled at him. It wasn’t the first time someone thought they’d figured you out because of what was between your legs. “And I’m from Courthill. Texas.”

He whistled. “You’re a long way from home.”

“How long?”

“About two weeks that way.” He pointed to the left.

For the past few days, you wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint your location on a map if it was laid out in front of you. It was odd to think that home—a place you never wanted to see again—was so close yet so far.

He spoke again. “I don’t suppose you made the whole journey by foot.”

You scowled, turning your head so he wouldn’t notice it. As of now, he’d only shown you kindness. You couldn’t shake the stubborn, defensive barrier that came with being a woman on her own.

“I had a horse,” you shifted the reins in your hands to avoid a large rock in the path. “Couldn’t keep it fed, so I sold it to a woman who could. A Miss Alice Fletcher.”

A brief silence settled between you before he broke it.

“Surely, there’re ways for a- uh, woman to, uh,” he cut himself off, gently stumbling on his words. You knew damn well what he was going to say. “You know…”

“Do I look like a prostitute to you?”

If your hair had been tied up, or you’d worn a thicker jacket to cover up the curve of your chest, Roy would’ve fairly assumed you were a thieving, conniving, worn-down man like him. But you weren’t. And he enjoyed seeing you in pants rather than a skirt. He didn’t even try to picture the latter.

There was dirt on your cheek. Mud smudged over the knees of your slacks. A small, red scar on your collar bone.

“No, ma’am.”

Good. That’s that. But he spoke again, just above a mumble like it was only meant for himself.

“You’d make good money as one.”

You sighed. A spiteful grin on your face. “So, would you.” It was meant to be offensive, something degrading and sarcastic. He hardly took it as one.

“Why, thank you.” He perked. You shook your head at your lame insult.

Then, he motioned to the hat on your head and the boots on your feet. “So I’m guessin’ those ain’t yours?”

Well, you’d hoped it wasn’t noticeable that they were a size too big. Your eyes trailed across the scenery, an embarrassingly obvious way of forming a quick lie. “A farmer from Oklahoma gave them to me.”

Of course, he saw right through it. “That don’t look like a farmer’s hat to me.”

“I didn’t realize I was being interrogated.”

“You did try to steal my horse.”

Touché, unfortunately. Without a moment to spare—because you really didn’t feel like opening yourself up to this man—you changed the subject. “Why’d you bring me along?”

He cocked his head. “Is it my turn now?”

You ignored the smirk on his face.

With a shrug, he continued, “There’s a man I’m lookin’ for, lives down in Tucson.” That nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. You pulled back on the reins and he turned at your sudden halt in the path. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“I don’t even know who the hell you are,” you sighed. It might’ve been better to speak a little quieter in a valley where anyone could be hidden, but you weren’t exactly aiming for security. “Look, I appreciate the horse, and I’m sure it’s a lovely ride to Tucson. This has been fun and all, but I’ve got other matters to deal with. You can’t even tell me the man’s name and I’m supposed to shoot him down for you?”

He didn’t necessarily smile at you; his lips only tilted slightly. It was his eyes that looked amused at your sudden burst.

The world you lived in wasn’t kind to women who used their mouths. You’d learned that the hard way from your father first. There were plenty of men down the line who’d shown you as well, mostly with their fist to your cheek. You weren’t wrong to feel angry or misled, but you hadn’t meant to raise your voice with a stranger.

Maybe he’d shoot you right there. Leave you for dead in the middle of nowhere.

But there was no firm slap across your face nor the ringing of a gun piercing a bullet in your side.

Just the surprisingly gentle tone of his voice.

“Now, that’s a mighty fine stallion, so you’re welcome for the horse. And yes, it is a lovely ride to Tucson. I think you’ll enjoy it. I wouldn’t say this has been fun—is this what you consider fun?” You scowled. “But I enjoy the company. And seein’ that you’ve made no attempt to outrun or rob me—again—I don’t think you do have other matters to attend to.

“The man’s name is Les Moore. He’s a banker-turned-bandit. We’ve got unfinished business I don’t plan on disclosin’, but I do plan on shooting him myself. I simply need someone to watch my back. And my name is Roy.”

He paused again, but this time, it left a noticeable weight in the air.

“Roy Goode.”

You knew that name. There wasn’t a soul throughout the West that didn’t know that name. You’d heard it in folktales and stories around campfires, seen it written in thick, blank ink on wanted posters across a hundred different towns.

Even further, you knew that the man it belonged to had a certain friend you didn’t want any association with.

“If you’d like to go your own way, be my guest.” He continued. “But you don’t seem to know these parts and a lot of men stronger than you have died here. It’s up to you…ma’am.”

A long silence followed.

Your teeth dig into the inside of your cheek because, deep down, you know he’s right. And you hate being wrong. The two of you stood still in the middle of the canyon. Even your horse sighed with impatience, but Roy kindly awaited your response.

“Fuck,” you said under your breath.

Then loud enough for Roy to hear, “Fine. But know this, Roy Goode,” You clicked your heels against the stallion’s belly. “Ain’t no man in the West who’s stronger than me.”

Not a single bone in Roy’s body doubted it.

“Careful, now.”

You clenched your jaw so visibly that Roy could see you were in no need of his advice. The rifle rested so comfortably in your hands, he had to wonder how many times you’d done this.

“I know how to shoot, Goode.”

“I believe you,” He dryly chuckled. “So take the shot.”

He had a point. It only pissed you off more. You shifted quietly enough that the small, dirt-colored rabbit off in the distance never noticed your presence. At this point, it would’ve been Roy’s voice that gave it away.

“Shut up,” you hissed.

With your left eye squeezed shut, you focused your sight on the rabbit. Not even your heart could beat hard enough to throw off your aim, but a gentle breeze blew a strand of hair into your face and ruined your line of vision.

“Let me do it,” Roy moved to take the pistol from his side before a shot rang from beside him.

The rabbit dropped to the ground with a gentle thud.

You grinned at your new partner in crime. “You were saying?”

An hour passed before the sun sat low in the sky, just above the line of the land, casting a golden hue across your surroundings. The rest of the sky was somehow an inky shade of black, illuminated with more stars than you’d ever seen in your life. Strange you thought to yourself. Embers from the small fire Roy had started with spare branches and weeds floated above you, glistening amongst the stars.

He watched you take the blade hidden in your belt, dragging it against the rabbit’s fur and pulling its skin from the meat. The women he knew would’ve gagged at the sight of blood or ran at the simple thought of killing an innocent animal.

But not you.

“Now, where’d you learn to do that?”

You chuckled, a faint smile coming to your face, at a memory. “I can’t go givin’ you all my secrets.”

