#please? a little pew pew?

[darkwood-sleddog]

Being in the united states right now and having done everything in my personal power as an individual, an elected person, a constitutional scholar, to prevent what is happening from happening feels like being in a car and everybody is refusing to wear their seatbelts, but you are. But that’s not going to save you because the person driving the car is driving the car off a cliff. On purpose.

[madamechrissy]

Priest! Gojo - MDNI- freaky, horny Father Gojo, Imma end up in hell for this one lmaoo, including confessional fucking, please don't read if you don't wanna SIN mmkay, character in her 20s as is Gojo, explicit -word count- 1.2k

Full Priest oneshot- Forgive me Father for I have Sinned

Priest! Gojo who watches you sit in that sundress in that pew right up front, crossing your legs, revealing those pretty pink panties that drive him to think of sin, drives him to imagine being on his knees, worshipping your pretty body. Surely you are sin.

Priest! Gojo who is so beautiful you think he's a god himself, with his crystal blue eyes and that white hair, that perfect face so serene until his eyes hit you, and something... shifts.

Priest! Gojo who licks his lower lip as he reads the bible passage, and watches how you run your fingers down your collarbone, hips shifting in your seat, craving friction as you watch the man command the room in this white robes, as you watch him lick a thumb as he shuffles a page, you get wetter and wetter, knowing you're just a sinner, craving this holy man.

Priest! Gojo who when you come and take your eucharist, your tongue hanging out while on your knees, caresses your bottom lip as you swallow, eyes hungry as you're right at his lap with your face, seeing his huge length semi hard even under his robes. The wine drips down your chin, and he pictures his cum replacing it instead, making him even harder as he looks at you.

Priest! Gojo who takes your confession, and fuck what a confession it is, as you're in the little confessional. 'I dream of someone fucking me, someone I should not.' 'It's natural to have thoughts, my child...' 'Oh, Father... but I play with myself, thinking of him. Of his pretty mouth... drinking me, father. Or me, on my knees, drinking him.' Priest Gojo makes a choking sound then. 'I'm so sorry, I..."

Priest! Gojo who is rock hard now, pressing against his pants under those white robes, who feels sticky precum as he sees you through the lattice of the cross in the wall that seperates you, as he sees you arch your back, head tilting, hair falling. He starts stroking his cock over them, as you bite your lower lip, heating him huff, asking 'Father, what should my Pennance be? How long should I be... on my knees, I wonder?' and Father Gojo can't help himself.

Priest! Gojo who says, 'I have to ask, how are you doing it, just so I can know what pennance, how many Hail Mary's' and you bite your lip, hot in the itty bitty room now, as your hips rock on the bench as you hear that husky voice of his. 'Father, I don't know how to say how... I guess I picture him, in my mind he is shirtless, and he's laying on top of me, so I play with my...' 'go on, it's all right' he whispers. 'my pussy, I play with it, it gets so wet, so aching, how do I handle this... Father... are you okay?'

Priest! Gojo who now has his cock in his hand and is stroking it, picturing you playing with yourself with his eyes shut, you say something but it's hard for him to listen as he's pinching his tip and imagining it between your thighs, he imagines you're so sweet, you're such a good girl, aren't you? 'Indeed I am, perhaps you need some help, some guidance? So that I could make sure you do not afflict yourself so.' You nearly touch yourself again as you hear him, his pants, as you barely see his robes move up and down, making you wetter 'yes, Father I need guidance'

Priest! Gojo who has you in his side of the confessional then, and he's crooking two long fingers, as you shut the door behind you, shoved right between his thighs, feeling his body heat as he looks at you, his cross right on his chest. 'Show me what you do, do not fret, it's god's will of course, through me.' You nervously let him lift your dress, and he slides down your panties, moaning softly as he sees your cunt, glistening. You rub between your slick lips, head falling back as you play your little clit.

Priest! Gojo who is close to cumming just from watching you, and sighs, putting his fingers right on your hand. 'Let me help you, so you can get this affliction taken care of, yes?' you nod eagerly, then Father Gojo has sunk two long fingers in your slick heat, hitting spots you could never, and you gush around him, as he pulls you on his lap, and you grip that silky hair. 'F-father Gojo! That's... that's...' he exhales, thumb slipping to your clit now, as he watches your pretty face flush. 'I've got you, you can let go, you're safe with me, let me see your sins so I can cleanse them.'

Priest! Gojo who's hand is soaked, as he brings you higher and higher, and you're moaning against his neck, inhaling his scent as you cling to him, trembling. 'Father, it's... I'm gonna... mmm!' You're so close, soaking the sleeve of his robe now. And he's so ready to slide into your eager cunt, looking up at you behind snowy lashes. 'Show me how you sin, let me watch you cum, so I can... help you' and you fall apart then, pulsing around his fingers, and he groans as he watches you, sucking your juices off his fingers.

Priest! Gojo who tastes you, then watches you with a smirk, which no priest should have! 'Has it alleviated some of the... need, my child?' only for you to shake your head, straddling him on his little chair then, and his big hands grip your hips. 'it's only made it worse, Father Gojo! You must help me, I need to sin even more... and with who I'm thinking of.' He blinks a bit. 'Me, you think of? that is a sin.' You sigh, grinding on him, making a wet spot in his robes. 'I know, Father... I told you, I am consumed by the need to sin. You must save me.'

Priest! Gojo who is now thrusting into your tight little cunt, in the cramped confessional, as you're riding his cock, as he's slamming your cervix, and you're soaking his length. He's holding your mouth shut as he bucks up his hips, watching the lust and pleasure on your face, feeling you drool on his hand and his cock. 'That's it, let me save you, through... ah... mmm... God's wisdom." He sucks in a breath as he presses in so deep, and feels you cum all over him, burying his head against your breasts, biting at your tender skin. You can only whimper in response.

Priest! Gojo who whispers 'I'll bless you, do you want me to bless you, to fill you with so much... of... god's light?' he removes his hand, gripping your ass now, and you nod as you grind on his length, his tip bruising your cervix, as you're cumming again, all over your priest. 'Bless me, Father... please!' You beg, only for him to cum deep inside you, hot white ropes, as you're blinded by pleasure, as it's dripping back down the veins of his length, and he's hissing, capturing your lips in a kiss, sloppy, tongues messy and unpracticed, a string of spit between you hanging.

Priest! Gojo who watches you the next Sunday, and you open your legs to cross them, only for him to see you have no panties, and he fears he will have to work harder to save your slutty little soul.

[sableseb]

Sacred

Father Charlie Mayhew x f!reader

word count: around 1k I think??

warnings: priest kink, rough blowjob, cum play, takes place in a church

a/n: Hello, all! This is my first story in a long while. I decided to go with the new it boy, Nicholas Chavez🤭 This was just a quick little write and I hope I still got it after being mia. Please let me know what you think!

The rain outside falls in heavy drops, the melodic sound echoing throughout the silent cathedral. This is the only place she can come in her desperate time of need.

It’s not because she felt secure behind the tall, looming walls. Or felt peace while looking at the ornate crosses. It’s because of him. She’s desperate to be near him, to feel his warmth against her skin…to feel his lips against her own. Father Mayhew became her obsession.

There is something off about his priestliness though. Those deep set brown eyes seem too far away. The furrow in his brow is ever prominent even when speaking God’s word. She is positive that he looks her way each time she sits in the front pew.

Old wood creaks beneath meticulous foot falls. She straightens up, ears perked and eyes alert. “What brings you here at this time of night, y/n?”

He has a deep timbre in his voice. The question he asks comes out nonchalantly, as if he didn’t care that the girl before him shook from the cool night air. Or that she even came in at all.

He’s dressed down tonight, only wearing his black dress pants and matching button down shirt. She notices his collar is nowhere to be seen.

“I felt lonely…this was the first place I thought of,” she whispered as a blush crept up her neck.

The priest cracked a grin as he takes in the poor girl sitting in his church. He’s noticed her on multiple occasions when he speaks the sermons. He can sense when she watches him. It makes him feel powerful that someone can give their utmost attention and admiration to him.

Mayhew knows, he’s always known that she has been ripe for the picking. Always knew she’d be the perfect follower. His perfect, obedient lamb.

“Ah,” he said while taking a seat beside her. “There is always comfort in the church, my dear.”

She doesn’t know where this sudden confidence came from. She would never have dreamed of seeking Father Mayhew out intentionally. Let alone muttering the words, “It’s not the church, Father. It’s you.”

Silence. She looks up to find him staring at her with the same deep set eyes she fantasizes about every night. She wants those eyes looking up at her as he pushes his tongue inside her walls. Stretching and licking her until she would arch her back and beg him to slow down because it’s all just too much.

“It’s always been me, hasn’t it,” he smirks.

She shyly nods her head.

“Hm. So, you find yourself coming here for me then? Each week?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Yes. Father.” The words slip into his ears like the softest hymn flowing from a piano. She’s gentle, quiet, and most importantly, needy. He can tell by the way she clenches her thighs and how redness stains her pretty neck.

She can’t catch her breath as he leans into her. His arm comes to rest behind her as he lowers his mouth to her ear. His scent is overwhelming. Soft notes of amber basked in vanilla. He reaches his other hand towards her neck. Tingles rush throughout her body as he carefully traces the skin of her collarbones.

“Would you say you would do anything for me?”

She didn’t hesitate. There was no need. She’s been certain of this since the first time she heard him preach. “Anything.”

That’s all he needs. “I want you to worship me tonight, y/n. Can you do that for me?”

His thumb traces her bottom lip as he awaits her answer.

“I can,” she chokes out.

His body leaves hers and she instantly craves his closeness again. Before the sinking feeling could set in, he carefully grasps her arm, leading her to kneel in front of his sitting form.

Father Mayhew takes off his belt then unbuttons his pants. He can’t help but smile at the girl below him. She is in absolute awe. And he’s not even out of his boxers yet.

“Go ahead, pretty girl. Touch me.”

Her mouth is dry at the site of the priests cock pressed against his gray underwear. His girth is mouth watering. She tentatively places her hand on his clothed erection.

He sucks air between his teeth as she applies pressure. She reminds him of a kitten. Kneading his leaking cock, practically purring at the site of him.

“You’re doing so good, angel.”

She’s eager to please as she gently lays her cheek on his thick thigh in order to watch her hand more closely. She notices a dark spot start to form near the crown of dick. She knows that she’s doing good because Father Mayhew begins to hump her hand while cursing under his breath.

He can’t wait any longer. He needs to feel her mouth on him. He quickly pushes her hand away and pulls his underwear down far enough for his cock to be released. He tangles his long fingers in her hair while guiding his length towards her plump lips.

“You ever sucked dick before, sweetie?”

She pales, embarrassed to tell him the truth.

“C’mon now. It’s not nice to keep secrets from your Father,” he rasps while gentle tapping the leaking head of his cock on her pouting lips.

“I haven’t.”

Mayhew doesn’t know what he’s done in this wretched life to deserve someone as sweet as her, but God is he thankful for it.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get anymore perfect…treat it like a sucker, baby. Lick and suck. That’s your only job.”

He guides her head down, watching intently as her tongue licks around his tip. He could pathetically cum just from her tongue alone. But, he needed more.

He lowers her head further down his length, moving her head to aid in her bobbing motion. He feels spit start to slide down his shaft and onto his tightening balls.

“Fuck, angel. So fucking good for me.”

Her suction becomes tighter. His hips buck from the pressure and he decides to chase his high. He grabs both sides of her face before pulling her all the way down to his base.

She gags. Over and over again she gags while he thrusts into her mouth. He’s using her face like a toy. There’s a careless abandon with his movements. Her chokes and cries make him grow harder.

She’s trying to fight back, to push herself away from the onslaught. He doesn’t care. Not when his high is so close. Over and over again he slams himself into her tiny mouth as he holds her in place.

He feels his balls tighten as his abdomen seizes. Her whimpers and his moans mix into the candle light surrounding them. Just before he can cum down her throat, he pulls out, painting her face with hot, white ropes instead.

He takes in what he’s created. An innocent girl with big bright eyes completely wrecked. Her tears are still streaming down her face as she tries to take in breathes. Her hair is wild and she’s shaking from the adrenaline coursing through hers.

Leaning towards her, he takes his thumb and collects some of the semen resting on her reddened cheek. He gently draws the sigh of the cross between her eyes.

“You’re mine now…for as long as I please.”

[hederasgarden]

Overcome

Summary: You soon discover that your husband is far from the cool, reserved man that you imagined him to be. Pairing: Friedrich Harding x F!Reader  Word Count: 2.3K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. AU (the reader is Friedrich’s first and only wife), oral sex (f receiving), inappropriate use of a confessional booth, sex in church, inexperienced reader, and Friedrich being ravenous.  A/N: Come join me in getting excommunicated from the Catholic church with this fic. I have not seen Nosferatu so I am working solely on vibes and TikTok edits regarding Friedrich’s character. Big thanks to @ryebecca and @otaku-girl-ao3 for their help with this! Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Masterlist

From behind your veil, you watch your new husband gaze back at you. The light filtering through the stained glass of the church window casts an ethereal glow on Friedrich’s face, making his eyes seem impossibly blue. Your hands tremble in his, the warmth of his touch seeping through the delicate lace of your gloves, a steady heat that contrasts with the coolness of the air. As the priest drones on Friedrich’s thumbs move comfortingly over your knuckles.

In the front pew your father watches the two of you, a faint, pleased smile on his face. For years he’s sought a respectable match for you, even as each season passed and you grew older, your prospects narrowing the longer you remained unattached. Now, with Friedrich, he’s found more than he could have hoped for. This marriage will bring your family wealth and connection, elevating them further. 

To have the love your parents share would be a blessing, but you know better than to expect it. From what little you know of your new husband, he seems reserved in both his opinions and actions. He has not grown his father’s shipping empire by giving into passion or whims, but from steady, calculated decisions. He is a man who will be a reliable provider for you and the children you will eventually share. Perhaps, in time, you will find the steady, calm companionship most of your peers have with their husbands.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest announces, bringing you back from your thoughts. "What God has joined, let no man put asunder."

Friedrich smiles, his lips curving beneath his thick mustache, and you return the gesture with a quiet, uncertain one of your own. He releases your hands and gently reaches for your veil, lifting it to reveal your face. His other hand rests lightly on your waist. Your throat tightens, and your lips part to draw an unsteady breath, bracing yourself for a quick press of his lips to yours. But instead, he cups the side of your face and kisses you deeply. His mouth lingers on yours, the feel of his velvety soft lips and the tickle of his mustache sending a rush of something hot under your skin. When he pulls back, his lips hover millimeters from yours for a beat before the slow, steady hum of the church’s organ swells and he straightens. 

He takes your hand again, his grip firm and warm as he leads you away from the altar. As you step into the sunlight, white petals drift through the air, swirling around you in a soft, fragrant shower. The laughter and cheers of your friends and family fill the air as they shower you both with well wishes. You expect Friedrich to guide you toward the waiting carriage that will carry you to the reception, but instead, he turns, leading you back toward the cathedral. At your questioning look he gives your hand a comforting squeeze. 

“The reception will be busy. I thought perhaps you might appreciate a moment for just the two of us.” 

The thoughtful nature of the gesture makes your heart swell and you nod. He ushers you inside, ahead of him and your eyes strain to adjust to the dim light of the now-empty cathedral. Friedrich guides you down a narrow side aisle, leading you to a quiet corner where the old wooden confessional stands. When you turn to face him you're surprised to find him so close to you. 

"Forgive my lie," he breathes, lifting his hand to gently brush the back of his fingers against your cheek. “I wish to have more than a moment alone with you.”

You take an automatic step back, unused to having a man so close. Friedrich glances over his shoulder before following, gently herding you toward the door.

“Herr Harding,” you say, your voice tinged with alarm.

“You are my wife,” he corrects, his tone firm but not unkind. “You should use my given name.”

“Friedrich…” 

The sound of his name from your lips has him inhaling sharply, his gaze locking onto yours. You watch him run his tongue over the bottom of his lip, a gesture that makes your pulse quicken.

“I have thought of you often during our courtship. Perhaps more than I should admit,” he tells you quietly. “Your beauty, your piety… they have transfixed me. But I must know,” he pauses, the intensity in his expression startling, “have you thought of me?”

A flutter of shame tightens in your chest as his words stir memories of the thoughts that would come when it was late and you were alone. How they would wander to what lay beyond the carefully cultivated distance of formal courtship. Of what a man and wife might do together. Now, faced with his direct question, you find you can’t meet his gaze. Friedrich seems to sense the unspoken truth easily, his sharp eyes seeing everything you wish to hide. 

“You have,” he says with a pleased smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Tell me, what have you thought about, little wife?”

It is difficult to compose yourself when he is so close and you find yourself staring at the fine lines of his coat. When the silence lingers too long he places a finger beneath your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. 

"Please do not make me…” you beg. “It is shameful."

“We are in God’s house,” Friedrich reminds you softly, his gaze briefly flicking to the crucifix hanging above. “To lie here...it would be a sin.”

You swallow hard and squeeze your eyes closed. 

“I have thought…” you begin, the words feeling heavy on your tongue, your heart pounding in your chest, “of your lips. Of how they would feel on mine.”

The rustle of clothing tells you he’s stepped closer. His breath falls warmly across your brow, and the clean, powerful scent of his aftershave envelopes you until it feels as though he’s the only thing that exists.

“Were they as you imagined?” he asks.

You nod, hands twisting together as your body seeks a way to channel your anxious feelings. 

“What else?” he prods. 

Your breath hitches, and you look down, your heart thudding loudly in your chest. “Your hands…” you stammer, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “Y-you have long, lean fingers.”

A heavy, pained sound escapes his chest, an almost imperceptible groan that makes you glance up, alarmed. His Adam's apple bobs with a visible swallow and he seems to struggle with himself before his hand moves slowly to rest lightly over the hollow of your throat. Your chest heaves as his fingers trail down to trace the delicate edge of your bodice, goosebumps following in the wake of his touch. A shuddery gasp leaves you when they dip beneath the lacy fabric of your wedding gown, touching you where no man has before.

“And how do you find them?” he asks, sounding strained. 

You mean to answer him, to speak the words that are caught in your throat, but to your utter embarrassment, all that slips out is a wanton whimper you didn’t know you were capable of making. The answering sound Friedrich makes twists your insides pleasantly and you shake, hands curling into fists at your side.

“I am sorry, my love, but I fear I can resist you no longer."

The moment the words leave him, his lips are on yours, swallowing your quiet little gasp of surprise. You touch his chest, as if to push him away but then his tongue sweeps into the warmth of your mouth, and you freeze. The wood of the confessional creaks as he leans his weight against you, the back of your head cradled by his hand. His thumb presses into the soft skin beneath your jaw, urging you to lean back. When you submit, his lips trail down the side of your throat. A deep groan escapes his chest, its vibrations spreading across your skin. 

