summary: Michael has a vice, and it's not drugs or alcohol. It's a woman.
word count: 3.1k
warnings: infidelity/cheating, slight manipulation on reader's part, oral m! receiving, slight smut, 18+ ONLY
a/n: Alright... they got to me. The Michael movie got to me. But trust and believe, I've been an MJ fan since I came out of the womb, and this was honestly bound to happen at some point. Not sure how many fics I'll write for him, but this is just something that came out in the moment, and I hope you enjoy! Thank you so so much to @iceemochaa and @confetti-cakemix for feeding my hyperfixation and for helping me come up with some ideas in this fic! My little autistic brain loves you pookies.
This is supposed to be a sort of 'origin story' for how the song Dirty Diana came to be!
You'll never make me stay, so take your weight off of me.
He called you Diana. It wasn't your real name; he didn't know what that was. He didn't want to know it. There was too much attachment there, the possibility of the letters getting stuck to his tongue when you weren't around. Your face already lingered there too often, full lips and hastily ripped clothing flashing through his mind at any inconvenient moment.
Knowing his name, however, was unavoidable. The first time you whispered it into his ear as he pushed your legs open made a shiver of simultaneous guilt and delight wrack up his spine. It wasn't love, but there was something there that thrilled him. Maybe it was the sweetness of your perfume mixed with your not-so-sweet demeanor. You pleasured him in a way that had nothing to do with a stage. Nothing to do with his money.
Michael was a fierce performer. He could make men and women crumple to the floor at his shows with a swivel of his hips. But to you, he was a sheep in wolf's clothing. Inside your small, one-bedroom apartment, there was nothing he could do to make you waiver in your humiliating indifference to him. You didn't ask when you'd see him again. You didn't ask for moneyâjust the heat of his skin against yours.
The best part about you was that you didn't ask questions. You didn't want to know if he had a girl. It didn't matter to you. Whatever he did after he got off on your body wasn't your concern. The problem was that Michael cared. He cared about what you were doing when he wasn't around, who you were talking to. He wondered if you scratched your nails down anyone else's back the way that you did his. The thought of it had started to infiltrate every moment of his life, his work. And with another woman in his bed now, someone softer and more considerate than you, he knew he had to let you go.
You always met in the same place. A dank club on the outskirts of Los Angeles that wasn't frequented by many star-studded idols, except for him. He dressed casually in leather black pants, a navy blue button-up, and a white t-shirt underneath. His dark curls were pulled back into a low bun, his version of trying to go undercover from the fans that seemed to follow him everywhere. Tonight, the streets were empty. He seemed to have gotten lucky.
The meet-up was never planned. He didn't even know your number. But you were always there, in your dark corner on the balcony of the club. He could already see you as the bouncer let him in with just a glance at his face. Smoke billowed around you as you people-watched. A crowd of patrons surrounded you, drinking and chatting. Some Michael recognized, some he didn't. You didn't speak to them, the cherry of a cigarette glowing as it moved toward your mouth. There was always an empty chair beside you, no one filling the seat. He always took it. He wouldn't tonight.
Michael's legs felt shaky as he walked onto the balcony that loomed over the dance floor. The crowd around you all looked up at his arrival, minus you, who was flicking ash into an empty whiskey glass.
You reached for your full drink with your other hand, dipping your fingers into the alcohol and pulling out a bright red cherry that floated on top. That was when you finally looked up at him, with your shining lips wrapped around the cherry, your manicured fingers pulling the stem. Michael felt like he had swallowed sandpaper.
"Leave us." You said in a low voice, not breaking eye contact with Michael. But everyone knew the command was directed at them, not him. And they listened to you, grabbing their drinks and filing off the balcony with rumours uttered under their breath.
I know your every move, so won't you just let me be?
When it was just the two of you, you rewarded him with a small smile. The purple and blue club lights wavered over your skin, glittering like the reflection of the sun hitting the ocean. You threw the stem of your cherry into the makeshift ashtray, chewing slowly.
"You said you wouldn't be back after last time." A laugh escaped you, beautiful and violent. "I almost believed you."
He didn't know how to respond to that, to admit his dirty secret or lie and say that he didn't mean to run into you. But the answer was clear when he moved closer to you, hands clenched at his sides.
"How's your girlâŠ" You paused, looking to the ceiling in mock thought. "Oh, I've forgotten her name."
Michael's mouth opened to speak, but his words failed at the sight of you crossing your legs in the leather seat. You donned sheer black tights with a run up one of the thighs, ripped like someone pressed their finger into the fabric and pulled. His cheeks burned, and he bit the side of his tongue.
You continued, slender fingers lifting the cigarette to your lips again. His eyes grazed over the lipstick mark wrapped around the orange filter. Marks he'd once seen on his skin. "âŠthink you forgot her name last week, too. In fact, it seemed like you'd forgotten everything except my name."
Your gaze lingered on his throat, the bob of it as you looked at him.
"My name," You repeated, like it was a joke. He didn't even know who you were, truly. "And the way you like how my tongue feels on your neck."
Michael's eye threatened to twitch at the memory. He swallowed down the heat that had started to bloom from his chest, making it hard to breathe.
"Diana, Diana, please, please," you mocked the sound of his moans, chest heaving in mock pleasure.
You flattened the last of your cigarette against the tip of your high heel, putting it out. Smoke rippled out of your nostrils, floating around Michael's head and intoxicating him.
I've been here times before but I was too blind to see,
"I'm not here to talk about that with you. Or talk about her with you." Michael finally spoke, shifting to lean against the rail of the balcony. He didn't miss the way you laughed to yourself, your head falling back and exposing the length of your neck. "I've never been here for that."
"Got a point there." You smiled, standing up from the chair. It took everything in Michael not to shift away from you, like he was avoiding the bite of a poisonous spider. Your hand reached out, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. "You don't usually come here to talk about anything."
âŠthat you seduce every man, this time you won't seduce me.
"I'm serious." Michael's eyes rolled of their own volition, but he didn't have the strength to pull his arm away from you quite yet. But you did it for him, your hand releasing the fabric, only to reach up and pull the collar of his button-up down, revealing the sharp dip of his collarbone. The marks you'd left before were long since faded.
"How was it hiding those from her?" You grinned at him, and in the darkness of the club, your canine teeth looked like fangs, ready to sink into his jugular at any moment. "Saw those pictures in the tabloids, some awards show you were at⊠pretty high collar on that jacket you were wearing if you ask me."
You grazed your nails up his neck with two fingers, watching the way he struggled to keep from shivering. But he wasn't able to hide the reaction to you pressing into the pulse point below his jaw. A whiny, breathy sound left him, and his hand raised to grip your wrist. Tight enough to leave bruises. You wanted them.
He tossed your hand away with one hand and raised the opposite to grab at your shoulder. In seconds, you were in the spot he had just been standing in, back pressed against the railing of the balcony. His free hand gripped the metal bar next to you, boxing you in.
"I didn't come here for that." He hissed, eyes looking nearly black in the dark. "Not with you. I'm done with you."
She's saying, 'That's okay, hey baby, do what you please.'
"Oh, Mikey,"
You leaned forward, your body pressing close to his. You could feel the buttons of his shirt, the press of his belt buckle, the heat of his breath against your ear, and something else beneath that, firm and warm. Exactly what you'd been looking for. Your hand raised to graze it through his pants, skin against warm leather, and he responded with a resounding hiss. You smiled like the cat who'd caught the canary, lips brushing against the shell of his ear as you began to whisper.
"Then why are you hard?"
'I have the stuff that you want. I am the thing that you need.'
Michael grit his teeth, swatting your hand away from him, although his hips had leaned into your touch. You didn't mind, hugging your arms around your body to keep your hands to yourself.
"Don't you know how much I hate you?" He asked you, no bite in his bark. Dark curls from his bun had fallen out, brushing the skin of your cheek from how close he was.
"I didn't get that impression the last time you were inside of me, no." You answered, hips searching for the friction of his. He didn't allow it, not yet.
Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, and you caught Michael's eye drifting to it. His lips were parted, and his chest heaved in a way you only ever saw when you were on top of him. You'd caught him in your web again, whether he knew it yet or not.
"Come back to mine. Show me just how much you hate me."
She said, 'I have to go home, 'cause I'm real tired, you see.'
The ten-minute walk back to your apartment was quiet, save for the sound of your heels clicking against the pavement and a match lighting up a cigarette or two. Michael walked a few steps behind you, watching the way your hips swayed, how you instinctively kept your eyes fixed around the street for your safety. He wondered, briefly, how many times you'd walked home alone from that club. Passing by dark alleys, run-down apartments, men who would destroy you and then leave you like trash on the side of the road. He huffed a laugh through his nose, quietly. Protective of the woman who was dead set on ruining his life, what a joke.
Your apartment, though small, was always oddly comforting to him. The smell of your perfume hit him as you unlocked the door, tossing a small purse onto the sofa just a few feet away. Nothing had changed from the last time he'd been here, not even the way the blankets were strewn on the floor from when he'd taken you there. He remembered how you'd laughed when he'd pushed you down, legs spreading so eagerly for him.
'But I hate sleeping alone. Why don't you come with me?'
Michael was frozen, back against the door. He watched you balance on one leg to take your heel off, and then switch to the other. The run in your tights had gotten longer from the walk, and you hummed as you noticed.
"Guess you'll just have to rip 'em off." You looked up at him, eyes dark. When he didn't respond, you shrugged. You lifted the skirt of your tight dress, casually, exposing the entire length of your legs and the sheer sight of your underwear behind the tights. Your fingers hooked into the waistband. "Or I can just take them off-"
Michael pushed himself off the door before he realized what he was doing, replacing your fingers with his own and tugging you toward him by the waistband of your tights. He used his other hand to grab at the hair at the base of your neck, tugging until your head was bent backwards, the entire column of your throat exposed to him. His pretty, white teeth nipped at the skin, leaving small red marks that he soothed with the cool wetness of his tongue.
"I can't stay long," He said, lips hot against your skin. "She's at home, thinks I'm just at the studio late."
I said, 'My baby's at home, she's probably worried tonight. I didn't call on the phone to say that I'm alright.'
"I'm all yours for as long as you need." You said it from where your head was still tugged back, not moving an inch until Michael decided otherwise. His entire being burned with the need to touch you, to make you so breathless again that all you could say was his name. His hands were gentle in the way he released your hair and set his grip around your waist.
Diana walked up to me, she said, 'I'm all yours tonight.'
It was almost a shock, the way he was suddenly pushing you toward the breakfast bar in your small kitchenette. Your front hit the linoleum counter, your arms flying out to brace for the impact. Bent over for him, he could run his large hands over the expanse of your entire body, stopping for a moment when he found a spot he loved especially, or thought needed to be squeezed or grabbed firmly.
His hand stopped where the rip in your tights started, inside your upper thigh. He hooked his fingers into the hole and tugged. The fabric split right down the middle, down the entire length of your leg, exposing the smooth skin underneath. He tsked, leaning forward so his mouth was against your ear and his chest pressed into your back.
"A pretty girl like you shouldn't look so unkempt."
He tugged again, harder this time, until the fabric of one leg was flying off of you and landing on the hardwood floor. You gasped at the feeling of the cool air hitting your skin, and the shock of his warm hand replacing it. You didn't like it when he had the upper hand, when he gained all this confidence and thought he was the one in control.
"Maybe you should call your girl, Michael." You turned your head to look at him as best as you could from where you were bent over the counter. "Just to let her know you're okay."
You lifted your body from the counter, wiggling his hands off of you until you could turn around and face him. You kept your eyes on him as you sank to your knees. His mouth was hung open, his skin turning pink - with what? Embarrassment? guilt? Pleasure? Maybe all of the above.
Your fingers reached for the belt buckle on his pants. "Phone is on the counter. To your right." You tugged the belt from the loop. "Call her."
'At that, I ran to the phone, sayin' 'Baby, I'm alright.' I said, 'But unlock the door, 'cause I forgot the key.'
Michael's fingers shook as he grabbed at the phone, starting to dial the number to his house. He could have said no. He could have pushed you off of him and walked out the door, like he'd planned to. But you were mouthing at him and kissing him from outside of his boxers, drooling all over the fabric, and he knew he couldn't leave. One hand rested on your head as he pressed the receiver to his ear, listening to the phone dial.
You could hear a sweet voice on the other end, though you couldn't map out exactly what she was saying. Just what Michael said in response, his eyes squeezed shut as your lips finally wrapped around him.
"Hey, baby, I just wanted to call and let you know I'm okay. N-no, I'm not sick, just- think it's my allergies. I'm at the studio, I⊠Quincy is really wanting this to be⊠to be perfect tonight, andâŠ"
Michael's voice trailed off when your tongue moved in the way he liked, his brow furrowing and his hand guiding your head. You pulled off of him for a moment, taking a deep breath.
"Focus, Mikey." You whispered, mouth shining from him. "Your girl's on the phone."
Michael's eyes opened, and he glared at you, upset that you said anything at all. He chuckled nervously into the phone.
"No, baby, that was just Quincy⊠I need- need to get back soon. I just wanted to call and ask if you could leave the door⊠unlocked before you go to bed-"
He was close. You knew the telltale signs by now. The way his breath hitched, the way he stuttered, the way his hand had started to grip your hair tight at the top of your head. If he weren't on the phone, he would have grabbed you with both hands, used your mouth as much as he wanted. But now, in your control, he could only hold in his gasps and moans, giving short, one-word responses to what his girl asked on the phone. You glared up at him as he continued speaking, annoyance growing because his attention wasn't entirely on you. It made you work harder, doing everything you could to get him there.
When you stopped, right at the edge of his release, he had to hold back a whimper. His knuckles were white against the telephone, watching you carefully as you stood up from where you'd been sitting on your haunches. You hummed at the look of him, disheveled, embarrassed, completely at your mercy. You held your hand out in front of him, looking from his eyes to the phone.
Michael had been listening to his girl ramble about something; he really wasn't sure what it was at the moment. He furrowed a brow, shaking his head at your request. It was a weak refusal, and it made you laugh. Out loud, bright and airy and echoing through the room.
The voice of his girl got louder on the phone, with questions about who that was and what woman was with him, laughing. You used your other hand to grab Michael, where your mouth had just been, wrenching your wrist and moving up and down in a way that made his eyes flutter closed. It was then that you were free to grab the phone from him, when his release was building, and there was nothing he cared about more than getting there.
You waited to say anything until he was moaning, spilling all over your hand, and twitching against your body. Your voice was smooth on the receiver, a stark contrast to the breathy, choppy nature of Michael's voice.
"He's not coming back because he's sleeping with me."
Review ă»ă» Michael has a crush on his next door neighbor.
â ââââ ââââ Sound Checkă»ă» Deep thanks to my pookies @confetti-cakemix and @vampgothicz for enabling me to write this! I said I would never write a rpf but the Michael movie has been on my mind and his music is currently being injected into my brain. Read part 2!!
â ââââ ââââCreditsă»ă» General audience! Fluff. Light teasing. First kiss. Post Off the wall/ Pre thriller! MJ Era. not proof read , I am free. wc. 3k
Disclaimer ⌠Iâm basing this on Jafaar's performance of Michael. That means his personality is taken straight from the movies portrayal! This is all purely fictional. Thank You .á
It wasn't often that Michael had people over to his house. Sure, he had Managers and musicians come and go. The mailman and other various company movers ride through, but he doesn't ever remember a time when somebody so normal, someone whose main task wasn't to appeal to the Jacksons, came through here.
Michael didn't have friends, not human at least. He had Bubbles, Louie, Musclesâ but none of them was a girlâ a human girlâ who was currently sitting in the stables of Louie's pen. Waiting for Michael to introduce another one of his exotic friends.Â
You waited patiently, eyes filled with sparkle, cheeks blooming with warmth. You came over, your first time, usually only conversing through the cracks of the walls or by mail due to the massive amounts of fans outside of his gates.
It happened by coincidence, a mistake that turned into a blessing of sorts.Â
You had packages delivered to his front door, a mishap by the mailman, but you didn't seem to mind it too much. You simply found the perfect opportunity to catch him while he was leaving from his recording studio, calling for someone to answer because you've been trying to get past the gates all week.Â
He heard, remembering that Latoya had mentioned that there were a few packages that weren't meant for the Jacksons a few days ago and he followed the tune of your shouts.Â
After another helpless call, he answered.Â
"I think we have your packages," he said, your voice immediately stopping.Â
He heard silence for a while, the breeze brushing through the trees. "Um, Hello?" He said. The sun was slowly making its way down to introduce the night. He was getting cold, and he had a meeting to get to in the morning.Â
He thought you left, but you spoke up.Â
"Y-Yes! I'm sorry, I've been doing this every day, I thought I started to hear things!"Â
He chuckled lowly, finding it all amusing. "Sorry, the front gates are always guarded, but I can have someone deliver it to you tomorrow."
"Oh, that would be perfect! Thank you!"Â
It wasn't the last time he got your packages, occasionally getting them every few weeks. But it was all cleared when he had the mailman return them.Â
"Do you really read through all of this mail?" Latoya gasped, opening a red envelope with decorated hearts. "There are so many, it'll be next year by the time you finish."Â
"I don't mind, it makes me feel important to people when they take the time to write to me."Â
He picked up a white envelope, his eyes immediately drawn to the last name.Â
He's seen that name before, on the wrong packages often delivered to his front step.
He opened it, turning away from Latoya who was still in awe of the thousands of letters scattered around on his floor.Â
He finally got your nameâ a pretty name at that. Handwriting that was cursive and bubbly, penmanship you don't see often decorated the paper.Â
You thanked him. A few sentences written about how grateful you were that even with the mishap, he didn't mind sending the packages back. You also mentioned how you were amazed at the fact that you could see a giraffe from your bedroom window sometimes, a sight you don't see often but felt delighted by it.Â
"I would love to see one up close the same way you do. But maybe when I'm much older and can travel the world on my own, perhaps I will. Thank you once again!"Â
And that was it.Â
He probably read the letter ten times before he realized that for the first time, you didn't want to see him as everybody else didâ hoping they could get something out of him like a picture or an autographâ but you didn't mention any of it. You simply stated that you wanted to see his animals.Â
Not him.Â
His animals.Â
And that is what started his deep infatuation with you.Â
He wrote a letter back in the dead of night. The Pen scratching off certain words, frustration hitting through him, and then he was crumpling the paper once more, a fresh sheet already settled under his hand. It's been an hour, the fifth paper so far, and he tried his best to make sure the letter was perfect. It's easier sending a fax to businessmen about his ideas and new musical ideas regarding his career and the next album of his life, but sending a letter to somebody soâŠÂ regular felt like the hardest thing in the world.Â
And sending it out was even harder.Â
But it happened.Â
And he kicked himself for it.Â
When he got his fan mail in two large bags, the only thing he wanted to read was yours.Â
The dial rings once before the line is picked up, the receiver immediately placed against his ear. You greet him first, voice trembling. âOh! H-Hello? Im S-Sorry, is this the Jacksonâs residence?âÂ
âDepends." Michael was lying on his back, the cord stretching from his night stand. âMissing a package again?â
"Michael? Oh goodness, I thought I got the wrong number. I thought that, maybe you were pranking me or somethingâ"
That was a few days ago.Â
"Why would I give you a fake number?"
"Why wouldn't you?"Â
There's some hidden underlying fact in your words, like this wasn't the first time you've gotten somebodies number and it was fake. But Michael wasn't like that. He was kind and genuineâ he liked having someone to talk to, even if they were animals sometimes.Â
"No, this is real. My own personal number."
"O-Oh, I see."Â
It went quiet on the other line.Â
"I hope I'm not bothering you, I know it's late but you said if I needed anybody to talk to you⊠you were always freeâ"
"Did I say that?" He sounded dead serious.Â
"Huh? I think so? Waitâ I'm pretty sure?" You gasped in distraught. "Oh my gosh, did I read that wrong? I'm so sorry, I-I thought the letter â"
Michael laughed behind the line. "I'm joking with you."
âHey! Come on, donât be a tease!" you whined.Â
He found comfort like this, something he only truly found in his family centric circleâ besides Joe.Â
"So, what's the matter?"
He heard you shuffling, the line going quiet.Â
"I umâŠneeded to hear someone other then my parents⊠I guess?"
Michael sat up, the tension hardening. "What's wrong with your parents?"
"They think it's okay to control your life," you sighed. "I understand, respect your parents, blah, blah, blahâ but I have dreams too you know? I wanna be an actor! Or maybe a journalist? I'm not sure yet, but I'm working it out."
He could relate to that. All of his life has been controlled by Joe. Singing, dancing, shows, musicâ all of it. His last album was probably the first time he's felt free and the thought of making another one gave him hope but that heavy presence has never left.Â
"I get it. I have issues with my parents too."Â
The connection sparkled.Â
You both talked for hours afterwards, bubbles sleeping besides him, curled up against his side. You talked about more of your dreams, thoughts you had of the world and he listened.Â
Eventually it turned into him listing off exotic animals he liked and planned on inviting to his home. He was on number 47, the list already bizarre as it was.Â
"â and If I could own a panda, I could have free cuddly hugs every minute of the day."Â
"Panda⊠elephant⊠koalaâŠ" you said in anstonishment. "Gee, what are you going to say next? A snake?"
"No, I wouldn't say that."
"Thank goodnessâ"
"I already own a snake. His name is Muscles."Â
Another slew of chuckles shot through him at how silent you had gotten. "Are you surprised? I mean, do you think that'sâŠ" his laughter died, jaw setting tightly. He didn't want to say that word, he hated using that word, but he wouldn't be surprised if you used it. "âThat's ⊠not likeâŠweirdâŠto you?"Â
"Weird?" You started, voice shooting up an octave in offense.Â
"Y-Yeah, I mean, some people say it's weird. My brothers think so, and Joesphâ"
"Oh Michaelâ" He thought he heard an angel on the other line. "âthat's not weird at all. If anything, it makes you more interesting. Not a lot of people care about animals."Â
He chewed his bottom lip. "If you wantâ I mean, only if you want, you can say no if you want too. But⊠You can come overâ I mean, visit. I can show you what I have so far."
"You mean that?"Â
"Yes. How about tomorrow?"Â
"Tomorrow is no goodâ" He kicked himself for asking. "â the day after is perfect though. If you still want me?"Â
He jumped from the bed and bubbles snorted in annoyance but went back to sleep. "Yes! yes, of course. I'll have Bill come for you."
"Who's that?"
"He's my body guard, but I trust him like a father."
"Okay."Â
Michael got the excited jitters, pumping his fist.Â
"The day after tomorrow then?" You asked.Â
"The day after tomorrow then," he repeated back, like he couldn't believe what he was saying.Â
"Goodnight Michael."
The line cut, and Michael felt like he was on cloud nine.Â
You came over, just as he hoped, and he immediately showed you his home. The pool, the garden, his room. Nobody was home but the maids, his brothers and father were off somewhere he didn't care to know. All that mattered was that he got the house to himself so that he could show you around without questions following.Â
You were amazed at his room, the collections of toys and posters he had almost made your eyes pop. You asked about his endless figurines of the Disney character Peter Pan and he gave you the simplest answer.Â
"He's me."Â
You didn't make a face in disgust, but you did ask a question.Â
"Can you fly too?"
