[cherryxhaze]

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✧ shelbs ✧ 29 ✧ she/her/hers ✧ libra ♎︎︎ ✧ infj ✧ plus size writer/reader ✧ horror enthusiast ✧ lover of fictional men ✧ previous fics at @eddiexmunsonlover ✧ divider by @cafekitsune

[cherryxhaze]

The Sweet Pain of Charity

Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal x Fem!Reader

Masterlist Summary: You're the sole survivor of your group, left restrained, suspended, and at the mercy of the Jimmies. Your friends suffered a gruesome fate the crazed group called 'charity' and now it's your turn. Only Sir Lord Jimmy has a different kind of charity in mind for you, one he'll deal himself. WC: 5.5k Warnings/Tags: MDNI 18 + ONLY. Dead Dove. Non/Dub-Con. Mentions of gore, blood, torture, and skinning. Forced Sex and Breeding. Exhibitionism (all the Jimmies are adults). Knife Play. Fingering. Squirting. Overstimulation. Nipple Play. Bondage. Dom/Sub dynamic. Rough Sex. Unprotected P in V. Spanking. Hair Pulling. Breeding. Religious/Satanist Themes. A/N: This has taken me months to write through writer's block and life lifing, but it's finally done. Please heed the warnings before continuing. GIF is mine.

The smell of copper permeates the damp air of the shed, mixing with the earthy scents of soil and herbs, ones you'd collected just earlier that day. Blood and discarded flesh surround you and even with your eyes closed, the images are burned into your retinas, the smell stinging your nostrils, the sound of their cries growing quieter and fatigued with every strip of skin torn from their bodies, the sounds of your assailant's laughter joining and eventually, the repulsion ejecting from their stomachs.

Your own sobs have quieted though fear still rages, coursing through your body that twitches and trembles with every footstep that draws near. Still, you are left untouched, forced to bear witness to the torture and slow deaths of the people you've shared your daily life with for months.

The muscles in your arms ache and there's a now dull burning in your wrists where the rope has dug in, tied to the beams above. Countless tears have made your eyes grow swollen and red, nose congested and making every breath a choked sob in your lungs. You wonder when it'll be your turn, every nerve in your body on edge in anticipation.

Why haven't they touched you yet?

Do they truly seek to torture you most of all by witnessing the others before they finally turn their blades onto you?

A heavy silence hangs in the space, so thick and palpable it raises the hairs on the back of your neck.

"Howzat?" A single voice asks casually, carrying all the cockiness and power only the leader of such a twisted group could. You don't need to open your eyes to know it's him. Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal, he called himself. Clad in a pristine purple tracksuit and excessive gold jewelry, his followers quickly recite the phrase back in an exhausted chorus.

There's a soft shuffle of fabric and then footsteps, each one drawing closer to and you tense up instinctively, breath catching in preparation for the onslaught of pain. Only it doesn't come. The steps stall, coming to a halt before you. His presence is unmistakable, consuming the space around you, but you don't dare open your eyes to truly face him.

"And then there was one." Sir Jimmy remarks, eyes trailing over your shaking form in satisfaction, huffing out an amused chuckle at the way your eyes remain squeezed shut almost defiantly.

"Old Nick sees potential in you…" His form circles yours, a predator surveying their prey. "He says our fingers should grow, and you may yet be one… if you have what it takes."

Fresh tears break past the rim of your closed eyes with a muffled sob from the fresh wave of fear his words and closeness bring you. They slip down your cheeks, wet and warm to join the leftover stains of your earlier bouts of anguish.

Jimmy, however, seems to quickly lose patience. His body is back in front of yours instantly, ring clad fingers grabbing onto your chin with a firm, chastising grip.

"Focus." The fingers from his free hand snap close to your ears, making you jerk away instinctively though his grip and the ropes keep you in place. "Open your eyes before I gouge them out and make you choke on them."

A sharp, stuttering inhale passes through your nostrils in a weak attempt to gather courage, but you gather it none the less, swollen and tired eyes slowly fluttering open. A few blinks and your once blurry vision comes into focus, with his face as the first thing you see.

Up close, you can see the lines etched along his forehead from years traversing and terrorizing the land along with the infected. The flush of his skin, tinted red from being out in the sun unprotected. The blue of his eyes are bright, eccentric, and yet hold a deranged kind of light fitting of his actions. He seems pleased by your compliance, a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips.

"Ahh, and what a shame that would be… so pretty." A chill runs down your spine while a rotten teeth flashing grin spreads across Jimmy's face.

Now with your full attention, the warmth of his fingers leaves your skin and settles on his own jaw as he backs away, surveying your restrained form.

"But, before you can become a finger… you have to pass the test."

Your eyes shift from Jimmy to the source of a sudden movement, one of his followers rising off the nearby bench as if standing at the ready, cleaning off his bloodied knife, Moira's blood, with a worn cloth in preparation.

"No no no, Jimmy." he placates the member with a raised hand. "Old Nick has another kind of charity in store for this one." One of his thick fingers points toward you, bobbing up and down with the words full of an unknown, terrifying promise. "And he wants me to deliver it myself."

His presence is so captivating you barely notice the confused, bewildered expressions of the Jimmies, even obscured under their makeshift masks, they look at each other in unexpected surprise. It only fills you with more unease and dread, the feeling clawing its way up your spine with each step Jimmy takes closer until you can feel his breath against your skin, slick with sweat and tears.

A silver gleam catches your eye and you notice a small knife within Sir Lord Jimmy's hand, pulled from the waistband of his tracksuit. Your back grows rigid as it taunts you, blood running cold through your veins as you're face to face with whatever torture awaits, and its executioner.

Despite anticipating it's touch, the feeling of the cool metal against your skin makes you flinch with a sharp inhale, a response that only goads him on more. The tip of the blade teases the burning skin of your cheek, pressing just hard enough to not quite break skin but with the threat of it lingering before it trails down to your neck in a cruel caress. A lump lodges in your throat with it, breaths growing fast and heavy while Jimmy takes his time, soaking in every reaction of the blade gliding further down and over your chest until catching on the loose collar of your shirt.

Your gaze follows his and the movement of the blade as it stills, only to glance up to his pursed lips. "Tsk tsk tsk" the sound of his tongue clicks behind them, and you find yourself ashamedly fixating on the supple pink flesh. "You won't be needing this."

A flick of the wrist sends a button flying, lost in the dirt beneath. Fresh air hits the newly exposed sweat slick skin, goosebumps rising with it. Another button clatters. Jimmy moves with an uneasy calm, taking his time to unwrap a present until your shirt falls completely open, nipples growing hard at the vulnerability and cool air.

"Oh, Old Nick was right to save you for last…" Jimmy's voice comes out lower, almost as a snicker while his eyes transfix on your bare, fluttering chest. The tip of his knife traverses the curve of fat until finding your hard, sensitive bud standing at attention for him. As if your body knows he's your lord, even if your mind hasn't quite caught up yet.

You don't realize you're holding your breath until it floods out in a sharp gasp, the tip of the blade teasingly flicking your nipple. He smiles at your whimpers, free hand gripping the back of your head as your body tries to flinch away.

"Shhh, not to worry, lass." Your reddened eyes lock onto his and a sick anticipation fills your bones with it. Sick and warm, tingling up your thighs. Shame turns in your gut with it, with the way all you can focus on is him and the new flicker of pressure between your thighs.

The raw flesh sitting in small piles around you and the fellow Jimmies behind him begin to fade into the background in a blur.

"In fact, I think you might even enjoy it." You hadn't even noticed the blade moving down your stomach until it's notching against the waistband of your pants, teasingly pressing against the tensioned band until the tear of fabric fills the dead silent barn.

The now loosened piece of clothing begins to fall, leaving you completely bare before him. You don't have the strength to look down at your naked and vulnerable form, at the way your thighs tremble. Whether from fatigue or humiliation or a twisted arousal, you don't want to acknowledge. You can only look at his face taking all of you in, lips parted in a unreadable expression that you can only hope holds a plan that doesn't end in a torturous death.

When his now intense gaze meets yours again with a tightened grip on the back of your head, a heavy gulp slides down your throat. "Do you want me to touch you?" His words are low and thick, nearly breathy while the cool metal of his knife meets the inside of your warm, shaking thigh. It slowly begins to trail upward to where a pressure is rapidly building.

He watches you, transfixed to every flutter of emotion passing through your wet eyes, to every stuttering breath, to the way your thighs strain under the impulse to squeeze them shut.

The headiness of his voice, the intensity of his blue eyes, and the anticipation of his wandering touch sets off a war of emotion and raw desire within you. Your consciousness begins to lose grip on the reality of the situation, of the sick depravity having already occurred and the real danger you lie within the face of while an electric, primal, and gnawing need pulses in your cunt, taking over all rational sense of mind.

A tightened grip and harsh tug sends your head jerking back before you feel his hot breath against your ear, lips brushing the skin with his words full of dwindling restraint. "Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal does not repeat himself, lass."

The threat and sudden stillness of the blade against the soft skin of your inner thigh is all you need. "Yes, Sir." The mutter of compliance comes out between heavy and fast breaths, the fear lodged into your spine heightening once again.

A beat of silence passes and you're sure you've fucked it all up, that any silly glimmer of hope you had of mercy is gone with the fear of what he might do with that knife, so close to your most intimate place. You wait, bracing for the impact of searing pain from the blade before it's pressure against your thigh dissapears completely.

You're sure he's toying with you, waiting for your defenses to drop just before catching you off guard again. Only the pain of a cut or slice doesn't come. Instead, the warmth of skin passes over your folds and sends a shock of pleasure through your restrained and suspended form, body jerking and back arching in response.

A hearty and cruel chuckle meets your shaky gasp, the tight grip on your hair keeping you in place from squirming away as his fingers press more firmly against your slit.

"Oh ho ho," his rotten teeth flash your way with a sick glee. "Looks like your wee cunt was crying for me too."

A fresh wave of embarrassment hits you and replaces the lingering fear, eyes squeezing shut as they threaten to fill to brim with fresh tears, thighs attempting to clasp around his wandering hand. Only the flat of his palm slaps your pussy, harsh and chastising, yanking you back in line with a yelping whimper.

"Ah ah, you were doing so well." His voice holds a sickly sweet tone of taunting encouragement. "You wouldn't want to disappoint Old Nick now, would you?"

This is a different kind of torturous torment, the scratchy rope digging in and rubbing your wrists raw as your limbs start to feel more like lead than flesh with each passing minute. A dizzying mix of arousal and repulsion swarming your head, body yearning to lean in to pleasure yet shrivel away in disgust.

His hand remains unmoving, cupping your sex before you realize he's waiting on an answer, on obedience. The realization hits like a wave that if you want to hang on to any chance of your survival tonight, obedience is what you'll need to give.

A sniffle with a deep inhale. "No, Sir Jimmy." The words scratch along your throat, dry from screams and sobs. With a few flutter of your lashes, the vision of him clears before you once more, waiting and studying you with an amused awe glimmering in his blue eyes.

"Good."

Not a second is spared before his thick fingers are moving again, working your sensitive bud with short and slow strokes, working you open for him until you're practically begging for more just like he knows you will. Your teeth clench and grit, attempting to hold back any whimpers his touch draws from your throat.

You don't dare look away from him again, and his face is a better target than the gore surrounding you. In fact, as you focus in on the intensity of his eyes, on the intoxicating caress of your clit, awareness of the surroundings fades entirely.

There's a twisted yet boyish charm about him that begins to consume you, in the soft sway of his golden locks with each brush, in the way his pink lips are parted with increasingly heavy breaths passing through.

They mimic the flow of yours, barely stifled by your pursed lips that tremble in time with your thighs. Jimmy is fixated on every response your body gives, the warmth that spreads against his hand with the rushing of your blood, clit pulsing and swelling against his touch, watching you unravel for him despite yourself.

In a split second his touch slips, dipping lower to curl his digits into your slick cunt. The unexpected intrusion catches you off guard, stubborn resistance slipping with your jaw going slack and a gasping moan bursting out. A throaty chuckle rumbles from his chest in amusement, your wet warmth coating his fingers.

The pads of his fingers press into the spongy spot along your wet walls that knocks the breath from your lungs, knees buckling beneath but the ropes around your wrists holds you in place. The grip on your hair loosens, free hand falling to grasp onto the fat of your ass to restrain you even further before his fingers begin a relentless pace.

The velour of his tracksuit presses against the bare, flushed skin of your side, body heat radiating into yours. There's no escape from him, from the stroke of his two digits against your walls. The pleasure quickly drowns out any shame that could arise from the wet sound that spreads from where your bodies meet.

"F-fuck…" A low whimper slips from your lips as each pass of his fingers adds to the growing pressure building with the incessant prodding of your g-spot. You're entirely helpless and at the crazed leader's mercy, but the thought seems to only add to your arousal.

"Tha's it…" There's a breathlessness to his voice and words mumbled against your ear, feeling the frantic pulsing of your walls around him. The juices leaking from your cunt spread down his hand, coating the rings that press into your flesh.

Any grip on reality you have left is quickly fleeting, unable to control the way your body and mind are giving in so easily to your basic animal impulses. The moans fall freely from your open lips, growing higher in pitch with the intensity of the pressure building in your core, a wave threatening to crash over with just a little… push.

Your head falls back with a strained squeal as the dam breaks, cunt gushing against his still plunging fingers. The obnoxious sound is drowned out from your ringing ears, hips rocking with every rhythmic clench of your cunt.

"Oh!" Jimmy exclaims, watching your pussy squirt and body writhe with a gleeful satisfaction. Only when your breaths calm do his fingers slip from inside you to instead spread the wetness along your slit.

"Look at the mess you made." The touch dissapears from your sex only to lift to your line of sight. The jewelry adorning his fingers shines even brighter under the lights with your juices coating them. "Now, be a good lass and clean up after your self."

There's no pause for an answer before the pads of his fingers swipe along your bottom lip, coaxing them open to slide along your tongue. Lost in the ecstasy still buzzing throughout your body, you hum softly at the taste of yourself, lips wrapping around the metal rings to gently suck the slick covering his fingers. The sweet tangy taste of your cunt spreads along your taste buds and his blue eyes watch with content.

"See? Charity's not so bad, aye?" His head tilts, eyes watching every flutter of your lashes and the way your lips purse, feeling the brush of your tongue.

"No, Sir." The obedient mumble leaves your lips just as the string of saliva attaching them to his fingers breaks.

A pleased hum meets you in response, "then surely you can handle another."

The return of his fingers into your sensitive pussy spurs a jolt in your limbs, tensing from the intensity still pulsing in your core. They curl just right, wasting no time to mercilessly rub that spot that feels like it's on fire, electric and liquid, spreading and burning you up from the inside. Each pass rips a cry straight from your lungs, thighs trembling from fighting the impulse to clasp around his hand.

The metal of his rings dig into the flesh of your ass with a tightening grip, but it's nothing in comparison to the sensation of his fingers, building up another tidal wave before the last one has fully waded. He watches the ragged breaths move through your heaving chest, catching in your throat with each curl of his digits.

Sweat beads on your skin, the velour of his suit clinging to you just as the warmth of his breath does, panting against your neck.

"Please, lord!" You're babbling and stuttering, the pathetic whine the only thing you can muster out. The thrusting of his fingers drains whatever power is left from your body, held within his hands like a toy, pliant and oh so responsive.

"You beg so sweetly, lass." The mocking and gravelly edge in his voice infiltrates your entire body with a toe-curling jolt, eyes rolling back at the sound. The toes of your boots dig into the sweat, slick, and blood splattered dirt below, the only thing keeping your body grounded and steady aside from the restraints burning your wrists and his remaining grip on your ass.

The sudden wet glide of his tongue, tasting the salt of the sweat and tears coating your jawline sends you unraveling again with a shout, entire body tensing and convulsing under the weight of the ecstasy his well kept hands rip from it. The sight of your juices squirting out of your greedy cunt, soaking his hand and the soil below captivates him entirely, fills every fiber of his body with a prideful fascination.

The sound of your sweet cries, the way your body shakes and trembles under his touch makes him ache painfully, you can feel it pressing incessantly against your thigh, begging for attention. He watches your soft and flushed flesh jerk and jolt while his fingers torture your swollen clit, rubbing loose circles around it as the last of your juices drip from your pussy.

The breaths sucked into your lungs feel raw and ragged, electricity buzzing through your limbs with the fading high that leaves a nearly overwhelming sensitivity in its wake. A sensitivity Jimmy either cares less about or is intentionally taking advantage of to push you to your limits. You can barely make out his form through tear blurred vision, half-lidded with exhaustion.

"Hmm…" Jimmy pauses and hums thoughtfully, "no, not enough. He demands more."

The words barely register before the moving touch of his fingers returning to your sore cunt does, letting out a pathetic whine in protest. "P-please, I can't!"

The tears glistening in your pleading eyes only serves to arouse him even more, earning the chastising click of his tongue. "Oh, but you can. And you will." His thick fingers slide back in to caress your sensitive walls, finding that spongy spot with ease like the back of his hand. "He's watching."

The curl of his digits hits like a white hot branding, walls clasping down around him instinctively at the nearly unbearable intensity. Tears fall freely, choked sobs bubbling up your throat with the strokes of his fingers. The erratic rolling of your hips does little to lighten the weight of his touch, forcing you to take the excruciating intensity of his touch against your overstimulated pussy.

"Your cries are Old Nick's delight." Jimmy purrs against the shell of your ear, sending a wave of tingles that cascade down your body. Your pussy is gripping him so tight he can barely move his hand, only rocking his curled fingers against your bruised g-spot faster and faster. You're not even sure how much you have left to give, but feel that pressure building once again, growing until you're sure you'll burst at any second.

