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seren1tyhaze · 1 year

Text

Dive

PAIRING: doyoung x afab reader (ft djj)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k (got a bit carried away)

SUMMARY: your best friend drags you out to a club to be her wingwoman as she meets back up with a stunning stranger and you cross paths with the hottest man you've ever seen in an expensive suit and a cross around his neck

THANK YOU: @strwbrysunday you know how important you've been in getting this across the finish line and you're a literal angel. thank you so much <3 thank you to all my friends who watched me brainrot over this over the past week and inspiring me to keep working on it with your positive words.

WARNINGS: explicit smut, smoking, drinking, drug reference, profanity, heavy religious imagery in a sexual setting (and I mean HEAVY - so if this is going to bother you, this isn't the fic for you)

PLAYLIST: Dive by DoJaeJung, Angel by NCT 127

This was clearly inspired by the Doyoung D&G promo images with the rosary and the rest was history...

I can dive, I'm diving into you

—

Ouch. You pinch your eyelash with the curler as you lean in closer to the glassy mirror in your best friend’s bathroom. You knew you should be wearing your contacts but had forgotten them at home and you weren’t going to hear the end of it from her if that was the excuse you had for ditching her for the night.

It had been an exhausting week at work but somehow your adorable firecracker of a platonic soulmate since childhood had dragged you to her apartment as soon as the clock hit 5:00PM in the co-working space your small start-up you both worked for shared with some other local environmental companies.

She had shed off her casual work clothes hours before, now wearing a glittery black dress, hugging her hips tightly, strings ruched up the side revealing plenty of thigh, covered with nude fishnets. You envied her long and bouncy locks that flowed down her back, reaching up to touch your straight hair that never cooperated with the curling iron.

“What is it?” she asked from behind you, catching you staring.

“Is there something on my dress?” she spun around, craning her head to look at her own ass in the mirror.

You started to speak before you realized she was showing off, dropping to the floor quickly before slowly standing again, shimmying her rear as she started to sway to the faint music coming from her living room.

You rolled your eyes with a huff, curling your other eye’s lashes and applying a few coats of mascara.

“Loosen up, angel,” she called back as she moved into her walk-in closet to select her shoes and handbag, using her pet name she had been calling you for years.

You finished up the rest of your makeup, cleaning up the little pile of products and packing them back neatly in their small pouch before examining yourself in the mirror. Your dark hair fell almost to your shoulders, eyes accentuated with smudged dark liner and cheekbones dusted with a bright coral blush that complimented the glossy color across your lips. You had let your best friend convince you to dress up more than you usually did, since she said the club you were going to tended to cater to a more affluent clientele.

A skin tight white leather crop top pushed your breasts up nicely and you had even let your friend dust some shimmering glitter across them with a large puff earlier. You smoothed the matching devastatingly short skirt and adjusted the lace up black boots that travelled up your long legs and over your knee. You felt confident in the outfit and only slightly uneasy about the night ahead. Your friend had a tendency to scan for her prey of the night the minute you entered a venue and often spent the night locking lips with half the dance floor or as she did the weekend before, dancing on stage with the burlesque dancers at the late night speakeasy.

Standing next to her as you both did final checks in the mirror, you looked like the moonlight and sunlight, night and day, devil and angel. A dangerous pair for any person to come across in a crowded club with these outfits, to say the least. You giggled as your friend planted a glossy kiss to your ear before pushing your hair back into place, following her out of the spacious apartment.

“WOO!” shrieked your friend, waving long fingernails at a tall, slender man leaning against a private booth tucked near the DJ. A warm grin spread across his plush lips and you couldn’t help it when your heart jumped a little in your chest. How your friend always found the most attractive people to surround herself always surprised you (not like you were complaining).

She had met Jungwoo the weekend before at a rave and had gabbed your ear off about the attractive and rich heir to a fortune who lived downtown in the middle of all the weekend excitement and had fed her drinks all night long while clutching onto her hips as they danced. She hadn’t gone home with him but instead had gotten his number and promised to meet him out the next weekend. The next weekend was now and out the two of you were.

Jungwoo was absolutely stunning, bright white hair damp, long, and hanging around his cheeks and across his forehead. He wore a sheer blouse unbuttoned halfway, exposing much of his toned chest and loose grey slacks that didn’t leave much to the imagination when he moved.

Taking careful steps through the crowd, you followed your friend who now had her hand held close to the lips of another man, this one dressed in the remains of an expensive suit, tie loose and sloppy around his neck with several buttons of a crisp pale blue shirt undone. He had dark hair slicked back to reveal his stunning face and his eyes glittered when he pulled them to yours to greet you.

“This is Jaehyun, Jungwoo’s roommate!” she giggled, a glass of champagne somehow already in her hand as she grinned at Jaehyun’s tender kiss to the back of her hand.

“Lovely to meet you, girls,” Jaehyun spoke deep and smoothly, his voice like velvet.

You cleared your throat with a small smile and shifted your weight in the uncomfortable shoes, eyes darting past the two men in front of you to a third seated in the booth.

Goosebumps instantly dotted your bare arms as you raked your eyes over one of the most attractive men you had ever seen. Even seated, you could tell he was tall with a broad frame. His hand was stretched out across his knee, high end designer fabric covering every inch of his body.

As if in slow motion, he lifted his head from his phone, placing it next to him to take a long sip from the short glass of dark liquid on the table in front of him. He brought his dark eyes up to meet yours and as soon as you made contact you watched his adam’s apple move in his throat, gulping as he peeled his eyes down your body.

You moved a hand to grip your other forearm, suddenly self conscious but equally intrigued, cocking your head slightly to the side. Your vision blurred briefly and you cursed yourself for not remembering your contacts as your loss of focus refused to let you make out the expression on the mystery man’s face.

“Doie - don’t be rude, say hi!” Jungwoo slurred out, taking a strong hand to the small of your back to guide you into the booth and directly next to Doyoung.

“Hi,” he spoke, quiet and soft, pulling his hand off his knee to extend a handshake to you.

You chuckled lightly and let him shake your hand, taking a moment to inspect him further now that you could see him better.

The white collared shirt under his suit jacket was tight (almost too tight) with the top buttons straining against the fabric enclosure. He had a soft jaw and plump lips, dark hair styled in a way that was kept but still messy in a sexy way. When he smiled his eyes crinkled in the corners and his neutral facial expression was hard to read when he wasn’t speaking.

You let your eyes wander down to his tight pants before shaking your head, begging your dirty mind to control itself. It hadn’t been that long since you had hooked up with a stranger at a bar but long enough to let your mind wander within minutes of meeting this man.

Doyoung reached across the table to pour you a glass of champagne from the bottle in the ice bucket and as he did, you noticed a glimmering chain around his neck. As he leaned further, you saw the small black beads on the chain catching the light and much to your surprise, a cross slipped into view briefly.

You sucked in a deep inhale at the sight - this man was wearing a fucking rosary around his neck.

Flashes of hours kneeling for Easter vigil mass, heavy clouds of incense in your face as you held the thurible in a floor length white robe, dark smudges on your forehead, and getting tipsy off communion wine in the church basement with your cousins flew across your mind as you watched him laugh at something Jaehyun said.

Jungwoo swore loudly as he dripped tequila across the table, attempting to pour five shots evenly. You can’t pull your eyes away from Doyoung, watching as he bows his head lightly, wincing ever so slightly at the curse words.

Who the fuck is this guy?

Taking a long drink from your champagne glass and tossing back the shot that is handed to you, you reach into your bag and dig out a carton of cigarettes, pulling the ashtray at the center of the table closer to you.

Pulling a loose stick with your lips, you instinctively gesture towards Doyoung who moves a hand quickly to decline. You shrug and move a bit closer to Jungwoo who is taking a long drag from a neon green vape. He chuckles and tosses his hair from his eyes as he watches the interaction.

“You’re better off making moves on Jae,” he says to you on his exhale. He tosses an arm around your shoulder, nudging your bare shoulder lightly with his thumb, cocking his chin up to draw your attention to a smiley Jaehyun swaying to the music, slightly off beat, as your friend tries to get him to salsa dance with her.

“Doyoung is a little more on the conservative side. Doesn’t smoke, doesn’t like getting high, barely gets drunk, takes his grandma to church on Sundays, all that,” Jungwoo adds, giving you a softer smile as he pulls your eyes into contact with his.

You narrow your own eyes slightly, not sure if this is some twisted attempt at reverse psychology to push you even more into the arms of his friend. While he was wearing the rosary, that didn’t necessarily scream “priest”. He was in a high end club’s most desirable VIP booth, surrounded by drinks and other substances, with two party boys that looked like models.

“Well he’s taken every shot that’s been poured for him, so I don’t know about that ‘not getting drunk’ part,” you quip back, taking a long drag from your cigarette and blowing it behind you through tightly pursed lips, intentionally avoiding Doyoung’s direction.

“Yeah he and Jaehyun lost some big account today, I think he’s just blowing off some steam. Plus he owes me,” Jungwoo winks as punctuation, making it apparent that he wasn’t going to elaborate on the end of that statement.

Throughout the night you learn that Doyoung and Jaehyun work at a big investment bank, Jaehyun sharing a small apartment with Jungwoo in the middle of all the city nightlife, the three of them having known each other since they were kids. Doyoung seemed to have never moved on from their strong faith-based formative years, holding onto these ideals even years later and still an active member of his family’s church community. When he checks the time on his phone you see the smiling face of an older woman pushed up against his, assuming this to be the grandmother Jungwoo mentioned before.

He’s quiet as you chat with him, having to do most of the talking, but is kind and puts some of your nerves at ease even when your friend is off in the middle of the dance floor doing god knows what with god knows who.

Despite his reserved nature, you feel his eyes trained on your every move, following your lips and hands as you smoke another cigarette, the way you cross and uncross your legs with ease, despite the short skirt that has a tendency to ride up when you wiggle in your seat.

You watch him in the same way he watches you, the way his hair falls into his eyes every once and a while and instead of pushing it away with his hand, he shakes his head lightly, flicking his eyes up as if to chastise the loose strands. When he leans forward to take a sip of his drink or gesture to the waitress, his toned chest is exposed by the undone buttons on his shirt.

As much as you hate to admit it, his very presence is intoxicating and it’s affecting you more than you would like. Goosebumps crop up on your arms and you suddenly feel chilled in the warm room, sending a shiver down your spine.

A loud laugh draws your attention across the booth and you are met with the sight of your friend feverishly making out with Jaehyun, sandwiched between him and Jungwoo who has his hand up the hem of her dress, laughing into her neck.

You whip your head back towards Doyoung, giving an awkward smile to him before the chill sets over you again. You train your gaze downwards, examining the patterned carpet on the floor and the laces on your thigh high boots, picking at the edge of the string. You startle at the feeling of fabric being draped over your shoulders, looking up to see that Doyoung has placed his suit jacket around your shoulders.

He keeps his arm wrapped around your shoulder after placing the jacket and you suddenly feel an additional set of eyes on you as you lift up to meet Jaehyun’s gaze. He’s staring at your slightly spread legs, running a wicked tongue across his bottom lip as it quirks up into a wry smile.

You feel Doyoung’s grip around your shoulder tighten and turn to see his face close to yours, your heart jumping in your chest when you feel his breath across your cheek. You can’t bear to break eye contact with him, despite the fact that you desperately wish you could see Jaehyun’s reaction.

“You seemed cold,” he murmurs to you, lips almost brushing across your skin as he speaks close to your ear. He smells delicious, like soft musk but still clean and warm. You mentally take note to slyly ask Jungwoo what cologne his friend wears.

“Thank you,” is all you can muster and you resist the urge to drop your head to his shoulder, suddenly feeling lightheaded in the haze of alcohol, nicotine, and the blaring music of the club.

Doyoung reaches to the table for his glass, arm never leaving your shoulder, rolled shirt sleeve revealing a large and intricate cross tattoo on his forearm. At the sight of the ink you are jolted back to the reality that this man is not who you want him to be. You would normally have a hand palming his groin in the dim lights of the club, moaning into his mouth as he gripped the exposed skin on your back and whispered filthy strings of words into your ear.

But no, you had to bag the “Holier than Thou, Man of God.” Of course you did. This was not going to be good for your libido.

Your friend is suddenly dragging you by the hand to the bathroom, moving surprisingly fast in her towering heels.

“Sooooooooo, angel,” she whines from the single use stall she pulled you into after locking the door.

“What are you about to ask me to do?” you sigh, fixing your hair in the mirror as your friend hikes up her dress to pee.

“I’m going to take those two home with me,” she bluntly tells you, as you predicted.

“Yeah I think anyone in this club could have told me that,” you reply, rolling your eyes for dramatic effect. You didn’t really care what she did, only frustrated now that you had to make the hike home in an expensive taxi or wait for the unreliable train service.

“It’s fine, babe, I’ll get home okay,” you add, mustering the sweetest tone you can for your oldest friend. She deserved to blow off steam as much as next person, but you loved staying over at her luxury apartment on the weekends and the lazy mornings you spent sipping homemade cappuccinos and doing face masks.

“You’re the BESTTTT!” she nearly shouts, throwing her arms around you, damp hands fresh from washing them in the sink getting your skin wet. You laugh at her, congratulating her on getting her dick wet and ushering her out of the small room with a smack to her ass.

Back at the booth she wastes no time murmuring in the ears of the two eager men before they share a steamy three way kiss that results in Jungwoo tugging Jaehyun’s bottom lip with his teeth, looping an arm around his slim waist.

You are flicking through the various ride share apps on your phone to find the cheapest option, boots feeling uncomfortably tight on your feet after a long night. Last thing you want to do in this outfit is sit on an empty train and make the long walk uphill to your apartment complex once you arrive at your stop.

“What are you doing?” Doyoung asks, face suddenly close to yours again. There’s a level of concern in his eyes that you cannot read when he speaks to you.

“Calling for a car home, I don’t have the luxury of living right here downtown and had plans to crash at hers. I’m assuming my job doesn’t pay as well as yours and Jae’s,” you reply, only lifting your eyes up to meet his after you’ve spoken.

God his eyes are so pretty.

“Why don’t you stay at mine, I can sleep on the couch and my driver can take you home in the morning,” he offers, picking your phone out of your hand and locking the screen.

You open your mouth in protest before thinking more on the offer. His driver?! You would be crazy to turn him down and your friend is already halfway out the door headed towards what will undoubtedly be a night to remember.

You nod and quickly stand, holding a hand out for his, guiding him out the back door of the club. He’s making a call on his phone in a hushed tone while you slide your long coat over his blazer, still wrapped around your shoulders, Jungwoo giving you a small smile and wiggle of his fingers as he slides into the back of a cab.

“I love you angellllll,” your friend slurs out dramatically, knowing she is far less drunk than she appears, playing up the antics for the men around her. Jaehyun has an arm tucked loosely around her waist, grinning ear to ear as the evening wind ruffles his dark hair.

You pull your friend in for a hug before she ducks into the car, latching her lips immediately onto Jungwoo’s exposed neck, drawing a chuckle from you on the street.

Jaehyun pauses before getting in the car, dipping down to whisper right along the shell of your ear.

“Angel is it? I don’t know about that,” he practically moans out, voice breathy and deep.

“Seemed like a devil in disguise in that tight little skirt, slutty legs spread in the club for our sweet and innocent Doie,” he laughs out, laying the degrading tone on thick. His finger is under your chin, tipping it up to force you to look at him. Your heart is pounding and flying around your chest and you can feel your cheeks burn.

Suddenly there’s a hand on your back and you don’t have to look to know that Doyoung has stepped up behind you.

Jaehyun gives you a wink, pushing past you to plant a lingering kiss on Doyoung’s cheek, before turning and disappearing into the car.

Before you can say anything to Doyoung, a black town car replaces the cab in its spot on the busy street, Doyoung moving quickly to open the door for you, helping you in with a strong hand. He closes the door softly before moving around to the street side to slide in next to you, greeting the driver in the front pleasantly.

Your head is spinning and you desperately hope there is time to have a cigarette before going upstairs to Doyoung’s apartment, feeling anxiety creeping up in your chest.

Despite the spacious backseat, Doyoung can’t help but be pressed up against you, twisting to look at you as you make small talk. You watch him when he answers questions you ask and listen to a small story about a frustrating email exchange at work, as if the two of you had known each other forever.

Distracted by the beaded chain around his neck again, you reach over, taking the cross gingerly in between your pointer and middle finger, inspecting it. The metal is cold in your hand and nostalgia rushes over you as you hold it in your hand.

“I dip it in holy water every morning to help keep me grounded and ask that God bless my daily travels,” he offers, smiling lightly at you as he explains in earnest. You know by now that he isn’t lying, that there would be no reason for him to.

“I kiss it as well, asking him to bless my words and calm my mind in a world filled with temptation,” he continues, unwilling to break the heavy eye contact.

He reaches out and draws your fingers to his lips, still holding the cross, and kisses the small metal piece, catching the tips of your fingers with soft lips. They are warm and plush, sending jolts of electricity through your hand and to your chest. You have to shift in your seat to calm the throbbing in your core. This gesture shouldn’t be turning you on this much and you know now that if there is a hell, you surely are destined to take residence there.

The tension in the car is thick as you shiver, hand moving before you have a chance to think, bringing his hand and yours to your own lips, copying his kiss. You watch him gulp and pull his bottom lip in between his teeth as his eyes darken at the sight of the cross pressed to your lips.

Oh you are so royally fucked.

You watch him as he absently brushes the back of his hand against your own in the elevator ride to the top floor of the sleek and modern building. He lets his fingers tangle with yours briefly before holding his hand out when the door starts to open, bringing the foyer of his apartment into view.

You let a gasp fall from your lips, taking in the beautiful space around you. Lights flick on as you reach down to release the knot holding the laces of your boots in place, stepping out of them carefully by steadying yourself on a small table adorned with realistic looking fake flowers.

You try to keep your boots tidy under the coat rack, slipping off your coat and hanging it up and checking yourself in the small mirror above hooks of dangling keys. You notice one key with a Kuromi cover, smiling lightly and wondering if he had picked that out for himself. He will tell you one day that it is the key to his mailbox and one of the kids from his Sunday school class brought it in for him after they said Kuromi reminded them of Doyoung.

You follow him to the open living area which melts into the compact kitchen adorned with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. He’s opening the door to the fridge, pulling out a pitcher of water and pouring two glasses.

The apartment is warm but minimalistic in style, adorned with shades of cream, black and gray. You half expect to see a statue of Mary where the tv sits but there’s barely any religious imagery present. Maybe you had misjudged him after all.

As you close the space between you, you let his blazer slip from your shoulders, catching it and folding it gently in your hands, looking up towards him through your long lashes as you lean your hip against the cold edge of the counter, offering the blazer to him. Instead of taking the jacket from your hands, he leans forward, brushing a thumb across the high point of your cheek, examining your face.

“Let me know if there is anything I can get you to feel more at home, I want you to feel comfortable,” he murmurs, eyes flicking down briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again.

You feel butterflies in your chest and despite how tired you know you should be, your heart is pounding and core tightening at how close he stands to you in his beautiful apartment, finally able to hear his voice clearly without the sounds of the club or busy streets of the city. It’s velvety smooth and even and his lips tip up at the edges when he finishes his kind statement. You want desperately to push up and capture them in yours but instead nod slowly, taking one of the glasses of water into your hand gulping down some of the cool liquid to try to quell the arousal building within you.

He brushes your skin with his thumb once more before taking the jacket from you, moving to his bedroom and returning moments later with a couple pillows and a large blanket, which he leaves on the plush couch.

“I don’t mind just sleeping out here,” you offer, scanning the comfortable looking room, knowing if you slept in the living room you might be able to more easily slip out unnoticed in the morning. You’ve never been one for tender mornings in bed with a one night stand and this situation shouldn’t be treated any different. You don’t believe he will actually make any move beyond what he has, despite the brief intimate moments you’ve shared since stepping out of the club.

“No no, I insist, take my bed. The bedding was just changed this morning,” he makes sure to note and you realize how rich this man truly must be if he avoided mentioning who exactly changed the sheets. Surely not Doyoung, with his thousands of dollars of clothing and jewelry on his body and on-call car service and penthouse suite.