Over his shoulder you stare at the status of the Virgin Mother, her solemn eyes seeing all as she stares down at you from her perch. A cold rush of guilt and shame sweeps through your body. You push at Friedrich’s shoulder, your voice growing thin as you try to recapture your husband’s  attention. 

“Please. We cannot,” you remind him, even as desire swirls inside your own body.

“You would not deny me this, would you?” he questions, drawing back. When you hesitate, his expression softens and his hands frame your waist. "We are married," he says, his voice steady and sure. "There can be no sin between a man and his wife."

You blink up at him, torn. 

"Please," he implores, his gaze filled with such raw need and desire that it forces a single, jerky nod from you.

With a suddenness that startles you, he shifts, guiding you into the confessional itself until the back of your legs hits the seat, and you sink into it. The door rattles shut as he blindly reaches to close it. You've been here a hundred times before to confess your sins to God, but now it’s Friedrich who kneels before you. The touch of his hand at your ankle is electric, and even though every part of you knows this is wrong, you do nothing to stop his hand from climbing higher.

“I only wish for a taste,” he assures you, though you do not understand his meaning. “Will you deny your husband?” 

You shake your head, the quiet "no" barely escaping your lips, yet it’s all the permission Friedrich needs. His hands guide yours to lift the heavy fabric of your skirt until your lower half is exposed to him. Cool air blankets your skin and you startle when his hands settle on your knees. He gently pries them apart, his head tilting to the side as he studies you intently. When you try to press your legs together he stops you with a tsking sound and heat floods your face. You have never been so exposed.

“My sweet wife,” he praises, “there is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Friedrich urges you to move forward until you’re balanced precariously on the bench. On instinct, your hand falls to his shoulder to steady yourself. He watches you through dark lashes, his mouth parted as he takes slow, shallow breaths. Then he dips his head between your thighs and a warm puff of air washes over the most intimate part of you. Your eyes round as you come to understand his intent and he responds to your scandalized gasp with a chuckle, the vibrations sending a delicious curl of heat through your belly. 

At the first touch of his tongue to your sex, the air in your lungs seems to evaporate. It’s all you can do to make a desperate little sound that seems to encourage him to repeat the action. Your fingers tighten around the bunched fabric of your dress and you whisper his name while he eagerly devours you. His tongue moves so relentlessly in its quest that you can’t help but squirm away. 

To hold you in place, Friedrich wraps his arms around your waist, bringing you even closer to his face. Over the volume of your skirts, all you can see of him is the back of his head. You wonder how he can possibly breathe, especially with the way your thighs hug his head and your hips seem to move of their own accord. The thought lingers for only a moment before the beginning of a shaky feeling growing inside your chest eclipses it. 

“Ohhh,” you whimper, your hand slapping against the wall of the confessional. 

His attention shifts higher, circling some central point that makes your vision go hazy. The sweetest kind of pleasure rolls over you in waves, filling every part of you with warmth. Still, Friedrich keeps up the relentless movement of his tongue, an obscenely loud groan escaping between the wet sounds he draws from your body. 

“Please, Friedrich, oh please,” you moan, unsure if you wish for him to continue or stop.

To your relief he makes the decision for you, drawing away, his chest heaving. Through half-lidded eyes, you see the flush his skin carries and the way his blue eyes remain firmly affixed between your splayed legs. You want to hide from his gaze but your thighs shake and you feel weak all over. Friedrich passes a trembling hand over his mouth and finally looks at you. 

You stare back at him, caught between a rush of shame and an overwhelming, undeniable longing. Gently, he takes the fabric from your hands, draping it over your bare legs. Your fingers throb from how tightly you’ve clutched it. 

"You did well, my darling," he murmurs.

His praise soothes your anxiety and you let him help you rise. You stand as still as you can, fighting an unexpected tremor in your legs as his steady hands ensure every detail of your appearance is returned to its proper state. Once he’s satisfied, Friedrich grasps your trembling hands and he smiles, bringing them to his lips.

"We should go greet our guests," he tells you. "Though..." He pauses, as if weighing his words, then shakes his head. "No. You deserve better."

“Better?” you question. 

“Yes, my love. Because God forgive me, I want nothing more than to take you right here and now.” 

His brazen words startle you and you don’t resist as he guides your hand to cup a hardness at the front of his breeches. Your fingers flex curiously and he groans, jerking into your touch. Through your lashes you watch him as you repeat the gesture, earning a breathy little moan from him that makes your stomach tingle pleasantly.

"We must go," he says, sounding strained. 

"But…. we can do this again?" you ask hesitantly. 

"Every night if you let me," he responds. He kisses you fiercely, an unfamiliar tartness lingering on your tongue as he pulls away. "Every morning. Every moment you allow it. I cannot resist you, my love."

♡

My inbox is open for any requests regarding Friedrich.

[whatifitis]

♡ Silly Love Songs - LN 4 ♡

Summary: Lando is playing Tarkov during Christmas break and you're playing your silly little love songs. Lando defends your honor and

Author's Note: this is based off this request. IM SO SORRY ITS TAKEN SO LONG, IT WONT HAPPEN AGAIN

WC: 1511

CW: fluff, max being a little shit, lando being in love, overuse of song lyrics again

When your boyfriend had invited you to spend Christmas break with him and his family in London, you thought it would be filled with learning about their holiday traditions and going out to explore London and going to the Christmas market. So you did not expect to be sitting at Lando’s family home, sitting on his bed as he spends the night on Tarkov with Max, Bankai and some other people. 

You didn’t really mind as during the day, he spent time with you and his family. And his gaming sessions give you time to catch up on some reading. The scene is painted, Lando is at his desk playing Tarkov while you sit on his bed, bundled up with a book in your hands and your headphones playing your reading playlist. 

After about an hour, you start to get bored and decide to pick up your guitar off the floor and attempt to play a new song. You’d fallen in love with the song ‘we’re in love’ by boygenius so you wanted to learn it and play it for Lan sometime. 

Lan couldn’t hear shit with his headphones on and his mic sensitivity was low enough that you could barely hear your guitar and voice in the back. So you start strumming and softly singing. 

That’s how i know that we’re in love

“Am I playing music? Who’s singing right now? I can hear bits every so often.” Bankai asks through Lando’s headphones.

“Oh, I think that’s y/n. She’s playing a bit of guitar right now.”

At the mention of your name, you look up, “Oh shit, I didn’t think you guys would be able to hear me. Sorry. I’ll stop.” you say, moving to set your guitar next to the bed. 

“Tell her to keep playing. It makes beautiful sounds in my ears to make up for Max’s yelling.” Bankai says. 

You watch as Lando turns to look at you, “Bankai says that he wants you to keep playing cause he wants to listen to you and not Max’s incessant screaming. Also I really like when you sing. That song is one of our songs now by the way. Since you showed me it, it’s been a favorite and it’s always on repeat.”

…but you listened like it mattered

Max was quick to shout back “He did not say my screaming was incessant. So shut your mouth or I will shoot your leg.”

Lando goes back to playing the game and messing with Max when you start playing again. Through the mic, only small bits can be heard but it’s enough to know what song you’re playing. 

Max’s chat starts spamming things like ‘omg shes playing ‘we’re in love’, ‘omg that's the best love song ever’, ‘she’s so in love’

Max reads some of the messages out loud, “Oh, she’s singing her silly little love songs again. Chat, did you know sometimes she writes songs for Bob? You’d think that people would have had enough of silly little love songs.”

“Oi” Lando says as he shoots Max’s character's leg, “Call her songs ‘silly’ or ‘little’ one more time, I dare you.” 

I feel crazy in ways I never say

Will you still love me if it turns out I’m insane?

“Ya know, chat. Some people just want to fill the world with silly little love songs.”

Pew

“Mate, what the fuck…” Max says in a low voice as he drags his hands down his face in frustration. 

“Told ya. Don’t fuck with me. You can sniff my pits and tell me I stink, all you want. But I don’t stand for y/n slander.” Lando jokes (kinda). 

“Fine. Just try and bring back some of my stuff, please.” Max groans.

“No promises, Max. But I will try. Maybe do not trust Bob with that task.” Bankai tells Max. 

Lando laughs, “Yeah, don’t trust me right now. I will run in front of bullets with your stuff on me.”

The boys continue playing as you sit and serenade anyone listening. You and Lando are doing your own thing while still being near the other and it feels nice. The two of you spend time apart for a majority of the year and the times where you are together, are spent doing extravagant things like going on yachts and going to races and galas. While you do enjoy doing those things, especially with your love right by your side, you enjoy moments like this more. 

It’s plain and simple. Nothing more and nothing less. You’ve found that oftentimes, simplicity is hard to find because most people want all those heart racing, adrenaline filled moments. Sometimes people forget, or don’t know how to appreciate the quiet. The silent filled moments. 

By the time Lando finishes up playing Tarkov, you’re finishing up fine tuning your techniques for the song. You’re not really paying attention to him, fully locked in on getting the song right for him. So you don’t notice when Lando takes his headphones off and turns to watch you from his chair. 

Sing the song you wrote about me, never once checking the words

I hope that no one sings along, I hope that I’m not a regular

You rarely have time to practice music due to work so considering the conflicting schedules, Lando barely ever gets to hear you play and sing. So he’s grateful for this moment with you, in his room, just completely enamored by you. 

He’s so entranced that he doesn’t notice that his parents are standing in the doorway, holding each other as they watch the beautiful scene before them. They heard you playing so they wanted to sneak by and listen for a bit. 

The two of them watch the two of you. They’re grateful to have you in their lives. Since the first day Lando had spoken of you, he never stopped. And since he spoke of you so often, his parents got to know you before they’d even met you. And they’d grown to love you just based on Lando's words. 

If you rewrite your life, may I still play a part?

In the next one, will you find me?

Once Lando joined F1, they knew a lot of people would want to use him for their own benefit. A lot of people threw themselves at him just for one minute in the spotlight. They worried that it would be difficult for Lando to have the right people around him. But once they saw you, they knew that you were good. You were gonna be his person. Through the time you’ve been with Lando, there have been many challenges and ups and downs. Lando’s parents watched the two of you go from best friends to something more. 

They saw the look of love in yours and Lando’s eyes. It didn’t matter if one of you fell, cause the other would pick you back up. If one of you fell behind, the other would turn back. Cause to turn back is to love. 

And if you do, I’ll know it’s you

I can’t imagine you without the same smile in your eyes

There is something about you that I will always recognize

Lando’s parents went back to their own room as you finished up your strumming. You looked up and got startled when you’d seen Lando was just staring at you. 

“You scared me, Lan. Why are you staring like a freak?” you giggle.

“I wasn’t staring. I was simply watching my favorite show.”

“Show?”

“Yeah. I don’t really get to watch you in moments like that so I wanted to watch and try to mentally record it for later.”

You look at him with a confused look on your face but you shrug it off, “Whatever you say, freak.”

“Freak for you.” he says as he stands up and walks over to lay next to you on the bed. 

The two of you lie on your backs, Lando’s arm acting as a pillow for you as he holds you close. There’s a comfortable silence that both of you welcome with a warm embrace. It stays like that until Lando breaks it, “I think there’s something you should know.”

That sentence terrifies you cause what the fuck should you know? Did he cheat? Is he in debt from buying too many cars? Is he getting kicked out of Monaco? Is he leaving Mclaren? 

“What?” you ask hesitantly. 

“I’m in love with you.”

“Lando, what the fuck? You just gave me a heart attack. I swear to god.” you breathe out and cover your face with your hands. 

He’s laughing his ass off, “I’m sorry for scaring you, darling. But I just wanted you to know that I, I, I… I’m in love with youuu. I. I. I. I. I’m in love with youuu.”

There he is. The way to your heart… serenading you… 

You’re not gonna stop him. He helps you with the crossword every morning. 

“Yeah, I got it, I found it, I’ve just gotta keep it. Don’t fuck it, you MUPPET!”

[cranberrydietcoke]

bride to be - father charlie mayhew

content: 18+ !! mdni !! father charlie mayhew x female reader, coercion/dubcon, religious guilt, degradation and praise, slapping, crying, fingering, abuse of power, innocent!virgin!reader, toxic!pervy! charlie, oral (m receiving), p in v, unprotected (don’t be dumb yall), kinda breeding, size kink if u get a microscope

wc: 4.8k (sry i went a lil crazy)

a/n: hi yall this is literally my first fanfic ever ! drew some inspo from @hoffmansgirl @tokyoghls & @lucyisdoingfine

sundays were your favorite days. you were a good little church mouse. eager to serve. eager to please, always wearing white to early morning service. it was evidence of your innocence. father charlie always says your innocence is precious. valuable. your bible study together always left you so impressed, how a man can look at one paragraph and be able to take away so much. you had reached out to a deacon at the church, inquiring about some guidance in the word, expecting to be put in contact with a nun-in-training with less important things to do. that’s how you wound up in the priest’s office every sunday night. he said he needed to ‘connect more with his congregants.’  he knew you would believe it, and so would your parents.

the calming bustle of churchgoers finding their seats was abruptly cut off by the deep, layered boom of the organ, signaling the beginning of the service. you shift in the wooden pew, brushing your dark curls over your shoulder and adjusting the lace strap of your dress, preparing your heart to hear the word of god. the vibrations rattled deep within your chest, making you clutch the diamond cross adorning the center of it. the spotlight snapped on, an oval of light encompassing the priest as he eyed the pews almost nonchalantly, his vacant eyes wandering as he approached the pulpit, clearing his throat.

“brothers and sisters, we serve a just god,” his veiny hands gripped the worn oak of the stand, turning pale red as he supported himself, leaning forward toward the parishioners. you sat in the front row, eyes wide and glazed over as if you were looking at the god he spoke of.

“confront the reality of your desire, of your sin. because as we see in his word this morning, the wage of our sin is death.” he paused, letting out a heavy breath and loudly thumping his bible before shooting his empty gaze at you.

“what would your heart look like,” his chest fell ever so slightly, almost defeatedly, “when stripped naked before a holy god?”

charlie knew he was preaching to himself, coddling his guilt with verses as he always did. this wasn’t a message for the church, but rather for him. desire was a reality he needed to confront. the service slipped by as you hurriedly took notes in pink glitter gel script with doodles lining the sides.               ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚romans 6*:ꔫ:*+ﾟ.

“the lord be with you”

“and with your spirit”

applying a fresh layer of lip gloss, gathering your bible and smoothing the back of your dress, you and your mother shuffle out of the pew. your shoes tapping on the marble as you all headed towards the stained-glass doors where father charlie stood talking to the other congregants as they left.

“mrs y/l/n, always good to see you.” he remarked, giving a venerating nod toward your mother as the two of you stopped in front of him.

“father, beautiful service as always.” she said through a smile, leaning in to give quick air kisses on each side of his face. she looooved her some father charlie. you really are your mothers daughter. “so hows bible study goin’ with you two?” she mused, motioning to the both of you limply with her hand before placing it on her hip. his eyes snapped to yours, hands clasped behind his back as he anticipated your words, searching for reassurance in your expression.

“very well. we’ve been going through the old testament, some hard stuff. she’s a good listener.” he replied. your face stayed neutral, but inside, your nerves were tangling into knots.

“did you see both of christie’s girls got engaged? and joe’s daughter. got me thinking about y/n, her future.” your mother went on. charlie gave you a stern look as you rolled your eyes and hid your face in your hands.

“she has a lot to learn still. being a wife, i-i can’t say she’s ready. she’s so blessed to have the guidance of a godly man like you. just, uh, help her out.” she continued with a cheeky smile, patting the priest on his bicep.

now twirling a piece of hair between your fingers, you steal a passing glance at the father as your mom ushers you through the front door. “i’ll see you at seven, okay?” his finger hovered down at you.

“y-yes father! see you tonight!” you called out, voice growing fainter as you were dragged away and out into the sunlight.

the last few months had been excruciating for him. every saturday night, he dreamt about what white dress you would choose to wear, what fragrance you would spritz on your neck. he had gotten you more comfortable over time. you were showing your personality, asking more questions, confessing more sins. he loved it when you confessed. he got high on the essence of your pure shame and desperation, pleading for help on what to do, crying to him about how guilty you were. he wrote about you in his sermons, dreamt about you, imagined you bent over his desk begging for it harder. this could be his opportunity to make a real woman out of you. your mother’s words echoed in his mind as he wandered through the convent. he was determined to make you the perfect godly wife.

the orange hue of the sunset beamed through the windows on each side of the chapel, casting shadows that danced with the movement of the trees and birds flying by. the bright white of your lace-lined dress in the sunlight nearly blinded charlie as he emerged from a side door, hidden away by velvet curtains.

“y/n, just on time, as always.” his welcome was steady and warm as he approached nearer, a hint of a smile touching his lips.

the parallel clicks of his red leather boots and your kitten heels filled the still air of the room, each step slicing through the reverent silence.

“of course father, i wouldn’t miss it” you answered, looking up at him as you walked side by side to his office. his hand found its way to the nape of your neck as he led you, the softness of your tan skin and the scent of vanilla nearly making his eyes flutter. he was so wrong for this, but he didn’t care. you had to learn one way or another.

 you took your usual seat in the black leather chair opposite him, only separated by a large wooden desk. bookshelves lined the walls. a small crucifix hang in the empty space above his seat. he sat, flicking around a ballpoint pen and thumbing through his bible which sat open on the desk.

“so,” he sighed as he leaned back in the chair, legs spread as his hands glided over the thigh of his black dress pants, “tonight’s one is really important. i took some time to think about what your mother said, and i agree." he nodded, "i think a girl of your age is ready to learn.” his pointer finger tapped slowly on his right knee.

“yes, father. i think so too. i just don’t even know where to start.”

“well that’s where i come in,” he smiled, not like when he welcomed you in, it was different. almost predatory. “that’s why i’m here, my child.”  your eyes were glued to the floor, while his were busy surveying the curve of your hips as you sat. so soft. so perfect.

“what book are we gonna be in, father?” you asked absentmindedly, your long lashes brushing against your cheeks with each unhurried blink. you got comfortable in your seat as you opened your bible, pink faux leather full of sticky notes and neon-highlighted prophecies, promises, and judgments.

“we’ll actually be flipping back and forth a bit tonight,” he explained, clearing his throat and adjusting his papers. “the goal here is that you leave feeling prepared to be a wife, one that serves the lord, and her husband. do you understand?”

you nodded, your glossy eyes locked with his. “good. can you go to colossians 3 verse 18 and read that for me, please, sweetheart?”

“wives, submit yourselves unto your husbands, as is fitting in the lord.” you read.

“yes, submission. the definition is skewed nowadays.” he muttered, waving his pen around musingly. “christ did submit to father god, although the son has no less authority. you see?” he leaned forward, gripping the edge of his desk to stand up, circling to your side, bible in hand.