It's not long before that dam breaks again with one last flick of his wrist, now drenched and slick with the cum that readily seeps from your weeping cunt. The shouts and cries that mark your orgasm echo off the wooden walls of the barn, a scream far different from the ones that'd inhabited the space earlier. Your walls pulse in protest at the loss of his touch, fingers ripped away before Jimmy takes a few steps back and watches the climax course through your body.

His blue eyes follow the way your entire body collapses, unable to hold yourself up any longer under the weight of overstimulated pleasure that shakes through you. The rope scarring your wrists is the only thing keeping your form suspended over the dirt below. He admires the way your flesh shakes, thighs wobbling and streaked with your slick. The sheen of sweat covering your skin glistens under the light, nipples hard against the cool air, eyes swollen from the endless stream of tears. You're a beauty.

You're the one.

Your head lulls to the side in exhaustion, propped against your arm to keep it from hanging. The rampant flurry of emotions and sensations that have raged through your body in the last hour leaves you near oblivious to the surroundings, until a shushing sound beckons your attention.

Despite the lack of noise now filling the space, he silences it anyway with a raised and pointed finger, eyes closing with a cock of his head, the soft whish of those blond curls with it. It appears as if he's listening intently, something calling out and whispering dark scripture into his ears.

Then, a wide smile splits his face, rotten teeth peeking through that reflect the nature of his next words.

"Yes, Old Nick is pleased with you." Jimmy chuckles and a tension you forgot was held within your shoulders eases and goes slack with the rest of your tired body. "He deems you worthy."

His arms cross and his body shifts, standing directly ahead to admire your form. The beat of silence that passes begins to fill with unease, slowly swirling in the pit of your stomach.

"But not as an ordinary Jimmy, no no no." Your gaze falls onto his shoes as they begin to scuff along the dirt floor, taking leisure steps closer. "He has far bigger plans for you."

Fingers still damp from your slick softly brush away the sweat drenched strands of hair sticking to your face away, tucking them behind your ear almost gently. A tenderness you can't fully trust, before slipping down to outline the frame of your face.

"You're special, aye. Deserving of a special and infernal mission from our Father."

Just when the touch begins to feel too good to distrust, it retreats and him with it, returning to circle you like prey. Your entire body aches, muscles stretched and worn from being restrained for too long but you muster what little strength remains, settling your feet back flat on the ground to hold yourself up again. Pain radiates everywhere, from your thighs to your lower back, to your biceps and burning wrists.

"Old Nick commands for our strength, our claws, our kingdom… to grow." Jimmy's voice projects his preaching to the whole room, to the onlookers you'd forgotten were even there and the reminder sends a fresh wave of embarrassment to join the heat flushing your skin.

"And you…" Your body jerks slightly at the sudden touch of his fingers slowly trailing down the curve of your spine. "Are his chosen vessel. He has ordered me, his favorite son, to plant the seed of our future fingers, of our unholy lineage..."

The soft fabric of his velour suit presses fully against your back with an unmistakable hard outline against your ass. Both hands move to tickle down your sides, sending a cold wave of shivers with it until they come to rest on your hips.

The warmth of his breath inches closer to your ear. "You will be bestowed the greatest honor Old Nick has to offer. My bride. My vessel to breed and birth our sons of Hell."

Hot flesh now presses against your lower back and you can't help the way your walls clench in anticipation. There's no going back now, no fighting it, and it's a far better fate than a torturous death, right?

Ringed fingers curling around the base of his cock shift him, angling the swollen head to dive between your lips as the other maneuvers you, guiding your ass back and spine arched to meet the final act of tonight's charity. He doesn't give it to you right away, opting instead to drag out the anticipation further with his tip slowly parting your lips and gliding back and forth. Your slick coats his shaft, each nudge against your overstimulated clit sending a tremble down your thighs.

He teases until your cunt is practically begging for it, drooling and pulsing with a deep seated need to be stretched and filled and even then, he holds out further. "Is that what you want, lass? You want me to fuck and breed you till you can no longer think straight, is that it?"

Your entire body reacts with a twitch, leaning back into him and answering before your lips can, earning a shaky chuckle under his breath in response.

"Yes… Sir Lord Jimmy." The desperate words come out as a plea, squeaking out from your hoarse, dry throat.

The truth is Jimmy can barely hold himself back any longer if he wanted to and your words of submission act as the firing shot at a race, one shift of his hips notching the head at the entrance of your fluttering cunt before sinking in, slow and steady. You gasp at the intrusion and lack of time to adjust as each thick inch stretches your sensitive walls far more than his fingers did, filling them with a deep, toe-curling ache. It knocks the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping once he's fully seated inside and unmoving, his blue eyes nearly rolling back as he relishes in the way your wet, hot heat envelops him.

You brace for impact, expecting a ruthless onslaught right away but it doesn't come. Not yet at least. Those golden curls graze your shoulder, hot breaths tickling your ear just as his warm hands latch onto your waist before sliding higher and higher, until they're cupping the weight of your bare breasts. His thick digits squeeze and fondle them, the cool metal of his rings a relief against your blazing skin.

A gasp leaves your throat when his hips rock while still balls deep, burrowing himself even deeper when his fingers pinch and roll your hard nipples between them mercilessly. Jimmy loves the way it makes your cunt clench around him, the little high-pitched whimper muffled through your lips. "Yesss. You'll make a perfect wee bride of Satan, won't you?"

Your walls feel stretched to their limits, throbbing with the sweetest pain you've ever felt, so consuming that your head feels light. "Yes, Sir Lord!" There's a tension held tight within your entire body, waiting and begging for the overwhelming glide of his cock using your cunt for all it's worth.

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, your pussy begins to feel empty with the retreat of his cock, only for a sharp thrust of his hips to collide with your ass, sending a wailing cry past your lips and body jerking forward from the force. His hands quickly return to your hips to steady you as he sets a relentless pace, holding you in place to take the brunt of every long and hard thrust, forcing you to take every thick inch over and over again.

Debauched screams and moans echo off the wooden walls, filling the space along with the sound of his hips slapping your ass. Your sore, fluttering walls can barely keep up with the rapid pistoning of his girth, the swollen tip of his dick already beginning to bruise your cervix. He's using you like a personal fuck toy with no choice but to take it and god, it's appalling and yet so arousing that you can't even muster feeling ashamed about it. You're completely lost.

Your cunt weeps for him just as your eyes do, tears streaking down your warm cheeks and juices coating his length. Your tits bounce in a way that feels obnoxious and obscene, moving in sync with the speed of his thrusts, the heavy weight of his balls slapping your clit with it.

"Fuck, your cunt really was made for this, wasn't it? She's gripping me so tight, lass." Jimmy groans, voice low and strained, a sharp slap joining it with a stinging pain radiating across your jiggling ass. The throaty whine you let out in response makes his cock jerk inside you.

"Yes! Fuck, yes! S-so good, Sir!" You're babbling desperately, voice wavering with the brutal pounding, practically drunk off the pleasure and pain.

"Look at you," A hand leaves your hip to grasp your hair, wrapping around and tugging to pull your head back with it. "So pretty and dumb off this cock already?"

The cries and moans scratch along your dry throat, growing strained against the relentless, toe-curling stroking of his girth along your sensitive walls. Every muscle in your body grows tense and coiled, electricity tingling through every inch of your body. It grows so intense your eyes roll back, slick dripping onto his balls, the pressure building in your core becoming unbearable.

"Tell me you want it." Jimmy huffs, so close to letting go completely, delivering another slap that'll leave a mark onto the meat of your ass.

"Please! Oh! I want it, want your cum!" He loves how utterly obedient and devoted you already are, so desperate to fulfill your newly appointed role that it makes his heavy balls draw up tight, threatening to spill over.

Another thrust is all it takes to send the tidal wave crashing over with a scream, pure ecstasy spreading over your entire body just as your cunt clamps around him, soaking his entire length with your cum. The vice grip of your velvety, fluttering walls sends him over the edge with a guttural shout that spirals into a string of whimpering moans, ropes of his hot seed spilling past your cervix and flooding your womb. He grinds himself even deeper, making sure it takes root to breed your eager cunt.

He remains there buried deep, forehead pressed against your shoulder until the the last of his cum is emptied inside you, heavy breaths beginning to even out. Once the last waves of pleasure begin to fade and his softening cock pulls out of your abused pussy, the weight of exhaustion hits and aches throughout your entire body, evidence of the tiring ordeal.

Tucking himself back in to the no doubt now ruined velour tracksuit pants, Jimmy takes a moment to admire his work with a tired but satisfied smirk, watching the slight tremble of your muscles, his milky seed dripping out of your raw cunt. Your half-lidded eyes are too heavy and dazed to notice.

A beat passes before his voice rings out. "Cut her down." Then, the soft shuffle of a few feet and fabric along with the nearly tear-jerking anticipation of relief. "She's not going anywhere."

[cherryxhaze]

The Sweet Pain of Charity

Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal x Fem!Reader

Masterlist Summary: You're the sole survivor of your group, left restrained, suspended, and at the mercy of the Jimmies. Your friends suffered a gruesome fate the crazed group called 'charity' and now it's your turn. Only Sir Lord Jimmy has a different kind of charity in mind for you, one he'll deal himself. WC: 5.5k Warnings/Tags: MDNI 18 + ONLY. Dead Dove. Non/Dub-Con. Mentions of gore, blood, torture, and skinning. Forced Sex and Breeding. Exhibitionism (all the Jimmies are adults). Knife Play. Fingering. Squirting. Overstimulation. Nipple Play. Bondage. Dom/Sub dynamic. Rough Sex. Unprotected P in V. Spanking. Hair Pulling. Breeding. Religious/Satanist Themes. A/N: This has taken me months to write through writer's block and life lifing, but it's finally done. Please heed the warnings before continuing. GIF is mine.

The smell of copper permeates the damp air of the shed, mixing with the earthy scents of soil and herbs, ones you'd collected just earlier that day. Blood and discarded flesh surround you and even with your eyes closed, the images are burned into your retinas, the smell stinging your nostrils, the sound of their cries growing quieter and fatigued with every strip of skin torn from their bodies, the sounds of your assailant's laughter joining and eventually, the repulsion ejecting from their stomachs.

Your own sobs have quieted though fear still rages, coursing through your body that twitches and trembles with every footstep that draws near. Still, you are left untouched, forced to bear witness to the torture and slow deaths of the people you've shared your daily life with for months.

The muscles in your arms ache and there's a now dull burning in your wrists where the rope has dug in, tied to the beams above. Countless tears have made your eyes grow swollen and red, nose congested and making every breath a choked sob in your lungs. You wonder when it'll be your turn, every nerve in your body on edge in anticipation.

Why haven't they touched you yet?

Do they truly seek to torture you most of all by witnessing the others before they finally turn their blades onto you?

A heavy silence hangs in the space, so thick and palpable it raises the hairs on the back of your neck.

"Howzat?" A single voice asks casually, carrying all the cockiness and power only the leader of such a twisted group could. You don't need to open your eyes to know it's him. Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal, he called himself. Clad in a pristine purple tracksuit and excessive gold jewelry, his followers quickly recite the phrase back in an exhausted chorus.

There's a soft shuffle of fabric and then footsteps, each one drawing closer to and you tense up instinctively, breath catching in preparation for the onslaught of pain. Only it doesn't come. The steps stall, coming to a halt before you. His presence is unmistakable, consuming the space around you, but you don't dare open your eyes to truly face him.

"And then there was one." Sir Jimmy remarks, eyes trailing over your shaking form in satisfaction, huffing out an amused chuckle at the way your eyes remain squeezed shut almost defiantly.

"Old Nick sees potential in you…" His form circles yours, a predator surveying their prey. "He says our fingers should grow, and you may yet be one… if you have what it takes."

Fresh tears break past the rim of your closed eyes with a muffled sob from the fresh wave of fear his words and closeness bring you. They slip down your cheeks, wet and warm to join the leftover stains of your earlier bouts of anguish.

Jimmy, however, seems to quickly lose patience. His body is back in front of yours instantly, ring clad fingers grabbing onto your chin with a firm, chastising grip.

"Focus." The fingers from his free hand snap close to your ears, making you jerk away instinctively though his grip and the ropes keep you in place. "Open your eyes before I gouge them out and make you choke on them."

A sharp, stuttering inhale passes through your nostrils in a weak attempt to gather courage, but you gather it none the less, swollen and tired eyes slowly fluttering open. A few blinks and your once blurry vision comes into focus, with his face as the first thing you see.

Up close, you can see the lines etched along his forehead from years traversing and terrorizing the land along with the infected. The flush of his skin, tinted red from being out in the sun unprotected. The blue of his eyes are bright, eccentric, and yet hold a deranged kind of light fitting of his actions. He seems pleased by your compliance, a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips.

"Ahh, and what a shame that would be… so pretty." A chill runs down your spine while a rotten teeth flashing grin spreads across Jimmy's face.

Now with your full attention, the warmth of his fingers leaves your skin and settles on his own jaw as he backs away, surveying your restrained form.

"But, before you can become a finger… you have to pass the test."

Your eyes shift from Jimmy to the source of a sudden movement, one of his followers rising off the nearby bench as if standing at the ready, cleaning off his bloodied knife, Moira's blood, with a worn cloth in preparation.

"No no no, Jimmy." he placates the member with a raised hand. "Old Nick has another kind of charity in store for this one." One of his thick fingers points toward you, bobbing up and down with the words full of an unknown, terrifying promise. "And he wants me to deliver it myself."

His presence is so captivating you barely notice the confused, bewildered expressions of the Jimmies, even obscured under their makeshift masks, they look at each other in unexpected surprise. It only fills you with more unease and dread, the feeling clawing its way up your spine with each step Jimmy takes closer until you can feel his breath against your skin, slick with sweat and tears.

A silver gleam catches your eye and you notice a small knife within Sir Lord Jimmy's hand, pulled from the waistband of his tracksuit. Your back grows rigid as it taunts you, blood running cold through your veins as you're face to face with whatever torture awaits, and its executioner.

Despite anticipating it's touch, the feeling of the cool metal against your skin makes you flinch with a sharp inhale, a response that only goads him on more. The tip of the blade teases the burning skin of your cheek, pressing just hard enough to not quite break skin but with the threat of it lingering before it trails down to your neck in a cruel caress. A lump lodges in your throat with it, breaths growing fast and heavy while Jimmy takes his time, soaking in every reaction of the blade gliding further down and over your chest until catching on the loose collar of your shirt.

Your gaze follows his and the movement of the blade as it stills, only to glance up to his pursed lips. "Tsk tsk tsk" the sound of his tongue clicks behind them, and you find yourself ashamedly fixating on the supple pink flesh. "You won't be needing this."

A flick of the wrist sends a button flying, lost in the dirt beneath. Fresh air hits the newly exposed sweat slick skin, goosebumps rising with it. Another button clatters. Jimmy moves with an uneasy calm, taking his time to unwrap a present until your shirt falls completely open, nipples growing hard at the vulnerability and cool air.

"Oh, Old Nick was right to save you for last…" Jimmy's voice comes out lower, almost as a snicker while his eyes transfix on your bare, fluttering chest. The tip of his knife traverses the curve of fat until finding your hard, sensitive bud standing at attention for him. As if your body knows he's your lord, even if your mind hasn't quite caught up yet.

You don't realize you're holding your breath until it floods out in a sharp gasp, the tip of the blade teasingly flicking your nipple. He smiles at your whimpers, free hand gripping the back of your head as your body tries to flinch away.

"Shhh, not to worry, lass." Your reddened eyes lock onto his and a sick anticipation fills your bones with it. Sick and warm, tingling up your thighs. Shame turns in your gut with it, with the way all you can focus on is him and the new flicker of pressure between your thighs.

The raw flesh sitting in small piles around you and the fellow Jimmies behind him begin to fade into the background in a blur.

"In fact, I think you might even enjoy it." You hadn't even noticed the blade moving down your stomach until it's notching against the waistband of your pants, teasingly pressing against the tensioned band until the tear of fabric fills the dead silent barn.

The now loosened piece of clothing begins to fall, leaving you completely bare before him. You don't have the strength to look down at your naked and vulnerable form, at the way your thighs tremble. Whether from fatigue or humiliation or a twisted arousal, you don't want to acknowledge. You can only look at his face taking all of you in, lips parted in a unreadable expression that you can only hope holds a plan that doesn't end in a torturous death.

When his now intense gaze meets yours again with a tightened grip on the back of your head, a heavy gulp slides down your throat. "Do you want me to touch you?" His words are low and thick, nearly breathy while the cool metal of his knife meets the inside of your warm, shaking thigh. It slowly begins to trail upward to where a pressure is rapidly building.

He watches you, transfixed to every flutter of emotion passing through your wet eyes, to every stuttering breath, to the way your thighs strain under the impulse to squeeze them shut.

The headiness of his voice, the intensity of his blue eyes, and the anticipation of his wandering touch sets off a war of emotion and raw desire within you. Your consciousness begins to lose grip on the reality of the situation, of the sick depravity having already occurred and the real danger you lie within the face of while an electric, primal, and gnawing need pulses in your cunt, taking over all rational sense of mind.

A tightened grip and harsh tug sends your head jerking back before you feel his hot breath against your ear, lips brushing the skin with his words full of dwindling restraint. "Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal does not repeat himself, lass."

The threat and sudden stillness of the blade against the soft skin of your inner thigh is all you need. "Yes, Sir." The mutter of compliance comes out between heavy and fast breaths, the fear lodged into your spine heightening once again.

A beat of silence passes and you're sure you've fucked it all up, that any silly glimmer of hope you had of mercy is gone with the fear of what he might do with that knife, so close to your most intimate place. You wait, bracing for the impact of searing pain from the blade before it's pressure against your thigh dissapears completely.

You're sure he's toying with you, waiting for your defenses to drop just before catching you off guard again. Only the pain of a cut or slice doesn't come. Instead, the warmth of skin passes over your folds and sends a shock of pleasure through your restrained and suspended form, body jerking and back arching in response.