There was something about you that knew survival. It was gritty and dark, and though he would never admit it, Roy ached to know more.

He hung the meat above the flames on a spit, gently twirling it so the skin had an even, roasted color all over. Your mouth watered at the sight of it. Once it was ready, the two of you ravaged it with desperate fingers like starving wolves. It was, in no way, a good meal. Dry and flavorless, and split between the two of you, one rabbit was hardly enough. But it was the first time in days that your stomach had been able to settle over anything.

“I lived off of lizards for a time,” Roy said once there were only bones left. The two of you wore soft, tired smiles that came with good food and good company. You’d licked your fingers clean and now used your leather sack as a make-shift pillow. “Can’t shoot the fuckers. I had to chase after them with a blade.”

You laughed softly. Roy enjoyed the way a smile—not a flashy, pretty one put on to appease the men around you, but a distant, reminiscent one—looked on you.

“I’ve been there. I was near Mexico when all I had were tree leaves and cactus meat. Boiled it with river water.” Roy hummed a chuckle. The horses, tied to a withered tree, shuffled nearby. You glanced over your shoulder at them. “I like to think they’re talking to each other.”

“They are,” he said, throwing the last of the bones into the dirt. “June’s got a lot of stories to tell him.”

For a brief moment, you thought it odd that he referred to the horses like they were the same as him—or that he was one of them.

You arched a brow, “You named her June?”

Roy could see that you were amused. “Thought it was pretty.” He almost shrugged.

You hummed in fairness. Glancing back at your horse, you realized it didn’t feel right to leave him nameless. And despite Roy having bought it, the stallion was yours. “Johnny.” You said plainly.

“Come again?”

“I’ll name him Johnny.”

Now you were talking like you were one of them too.

Roy wondered then who Johnny was to you. Or maybe it was someone from a past life. He gazed at the remains of the fire before glancing over at you.

Maybe it was the gentle light in the vast darkness, but there was a newfound softness in your face. He could see the tiniest of imperfections—small scars won in battle, a minuscule bump on your chin—of which most women would cover with powder.

But not you.

He’d seen beautiful women before. Plenty of them. And here you were, resting near the flickering fire and under the iridescent moonlight, forcing him to question if he’d ever really understood beauty before he saw you.

“Johnny and June.” He said out loud in thought.

You met his eyes, unaware of how long he’d been looking at you. “It has a nice ring.”

Roy nodded. “That it does.”

Three days of riding had taken the two of you to a small town called Tombstone, just a day’s journey to Tucson. Roy’s name was known around here, but, thankfully, his face wasn’t.

With a pair of crinkled, ten-dollar bills, he reserved two separate rooms in a lodging above the general store. As he paid, the clerk didn’t miss her chance to shoot a half-confused, half-cautious glare your way. “Each room’s got a tub,” she noted, motioning to the smudged dirt on your cheek.

You gave her a tight smile. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Roy handed you a key and kept one for himself as the two of you scaled the stairs to the second floor. “Hungry at all?”

“You got the money for dinner?”

He shrugged, “Enough for more than rabbits and lizards.” You reached a long hallway. He pointed to the second to last door marked with a 6. “I think that’s your room there.”

“This says four,” you read the engraved number on the key. The correct door was only two away. Roy only hesitantly chuckled to himself. You glanced at his key, “And you’re three.”

“Right,” he said, awkwardly but gratefully nodding. He seemed to know numbers well enough when it came to money.

Without saying more, you started to fumble with the keyhole of your door. The lock clicked open before Roy spoke again. “There’s a saloon on the corner. Meet me there a little after the sun sets? Give you some time to rest up.”

You were surprised to instantly nod at his request. “Sure,” you smiled before you went your separate ways.

The room wasn’t much by anyone else’s standards, but it was more than you’d seen in weeks. A wire-framed bed with two quilts and an oil lamp sat to your right; a wardrobe for clothes you didn’t have stood tall in the corner. A metal basin in the other one. The windows were adorned with dusty lace curtains that filtered the sunlight into the room.

You locked the door behind you and tossed the sack on the ground, immediately collapsing onto the bed. The springs squeaked underneath your body, but the mattress was comfortable enough.

Better than rocks and dirt.

Before you let your eyes close, you watched the ceiling, noticing the slight cracks in it. They began to form a shape, soon morphing into a familiar face. Blue eyes that always seemed to gaze at you when you weren’t looking. A pair of soft lips that hardly ever smiled, but on the canvas of the ceiling, they did.

You laid on your side and forced your eyes shut.

But even in the darkness of your mind, a place of purgatory between dreams and wake, you saw him.

When you woke, you swore you could feel something grazing your arm. But you turned over to see that you were still alone in the room. The sweet, golden light of day was gone now, replaced by the ghostly, glowing moon. A gentle hue of purple sat over the horizon.

It hadn’t been dark for long. You thought this while mentally praying you hadn’t kept Roy waiting too long.

You hurried to grab your hat and leave the room, rushing down the stairs and out the door. Just as he’d said, a saloon stood tall on the corner of the street. A few men grouped together with smoke curling from their mouths watched as you approached the entrance.

“Evening…ma’am,” they said hesitantly at your appearance. You only nodded.

With one step into the bar, you seemed to catch the attention of nearly everyone inside. You noticed then that there didn’t appear to be a single woman. Even the man at the piano stopped playing his song, only missing a beat before starting again.

Silence. Your boots clicked against the wood floor.

You glanced around the room for your traveling companion before a man with a thick beard approached you. His broad frame seemed to block you from entering further.

“Ma’am.” He grinned, revealing yellow teeth and two silver caps. His eyes drifted up and down your figure. “I think you may be in the wrong place. Sally’s cafe down the street doesn’t close for another hour.”

You tightly smiled back. “I assure you, sir, I’m in the right spot.”

You began to move forward again before his firm hand pressed itself over your stomach. The contact, unexpected and unwelcome, made you suddenly feel trapped.

“Good men don’t go puttin’ their hands on young women,” a voice said from behind you.

The man slowly dropped both his hand and his grin. You turned to see Roy standing just as he had back in that alley. He offered you a small smile.

“You with him?” The man sneered, glancing back and forth between you and Roy trying to discern the dynamic. You shook your head.

“He’s with me.”

As the man backed away, retreating to his spot at the bar with his friends, Roy’s footsteps halted at your side. He pulled out a chair from a table nearby and held his hand out like a gentleman. You kindly took the seat.

Roy sat across from you, placing his hat on the table. “Two whiskeys,” he ordered once a server came by. “What’s your finest meal?”

“I’ve got a beef and bean stew.” The server offered.

“Two of those,” you smiled. He turned away, leaving just you and Roy alone again.

