#ask for soft content and soft content ye shall receive

[mggslover]

Stuck

In which reader finds herself stuck in an elevator with her colleagues.

Pairing: Hotch x Reid x Morgan x Fem!BAU!Reader Genre: smut (18+) Content warnings: fingering, oral (f and m receiving), face riding, p in v sex, overstimulation, masturbation, breast play Word count: 5,4k A/n: I'm ovulating, so you know what time it is 🤭 I'm really nervous to post this, so I hope you will enjoy!

“Oh, you guys are such babies!” You laugh as Spencer and Derek refuse to step into the elevator, explaining how they’ve been stuck in one before. 

“It’s not funny, Y/N,” Spencer chimes in. “There are six elevator deaths per year. Not to mention ten thousand injuries that require hospitalization.”   

You roll your eyes at his comment, just as Hotch walks toward the elevator. “See!” You exclaim. “Hotch is joining us, and he saved you last time. We’ll be fine.” You add cheerfully.

“You’re coming?” Hotch asks, holding the elevator door open. You nod, pulling Morgan and Reid with you by their arms. 

You chuckle at their nervous reflections in the mirror as the elevator starts moving. A sudden creak causes Derek to snap his head towards you. “It made the same sound the last time!” You were just about to shut Derek up as the elevator shakes and the lights start flickering. 

“Not again!” Spencer whimpers, his eyes squeezed shut like he’s about to fall to his death at any given moment.

Hotch inspects the tight space, his expression grim. “It seems like the electricity went out…” 

“Actually, there are a lot of reasons why an elevator might stop,” Spencer interjects. “It could be worn-out suspension ropes, and it actually happens quite regularly that the motor overheats the safety sensors of the-“ 

“Let’s just solve this problem, shall we?” You cut him off, nudging Morgan out of the way to hit the red button on the panel. 

“You think that’ll do something?” Morgan asks, brow lifted. 

“It will alert someone that we’re stuck. We have to wait until somebody comes and gets us out of here.” Hotch adds. 

“Well at least I’ll be missing my meeting with Strauss,” I sigh in relief. 

“It was at twelve, right?” Spencer asks. 

“Yeah,” you respond with a nod.

“Statistically the average wait time to be rescued from an elevator is less than an hour,” Spencer continues, checking his watch. “That means you could still make it in time.” 

“Now that’s just what I wanted to hear,” you say sarcastically, earning a grin from Morgan. 

“We can only hope we won’t be in here for that long,” Hotch mutters, his impatience visible as he leans uncomfortably against the elevator doors. 

“Okay… so now what? Want to go over a case to pass the time?” 

“No, no cases please,” Morgan groans. “We’ve had three in a row. I’m done.” 

“Morgan is right. We’ve done enough cases in the past few days.” Hotch agrees. 

You mutter an “alright” as you sit down with your back against the elevator wall, smoothing out the crinkles in your skirt. The others look at you with uncertainty. Eventually Reid decides to sit next to you, exchanging a soft smile. Morgan follows suit, sitting in front of you. Hotch remains standing. You leave him be and turn to Spencer. 

“So Reid, I’m sure you’ve got enough interesting facts to pass the time.” 

Spencer looks surprised by the request, not used to directly being asked to share his facts, but his eyes quickly brighten, eager to share. “Well, actually, there are a lot of interesting things to say about elevators. There are approximately 20 million elevators worldwide,” you chuckle at his obvious enthusiasm. “The first elevator was created in 236 B.C. by Archimedes, a Greek mathematician. He used a water wheel and tied animals together with rope to create a lift mechanism.” You hum in interest. “They used lifts in the Colosseum, right?” 

“Yes! Exactly!” he responds excitedly. “The system was powered by eight men who would turn this massive wooden shaft connected to ropes. It could hold more than 600 pounds!” 

“Oh come on,” Derek says, his hand falling to his knee. “You’re telling me you’re actually interested in the mechanics of ancient elevators?”. 

Hotch glances at Morgan, silently agreeing with Derek’s skepticism. 

“Derek Morgan…” you feign offense, placing a hand on your chest. “Don’t act like I’m not curious about knowledge. At least Spence’s got something interesting to say.” 

Spencer blushes faintly, appreciating your defense. 

“Hey, I know facts too,” Morgan says smugly. “How about there being 7000 languages in the world today.” 

“The overall number is actually closer to 8000,” Spencer corrects him. “You only counted verbal communication.” 

“You guys are going to have a facts competition now?” You ask, bewildered. “It’s way too hot in here. I need some light conversation.”

“I agree,” Hotch mutters. “It is getting a little warm.”

You glance up at the AC in the corner of the elevator, which is clearly not working. It probably shut down along with the power. There’s a brief silence before Reid speaks up again. 

“I never thought I’d be trapped in an elevator with my colleagues,” he muses. “It’s a little cliché.”

“Cliche, how?” Hotch asks, intrigued despite himself. 

“You know how, in movies, a group of people get stuck in an elevator and they have to learn to overcome their differences to escape?” 

You shake your head in confusion, “I think I only know the dirty movies where they get stuck in an elevator,” you laugh. 

Spencer blinks at you, clearly thrown off. Derek chuckles at the scene, and even Hotch manages a faint smile. 

“I should’ve known you’ve only watched the dirty ones,” Derek teases. 

“What about you, pretty boy?  Ever seen a dirty movie?” He asks Spencer, grinning. 

Reid looks flustered. “I grew up in Vegas… I’ve seen some things.” 

“Ah, Vegas,” you say, sighing dreamily. “The place where you can’t drive for a minute without seeing a giant porn billboard.”