A hearty and cruel chuckle meets your shaky gasp, the tight grip on your hair keeping you in place from squirming away as his fingers press more firmly against your slit.

"Oh ho ho," his rotten teeth flash your way with a sick glee. "Looks like your wee cunt was crying for me too."

A fresh wave of embarrassment hits you and replaces the lingering fear, eyes squeezing shut as they threaten to fill to brim with fresh tears, thighs attempting to clasp around his wandering hand. Only the flat of his palm slaps your pussy, harsh and chastising, yanking you back in line with a yelping whimper.

"Ah ah, you were doing so well." His voice holds a sickly sweet tone of taunting encouragement. "You wouldn't want to disappoint Old Nick now, would you?"

This is a different kind of torturous torment, the scratchy rope digging in and rubbing your wrists raw as your limbs start to feel more like lead than flesh with each passing minute. A dizzying mix of arousal and repulsion swarming your head, body yearning to lean in to pleasure yet shrivel away in disgust.

His hand remains unmoving, cupping your sex before you realize he's waiting on an answer, on obedience. The realization hits like a wave that if you want to hang on to any chance of your survival tonight, obedience is what you'll need to give.

A sniffle with a deep inhale. "No, Sir Jimmy." The words scratch along your throat, dry from screams and sobs. With a few flutter of your lashes, the vision of him clears before you once more, waiting and studying you with an amused awe glimmering in his blue eyes.

"Good."

Not a second is spared before his thick fingers are moving again, working your sensitive bud with short and slow strokes, working you open for him until you're practically begging for more just like he knows you will. Your teeth clench and grit, attempting to hold back any whimpers his touch draws from your throat.

You don't dare look away from him again, and his face is a better target than the gore surrounding you. In fact, as you focus in on the intensity of his eyes, on the intoxicating caress of your clit, awareness of the surroundings fades entirely.

There's a twisted yet boyish charm about him that begins to consume you, in the soft sway of his golden locks with each brush, in the way his pink lips are parted with increasingly heavy breaths passing through.

They mimic the flow of yours, barely stifled by your pursed lips that tremble in time with your thighs. Jimmy is fixated on every response your body gives, the warmth that spreads against his hand with the rushing of your blood, clit pulsing and swelling against his touch, watching you unravel for him despite yourself.

In a split second his touch slips, dipping lower to curl his digits into your slick cunt. The unexpected intrusion catches you off guard, stubborn resistance slipping with your jaw going slack and a gasping moan bursting out. A throaty chuckle rumbles from his chest in amusement, your wet warmth coating his fingers.

The pads of his fingers press into the spongy spot along your wet walls that knocks the breath from your lungs, knees buckling beneath but the ropes around your wrists holds you in place. The grip on your hair loosens, free hand falling to grasp onto the fat of your ass to restrain you even further before his fingers begin a relentless pace.

The velour of his tracksuit presses against the bare, flushed skin of your side, body heat radiating into yours. There's no escape from him, from the stroke of his two digits against your walls. The pleasure quickly drowns out any shame that could arise from the wet sound that spreads from where your bodies meet.

"F-fuck…" A low whimper slips from your lips as each pass of his fingers adds to the growing pressure building with the incessant prodding of your g-spot. You're entirely helpless and at the crazed leader's mercy, but the thought seems to only add to your arousal.

"Tha's it…" There's a breathlessness to his voice and words mumbled against your ear, feeling the frantic pulsing of your walls around him. The juices leaking from your cunt spread down his hand, coating the rings that press into your flesh.

Any grip on reality you have left is quickly fleeting, unable to control the way your body and mind are giving in so easily to your basic animal impulses. The moans fall freely from your open lips, growing higher in pitch with the intensity of the pressure building in your core, a wave threatening to crash over with just a little… push.

Your head falls back with a strained squeal as the dam breaks, cunt gushing against his still plunging fingers. The obnoxious sound is drowned out from your ringing ears, hips rocking with every rhythmic clench of your cunt.

"Oh!" Jimmy exclaims, watching your pussy squirt and body writhe with a gleeful satisfaction. Only when your breaths calm do his fingers slip from inside you to instead spread the wetness along your slit.

"Look at the mess you made." The touch dissapears from your sex only to lift to your line of sight. The jewelry adorning his fingers shines even brighter under the lights with your juices coating them. "Now, be a good lass and clean up after your self."

There's no pause for an answer before the pads of his fingers swipe along your bottom lip, coaxing them open to slide along your tongue. Lost in the ecstasy still buzzing throughout your body, you hum softly at the taste of yourself, lips wrapping around the metal rings to gently suck the slick covering his fingers. The sweet tangy taste of your cunt spreads along your taste buds and his blue eyes watch with content.

"See? Charity's not so bad, aye?" His head tilts, eyes watching every flutter of your lashes and the way your lips purse, feeling the brush of your tongue.

"No, Sir." The obedient mumble leaves your lips just as the string of saliva attaching them to his fingers breaks.

A pleased hum meets you in response, "then surely you can handle another."

The return of his fingers into your sensitive pussy spurs a jolt in your limbs, tensing from the intensity still pulsing in your core. They curl just right, wasting no time to mercilessly rub that spot that feels like it's on fire, electric and liquid, spreading and burning you up from the inside. Each pass rips a cry straight from your lungs, thighs trembling from fighting the impulse to clasp around his hand.

The metal of his rings dig into the flesh of your ass with a tightening grip, but it's nothing in comparison to the sensation of his fingers, building up another tidal wave before the last one has fully waded. He watches the ragged breaths move through your heaving chest, catching in your throat with each curl of his digits.

Sweat beads on your skin, the velour of his suit clinging to you just as the warmth of his breath does, panting against your neck.

"Please, lord!" You're babbling and stuttering, the pathetic whine the only thing you can muster out. The thrusting of his fingers drains whatever power is left from your body, held within his hands like a toy, pliant and oh so responsive.

"You beg so sweetly, lass." The mocking and gravelly edge in his voice infiltrates your entire body with a toe-curling jolt, eyes rolling back at the sound. The toes of your boots dig into the sweat, slick, and blood splattered dirt below, the only thing keeping your body grounded and steady aside from the restraints burning your wrists and his remaining grip on your ass.

The sudden wet glide of his tongue, tasting the salt of the sweat and tears coating your jawline sends you unraveling again with a shout, entire body tensing and convulsing under the weight of the ecstasy his well kept hands rip from it. The sight of your juices squirting out of your greedy cunt, soaking his hand and the soil below captivates him entirely, fills every fiber of his body with a prideful fascination.

The sound of your sweet cries, the way your body shakes and trembles under his touch makes him ache painfully, you can feel it pressing incessantly against your thigh, begging for attention. He watches your soft and flushed flesh jerk and jolt while his fingers torture your swollen clit, rubbing loose circles around it as the last of your juices drip from your pussy.

The breaths sucked into your lungs feel raw and ragged, electricity buzzing through your limbs with the fading high that leaves a nearly overwhelming sensitivity in its wake. A sensitivity Jimmy either cares less about or is intentionally taking advantage of to push you to your limits. You can barely make out his form through tear blurred vision, half-lidded with exhaustion.

"Hmm…" Jimmy pauses and hums thoughtfully, "no, not enough. He demands more."

The words barely register before the moving touch of his fingers returning to your sore cunt does, letting out a pathetic whine in protest. "P-please, I can't!"

The tears glistening in your pleading eyes only serves to arouse him even more, earning the chastising click of his tongue. "Oh, but you can. And you will." His thick fingers slide back in to caress your sensitive walls, finding that spongy spot with ease like the back of his hand. "He's watching."

The curl of his digits hits like a white hot branding, walls clasping down around him instinctively at the nearly unbearable intensity. Tears fall freely, choked sobs bubbling up your throat with the strokes of his fingers. The erratic rolling of your hips does little to lighten the weight of his touch, forcing you to take the excruciating intensity of his touch against your overstimulated pussy.

"Your cries are Old Nick's delight." Jimmy purrs against the shell of your ear, sending a wave of tingles that cascade down your body. Your pussy is gripping him so tight he can barely move his hand, only rocking his curled fingers against your bruised g-spot faster and faster. You're not even sure how much you have left to give, but feel that pressure building once again, growing until you're sure you'll burst at any second.

It's not long before that dam breaks again with one last flick of his wrist, now drenched and slick with the cum that readily seeps from your weeping cunt. The shouts and cries that mark your orgasm echo off the wooden walls of the barn, a scream far different from the ones that'd inhabited the space earlier. Your walls pulse in protest at the loss of his touch, fingers ripped away before Jimmy takes a few steps back and watches the climax course through your body.

His blue eyes follow the way your entire body collapses, unable to hold yourself up any longer under the weight of overstimulated pleasure that shakes through you. The rope scarring your wrists is the only thing keeping your form suspended over the dirt below. He admires the way your flesh shakes, thighs wobbling and streaked with your slick. The sheen of sweat covering your skin glistens under the light, nipples hard against the cool air, eyes swollen from the endless stream of tears. You're a beauty.

You're the one.

Your head lulls to the side in exhaustion, propped against your arm to keep it from hanging. The rampant flurry of emotions and sensations that have raged through your body in the last hour leaves you near oblivious to the surroundings, until a shushing sound beckons your attention.

Despite the lack of noise now filling the space, he silences it anyway with a raised and pointed finger, eyes closing with a cock of his head, the soft whish of those blond curls with it. It appears as if he's listening intently, something calling out and whispering dark scripture into his ears.

Then, a wide smile splits his face, rotten teeth peeking through that reflect the nature of his next words.

"Yes, Old Nick is pleased with you." Jimmy chuckles and a tension you forgot was held within your shoulders eases and goes slack with the rest of your tired body. "He deems you worthy."

His arms cross and his body shifts, standing directly ahead to admire your form. The beat of silence that passes begins to fill with unease, slowly swirling in the pit of your stomach.

"But not as an ordinary Jimmy, no no no." Your gaze falls onto his shoes as they begin to scuff along the dirt floor, taking leisure steps closer. "He has far bigger plans for you."

Fingers still damp from your slick softly brush away the sweat drenched strands of hair sticking to your face away, tucking them behind your ear almost gently. A tenderness you can't fully trust, before slipping down to outline the frame of your face.

"You're special, aye. Deserving of a special and infernal mission from our Father."

Just when the touch begins to feel too good to distrust, it retreats and him with it, returning to circle you like prey. Your entire body aches, muscles stretched and worn from being restrained for too long but you muster what little strength remains, settling your feet back flat on the ground to hold yourself up again. Pain radiates everywhere, from your thighs to your lower back, to your biceps and burning wrists.

"Old Nick commands for our strength, our claws, our kingdom… to grow." Jimmy's voice projects his preaching to the whole room, to the onlookers you'd forgotten were even there and the reminder sends a fresh wave of embarrassment to join the heat flushing your skin.

"And you…" Your body jerks slightly at the sudden touch of his fingers slowly trailing down the curve of your spine. "Are his chosen vessel. He has ordered me, his favorite son, to plant the seed of our future fingers, of our unholy lineage..."

The soft fabric of his velour suit presses fully against your back with an unmistakable hard outline against your ass. Both hands move to tickle down your sides, sending a cold wave of shivers with it until they come to rest on your hips.

The warmth of his breath inches closer to your ear. "You will be bestowed the greatest honor Old Nick has to offer. My bride. My vessel to breed and birth our sons of Hell."

Hot flesh now presses against your lower back and you can't help the way your walls clench in anticipation. There's no going back now, no fighting it, and it's a far better fate than a torturous death, right?

Ringed fingers curling around the base of his cock shift him, angling the swollen head to dive between your lips as the other maneuvers you, guiding your ass back and spine arched to meet the final act of tonight's charity. He doesn't give it to you right away, opting instead to drag out the anticipation further with his tip slowly parting your lips and gliding back and forth. Your slick coats his shaft, each nudge against your overstimulated clit sending a tremble down your thighs.

He teases until your cunt is practically begging for it, drooling and pulsing with a deep seated need to be stretched and filled and even then, he holds out further. "Is that what you want, lass? You want me to fuck and breed you till you can no longer think straight, is that it?"

Your entire body reacts with a twitch, leaning back into him and answering before your lips can, earning a shaky chuckle under his breath in response.

"Yes… Sir Lord Jimmy." The desperate words come out as a plea, squeaking out from your hoarse, dry throat.

The truth is Jimmy can barely hold himself back any longer if he wanted to and your words of submission act as the firing shot at a race, one shift of his hips notching the head at the entrance of your fluttering cunt before sinking in, slow and steady. You gasp at the intrusion and lack of time to adjust as each thick inch stretches your sensitive walls far more than his fingers did, filling them with a deep, toe-curling ache. It knocks the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping once he's fully seated inside and unmoving, his blue eyes nearly rolling back as he relishes in the way your wet, hot heat envelops him.

You brace for impact, expecting a ruthless onslaught right away but it doesn't come. Not yet at least. Those golden curls graze your shoulder, hot breaths tickling your ear just as his warm hands latch onto your waist before sliding higher and higher, until they're cupping the weight of your bare breasts. His thick digits squeeze and fondle them, the cool metal of his rings a relief against your blazing skin.

A gasp leaves your throat when his hips rock while still balls deep, burrowing himself even deeper when his fingers pinch and roll your hard nipples between them mercilessly. Jimmy loves the way it makes your cunt clench around him, the little high-pitched whimper muffled through your lips. "Yesss. You'll make a perfect wee bride of Satan, won't you?"

Your walls feel stretched to their limits, throbbing with the sweetest pain you've ever felt, so consuming that your head feels light. "Yes, Sir Lord!" There's a tension held tight within your entire body, waiting and begging for the overwhelming glide of his cock using your cunt for all it's worth.

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, your pussy begins to feel empty with the retreat of his cock, only for a sharp thrust of his hips to collide with your ass, sending a wailing cry past your lips and body jerking forward from the force. His hands quickly return to your hips to steady you as he sets a relentless pace, holding you in place to take the brunt of every long and hard thrust, forcing you to take every thick inch over and over again.

Debauched screams and moans echo off the wooden walls, filling the space along with the sound of his hips slapping your ass. Your sore, fluttering walls can barely keep up with the rapid pistoning of his girth, the swollen tip of his dick already beginning to bruise your cervix. He's using you like a personal fuck toy with no choice but to take it and god, it's appalling and yet so arousing that you can't even muster feeling ashamed about it. You're completely lost.

Your cunt weeps for him just as your eyes do, tears streaking down your warm cheeks and juices coating his length. Your tits bounce in a way that feels obnoxious and obscene, moving in sync with the speed of his thrusts, the heavy weight of his balls slapping your clit with it.

"Fuck, your cunt really was made for this, wasn't it? She's gripping me so tight, lass." Jimmy groans, voice low and strained, a sharp slap joining it with a stinging pain radiating across your jiggling ass. The throaty whine you let out in response makes his cock jerk inside you.

"Yes! Fuck, yes! S-so good, Sir!" You're babbling desperately, voice wavering with the brutal pounding, practically drunk off the pleasure and pain.

"Look at you," A hand leaves your hip to grasp your hair, wrapping around and tugging to pull your head back with it. "So pretty and dumb off this cock already?"

The cries and moans scratch along your dry throat, growing strained against the relentless, toe-curling stroking of his girth along your sensitive walls. Every muscle in your body grows tense and coiled, electricity tingling through every inch of your body. It grows so intense your eyes roll back, slick dripping onto his balls, the pressure building in your core becoming unbearable.

"Tell me you want it." Jimmy huffs, so close to letting go completely, delivering another slap that'll leave a mark onto the meat of your ass.

"Please! Oh! I want it, want your cum!" He loves how utterly obedient and devoted you already are, so desperate to fulfill your newly appointed role that it makes his heavy balls draw up tight, threatening to spill over.

Another thrust is all it takes to send the tidal wave crashing over with a scream, pure ecstasy spreading over your entire body just as your cunt clamps around him, soaking his entire length with your cum. The vice grip of your velvety, fluttering walls sends him over the edge with a guttural shout that spirals into a string of whimpering moans, ropes of his hot seed spilling past your cervix and flooding your womb. He grinds himself even deeper, making sure it takes root to breed your eager cunt.

He remains there buried deep, forehead pressed against your shoulder until the the last of his cum is emptied inside you, heavy breaths beginning to even out. Once the last waves of pleasure begin to fade and his softening cock pulls out of your abused pussy, the weight of exhaustion hits and aches throughout your entire body, evidence of the tiring ordeal.

Tucking himself back in to the no doubt now ruined velour tracksuit pants, Jimmy takes a moment to admire his work with a tired but satisfied smirk, watching the slight tremble of your muscles, his milky seed dripping out of your raw cunt. Your half-lidded eyes are too heavy and dazed to notice.

A beat passes before his voice rings out. "Cut her down." Then, the soft shuffle of a few feet and fabric along with the nearly tear-jerking anticipation of relief. "She's not going anywhere."

[cherryxhaze]

𖦹 beautiful person award! once you are given this award, you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. if you break the chain, nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out ⸜(｡ ˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ 🧁

🥰

Thank you so much, darling. You're too sweet! Sending it right back at ya ❤️

[just-jack-oconnell]

Jack O'Connell at Mark Kermode Live in 3D in London February 9th, 📸 Julie Edwards./Alamy thank you to @lostgirl88

[spikedfearn]

OMG I CAN'T WAIT TO MEET YOU GUYS TOMORROW!!!

@cryptidvillage @sinfulteeth @madkingcrowley @nimisardenter @remmicksgoldcoin @cherryxhaze and @peter-newkirks-smolder!!!