He moves to open the door to the balcony, cool but comfortable night air flooding the living room as he hands you a vintage glass ashtray from the media cabinet.

“In case you need one before you go to sleep or in the night,” he offers, smiling lightly at the shocked look on your face.

“Jungwoo is always hanging around here when I’m working late and I’ve learned there is no way to stop people from doing something they want to do. I can’t change my friends and I wouldn’t want to. I have things in my life and things I have removed from my life but that is my own decision and shouldn’t affect my relationships with those I love,” he adds, fingers brushing over yours as they make contact to pass the item to you.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take a shower quickly and then let you have the bedroom and bathroom. If you need it, there’s a toilet near the elevator and some fresh fruit in the fridge,” he continues, resisting the urge to brush his lips over your bare shoulder.

You thank him and take your purse out to the balcony, closing the door lightly behind you but making sure it latches fully. Stepping forward towards the edge of the balcony, you quickly light a cigarette and feel calm wash over you as you watch the flickering lights of the city skyline. The cool air feels good against your cheeks and exposed abdomen, needing desperately to cool down. You try (and fail) to not let your mind wander to thoughts of Doyoung in a steamy rainfall shower, steam gathering on glossy mirrors and hot water racing down toned biceps and thighs.

You burn through it eagerly, extinguishing the cigarette in the ashtray and disposing of it in a small bin attached to the balcony’s railing before heading back inside. Doyoung is emerging from his bedroom in a tight white tank top and loose grey sweatpants, bare feet padding across the plush throw rug.

“I left you some clothes and towels on the bed but help yourself to my closet if you need something warmer,” he mutters awkwardly, the power balance shifting slightly as he stands in front of you in casual clothes, black rosary still visible proudly on his chest.

“I’ll wash up, if that’s okay? If you’re tired and want to sleep, don’t worry about waiting for me to finish. I usually stay up pretty late and I’m sure you have early mornings,” you ramble, scratching at the back of your neck, suddenly feeling nervous.

“Take your time, I usually read for a while before bed,” he gestures to a small leather bound bible on the coffee table. Of course he does.

In the shower, you let the water rush over your body, using some of the small skincare bottles to wash your face and step out, massaging shower oil into your damp skin. You sigh into the warm white towel fresh off the warming rack and feel like you’re living in a dream.

Can’t I just stay here forever?

You know your modest apartment waits for you a few miles away, with your own much smaller and dingier balcony where you like to sketch in your journal as you watch birds settle on the hanging flower baskets. You could never see yourself living full time in the cold of the city, barely any green space and garbage littering the streets.

Checking outside the bathroom door before emerging, the coast is clear as you step back into his spacious bedroom, lightly touching the clothing he had laid out for you. A large and faded t-shirt that appears to be from a church camp is folded neatly, logo barely still visible.

A package of unopened cotton boxer briefs is next to the shirt, knowing he must have been panicking thinking of how he could offer you something to wear without it seeming creepy. But he seems to at least have experience taking care of stranded tipsy guests (even if they usually were just Jungwoo and someone he brought home from the bar). You pull the shirt over your head and it falls easily to your mid-thigh, skimming over your hardened nipples, painful as they make contact with the cool air from the vent.

Sliding on the boxers, you pull them up to your waist and the shirt covers them fully. You decide against the sweatpants next to the shirt, knowing they will be far too long for you and opt to instead roll on the pair of long socks before placing the pants back on the dresser. You listen at the door for any noise from the living room, hearing a light hum of music you can’t decipher. Pressing your ear closer you recognize Debussy floating through the air and let out a small smile.

You’re about to tuck yourself into the king sized bed before you realize you didn’t bring the water glass in with you. Scanning the room you don’t see one and silently curse yourself.

Sliding the door open quietly, you stick your head out tentatively, his head lifting to look at you. He looks absolutely adorable, bundled up in a fluffy blanket with his small bible in his lap and two scented candles lit on the table. The music did turn out to be Debussy, playing softly on a record player in the corner.

“Is the music too loud?” he asks, moving as if he is going to turn it off.

“No no, it’s beautiful,” you breathe out in reply, sliding out from the door and covering your chest with your arms, self conscious. This causes the hem of the shirt to hike up, exposing a sliver of the white briefs covering your lower half.

Doyoung’s eyes trail down your body, as if wanting to mentally capture this image of you dressed in his clothes, standing sheepishly in front of him. He pushes away thoughts of you on your knees in front of him, mouthing along his length through his sweatpants while he tugs on your silky and damp hair.

“I, um, just came out for some water,” you add, crossing to the counter to grab the glass before returning to stand awkwardly next to the couch.

“Why does she call you angel?” he asks suddenly, pulling an arm up on the back of the couch, unintentionally opening up a perfect sized space for you to sit next to him.

You smile lightly and cross to sit next to him, perching on the edge of the cushion so as to not crowd him.

“My middle name is Angelica,” you replied softly. “She just took a liking to the pet name many years ago.”

He smiles softly at this explanation, suddenly aware that his other hand has strayed to the hem of his shirt hanging loose on your torso.

“Angel…” he tries, feeling the way it sounds in his voice, feeling the way the words taste as they roll off his tongue. He smirks, pinching the fabric at the edge of the shirt in between his fingers and releasing it.

“Can I call you that?” he breathes out, suddenly closer to your face than you had realized.

“Only if you’re a good boy,” you manage to say in an even tone, hand finally reaching out to touch his chest, flattening against his toned pecs, metal beads digging into your palm.

His eyes flutter, brain clearly short circuiting at the mention of praise, fingers stilling but breathing becoming more labored.

“Can I please kiss you?” you ask, eyes and voice hopeful. You palm the cross on the rosary, holding it tightly in your hand as you pull gently, bringing yourself closer to Doyoung as your eyes slip shut, not waiting for a response.

His lips are on yours suddenly, pressing firmly as his hand flies to your lower back, pressing you flush against his chest, capturing your hand in between your bodies. You refuse to let go of the rosary, pulling tighter so he’s forced to deepen the kiss.

You feel his hand push up the back of the shirt and up your back, as if reaching for a bra to unhook and you can’t help but smile against his mouth, knowing he is far less innocent than he seems.

You rise up on your knees, moving your legs to straddle him on the couch, suddenly feeling something firm against your bare thigh. Your grin grows, nuzzling against his nose teasingly.

“Well, well, look who isn’t such a good boy after all,” you growl out, unable to control how horny you are for this man under you.

He pulls back, breaking the kiss, brows furrowed in confusion at your comment. Reaching between your bodies, he pulls out the leather bible and you flush deeply, unable to process that you thought it was his erection.

You avert your eyes from his and reach an arm up to touch the back of your neck nervously but his hand quickly grabs your wrist as he moves your hand to his lap, eyes darkening. When he pushes you down against his sweatpants you feel him harder than you thought he would be, not to mention way bigger than you thought he would be.

“Who said I was a good boy, angel?” he asked quietly, almost sounding annoyed with you. He grips your wrist tighter, pulling you closer to him before capturing your lips in his again.

It takes you a moment to respond, brain foggy at the name and sequence of events that had just unfolded. It doesn’t take you long to recover before slipping your tongue into his mouth hungrily, fingers lacing his hair to pull him desperately close.

You can’t help but move quickly with him, spreading your thighs to grind slow circles into his clothed crotch, biting back moans that bubble in your throat.

Hands are suddenly tugging at the hem of the shirt and you quickly oblige, peeling off the thin cotton and discarding it on the floor. Your chest is heaving as you sit on his lap in just the white boxer briefs, nipples erect and back arched to push your full chest towards him.

Doyoung hungrily licks his lips, eyes darting over your body as if there’s a time limit to the amount of time he has to look. You know you look good and he knew from the minute he saw you walk in the club that you would be on his lap, tits bouncing as he pressed up towards you with an experimental thrust. A small groan slides from his spit slicked lips as he slides one hand to your lower back and the other to cup your breast.

“Good God,” he lets out before lowering his mouth to your nipple, flicking eyes up to watch as you tumble contrasting curses from your plump lips.

He moves his mouth expertly, tongue laving over the sensitive skin, teeth dragging against your tight nipple. His hand on your lower back feels huge, fingers spread wide and gripping at your flesh as if you will disappear if he loosens his grip.

“Fuck me right here,” you can’t help but mutter into his open mouth after a particularly loud gasp flies from your mouth when you feel the tip of his dick collide with your clothed clit.

He pulls back, face seemingly questioning himself, eyes flicking over to the coffee table with the bible before turning upwards and fluttering shut.

You’re amazed at how this man can have his tit in your mouth one minute and then the next…

“Wait, are you praying?!” you ask in shock, stifling the laughter that builds in your throat.

He peeks at you with one eye open, smiling lightly before closing his eyes again and humming out an incoherent reply.

“Amen,” he says softly after a few more moments have passed.

You don’t have time to question him further when he quickly pulls his shirt over his head, revealing tight and toned abs and letting his broad chest crowd you in what could only be described as a bear hug. He pulls you close to his chest and you can feel his heartbeat reverberating through your own skin.

“The angel wants to get fucked, does she?” he growls as he digs his nails into your back.

“Let’s see what we can do about that,” he adds before flipping you over suddenly, standing above you as he slides the boxers down to your ankles, leaving your socks on.

He then moves his hands to his own waistband, removing the sweatpants and revealing his hard cock, already flushed and angry with arousal. As he bends down, the rosary dangles from his neck and you can’t help but stare.

You’re laid out, exposed in front of him as he drops to his knees, nudging your knees to widen in front of him. Your eyes are wide as you watch him, controlling and calculated. You have to ask yourself the same question you asked in the club, who the fuck was this guy?

“You asked if I was praying earlier,” he speaks quietly, long fingers dragging along your sensitive inner thigh, avoiding where you want him the most.

“I just like to thank God before I eat,” he adds, eyes glimmering with mischief as he pushes forward, tongue licking a long stripe along your dripping core, sending shockwaves throughout your body.

Your brain is swimming with pleasure at the filthy words he spoke and the way his mouth is warm against your burning core, tugging on his hair and slipping your hand down to his neck to stroke the shorter strands there to encourage him.

His muffled moans send vibrations along your folds and shivers up your spine as he laps at you like it’s the fucking last supper. You feel your release close, thighs pulling in to tighten around his face. He shoves them back open every time they threaten to suffocate him, giving him access to every inch of you.

Your orgasm creeps up on you and you are suddenly screaming his name, head thrown back on the back of the couch, vision blinding white. Your eyes are clenched shut as you make every attempt to slow your heavy breathing.

You feel warm hands under your thighs and realize he's lifting you from the couch. You let your arms fall lazily around his shoulders and your head loll over as he carries you to the bedroom. Laying you gently on your back, he’s suddenly leaning over you, lips brushing against your jaw, peppering kisses up to your ear and leaving more along your hairline.

“That was heavenly,” you sigh out, feeling dizzy from the soft gestures.

He smiles and pushes your hair from your face, leaning down to kiss you. You can’t get enough of his lips, every time they press over yours you’re drawn in closer, wanting more and more.

“I know you said you wanted me to fuck you on the couch and as much as I would love to bend you over and slam into you, I want to see your face when I make you cream on my dick,” he says as if it’s the simplest and most normal sentence on the planet. He sits up, reaching a veiny hand over to the bedside table and into the shallow drawer there.

Your mouth hangs open for a moment until you feel his fingers on you again, rubbing slow circles on you, gathering your post orgasm arousal as he tears open a condom that is carefully dangling between his lips. He slicks up his rock hard erection with your wetness before sliding it on and running a hand through his now messy hair.

You adjust yourself on the bed, propping your knees up so he can crawl between them. He brings his face close to yours and drags his tongue lazily against your lower lip before pushing into you.

Your eyes widen, feeling the stretch of his massive cock and the look on his face when he finally feels himself inside you. You swear he’s seen the second coming of Christ and you wish you could take a picture of the pure bliss.

It doesn’t take long for him to pick up a consistent pace of pumping in and out of you, grunts and moans falling from his lips and sounding almost like he’s singing. You almost come at the sight of the rosary dangling above you and moving with each thrust, knowing how fucking filthy this is but how it’s the most turned on you’ve been in ages.

He’s close and you don’t know how much longer you can last after him so you hook your legs around his back and push on him, silently begging to flip over. He obliges and lets you return to a similar position from the couch, him seated against the pillows and you rising up and down on his cock. This drives you insane, watching his face contort in pleasure as you ride him, letting his name fall over and over from your lips like your own prayer.

“Angel, I’m so close,” he moans, pulling you so tight against his chest that you feel yourself becoming one with him. You move together, moan together, and release in strangled cries together.

You pull back, out of breath and struggling to compose yourself, glancing down at your chest to see an imprint of the cross in between swollen breasts. He has a hazy, happy grin across his face and you know you have to look the same in this moment.

He reaches out, brushing pads of his fingers across the imprint on your chest before dipping down to kiss at the cross mark.

You think your heart might explode in that very moment, suddenly visualizing the two of you holding hands in a church pew or leaning over candles, lighting them and bowing your heads in silence.

What the fuck has gotten into you?

–

Once he finishes tucking the plush duvet around your naked body, he lays flat on his back, exhaling in relaxation for what sounded like the first time that night, and humming out an almost angelic note.

“And on the seventh day, God looked at all he had made and rested from the work he had done,” Doyoung paraphrased, grinning at his joke, turning slightly to nuzzle his face into your bare shoulder.

Your cheeks warmed and eyes welled as you watched your dark haired lover drift off into sleep, arms laying beside him, not clinging to you as they had been all night, as if fully relaxed at how you seemingly fit so easily into his bed, into his life.

Checking the time, you unlock your phone, lower the brightness, and fire off a couple check-in texts to your friend and one to your mother asking if you completed your sacraments as a child and if she knows where your old prayer book is. You can’t believe this man is reigniting this in you and while you know no amount of good sex is going to fully pull you back into a toxic institution, you see the good in him and wonder if there is a world where the two of you can balance his faith and your more progressive views.

The next morning comes quicker than you had anticipated and light is streaming through the sheers covering the floor to ceiling windows. You glance over to see a still sleeping Doyoung, surprised once you check the time, knowing he probably starts his day at the office before you. You check your phone, frustrated at how quickly it will soon be the time when your boss is checking in to see if you are working from home or coming into the office. You send off a quick message to let them know you will have a late start to the day, working from your apartment.

They reply with a teasing tone, noting that you and your friend must have gotten into some fun the night prior since she had called off entirely. Oh boy, couldn’t wait to hear about that.

You roll over, seeing Doyoung’s eyes open in narrow slits, running a wet tongue over his dry lips.

“Morning star,” he smiles at you, placing that same strong hand on your lower back, pulling you gently closer to him.

“Hi,” you squeak out, giggling as his fingers brush lightly over your spine, tickling you.

“Can I make you coffee?” he asks, pressing lips softly to your temple, holding there and breathing in the scent of your hair, still faintly holding the floral notes from his shampoo.

“You don’t have morning prayers to get to?” you tease, pushing your lips towards his, silently asking for a kiss.

He pulls back, knitting his brows together and almost rolling his eyes.

“You really have me all wrong you know,” he starts, pushing strands of hair from your face before cupping your cheek gently, just as he had in the kitchen last night when you first got back.

“Yes, I have my beliefs and values that ground me. But that doesn’t mean I abstain from every activity marked as a sin in the bible,” he continued, his voice even and strong but not mean.

“I would have thought that would have been obvious by everything we did last night,” he added, pressing a little more firmly on your lower back, gliding his palm down to the slope of your ass to grasp at the skin there.

You gulp audibly, startled by his candid admission. Maybe you did have him all wrong. Maybe you judged this book by the cover too quickly, your opinion shadowed by everything you knew from the devout adults you had grown up around. You had always assumed it was black and white, no gray space between for any compromise.

All you could do in that moment, overcome with emotions you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge, was pull him close to you and connect your hips with his to slowly create friction between the two of you. You hungrily captured his lips in yours, sighing into him as his fingers gently tugged your hair and brought you to another two unholy orgasms.

–

You don’t bother showering again, opting to take Doyoung up on that ride home from his driver who arrives in less than fifteen minutes, despite the morning rush hour traffic. You’re soon stepping out onto the busy streets, feet back in those painful boots and coat wrapped tightly around you to cover your revealing outfit you still can’t believe you wore out all night (but probably have to thank for this entire encounter).

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t a lost little angel!” comes a familiar voice, catching you as you are approaching the black car, the driver standing with a neutral expression waiting to open the door for you.

“Jungwoo, hey,” you start, stepping towards the man who is placing his motorcycle helmet on the seat, arms crossed as he leans gently against the expensive bike.

He’s wearing low rise leather pants with a matching belt adorned with a large silver buckle. His jacket is open and you can see a tight and cropped red shirt underneath, exposing much of his toned abs and navel. Nude color blocking rose up the sides of the shirt, covered in black crescent moons and he is wearing a stack of gold chains tight around his neck. A large green stone is dangling from his ear, moving as he speaks.

His hair is fluffy from the helmet, eyes smudged lightly with dark liner, most likely still from the night before. He looks absolutely unreal and your mind drifts to images of your friend pressed between him and the equally sexy Jaehyun in the crowded bar, stirring tension deep in your core.

“How was your night?” you add, stepping closer to him, curious about what your friend had gotten into.

“I’m sure just as sinful as yours by the look of this walk of shame,” he almost sneers back, tone unmatched to the large grin covering his face from his lips to his eyes. He grabs your phone from you and punches his number in, punctuating with a sultry wink. His eyes are flicking up and down your body dramatically, making overly exaggerated facial expressions at you.

You roll your eyes at him, turning to head to the car, wagging your fingers at him seductively and putting extra emphasis in your steps as you know he has his eyes glued to your ass as you slide into the car.

When Doyoung emerges from the shower with a towel tied low around his waist he finds Jungwoo lounging in his favorite chair in the living room, flipping through a magazine he had left here the week before. He looks up to make eye contact with Doyoung, smiling and letting a low whistle slide out his lips.

“Don’t start, Woo,” Doyoung warns curtly, pouring two cups of coffee and preparing them the way they both like.

“Look look, I have Father Lee on speed dial, he’s ready to do an emergency confession for you in the lobby of your office if you need it this morning,” he laughs back, closing the magazine and accepting the mug.

Doyoung rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to reach over and slap the back of Jungwoo’s head. He knows his friend is exaggerating but he had consequently already sent Mark a text that he would stop by the church later that day for a chat. Having one of your oldest friends be a priest that was known for being more on the liberal side had its perks.

“Just because I don’t flaunt my escapades all over town or upload racy videos into the shared DJJ iCloud album, doesn’t mean I’m not getting my dick wet,” he replies after a long sip of much needed coffee.

Jungwoo almost spits out his coffee at the vulgar comment, lips twisting up into a wicked smile as he watches his friend, relaxed and shirtless mid-morning on a work day.

“Something’s different about you, Kim Doyoung,” Jungwoo chuckles, tapping back into his conversation with Jaehyun from earlier, who had frantically texted him from the office that Doyoung hadn’t shown up for their morning meeting and wasn’t replying to any of his texts.

“I guess you could say I was touched by an angel,” Doyoung replies wickedly, winking at Jungwoo before standing and letting his towel fall from his hips, whipping it at leather clad knees before walking slowly back into the bedroom.

Jungwoo’s eyes widen and a smile spreads across his face, watching his friend’s toned ass move away from him and examining the red marks dotting his broad back.

“Oh Jaeeeeee, I have an idea for something that could be fun and oh so messy,” Jungwoo whispers into the phone as he steps out onto the balcony, lighting a blunt in the cool morning air, surrounded by the sounds of the bustling city below.

Part Two TEASER + Tag List NOW LIVE HERE

#doyoung smut #doyoung x reader #nct smut #nct x reader #nct fanfic #religious trauma slay #djj x reader #djj smut #jungwoo smut #jaehyun smut

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gaymaramada · 8 months

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Rise! Boys reacting to S/O using their full name:

Y’all know that tiktok trend where ppl were calling their partners by their first name? This is basically that.