He laughed at that. "I'm working on it. If we can land on the moon, it's not far off that a man could fly too."Â
He introduced you to Bubbles first and while you were scared to get closeâ holding onto his hand and shaking like an earth quakeâ you told him that it was very kind of him to rescue a chimpanzee. Muscles on the other hand you refused to go in the room.Â
He's never laughed so much in his life.Â
Louie made you calmer. Finding that he was cute and cuddly. And the famous giraffe you often saw outside of your window made the time spent perfect.Â
You had to go of course, but the late night call was filled with joy.Â
After that, the calls only kept coming. When he was away, far off while traveling with his brothers, he would send letters to your home in hopes that you would send back. It made him feel special in some way, knowing that somebody cared more about who he was then just the musical aspects of his character.Â
Whenever you felt down, expressing concern about life and your parents exhausting expectations, he would sneak you over to his house and play twisters in his room.Â
The maids saw you enough, but they didn't say anything.Â
And he was thankful for that.Â
But Bill, his bodyguard and trusted friend had a whole lot to say with a sharp raise of his brows and that light smirk on his face.Â
"She's your girlfriend now?"
Michael would dodge the question with another question. "So men can't have female friends?"Â
Bill didn't push for more, but he knew deep down that as long as Michael was happy, that's all that mattered.Â
"I wonder what he's thinking?"
You were sitting besides him, arms stretched out to pet Louie's head, a small grin adorning your face.
He's known you for a year and your friendship still felt new. Like always, you snuck over, played one of his many board games, and he talked about the stress he had over his upcoming album. So, you suggested that some fresh air could do him good.Â
Here you were, dangerously close, while showing one of his friends love that he so desperately wanted himself. He believed this was his chance to confess his deepest desire. He chewed the inside of his lips, formed the words in his head, and let it go.Â
"I thinkâŠ" He took a deep breath, eyes scanning your face for your next reaction. You were petting Louie's head, comepletly enamored by himâ a girl unlike anybody he's ever seen. "IâŠum, I think he likes you," He finally said, his breath leaving seconds after.Â
Your eyes slowly found his, attention drawn, your hands slowing down but still acknowledging Louie. "Really?" You questioned, lips curling into a grin. "How'd you know that?"Â
He gulped, suddenly put on the spot. "He told me."
"Told you?" You titled your head, cheeks puffing with your grin. "Who Louie?"Â
If this was anybody else, they would have laughed in his face. Called him insane, maybe delusionalâ in need of more time with humans and less time with animalsâ but you didn't do either.Â
You stared at him in wonder, your attention all on him.Â
Michael cleared his throat, "Y-Yeah, when they like someone, t-they make this small humming noiseâ sometimes you can tell by the ears. It's down, relaxedâ he likes you. A lot." And he probably shouldn't have stumbled on his words so much, painfully obvious, but thankfully you didn't seem to catch it.Â
"Oh wow, you sure know a whole lot about llamas." you drew your attention back to Louie.Â
He could finally catch his breath.Â
"I should probably leave soon. Your family might be back any minute now."Â
He didn't want you to leave.Â
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, Your probably a very busy man. Don't need to cut your time to spend it with me."
And that was the problem, he wanted to spend it with you.Â
He needed an excuse to get you to stay longer. "Waitâ can I show you something?"
"Show me what?" You looked at him questionably.Â
"I've been working on something but I need input."
"You want my input?" You looked down in thought, "I mean, sure, but I'm not that very good at criticizing things."Â
"Don't worry, I don't bite."Â
You shoved him with your elbow lightly. "Please, I'm more scared of the snake."Â
"Then let's go." He stood up abruptly, dusting off his pants. "It's only a few steps away from hereâ"Â
Michael's jaw almost dropped.Â
You were leaning forward, placing a kiss against Louie's cheek, a goodbye filled with love. Michael wasn't often jealous, but standing here, now, watching you show affection for someone other than him filled him with jealousy beyond comprehension.Â
"Goodbye Louie." You petted his head once again and stood up.Â
Michael swallowed around a lump.Â
"Where is it again?" You questioned.
The studio felt warmer than before. Inches away from you once again but this time it was in his most vulnerable field.Â
He finished playing a few of his demos, the ones Quincy gave his stamp of approval. You listened and bobbed your head, side eyeing him at particular high ending sections of the songs with a amazement on your face.Â
"These were really good," you smiled, "I particularly like Starlight, although I'm a little confused on the meaning."Â
"It's upbeatâ something to get the crowd moving."Â
"Sure,butâ" you tapped your chin, "I feel like it's missing something."Â
He wrote something down on paper, a few words taken straight from your mouth.Â
Good but missing something
He placed his pen down, turning towards you. "The album isn't done yet, but I'm hoping it becomes the biggest album ever. Still working through some other songs, a title for the album, promotional picturesâ other tedious things that you probably don't want to hear."
"I don't mind," you looked over at him. "I like when your like thisâ happy. You get so hyper about music, I can't help but be hypnotized."Â
Michael begin to sweat, his face suddenly warm. "You do?"
"We're alike, you and me. Although I'm not a Super Star like you," you laughed. "I can barely handle cleaning my room and your here mixing instruments and doing tours."Â
"T-That makes sense."Â
A knock on the door startled you both.Â
Bill came in, tapping his watch. "You family will be back soon, time to go."Â
Michael screamed internally.Â
"Guess I'll see you later?" You titled your head, rubbing a hand over his arm.Â
"I-I guess so."Â
You both couldn't break eye contact even if you tried.Â
"Can I do something real quick?" You asked, catching Michael off guard.Â
"Sureâ"Â
He wasn't sure what this feeling wasâ if he was going through cardiac arrest or if someone was hitting him with a bat at the chest, but all he knew was that he didn't want that feeling to go away.Â
You leaned in, same way you did with Louie and kissed Michael's cheek. Your eyes shut close and your hands resting over his knee. You didn't pull away, even when Bill knocked on the door again. Time fell still. The moment so right that everything was swept away and replaced by your presences only.Â
Michael didn't know what to do with himself.Â
Finally, you broke away and chuckled to yourself. "See you later Mikey." You stood up and left a very flabbergasted Michael Jackson.Â
You opened the door, Bill greeted you and you left with a light skip in your step.Â
Bill came in, checking in on Michael. "You alright?"
"Hm? Oh, yeah," he shook the shock from his body, cheeks still warm. "I was going to write down a new song."Â
"Ohhh, Okay. Well, if you need me, I'll be out hereâ " before he turned, he called out. "â and Michael?"
Michael looked at him in question. "Yes?"
Bill pointed to his cheek. "You got a little something there. It's red, like a kissâ"
Michael quickly rubbed his hand over his cheek. "O-Oh okay! I gotta get to work. I'm a very busy man Bill."Â
Once Bill left, Michael finally left to his thoughts. He wrote something else under your critique, his face still bloomed with heat.Â
I hope to weave this into a full one-shot but these are some little pieces Iâve written for a Remmick x Reader story đ
Summary: Reader notices her lacy, pretty things have been going missing from the clotheslineâŠwho could it be? (This is the plot for now)
But he wasnât an animal at all, he was all man, or at least he appeared as much. Beauty and torment all at once. His teeth sharp but his words soft as they were whispered from plush pink lips. Beckoning you, calling for you from the darkness of the woods. A hushed noise that reminded you of the soft rumbling of far off thunder; low but powerful, like it was drawing energy from the earth itself. Like it was a secret meant just for your ears.
And his lipsâŠthe supple flesh demanding just one small glance, your eyes flicking down to them for a moment longer than necessary. The corners sloping up gently before cresting into two gentle peaks. And then the ends curled subtly and his bottom lip twitched because he knew that your gaze had at once turned lecherous through no effort of his own.
He knew youâd come to him, easy little thing.
Even with the excessive hem of his dark pants flocked with the soft red dust of the ground, he strutted around, confident. Like he was wearing a fine tailored suit instead of pants that seemed both too long and just a tad snugger than was appropriate.
âŠAnd he was dragging her somewhere not unlike heaven or hell; like a purgatory between overwhelming pleasure and the crashing guilt of enjoying the way his tongue ravaged her body; taking her apart piece by piece to construct something far more wicked and voracious.
âYouâve still the right to wear itâŠbut then Iâm gonna ravage youâŠgonna make sure white donât ever look the same on your skin again.â
But this was different. Molten, red and fiery, and sheâd never knew pain could feel like salvation. Could feel like renewal and passion and hurt and love all at once.
Oh how the shadows of our bodies reflect the darkness (the wanting, the fear, the things that consume us) that follows us, always, even when the light is near and bright and blinding. Especially then.
Do not be devoured by yourself; stand in the warmth, with your face in the sun and your shadows will scurry behind you and hide.
I thought the similarities of Peter Panâs shadow and The Void was interestingâŠand the general idea of the void and Neverland too, a world full of nothing and everything all at once
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Katoptronophilia (!) Loud and obnoxious I-Love-You-and-I-Missed-You Sex. C*m eating. Age gap. One (1) Almost-BJ. I think thatâs it.
Note: For those unfamiliar with That Folgers Commercial
Word count: 8.2k
Airplane food tasted like shit.
Some prick in a business suit spilled his coffee all over you, your luggage had nearly been lost in transit between connecting flights, and someoneâs unsupervised child had tried to bite your ankle while waiting at the gate.
The weather was bad, and all of the flight crew and your boarding group were pissedâyour second trip was delayed by two hours due to inclement conditions. Snow had pelted the floor-to-ceiling windows without reprieve for what felt like years, and finally, the folks in air traffic control seemed to have just thrown up their hands and said, âFuck it, let them go.â You boarded the plane freezing your ass off and stained all down the front of your t-shirt in espresso. Your Achilles tendon ached.
And still, this felt like the greatest day of your life.
You were going home. And not just home but to Joel, who was picking you up from the airport that day. You hadnât had any exams at the end of the week, so youâd decided to come home a half-day early and surprise him. With all of the delays, you wouldnât be in until early that morning, but Joel was still happy to pick you up. You wouldnât tell your dad you were back until the following evening, and in the meantime, youâd savor every second you had with Joel until you had to leave again. You didnât want to be apart from him, but at least the separation this time around was sweeter: he was your boyfriend.
Just thinking those words made you smile.
Even sat next to a screaming baby the whole four-hour plane ride from Baltimore to Austin, you were happy.
Damn near cheerful skipping off the aircraft five hours after your original ETA, and heading to the baggage claim in a sea of pushy, disgruntled passengers.
You took the stairs instead of the escalator. You didnât mind the extra effort with your far-too-heavy carry-on; you just wanted to take the fastest route to get to the place youâd be meeting Joel. Your sneakers sounded their light, quick thuds down the marble steps as you went, and you slung the strap of your duffel bag higher up your shoulder to get a better hold while you jogged.
You looked around, eager as ever.
Was that a pit of anxiety you felt?
Around Joel, that was never really a thingâbut anticipating his presence after weeks spent apart was a whole different beast. Now your pulse pounded in your ears; your throat constricted a little bit. Where was he?
From: Joel
Just parked
Headed in now
That had been twenty minutes ago.
Iâll be over by the stairs
Except he wasnât there.
You were at the foot of the stairs, peering anxiously around as you were jostled further out by the moving crowd, but the longer you looked, the more certain you became that Joel wasnât there. In fact, there was no one that looked even remotely like him. It was mostly families and young people that appeared to be around your ageâevidently, all colleges started break at the same timeâthat were standing around. You stood on your tip-toes to get a peek overtop these people, and you still couldnât spot one single silver-flecked head that looked like his.
You pulled out your phone to text him.
From: You
Sooooo did someone kidnap you orâ
You didnât get to finish that message.
Before you could hit âsend,â you felt two arms wrap around you from behind. You dropped your bag.
The same grin crept onto your faceâyou couldnât help it.
âExcuse me, Iâm actually waiting for my boyfriendâŠâ
You pretended to tense with discomfort at the feel of someoneâs body draped over your own, and then there were lips grazing your hair, stubble teasing your cheek.
âOh, yeah? Then where is he?â
Joel turned you to face him.
Well, shit, there he is.
Both of you were beaming. Joel looked handsome but sleepyâand who could blame him at 5:21 AM, when heâd likely been at work since six the day before? You were the one to open your arms then. You lunged just in time for him to accept your embrace, and you didnât miss the way he stumbled a bit. He also turned his face so your lips landed on his cheek, not his mouth. He blinked rapidly.
Perhaps youâd come on a little strong.
Easy now, heâs probably tired as shit.
âSorry. Just missed you,â you mumbled into Joelâs neck.
He squeezed you tighter. He shook you back and forth.
His lips pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head.
âDonât be sorry. I missed you moreâ was all he said.
And before you knew it, you were headed home again. Rather than retreating to the house youâd grown up in, though, you went over to Joelâs cozy, ranch-style place. From all the time youâd spent there lately, and even in the years before, you knew it well. Joel kept it clean. Simple.
Cold as shit.
â52 degrees?! Have you lost your fucking mind, Miller?â
Youâd pulled your parka fast about yourself as soon as you stepped in. You exhaled and saw it hang mid-air.
âIt ainât that bad. We got blankets,â Joel huffed.
He hadnât talked much on the ride home from the airport. You didnât blame him. You could see in his eyes and in the way heâd fixed his stare on the road all the way home that the man was exhausted. He looked like he hadnât slept in days. You decided not to push him on it.
But sleeping in an igloo was where you drew the line.
You spun on your heel to face him, brows pinched.
âMy nipples could cut diamonds right now.â
And you peeled back your jacket to show him, where you only wore your tight, coffee-stained tee underneath. Sure enough, two small, hardened peaks poked out through the fabric to greet Joel in the chill of his living room.
To your surprise, Joel swallowed and looked away.
He left the room shortly after thatâostensibly, to adjust the thermostat. But it was the expression he wore as he did that gave you pause. The look on his face was hard.
Guilty.
What the hell had happened in the thirty minutes since youâd gotten here to make him take on that expression?
Was it the way you smelled after six or seven hours of combined air travel, not including all the excruciating minutes spent languishing in the Boston and Baltimore airports? That stupid story youâd told him about the flight attendant whose breath smelled of rotten pimento cheese? Or was it because youâd jumped him too fastâopted for a kiss on the mouth instead of simply hugging him and attempting to curb your enthusiasm a little bit?
Your mind whirred a thousand miles a minute with this thinkingâoverthinking, really. You couldnât help doing it.
In spite of the near-dizzying excitement youâd felt coming home, it was easy to slip back into old habits. Worry, uncertainty, fear of feeling more for a person than they did for you and getting too invested, it was all there. It was astounding how quickly the dread crept in. Shit.
âShit,â you repeated aloud, kicking off your shoes.
You were standing in Joelâs room, preparing for bed. The heat had evidently kicked on, but the space was still freezing, so you peeled your clothes slowly. You set them aside, one-by-one, and folded them atop Joelâs dresser while your stomach churned. Your toes curled in your socks, and for a moment, you contemplated whether or not to wear your pyjamas to bed. Or Joelâs. Or naked.
Did he want to have sex tonight?
Heâd looked so tired, and he hadnât touched you once since setting you down from the hug at the airport, butâ
âHey.â
A folded, fuzzy blanket landed on the dresser next to you
It was pink. It had polka dots on it, not unlike the towel you had back at college and had seen Joel wrap himself in before youâd snuck him into your communal showers.
You smiled faintly at the memory.
You looked back up at Joel.
âI figured youâd get cold whenever you came over here, so I got this. Now you can bundle up. And wear these.â
Emphasizing the last word, Joel dropped a pair of matching slippers next to the blanket. They were new. Heâd bought them for you, and had remembered enough to know you liked pink, frilly things. And not freezing your fucking ass off in the middle of winter. Your smile grew.
You thanked him, and were about to turn to give him a hug, when he was off again. This time, to the bathroom.
You decided youâd dress in your own pajamas tonight. You grabbed your new blanket and slippers and then padded over to Joelâs bed at the other end of the room.
How long you waited there was anyoneâs guess.
Changing out of his clothes, brushing his teeth, washing his hands or simply running the tap until the water all but ran out seemed to take Joel decades. You stayed curled on your side in his bed, rubbing your now-comfortably warmed feet under the covers and occasionally checking the time. You even scrolled for a little bit to distract your mind and keep it from worrying. Heâs probably just tired.
And when, finally, he shut the bathroom door behind him and retired to bed, you could see it: Joel was exhausted.
You wanted to leave him be. Let him get some rest and pick things up in the morning, same as you always did.
Then Joel snaked a big, warm, muscly arm around your waist and pulled you into his chest. Against your back, you could feel it: he had on one of his long sleeve, waffle-knit shirts. You wriggled a little and shuffled your legs, and you shortly discovered he was wearing his thickest pair of pyjama pants as well. Joel almost always slept naked, or in only his boxers, so this was odd. Then again, it was dead of winter, so you couldnât really blame him.
He pressed an innocent kiss to your temple before murmuring, âNight, sweet pea,â and you couldnât ignore what you felt, either. What you were feeling, presently, through the thick, cotton fabric of Joelâs pants was impossible to ignoreâhe was rock-hard against you. Joel shuffled back some, but still, the bulge was prominent.
Okay, wellâŠmaybe we donât have to sleep just yet.
You werenât entirely sure why you did what you did. You were pretty tired yourself. All you knew was that intimacy made you feel close to Joelâhelped your brain process feelings better than speaking, sometimesâand right then, you felt needy. Lonely. With just a few gruff words and a strange look from him before, youâd grown self-conscious again, and you werenât sure what to do with that emotion. You figured Joelâs dick in you might help.
So you turned around and climbed right on him.
You straddled Joelâs hips, a little more confident in how you maneuvered it now, after doing this dozens of times before. You and Joel enjoyed sleepy sex, whether it was first thing in the morning or right before bed, and usually, neither one of you had to talk to initiate. You simply clambered over the other person and got to work. It was a simple form of stress reliefâa way to rid your brain of unwanted thoughts and get you right to sleep after doing the deedâand it didnât take much to get either one of you off. You sighed when you felt Joelâs cock graze you through your light, satin pyjamas. You didnât move too quickly, but you did bear down on him.
Joelâs eyes flew open.
He grabbed your hips, and he grunted through his teeth.
âSweetheartââ he started, strained.
It encouraged you to feel him stiffen from that first motion of your lower half, so you did it again. You leaned down to kiss his neck, in just the spot he always liked, close to the jaw, and you rubbed yourself gently against his erection. His grip tightened on your hips, and the initial surprise seemed shortly to morph into desire.
Like always, Joel would probably flip you and offer to fuck in missionary. That was how you both liked to start.
You dragged your lips down the column of his neck and were about to bare your teeth to leave a quick love bite, maybe nip at the skin once or twice before moving your mouth lower on him, when Joelâs grip really constricted.
His fingers seared your skin.
A groan rumbled in his chest.
âBaby, pleaseâŠâ he croaked. He swallowed hard.
Was he trying to beg? That wouldnât be a first, but you hadnât expected it to happen so fast. His tone was low. His voice was soft, and his fingertips were kneading hard
âI know youâre tired, so Iâll get on top,â you offered, quiet.
With barely more than a whisper and a brush of your hand against the bulge in his pants, you earned another throaty sound from Joel. He cursed under his breath.
âThisâŠI need toâŠfuck.â
Words seemed to evade him, and that wasnât surprising. When you were turned on, you also forgot how to talk.
Joel always teased you for it, so now youâd do the same.
Moving lower down his body, and pushing the covers back as you went, you kept your gaze locked on his. The house had heated considerably since youâd gotten back, and now you didnât feel like you had to wrap up in fifteen layers just to stay tolerably warm. You flashed the man a sly little grin, told him he needed to use his words if he wanted you to put your lips to use where he wanted them, and proceeded to stray even further. Your bottom lip grazed past his navel, and your tongue darted out to lick down the strip of grey and black hairs running down his lower belly where the bottom of his shirt had ridden up a little bit. As soon as you did, Joel inhaled sharply.
âBaby,â he hissed.
He seized your hair in his fist. Surprisingly, it felt nice.
It made you want to take him in your mouth even more.
So, hooking your fingers under the waistband of his pants, you didnât waste any time. You yanked at the fabric, fully prepared to suck Joel off a little before climbing on and riding him, and just when his cock was about to spring free, you felt itâhis grasp pulling back.
You heard him, hoarsely:
âWait, wait, wait!â
Your chin jerked up. Probably no more than five seconds had passed since youâd slid down his body, and each act had transpired so swiftly, without a pause or a hitch from what you could tell, that for Joel to stop you so suddenly meant something was off. Something here was wrong.
âWe canât do this,â Joel blurted out at once.
You let go of his waistband. You tried to talk.
âWhatâs wroââ
âIâ I need to tell you something. Now. Iâm sorry.â
At the same time, Joel seemed to be asking you to get up. You didnât hesitate to do exactly that, shuffling back.
Your stomach plummeted inside you as you feared you mightâve done something wrong, or crossed some line.
That, on top of everything else that night, and feeling like Joel might be having second thoughts about your relationship already, was enough to make your eyes sting. There werenât tears, but that wasnât far off.
How had you fucked this up so monumentally, so quick?
You chewed the inside of your lip. You blinked furiously.
âI-I-Iâm sorry, Joel. I thought you wanted me toââ
âNo, Iâm sorry. We just canât do this right now.â
His gaze was serious. Wide. Your heart sank.
You couldnât help the words that followed.
âDidâ did I just do something wrong?â
âNo, baby, you didnât do anythinââ
âYouâre having second thoughts?â
Your pulse leapt and sped up.
âNo, no, not at all. Iâm jusââ
âBecause you can tell me.â
âThatâs not what I wasââ
âIf you want to break upââ
âWhat? That ainât what I said.â
âSo what is it? Whatâs going on?â
Your worst thoughts were winning.
You were jumping to conclusions again.
There wasnât time to be rational or sedate.
âJoel Miller, if youâre gonna dump me right nowââ
âSweetheart, thereâs a chance I might be your uncle.â
âWhat?!â
In fairness to you, his admission sounded fucking insane.
Joel couldâve handled this situation in a thousand different ways, and of course, heâd done it horribly.
The timing? Terrible. Treading close to atrocious.
The execution? Piss-poor. Actually, the worst.
Youâd been a second away from wrapping your lips around his dick, and he chose that moment to tell you that you might possibly be his long-lost niece? Really?
The look on your face as you shuffled back didnât surprise him at all. It did make Joel want to vomit a bit.
âListen, I can explainâŠâ he started, speaking slowly.
He lifted his hands in a conciliatory sort of gesture, then reached for you, but when you pushed back further in the bed, he dropped both. Your eyes went wide in horror.
âWhat do you mean youâre my fucking uncle, Joel?!â
His widened, too. You mightâve misheard him.
âNo, no, Iâm not. Iâm probably not, I justââ
âProbably?! What is âprobablyâ?!â
Youâd all but screeched that.