And despite the other men in the room cautiously eyeing you, not a single soul seemed to exist then. The server returned with two glasses of whiskey before the bar guests called him back over.

“That happen anytime you go somewhere?” Roy asked with the whiskey at his lips.

You twirled your glass, careful not to spill a single drop. “For the most part,” you shrugged, though you don’t appear to be at all fazed from the gentle smile you wore. There was a distant, amused gleam in your eyes where Roy could see a thousand thoughts running in your mind.

“I don’t need saving, you should know,” you added a little quieter.

Roy wasn’t offended. Not at the very least, but he thought it odd that you hadn’t fully appreciated his incursion. Now that he considered it more, he would’ve liked to see you handle yourself.

“Well, I respect that,” he said. You nodded in gratitude and he blinked.

“You’re a respectable woman, Miss (l/n).”

Your body froze as whiskey hit your throat like flames. “What makes you say that?”

He gave a small shrug. “There aren’t many women out in the West who carry themselves with…strength.” He held his hand up defensively and chuckled. “I mean no offense, I think all women are respectable. More than any man, that’s for sure. Hell, my mother died when I was young, but I knew she was formidable.”

You knew that kind of pain. Your heart clenched, but your expression didn’t change.

“I guess, you somewhat remind me of that about her.”

You’d been complimented before, much more in regards to your looks, but there were many who’d commended your skills with a pistol or aptitude for words. No one had gone so far as to say you were formidable.

And deep down, you’d always considered yourself so.

But it was different to finally hear it from someone else. Someone other than your mind who could see you for what you were.

You knew you were strong. And Roy Goode knew it too.

“My mother died when I was young, as well,” you added. “Don’t remember her much, and my father didn’t like to talk about it.”

He studied you for a good moment. Then, knowingly, “You ran away?”

“As soon as I was eighteen,” you hummed. “Should’ve done it sooner. Woulda saved me a lot of trouble.”

The subject of parents was a risky place to go with someone like Roy Goode, but there wasn’t a bone in your body that was afraid of it. “What about you,” you amused. “Mama died and you come across Frank Griffin?”

His eyes snapped up to yours like a threat, but you weren’t afraid of him. At all.

“Everyone knows who Frank Griffin is,” you downed the rest of your drink. A little more would go to your head soon. “I’m not stupid.”

Then, Roy’s eyes softened.

“You can read,” was all he said.

“What?” Did he even hear you?

Roy quickly caught himself and shook his head. “Nothin’.”

The server returned to the side of the table and refilled your glasses. Once he was out of earshot, Roy rested his elbows on the table. “I met Frank when I was younger. He and his brother saved my life.”

You arched a brow. “Frank Griffin saved your life?”

“Careful, ma’am,” he finished his second glass in one gulp. “Don’t go sayin’ his name too many times, or you’ll summon someone worse than the devil.”

“Guess he can’t be too bad if you’re with him.”

Although you expected Roy to chuckle, or at the very least smile, at your comment, he didn’t. He instead thickly swallowed as if he’d suddenly gone nervous. You could see his knuckles tense.

It was maybe a miracle when the server then arrived with two steaming bowls of stew. The smell that it emanated was that of bitter salt and old potatoes, but as you dragged your spoon in it, it looked fine enough to consume. The two of you hesitantly and simultaneously took one mouthful before furrowing your brows in thought.

After a moment, you set the spoon down and shook your head.

Roy’s lips curled in disgust. “I think I almost prefer the rabbits and lizards.”

You instantly broke out into a synchronous chuckle, one that almost made your smiles reach your eyes. He tried to take another bite before swearing it was poison. A few other guests at the bar sent some questionable glares your way—your laughter was nearly louder than the piano.

But the two of you could hardly notice anyone else when you had the other right across the table.

It was surely late enough to retire back to your rooms by the time you’d finished at the saloon, but the combination of your earlier rest and the whiskey running through your veins left you both awake.

The street lamps had been lit as the two of you strolled down the side, passing by the few townspeople who’d decided to enjoy the pleasant evening air.

For the first time in a while, it wasn’t blistering hot, even with the moon in the sky.

Your conversation from dinner hadn’t ended for a single moment during your walk. “You’re some kind of horse whisperer, then?” You asked after Roy had told you he ‘understood them’.

“Maybe I am,” he chuckled, hands lazily in his pockets. “Maybe we share the same kind of brain. I can hear them.”

You shook your head with a grin, the whiskey still hot in veins. “You’re something else,” you mumble. “You got June well-trained, I’ll say that.”

But Roy tutted. “It’s not ‘trained’—your first mistake.” You nodded for him to continue. “I respect her and she respects me. It’s a relationship.”

“She respects you?” You asked in amused disbelief.

He hummed. “It’s a balance, like an exchange.”

Though you can still sense the humor in your voice, you momentarily ponder that what Roy said was deeply beautiful. You’d never given it much thought, but riding a horse was much more than mounting it and yelling at it until it went.

Roy had a profound tenacity for kindness that you hadn’t encountered in very many, if not any, men. In a way, it puzzled you. He was a complicated, tangled string that became a fascinating image in all of its knots. You were vexed by it just like the constellations in the sky as the two of you gazed up at the end of the road.

“I do hope Heaven is real,” you say out loud. You didn’t actually mean to.

But Roy knew exactly what you meant.

“Me too,” he said softly, carefully shifting his gaze to you for only a moment—taking in how perfectly moonlight hit your skin, shadowing and highlighting all of the right parts.

You were the type of woman someone carried a picture of with them for the mere hope they’d see you again.

He looked down at his boots in the dirt. “Doubt I’d make it there.”

You turned to him. “You don’t think so?”

“Well, bad men seem to do well enough down here,” Roy smiled softly to himself. “I don’t think I know anyone who’d make it up there. Good, bad…I used to think there was a difference. It’s just two ends of the same spectrum.”

“And what about me?”

Roy looked at you then, almost puzzled. Bewildered. “What?”

“You said you don’t know anyone who’s good enough for heaven.” The slight tilt of your lips was more intoxicating than the whiskey. “What about me?”

Despite the burning in his pulse, Roy held himself back from saying what he wants: Wherever it is, I hope it’s with me.

Instead, he professed, “Well, you just might be an exception.”

And for the first time since you met Roy Goode, you let yourself feel the blood in your body rush to your heart. It moved to your cheeks, and you mentally thank God that it was too dark to see how red they’d turned.

But there were worse matters on hand than the flush on your face. It was the horrible ache between your legs that hadn’t been relieved in…too long.

“C’mon,” you mused. “We should get back before it’s too late.”

His bashful smirk matched your own.