Leonardo

He’s definitely caught off guard, physically recoiling when you say it, “Whoa?? Government name??”

He makes a few jokes about it but inside he’s genuinely nervous that you’re mad at him.

When you don’t stop, he immediately assumes he did something to upset you and begins to defend himself.

“Look, I know I’ve had to cancel our last few dates, but these villains are getting crazy! I’m not trying to avoid you, I just— how about we do something tonight, yeah? I promise I won’t flake out, okay?”

Is low key on his knees begging for you to forgive him.

He doesn’t even know what he’s apologizing for, poor thing.

He’s extra sweet to you for the rest of the day, going out of his way to compliment you, ask how you’re doing, care for you—

You two are out and he breaks into a full sprint to open a door for you that you won’t reach for another three minutes.

When you eventually explain it was just a trend, he gets super embarrassed but tries to brush it off.

“Oh. Yeah, yeah, I knew that. I was just playing along for the joke, heh. Duh.”

Donatello

Uh, no. He must have misheard you.

He does a full 180 at his workbench and all but yanks his goggles off his eyes, “Pardon, what did you just call me?”

He’s almost offended because that is not his name when you two are alone.

Hell, it’s not even his name when you’re not alone — it’s just Donnie.

He immediately abandons whatever he’s working on and starts typing up a list of all the pet names you two use with each other.

“As you are already aware, my terms of endearment tend to range from ‘dear’ to ‘darling’ to ‘my love’ in the majority of our interactions.”

“You often refer to me as ‘D’, ‘honey’, ‘love’, and — my personal favorite — ‘Einstein’. Never once in the length of our relationship have you ever called me by my full name.”

He’s petty about it because, in truth, he doesn’t know why it bothers him so much.

It’s just his name.

But something about the way you say it so casually just feels very wrong.

When you tell him about the trend, he’s even more perplexed.

“What kind of ‘trend’ is that? That is the lamest idea I’ve ever heard of. Please, for the sake of both our sanities, just call me Donnie.”

“… or Einstein. That’s good, too.”

Raphael

Oh, he is immediately worried and it shows, “Are you okay? Did… did I do something?”

The two of you use pet names religiously, so hearing you say all three syllables of his name is jarring.

He’ll ask you if there’s anything he can do for you and give you space when he thinks you need it.

Which would be very sweet if you were actually upset, but you’re not.

He misses being called ‘Raphie’ and ‘bubs’ and ‘sweetheart’.

Eventually he takes your hands and says, “I’m sorry if I made you upset, or if I’m just being dramatic, but… Raph loves you, and he just wants you to remember that.”

And that’s all it takes for you to cave in and tell him about the trend.

“Aw, honey, don’t do that to me! You know I get all worried about that kind of stuff. I’m glad you’re not mad at me, though — I was starting to miss your nicknames.”

“Sorry, bubs,” You say, and his tail is wagging immediately.

Michelangelo

He’s not too phased at first.

Like yes, that’s his name.

But then you keep doing it and he starts getting confused.

He doesn’t get why you’re doing it but he won’t stop you.

He does get a bit self-conscious after a bit, though, when it’s the only thing you call him.

He tries to subtly guide you into using nicknames throughout the day.

“Don’t worry, Mikey’s got it!”

“Hey, there you are! Your loving sweet potato made you some lunch!”

“Aw, come on Y/N! Could you say no to this cutie pie?”

Eventually, he’s had enough, and you find yourself in a stern confrontation with Dr. Delicate Touch.

When you explain that it’s just a trend, he immediately pulls back.

“Oh! That makes way more sense! I was starting to think you’d just forgotten all my pet names, or something!”

#i know i don’t usually make these kinds of posts but this idea wouldn’t leave my head #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #leonardo x reader #donatello x reader #raphael x reader #michelangelo x reader #leonardo hamato #raphael hamato #mikey hamato #donatello hamato #imagines #x reader

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katiexpunk · 1 month

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The Invited | Pairing Lucien Flores X Fem!Reader

Summary: Lucien Flores is invited back into your life in a very unexpected way, at a very bad time – what are you going to do about it?

Warnings: Borderline abusive, controlling relationship (not with Lucien). Like literally, we hate the reader’s fiancé. No, I’m serious, read this one with caution, there are heavy undertones of the reader’s fiancé being controlling and generally not a nice guy, no matter how much he tries to play the part. Implied infidelity. Heavy flirting, heavy tension. Religious undertones. Alcohol. References to Lucien being a playboy. References to wealth, art, and money. General Hollywood/California vibes. This one will have a happy ending. No use of daddy, no use of Y/N. This is gonna have some filthy fucking smut, hand to my heart.

Part 1 W/C: ~3.5K

A/N: Just, yeah…yep. I am as horny for him as you all are (like what the actual fuck). This story will continue as I learn more about Lucien and his character. P.S. Sorry if you got double-tagged, I accidentally deleted the whole fic so I had to repost.

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

It started with one look, as many things do.

Initially, it was all just innocent glances across a crowded room, perfunctory nods, and polite whispered hellos in shared spaces. It didn’t take long for it to turn into more than that; that’s just who he is and the effect he has. You can’t say you didn’t hear the rumors, heed the warnings through the grapevines of the limitless supply of women who came before you, but listening never was your strongest skill.

The only girls you know who listen are strapped to a church pew, on their knees, and for what? Salvation? At least you know the pleasure of worshiping at the altar of a man who promises he’ll make you see god, a man who follows through on his word, no questions or fuck-all commandments required.

Or at least you did.

Maroon 5 said it best, even the sun sets in paradise.

++++

As you stand by your bedroom window, the last rays of sunlight paint the room in a warm, golden hue, casting elongated shadows across the minimalist decor. The gentle breeze from the Santa Ana winds whispers through the trees outside, carrying with it a sense of anticipation – dread – for the night ahead. You hate these things, but schmoozing is part of the role you have to play, just one of the many rules he’s slowly but surely made sure you follow. The good girl he’s made you become.

Focusing on fastening the back of your earrings, you watch the sun dip below the horizon, a silent witness to the transition from day to night – light to dark – although things don’t feel that light these days.

"There she is," comes a familiar voice from behind you, causing you to turn and find him leaning casually against the door frame. His presence brings a sense of unease, a reminder of the doubts that linger beneath the surface.

A forced smile plays on his lips as his eyes trail over you, his gaze filled with a familiarity that feels suffocating rather than comforting. "You look beautiful," he murmurs, you wonder if he believes it or if he’s just saying it to say it.

Most of the time, his admiration feels hollow, a facade that fails to mask the cracks in your relationship. In his eyes, you see reflections of expectations and obligations, a reminder of the compromises you've made at the expense of your happiness. It wasn’t always this way, especially in not while you were just dating, but things quickly shifted once you said yes.

You turn your attention back to the vanity in front of you and slip one final detail – your engagement ring.

“Thanks. Ready?” You ask, feigning excitement as you glide across the room, wrapping your arm around his. You can tell from the way he looks at you that he has something to say, something to critique, but he remains silent.

You descend the steps in the grand foyer as it welcomes guests with its opulent charm, bathed in the soft, flickering light of countless candles. The air carries the delicate fragrance of freshly cut flowers, mingling with the subtle scent of expensive perfumes and cigars. The walls boast exquisite paintings and sculptures, each hand-picked, and sourced from all corners of the globe – a deliberate show of wealth.

As you step into the room, conversations swirl around you, punctuated by the clinking of champagne glasses and bursts of laughter. You observe the guests, their designer attire and dazzling jewelry all but scream like me, I’m rich. Among them, art connoisseurs and collectors engage in lively discussions about the latest exhibitions and acquisitions. Directors, models, and Hollywood elites mingle effortlessly, their conversations flowing freely.

You're well aware that in L.A., half of the business dealings often occur in the shadowy corners of closed-door meetings, or in the expanse of lavish parties like this. It’s a city where nepotism runs rampant and connections are king. It's a city where who you know can often be more important than what you know, and navigating the intricate web of relationships is a skill in itself.

Dressed in an elegant gown, silky and yellow, your neck frosted in diamonds that shimmer like the stars above, you glide through the crowd with a grace that contradicts your inner turmoil. You’re good at this part, faking it, blending in. You might have grown up with this, but you never really felt like you belonged. It’s sort of strange to be surrounded by a sea of people, all while feeling like you’re stranded alone on a remote island.

As you exchange polite pleasantries and forced smiles, a nagging doubt creeps into your mind. Are you even meant to fit in with this crowd? Lord knows you wouldn’t be if you had anything to say about it, but being the daughter of a politician is a special kind of hell. We all have to make sacrifices. And you have – a lifetime of them. Sometimes, you can't help but long for simpler pleasures – a quiet Saturday night with frozen pizza, a bottle of wine, and a comforting movie. Fuck, you can’t even remember the last time you went out with friends, drank too much tequila, and flirted in innocent fun, or the last time you dipped your hand below the waistband of your panties without the fear of being caught.

Sipping your champagne, you endure a rather tedious conversation between the CEO of a tech startup and a broker. It doesn’t take long for the sensation of boredom to settle in, mingling with a growing sense of disillusionment. A dull pain throbs in your feet from the pressure of your heels. Their voices start to fade into the distance as you zone out, feeling increasingly disconnected from the authenticity you crave.

You decide you need a break, some fresh air. They’re not even listening to you; you're not even sure if they notice you're here or not. But still, forever polite, you excuse yourself anyway and make your way across the room, weaving through the crowd of suits and couture. You’re not thinking about anything except getting the hell out of here until you hear your name called behind you.

It’s a voice you’d recognize anywhere, in any lifetime, in any place. You stop in your tracks and look over your shoulder.

“Hi,” he says.

What the fuck? You’re sure you must actually be drunk now, or so bored that you’re delusional brain is conjuring him up. You don’t say anything in return, you just stand there. The room slows around you, bodies pause mid-motion, and your world goes silent.

“Been a long time,” he casually says, lifting the glass to his lips, eyes intent on yours.

His words, the low rasp of them, snap you back to reality.

“Lucien – wha, what are you doing here?”

“I was invited.”

You barely hear his response. Fuck, he looks so good. Handsome as you remember him, all salt and pepper curls, dark facial hair, and broad shoulders. He’s clad in dark jeans, and a colorful silk shirt, the buttons at the top undone, giving just the slightest glimpse of his sun-kissed skin and the chains that rest there.

Arousal pools in your belly, thick and heavy, a feeling that you haven’t felt in years. Not since him.

"Invited, by who?" you ask, your voice laced with challenge. He takes a deliberate step closer, his presence enveloping you in a heady mix of desire and tension. The air around him is thick with the sticky-sweet smell of cigarettes and the woody notes of his cologne. He smells good.

He's close now, close enough to send a shiver down your spine. You tilt your head back to meet his gaze, feeling the heat of his breath against your skin. Shit, those brown eyes. Your pulse quickens as his large palm closes around the back of your left arm, the touch sending electric sparks through your body. It's a soft but firm grip, possessive and confident.

As he trails his palm down the length of your arm, you hold your breath. He stops once your hand is gently balanced in his, and you feel his fingers brush against the cool metal of your engagement ring. Glancing around the room for a brief moment to make sure nobody’s watching, he dunks his head, and whispers in your ear, his lips so close that you think he might kiss your neck.

“I think you already know the answer to that, sweetheart.”

What.

He places a soft, innocent kiss on your cheek as he retreats and takes a step back. You don’t miss the way his eyes trail over your body, lingering for a moment too long on your collarbones. The muscles in his jaw tighten, and he gives you a polite nod, before stepping away, slipping into the crowd, leaving you woozy and confused.

What the fuck does that even mean?

As you internally grapple with what the hell just happened, your fiancé finds you in the crowd, possessively trails his hand along your waistline, and plants a wet, rather drunk, kiss on your lips.

“What did he want?” he asks, harshly.

“Nothing, just saying thanks for the invite,” you respond, hoping he can’t sense your lie. Hoping he falls for your trap.

“If you’re lying to me sweet pea, that’s gonna be a real problem.”

“I’m not.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“So why do you look so flustered, huh?”

“You know how I get when I drink champagne,” you retort, playing up your innocence.

“Right, well you better pull it together, can’t have my girl sloppy,” he warns, his voice a little slurry himself, his balance unsteady as he takes another sip. He’s moved on from champagne to whiskey. A bad combination, a dangerous one.

“You know the only reason I invited him tonight was that I think it’s an important lesson for you –”

You interrupt, “YOU invited him?”, your voice clear and stark. The truth hits you like a freight train. You want to cry, throw up and scream all at the same time.

“Of course. Listen, baby, I know you went through your slutty phase, but look how far you’ve come.. look how much I’ve helped you grow,” he slurs, “men like that, don’t deserve women like you.”

And there it is – the truth.

Your blood hits a boiling point. You give him a death glare, but he doesn’t seem to notice before he’s quickly moving on.

“Come on, baby.” I’m not your baby, not anymore, haven’t been for a long time.

“I’d like to introduce you to some people,” he says, grabbing a fresh glass off of the passed tray, and handing it to you with a little too much thrust, enough for a few drops of it to spill over onto the silk of your dress. Your fingers grip around it and you follow his lead, despite the bitterness you feel. Ugh. Why is it so easy for you to fall into line now? Secretly, you hope the dull burn of the alcohol will distract you – calm you – make you forget.

You’re drunk, aroused, mad, and confused, and on top of it all, you’re fading in and out of the dull conversation your fiancé has you engaged in, or rather than listening to. Not like he lets you get a word in, anyway. You scan the room looking for him whenever you get the chance, trying not to be too obvious. You finally spot him in the corner and try to ignore the magnetic pull that lassos around you once you do. He’s talking to a model, because of course he is. Is he intentionally trying to make you jealous? Or is he just being his usual fuck boy self?

You chug what must be your sixth glass of champagne to forget the bitter memory of the last time you saw him – when he told you that you should just keep things casual, that he couldn’t handle the pressure of being with the daughter of a politician, that he would never measure up, and that this was just temporary, just sex.

It wasn’t, and you know it. You know he knows it.

But fuck it –

If he wants to play games, you can play games. You’re the one who’s engaged, this is your house, your space. You’ll show him what he’s missing.

With that in mind, your personality shifts a bit, part in courtesy of the alcohol, part because of your rage. You do your best to intentionally play up your happiness in a room full of strangers, show him that he doesn’t affect you. Show him that he doesn’t matter, that he never did. You cling tight to the arm of your fiancé, being sure to pull out your best doe eyes, your innocent fuck me eyes that you know men can hardly resist. The eyes you know that drive him wild.

But there’s no point, he sees right through it.

Shit.

He knows you too well, better than all the rest. You let your guard down with him, trusted him, and now he knows all the signs – all the tells – he knows where your heart and mind truly rest, probably before you even do.

Shove it down. Shove it down. He doesn’t matter. You are engaged. This is the life you want.

It’s not.

You watch through the corner of your eye as he excuses himself from the conversation with the model and walks through the crowd, intentionally finding your eyes as he does. He slips up the stairs, away from public view.

Ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore him.

You can’t. You know you can’t.

Before you can even register what’s happening, you’re stepping out of the conversation you were never really in, letting your instincts guide you. You lift the hem of your dress, your heels teetering slightly as you make your way through the bustling, suffocating room.

Each step up the stairs is a battle between your mind and your heart, your brain screaming warnings while your emotions, your arousal, tug you forward. It’s always been this way – a magnetic pull, an invisible force drawing you in to him like a moth to a flame.

This is a mistake.

Don't do this.

Do this.

You want this.

You're engaged.

Stop thinking.

Climbing the final stairs, your heart pounding in your chest, you surrender to the emotions swirling inside you. Your brain protests, but your heart has already made its decision.

"Luci—" you timidly call out, but before you can finish, he reaches out in the darkness and pulls you into his chest. You let out a little oof of surprise, but soon find yourself settling into the embrace, his warmth enveloping you as his hips press tightly against yours.

He doesn't utter a word, simply holding you close, his body a comforting anchor in the dimly lit hallway. His hand rests at your waist, the other gently cradling the swell of your cheek as he gazes down at you. Despite the darkness obscuring your features, you can sense him drinking in every detail, every curve, the small details you’re not sure anyone notices anymore. He’s looking at you like he always has, like you’re the main character in every story he’s ever cared to read.

With a tighter grip, he guides you further down the hallway, away from the prying eyes at the top of the staircase. Your back eventually meets the cool surface of the wall, and he pauses there, his presence dominating the space, sucking up the air around you. His grip on your waist remains firm, as if he knows exactly what he wants and how to get it.

Under his touch, you feel yourself melting, surrendering to the intensity that is the two of you. There's a confidence in his demeanor, a certainty that courses through you. A live wire of energy that you’ve never felt with anyone but him. He knows exactly how to read you, how to anticipate your every desire, and you find yourself powerless to resist.

You’re suddenly acutely aware of the ring on your finger, and before you can protest, he’s already speaking.

“He’s not the man you think he is, sweetheart.” His words pierce you like a knife.

You don’t respond. What can you even say? He can already see your truth, your reality, written plainly across your face. He searches your face for hesitation, any sign that he’s crossed a line.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and you can only nod. Yes, please.

This isn’t normal, this isn’t a thing that people frequently experience – it’s wrong, you’re engaged. Even if your fiancé is a grade-A asshole, you can still maintain your morals.

But the thing is – there’s something so electric about the two of you together, an undeniable force, a promise written into stone long before you even realized it.

The combination of your bodies, two halves of a whole, is the only excuse you can muster for why you’ve found yourself in your current predicament – pressed up against a wall, his broad frame pinning you into place, the weight of his gaze like a flame threatening to swallow you whole, turn you into ashes.

Even though it’s been years since he’s pressed his lips against yours, the weight of the pretty little rock on your left finger fades into distant memory, and he pulls you back to a different reality.

A reality where nothing else exists, a reality where your timelines converge, a reality hand-sculpted just for the two of you. One where he didn’t fuck up, the one with the happily ever after.

With your lips connected, it’s easy to let your mind fall silent.

And when he breaks for a bit of breath, your eyes connect once more and you can’t help the thought that crosses your mind.

What a pleasure it is to burn.

His hand finds its way to your thigh, and his fingers make their way to where you so desperately need them to be. Nipping at your neck, he whispers sweet praises into your ear, each word sending sparks of arousal that dance along your skin. It's carnal, primal, an undeniable biological reaction that leaves you practically dripping for him.

"You know me, better than anybody," he rasps against your skin, his words a seductive promise of something more. Planting a soft kiss on your collarbone, he leaves you reeling with need.

But just as you're about to respond, the telltale sound of creaking wood and heavy footsteps echo up the stairs, accompanied by the call of your name. Panic floods your senses as you realize who it is.

Fuck, shit – no, god damn it.

Lucien quickly steps away from you, and sneaks off into the bedroom adjacent to the hall.

Your fiancé appears at the top of the steps, his gaze sharp and knowing, as if he can sense the tension in the air. In that moment, you know you can't keep hiding, can't keep pretending that everything is fine.

“What are you doing up here?”

Fuck it, be bold.

“We need to talk.”

TO BE CONTINUED

If you like this, please consider a reblog (dm me if you want to be removed): @endlessthxxghts @theoasisofthings @pedrostories @bastardmandennis @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings @josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @syd-djarin @survivingandenduring @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @javiscigarette @morallyinept @ro-nahime-things @gwendibleywrites @missladym1981 @auteurdelabre @morgaussy @yxtkiwiyxt ily.

#lucien flores #lucien flores smut #lucien flores fic #the uninvited #lucien flores x reader #lucien flores x you #pedrohub #pedro stories #pedro pascal characters #lucien x reader

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gh0vtzb1og · 8 days

Text

Poppin your cherry. STALKER AU / SIMON RILEY X FEM READER

Notes; NON CON, head locks, masks. Held at gun point, murder threats. Stalking, religious references, bleeding.

Real excited for this one boys and girls and non binaries

You walk out into the alleyway you always do while leaving work. Completely unknowing of the danger that lurks ahead. A skip was casually making its way into your walk, a smile on your face as you held your phone in your hands.