“go to first corinthians chapter 7, it says ‘the husband should fulfill his marital duty to his wife, and likewise the wife to her husband.” he chuckled lightly as you highlighted the verse in lavender. this poor girl has no fucking clue, he thought as he slid his papal ring off. that’s what drew him to you in the first place. he reclined against the side of the desk, legs crossed at the ankle.

“what does that mean father? how will the duties of a godly woman change once she’s married?” your pitch heightening with each question. “like cooking and cleaning? are they the same for bo-“ with a raised hand, he stopped you in your words.

“yes, y/n, yes. you’re eager aren’t you?” he breathed out, a wide grin plastered on his face. “it does include domestic things but also emotional things. honest communication, faithfulness…and physical things too.” he traced his words as he looked at you, “that’s what really changes when you get married.”

his eyes lit up as your jaw went slack at the realization of what he meant.

“oh…i see.” your shoulders slumping and eyes drifting to the marble floor. he could feel the disappointment in your sigh.

“where’d that smile go, sweet girl? what’s wrong?” he chided, a faux frown on his face.

“i just, that’s- i don’t know.” you huffed, “how am i supposed to know what to do on my wedding night? it’s just so unfair. an-and scary!”

“well,” he let out a shallow breath, reaching out to tuck a silky strand of stray hair behind your ear, “i can help you with that too, sweetheart. if you let me.” his fingers curled around the nape of your neck, steady and with purpose. his eyes bore into you as he tilted his head, attempting to coax your gaze up towards him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet them. the foreign heartbeat between your legs became a knotted bundle in your stomach, making you squeeze your thighs together. he traced his index finger down your collarbone, gripping the chain of your necklace between his fingers. he stopped, thumbing at the karats of your crucifix, lost in thought.

he drops the charm with cold indifference, then turns, pacing in circles. “first corinthians seven- thirty four. a married woman is concerned about the affairs of this world, how to please her husband.” the bass in his voice snapped you out of your daze, finally looking up to return frantic little nods and blinks.

“right, o-okay. but father,” you said, lowering your voice ,“i’m not married.” your eyes scanned around dramatically as if to search for witnesses, “we-we’re not married.”

he neared you, placing both hands on each arm of the leather chair, trapping you in. “we can pretend, okay? this’ll be how we conduct our lessons.” he could feel the heat of your breath mixing with the strawberry on your lips. “your mother said you have a lot to learn.” he said almost accusingly, but full of pity. “no more questions, sweet thing. i’m here to guide you, remember?” his words were coated in a nauseating sweetness, seeping into your impressionable mind and persuading you to trust him.

the scent of his cologne was overpowering, making the glossy stain in your baby pink cotton panties worsen. he was only inches away, his shadow encapsulating you as his eyes roamed your face, gauging every reaction as he carefully crept his fingers to play with the lace hem of your dress. sunday’s best.

“have you ever touched yourself, y/n?”

your breath caught in your throat. maybe this would have felt different from the safe shadows of a booth, but this confession was much different. embarrassment sent warmth rushing to  your cheeks as you looked through father charlie rather than at him. you nodded your head, “only once.” you spoke, a broken kind of whisper. he was tracing spirals into your thigh, immediately pausing after hearing that you, the purest little flower he’d ever known, had snuck under her nightgown to play with her pussy. immediately and without moving his head, his eyes flicked up, a sick smile curling on his lips.

“you poor thing…you didn’t cum?” he said with faux sympathy. your eyes widened, almost popping out of your head, as the cross resting just above your cleavage swayed with each breath. up and down. up and down. you shook your head, tears of vulnerability stung in your eyes. “hey…hey. it’s okay! we all start somewhere, right?”  he cooed, almost manic as his hand raised to pass a thumb over your blushed cheek. “i promise by the end of our sessions you’ll feel prepared, yeah? the duties of marriage include knowing your own body. and your husbands. that’s not a problem, is it?” his fingers laced with yours, thumbs tracing the valleys of your knuckles. your hand was so small in his.

“if that’s what the lord calls me to do, i have to listen.” you choke out, a single tear falling down onto the freckles of your thighs. he had never given you a reason to be afraid, but you were, the heaviness on your chest becoming unbearable.

after a long pause and a heavy sigh he whispered, “i knew you would be a good girl, so obedient,” wiping the stain from your face. “get on your knees for me, like you’re gonna pray.” he mumbled, drunk off his own words. hesitantly, you rose and knelt to the floor, palms flat on your thighs as your frightened gaze fixed on the man before you. a man of god. a man you could trust.

“let’s get some practice in, okay?”

his voice was soft but left you understanding you had no say in it. he bent down, his fingers gently hooking the straps of your dress, sliding them slowly down your shoulders until the fabric gathered at your waist. you watched him as he did so, his frenzied eyes not matching the tenderness of his touch. he groans at the sight of your barely covered chest, lace and gems adorning your push-up bra. he undid his buttons with a swiftness you’ve never seen before, now shirtless in front of you.

standing upright, he delivers two tiny taps to your jaw. light, but deliberate. urging you to open up. this was okay. you were husband and wife. the clinking of his belt being slipped off just sounded like wedding bells to you. by the time he shimmied and stepped out of his pants, you were spellbound - mind soft and yielding, ready to mold to whoever he needed you to be.

 your mouth lay half open, satin tongue hanging over your bottom lip and leaving it with a glossy sheen. standing over you, he grasped your jaw, tilting it up to guide you as he released a string of spit that connected his lips to your tongue as he hummed in approval. he clasped his thumbs on the band of his briefs until they fell around his ankles, freeing himself. your tears multiplied as you saw the inches slap onto his v line, twitching and bobbing in the air.

“see, this is your fault. open up real wide f’me.” he huffed as his thumb went to align himself with your mouth, tapping the tip on your tongue. a confused whimper escaped your gaping mouth as he pushed his length further in. musk and salt sat on your tastebuds as he instructed you to tuck your lips, collecting your hair in his fist as you tried to gloss his entire dick with spit. he started off slow, seeing you furrow your brows and gag, looking up at him for approval. he thrust into you as he guided your head, the grip on your hair making your scalp burn. your moans of protest were muffled as he fucked your face, tears now streaming down your chest. you tried pushing at his thighs, digging your almond french tips into the muscle, but it only made him go harder.

“nuh-uh, you’re gonna have to learn.”

as his head massaged the back ridges of your throat, his large hands cupped each side of your head with a commanding grasp, forcing the tip of your nose to meet his happy trail and holding you in place. his chest glistened with sweat, heaving as he looked down at you with absent eyes. the room was humid as your nose drew in wet, shaky breaths, gagging around this thick length.

“do you see now, why i have to do this to you?” he cooed, looking down as you struggled to breathe, blowing bubbles of slobber that collected at the base of his shaft. your face screwed as you sobbed and squirmed on the cold floor, dick down your throat. “you’re wildly unprepared.” he hissed, shaking his head, unimpressed. “look at you,” he spat, pulling you off, leaving you gasping for air as if each inhale would be the last. “why fight it?” grabbing your cheeks, causing your lips to pucker, all swollen and slick. you flinched at his touch. “a good wife isn’t supposed to be defiant. we just read that.” he scoffed, “i don’t even think you were paying attention.”

you clenched your eyes shut to avoid looking up at him, just shaking your head. “i was, i promise i was!” you attempted to cry out, but all that escaped was whiny mumbles.

 “no, no, look me in the face. give me some fucking respect,” he muttered, tightening his grip on your jaw, yanking it close. you forced your eyes open to meet his. breath hot on your lips, he was growing visibly more impatient. his irises were pure black, like that of a shark. one that could sniff out innocent little girls like human blood.

“i see righttttt through you, tryna hide behind your rosary, your psalms, your fucking dresses.” he mocked, hand leaving your face to tug the remainder of the lace mess down your legs, leaving you in your bra and panties. “but i see you. i see what kind of slut you are. looking up at me in the pew, coming to my office until well after sundown. fuckin’ asking for it.” he stepped back, his narrow eyes examining you in disgust.

“father- no i just, please,” you choked out, shame turning into stickiness between your legs.

“please?! please what? i’m exposing your sin!” his voice rose to a yell, dragging his hands down his face before gesturing toward you dismissively as you sat motionless on the floor. “no manners whatsoever,” he sighed out. your face dropped as he tapped the wood of his desk. “come, sit. spread those legs.” he commanded.

without thought, you rise from the floor and take a seat where he had told you to, ankles dangling in the air as you shyly open your thighs. anything to make him happy again. he bends over, gently running two fingers over your clothed pussy, noticing a wet mark right in the middle. “oh wow, i knew you wanted this,” he chuckled, holding one leg open while the other rubbed circles into your panties. “so wet, so ready.”  

hiding your face in your hands, you watched through your fingers as he focused on the growing puddle in the fabric of your underwear, attention solely between your legs. “this is the y/n i know…mhm.. always so good for me. i don’t know what got into you, huh?” he hummed. you could feel his words on the inside of your thigh as he continued to study you, making you whimper. before you could question anything, he was sliding the boyshorts past your knees, whispering praises as you kicked them off.

“fuck,” he moaned out, breathlessly admiring you while running his hands up your stomach to your chest. he traced the wire of your bra to the back, unclasping it with a pop and discarding it on the floor. your tiny, uneven breaths filled the air, giving way to quiet moans under his touch. he glided his hands on the underside of your thighs, spreading you gently with his index and middle fingers.

“awh, my pretty pink girl. so pure.” he spoke almost to himself as he bent over, playing in your folds. deep down, you knew you shouldn’t let him do this. but it felt so good. and he knew best, right?

his fingers ran the wetness up and down your pussy before working in his middle finger, forcing you to hear yourself, how bad you really did want this. you gasped, sitting up on your hands and looking down at the priest who was now pumping his whole finger into you. words tangled on your tongue, babbling and moaning with furrowed brows.

“ohh my god,” you managed to squeak out. he softly shook his head, never slowing down his pace.

 “no, baby. just me n’ you.”

he pulled his finger out, making you clench at the emptiness. encircling your slit, he lined up a second finger, slowly stuffing it into your leaky pink hole. you cried out, digging your nails into the wood of the desk and writhing against him. twisting his fingers in you, he started to speak. “this is the next step in becoming a real adult, y/n. as your priest, i have a responsibility….” his free hand dug into your hip, holding you in place to stop your squirming, “a responsibility to make sure you’re educated on certain things. ready for the real world.”

his fingers continued their assault on your pussy, fucking you open as your feet stirred aimlessly in the air, helpless and overwhelmed. “father f-fuckk i - ” you stuttered, attention being brought back to reality by a rough slap, one so hard it caused your ear to ring. your fingers trembled against your burning cheek, lips parted and eyes wide with panic.

 “watch your fucking language, how do you expect to find a husband with a mouth like that?” he huffed, removing his hands from you completely. how ironic. you sniffled and nodded, pushing yourself up, wanting to bridge the distance left by his absent touch. his thumb gripped your chin, guiding your eyes to his. “i think you’re ready though, don’t you?” his fat tip was now rubbing up and down your petals, as you babbled i can’ts and i dunno’s.

he lay his length against your stomach, touching your belly button, perversely rubbing it against the smooth of your skin. you rolled your hips against the desk, staring up at him. “will it fit?” you mewled, cupping your heavy tits in your hands and pressing them together. you were learning so well. he led himself to circle your clit, collecting your glaze and spreading it around. you threatened to cry out, the only thing stopping you being the sharp bite on your bottom lip.

“yes angel, i’ll make it fit…just a part of it” he breathed out, softly pressing his lips to your forehead. “this is what husbands and wives do..” trailing off, trying to distract you as he stuffed the tip in.

your gasps and whimpers of discomfort subsided to pornographic moans as he slowly worked himself in, bucking himself against you until there was nothing left to fit. cradling the back of your head in both hands, he forced you to watch yourself get filled up as he stretched you with slow, grinding movements. you brought your knees to your chest, spreading yourself more for him, little ah ah ah’s drifting from your tongue.

“thaat’s my girlll,” he hissed, knowing he was holding back. “now..” he paused, making you squirm your hips in search of friction, hands still entrapping your skull, eyes piercing yours, “i’m gonna fuck you stupid, okay? and you’re gonna be grateful.” his soothing tone not matching the brutality of his words.

your head nodded mechanically with a vacant stare, mouth agape. maybe it was a good thing your priest was taking your virginity. he was a man of god, after all. his grip on your scalp tightened as he repeatedly slammed into you, hitting that deep, spongy spot that had never been touched before. he angled you to watch every stroke, pressing on the bulge in your lower tummy. “you see that, dumb girl? does that feel good?” he grunted out, filling the room with sloppy noises each time he thrust into you.

“y-yess, soo good,” you squealed, leaving a creamy ring around his shaft.

another slap. but he refused to let up on your cunt, quickening his pace and violently snapping his hips against the back of your thighs. tears welled in the corner of your eyes as you got filled up.

“yes who?” he demanded, almost growling as he pressed his chest to your legs, folding you in half.

“yes fatherr, feels so so good, pleasepleaseplease,” you had no clue what you were even begging for at this point. his length was relentlessly sliding in and out, beating up your cervix.

“mhm, our little secret. our little fucking secret,” he whispered on repeat. like a mantra. a perverted one-on-one devotional. his hands, large and assuming, glided over your body before finding your throat, squeezing both sides. waves of pleasure washed over you, eyes rolling into the back of your head. “hnnmpphh- i can’t, please- it’s too much,” your hands rake at the muscle of his chest, searching for any mercy.

“ohh, sweet thing, you’ve been taking it so well.”  he soothed, finally slowing down for only a moment, “no fussing, just cum for me.”  

he immediately resumed brutalizing you, thumb circling your swollen clit. both legs spasmed as you came undone, juices leaking down onto the polished wood. any rational thought had left your brain, as a matter of fact, so had any thought at all. your absent, glassy eyes crossed and rolled with each motion, eyebrows knitting together in a blissful frown. he moaned shakily, making sure you felt every inch.

“tell me what god said to noah after the flood.” he grunted out, lips ghosting over yours, hand still tight on your neck. you were barely coherent, essentially speaking in tongues. a harsh slap landed to your cheek, jolting you into reality from the haze of your orgasm.

“c’mon kid, genesis 9, stay with me,” he snapped.

“be fruitful…” you yelped, straining through clenched teeth and a constricted airway, cupping your cheek, “increase in number, fill the earth.”

“mhm, we’re gonna make him proud, okay?” he coaxed you to agree. he knows you’re too braindead to comprehend, just obediently nodding your little head to whatever he asks.

“gonna give you my cum till it takes,” he pants out, loosening to grip on your throat to lock his hands to your hips, guiding your body up and down his inches with relentless force. your head bobbing loosely as he slammed into you over and over and over again. “god, fuck- gonna put a fuckin’ baby in you,” his hips stuttered, spilling his seed into you and pounding it deep into your cervix.

pulling himself out with a sigh, he watched with hooded lids as his cum dripped out of you in pearlescent globs. his hands smoothed the mess of hair on your head, sealing it with a tiny kiss before cleaning you up and retrieving your panties from the floor without words. his hands enveloped your waist, lifting you effortlessly to your feet beside the desk as your knees faltered. he bent down, holding open the legs of the undergarment for you to step in, gripping onto his shoulder for balance as you do so. next the dress. then the heels, sitting you in the black leather chair as he slides them onto each foot, clasping your ankle strap before placing a wet kiss to each knee. a small act of worship.

“my little bride-to-be...” he whispers, now standing over you, caressing your smooth skin with his thumb, trying to drink in the hollow stillness in your head.

“same time next sunday, alright?”

[cuntyji]

cw: highly suggestive but v funny please laugh, reader wears lingerie 🙉

your first mistake was leaving choso alone in the apartment.

your second mistake was not expecting him to do something stupid when left unattended for more than an hour. but this? this was new.

you came home, fully expecting to see him napping on the couch, scrolling through his phone, or maybe reheating leftovers in the microwave. instead, you found him standing in front of your underwear drawer—organizing.

which, in itself, was already suspect behavior, considering you’d never seen him fold a shirt properly in his life.

but it wasn’t the tidiness that had your soul leaving your body. no, it was the fact that he was standing there with your panties over his face.

not in a pervy way. not like those spicy fanfics you’ve definitely, totally never read at three in the morning. no, your boyfriend—your 27-year-old, full-time salaryman boyfriend—was wearing your victoria’s secret lace-trimmed underwear over his face like a spiderman mask.

and he was making pew pew noises.

“take that, villain!” he whispered aggressively, using one hand as a makeshift web-shooter while the other expertly color-coordinated your socks. his movements were swift, methodical. he was, horrifyingly enough, completely immersed in his role.

you should have left. you should have turned around, walked back out, and never spoken of this. but no, you had to be brave. you had to step forward and, in the worst decision of your life, say:

“…cho?”

chaos.

choso shrieked. not a yell, not a grunt—a full-on horror movie shriek. his entire body jerked like he’d been electrocuted, hands flying to his face as if he’d forgotten what he’d done. his wide, horrified eyes locked onto yours for one agonizing second before he attempted to remove the evidence—attempted being the keyword.

because rather than just taking the panties off his face like a normal human being, your boyfriend, in his absolute panic, yanked them.

RRRRRIIIIIIPPPPPP.

the sound was deafening. the death of good fabric. lace fibers shredded in his grasp. the remnants of your once-beautiful underwear dangled limply from his trembling hands.

a heavy silence fell between you.

“…”

“…”

choso slowly lowered his hands. then, in the most pathetic, guilty voice you’d ever heard in your life, he croaked out:

“…hey, babe. how was work?”

you inhaled. deep. long. controlled. you were going to kill him.

“CHO—”

“WAIT! WAIT! WAIT! I CAN EXPLAIN!”

“EXPLAIN?! EXPLAIN WHY YOU’RE PLAYING SUPERHERO WITH MY UNDERWEAR?! WHY ARE YOU EVEN ORGANIZING MY DRAWER?! YOU DON'T EVEN ORGANIZE YOUR OWN SHIT!”

his mouth opened, then closed. then opened again. “well… it looked messy?”

you blinked at him. he blinked at you.

“… i’m gonna pretend you didn’t just imply my organizational skills are subpar,” you deadpanned.

“no! that’s not—! i mean—! it was just a little… chaotic?”

choso was walking on dangerous ground, and he knew it. you could see the regret in his eyes, but you weren’t about to let him escape unscathed.

you crossed your arms. “so you put my panties on your face?”

“… i got distracted.”

“distracted by what?”

he shifted awkwardly. “… spiderman?”

oh, he was so sleeping on the couch tonight.

[tregearix]

SINNERS

ITZY Yeji X Male Reader Smut

You sit quietly in the pew, trying to focus on the priest's sermon, but your mind keeps wandering to the stunning woman on your left. A really beautiful woman with porcelain skin seems to glow in the candlelight. You find yourself sneaking glances at her lips as she hums along to the hymns. You also notices a man sit next to her with a little girl on his lap. And then you realize they must be a family.