[cherryxhaze]

I’M SO EXCITED

[the-lilted-tune]

Inked Remmick Drawings

[dxmurewrites]

My fave writers this year ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Most here are mutuals so I guess I am biased, but they all mean a lot to me and write some fucking amazing stuff regardless ︎ ♡

@cherryxhaze My baby Shelbs, whose been such a big help and blessing to me 🫶🏽 I’m so grateful for how much you’ve helped me this year and I’m glad to call you my friend 🖤 And your fics? Stunnin’

@spikedfearn Rosie!! If it weren’t for you, I don’t think I would’ve been inspired to start writing again 🤠🖤 Your work is unbelievable!! I love every single fic!! 🖤 ⋆˙⟡ ♡

@scannainscanrula Rockstar Remmick?? Abhi holy shit your mind, honestly one of my favourite series on this app, I love when I see you’ve updated 🖤

@pastabillities my baby beany posted her first fic the other day and you should all go and check it out 🖤 ilysm and I’m so grateful for you and every lil chat we have about literally everything 🖤 ⋆˙⟡ ♡

@flixpii Lyric!! Farmer!Remmick? Talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular 🤠 need dat biblically, you’re incredible ♡

@iceemochaa Lunaaaaa your Paddy works make me absolutely feral 🙂‍↕️ tbh they all do, but whewww, chefs kiss 🖤

@matrixfangs blessed be the whore is still on my mind ugh I love you so much, I want your brain 🫶🏽🖤 I appreciate you so much and am so grateful for you ⟡ ♡

@remmicks-salvation VAMP ilysm, I don’t know if you’ve been on tumblr in a while but I love youuuu and your works 🖤 I miss your content!!

@cryptidvillage my sweet Rosie providing me with my werewolf fix 😌 ilysm for joining me on my Jimmy freakisms ⟡ ♡

@sinfulteeth Jude my heart 🖤 Your writing is just amazing n i love yewww, I can’t wait for your next projects 🖤🫶🏽

@taiscedulcinea all the babies behind the paddy lovers club 🖤 ilyasm and all of your collaborated work ⋆˙⟡ ♡

Wishing everyone a Happy New Year! By all means comment your favourite writers/accounts and spread the love 🖤🫶🏽🌿

[cherryxhaze]

Beeeeeee, my darling, my wife, my sweet cheese. Thank you, I’m so glad to have you as a friend. And to receive praise for my fics considering how talented of a writer you are?? I’m flattered. I hope you have a great New Years love 🖤

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

unexpectedly sexy part of the Sinners credits. we LOVE a thoroughly sourced film.

[iceemochaa]

𝑆𝑒𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑡 𝑆𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎 𝐸𝑥𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒 𝑀𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡.ᐟ

Hello! Our server hosted an incredible Secret Santa fic exchange event and as the host, I created this post to clump everyone’s stories for your viewing pleasure !

Disclaimer : Some (if not all) will contain explicit written content! Viewer discretion is advised!

You can also follow the tag : ˗ˏˋ𝒮𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉 𝒮𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒶 𝐹𝒾𝒸 𝐸𝓍𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒ˎˊ˗

⋮ ⌗ ┆ Remmick :

Sink Your teeth (You’re in love for one night) | @madkingcrowley

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ Remmick seeks refuge in your cabin, but makes a request of you. You end up biting off more than you can chew.

Monster After Dark | @scrprints

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ An intoxicating game is underway. Outside a desolate, abandoned manor, the cold winter night is the perfect stage for the possessive hunt. A dance of fear and desire with the vampire you love, Remmick. But tonight, the handsome mask is gone. There is only the Monster. You run, thrilling in the predator's pursuit, desperate to survive the chase yet simultaneously longing for the moment of capture. You know the rules of this game. Surrender is inevitable. This is possession. And you are ready to give your beautiful, terrifying monster exactly what he craves?

Lose Control | @punani-san

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ It's late at night as you stand outside a Gentleman's Club, seeking respite after a busy shift. You have an intriguing encounter with a mysterious man when he approaches you. After a flirty exchange you invite him to watch you perform which results in him paying for your undivided attention, and soon enough you find yourself alone with him.

Come with me | @cryptidvillage

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ You’re a male werewolf being kept against your will in a barn by the Jimmies. An unexpected visitor comes to you in the night to rescue you.

A Study In Lace and Blood | @weavingduck

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ Brushstrokes of murder, stitches of suspicion. In London, the streets hide more than shadows, and every secret has teeth. You’re a seamstress who befriends a local troupe of ballerinas that have recently come to fear the dark. Amid whispers of Jack the Ripper on the loose, you decide to investigate alone and track a recent string of brutal murders, unaware that the killer lurks far closer than you think. You thought you controlled the hunt… but as clever and unafraid as you think you are, you’re soon about learn that curiosity comes with a price, and some hunts lead to dangerous rewards—as thrilling in bed as they are in the shadows.

Secret Santa Exchange | @nekkiotine

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ You've always liked Remmick, ever since you were both little kids. Little did you know, he's felt the same.

Better Watch Out | @spikedfearn

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ There’s a reason the townsfolk warn you not to go wandering alone this time of year—but you, with your pride and your temper, don’t listen. It’s only a few miles through the snow, after all, and you’ve never been one to fear shadows. But something walks the woods during the solstice—something old, antlered and cruel, cloaked in heat and hunger. What begins as an eerie journey to a remote cabin turns into a descent into myth and nightmare, where the chains that drag behind him aren’t just for show, and punishment is pleasure in the hands of the creature who’s been watching you all along.

Balsam | @nimisardenter

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ While home for the holidays you're hired to work part-time at your town's local Christmas tree farm. It's the perfect gig, really–that is, until your strange new coworker throws you off kilter.

At least there will be plenty implied | @eternalstrigoii

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ tba…

⋮ ⌗ ┆ Paddy Mayne :

Stress Relief | @foxtufts

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ Paddy has been advised to blow off some steam; you're looking to do the same. After a blind date, you're both left with some intense memories to take back with you from the bar restroom that neither of you can ignore.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ Patrick Sumner :

The Mercy of Limits | @flixpii

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ Something is wrong with you. patrick knows it the moment you stop fearing the woods and start craving them. in a decaying house far from society, he teaches you how to stay—through discipline, restraint, and a quiet intimacy that blurs the line between care and control.

Under the mistole with Patrick Sumner | @cherryxhaze

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ You find yourselves caught under the mistletoe at a company Christmas party. And though you try to run from the smoldering connection with the doctor, both it and he catch up with you in the washroom.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ Oliver Mellors :

The Last Leaves Of Autumn | @peter-newkirks-smolder

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ An impromptu walk through the forest becomes something much more intimate.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ Roy Goode :

Beyond Blue Eyes | @patronsaintofjackoconnell

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ This was hard to summarise, so I leave you with two song lyrics that accurately represent Roy himself in this story: My dreams, they aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be but Now that I met you, I finally know just where I'm headin'

Honey, Be Good for me | @iceemochaa

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ You hated him. He hated you. Somehow, that made you both compatible.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ Lion Kaminski :

Close Enough To Catch You | @impalalullibies

𐔌 synopsis ⫶ Lion Kaminski never stops moving not when he’s hurt, not when he’s exhausted, and definitely not when he’s sick. But when he finally can’t push through anymore, you’re the one who notices… and the one who stays.

I hope you all enjoy reading and please, be sure to like/comment/reblog whichever fic you’ve enjoyed reading. It helps the author and it also encourages them to create more content!

Again, Please be sure to give everyone lots of love and to follow their blogs for more content! Merry Christmas and have a Happy New Year !

[punishthemplease]

[patronsaintofjackoconnell]

Behind Blue Eyes

Alternatively titled: Lost and Found

Masterlist

My submission to the Secret Santa event. Merry Christmas to @eternalstrigoii - I hope I did your prompts justice

Summary: This was hard to summarise, so I leave you with two song lyrics that accurately represent Roy himself in this story: My dreams, they aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be but Now that I met you, I finally know just where I'm headin' Reader's gender is unspecified and there is no use of Y/N.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI. Minor injury, monster fucking, heavily implied attempted assault, werewolves, knotting

Baby's first smut would be a werewolf, wouldn't it

Thank you to the lovely Jude for creating my banner, and to the following amazing people who help me in the creation of this:

@sinfulteeth | @nekkiotine | @foxtufts | @soil-from-slaghtaverty

Thank you to @iceemochaa for hosting the event! You were amazing

Credit to @pixopix and @strangergraphics for the dividers

Men like Roy Goode were a rare breed. There were hundreds of gunfighters and thieves across the broad expanse of America who thought themselves charming and dangerous in equal measure, moving through towns with a certain arrogant swagger they had neither the skill nor the experience to back up when it came down to the draw. Roy meandered on horseback and dragged his feet with a sincere vulnerability and concealed competence that endeared him to every woman he encountered and drew a smug superiority from men all too proud of their derision. Usually those of his affliction adopted the temperament as an act, a carefully balanced disguise for the beast writhing under their skin, though in Roy's case there was no act. He was simply himself, in all ways, at all times and in all things. 

People didn't know Roy's name when he passed through; they didn't need to, and if they happened to recognise his features from the whispers that spread faster than the horses rode across the valleys and towns of the continent or the posters that unfitted lawmen pinned to notice boards, they quickly put the thoughts from their minds. His companion was a different matter. In every town you bore a different name, a different outfit, a different voice, sometimes a different gender; impossible to identify despite being the one that did all the talking. Quidnuncs whispered about Roy's lover being a famous performer nobody could rightly recall that had answered the call of adventure and villainy, disregarding the less romantic opinion of the law that Roy took a new lover every few weeks, disposing of past infatuations like a lame horse when the excitement wore off. It was a game of whispers that amused you both whenever it made the papers. 

Indentations in the earth warned of predators nearby large enough to kill an elk, but the risk was far outweighed by the reward. The game had been dwindling at an unusual rate, their tracks suggesting something fierce had driven them out. You lowered yourself to the ground as a shadow moved through the trees ahead, too large to be a human, not quite the shape of a horse. Your breathing slowed, until the rifle was as still as the forest around you as you aimed and fired. The shadow slumped, but by the time you reached your prey, all that was left was a trail of blood and an uneven disturbance in the duff. You followed the signs of a wounded animal and found a wolf the size of a small bear biting at its blood-matted shoulder. Its muzzle wrinkled as it exposed those huge teeth and let out a low warning. Despite the aggression, there was intelligence in its blue eyes. You examined the wound at a safe distance and determined there was no need to put the beast out of its misery, it would survive, though it would struggle to feed itself for a while. 

"I'll leave a carcass for you." Perhaps it was a sign of madness, bartering for the forgiveness of a hungry wolf big enough to slaughter a town, but the beast settled and you felt absolved somehow of sin.

"What are they saying about you now?" Roy was laid out on the grass with his hat over his face and his arm under his head as you waited for the time to pass. He'd already done his part in the early hours before dawn, scouting the area to be sure you weren't expected. He'd swiped the newspaper from a delivery wagon along the way.

"One of these days, you're going to have to let me teach you how to read, Roy Goode. Won't always be around to tell you what the letters mean." 

"Sure you will." Roy smiled and tilted his hat up to be able to meet your eyes. "I have your scent. Ain't a damn thing out there that can keep us apart for long." 

"You don't know that, Roy. I could come down with typhoid or get clipped by a train." 

"Uh-huh. Well the train ain't likely unless you're planning on dancing down the tracks in the direction of a rolling engine, now is it?" Roy let his body fall back and blinded himself with his hat again, shifting his shoulders to get comfortable. "Besides. I can always bite you if you come down hard with sickness." 

Roy had once vowed that he would only bestow that curse as a last resort, when an injury was fatal or an illness was terminal. It turned his stomach to think of forcing anyone else into his nomadic life of frenzied ostracism in the same way he had been dragged into it, screaming and afraid. This was different; he already had your enthusiastic consent, but the bite would be given only when absolutely necessary, not on the whims of the love and lust that drove so much of your time together. 

"'Witnesses claimed Goode escaped via the graveyard, likely riding for a valley past the ridge beyond. If this is the case he will be travelling East, and the following towns should be wary of his arrival.' Then they list about six places I've never been through, and… here. 'His current chosen companion appears to be a tall female with hair that is either dark or dirty and either short or kept high beneath her hat. She either carried a pistol or a rifle, was last seen wearing a brown dress or long coat and is suspected of the murder of Joseph Colliers.' Sounds to me like your witnesses are making things up, Mr Gilroy." 

Roy snorted. "So they have the wrong direction, the wrong clothes, the wrong weapon…" 

"I don't even know who Joseph Colliers is. Wasn't our doing, however he died."

"You know what the papers are like. Whatever sells a story." Roy sat up and took off his hat. "I can smell a storm coming in. Should make it easier to disappear, if the horses can handle the way." 

"Yours ain't limping anymore so we should be safe." 

"We're never safe. Ready?" His keen ears picked up on the signal they'd been waiting for: the imminent arrival of the express. 

He hadn't intended to enter the saloon. Brothels were an assault on his senses and he could smell the backroom from a mile away. A familiar scent caught his attention beneath the sex, blood and alcohol, his shoulder aching as it dragged up a fragmented memory of moonlight, lead and a sacrificial deer. It was distinct, something that had followed him into the waking consciousness that was ripped from him during those lunar transformations. In his memory it was apprehensive, like a tentative fawn too naive to know it was too late to run. Now it was acidic with fear, and mingled with the tar of rageful lust. He followed it without a comprehensible thought, through rowdy tables and forbidden doors, until he found the source. 

"You got one chance to walk away before I blow your goddamn brains out," Roy warned. The threat was anything but empty; it was a crime he couldn't abide. A fist swung for his face and he moved in retaliation, shifting his gait to avoid the blow and land his own in the stomach of the aggressor. It took three bullets to put them all down for good. 

You regarded your saviour with bewildered recognition, an impossible likeness in those indignant blue eyes. And then Roy was gone, riding out before anyone could catch up to him. 

You rode in together as the train pulled away, hitting the bank while the safe was full. Roy said nothing, as usual, his role restricted to pointing his weapon, grabbing the bag and listening for unwanted intruders on your carefully orchestrated event. You were gone before the law even knew you were there, two bags to a saddle. 

The aim was to cut through the forest the town had begun to encroach on. You'd ride as far as the horses could manage then set up camp, alter your appearances and study the map for your next destination. The last time you hit National City, you'd found an abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere and spent two months enjoying the wilderness until the family that owned it returned and you'd had to escape out the back door. It was those brief stints of isolation that sang to Roy's inner wolf. He felt whole when his biggest worry was not devouring his own horse when the full moon took over. You might have settled down in such a place permanently if not for Roy's infamy and that relentless call to roam. 

Something familiar and unwelcome cut into Roy's concentration, scratching at his senses like a feral bobcat. He reached over for your reins and used the leverage to slow your paces until the horses stopped. Silence echoed around you as Roy tugged down his scarf. He turned his horse slowly, watching for any movement in the trees, that distinct essence raising his hackles. You knew better than to interrupt when his lupine inclinations rose to the surface, taking measured breaths to reduce distraction for a tense few moments. Finally, Roy handed over his canvas bags and gave a firm command, "South. Follow the river." I'll find you, was the unspoken promise.

You weren't strangers anymore. You'd chased each other across the country, a mutual if reluctant obsession driving you together, and eventually you'd fallen willingly into that primitive need to belong to one another. The fire of your mutual lust consumed you like wildfire once you'd set the kindling in place. Roy tried to be gentle; the wolf had other ideas. Claws tore to shreds where fingers tried to draw apart fabric and fangs left sharp lines where lips were desperate to taste. 

"Are you sure you can take it?" Roy grunted, digging what was left of his sanity into the earth as you lay beneath him, eager for the beast. It wasn't the first time you'd been together, or the first time you'd taken his forever altered cock, but beneath the moonlight Roy couldn't control how much of the animal consumed him. Rationality would be abandoned in the mating and you would be trapped in the whims of a monster breeding its bitch. 

Your answer was lost beneath the sound of his blood rushing in his ears, followed by a succession of cracks and an inhuman roar. It didn't matter. It was there in the way that perfect arch urged his rutting hips to find welcoming wet warmth, presenting through submission. The wolf knew its mate well. You'd spent so many nights saturated in each other that, even in a mindless haze, he would never cause you harm. That didn't stop teeth sinking into the back of your neck, holding you in place, drawing tiny rivulets of blood as an aching cock buried itself deeper. Whines blended together in a symphony of desperation as the wolf snapped his hips faster, getting harsher with the intensity of the motion. He pressed harder against your writhing body as you both shuddered through a release. His knot locked him in place and neither of you moved, him unwilling and you incapable. If there was no going back before, the inevitable was settling in now.

Roy inspected the bite the next morning. It was barely a scrape. The wolf hadn't given a proper bite yet, but it was only a matter of time before patience would run dry and a final claim would be laid. 

Frank Griffin was no fool. He'd seen what Roy Goode was, a devil-touched beast wearing the flesh of a boy he had loved as his own, but so too had he seen the opportunity taming the foul fiend could bring. Roy was tainted, not quite consumed, and therefore it was his duty to save him. Even if it meant breaking him in a well-engineered trap first. He watched as you rode down the river like the law was an inch behind, then nudged his own mount out of hiding and fired. 

Your horse reared as his bullet grazed your shoulder. A well-aimed warning that promised Frank would have shot to kill if he'd a mind in the moment, and he still might. Nervous but well trained, your mare stood her ground as Frank leaned forward and kept his weapon ready. 

"Am I supposed to be afraid of you, Frank Griffin?" You spoke with a self-assured sort of antagonism. 

"Most people would be. You'd be smarter if you were, especially knowing me the way you do." Frank warned in turn, a stand-off in place. "But you have me at a disadvantage." 

"Call me Bonnie."

"That ain't your name." 

"It is for this conversation." 