You’d walked this alley every day, at the same time, how could tonight be any different? What would change? You were completely calm, not expecting some psycho killer to just jump out and start stabbing you.

He watched you from a dark corner, watching the way your shirt clung to your body. It excited him, his hand moved down into his holster, cocking his pistol and stepping out behind you. A grunt left his lips as he moved up right behind you, watching as you tensed up, trying to continue on your walk home before a pistol was shoved into your face.

He covered your mouth before you even had time to scream. The masked attacker grunted, waiting for you to stop panicking, trying to hit and pull his hand away, definitely wasn’t working. The stranger leaned into your ear. A menacing gravely voice leaving him.

“Scream and I’ll shoot you. You don’t want that do you hm? Love? I know everything bout you. I could kill everyone you fucking love if you tell anyone about this.” He wrapped your head into a headlock. His bicep crushing your throat under the pressure it was causing.

“You walk this path every day, completely unworried some guy will kidnap you and rape you. Suppose you feel dumb now don’t you? Leaving your apartment windows unlocked. Never telling anyone when your leaving or where your going. Never keeping anything to defend yourself with on you. You’re just a pathetic little girl.” His hands move to your skirt, slipping one underneath it and rubbing your panties, feeling how easily wet you got in your panicked state.

“Gettin wet for me already? Were you just dreaming of this you dumb fucking freak? This isn’t even rape. You know you want this.” He sneered into your ear. Rubbing his large fingers against your soaked slit, teasing your clit with a pinch every minute or so.

Watching the way you cried and squirmed, knowing this man had full intentions of using you, there was nothing you could do.

He undid his pants and boxers, letting them fall to his ankles as he pulled your panties aside. Rubbing his hard cock against your cunnie. Oh how much pleasure he got from seeing your terrified face as he rubbed his massive cock against your virgin slit.

“Gonna pop your cherry, and you’re gonna like it aren’t you.” He slammed his tip up into you, a muffed screamish cry left you as you squirmed, trying to get away from the fact you were being raped of your virginity, a perfect little lamb becoming soaked in the blood of sin. His sin. Your blood soaked his cock. Mixing with the wetness of your cunt.

You slumped against his large body, his headlock keeping you in place as he rams in and out of your cunt, every painful thrust robbing you of something you wanted to save for marriage. You stared up at him, tears flooding your face as his gun stayed against your skin; the muzzle coldly kissing your skin. The cold metal leaving a feeling you wouldn’t ever forget.

You could feel every vein making its print on your velvety walls. You wanted to cry to the heavens above for sanctuary. For forgiveness, for strength. Now you were just staring at this brute of a man who was stealing everything you worked so hard to protect, he loved the way you cried. The way you were gonna scream for help but a sound couldn’t leave your throat except for cries and moans.

“Quit actin like you hate this; I know you want this, lamb.” He spat into your ear. Grabbing your thigh and lifting it up so he could get deeper; a groan leaving his mouth as he continued to pound into you. The knot in your stomach and his loosening, he began to pant. Getting ready to cum into your virgin cervix. Leaving his long lasting imprint on you.

You came around his cock, it mixing with your blood. He loved the way the mixed liquids dripped from his cock onto the alleyway ground, how this was gonna be in his mind forever. He could loose his place in the military for this, but you were so worth it.

He slammed into your cunt one final time. Spearing you wide open and cummin into your cunt. Watching as it dripped out, you wouldn’t forget this. Neither would he.

“I’ll see you again lamb.” He pulled his pants and boxers up, letting you hit the ground and walking away. Watching your innocent face, the way it broke when he walked away. You were full of his semen. You needed to clean this out, you couldn’t get pregnant with his baby.

#cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #cod mw2 #simon riley x you #call of duty #price call of duty #call of duty x reader #gh0vtzb1ogz #simon ghost x reader #simon riley headcanons #ghost x reader #simon riley hcs #call of duty smut #cnc free use

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ghostkennedy · 11 months

Text

Original Sin

~Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

Word count: 3402

Shoutout to @myrarenee for sending the request that inspired this and being down for my idea <3 This one’s for you.

Content warnings: religious iconography, smut, sexual content, submissive reader, married leon, affair between reader and leon, cheating leon, degradation, praise, faint misogyny if you squint, strip tease, vague masturbation, handcuffs, blindfold, gagging reader, using his wife’s vibrator, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, begging, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, reader blacks out for a minute. also wanted to note this references addiction, smoking/drug use in terms of comparison to someone’s feelings. none of those things actually take place, but it is described a bit!

anywaysssssss, enjoy this one. leon and reader have no shame

!!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!!

Obsession. Fixation. Infatuation. Compulsion. The way you’d drop to your knees before him without him ever asking wasn’t something you could’ve anticipated. You weren’t ashamed to call it what it was: you had a fetish for this man. The moment you laid eyes on him, something within you changed–something clicked. And you knew that no one else would ever compare to him. Others could give it their best shot and they’d never reach anything beyond a bleak dullness next to him. What’s one measly, useless star compared to the fucking sun? Nothing, that star would always mean nothing.

And Leon S. Kennedy was your sun. From the day you two met, your universe began to orbit around him. Placing yourself in his life, forcing yourself into his path. It had been enough for a while, but you wanted–no needed more of him. You craved him like a smoker craves a hit, needing to feel the burn throughout your chest and lungs. If you could shoot him directly into your bloodstream, you’d wear your collapsed, abused veins with a smile. Your salvation was somewhere within his flesh and blood and you were more than eager to tear him apart in search of it. You would dig it out from somewhere between his thighs and that is where you’d finally be saved.

You’d dropped your sneaky links and casual flings. If you had to take a guess, you maybe had another 40-60 years of your short existence. And from this point on, all of it would be dedicated to the only man who could ever make a life worth living. You’d found your faith, so why waste a single minute on such mediocre things when you could be falling to your knees and praising the holiest of bodies. His flesh was forged from nicotine, his blood flowing with amphetamines. Maybe the addictive personality was deep in your genetics, but addiction never looked so beautiful. You were made to worship him; you’d never been so sure of your life’s purpose.

Obsession. Fixation. Infatuation. Compulsion. The way he’d abandon everything he’s ever known and keep you locked away for him only wasn’t something he thought he was capable of feeling. How your eyes darkened when they connected with his for the first time. It’s as if he had lived his entire life with it merely passing him by, and now he could feel the blood pumping through his veins and the breaths he took expanding his lungs. He was lost in the pitch black in the dead of the night and you were the moon finally poking through the trees.

And you were his moon. You were the light shining down on his skin, pulling him from the darkness that engulfed him for centuries. The world went from a blurry fog, to pristine and crisp. He could make out every little detail of textures in the walls, to the patterns in the carpet. He had ascended from a mere man to an ethereal being, just because of one look from you. He felt as though he was being mind controlled by you and you were fixing his broken pieces into something somehow worthy of you. He was in a daze, transfixed by his new affliction.

That night when he went home with his wife, he plowed into her while imagining you beneath him. He thought of his cock spreading you open and ascending to the Heavens above through the waves between your thighs. Every moan or noise that fell from her lips morphed in the air between them into how he hoped you would sound beneath him. Your pussy that was made just for him would grip him so tight and milk him dry of any sins or imperfections. His soul would be cleansed within you. The same soul that fell from his body every time he came while thinking of you, and you alone.

You were the reason people were tempted away from their faith, being pulled away and into the unholy sin of worshiping a false idol. And if one day he has to be brought forth in front of the jury as they cast judgment and assign his punishment, he won’t have learned a damn thing. He could be taught lesson after lesson, delivered punishment after punishment, and his soul would still follow you to his own demise. He’ll always chase after your torment and torture that you serve for him and him only.

That’s what brought you two to these less than holy places. Dingy pay-by-the-hour motels, gross bathrooms, poorly lit closets, both of your cars–just about anywhere you could hide away from watchful eyes and cure the craving for one another. It didn’t matter how rough the terrain may be beneath you two, you’d always fall to your knees for each other. You would always be the one habit he couldn’t kick no matter how much he tried. Well, he assumed that would be the case if he had ever tried to kick the habit, or even considered it.

It was risky for him to sneak you through the backdoor of his marriage home while his wife was visiting family. But after much discussion, you both had come to the conclusion that you couldn’t find it within yourselves to care. If that made you terrible people, then you were completely okay with that. It just added to the compatibility you suppose. He was made terrible and unholy, yet sculpted in your perfect image.

“You’re one to talk about my obsession with you. You’re the one getting on your knees for a married man,” Leon spoke as he eyed your body up and down. You wore his favorite dress because you loved how it always riled him up. He loved when you wore it for him because he knew it was all for him, such an obedient thing you were.

“And what would your wife think, huh? How every time she turns her back, you don’t hesitate to shove your cock inside of another woman?” you crossed your arms over your chest, taunting him. He rolled his eyes and shifted his eyes back towards the TV.

“One woman wasn’t enough to please you. You need your cock buried deep inside of me, often several times a day. You’re obviously out of control. I sleep with one man and I’m the issue?” you continue taunting him. You just had to know how far you could push him before he gave in and defiled you where you sat.

“I’m just a man, sweetheart. Dangle a bone in front of a dog–,” you cut him off with a loud laugh. He turned back to you and raised his eyebrow at you, challenging you almost.

You stood up from the bed, the same one he shares with his wife, and slipped the straps of your dress off of your shoulders. He stared at you with intense eyes, as if he was trying to eat you alive with just a look. You weren’t wearing a bra, so when you pulled the dress down until the top was bunched around your waist, your breasts were on full display for him.

You continued pulling it down, shimmying it down past your hips, letting it fall at your feet. You turned around and slowly slid your panties down your ass, letting them glide down your thighs as you shook your ass to aid in taking them off. You peaked over your shoulder and saw Leon staring directly at your ass, causing you to smirk.

Once you were free from any clothing, you turned back around and threw yourself back onto the bed. Legs spread unashamedly. He inched closer to you and as he went to reach out to you, your hand darted out and stopped his wrist.

“Prove this self control you’ve been boasting about then. If you touch me in absolutely any way, you lose,” you told him as you pushed his hand back to his side.

He scoffed out at you, “Are you serious?” He stared at you as you confidently nodded back at him. “Well, in that case,” he spoke as he stood up, slowly beginning to unbutton his shirt, “If you touch me, then you lose.” You watched hungrily as he undid every last button and let the shirt fall behind him. He slowly worked his pants and boxers off and you ate it up with your eyes. His hard cock sprung out, already begging for you.

He sat back on the bed, relaxing back into the pillows as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But it was all an act he was putting on for you. He knew you were stubborn, it was just in your nature, so maybe if he could irritate you enough, intrigue you enough with his disinterest, he surely could get you to give in first. So he went back to mindlessly watching TV, although he couldn’t pay any attention to the show that was playing. All he could think of was the sight just to the right of him and trying to discreetly stare at you from the corner of his eye.

This went on for a few minutes, before you decided you needed to up the ante. You started to run your hands up and down your body, a small whimper leaving your lips. Leon’s head snapped as he watched you tease your nipples between your fingertips.

“What have I told you about touching yourself?” he growled at you.

“What are you going to do about it, then? Come punish me? Touch me and lose? I think you know just as well as I do that you hate losing,” you tested him. Your hands abandoning your breasts and gently caressing your stomach as they slowly moved lower and lower. He followed every single one of your movements, as if he was in a trance.

You caressed your thighs, spreading them all the way open as Leon eyed your wetness. After a few seconds you snapped them close, hiding the sight Leon was desperate for the most. He bit his lip as his brows furrowed in irritation.

You rubbed your thighs together, giving yourself the vaguest bit of friction. You were so needy that even the faintest ping of pleasure had you throwing your head back and whining. Plus, it’s not as if you were holding yourself back at all. You allowed yourself to feel every little bit of sensation from your little touches here and there.

And you just carried on exactly like that. It was hard to hold any sort of self control when you were working yourself up so much. But reminding yourself of who you were also working up, yet refusing to look at, was all the encouragement you needed.

You barely opened your eyes and peeked over at Leon. You could see the sweat building up on his chest and forehead. His hands were clinging to the sheets beside him, his knuckles going white from the intense grasp he held on them. You saw him gulp deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing and tempting you deep down into your core.

You closed your eyes tightly again as you spread your thighs for him once more, gently caressing your soaked lips with your fingertips. Your teeth were biting into your bottom lip so hard that you felt like you might draw blood, but it was the only thing grounding your mind down to Earth currently. Your middle finger swiped over your clit just right and you arched your back and whined even louder than you had before.

Just as your eyes were about to flutter into the back of your head, a harsh grasp pulled your hands from your body, holding them above your head as you were pinned down to the mattress with his body hovering over yours.

“You think I give a fuck about losing?” he laughed as he brought his lips to your ear, “As if I won’t punish you either way? Make you pay for being such a fucking tease.” His voice was full of venom. His patience was more than just wore thin. It was crumpled up and had run away, somewhere far fucking away from here.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” you lowered your voice until it was barely above a whisper, “loser.” He looked at you with a look of disbelief, before he laughed loudly directly in your face.

“I’m going to have so much fun making you eat your fucking words,” he sneered as he looked directly into your eyes. The darkness of his pupils nearly consuming his eyes, his irises nothing more than a hint of his usual blue.

He slid open the drawer of the nightstand directly to your right, pulling a pair of handcuffs out. You raised your eyebrow at him as he used one hand to click them open and shut teasingly. He roughly pulled your hands up to the headboard and secured you to the iron bars with the handcuffs.

He begins rummaging inside the drawer again as you nervously fiddle beneath him. Before you can process it, he’s securing a blindfold over your eyes, encompassing you in near total darkness. You were breathing heavily as he dragged some sort of piece of fabric over your mouth.

“Is this okay?” he said as he shoved the fabric in your mouth, successfully gagging you. You nod in response and he caresses your cheek gently before lightly slapping it. “Now be a good whore for me,” he whispered before you heard him press a button and some sort of device kicking on.

It doesn’t take you more than a few seconds to recognize the sound of a vibrator before he’s running the device down the valley of your breasts, past your belly button, and swirling the device around on your inner thighs. You were desperately arching your back and thrashing around beneath him, the cuffs clinging loudly against the metal bars of his headboard.

He laughs directly next to your ear, startling you. You didn’t realize how close he’d brought his mouth to your ear while he was teasing you.

“Let’s see how many times I can make you come with my wife’s toy. You’re such a dirty fucking girl, letting someone’s husband fuck you with her toy,” he speaks into your ear deeply. You whine desperately and he continues, “And you’re going to fucking love it. Her husband’s cock isn’t enough for you, is it? You have to steal all forms of her pleasure, hmm? You can’t help but plague her life with your slutty pussy.”

As soon as the last word leaves his mouth, the vibrator is directly pressed to your clit, causing you to moan out loudly as the waves of pleasure crash through your pussy. And he’s so fucking right, every single word he said. You shouldn’t want this as desperately as you do. It’s depraved, her husband using her toy to get you off in her bed. But as your climax fast approaches, you can’t help but arch your back and fully take in the pleasure.

Your first orgasm crashes through you, your body trembling against the vibrator as you desperately try to get in enough air through your nose. He pulls the toy away from your pussy for a few seconds before he presses it against you again. You’re basically screaming into your gag as your eyes roll back at the sensation returning so soon.

“That’s it. A whore like you can take it, can’t you baby?” he chuckles. “Yeah, you fucking can. Cream all over this toy for me. Show me what a filthy girl you are. I fucking love how filthy you are for me, you dirty fucking girl,” he grinds his hard cock against your thigh as you climb up to another orgasm.

Just when you think you’re gonna be held on the precipice of release forever, your second orgasm finally crashes through you. You throw your head back as tears pour from your eyes and past the bottom of the blindfold. Your heart feels like it’s going to burst through your chest, but he’s nowhere near finished.

He once again gives you nothing more than a few seconds to gather yourself, which helps nothing, before he presses it against you again. The pleasure is so painful, but so good too. You’re sobbing as your entire body tenses up against the toy again.

“Look at you, already about to come again for me. What if my wife saw how your pussy weeps for me, huh? What if she walked in right now and saw how happily you give yourself over to her husband? You have no shame. A shameless little slut. My shameless fucking slut. All fucking mine,” his words sent you over the edge again.

You were completely his, he’s absolutely correct. It didn’t matter how his life appeared, who it looked like his heart belonged to. He belonged right here between your spread thighs. Not just his cock, but all of him. You knew you were selfish, you knew God should smite you right this second because you definitely deserved it, but you wanted all of this man. You’d suffer through an eternity of damnation to spend your time Earth side beneath Leon.

He sat the vibrator down on the bed beside you before he pulled your gag out. You greedily sucked in big gulps of air into your lungs. He gently sucked on your neck as he ran his hard cock up and down your messy, drenched folds.

You’d never been someone who ever wanted more than one orgasm. Just one was always enough to wreck your body and have you satisfied, unable to handle anything else. You couldn’t stand the overstimulation at all. But just as Leon had completely uprooted your life, he changed your needs too. You’d always crave every bit of him you could get. When you two were alone together, you somehow committed all seven deadly sins unapologetically.

“Beg for it. Beg for my cock or I’ll leave you here like this,” he said as he yanked on your handcuffs to emphasize his point.

“Please. Please fuck me. I need your cock, I need you,” you whined out as he chuckled at you.

“Such a greedy fucking pussy,” he said as he shoved his cock all the way in. His balls smacked against your ass as you wrapped your legs tightly around him, pulling him in deeper. “Can’t get enough of my cock, can you? It’ll never be enough for a whore like you,” he growled.

“It’s never enough, fuck,” you moaned loudly, “Give it to me. Need you to give it to me all the time. I’m an empty whore without you.” Leon began thrusting roughly into you. He fucked you deeply into the bed below you. So deep, it felt like you might push through the mattress and descend straight to Hell. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world either. You could commit your sins of the flesh, commit your adultery, with him forever. You’d be all he needs.

“Fuck, your pussy is so tight, so wet for me. I’m gonna come already,” he moaned out before bringing his mouth to yours and kissing you intensely. You were so close too, just a few more thrusts and you’d both be done for. He reached down and grabbed the vibrator, bringing it to your clit and that was it for you.

Your walls clenched tightly around his cock as you come undone again. Your eyes roll back into your head as sobs leave your throat. You weren’t sure what happened next, but one second you were coming around Leon and the next you were opening your eyes to a concerned Leon trying to get your attention. You blinked a few times as your senses came back to you.

“Holy shit! Not you blacking out from my cock,” he chuckled before kissing you again, “I’ve never come so hard in my fucking life.” His hands cling to your cheeks as he smiles down at you, his expression filled with satisfaction and something else you couldn’t quite identify.

If you were Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, you still would’ve committed the original sin. You would’ve damned the word with the knowledge of good and evil. And it wouldn’t have involved a fucking apple.

~masterlist~

709 notes · View notes

uglypastels · 10 months

Text

Not Wholly Evil |IV| pirate!eddie

a/n so sorry for the long wait. Let this be a celebration of the beginning of summer :) and lets hope for many fics to come (i cant make any promises tho) I hope you enjoy this chapter!!! Please remember to support by reblogging and leaving comments on what you think of the story <3

Series Masterlist

word count: 7.5k

"semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. mention of severe wounds. minor character death. allusions to suicide. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. pirates are pigs: mentions of non-con, but it does not actually occur. malnourishment and weight loss. paranoia. mention of poisoning. abuse. manhandling. lying. religious (Christian) references.

There might be a mention of other ST characters, and for plot sake, everyone is an adult here, just coz I don't want fetus pirates running around, but they are not really relevant to the plot.

Chapter 4: Columba

A philosopher once asked, "Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at them because we are human?" Pointless, really..."Do the stars gaze back?" Now, that's a question. ― Neil Gaiman, Stardust

‘We’re… lost?’ You stared blankly ahead.

‘I’ll admit, lost is a strong word, princess— Misdirected feels more accurate. Sailing off-course.’

You stammered for a response to the confession you just heard. ‘How– How could we be off-course?’ The captain’s words had not fully come through to you yet, perhaps by his casual stance and lack of urgency for a solution or panic. He stood there, arms behind his back, studying his map like one of the painting hanging on the Queen’s wall. And yet, according to this man, you were heading into uncharted waters. You have been heading towards them for God knows how long.