Morgan grins, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “Sounds like my kind of place.” 

You laugh and kick his leg playfully. Morgan winks at you, enjoying the lighthearted banter. You glance up at Hotch, who is still the only one standing. 

“What about you, Hotch? What’s your favorite dirty movie?” You ask with a mischievous grin, but your expression quickly drops when you see his stern look. 

“Watch it, Y/L/N.” Hotch warns.

“Come on, Hotch,” Derek says. “Let loose a little!”

“See it as the universe’s sign.” I press on. 

“How is being stuck in here a sign of the universe?” Hotch asks, brows raised.

“Well, no way would you willingly take a break yourself. Now the universe got you stuck in here and is forcing you to relax,” you explain, with a playful gleam in your eyes. 

To everyone’s surprise, he slowly lowers himself to the floor, sitting down next to you. 

You exchange surprised looks with Derek and Spencer. All amazed at how you managed to get Hotch to sit down.

The next few minutes are spent in comfortable silence, scared to say something that will make Hotch change his mind. You’re glad he joined you, but it’s hard to ignore the rising temperature now that another person is sitting in close proximity to you. 

“How long has it been?” you ask, fanning yourself with your blazer. “I’m starting to sweat.”

“Thirty-five minutes so far,” Derek replies, following your lead and fanning himself. 

Hotch looks mildly uncomfortable, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Spencer, however, looks the most miserable using the collar of his sweater vest to wipe his face. 

“You guys should take your jackets off,” you suggest, eyeing Morgan and Hotch. 

You don’t need to tell Derek twice, as he removes his jacket, revealing a black short sleeved shirt that looks a lot more comfortable. Hotch looks reluctant to do the same, but eventually gives in, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt collar. You take a peak as he reveals his broad, muscled shoulders for a moment, before readjusting his shirt. Hotch notices your glance and his eyes shoot up to yours, catching you in the moment as your cheeks flush. You quickly look away. 

“Oh, she’s enjoying the view, alright,” Derek smirks and you give him a warning glance.

“Shut up. I was just surprised Hotch would give in.” 

Morgan grins and nudges Hotch with his elbow, “Look at that, Hotch. You’re surprising us all today. First you smile and now you’re taking your jacket off. What’s next, dancing a jig?” You and Spencer snort at his comment. Hotch rolls his eyes at Morgan’s teasing but can’t help a small smile from appearing on his lips. 

Spencer struggles with his vest and you give him a hand. “Here, let me help you”, you say as you scoot closer, pulling the vest over his head. The fabric feels soft, but incredibly warm in your hands. You don’t know how he managed to keep it on for this long. Reid is taken aback for a moment, but mutters a soft thanks. Morgan and Hotch watch the exchange with interest, clearly amused at the sight of you being so forward with Reid.

“Now it’s your turn, you’re the one who insisted,” Morgan states, and you can’t help but agree as you take your blazer off, giving a satisfied hum at the immediate relief.

“I’ll open up some buttons too, if you don’t mind,” you announce as your fingers start working on your blouse. You don’t give them a chance to respond, since it seems only fair. Their eyes widen at your gesture, all of them staring at the sight of your blouse slightly opening up. Morgan lets out a low whistle, “Now that’s a nice view.”

“You’re insufferable,” you scoff as you stop unbuttoning, showing just a hint of your lacy bra. Morgan’s eyes linger on the sight, clearly enjoying the view. Hotch and Reid look like they’re struggling to keep their cool. Reid is the most flustered of all, turning bright red as he focuses on his hands. Morgan glances around at the others, seeing them struggle to keep themselves composed. 

He chuckles and shakes his head, enjoying the effect you’re having on them. “You know, you’re driving all of us a little crazy here, sweetheart.” 

You let out a small huff, “Give me a break. You’re wearing shortsleeves, I’m the one wearing a blouse.” 

Hotch speaks up, his gaze lingering on your blouse. “That blouse does seem a bit warm.” 

“Thank you!” You say, glad someone is on your side. 

Hotch eyes stay focused on you though, or specifically the bit of exposed collarbone and the lace that’s hugged around the swell of your breast. Your breathing heaves when you find Spencer taking occasional peaks as well, watching with a mixture of awe and embarrassment, finding difficulty in looking away. 

“Let’s just all take our shirts off, I want it to be fair”, you quickly exclaim, done with the heavy tension that’s driving you crazy. Hotch and Morgan exchange amused glances as Spencer eyes turn big, taking in your proposal. 

“All our shirts, are you sure about that?” Derek asks, a hint of surprise in his voice. 

“Then at least you won’t eye me like that.” 

“Oh, I think I’ll eye you only more.” Derek teases, licking his lips. 

“Just take your damn shirt off.” 

Derek chuckles and raises his hands in surrender, “Alright, alright. No need to get feisty.” He says as he lifts his shirt off in a smooth motion. It’s a known fact that Derek is jacked, but seeing him in a setting like this, abs glistening with sweat and pupils still dilated from looking at you, is on a whole ‘nother level. 

You’re glad the attention is taken away from your peering eyes as Hotch follows suit, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a clearly defined muscular chest with just a hint of hair. You start doubting your suggestion as it feels like the room is only growing hotter. You look over at Spencer, seeing whether he’ll be the next. Spencer hesitates for a moment, his eyes darting between the other’s bare chests and your unbuttoned blouse. His chest heaving with his breath, suggesting that he’s more affected than he’s letting on. 

“Come on, pretty boy. Join the party.” Derek says.

“I’ll go first,” you assure Spencer, not wanting him to suffer under peer pressure. Your hands start working on the buttons. Spencer’s eyes widened at the scene in front of him.