"Not Sam or Diane? How about Michael?" Frank rattled off a few of the names the papers had ascribed, trying to decipher just what kind of crazy he was dealing with. His eyes travelled down, searching for any indication of your true identity. Dark clouds rolled overhead, harbingers of a storm that could make the river treacherous. 

"What can I say? I like the way a new hat smells." 

"You don't carry a gun."

"I don't need to." 

"Because you think Roy will always be there to save you? He won't." 

"Is that right?" Your tone was indecipherable, but there was confidence in it. "That pistol is awfully loud, don't you think?" 

Wandering from the group had become a habit for Roy. As he matured, he found himself growing evermore resentful of Frank Griffin and the gang he was expected to call his family. They were volatile in every way imaginable, tempered only by brief moments of fabricated benevolence meant to soothe the echoes of long dead men demanding Griffin's soul be dragged to the depths.

As familiar as his isolation was, having travelled that lonely expanse nearly all his life, something in the air was different that night. It was as if the world itself had become stagnant, not a sound or a sight beyond the whispers of a chilling wind and the eerie glow of a cloudless full moon. Roy had settled on an abandoned log, lingering in the chill instead of sticking to his usual routine of sparking a campfire. Behind him, his horse was nervous, body shifting in a way that suggested it could bolt at any moment. 

"Easy now," Roy stood slowly, easing himself up like the shadows themselves were hunting him. Something deep in his gut suggested they were. Behind the treeline, a heavy, calculated weight broke a fallen branch. Roy's hand settled on his .38 and he inched towards the sound with careful footing. "Who's there?" 

The beast moved faster than he could comprehend it, a hulking figure of fang and fur and a ferocious sound that would haunt any man to insanity. Roy fired three shots, never knowing if they even landed before those teeth tore into him. 

He woke alone, his clothes torn and bloody but his body unmarred, and the beast nowhere to be seen. There was an ache in his jaw that made his lip curl and his tongue smother over his traitorous teeth. They felt sharper somehow, as did everything else around him. He was drowning in his own senses. A painful scream turned to an unsettling roar as he pressed his face into the dirt beneath him and willed it all to repose. 

The scent was turning stale, the distinctive sign that Roy was following it in the wrong direction. It branched off in several routes, mingling with other familiar odours. An ambush laid ahead. He considered circling around and picking off the old gang one by one, simultaneously sending a sign to Griffin that these games would not be tolerated. He had too much to lose now to entertain the mad bastard who had impersonated fatherhood to claim ownership over his youth. 

A gunshot broke his concentration, his head whipping instinctively towards the sound before thunder followed. The rains could come but Roy didn't need Griffin's scent anymore. The gang was forgotten as he pushed his horse into a gallop, heading straight for the river. The storm on his heels was a light drizzle compared to the animalistic rage that was rising in him. The wind was in his face, carrying sharp traces of that unmistakable copper. His snarl brought forth that barely constrained predator beneath the skin. 

It had been days, Roy wasn't sure how many; they had mostly blended together in a haze of sensory assault and insatiable hunger. He didn't know if his sins had caught up to him or if God had finally taken pity when a rider cast a shadow over him. He looked up slowly, struggling to keep his breathing steady. "I can't…" 

"I know." The man guided him to a settlement. Among the horses being tended to by children, Roy spotted his own mount and was glad to know it hadn't been killed by the thing that had attacked him. Roy didn't know who these people were, but some smell that held a lingering familiarity told him he could trust the natives. They taught him what he was and how to manage it, and warned him not to go after the man that had cursed him, but they would not let him leave without his horse. 

"What does a wolf-man need a horse for anyway? I'm fast enough on my own two feet." Roy was frustrated every time his horse ran from him, too afraid of the predator it knew had twisted his very bones. 

"You must live as a man, or one day you will be nothing but the wolf." His friend warned. 

Roy took a deep breath, heeding that warning more readily than even he had expected, and shook out the tension in his body. "Alright." He took a step forward and watched the horse, waiting for any sign at all that it was adjusting to the proximity. 

It took a wealth of long days and patient nights, and even longer for the wolf to learn it had to hunt elsewhere, but eventually Roy climbed into the saddle and found a part of himself repaired by the bond they'd worked so hard to forge. It was still unsettled beneath him, not as eager to have him on his back as it once had been, but it hadn't thrown him yet. 

"You'll have to do it all again one day. Some of them will never learn to tolerate you, so choose the horses wisely." 

"Tolerate." Roy stroked the horse's neck. "That all they'll ever do? Tolerate me?" He shook his head, willing himself to remain calm, just as the good folk had taught him. "I used to be good with horses."

"You still are." 

"They just ain't good with me." 

"It is the way of things. Do not let this curse consume you. Control it." 

"And adapt with it, I know." Roy urged the horse forward. "Why does he smell like a feast still?" 

"Because you are a wolf." 

"I don't want to be a damn wolf." 

"Then live as a man." 

Roy laughed under his breath and shook his head. "I know. I know." 

"Why are we here, Frank?" 

Frank's pride writhed under the sharp sting of your dismissive exasperation. Where he was used to fear or respect, or a healthy mix of the two, from those who knew of him, you offered him only contempt and boredom.

"I just wanted to see for myself what turned my boy so readily from my side. Roy was good and loyal before you came along."

Something evil tainted the air around Frank Griffin. Roy knew when the tribe took him in that he couldn't stay forever. His newfound nature was a threat to everyone around him, but with the wolf more or less under control Roy wasn't sure he was ready to live a life of near isolation either, so he'd ridden out towards where he knew Frank would be camped to rejoin his makeshift family. 

The darkness that surrounded them all lit a fear inside him that made his stomach curl with the itch to escape them. It didn't make sense for his intuition to deem them so volatile, and yet there he stood, reluctant to accept Frank's raised arm. 

"Welcome home, son." Frank watched him with wary eyes. Something had changed in Roy in his extended absence, he just didn't know what yet. 

"Nothing to do with me. You were already the curse in Roy's shadow when I came along." 

Frank found that hard to believe, but any protest he might've voiced was silenced by a raucous snarl that straightened his spine like a rabbit in the jaws of a lion just as quickly as it softened the tension that had been imperceptibly building in you. Your mare flicked her ears and snorted softly as Frank's own horse stomped its feet and threw its head up in alarm. 

"You got a good partner here, Roy. Got about as much spine as you did the day we met. Not too smart though." He didn't raise his voice; he didn't need to, the phantom looming over you could hear him as clear as if he were sharing the saddle. 

Roy rolled his shoulders and dismounted. You used your teeth to pull off your gloves without urgency, bringing your exposed fingers to your barely concealed smirk to amplify a strong whistle. It travelled far enough for Roy's horse to respond at a canter, then settle once its reigns were in your hand. Frank took another long look at you, realising far too late that Roy was just the lickspittle.

Beneath him, Frank's mount began to shift again, refusing to be settled as he dug in. The slow approach of a starving wolf was inevitable, but Frank had seen his death. This wasn't it. He planted his feet on solid ground seconds before the horse bolted. "You'll have to teach me how to make the beasts behave, son."

"I'm not your son," Roy's skin was crawling, a rumble of gravel and spite flowing beneath his flesh like a river of vitriol. If it were a full moon, he'd have crushed Griffin's head between his colossal maw. As it was, he wanted to reach into the devil's chest and rip out his black heart. The beast recoiled at the thought of both, bile coating his tongue just considering the taste of such vermin. It wouldn't give their enemy the satisfaction. 

It didn't take long for Roy to make his mind up. There was a distinct sensation that could only be described as wrong that crept around them like a miasma everywhere they went. The more Roy pondered on that scent, the more he realised just how blind he had been. The warning that had been repeated to him so often haunted his nightmares. Be a man, or become a wolf. 

Exhausted by sleepless nights and blood soaked visions, he made his mind up. In the dead of night, while Frank was distracted with a whiskey and a saloon girl, Roy took off. He didn't have it in him to do what the wolf wanted, to rip out the throats of monsters disguised as men, so he took the coward's way and held some naïve hope that Griffin would let him go. 

In the end, it was anticlimactic. There was no hesitation or reminiscent feelings of a childhood saved by a false preacher. He looked at you, as he always did before the kill, saw a subtle and familiar gesture you gave that allowed him to act, then fired. Two bullets in quick succession; one through the heart then one through the head. His last words were an aborted wheeze Roy didn't even pay mind to. Griffin's horse was still running, headed in the direction of the town you were still supposed to be fleeing. It would be taken in by an opportunistic stable or an altruistic bleeding heart, and it'd have a better life for it. 

"We've been here before," he approached you and reached up to examine where the bullet had drawn blood. It was shallow, barely a graze. "Nothing changes."

"Roy."

"Nothing changes. We might as well keep to the river now. Head for Moses." Roy climbed back into the saddle. "There's someone I want to introduce you to." 

"Who?" 

Roy smiled as your hand settled over his with tender intent. "Lucy Cole."

[cherryxhaze]

"Rationality would be abandoned in the mating and you would be trapped in the whims of a monster breeding its bitch."

Beck's you should've heard the sound this line pulled from me oh my god. I love the way you write, a true storyteller!

[peter-newkirks-smolder]

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐿𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝐿𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝓊𝓂𝓃

An impromptu walk through the forest becomes something much more intimate.

TW- smut, praise kink, porn with out a plot, biting, oral fixation WC- 2K+ - Pairing- Oliver Mellors x Fem Reader

18+ Content!! Minors DNI!!-

A/N- Behold my submission to the Remmick Losers Club Secret Santa event. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to @impalalullabies ! I hope you like it.

Middle image credit- @scrprints Thank you to the best beta reader- @foxtufts Thank you to @iceemochaa for organizing the SS exchange!

It was early autumn near the small town of Tevershall. Yellow leaves from grand oak trees fell gracefully from the ancient bows. Robins and redpolls hop through the branches of oak trees older than the streets they watch silently over. A red squirrel scurries through the blanket of leaves searching for acorns to bury. 

You were walking home down the wooded path through the falling leaves and birdsong. You worked at Wragby Hall keeping up with the estate house along with others while the Chatterly’s were abroad. The trail you liked to take home would send you across the estate. It was a longer walk but it was peaceful. It gave you the chance to clear your head. 

You were lost in your thoughts when you were thrown back to reality from the sound of a gunshot followed by the hollering of a familiar voice — the gamekeeper, Oliver Mellors. You and Oliver had been friends for years, but since he had returned from the trenches in France he had kept mainly to himself. You’d see him from time to time speaking with the gardener or bringing fresh game to the cook. He always seemed in a hurry to disappear back into the forest and fields he found endless comfort in.

You crept carefully over mossy stones and tree roots as you followed the sound of Oliver’s gunfire. You cross an old wooden bridge and race down a long forgotten trail. You can feel your heart pounding as you stop short of a field of heather. There, standing tall with his rifle pointed at a flock of fleeing grouse, was Oliver. 

He stood clad in a blue wool jacket, rough stitches running up the side from a past hurried fix. He wasn't a tall man but he stood steady like an ancient oak. With patience honed from years of hunting on the estate he targeted a particularly plump grouse.

BANG!

The grouse fell as his bullet found its mark. Flossie, Oliver’s faithful hunting dog, darted through the heather to retrieve the bird as Oliver reloaded his rifle. 

You crept closer, breath caught in your throat. As you inched through the heather you spooked a group of grouse from their hiding place. The birds took flight in a panicked mass attracting Oliver’s attention. He turned in his heel and fired at the birds and at you.

You let out a scream as bullets pass just inches away from you. 

Oliver lowers his rifle and squints. 

“What are you doing?” he shouts, his voice more concerned than angry. He unloaded his rifle in a haste and dropped the firearm to the ground.

You stood brushing the dirt from your clothes.

“I was just watching you shoot.” you say with a huff. 

“I could’ve shot you!” Oliver said. “It’s not safe sneaking up on a man while he’s hunting, especially an ex-soldier like myself.”

“You’d think an ex-soldier would be a good enough shot not to shoot someone in plain sight.” you say crossing your arms.

“You’re right, lass.” Oliver quipped. “I am a soldier. If I wanted to shoot you I wouldn’t have to try. I’d just aim and fire like you’re one of those grouse.”

You stare at him as the thought races through your mind — he has killed men before. You could almost see him in his uniform in the trenches calling out orders with that gruff voice. He then laughs causing you to snap out of your trance. 

“You do shoot well.” you say with a chuckle.

“I could teach you to shoot if you’d like.” Oliver smiles. “It’s easier than it looks.”

“Could you?” you ask, your eyes lighting up at the opportunity.

Oliver nods, picking up this gun.

“Aye. Watch and learn.” he grins. He then aims his gun steadily and pulls the trigger with an empty click.

“Watching you shoot isn’t going to teach me anything.” you sigh.

“Then let’s try a more hands-on approach.” he smiled. He placed the rifle in your hands and stood behind you guiding your movements. 

“Keep the stock tight into your shoulder.” he said, his lips close enough to your ear that you can feel his breath. 

He placed his hand under yours and guided your fingers to the trigger. 

“Make sure you have your target in sight.” he said in a whisper as he moved his hand from the small of your back to your waist. He’s close, closer than you had expected.

Your breath hitches as you feel Oliver’s hand squeeze at your side. You try to stay focused on the shooting lesson but you can feel Oliver pressing himself against you just so. 

You press yourself against his front, feeling the growing tension. You gently drop the rifle to the ground and turn to face him.

“Here.” he whispered, “Right here. Damned to those who can see us. I want them to see us.”

This wasn’t your first time having Oliver, not by any means. You had been in his cottage and in his bed enough times to know what the gamekeeper enjoyed. Before the war you would often visit Oliver after long shifts or on days off to steal a kiss or a moment of his time. You had laughed together, spent hours helping him with his duties on the estate, and all the while finding your way between his legs. Since he had been back from the war, the visits were less frequent. For the first few weeks you weren’t sure if he had come back at all seeing how he had become rather reclusive — that is until you learned when he usually came out to hunt. 

“Oliver,” you murmur, voice breaking for just a moment, “I’ve taken a job in London…”

Oliver’s eyes widen with heartbreak and horror. He holds your face in his hands, studying you for what he prays isn’t the last time.

With a rough kiss, Oliver pulls you to the ground. His lips dance across your skin as his hands make short work of straps and facets keeping both of your clothes on. 

You pant as Oliver’s teeth scrape against your neck in a fervent madness that only your taste can satisfy. You undo the button to his trousers as he slides out of his suspenders. Your hands grasp hold of his cock and pump it slowly.

Oliver brought his large hands under your blouse and squeezed hard at your breasts. You let out a cry from the pleasure as Oliver kisses hard at your neck. His stubble scratches against your soft skin leaving sensitive abrasions across your neck and shoulders. 

“Turn over for me, lass.” he growls, his hands already guiding you onto your stomach.

You roll over as Oliver's strong hands force your legs open. The motion forces an inhale from you; usually, he was so tender, but there was something additional to the way he shoves your legs apart. He pulls out his cock to begin rubbing it against your clit. You both groan at the way Oliver drags through your folds easily, and you hear that whine of his that you never get tired of missing. 

"You're already so wet for me." he purrs.

He pulls back enough so that the blunt head of his cock pushes into you, already stretching in a way that has you cry out underneath him. You know him well enough to know what he's doing; if this is to be the last time you get to see him, you know he wants you to feel him for as long as possible. Even as far away as London, you know you'll still ache for him.

Oliver grunts as he pushes into you all the way, shuddering at how well your cunt always fits him. Better than anyone he's known. He wants to savor it, but he can't help himself, already thrusting harshly into you like he's trying to leave his mark to match the blossoming hickeys on your neck.. You begin to whimper loudly as he fucks you. He bites at your shoulder, the pain blends with pleasure as you scream out for him. 

“You’re doing so good for me.” he pants heavily against you. “So very good.”

The sting of your news is clear in the back of his throat, but he means every bit of praise all the same. 

His mouth latches onto your nape. He sucks and bites at the sensitive flesh leaving a trail of deep toned hickeys across your skin. Every searing bite into your skin becomes a claiming mark you want to carry forever with you. You wish you didn't have to leave. They burn in the cool air but his lips aren’t gone for long before he begins to kiss you once more. His rough kisses coat every spot of skin he can find as he savors the sweet taste of your passion.

You meet every deep roll of Oliver's hips, and though his touch borders on possessive, something about it is so heartbreakingly final. His hands grip you tightly as he fucks you, seemingly not remotely bothered about what anyone else would think if they caught you like this. It's as if he's proud to show you off to the entire estate with every deep drag of his pulsing cock.

When his panting begins to climb, you feel him twitching against your slick walls before you hear him start to whimper with need. The sound has your cunt clench around him, then it's your turn to praise him. "Feel so good for me, fill me up just right every time." Your words seem to have an impact on him, drawing tiny, desperate noises straight from his chest.

The stretch of him inside you sends you barrelling towards your climax, and you can't help but moan loudly as your cunt begins to clench around him. Your and Oliver's pants and cries echo in a duet of ecstasy as you both end up coming at the same time, with you pushing him over the edge.

"Fuck-" You hear Oliver's needy swear at the same time his cock twitches hard against your walls, and before he can even warn you, he's spilling into you with a gasp. You meet every deep roll of Oliver's hips, and though his touch borders on possessive, something about it is so heartbreakingly final.

His hands grip you tightly as he fucks you, seemingly not remotely bothered about what anyone else would think if they caught you like this. It's as if he's proud to show you off to the entire estate with every deep drag of his pulsing cock.

When his panting begins to climb, you feel him twitching against your slick walls before you hear him start to whimper with need. The sound has your cunt clench around him, then it's your turn to praise him. 

"Feel so good for me, fill me up just right every time." Your words seem to have an impact on him, drawing tiny, desperate noises straight from his chest.