Get a grip, you scold yourself silently. She's married. Off limits.

But as the service drones on, you can't help but steal more peeks at the beautiful woman. The way her silky hair falls over her shoulders, the graceful curve of her neck, the cleavage beneath her modest blouse...

Your face flushes with shame and arousal. You shift uncomfortably, trying to will away the stirrings in your groin. This is wrong. I shouldn't be thinking about her like this.

Just then, the woman turns to you with a warm smile, her eyes sparkling. "The sermon are boring isn't it," she whispers conspiratorially.

You feel your cheeks burn as the gorgeous woman leans in close, her sweet breath tickling your ear. "Uh, yeah, a bit," you whisper hoarsely, trying not to stammer. Your heart races, pounding in your chest as you steal another glance at her thin, luscious lips.

Yeji giggles softly, her hand brushing against yours as she shifts position. "I'm Yeji, by the way," she murmurs, her voice low and sultry. "What's your name?"

Her touch sends electricity through your body, making your cock twitch in your pants. You swallow hard, struggling to maintain your composure.

You say your name a bit haltingly, your voice cracking slightly. "Nice to meet you Yeji."

Yeji smiles, her eyes roaming over your face appreciatively. "Likewise," she purrs. "You know, I've seen you here before. I always notice you sitting alone."

Before you can answer her question, she leans in even closer, her breasts pressing against your arm. You can smell her perfume, a heady mix of jasmine and vanilla that makes your head spin.

"Tell me something," she breathes, her lips barely an inch from yours. "Are you always this... distracted during sermons? Or is it just something about me?"

Her question hangs in the air between you, heavy with implication. You feel like you might faint, your heart hammering so loudly that makes you worried everyone in the church will hearing it.

You try to play it cool, but your voice comes out shaky. "What do you mean? I'm just... well, I'm not feeling too great today, that's all."

You shift on your seat, trying to will away the persistent ache in your groin. Damn it, not now. You pray silently, hoping Yeji doesn't notice the growing bulge on your pants.

"Yeah, must be coming down with something," You mutter lamely, avoiding her gaze. You can feel her eyes on you, studying your face intently.

Please, just drop it, You beg internally. I can't handle this right now. But even as you think it, you know it's a lost cause. Yeji has you under her spell, and there's no escape.

Yeji's eyes flick down to your crotch for a split second before meeting your gaze again, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. "Oh, I think I know exactly what you're coming down with," she teases, her voice dripping with innuendo.

She shifts in her seat, crossing her legs slowly and deliberately. The movement causes her skirt to ride up slightly, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her smooth, creamy thighs.

Holy shit, you think, your mouth going dry. Is she seriously flirting with me right now? In church?

But even as the thought crosses your mind, you find yourself leaning in closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Her scent fills your nostrils - a heady mix of perfume and something else, something primal and intoxicating.

"You know," Yeji murmurs, her hand coming to rest on your thigh. Her touch is electric, sending sparks of pleasure racing through your body. "I have a confession to make."

She leans in even closer, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, "I'm not happy in my marriage. My husband... he doesn't satisfy me anymore."

You glance nervously at Yeji's husband, who's sitting beside her with their daughter on his lap, fully focusing on the sermon, oblivious to his wife conversation with you. Turning back to Yeji, your eyes widen in shock and confusion.

"What... what do you mean?" You whisper hoarsely, voice trembling slightly. "You're not happy in your marriage? What are you talking about?"

You also glance around, worried that other congregants might overhear the hushed exchange between the both of you. Your heart pounds on your chest as you struggle to process Yeji's bombshell revelation.

Yeji's eyes gleam with mischief and desire as she leans in even closer, her breath hot against your ear. "Exactly what I said," she purrs, her hand sliding further up your thigh. "My husband... he's a good man, but he can't satisfy me the way I need to be satisfied."

Her fingers brush against the bulge in your pants, making you gasp involuntarily. You feel your cock twitch and harden under her touch, straining against the fabric of your pants.

"I see the way you look at me," Yeji murmurs, her lips grazing your jaw. "I know you want me. And I want you too. I want you so badly, and it hurts."

She presses herself against you, her breasts squishing against your arm as she grinds her hips subtly against your thigh. The heat of her body seeps through your clothes, making you shiver with anticipation.

"Meet me at the storage room in 5 minutes," she breathes, her hand cupping your hardness through your pants. "We can... talk more privately there."

With that, she pulls away, leaving you aching and desperate, your mind reeling with the implications of her words. You watch her turn back to her husband, plastering on a sweet smile as if nothing had happened.

Is this really happening? A beautiful married woman is trying to hook up with me? Your head is spinning, trying to process the incredible turn of events.

You watch in disbelief as Yeji gets up from the pew, murmuring something to her oblivious husband. She glances back at you, her eyes smoldering with desire, before sauntering down the aisle.

You adjust yourself discreetly, trying to ease the ache in your crotch. Your cock is rock hard, straining against the confines of your pants. You can't remember the last time you was this turned on.

As Yeji disappears around the corner, you take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. This day was supposed to be a normal Sunday for you but then this is happening. Your mind is battling away - should you go or not?.

Seconds goes by, minute after minute, and you still can't make your choice. You glance at Yeji's husband and daughter anxiously.

Fuck, what do I do? You think to yourself, palms sweating. This is wrong, she's married. But god, the way she was looking at me...

You shift uncomfortably on your seat, your cock throbbing painfully in your pants. You know you should probably just stay put, but the temptation to following Yeji to the storage room is overwhelming.

Screw it, You decide finally, standing up on shaky legs. I'm going to see where this leads, consequences be damned.

You slip out of the pew, trying to act casual as you make your way towards the church annex where the storage room is located. Your heart pounding loudly in your chest, your steps quickening with each passing second, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

What am I doing? you think frantically, your mind a whirlwind of excitement and anxiety. This is crazy. I could get caught. Her husband could find out.

But even as the rational part of your brain screams at you to turn back, your feet carry you forward, drawn to Yeji like a magnet. You reach the door to the storage room, your hand trembling as you reach for the handle.

Taking a deep breath, you push the door open, stepping inside. The room is dimly lit, filled with dusty boxes and old furniture. But there, in the corner, stands Yeji, her eyes glittering with desire.

"I knew you'd come," she purrs, sauntering towards you. Her heels click on the floor, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

"I couldn't resist," you admit, your voice rough with need. "You're just... irresistible."

Yeji laughs, a low, seductive sound. "Flattery will get you everywhere, mister," she says, reaching out to trail a finger down your chest. "Now, why don't you show me just how irresistible you find me?"

Your breath catches in your throat as she presses herself against you, her hands roaming over your body. You can feel every curve of her, every soft inch of skin. It's intoxicating, overwhelming.

"Fuck, Yeji," you groan, your cock throbbing almost painfully in your pants. "You're driving me crazy."

With that, you crashed your lips against hers, kissing her with a hunger that steals her breath away. Yeji hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer and deeper. You kiss her like a man starved, like she's the only thing that matters in the world. And for this moment, in this dimly lit storage room, she is.

Your hands roam greedily over Yeji's curves, feeling the smooth, supple skin beneath her clothes. You palm her breasts, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh, feeling her nipples harden under my touch. She moans into your mouth, muffled by the sounds of furious kissing.

You slide your hands lower, skimming over her waist and hips, gripping her ass and pulling her flush against you. You grind your rock-hard cock against her, letting her feel how much you wanted her, how desperately you need to be inside her.

"Fuck, Yeji," You groan, breaking the kiss to trail your lips down her neck. "You will be the death of me."

She gasps, tilting her head to give me better access to her sensitive skin.

You continue to explore Yeji's body with your hands and lips, reveling in the soft moans and gasps that spill from her mouth. Your fingers slip under her blouse, caressing the smooth skin of her back, tracing the lacy edge of her bra.

"Please..." she breathes, arching into your touch. "Touch me..." she whimpers needily.

Her words send a bolt of pure lust straight to your cock, making it throb almost painfully in your pants. You slip your hand around to her front, cupping her breast and squeezing gently. Her nipple is hard against your palm, straining against the thin fabric of her bra.

"I need you too, Yeji," you growl, your voice rough with desire. "I need to taste you, to feel you..."

With that, you drop to your knees in front of her, your hands sliding up her thighs to bunch her skirt around her waist. You bury your face between her legs, inhaling deeply. The scent of her arousal is intoxicating, making your head spin with want.

You nuzzle against her clothed pussy, feeling the heat of her through the damp fabric of her panties. She tangles her fingers in your hair, tugging gently as she grinds against your face.

"Oh yes.." she moans, her head thrown back in ecstasy. "Oh god, yes..."

You hook your fingers in the waistband of her panties and tug them aside, exposing her glistening pink folds to your hungry gaze. You lean in, running your tongue along her slit, tasting her essence on your lips.

She cries out, her grip on your hair tightening as she rocks her hips against your mouth. You lap at her eagerly, savoring the sweet nectar of her arousal, your tongue delving deep to stroke her most sensitive spots.

"Fuck," she gasps, her thighs trembling around your ears. "Don't stop, please don't stop..."

You have no intention of stopping. You're going to make her cum, to make her forget about everything except the feeling of your tongue on her pussy. You're going to ruin her just like she desired, you're gonna make her crave you like a drug.

And as you redouble your efforts, as her moans grow louder and more desperate. You pull away from Yeji's dripping pussy for a moment, looking up at her with lust-filled eyes. "Shh," You whisper urgently, reminding her where we are. "Don't be too loud."

She bites her lip, nodding in understanding as she tries to stifle her moans. You grin wickedly before diving back in, your tongue delving deep into her tight channel. You lap at her greedily, savoring her sweet taste and the way her thighs tremble around your ears.

"Mmmph..." she whimpers, her fingers tangling in your hair as she rocks her hips against your face.

You double down your efforts again, determined to make her cum hard on your tongue. Your nose brushes against her clit as you tongue-fuck her, the lewd wet sounds filling the storage room. You can feel her getting closer, her pussy clenching around your tongue.

"Give it to me Yeji," You growl against her sensitive flesh. "Cum for me, baby. Let me taste that sweet nectar."

Her whole body goes rigid, her back arching as she throws her head back in ecstasy. "Fuuuck!" she cries out, her pussy gushing around your tongue as she rides out her intense orgasm.

You lap it all up, drinking down her delicious juices like a man dying of thirst. You don't stop until she's trembling and whimpering. Her thighs shaking so much, threatening to giving up.

You pull back, licking your lips in satisfaction as you admire your handiwork. Yeji is sprawled against the wall, her chest heaving, her eyes glazed over with pleasure.

"Holy shit," she pants, a lazy smile spreading across her face. "That was... incredible."

You stand up, pressing yourself against her, letting her feel the hard length of your cock straining against my zipper. "Oh, we're just getting started, beautiful," you promise darkly, your hands sliding down to grip her ass.

Yeji's eyes widen as she feels the hard length of your cock pressing against her. She licks her lips, her gaze smoldering with desire.

"Mmm, I can't wait to feel that inside me," she purrs, grinding her hips against yours. "I want you to fuck me so hard, I won't be able to walk straight for a week."

You groan, your cock throbbing at her words. You reach down, undoing your belt and zipper to free your aching erection. It springs out, slapping against your stomach, already dripping with pre-cum.

Yeji's eyes widen as she takes in the sight of your impressive length. "Oh my," she breathes, her hand reaching out to wrap around your shaft. "You're even bigger than I imagined."

You hiss through your teeth as she starts to stroke you, her hand gliding up and down your length. Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking more of her touch.

"Fuck, Yeji," you groan, your head falling back against the wall. "That feels so good."

She smiles wickedly, her hand speeding up, twisting on the upstroke just the way you like it. "I want to make you feel good," she purrs, her other hand reaching down to cup your balls. "I want to make you cum so hard until you'll see stars."

Yeji sinks to her knees in front of you, her eyes never leaving yours as she reaches for your throbbing cock. Her small, delicate hand wraps around your thick shaft, barely able to encircle its girth.

"Mmm, you're so big," she purrs, stroking you slowly. "I can't wait to taste you."

You groan as she leans in, her hot breath ghosting over the sensitive head of your cock. Her tongue darts out, licking a bead of pre-cum from the slit. The sensation is electric, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.

"Fuck, Yeji," You gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily.

She smiles up at you, her eyes glinting with mischief before she parts her lips and takes you into the wet heat of her mouth. You let out a low moan as she starts to suck, her head bobbing up and down your length.

It's almost too much to bear. The sight of a gorgeous woman on her knees, worshipping a cock, this is the stuff of every man's fantasies. You tangle your fingers in her hair, guiding her movements as she takes you deeper.

"That's it, baby," You groan, your voice strained with pleasure. "Suck my cock just like that. Fuck, you're so good at this."

Yeji looks up at you, her eyes watering slightly as she takes you to the back of her throat. She relaxes her jaw, letting you slide even deeper, until you feel the head of your cock bumping against the entrance to her throat.

You let out a guttural moan, your hips thrusting forward involuntarily. "Jesus, Yeji," You gasp, your fingers tightening in her hair. "You're amazing."

Yeji moans around your cock, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through your body. She bobs her head faster, taking you deeper into her throat with each downward motion. Her tongue swirls around the sensitive head of your cock, teasing the slit and lapping up the pre-cum that leaks from the tip.

"Mmmph... mmmm..." she hums, the sound muffled by your thick shaft stretching her lips.

Your head falls back, your eyes closing as you lose yourself in the incredible sensations. Yeji's mouth is pure heaven, hot, wet and perfect. You can feel your orgasm building, your balls tightening as she works you closer and closer to the edge.

"Fuck, Yeji," you pant, your hips thrusting shallowly as you fight the urge to cum. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum..."

She pulls off with a lewd pop, her hand stroking your shaft as she looks up at you with hooded eyes. "Do it," she urges, her voice husky with desire. "Cum for me, I want to taste it."

With a guttural groan, you let go, your cock pulsing as you shoot your load into her waiting mouth. She moans in delight, her tongue lapping at your shaft as she swallows every last drop of your cum.

You almost sag down to the floor, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Yeji stands up, licking her lips as she savors the taste of you.

"That was incredible," she purrs, pressing herself against you. "But we're not done yet, are we?"

You shake your head, "Not even close," You growl, your voice rough with desire. You can feel your shaft hardening again, rising to attention as if begging for more of Yeji's touch.

"You're insatiable," she teases, her hand wrapping around your thick length and giving it a squeeze. You hiss in pleasure, your hips bucking into her touch.

"Only for you," you pant, your hands gripping her hips tightly. "I want to fuck you so hard, you'll be feeling me for days."

Yeji's eyes darken with lust, a wicked smile playing on her lips. "Then what are you waiting for?" she purrs, turning around and bending over a nearby crate. She looks back at you over her shoulder, her skirt flipped up to reveal her perfect, round ass. "Take me, make me yours."

You don't need to be told twice. You step forward, your cock throbbing with anticipation as you lined up behind her. You rub the head of your shaft through her wet folds, coating it in her arousal.

"Fuck, you're so wet," You groan, your fingers digging into her hips. "I can't wait to be inside you."

With that, you thrust forward, burying yourself to the hilt in her tight heat. You both cry out at the sudden intrusion, your bodies joining as one. You pause for a moment, savoring the feeling of her walls clenching around you.

"God, you feel amazing," You pant, your hips starting to move. "So tight, so perfect."

Yeji moans, pushing back against you, urging you to go deeper, harder. And you comply, your hips snapping forward as you begin to fuck the married woman with abandon. The storage room echoes with the lewd sounds of your coupling, the slap of skin on skin, the creaking of the crate.

"Yes.. yes.. yes..!" Yeji cries out, her fingers scrabbling on the rough wood. "Harder! Fuck me harder!"

"Shhh, be quiet Yeji," The faint voice of the priest on the mic reminded where we are right now, but you obliged her request, your thrusts becoming more forceful, more demanding. You lean over her, your chest pressed against her back as you piston in and out of her sopping wet cunt.

"Take it, Yeji," You growl in her ear, your hand snaking around to rub her clit. "Take my cock like you were made for it."

Yeji cries out, her body shaking with pleasure as you pound into her. "Yes, just like that!" she moans, her fingers digging into the wood of the crate. "Don't stop, please don't stop!"

You can feel her getting closer, her pussy clenching around your cock like a vice. You redouble your efforts, your hips slapping against her ass with each powerful thrust. Your fingers work her clit, rubbing it in tight circles as you bring her closer and closer to the edge.

"That's it, baby," you pant, your own orgasm building in your core. "Cum for me. Cum on my cock."

With a keening wail, Yeji's body goes rigid, her pussy spasming around your shaft as she cums hard.

You didn't slow down, not even for a second. You fucked Yeji even harder as she came, your hips slamming into hers with bruising force. You could feel her pussy clenching and fluttering around your cock, trying to milk you dry, and it felt fucking incredible.

The storage room was hot and stuffy, the air heavy with the scent of sex. The world outside faded as you continued fucking the married woman. You aware how taboo and sinful it is, to fucking a married woman in a church, but you didn't care. All you cared about was the feeling of Yeji's tight cunt gripping you, the way she moaned and writhed beneath you.

You angled your hips, hitting that spot inside her that made her seeing stars. "Fuck, Yeji," You gasped, your balls drawing up tight. "You feel so fucking good."

You could feel your second release is barreling down, your cock throbbing and twitching inside her. But you held back, determined to make her cum again before you let yourself go.

Your fingers finding her clit again, rubbing it in tight, fast circles. "Come on, baby," You urged, your voice strained with the effort of holding back your own orgasm. "Give me another one. Cum all over my cock like a good slut you are."

Yeji's body trembles under your touch, her pussy clenching and unclenching around your throbbing cock as you play with her clit. "Oh my god," she moans, her voice high and breathy. "I'm... I'm gonna... oh fuck!"

Her words dissolve into a wordless cry of ecstasy as she comes again, her pussy gushing around your shaft. You followed behind her, with a guttural groan you let go, your hips slamming into hers one last time as you bury yourself as deep as possible inside her.

"Fuck, Yeji!" You cursed, your cock pulsing as you fill her with your seed. "Take it all, baby. Take my cum."

Yeji's body goes limp, her forehead resting on the crate as she tries to catch her breath. You collapse on top of her, your cock softening, still buried deep inside her. Your chest heaving as you try to regain your breath.

After a moment, you pull out, watching as your combined fluids drips out of her well-fucked hole. You scoop some up with your fingers, bringing it to her lips. "Taste us," You murmur, your voice husky with satisfaction.

Yeji parts her lips, sucking your fingers into her mouth and licking them clean. "Mmm," she purrs, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. "We taste good together."

You smile, leaning in to capture her lips in a deep, passionate kiss. You both stay like that for a moment, lost in each other, before reality starts to creep back in.

"We should probably get cleaned up," You murmur reluctantly, pulling away. "Before someone comes looking for us."