“See, it’s not that hard,” you reassure Spencer, folding your blouse and placing it next to you. 

“I don’t know about that. You’re making things pretty hard, baby girl.” Morgan comments, making you laugh. 

“You’re way too dirty for your own good.” 

Morgan grins. “Can you blame me? I mean, look at you. You’re looking mighty tempting right now.”

You softly smile at the compliment and focus back on Spencer. “You’ll feel a lot cooler, I promise,” you encourage. 

“I don’t know. I’m not as… toned as the others.” It hurts you to hear how he’s comparing himself to his colleagues. 

“Do you truly think I care about that?” You ask him. “It’s not a competition. I just want you to feel comfortable,” you speak genuinely. Spencer looks up at you, his eyes searching yours for any signs of mockery or deception. When he finds none, his face softens and he nods. He lifts his shirt over his head, revealing a body no less impressive than the others. 

“Not too bad, pretty boy. You’re looking pretty good without that vest on.” Derek compliments. 

“You do,” You agree, as you fold his shirt and place it on top of my blouse. Spencer gives you a sheepish smile, grateful for your help. Glad he decided to take his shirt off as he felt the cool air hit his chest, “Yeah, that does feel better.” 

You look around the room, the scene for sure one to be put down in the history books of the BAU. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve entered a new step in our colleague bonding,” you awkwardly chuckle, trying to lighten the mood but the air feels charged with an unspoken tension that’s impossible to ignore. You can feel their eyes on you, the way they linger, the weight of their gazes following your every movement. You try to ignore it, to stay professional, but your body betrays you. You shift slightly, adjusting your skirt, and that’s when you feel it - the subtle brush of Hotch’s fingers caressing your arm.

You swallow hard as you look away. The air around you is suddenly too tight. You want to curse your body as your nipples harden under his steady gaze, there being no way to blame it on the cold. Derek notices the exchange and leans in, the heat between you two palpable. 

His voice is low and husky, “You're all worked up, sweetheart. Don’t think we haven’t noticed.” 

Your pulse quickens, the sound of your heartbeat almost drowning out his words. “I’m not the only one,” you counter, voice quieter, but the challenge in it is unmistakable. You feel Spencer shift next to you, his body tense as he feels like he’s been caught staring at your chest. “Don’t be shy, genius,” Derek teases. “We’re all thinking the same thing right now.” You can’t help but smile at Spencer’s flustered look. “It’s… It’s hard not to, when you-” He cuts himself off, his voice faltering as his eyes dart away from your breasts. 

Hotch is still standing by the door, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches the dynamic play out. “We’ve been stuck in here long enough. I think it’s safe to say we all want and feel the same thing.” The air thickens with desire as he dares to say the thought that’s been occupying everyone’s mind. You glance at the others, seeing how Spencer is adjusting himself in his pants and the way Derek is watching you, his gaze so intense it almost feels like he’s touching you. 

“Guess it’s only fair if we all just… give in to it,” you murmur, your eyes flicking between them. The suggestion is there, unspoken but understood. 

From there on everything feels like a blur. You hear Hotch growl behind you as he wraps his bicep around your neck, pulling you in as his lips crash against yours. You whimper against his mouth, which gives him the opportunity to let his tongue slide in. You welcome his tongue with yours as your hand moves to squeeze the arm around your neck, making full use of the circumstances to feel up on his muscles. 

“You’re always driving me crazy when wearing this skirt,” Hotch groans in your ear as his teeth pull on your earlobe. You can find no other way to respond than let out a high pitched sound of enjoyment as his free hand kneads your ass through your pencil skirt. Spencer watches the scene unfold in front of him. How his boss roughly grabs and kisses you, manhandling you. 

 “I- I don’t know about this…” Spencer stammers. 

Morgan turns to him, breaking the intense gaze he had on you and Hotch. “Don’t worry Reid, she’s enjoying it.” 

“Are you sure?” Spencer asks, uncertainty in his voice as Hotch is pulling on your hair, giving him access to plant kisses and bites on your neck. 

Morgan grins, “Let me show you how sure I am,” he says as he steps towards you and Hotch. He rolls your skirt up to your stomach and lets his fingers slide over your panties, cursing when it easily slips between your folds, creating a wet sound. You moan at the friction, not in the state to feel embarrassed by how wet you are. 

“See Reid, she loves it,” Derek points out, licking his lips as he pulls your damp panties to the side. Spencer lets out a groan as Derek reveals your glistening pussy, his hand subconsciously squeezing the bulge in his pants for any form of release.

“Let me see,” Hotch insists, removing his lips from your neck. Derek slides a finger through your folds and proudly displays the stickiness to Hotch. 

“You’re such a little slut, aren’t you?,” Hotch whispers, his nose pressed against the side of your face. “Just been begging to get in a situation like this so we could all fuck you the way you deserve.” You whimper at his dirty words and hot breath on your skin. Your legs feel like jelly as he grinds himself against your ass. Derek continues to apply pressure with his hand as he lets his fingers rub up and down your lips and clit. 

Spencer’s eyes are burning holes in your chest. He just can’t understand how no one has touched your lovely tits, while they’ve been teasing him the entire time. 

“You can come here Spence,” you purr, hypnotizing him to walk towards you. He swallows as he’s close enough to touch you, close enough to hear all the little sounds you’re making as you’re being touched all over. 

“Can I-?” You don’t let Spencer finish his question as you quickly nod, throwing your head back as his finger grazes over your nipple, sending a direct spark of pleasure to your clit. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers mostly to himself in awe as he cups your breast, the shape fitting perfectly in his large hand. 