You were standing from the bed. Looking down at it, as if to say, âWhat did I just do? What have we been doing?â and your face gave way to a grimace. You winced like youâd just witnessed a car wreck firsthand, and again, Joel couldnât blame you for that. He needed to fix this.
Heâd meant to handle this himself. Heâd called Tommy at least sixty times that night, when your dad had casually dropped the bomb that Tommy might have slept with his ex-wife and knocked her up over twenty years back, making him your biological father and Joel your uncle.
It was a stretch.
As far as Joel knew, Tommy had never been involved with your mom, much less around the time youâd been born. It was such a wild, far-fetched idea that he and your dad were almost positive that this wasnât the case.
There was no way.
But if there wasâŠ
Joel hadnât planned on taking any chances until he was certain. He also hadnât wanted to cause any unneeded trauma by freaking you out and having you go into a panic, like you were right now. Heâd intended to play it cool until he could get ahold of his baby brotherâif he ever would pick up his fucking phoneâand heâd meant to get the truth out of Tommy before doing anything else. Before you got home. Then youâd changed your flight to come back a half-day earlier, and even with all the delays youâd had, Joel still wasnât able to get in touch with his brother before then. It was late. Heâd been stuck between a rock and a hard place, debating whether to spill this big, terrible news that might turn out not to be news at all, while also revealing your dadâs secret that he might not be your father. It was a clusterfuck. It sucked.
Joel had only found this out hours ago, and already, it felt like the world as he and you knew it was going to shit
He wouldnâtâcouldnâtâlay a finger on you until he was absolutely sure that you werenât his niece. He hadnât wanted to fuck up your psyche, as well as the heart of your relationship with your maybe-not-biological-father, by sharing this news. So heâd tried to compromise. Sleep side-by-side and pretend to be too tired to do anything, so he could buy more time before he spoke with Tommy. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Then youâd wrecked his plans by straddling his dick and proceeding to try and suck it, and Joel had been left with no choice.
He blurted it out before he could try and stop himself.
âTommy mightâveâ mightâve fucked your mom.â
It was graceless. Just like everything else.
Your eyes went even wider.
âWhat?â you breathed.
He kept going.
âThereâsâŠyour dad was tellinâ me, thereâs a slight chance your mom and Tommy were messinâ around back in the day, about a year before you were born, andâŠand he isnât completely sureâthere were a few other guys, but he doesnât knowâand he told me. He told me this tonight, when we went out for drinks. And then you came back earlier than I was expecting, andâŠwell, Iâve been tryinâ to get ahold of Tommy, but he ainât pickinâ up. I wantedââ
âGet your keys,â you cut in suddenly.
Now it was his turn to be confused.
âWait, what?â
Joel stared, and he saw you were already on your phone. Toggling something on the screen. Frowning down at it.
âWhere are weââ Joel tried again.
You snapped your fingers, like youâd found something. Then you looked up at him, briefly, before striding out the bedroom door. You walked quickly; Joel followed.
He wasnât sure where you were going or what you planned on doing, but he opted to dress while he walked. He threw on his jacket and kicked on his boots, then went fishing for his keysâthey were lying in a hodgepodge of shit on the counter, as alwaysâand just as he reached out to grab them, you seized them first.
You were already headed for the car port. You didnât look behind you, and wouldnât so much as turn your head when he called out after you. You marched to his car.
âWhere are we goinâ? You gonna talk to me, honey?â
Joel tried sounding soft. You werenât having it.
You jumped in and barely gave him the chance to get his seatbelt fastened before you threw the thing in reverse.
You were backing the Bronco out in a blink. Your grip tightened on the wheel, and that was when he saw it.
First, a frown.
Then, your gaze cutting over to his across the center console. It was brief, but a look did more than enough.
âI have Tommyâs location. Weâre gonna go beat his ass.â
Life was great for Tommy Miller.
Like, really great.
He had a lady he was half-certain was the love of his life sprawled out in his bed, the sheets they got to share were warm, and the world outside was quiet. At 6 AM, out in the sticks as they were, it usually stayed like this.
Cool. Calm. Serene.
He should buy a house of his own out here one day.
The place they were staying at used to be his granddadâs. Joel had already done a bang up job at fixing it himself, and Tommy wanted to help. He also knew it would make a nice retreat for him and Maria whenever they wanted to get out of the city themselves. She liked it here, which meant that Tommy loved it. He loved her.
Stupid as it sounded, he was now beginning to understand some of Joelâs fixation with you.
If his brother felt even a fraction of what he felt for Maria, Tommy could easily see why Joel would risk his whole friendship with your father to be with you. He got it.
What he couldnât totally comprehend was why you two wouldnât come clean already. All this lying and sneaking around behind your daddyâs back must have been awful for you both. It would suck telling him at first, to be sure, but your father wasnât that intolerant that he couldnât be convinced to warm up to the idea eventually. Youâd be graduating in a few monthsâyou could come back here, not have to treat each other like some big, ugly secret, and then live like he and Maria did, every day. That was what Tommy had wanted for his big brother, anyway.
These thoughts and at least a dozen more were all swirling through his mind after the break of dawn that day, when he was half-asleep and barely more conscious than not. He stretched out in bed, smiling to himself.
He was about to turn and drape an arm over Mariaâs side when a sound at the front door stopped him. It was loud.
Someone was knocking.
Banging.
Striking their fist on the wood so hard it sounded like they mightâve been apt to knock the whole thing down.
For a moment, Tommy considered grabbing his pistol. Then he shrugged off the thought, not wanting to freak Maria out by brandishing a firearm at this hour, and instead bounded quickly to the door to see what the fuck this person wanted before their knocking woke her up.
He swung the front door open, nostrils flared.
And there you were, looking just as enraged.
âYou motherfucker!â you hissed at him.
Before he could stop you, you were storming inside. He could see Joel behind you, looking almost as overcome as he was, but he didnât have time to talk to his brother.
Tommy didnât have time to breathe, as you knocked the wind out of him by pushing past him, your steps forceful.
Your eyes were wide with indignation and ire.
Disbelief andâŠsomething like disgust?
âDid you fuck my mom?!â you spat.
What theâ what? What?
When he was too stunned to speakâfrom both drowsiness and the initial shockâyou stepped in again. You didnât touch him, but you got in his face. Very close.
âAnswer the fucking question, Miller. Did you?!â
âSweetheartââ Joel started behind you.
Tommy could hear that his voice was tight. Their eyes flitted up to meet each other, briefly, and at the same time, the door to the bedroom opened. Well, great.
âDid you fuck my mother or not, Tommy?!â
Perfect timing. Tommy swallowed hard.
For some reason, his brain wasnât functioning at full capacity, and it took him a moment to get his bearings. Evidently, you interpreted this pause as an admission, or something, because your face morphed into one of pure horror, and one of your hands rose to cover your mouth.
âOh god, you did!â you shrieked. Words high and shrill. âYou fucked her, then let me have sex with my uncle!â
Oh, fuck.
What the fuck?
What the everliving fuck?
At last, he found words: âNo! No, I neverââ
Tommy couldnât imagine what Maria must be thinking.
You turned on your heel, and, hand still hovering over your mouth, you turned to Joel. You looked like you were about to be sick, as did he. Your breaths shortly faltered.
âWe are so fucked!â you said to him. In shock.
Joel seemed as if he wanted to comfort you, but in truth, the man looked just as queasy, and you appeared to be in no state to want to be touched. You spun back around.
Somehow, Tommy was able to conjure up more words. Whether theyâd actually make sense was anyoneâs guess.
âIâ I never had sex with your mom, kid. Never,â he said.
Decent enough.
But you didnât believe him.
âMy dad said you did,â you bit back. âHe said that you andâand some other guys were hooking up with my mom right around the time she got pregnant with me, and he thinks you might be my dad, which would be insanely, insanely bad, since Iâve been fucking your brother for the last three months, and you knew that!â
Each word hit with all the force of an eighteen-wheeler.
Again, Tommy was too stunned to talk for a moment.
âJustâŠjust come clean if you did. We need to know.â
That was Joel. His face was screwed up in a wince, like he didnât really want to know any of this, but it was necessary. He needed to know if his brother was truly stupid enough to have sex with a woman and not mention the fact that her daughter might be Joelâs niece.
Tommy stared back, blinking, before recovering again.
This time, he knew he had to keep his shit together.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maria.
Keep. Your. Fucking. Shit. Together.
âI neverâŠin my life, ever slept with Amy, Joel. I swear,â he said, slowly. Then, turning to you. âI wasâwhat, likeâŠtwenty-two when you were born? I didnât even lose my virginity âtil I was twenty-four. I never had sex with her.â
âBut her dad saidââ Joel started.
âHer dad thought I was a slut back then, I know. I wasnât, but I liked pretending I was. It was easier to act like that than tell the guys I was a virgin, alright? It was stupid.â
He felt stupid.
Even more so in front of Maria, who now not only had to hear this whole insane incest debate but also learned he hadnât gotten laid until his mid-twenties. It shouldnât matterâit didnât matter, and he didnât regret his choice in the slightestâbut still, he felt a pang in his chest.
And more to the point, why the hell would your dad even insinuate that he mightâve slept with Amy? He knew damn well theyâd never gotten together. They were friends, sure, but thatâs all they ever were, or appeared.
None of it made any sense.
Clearly, the news was still settling in between you, Joel, Maria, and even himself. Silence stretched on for some seconds, and Tommy released a sigh to himself. His heart rate gradually slowed, and he looked to Maria.
And where heâd expected to find her distraught, if not disgusted or a little humiliated on his behalf, he saw a smile. It was faint, but it was there. From the opposite side of the living room, in the dim glow of the morning sunâs first rays, he could see it. She was smiling at him.
Your familyâs kind of insane.
I still love you, by the way.
Maria didnât need to speak to him in words, but he felt it. He couldnât help but grin weakly back at her, wanting to walk over to her and give her a big, bear hug in apology.
Unfortunately, Tommy didnât get that chance, as you jumped him in the next instant with a hug of your own.
You squeezed tight and exhaled shakily into his chest.
âShit. Tommy, I am so sorry. Iâm sorry,â you said.
His grin stretched bigger in spite of himself.
In spite of this whole ridiculous, messy situation, he smiled and hugged you back. You were like a little sister to him, thankfully not a daughter, and Tommy forgave folks easily. Over the top of your head, he glanced at his girlfriend again, and he mouthed a soft apology himself.
Iâm so sorry, Maria.
Also, I love you more.
âItâs all good, kid.â Out of habit, and feeling the same protective instinct heâd always felt for you, he kissed the crown of your head. He rubbed your back as you hugged. âIf I thought somebody was dumb enough not to tell me I might be fuckinâ my uncle, Iâd also try to kick their ass.â
You laughed. You shook your head a little against him.
âYouâre too big. I could never actually do it,â you said.
âI might,â Joel rejoined from someplace behind you.
That threat had no teeth. His brother was simply heaving a sigh of relief as he plopped down on the couch, likely thinking to himself that he was so fucking glad this conversation hadnât steered where he feared it might. Briefly, Tommy caught his gaze, then squeezed you in his arms a little bit tighter. He angled your bodies to Joel.
âEven if he ainât your uncle, are you sure you wanna be stuck with this loser, honey? Heâs an ass, as you can see.â
He was talking to you, but his focus was on Joel. Smug.
The man on the sofa just rolled his eyes. He reached out to snag the waistband of your shorts and tug you back, while Tommy kept that wry, knowing smirk on his lips.
He let go, and you gladly dropped over into Joelâs lap.
âToo late. Weâre dating,â his brother hummed back.
Dating?
Well, shit.
Tommy stared harder, only this time his look was one of surpriseâand muted satisfaction. He glanced at Maria, who was yawning and preparing to draw back into the bedroom, it looked like. Then he remembered how early it was. His brother looked just as drained laying out on the couch, and if heâd had to guess, you and Joel would be retiring to the guest bedroom to crash at any minute.
He would have to keep this quick.
âGoinâ steady, huh?â he pressed.
âDonât start.â Joel raised a hand, yawning himself.
You were all too tired for this shit. Tommy couldnât resist. Like the bonehead little brother he was, he had to say it. Heâd been waiting too long to see Joel in a relationship.
He was already retreating to the bedroom, to Maria, and he didnât intend on dragging this out, but the opportunity was also too tempting to ignore.
âAnd yâall didnât ask for my permission?â he called over his shoulder. Taunting. âA father has a right to know!â
Joel lifted one big, callused middle finger from the sofa. You smiled and waved and gave your best impression of a person much sweeter than you normally were, saying:
âSorry, Dad, Uncle Joelâs dick was too good to resist!â
Eeeeeewwwwwww.
Tommy made a face as he left.
âIâm going back to bed. Yâall are sick.â
And on some level, he meant it. He was also grinning ear-to-ear as he shut the bedroom door behind him and turned to Maria, who was sliding under the covers.
âYour life is a Folgers commercial,â she chuckled.
âPretty much,â he murmured as he joined her.
Then, without thinking twice about it, he reached for one of the pillows that had fallen off the bed. He nudged it over his girlfriendâs way, as if offering for her to take it, and when Maria cocked a brow, Tommy pointed to the door. He could already hear you and Joel going upstairs.
âYouâll need this. Use it to cover your ears,â he said.
âWhat? Why?â
âBecause if I know anything about those two, theyâre about to have some of the most disgustingly loud sex.â
You and Joel were having the most disgustingly loud sex.
It always was, though, wasnât it?
The concern wasnât one that often crossed your mind when getting drilled from behind by Joel Miller, but today, with his brotherâwho was not your biological fatherâand his girlfriend in the room directly below the one where you and Joel were fucking, you did consider it.
Were you being too noisy? Could they hear you now?
Was Joel pounding too hard, and should you have maybe put a pillow between the metal bed frame and the wall?
There was no time to fix the latter. You were in too deep. Joel was in too deep himself, digging through your guts with every quick, merciless thrust of his hips against you. His grip tightened on your waist, and he pushed down. He wanted your upper half damn near parallel with the bed, while your ass was up and pointed just where he could fuck your wet and needy cunt. He drove in hard.
Every push of his cock through your body, sawing back and forth, again and again with increasing vigor, couldâve supplied noise enough to wake the whole neighborhood. The dizzying squelch, the persistent, wet smack of his groin against your ass, the tiny strings of your shared arousal and sweat stretching far and then colliding all over again with each new thrust, all blew your cover.
If youâd had any desire to keep your sex noises private, your body and his were doing a terrible fucking job of it.
You might as well have painted it on a billboard by now:
âWE REALLY, REALLY LOVE FUCKING!â
âWEâRE NOT RELATED, BY THE WAY!!â
Perhaps that was why Joel was so earnest nowâhaving just found out that this had all been a false alarm and you could fuck as much as desired, wellâŠit did things to him.
It did things to you, too.
It made it hard to keep quiet or even try to curb the frenzy when Joel sheathed himself fully inside, held it, then leaned over your prone body to press his hand to the back of your head. He tilted your chin toward him as best he could in this position. He dug even deeper, and you felt him in your fucking lungs. You let out a whimper
âJoelââ
âLook at me, darlinâ,â Joel said, gruff. âYouâre close, hm?â
You were.
You nodded your head against his firm hold.
Your eyes tried meeting his from where your face was pressed against the mattress and Joel was hovering directly above, but the effort was fruitless. Your gaze couldnât stay on his like heâd wanted. Joel grunted.
He pulled you up. He tugged you back into a semi-kneeling position, so that your back was flush with his chest and your bodies still connected. His lips pressed a quick, calming kiss to your neck before he moved again.
Before you knew it, you were off the bed and standingâmore a function of Joel holding you up than any strength in your legs. You were propped against a pretty wooden dresser with a mirror attached to the back. In your shared reflection, you met Joelâs gaze, and he grinned at you. He wasted no time pushing back inside and watching your face contort with the pressure and the stretch of his girth. Your jaw went slack; you clenched around him.
And you could feel in the responding groan from Joel that he was just as close. Youâd been at it for less than five minutes, but the ardor and the relief and the fact that it had been weeks since youâd gotten to do this together was enough to send you both spiraling fast. Joel reached for your hip in one hand and held your throat in the other. He went on at a relentless pace.
With every snap of his hips, your knees hit the dresser drawers. It didnât hurt. Joel angled your body so he wasnât pushing you too hard into the surface of the furniture, but he did make you feel it. He lowered his head closer to yours so that your faces were side-by-side in the mirror, and you felt his stubble graze your cheek.
âYâknow, I meant what I said. Last time,â Joel murmured.
What?
As close as you both were now, how could the man even string words together, much less bring up old memories?
You steeled yourself in place, barely holding his gaze.
âWhâ Huh?â You sounded dumb as shit. âWhat?â
Joelâs teeth grazed the soft, tender skin from your jaw to your chin while he continued to work himself in and out. He slowed his thrusts to a much calmer, gentler rhythm.
He kissed your cheek just as he plunged in, balls deep.
You let out a whine so desperate, pitchy, and shrill at that, you almost didnât hear it when he spoke again:
âI told you that I was ready.â Another gentle withdrawal. âTo tell your dad.â A thrust back in. âWhenever you were.â
Shit.
So that was what this was about.
You felt good. You felt like you were ready, too.
But the prospect of telling your father the truth about you and Joel was nothing short of terrifying, frankly. Imagining what he might sayâor doâto the man you loved made you want to keep this hidden away for as long as you possibly could. It was selfish, you knew it. Still, it was scary to think of all the things that would change as soon as you made this known to your dad.
From what you could tell, though, Joel wasnât feeling quite the same level of concern. He fucked you slow and deep. He let his hand slide from your throat to your legs.
Between them, he found your clit easily and pressed in.
He rubbed circles while he dragged his cock in and out at the most maddening pace, and with every thrust, you could feel him hit that sensitive place, again and again.
You shuddered in his arms. You braced your hands against the dresser below, not wanting to collapse.
Sensing you were right at the brink of ecstasy, and likely wanting something to fill the lull youâd left, Joel went on.
âYouâ you want that, too, donât you?â
There was patent need in that tone.
The slightest tinge of insecurity.
You didnât want Joel to think for even a moment that you were having second thoughts, so you fought back the worry in your own mind, and you nodded your head.
âY-Yeah, Joel. I want it,â you whispered. âIâm just scared.â
Hell, that admission might as well have been written on your face, because your expression said it all. You were teetering on release and fucking terrified of this coming to an end. The eyes that held his were a bit glossier now. Joel saw that and seemed to ease off, pressing his lips back to your skin as he rocked his hips back and forth.
âI am, too,â he confessed. His breath hitched, and the circles on your clit grew a little sloppier. He was close. âWeâ we can wait. I just wannaâŠtake you places, hon.â
You knew what he meant by that. Going out without having to check over your shoulder every ten minutes, wondering if this was the time you got caught. Not needing to worry so much. Again, you nodded, and you felt Joelâs cock twitch inside you. Your walls ached, and the knot in your stomach was tightening every second.
You were about to speak up, when Joel cut back in.
âI love you. IâŠI donât care how long this takes us.â
âI love you, Joel.â
You couldnât manage much more than that. Already the tides of pleasure were rising too high, and your chest was flooded with a heady feeling. You were about to give in, still holding Joelâs gaze in the mirror, and from behind you, you could see his demeanor harden with purpose.
On hearing you say those words, you loved him, plans involving his old friend and the worst the man might think when you two came clean with the truth were lost to the ether, it seemed. He set it all aside, at least momentarily, as he worked on drawing your pleasure out and also getting himself there in time. He held your hip tighter and drew his quick, messy circles through your folds in just the way you liked, and he kissed you gently. He fucked you gently. He made every last word and touch and brush of his cock inside you feel as tender as youâd ever felt it before. You came undone in seconds.
âI love youâ was almost like a refrain between you both.
Joel shortly followed. He groaned against your neck as the pleasure fluttered and pulsedâmuttered something about wanting to spill inside, but you both knew better. He withdrew just in time to paint the insides of your thighs, then your ass, then the small of your back.
There was so much. While relishing your own moment of bliss, you couldnât help but savor the warmth and weight of Joelâs spend coating your skin. It made it feel that much more raw, and primal, and from the look Joel had lowered between your bodies to take in that wet, sticky mess, you could tell he was thinking the same as you.
You werenât surprised, and didnât flinch, when he pushed two fingers in your mouth. He still had you up against the dresser, eyes locked on your own reflection, so you saw what heâd wanted you to see. You licked and sucked the cum off his fingers until they were completely clean. A reflexive whine reverberated down those fingers after youâd swallowed, and Joelâs first instinct was to smile.
âYou did so good for me, sweet pea,â he praised.
His hand strayed down your front, mapping the skin mindlessly and with that same, sweet grin on his lips. You preened beneath his touch and didnât want it to end.
Eventually, it had to. You were both drenched in cum and sweat, and as cold as it happened to be outdoors, your activities had managed to kick the heat up more than a few degrees. Joelâs chest and shoulders were glistening.
âShower?â you murmured, turning around to face him.
Joel hummed in agreement.
He swept his thumb between your thighs one last time before teasing the tip at your lips. You suckled it softly, if not with a drowsy and contented little smile to match his
You showered. You toweled off. You threw on his shirt, Joel slid on his boxers, and you both crawled into bed. Anything beyond snuggling in and sleeping wasnât high on the list of priorities, as you assumed it was for Tommy and Maria, so you were surprised to hear a noise right after you closed your eyes. It was a knock on the door.
It was Tommyâs. You could tell.
Sensing the same, Joel called out:
âWeâre sleepinâ, man, câmon. Go on now.â
You were certain Tommy and Maria couldâve said the same when the two of you had been engaged in your cacophonous fuckfest just fifteen minutes prior, so you stayed quiet. You squeezed Joelâs arm around your waist.
The knocking continued.
This time, it was accompanied by Tommyâs voice.
âAre yâall decent?â
In other words: not naked and going to traumatize him. You were both semi-clothed and under the covers anyway, so you yelled back that, yes, you were.
Tommy walked in. He had his phone to his ear.
Then he held the thing up, where you could dimly make out that the call was on mute, but what alarmed you even more was the contact name on the screen.
Joel leapt into a sitting position just as quickly as you.
You both froze; Tommy gestured as if to say, âRelax.â
âWhâ why is my dad calling you?!â you demanded.
You had no idea how the man was staying so calm. This was a bad thing, right? Beside you, Joel seemed to be thinking the same, because he twisted his head toward the window. He craned his neck, as if checking to see if your father might not be parked outside the front door. Your body tensed glancing back at Tommyâhe was still holding the phone like it was a prize, or somethingâand when you saw him smirk a bit, you shot him a wary look.
âWhat?! What does he want?â you pressed again.
Instead of answering immediately, Tommy moved his thumb over to the âunmuteâ button, and his grin grew.
âI dunno, why donât you ask him yourself?â he said.
At the same time, and before Tommy could press that button, you and Joel both shouted at once: âDONâT!â
It almost wouldâve been comical if it wasnât also bone-chillingly horrifying. What the hell was his problem?