You both quickly fix your clothes and clean up any evidence of the tryst. You tuck your semi-hard cock back into your pants, wincing slightly as you do. It's still sensitive from the intense fucking session, the fabric of your pants feels rough against your skin. You zip up, trying to ignore the lingering ache in your balls.

Yeji smooths down her skirt and blouse, running her fingers through her hair to tame the wild strands. She looks flushed and satisfied, a secret smile playing on her lips.

"That was amazing," she murmurs, her voice low and husky. "I can't believe we're just having sex on church."

You grin, pulling her close for one last kiss. "Believe it, baby. And that was fucking incredible."

You both take a moment to catches breath, your hearts racing as you come down from the high of illicit encounter. "We should probably get back before they start to wonder where we went," You say reluctantly. "You go first, remember to look around first, I'll go after a few minutes".

Yeji nods, giving you one last heated glance before slipping out of the storage room. You wait a beat, your heart pounding in your chest as you listen for any signs of movement outside.

When you're sure the coast is clear, you step out into the empty hallway, your senses on high alert.

You slip back into the main sanctuary, you make your way to your seat, trying to act casual as you sit down again next to Yeji. She's engrossed in conversation with her husband and daughter, seemingly unaffected by what just happened between the both of you.

You glance towards church altar, realizing that the sermon is almost over. The priest is wrapping up his final points, preparing for the closing prayer. You try to focus on his words, but your mind keeps drifting back to the feel of Yeji's body, the taste of her on my tongue. You sneak a glance at Yeji, wondering if she's feeling the same way, are she's thinking about you as much as you thinking about her.

But she's all smiles and laughter with her family, the picture of the perfect wife and mother. No one would ever guess that just moments ago, she was on her knees in a storage room, worshipping another man's cock like it was her reason for living.

The thought of it sends a shiver down your spine, and you have to bite back a groan. As the congregation rises for the final prayer, you bow your head, your eyes squeezed shut. But you're not praying for forgiveness or redemption. You're praying for another chance, another opportunity to get lost in Yeji's body, to forget about everything else except the feel of her skin against yours.

It's a dangerous game you're playing, you know that. But you can't seem to stop yourself. Yeji has gotten under your skin, and you don't think the tryst memory you have with her in the storage room will going away easily.

The sermon ends and the congregation begins to disperse, chatting amongst themselves as they file out of the pews. You hang back, watching as Yeji gathers up her daughter and husband, leading them towards the exit.

You hesitate for a moment, torn between following her and keeping your distance. But the magnetic pull of her body, the memory of her taste on your tongue, is too strong to resist. You fall into step behind them, keeping a discreet distance as you follow them out into the bright sunlight.

As they reach the parking lot, Yeji turns to her husband, exchanging a quick kiss before ushering their daughter into the backseat of their car. You watch as she slides into the front seat, her husband climbing in beside her.

Just before he closes the door, Yeji glances up, her eyes locking with yours. For a moment, you see a flash of heat, of unspoken promise, before she looks away, her expression once again the picture of wifely devotion.

The car pulls out of the lot, and you're left standing there, your heart racing, your mind reeling with the possibilities of what might happen next.

[killerbait]

Pastors daughter X Ellie Williams >333

pastor's daughter reader x ellie williams

cw ; nsfw. public sex (church). blasphemy. fingering.

your skin is so soft, no foreign fingerprints disrupting your untouched flesh. it amazes ellie, you're so fragile. so clean and sinless

she feels just terrible, her hand travelling up from your knee to your thigh, dirtying your skin with her dna.

you breathe heavily, butterflies and guilt swirling in your stomach as you grip the church pew you and ellie sat on. you're so sensitive to even the slightest of touch.

her mouth latches onto your neck, aiming to make a mark you dread to cover up. but you don't stop her, no, in fact you tilt your head to give her more space.

her hand finally slips under your dress and between your thighs, her teeth sinking into your neck. a moan slips from your mouth, echoing through the empty church hall.

she smiles against your skin and shushes you, pulling the seat of your panties to the side to slide her fingers through your cunt.

you hand is quick to grab her wrist, your eyes shooting open. you're hearts drops, seeing the lord staring right back at you. his eyes hold no love anymore— you're a sinner.

ellie notices, watching how you hide your face away. she doesn't like that.

her free hand entangles in your hair, tugging your head back. "look." her voice is harsh as she slides two fingers into you, amused at how you mewl and push your hips off the pew into her palm.

your painted nails dig into her skin, shaking your head. "no— please, no..."

your begging does you no good at all, in fact it works more in ellie's favour than yours. she loves to hear you beg, especially for forgiveness after she fucks you. her dirty little church girl, not even god could save you from her.

ellie grunts, giving your hair another pull. "fuckin' look."

you whimper and look up at the giant cross, the holy saviour hanging from it by nails. you envy him. this is humiliating.

"repent."

[helen-with-an-a]

hey i know that this is a senstive topic but i was wondering if you could write a barca x reader, where reader take transit from her home to the training grounds even tho multiple teammates have told her they will drive her but she doesn't want to be a burden. when on the bus or train she gets off at a stop and is walking home when she hears a guy behind her, this guy pulls her into an area (bushes, alley way) and r*pe's her. after the next day at training she really quiet and people notice she has disengaged and ask her about it until she breaks down about how embrassed she is because she think this guy has taken her virginity until someone like alexia explains that she hasn't and says she will stay with her and she will take her too and from training..

I know it is a senstive topic and if you don't wan to write it I totally understand <3

Hi - so this is a very deep topic that I have no experience with but I did change it to something that I have some experience with. Please read this with your own safety and well-being in mind - if this is something you feel like you cannot read, please do not do so. If this is happening, or if anything similar is happening please contact someone.

UK Rape and Sexual Abuse Hotline: 0808 500 2222 or their website

USA National Victims Hotline: phone or text 1-855-4VICTIM (855-484-2846) or their website

Australia Sexual Assault Crisis Line: 1800 806 292 or their website

Spain Delegación del Gobierno contra la Violencia de Género: 016 or their website

France Victimes Plus Jamais Sueles: +33 (0)1 45 88 19 00; 0884284637 or their website

Germany: 0049 30 32299500; or their website

Here is a list of other hotlines for countries across Europe and the World

Withdrawn

Barça Femeni x Reader (mainly Alexia Putellas x Reader)

Description: R comes back after the Winter break a lot more withdrawn

Word Count: 4.1k

TW: Somewhat described SA (coercion and r*pe); Mental Health; Attempted forced sex (nothing actually happens a boy just tries to demand sex); Mentions of repressed sexuality due to religion (Catholicism)

You had known for quite a while that you weren't straight. It wasn't a sudden revelation or a fleeting thought; it was something that had always known. From the moment you caught yourself staring just that little bit too long at one of the girls at Sunday School, her wavy hair tied back in a nice, neat braid, her white dress standing out against her tanned skin. You knew you shouldn't but you couldn't help the blush that bloomed on your cheeks when she complimented your knowledge of the story of Joseph in Egypt.

But you weren’t allowed to be anything other than straight. The idea of being anything else was unthinkable, an option that simply did not exist in your world. Your family’s strict Catholic beliefs dictated every aspect of life, from the prayers said before meals to the unwavering attendance at church multiple times a week. You were expected to follow the path laid out for you, one that led to a conventional life with a husband and children.

You even had a boyfriend, the perfect outward proof that you were living the perfect life. On the surface, everything seemed right – everything appeared as it should be.

He was nice enough – he ticked all the boxes that would make your family proud. He went to church regularly, sitting beside you in the pews, nodding in all the right places during Mass. He smiled at you warmly, his hand finding yours as he guided you over to the Priest after the service was finished. He played the role of the ideal boyfriend with ease, taking you out for meals at family-friendly restaurants, making sure to always choose a place your parents would approve of. On weekends, he’d take you down to the beach after watching your matches, where you’d walk along the shore, hand in hand, just like a picture-perfect couple.

From the outside, everything about your relationship seemed flawless. People would comment on how lucky you were, how well you two fit together, and how you were on the right track for a happy, conventional future. His kindness was genuine, you think; he treated you well, and in many ways, he was everything you were supposed to want. Yet, you just ... couldn't. You knew what you were, who you were. And yet, you just couldn't.

He was the one to suggest it – heading up to the bedroom during a birthday party. You could tell by the way he leaned in close, his voice low and teasing, that he was testing the waters. “Everyone’s doing it,” he whispered with a playful wink, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair off your forehead. There was a casual confidence in his tone like this was just the next step, something as natural as breathing. It was an unspoken rule among your friends, a rite of passage that no one questioned.

It hurt – that's the thing you remember most. The discomfort, the sharp sting that made you wince, the feeling of his nails scratching as he fumbled around, the burn as he pushed himself inside. You definitely weren’t wet enough, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

He had kissed you for maybe all of five minutes beforehand, it was messy and too wet, his tongue leaving a trail of spit in its wake. His hands bunched up your skirt without much warning. His calloused hand scratched against your soft skin as he parted your thighs.

Then, without much warning, he slid his fingers inside you, and that’s when the pain started. It was clumsy and awkward; his fingers poked and prodded until he finally found what he was looking for. You tried to focus on the fact that at least he had done that, at least he fingered you. You told yourself that it was a kindness, that it could have been worse, but deep down, you knew that wasn’t how it was supposed to feel.

He had lasted 78 seconds – longer than you’d honestly expected. The whole experience was surreal like you were watching it happen to someone else. When it was over, you lay there, trying to make sense of what had just happened, the seconds ticking away in the silence that followed. You felt like crying, but nothing happened – you just lay there as he pulled out and slumped down next to you.

It wasn’t until after that you fully realised he hadn’t used a condom. You had asked him to, your voice far weaker than you ever wanted. Instead, he had smirked, a self-assured, almost arrogant expression crossing his face. “Who are we to stand in the way of God’s will?” he said as he slipped his boxers off. His words hung in the air, shame swirling around you as he settled himself on top of you.

The team could tell something was wrong the moment they saw you. It was the first day back after the winter break, a time when everyone was usually buzzing with energy. You stood, silent and withdrawn, as the team huddled together in the gym, hugging each other and swapping holiday stories.

You weren't laughing, and you definitely weren't smiling, two things that came naturally to you, especially when you were with the team. Normally, you'd be right in the thick of it, cracking jokes and teasing your friends. But today, you just stood there, your arms wrapped around yourself as if to ward off a cold only you could feel, your eyes fixed on the edge of the mat.

It was as if the world around you had faded away. Pere was explaining the drills for the day, but his words seemed distant, muffled, like they were coming from underwater. You didn't hear a thing he said, didn't register the plans for practice, or the way he glanced at you, concern flickering in his eyes.

You weren’t even thinking, there was nothing in your mind. Just a static hum. A silent scream, begging for someone to hear it.

Alexia’s eyes followed you wearily, her gaze filled with a concern she couldn’t quite mask, as you moved with a mechanical stiffness toward where your parents were standing. It was as if someone had dimmed the light that normally shone from within you, leaving behind only a shadow of the person Alexia knew.

Your parents stood nearby, waiting for you with warm smiles. She liked your parents, the whole team did. They were supportive in a way that wasn’t overbearing, always ready with a kind word or a hug after a tough match. They treated you well, and it was clear how much they cared about you. They were proud of you, and that pride shone through in everything they did, from the way they cheered in the stands to the thoughtful little gestures they made to show their love.

You boyfriend was the same. He kissed you gently, pulling you into a hug afterwards and smiling widely. He was a nice enough boy, the kind that anyone would consider a good match. Polite and respectful, he always knew the right thing to say, the right way to act in any situation. He seemed to be hardworking, dedicated to whatever he set his mind to, whether it was his studies, his own sports, or supporting you. He always had your name emblazoned across his back, your Barça shirt pulled proudly over his jumper.

“What are you staring at?” Patri asked as she came over to see what was taking so long. She followed Alexia's gaze, trying to see what had caught her attention so completely.

“Nena,” Alexia replied softly, nodding in your direction. Her eyes were fixed on you, her brow furrowed with concern. You were only a few feet away, but you seemed distant as if you were somewhere else entirely. Your mother was speaking rapidly, her hands moving in animated gestures as she tried to make a point, her usual lively energy on full display. But you ... you weren’t responding.

You were staring over your mum’s shoulder, your eyes unfocused, a blank expression on your face. It was as if the words and movements were passing right through you, not registering at all. There was an emptiness in your gaze that made Alexia’s heart ache.

Patri glanced at you and then back at Alexia, sensing the tension in the air. “Is she okay?” she asked quietly, her voice laced with concern. It was clear to both of them that something was off. You weren’t yourself. Something had changed, something had happened to you.

Alexia didn’t answer right away. She kept her eyes on you, trying to read the expression that flickered across your face for just a moment before the blankness returned as your boyfriend leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. It was like watching a ghost of you, a version of you that had somehow lost its spark. She could tell you were going through the motions, nodding occasionally, but your heart wasn’t in it. You weren’t really there.

“I don’t know,” Alexia finally murmured, her voice heavy with worry.

You had never been more grateful for that day. The day Alexia finally figured it all out. It had been a couple of weeks since the game, and your withdrawal had only got worse. You had been distant, more so than ever, drifting further into your thoughts, away from everything and everyone.

It was a family and friends event. It was done every year, a chance for the team and staff to show off where the players spent far too many hours. You had brought your boyfriend along, his hand clasped tightly in yours as you stared vacantly out the window, your mind elsewhere.

“Mija, what is wrong with Nena?” Eli asked, her voice hushed. She was watching you for a little while, her maternal instincts immediately picking up that something wasn’t right.

“I’m not sure, Mamí,” Alexia sighed, her gaze following her mother’s to where you stood. "She’s been off for a while now. Something happened over the winter break, but I can’t get her to open up. I think she’s spoken maybe ten words since we came back. She's playing ok, but it's like she's a shell or something.”

Alexia’s eyes lingered on you, her heart aching at the sight of your blank expression, the light that usually danced in your eyes completely gone. Your boyfriend, standing next to you, was chatting happily with Frido and her partner, seemingly unaware (or uncaring) of whatever was going on with you.

Eli’s brow furrowed, her frown deepening as she observed the boy you had brought along. “I do not like that boy,” she muttered, her voice low but firm in a way that only mothers can manage.

Alexia turned to her mother, surprised. “What? Mamí, you haven’t even spoken to him. He’s actually quite nice. Honestly, he's at every match, he takes her out for dinners and walks along the beach.”

But Eli wasn’t convinced. She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing as they stayed locked on him. “Something is off about him,” she insisted, her voice resolute. "And he has something to do with why she’s like this. I know it."

Alexia shook her head slightly but couldn’t shake the seed of doubt her mother had planted.

She hadn’t meant to follow you, but something about the way he leaned in and whispered in your ear set off alarm bells. Eli had nudged Alexia, nodding as they saw the way your body stiffened, the flash of terror that crossed your face, and before she could even blink, he was pulling you toward the door, a tight grip on your wrist.

“I’ll be right back, Mamí,” Alexia said quickly, placing a swift kiss on her mother’s cheek. Her eyes never left the door as she followed you out into the corridor, her heart racing.

“No, please. Not here,” you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper, but the fear was unmistakable.

“C’mon, you always do this. Loosen up a little.” His voice was laced with impatience and disdain.

“Please, I could get in serious trouble, please,” you begged again, your voice shaking.

“You’ll only get in trouble if we get caught,” he snapped. “And we won’t. And the good Lord himself knows you aren’t loud enough for anyone to hear. You're mute whenever we do anything.”

Alexia’s heart dropped at his words. What did he mean by that? Her pace quickened as she neared the corner, desperate to understand what was happening.

“N-no, I don’t want to,” you said again, but this time your voice was quieter, weaker, as if the fight in you was slowly crumbling.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered angrily. “I’m not asking for much.”

Alexia’s fists clenched at his tone, her pulse pounding in her ears. She rounded the corner just as you spoke again.

“I’m not having sex at my place of work,” you said, your voice trembling.

“We are having sex if I say we’re having sex,” he growled, his voice low and threatening. “Now, tell me where the bathrooms are.”

Alexia froze for a moment, her breath catching in her throat as she realised the full extent of what was happening. She could hear your sharp intake of breath, the panic rising within you. Without thinking, Alexia stepped forward.

“She said no.”

The air in the corridor seemed to freeze the moment Alexia’s voice sliced through the thick tension. You and your boyfriend both whipped around to face her, but the reactions couldn't have been more different. Your eyes, wide with shock, held a flicker of hope, you looked terrified. His face, however, twisted into something much darker – his initial surprise quickly morphing into a simmering anger. He wasn’t used to being challenged.

“Alexia, uh… Ms. Putellas, h-how are you?” he stammered, forcing a false smile that didn’t reach his eyes. His voice was dripping with fake politeness, but the way his hand clenched even tighter around your wrist betrayed his frustration. You gasped at the pain.

Alexia’s gaze locked on that grip, her expression hardening with every passing second. “Get your hands off her.” Her voice sharp as steel.

For a moment, he didn’t move, as if contemplating whether or not to challenge her, but Alexia’s posture, her deadly calm, told him she wasn’t bluffing. She would not let this go. He shifted his weight uncomfortably but tried to keep his facade intact.

“She just said she wasn’t feeling great,” he replied, his voice now oozing with a sickly sweetness that made both your stomachs churn. “I was just trying to help her, but she can’t seem to remember where the bathrooms are.” He forced a chuckle.

Alexia’s eyes narrowed, her anger intensifying. She could see right through him. The tension in the air thickened, and you stood frozen between them, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Let her go. Now,” Alexia repeated, her voice dropping dangerously low. Her eyes blazed with fury, daring him to defy her. You had never seen Alexia like this before.

He hesitated, glancing between you and Alexia. His expression flickered for just a moment – fear, perhaps? But then it was gone, replaced by the cold, calculating demeanour he wore like armour.

“She’s fine,” he snapped, the fake calm slipping from his voice as irritation began to creep in. He cleared his throat. “You don’t have to get involved in this. It’s just a little misunderstanding. You know how she gets sometimes.”

“She said no,” Alexia said, voice cutting like a blade. “I heard everything.” Her words were a warning.

His jaw tightened, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface. For a moment, it seemed like he might push back further, but something in Alexia’s stare made him falter. With a frustrated grunt, he finally released your wrist, shoving your arm away as if you were burning him.

“There. Happy now?” he sneered.

Alexia stepped forward, placing herself between you and him, her protective presence like a barrier you hadn’t realised you desperately needed. “Leave,” she ordered, her voice low and firm.

He glared at her for a long, tense moment. He spat a curse under his breath and turned on his heel, storming down the corridor. His footsteps echoed as he disappeared from sight, leaving a thick silence behind.

Your knees buckled. Alexia caught you instantly, wrapping her arms around you as you trembled, barely able to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over.

“It’s okay,” she whispered softly, her voice gentle now, all the sharp edges from before melted away. “He’s gone. You’re safe.”