Roy’s eyes don’t pull from your figure for a single second as he follows you up the stairs…the sway of your hips with each step, how you glance over your shoulder to see if he’s close behind.

And each time you look, he’s exactly where you expect him to be.

The sound of your boots comes to a halt as you stop at the door marked four, your fingers brushing over the handle. Roy’s presence lingered behind you like a ghost.

“Today was a hot one,” he says quietly, as if anything too loud would have you running away. “Left me feelin’ grimy.”

Like you’d said: You weren’t stupid. “Best to wash it off, then.”

He nods back slowly with a soft smirk you haven’t seen him wear yet. You wonder then what it’ll be like to undress it.

You push the door open with a sudden ease from Roy’s weight pressed against you. His hand graces over your hip as he closes the door witht the heel of his boot. Once his touch becomes firmer—but still respectful—you speak again.

“You’ve helped me an awful lot these past few days.” You didn’t expect yourself to speak so softly. His other hand sets his hat on the side of the bed. “Buying me that horse, this room…”

In the corner, the large metal basin sits empty. Waiting.

“You treat every girl who robs you like this?”

A quiet chuckle comes from the depths of his chest. “Just this one.”

Your eyes glance at his, before drifting downwards to where your hand ghosts over his belt. A shaky, almost inaudible breath falls from his lips. “I almost feel like I owe you.”

“Oh, no,” he drawls. “Darlin’, you don’t owe me nothin’.”

He tilts your chin upwards so your eyes meet his again. You don’t even notice you’ve taken your bottom lip in between your teeth, and he nearly moans just at the sight of that.

“I’m a giver,” he says softly, his thumb dragging over your lip. The metal in his belt clanks as you fumble with the buckle.

He leans in even closer. “And I could give you something more.”

So close. Close enough that he can undo each button of your blouse, so slowly you swear he’s trying to make your skin crawl. Close enough that he can feel your lips brushing over the corner of his mouth.

It’s not an invitation. It’s a seal of approval.

And so with it, Roy lets his body move before his mind can stop him—not that it ever would. You mold so perfectly against his lips like he was made to kiss you and no one else. It’s warm and wet when he drags his tongue, brushing over your teeth and finding your own.

You’ve been kissed before, but never like this. Never so sweetly yet vigorously. He pulls your top from your shoulders and lets it fall to the ground, your trousers soon after. You toe your boots off before unbuttoning his own shirt.

He pulls from the kiss to drag his lips across your jaw, grazing over your neck.

“Been wonderin’ what was underneath all this.”.

“You like what you see?” You giggle.

He stands back, and you’re left vulnerable and naked. The air is cold without his touch. You almost feel unsure of yourself.

Then you realize he’s looking at you with the hunger of a starved wolf.

“Darlin’, I ain’t sayin’ I’m gonna ruin you—would never ruin you,” his chest rises and falls with a heavy, steadying breath. “But you just might beg me to.”

Your knees almost buckle. He moves to switch on the faucet to the tub, and you take the moment to appreciate the parts of him you can see. His belt hangs slightly open, the zipper of his jeans pulled halfway down.

You run your hand through the water once it reaches a high level in the tub.

“‘S perfect,” you hum, a warm smile on your face that soon disappears when Roy lifts you from your feet.

He sets you inside the tub, leaning over the edge. Cupping the water with his hands, he runs it over every inch of your body, making sure there isn’t a single dry spot apart from your face. When his fingers graze your skin, you shudder.

“Aren’t you gonna join me, Goode?” You ask with a tempting smile.

“Lady’s first.” He takes a soft rag by the side of the tub and lathers it with a citrus soap, rubbing it smoothly over your figure.

You sigh contently. “No point in washin’ the sin off me now if we’ll be making more later.”

Your eyes meet his. Temptation mounted his face with an alluring darkness settling over his eyes.

A pressure began to build in the space between your legs before you realized it was no phantom feeling, but instead Roy’s two digits submerged under the water. He’d dropped the towel in the water with his mind focused on something else now. His fingertips brushed over your pearl before completely pressing against it.

He acted as if there was no time to waste, setting a consistent, circular motion over your clit. Your eyelids fluttered close blissfully.

“Fuck,” Your brows knitted together, a soft, restrained curse fell from your lips.

Then, he pulled his hand away.

Your eyes shot open again to meet his. He warned, “Don’t hold back from me now, baby.”

You nod as he pressed a little harder against you. You swear his hand is made of iron—hot, smooth metal that knows just how to perfectly work the most beautiful sounds from you.

As you writhe in the water, eyes squeezed shut with your mouth gaped open, Roy’s eyes remain on you.

“Someone’s gonna hear you, honey,” he presses his forehead against your temple. “They don’t deserve to.”

You instinctively lean against him, grinding your hips into his hand. The pads of his fingers drift down to your puckering hole, but no more than that.

“Please, Roy,” your hand reaches out of the water to curve around the back of his head, pushing his mouth closer to yours.

He chuckles. “I told you, you’d be begging for me.”

Then, like he was trying to make you cry, he pulled away and rose to his feet so he towered over you. His bottom lip, swollen from your kisses, hung heavy and glistened with your drool as Roy’s hands pulled his belt from the loops. It fell to the ground with a loud clatter, his jeans following soon after.

You stood from the tub and reached for him, your hands drifting down to the last thing covering him from you. And once he was fully bare, the two of you stood still for a moment.

Shamelessly, you drifted your gaze down his body, taking in what it was like to see Roy Goode in all of his glory.

Glorious was the right way to put it, for sure.

He smiled as he watched you scan him before taking your lip in between your teeth again.

“C’m’here,” he says softly, taking your hand in his.

You stepped out of the tub, dripping water on the wood floor. It’d surely leak through to the ceiling above the poor woman downstairs.

Before you could say anything, Roy’s mouth landed on yours again, his fingers running through the dry roots of your hair.

“Can’t get enough of you.” His words came out muffled and broken through the kiss.

“It’s yours,” you say, placing your hands on his chest and breaking the kiss. A small, gentle push has him settling on the floor, and you’re quick to take your seat on top of him.

His eyes softly close when your folds envelope his cock with an insatiable warmth.

“I’m yours. From the moment you showed me,” you relax and feel his solid shaft right under that swollen pearl. “Kindness when I did you wrong.” Your fingers lace with his. “I’m all yours, Roy. So take it.”

His right hand lifts your hips the slightest bit, allowing him space to take his cock in his left hand. He strokes it gently with a tight fist. The tip of it bumps against your hole, and you can feel it leaking against you.

“You ain’t real,” he whispers, eyes focused on where you two touch. And in a moment, you become connected. “Are you?”