As if to press that last question, Joel stood from the bed and stalked over to his brother. Tommy ambled back, still taunting, and held the phone up closer to his face. Right when Joel lunged for it, the nimbler Miller jumped back. Joel blew out a breath and gritted for Tommy to grow the fuck up, would ya? Tommy just smirked and continued the song-and-dance for the cellular device. It didnât take much for the two to get into a full-blown battle for the thing, and before you knew it, Joel had his brother snagged in a headlock, Tommy was laughing his ass off and telling him the chokeholdâs illegal, asshole, and you were a second away from intervening. Fuck this noise.
âTommy, youâre beinâ aââ you started, sharp.
âFuckinâ dickhead!â Joel finished for you.
Heâd almost wrestled the phone out of Tommyâs grip, when his brother turned and surprised you both againâhe threw the phone your way. You shrieked out loud.
Force of habit.
You narrowly caught the phone in your hands.
And, having nearly dropped it at first, your fingers seized at the screen to secure their grasp. Of course, your thumb tapped right on the key youâd been trying to avoid
âShit,â you cursed reflexively.
âSweetheart?â
The phone was on speaker.
Across the room, Joel froze in place, and the color drained from him completely. You, too, were stock-still.
âD-Dad?â you stammered.
You half-expected him to shoutââWhat on earth are you doinâ home early? And with Tommy?ââand you winced. For a second, you thought your friend mightâve snitched, and you shot him a look, but then your dad was back.
âHey! Glad Tommy got ahold of ya. He said you caught an early flight back to surprise me. Yâall at the airport?â
You swallowed.
You mustâve said yes, because your father went on.
âGood, good. Keep your bags packed, alright?â
âWhy?â You hoped he didnât hear you falter.
Time was moving too fast. Your heart was no doubt drilling holes in your ribcage by now. Blood rushed and swirled and deafened your ears to all that was going on, but dimly, you could see Joelâs expression across the room. It was pensive, while his brotherâs stayed amused.
Tommy knew something you didnât.
Before you could begin to wonder what that was, your dadâs voice across the line shortly supplied the answer.
It was laid-back, easy, and uncharacteristically excited.
You hadnât thought youâd ever heard him so eager about anything in his life, but there he went, telling you at once:
âIâm down in GalvestonâI want yâall to come too, ASAP!â
summary: The old priest in your small town has died a gruesome death. The new one has an... eccentric way of doing things. 18+ READERS ONLY PLEASE!!!
word count: 6.3k
warnings: smut, sacrilegious actions, blood, praying, quoting the Bible during sex, sex in a church, sex on an altar, P in V, Oral F! Recieving, cum play, reader's first time, religious themes/imagery, blood play, blasphemy, abuse of a rosary, drool, squirting, degradation if you squint, praise kink, allusions to murder
a/n: HELLO! I have been working on this fic for weeks, and I finally came to the conclusion that it just needs to be a two-parter. I want to keep this A/N short and sweet because I have so many people to credit, all from Rosie's lovely Discord server! Firstly, my two beta-readers, @confetti-cakemix and @fuckoffbard! LIZ, YOU ARE MY NORTH STAR WHEN I'M WRITING, THE BESTTT, and CONFETTI!!! YOUR DESCRIPTION OF IMAGERY, EVEN WHEN YOU'RE JUST BETA READING, IS PEAK. Now that that's out of the way, I'd like to tag each and every person in the server that also gave me suggestions and helped me in ANY way! @spikedfearn @somnolenthour @citrinedigital @eternalstrigoii @le-temps-viendra36 @iceemochaa @hyoscyxmine @otxiycohcoy @flixpii @faestunna Clown (also not sure if they have a tumblr but that's my twin!!) @cherryxhaze. If I forgot ANYONEEE please please comment or DM me and I'll add you immediately! I got so much help in the server, and I had to scour through almost a month of messages to find everyone!
The new pastor of your quaint village church was strange.
The village itself was old. Youâd grown up with wrinkled hands drawing ash crosses on your forehead, strings of garlic hanging on doorways, barefeet in hot, red dirt. When you were younger, you were never allowed out after dark. No exceptions. Kids who went out after dark went missing. Their names became prayers on the congregation's lips at each church service.
The old pastor, Monsignor Quinn, had been so kind. Heâd listen to your panicked confessions, fleeting feelings of lust with a boy from school. Brushes of fingers against skin that kept you awake at night.Â
Heâd died so suddenly. He hadnât been very old, not even past his thirties. And the weirdest part - the local sheriff wouldnât tell you or anyone in your village how he died. You heard rumors of blood-streaked walls and screams that had only been heard by those awake that late into the night. You watched people cross themselves as they passed his boarded-up house. Little children crossed the street to avoid passing it.
And now, you were shaking the new pastorâs hand, rough and firm. Father Remmick. His lips curled like he could tell what you were thinking, his tongue running through the folds of your twisted mind. His eyes, calm and clear blue, never left yours when he introduced himself. Your fatherâs arm rested protective and heavy on your shoulders, the heat radiating from him comforting you like a blanket.
âPleasure to meet yâall.â Father Remmick drawled, hand still wrapped around yours. His accent was strange - deep, and Southern, but mixed with something old that you couldnât place. Something thick and gooey, honey falling slowly off a wooden spoon. âIâm sorry for what happened to Monsignor Quinn. Tragic⊠truly.â
He didnât look sorryânot really. His other hand pressed to his chest in sorrow, but his eyes shone with a playful gleam that was sinister, bloody, and cold.Â
Your voice was dry when you spoke to him for the first time, having to turn your chin up to look at him. âWhat happened to him?â
âOh,â Remmickâs smile fell, but the concern didnât feel real. It felt mocking. You felt his thumb stroke your knuckle. âNothing that needs to fall on ears as sweet as yours.â
Your fatherâs arm tightened, and you were grateful for his presence. When Remmick released your hand, you fought the urge to wipe your palm on your dress, to wipe him off of you. His crooked grin remained, and his tongue slowly ran over his bottom lip, licking the sweat from his chin.
âI canât wait to get to know you.â He looked away from you like he had to force his eyes away, like it was painful not to be looking at you. His gaze left you feeling naked, the inside of your body tingling like someone had dug around inside and pulled out everything sacred. âAll of you, of course.â
His sermon had been even stranger than he was. He said all the right words, but they came out of a twisted mouth. A serpentâs tongue ran over the words of God, words meant to comfort and uplift, but coming from him, made your stomach twist. Your fingertips ran over the silver rosary underneath your shirt as he spoke, his eyes never drifting down to the Bible before him. He knew the words by heart, and they still sounded so wrong.Â
When you got on your knees to pray, you felt something so deeply, internally wrong in your chest. You couldnât help but look up while everyone elseâs heads were down, their lips moving silently in prayer. You found Father Remmick, hands wrapped tightly around the lectern, looking at you. His knuckles were white, his eyes roaming over you ardently. A rust color flashed over the blue of his eyes, like the nictitating membrane of a reptile. His gaze violated you, drilled a hole through your chest. Â
For a single heartbeat you kept your gaze locked on his. When he smiled at you, you swore you watched something crawl under the skin of his forehead, two pointsâlike hornsâbegging to poke out of his skin.
That night, and for many nights onward, you dreamt of Father Remmick.
The church was empty, save for you and him. His clerical collar glowed against the black of his button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal veiny forearms and slender fingers following it. Fingers that reach for your rosary beads, let them clatter to the floor. He spoke in a language you didnât know, touching you in a way youâd never felt. A way that felt too good to be holy.
When you woke, you prayed. You prayed for hours into the early morning until the skin on your knees was raw and your eyes were sore from being squeezed tight. The rosary left a red and stinging imprint on your hand that would be there for days.Â
But what frightened you most was the throb between your legs, pounding rhythmically and making you yearn for⊠fullness. After every hour of prayer it seemed only to get worse.Â
At church, you couldnât listen to the sermon. You couldnât even look up at Father Remmick. Not without images flashing behind your eyes, sounds so vile and loud in your ear that you couldnât even hear the words he was saying.
Throaty moans. A hot, wet tongue between your legs. The feeling of rhythmic thrusts, something pressing into a spot inside of you that made you feel more euphoric than God himself ever could. You felt weak every time you looked at him, your fragile body giving in with every glance.Â
âMy child-â His voice echoed through the rickety church, but you knew he was speaking to you.
âYou look distracted.â
Your throat ran dry as you stared at the scabbed-over skin of your knees, just below your dress. You could feel your father's demanding elbow digging into yours. Be respectful.
A flash of something else when you looked up at him again. Something softer, something tender. Lips pressed to your skin, dragging against the top of your breasts.Â
âWhat could be more important to you?â He was smiling. Smiling like he knew what youâd seen, and the devilish things youâd heard. âThan worshipping and praising God with your community⊠with me?â
His tongue ran over his bottom lip as he raised his arms to grip the sides of the lectern. The muscles under his shirt tensed, and your eyes lingered. By the way his smile widened, he noticed.
âBe sober-minded and alert, Miss.â He nodded his head toward you, like some kind of twisted teacher. âYour adversary, the Devil, prowls around like a roaring lionâŠâ His eyes, gleaming again like something inhuman. âLooking for something to devour, like a lamb wandering from the flock.â
Remmick paused, smiling to himself. âBe glad that I arrived here at the right time, to lead you down the path of righteousness.âÂ
Your skin had grown cold, like spiders were running up your arms and the back of your neck. But it wasnât just what heâd said that made you rigid, a dripping of cold sweat rolling down your spine. It was the agreeing hums of the congregation, like they knew what youâd been thinking.
You couldnât sleep that night. The pillow's satin fabric was coated in sweat, which clung to the back of your neck and made your butter-yellow nightdress stick to your back. You stood from your bed, bare feet pressed against the hardwood of your bedroom floor. As you left your room, you knew every creaky spot to avoid, opening the door with close precision to keep it from making a sound.
You could hear your father snoring from the cracked door of his bedroom as you slipped through the hallway like a ghost. You blindly slipped your feet into slippers in the dark, your hand wrapping around the gold door knob of your front door.Â
The cool breeze of a late July night kissed your skin, making your hair prickle against the fabric of your nightdress. The sky was black, stars spilled across it like bleached sugar against molasses.Â
The walk to the church was by memory, your feet crunching above the gravel road in the cool dark of your village. No light was lit in anyoneâs homes; the only sound was the cicadas whining in the trees surrounding you. As you passed Monsignor Quinnâs home, the foundation seemed to creak before you, the sound almost like a weeping in the air. You didnât cross the street and kept your head forward to pass by it. It was just another house. Just another death.Â
The church was dark but buzzed with an energy that made the air feel electric. You could see its indent in the darkness. It was made of white siding sun bleached from hundreds of years under the sun of the South. The smokey-colored brick spires reached out into the dark sky, pointing to the stars. Their elegance had entranced you as a child. Now it just made you feel sick.Â
A rectory with a gabled roof and dead bushes surrounding it stood next to the church, just a few yards away. There was no light to be seen, no sign of life. Father Remmick would be asleep in there, sleeping soundly despite his completely taking over your mind and your body.Â
As you entered the church, you didnât make a sound, creaking the door open just wide enough to slide your body through.
You moved blindly down the pews, hands running across the cool wood, hoping it would comfort you. It didnât. You fumbled around until you found a box of matches and lit the candlesticks at the table behind the altar. It didnât provide much light, but you could at least see the flickering expression of Jesus on the crucifix before you, He who had died for your wretched, terrible sins.
Knees hit wood, your hands gripping the fabric of your nightdress as you prepared to grovel. But you wouldnât get the chance to. Not to God, at least.
âCouldnât sleep, sugar?â
A voice that echoed through the dark like it- he owned it. You stood, turning around and searching the dimly lit dark for him.Â
Father Remmick was sitting in the pew furthest from you, legs crossed and arms stretched long behind him. He was smiling; crooked,pointy teeth nearly glowing in the dim light. Your eyes roamed over the clerical that remained against his neck.
Your throat had gone dry. You swallowed hard, one hand reaching out to steady yourself on the altar rail.Â
âYou could say that, yeah.âÂ
Remmickâs legs uncrossed, spreading out in a way that felt like it couldnât be anything but disrespectful. His eyes didnât look blue in this light. They seemed almost amber, gleaming and ever-changing in the flickering candlelight.Â
âIn peace, I will lie down and sleep,â Remmick said quietly, a teasing little smirk on his face. âFor you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety.â
Your knuckles had turned white against the altar railing, and the sudden realization that you stood before him in nothing but a nightdress made you freeze. You should have felt empowered by his words, but instead, you felt like prey under that violent gaze. You kept your expression blank.Â
âYes, I will perhaps follow those words when I know peace.â
Remmickâs head cocked to the side, like a dog sniffing out a treat. His eyes rolled down your body, stopping at your bruised knees.Â
âYou troubled, darlinâ?â
He didnât sound concerned, not really. He sounded starved the question dripping off his tongue like drool rolling down a chin. He looked at you with mock-concern, eyebrows just a little too furrowed, his lips just a little too downturned.Â
âHave somethinâ youâd like to confess?â
His eyes flickered to the confession booth. Two purple, velvet curtains opened to a small wooden boxâone side for the priest, the other for the sinner.Â
You didnât know what it was. Maybe it was the throb between your legs, or the puppy-dog shine of his eyes in the candlelight that made them look almost like melted caramel. Or perhaps the way his voice lingered in the room like steam after a hot bath. But you nodded, quicker than youâd meant to.Â
Remmick stood on long legs, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to reveal curling veins that traveled along his forearms. He gestured toward the booth, lips curling deviously like heâd won something. Like he was collecting a prize heâd been patiently vying for.
âLadies first.â
The confession booth was dark, except for the little light that flickered through the intricate carvings on the wood door. The worn leather cushion sank beneath you, full of cracks and creases from years of use. You could hear Remmick shuffling on the other side as you closed yourself in. You could hardly see him through the lattice-patterned window separating him from your booth, just the shadows cast over his face and the bright white of the clerical covering his throat.Â
Your hands were tangled in your lap, your leg bobbing up and down under your nightdress. You listened to Remmickâs calm breath as he settled into his seat, closed your eyes for a moment, and envisioned his hands running over his pants, his head bowing in silent prayer. The thought of it made more heat travel down your body, your heartbeat loud in your skull.
âSign of the Cross, yes?âÂ
His voice seemed even deeper, even more irresistible in the darkâsomething as velvet as the curtain before you. Your hands trembled as you made the Sign of the Cross over your face.Â
âBless me, Father,â you paused, licking your dry lips. âFor I have sinned. It has been⊠far too long since my last confession. These are my sins.â
Remmick was smiling. Hands clasped in his lap, burning eyes staring into the wood of the booth. He could hear every shift you made, every breath coming from your heaving chest and out of your beautiful throat. The throat that pulsed with your heartbeat. The heartbeat that hadnât left his mind since heâd laid eyes on you. He thought of your blood pooling in the dip of your collarbone and shifted in his seat.
Your chest was heaving, your nails digging into the seat's leather. You pressed your legs together, glanced at what you could see of Remmickâs face.
âFather, I have impure thoughts. I fear that the Devil has his hold on me, making me yearn forâŠimproper things.â
Remmickâs smile curled, teeth sharp against his lip. You were right where he wanted you. Hot, pulsing, panting. His hands unclasped, his palm pressing into the seam of his pants. His head fell back, eyes slipping closed at the pressure against him.
âImproper things?â he asked you, his voice leveled as much as possible, but you caught the hitch. âDo you think the Lord would accept this confession⊠if you canât even say what sin youâre thinking of?â
Your throat bobbed as you realized he was right. You were a sinning coward, unable to tell God what He needed to forgive you for. Your hands left sweat marks on the seat, palms raised to grip the rosary around your neck. The marks on your knees from groveling for God had started to sting, as if the Devil himself scratched down your legs. Reminding you of who you thought of and who you wanted to be on your knees for.
âI think of someone⊠touching me. Their hands against my skin, defiling me in a way that-â
A sound, guttural and desperate, left Remmickâs throat. His hand had continued to press against him, thick tendons and veins straining under his skin. His eyes opened, pupils nearly flooding his entire iris. All that was left was a ring of red on the outside, the color of blood stained on satin white sheets. He was silent, marinating in how you gasped at the sound heâd released. You were so deliciously untouched.
âAnd who is that you think of?â
The question lingered in the air, heavy and charged with something dangerous. It felt as if the rosary in between your hands were being tugged from your grasp, until you looked down and realized that it was just you releasing it, letting it clatter onto the floor.
The point of no return. Letting the Devil take you by the hand and dance you into Hell. Youâd called to God so many times and Heâd never answered, but Remmick was here. Real, tangible, beautiful. You dug your nails into your palms, prayed for your soul one last time before diving into the deep end.
â...I think you know, Father.â
Silence, at first. Something that made the air hot, that made your breath catch in your throat.Â
The wood groaned as Remmick shifted, his feet scuffing against the floor. You could hear the screech of metal rings against a rod, Remmick pushing the curtain open.Â
He didnât ask for permission. He pushed your curtain open slowly, filling it with his broad frame and slender fingers. His fingers gripped the velvet, and a brass ring around his finger caught the light. He was a wolf in wolf's clothing, teeth sharp and bright in the dim light.Â
One hand left the curtain, reaching out to touch the lines of your collarbone. He ran his nail up your neck to rest the pad of his finger against your pulse.Â
âI do know,â he hummed, applying pressure to the pulse, just enough for you to feel him there. âAnd I always knew youâd come.â
His other hand flew from the curtain with a speed that didnât seem human, fingers gripping your hair and tugging your head back to expose your throat.Â
âGod.â You moaned low in your throat, breath ragged as Remmick lowered himself enough to be straddling your lap, thighs warm and solid on top of yours. He leaned forward, his mouth finding your ear. You felt his tongue run over the shell of it, something long and cold like a serpent.
âNot sure your God is here, sugar.â His voice was low and sweet, rattling the inside of your body. âHe woulda saved you by now, right?â
Remmick looked down into your nightdress, lip caught between his teeth. He was quiet as he raised his hands to the fabric, gripping it tightly before tugging. The nightdress split apart as easily as tearing paper, your skin prickling with goosebumps as the cold air hit your naked chest.
He looked at you like a sinner did the cross, eyes nearly glowing. He waited; waited for your invitation to touch you, thick drool rolling down his chin like a rabid dog. It dripped onto your chest as you nodded, your hand shaking when you wrapped your fingers around the white clerical collar at his throat. You tugged it off, letting it fall to the floor beside your rosary.Â
âTouch me, Father.â
Remmick was on his knees in a second, tearing away the rest of the ruined nightdress from your body as he nestled his shoulders between your thighs. The only thing that remained between you and him was a thin pair of underwear, lacy trim at the edges that he ran his fingertip over with a twitching smile.Â
The pad of his rough fingertip pressed over the fabric of your underwear, firm against your clit. Your body jolted forward, legs falling open for him as the pleasure traveled up your spine.Â
Remmick laughed, his head thrown back and mouth open wide.
âSo wet for having never been touched, little lamb.â Remmickâs fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, tugging it down your smooth legs. âDo you want to be worshipped, as your God isâŠâ He tucked your underwear into the back pocket of his black pants. âOr ruined, like the Devil would do to you?â
âI wantâŠâ Your words cut off with a whimper as he pulled his finger from you, only to open your legs wider. âI want what you want, FatherâŠâ
Remmick hummed, weighing his options. âLilâ bit of both then, I reckon.â
His head dove in between your legs like heâd been starved of water for years, and you were the first drop of salvation heâd found. He groaned, deep and low in his throat, that sent a vibration through you that had your hands flying to the dark waves on top of his head, pulling him against you.
His hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise as he licked against your cunt, long tongue rolling around your clit like heâd been made to worship it.
âSo sweet,â Remmick smiled against you, warm and wet for him. âLike the Lord made you just for me.â
Remmickâs hands left your thighs, palms searching the floor as he continued to suck on your clit, pushing his tongue into you, curling it up in a way that didnât seem possible. When he found what he needed, he pulled away, looking up at you through half-lidded eyes and your wetness dripping from his lips.
His hand raised, your rosary beads tangled between his fingers. With careful precision, he lowered the necklace against your cunt, the coolness of the beads making you shiver and scratch marks into the leather seat beneath you. As the beads pressed on either side of your clit, your head fell back against the wall, heat traveling up your neck as if the flames of Hell were already licking against your skin.Â
âThy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.â He cocked his head to the side, eyes penetrating and sharp on your face. He could sense your impending release, the way your heartbeat quickened, your back arching off the seat.
âDonât.âÂ
Once low and ragged in the dark, his voice had become clear. He closed your legs with one large hand and dropped the rosary beads back to the floor so he could lean forward, pressing his other hand against the wall next to your head. His face was inches from yours, and his breath was hot on your neck.Â
âNot yet, darlinâ. Not âtil I say.â His lips found the pulse point on your neck, nipping before kissing tenderly. âThe Lord teaches patience, lamb.âÂ
Remmickâs hand left the wall to grip your hair again, tugging your head back. It made your scalp sting in a way that made you want more, your mouth parting to whimper against him.
âThat beinâ said,â A crooked smile - lips baptized in your essence. âIâm bettinâ you sound real pretty begginâ.â
His tongue was long and rough against your cheek as he tasted your sweating skin, a deep rumble in his throat as if he was tasting the sweetest nectar. He stopped at your temple, placing a gentle kiss there. His lips remained there, teeth grazing skin.
âSo go on, darlinâ. Pray for me to fuck you.â
Your breath caught, your entire body going hot from his words. He laughed against your skin, like he could feel the very chemistry in your body change, the way you grew slicker from his twisted request. The way you knew that you would do it for him. Youâd pray to be spread open by him, explored in a way not even God could do.
âOh, you will do it, wonât youâŠâÂ
It wasnât a question. Remmick knew youâd beg; he knew how far gone you were. He laughed against your skin.
âDoesnât matter how good of a girl you are⊠how much you love Him. Youâll give it all up just to get off, wonât you?âÂ
Remmick pulled back, hands sliding down to hold firm on the flesh of your hips. He lifted you from the seat like you weighed nothing, turned both your bodies around until you were straddling him. Your naked core rested against the rough material of his pants and made your body shiver. He smiled.
âGo on⊠hands together in contrition. Do it rightâŠâ His rough hands grabbed your wrists, pulling your hands flat together between your bodies. When they were pressed together to pray, he let his fingers linger on the bare skin of your thighs, fingers just too long and nails just too sharp against your skin.Â
Your lips were dry, and Remmickâs eyes drifted to them like he wanted to lick across them, make them wet again.Â
âHeavenlyâŠâ
 Remmick hummed in glee already, just from a single word. His head bowed, as if to join you in prayer, his eyes slipping shut.
âHeavenly Father⊠forgive me for what I am about to ask of you. I know I do not deserve such a blessing as being touchedâŠâ Your words faltered as one of Remmickâs hands slid up your thigh, gathering the slick in between your legs. His finger pressed against your clit, and you gasped, hands pressing together tighter. âAs being touched by someone so good, soâŠâ
Remmickâs finger pushed inside of you, pressing up to a spot that made your throat close up, the only sound coming out a pathetic squeak of a whine.