‘It is quite simple. Here–’ he was still analysing the markings on the wall as he spoke, and he must have wanted you to step closer, for he looked at you expectedly. Something around his mouth twitched when he looked your way. The eye contact was piercing both ways with so much said between the two of you, and yet not a single word had been exchanged. With two ringed fingers, he pulled an invisible string that he hoped would have some effect on you.

It did not.

All you did was raise a brow in your expectation, ready to see what the captain would do now. Arms crossed, you remained in your place.

‘Do not make me come over there, princess.’

‘Do not make me come over there, Munson.’ The words were bitter but tasted sweet, like honey on your lips. If you had blinked, and as luck would have it, you did not, you would have missed the captain’s reaction; a deep breath in as he hollowed out his cheeks, pushing back any clearer indications of frustrations or signs of weaknesses. The patience ran out of his dark eyes. Then, with a stretch of his neck, he returned to his first problem as if the short interaction between you had never occurred. He sounded entirely unphased as he, despite your distance, went to explain the conundrum. ‘Several days ago, the Hellfire stumbled upon a certain ship,’ he tapped one of his fingers on a small mark south of the map. It then dawned on you that, by surrendering to your stubbornness, he had won the bigger battle. Your curiosity was gaining on you, and from where you stood, you could not put much more meaning to his words, as the islands around it were unfamiliar. He knew this and could tell you were frustrated with yourself, but you were too stubborn to walk up and look at what he was showing you… yet where you stood now was no good either. The captain continued explaining as if you were right by his side, not addressing anything else of the situation. ‘Tonight, we were meant to have only been a week’s travel away from our destination–’ your home. This shocked you, for before, you had no indication of how much longer it would take—a week. What was supposed to have been a week is now an undetermined eternity as the ship sailed on.

The mention of your home hit you at the deepest level, overshadowing any other emotions you felt. Any stubbornness was pushed aside for anger as you crossed the room.

Nothing was exchanged as you moved past the desk towards the captain. He did not look your way, but the grin on his face was undeniable. You could still feel it when he brought you closer to him with a quick pull, shaking you around practically like a rag-doll. You now stood between him and the map, his shoulder against your back. His breath on your neck. His muscles brushed over you as he moved his arm to point out the locations on the map. The flash of heat coming over you could not have been anything but the anger you felt at yourself for letting this happen.

‘To sum up, we met here, darling,’ he reached to tap the map again at a southern point, bringing himself closer to you with the excuse to reach the chart. His chin practically leaned on your shoulder, and his hot breath became overbearing to all your senses. All you could focus on were the rings that adorned his fingers in front of you—one of the few aspects of him you could always trust to remain constant. You watched him move his hand across. ‘—were meant to arrive here—,’ One straight line towards home with a dark, blotted circle on top of it. It made you wonder how long that ink sat upon the canvas. Had he written it once you came aboard, or had he been planning something much longer? Had your abduction been a plan all along? It was hard to imagine but not impossible.

‘And now we’re… well, God knows where we are,’ he chuckled with wicked amusement, and you did not see the humour in being lost at sea. You did, however, see the irony of him speaking of God. He, a Satan’s spawn himself. It is ridiculous to think that he had the gumption to speak the Lord’s name so casually, especially with him being who he is. It simply did not sit right with you.

However, none of your concerns seemed to have drawn his attention as Munson went on: ‘I felt something was wrong as we were supposed to have arrived at Escondrijo last night, a rest stop we often sail past,’ he read out the name of this island right at your skin, the S slithering from his tongue onto you in shivers. ‘I thought maybe my calculations were simply off; the wind, after all, had not been the kindest. Of course, it could have been a delay– but alas.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘What we stumbled across was–’ He slammed his fist into the map, making you jump at the extreme action, ‘Such a useless piece of land no one bothered to give it a name!’ He laughed away his frustrations, which chilled you to the bone. ‘Not even the damned sould that live there.’

Damned. That’s what he was. What all of you were as the ship sailed on.

You tried to take in everything that he had just told you. All the locations he had pointed to. Considering the unknown status of your location, the world must have turned upside down for you to arrive here. The fact the Hellfire had stumbled upon the nameless island must have been dumb chance in itself, and just as quickly as it had made itself shown, it was now becoming nothing more than a memory.

Still, this island could be anywhere on the map, but it must have been close to the planned destination. The climate would have raised suspicions much earlier if it had been otherwise. And that is precisely what you suggested to the captain, hoping that giving him some kind of positive idea would direct him away from the anger he must be feeling. Not to mention, at this moment, you were both in trouble, in danger, and the only way out of it was to help him… as much as you disliked the idea of doing so. It was the only option.

‘Yes, exactly. All my calculations had been perfect. That is why this is all so perplexing.’

You could name several more reasons why the situation was “perplexing”, including one thing you did not yet understand:

‘Why did we even leave the harbour? Why not stay and orient yourself?’ There were people there, other sailors; naturally, someone could have helped track the right direction to sail onward to. Someone there might have had more information. Anything.

And yet, the ship had already set sail into the abyss of the night. You could hear the waves sloshing around you, and when you turned around, the fiery light coming from the island was thinning on the horizon.

‘You overestimate the usefulness of a drunken man. Or the charitability of a passerby in a midnight alley.’ Munson spoke, ‘Or perhaps, you simply underestimate my willingness to find a solution, for that matter. As if I did not try to ask for help—because, whatever you may think of me, I am not ashamed of seeking out outside recourses—’ There was that clicking sound of his tongue that announced nothing but smugness. Next thing you know, his arms had snaked their way down, wrapped around your middle, trapping your arms within his hold. His lips were at your ear, freezing you like a spell. ‘And here I thought you would know me better by now.’

You wished you did too, but the truth was much more brutal. With every moment you spent in the captain’s presence, he only seemed to be becoming more and more of a mystery to you. None of your million questions regarding the notorious Captain Munson had been answered.

With a slow intake of breath, you spoke to him as calmly as possible: ‘Get off of me.’

‘Mmm,’ he hummed, swaying you back and forth, enhancing the ship's movements, ‘I don’t think I want to, princess.’ In reality, it was a loose grip that held no power, authority, or fear over you. All it did was plague you with his touch, scent, and sound; it was all over. You could feel him everywhere. The heat of his body was radiating onto you, boiling you alive.

From this position, you could not see his face. Your peripheral vision only gave you a blurry profile of his features without indicating what he was doing. You both stood there for a long moment, looking at the map as if it would reveal some secret message. Something to magically guide you back on the right path. It was quiet around, with nothing else but the waves outside, the fire of the candles in the room flickering, and two pairs of lungs breathing. Two hearts, beating fast.

His grip loosened, but you did not move. Too scared that any movement would remind him of you. Although, maybe he had not forgotten but simply lost interest, for the captain took a step forward, passing you right by. His eyes were locked in on a spot on the map.

This silence had given you one thing, and it was the time to think. Maybe not clearly—that was barely ever possible with him around—but long enough to devise a train of thought. With that, one more question struck you.

‘Why tell me all of this?’ Was he confessing this all to you because he was not planning on having you stick around for much longer? Airing out a confession to a soul that he had already sentenced, either way, leaving no trace of his mishappening behind? If that was the case, you had to leave this room quickly. Tell someone about all of this…Because what stopped you from going out there and telling everyone that their captain had failed them? Led them to be stranded at sea. This may be what you need. This may get them on your side. Maybe–

‘Oh, it is wonderful how your mind works, princess.’ He turned around on his heels, and his hands found your shoulders, dug in like claws, shaking you lightly. Shaking you straight out of your escapist fantasy. ‘Truly, fascinating.’ The two last words burned with a growl. He chuckled a little bit more before redirecting himself towards his desk. The captain did not bother walking around the desk. Instead, he sat down on it and let his legs swing around, knocking several stacks of parchment onto the floor in the process. He did not even look down at the mess he caused. Instead, he slightly bent back to look down. His eyes shot down, an eyebrow was raised, and then he looked back at you.

‘Nosy, were we, darling?’ There was a metal twinkle that piqued your interest, and you noticed the silver key hanging around his neck. He pulled it off and unlocked the drawer you had been toying with before his arrival.

Had it surprised you that he pulled out a bottle of rum?

Slightly.

But you watched the captain uncork the bottle and take a large sip as he sat on the armrest of his throne. He was sloppy, and the liquid spilt down his chin. He was wiping it off as he extended his other arm towards you, inviting you for a drink. When you did not respond, the captain shrugged, mumbled something about stubbornness, and drank until barely anything was left. He put the bottle on the disorganised desk and roughly wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

He let out a satisfied sigh. ‘Mmm. Now, where was I,’ he tapped his fingers on his thigh, trying to remember the last seconds. Once he did so, he laughed.

‘It is so easy to think that one tiny mistake could cause a man’s respect, but these men—together with me, may I add—have been through a lot. We are a family, sweetheart, and family isn’t so easy to get rid of. No matter how hard or often you try.’ His dark eyes pierced through yours. ‘So, I hope you do not set your hopes on a mutiny too high because that just won’t happen. If my men wanted to get rid of me, they would have done so long ago.

‘I’ve made much bigger mistakes that could have cost me my head, yet…’ he knocked his knuckles on the side of his skull, giving you an almost apologetic expression, indicating that he was still present and accounted for. ‘I’m sure they’re all aware of our little problem by now. Hell, it’s their fault, but I don’t want to vex them with this. They have enough work on their plates.’

‘So?’ You did not see the point of this anymore, not believing that he had no one in his crew that could help him right now. That would have been more helpful than you.

‘So,’ he mocked your inquisitive tone. ‘Out of everyone on board, you’re probably the last that needs a good night sleep–or at least can miss one.’

You wanted to argue with him, call him a monster for depriving you of simple decency such as a night’s rest, but then it dawned on you that he might have actually been right. While the floor gave you no comfort, you had, in a way, the luxury of sleeping as long as, and whenever, you pleased. Meanwhile, the crew got barely any sleep and then had to work most of the day to keep the ship afloat. That was a rationalisation of yet another lost battle, at least.

‘Even if I did want to help you,’ you sighed in defeat, ‘how could I?’ You didn’t know how to steer a ship, let alone guide one back onto a correct route in the middle of the deep waters at night. Munson looked at you, still very much amused, and clearly held back his tongue with a comment on your words. Instead, he answered your question genuinely. Possibly doing so for the first time.

‘It is the middle of the night; the sky is clear,’ he spoke as if this all led to the most obvious of conclusions, ‘why not let the stars guide you?’

‘What makes you think I know how to?’ Did he think you had any experience in this field? ‘Well, I doubt you keep looking up there just because the stars shine oh-so charmingly.’

‘You do not think the night sky to be beautiful?’ You asked curiously. It would explain so much about the captain if he could not appreciate the simple beauty of such things. But, the man threw you in for a loop.

‘I do, but I also know it has many more functions than decor. You must know it too.’

‘I do.’ That was basic enough knowledge that you had picked up on as a young child, but was that it? Just because you were fascinated by the heavens did not mean you had any expert knowledge on the subject. Besides, where would you have even been able to acquire it? ‘And this makes you think I can steer us back on the right path?’

‘Call it intuition.’

‘And on the principles of your intuition, you dare to put your fate in the hands of a…prisoner?’ You had never heard of such a tale for a captain to let his prisoner take the lead on the ship. Giving him their trust.

‘I think we are past such formalities, are we not?’ Were you? He must have read the doubt on your face, for he took the task of explaining: ‘You are no longer locked away; you have the freedom to go anywhere on this ship. I brought you a delicious meal—which I would still like to have received some gratitude for, but that is beside the point—and now I am asking you for your help. Some would say you are going up the ranks quite swiftly, princess.’

‘Funny, I do not recall you asking for my help at all? Just being locked away in a room for hours and given no choice but to do as you say.’

‘The pirate life!’ Munson spread his arms wide, slipping down into the seat of his thrown. You thought it would be futile to argue with him, seeing what humour he was in. The way he had just devoured the bottle of rum would not be helping your case.

‘Why me then? Why not do it yourself since you seem to know as much as me about the stars?’ You thought it would be easier and faster if he had done the work independently. It would already cost less time not to go through this discussion.

Like a thunderbolt, anger struck his face. ‘Because, I say so,’ he snarled before returning to his previous self, ‘and I thought you might like having something to occupy yourself with. Pushing around crates must become boring after sometime, does it not?’

‘How do you–’ He had seen what you had done with the lower deck. But… when would he have had the chance? You could not recall many instances, if any, of the captain coming down to see you after he freed you from your cell.

He pushed himself up from the throne and walked back over to you. Then, he began walking in circles around you, and you tried to keep up with him, but it quickly strained your neck. ‘Yes, I know all about your organizing down there. And about your inquiring nature.’ He nodded over to the desk you had tried to pry open. Something must have given it away. He clicked his tongue. ‘Remember whose ship you’re on, darling. There is nothing that goes by around here without me knowing about it. If you do something, it’s because I let you do it.’

‘I hardly believe that.’

‘Well, believe this then: on any other ship, you could have gotten into a lot of trouble if someone caught you going through another man’s things—’

‘Don’t try and tell me all of that is yours. I know you stole it off other ships.’ You rolled your eyes. Munson played a victim, placing a hand over his chest, pausing in front of you with his big eyes, imitating hurt.

‘Some of it very well may be. This,’ he flicked the collar of the shirt you were wearing, ‘for sure is.’ His fingers grazed at your skin, brushing over your throat hastily. ‘I could have you hung, you know. Or at least take off a few fingers.’

‘I doubt it considering you need me in one piece if you want my father’s money.’

‘Did you know there are hundreds of other man out there who’d pay double for a pretty face like yours?’ He waited for a crack to reveal the fear on your face and didn’t say anything until it showed. ‘Not to mention, I would not be risking arrest with them. Luckily, I am a man of my word. So, to your daddy you shall return.’ He reached for your shirt collar again, flattening it out carefully with a smile that could make you forget any of the horrific things he had just spoken of. ‘As I was saying, darling… I have a feeling you’d rather not end up like the other dirty thieves, so be a doll and prove to me that there was a use in letting you out of your cell after all.’

There it was. The reason for all of this. This was your punishment. Or some kind of redemption. He caught you going through his belonging, and now you had to pay for it— and pay with performing something you already felt to be impossible.

With him standing in front of you, hand still on your shoulder, you looked him directly in the eye. ‘How long do I have?’

The captain puckered his lips in thought and looked out the window. ‘As long as you can make use of the stars. Then I would really like to get back on course.’

Until sunrise, however long that could be. You had a few hours to find your current location and a path back to where you were headed.

‘What if I can’t do it?’ you pushed the question out of your tightening throat, scared of what the answer might be.

‘That is no mindset for you, princess.’ He brushed some hair out of your face. ‘You’re too smart for that. Now go on; no need to waste even more time.’ And with that, he set you on your way. Or, more accurately, he let go of you and made his way to the bed on the opposite side of the room. In the meantime, you felt like your feet were nailed to the ground, unsure of what to do next, scared of taking the wrong steps. All you could do was look around as if the answers were hidden in the cabin. It had not even been a minute, and you could feel your heart getting stuck in your throat, panic setting in. To give up had never been a feasible option for you before, and it still pained you to think of doing it, but the words were ready to leave your mouth. You win. Your lips parted, and your vocal cords croaked when you noticed something.

The letters were partly worn from contact but still reflected in the light. Either way, it wasn’t so much the letters that spoke to you, as you could not clearly read it from a distance, but the symbol above it. A golden star set on top of a leather book spine, winking at you in the fire.

Now with much more confidence, you took the needed strides towards the bookcase. It was pitch black leather, wrapped in a string to keep the delicate pages together. The book was situated on a lower shelf, pressed between other volumes, making it hard to remove.

‘Need help with that, princess?’ Munson sounded from behind you.

Instead of responding, you pulled at the book again, and this time, it fell out from the shelf with a stir as a pile of books near it moved about. Still giving no reaction to the words spoken, you got up and moved to the desk, unwrapping the tie from around the covers and letting it fall open in front of you. The pages were nearly pristine, the ink dark, as if it had never seen the light of day. This ink depicted excellent illustrations of creatures and men.

Despite being ignored by you, for once, the captain kept his distance and let you work while you searched for the correct pages. You could tell from notes that this was definitely the book you needed, as it told you everything you had to know, but the writing was small and not always legible. The pages were thin but rough to the touch. The writing was small, fitting as much information as the writer could cram between the covers. Most of it felt familiar, bringing you back to tales you had heard from your father or the governess. But navigating oneself with the stars' help required much knowledge and skill you still needed to possess.

You tried to focus on it as much as you could, and yet, despite the silence and the space between you, you couldn’t stop glancing his way. The captain lay on the bed, his head toward the door, facing you. Each time your eyes met, you pulled yourself away from it, returning to the words and drawings on the pages, but you could constantly feel his gaze on you. It was unnerving. It was as if he was standing right there in front of you.

‘I promise you, I will be more effective if I do not have to endure your constant breathing down my neck.’ Maybe it was your surprisingly peaceful few hours in solitude on board, the tankard of ale streaming through your blood, or even the overall situation placing the captain in a new light, but you felt bold. ‘So, will you please stop staring.’ You looked up, not even surprised to see him still looking directly at you.

‘What would you rather have me do, darling?’ he asked, almost affectionately… though that could not possibly be what it was.

‘For you to leave, and do not call me darling,’ you dared to express.

‘You want me to leave my own quarters?’ He raised a brow in humour.

‘Yes, that is exactly what I want,’ you explained.

‘Ah, well,’ he threw his hands up, rolling his eyes, ‘if it is exactly what the lady wants, that leaves me with very few options, doesn’t it?’ You watched him walk towards the door, perplexed at the ease with which he moved, …just to swerve around and lean against the door. ‘Oh, no, I suppose it doesn’t.’ He shrugged.

You did your best not to pay attention to whatever the captain was doing—which, in that instance, seemed to be humming some song. You did not recognise it, nor did you have a need to learn it. Especially since, at this moment, any sound from him boomed in your ears like a canon.

‘Must you be doing that? I am trying to concentrate for your own ship’s sake, if you do not recall.’

‘Apologies.’ He stopped, but the energy transferred into his legs, which shook his whole body with them, only softening the sound slightly, but the creaking of the wooden panels underneath him wasn’t much better. You couldn’t do this any longer.

The only thing on your mind was frustration as you slammed the book shut, picked it up and walked towards the door. The captain took one smooth step to the side and, when you pulled at the door handle, had expected it to remain in its bolts, but it opened so quickly that your slight pull was enough to throw you sideways. The night darkness welcomed you together with the cold sea air and confusion.

‘How long has this been open?’ You did not want to look at him and did not need to. You could tell what kind of smile he wore and how he must have enjoyed this moment as he answered.

‘Ever since I came back, princess.’ You could have left any time. You just took a deep breath and counted to three before turning his way and calmly saying something you had thought ever since your eyes fell upon him.

Well, at least better late than never. You stepped out onto the quarter deck without closing the door behind you. A man was half-asleep at the wheel, his entire body leaning on it. Luckily, someone had blocked it, avoiding the ship sailing in circles.

Besides the sleeping helmsman, no one else seemed to be above deck, most likely in their beds as deep night had arrived. There were no lights besides the fire lit in the captain’s office, so you let the darkness take you as you walked down the stairs…. But midway, as the light from the captain’s cabin remained in the distance, you realised your mistake.

‘For Heaven’s sake,’ you muttered under your breath and turned back around, climbing the steps, ignoring the burning hatred you felt in your body. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, you trotted your way back in. While your steps felt heavy, protesting your return into the room mentally, it was strange to walk so freely without all the layers your dress consisted of. With only a shirt over your upper body, you could feel each punch of the air on you, but in a strange sense, you welcomed it.

But stepping back inside, you felt your body heat up again, mainly from embarrassment rather than the soft fire lighting up the cabin. It had not even been a minute, and you were passing the threshold again. You had not expected, nor wanted, to have returned so soon. If luck was ever in your favour, you would never see the interior in your life again, but, unfortunately, there was no escaping from this room for you, as you seemed to be coming back no matter what.