One swift move of his hips pushes his full length past your folds. Your jaw drops open, but it’s the overwhelming feeling of him splitting you open that leaves you surprisingly quiet.

Roy doesn’t seem happy at that. He juts his hips upwards at a different angle so a sweet yelp cuts through the air. “Fuck, that’s good,.” He pulls you so close that your flesh nearly melts around the bone. You’re putty in his hands. “Pretty cunt’s grippin’ me like a vice.”

Everytime Roy’s hips draw from you, only to vigorously push themselves into you again, you swear you see God.

The skin on your knees splits against the splinters of the floorboards. A pleasurable pain. You steady yourself with your hands on his chest.

“‘S my turn, now,” your words slur together, eyelids heavy from how sweetly the tip of him kisses your cervix. “Gotta give you something too.”

He doesn’t object. His hands settle like a loose weight over your hips as you start to move yourself. Your hips grind against him, letting his cock rub against every inch inside of you. The motion is too familiar. For a second, you swear you’re riding off into the sunset with heaven in your pocket.

Your eyelids flutter close when you begin to bounce. And though you can’t see it, Roy can. His chest under your hands lets out heavy breaths as he gazes at how you swallow his entire length like it’s nothing.

But he knows it’s not. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he feels his body go loose. He lets himself give in to you. “Ride it.”

Gravity pushes you down just for you to lift yourself back up again. Your tits bounce in the most mesmerizing way, and Roy’s hand reaches up to grab the flesh of them. His thumb rolls over your nipple.

“You’re beautiful,” he grunts out, bending his legs so you can rest your back against them. But your movements don’t stop.

And neither does the way Roy looks at you like you’re the only thing worth living for.

When you catch his eyes on you, you clench around his girth, pulling another sharp moan from him. Suddenly, his hips begin to meet yours in a pleasurable rhythm; the sounds of skin slapping, heavy breaths, and your delicate yet guttural moans make the most beautiful music.

“Don’t stop, sweetheart,” Roy pleads.

Your mouth curls, “Who’s begging now?”

He chuckles. A soft tension around his cock grows into a desperate need to finish off how good you feel around him.

“You got it, baby.” His drawl leaves your hips stuttering, and he can tell from how you’ve tightened around him, you’re feeling just the same as him. “Make yourself feel good on it, just like that. Wanna see you turn to pieces all over me.”

Suddenly, your head is too heavy to hold upright. It lulls back onto your shoulders, all of your energy going towards the way you ride him.

“You feel it? Gonna make a mess for me?”

You nod, rapidly and loosely.

“We’ll just have to clean you up all over again.” He mutters to himself, and you can hear the smirk on his face. It stays there even as his brows furrow together, a mixture of bliss and pressure.

You feel the pad of his thumb press against your clit again. You instantly break at the contact. He feels your orgasm wash over him, a lush shower of warmth that brings his own release.

It mixes together inside of you like the sunrise bleeding into the remainder of the night outside your window. It’d be illogical to sleep now, but you can’t find it within yourself to keep your eyes open as your cheek rests against Roy’s chest.

His hand lazily rubs over your spine. “S’pose Les Moore will have to wait to die another day,” he whispers.

You chuckle, “Don’t waste your bullets on that man. I’ll do it myself.”

Roy cocks his head. A few days ago, you would’ve protested at any mention of doing his bidding. And here you were, now, ready to make yourself a wanted woman.

There were many women he’d slept with. Many women who’d opened their doors, shared their beds, held him in their arms. Many women who’d sing him to sleep thinking it’d make him maybe even love them.

And sure, he’d been with whores. He’d paid good money to see fine women dance like there was no God above. Maybe even paid them off enough so they wouldn’t have to suffer under any more men with a heavy fist.

Many women who’d liked the color of his eyes. Who’d gasped and shuddered at the sound of his name. Who’d fawned over the sight of him.

But never a woman like you.

He tells himself to remember that forever as he carries you to the bed.

You’ll wash in the morning he thinks when he pulls the covers to your chin. And when Roy moves to draw his own bath, he hears your tired voice from behind.

“Don’t go,” you call out to him.

He hums. “I’m only right here, darlin’.”

Your eyes are closed shut, lost in a dimension between sleep and wake. “Here,” you say softly, motioning to the spot in the bed next to you.

He ignores the sheer layer of sweat clinging to his skin. He ignores that there’s still dirt in his hair from earlier in the day. He ignores the grimy feeling underneath his nails and the ache in his feet. Roy carries himself to the side of the bed.

The sheets are cool against his skin as he takes the spot beside you. Then, he feels the warmth of your arm draped over his chest. He stills.

“You never held a woman, Roy Goode?” you tease with a tired smile.

“Sure, I have,” he says. “First time it’s felt right, though.”

You move your head so he can tuck his arm underneath it. He feels your soft, mindless clouds of breath against his skin.

This is it he thinks. Heaven.

© faestunna 2025.

[tellingtell5]

The ain't no grave 《Remmick, sinners x reader 》

Pre-vamp Remmick x vampire femreader

Summary: A chained poet who doesn’t know what his voice might summon. Dead things are better left buried— or maybe not?

A/N: Had an idea for a story. Asked you all. You said yes. So here it is!

I think it got a bit mixed up with Godless because, well, taming horses and Jack… and Jack’s just incredible in that show (like, everything he does really).

Let me know if you like it! Hope you enjoy it.

Comments and likes keep me going—they give a voice to whatever’s bouncing around in my head.

Nothing mattered anymore. Not really.

Or so you told yourself, wandering aimlessly through these foreign lands—lands that had once sung with the breath of your ancestors but now answered only to silence and strange-tongued men. You kept walking, though it was little more than habit. A ghost’s reflex. An echo pretending to be motion. You fed when you must, but there was no hunger behind it anymore. Only ritual. Only dust.

This time, you didn’t bother seeking shade from the sun.

You reached a clearing, the grass rising up to meet your ankles with its delicate brush. Once, you might have knelt and let it kiss your skin. Now, you only knew it was soft because your eyes saw it and your mind remembered what softness used to feel like. You tried to sigh. No sound came. Your chest stayed still—emptied of air, of life, of everything but memory.

You laid yourself down on the earth. Not to rest. Not to die. Only to feel something that wasn’t the gnawing hollowness inside you. Eyes shut, you waited. You prayed—not to a god, not anymore—but to the death that had once claimed you and never finished the job.

But nothing came. Not sleep. Not peace. Not release.

You were emptiness stitched into a body. Except for that one sensation you could not shake. That low, burning ache where your heart used to beat. Hunger.

Always hunger.

Never enough. Never still.