âAww, darlinâ, thatâs so sweet of you. But you donât have to lie.â His body leaned forward, his wet mouth pressing against your ear. âTell your Heavenly Father what I am. What you know I am.â
âIâmâŠâ You continued the prayer, voice deep and rasping. âIâm going to fuck the Devil⊠and Lord, I beg you to have mercy on my wicked soul.âÂ
Remmick laughed against the skin of your neck, drawing thin beads of blood with the sharp points of his teeth.
âAre you now? Going to fuck the Devil?â
All you could do was whine at the pleasurable pain in your neck, your hands shaking with the desire to pull them apart, to grab at his skin and his hair.Â
Remmick hummed to himself, pulling his finger out of you with a slowness that made you bite the inside of your cheek. His cold hands slid up your arms, pulling your hands apart from their prayer.Â
âGet up.â He said quietly, with that same thick, gooey voice heâd had when youâd shaken his hand for the first time. You did as he asked, spreading your legs and backing off his lap. His eyes traveled up your bare body as he stood, towering over you inside the booth. With a firm hand on your hip, he nudged you toward the curtain.
âTo the altar.âÂ
Remmickâs breathing was heavy behind you, his gaze burning holes into the bare skin of your back as you slowly walked to the altar. You looked to the cross just above, and you felt no remorse, not anymore. Whatever God could do to punish you, you were sure Remmick could do worse. Maybe you wanted him to.Â
You ceased walking once you had reached the altar, your belly just close enough to feel the cool wood against your skin. Remmick was behind you, his breath hot and wet on your neck. His eyes ran over your skin, from the top of your head to the balls of your feet. The expanse of a human body that he was now free to ruin. That heâd be begged to ruin.Â
With one swift movement, he grabbed your wrists, raising them and placing them flat on the altar. Your fingers brushed the closed Bible there as your breath hitched. Remmick made no effort to remove it. He only slid one hand down your body, as soft and languid as a serpent, and pressed down on the arch of your back.Â
âLook at youâŠâ Remmick murmured, fingers sliding into your folds, finding you warm and wanting there. Your legs quivered at his simple touch, so his other arm found its spot under your belly, assisting in holding you upright. âSo nervous⊠shaking. You must honor God with your body, little lamb.â
Two fingers entered you, pushing in and out with a torturous speed. Your legs spread wider, your nails scratching into the leather-bound fabric covering the Bible before you.Â
âPlease..â Your voice quivered as you tried to keep it level. Your head fell against the Bible, leaving sweat marks. âI need you inside me, I need it more than I need God.â
Remmickâs fingers pulled out of you, and you heard the faint sound of his lips licking his fingers clean. He moaned at the taste of you, his other hand pulling the clasp of his belt buckle apart.
âAw, sweetheart, thatâs so kind of you.â
By the press of him against you, hot and pulsing, you could tell that Remmick was big. But nothing could have prepared you for the way it felt when the head of his cock began to press inside you, hardly able to breach your entrance. He pulled back, body lowering to press lips against your sweat-slick spine.
âGotta open up for me, baby.â He said against your skin, running the length of himself against your folds. His tongue was cold and barbed as it ran up the expanse of your back and to the shell of your ear. âTake me all at once, and maybe Iâll make you see Him. Denying yourself would be the true sinâŠâ
Remmick tried once again, his cock slowly able to start stretching you, inch by torturous inch. Only babbles came out as your mouth fell open, tears beading at the corner of your eyes from the sheer size of him.
âHavenât even fucked you good yet,â He groaned as he pushed in. âAnd youâre already speaking in tongues.â
When heâd bottomed out inside you, pressing deep on a spot inside you that only made a guttural sound escape your throat, his large hand pressed against your belly.Â
âFeel all that pain, lamb. Youâre just getting used to me⊠your body will learn quick.â He slid back slowly and pushed back in with just as much resolve. Your legs nearly gave out, hands scrambling for purchase on the lectern as he fucked into you. âSoon, all youâll feel is me.â
Remmick was right.Â
Soon, the only feeling that remained was deep, wicked pleasure. Every thrust of him inside of you felt like another ring lower into Hell, the souls eternally damned there shaking their heads at you as you made the same mistakes they did. But the problem was - you didnât fucking care.
A whine escaped your throat as Remmick picked up the pace, just a little bit. One hand on your belly, the other gripping your hip so hard you were sure you felt the cold prick of blood on your skin. Every thrust was hitting something inside you that somehow made you wetter, something that had you dripping onto him like some kind of deranged baptism.
Remmick was grunting, getting louder with each thrust into you. He tried to hide with honeyed words, but you felt too good around him.
âSo easy, arenât you?â Remmick was grabbing one of your arms, pulling your hand into his to press onto your own belly. You felt the bulge of him with each thrust in, and the pressure on your stomach made your cunt flutter around him. He groaned, words faltering as you squeezed around his cock. âYouâŠâ He nearly whined, hand gripping yours on top of your belly. âJust a few words about your corrupt God and you... you spread your legs for me?â
He laughed, hand leaving your stomach to grab at your hair, tugging until your head reeled back just enough to see him. He was beautiful like this, pupils blown out, and the first few buttons of his clean shirt popped open. Blood streaked down the corner of his mouth from the wound on your neck, and his tongue was unnaturally long as it unraveled out to wet his lips.
âDo you know something, sweetheart?â He asked, dark eyes meeting yours. âYour God isnât here.â
A whine broke through your mouth as he rolled his hips in a particularly torturous way, hitting the spot in you that heâd found with his fingers in the confession booth. There wasnât anything you could do but let your body go slack against him, head kept in place only by his grip on your hair.Â
âWhat would your God say, hm?â Remmick asked, pressing into that spot again, making your vision go white. âIf He saw you split open for me?â
Remmick released you, and your head fell forward to the altar. He leaned forward, and you felt the cold press of something against your neck, a chain or something of the like.
âDo you still believe in Him?â He asked against the nape of your neck, pressing deep into you. He nipped at you again and lapped the blood up with his tongue with a soft moan.Â
âMaybe you should apologize to Him, hm? How does that one go again?â Remmick pulled out, almost entirely. You felt the cold air hit the wetness of your cunt, and you whined at the loss of contact from him.
âForgive me my sins, Oh Lord,â Remmick spoke, moved both of his hands to your hips, and thrust in with one swift move that made you cry out in shock, in pleasure, in shame.
âThe sins of my youth.â Another deep thrust, and back out again. âThe sins of my soul,â Another. âAnd the sins of my body-âÂ
The last push inside of you made you see streaks of color in your vision, your mouth hanging open, and your lips wet with drool. You felt something like a spool form in your stomach, desperate to unravel. It was an odd feeling that youâd never felt before, akin to the feeling of nearly wetting yourself, and it made your face burn with embarrassment.
âFather,â Your voice was gone, raspy and unrecognizable. âFather, I feelâŠâ You whined as the feeling grew, doing everything in your power not to let the spool unravel. âI think Iâm gonna pee⊠it feels like-â
Remmick chuckled, increasing the speed of his thrusts.Â
âOh, my poor baby.âÂ
You could hear the smile in his voice. He was the Devil himself.
âYou donât even know what your sweet little body can do, do you?â
 And with that, Remmick was reaching around your body, pressing two of his fingers against your clit and rubbing, coaxing something out of you. The more he coaxed, the tighter the spool wound.
And then it snapped.
You didnât recognize your voice as you came, nails scratching into the altar so hard that the wood began to splinter, piercing the tips of your fingers. Remmick was laughing as wetness coated him, the front of his pants and the fingertips at your clit. Youâd provided an entire baptism for him, and he wouldnât let it go to waste.
He pulled out of you, gripping your hips tightly and whipping you around so your back hit the altar. Remmickâs knees hitting the floor and his tongue diving inside of you happened in one action, in one second. He licked up everything you gave him, your essence leaking onto his face and dripping down his chin.Â
His cock remained hard, long, and red below you as he sucked on your clit. You wet your lips, a shaking hand lifting from the altar to grip at his auburn waves.
âTouch yourself,â You whimpered, voice coated in overstimulation. âPlease⊠let me see the image He created you inâŠâÂ
Remmickâs eyes slid open, peering up at you needily. His nose brushed your clit as his tongue pushed up inside you, and he grabbed at his cock with a strong, blood-covered hand. Immediately, he was moaning, the vibrations in his throat traveling through your entire body and making your head feel airy.
His hand was so beautiful pleasuring himself, pulling up and down the length of his cock and making himself leak. His hips thrusted up into his fist, and you found yourself longing to see the muscles that flexed beneath his shirt.Â
Your trembling hand scratched at his scalp, and Remmick sighed happily underneath your touch. He wasnât even eating you out, not anymore, just nuzzling his face into your skin and breathing you in as he touched himself.
âBeautifulâŠâ You whispered to him. âLike an angel.â
Remmick growled, hand tugging on your thigh and yanking you to the floor. Your back slid against the altar as he pressed the head of himself against your cunt. His forehead pressed against yours as he came with a groan. The warmth of him spilled against your clit and downward, and Remmickâs fingers gently pressed into you, making sure it stayed tucked away inside you.
Your body trembled as Remmick pulled his forehead from yours. His thumb came up to brush against your lips, and for a brief moment, he pushed it inside, humming as the pad of it pressed against your warm tongue. He leaned forward, replacing his thumb with his mouth. A small squeak sounded in your throat at the feeling of his tongue pressing against the roof of your mouth, licking away the last of the prayers that stuck there.
Remmickâs lips remained connected to yours as he helped you stand on shaking legs, his hands pulling you up effortlessly by your waist. His hand reached behind him, grabbing the underwear heâd tucked in his back pocket as heâd prepared to stick his tongue between your legs.Â
He leaned down, untangling the delicate material and holding it out.
âStep in, sweet thing.â He peered up at you through half-lidded eyes. âGotta keep everything I gave you inside⊠keep you close to me.â
Your hand gripped his strong shoulder as you stepped into the holes of your underwear. Remmick pulled them up slowly, leaving soft kisses on your skin as he went. When they were fully up, getting soaked with the mix of Remmickâs and your release, he straightened. His lips pressed against your forehead for a brief, sweet moment.
âIâll see you at Sunday service.â He said as he pulled back, his voice just as fucked out as yours had been.Â
âFront pews. Donât think you can hide from me in the back.âÂ
Bruhhh when he started reciting the Bible and then made her recite it for forgiveness-
This is sooo good, need an exorcism to get the freak outta me (jk donât I wanna keep it), something about a literal vampire pretending to be a priestâŠ.ugh slay me rn
Summary: In your darkest hour, a figure approaches as a glimmer of hope. He is no man, but a creature, a monster, with pretty promises on his lips. Promises that do not prepare you for the pleasures of the flesh he will bestow upon you.
WC: ~9.1k
Tags: MDNI! 18+, plus size reader, no use of y/n, manipulation, depression, stalking, brief mention of insecurities, smut, vampire sex (claws, fangs, and all), unprotected p in v, multiple rounds, multiple orgasms, remmick is a switch, sub and dom remmick, squirting, cunnilingus, premature ejaculation, breeding, praise kink, possessiveness, spit/drool kink, blood drinking, and anal play (fem receiving).
Notes: Please keep your kitties indoors! This is my first Remmick fic and the longest smut I've ever written. Enjoy!
Shout-out to @eternalstrigoii @spikedfearn @madkingcrowley @confetti-cakemix for their help with inspiration and ideas. gif credit to @stray-cat-with-internet-access
AO3 Link
You step out into the night and onto your front porch, bare feet padding along the worn wooden planks. A slight and welcomed breeze caresses your freshly clean skin, sweat and dirt from a long day of work forgotten down the drain of your shower. You wish the stream of water couldâve rid you of more than just the consequences of living in the Mississippi Delta. With each step you take toward the old porch swing thatâs been a permanent fixture throughout your life, you feel the heavy tightness in your chest, the exhaustive haze clouding your mind.
You sigh deeply and close your tired eyes as you sit on the swing, the wood creaking in protest. Youâre sure one day itâll break, catch you off guard and give out under your weight, but thankfully itâs not another thing to add to your list of misfortunes for today. You stretch your legs across the bench of the swing, propping your elbow onto the back to hold up your weary head. With your eyes closed, you try to focus your senses on the late summer night around you. The constant hum of the cicadas mating calls fill your ears, mixing with the familiar symphony of chirping crickets. You feel the warm breeze brush against the bare skin left uncovered by the thin linen nightgown adorning your body. Even then, the nature around you does little to keep your mind from drifting, returning to the events of the day and the feelings that have burrowed themselves and made a home in your chest.Â
You feel utterly and truly alone.
It seems like life is constantly reminding you of it. The home and farm youâve lived your whole life, once filled with life but now only contains memories of your loved ones that are long gone. A home once filled with a vibrant albeit sometimes chaotic family, now only houses a young woman, struggling to find her way in a world that seems to stack the odds against her favor.
As if on cue, you hear a gentle merp from your side, beckoning you to open your tired eyes to see the black ball of fur that is your companion, Jack.
âCâmere, boy.â You coax the feline with a small smile and a pat on your thighs, to which he eagerly obliges, already purring as he jumps onto your lap. He rubs his face and entire body against your belly and chest, marking you with his scent and seeking affection. You gather him into your arms and hold him close, inhaling his familiar scent. The feeling of his warm fur and purrs vibrating throughout his body and into yours provides you with a little bit of the comfort you seek.
âItâs been such a hard day, boy.â You murmur into his fur, your voice cracking along with your walls that struggle to hold back the emotions stewing inside. Your nails gently scratch his head as you close your eyes, feeling them begin to burn with rapidly rising tears. Youâre too tired to hold them back, deciding to let them fill your waterline before streaking down your round cheeks and into Jackâs fur, though he doesnât seem to mind it.
You let yourself sit in it. Tears flowing, mind freely drifting to the small heartaches of the day that built up to become too unbearable. Hateful hearts held behind judgemental gazes, grueling work under an oppressive heat, and a new girl on the arm of a man you thought youâd have it all with. A deep, shaky inhale flows into your lungs, nose sniffling as you gulp in an attempt to swallow some of the emotions down your throat.
âExcuse me, Miss?â Your wet eyes fly open, head shooting up from where itâd been buried in Jackâs fur at the sudden sound of a masculine voice holding a southern twang. The moonlight shines against his back, outlining the strange manâs figure.Â
âYa alright?â His tone is gentle, carrying the undeniable twinge of concern. You sniffle and clear your throat as your eyes take in his figure, fixed on the edge of your front yard and taking cautious steps closer. He wears dark trousers held up by suspenders, fashioned over a clean light blue button up shirt, the top left unbuttoned where you can barely make out the glimmer of a small chain hanging over his chest.
âIâm fine.â You assert, despite the words croaking slightly from your dry throat. You straighten your spine as you watch him skeptically. âWho are you, exactly?â You challenge with narrowed eyes, mentally questioning how quickly you could run into the house and grab the stashed away shotgun if needed. It isnât often people randomly roam along this gravel road at night, let alone knowing what intentions the ones that do may carry.
âAw Iâm sorry, Darlinâ. Where are my manners? Iâm Remmick.â The words drip from his tongue like molasses, slow, heavy, and warm. You watch as he raises his hands placatingly, palms facing you. Heâs close enough now for the porch light to cast a faint, warm glow over him. Dark strands of hair hang over his forehead, curling at the ends. With a better view of him, you notice heâs quite handsome.
Suddenly, Jack jumps off your lap with a high-pitched, inquisitive meow, scurrying across the porch, down the steps and right to Remmickâs feet. Your lips part, eyebrows shooting up in surprise as you watch your skittish cat rub against the strangerâs legs, meowing and gazing up at him. The very same cat that runs and hides on the rare occasion new people come around.
Remmick looks down at the cat, shadows of the night hiding the smirk on his lips as he watches Jack sniff him, searching for the familiar scent of fish. No doubt expecting his recurring treat Remmick has been sneaking to him in the dead of night to gain his trust, and eventually yours when he finally decided to make his move on you.Â
No fish tonight, boy. Remmick chuckles softly to himself as he bends down to pet the feline on his head. Jack accepts the pets with each, but once he realizes that Remmick has arrived tonight empty handed, he turns away and prances off into the dark. Remmick straightens back up and when his eyes fall to you and take in your surprised expression, a prideful satisfaction fills him. Numerous nights while you slept, he spent gathering small fish, coaxing Jack to come closer and closer until he readily ran up to him, and it paid off. Your shoulders are less tense, your gaze isnât so harsh, and just as predicted, your defenses have lowered. Heâs sure his charms can handle the rest.
Your eyes follow Jack until his body disappears into the dark of the night, then settles back onto the strange but handsome man who seems to be the only person to make an instantaneous friendship with your wary feline. Remmickâs hands have moved to settle in his pockets, his eyes and smile soft and warm as he looks up at you.
âDo ya always wander around in the dark and startle people, Remmick?â You question him with the faintest hint of humor lacing your words, cocking an eyebrow as you cross your arms over your stomach.
âWell that certainly wasnât my intention, miss. You see, I just moved to the area, down the road a ways. And well, I like walkinâ, and I like the night. âS quiet, peaceful.â He explains with ease, slowly stepping closer and closer to the porch where you sit. âJust happened to be passinâ by when I noticed ya. You seemed upset⊠Sure youâre alright, darlinâ?â He asks again, concern etched across his face as he leans against the stair railing of your porch.
You canât recall seeing or hearing about any of your distant neighbors moving, but then again you tend to keep to yourself anyway. Surely youâd just missed any news of a new person in town. You find your body relaxing a bit, easing back against the swing as everything about him seems to disarm you. You shake your head, sharply exhaling through your nostrils, the trails of tears on your cheeks already dried.
âIâm fine. Nothinâ Iâd want to burden a stranger with anyway.â
âWell considerinâ weâve already introduced ourselves, technically speakinâ weâre not quite strangers anymore, are we?â He flashes you a warm and charming smile, noticing the way youâve already relaxed to his presence so quickly. âBesides, who better to talk to âbout yer problems than someone uninvolved, yeah?â
He cocks his head to the side, tempting you to let him in. To divulge your pain and worries to this handsome man you barely know that stumbled onto your property in your time of despair. A brief silence hangs between you as you contemplate the repercussions of such, eyeing him standing at the bottom of the porch steps as his own gaze at you with nothing but tenderness. Itâs been a long time since anyone looked at you like that, let alone offered to do something as selfless as listen to your problems.
âMay I?â He nods toward the space on the swing that your legs currently occupy, requesting to join you.
You briefly consider him before sighing, wordlessly moving your legs to free a spot for him. He smiles and ascends the porch, his movements confident and at ease as he approaches and sits next to you, making the swing sway back slightly. His arm stretches out to rest along the back of the bench, fingers mere inches from the bare skin of your shoulder. Every nerve ending in your body stands at attention with him now so close, in your space. His scent invades your nostrils, earthy with the faintest hint of cologne thatâs faded throughout the day.
âNow, whatâs got you so upset, darlinâ?â His voice is low and honeyed, you can practically feel it reverberate through his chest and into yours. You shift and let your eyes flutter down to your lap, unsure of how to handle the sudden intensity of his undivided attention. You ponder just how much you should say. While part of you is begging to unburden yourself and release the pent up despair inside of you, the other is wary of revealing too much to a stranger, formality of introductions aside.
âA collection of things over time, really. Buildinâ up. Today was just the cherry on top, I suppose.â You finally answer, glancing back up to catch the way his brows furrow and head leans closer, waiting for more.
More of everything. Of you. Not just the heartaches that plague your mind. Your essence, your joys and sorrows, your pleasure and pain, your soul and entire being. Thereâs only so much he can learn from observing you these last few weeks. He wants it all. His fingers twitch with resistance, lingering so close to your exposed skin that heâd barely have to move an inch to touch you. To finally be so close to you, within grasp, has his whole body buzzing and coiled tight. He canât, he wonât squander it.
âI saw my, uhâŠâ You pause, taking a deep inhale as you search for the right words to say. He certainly wasnât a boyfriend, no, his intentions were far too shallow and brief for such a title. âMy ex-lover today. Out around town, with a new girl on his arm.â Prettier. Skinnier. Wealthier. In public. You leave the rest unspoken, the comparisons youâve made on impulse.
You canât help but shake your head at yourself, feeling silly for letting a man so unworthy hold power over you. But ever since you saw the new couple together, images from that night a few months ago pass through your head. The private flirtations that led to a meager, unsatisfactory act of sex. The other side of your bed left empty the next morning. The cold shoulder, diverted glances, and radio silence ever since. The unfulfilled promises of something more, of love, of family, of belonging.
âItâs not that I love him or miss him for that matter, itâs justâŠâ Your voice trails off, gaze cast out into the expansive dark openness of the fields around your home, the occasional flicker of a warm yellow glow from lightning bugs catching your eye. Itâs a welcomed sight filled with a nostalgic comfort that reminds you of childhood, but does little to dispel the heaviness thatâs settled in your chest.Â
âWonderinâ why you werenât good enough? If youâll ever have what your heart desires?â He sucks his teeth, shaking his head with a sigh. âThatâs a real hurtinâ feeling, darlinâ. YeahâŠâ Your gaze immediately snaps back to his, caught off guard by how truly and easily his words speak to your pain.
âA feelinâ a beautiful woman like you shouldnât have to hold.âÂ
âYouâre too kind.â You exhale a dismissive scoff, even as the corners of your lips curve up into a smile. Heâs merely being kind, chivalrous, responding in the way anyone whoâd want to make a good impression would.
But he doesnât brush it off and move on, he pushes further.
âNaw. I mean it, sugar. Youâre beautiful. Ainât your fault he couldnât appreciate what was right in front of âim.â His voice holds no humor, his eyes intense and serious. You could almost swear thereâs a flicker of longing in their dark depths, but you dismiss that too.Â
âBut I can. I can save you from this pain in your heart, your mind.â He shifts, his upper body leaning closer toward you.Â
You go still, surprised by his forwardness and the implications of his words, his body and touch drawing nearer. Your brows furrow, scrunching together in skepticism before a short chuckle slips past your lips.
âIs that so? And how exactly do you plan to do that?â
âI can give you what you need. Everything youâve ever wanted. Acceptance, Love, Fellowship⊠A family.â
Youâre sure you must be dreaming or at the least your sanity has finally cracked. A man you met no more than 10 minutes ago offering you all of your heartâs desires. Thereâs a little voice in the back of your head telling you that something is off, that this isnât normal. Danger is creeping in like a dark fog, spreading tendrils reaching out to grasp and pull you in. His presence and words are captivating, damn near intoxicating, and you find yourself caught between needing to run away and lean into him.
âYou donât even know me.â Is all you can muster saying. Pointing out the obvious, glaring flaw to such a proclamation as outlandish as his.
âOh, but I do. You were callinâ out to me, lurinâ me here. Your soul singinâ a sad, yearninâ song I know too well. See, Iâve been watchinâ youâŠâ He canât hold himself back any longer and closes the scant distance between his hand and your body, his thumb brushing over the bare skin of your shoulder and working up toward your neck with a slow, teasing caress. Your breath catches in your throat, his touch awakening every nerve with a warm tingle that cascades down your body.