“Thank you,” you whisper back. It’s ironic how his sweet compliment is the thing that's making you shy.

Derek slips a finger inside of you with ease, and you bite your lip to hold back your mewls. “Don’t do that. I like the way you sound.” Spencer encourages, resulting in another moan from you, loving the effect his words have on you. 

Hotch unclasps your bra from behind and Spencer helps him by pulling your straps down, letting your breasts fall free. Hotch grabs your left breast, kneading it with his strong, calloused hands as he rolls your nipple in between his fingers. Spencer uses the momentary distraction to bend down and experimentally licks your nipple, humming at the sensation. He gives a couple more licks to your breast as he pulls your nipple in between his lips, sucking on it as he flicks his tongue against the sensitive bud. 

You feel overwhelmed by the way all of your erogenous zones are stimulated at once; Hotch licking and biting on your neck and ear, while massaging your breast and grinding his hardness against your ass. Spencer’s swollen lips and wet tongue tracing over your nipple as Derek caresses your thighs as he adds a second finger into your pussy. You realize that this is what pleasure is supposed to be like. The zones on your body are all connected and you haven’t experienced true bliss until those spots get triggered at the same time. 

“Morgan, is she ready?” Hotch asks, breathing heavily. 

“More than ready, sir,” Derek grins as he takes a step back. He lets his fingers slide out of you, making you whimper at the loss of contact, but then Hotch turns you around so that your chest is pressed up against the elevator doors where he was standing. 

“I need you for myself,” he groans. Derek tosses a condom from his jeans and Hotch catches it, ripping the package with his teeth while pulling his trousers down to his knees, not wanting to let a single moment go to waste. Your hands are pressed against the wall as he slowly enters you. 

“Oh my god… I feel so full,” you whine and you swear you could feel him grin as you register that he’s not even fully inside of you. You let out a long breath as you feel his balls make contact with your ass. 

“You’re doing okay there, princess?” Derek chuckles and you nod. Hotch slowly moves his length out of you as he slams his hips back in with a groan. You gasp as you wrap your hand around the back of his head, keeping yourself steady as he continues thrusting into you. His growls feel hot against your neck. His sweaty chest pressed up against your back, leaving you completely in his grasp.

“You feel that angel? How your pussy swallows my cock?” You let out a cry as you nod your head in agreement. 

“I don’t understand Y/N. You’re a big girl, use your words.” 

“Oh god…’’ Your head spins as he pounds into you. “I’m not going to tell you again Y/N, use your words.” He orders. 

“Yes!’’ you cry out. ‘’God yes Aaron, it feels so good. I can feel you so deep inside of me.” 

“Say my name again.” He moans as his hand trails down your stomach until it reaches your swollen bud. “Aaron, please… I’m so, so close.” He gives some quick taps to your clit, making you squirm in pleasure as your knees give out. His strong hands grip you by the waist and he hoists you back up on his dick. “I’m almost there honey, you can keep it up, be good for me.” 

You let out a string of whines as he uses the palm of his hand to swiftly move against your folds, indirectly bringing pleasure to your clit. You can’t take it any more, pressing your nails into his arms as you crouch down in front of him, shaking as your release hits you. Hotch groans loudly as his dick slips out of your pussy. His dick twitches as he takes off the condom, painting your back with hot spurts of cum.

You have your eyes closed, trying to catch your breath as you’re still riding down your orgasm. You hum as you feel the soft material of Spencer’s sweater vest against your back, cleaning you up. 

“You okay?” Spencer asks, kneeled in front of you. You nod your head and softly smile at his tenderness. 

“Yeah. I feel really, really good.” You answer, making Spencer return your smile. With him in front of you, you notice the visible outline of his bulge pressed against his thigh and reach out to touch it. Your fingers lightly brush over his length, causing him to shudder. 

“Do you want me to take care of you?” You ask sensually, looking in his eyes. 

“Not really,” he responds, taking you by surprise. He sees your expression and quickly corrects himself. “It’s not like I don’t want you to! I’d- I’d love you to do…”, he’s not actually sure what you planned on doing to him. “Whatever you would do. I just-,” his voice softens, meeting your gaze. “I really need to know what you taste like.” 

Your cheeks warm, feeling your arousal grow. “Okay,” you exhale. Spencer extends his hand, helping you up. You find your blazer and bundle it up for Spencer to lay his head on. You’re amazed at how willing he is to get down on the floor, ready to eat you out in a very nontraditional and arguable unsanitized way. You hover over his face as you get down on your knees, letting out a hum as his breath tingles your pussy. Spencer kneads your calves and runs his hands up the back of your thighs. He tilts his head up, placing a wet kiss on your inner thigh.

“Feels good,” you mumble. Spencer responds with a hum against your skin, the vibration causing you to moan. He grabs your thighs, slowly pulling them further apart. “I can’t wait to taste you,” he admits, sticking out his tongue and licking a stripe up your folds. You moan, arching your back. Through hooded eyes you spot the figure of Hotch. He’s sitting against the wall in front of you, lazily stroking his half hard length as he stares at you. 

Just when you were about to question where Morgan was, you catch him in your periphery. He holds your gaze as he approaches, coming to a stop right in front of you. His belt buckle hangs open, but it doesn’t look like he’s touched himself. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d really like to take up on that offer genius here denied.” You grin at him, hands reaching out to his belt. Spencer is keeping himself busy, licking and sucking up your juices. You pull Derek’s pants down, gasping as his dick springs free, slapping against his happy trail. You groan in delight as you wrap your hand around his shaft. He tilts his head back at the contact. “Fuck baby, your hands feel so warm and soft.” You lean forward and let some of your spit dribble down on his dick, making him hiss. You move your thumb in circles over his tip, mixing your saliva with his precum. When it feels like it’s wet enough, you move your hand up and down his length in a steady motion.