You clenched your fists, furious you couldn’t even summon tears to match the rawness scraping at your throat. Not even weeping was yours anymore. The gods had stolen that small grace too.

Then—it happened.

A tremor rolled through you like a shiver through soil before a storm. It started at the base of your spine and crept outward, blooming through bone and skin. You sat up at once, every instinct sharp with alarm. If you’d been alive, your breath would have caught, your flesh would have wept sweat. But instead, you simply knew that something was different.

You thought—No. You knew—you felt your heart.

It fluttered, weak and wounded, under your palm. Thudding like a drum out of rhythm, like it had forgotten the song it once played. You gasped—sharp and real. You hadn’t gasped in centuries. The sound alone startled you more than the beat beneath it.

Then, in the distance, you heard it. Not with your ears, but with every fiber of your forsaken being. A voice. Low, fragile. Singing.

A song.

Not just sound, but life. A summons. A heartbeat stretched into melody.

You crawled toward it, drawn not by reason but by something older, more primal. The glow of a fire flickered between the trees, and your hands tore through the underbrush to reach it. Branches split your skin—but this time, when they did, you bled. Thin streaks of red. As if your body remembered.

You reached the edge of the clearing and crouched low, hidden by a thicket. There, beside a weak fire, knelt a boy—no, a man, but young. His voice curled into the night like smoke, calling down gods and ghosts alike. You weren’t the only one who’d heard.

Others had gathered. Things like you. Not human. Not anymore.

They huddled at the edge of the firelight, as entranced as you were. As if the song could stitch something back into your torn souls. For a moment, just one, you let yourself believe. Hope flared sharp in your chest—and you hated it. Hated it for its promise. Hated the others for sharing it.

Then—it stopped.

A gasp tore from your throat, a strangled cry. The firelight shrank as if ashamed.

The boy had been silenced.

One of the men standing over him had struck him hard in the stomach. You hadn’t noticed the others before—three, maybe four of them. Foreign tongues. Foreign skin. Their accents thick with that Saxon drawl, words sharpened by conquest.

“Sing again,” one growled, his voice like gravel and spit, “an’ I’ll cave in more’n yer belly.”

The boy, pale and bruised, doubled over but didn’t cry out. He gritted his teeth. He met the man’s eyes—and spat blood at his feet.

A second man laughed, not kindly. He crouched by the fire, warming his hands, his back to the boy. “Some bollocks on ye, Irish swine. Could’a run. Stayed to loose the bloody horses, didn’t he?”

“Beasts mind beasts,” muttered the first. He yanked a rope knotted at the boy’s wrists, dragging him forward like livestock. The bindings held his palms together—like prayer. Christian prayer.

With the firelight behind you, your figure emerged.

You didn’t walk. You didn’t need to. It was as though you had always been there, and the dark had merely decided to reveal you.

They saw you too late.

The men fell silent. Something about you unmoored them—not your beauty, though there was that. Not your silence, though it pressed on them like a closing tomb. It was the wrongness in your presence. The ancient stillness. The crackle beneath your skin that promised not death—but witness.

And vengeance.

You stood, haloed in flame and blood, eyes fixed on the boy. The one whose song had nearly made you weep.

And for the first time in centuries, you remembered something like longing.

“Lost, are ye, sweetness?” The man holding the bindings speaks to you, rising with the sluggish grace of one stalking a half-tamed beast. There’s no warmth in his voice—just the feigned kindness of someone who’s used it before, on frightened animals and frightened women alike.

You tilt your head. Smile—softly, as if relieved to find men in this godforsaken stretch of forest. You let your shoulders slump, just enough to feign exhaustion. You’ve worn this mask before.

“Come closer, girl. Ye’re safe now. Fire to warm ye, meat for yer belly, drink to soothe the cold.”

He lets the last word linger, wrapping it in something far more suggestive. You ignore it.

Only the bound one—his knees pressed to the earth, blood crusting his temple—only he seems to see you. Truly see you. He parts his lips, eyes widening with the warning he means to give. But nothing comes. He swallows it down, as if understanding that your arrival is no salvation. Not for him. Not for any of them.

You lower yourself to the far side of the fire. The flames lick the air between you, casting long shadows across his face. Your gaze lingers on the wound at the corner of his mouth—just a trace of red, calling to something deep in your ribs. Not now, you tell yourself. Later.

Silence settles over the group, uneasy and watchful.

“From whence do ye come, girl?” You feign confusion, furrowing your brow as if you struggle to parse their tongue. A slow, careful blink. You are older than this speech—older than their God and their flags and the shame they carry in their boots.

“I heard a sound,” you say softly. “Voices. A song.”

The bound one lifts his head. His eyes don’t leave you now.

“You alone out here? This forest’s not safe for the likes of ye,” says the youngest, kicking the prisoner with a scornful grunt. “Still wild folk in these parts. Haven’t had ‘em all tamed yet.”

A sharp, bitter flicker coils inside your chest. You clear your throat and answer plainly:

“Wild things do not frighten me.” They laugh. They do not understand.

You motion toward the prisoner. “Is he one of your untamed?”

“Him?” One of the men smacks the singer lightly across the scalp. His lips curl. “Filth. Tried to loose our horses. Fool thinks they’re kin to him.”

“Why d’ye care for that one?” asks another, leering now. “You fancy his bruises? He’d not last the night in a barn.”

“He sang,” you say. “And I followed the song.”

“If that was singin’, girlie, you might well be touched by the same sickness these woods breed.”

You look at the bard again. His jaw clenches. He meets your eyes—not with hope, not with fear. With resolve. He knows what you are. Perhaps he sang knowing you’d hear it.

So you rise. And you begin to sing.

The melody drips from your lips like dark honey—sweet, but thick with rot. It winds between the men, slips into their ears. The language is their own, but wrong somehow. Hollowed. Echoed.

You circle them, your voice a serpent. One twitches, hand moving toward his belt.

You don’t stop singing. You reach the kneeling man, brush aside the blood-crusted curls from his brow. He flinches—but not from fear. He knows this song. It should not be in your mouth.

“You have a lovely voice, sweet pea,” you murmur, forehead nearly to his. His breath hitches, caught between disbelief and something else. You do not breathe. You do not blink. The stillness in you is the stillness of crypts.

“Are ye one of them?” someone asks, barely above a whisper.

You do not answer. You crouch before them and hum—a new tune now. One older than the fires they cling to. One that remembers the bones buried beneath their feet.

“Is this meant to be some pagan jest? The humour’s gone flat.”

You raise your hand into the firelight. The illusion slips—just enough. A single claw catches the glow. The youngest gasps. You relish the sound.

“The poet summoned me,” you say, nodding toward the bard. “And I came. You tried to silence what was not yours to bind.”