âI know you better than he ever did,â He spits the word out as if it burns his tongue, flames of jealousy blazing at the thought of another man touching you, let alone not appreciating the gift of it. âbetter than anyone in this town does.â
âIâŠI donât even know you.â Your voice grows less confident and weaker with your resolve as his pull becomes stronger. You wet your lips, gulping down your dry throat, chest rising and falling with each breath that comes heavier.
âWe are the same, darlinâ. In here.â He lifts his other hand, placing his palm gently over your heart. He feels it pound against his palm, chipping away at his rapidly declining control over himself. âAnd when we merge as one and come together, youâll know everything there is to know about me. But for nowâŠâÂ
His eyes follow the movement of his fingers, trailing from over your heart to the middle of your chest, sliding down the exposed skin of your sternum. He watches with satisfaction as goosebumps rise along your skin in the trail of his touch, the way your breaths hitch and quicken. âIâm from another place and another time. Everything Iâve done, everywhere Iâve been, itâs led me here⊠to you.â
His hand falls to your knee, creeping up the bare skin of your thick thighs left uncovered by your nightgown. Finally feeling your warm, plush flesh beneath his hand hits him like a wave, his eyes momentarily fluttering shut with a choked, muffled groan. You feel his soft grip, his fingers growing longer around your flesh as he loses his last bit of restraint, nails like claws subtly digging into your skin. When he opens his eyes to meet yours, theyâre no longer dark from the shadows of the night, but glowing red.
You suck in a breath that catches in your throat at the sight of his mask finally slipping. He is no man, but a creature of some sort. A creature thatâs looking at you as if it wants to devour you and savor every bite.Â
And you just might let him.
âWhat do ya say, sugar? You gonâ let me make ya mine?â You spot the sharp ends of fangs peek out from behind his lips as he murmurs the question, drool slipping past them and down his chin. His fingers squeeze into the meat of your thigh, massaging the flesh and slowly creeping higher. The unmistakable feeling of arousal courses through your body, pulsing between your thighs that you canât stop yourself from parting slightly.
That little voice in the back of your head warning you of danger begins to fade until itâs completely snuffed out, overtaken by longing and desire. Maybe if you werenât so tired, if you werenât so lonely and teetering on the edge of hopelessness, youâd have the right mind to listen to that voice. To be frightened and run into the safety of your home screaming. To feel shame for the way your body is responding to him. To see this as a trap, as a serpent tempting you with forbidden fruit.Â
But youâre just reckless enough not to care, and he knows it. After all, what do you have left to lose⊠except your soul.
Your eyes lock onto the drool dripping down his chin and your own mouth salivates at the sight. You donât answer him with words, but with your body as you lean closer toward him to close the distance. He closes his eyes expecting for his lips to meet yours, only to press against your cheek. Your tongue darts out, slowly dragging up his chin to the corner of his mouth, collecting the drool on your tongue and swallowing it deep.
You feel a shudder run through his body, a rumbling groan that almost sounds like a whimper escaping his parted lips. He turns his head toward you, red eyes smoldering with unbridled desire. A beat passes before his hand moves from your shoulder to thread his claws into your hair at the base of your skull and his lips crash against yours in a hungry, demanding kiss. His mouth muffles your soft gasp, but you return the kiss with equal desire. Your hands reach out and grasp onto him, fisting the fabric of his shirt and holding onto his neck.
He hitches your leg over his, spreading your thighs wide as his tongue parts your lips, delving in to explore the depths of your mouth. Your moans as your tongue meets his pushes him farther, hand sliding higher up your high to feel the heat radiating off your core. Your tongues lick and lap at each other, swirling around in feverish, filthy dance. Your hips buck with a whimper when his hand slides beneath your gown to cup your bare, wet heat. A growl rumbles in his chest, a single digit gliding through and parting your wet folds before settling on your clit.
âSo wet for me already, baby.â He rasps against your lips with the subtlest hint of condescension in his tone, but it only makes your pussy throb and clench, squeezing around nothing and aching to be filled. The rough pad of his finger begins to circle your clit slowly, working you up even more with every pass over the sensitive nub.
He revels in the way your body responds to him so eagerly, the way your hips chase his touch, coaxing him to press harder and move faster, the way your pussy grows slicker with each passing second, coating his claws in your arousal. His mouth eagerly swallows every moan and whimper his touch pulls from you, every pretty, wrecked sound making his cock grow harder and strain against his pants.Â
Remmick pulls his lips from yours, needing to taste and explore more of you, needing to hear your moans unstifled from his mouth. Your name escapes his lips like a desperate prayer as his lips move along your jawline, pressing a trail of open mouthed kisses toward the tender skin of your neck.
His tongue slips out to lick a long stripe from the base of your neck to your ear that sends a shiver down your spine, making it arch and pressing your chest harder against his. Your body trembles against him, head swimming with the pleasure of his mouth and fingers working you with ease.Â
âInvite me inside, darlinâ. Need to worship you proper.â His voice is utterly wrecked and desperate as he practically begs for entry, his breath fanning against your neck with heavy pants. He could take you right here and now on the porch, but he wants to do this right. To worship every inch of you, to pull every bit of pleasure he can from your body in the comfort of your bed. That, and he needs to hear you verbalize what your body is already telling him, that you need him.
You nod eagerly without hesitation, your ears barely registering the creaking protests of the worn wooden swing with every grind of your pussy against his fingers. Surely it wouldnât survive if things moved farther.
âYes, Remmick. Come inside.â Your voice is a wavering, pathetic plea, but youâre already too far gone to care.Â
He wastes no time in scooping you into his arms and rising to his feet, encouraging your legs to wrap around his waist. You gasp at the ease and speed at which he lifts and carries you with an unexpected strength, sending a thrill through you. His shoes thump along the wooden planks of the porch, swinging the screen door open to freely step inside your home and hearing it slam shut behind you. All the while his mouth never leaves your neck, kissing and sucking, marking the sensitive skin as his. His sharp teeth grazes you almost teasingly, but never digs in hard enough to break skin. Not yet.
Remmick moves throughout your home, following the path to the bedroom as if heâs done it numerous times before. He knows where it is, heâs spent enough nights peering through your window to admire your sleeping form, fantasizing about all the things heâs about to do to you. Remmick lets your bodies fall onto the bed, his own pinning yours down against the sheets as his mouth finds yours again, lips and tongues clashing in a sloppy, wet kiss fueled by uninhibited desire.
You can feel the hard outline of his cock pressed firmly against your core, rocking your hips to seek friction, rubbing your slick folds against his straining bulge. His hands work their way up your thighs, claws catching on your gown as they glide over your curves. His touch is reverent, savoring the feeling of you beneath him and memorizing every inch.
He pulls away from your lips with a groan, chest heaving with ragged breaths as he sits up and takes a moment to admire your disheveled state beneath him. Warm and flushed skin, kiss swollen lips, the marks that are already forming on your neck, the outline of your hard nipples. His eyes rake down your body, hands caressing your thighs before grabbing onto the hem of your gown.
âGotta taste you, sugar.â His voice is husky and strained through heavy breaths, red eyes locked onto your core as he pushes your dress up. The sight of your soaked folds draws a choked moan from his throat, tongue darting out to lick his lips, more drool pooling in his mouth. His hands continue to push your gown up, revealing more and more of your skin. Just as the fabric begins to push over the soft swell of your belly, a wave of shyness crashes over you and your hands grab onto his, stalling his movements.
âWait-â You blurt out breathlessly, a confusing mix of nervousness and arousal coursing through you. Past experiences and hurt from others come to the forefront of your mind, clouding your judgement even farther. Assuming this man, creature, whatever he is- that has pursued you so diligently could be dismayed by your bare body.
âNaw, babyâŠâ He shakes his head side to side as his eyes flash up to yours, his gaze intense and eyes glowing in the full moonlight shining into the bedroom. âDonât hide from me.âÂ
He looks back down to where your hands have stilled his over your hips and pushes past them, continuing to expose more and more of your naked form. You watch, captivated as his body sinks between your parted legs, stretching out across the length of the bed. His eyes flutter closed and his lips follow the path of his hands, kissing and licking your newly exposed skin.
âYouâre a goddessâŠâ His voice rumbles, muffled by your flesh as he kisses the stretch marks etched onto your stomach. You let out a sharp, shuddering exhale, overwhelmed by such attention and praise toward your âflawsâ. His tongue drags along your sternum, your nipples perking as he exposes them to the light breeze filtering through the open window. His eyes flutter open to meet yours, half-lidded, âTold you I was gonâ worship ya, and I meant it.â
His mouth latches onto one of your nipples with a nearly pathetic, whimpering exhale, tongue lapping at the hard nub as he suckles onto it. The stimulation makes your back arch off the bed, gasping âOhhh!â as your fingers thread into his hair. He lavishes your nipples with attention, flicking his tongue, swirling it around and sucking hard, sending sparks of pleasure through your body and down to your pussy, making your clit throb with need. You force your eyes open to look down and watch as he feasts on your flesh, the sight alone almost as arousing as the physical pleasure heâs bringing you.
Remmickâs glowing red eyes flicker open to lock onto yours and he bares his mouth full of sharp, jagged teeth. You gasp, grip tightening on his hair as his teeth close in around your pebbled nipple, biting just gently enough to tease you. You should be repulsed and frightened by the sight, but you only feel a sick thrill from the sight and your folds grow slicker. A low chuckle rumbles from his throat at your reaction, taking joy in the effect he has on you before he soothes the sting with his tongue and moves to give the same attention to your other breast.Â
âFeels so good!â You whimper as a shudder runs through your body, thick thighs tightening around his hips. The sweet sounds heâs pulling from you chips away at his patience, making him needier for more. He pulls away from your breast with a wet pop and a grunt. His saliva covers your nipples, making them harden as the night air turns cool against the sensitive skin.
He begins to descend down your body with a trail of open mouthed kisses, hurried and desperate until his face hovers above your core. One claw slides up the back of your thigh, hooking around the back of your knee and pushing it back toward the bed. A thick rope of drool slips past his bottom lip as he watches your soaking wet folds part for him, the needy way your entrance clenches around nothing and he sees youâre just as desperate for him.
âSo wet and ready for me⊠so perfect.â He rasps, low and ragged before he dives in, his tongue flat as it slowly licks up through your pussy, collecting your essence on his tongue.
âFuck!â You gasp softly, back arching with a flick of his tongue against your clit. His tongue curls, diving into your fluttering hole. Heâs messy and hungry, burying his face into your cunt like a man on a mission, lapping up every drop of your juices.
You expect him to just give you a few chaste licks before moving on and shoving himself inside you, but itâs clear heâs not going anywhere just yet. His arms slide under your legs and clasp over your stomach, holding you against the mattress as he eats your pussy like a starving man digging into a full feast laid out before him.
âOh⊠this is the closest Iâll ever be to the gods. Right here between your thighs, darlinâ.â He murmurs against you, guttural and strained. His tongue moves from your entrance to focus on your sensitive clit, alternating between circling and flicking his tongue against it. He watches the way you react, the way your thick thighs begin to close in around his head, the way your hips jerk when he sucks the bud between his lips.
âRemmick⊠fuck, yes!â You cry out as his cheeks hollow with a hard suck, your thighs trembling, toes curling, and fingers tightening their grip on his hair. The sounds of his slurping and suckling meet your ears as the spikes of ecstasy radiate throughout your body. You never knew a manâs mouth could feel this good, could fill you with so much bliss that you canât focus on anything else but him, devouring you as if he knows your pussy better than you do.
Your hips rock against his mouth as he sucks and licks, chasing the rapidly building pleasure in your core. Remmickâs hands slide up your stomach to find your breasts, long claws tweaking and tugging your nipples, sending another wave of pleasure through your body.Â
âOh god.- âm gonna cum!â You whine as you feel yourself barreling toward the edge, your breaths coming in short and fast. Youâre a writhing mess beneath him as he rocks his own hips to seek friction, grinding his clothed erection against the mattress, precum staining his pants. He only answers you with a groan that vibrates through your core, too focused on sending you to your climax to even dare speak.Â
Your body begins to tighten and tense, your grip on his hair stinging as you reach your climax before it crashes over you like a tidal wave. A string of high-pitched moans fall from your parted lips, your limbs shaking as ecstasy courses through you, your hips stuttering and jerking against his mouth that doesnât let up in its assault on your tender clit. He moans against you, watching as you come undone because of him with a deep satisfaction. Your juices begin to soak his chin and as your body starts to relax from the intense climax, his tongue slides down to lap it up eagerly like a reward, like melting soft serve dripping down an ice cream cone.
âYou⊠are⊠perfect.â He declares through a hoarse and strained voice, drunk off your essence and body, but the look in his glowing eyes and the way he sits up to rip off his clothes tells you heâs nowhere near satiated.Â
Your half-lidded eyes follow his movements, the suspenders falling from his shoulders, the claws that rip open his shirt, buttons carelessly flying across the wooden floor, his belt quickly following. You try to keep up, pulling your gown thatâs bunched up near your neck over your head and discarded onto the floor before he is back on you.
Remmickâs mouth crashes onto yours, tongue delving in and forcing you to taste yourself from him, and god does it turn you on. The waning bliss from your orgasm rekindles into arousal, still yearning for more of him, all that heâll give you, more of the same pleasure no other man has been able to draw from your willing body.
He pushes his pants down past his hips, kicking them off before his arms slide underneath you, hands wrapping around your waist. Without parting from your lips, he hoists you into the air and flips you over with a speed that knocks the air from your lungs. When your mind catches up, you realize youâve switched places and recognize the feeling of his bare cock nestled between your folds. A shiver of anticipation travels down your spine, coaxing your hips to rock back and forth.
A breathy gasp slips past your lips as his tip rubs against your clit, still sensitive from your orgasm. Your hands fall to Remmickâs chest to support yourself as his rub up and down your sides, kneading the supple flesh along your thighs, hips and ass. His sharp teeth dig into his bottom lip, eyes locked on the way his cock slides through your slick lips.
âGo on and ride me, sugar. Want you to take it all out on me.â The glowing red orbs finally meet yours as his hands settle on your hips, grip tightening slightly and long nails digging into the meat of your ass. He doesnât need to elaborate or explain, you understand instantly and it makes your heart flutter in your chest. All the pain and sorrow thatâs plagued your days, he wants to be your method of release and freedom from it all. âTake what you need from me.â He adds on breathily, nodding in encouragement as his own hips rock up against you, leaking tip nudging against your sore bundle of nerves again.
You move one of your hands from his chest, sliding down his body to wrap around his cock, slick with your juices and his pre-cum. Heâs thick and girthy, long enough to kiss your cervix when itâs buried deep and your pussy clenches in anticipation. You lift your hips off his enough to stand his cock up below you and line his tip with your entrance.
You inhale sharply, eyes closing and mouth falling open as you slowly sink down onto him, his swollen tip breaching your entrance. He grits his sharp teeth, sucking in a shaky breath through them. His head falls back against the pillow and a long, drawn out groan lifts from his throat as you sink further down onto him, inch by painstaking inch. He feels your warm, wet walls fluttering and squeezing around his thick girth and it takes everything in him not to thrust up and fully sheath himself inside you.
But youâre soaking up every second of it, giving your cunt the time to adjust and take him in. Your walls throb with a delicious ache as they stretch around him, accommodating his size. It makes you feel like itâs your first time all over again, but so so much better.
âSo big-â you whimper breathlessly, hands gripping onto his chest.
âThatâs it. Take it all, baby.â His raspy praise hits your ears like smooth honey as you fully seat yourself on him, hips flush against each other and his cock buried deep.
You take a moment to adjust to the feeling of him stretching you so full before you begin to rock your hips back and forth, grinding on his cock.
âOh⊠Oohhh, yes!â You cry out softly, letting your head fall back. Your hips move on their own accord, chasing the building pleasure in your core. His hands remain on your hips, guiding you as you ride him, the patch of hair at the base rubbing deliciously against your clit.
Remmick struggles to keep his eyes open as you lose yourself, but he fights the urge to close them completely. The sight of you on top of him, filthy sounds falling from your open mouth, tits bouncing with each roll of your hips, lost in bliss from his cock, is far too good to miss.
âShit, look at you. Thatâs my girl.â He pants, watching you with a mix of awe and hunger. His fingers dig into the fat of your ass, sharp teeth digging into his bottom lip as he rocks his own hips up to meet the roll of yours- urging more pretty moans to fall from your lips, losing himself in the feel of your gummy walls wrapped around him so tight.
His praise only encourages your movements, rolling and rocking your hips harder and faster. The bed begins to squeak beneath you, nails gently digging into the flesh of his chest. In the chase of your high, you shift off of your knees and to your feet in a squat, earning a strangled groan from Remmick. The change makes your walls grip him even tighter, and eases your movements as you begin to bounce on his shaft.
Your palms are flat against his chest to support yourself, breasts bouncing, and your ass smacking against his heavy balls. The feeling of his cock gliding through your walls is heavenly, knocking the air from your lungs with each thrust.
âFuuuuck⊠love the way you ride me, baby.â Remmick groans deeply, his southern accent faltering slightly to introduce an unfamiliar melodic tilt, his native Irish brogue breaking though as he succumbs to the overwhelming pleasure of your body. His thick neck flexes as his head falls back against the pillow, lips parting to release short pants and moans, sharp teeth glimmering in the moonlight.
Heâs losing his grip on himself, pleasure rapidly building in his balls with each bounce. You just feel too goddamn good, making him feel the best heâs felt in centuries.
So soft. So warm. So wet. So tight.
âShit. Stop, sugarâŠStop.â He mutters through clenching teeth, the sound nearly pathetic. His grip tightens almost painfully on your hips, stilling your movements.
Your heart drops as a wave of insecurity flashes through your mind. Were you not doing a good job? Did you do something wrong? That is until you look down at him and his tense state. The veins in his neck protrude and pulse, shaky deep inhales through his nostrils. With pleasure still buzzing inside you, your walls squeeze around him unintentionally, drawing a rough whimper from his throat.
âDonât do that.â He begs with a rasp, low and breathy, his grip tightening even more as if he could stop the sensation. A slow grin begins to spread across your lips and you squeeze around him again, soaking up his reaction. His eyes squeeze shut tighter and a short grunt passes through his clenched teeth.
âWhy not, baby? Donât you like it?â Your voice is teasing, sickly sweet honey dripping over him. He growls in response, but itâs weak, not holding the threatening power it usually would. A thrill buzzes up your spine, power and confidence thrumming through your bones. To have such power over this man, this creature, for your pussy to reduce him to a pathetic mess begging not to bust too quickly. You could oblige him, give him a breather to collect himself to last a little longer, but whereâs the fun in that?
You donât hold back as you continue to squeeze him, warm and wet walls pulsing rhythmically around his thick girth like a heartbeat, your pussy trying to milk him for all heâs worth. He flinches and tenses, lips parting and mouth falling open with a strangled call of your name before a drawn out groan as he climaxes. You moan in return, feeling Remmickâs cum explode and fill you up, leaking out to mix with your own slick at the base of his cock.
You observe him with satisfaction as his climax flows through his body, the changes in his expression, the heaving of his chest, those beautiful sounds from his lips that make you pulse around him once more. Your teeth sink into the fat of your bottom lip in a futile attempt to stifle your wide, shit-eating grin, but as Remmickâs breathing evens out and his eyes slowly flutter open, he sees it. His brows furrow, claws digging into the flesh of your ass as something like determination builds in his chest.
âThink thatâs funny, do ye?â He questions with a heavy exhale, Irish accent flowing through as his eyes squint, studying you.
âNot at all. I found it quite cute, actually.â You retort, giddy energy pulsing through your body as your hands caress over his bare chest reassuringly.
âCute, aye?â He cocks an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. You canât help but giggle innocently in response, drawing a rumble from his throat. âOh, youâre goinâ get it now.â
His threat sends a tingling shiver down your spine, turning into heat at the base that spreads through your core. He pulls a hand away from your ass before it lands back down onto the flesh with a resounding smack, a sting spreading across the tender skin. A choked moan bursts from your throat as the pain mingles with pleasure, his hand rubbing and soothing reddening skin.
He shifts, maneuvering your body with a dizzying speed and strength, pushing you off of him and onto the mattress on all fours. Behind you, both of Remmickâs hands grip the meat of your ass, kneading and groping the flesh as his still erect cock rests between your spread cheeks.
âBeen thinkinâ âbout having you like this for a long time, darlinâ. Bent over, this perfect ass in the air, achinâ for me.â Another resounding smack punctuates his words, making your body jerk before you push yourself back against him, willing and eager for all that heâll give you. His eyes are fixed to the way your flesh jiggles with the smack, one hand continuing its caress while the other smooths up your spine, guiding you to arch into him.
Remmickâs hand leaves your ass to wrap around the base of his cock. He pulls back enough to see the way his cum drips from your cunt. His tip nudges your clit before slowly sliding through your folds, collecting his seed to stuff back into your pussy with a hard thrust. You exhale a high-pitched moan, your chest pressing down against the mattress and fingers curling to grip onto the sheets. Your pussy missed the full, stretched feeling of him in the short time of absence, gummy walls eagerly welcoming him back in with a warm grip.
His thrusts start slow and deep, tip nudging your cervix before he pulls out to push back in again. You feel his lips along your spine, pressing a trail of reverent kisses up your shoulder. His bare chest presses against your back, breath fanning over your ear, hand sliding to softly wrap around your throat in a possessive motion. His speed picks up and hips shift to angle his cock, hitting an undiscovered spot along your walls that makes you gasp and cry out, an intense pleasure blooming and radiating throughout your core.
âOh god, yes!â A choked moan rises from your throat, eyes rolling to the back of your head, nails scratching against the cotton sheets.
âYeah⊠Not so smug now are ye?â He taunts through heavy breaths, lips pressed against the shell of your ear. âFuck, this pussy was made for my cock.â
Goosebumps spread all over your skin with his words, everything about him taking over your senses and making your head swim. His teasing yet praising words, his skin against yours, his southern twang mixing with an Irish brogue, his long thick cock plunging into your throbbing walls relentlessly.
One claw remains wrapped around your throat as Remmick leans back to get a better view of you. He moans at the sight of your ass jiggling and bouncing off his hips, the feeling of his heavy balls slapping against your wet folds. His eyes zero in on your puckered hole presented so eagerly to him. He bites his bottom lip as a grin spreads across them, sliding his free hand down your back until it rests on the jiggling flesh of your ass. His pad of his thumb brushes over the puckered, unused hole before pressing against it firmly, rubbing circles into it.
âRemmick!â The action earns a gasp and wrecked whimper from your lips, your pussy gripping him tight. You have a white knuckle grip on the sheets below you, the foreign sensations and newfound pleasures are almost too much to bear.Â
Remmick groans at the feeling of you gripping him even tighter before letting out a low, amused chuckle. âOh, you like that, donât chu? Filthy girl.â He chastises teasingly, continuing to thrust against the spongy spot in your walls and prod your tight little asshole.Â
âOh fuck, yes! Yes!â A string of unrestrained and desperate cries of pleasure fall from your parted lips, tears beginning to prick the corners of your eyes. A symphony of filthy sounds fill the bedroom and your ears; your combined moans, the headboard repeatedly hitting the wall, the wet slapping of your flesh.