‘Back so soon, princess?’ In the short time of your absence, Munson had returned to the bed and tilted his head at your entrance, grinning, ‘You must have missed me more than I thought.’

You scoffed, ‘for your information,’ and grabbed a lantern on a dressing table closest to the door… which was still too many steps inside for your liking, ‘I am simply gathering some light. It is too dark outside, I cannot read what's on the pages.’

‘Ah. Is that all then?’ he asked, returning his head onto his pillow, closing his eyes as if he was ready for sleep, ignoring his clothes and the stoic position in which he lay. But as you moved around the cabin, he had opened one eye to look your way. ‘I’d suggest you take a jacket, princess. It can be quite cold out there.’

‘You could have made a fine gentleman, Munson.’ You held your head high, not looking at him. ‘It is a shame you let yourself deteriorate at sea like your ship.’

‘That actually almost hurt me, darling. I’m impressed.’ He chuckled, eyes already closed again. With nothing else to say, you passed the large wardrobe and walked straight out of the room. Once again, you walked down the stairs, celebrated when your feet touched the last step and walked onto the ship's centre. Along with the crashing of the waves, you could hear each of your footsteps.

Something must have been in your favour, for the sky was without a cloud and in the darkness of the ship, you could see millions of stars twinkling. The moon was still but a sliver. It brought a similar-looking smile to your face.

You searched for the page you had deemed the most useful beginning and spread the book in your arm. Now, with the book open in your arm, with the flames lighting the pages from above, you gazed up at the stars. After a short moment, this position would not be possible to uphold. The two objects you held were too strong to keep up in the air. Remaining as calm as possible, ultimately pressing the captain out of your mind, you reread the pages.

To navigate through the stars, one must first find Polaris—the brightest star in the sky, right at the end of the Ursa Minor. The sky was clear, handing you the constellations on an onyx platter. The silver balls of fire were peppered around like crystals, gleaming and shimmering, but without a doubt, there was one that shined just a little bit brighter, calling to you with the direction of True North.

You had heard men talk of these methods at home and aboard the Red Tail, and they had always sounded relatively simple. If anything, you considered their constant complaints simply a part of manhood. Now that you were straining out your neck to look around at all the corners of the galaxy, you still did not think it to be much more complicated and so knew that the captain could not have felt any other way.

You had figured out his plan to punish you, and now the rationale behind this specific task came to you. It would not have been unexpected if he tasked you with this hassling job simply because he was too much of a sloth to do so himself. There was still a dim light in the office quarters, so you assumed he had not gone to sleep yet… or perhaps fallen asleep with all the candles still flickering. For a moment, your mind wandered to where the candles tipped over, caught some of the wood around, and never stopped burning.

Just for a moment, until your lantern started to feel hot against you as you held it too close. It felt so heavy. You had to set it on the ground, then sat down beside it with the book in your lap.

Some time passed, but who knew how long precisely you had been sitting out there. Your knees had started to hurt, as well as your spine, but giving up was not an option. The ship swayed back and forth against the waves, blurring your view, only making things more complicated. The wind kept lashing out, but you persisted, trying to calculate the ship's position, flipping back through the book to the pages on which a map had been etched out. You would do this if it was the last thing you did.

‘I will be done by sunrise, ’ you shouted as you heard footsteps behind you. The jingle of chains could have only been one person. You wiped some hair away that the wind blew in your face as you felt the captain’s presence behind you—like a deathly spectre hovering over you. ‘I– I promise.’ You said so more to yourself. Because while you had to prove yourself to him to live, you needed to prove to yourself that you could do this. You would persist and manage to find a way back home.

The captain said nothing; he did not linger around, watching you. The only thing he did, was throw down a large coat onto the ground, which fell onto the floorboards next to you with a thud. You blinked slowly, then turned around to him, but he was already returning to the cabin.

‘It will all be pointless if you freeze to death.’ And with that, he took his last steps and shut the door behind him. The light in his room immediately blackened, obscured by the stained glass in the small door window.

You looked down at the jacket. Like all those the captain wore, it was black but heavily layered. Decorated in what seemed like hand-stitched gold but not in any fashionable manner. The stitching was uneven and needed a clear pattern. The sleeves were falling apart but tied together with what once must have been a silver necklace. Several of them, even. You glanced once more in the direction of the captain’s cabin before putting the coat on. It swallowed you up but immediately brought over a sense of comfortable heat over your body. The soft material protected you against the wind. Now not feeling like your bones were becoming icicles, you began to feel some pleasure in the whole thing. As you kept working, you slowly forgot why you sat in the middle of the ship and let yourself be emersed by the stars. Being out there on your own was actually freeing in a strange sense. The darkness locked you out of your extended surroundings, placing you virtually anywhere.

Well, not anywhere. The constellations held the password to where you found yourself, and you would decrypt it anytime now.

But first, you needed to stretch your legs. The cracking of your joints was enough of a sign that you had sat on that floor long enough. With the lantern in hand, you walked in circles around the ship. The light swung in motion to your steps, in motion to the waves. When you looked out at the sea, you were greeted with two moons. One hung still in the sky while her sister swam in the waters. Mirrored images of each other, smiling and frowning in both directions, but never in reach. Conflicted, perhaps or maybe they simply managed to show you bits of yourself there?

You wanted to say something to them as you stood there, but no words felt right. So, peaceful silence it was. However, the longer you stood there, the more of an effect you thought from the hours you spent on the deck. And there was still so much you had to do. But you could do it.

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you leaned against the railing, placing the lantern beside you. The yawn pushed passed your lips without a choice but plenty of resistance. If you stayed there, you would probably fall asleep soon, which is ineffective. So, you grabbed the light, and with your free hand deep in your pocket to keep warm, you returned to your star gazing spot. But not one step in your brisk walk back, you halted. A feeling of something cold and hard against your hand occupied your entire mind there and then. When you pulled it out, you were unsure what it was, but the mechanism must have worn out through the years because it fell open in your hand, revealing a rose. Its arrow pointing right at you.

A compass.

Your head immediately shot toward the captain’s cabin, but the lights had gone out, and there was nothing more to make out of the darkness. Your eyes shut into narrow slits. He had brought you his own jacket and must have known what was in it.

The question now was, why? Why did he give it to you? Was he trying to help you by giving you this tool? Did he think you needed help to get anywhere? Well, you certainly did not. Especially when it could be a trap. The device could very well be defective and put you on the wrong trail, and then, if you were to give the captain the wrong directions, you knew he would not waste a second by punishing you. And this time, correctly.

Still, according to your calculations, North was meant to be behind you, so in that, the compass was correct, but you did not want to risk anything. An instinct told you to throw the thing away, right over the railing into the sea. Let it sink and make the captain watch. Just like you had to watch, your own ship disappear into the waters. It would have been a small taste of revenge, but it was a start.

The idea faded as soon as you shut the compass. You looked at the engraving on it—a detailed depiction of a bird–which kind, you could not quite tell. Perhaps a hawk… could it be… no, you doubted it was a Redtail. It could not be. The simple idea of that brought chills down your spine. How could Munson possess such an item; engraved with your town’s crest?

And it was old. As you had noticed, the clip keeping the two halves together was tethering on falling apart from frequent use, and the window of the rose was cracked. The metal of the shell had finger marks faded into it from the usual position it was held in by hands much larger than yours.

Not wanting to see it again, you pushed the compass deep down the pocket you had found it in. Determined to have the images erased from your mind by the rest of your task and the time pressure put on it, you retrieved your book.

It was harder done than said.

As you stood there, book and fire in hand, spinning around to position the stars as you pleased, the tiny silver lights blurred in your eyes. But you were so close, you could not stop now, not when you were so close. Ignoring the burn of the compass at your thigh as your mind whirred with solutions. With North decided for, and with the latitude… no longitude— and if the charts were pointed this way— then, God, you could not keep this book up anymore. Your arm screamed from the weight of the pages.

Back on the ground, you resumed your final observations. Flipping between the map and the charts, exchanging glances with the book and stars. Yes, if that was North, then… then… you checked the map once more, locating your home definitively.

You did it. You actually did it. It could have been minutes, maybe hours; you could not tell with certainty how much time you had spent on the task, but as you shut the book, so did your body. You fell back onto the deck with a tired smile. It could have been the fatigue, but the stars shone slightly brighter for you, gleaming with pride.

They also became blurrier. Your eyes turned heavy. But you kept staring up with a smile. At least, you do not remember ever stopping. Even if it is possible you fell asleep at some point, you could not tell at what point exactly. All you knew was that you dreamt. And for once, your mind was free of nightmares. As much as your world was free of them, at least. But it had to be a dream.

How else would he appear out of the shadows? Why else did you see him looking down at you; impossible to tell for how long. His features free of anger, mischief or bad intentions, unnatural. He stood there at the balustrade next to the helm. It was impossible to tell how long he had stood there in the dark.

And his walk. It was utterly silent, free of chains or heavy steps. That could have been only your brain letting you rest. His touch was feather soft as he picked you up in his arms.

You shouldn’t have stayed out here this long. He sighed in disappointment, but not in you.

You told me to— you mumbled.

I know. The floor became unstable. You were floating in the air, rising up. Only his hold there to keep you grounded. The one time you should have been stubborn and not listen. Why did you not just go to bed?

I want to go home, Eddie. Why else would you say this if it was not a dream? You could never imagine yourself opening up to him this way. Let him carry you like that. And if you had, it would never feel this good or safe to be held by him.

I know. He repeated himself. There was a shift. No longer in his arms, you were floating on a cloud, but his voice echoed around you. I’m sorry.

None of this could have been real. These could not be the words of captain Munson. But they still stayed with you as your dreams ventured on into other stories. All just as pleasant, the nightmares of all the nights before merely bad memories, never to be repeated again.

I did it, you said quickly before he disappeared, to be replaced by your new figment. North East. Go Northeast.

Here is your final reason. The proof you had dreamt it all. A silent moment, full of hesitation. Then, a fluttering touch of lips on your forehead and a hand brushing your cheek gently. If this had been real life, you would have turned away and let yourself burn in anger, but instead, your lips formed into a smile, and for the first time in forever, you felt at peace.

And just like that, like in any other dream, he was gone while your mind brought you to other fantastical places and told you stories you would not remember. It was a night of wondrous bliss, of rest. Filled with dreams as the stars watched over you.

Only at daybreak did it all change. When the morning sun glowed golden through the large window. Only at that moment you began thinking that maybe, just maybe, you were wrong. Perhaps not all of it had been a dream, for when you woke up, you were not on the ship's deck nor down in your cell. When you woke up, you did so in a bed.

The captain’s bed, of all places.

Chapter 5

thank you so much for reading!! if you want more of where this came from, check out my masterlist.

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taglist:

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ghouljams · 27 days

Note

does soap ever realise he wants to fuck hush? and does he do it?

There's this weird hesitation with Soap. Despite summoning a demon the man was raised in a religious household, and there's a little bit of internalized homophobia. Soap has these feelings about men, but he sort of assumes everyone has them. Of course he's looked in the showers, who hasn't? He just admires his LT, and the only times he's kissed a guy it was Gaz and he was drunk so that doesn't count. And now you've kissed him, and you offered him sex, and you were so casual with it that it's almost shocking. Shouldn't you be a little quieter? Keep your voice down about that stuff.

Soap's not homophobic, that's not the problem, he's fine with gay folks and all of that, but for him... for him... There's a certain way John Mactavish is supposed to be, and suddenly he's having trouble keeping that straight in his head. How are you so comfortable with yourself? How are you so comfortable with him?

How do you grab him and smile at him with such easy confidence? How do you slap his shoulder for attention and not freeze? How do you not think about that quick excited kiss every time you're with him? (At least not in any awkward way Soap can see) It boggles the mind. He obsesses over it. Not because it was bad or awkward, but because it was so exuberant and joyful, and good. Because even though his ears were ringing and his head was starting to spin the world had focused in on how warm your lips were against his.

It must have been a fluke, adrenaline making everything feel more. That doesn't explain why he keeps thinking about it. Soap doesn't know why he keeps thinking about it. He just knows that it's all he can think about. Every time you drape an arm around his shoulders, every time you knock your arm against his, every time you look at him in confusion when he re-buffs your attempts to cuddle.

Soap misses the weight of you laying on him, misses the way you'd purr when he scratched at your scalp, misses the warmth. He's not cold to you, but he doesn't know how he's supposed to...

God.

You hold an arm out across the small entryway to Soap's barrack, stopping him from leaving. You look cross, or maybe just more serious than you usually do. It makes him uneasy, he likes that you're usually in a good mood, that you can match his humor, match his energy. Now you look cross.

"Can't stand to see me go?" Soap grins, settling a hand on the corner of the hall. You cross your arms and lean against the wall, terrible habit for someone who supposedly was military.

"Love to watch you leave," You smile back, it pinches something in Soap's chest, "but not why I stopped you." You tip your head, eyes searching Soap's, he raises a brow, cocks his head to try and usher you to continue. You come to some sort of conclusion and sniff. "What's wrong?"

"A man cannae have a lick of privacy?" Soap tries to joke, but you raise your brows, waiting him out. "Nothing's wrong." He crosses his arms, uncrosses them, swings them back to parade rest.

"You're upset about somethin'." You don't press, but you certainly have a way of making it known you're referring to something specific, "What did I do?"

"Dinnae dae anythin'," Soap attempts to push past you, "We're fine." You catch him around the middle and Soap feels a rush of heat hit his cheeks at how solid a wall you are. You tip your head to speak closer to him.

"It's the sex thing, right?" You tell him low, it doesn't help the heat or the chill that runs down his spine, "We don't have to have sex, I'm eating fine."

"Good," Soap tells you quickly, shaking off your hold. "Dinnae want tae have sex with ya." He says it plainly, believably, but you make a hummed noise of disbelief. "Ah don't."

"You do." You say it like it's nothing. Soap switches tactics.

"You want tae fuck me, s'alright lots of people do," He tosses a wink your way, a crooked smile. You measure his smile with your own.

"I just don't want it to affect our work."

"It won't." Soap assures you.

It already is.

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap cod #soap mw2 #oc: hush #m!reader #demon!darlings au #Soap kneeling in confessional: hope this doesn't awaken anything in me #Soap meeting hush #a hot demon: oh no it awakened the wrong thing...

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bucky-barnes-diaries · 2 years

Text

Day 21 — Thigh Fucking

Pairing || Beefy!CatholicPriest!Bucky x Inexperienced!Innocent!Virgin!Female!Reader

Word Count || Around 2000

Contents & Warnings || Smut, Dark/Taboo Themes — NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, non-con, explicit content/language, pet names, religious themes, blasphemy of religion, sacrilegious acts, biblical references, sexual content involving a catholic priest, strict/religious parents, age-gap (Reader is early 20s, Bucky is early/mid 30s), Father kink, priest kink, size kink, corruption kink, authority kink, inappropriate/forceful touches, begging, thigh fucking, mention of bodily fluids.

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Kinktober Masterlist

Most Sundays after mass, you would accompany Father James in tidying up the beloved church of your small community. Some people would probably be annoyed being tasked with cleaning and organising, but you seized every opportunity to be in his presence, knowing what it would most likely lead to when you and he were alone.

You were in the process of placing Bibles on the pews in front while casually humming along to the soft radio echoing through the vast and holy hall. Your mid-length dress rose slightly as you bent over to place the books down. It was such a small gesture that you didn't think much of it, but it seemed like someone had caught a glimpse of you.

It was hard to ignore the manifestation that lurked up behind you—the essence that exuded from him. His unholy and ungodly behaviour was out to show and play. All of his holiness put away for the day.

His broad and muscular chest made soft contact with your back—a significant contrast to the determined power that radiated from him. You automatically tilted your head slightly to the side as your body had become accustomed to this scenario since it wasn't the first time Father James had crept up behind you like this.

His lips skimmed your earlobe, and his warm breath tickled the sensitive skin of your neck, making a wave of shivers flow down your spine. He placed his colossal palm on your clothed mound, pulling you flush into his firm chest, making you lightly gasp. The hardness that outlined his tight pants rubbed against your behind, and he groaned so deep in your ear that you felt a delicious tingle in your stomach.

“When will you finally let me defile this innocent little cunt of yours, sweet thing?” His alluring voice dropped an octave lower when he spoke, making your knees almost buckle at the sinister tone. You clutched a bible tightly to your chest, making Father James chuckle as you held onto the frail words of God, but that wouldn't help you here when the mighty Devil had come out to play.

This wasn't the first time Father James had shown you the ways of impureness, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

But losing your virginity? That was a step you were not ready to take, not yet, at least. You weren't willing to give up your pureness, not when it was so engrained in your brain by your strict religious parents that sex was a great sin unless conducted between a man and a woman that had been wed in holy matrimony.

“When will you finally let me corrupt this tiny pussy, angel?” He uttered again as he groped your covered core, wanting an answer from you.

Father James had never forced his way on you in the sense of penetrative sex, but he did lust for it every sexual moment you had together, and it seemed like he was trying his hand on it again. But you just couldn't.

“Father, I-I can't. I-I'm sorry.”

He groaned in slight annoyance as he put more pressure on your poor core, making you shut your eyes tight before he loosened his grip. You felt ashamed that you couldn't please him the way he wished the most, but you wanted to make him satisfied in a way he had taught you some weeks ago.

“But, I-I can get on m-my knees a-and worship you.”

He chuckled darkly at your willingness to submit to him in the sense of wicked prayer and worship.

“Or, we can both be pleased and blessed at the same time while still keeping the pureness that you so desperately hold on to.”

“I-I don't understand, Father.” You'd only known blowjobs and fingering from him. What other possible solutions did he have for pleasure that didn't involve those two and penetrative sex?

“Let me show you.” He growled like a possessed man.

He came to stand in front of you, towering over your small frame with his enormous one, a sinister smirk and a sinful glimmer in his eyes. His pants and long-sleeve shirt were as dark as his demeanour. The white clerical collar was the only thing that indicated that this was a man of God, after all. You practically shook, in both exhilaration and horror, for what his wicked plan was as you peered up at him.

He took the book from you and tossed it to the side before he sat down at the pew and relaxed his arms on the back of it, and spread his thick legs. Since he was now at your eye level, it was a little less scary, but still, you became flustered as you stared into his crystal eyes with hints of darkness, so you averted them to the floor as you twiddled with your fingers.

“Take off your dress.”

Your eyes went wide at his words. You've never undressed for him, ever. The thought terrified you—in both factors that it was sinful to reveal your flesh and fear that Father James would be disappointed in what you had to offer.

“Father, I-”

“Take. It. Off.”

With shaking hands, you slowly lifted the dress off your body and let it drop beside you. Once it was off and you stood bare in front of him with nothing on than your peachy cotton underwear. His devilish behaviour displayed a hint of softness as he leaned forward a little, and his lips parted in awe.

The way his eyes skimmed all over your untouched flesh made you incredibly shy to be so exposed to him, so you brought your hands up to cover yourself, prompting Father James to be highly disappointed.

“Hey,” he took your hands in his and pried them away from your body and pulled you to him until you stood between his open legs. “Don't shy away from me, sweet thing,” you met his eyes again that now held nothing but adoration in them, “you're the most perfect angel ever to walk this earth. God spent his time perfecting your beautiful body. So pretty, sweet one.” Heat rose to your cheeks at his sincere compliments.

“T-thank you, Father.”

As quickly as his sweetness came, it disappeared in a flash, and he returned to his true and wicked nature. He chuckled darkly as he undid his belt and pants, pulling them down with his underwear until his mighty impressive dick stood heavy and erect. The sheer size of him always left you astonished and nervous at the same time.

Father James always found it amusing how innocently in awe you were at the size of him. He took great pleasure in how his dominant and assertive demeanour contrasted to your innocent and inexperienced one. It drove him wild with desire.

“Turn around for me.”

With wobbly legs, you turned around until you faced the altar, peering up at Jesus hanging from the cross as you said your forgiveness for the great sin that would be conducted in this holy church.