You reach out. A claw traces a line down one man’s neck. He cannot move.

“What was it you said?” You grab the jaw of the one who mocked the horses. “Beasts mind beasts.”

You twist. His neck snaps like kindling.

The second man lunges for his sword. You sever his hand before he reaches the hilt. He collapses, screaming, clutching the stump. You ignore him.

You seize the boy by the hair. The praying one. You drag him forward, toward the bard, who trembles but does not look away.

“Look at this brave cub,” you coo. “Shall I spare him for you?”

The bard opens his mouth. No sound comes.

“So much rage… and no teeth to bite.” You smile.

You lean close, whispering in the boy’s ear, repeating the Latin prayers he sputters—mocking them, letting them rot on your tongue.

“There’s nowhere to go, not after this. May God have mercy on your soul,” you echo, just as they had said when they razed your kin to ash.

You bite. His blood is warm, rich with stolen faith. He gurgles his last, and you drop him like a torn garment.

The bard is crawling backward. He stops when you click your tongue.

“No need to fear me, lass.”

You glide toward him, steps as fluid as smoke. You sink into his lap, your weight wrong, like a corpse that moves as if it lived. You cradle his face, studying him.

He doesn’t tremble beneath you. Only the rough edge of his breathing betrays his fear—the warmth of it brushing your cold skin. You study him, fingers drifting over his face with a hand that, moments ago, was death itself.

He doesn’t move. Dares not. Perhaps he knows you’re deciding his fate—if he’ll join the others who now lie still and cooling. But your eyes have lost the malice they held before. And your touch tempts him—to close his eyes, to lean in, to surrender.

Your thumb glides over his split lip, collects a drop of blood. You hold his gaze as you bring it to your tongue, lick it clean. His pupils dilate. You shiver, and a gasp slips from his lips, startled—like it doesn't know what it wants.

He should be afraid. Should be praying to whatever god still hears men like him. But something else rises in his chest instead—a heat, old and stubborn, like fire coaxed from wet peat. You see it. That fire. Your smile is not sweet. It knows exactly what it does to him.

He's always loved wild things. That’s what drew him to the beasts in the first place—the ones he’d try to train, bend to his hand, make come when he whistled.

“I’ve never been this close to something so wild.”

The words leave him before he can pull them back. His hands are still bound, so when he reaches for you, it’s with both arms together, stiff and slow. He touches your cheek with the back of his finger. You close your eyes. Lean in.

“And what now, poet?” you murmur, lids still drawn. “Tame me? Tie me up like your ponies? Give me some fine name and call me when it suits you?”

“Would it work?”

You open your eyes. Laugh. A low sound. Sharp. Like stone striking flint. The kind of laugh that says you’ve killed for less—but might still play a little longer.

“It might.”

You lean in, lips nearly brushing his ear. You mean to speak—but instead, he hums low. Eyes shut. And for the space of a breath… you are flesh again.

Something stirs in your chest. Not a heartbeat—not quite—but a rhythm older than the songs he sings. Older than the tongue he sings them in.

He keeps singing. Quiet. Steady. His hands can’t move far, but they move with care. As if he’s known you all his life. There’s no fear in him now. Just gentleness. And that... that unsettles you more than any blade could. You don’t know what to do with gentleness.

You shift in his lap. Not from want—at least, not want as mortals know it—but like a wounded beast seeking the one warm thing left. You settle atop him as if your body remembers how it once slept, cradled by story and song. Bound though he is, he rocks you slow, as if to keep some dark thing at bay. As if he’s not the one who should be saved.

Each word from him is a spell. Not the kind of holy charm the monks chant—but something older, nearer to the earth. You don’t bleed like you used to. But the sound of him vibrates through you. Sparks memories: your mother’s laugh, prayers in the old tongue, a name you haven’t heard in centuries.

Something feral stirs in him, seeing you like this—brought low by a handful of words. He’s broken horses with that voice. Made warriors weep. He’s healed. Seduced. Saved. And now, he’s using it not to live, but maybe… to remind you how not to kill.

Each note’s a thread drawn from his throat to the hollow of your chest. If one breaks, it will break him too.

You press your brow to his, soaked in his breath, in the shape of his voice. So near you can't think. You feel your thighs press to his. Your fingers toy with the knots at his wrists. Your gaze falls again to his lip. You lean in, lick it clean, reverent. The taste of blood makes the air shudder.

“Don’t think I don’t see what you’re about, bard.”

Your voice wavers, clawing its way back to what it was.

“Trying to tame me like your beasts.”

You shift again. Unhurried. Settle deeper in his lap like it’s your throne. Your hips sway—subtle, slow—not to mock, but to test him. To see if he breaks.

His song falters. The last note hangs in his mouth, trembling, before it vanishes.

“Is that all?” you ask, voice low, amused. “Giving up so quick, minstrel?”

He looks up at you, still tied, still unsure if the thing above him will consume him—or keep moving to his rhythm.

“I’ll let you tame me…” you whisper, lips grazing his, but not kissing—not yet.

“If you swear your voice is mine. Mine alone. Until the world ends.”

Your words fall against his mouth like velvet edged with teeth. A threat. A promise.

“I…” His voice catches. Lust or fear—you can’t tell which grips him tighter. “My voice… it’s all I have.”

“Exactly.”

Then you kiss him.

Not sweet. Not cruel. But something in between. Like the sea pulling at a drowning man—silken and violent, all at once. Your fingers curl into his jaw. The kiss deepens. No haste, just weight. Like you mean to drink something out of him.

You roll your hips again—slow now, deep—testing where he falters.

He moans, low and raw, head falling back. He’s on fire beneath you, and you feed it like oil poured slow over flame. Your hands trail down his chest. Nails catch cloth. Your mouth hovers above the beat of his throat.

“You’re mine now, bard,” you whisper.

Then you bite—not hard enough to draw blood, just enough to make him freeze. A scrape. A warning.

Your fingers return to the knots binding him. You don’t undo them. Not yet. There’s something in the way he strains—how helpless he is. A man whose voice could bend the hearts of men and gods… now bound, unable to touch you.

With a fluid shift, you rise just enough to swing your leg over and straddle him fully. Your dress pools around you like spilled ink. Your thighs pin him. Unmovable. Inhuman.

“There,” you murmur, settling against the pressure between you. “That’s better.”

He gasps beneath you—sharp and sudden—as you roll your hips, once, twice. The sound catches in his throat, fragile, broken open like something newly born. Bound as he is, bruised and trembling, his body still answers you. As though it had been carved from the earth solely to meet yours.

You grind down slower this time. The friction, deliberate, pulls a low groan from his chest. His hips buck up—reflex, desperation, worship.