âMmm, you gonna cum for me, baby? Give it to me.â Remmick demands, after already making you cum on his tongue he needs to feel you unravel on his cock like his lungs need air.Â
The building pressure in your core erupts into an intense wave of pure ecstasy, hitting you like a freight train. A choked scream rises from your throat and your body tenses, jerking and trembling as you ride out your climax. Remmick watches as your pussy gushes around him, walls squeezing him with a vice grip and juices squirting against the base of his cock, dripping down his balls and onto the sheets below. He moans at the sight and feeling of you coming undone, reaching new heights of pleasure because of him. He swears heâs never seen anything more erotic or beautiful in his life.
Remmick releases his hold on your throat, letting your head fall and slump against the mattress. His hand soothes up and down your back as the last waves of your orgasm begin to fizzle out, leaving your body limp and panting heavily. âGood girl.â He praises with a soft whisper, earning a faint whimper from you. He slowly pulls his drenched cock from your pussy, marveling at the mess youâve made.Â
Gently, he grabs your hip and rolls you onto your back to face him. Your eyes are closed, a small blissful smile on your lips, and your chest rises and falls with each attempt to catch your breath. He leans over you from between your thighs, kissing along your jawline before his lips meet yours. You sigh happily, kissing him back slow and deep. Itâs not rushed and full of hunger like earlier. Though a hunger still remains, this kiss feels more affectionate and sensual. Your fingers thread into his messy hair as your tongues swirl lazily.
Remmick presses a deep kiss against your lips before he pulls back, just enough to let his eyes soak in your features. âYou look so beautiful like this⊠all drunk on my cock.â
Your soft giggle turns into a breathy sigh as his lips return to your skin, kissing along the other side of your jaw and down to your neck. He can feel the blood coursing through your veins, the pulsing of your heartbeat against his lips.
âBut I ainât done with ya yet.â His voice grows deeper, rumbling against your throat. His still hard and throbbing cock slides through your soaking folds, making your hips jerk slightly and reigniting the fire of desire in your core. âThink you can give me one more? Just one more, baby.â
You whimper softly in response. You know heâs not really asking, heâs telling you. Even if you donât think you can, you donât doubt he has the power to pull another earth-shattering orgasm from your cunt. Heâs already done what no other man could, giving you more intense orgasms than youâve even been able to give yourself. But he needs to hear you say it, needs to hear how wrecked heâs already made you and the desperation for more in your voice.
âOkay.â You nod weakly, gulping as you feel his tongue and teeth pressing against your neck. Your voice is soft and breathy, strained from the sounds heâs already pulled from you. âYes. Please.âÂ
Remmick groans in approval, inhaling your scent and the ever so tempting allure of your blood with a shudder. His dick slides through your combined juices once more, soaking up your little gasps as he rubs against your bundle of nerves. He notches the tip at your entrance before sinking himself to the hilt with a deep groan. The way your body responds to him, opens up and welcomes him so eagerly, wraps around him so snuggly, heâs not sure he ever wants to leave the bliss of your touch.
âSo good for meâŠâ He purrs against your ear, thrusting with long and deep strokes. Your hands travel to his back, gripping onto the sweat slick skin as your walls flutter and tingle around him. Thick thighs wrapped around his hips, you hook your ankles together over his ass, encouraging him to go as deep as he can. You know youâll always crave this, that youâll never get enough of him stretching your walls to the brink, of fucking you so deep and hard you swear you can feel him in your guts.
âThis pussy belongs to me.â Remmick rasps as he picks up the pace, pistoning into you harder and faster. âAll mine.â His breath tickles your ear, his possessive words making your cunt squeeze around him in agreement.
âAll yours.â You echo his sentiment with a moan, stating what you both already know to be true.
Your words align with what your body has already told him, spurring on his desire to feel you unravel beneath him once more.Â
âForever.â
A claw gently scratches down your chest and stomach to where your bodies are joined. The wet squelch of your cunt taking him over and over again is a filthy sound, making his cock throb inside you. The rough pad of his thumb finds your clit as his palm presses down on the fat of your mons, forcing his shaft to rub against your g spot with every stroke.
âOhhh, fuck! Remmick!â You let out a shuddering cry at the feeling, your walls clenching around him from the added stimulation. The sensations are overwhelming, almost cruel, and he grunts at the feeling of your nails digging into his back. He wants your marks on his skin, just as his will soon decorate yours.
âGoddamn⊠âm gonna breed this perfect little pussy. Yer gonna be leakinâ me for days.â He can already feel you teetering on the edge, the pressure in his heavy balls rising as they smack against your ass. âWould you like that, baby? Tell me.â He demands breathlessly as he free hand grips onto the sheets by your head, claws digging in and starting to tear the fabric.
âFuck, yes! Please. Please. I need it!â You beg through whimpers and cries of pleasure as you feel yourself beginning to lose your grip, his thumb circling your clit and cock abusing your spongy spot sends you barreling toward the edge of bliss.
Remmick feels the telltale signs of your climax approaching, your body beginning to tense and tremble, the grip of your hands and legs tightening around him. Just as a strained sob leaves your throat and your juices begin to flood his cock, he growls. Unable to hold himself back any longer, he bares his sharp, jagged teeth and sinks them into the tender flesh of your neck. A guttural moan rumbles in his chest as your warm, coppery blood fills his mouth. His eyes roll back at the taste, at his full consumption of you. He doesnât bite with the intent to kill and turn you, not yet, he just needs a taste. For now.
Your back arches off the bed as his teeth sink into you, making your orgasm crash over you like a tidal wave. A choked scream is ripped from your throat, but itâs not a scream of fear or pain, but of ecstasy as the feeling of his teeth and mouth sucking your blood mingles with pure, unbridled ecstasy. Your nails scratch down his back, leaving red lines along his pale skin.
He stills his thrusts, holding his dick as deep inside you as he can go. Your cunt clamps down and spasms wildly around his shaft, gripping almost painfully and milking him for more of his seed to fill and seep into your womb. A deep moan of absolute rapture leaves your lips as you feel the warmth of his cum explode inside you. Your vision blurs and is overtaken with stars as a dull ringing fills your ears, drowning out the sounds around you.
Youâre so out of it and lost in the throes of pleasure that you donât register when his teeth leave your neck, tongue gliding over and soothing your new wound, licking up the last drops of blood.
âWe were meant to find each other, darlinâ.â He groans reverently against your neck, panting heavily as the last waves of his climax pass through his body and throbbing cock. The feeling of his lips peppering your skin with kisses begins to pull you from the haze in your swimming head. Your heart pounds against your chest and your tired eyes flutter open to peer at him.
Remmick presses a soft but passionate kiss to your lips, the taste of your blood seeping onto your tongue. Heâs unable to remember the last time heâs felt this content, this right. The weight and pain of his own past and loneliness no longer weighs so heavily on his shoulders.Â
When your lips part, he sighs deeply as his eyes memorize every feature of your face, fingers brushing away the sweat slick strands of hair clinging to your skin.
âIâm not gonna change you just yet. NoâŠâ He mutters more to himself than to you, in your fucked out state. Your brows furrow slightly in confusion just as a small smirk tugs at the side of his lips. âWanna see if my seed takes root first, then we can have ourselves a real family.â
She smelled like fresh cut honeycomb, earthy and sweet like flowers, and her skin was smooth and warmed from the sun. Her hair gathered at her nape and twisted into a haphazard manner that laid atop her head, the sunlight behind her making it appear that she wore a crown, golden and fragile. She was the goddess of the day, of the sun that he could never truly see or touch again. It was salvation and torture all at once and he was glad that whatever god had damned him to this fate granted him this small kindness.
And when the sun finally set and the moonlight above them laid everything in a silvery hue, he would finally go to her, and he would embrace her, closing his eyes and imagine clutching the very sun he'd been caged by moments before.
The ground still warm and blushing from the kiss of the sun just an hour before.
Ahh happy late bday Delgato! This is such a cute freakinâ event! Youâre so creative for this!
Event: Nebula Bronc Riding
Riders: Rhett and Bob
Prompt: Maybe a drabble thatâs really fluffy and sweet? Since Bob is a service man heâs kinda stiff and isnât used to âletting loseâ, so at a line dancing event Rhett and Reader help him follow the beat of the rhythm and his heart. And maybe Rhett loans Bob some of his clothes too lol
Iâll add some snap dragons to the bouquet!
And congrats on passing your exam! đđâš
aaa thank ya! ^w^ I love snapdragons so much, their little 'teeth' are the cutest thing!
âJoin my Starlight Stampede Event! â
Nebula Bronc Ridingâ Give me a prompt for your rider(s) and I'll write a drabble with it*
If you didn't know any better, you would think your boyfriend had switched bodies with a deer, because you're pretty sure this is a sight you've seen in your headlights once or twice.
"I can't do it." Bob doesn't so much as blink. One wrong move and Rhett might haul him inside by the scruff of his neck.
"Yes, y' can," Rhett hums, and again, his hands appear on Bob's narrow hips, guiding him back into the correct position once more. "Rest your weight on your left foot again."
That Bob has down pat, bending his right knee and robotically working through the leg motion he's practiced so many times that it's created an indent in the parking lot gravel. From this angle, you can finally see the problem at hand. It's not the motions themselves that are wrong; in fact, he's keeping up with Rhett relatively easily, but he's just soâŠstiff. There's a languidness in Rhett's body that is virtually absent in Bob's, moving around like an unoiled robot rather than a real, living, breathing person.
There is only one solution.
Bob spins left andâ
Smooch!
"Wh�" Bobby blinks back at you, eyes round as can be.
The corner of Rhett's lip twitches, something devious sparkling behind his eye. As he pulls Bob through another step, he cranes his head down and plants a kiss on the side of Bob's neck.
"What are you doing?" Oblivious, Bobby stumbles, like he's trying to stop dancing, but Rhett's still hauling him along, determined to keep dancing to the faint beat of music leaking through the walls of the bar.
"Nothin'," you hum. Your calculated kiss on the cheek misses, landing somewhere on his jaw instead. Rhett gets him behind the ear. You lay another close to his nose. He stumbles again, chest bumping into yours, but he can only fall so far before Rhett reels him back in by his belt loops.
And Bobby giggles. "Quit that!"
"We ain't doin' nothin'," Rhett hums, biting at an exposed collarbone. Even with the flannel nearly buttoned all the way up, this old flannel of his is so damn big on Bobby's frame. The difference in their shoulders never occurred to you until Bob started swimming in this ratty old thing, tattered sleeves, two missing buttons, and a nearly ripped sleeve, courtesy of a bull's horn.
"Oh my god," heat reddens Bobby's cheeks; if life were a cartoon, his glasses would be fogged by now. But he's all real, and the most he can do is lurch to the left, trying to unwedge himself from between you and Rhett. "Let's just go inside."
The corners of Rhett's eyes crinkle, grinning. "Y' gonna go 'n dance for us, Flyboy?"
The fictional meter fills to the top and bursts within a matter of milliseconds, and Bob crumbles, burying his face in his hands before you can see his reaction. "Oh my god."
Is he perfect? No, obviously not. But thatâs what makes him such a great character. Whether he was ready for it or not, he was given the shield, the very mantle of not just Captain America, but of Steve Rogers.
And in the end, he wasnât fit enough to be a representative of that, and like many other soldiers he was swept under the rug by the government.
He was never going to be the perfect Captain America, because he was never going to be Steve. With his first uniform he exceeded all expectations, was a perfect soldier in every way, smart, strong and a respectable leader but with the Captain America uniform, he couldnât measure up to the expectations we as an audience had of him. Heâs immediately written off by Bucky and Sam because theyâre upset that some other random guy is parading the shield around in a way they didnât think was fitting of Johnâs predecessor, theyâre best friend. He was trying his best to be someone he wasnât.
It was clear he had demons but he was not a bad man, he was a broken one. He was morally grey like a lot of other Marvel characters (characters who have done a lot worse). The Avengers themselves have been targets of hate and doubt by their community, that was the entire basis of Civil War. In the end, no one is safe from the consequences of their own actions. The whole world watched John Walkersâ worst moment, but what about the things the other Avengers did when the cameras were not rolling? Does it lessen their mistakes or make their own hearts less heavy? Or does it really just depend on how untouchable they are? On how much pull they already have with the people and community around them.
As Zemo said, there has never been another Steve Rogers. I just hope that in this new movie John gets redemption and can grow into his own person without the burden of expectations from someone he can never compare to.
Joel Miller (and probably every other character in the PPCU) is a freaky slut and donât let anyone (including aforementioned character) tell you otherwise.
And shout out to all the amazing writers and magic wielders that make this app a little more beautiful and crazy and fun
@auteurdelabre
@romana-after-dark and @romanarose
@joelsrose
@toxicanonymity
@penvisions
@yxtkiwiyxt
@gutsby
@macfrog
@almostfoxglove
@punkshort
Somehow this turned from a pseudo-thirst post to a sappy post but itâs all true in the end, love ya (seriously, check them out theyâre awesome) đ
I just started watching Narcos and girl, Steve and JaviiiiiiiâŠ.Iâm just saying I wouldnât mind being in the middle of all of thatâŠ
What about something really fluffy with reader being a goody two shoes secretary or something, like really smart but totally shyâŠand Javi is flirty and teasing and Steve is sweet to her?
Love your writing đ
i loved this prompt! hope you enjoy x
â ËïœĄâàšà§Ë
It was your first day, and to say you were nervous barely scratched the surface of it. You were practically vibrating with anxious energy, your fingers clutching a notepad like it was a holy text, the strap of your purse leaving a red line on your shoulder as you followed the very pregnant woman you were replacing through the narrow corridors of the DEA field office. The air was thick with heat and the faint tang of cigarette smoke, a ceiling fan turning lazily overhead, as if it too couldnât be bothered with the pressure of the day.
The woman walked slowly, one hand resting low on her belly like she was holding the baby in place, her voice calm but brisk as she pointed out the important things youâd need to know: the coffee machine that only sometimes worked, the drawer with the good pens that no one else knew about, the printer that jammed if you looked at it the wrong way.
âHereâs the printer,â she said, giving it a gentle pat like a temperamental child. âThe agents are usually too lazy to copy their own files, so donât be surprised if they come sweet-talking you into doing it.â
You nodded quickly, trying to absorb every word and committing them to memory with the panicked focus of someone who absolutely did not want to mess this up.
She paused before heading toward the elevator, shifting her weight with a soft, maternal groan. Her eyes softened as they swept over you. âBuena suerte, cariño,â she said, her voice warm and kind.
âGracias,â you replied in your quietest voice, the syllables soft and careful on your tongue. She smiled, gave you a wink, and disappeared down the hall.
You took a breath. Then another.
Your new desk sat tucked into the corner, a little nest of organized chaosâfiles stacked neatly, a potted plant that had seen better days, and a phone that had already rung twice before you figured out how to transfer calls. You were seated there, chewing nervously on the edge of your pen, furiously typing something you hoped was formatted correctly, when a low voice startled you out of your focus.
âAfternoon.â
You gasped and nearly knocked over your water, your wide eyes darting up to find a man standing by your deskâtall, with a calm smile and a gentle glint in his blue eyes. His sleeves were rolled up, tie loosened just enough to make him look like heâd had a long day, but still cared.
âShitâsorry,â he said quickly, hands raised a little in apology. âDidnât mean to scare you.â
You blinked, heart pounding, already flustered. âSorryâI, I didnât see you coming.â
He chuckled, the sound soft and easy. âYouâre new, right?â
You nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. âYeah. First day. Is it that obvious?â you asked, trying to smile through your nerves.
âNot at all,â he said, with a warmth that made your cheeks flush. âYouâre doing great.â
Your eyes dropped to the stack of papers in his handsâtyped reports, some of them dog-eared, all of them marked with red pen. âDo you need those photocopied?â you asked quickly, already half-rising from your seat, desperate to be useful.
He glanced at the stack, then at you, like he hadnât expected you to offer. âWould you? Thatâd be real helpful.â
You nodded, carefully taking them from his hands like they were precious. His fingers brushed yours for a momentâwarm, callousedâand it sent a weird little buzz down your spine.
âIâm Steve,â he added, smiling down at you. âIf anyone gives you trouble around here, let me know. Iâll take care of it.â
You flushed again, muttered a soft âthank you,â and he gave you a nod before stepping back toward the hallway. You watched him go, then glanced down at the reports.
Ëâșâ§âË âĄ Ëââ§âșË
The day had dragged on in the way only long, hot days in BogotĂĄ couldâthe kind that left a sheen of sweat clinging to your collarbones, your blouse stuck to your back, and your legs aching from running errands across the office like a girl with something to prove. Phones rang, the typewriters clacked with relentless rhythm, and youâd barely had time to sip your lukewarm coffee, let alone catch your breath.
Now, with the sun beginning to dip low outside the hazy windows and your shift nearly over, you were at the filing cabinet, quietly humming to yourself as your fingers skimmed over manila foldersâsearching, focused, tired.
And thenâyou heard it.
A low whistle behind you, smooth and deliberate.
You turned, startled, your heart skipping before your eyes even landed on him.
He was leaning against the doorframe like he was born to do itâone arm hooked just above his head, the other resting casually at his hip, thumb tucked into the waistband of jeans worn soft at the edges. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, the light cotton clinging to the heat-slicked curve of his chest, sleeves rolled to the elbows like he couldnât be bothered with formalities, like formality had never once tamed him. The ceiling fan above him turned lazily, lifting the edges of his dark, slightly mussed hair, and a cigarette sat tucked behind his ear.
No tie. No badge in sight. Just the lazy drape of his frame against the door and that impossible calm in his postureâas if nothing in the world could rattle him, but you just might.
His gaze found you instantly, dragging slowly over your frame in a way that made your throat tighten, like he was memorizing the way the light hit your cheek, the soft mess of your hair pulled up from a long day.
âDidnât know angels came with filing cabinets,â he drawled, voice low and honeyed, like he said things just to see how they'd sound curling out of his mouth.
You blinked, caught off guard, your cheeks already heating like a match had been struck under your skin. The folder in your hand wobbled slightly in your grasp.
He stepped into the room with the kind of ease most men fakedâevery movement loose and casual, but still impossibly confident. The cigarette stayed tucked behind his ear as he sauntered closer, boots heavy on the floor, his eyes never leaving your face.
âYou always this shy, mami?â he murmured, stopping just a foot away, his voice dipped in curiosity and just enough tease to make your stomach flip. The way he said it wasnât mockingâit was gentle, almost sweet, like heâd stumbled across something delicate in the middle of all this noise and didnât know whether to pocket it or leave it untouched.
You tightened your grip on the folder like it might anchor you to the floor. âIâm not shy,â you mumbled, barely above a whisper.
He chuckledâa soft, amused sound that made your spine tingle.
âCouldâve fooled me,â he said, voice low, something amused dancing behind his eyes. âYou blush easy, sweetheart.â
You bit your lip, not trusting yourself to say anything more without squeaking.
His eyes flicked to the way you fidgeted, and his smile shiftedâstill playful, but a little warmer now. He reached out slowly, not abrupt or showy, and took your hand in his like it was the most natural thing in the world. You froze as he lifted it, turned your wrist slightly, and brought your knuckles to his lips.
âIâm Javi,â he said simply, brushing a kiss over your skin like it was a greeting he gave everyone, though something in the way he lingeredâbarely a second longer than necessaryâtold you maybe it wasnât.
Your breath caught. âOh,â you whispered. âJavier Peña?â
His eyebrows lifted ever so slightly, a flicker of surpriseâand something smug behind it. Like he wasnât used to people saying his full name so softly. Like he wasnât used to being looked at the way you were looking at him now, half entranced, half terrified, all butterflies.
âIn the flesh,â he murmured, his voice dipping even lower, smooth as aged whiskey and just as dangerous.
Then, after a beat, his head tilted slightly, dark eyes scanning your face with slow interest. âNo te he visto antes,â he said, the Spanish rolling easily off his tongue, like smoke curling in the summer air. I havenât seen you around before.
Your lips parted, a soft little sound escaping before you could catch it. Your face grew warmâwarmer, somehowâand you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your fingers suddenly clumsy.
âIâm sorry,â you said quickly, voice barely above a whisper. âI donât know Spanish. Not yet. Iâm⊠Iâm trying to learn.â
His mouth curved again, but this time, it was softer. Not a smirk. Something quieter. Something that made your pulse stutter in your throat.
âDonât apologize, cariño,â he said, the word slipping out with so much casual affection it made your knees go a little weak.
Your brows liftedâalmost instinctively, like your heart was reaching for understanding before your head could.
He leaned in just slightly, close enough that the scent of his cologne wrapped around youâwarm leather, smoke, and something unnameably him.
âCariño,â he repeated, his voice velvet-smooth, âmeans darling.â
Your breath caught somewhere in your chest, your throat tightening like a ribbon being pulled gently.
âOh,â you said, blinking up at him, your lips curving in shy surprise.
He took one step closer, and you didnât move awayânot because you werenât nervous, but because something about him made it feel like gravity had shifted in the room and you were being pulled toward him, whether you liked it or not.
âIf youâre serious about learning,â he said, tone suddenly low and conspiratorial, like a secret passed between friendsâor something more, âI could teach you.â
You looked up at him, eyes wide, heart hammering, words tangled in your throat. He was so close. So confident. So intentional. And you were just⊠a girl with sweaty palms and a head full of butterflies.
âIâum⊠I mean, if you want to,â you managed, instantly wanting to crawl into the filing cabinet and shut the drawer.
He chuckled, low and rich. âI offered, didnât I?â
Your mouth opened again, but he was already turning, already walking away with that easy, unhurried gait, as if he hadnât just unraveled you with a single word. He glanced back once over his shoulder, just long enough to catch your stunned expression, and smirked.
âHasta luego,â he called, like a promise.
You stood there, your heart beating loud in your ears, wondering how a man could make a single word sound like foreplay.
Ëâșâ§âË âĄ Ëââ§âșË
By the next day, things felt easier.
You still walked a little fast when someone called your name and still triple-checked the spelling on every file, but the rhythm of the office had started to settle into your bones. You knew which drawer stuck slightly and had to be tugged twice, which phone line belonged to which department, and how to make the coffee strong enough that even Peña didnât complain. You feltâif not confidentâthen at least not completely lost.
And then came lunch.
Most of the agents took their breaks out on the front steps of the building, perching wherever the sun fell just right. Some ate in the breakroom that always smelled like reheated leftovers and strong cologne. You could hear the laughter echoing down the hallways sometimes, voices calling out, boots clunking against tile.
But you, quiet thing that you were, stayed at your desk.
It felt safer here. The whirr of the fan. The hum of the fluorescent lights. The comfort of your own little corner in the chaos. Youâd made your sandwich the night beforeâplain, careful, pressed in wax paperâand now unwrapped it slowly, laying the napkin across your lap like you were still trying to be perfect even when no one was looking.
Thatâs when you saw a figure approach from the corner of your eye.