The stretch of him inside you sends you barrelling towards your climax, and you can't help but moan loudly as your cunt begins to clench around him. Your and Oliver's pants and cries echo in a duet of ecstasy as you both end up coming at the same time, with you pushing him over the edge.

"Fuck-" You hear Oliver's needy swear at the same time his cock twitches hard against your walls, and before he can even warn you, he's spilling into you with a gasp.

Oliver holds you close as you lay breathless among the heather. You feel secure, safe in his strong arms. For a moment you just lay there staring up at the clouds overhead. You press a soft kiss to Oliver’s hand, your heart heavy.

“Is this goodbye then?” he chokes, his own stoic eyes threatening to water.

“For now.” you nod, your chest aching. 

He pulls you into a tight embrace and cries out softly. You sigh into his warmth. This decision you’ve made isn’t one you made lightly but staying in your small hometown was no longer an option.

“You’ll write to me, won’t you.” he asks, his eyes desperate for anything to keep you by his side even in the form of a letter.

“Of course.” you smile through the heart ache. “I’ll come back and see you during the holidays. This won’t be forever, Oliver. I swear it.”

He smiled and kissed you softly with lips that were still a tad swollen. He just holds you there, savoring every moment of time he has left with you until the sun begins to set, painting the sky with oranges and pinks. 

As you stand to leave he kisses you once more with a silent promise he’ll wait for you. You smile softly  to him with your own promise to come back some day and to that promise he clings as you walk back down the forested trail and out of sight of your love — of him.

[iceemochaa]

✶‧₊˚ ┊ Hσηєу, Ɓє Ɠσσ∂ Ƒσя Mє

Pairing : Roy Goode X Reader‎

꒰ Description ꒱ ⋮ You hated him. He hated you. Somehow, that made you two very compatible.

꒰ Credits ꒱ ⋮ This is dedicated to the lovely @cherryxhaze ! Merry Christmas and I hope you love reading this as much as I loved writing this. Thank you to my pookie @flixpii for reading this over and giving it the stamp of approval! I tried to keep the southern tone in the dialogue but kinda gave up towards the end so my apologizes to western truthers🕊️

꒰ Rating ꒱ ⋮ 18+ mdni, mean!Roy Goode, spanking, creampie, rope play, mentions of gun violence, virgin!reader, first time, mentions of misogynistic talk (but it isn’t anything serious, more for a comedic effect), lowkey a comedy with porn,

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You didn’t like him— actually, scratch that, you hated him.

Hated that smile, hated his clothes, hated his pretty face, and that charming crooked grin. Hated that he spoke in a way that reminded you of riding in green fields with the breeze in your hair. Hated the way he laughed, hated that damn gun he liked to bring out when he wanted to be intimidating— And fuck it, you even hated his damn name.

Roy Goode.

What kind of parent names their child that?

It’s not like you were a hateful person; you were actually very nice to those who treated you with respect and kindness, which was hard to come by. The saying “treat those the way you want to be treated” was your motto, and unfortunately, Roy Goode was excluded from it.

You were the only woman in the group, the only one who had to jump over hoops to prove oneself.

The men didn’t think you had it, didn’t think you would be able to survive. But Frank saw something in you, saw potential that he could curate into something incredible. 

He taught you how to read people, look at their body language, and guess what they were thinking with a single twitch in their brow and a flicker in their eyes. 

Frank favored you. Calling you the darling of the group. Treating you like a daughter and making sure you had everything you could dream of— but,  it didn’t help that Frank also favored Roy— the only one in the group that he seemed to praise over and over like he was his true child, like he was God's greatest gift on earth.

And it’s an entirely other thing when his so-called “son” likes to rub it in your face more often than not.

There were many valid reasons you didn't like Roy. For one, he was a man, which automatically put him at the bottom of your favorites list. Men were nasty creatures with a one-track mind, the type who would take one good look at you and decide that the only thing you were good for was being a housewife and maybe begging on your hands and knees for something more.

It took you a while for the respect to come. For them to stop treating you like a helpless baby deer and instead, treat you like you were one of the guys. You knew you could never uphold those standards, knew that the world you were living in didn’t care, but eventually, they started to notice that potential Frank saw in you— and everyone else started to see it too.

There were a few good men you could count on one hand who didn’t fit the status quo and Roy certainly wasn’t on that list,

He didn’t treat you with respect, he rarely ever acknowledged you— but when he did, when he opened his mouth to critique your shooting skills or your ability to fight one-on-one, you felt your blood boil 1000 degrees over.

Usually, you could handle it, opting to ignore his comments and otherwise unhelpful notes about the way you did things.

“Gotta make sure your posture is more fixed.”

Who gives a shit?

“Make sure you hold your gun with a firm grip.”

You could hold his neck with a firm grip.

“A smile could do you good. Too pretty not to have one but then again, you insist on being one of the guys. So that clocks.”

You were going to strangle him in his sleep. Wrap your hands around his pretty neck and watch the life leave his blue eyes, make sure you remember the way he struggled beneath you and hoped to God he ended up in Hell—

 Deep breaths. 

Deep, deep breaths. 

Super deep breaths— Anything to manage your temper and keep you from acting on these homicidal thoughts.

There was only so much you could manage though, and the catalyst to your final straw happened the day you were supposed to be going on a date.

You almost forgot what it was like when there was a man who actually treated a lady like a lady. The type who didn't view you as some helpless creature but instead showed interest in a nicer, romantic aspect that never seems to come your way.

You were stuck in a rundown town, sitting outside while the others stayed in and tormented the bartender. 

You didn’t like this part, leaving innocent victims to Frank's wild dogs— but there wasn’t much you could do to stop it. Like always, you stayed out of it and enjoyed a moment of peace while you still had the chance to. 

And then you saw him.  Tall, with big brown eyes, an accent that could make anybody swoon and his horse— God, his horse was the most beautiful stallion you’ve ever seen. A rare black beauty with a mane that flowed in the wind when he rode by. 

You didn’t know who he was, where he came from, what his business was, but it didn’t matter when he jumped off his horse like a fairytale prince and took your hand in a declaration of love. 

He placed a kiss against the top of your hand and called you the most beautiful lady he’s ever laid his eyes upon.

Of course, you looked at him sideways— told him that you’ve heard that a thousand times over, and that he had to do better than that. But the way he genuinely dropped his eyes, shyness brewing over, the look of a man who was pretending to be something he wasn’t— it made you smile.

Sure, it couldn't hurt to drop the tough girl act and also pretend to.

You told him to come back the next day. Told him that if he showed up, you would give him a chance. He accepted with a large smile and promised that he wouldn’t be late.

You didn’t know somebody was listening, didn’t know somebody was watching and planning to ruin your moment for their own selfish benefits.

You waited.

You waited and waited for what seemed like forever.  Sitting on the steps with the cutest dress you stole from some poor rich woman. It was red, a dazzling show of a rose petal under the moonlight. You never felt so nervous and happy. Almost as if there was something more to life than trying to compete in a man’s world.

But he never showed.

You walked back to the inn with tears trailing behind you and an even bigger hatred towards men.

When you walked up the stairs, walking past your so-called “family”, you barely acknowledged them when they asked where you were and why your face was all puffy. 

You sat on the bed, planted your face in your hands, and screamed a tune that made anybody outside of your door afraid to come in. 

All but one. 

The knock at your door was ignored. You didn’t feel like seeing anybody. 

Another knock at your door made your jaw tighten. 

The third knock made you get up and throw the door open with a force that made it crack against the wall. 

Roy Goode,  the last person you wanted to see who was standing in all his glory, grinning from ear to ear like he knew something you didn’t and wanted to rub it in your face. 

“Why the long face sweetheart?” 

“I wish you would die— like, fly off your horse and tumble into a ditch.” You groaned. 

“It’s nice to see you too.” 

He pushed past you, looking around the room and inspecting your furniture. “Real nice dress you got on, what’s the special occasion?”

“Your funeral.”

“Funny, I’m pretty sure I made it known that I like the color green.” 

You weren’t in the mood to argue anymore. 

You sat back on the bed, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand, and sighed heavily. “Roy, please. I don’t feel like fightin’ with you.” 

“Didn’ come here to fight— just wanted to see you.” 

That caught your attention. 

“See me?”

He hummed lightly, “Heard the boys mention you looked off. Said you looked like a puffer fish dipped in red paint.” 

“Very funny. Can you leave?”

“But also—“

You looked at him, curiosity itching into your face. 

“I wanted to see the look on your face.” 

“The look on my face?” You repeated back, even more confused than you were before. 

Roy always said and did things that were off— not enough to comment on, but enough to note. You would often catch him pulling out a white envelope and staring into it like he was lost in a daze. Like he couldn’t believe what he was holding and then stuffed it back into his pockets like it didn’t matter. 

You rolled your eyes, tired and completely done with life so far. “I don’t have a look on my face you asshole.” 

“Yeah you do— had it when you came in,” He pointed to your very obvious distressed form. “Puffy eyes, flushed face, dry lips—“

“Tryin’ to say I cry ugly?” 

He smirked. “You said it, not me.“

You stood up from the bed. “Get out—“

“But I wanted to see the look on your face,” He stepped closer, inches away from you. “—After I told you that your prince charmin’ was found with a bullet wound to the chest.”

That’s when you froze, “Prince Charming? You don’t mean…” 

“Didn’ take much, seein’ as he fell easily. You know, men like that don’t have good intentions, sweetheart. I was just lookin’ out for ya—“

Processing his words was like stuffing rocks into a copy machine, it didn’t work, wasn’t compatible— and damn near didn’t make sense. 

“You…you killed him because he asked me out and you didn’t like that?”

“Basically—“ and he quickly raised his hand, “but it was for a good reason!”

And it all came crashing down on you like a tidal wave. 

The hate you felt for him, how heartbroken you were a few minutes ago because you tried to give a guy a chance and disappointment came running after. You couldn’t believe you thought any sort of a genuine interaction would last— and it was all his fault, built for his own benefit. 

It’s always his fault.

There was only one logical solution that came to mind: He had to die. 

You moved before you could truly react, jumping at him and slamming him against the dresser. 

The furniture bumped against the wall, the legs scraping against the wooden floors. You hauled him around like he weighed nothing and he pushed back against you, yelling out that it wasn’t his fault. 

“I was only lookin’ out for you!”

“You were lookin’ out for yourself!” 

Soon enough, he picked up your frail form and threw you onto the bed. You bounced, your hair frayed around your face but that didn’t stop you from jumping back at him again. 

“I’m gonna kill you, Roy Goode!” You screamed, grabbing him by the neck and squeezing. 

He held your wrist in his large hands, pinning your body down with his lower half— squatting on top of your legs so he didn’t drop his full weight on you. “Just calm down for a minute! I can explain—“

"Explain this to Frank when I snip your balls! You're a dead man!” 

You had just enough space to knee him in the balls, earning a loud groan and a heavy curse to fly from his mouth. You got up, knocking him over and off the bed, dead set on choking him out— but he quickly slipped his foot between your legs and kicked you over, causing you to flip and land on your side. 

He was back on you again, turning you over so you were lying on your stomach like a wild animal. He sat back on your legs again, this time applying his full weight so you didn’t get any more ideas to kick him again. 

He laughed, tired and done out, taking note of how chaotic this had all become. 

He didn’t think you would react this violently, didn’t think you cared about some nobody who wasn’t going to last. 

“Get off me!”

“Not tell’ you stop fightin’ me.”

“Get off me!” You tried again, twisting and turning to the best of your abilities. 

“What'cha gon do about it, sweetheart? Can't fight me off— can barely stand on your own two feet—“ 

"I'll fuckin' shoot you!"

“Final warning—“

“Fuck you!”

"Fair enough." 

He took rope that he had stored in his back pocket and twisted it around your wrist, pulling it tight around your skin— his fingers working over them to make sure it would stick. 

"Get off me!" You screeched, tossing and turning underneath him. "Somebody help me! I'm being kidnapped!"

"Jesus, girl. Can you calm down!" 

“Roy’s trying to—mhm!” You felt him stuff your mouth with some cotton material, your voice toned down— enough to keep anybody from outside from hearing but it wasn’t a lot to keep you from humming your curses and insults. 

"Now I don't want to do this. I can explain myself but you're the one who started it —" you kicked your legs, moving like a fish out of water. "If you calm down, I'll go easy on you." 

Did you listen? 

No

His warnings only made you more aggressive. 

"Let me explain—"

You tried to throw your head back, hoping you could head-bump him in the face or his chest. It didn’t work, obviously, it only made Roy sigh like you were the only one who was acting a fool. 

"Fine. Sure. I think I know the trick to get you to heel." 

You felt his rough fingers slip under your dress, over your soft skin, gliding up from the back of your knees to the underside of your ass. He pulled the hem of the dress higher and higher, bunching the fabric around your hips. 

The cool air made your legs tense, your brows furrowing in confusion, anger simmering into slight worry on what he was trying to convey—

Smack!

His hand, unyielding and heavy, flies down and lands right against your ass cheek. 

Your eyes widened, surprised and definitely perplexed. 

The smack brews a hot sting, earning a sizzling burn to erupt. You felt the unmistakable feeling of your body reacting, tears beginning to well up in your eyes. 

"Think you need another one. You've been a very bad girl lately." 

And he does it again. This time, harder. Same spot, same open palm. 

The tears come out before you can stop them. 

And he heard it.

"Shit, didn't mean to make you cry," he didn't sound sorry. "I'm just so goddamn mean— I gotta play the role to get things done around here, huh?" 

"But you left me no choice," he held your hip with one hand, keeping you pinned down. "I think you've been out of control. If Frank can't keep a tight leash on you, keep you from wanderin’ around with strangers who ain’t your family, then I guess I'll have to." 

Smack!

Your eyes break like a dam was blown up. Heavy, fat, globs of tears run down your face with snot dripping down your nose like a waterfall. Heat gathers around your cheek from pure embarrassment, entirely thrown out of the loop of what was happening. 

Roy Goode, the man you've despised your whole life, the man who's always had to one-up you and make your life a living hell— just disciplined you. 

You haven't gotten pops since you were a toddler. But here you were, now, grown and independent,  the only one who could command oneself— flat on your stomach with three burning imprints into your ass. 

“Now, you gonna listen?" He warned a final time. 

You no longer shook under his hold. 

"Well?"

You nod. 

He reached over to pull the cloth from your mouth and the first thing that came out was a harsh sniffle. 

"See? That wasn't so hard. Now, was it?"

What do you say to that? 

 I'm gonna turn you over, but the rope stays on. In case you're just itchin' to attack me again. Deal?”

You nod again, slowly, very likely that you were slipping into the void to escape. 

He tapped your leg, sharp and quick, earning a harsh jolt from you. 

"Need to hear you say it."

"D-Deal."

He hesitated for a moment, waiting to see if you'll try and make a quick turn around but you stay stock still. Frozen in place. He lifted his weight, not much but enough to maneuver you around and put you on your back. He sat back on your legs, in case you felt the need to kick him in places that only required tenderness, love, and care– and he tilted his head. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to think of." 

Silence. 

You're not even looking at him. Eyes glancing elsewhere, face scrunched into a hard glare. 

"You mad at me?" 

Of course you fucking were. He ruined you. Ruined your one trip to romance city in a world that hated you so far.

"Come on. He didn’t look safe enough for you. I could practically see his bad intentions from afar." 

In his mind, he thought you looked silly. Tied up, laid out— Pouting like a child that got caught. 

"Do I have to apologize or somethin'? Want me to kiss it better?" 

That got a reaction out of you. 

Roy shook his head. "I'm the one who was close to bein’ strangled and now I have to make it up to my future serial killer?” 

Finally, you said something that made him crack a smile. 

 “…You started it.” 

That was a start. As long as you weren’t fighting him, small steps was what he was hoping for. 

"Fine. I'm sorry."

Nothing. You only looked at him, face still scrunched, lips pursed into a deep frown. 

He felt kinda stupid now. "Are you serious?"

Nothing.

"I'm sorry for poppin' you?”

You barely blinked. 

He couldn't believe he was doing this. "I'm sorry for poppin' you and tyin' you up," Roy clicked his tongue when you didn't move. "I’m sorry for destroying your life— I was tryin’ to help you, keep you safe—“

“By killing an innocent person?”

“Who knew if he was innocent? He could have been sent here to kidnap you—“

“I want a real apology. Now.”

For someone being tied up and pinned down, Roy was starting to reap the consequences of his actions. Almost as if apologizing was his version of your current predicament. 

“I’m sorry for ruinin’ your one true chance of love.” He said sarcastically. 

“And?”

He quirked a brow. “…And what?”

“For being stupid,” You popped the “p” with a heavy emphasis that made Roy roll his eyes. 

“…and for being stupid—“

“And?”

“That’s all there is to say—“

“And admit that I’m better than you.” You smirked. 

“You're really taking advantage of this, huh?” 

“I’m never goin’ to forgive you— but this is a start.”

"So after this— what? I Gotta make it up to you?” 

You nodded, earning a slight groan from him. “If that's what it takes. You’ve got a lifetime to make it up to me— but first, you could untie me for starters.” 

“Not doin’ that. Scared you might try and take a chomp out of me.” 

“Oh, I definitely will,” you gave him a sly smile. “The moment I get out of this, you'd better hope and pray you can run fast enough from me.” 

Of all the threats you’ve thrown his way, this one actually scared him.

 “Nah, I've gotta better idea and I’m sure you’ll change your mind about threatenin’ me again afterwards. Take this as my way of ‘makin’ it up to you’ ” 

You were going to ask him what that meant, because clearly,  he’s lost his marbles since the moment he told you he shot a man for trying to ask you out on a date. 

“What are you goin’ on about—“ and your world stopped when his hands found your hips and he bunched the hem of your dress back up, fingers interlocking under the band of your panties. 

His eyes drop towards the scene, grinning from ear to ear like before, knowing something that you thought people didn’t know— But he knew. It was painfully obvious. 