His tip grows red and you cannot resist licking your lips before putting your mouth on him. He feels heavy in your mouth as you take him in deeper, stimulating him with your tongue as you suck. His hands tangle in your hair, holding you as he moves in sync with your movements. 

Spencer moves a hand up the curve of your ass while he uses the other to unbuckle his belt. He slides his hand in his pants, rubbing himself over his boxers as he relishes in your taste. His lips nibble on your labia as his nose tickles against your clit. 

“Don’t get distracted, baby girl,” Derek states, softly pushing your head back down. You swallow around him and try to up your pace. Derek takes your breast in his hand, massaging it. As your nipples harden he takes one in between his fingers, pulling on it. You gasp at the sensation, making his dick slide deeper down your throat. 

“Fuck! Right there baby, that feels so good,” he pants. You blink away tears, continuing the steady movement of your head and swirls of your tongue. 

Spencer’s dick starts feeling too hot in his boxers and he pulls it out, so that it lays against his stomach. Your pussy is absolutely dripping because of the swipes of Spencer’s tongue and the taste of Derek in your mouth. Spencer can’t keep up with licking you clean, your wetness dripping down his chin. He reaches out to grab his length, the skin to skin contact overstimulating him. 

You notice Spencer getting restless underneath you. Derek’s dick pops out of your mouth. “Are you okay, Spence?” You ask. He hums against your clit in response, you let out a high pitched moan and instinctively bend your knees. “Sorry,” you apologize as you want to tilt your hips back up, but Spencer pulls you back down by your thighs, making you sit on his face.

“Oh god…” You moan as he starts devouring you. He keeps a hand firm on your ass as he starts jerking himself off to the beautiful sounds that you’re making. You lazily tug on Derek’s cock, too distracted by Spencer’s tongue. 

“Oh Spencer, I’m going to cum,” you whimper, mouth open and brows furrowed in pleasure. You start grinding yourself on his tongue, seeking your release. You find the perfect spot and Spencer presses the tip of his tongue against your clit, as you fall undone. Spencer laps up your juices and squeezes the load out of his dick as it splatters on his belly. You lift your hips to give Spencer some space. He moves away, joining you on his knees as he sits behind you, pressing featherlight kisses to your back. 

“I’m not gonna last that much longer,” Derek announces, who’s been stroking himself to your orgasm. “Come here, then,” you invite as you take him back in your mouth. Placing a hand on his thigh for support, you use all of the energy that is left in you to suck him off. Your free hand reaches out to play with his balls, which seems to be the trigger for him.

“Fuck, Y/N, baby, I’m going to cum!” He groans deeply as he fills your mouth. You quickly swallow his load, eyes watering as he pulls you in by your head, needing your lips on him as he rides out the aftershocks. 

“Fuck… You’re amazing, sweetheart.” He sighs, letting go of your hair so that you can catch your breath. 

-

“Who the hell is in there?” 

The voice outside is sharp and gruff. Everyone’s heads whip around, startled. Hotch swiftly buckles his belt as he strides towards the elevator doors.

“This is SSA Aaron Hotchner of the BAU. I’m stuck here with three of my agents.” 

The voice responds quickly, dripping with disbelief. "Why didn’t you morons use the emergency button?"

Your colleagues look at each other, then shift their gaze to you, all with accusing looks plastered on their faces.

"Hey, don’t look at me! I’m the first one that pressed the red button!" You say in defense. 

The voice outside huffs in frustration. "Red? It's a black button."

You blink in surprise, your gaze snapping to the panel. You crawl up to get a better look, and sure enough, there's a black button, boldly labeled ‘EMERGENCY.’

"What in the world?" you mutter under your breath. "Then what the hell is the red button for?!"

The voice outside laughs sarcastically. "How the hell am I supposed to know? I’ve been working here for six months. Don’t blame me because you can’t read." He pauses, clearly shaking his head. "FBI agents, my ass."

You blink in disbelief. You share an incredulous glance with Derek, then burst out laughing, your frustration giving way to amusement. "Seriously?" you mutter, shaking your head. 

Derek notices how Spencer’s been unusually quiet. “Speak up, kid,” he urged. 

“I’ve known what the buttons do the entire time,” he says, voice casual.

You and Hotch both turn to look at him, eyes wide. “What?!” You both exclaim at the same time. 

Spencer shrugs, a playful glint in his eyes. “I told you about those movies where people overcome their differences to try to escape. I wanted to see how we would solve it.”

Derek’s mouth drops open. “You’ve been sitting here the whole time knowing exactly what to do and didn’t say anything?!” 

Spencer smiles, looking almost proud of himself. “It’s a team-building exercise,” he says matter-of-factly. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t enjoy it.”

You shake your head, laughing in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable, Reid.”

As if on cue, the elevator jolts, and the soft ding of the doors opening fills the space.

[dakusan]

W h e r e V a m p i r e ! S K Z L i k e s t o B i t e Y o u

Vampire!SKZ OT8 x Reader | eight fangs. eight fixations. and every filthy way they ruin you where it hurts the most

🔞synopsis: You thought you knew desire. You thought you understood sex. Then they bit you. This isn't love. This is hunger. Worship. Power. A kiss laced with venom. A cock buried in your cunt while your blood runs hot down their chin. Eight vampires. Eight bite locations. Eight ways to lose your mind and beg for more.