You clung to her, the sobs you had been holding back finally escaping as you buried your face in her shoulder. Alexia held you tighter, her strong arms wrapped around you, her hand moving in slow, soothing circles on your back. For the first time in weeks, you let yourself feel everything – the fear, the exhaustion, the relief.

“I didn’t know what to do,” you choked out, your voice muffled against her.

“Shhhhh,” she cooed, her voice soft, far gentler than you had ever heard it. Alexia wasn’t used to this. She wasn’t the person who handled emotions – she was the tough-love captain, the one who pushed everyone to be stronger, to keep going no matter what. If anyone needed comfort, they usually turned to Irene or Marta. But here she was, holding you as you broke down in her arms, her strong body a lifeline you clung to with all your might,

Alexia glanced down at you, finally taking in the full extent of your state. Her heart clenched as she really looked at you. Your body, normally so full of energy and strength, felt fragile in her arms, your bones too close to the surface for her liking.

Your eyes, once bright with life and determination, were now sunken and dark, the glow that used to radiate from your skin dulled. The light that she had always associated with you had faded, and it was only now that she realised how far you had fallen. Guilt gnawed at her – how had she not seen it sooner?

“You’re too thin,” she muttered under her breath, more to herself than to you, her brow furrowing with concern. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You shook your head, pulling back just enough to look up at her, your face streaked with tears. “I didn’t want to burden anyone,” you whispered, your voice so small, as if you were ashamed of needing help. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me?” Alexia repeated, her voice cracking ever so slightly. The idea that you thought you were a burden shook her to the core. “You could never bother me; do you understand that?” Her tone was firmer now, but still gentle. She cupped your face in her hands, forcing you to meet her gaze. “You’re not alone in this. You’re never alone. You are so loved, so wanted. We've got you ... I've got always”

[sunflowersandsapphires]

In His Element

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: After watching Matt cross examine a witness, your patience is worn thin, leaving you to plead with the devil.

warnings: SMUT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. fingering, brief masturbation, descriptions of fem genitalia, dom!Matt's filthy mind, and also him being so attractive

a/n: THIS IS MY FIRST EVER SMUT THAT WASN'T GHOST WRITTEN SO IT MIGHT NOT BE GREAT. I am going to keep practicing for y'all though! As always, please comment/reblog and leave me feedback if you desire :)

w/c: 3.5k

With clammy fingers, you smoothed your wrinkled skirt until it lay flat over your knees, crossing your ankles under the pew you were seated in. In your haste to find a seat before the trial resumed, you’d landed directly below an A/C vent, which was blowing a harsh current over you. The hair along your limbs stood on end, your heart pumping your blood in smaller loops, leaving your extremities to slowly wither. It should’ve been uncomfortable, but you were far too focused on the heat churning in your gut as your eyes followed your partner’s pacing form.

Hands stacked loosely over the handle of his cane, Matt’s head tilted slightly as he prepared to ask the prosecution’s witness a question. He was facing away from you, but you could imagine the exact emotionless-yet-somehow-haughty expression that graced his face. It was one of the attributes of your boyfriend’s stoic appearance that emerged behind the courtroom doors that you found mind-numbingly attractive.

“Officer Bauer,” Matt’s voice sent a shudder down your spine. Though the man wore a literal mask most nights, he had a variety of metaphorical personality-masks that suited various environments—his everyday polite demeanor, the protective and concerned boyfriend that always surfaced whenever you were threatened or hurt, and, notably, the serious, calculating attorney persona he adopted during his trials.

Biting your tongue to freeze your body in place, you inhaled slowly, trying not to draw attention to yourself. A quick glance to the jury confirmed that you were not the only one entranced by the dark-haired man as he strode back and forth, a few feet in front of the witness stand. He had you all captivated.

Shifting his weight to his heels, Matt was angled enough that you could see the innocent smile he directed at the man sweating on the stand. “Can you tell me what you were doing at the corner of 52nd and 8th on the afternoon of Thursday, March 6th?”

A simple question, innocuous enough that the callous man he was questioning let out an indignant scoff as he answered. ”Patrolling.“

You rolled your eyes at his single word response, his disdain for the judicial process evident in his slouched posture and bored tone. He was practically falling asleep in the worn leather chair, his half-lidded eyes trained on Matt like a dazed serpent. The man looked foul and, from the little that Matt had told you, his personality matched.

Despite the apathetic participant he was dealing with, Matt remained calm and composed. His smile widened marginally, revealing a flash of his pristine teeth as he huffed in amusement.

"Of course. And when you were on patrol you noticed the defendant amongst a group of young adults. Is that correct?"

Your chest was convulsing as your heart pounded from your rib cage. Matt was exceptionally intelligent and had explained his tactic for cross-examining this inattentive cop, but that didn't make it any less suspenseful as you watched his game of cat and mouse play out before your very eyes.

The officer's slitted eyes wandered to the ceiling as he sighed. "Yeah."

"Can you describe the group to me?" Matt lifted his shoulders as he posed the question, not quite shrugging, but definitely indicating that, while he believed the leathery-skinned witness had not yet satisfied his curiosity.

“Buncha kids. Messin around.” Four words rather than one. That was progress, right? Akin to the marble rolling down a track at the beginning of a complex Rube Goldberg machine. The task was far from accomplished, but there was motion somewhere within the structure.

“And, as your partner stated earlier, most of the kids were white, is that correct?” The first hint of something substantial. You pressed your lips together, holding in a smile as your mind started to piece together the rocky, cobblestone path your boyfriend was laying for his uncooperative witness.

“Yes.”

“What encouraged you and your partner to approach the defendant and other students in the park?” Tone laced with what sounded like genuine curiosity, Matt raised a brow at the arresting officer. His ability to color his voice in a way that would appeal to the jury never ceased to amaze you.

“We got news of a nearby break in, and they were actin' suspicious.”

At this point, you were pretty much tuning the lazy cop out—waiting for Matt to open his mouth again, to speak in the beautifully deep, almost hoarse way he always did when defending his clients. His words were direct, controlled in the same manner his general conduct was, his anger and need for justice hidden behind an expressionless facade.

It was intoxicating, his ability to hold back. Almost as divine as his ability to let go.

“Can you describe these suspicious activities for the court?”

Fidgeting with a loose thread on the hem of your skirt, you let Matt's voice drape over you like a wool blanket on a winter night. Comforting, warm, and a tad prickly. Only ears as finely tuned to the man's peculiarities could pick up the barbed edge of his questioning—thousands of serrated teeth waiting to ensnare the animal as soon as it was within their grasp. Knowing how talented your partner was in his field, that moment wasn't far away.

The chair creaked as the cop shifted with a hefty shrug. “Ya know, talkin' all low to each other, shovin' things in their bags while lookin' over their shoulder...” He trailed off, mashing a fist against his nose with an awful throat clearing sound.

“And, while on your patrol, you noticed the group acting this way.” More of a statement than a question. Matt was closing in.

“Yea, that’s what I just said.” The cop snorted, completely unaware of the brutal fate that awaited him.

“So you and your partner decided to intervene?” Matt reasoned aloud. He was pacing again. Your attention had been solely on his voice, not his footsteps.

“Course that’s our job.” The ignorant man to the right of the judge shifted again in his seat, his frustration visibly growing as Matt continued to hurl benign and repetitive questions at him.

“And when you exited your vehicle, what happened?” Matt asked.

“They took off.” Bauer answered, irritated.

“On foot?” Matt clarified.

“Yes.” The witness rubbed forcefully at the bridge of his nose again.

“And it’s true that my client left with them?” Gesturing softly to the young woman seated at the defense's table to indicate to the room who his client was, in case they needed a reminder.

 “Yes.” Bauer confirmed.

“So the entire group dispersed on foot?” Matt asked with an air of confusion. His rumbling baritone lifting on the tail end to indicate his dismay.

“Yep.” Bauer grit his teeth, tiring quickly as Matt persisted.

“At the same time?” Matt asked with the same bewildered look on his face.

“Yes.” His witness growled.

“The same group that was acting in a suspicious manner?” Matt questioned.

“Yes. I just said that.” Voice raising, you could see Bauer's face getting redder by the second.

“Then can you tell me, Officer Bauer, why you and your partner BOTH decided to pursue my client?”

Bauer's eyes flashed with something similar to understanding, his mouth remaining clamped shut as Matt stepped closer, closing in on his prey.

“You’ve previously reported and just now confirmed that the entire group left when they noticed you approaching. Yet you and your partner both were solely focused on my client rather than any of the other members of the group. Tell me, officer, is that because of her race?” Matt's words flew out of his mouth rapidly, a string of poorly concealed accusations within them.

You barely had time to appreciate Matt's ingenuity before the lead prosecutor bolted out of her seat. "Objection, Your Honor, that is clearly leading."

"Sustained. Counselor?" The judge glanced at Matt for his next move.

Holding up a hand, Matt didn't miss a beat. “I’ll rephrase. Officer, what reason did you have for pursuing my client rather than any of the other students?”

"Well, she was acting weird," Bauer stammered, his eyes bulging with fear. He'd spotted the threat then.

“In the same manner as the rest of the group, as you previously stated, all of whom you approached with your partner. Yet both of you ran after my client.”

“Yes.” Nodding cautiously, Bauer's voice was suddenly small.

“And, besides her race, can you give any other reason she stood out to you as more suspicious than the rest of the group?”

“Objection, leading.” The prosecution called out, her voice a bit shrill with desperation.

"Overruled. Mr. Murdock, please continue with your line of questioning." The judge's gaze flitted between the prosecutor and the witness who was now sweating profusely on the stand.

“Thank you, your honor. Officer Bauer, can you explain to the court exactly how my client was acting differently?” Changing the question slightly, Matt's lips twitched with the hint of a smirk.

“I don’t know, she, she just was!” Bauer cried, flustered.

“Is there any other difference between her and the rest of the group that you can explicitly state other than her appearance or her race?” Matt asked, cheeks twitching as he gleefully listened to the snare clasp around its victim.

“No.” Bauer answered. "But, but it wasn't like that!"

Turning to the judge, Matt's spine was straight with satisfaction as he announced his intentions. “Your honor, the defense would like to file a motion to dismiss this case on the grounds of selective enforcement. The combined testimony of Officers Bauer and Burke demonstrates an intent to frisk my client because she was black, not solely because of her actions, negating the principle of reasonable suspicion.”

The courtroom exploded, the witness and prosecution both howling in protest as the defendant and Matt both smirked. Grinning ecstatically, you stifled a laugh as the uproar continued, until the judge finally granted the dismissal. You couldn’t lessen your smile if you tried. 

Flooding out of the courtroom amidst the sea of spectators and journalists, you stepped out of the current as quickly as you could. Craning your neck over the waves of bobbing heads, you broke into a wide grin when you saw Matt trailing after the masses, cane sweeping inches from their ankles like he was chasing them out. As soon as he was within reach, you called his name, eagerly grasping his outstretched hand and tugging him out of the doorway.

“God, Matty, that was incredible.” You exclaimed breathlessly, wrapping him in a tight hug. His forehead landed against your hair, his nose skimming the shell of your ear as he shook with a resonant chuckle.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss against your neck, a guttural noise slipping out as he did. “Fuck, you smell so good.”

His words were barely audible, a secret to only be shared with you. They sent another wave of need straight to your core. “Matthew,” You mumbled, his name breaking off into a whine.

Another huff of laughter sounded in your ear. Planting another kiss against your neck, Matt's broad hands squeezed your hips. “My place. Now.”

“What about you?” You murmured, mouth watering as every touch from your boyfriend left a lingering patch of heat along your skin.

“I have a few things to finish up here, but I'll be there when I can. I promise.” You didn't need to hear his heartbeat to feel the honesty in his vow.

The idea of waiting for him made your knees tremble, the joints threatening to buckle as Matt swiped a calloused thumb over the bare skin of your waist, his hand beneath your shirt. “Matty, please.”

Matt shushed you sweetly. “Not here, angel. Be a patient girl for me and I'll make all your pain worth it, I promise.”

With one final squish of your hips, Matt separated from you.

The walk to Matt’s apartment was excruciating. With each step, the throbbing between your legs grew more intense. By the time you’d made it up the stairs and flopped onto his couch, you were practically panting with want. 

Now, you were desperately trying to focus on your book, but the words on the page might as well have been gibberish given how little you'd retained since you started. How were you supposed to manage when the image of Matt's parted lips was branded on the back of your eyelids.

“Be a patient girl for me and I'll make all your pain worth it, I promise.”

Patience was never your strongsuit.

Digging your front teeth into your lip, you dropped your head to the arm of Matt's couch with a thunk, whimpering as your discomfort crested. Blowing out a breath, you clenched the paperback book with vigor, fingernails stabbing the parchment inside, scarring it with tiny crescents. If only this book was Matt's broad back.

He loved when you got a little rough with him. You couldn't help it. As soon as his mouth was on you, your eyes shut, vision blanketed with stars. Your hands would grapple for whatever surface they could find to anchor you as Matt rocked the two of you in tandem, your nails carving scratches into Matt's beautiful, sporadically-freckled skin in the process.

The first time it happened, you'd been horrified. Stammering out an apology and offering to apply antibiotic gel to the red marks, but your boyfriend had just smiled, assuring you that he didn't mind.

“Each of those marks is a reminder that I'm yours, sweetheart.”

Arching your back as Matt's dulcet tone echoed in your ears, the book toppled to the ground with a flutter of pages. Hands wandering over your body, you reminded yourself to be patient.

Matt will be here soon. He will.

But not soon enough. A voice buried somewhere in your subconscious warned, encouraging your primal desires and urging your hands to free the hem of your blouse from where it was tucked beneath the waistband of your skirt. Fingertips trailing over the now-exposed skin of your lower belly, you hummed softly as a ripple of pleasure circled out from your fingertips.

Unbuttoning your skirt, you slowly loosened the fabric enough for your hand to dip under it. Dragging a finger over your panties towards your core, you hissed as it finally reached your delicate clit. The bundle of nerves was overly sensitive after being ignored for so long. Pulling the cotton aside, you pushed your finger between your folds, smiling as it danced over your clit. Circling it carefully with a single finger, you shuddered as your body began to buzz with a familiar thrill.

Rocking your hips into your hand slowly, you could barely hear anything over the blood rushing in your ears—which meant that the slam of a closing door caught you off guard.

Yanking your hand out of your underwear with a yelp, you sat up, frantically jerking your head towards the door.

“I thought I told you to wait for me, sweetheart.” Matt's face was shrouded by an array of shadows, the glint of his malicious smirk tinted red in the light of his living room window.

“I—I was!” You mumbled, arousal seeping into your panties as Matt stalked towards you with a laugh.

“You know I can tell when you're lying, sweets. Want to try that again?”

“Depends,” You retorted, adrenaline reigniting the confidence Matt always brought out in you. “Are you planning on apologizing for being so late?”

Chuckling sinfully, Matt cornered you against the back of the couch, fingers deftly unlooping the fabric of your skirt from the remaining buttons. Leaning down until your lips were practically touching, his mouth glanced against yours as he spoke, ignoring your question. "Do you know how difficult it is to remain coherent when you've clouded the entire courthouse in your scent?"

"W-what?" You stammered, gasping shallowly when Matt's teeth grazed the underside of your jaw, his lips kissing languidly along your neck.

"Did you miss me that much, sweetheart? Wanted me to take you right there on the floor before the jury?" Matt purred, making your cheeks thrum with bashful heat.

"I'm not the only one who wanted that, it seems." You grinned, cupping your hand over the noticeable bulge in his pants. “I can't help it, Matt. Watching you in your element...you're intoxicating. I can't listen to two words out of your mouth without wanting to drag you to the nearest bathroom.”

Palming his cock through the layers he wore, Matt growled into the skin of your neck, nipping at your pulse point. Static ricocheted from the impact, freezing you in place as your thighs flexed.

Shedding you of your skirt, Matt gently caressed the cotton covering your drenched pussy. “Can I—”

“Please,” You begged, choking in a breath before Matt's mouth crashed against yours. His stubble bristled against your skin, the small pinpricks a pleasant contrast to his plush lips. Tearing the remaining clothes from your legs, Matt threw his leg over your torso, encouraging you to fully recline against the leather. One hand cupping the back of your head, the other was splayed across your mound, a single dextrous finger parting your glistening lips.

He tasted like salt, like want. His tongue lapping at you like he needed to swallow you whole, like he couldn't get enough.

His cheeks ruffled as a strangled moan escaped him. “You're this wet for me, sweetheart?”

“All for you.” You panted, the air between you growing thick with feverish heat. “Always for you.”

With a beautiful grin, Matt's finger swiped over your entrance. “You ready?”

Nodding sloppily, you brought your hands up to cup his cheeks, tugging him back to your lips. Mouth colliding with yours, the force became bruising when your body rutted upwards, a jolt of satisfaction striking your every cell as Matt's finger entered you.

You hissed as the familiar pleasant pain washed over you. Arching your back as Matt pumped his digit upwards, you moaned, clapping a hand over your mouth as the sound escaped you. 

Matt chuckled. “No need to be quiet, sweetheart. Tell me how it feels.”

“So g-good, Matty.” You whimpered, every nerve within your folds quivering as Matt dragged his finger out of you, pushing it in again as he scraped his teeth over your neck. You cried out, vision going black as your body strained to find release. Your fingers dug into the silk beneath you, yanking at the sheets.

As your desperation grew, the rest of your limbs faded into numbness, your brain solely focused on the sensations of Matt’s callouses scraping against your walls—as if he was scratching an itch that had been niggling at you for hours. 

Matt hummed against your throat, pressing the pad of his thumb against your clit, making you yelp. The fire within you was out of control, your body drawn taught like the string of a bow. 

Wriggling slightly beneath his touch, your breaths became shallow, your stamina worn thin after watching him in court. You whined, twisting slightly to avoid launching yourself over the alluring edge into heavenly oblivion. 

“So close already, sweets?” He teased, repeatedly strumming the bundle of nerves. 

You moaned in assent, fisting the blankets in your clammy hands. His thick fingers tangled in your hair, giving your locks a tug and drawing a pleased yelp from your mouth. 

“Go on. Come for me.” Matt rasped, his breath fanning over your face. 

The command shoved you over the cliff, your lungs clenching as you stifled a scream. Your tailbone rutted up, your back arching off the mattress. Everything went white, your ears ringing as sheer pleasure coursed through your veins.

Matt was murmuring to you, his words muddled by the blood rushing in your ears. “–at’s my girl. Always such a good girl.” 

Rounding the peak, you collapsed to the mattress, your body trembling viciously. Each beat of your heart shook your rib cage, the motions rippling throughout your limbs. Hands flexing, you hissed as the muscles stretched out of mashed fists. Cupping Matt’s cheeks, you smiled as he eagerly dipped to kiss you. 

“Good?” He asked, the question punctuated by the noise of your lips pulling apart. 