“You ever been touched here?” He questioned, looking back up at you to gauge your sudden quiet reaction. 

“W-What? Course I have—“

“Nah, I can tell. That’s why you're always so damn angry all the time. Need someone to come kiss it all better and I’m thinkin’ it has to be me.” 

You think he’s joking, he couldn’t have been serious. After all, there’s never been a show of attraction on either end of your parts. It’s always been a silly game of “whose ego is bigger” And today, you thought you had him. You were finally going to get that big break you’ve deserved— 

But, your eyes flickered down when he pulled the waistband of your panties down in one swift flow, feeling it glide against your legs, and you swear panic began to steam out of your ears. 

“R-Roy— untie me.  This isn’t funny.” 

“After I finish I will,“ he hummed, licking his lips slowly. ”You just sit back, relax, and let me apologize.” He repositioned himself, climbing down low so he could move up and off your legs to get them to spread open in front of him. 

You don’t try to fight it, don’t try to stop him from slotting himself between your thighs— you could barely understand what was happening. 

Roy Goode, the man you hated, the man you wouldn’t let touch you with a giant ten-foot pole— was spreading you open for his eyes to see and preparing himself to do the unspeakable. 

Jesus Christ, this day couldn’t get any worse. 

“Would you look at that,” he whistled, peering down at your cunt on full display. “prettiest girl I’ve ever seen— probably the only prettiest girl I’ve seen.” 

“Roy—“

“Not now, focusing on something else at the moment. I’ll get back to you in a minute.” He shushed. 

You tried to say something else but your jaw dropped instead when he leaned forward, and a hard knot in his pants pressed against the surface of your cunt and he rutted forward, slowly teasing you with what to expect when he finally got free from the tight constraints of his pants. 

“Feel that? Feel how hard I am ‘cause of you?” He pulled his hips back to bump his bulge against your ass. “Fought me off so well— almost won in fact. Couldn’t stop myself from reactin’ like this.”

He pushed your legs up, holding the back of your knees in the palm of his hand to keep your legs straight up like a tower. “Wasn’t gonna let nobody else have this— have you. Especially not anybody who didn’t belong in our lil’ family Frank talks about.” 

He began to hump your ass, slowly moaning at the friction, holding your legs close to his chest and hooking them over his shoulders. 

It was all beginning to be too much. 

Your hands were trapped underneath your back, legs in an awkward position that didn’t check well with your terrible flexibility, and worst of all? 

You actually started to like it. 

He could feel you squirm, not from distress or being uncomfortable—but he could tell that you were trying to deny what your body wanted with what your mind had already closed off from.

He knew you didn't like him. Knew that you hated him with a passion, and yet that was never an issue for him. 

What could he say? He liked women who could curse him out and beat his ass, and you fit the box perfectly. 

“Don’t fight it sweetheart— just let me in.” He cooed softly, rutting his hips faster to build a chaotic pace.  “This is what you wanted right? Me, makin’ up for my mistake?”

Like Frank, Roy seemed to pick up the talent of twisting someone’s words for their own benefit. 

His hand moved to dip in between your closed thighs and you felt his fingers graze over your clit, feeling wetness build and dribble against the fabric of his pants. “Didn’t take much to make you drool— must mean this was meant to be.” 

“R-Roy— I can’t— I can’t do this—“

“'Cause I’ll be your first, right?”

You really wish this day would swallow you whole and never bring you back. 

He stopped humping your ass to spread you open again, noticing the wet trail line from your cunt to the front of his jeans. He chuckled like it was all so very funny suddenly. 

“That’s it darlin’— shit, never noticed how much hate you had built up for me— gonna kiss it all better and make sure you don’t get any more ideas about talkin’ to someone else.” 

He dropped one of your legs from his hold, using the same hand to palm the front of his pants and he grunted low, cursing to himself. “Know it’s your first time, but I’m not gonna treat it like one. Not tonight— but tomorrow? We can try and reenact this moment again if you like.” 

You jumped like he spanked you again when you heard him unbuckle his pants and the zipper popping open next. It felt like your world tilted over when his cock slipped out and landed right over your cunt, eclipsing you with all of its entirety. He was big, swollen, red around the tip, and leaking white against your skin like silk. 

That wouldn’t be able to fit—

“Yes, it will certainly be able to fit.” He commented, like he could read your mind. “And no, I can’t read your mind, it’s all over your face sweetheart.” 

“Y-You don’t have to make it up to me anymore— I was only jokin—“

“I figured, but no cowboy takes back on his word. Not even a cowgirl.” He wrapped his hand around his length, pumping himself a few times, spreading your warmth around him like honey. 

He slipped his bottom lip between his teeth, focused and fully prepared to slip inside of you for the very first time. He can admit that he thought about it— dreamed that one day this would happen. 

He didn’t think it would be so soon. 

He assumed it would be much later, maybe in the middle of a storm, trapped inside an inn and needing company to pass the time. But this? It fitted much better in the story of how you two would elope. Arguing and fighting because of something that he most likely caused and ending up tangled in each other's embrace. 

“Can’t wait anymore, I gotta feel you around me—“ he sighed, positioning himself to your opening. “Ready for me?”

“Please, Roy—“

“You’ll be okay, I’ll go slow.” 

Your voice transcended when he pushed the fat head of his cock past your folds, slipping in like he belonged. 

You wrapped instantly around him, squeezing him with a death grip— fingers pressing crescent moons into your palms, mouth flying open like a fish out of water. 

"Relax f'me baby— there you go. Just hold me in." He pushed in further, testing the waters, getting a feel for how far he could go before you would start whining that it was too much. 

Surprisingly, to his amazement, you took it all without any of those complaints. Yeah, you were teary-eyed with short soft gasps that sounded like heaven, but not once did you try and run away from him. 

"Shit, girl—  whole time I've been arguin’ with you, listenin’ to you hatin’ my guts an all—  Should've done this instead. Who knew you were made just for me?" 

He swore he could feel your cunt purr around him like a well-loved house cat. 

"You like that? Like that I'm complimenting your star quality?" 

Your eyes drop to where you're both connected, heat blossoming into your cheeks. 

"Got you wrapped around me— all nice and warm,” He noted out loud, “but we don’t stop there.” 

He finally moved, slow, feeling the slickness of your heat. He pulled his hips back, losing the warmth, grunting when just the tip was the only thing left and you squeezed around him like a glove— like you were trying to keep all of him from leaving. 

"Baby— relax. Promise I ain't goin' nowhere." He breathed, clicking his tongue when you ignored his criticism and squeezed around him again. 

“F-Fuck you,” you grunted, a soft moan slipping out soon after when he pushed back in again. “G-Gonna tie this r-rope around your neck—“

“Mhmm, love it when you talk dirty to me. Keep em’ comin’.” 

Soon, the room was filled with your poorly timed threats mixed in with loud gasps and skin slapping against skin. 

He had gone slow, really tried to, slowly testing how much you could take him, but it soon died out when you kept gripping him too tightly and a particular moan punched out of your mouth when he pushed in too fast. It was loud and breathy, the type of sound he’s never heard from anybody— especially you— and he had to hear more. 

Like any man— only the ones who knew their priorities like the back of their hand— he picked up the pace, holding one of your legs wrapped tight around his waist and fucked into you like the day was going to end once the clock struck 12. 

He was not kidding when he said he wasn’t going to be nice about it, after all, he could say, technically, it was your fault he had to result in shooting a man dead. 

He didn’t like killing innocent people, rarely ever liked joining in on Frank's tyrants around towns— but for you? He would do just about anything to get under your skin. 

Like this. 

His hips snapped into you, rapid-firing like gunshots. Fingernails digging into your knee while his other hand pinned your leg open towards your chest. 

"Goddamn— all I had to do was rough you up a lil’ and fuck you nice and hard?" He groaned, noting every little gasp and grunt from your pretty mouth. "spent all this time fightin’ when we could've been fuckin’ like crazy.”

You stopped denying your attraction way ahead of the curve. Every sharp snap of his cock inside of your walls, every tight squeeze he applied to your legs involuntarily, the way he was talking and noting how badly you needed this— It slowly turned your hate into a desperate need that you never felt before. 

“Roy— y-your inside— feel you— deep—"

"I know baby, feel me all the way in there?" The hand that was pinning your leg down moved to rest over your stomach. "Gonna change you from the inside out, make you good just for me." 

He switched positions, dropping the leg around his waist, and moved to place his hands beside your head. You followed like a coordinated dance, wrapping both of your legs around his waist in hopes of feeling him deeper. And it worked, because the tip of his cock started to punch your cervix, hitting against that tight ring, forcing his way past at every snap. 

“Feels so— so, mhmm, so fuckin’  good—“ you cried, completely lost in him. 

"F-Fuck baby— all it took to get you to be nice was a fat cock, huh?" 

"O-Oh shit— Roy—"

"That's it— that's it, baby," he groaned, practically hauling your ass up and against the headboard with every rapid smack of his hips. 

The slick sounds of your pussy were hard to ignore when he was pounding you open— molding you to fit him and only him. 

"Shit, shit— there you go. That's all for me isn't it? Cryin’ already, droolin’ all over me cause it feels too damn good?” 

You were nodding already, sobbing with heavy pants and sharp gasps. 

“Fuckin’ knew it— Wanna feel you cry on me— as you did before— wanna feel this sweet pussy weep." 

When you felt his hand smack against your clit, dropping down in hard, rough drops, you damn near cried like a baby. 

The weight became too much, his attention suffocating— his hand relentless and mean against your delicious wet pussy. Your eyes crossed, mouth dropping open into a silent scream. You felt pressure first, right in your chest until it traveled down into your stomach and then nothing but heat eclipsed your body. 

Roy couldn’t help but whistle, feeling you come around him in a flurry of convulsions from your cunt and warmth flooding his lap. 

"Atta girl, there you go," he praised, still rutting into you. Still pistoning his cock like he was trying to get inside of your guts and more. "Knew you could do it. Fuckin’ knew it." 

You cried for the second time that night. Another set of fat tears flowing down your already dried and ruined makeup— curling your legs around his waist while he kept moving his hips and slapping his hand down to feel more of your devastation. 

“Maybe that potential Frank saw was this,” he grinned, petting your cunt over with sudden light touches, with fingers wet and slicked. “Wish I could keep you here all night like this— would you like that?” 

You breathed, hard and loud. Trying to catch some form of air back into your lungs. “N-Not forgiving you for killing him.” You huffed, trying to gather yourself, tired and spent. “He was—“

“I didn’t kill him.”

Your face went blank. “…what?”

“I lied about that.” He admitted it easily. 

“What…what did you do?” 

He smiled, patting your leg softly. “Just clipped him in the foot, should have seen the way he limped.” 

“And you said you weren’ like the rest of us.” You scoffed, gasping for air. 

“I’m not, but for you? I don’t mind bein’ the villain.” 

“You shit head— can you get off and untie me now?”

"I didn't say we were done darlin'," he chuckled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I didn't get an apology from you."

"Oh, fuck you—"

"Uh-uh, did all this for you. Apologized and made you see stars and you can't return the favor?" 

"Favor? You're the one—“

Your complaint fell when he turned and maneuvered you both over, forcing you to sit on top of him. 

You quickly tried to find your balance, finding it hard to hold yourself on top when your hands were still tied behind your back.  

"Gonna make you do all the work now. Or else I'll do more than spank you with my hand."

"Or what?" You pursed your lips, eyeing him down below. Whatever he was going to say next wasn’t going to surprise you. 

Tonight has been wild enough. 

"I'll use a belt next time."

Well…that did surprise you.

[cherryxhaze]

OH MY GODDDDD LUNA!!!!

Bby this is so fucking good!!! I love the way you write mean!Roy he’s such an asshole but so goddamn hot and I’m FERAL. I’m rereading this tonight cause goddamn, I’m eating this up it is so hot and perfect 😩

Thank you so so much darling 💖

[cherryxhaze]

Under the Mistletoe with Patrick Sumner

Patrick Sumner x Fem!Reader

This fic is a part of a secret santa exchange and a gift to the lovely @nimisardenter . I hope I did your request justice! 💖

Summary: You find yourselves caught under the mistletoe at a company Christmas party. And though you try to run from the smoldering connection with the doctor, both it and he catch up with you in the washroom. WC: 4.9k Warnings/Tags: MDNI 18+ ONLY. Doctor x Nurse dynamic. Power imbalance. Mutual pining. Kissing under the mistletoe. Denial of feelings. Semi-public sex/exhibitionism. Bathroom sex. Dom!Patrick. Sub!Reader. Oral Sex/Blowjob. Face-fucking. Unprotected piv. Rough Sex. Praise. Slight verbal degradation. Creampie. Brief aftercare. Happy ending. Post-North Water. Notes: This is my first Patrick Sumner fic and if you think he’s OOC, no he’s not leave me alone. This is also a bit rushed cause I’m a procrastinator, but I hope y’all enjoy it nonetheless. gif credit to @knights-of-the-glittery-table dividers by @chateaubarnes & @saradika-graphics

The strum of fingers along piano keys, hammers striking chords float through the first floor of the estate belonging to the company owner and head surgeon, Dr. Thomas. His wife, Alice's handiwork adorns the space, wreaths hanging in the windows, a tree wrapped in cranberry garland set at the corner of the living area, warm candle light flickering from their stations on the tables and walls.

It's the company's annual Christmas party, every employee filling the space along with the warmth of their bodies. Watching the pianist, mingling at tables, standing along the walls while smoke billows from their pipes, shifting down the table covered with food to fill their plates and stomachs.

You stand idle with your fellow nurse and close friend Elizabeth to the side, murmuring gossip about each passing coworker into your ear. You pay her little mind even as your eyes follow each aforementioned party, until a passing glance settles on him. A thump in your chest and a hitch of breath follows, taking in his form.

Patrick. Dr. Patrick Sumner. One of the top surgeons in the practice. Smoke drifts and wafts up into the air from his pipe, over his pink lips that purse and suck around the stem, and even higher, partially obscuring those distant eyes that are cast out amongst the small crowd. The sound of Elizabeth's voice grows muted as your focus zeroes in on the quiet surgeon, much like it usually does.

Those blue depths of his are often deep like the sea, filled with mystery and a quiet melancholy that takes over his whole demeanor, but then at times they're full with warmth, a twinkle within like the stars when you catch his gaze. You've often thought of him as a closed book, a man full of stories and a past that weighs heavily on his shoulders, though he keeps them to himself. Whispers of his time in the war and a failed arctic expedition have traveled through the office, though no details were brought with them.

You often find yourself wondering of what things could've happened to the polite but detached man who more often than not seems consumed by his own thoughts, and a deep respect has grown for him in the months of your employment, harbored within your chest.

Suddenly, Patrick's eyes slowly slide over the crowd to land on you, and your thoughts stutter, limbs locking with a breath catching in your throat.

"Are you listening?" A incessant nudge against your arm knocks you from your stupor, head snapping to stare at Elizabeth whose brows are hitched, waiting expectantly.

"Y-yes, of course." Despite the stammer, your brief smile settles her before an arm snakes around yours, latching elbow to elbow.

"Another drink, shall we?"

Though the red liquid in your cup still sloshes around unfinished, you agree and let Elizabeth lead you toward the tables, but not without another quick glance toward to lonesome surgeon whose eyes are still on you, watching your form slip into the small sea of bodies.

A warmth blooms in your belly with the settling alcohol, another fresh drink in hand that soothes your socially awkward nerves. More nurses have gathered from the fray, thoroughly engaged in a conversation with Elizabeth that you can care less about, though you add a comment in here and there. Enough to be polite despite being distracted.

Every ounce of your body is attuned to his presence lurking somewhere near, senses heightened and seeking. Overly aware of yourself, your back straightens, holding your head high in case his eyes happen to wander toward you. It's silly, you know this. And still, you can't help yourself.

Previous moments linger in the back of your mind, when your eyes have met and dwelled for longer than necessary at the office, his soft morning greetings, the brush of skin against skin when handing off paper work. You chide yourself as foolish for letting such mundane acts spark a flutter in your chest, for reading too much into the warm moments from an otherwise aloof man.

"Lovely party, aye?" That familiar voice, like sweet smoke over gravel hits your ears, eyes widening with a glance to your side to find Dr. Sumner standing there. He surveys the guests moving about before letting his gaze settle on you. "Miss."

His tone lacks the enthusiasm of the words, like he's merely saying them as an excuse. An excuse to talk to you. You shoot the thought down immediately, but a coy smile twitches at the side of your lips.

"Doctor." A formal address with a nod and flutter of your lashes. "It is. Much grander than I expected. Dr. Thomas and his wife have a lovely home."

"Indeed."

"And you?" You hope your voice maintains a casual nature, not betraying the nerves buzzing beneath your skin. "Enjoying yourself?"

The air held within the minute space between your bodies grows heavy, thick and crackling with an electric tension that always sparks when he's near, when you're close enough to touch. Close enough to feel the suede fabric of his suit brush ever so softly against the bare skin of your arm.

There's a sparkle in your eyes, glimmering up at him and he glances away quickly, lest he risks losing himself in them.

"Aye, though I must admit… it is not quite my preferred scene."

You hum in response before a beat of silence passes, the tension growing within it, holding the awkwardness of a plethora of things you want to say without the confidence to speak it. Like you're both teetering around the obvious, gravitational pull toward each other that leaves you tongue-tied.

"Oh, look!" An excited squeal from Elizabeth drags your attention to where she's beaming at your side, looking up toward the ceiling. "Someone's caught under the mistletoe!" Her sing-song tone hits your ears as a taunt.