💌a/n: Welcome to fucking Wreck Me Wednesdays. This was supposed to be “mini.” Instead I wrote eight vampire sex case files with feeding traits, bite kinks, and full-blown NSFW lore. Somewhere between Chan’s heartbite and Han's “mine mine mine,” I lost the plot and my soul. Some are longer. Some are feral. Some are shorter. All of them ruined me and they shall ruin you too. Read responsibly. Stay hydrated. Stretch your legs. Cry in the bathtub. p.s. reblog = consent to be ruined by a vampire. p.p.s. Tell me who broke you. For science. p.p.p.s. pls enjoy the song :3. i will also get to the asks later today, haven't forgotten!

⚠️ warnings: NSFW / 18+ ONLY — minors will be fed to Minho. This series contains graphic vampire smut and feral content not suitable for the emotionally stable | Bloodplay + feeding during sex | Biting (everywhere) | Obsessive/possessive behavior | Power dynamics (soft dom to unhinged dom) | Crying, overstimulation, choking on moans | Praise kink, degradation kink, breeding kink | Fang kinks. Vein kinks. Chest kinks. Thigh kinks. | Oral (receiving + giving), rough sex, soft sex, bubble bath sex, rage sex

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

𓆩 𝐓���𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𓆪 BANG CHAN // Abnormal Vampire Obsessed with control. Addicted to your pulse.

🩸PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Neck or heart — where the pulse is loudest. He wants to hear it skip.

💉FEEDING STYLE ‣ Controlled. Lethal. Intimate. ‣ Always timed with orgasm. May edge before bite. ‣ Often restraints you during feeding. Uses voice as a binding tool.

🫀EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Rapid heartbeat. ‣ Dissociation from overstimulation. ‣ Emotional dependency post-bite. ‣ High risk of imprinting.

⚠️PROGNOSIS ‣ Orgasmic blood-loss. ‣ Neck bites mid-thrust = blackout-level pleasure. ‣ Heart bites = ego death. Immediate sobbing. ‣ Lingering soreness + possession marks.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 001 𓆪

"Strip. Slowly."

You're standing in front of him—already trembling, already soaked. He hasn’t touched you. Not yet. Just sits back on the velvet chaise like he’s watching a performance he paid for in centuries. Legs spread. Shirt open. Mouth smiling, fangs peeking. Hands not on you.

Not yet.

You undress like you're unwrapping something forbidden. And his eyes don’t leave your chest. Not even once.

"There," he murmurs when your top hits the floor, voice like silk over blade. "It stutters when you know where I'm going to bite. Do you want it tonight?"

You nod, breathless.

"Words, darling."

"...yes. Please."

It doesn't take long, really it doesn't. Because one second you were putting on a show for him, stripping, peeling layer by later until you were naked and suddenly, you were now laid down on the bed with Chan knelt between your thighs, breathing against your cunt without touching.

With only one single kiss, not touching. Not yet.

"So warm here. You've been aching for me all night, haven't you? Dripping for me. Thinking about how it'll feel when I bite your chest and fuck you until your name melts off your tongue?"

You whimper, nod, hips twitching—but his hands grip your thighs down firm and leans forward, tongue finally moving—not inside you—no, he flicks along your folds. One stroke. One taste. Then stops.

"Mm. You're going to wait for me to bite. I'll have to make you cum with my mouth first."

He eats you out slowly. Sinfully. Like a king savouring dessert before the main course. Fingers spreading you, tongue teasing, lips sucking your clit just barely enough to make your stomach tense. Then he stops. Over and over. Until you're crying, hips grinding, begging.

"Please—Chan, please—fuck—just let me—"

"Let you what?" he says, smiling against your pussy. "Bleed? Break? Cum?"

"Yes—fuck, yes—all of it."

He hums against your cunt like you gave him a goddamn prayer.

"All of it, huh?" He drags his tongue up slowly, catching your clit just to hear the gasp he wrings from your throat. "Then keep those thighs open. Let me earn it."

And he does.

His mouth descends like a curse and a promise, this time not stopping. He licks like he’s reading scripture off your skin. Like he’s memorizing the shape of your moans. Two fingers press in, curling perfectly, while his tongue circles your clit with calculated cruelty. He’s not being sweet—he’s being precise. Every flick, every suck, every curl of his fingers is designed to make your legs tremble and your mind splinter.

“There it is,” he growls into you when your hips start bucking. “So fucking wet, baby. You gonna cum like this? Before I even bite?”

You try to answer. You really do. But it’s already happening. Your stomach tightens, thighs trembling, mouth open on a silent scream as your orgasm crashes down—hot, humiliating, perfect.

He doesn’t stop.

Licks through your orgasm, dragging it out. Groaning low, fingers still thrusting, until you’re gasping, writhing, overstimulated and dripping. Then—finally—he pulls back. Just enough to lift his head.

His mouth is wet. His chin shines with your slick. And his eyes—god, his eyes—are blown wide, black with hunger. “Now you’re ready,” he says, voice darker, lower. “Now you’ll taste right.”

He climbs up your body slowly, kneeing your thighs further apart as he goes. One hand cages your throat—not tight, just present—and the other cups your breast, thumb rubbing lazy circles around your nipple.

And then he leans in. Presses his lips right over your heart. The bite is sudden. Deep.

Your blood floods his mouth, and he moans—moans—like it’s better than sex, like it’s what he’s been starving for. His hips grind against yours as he drinks, hard cock pressing against your folds like a promise. You’re shaking beneath him—your orgasm still echoing, your body pulsing, blood pouring into his mouth like a gift only he deserves.