“Oh, sweet little thing.” His massive palms took a soft grasp on your hips and pulled you closer until the back of your thighs met his inner ones, and his throbbing length rested against your behind. “You're so godly perfect,” he mumbled, softly kissing your shivering spine.

He peeled your panties off and quickly found your folds as he ran his fingers through the sticky arousal, making a breathy and needy sound escape your mouth as he played with you.

“Your little pussy is so messy, sweet thing. Are you sure you don't want me to take your innocence? It seems like your pretty cunt wants it.”

“N-no, Father,” you softly sobbed.

Suddenly, his fingers disappeared and were replaced with his bulbous head teasing your quivering opening. You tried wiggling away from him, but he kept a steady and firm grip on your mound.

“I can just slide in here, you know. Force my cock through your tiny velvet walls and split you in half. It's not like a frail little girl like you can stop me,” he sneered as he pushed just half an inch inside you.

“N-no, Father, p-please,” you cried as you shut your eyes tight, forcing tears back. Your fingernails dug into his plump thighs to brace yourself in case he didn't care for your pleas to stop.

“It's ok, sweet thing.” He kissed your spine again as an apology for taking it a little too far. “I won't be that cruel. Let’s both be blessed and pleased while still keeping within your boundaries, yeah?”

“Y-yes, Father.”

He situated the upper side of his thick length against your delicate flower. “Keep your thighs closed. I need you nice and tight for me,” he demanded in a husky tone.

You closed your thighs around his whole dick, moaning softly as he throbbed against your leaking folds. A groggy groan sounded from him as you squeezed hard, resulting in some of his pre-cum squirting out of his tip and coating your bundle of pleasure.

“Please,” you pleaded sweetly, making him groan against your spine as he left a sloppy kiss on your skin.

He took a firm grip on your hips, wanting total control of your body. With a heavy grunt, he drags himself back before pushing forward between your folds again, his tip flickering your sensitive nerve, making you gasp softly at the buzzing tingle.

His groans are thick and heavy as he moves with slow movements into you repeatedly. His dick splits your folds in half as he runs through your slick mess with his girth while his bulbous head bumps and leaks against your tingling and needy nerve with each slow and torturous thrust. The slickness makes it easier for him to pump through your tight flesh effortlessly.

“Father, it feels so good,” you mew as your eyes struggled to stay open as you peered up at Jesus on the cross again, who looked mighty disappointed at the violation happening in his church.

Your soft and pretty whines and cries prompt Father James to handle your body with such ease as he drags you into his heavy and rough thrusts, making your luscious behind smack against his pelvis.

“God, your thighs feel amazing, sweet thing. I can imagine how good your tiny hole must feel. One day I'll corrupt it and make you all mine,” he groaned possessively, making your empty walls flutter around nothing.

A swarm of tantalising butterflies tingled and teased at the pit of your stomach, aching to be released and provide that heavenly and sinful sensation that would ascend you into pleasure.

“O-oh, Father, please. I-I,” your words were broken off by a series of high-pitched moans and whines as you came for him. Your body shaking, and hadn't it been for Father James holding you up; you would have collapsed to the floor due to the raging intensity coursing through your nerves.

His hips stuttered as his thick and raspy voice sang praises to the good Lord while his holy seed painted your swollen folds and stomach. He was breathing heavy and hard as he thrust through both of your highs, making sure you both felt blessed and satisfied.

He hissed while you whined when he pulled away from your tight and used flesh, plopping you down on his lap and making you rest your head on his strong shoulder. He wrapped his arms around your frail and tired body as he gave you some much-needed gentle care and love.

“Good girl,” he praised you while you melted further into his warm and comforting touch as he kissed your forehead, making you sigh in relief and contentment.

“T-thank you, Father.”

“No, thank you, sweet thing. For keeping myself and the Lord happy.”

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queerism1969 · 1 year

Text

General stuff I wish more cis people knew:

Being trans is a situation one is born into. No, trans children are not cis kids who are being manipulated or abused by parents because it's "trendy". That shit is just a modern reworking of the "gays are recruiting kids into homosexuality!" bullshit from the 70's and 80's.

Trans women are not "biologically male" and trans men are not "biologically female". Transition causes massive biological changes; trans men who are on testosterone and have had a hysterectomy have far more biologically in common with cis men than with cis women, and trans women who are on estrogen and have had reconstructive surgery have far more biologically in common with cis women than with cis men.

The existence of trans people is not a recent phenomenon, and the number of trans people is not increasing. Trans people have always existed; there are just more out trans people now.

Trans women are not gay men who attempt to become women in response to homophobia, trans men are not women who attempt to become men in response to sexism, and trans people would still exist and still need to transition even if both homophobia and sexism were eliminated.

Many trans women are bi or lesbian; many trans men are bi or gay (attracted to other men) (see p.28-29)

Allowing trans women and girls to use the same public facilities as other women (e.g., restrooms, locker rooms, etc) does not put cis women and girls at risk

That there are not more trans women than there are trans men.

Most trans people are not visibly identifiable as trans

Being trans and/or transition is not biblically condemned, and being trans/transitioning is not universally condemned by mainstream religious organizations

Spelling and grammatical notes:

It's transgender, not "transgendered"

It's dysphoria, not "dysmorphia". Dysmorphia is an unrelated anxiety condition on the OCD spectrum.

Transgender is an adjective, not a noun. So there are transgender people, but nobody is "a transgender".

The word cis is a Latin prefix, not an acronym, so there's no need to capitalize it as CIS. Cis is short for cisgender, which is the opposite of transgender. The prefix cis- means "on this side/on the same side", while trans- means "across/beyond/on the other side". E.g., cislunar vs. Translunar orbits

Faux pas to avoid:

Don't ask about our genitals unless you're our doctors or there's mutual interest in sex. Don't ask about "the surgery" either, which is still really just asking about our genitals

Same goes for the graphic details of our sex lives. Unless we're already in the kind of relationship where we casually discuss these matters, it's none of your business

When talking about something a trans person did before they transitioned, refer to them by the name and pronouns they use now unless they have specifically told you otherwise. It's like talking about someone who used to be married to an abusive asshole, but has since divorced him and stopped using his name. Even if talking about something she did while still married, I really hope you wouldn't call her "Mrs. Abusive Ex". That would be spectacularly tactless. That's not her name now and not how she wants to be known.

Never out someone unless they have given you explicit permission to do so. Don't assume that because they're out to some people that they are comfortable having others know that aspect of their medical history

If you accidentally refer to someone by the wrong pronouns, just correct yourself and move on. Don't dwell on it, just make a serious effort to not do it again

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understanding-hold-on · 6 months

Text

a complete list of Blackbeard's crimes for anyone wondering.

initially shared by Lindsey Cantrell, part of set decoration department(linds_cantrell on insta), but I found it on firiel14's page:)

all of these are so fucking funny. not just "communism", but "communism(whatever that is?)"

everybody is referring to how awful and bad Edward's crimes were without Stede, while he was just delivering babies without permission from the government. how could Stede resist.

id under cut.

[ID: a very beaten up piece of yellowish paper, with a list of crimes in various orders:

"SHOPLIFTING - HORSE RUSTLING

IMPERSONATING A VICAR- DISTURBING THE PEACE

CLIMATE CHANGE DENIAL

TRESPASSING-BEAT POETRY

SMART CASUAL ATTIRE AT A FORMAL FUNCTION

EXCESSIVE SPEED WITHIN A HARBOUR

IMPROPER USE OF A DIVE SIGNAL FLAG

OFFENSIVE SEMAPHORE

UNLICENCED MIDWIFERY

WEARING A WIG AS A HAT

PROPPING UP A MINOR DICTATOR

FAILING TO SIGNAL AT A ROUNDABOUT CHANGING THE WORD "GOD" TO "DOG" IN "GOD SAVE THE QUEEN"

COMMANDERING A COFFIN

EXCESSIVE MIRTH AT THE FUNERAL OF A WORK COLLEAGUE

FLASHMOBBING

PARDONING A WAR CRIME

IMPRISONING A CAT

DEFACING THE PYRAMIDS

CONSPIRACY THEORISING THE SACRED GEOMETRY

ATHEISM

PROLIFERATING RELIGIOUS PROPAGANDa

"COMMUNISM" WHATEVER THAT IS

WITCHCRAFT

POTTING IRONIC ASHTRAYS

BOOTLEGGING ABSINTHE

DILUTING GUNPOWDER

BREAKING CURFEW

CREATING CURFEWS

PLAGIARISM

IMPROPER CITATIONS IN AN ACADEMIC DOCUMENT

NEITHER CEASING, NOR DECISTING

PROVIDING INEQUAL OPPORTUNITES

STICKING IT TO "THE MAN'

BEARING FALSE WITNESS

CART RENTAL UNDER A FRAUDULENT NAME

ECHIDNA TRAFFICKING

GENOCIDE (PROBABLY)

RENTING OUT AN UN-INSULATED ABODE

INCITING (A) RIOT(S)"

end id]

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd 2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd s2 #edward teach #blackbeard #and his henious crimes #(he did prop a dictator but they were a minor so i think everyone was okay)

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daydreamtofiction · 3 months

Text

Thou Shalt Not Covet // 10: Baptism

Contents | Part 9 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Benedict x Female Reader) The morning after stirs up a new Ellis, one who returns home with a newfound fire.

Word Count: 4.8K

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, religious imagery, sexual references, scenes of verbal & physical conflict. Readers must be 18+

"Shit."

You stirred slowly at the sound of Father Benedict's voice, his weight disappearing from beside you, making the mattress bounce and the bed frame creak.

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit shit." The words left him in a panicked hiss, each utterance catching between his teeth.

You opened one eye, vision fuzzy in the dull morning light, too tired to make sense of what was happening. Why was he swearing? Had he already begun to regret what you'd done?

He hurried across the bedroom in a blur of bare skin and frantic whispers, hopping and stumbling into a pair of underpants as he made his way towards the window.

"What's wrong?" you croaked, watching as he craned around the curtain, peering down towards the ground outside.

A knock at the front door answered your question. He ducked down quickly, adjusting himself in his pants as he slowly rose back up again. Another knock.

"Fuck," he whispered. "Shit, fuck-"

"Father?" a distant voice called out. "Father, are you in there?"

"Is that June?" you asked quietly, eyes widening as you sat up and clutched the duvet to your bare chest, as though the sound of her voice alone was enough to make you feel indecent.

He groaned despairingly into his hands as she knocked again, calling out to him with concern through the letterbox.

"What's going on?" you whispered. "Why is she here?"

"Because I- shitting hell," he hissed. "I overslept."

"For what?"

"Morning bloody prayer. I can't believe I-" He stopped, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before unlatching the window and pushing it open. "June! June, up here," he shouted, waving down at her with an apologetic smile. "I am... so sorry, I- I wasn't feeling well last night and I've slept in."

"You slept in?" she replied. Her voice was faint, the wind carrying most of it away. "But I've already opened the church doors-"

"No, no that's fine. Really, I just have to get dressed and then I'll be there."

"Well people've already started arriving. What do I do in the meantime?"

"Tell her to try out some of her standup material," you muttered from the bed.

He choked back a laugh and swatted his hand at you, like a silent telling off. "Just-" He cleared his throat, taking a moment to straighten his face. "Just tell them I'm running late but shouldn't be more than a few minutes."

You weren't sure if she said anything else after that - the woman tended to mumble at the best of times - but the sound of her footsteps fading over the gravel driveway made it clear she was retreating.

Father Benedict shut the window and turned around, blowing out a puff of air as he leaned back against the wall. "I can't believe I overslept."

"You were up late, to be fair," you replied.

He allowed his eyes to wander, just for a moment, over the messy bed, your bare thigh peeking through a gap in the duvet. "Still," he began, shaking it away and rushing to the wardrobe. "I have a responsibility to my congregation, I can't just... not show up, it's..."

You sat quietly as he rummaged through his clothes, hanger hooks screeching as he moved them back and forth along the rail. He pulled out a shirt and shrugged it on, turning towards you as he buttoned it up.

"This isn't how I'd ideally have liked this morning to go. But I shouldn't be gone for more than a couple of hours," he said. "I lead prayer, then afterwards I host a small social meet for some elderly members, but it won't take long."

Your back straightened slightly. "Y-you... want me to stay here while you're gone?"

"Yeah," he replied casually as he grabbed a pair of trousers and stepped into them. "Unless- Do you have to be somewhere?"

"No- well, not until later."

"Okay. Just... help yourself to something to eat, preferably stay away from the windows-"

You giggled.

"And I'll drive you home when I get back."

"You really don't have to-"

"I want to."

You conceded, nodding softly and settling back against the headboard.

He pulled open a drawer and grabbed a pair of socks before hooking his fingers into his shoes and making his way towards the door. "Okay, back soon."

"You might want to fix your hair," you called out.

He stopped, turning back to look at you as he ran a hand through the wild locks. "Better?"

"It'll do."

You sat on the back doorstep of the rectory, warming your hands on a mug of tea as you watched your dress blowing on the washing line. Last night's storm had given way to a mild morning, but the wind still had a bite, making the dress flutter and dance in the air, the bright yellow fabric billowing like a flag at full mast. You never drank tea; why you'd chosen to make some now was a mystery. It just felt right, the kind of thing a normal person would do whilst they sat waiting for clothes to dry.

The garden was quaint and secluded, a boarder of thick bushes and tall trees beyond the mossy stone walls, enclosing the small pocket of green in total privacy. You sipped your tea as birds chirped and bounced from tree to tree, the smell of the toast you'd made still drifting out from the kitchen.

Maybe this kind of life wouldn't be so bad, you thought. You were sure you could learn to like tea, hang washing on the line every morning, make breakfast as birds sang beyond the garden wall. You could bake cakes for parish fundraisers, have a bunch of kids and give them 'sensible' names like Jacob or Charlotte, take them to mass every weekend, say grace around the dinner table. Maybe it wouldn't matter that you didn't actually believe in any of it, because once the church doors closed and the kids went to bed, it'd be just the two of you. And he already knew, but he wanted you anyway.

"God, Ellis, get a grip," you muttered. "One night together and suddenly you're the pastor's wife."

You rose to your feet, pausing on the doorstep to gaze up at a blanket of soft grey clouds rolling in overhead. It was going to rain again, you thought. You made your way back into the kitchen and tipped the last of the tea down the drain, swilling the mug with water and drying it with a tea towel. It was nice to see an empty sink; no plates covered in dried food, no wet, grimy sponges or wine glasses rimmed with Gina's lipstick.

Gina.

Your stomach turned at the thought of her; how she was probably at home right now waiting for you to come back, or maybe she didn't even care that you were gone. Could you even call that place home anymore? Home was supposed to be a sanctuary; a place of warmth, comfort, safety. Yet all that house seemed to be was a collection of closed doors, strangers with familiar faces and rooms you never spent time in.

The sound of the front door latch made you still, a click followed by a creak, footsteps moving through the house towards you. For a moment you worried it may not be him, how you would explain why you were there, alone, wearing clothes that didn't belong to you. But the fear was fleeting, quelling instantly when a deep, rich voice chimed from the living room.

"Ellis? Are you still here?"

"Yeah, I'm in here," you replied.

He stepped halfway through the door with a smile; the same smile you'd come to look forward to whenever you arrived at church. It was charming, gracious, every inch of his face brightening the moment he laid eyes on you. You smiled back, though you weren't sure you could ever produce an expression as naturally warm as his.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

"Look what I found." He moved further into the kitchen, revealing a small leather handbag dangling by its strap over his index finger.

He handed it to you with a smile and you thanked him in a relieved sigh, making your way to the kitchen table and unzipping it with haste. He pulled out the chair beside you and sat down too, stealing a piece of half-eaten toast from the plate you'd left on the table and munching on it quietly as he watched you.

You took out your phone, tapping your thumbs with futility against the shiny black screen. "Dead," you said. "Thought as much."

"I think I have a charger somewhere if-"

"Nah it's okay. Haven't paid my phone bill so it makes no difference anyway."

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he swept the crumbs off his hands. "Do you want to use my phone?"

"You have a phone?"

"Why wouldn't I have a phone?"

"I don't know, just hard to imagine a priest... texting."

"I text."

You couldn't help the amusement creeping across your face, the thought of his name popping up on your screen; what would you save him as? Ben? Father Benedict? Perhaps just Father would suffice. Daddy?- No, Ellis.

"Do you think priests take vows to live like it's the 1800's or something?" he asked.

You shrugged. "I just assumed if you needed to use a phone you'd have one of those old rotary ones or something."

"Oh my god." He laughed, too amused to notice the blasphemous slip.

You slid the phone back into your bag and dragged the zip closed slowly, watching each metal tooth knit together with far more focus than the task required.

He stopped laughing and cocked his head, eyes darting over your face. "Are you alright?"

"Hm?"

"You. Are you okay?"

You remained quiet for a moment, chewing the inside of your cheek in thought. "Y'know I've never liked that question. It's too broad, don't you think? Makes my brain feel all jumbled."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, okay in what sense? Physically? Mentally? Right this minute or in life in general?" You relaxed slightly into the back of your chair. "Sometimes, people don't even actually want to know how you are at all, they're just saying it instead of 'hello'..."

A smile curled slightly at one side of his mouth. "Well I actually want to know how you are."

"In which way?"

"Let's go with all of them. How are you? In every iteration."

"Hm. Well, physically, I'm tired, a little sore, my foot is killing me. But emotionally I feel... weirdly calm; like last night changed something in me. But I'm not necessarily sure that's a bad thing."

"You feel different?"

"Yeah. Don't you?"

He let his head fall slightly to one side, his gaze turning distant, just for a moment. "No." He shook his head, focusing his attention back on you. "Honestly, I thought I would. I went to sleep last night convinced I'd wake up full of regret and shame and- no offence-"

"Mm," you replied sarcastically.

"But I didn't. I still felt... like me. Like nothing's changed."

"Even after all that sinning you did?" you joked. "You sinned a lot, father."

He dropped his head to hide a smirk. "Hey, what happens in the rectory stays in the rectory."

Your shoulders shook with a chuckle, making him smile.

"I like it when you laugh," he said softly. "You don't do it enough."

You glanced across at him; at those sea foam eyes, so striking against the tired red of their waterlines.

"I have a stupid laugh," you replied quietly.

He smiled, shifting in his seat to move himself closer, his body leaning in slowly towards you. "You have a lovely laugh."

It was strange, how even after a night like last night - after growing so familiar with the intricacies of his body and submitting yours so willingly to him - the sight of his face edging closer, lips parting gently in anticipation, was still so butterfly-inducing.

You'd resigned yourself to the idea that you'd never get to kiss him again, that when the sun rose that morning, all of the intimacy you'd shared would be washed away with last night's storm. Yet here you were, gazing at him through heavy lashes, your focus rolling slowly back and forth between his eyes and mouth as you sat perfectly still, letting him come to you. Closer and closer until you couldn't see anything but him, couldn't hear anything besides your own heartbeat, the gentle pattering of rain against the kitchen window.

Rain.

"Oh, shit!" You jumped up quickly and bolted to the back door, throwing it open and hurrying over the grass towards the washing line.

You were back in the dress, although you weren't sure it resembled sunshine much anymore. There were patches that hadn't fully dried, smudges of dirt from holding your shoes in your lap, and a small bloodstain on the skirt. Yesterday, you'd felt pretty when you put it on. Today, you hadn't even dared glance at your own reflection.

Father Benedict turned the heat up in the car, sliding the vents to point the warm air in your direction. You were thankful for it, relaxing back into the seat and staring out the window as he drove, slowing for a red light almost as soon as he pulled out of the church grounds.

"So where are you going to say you were last night?" he asked.

You could tell the question had been itching to get out, dancing on his tongue until he finally found the right moment to let it spill.

"I haven't thought about it," you replied. "Suppose it's none of their business where I was."

"What if anyone else asks?"

You narrowed your eyes at him, sensing there was a specific answer he wanted to hear, one that would free the tension he'd been holding in his shoulders since he'd got behind the wheel.

"I'm not going to tell anyone what happened, Father," you finally replied, trying your best to make your voice sound soft, reassuring, trustworthy.