Slowly, begrudgingly, your eyes follow the path of hers, blood draining from your face just before you see the evergreen leaves hanging overhead. The base wrapped in a red ribbon, the mistletoe dangles directly above you and Dr. Sumner like a sick joke, or maybe fate…

The blood rushes back to your face like lava from a volcano, burning its path along your skin. The gulp you take lodges in your tightening throat, a chorus of amused gasps ringing your ears just as your gaze lowers and awkwardly flickers over to Patrick at your side.

He clears his throat, feet shuffling against the hardwood floor, and you swear his cheeks turn a shade of pink.

A stifled laugh that you're sure isn't convincing bubbles out of your mouth. "Oh, don't be foolish!" Your words are lighthearted and playful, though you're hoping they will easily convince your friend to drop the idea.

"It's just a silly little kiss!" Another nurse nearby adds dismissively.

"Yes, what's all the bother about?" Elizabeth agrees, beamingly brightly at you as if watching the perspiration begin to gather on your forehead brings her enjoyment. She's no doubt caught the glances you've passed to each other in the office but has kept it to herself until now, where she can tease and weild it to her advantage.

"It's all in good fun!"

"A meaningless peck!"

"In the spirit of Christmas!"

A barrage of goading comments flood your system, catching you like an off-guarded animal in the night. Each breath passing through your lungs is hindered with a quiet panic, the fabric of your dress doing little to diminish the sweat on your palms as they rub against it.

"Dr. Sumner doesn't mind, do you?"

Only then do you risk glancing at him again just as he straightens his spine, shoulders rolling back. "Nay…" His nostrils flare with a deep inhale before his blue eyes find yours. "why not?"

Even as his body appears tense, there's a gentle reassurance in his gaze, a small twinge of a smile and it only sends another wave of nerves to spread from your stomach.

"It couldn't hurt, I suppose…" You manage to speak up, flashing a nervous smile his way.

Even if it's only the surrounding few, it feels as if every single eye in the room is on you as your body shifts to face his fully. The intensifying racing of your heart fills your ears, drowning out the sounds of glasses clinking, the piano, laughter, and chatter.

Everything stills, your vision flickering between Patrick's blue depths and the soft pink of his lips, slowly inching closer and closer until it goes black. In the darkness behind closed lids, his scent hits you first, a warm, intoxicating musk. The heat from his body radiates to yours, reeling you in.

Then, the gentlest caress. Pillowy soft lips graze yours, testing the waters and stealing your breath until they press firmer, surer. Your top lip slots between his with ease, like a key sliding into a lock, like every stolen glance has led to this fated moment. Even with just the touch of his lips, you can feel him all over you, the sensation of warmth sliding down your body from your neck to your toes.

Suddenly, it's gone. Ripped away and taking the warmth with it. The loss of his touch is jarring, practically sending you stumbling on your feet. But you catch yourself, and now with open eyes you see him watching you, studying you with a subtle crease between his brows.

Your cheeks burn fiercely before you shyly glance around at the small gathering of onlooking coworkers who all are lack-jawed or their own lips stretched into a smile. With a gulp, you gather the courage to face Patrick again.

The urge to not reveal yourself, to keep the harbored feelings and pining hidden and buried deep surges through you.

With a stifled laugh and dismissive shake of your head, you remark. "Just a silly kiss, indeed." It's moreso to convince yourself than him, but if the overwhelming urge to flee is any indication, it's a lackluster attempt.

"Doctor," With a bow of your head, you turn and give in to the urge nipping at your bones that sends your feet scurrying along the hardwood.

Only a few seconds of brushing past silk dresses, wool vests, and the bright murmur of conversation floods your senses until you reach the solace of the washroom down the hall. With a click of the door latching in place, the overwhelming sounds of the party are deafened.

You take a few moments to collect yourself, hands gripping the edge of the sink as slow, deep breaths flow in and out of your chest. You try to focus on them, on the rise and fall of your chest, the slowing of your rapid heartbeat, and the still lingering warmth of your skin. Cold water from the sink tap splashes against your face, but it does little to quench the blaze burning beneath.

The feeling of his kiss remains like a phantom sensation, the softness of his lips and their pressure against yours. Your finger traces their path as you lose yourself reliving the brief moment that felt indefinite.

"Foolish." You snap yourself out of it with a scold, sighing heavily and letting your hands falling to your sides, smoothing over the soft fabric of the dress that clings to your skin.

With a heavy breath, you prepare yourself to return to the party only to stopped in your tracks upon opening the door.

Patrick stands there, leaning against the doorframe and blocking your way out. His gaze is cast down to the pocket watch his fingers fidget with before he returns it to his pocket and finally sets his eyes on you.

There's something different about him. A shift in his presence. A subtle darkness in his blue depths that has replaced the usual softness held within them. His stance is commandeering but casual, so sure of himself. All together it's startling.

"Have I left you unsatisfied, miss? Silly, I believe you called it." His body leans closer, shoulder anchored against the frame while his eyes devour you as if he can see right through your charade and the flimsy walls you've put up.

Your eyes are wide like saucers, caught like a prey in a trap. There's a fire burning behind Patrick's eyes, one you've perhaps lit with your dismissiveness and it's emboldened him to confront you here and now.

A gulp trudges down your tightening throat as you try to find any words to say.

"Doctor, I-"

"Patrick."

"Patrick… I didn't mean-"

"Aye, I know I may not be the most socially adept but…" His body shifts, leaving the door frame and taking a confident step closer toward your shocked frame, close enough that you feel the subtle brush of his clothes against yours. "It almost seems like you're yearning for more. Shall I give you a more serious one?"

The sound of the door clicking shut and lock latching sends a thrill through your bones and you're sure your legs will give out any second, trembling beneath you in anticipation and shock.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, breaths growing fast and stuttering. "I… I, um-"

He inches closer until you're chest to chest, slowly pushing your body back until you feel the edge of the counter press into the curve of your back. Your eyes never stray from each others, locked on in an intense gaze that mimics the emotions raging through your body.

You can't push him away even if you wanted to, and only a fool would turn him down now. This is all you've wanted, all you've been dreaming about for months.

"Yes." The confirmation comes out with a soft breath, full of longing and nervous desperation.

Patrick's hand, warm and calloused, finds the side of your face with a soft grip. His thumb gently swipes along your cheek bone, drawing out the intimate moment before your lips collide with an almost feral hunger.

It knocks the breath from your lungs and consumes every fiber of your being. The earlier kiss is chaste in comparison to the hard press of his lips now, the passion in the way they move against yours. It's claiming, taking, and you're nothing more than eager to give in.

Your entire body melts into him, hands reaching to grip onto his vest as if to steady yourself against the overwhelming onslaught of his lips. Hot and heady. His tongue swipes along your bottom lip and you nearly whine, immediately parting your lips to welcome him in.

The scruff of his beard scratches deliciously against your skin, tongue licking at yours. His hand cups the back of your head, angling you to meet every wet glide. The feeling of something hard presses against your lower belly and instinctively, your legs spread, letting his hips settle between them.

While your tongues tangle in a passionate dance, Patrick's other hand finds the bare skin of your knee, slowly dragging higher up your thigh and under your dress. Your legs begin to shake, and the weight of reality comes crashing back in.

The ongoing party right outside the door. Full of your coworkers, getting drunk and mingling while a filthy, heated exchange happens unbeknownst to them in the washroom down the hall.

"Patrick, w-we… we shouldn't-" Your words stammer against his lips, so alluring and threatening to suck you back in. Truth be told, the act of what you're doing let alone the prospect of taking things further while the party continues outside the door, the risk of being caught, only makes the fire in your belly grow into a blazing inferno.

A gasp leaves your throat and he swallows it greedily as his fingers find the apex of your thighs. They press against the thin fabric that does little to cover the heat and slick spreading from behind it. His lips part from yours to trail along your jaw, groaning against the skin there.

"Your body betrays you, sweetheart." A shudder passes through your body and you're unable to stop your hips from rocking into his touch. "You sure you want to stop?"

Of course you're not sure. The shift from the quiet and kind Doctor you've known all this time into the dominate, passionate man before you is enough to send you into a dizzy alone, but his kisses and touch in your most intimate places has you reeling, barely able to think about anything else but him.

"No." You whimper quietly, unable to deny what you've wanted for so long now that it's in your hands, your coworkers be damned.

The pad of his thumb brushes over your clit and it's enough to send your hips jerking off the counter, a soft squeal bursting past your lips.

"Shh… you're gonna need to be quiet or else the whole company will hear how eager you are for me." He purrs against your ear and your teeth dig into your bottom lip with the thrill of the prospect. "Undo my trousers."

Your hands make quick work, fumbling with the button and zipper before the material loosens around his hips. The hard outline of his dick brushes against the palm of your hand and your core tightens with a wave of desire. Patrick pulls back from your ear until you're eye to eye, chests heaving with heavy breaths and anticipation.

"You embarrassed me quite a bit out there. Perhaps you should get on your knees and make it up to me."

A small wave of shame crashes over you with his words, you had been so consumed with your own embarrassment that you hadn't even considered his.

"Patrick, I didn't-" You begin to protest and apologize, only for his thumb to brush along your bottom lip, tugging the sensitive skin with it and halting your words.

"Ah ah." He chides, "Use your mouth, not your words." The fullness of his dick presses into your hand before he pulls back just enough for you to follow his command.

Saliva fills your mouth and you can feel your heartbeat pulsing between your thighs. The movement of his hands pulls your gaze from his, watching as they push down the waist of his trousers and undergarments just enough for his cock to spring free.

You follow it like a moth to a flame, lips parted while your body sinks down until your knees hit the floor. His length is thick and veiny, bobbing in front of your wide eyes.

You peer up at him as if for reassurance and he gives you a nod in return, "Go on then." His voice is breathy and low, the anticipation eating him up just as much as it is for you.

With a deep breath, your eyes fall back to his waiting cock and your tongue slips out to taste him, giving a chaste kitten lick to the swollen tip before fully swirling your tongue around, collecting the salty taste of his pre-cum. A low moan rises from your chest as you swallow it and lean back in for more.

You take your time, tracing every vein and inch of his length until it shines under the light with your spit. Each drag builds, sending Patrick's eyes to flutter closed and a shudder through his body. The feeling of your teasing tongue alone far outweighs any fantasies he's held close in the past months.

Moaning softly, your lips wrap around the tip and slowly sink further and further down his girth until it hits the back of your throat. You hold him there as deep as you can take him until your eyes begin to water, your throat begins to constrict and pulls a groan from his own, and pull yourself off with a gasp.

Your chest heaves with heavy breaths, but the hunger for more and to please him takes over. Letting the saliva pool on your tongue, you spit it out onto the head, your hand moving to work it over his length before taking him into your mouth again.

One of his hands braces himself against the counter behind you while the other settles on the back of your head, guiding the movements. Your hand and mouth work in tandem, stroking up and down his length, tongue gliding along the underside of his dick and it's enough to send his eyes rolling back.

"Fuuu- that's it." The hoarse whisper emboldens you, taking him deeper with every pass.

He uses the hand on the back of your head for leverage, forcing you to meet every thrust as his hips begin to rock into your mouth. The sounds of your moans and gags muffled around his cock stuffing your mouth is like music to his ears, far more beautiful than the drowned out keys of the piano playing outside.

"Knew you were a filthy girl. You love this, don't you?" Patrick's eyes are glued to you, balls drawing up tight at the sight of his length disappearing into your mouth and past those pretty lips. But when your eyes lift up to meet his, wide and wet, lips glistening with spit, it nearly undoes him then and there.

You can only moan in response, sending vibrations through his length and making his hands tremble. Each thrust into your mouth has spit collecting and dripping past your lips and onto your exposed cleavage. The prim and sweet nurse, now reduced to a filthy mess on your knees for him.

It becomes overwhelming and he feels the surge within his body, rising to an impeding peak, one he's not ready for. Not yet.

With a grip on your hair, he pulls his throbbing length from your mouth with a hiss, edging his climax with a better idea on where to release it. Strong hands pull you off the floor with a soft grip, you're barely back on your feet before his mouth and body are on you. The kiss is hot and fierce, longing to taste himself on your tongue while his hands find your hips and lift you onto the counter.

The cool marble is a stark contrast to your blazing skin and the warmth of his hands, pushing the dress up to your hips and with one flex of his arms, ripping your satin undergarment. The feeling of the air against your exposed cunt sends a jolt through you that turns into a toe curling buzz under your skin with his thumb finding your clit. He rubs circles into it, the swollen head of his cock nudging against your entrance.

"Tell me you want it." He pants against your lips, blue eyes staring deeply into yours with a barely restrained desperation within them.

"Oh, god-"

"Say it."

"Yes, god yes! I need it. I need you, Patrick." You're too overcome with desire to feel any shame for your desperate plea or the way your walls clench in need.

As soon as those words leave your lips, his hips surge forward and slowly drive his cock into your waiting cunt inch by inch. You gasp in unison, heads tilting back while his length fills you, girth stretching your walls and filling them with a deep ache. His movements stall once he's fully hilted inside, tip kissing your cervix.

The deft hands you've admired for so long while watching them perform life-saving surgeries now moves to your legs, repositioning your ankles to settle on his shoulders. A rumbling groan rises from his chest with the way your walls squeeze him even tighter, fingers falling to dig into the fat of your hips for leverage as he begins to pull out, length dragging along your walls.

When only his tip remains inside, a sharp rock of his hips sends his length back in hard and deep, making you let out a gasping cry of pleasure.

"You want everyone to hear what a good whore you are for me?" His teasing, chiding words only heighten the pleasure of his cock stuffing your cunt. He sets a hard and fast pace, leaving you little time to adjust before he's taking and claiming you right here on the washroom counter.

Your hands reach out for purchase against the unrelenting thrusts, settling onto his flexing biceps, nails digging into the material of his shirt and the skin beneath.

"I almost wish someone would catch us, would hear how sweet you moan for me." Patrick teases further, earning a filthy whine from your parted lips.

"Patrick!" You try to stifle the cry of his name, stuttering on the syllables with each thrust.

"That's it. Christ, you're taking me so well." The wet sound of your cunt gushing around him, the slap of skin against skin grows louder. "Just like I knew you would."

The swimming haze in your head is nearly so overwhelming you almost miss the confession in his words, the revelation he's been craving this as much as you have. It sends an electric current through your body, walls pulsing around his pistoning length, sucking him in deep.

The mirror hanging on the wall behind your head begins to rattle against your rocking body from the force of his thrusts, his cock molding your cunt to the shape of him. Laughter and passing conversations outside the door only makes your pussy grow wetter, the sound becoming nearly obnoxious to your ears.

At this point, you don't care if anyone hears. Part of you wants them to. You're practically floating, riding the high of being the object of his desire and the pleasure of his pounding. God, you've never been fucked like this before, let alone expected such feralness from the quiet Sumner, as if you've released the beast lurking within.

His grip on your hips holds you in place to meet each relentless thrust that sends you higher into the clouds, nails leaving crescent shaped indents into his skin.

"Oh, god." He murmurs against your neck, the caress of his breath and beard against the sensitive skin only heightening your pleasure.

It's building so fast you can barely get a handle on it, a rapidly growing pressure in your core that has you whimpering, tensing up beneath him. His name leaves your lips in a raspy whisper, a cry of warning that you can't hold back your impeding release.

"Yeah, gonna come undone for me?" He can feel your limbs growing tense and shaking, your walls gripping him tight and it draws his climax closer. "Give it to me, love."

The soft, passionate plea contrasting the roughness of his claiming is enough to send you over the edge, to call forth the tidal wave of pleasure into an intense orgasm. Your strained scream of bliss gets caught in your dry throat, back arching and cunt clamping down around his plunging cock. Your walls pulse and squeeze him with a vice grip, coaxing his own release to join yours as it soaks his girth.

A choked, shuddering groan leaves his lips, hips stuttering until he slams his full length inside you, cock jerking with every rope of cum flooding into your pussy that milks him dry of every drop. Your foreheads collide, resting against one another as the intense pleasure courses through your bodies.

Soon, the pure bliss begins to fade into a satisfied hum, muscles relaxing and your legs falling to his sides. The grip on your hips loosens, his thumbs gently caressing the sore skin there before gliding up your sides. One lifts to your face while his eyes peer into yours, calloused skin cupping the warmth of your cheek.

"You are… impeccable." The praise washes over you, raising goosebumps along your flesh.

His lips collide with yours once more only slower this time, but just as deep and passionate. You marvel at how perfectly your lips fit together, while his softening length slips from your warmth.

When he finally pulls back, it's with a regretful sigh. "I suppose we should get back to the party, lest someone notices our absence, aye?"

You give him a small smile and nod, even as a flicker of fear that this moment will be forgotten and brushed off passes over you. Only when he pulls back and stands straight, his gentle hands take yours to guide you off the counter, smoothing out the dress adorning your frame before fixing his trousers.

"Oh, and these…" Your ripped undergarment that now lays on the floor catches his attention and he quickly picks it up, tucking the ruined fabric into the pocket of his trousers. "I'll be keeping."

A giggle bursts past your lips, warmth flooding your face and you shyly look away from him.

"Aye, none of that now." A soft grip with his fingers along your chin angles your face back toward him before he closes the distance once more.

"You're mine now, yes?" He murmurs softly, blue eyes searching yours with a vulnerability in them, a seeking of reassurance. It sets your heart fluttering against your ribcage, a beaming smile beginning to spread along your lips.

"Yes," You answer without missing a beat. "always."

A tension you hadn't noticed in his shoulders releases, a small smile spreading with it before he steals another kiss, sweet and chaste.

"Good. Though, I suppose we shouldn't leave the room together." You can't help but to laugh at the prospect and his idea of a joke.

"I suppose not."

You watch as he steps back with an outstretched arm toward the door, "Ladies first."

[lucy-harker]

BLACK CHRISTMAS (1974) dir. Bob Clark

[timelessbibliophile]

i wish you guys could read the amazing fic i haven't written and probably will never write, it's fire