And then—just when you start to go dizzy—he pulls back. Fangs red. Lips stained. Chest heaving.

“Still with me?” His voice is rough, wrecked with restraint. “Because I’m not done.”

You nod—but barely. Your whole body is trembling, and your vision is hazy, floating from the orgasm and the blood loss and the fact that he bit your fucking heart like it was a fruit he’s waited centuries to taste.

And he’s still fully dressed. Shirt unbuttoned, dark slacks hugging his thighs, belt still on. You’re naked and wrecked and soaked, but he’s untouched. Pressed against you, blood-slick mouth and cock hard against your pussy—but untouched. “Look at me,” he whispers, dragging his fingers down your side, over the bite mark, over your trembling hips. “Look at me while I feed you something else.”

And then he leans back.

Slowly. Casually.

Undoing his belt with one hand, unzipping his pants like he's got all the time in the world. His eyes never leave yours as he slides them down just enough to free himself—his cock thick, flushed dark red, leaking at the tip, veins mapped like sin. You swear it twitches when he sees your thighs shake.

“So fucking pretty like this,” he murmurs, wrapping one hand around the base and giving himself a lazy pump. “Open. Dripping. Ruined. And all for me.”

He strokes himself slow, torturing, his fist sliding up over the head and back down, slicking it with precum while his other hand presses down on your lower belly, keeping you there.

“You feel that?” he asks, dragging the head of his cock through your folds. “That’s mine now. This heat. This slick little cunt. Your blood’s still warm inside me and now I’m going to fuck it back into you.”

You sob. Actually sob. Because even just the way he slides against your folds—up and down, dragging over your clit, teasing your entrance—it’s too much.

“Please, Chan,” you whisper, voice hoarse, “I want you inside—I want to feel it—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” He lines himself up. Presses the head in just a little. Just enough to make you gasp. “You’ll take it. Every inch. Slow.”

And he means it.

He pushes in inch by devastating inch, watching your face the entire time—watching your mouth fall open, your eyes flutter, your back arch. You feel every ridge, every vein, the stretch of him parting you slowly like he’s carving space for himself where no one else belongs.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice breaking. “So fucking tight.” Another inch. Another. “God, you’re squeezing me like you missed me.”

You cry out. Not from pain. From pleasure. From the overwhelming fullness, from the feel of him dragging along your soaked, overstimulated walls.

He pauses halfway in. Just pauses—hips pressed flush, cock twitching inside you, breath hot against your cheek.

“You want more?” he asks, fangs still out. “Tell me. Tell me how bad you want me to fill you.”

“Please,” you gasp, tears spilling, voice trembling. “I need it—I need you inside—all of you—fuck, Chan, please.”

His hips snap forward. You scream. He bottoms out with one deep thrust, cock buried to the hilt, and the stretch burns so good.

“There,” he grits, grinding slow, deep, merciless. “That’s what I wanted. That fucking clench. That pretty little scream.” He stays buried in you for a moment—deep—just breathing, letting your walls flutter and your cunt adjust to the full stretch of him. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, trying to lock him in, but he just smirks.

And then he starts.

Slow. Precise. The first few thrusts feel like worship—or punishment—dragging out so achingly slow that your body clenches tighter, trying to chase what he won’t give you. His hips roll, grinding into you, the thick weight of him pressing against every oversensitive inch of your soaked, blood-drunk cunt.

“Fuck, you feel perfect,” he groans, head dropping to your throat as he sets a slow, grinding rhythm. “So fucking warm. So tight. You gonna cry for me again, sweetheart?”

You already are. You’re gasping, eyes glassy, body shaking as he rocks into you with that slow, devastating rhythm. One of his hands cradles your face, the other beside your head, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

And then—he leans in. Mouth dragging across your skin. Kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips, your throat. Peppering kisses like you’re sacred. His fangs scrape lightly down your neck and you twitch underneath him.

“You like that?” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “The fangs. The pressure. You want me to bite again, don’t you?”

Your breath stutters. He knows. Of course he knows.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, thrusting deeper. “Not until you cum on my cock. Not until I’m so deep you forget how to speak.”

He picks up the pace now—still controlled, but faster. Harder. The sound of skin slapping, of your soaked cunt swallowing him in, fills the room along with your moans. Your nails drag down his back. Your hips rise to meet his.

“That’s it. Take it, baby. Take all of me. That greedy little pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?”

You nod frantically. “Yes—fuck, yes—made for you, only you—”

He kisses you. Hard. Bruising. Tongue sliding past your lips like he owns your mouth too. And when he pulls back, his eyes are pitch black, fangs still bared, lips red from your blood.

“Say it again.”

“Made for you,” you cry. “Yours. Only yours.”

“Good fucking girl.”

His pace snaps harder now—deep, perfect strokes—one hand gripping your thigh, the other pressed firm against your throat. His body curves over yours, keeping you pinned while he fucks you like he’s staking a claim inside your cunt.

Your legs tighten around him. Your belly coils. You feel your orgasm building—hot and sharp and dizzying.

“You gonna cum again?” he pants, rutting harder now. “Gonna let me feel it? Let me feel that pretty little pussy milk me while I drink from your heart again?”

You sob. You nod. You beg.

“Please, please—bite me—fuck, Chan—please—”

And that’s all it takes. He thrusts deep, one last time, grinding hard against your cervix, and then bites—again—right over your heart.

You cum instantly. Your walls clench so hard around his cock it triggers his own orgasm—thick, hot, flooding you as he groans into your skin, drinking and thrusting and owning you. When he finally pulls back, he’s panting, licking the wound tenderly. Your body’s trembling—soaked, stuffed, claimed—and he just looks down at you like you’re a masterpiece.