He glanced over at you for a second before fixing his gaze back on the road, the light finally turning green again.

"Thank you," he said. "I mean, it's not that I- I'm not saying I want to pretend this never happened or anything. I just..."

"Want to pretend this never happened."

He laughed gently through his nose. "No. I just need to figure out the best way to navigate through-"

"Navigate," you groaned teasingly. "God, you sound like an internet life coach."

He rolled his eyes. "Navigate is a perfectly normal word."

"It's a fluffer. You're fluffing up the point you're trying to make."

He looked at you again, longer this time. "Alright. I don't want to give up my priesthood."

"I know. I never expected you would."

"It's who I am. My faith, it's... such an integral part of me. And that's not me saying last night wasn't also me. I just... You've thrown some things into question, made me act in ways that definitely wouldn't go down well if the church found out."

"I made you?"

He smirked. "Mhm, all your fault."

You turned back to the window, biting your lip to suppress a smile. "At least you won't have to deal with me hanging around the church anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"Well I admitted I lied. I'm just a big fat nonbeliever. No reason for me to attend services anymore."

He paused in thought, steering the car smoothly with his large, agile hands. The movement made you shiver; the sight of his fingers curling around the wheel, the protruding knuckles and prominent veins, even more attractive now you knew what it felt like to have them on you.

"So does that mean you won't be coming to help out on Thursday?" he asked, entirely oblivious to your ogling.

"Thursday?"

"The communion session."

You closed your eyes, letting out a long, exasperated exhale. "Shit," you whispered. "I forgot about that."

"You don't have to come if you don't want to," he said. "I can make do-"

"No, no, I offered to help out."

With every traffic light, every turn of a corner and familiar street, you felt the tension turning your limbs to stone. Nerves flooded your stomach at the thought of walking back into that house, confronting the people you somehow wanted to slap and thank at the same time.

Father Benedict bumped the kerb gently, rolling to a stop beside the front gate. He pulled the handbrake, the car plummeting into silence as he switched off the engine, the only sound coming from your deep intake of breath, the sigh that left you as you turned your head to face him.

You took a moment to look at him, to let your eyes skim over every line and curve of his face. You would see him again, of course you would, but not like this.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" he asked.

You nodded, allowing a quick smile before grabbing your bag and the straps of your shoes.

"Ellis..."

You glanced back up to find him staring straight ahead through the windshield, head tipped back slightly against the headrest.

"I meant what I said last night." He didn't look at you. "You shouldn't let anyone who isn't worthy go near you again."

It made everything feel more real, somehow, hearing those words repeated without the cloud of heat and lust surrounding you.

"Promise me," he said, finally making eye contact.

"I promise." The words left you in an awkward stammer, mouth moving before your brain had a chance to catch up.

You undid your seatbelt and reached for the door handle, the hinges groaning and grinding as you pushed your elbow against the door, always forgetting how stiff it was until you found yourself fighting to open it.

You leaned all of your weight into it, but it didn't budge. "It's jammed," you said. "Like actually jammed this time."

He sighed and unclipped his seatbelt. "Honestly, this piece of shit car," he mumbled as he leaned over to help.

His body was stretched across yours, so close you could see the muscles straining in his neck, feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. You pressed your back into the seat to give him more room, watching his throat bob with a hard swallow as he pushed on the door, finally getting it to open.

"There we are," he groaned.

"Thanks," you said softly.

He looked at you, still leant over your body, eyes falling to your chest as it rose and fell with slow, heavy breaths. And when his gaze snapped back up to meet yours, there was an entirely different expression on his face.

"Alfie!" Gina's voice screeched in the distance, turning the heat between you ice cold.

You turned to see her on the front doorstep of the house, her panic and anger clear despite the distance between you.

"Alfie! It's Ellis, she's back!"

You sighed and climbed out of the car, closing the door behind you with your hip.

"Where the fuck have you been!?"

You didn't answer her, walking barefoot over the pavement towards the gate, barely getting it open before Alfie appeared at her side. He pushed past her, steam practically rising from the top of his head as he came bounding down the path towards you.

"What the fuck are you playing at, Ellis!?" he shouted.

You'd never seen him like this before, so aggressive in his movements, clenched teeth and balled fists, the fury palpable beneath his skin.

"Just disappearing like that!? Not answering your phone all night!? Do you know how fucking worried we've been!? We were this close to calling the fucking police!-"

He stopped a few feet away from you, his focus shifting to the tall figure emerging from the car. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as he watched Father Benedict approaching.

"Don't I know you...?" he muttered in confusion.

"It's the vicar," Gina called out, hurrying down the path.

"Priest," you corrected bluntly.

"Really, Ellis?" Alfie snarled. "Is this a fucking joke!? I've been up all night with no idea where you were, and you've been with him!?"

He marched angrily towards you, stopping suddenly when Father Benedict stepped in the way.

"Whoa there," your priest said calmly, voice so deep it was almost inaudible.

Alfie took a breath, back straightening as he glared at the man in front of him. "What? You think I was going to hit her?" He sneered in genuine offence. "What kind of man do you think I am?"

"Probably best I don't answer that question," Father Benedict quipped.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Let's just calm down and go inside," said Gina, grabbing Alfie by the sleeve of his shirt.

He shrugged her off. "No. I want to know who the fuck this guy thinks he is."

"He's the guy who let me sleep on his couch when I said I didn't want to come home," you said. "Because I caught my boyfriend fucking my best friend, in case you'd forgot that part."

"Oh of course you're piping up now you've got this dick head sticking up for you."

Father Benedict smiled, which only seemed to irritate him more.

"What's a priest doing getting all pally with some random woman who doesn't even believe in God anyway? It's fucking creepy, you're a fucking creep." He pointed his finger in his face, spitting the words at him.

"Put the finger down," he said calmly.

"What? This?" He began pushing it hard into his chest, poking and prodding him roughly.

"Oh Alfie, grow up," you said.

"I understand you've been worried about her," said Father Benedict, gripping him firmly by the wrist to stop the childish assault. "But taking your anger out on me isn't going to solve anything. I was just dropping her home."

"Do you want a medal?" He snatched his hand away. "Want me to thank you for harbouring her in your house while I worried sick all night?"

You couldn't help but scoff. "I wouldn't have left in the first place if you hadn't been sleeping with-"

"You shut-"

It all happened so fast you barely had time to react; Alfie turning towards you, pointing in your face as he took another quick, belligerent step forward. Father Benedict intercepting with a swift swing of his arm, his fist cracking against the side of his face and knocking him to the ground.

You took a sharp breath, somewhere between a gasp and a choke, watching as Gina dropped to her knees at Alfie's side with a panicked yell. Father Benedict sucked in the air through his teeth, hissing as he shook his hand, a pained expression scrunching his nose.

"Oh my god," you breathed, grabbing him by the upper arms and pulling him back, dragging him over to the car.

"Fuck sake," he whispered, opening and closing his fist.

"I can't believe you just did that."

"I'm so sorry, I just- I thought he was going to-"

"What the fuck!?" Gina shouted. "Aren't you supposed to be a fucking pacifist or some shit!?"

Alfie groaned, pushing her hands away as she tried to examine his face.

"Just go inside, Gina, Jesus Christ!" you shouted.

You took his hand in yours and he let you hold it for a moment, looking over the grazes on his knuckles in stunned silence. "It's okay, I'm alright," he said, gently pulling away and shaking it out again.

"You prick," Alfie spat as he clambered to his feet.

You sighed, nodding towards the car. "You should go."

He hesitated, eyes darting between his hand and the face he'd just pummelled with it.

"I'll be fine," you insisted. "Honestly. He's a dick but he wouldn't hurt me."

"Forgive me for finding that hard to believe."

"He wouldn't, I swear. I just want to go upstairs, get a shower, get my stuff together. I'll be alright."

There was a deep, reluctant rumble in his throat before he finally gave in, turning to make his way to the driver's side door. You exhaled a shaking breath, crossing your arms over your chest as you watched him get in, trying to ignore the chaos still erupting behind you.

He got in the car and shut the door, concern etched between his brows as he looked at you through the passenger window. You gave a reassuring smile and waved him off, stepping back through the gate.

"Wait, Ellis," he called as he rolled down the window and leaned over. "Here."

You walked closer, plucking a small piece of paper from his outstretched fingers.

"If you need me," he said simply.

You looked down at the paper as the car rolled away, a mobile number scribbled hastily across it, 'I text' written below. You laughed to yourself and closed your fist around it, turning on your sore, bare heels and making your way up the path towards the house.

You'd made it halfway upstairs when you heard the front door slam behind you, the sound of footsteps hurrying after you.

"Wait, Ellis," Gina barked. "Do you not think we need to talk!?"

You spun around, looking down at her as she followed you. "No, I don't."

"I'm pressing charges on him," said Alfie.

"He was protecting me," you replied angrily. "He thought you were about to hit me."

"Look, I don't care about what happened out there," said Gina.

"I fucking do," Alfie mumbled.

"We need to talk about yesterday."

You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs. "You mean when I walked in on you screwing my boyfriend?"

"Ellis-"

"How long? Actually, y'know what? I don't care. You're welcome to him. I was done anyway."

"What?" Alfie shouted, jogging up to catch you.

You walked down the landing to your bedroom, turning just before you reached the door. "I was done. With us."

He pushed past Gina, making his way towards you. There was a bright red mark on the side of his face, a cut on his lip and blood smeared around his nostril. You almost felt bad for him, but then he spoke.

"You are fucking him, aren't you!"

You sighed, opening the door and stepping into your room. "What are you-"

"The priest! That's where you were last night, that's why he just punched me in the face like some fucking yob in a nightclub-"

"Anything to make yourself feel better about what you did, Alfie."

You slid open a drawer and pulled out a towel, wedging it under your arm as you fished for some clean clothes.

"You're not denying it," he said from the doorway.

"I have denied it, you just don't want to listen."

"Bullshit. You've been acting different ever since you started going to that church. I knew there had to be a reason for it. It's not normal, Ellis! And I don't buy for one second you've just made innocent pals with that guy. It's- It's weird! Leaving me here so you can go and spend time with that-"

"Do you know what, fine. Yeah, I slept with him," you began, walking towards him. "And do you know something else? He was better, and bigger, and more skilled than you could ever hope to be."

He swallowed, his face hard and unamused, eyes scanning your face in an attempt to figure out if you were lying or not.

You came face-to-face with him, leaning in to speak slowly and quietly. "He made me come so hard he had to cover my mouth just to keep me quiet."

You elbowed past him, leaving him speechless behind you.

"Ellis," said Gina, standing in the way of the bathroom. "I just want to talk-"

"I don't have anything to say," you interrupted bluntly. "Our entire friendship has just been you keeping me around to make yourself feel better. Patronising me, infantilising me, making me feel so wildly uncomfortable about who I am. You've made it very clear you can have any man you want, yet you decided to fuck mine. All because I stood up to you at the christening, made you feel stupid for half a fucking second."

She shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. "It's not like that."

You stepped around her, pushing into the bathroom.

"I think I actually have feelings for him, Ellis."

"Of course you do. And you know what? Congratulations. I'm glad it's you he'll be flailing about on top of instead of me."

Her jaw sharpened, teeth grinding behind pursed lips. "Y'know... I think you should probably look for somewhere else to live..."

You gave a dry laugh. "Shags my boyfriend then kicks me out. Classic Gina."

You slammed the door and locked it, letting your forehead rest against the wood for a moment as you caught your breath. That was so unlike you. All of it. The harshness, the sarcasm, the honesty. It felt good. So why were you trembling?

You stripped off your dress and sat on the edge of the bath, gently peeling away the dressing from the sole of your foot. It didn't look as bad as it felt, the dried blood covering a small slice, the skin around it darkening with a bruise.

You turned on the shower, holding your hand beneath the water until it warmed up, watching the stream run off the tips of your fingers like ribbons. This water was going to cleanse you; wash away the dirt and sweat and rain, the anger, the shame. You were going to scrub it all away and step out anew.

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meirmakesstuff · 6 months

Text

If you're thinking of attending a synagogue service as a way to support your local Jewish community but don't know how:

I'm writing this on 10/13/23, but this applies to any occasion when the Jewish community might be in a state of fear or sadness, or when you might be moved to show support for your local Jewish community by showing up. The main comment I've gotten from people who want to do this is that they don't know how to begin, so here's a quick guide for how to actually do that if you've never been to or interacted with a synagogue before.

How to choose a synagogue

How to ask first

What to wear and bring

When you get there

Additional notes

How to choose a synagogue

Depending on where you live, googling "synagogue [zip code]" may get you a lot or very few hits. Look at the synagogue's website for hints.

If you see the words "messianic" or "yeshua" that's not a real synagogue, that's predatory Christians hoping to be mistaken for Jews. Supporting them does not support your local Jewish community.

Check for the words "Orthodox," "Conservative," "Reconstructing Judaism," or "Reform" to help know what to expect. If you would be distressed to encounter segregated seating by binary gender, that's a reason you might avoid an Orthodox synagogue. The word "Conservative" in this context does not refer to political opinions, it's the name of a denomination just like Orthodox, Reconstructing, and Reform--what's being conserved in Conservative Judaism is liturgical traditions and religious observances. In fact, in most of these settings, to a lesser or greater extent depending on your specific location, you are likely to find the majority of people leaning generally to the left of your local average, politically. Which isn't to say there won't be outliers, that's just the typical makeup. In terms of service length, a Reform synagogue service is likely the shortest. It will also likely contain the most English during the service. No mainstream denomination of Judaism practices proselytizing. You should not fear that anyone will actively try to convert you.

On the synagogue website they should list start times for Friday night and Saturday morning services. That will help you choose a service you might be able to attend. I'll add notes on the differences and what to expect from either later on.

How to ask first

Not all communities will find an unexpected visitor to be a safe situation, no matter how good your intentions may be. Before you show up at a synagogue, check the website for the email addresses for the rabbi and either the president or "info" or something similar. Here's a model script for you to use:

Hi Rabbi [Lastname], I'm not Jewish but was looking for ways to show support to our local Jewish community and wondered if it would be appropriate to attend a service this coming [Friday/Saturday] as a way of showing my local Jewish community that you are not alone. If that would not be appreciated, is there another gesture an individual could make that would help this community feel supported? Otherwise, what do I need to know in order to be respectful to your community while attending a service? Sincerely, [your name]

You can also ask about accessibility questions you might have in the same email.

In a larger city or a place that has recieved threats of violence recently, they may be more cautious, but a synagogue in a small city or suburban area may simply say that anyone is welcome to show up to any service.

What to wear and bring

If the rabbi or synagogue office emails back with clothing guidelines, follow them. If not, bet on business casual as a dress code: for a masculine presentation, slacks, a button-down shirt with or without a tie, and a blazer or sweater, and for a feminine presentation slacks or a skirt knee length or longer, with a top that covers the shoulders. for Orthodox and some Conservative synagogues, wear long or three-quarter sleeves. In an Orthodox synagogue, women typically wear dresses and skirts rather than pants. I would advise avoiding wearing a visible cross while attending a service of any Jewish denomination.

You don't need to bring anything in particular with you. Be sure to place your cell phone on silent and double-check that any alarms are turned off. In Orthodox and many other synagogues, people may avoid carrying wallets with them, but no one should be offended that you have yours with you as a visitor.

This should go without saying but do not bring any kind of weapon with you. In a large city with high security needs your bag may be searched or you may be asked to show ID before entering. It is very likely that you will see a uniformed police officer or armed security guard. Synagogues in large cities might have dramatically increased their security presence this week. A visitor who is being respectful to the community is not what they're looking for.

Jewish people attending the service may bring prayer shawls or kippot (singular: kipa, also called yarmulkes) to wear. A visitor is not expected to have these. Most synagogues have baskets of kippot available at the entrance for guests. In Orthodox communities, men should wear one while in the building and women should not. In Conservative communities men should wear one and others may decide to wear one or not. In any other community you may but are not expected to wear a kipa. There will likely also be a rack of prayer shawls at the door, but non-Jews are not expected to wear these.

When you get there

Someone may make a point of approaching you early on. Please don't be embarrassed to tell them that you're not Jewish. Some synagogues will make a point on Saturday morning of assigning an "honor," that is, a role in the service, to Jewish newcomers. If someone approaches you to offer you an honor or asks you a question you don't understand, you can say "Thank you, I'm not Jewish, I'm visiting to show support for the community." Alternately, someone may simply approach you to welcome you and help you get situated.

If not, feel free to find yourself a seat.

In an Orthodox synagogue, in which the seating will be segregated by gender, there will be a curtain or screen between the men's and women's sections. The women's section may be side-by-side with the men's, behind it, or above it in a balcony. A synagogue with a balcony should either have an elevator or a small section of the lower level set apart from the men's section for Disabled women's seating.

In any other denomination, seating is not segregated by gender. In that case there is no wrong part of the general seating area that is wrong to sit in.

There are differing norms in different communities about how much talking is appropriate during services, so go along with what you see around you. Since you will likely not know the songs and much of what happens will be in Hebrew, you may lose your place in the book. If you're not able to find the page, feel free to read something that interests you in the book or look around the room. No one would judge you as a guest for not already knowing the service. Feel free to chime in if you hear everyone saying "amen" in unison or if you catch on to a song, but don't feel pressured to do anything but be present.

There will be times during the service where people will sit, stand, bow, or make other motions. If you are not able to stand, or if you are able to stand but not safely or comfortably or for a long time, please know that it's perfectly okay to remain seated for your own safety. Otherwise, sit and stand when the people around you sit and stand, and don't feel that you have to bow or keep up with other motions.

The service will likely end with blessings over wine and bread. This is not like the Christian eucharist, it's just food, with blessings of gratitude. These blessings may be recited as the last part of the service or in a room where snacks will be laid out. Again follow people's lead on when it's the right time to start taking snacks.

During the snack period people may approach you and introduce themselves. Now is a good time to tell them that you're here to show support to the community, but don't directly mention any specific occurrence unless someone brings it up first. If people are talking about Israel or current events, listen without contributing opinions unless they ask directly. Don't try to be funny or clever about it: this is not the time to tell everyone your super great idea for how to fix everything in the Middle East by putting the pope in charge or launching it to the moon or having it annexed by Aotearoa. The Jews are tired. You're here to listen. People may say things you disagree with. It's okay. You don't have to fix anyone's opinion right now. You don't even have to come back. If someone is making you uncomfortable, excuse yourself, get a second helping of cake, and say hi to someone different. This is a good time to say hello to the service leaders if you haven't met them before the service began. You can compliment the sermon or singing, or just say "I'm glad I came, I hope I was able to help this community feel supported."

Additional notes

Almost every synagogue occasionally has non-members and non-Jewish guests take part in community activities. An exception is very small communities in places where outsiders are generally hostile. It's not weird to be present in Jewish spaces as a non-Jew unless the people in that community make it weird. If so, you don't owe them anything and you don't have to come back. Every community is different, and I've been to synagogues I wouldn't choose to return to. As a general rule though, you will almost certainly be welcomed and asked about yourself. Feel free to share a little about the conversations that led to you wanting to show up for your local Jewish community, since people will likely be curious, but also remember to ask lots of questions yourself. As a general rule, Jews love to explain ourselves, so please do ask questions about the things you see and experience in the synagogue.

Topics to avoid unless someone directly asks you:

What you personally believe about God

Your personal feelings about Israel

How you would solve the situation if you were in charge

your past experience of Christianity

Jesus, in any context

Violence of any kind

What you think this community, its rabbi, Jews in general, or the Israeli government could be doing better.

Most of these are simply a matter of that there's a time and place for everything, and a Jewish service at a time of stress and sadness is not the time for these particular topics. If you feel a strong urge to talk about these topics without being asked, find a different location and group of people to do that with. The best way to be successful at showing support is to genuinely listen.

If you are a non-Jew interested in doing this and have follow-up questions, or if you are Jewish and feel I left out important details, please go ahead. I'm also happy to talk by PM if you need help figuring out a specific synagogue website. I'm not interested in doxxing anyone.

#meir makes stuff #jewish #shabbat #antisemitism

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