“Fuck, Matty,” You whispered, head still swimming from the influx of oxytocin. “Yes. Yes, it was good. S-so good.” 

Withdrawing his hand from between your legs, Matt cradled you against his chest, brushing a thumb over your nape as your soul re-tethered. Lifting one wobbly leg, you shifted, attempting to throw the leaden weight over him, but Matt gently caught you by the thigh, encouraging you to relax. 

“What about you, love?” You asked, drawing in a harsh breath when Matt’s teeth nipped under your ear, his fingers already spreading your legs again.

“Later.” He huffed, his stiff length falling against your plush hip. “I’m not done with you quite yet.”

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase @msjb2002 @blue-devil-of-the-lord @pigeonmama @daisy-arien0 @yarrystyleeza

[chellybean15]

Suck The Love Out Of You

Pairing: Father Charlie x succubus!fem!reader

Summary: When a sex demon walks into a church, she finds that the priest is a little bit irresistible.

Warnings: Smut!!! MDNI! 18+! Oral(m receiving), a little bit of ass play(m receiving), A little bit of fluff (because I'm a sucker for romance). Talk of murder and seduction. Flogging.

Notes: This my second fic I ever wrote so I apologize if its bad. This also my first time writing smut. The fic is a bit short, I couldn't figure out how to make it longer with the idea. This fic is actually really bad, gonna go cry now brb. Also I'm never writing butt stuff ever again. It made me uncomfortable but I aim to please, so i'll shut up now, xoxo.

The sky started to get dark as you were walking around, trying to find your next hunt. You were hungry, horny, and frustrated. You haven't had a man in hours and it was starting to get to you.

You're right by a church when you stumble upon the smell of a man. The realization that you'll finally be satisfied makes your panties wet. To quench the thirst, you walk into the church.

"Hello?" You question, looking around the church.

"I'm Father Charlie. Can I help you?" He asks. You rake your eyes across his figure. He's handsome. Something about him excites you.

" Hi, yes! I'm Y/n. I came here for some guidance. I have this dark side that hides in my head and I just wanna know how to get rid of it." You say, trying to make up a story.

"Please sit." He says as he points to the pew. "What is troubling you?"

Before you say anything, you take the silent moment to kiss him, trying to put him under your spell. At first you're unsure if he's even falling for it, until you feel him kiss you back.

His lips are soft and inviting. You crave more of him, so you force your tongue into his mouth. Which he easily gives in. After a few minutes of making out, he pulls away.

"We shouldn't be doing this. It's a sin..." He says aloud. He can't lie, you intrigue him but he knows that this makes him a sinner. Which he has dark secrets and desires of his own. You look at him weird and click your tongue.

"I'm a succubus. You really think I care about sinning? Yeah, i figured not." You declare, looking around. "Do you have a bedroom here somewhere?" You ask.

He nods and points down the hall. He gets up to lead you there. Thoughts are racing in his mind. What if he doesn't satisfy you? You're gonna kill him? His scarred back shivers at the thought. He wonders if this is Gods karma. Maybe he is supposed to die this way for his perverted thoughts.

Once you get to the bedroom, you push him on to the bed. Eager to get him out of his pants, you waste no time into pulling them off. After you get his pants off, you spot a box on his dresser. You walk over to it and open it up. The sight definitely shocking you a bit.

"Wow. You're a naughty boy, aren't you? Sex toys? That a priest owns? And you're worried about sex being a sin." You mock him. You pick up the butt plug. "We're sooo gonna use this. Not on me though. You!" You point at him. The look of panic on his face is priceless.

When you walk back over to him, you place the plug on the bedside table. Your attention back on Charlie, you get down on your knees, putting your hand under the hem of his boxers. Yanking them down, your eyes widen. His dick is huge, larger than any of the other guys you preyed upon. It has you wishing that he can satisfy you, so you can keep him around.

After staring at his dick for a few moments, you grasp it in your hand and bring it to your mouth. You look up at him to find him staring down at you with desperation.

Putting it in your mouth, he grunts. He grips your hair and pushes your head farther down, causing you to take more of his cock in your mouth. For once, you actually don't mind the man being in control. Bobbing your head up and down, you start to gag, causing spit to drip down his balls and on his asshole. It grants you an idea.

Pulling your mouth off him, you grab the butt plug off the side table. "You ready?" You ask. He nods eagerly. You put the butt plug up to his hole, that's covered in spit, slowly pushing it in. Once it's in, you look at him, proud of your work. Taking his cock in your hand again, you shove him back in your mouth.

This time your bobbing is deeper and sloppier which has him a moaning mess above you. You take your free hand and massage his balls while deepthroating him. After a few more minutes of sucking, he whines, "I'm about to cum." Which wasn't a really good warning since he came down your throat, a few seconds later. You pull off him, swallowing every last drop.

At the end of his high, he quickly gets up to find his whip. When he finds it, he brings it back to the bed so he can start his normal ritual for when he feels guilty.

"What are you doing?" You ask, a little bit worried. What was wrong with you? Had you grown a soft spot for the priest while you were blowing him? Of course not, you try to convince yourself. This has never happened before, you've never liked a man that you did stuff with. It was purely for your satisfaction.

"What we did was a sin, and now I need to repent. This is just how I do it." He says nonchalantly. He swings the whip back but before it can hit his skin, you catch the whip.

"Don't do that! Look, I understand that to you it might be a sin but I don't want to see you hurt yourself." You explain.

"Why?" He asks, stunned.

"Because I think I might like you, which is weird because this never happens. I don't want to see you hurt. Can we please just lay down on the bed?" She pleads.

"Yeah, of course. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you with the whole flogging thing." He states, as he pulls both you and him onto the bed to lay down. He can tell you're a bit sleepy.

"It's okay." You mumble. You crawl into his arms and let the noise from the wind lure you asleep.

[florisa6s]

A idea- mostly bats

I like the idea of different heros getting those good meds after a hard mission...

----

Tim: are you sure you have it handeled?

Wally on the phone: Of course i have it handled, no offense but I've been taking care of your brother for years now-

*Dick in the background wobbling out of the medbay making his escape*

Wally:-so I think I know exactly-

*Dick punching a random person as he fights security behind Wally*

Wally:- how to do it!

*Screams in the background*

-----

Tim: Dick I really don't think thats a good Idea right now....

Dick: what do you mean Damian is loving it! look how happy he is.

*Damian in a pool with a Nightwing floaty and arm floatys looking into the distance with wide eyes*

Tim: he looks like he's going through an existential crisis...or roleplaying a dead goldfish.

Dick: no, he's so happy! look at that face and tell me he's not overjoyed!

Jason: he is not overjoyed.

------

Tim: okay weird question- when superman is on pain meds what would someone do if *hypothetically* someone who looks like Superman is currently floating up into the sky towards the sun and you can't get him down because your busy saving your brother from flying away too-

*Damian holding a sleeping Jon on a leash about to fly away with Tim holding Damians legs.*

Tim: so what would someone do..... hypothetically.

*pulls out binoculars to look at a equally sleeping Kon floating past the clouds.*

------

Bruce: have- have I ever told you bout my wifey?

all:....

Oliver: no please do tell *pulls out recorder*

Hal: yeah don't skip any details *flips open a notepad clicking a pen*

Bruce: she is the most beautiful, strongest woman I ever married-

Clark and Diana: aww...

Bruce: she gave me the most beautiful angel son and I'm so proud-

Barry: wait son-

Bruce: but shes always too busy killing people to visit and my son looks exactly like her! he even gives me the same disgusted look when I drink out of the milk carton-

all:....

Hal: uh...kill? she kills people?

Bruce: yes I just said that pay attention Jordan. Now don't even get me started on my kids-

*long tangent about how much he loves his kids*

Bruce: -And thats why my little boys are the best, any questions

Clark: I thought you work alone-

Barry: -And that you hate metas!

-----

Dick: uhh what's going on here?

Tim: Jason is killing me *on a chair reading a book*

Dick: really?

Tim: yup

*Jason on the bed holding gun fingers towards Dick*

Jason: Pew, pew clack clack click

Dick: what did he just do?

Tim: he shot you, ran out of anmo, reloaded and-

Jason: pew!

Tim:-And he just killed you with a headshot.

[cowgirlvi]

longing for the day you post about powder

mdni. sub-bottom au powder. fem-top reader. degradation. strap-on usage. pain kink. free-use powder. masturbation. short drabble.

thinking about being academic rivals with au powder. she’s as sharp as a tack, effortlessly brilliant—even if she’s a little unmotivated. but somehow, despite barely paying attention in class, despite her disinterest in the topics you’re learning, she still sits comfortably at the top of the rankings. it’s infuriating.

you’ve spent the entire semester trying to take her number one spot; pouring over textbooks until your eyes ache, subjecting yourself to endless extra credit assignments, and pushing your body and mind to the brink of exhaustion. but no matter how hard you work, how many late nights you endure, you just can’t seem to beat her.

and it’s not just frustration that keeps you up at night, because you often imagine punishing powder for being so aggravating, for being so annoyingly brilliant. you think about bending her over the cold, hard pews of piltover university, roughly kneading her pert, little ass while she pretends she hates you back.

though, you know she wants you too—she has to, with the way you always catch her owlish eyes staring at you in class. you suspect that she daydreams about you too, about how good you can plug up her pussy with your fingers—with your strap—filling her while she mewls like a kitten. you know she’d take it like a good bitch, too, finally realizing where her place is in the world.

now, as you lay in bed, your hand slips past the waistband of your pajama pants, feeling the slick evidence of your arousal. in your mind’s eye, you’re already buried deep inside powder’s little hole, imagining that you’re stuffing your fingers inside her, stretching her cunt until the rim turns red and she has tears in her blue eyes. and you know she’d look at you over her shoulder, pouty and bratty, while saying, “do you have to be so rough?”

and you’d respond with a nasty sneer, telling her to take what you’re giving her like a good whore. because that’s what she is, a slut. you know she is. she might as well drop out of university to be your full-time toy. in your opinion, that’s all she’s good for; being used and getting fucked.

despite how unbothered and tough she tries to seem, you know she’s eager to please—a tendency she’s carried with her ever since her sister was alive, so you imagine it wouldn’t be hard to convince her to let you use her body whenever you need. at the end of the day, powder would want to make you happy—even if she acts like you’re inconveniencing her.

so you imagine you’d fuck her anywhere you want, whenever you want, and she’d let you. rubbing your clit with more ferocity, you picture that she’d bend over for you in some filthy, grimy alleyway, lifting her skirt over her ass so you can see that she’s not wearing any panties. of course, you’d spread her peachy ass apart, licking long stripes from one hole to the other, and the best part is she wouldn’t even have time to come because class would be starting in a few minutes.

you snicker to yourself at the imagery, thinking about powder having to sit in class while her slutty pussy is leaking onto her chair, making a schlick noise everytime she moves in the slightest bit. you imagine she’d feel so dirty and degraded, having her little pussy exposed in the middle of class. but she wouldn’t complain, she’d be a good girl and sit with her legs crossed so no one else can catch a glimpse of what’s yours.

and after everyone leaves the classroom, you’d finally make your way over to her, pulling powder onto her feet so you can get a good look at the puddle of arousal she left behind. you’d coo, mean and condescending, about how needy her pussy is, how desperate her body is for you despite the fact that you only sit a few rows away from her. it’s pathetic, truly.

you rub your clit faster, stuffing your fingers inside your own hole at the same time, and what finally pushes you over the edge is the thought of powder crying on your cock—stretching her open on a thick, ribbed dildo until she can’t take it anymore, until she finally has to beg you to stop. “please—ahhh—i’m gonna tear! unghh, you’re splitting me in half!”

so you’d pull out of her cute hole while kissing her tears away; watching how it tries to close around nothing, how her arousal soaks the blue hair surrounding her cunt like dew on grass. her little hole would be ruined—all because of you.

with a cry, you suddenly make a mess on your bedsheets and, begrudgingly, you realize that you’re the pathetic one.

taglist; @marvelwomenarehot0, @marieeeluvsyou, @mxchi-mxxn, @el-amor-que-tu-quieres, @jinxvex, @mwahbabe, @teddybearbutch28, @stupendousbananasharkcop, @nahcala, @ellieslob, @idontwannabehereatm, @rhian88, @kyur1jinx, @vivispace, @killerbait, @blackdykegirlblogger, @thatgrlnany, @imfckngfantastic, @addison12459, @saphhvi, @f3ralpuppyg1rl, @jinxedbambi, @prettyprincess19

i don’t know if i like this one..

(2/21/25)

[freelancearsonist]

Won't You Suffer for the Angels to Fly?

➔ Joel Miller x fem!Reader - 2k

➔ Joel finds religion in the last place he expected to--a preacher's daughter.

➔ Rated MA for pure blasphemy. a lot of religious imagery and defiling of holy places--please read at your own risk. unprotected p in v sex, creampie, squirting, fingering (f receiving), corruption kink, HEFTY age gap (r is early 20s [unspecified], joel is 56), reader uses feminine pronouns and has female anatomy [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

➔ this is for my mid to plus!sized readers :) you're beautiful and valid and i love you. this was written in basically one sitting after i binged mike flanagan's midnight mass in one night. thank you to my lovelies @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @shakespeareanwannabe for talking me through this <3 title is from "heaven only knows" by bob moses

The Bible teaches–at least according to what Joel was able to gleam from the Easter service–that everything happens for a reason. That every pelting raindrop in its descent from the sky, even before it lands heavy and dark in his hair or soaks the lush green landscape of Jackson, has a purpose.

He’s struggled a lot with purpose ever since hearing that existential crisis-inspiring sermon that Tommy had dragged him to. 

In the preacher’s defense, it went over well with everyone else. So many people are lost nowadays, adrift in a world that doesn’t seem to have space for them. They need that hope, that reassurance that they’re here for a reason. That they’ve survived hell on earth not out of luck, but out of purpose. He pulled out the big gun that everyone needed to hear on one of the two days a year that everyone in Jackson has their ears open to him. It was tactful, and Joel has to acknowledge that. Your father is clever, if not cunning.

It’s a trait that you’ve learned directly from him, whether purposeful or not. But you sat right in the front row and nodded along to every word, accepting without thought or conflict that purpose is in every action, every reaction, every change of tide and every gust of wind.

And if everything has a purpose, your purpose must be to torture him.

You never have anything but a smile on your face for Joel. Joel, a man older than your own father, a man whose hands have broken every commandment that you hold so dear. A man that should know better than to let you get under his skin and infect his dreams.

He wonders what it would be like to hold someone so perfectly untainted in hands that have killed and destroyed and sinned. Hands that are strong, hands that are experienced, hands that are greedy. He’s certain he could teach you all about greed. He could make you beg, plead, sob for more and more and more until the only thought remaining in your pretty little head is how much you want to take from him. Until you become a glutton at the altar of his generosity.

And oh, how generous he could be once he had you begging. Minding your manners and asking nicely for what you need, of course, but he would never deny you anything you asked of him.

“Can I help you with that, Mr. Miller?” He hadn’t even noticed he was struggling–and he wouldn’t be, really, if he wasn’t so distracted. Putting new legs on a pew isn’t the issue after all; it’s the fact that you’re sitting there on the stairs that lead up to the altar and absentmindedly swinging your legs as if you’re taunting him. As if you understand that his resolve is slipping with every passing second he’s alone in this room with you. 

“Joel.”

“Hmm?” You shift your posture to lean closer, and that skirt that’s already way too short to be worn by the pastor’s daughter, in a house of God of all places, rides just a little further up your deliciously full thighs. 

How is he expected to work, to keep his mind on the job, when all he wants is to know what those thighs might feel like wrapped around his head?

He clears his throat and adjusts “You can call me Joel, sweetheart.”

He sees it, then. It’s so subtle, but it’s not imagined. You squirm at the pet name, at the raspy drawl of his voice, and it changes everything for him.

He sees in his mind the sweet girl, barely out of her teens, who sits in the front pew with a Bible in her lap. He sees the girl who sings so sweetly to the tune of every hymn. He sees the girl who’s so shy that she blushes every time she catches his gaze.

And then he sees everything underneath the act. He sees the girl who’s bold enough to wear a bright red dress to the Easter service. He sees the girl who makes eye contact with him across the dining hall every night to watch the way he reacts to her lips wrapped so tantalizingly smoothly around her spoon. He sees the girl who knew he would be alone in the chapel today–the girl who wore an easily accessible skirt just for the occasion.

You bookmark the page you’re on and set down the book you were reading, eyes fixated on him all the while. “Is there something I can help with, Joel?”

There certainly is, and it’s not the pew he’s supposed to be repairing.

He remembers, vaguely, hearing something about how God spares guilt from sinners when sin is necessary. It must be necessary to teach you a lesson, then–as you stride over and kneel beside him, your eyes heavy with anticipation and lashes fluttering, he doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt.

“Hasn’t your daddy taught you not to dress like this?” He takes the hem of your skirt idly in his hand, rubs the silky fabric between his thumb and forefinger. He’s not touching you, not really, but his hand is so achingly close. An inch or two, and he’d feel your warmth–those plush thighs that God created to rule over Joel Miller’s mind, body, and soul; ‘til death does he finally know peace, amen.

You shake your head and even manage to seem smug as you say, “No. He just teaches everyone else to resist temptation.”

“I’ve never been much good at that,” he murmurs.

He thinks that you know that. He thinks that you’re his crucible, his most important moral trial–that maybe, if he can turn you away now, he’s a good man.

Joel Miller is not a good man. His kiss is crushing. It’s hellfire, it’s brimstone, it’s everything you’ve been taught to fear your entire life. You melt into it so prettily, accepting your damnation with parted lips and eager eyes. A wanton moan gets caught in your throat when his hand slips further up your skirt. 

No panties–in a place of worship, no less. He should bend you over his knee for this transgression, make sure you understand how filthy you are. But there’s hardly time for that now, not when he’s even more desperate than you are. And you are desperate–dripping down his fingers into the palm of his hand as your teeth leave perfect little indents in the plush skin of your bottom lip.

His free hand grips your chin firmly, guiding your eyes to his. He wants to see your depravity, the flickering embers of lust in your eyes as you come on his fingers and cry out for salvation from the all-consuming pleasure.

“Oh my God–”

His hand tightens around your jaw just the slightest bit in warning. “No, baby. You moan my name when I’m touchin’ you.”

And you do–thighs trembling, eyes watering, you cry out his name like a prayer as your cunt pulses and squeezes around his willing fingers.

There’s an unpracticed tremble to your hand as you reach to work open his belt, and it makes his cock throb under the confining material of his jeans.

You want every inch of his skin pressed against yours, so desperate for it that you’re nearly in tears when he pulls your fingers away from the buttons on his shirt. He’s not foolish–no one steps foot into this place during the week, but he knows better than to tempt God’s sense of humor. This has to be quick and contained, and you know it too; you picked your little skirt for exactly that reason.