You looked up.
âHey,â he said, with a soft, easy smile.
Steve Murphy.
He was in his button-down, sleeves rolled up, his tie slightly askew in that charming way like heâd been too busy solving things to fix it. His hair was a little messy, like heâd run his fingers through it a few too many times, and his eyesâso blue and so gentleâfound yours like they already knew how to read your every nervous thought.
âOhâhi,â you said quickly, startled but trying not to show it, straightening just a little in your chair. âWhat can I help you with?â
He chuckled, low and kind, as if your question had been sweet rather than unnecessary.
âNothing,â he said, eyes flicking down to your desk. âJust saw you sitting here. Have you had lunch yet?â
Your fingers curled around the wax paper in your lap. âI was about to,â you said, glancing down at your sandwich, embarrassed like youâd been caught doing something wrong.
âHere?â he asked, stepping in a little, brows tugging together slightly. âAlone?â
You shrugged, the heat creeping up your neck again. âI⊠I donât really know anyone yet,â you admitted, voice soft as your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your napkin. âItâs okay, though. I donât mind.â
Steveâs expression softened even more. And then, with the same steady calm he always seemed to carry, he leaned forward just a little, one hand braced on the desk.
âWell,â he said, voice soft and laced with just enough warmth to make your chest ache, a small smile tugging at his mouth as his eyes met yours with something quiet and reassuring, âyou know me.â
You blinked, startled for a moment by the easiness in his tone, the way he said it like it was a simple truth, like of course you knew him, like that fact alone was enough reason to follow him anywhere.
Your eyes lifted to his, wide and unsure, but already softening at the way he looked at youâgentle, patient, like he wasnât asking for much, just a few minutes of your time and the tiniest bit of trust.
âCâmon,â he added, his voice low and kind, the words not coaxing but welcoming, like an open door. âItâll be good to get out of the office for a bit, donât you think? Youâve been working nonstop.â
Your heart gave a quiet little flutter, a warmth blooming beneath your ribs that you tried not to show on your face. You looked down at your sandwichâstill neatly wrapped in wax paper, untouched, suddenly small in your handsâand then slowly looked back up at him.
You hesitated for just a second longer, then nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. âOkay.â
His grin widenedâpleased, but not smug. Just honest, like he was genuinely happy youâd said yes. âGood,â he said. âLetâs go.â
And thenâjust like thatâhe was leading you out into the hallway with that easy warmth radiating off him, like he didnât even realize how much it meant. Like he didnât know that, with just one smile, heâd made the noise of the office seem a little less scary, and the world a little less lonely.
Ëâșâ§âË âĄ Ëââ§âșË
Murphy made things easy. He had a calm way about him, the kind that didnât draw attention to itself but wrapped around you like warmth from the sun. He asked questions that didnât feel nosy, made quiet jokes that surprised a laugh out of you, and somehow made the walk down the stairs feel like less of a walk and more like⊠company.
âI know a place just down the street,â he said, holding the door open for you like it was second nature. âBest empanadas in town, no contest.â
âReally?â you asked, your voice lighter than it had been all morning.
âThe best,â he grinned. âAnd I donât lie about food. Itâs sacred.â
You stepped into the humid afternoon together, the city humming with heat and noise around you. You walked side by side on the sidewalk, Murphy keeping just a half step ahead like he was ready to shield you from a rogue taxi or a sudden gust of wind. You were still tucking a piece of hair behind your ear when the scent of cigarette smoke reached youâand then a voice followed.
Low. Lazy. Familiar.
âBueno, hablamos luego.â
You looked up just in time to see himâJavier Peña, leaning against the edge of the building like a man who belonged to the street itself, phone pressed to his ear, cigarette burning slow between his fingers. His shirt was wrinkled in that unfairly perfect way, tie loose, sunglasses low on the bridge of his nose. He turned his head, eyes catching on you firstâthen Murphyâand that easy, smooth line of his mouth shifted.
The phone dropped from his ear. âChao,â he said flatly into the receiver before hanging up without waiting for a response.
âWell, well,â he drawled, pushing off the wall with slow grace. His eyes dragged over you both, sharp and unreadable. âWhere you two headed?â
âLunch,â Murphy said simply, barely glancing back.
Javiâs smirk curled like smoke. âThat so?â
âYep,â Steve replied, tone easy.
Javi flicked the ash from his cigarette and checked his watch with theatrical boredom. âDamn,â he said. âIâm starving.â
There was a beat of silence.
Then he added, voice soft and low, eyes trained straight on you, âSo⊠where we goinâ?â
Your heart jumped. Murphy looked over at you, brows raised like he was waiting to see what youâd say. Javi didnât even bother pretendingâhe was watching you closely, cigarette still between his fingers, like the answer mattered more than he wanted to admit.
You blinked, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. âI⊠umâŠâ
âYouâre welcome to join us,â Murphy said casually, kind as ever.
âWasnât asking you,â Javi murmured, eyes never leaving yours.
Your stomach flipped.
Murphy gave him a lookâdry, unimpressedâbut didnât argue. He just smiled at you gently. âUp to you,â he said, soft enough that it grounded you.
You glanced between them. The calm steadiness of Steve. The simmering fire that was Javi. And youâstuck in the middle, blushing, trying to decide who your knees would give out for first.
âOf course,â you said, trying to keep your voice from wobbling as you tucked your hair behind your ear. âBest empanadas in town, apparently.â
You smiled up at Murphy, and he grinned back, bright and easy like always, a little wrinkle forming at the corner of his eyes, the kind of expression that made you feel like you were someone worth smiling at.
âDamn right,â he said, his hand already in his pocket as if he were checking to make sure his wallet hadnât somehow disappeared just from thinking about lunch.
And thenâof courseâJavi.
âThat so?â he repeated, his voice lower, slower, and just sharp enough around the edges to cut through the summer haze. He stepped forward, flicked the last of his cigarette to the pavement, and gave Murphy a long, sideways look. âIâd argue I cook better ones.â
Murphy raised an eyebrow. âYou cook?â
Javi smirked, pulling his sunglasses off and tucking them into the front of his shirt. âWhat, you think gringos are the only ones allowed to throw meat in dough and call it a meal?â
âDidnât know you had time to cook between all theââ Steve gestured vaguely, ââcharm and cigarettes.â
Javi just grinned wider. âWhat can I say? I multitask.â
Your face was already warm, but it only got worse when Javiâs eyes found yours again.
âTell you what, cariño,â he said, voice syrupy, way too smooth, âyou come over one night, Iâll show you how empanadas are supposed to taste.â
You blinked.
âOh,â you said, entirely useless.
Murphy glanced at you, gentle and kind, but there was something knowing behind it nowâlike he saw the way you shifted under Javiâs gaze, like he noticed how easily your breath caught.
And thenâjust like thatâyou were walking.
Down the sidewalk, between the two of them, like it was the most natural thing in the world and not completely insane that you were flanked by two armed federal agents who smelled like warm leather and aftershave and power, one radiating sweet protection, the other lazy fire and smirking danger.
Murphy was all calm presenceâhis gun concealed under his jacket, his steps steady, his voice warm as he asked you about where you grew up, what you liked to read, if youâd tried any Colombian desserts yet.
And Javi? Javi was chaos in a collared shirtâhis sidearm stuffed into his pocket like he didnât care who saw it, hands in his pants as he walked with that signature swagger, eyes occasionally flicking down to you with that same unreadable heat. When he spoke, it was slower, more calculated. Less about facts, more about watching you react.
And Godâthey both smelled so good. One like soap and sun-warmed cotton, the other like cigarettes and something rich and musky, and you didnât know if it was the heat or your own mind playing tricks, but your knees felt a little weak, and your heartbeat was tapping against your ribs like a trapped bird.
They were opposites in every wayâSteve with his soft drawl and honest eyes, and Javi with his cigarette voice and sin-soaked charmâand yet⊠somehow, you were drawn to both.
Two storms. One gentle. One electric.
Ëâșâ§âË âĄ Ëââ§âșË
The lunch spot was small, tucked between a hardware store and an old pharmacy, the kind of place you wouldnât look at twice unless you knew what magic it held inside. The windows were fogged with heat and the smell of grilled meat and cumin wafted out each time the door opened, mixing with the thick air and the street dust that clung to everything in BogotĂĄ. A faded sign above the door read La Esquina, the paint chipped but still proud, and inside, the radio played something soft and lilting in Spanish, the kind of music that felt like a breeze even in the sweltering warmth.
Murphy reached the door first and opened it for you, stepping back with an easy smile.
You blushed, eyes dropping automatically as you passed. âThank you,â you murmured.
âAlways,â he said, gentle and sweet, like it wasnât anything special, like it didnât make your heart do a quiet little tumble in your chest.
And then Javi, right behind you, muttered with a smirk, âThanks, gringo.â
Murphy gave him a look, but Javi just flashed a toothy, unapologetic smile and followed you both inside.
The place was buzzing with locals, the smell of oil and spice and fresh lime lingering in the air. Ceiling fans turned slow above cracked tile floors, and the walls were lined with old posters, curling at the edges, and handwritten specials tacked to a corkboard. Booths lined the far wall, red leather cracked and faded in places, but they gave the place a charm that felt lived-in. Familiar. Warm.
You were still looking around, taking it all in, when Javiâs hand lightly touched your back.
âHere,â he said, already guiding you toward a booth near the window, the sun slanting just right to catch the soft sheen on his forearms. He slid in firstâfast, confident, smoothâand made sure there was only one seat left on the inside.
Next to him.
You hesitated for a second too long.
Murphy raised an eyebrow like he might say something, but didnât.
You sat down.
You could feel Javiâs leg warm against yours almost instantly, his body stretched out beside you with one arm draped along the back of the booth like it belonged there. Like he belonged there. You kept your hands in your lap, trying to pretend you werenât entirely aware of every inch of him next to you, of the way his thigh pressed against yours with casual certainty.
Murphy slid into the seat across from you both, his jaw tight but his expression otherwise unreadable.
He gave Javi a look. Subtle. Controlled. But it said Really?
Javi didnât even flinch.
Instead, he leaned back against the booth with that infuriating, devastating easeâhis arm still draped along the backrest behind you, his knee brushing yours like it belonged there, like this seat was his by right.
You shifted slightly, trying to ignore the warmth crawling up your neck.
âIs there⊠a menu?â you asked, voice soft, desperate to cut through the tension with something normal, something neutral. Your hands were folded neatly in your lap, even as your pulse drummed just under your skin.
Javi let out a low chuckle, head turning just enough for you to catch the flicker of mischief in his eyes. âNo need, cariño, they know what to make.â
Murphy rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something snarkyâbut instead, he looked at you, softening instantly.
âThey donât really do menus here,â he explained, voice low and warm. âThey just kind of⊠bring you what theyâve got going today. Usually a few different fillings, whateverâs fresh. You just tell âem how many you want, and if you want them spicy.â
He paused, his smile gentle. âTrust me, itâs good.â
âReal good,â Javi added, low and smooth beside you. He didnât look at you when he said itâhe was watching Steve, his smirk now laced with something more subtle. Something sharp.
You nodded, trying to focus, trying to stop your eyes from flicking between them like you were watching some high-stakes poker game. The contrast between them was dizzyingâSteve, all kind words and quiet steadiness, his hands folded on the table like a gentleman, his badge tucked neatly beneath his jacket⊠and Javi, sprawled out beside you like a slow-burning fire, gun heavy in the pocket of his slacks, cologne mingling with the faint scent of smoke clinging to his shirt.
Ëâșâ§âË âĄ Ëââ§âșË
The food arrived quicklyâhot, golden, impossibly fragrant. The plate was set in front of you with a cheerful "ÂĄBuen provecho!" and the smell alone had your stomach fluttering in anticipation.
You picked one up carefully, the crust still steaming, the edges crisp and flaking at your touch.
And thenâwithout thinking, without meaning toâyou bit into it.
The flavor hit you like a wave. Rich and warm, the filling tender and spicy and perfect, the dough crisp and buttery, everything so unexpectedly divine you couldnât stop the quiet sound that left your lips.
A soft, involuntary moan.
Just a small one. But it hung there. Obvious. Intimate.
Across the table, Murphyâs brows lifted just slightlyâbarely a twitch of amusementâbut it was enough to deepen the lines at the corners of his eyes, his lips tugging into a smile that was half playful, half tender as he leaned forward, resting his chin in the curve of his hand like he had all the time in the world just to watch you.
âThat good, huh?â he asked, his voice a low hum of warmth, teasing without cruelty, kind in a way that made your pulse stutter, like he could make your fluster feel less like embarrassment and more like something sacred.
You blinked, cheeks burning hotter by the second, and reached for your napkin, fumbling to wipe at the corner of your mouth as you mumbled, âI didnât mean toâsorry, itâs just⊠really good.â
Murphy chuckled, and it was soft and genuine and boyish in that way that made something bloom painfully warm in your chest. âDonât apologize,â he said, voice dipped in affection. âYouâve got good taste.â
And thenâwithout fanfare, without hesitationâhe reached across the table.
Gently, with that easy, steady confidence that came so naturally to him, he took hold of your napkin and dabbed just beneath your lower lip, the soft cloth brushing your skin as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world and not the most intimate moment youâd had since arriving here. His fingers grazed your chin for the briefest second, and you held your breath like a startled deer, too dazed to move, too overwhelmed by the kindness of it to process the closeness.
Your breath caught in your throat.
And thenâyou felt it.
Javierâs body next to yours, no longer relaxed, no longer loungingâhe was coiled now, the shift subtle but unmistakable. His cigarette was back between his fingers in a flash, but he didnât lift it to his lips. He didnât light it. He just rolled it, slow and deliberate, between his thumb and index finger, like it was standing in for the things he wanted to say but wouldnât. His mouth curled into something that mightâve been a smirk or a grimace, sharp and tired and too knowing.
And then, under his breath, low and in perfect rhythm with the movement of his cigarette, he muttered in Spanish, âClaro, el caballero perfecto.â
Of course, the perfect gentleman.
It wasnât loud. It wasnât meant to be. But there was an edge to itâdry and rough and bitter at the core, like the taste of something he didnât want to swallow. His gaze flicked to you just long enough to notice you hadnât caught it, and he exhaled through his nose, the tension still rippling under his skin like a live wire waiting to spark.
But youâoblivious and bashful, cheeks still flushed from Murphyâs touchâjust gave a soft, nervous laugh and took another bite of your empanada, your lashes fluttering, eyes cast downward like you could hide in the comfort of your food, unaware of the storm rolling in beside you.
And Javi?
He said nothing more.
But his eyes didnât leave you.
Not once.
Ëâșâ§âË âĄ Ëââ§âșË
The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze of quiet productivity, the kind that lulled you into a rhythmâsorting files, answering calls, typing up reports with the soft click-clack of your keyboard filling the room like a heartbeat. The office had slowly begun to empty as the sun dipped lower in the sky, its fading light turning everything gold through the hazy window panes, dust floating in the air like little flecks of glitter suspended in time. You were tired, but not unpleasantly soâthere was still a pleasant warmth curled low in your belly, the echo of the empanadas lingering like a hug from the inside out, reminding you of laughter and heat and Javiâs thigh pressed ever-so-casually against yours in that booth.
By the time six oâclock crept up, the office was mostly silent. Phones had stopped ringing. The fan hummed gently overhead. You glanced at the clock, blinking slowly, your limbs heavy with exhaustion as you yawned behind your hand and leaned back in your chair, spine arching slightly in a stretch that made your blouse pull taut across your chest.
And then you felt itâthat shift in the air.
The kind that always seemed to come with him.
âHola, muñeca.â
Your breath hitched.
He was standing just a few feet away now, half-shadowed in the doorway, and somehowâeven after hours of work and heat and sweatâhe looked untouched by the day. Javier Peña, tall and devastating as ever, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie long forgotten somewhere, sunglasses now tucked lazily into the collar of his shirt.
âHi,â you breathed, your voice smaller than you intended it to be.
He stepped closer, his boots slow and heavy against the tile, and leaned a hand on the edge of your desk, his body folding toward you in a way that made you instinctively shrink backânot out of fear, but anticipation. Like the space between you was an invisible thread, and any closer would snap it.
âStill here?â he asked, voice soft, the corner of his mouth curling up just a little. âOffice all emptied out, and look at youâla buena niña, working late.â
You smiled shyly, fingers twitching near your notepad, though you couldnât remember what you were even writing. âI just⊠wanted to finish up a few things.â
He hummed low in his chest, his eyes scanning your face. âDedicada,â he murmured, almost to himself. âI like that.â
You swallowed, feeling your pulse quicken beneath your skin.
And thenâalmost like heâd read your thoughts, like heâd felt the quiet wanting gathering between youâhe reached into his back pocket with a slow, easy motion and pulled out a sticky note, the edges a little worn and curling at the corners, the paper crinkled as if it had been sitting there for hours, waiting to be offered. He laid it down gently on your desk, the soft pap of it landing against the wood far louder in your ears than it had any right to be.
Your eyes dropped instinctively, your breath catching when you saw the scrawlâhis handwriting rough and slanted, the letters uneven and fast, like he wrote the way he lived: unbothered, unrushed, with just enough edge to keep you guessing. A phone number, half-smudged at the corner, and beneath it, just two words.
Spanish Lessons.
âI was serious about those lessons,â Javi said, voice low, that familiar smirk ghosting over his lips as he looked down at youâlike he wasnât just giving you a number, but pulling a thread you didnât even realize had been wrapped around your heart all day.
You opened your mouth, then closed it, then tried again. âIâI mean, youâre already so busy,â you stammered, your voice quiet, almost too soft, already half-apologizing for even existing in the orbit of a man like him.
He shook his head, just once, the motion slow, deliberate.
âNot for you, preciosa,â he said, the pet name curling off his tongue like honey warmed over low flame.
Your breath faltered again.
âI donât even know what that means,â you admitted, voice barely above a whisper, cheeks flushing so hot you were certain he could feel the heat rising off your skin.
And thatâs when he leaned in just slightly, his voice dipping even lower, gaze flicking between your eyes and your mouth like he wasnât sure where to land. âI know,â he murmured, the words sliding over you like silk, âIâll teach you at our first lesson.â
And thenâof courseâhe winked.
Slow. Sure. A little devastating.
And just like that, he turned and walked away, his back straight, his gait unhurried, as if he hadnât just left your entire nervous system in shambles and a sticky note burning like a secret in the middle of your desk.
Ëâșâ§âË âĄ Ëââ§âșË
You slung your bag over your shoulder with one hand, the other reaching back to sweep your hair into a quick, messy twist, your fingers working automatically despite the fatigue weighing down your limbs. Your heels pinched with every step, the ache radiating from the balls of your feet with that familiar, dull throb that came after a long day of being polite, poised, and perfectly put-together. You gathered the last of your thingsâthe folder youâd meant to leave on someoneâs desk, your notepad, your pen that always leaked a little inkâand stepped out into the quiet corridor, the office behind you hushed and emptied, bathed in the soft gold light of early evening.
Youâd only just started walking, your mind already drifting to the quiet comfort of your apartment, when you heard themâvoices. Low, hushed, male. Serious. The kind of tone that slowed your steps instinctively.
You paused, half-hidden by the corner, your body tensing before your mind could catch up.
You didnât mean to stop. You didnât mean to linger. But something in their voicesâmuted, clipped, almost like they didnât want to be heardâmade your skin prickle. You hesitated, your fingers tightening on the strap of your bag, and you knew it was wrong, that you shouldâve turned around, kept walking, left them to their conversation.
You were just about to do exactly thatâyour foot already shifting to step backâwhen you heard it.
Your name.
Spoken clearly. Firmly. And not in passing.
You froze.
Your brows drew together before you could stop them, a quiet frown pulling at the corners of your mouth as confusion began to twist, low and slow, through your chest. Your heart, which had only just begun to settle from the rush of the day, now beat with sudden urgency, and your breath turned shallow, catching at the top of your lungs. You stood frozen in place, body pressed lightly against the cool wall as if it could ground you, protect you, hide you from the fact that you wereâvery muchâeavesdropping.
âShe's not just another girl for you to flirt with, Javier,â Murphy said, his voice low but firm, words sharpened just enough to carry even though they werenât meant to.
There was a pause. A beat of silence so thick it made your stomach clench.
And then, Javiâs voiceâsmooth and dry like aged whiskey poured over ice.
âÂżPerdĂłn?â
The word was soft, but laced with warning.
âOh, come on,â Murphy scoffed, not backing down, the tired edge in his voice laced with frustration. âDonât do that. Donât act like you donât know exactly what Iâm talking about.â
âNo,â Javi said, his tone cooling all at once, the shift so subtle you could almost miss itâalmost. His voice came steady now, sharper at the edges, like a man squaring his shoulders before a fight he didnât ask for but wasnât about to walk away from. âGo ahead. Spell it out for me.â
There was a pause.
You could imagine Murphy standing there with his arms crossed, jaw clenched, eyes narrowedânot angry, not exactly, but tired in that bone-deep way that came from watching someone make the same mistake over and over. You pictured him dragging a hand down his face, his voice dropping into something quieterânot softer, but more weighted.
âEveryone knows what youâre like, Peña,â he said at last, the words careful, deliberate. âYou flirt. You lean in. You get close. Youââ
He faltered, and for a moment it sounded like maybe he wouldnât finish. Like maybe part of him hoped he wouldnât have to.
Javi didnât give him that luxury.
âVamos, gringo,â he said under his breath, a mocking lilt curling around the words. âDilo completo.â
Go on, big boyâsay the whole thing.
The silence that followed felt like a held breath.
Then Murphy did.
âYou fuck them,â he said, flatly. âAnd then you leave.â
The words were blunt. Brutal. They landed like a weight in your chest, heavy and cold and unforgiving.
Javier didnât speak.
But you didnât need him to.
Even from around the corner, you felt itâthe shift in him. The tension coiling tighter. The sharp inhale through his nose. The silence that wasn't surprise, but insult. His jaw mustâve clenched, his fingers twitching at his sides, fighting the instinct to lash back.
And youâfrozen behind the wallâfelt your stomach drop as your name echoed silently in the air again, because you werenât just hearing a story about Javier Peña anymore. You were part of it.
Reader is a mutant nicknamed Radar, because she can tell when people are liars or truthful, good or bad, losers or winners, somewhere in between. At first she had to be able to touch them to tell, but with Charlesâ help sheâs able to hone her power and only have to look at them/think about them to be able to tell.
She can also use her abilities to find other mutants, single them out from a crowd. Other abilities include ability detection, and telepathy. She has enhanced strength and endurance due to her mutant status (though it is not an ability that is very notable), aging slower than the average human.
Imagine instead of Yukio being sent to find Logan, itâs Radar, Ray for short (she rarely uses her real name). She finds Logan in that same bar on that same fateful night and brings Logan to her master and guardian, Master Yashida.
Iâve already written some parts of dialogue and some scenes but I donât know when Iâll be able to fully write it out đ
And did I make the mc age slower because I donât want to face the fact that if she didnât, Logan would never get older while she did? Yeah, yeah I did. And what about it? đ€