You laugh. A sound low and wicked in your throat, like a spell spoken in the dark.

"You like that?" you murmur, nails dragging lightly up his ribs, cruel and curious. "Is that what you were asking for when you opened that pretty mouth of yours?"

He tries to speak. What comes out isn’t language. It’s a sound—a whimper torn from somewhere older than pride, deeper than shame.

Still straddling him, you sit back slightly to watch. His cheeks are flushed, his chest rising and falling like it’s bound to some ancient tide. He’s trembling—not in fear. No, never that. But from the ache. The unbearable, sacred ache of you.

With a slow grace, you reach behind, hike your dress up past your thighs, and let the cold air kiss your skin. You move again—grind into him, again and again—until the rhythm between you is the only sound that matters.

He arches beneath you, a grunt breaking free from his throat. He’s hard—aching—and utterly, irreparably yours.

"I want to feel you," you whisper, your fingers tugging his tunic up to reveal heated, shivering skin. "Not just your voice. I want all of it."

There’s no pause. No question. You slide a hand between you, working the front of his trousers open. His cock springs free into the chill, and your cool fingers wrap around him like a brand. He gasps, spine arching tight.

"You really are lovely when you're quiet," you whisper, positioning yourself over him. “But I want to hear the moment you break.”

You sink down onto him—slow, merciless. Inch by inch. Your breath catches, but your eyes stay on his, sharp and unblinking. You want him to feel it all. The stretch, the heat, the way you consume him, piece by piece.

His mouth falls open on a cry he doesn’t even finish. His hips jerk beneath the ropes, helpless. Buried in you now—completely.

You plant your hands against his chest and begin to move. There’s nothing rushed in your rhythm. It’s older than prayer. Deeper than sin.

He watches you with awe, like you’re not made of flesh at all.

"You don’t understand, poet," you murmur, hips rolling like waves drawn from the marrow of the sea. Your voice is hoarse, thick with lust and something wilder still. "You thought you summoned the wolf to your door—but I’m the one who makes you howl."

And gods, how he believes it. Every time your hips meet, every moan between his teeth, it rewrites something in him. He’s being unmade. And made again.

You ride him like you were born to it—like the stars hung themselves for nights like this. He follows your rhythm with his own, unthinking. His body speaks the tongue of bone and blood and firelight.

He’s unraveling.

You feel it. You feel the change in his breath, the way his eyes glaze over—not in pain. Not even in pleasure. In awe. He’s looking at you like you’re the last thing he’ll ever understand.

You lean in close, your lips brushing his jaw. Your breath is cold. Your promise, colder.

"I could keep you like this," you whisper, grinding deep, slow. "Caged beneath me. Singing only for me."

He shudders. Groans. His head falls back, lost.

You smile, and then you bite.

Your fangs sink into his throat without warning, without mercy. The moment splits open. Blood floods your mouth—hot, alive, maddening. You drink, and it isn’t just his life you’re taking. It’s his story. His pulse. His fight. His fire.

The sound you make as you feed is near obscene. A groan from the soul. A psalm from the dark.

He cries out—but it isn’t pain that rends him. It’s something else. Something close to rapture.

You drink him down like the world is ending, like his blood could rewrite the stars. Your rhythm falters as you tremble—overwhelmed, filled, undone by him. Still you ride. Still you take.

And him—gods, him—he meets it all. He arches up into you as his climax crashes through him like a storm. It tears him apart. You can feel it in the way his body shakes. You swallow his cry, muffled against your mouth.

When the world begins to return, you lift your head. Your lips are wet, eyes glowing.

You look down at him—not as prey. But as sacred. Claimed.

"Mine," you whisper, your voice low and thunderous. "Every note. Every drop. Every last breath."

And he—bloodied, breathless, broken—nods.

"Yours."

The silence that follows is not silence at all. It pulses. The air hums with what just passed between you, with the memory of it still soaked into your skin.

He looks up at you, his mouth parted. His chest rising slow. There’s something new in his eyes—no fear, no agony. Just a question. Soft, tremulous.

"Am I like you now?" he whispers. His voice is raw, torn from the beauty it used to carry.

You laugh—not cruelly. It’s a delighted sound. Dark as midnight bells.

You touch his face. Tender. Your thumb wipes the dried blood from his throat.

"Oh, no, sweetness."

You kiss his brow like you might kiss a child who’s just asked to hold the moon.

"You're not like me. Not yet."

His brow furrows—not in disappointment. Just hunger. For knowing. For what’s next.

You lean closer still. Your lips brush his ear. And your voice shifts—drops into the old cadence. The rhythm of peat fires and stone caves. The voice of the land before names.

"You are mine. That’s what you are now."

Your fingers trail across his chest. Marking him without blade or ink.

"There are still things you must live. Scars to earn. Hungers to find. I won’t steal that from you… not yet."

You sit back, still astride him. Powerful. Like a queen from before the Church, before the crown, before the shame.

"But so long as you are," you murmur,

"so long as you sing for me, I will give you new tongues. New songs. Words no man has dared since the hills first rose from the sea. Stories not carved in stone—but in skin."

Your hand glides down his side, a reminder—he is bound. Open. Laid bare.

And somehow freer now than he ever was.

"You’ll sing them all for me. Until you forget what your first voice sounded like."

He swallows, dizzy beneath the weight of what’s been poured into him. Or perhaps—what you’ve poured in.

"And after?" he asks.

You smile. Slow. Knowing.

"After, when you're no longer a man… I’ll make you like me."

You lean in again. This kiss is different. This one is hunger itself. A vow carved into the flesh of his mouth.

"But for now… sing."

tags: @i-shall-abide

[trixibebe]

oc x canon ~ First meeting

[the-a-word-2214]

Hi friends! I created a server for Jack O’Connell. I ask that you be 18+ to join in case we talk about anything NSFW. I have channels for some of Jack’s characters. You’re welcome to thirst lol

[divinehedons]

finally, after what feels like a whole-ass millennia, i bring you:

the post-fic notes for godless promethean, elektran rage.

below the cut are the books, music, and generally anything that inspired this strange, yet special fic that will always be so close to my heart. enjoy!

books and poems:

the odyssey by homer (tr. allen mendelbaum),

the love song of j. alfred prufrock by t.s. eliot,

the colossus by sylvia plath, and

piranesi by susanna clarke.

music:

prometheus and elektra, a playlist of music on repeat from the writing room.

i am once again so thankful to everyone who gave a look at such a long fic which draws so much from the things that i love. i firmly believe in sharing good art and standing by the books and media that we love.

keep reading, listening, and writing. i love you all to the moon and back!