He catches a glimpse of your glistening need as you settle over his thighs, and once again he battles to resist temptation. He whispers in your ear as you settle your chest against his and grind that fluttering, sensitive cunt along his length–promises himself more than you, really, that he’ll bury his face in your folds and drink from you next time. Next time–the promise makes you clench impossibly hard around nothing.

His eyes have never been quite as heavy as they are when you start to sink that dripping heat down his cock. Head tipped back, throat exposed, completely at your mercy. He has to force himself to look up at you–to worship the goddess enshrined on his altar, all his for the taking.

You bite into your lip nearly hard enough to draw blood as your hips settle against his, completely overwhelmed by the burning stretch of his size. He’s a challenge, certainly, but one that you are determined to overcome. 

“Easy, baby girl,” he grumbles as you start to rock against him before you’re truly accommodated. His hands rest heavy on your hips–not anchoring, but encouraging. As wrong–as depraved–as this may be, he wants you to enjoy it without pain. “That’s right, nice and slow.”

It doesn’t stay that way, though; the desperation mounts to a boiling point until you’re bouncing fervently in his lap. It’s delicious, the way the thick head of him drags against something deep and sensitive within you. He guides you when your thighs start to burn, grip tightening enough to leave forbidden bruises in the soft flesh of your hips. His mouth presses to yours, breathing the oxygen straight from your lungs as he presses his hips up. There’s nothing you can do but take it, pliant in his hold, head rolling back to accommodate the wet drag of his mouth and the tickling scratch of his beard against your throat.

He feels it before you do–a subtle flutter as your cunt tries sucking him in even deeper. And maybe, if he was a good man, he’d lean away from it and have mercy on you. But he’s not a good man–he’s a greedy, wanton, desperate man. He angles his hips and thrusts as hard as he can, shoving you into your release with force.

You overflow with it; gushing over him like a flood, staining his hastily pushed down jeans and the floorboards beneath.

He pushes you onto your back like you’re weightless, adrenaline coursing as he starts to slam into you. It’s not polite or sweet or loving–he fucks into you and empties himself like an animal. He growls deep in his throat as his cock pulses within you, instructing you to “take it, baby girl” as if you’d consider anything less. 

You don’t know where your release ends and his begins. All you know is his weight on top of you, his mouth on your jaw, the collective breathless pants that fill the room as you both come down together.

You’re not sure how long it is before he pulls out of your warmth with an actual whine, breath heavy against your neck where his face is so comfortably nestled.

And you start to laugh, because you wish you’d worn panties after all–you don’t know how you’re going to get home with the mess of cum that’s dripping down the curve of your ass.

He even chuckles with you, until he tears his eyes away from your blissed face and sees the cross hanging heavy on the far wall.

“Th-that…” he gulps. “That can’t happen again.”

“It can,” you assure him, and he supposes you’re right.

You keep your head down and your eyes to yourself on Sunday, even as you spot the barely-noticeable stain on the hardwood floor next to the newly-repaired pew on the right side of the aisle. It’s so faint that no one would notice it unless they were looking for it, but it’s glaringly obvious to you. You should be ashamed; you should be begging for forgiveness. But then you meet Joel’s watchful eyes, and the shame washes away. How can you feel guilty over an act of worship?

THE END

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[hardlyinteresting]

Love, Guilt and Other Wounds

Aaron Hotchner x female reader

When Aaron and his partner are taken hostage, he has to break her heart to save her life.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, a little bit of domestic fluff, mention of blood, injury (non-graphic), hostage situation, knives, cannon-compliant themes of violence, non-detailed discussion about religion (Christianity), themes of childhood abuse, please let me know if you want me to add anything else.

Word count: (less than I expected, sorry) 3.7k  Request here! | Masterlist

"Of course, I’ll hurt you. Of course, you’ll hurt me. Of course, we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence". - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Aaron isn't sure if he believes in a God or a higher power. He was taught to read scripture; and spent Sunday mornings perfecting his posture in church pews-- starched shirts and neckties pulled too tight. The preacher's sermons left him wanting-- wondering how this man of God could stand over his congregation preaching every week, and not see all the lies they were holding back. How could he not see the secrets Aaron seemed to read so clearly? At just fourteen Aaron knew who was having an affair and with whom. He could see which children feared their fathers. Every pew had another story, another family growing together, or falling apart. The hypocrisy of it all drove him mad, and he imagined standing from his seat to shout it, overwhelmed as he realized he had unintentionally become the keeper of everyone's secrets. He learned that everyone in that church was a liar in their own right, and he hated it. But, when he left for college, his mother called to ask if he was still going to church on Sundays, and he lied and said yes. 

He should have paid more attention. Maybe then he'd understand how he ended up here. Perhaps it's some sick retribution. A cosmic evening of the scales; his penance for his sins. He just wishes you weren't here with him. How dare he think he could love someone when all he's ever done is punish those who love him? His hands are stained with blood; he taints everything he touches. 

Very early on in his career, Aaron learned he couldn’t take cases personally. As devastating as it was to have another victim show up while hunting a killer, it wasn’t a personal failure. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He repeated the process again and again. Logically he knows that he is not responsible for the actions of the aggressive sociopath who is now holding the two of you hostage; but, he blames himself for not keeping you safer, for bringing you with him, and for putting you in harm's way. He knows he will not recover if you don’t make it out of here. He won’t forgive himself. 

The profile said this man would be anti-social. Physically, he’d be small in stature. It was clear he’d been sneaking up on his victims. He had been taking couples, knocking out the men with a blow to the back of the head, and then the women. It’s a method that the team had seen before, common for UNSUBs without the social ability to lure their victims, or the physical strength or confidence to attack head-on. But they had not profiled that he would escalate to taking out his targets with a taser. 

After six days in San Diego, the team finally had a lead on two rental properties in the UNSUB’s comfort zone. One was an old tyre factory, listed as a multipurpose warehouse and storage space; the other was a large storage facility in an industrial neighbourhood. Both units had been paid for in cash, both offered the privacy and space required to hold and torture two people for days at a time. The team split up, Hotch and you arranged to meet the owner of the factory space to find out more about who the renter was and gain access to the property. With no response from the owner of the second property, Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi headed over to check it out. 

The two of you had only been on the property for five minutes before Aaron had been incapacitated and taken out. He had foolishly made his way into the building while you ran back to the SUV to grab your jacket. Out cold, there was nothing Aaron could do to stop you from meeting the same fate. 

It’s not his fault. But he feels like it is as he watches you shiver from across the room. He can’t be certain how much time has passed, but it feels like hours. He can only hope that you’re being kept in the building you were attacked in, that the team will connect the dots and come and get you, but until then you’re stuck. He watches, nauseated as your eyes flutter open, and then shut again. You’re concussed, he doesn’t need to be a doctor to know that. His ears are ringing, and he’s sure the blow he took to the head has at the very least temporarily worsened his hearing. 

“Doesn’t the FBI have rules against fraternization?” The UNSUB wonders out loud, waving a knife around as he walks towards you. 

“What makes you think we’re a couple?” Hotch asks, as he tries to work his hands free from the rope that binds them behind his back, “She’s just a colleague”. 

It’s a lie. But it needs to be said. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. Buy time, shift the UNSUB’s interest away from the two of you. Ruin the fantasy.

“I think I’ve been doing this long enough to know a couple when I see a couple, Aaron,” the man taunts, obviously proud of himself. He’s feeling emboldened having taken two FBI agents, but that works in your favour. He’s getting cocky, too full of himself. It’s a level of confidence he isn’t used to having, it just gives him a higher height to fall from. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. “I think it’s time we wake your girlfriend up,” the man says, his hand gripping tightly at your hair, your head tugged back without remorse. 

Aaron resists the urge to cringe as he hears you groan, your face twisted with obvious pain as you’re rudely awakened. “She’s pretty. What’s she doing with you?” 

“I told you. She’s a colleague”. 

Your eyes are unfocused, scanning the room trying to make sense of what is going on. 

The man raises the knife, holding it to your throat. This time Aaron blinks, desperate to control his expressions and micro-expressions. In this scenario, the less he cares about you, the safer you are. 

It’s the burden of being tied to him. Time after time his love destroys people. 

The blade presses closer to your throat. Aaron controls his breathing. 

“Impressive agent Hotchner. But I’m still not convinced,” the UNSUB moves the blade but pulls your head back further. Your eyes meet Aaron’s, “Do what you’re going to do, he doesn’t care,” you say. You’re speaking to the man with the knife in his hand as much as you’re speaking to Aaron. He weighs his options, his heart pounding as he watches you hold your breath, willing the tears to leave your eyes. It’s the permission he needs but doesn’t want.  Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He knows you’re doing the same, telling him to break your heart to save your life. 

“Please, Hotc--”. 

He doesn’t let you finish, “Just shut up for once. Please,” he thinks the words cut through him more than they cut through you. Knowing his cruelty is a lie does little to soften the blow, and it breaks his heart to be the one throwing it. 

But this is all he’s good for, isn’t it? Letting people down. Surely it’s not just coincidence that so many of those who have dared to love him end up damaged. One way or another he destroys people. Who is he to say that he’s the one who is suffering when it’s he who does all the damage? 

Even as a child, he couldn’t help it. He thinks perhaps he inherited his sharpened tongue and lack of patience from his mother. She loved him in her own way but could never show it without first tearing him apart. Her biting words, and regular beatings. Prentiss had been right when she once said he was distrustful of women-- unfairly so. Not all women carry the hateful, spiteful heart his mother had. Very few had ever turned their rage at the world and their shortcomings into a personal and violent rage against him. He grew weary nonetheless. Better safe than sorry.

 At a young age, it became clear to him that there were few things, if anything, as important to his mother than appearances. On Sundays, she fussed over his clothes and his posture. She lectured him on table manners from the moment he could hold a fork. His room had to be spotless. His grades had to surpass average. Long before his brother was ever born, he learned how to live up to her expectations. But still, there was always something she could find him lacking in, an excuse to take her open fist or wooden spoon to his skin, a reason to send him to bed without dinner. He remembers crashing into the china cabinet trying to escape her one night. She was mortified on Monday when he had to walk into school on Monday with a cast around his arm. “Make sure they know this was your fault,” she told him. Perhaps I was built to fail, he had thought. She loves me and I embarrass her. I will only ever let her down. God, how disappointed she would be to see him now.  

Seconds feel like hours as the UNSUB leers expectantly. The man's mouth twists into a smile when he sees the tears forming in your waterline again. Aaron watches your fist clench presumably to distract yourself from the migraine that matches the pounding in his head, just as much as it is to pull your attention away from the hurtful lies he's about to weave. 

“You were supposed to have my back,” Arron spits with faux vitriol. “You had one job and couldn't even manage to do that”. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. 

“From the moment you showed up I knew you'd be a problem”. 

He continues to try to work his hands out from the binds. He can feel the knot loosening as he continues to buy the two of you time. “Aaron,” you beg, tears slipping down your cheeks now. 

“Following me around with some school girl crush. Look where we are now,” Aaron breathes. 

He can feel his father’s rage resting on his shoulders, as heavy as his hands were when he used to pat him on the back. It’s a quiet burning, far more silent than his mother’s anger, but it’s there and threatening him all the same. A silent shame; a fear induced by the knowledge that he’s failing but not being able to stop it. His father lived like a ghost in their home, just as Aaron has learned to haunt his life. He only ever raised his voice when he drank, but even then his hatred was self-directed. A sorrowful self-pity. A cry for help. The affairs, the gambling, the drinking; the man punished himself, stumbling home to a house with a vengeful wife, a silent boy, and a crying baby. It was a heart attack that finally killed him, but Aaron never doubted his father had stopped living long before that. 

Aaron breaks his own heart as he delivers each verbal blow. He hopes you understand. He prays that just maybe your concussion might leave the memories of this moment blurry. Selfishly, he begs you to forgive him, because he won’t forgive himself. 

He can see the way your wrists strain against your restraints. The UNSUB adjusts his grip on your hair as you struggle to distance yourself from him. Your eyelids flutter and he knows your vision must be swimming but you don’t give up. With a sadistic grin, the UNSUB wipes at the tear stain on your cheek with fake sympathy, grasping your jaw roughly he forces you to look straight at Aaron, “Poor girl… guess boss man doesn’t care about you after all. What a waste,” he sighs his breath heavy against your cheek, as he moves to hold the knife to your throat again, “She’s so pretty,” he directs his commentary at Aaron this time. 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve slept with her. How couldn’t I when she was practically throwing herself at me?” The words taste bitter on his tongue as he speaks them. His stomach churns as he continues, “But what we have certainly isn’t love”. 

It couldn’t be further from the truth. Aaron grounds himself choosing to remember the quiet morning you two had shared only a few days earlier. Waking up without an alarm but with Jack sneaking in to jump up on the bed. As he watches you cry now he recalls how you had smiled so brightly at the little boy, ruffling his hair and cuddling Jack into your side. He had watched with a smile of his own as you bargained with his son, promising pancakes in exchange for ten more minutes of sleep on your shared day off. 

You crept into his heart so slowly he had hardly noticed. Until one day, he looked up from the bright pink sticky note you'd left on your recent report, reminding him not to work too hard; he knew, without a doubt, he was in love with you. 

For so much of his life, Aaron conditioned himself to expect a fight around every corner. He learned to make sacrifices from his happiness in fruitless attempts to keep peace. For the first time in forever he's been feeling like maybe, just maybe, he's enough. You’ve been more than patient with him; understanding his hesitance to open up to people again. You don't get upset with him for working late, but you scold him for not getting enough sleep and skipping meals. 

He smiles more. He cracks jokes the way he used to. You've helped him see the forest from the trees--  healed parts of him he didn’t know needed mending. He's tried to do the same for you. He's watched you open up and trust the team more. He's seen the way your confidence has grown and he can't take credit for your growth, but he's enamoured by the transformation just the same. 

You deserve better. You deserve better. You deserve better. The thought echoes in his head the same as it does most days. But now, it’s louder. The voice in his head matches the volume of the ringing in his ears, and the rushing sound of his pounding heart. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He fights to remind himself, but the UNSUB is laughing now. Taunting you and your emotions, and there’s nothing Aaron can do but sit there and watch. He struggles to feign indifference, watching as you continue to make yourself smaller. It’s only then that he notices that you too are working your hands out of the rope that restrains you. The UNSUB was stupid enough to tie your wrist in front of you.

Aaron’s eyes focus on the bandaid wrapped around your index finger. You cut yourself making dinner last week. He could have sworn his heart melted when you turned to him holding your hand out, blood beading already. “Aaron, where do you keep your first aid kit?” you’d asked. Your brows furrowed, and your lips pouted. “In the bathroom, the cabinet under the sink,” he’d answered with no intention of letting you go off and tend to your wound alone. Instead, he guided you down the hall, his left hand looped in a gentle hold around your wrist, his other hand on your waist. 

Once you were sat on the countertop he took great care, making sure the wound was cleaned before he bandaged it. “My hero,” you teased, leaning in for a kiss. 

A simple cut he could manage to fix. Jack promised you could use as many of his Star Wars bandaids as you wanted while you healed as well. A little love and patience could make it better, a philosophy he adopted to heal Jack’s scraped knees, and schoolyard bruises. But the sight before him now is far worse than any kitchen mishap could be. 

Your nose is still bleeding. Bruises have already begun to form, red marks turning deep purple with every passing minute. He knows that your concussion is something you'll recover from. The contact burns from where the taser touched your skin will become new skin someday soon. The cuts and scrapes will scab over and then disappear. 

Aaron worries the damage he's done can never truly be ameliorated. Your compassion is unmatched. It’s what makes you a good agent, a good partner, and someone Jack can turn to. You are forgiving. God knows you've excused enough of his behaviour. But, he doesn't deserve to be absolved of this guilt. He will carry this day around in the darkest corner of his heart; the same place he holds the memory of Haley and how he failed her. The words “what we have certainly isn't love,” will linger uneffaced by time or kind words. 

The squeak of an old door opening piques Aaron's interest. The UNSUB doesn't react. Seemingly only interested in tracing the tear tracks on your cheeks. Your eyes are closing again. It's over now, he wants to tell you. He wants to hold you; comfort you; to apologise because you deserve to hear it anyway.

“Paul Simpson. FBI,” Morgan’s voice booms, “drop the knife and put your hands where I can see them”. Prentiss and Dave come to stand next to Morgan, their guns trained on the newly identified perpetrator. Aaron bites his tongue so hard he can taste blood-- it's all he can do to stop himself from bursting into a fit of bitter laughter. We win, he wants to say. 

Disarmed and handcuffed, Paul is escorted outside by Morgan and two members of the local police. Prentiss and Rossi make quick work of untying you and Aaron. 

“Aaron?” he can hear you mutter, breathy and quiet. 

“Yeah, I’m right here,” he promises kneeling at your side. Your eyes are glazed and unfocused as you nod and tip forward. Unconscious, your entire body falls forward into Prentiss’ arms. Aaron’s voice joins Rossi in calling for a paramedic. 

The doctors assure him that you’ll wake up soon. They dealt with his injuries quickly. Bruised ribs are the worst of his injuries. A cut at the back of his head and the taser burns were patched in only a few minutes, though he’ll readily admit he was far from a good patient. Too anxious to keep still much to the nurse’s dismay. 

You’re still asleep. A major concussion will have you out of the field for much longer than he knows you’ll be happy with. He makes a mental note to start setting aside some extra paperwork for when you inevitably start hounding him for something to do. With the lights in the room dimmed, and a comfortable silence settling he allows himself to indulge in the illusion that everything might be alright between you. 

With your hand in his, he breathes deeply trying to focus. He prays to a God he’s not sure he believes in. And when the quiet starts to get to him, he speaks out loud, as silly as he thinks he may look. He tells you about the phone call he had with Jack earlier and lets you know that Jack has a new painting he can’t wait to show you when you get home. Your hand squeezes his, encouraging him to keep talking.

“Aaron?” your eyelids flutter as you adjust to the light. The nurse had them turned to the dimmest setting but it’s still far more than you feel immediately capable of coping with. 

“Yeah, honey,” he affirms. You release the breath you’re holding your brow relaxing.  

“I love you,” you tell him. Your voice is steady and steadfast. Your resolve is impressive, unwavering and determined as you focus on making eye contact with him. “It’s not your fault,” you promise. He’s sure you don’t expect the weight on his shoulders to lighten instantaneously. You’ll tell him every day that he’s not to blame; intent on chiselling away at his guilt, shrinking it down before it manages to consume him. 

“I love you,” he swears. He knows it won’t squash any of the doubt he’s planted. Aaron knows there will soon be days that the niggling insecurity threatens to break what you’ve managed to build together; when the worry that you aren’t enough seems louder than it ever has before. He won’t blame you if you decide it isn’t worth the pain of staying with him. But, he’s hell-bent on loving you through it. He can only hope that it’s enough.