Chan leans down, kissing your lips so softly now. "You're mine sweetheart. Bloody, body, soul."

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇 𓆪 LEE KNOW // Abnormal Vampire Sadist in silk. Devours screams. Fuck-first, feed-later type.

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Inner thigh — where you're softest, where you beg hardest.

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Slow. Pain-laced. Erotic. ‣ Often feeds while fucking from behind. ‣ Fingerplay first—he has to feel you fall apart before the bite.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Shaking legs. Sore hips. Oversensitive clit. ‣ Mind-fracture from orgasm + blood loss combination. ‣ Known to cause dehydration, bruising, and uncontrollable sobbing. ‣ Marked behavioral changes: submission, clinginess, obsession.

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Orgasm coincides with bite. Scream = trigger. ‣ Thigh bites may cause blackout + limp for 2–3 days. ‣ Post-bite euphoria. Known to whisper “again” while you’re still twitching. ‣ Irreversible addiction risk. Do not engage without safe word.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 002 𓆪

“You’re not gonna cum until I tell you to. Understand?”

His voice is silk-coated steel—low and lethal. You’re on your back, naked, legs spread wide on the silk sheets, with Lee Know fully clothed beside you. Not even undressing. Just watching. Eyes dragging over your soaked cunt like it’s something he owns. Like it exists to be ruined.

You nod, desperate.

“Use your words.” His eyes narrow, lips curling with warning. “If you want my fingers inside you, you’d better earn them.”

“Yes. I understand,” you breathe. “Please—Minho, I need it—”

He hums, finally moving. One hand strokes up your thigh, so gentle it makes you shiver. “So polite,” he murmurs. “And already dripping. All this for me?”

Two fingers press between your folds, parting you slowly. You moan. He doesn’t move fast—he just teases. Up and down, collecting slick. Spreading it messily across your clit before tapping it, sharp and precise.

You jerk. He laughs softly.

“No cumming, sweetheart,” he reminds you, before pushing a finger in.

You moan, clenching instantly. He’s slow at first, curling upward to find that spot, rubbing it deliberately. Then a second finger. Scissoring, stretching. His thumb rubs lazy circles over your clit, but never enough. Never fast.

And when you start to tighten around him, about to tip over—he pulls out.

You scream. He smiles.

“Again,” he says, and starts over. Fingers, curl, rub, drag—stop. Over. And over. By the fourth time, your body’s twitching. Your thighs shake. Your hands are fisting the sheets. “Minho—fuck, please—I’m going to lose it—”

“Good.” He leans over, mouth brushing your ear. “Then maybe you’ll behave.”

He grabs your hips, flips you over in one smooth motion—onto your knees, chest to the sheets. One hand presses between your shoulder blades, forcing your spine into a perfect arch. The other? Slipping down to play with your pussy again.

“You’re so wet baby,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers back through your folds. “I’ve barely done anything.”

You sob into the sheets. Then you feel it—his tongue. On your inner thigh. Not your pussy. Not yet. Just slow, deliberate licks on the sensitive skin right near your pulse point.

You freeze.

“Oh, did you think I’d forgotten about the bite?” he purrs.

He kisses the skin first. Then bites. His fangs sink in with a sharp, hot pain that melts instantly into pure fucking ecstasy. Your vision goes white. Your arms give out. You cry out, body trembling as blood leaves you in slow, sensual pulses.

And the second his mouth pulls back—

He’s undoing his pants.

You hear the belt unbuckle. The zipper lower. Then feel it—his cock, thick and flushed, dragging through your soaked folds. “You want this?” he asks, voice darker now. “Want to be fucked while your thighs are still bleeding?”

“Yes—fuck, yes—please—”

He slides in.

No warning. No mercy. One smooth, brutal thrust that knocks the air out of you. His hips slam into your ass, cock buried to the hilt, and he groans—deep and guttural—like he just found heaven inside your cunt. “Fuck,” he pants, grabbing your hips with bruising force. “So tight. Still twitching from that bite?”

He doesn’t wait.

He starts moving. Deep, hard thrusts that punch cries from your throat. Your back arches, cheek pressed to the sheets as he fucks you in a perfect rhythm—every stroke hitting exactly where you need him.

And he does not stop.

“Cry for me,” he growls, slapping your ass. “Scream. Let them hear how good I fuck what’s mine.”

You scream. You cry. You babble his name like a prayer.

“That’s right,” he hisses, hips snapping faster. “Fucking perfect.”

You’re gone. Broken. Bleeding. Full. And when your orgasm is close, when you're just about to cum—he doesn’t stop you. “Let go,” he pants. “Give it to me. I want to feel this cunt strangle my cock.”

You do. You collapse, sobbing, shaking, cumming so hard your thighs go limp. But he doesn’t stop.

Minho groans through his teeth and keeps thrusting—fucking you through your orgasm like he’s chasing something deeper. His grip bruises your hips, cock dragging through your soaked, fluttering walls, harder now, rougher.

“You sound so pretty when you break,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “I can feel it. Every pulse. Every squeeze. You're milking my cock like you want me to stay inside forever.”

You whimper, twitching under him, nerves fried, cunt still clenching in aftershocks. Your body is shaking—numb, overstimulated—but he fucks you through it, like you owe him every second.

“I’m close,” he growls, burying himself deep. “Gonna fill you up—fuck, just like this—”

A sharp snap of his hips, one final grind—and then he spills into you with a broken sound, teeth bared, fangs glinting. His cum is hot, thick, flooding your sore cunt as he presses as deep as he can, breathing hard against your spine.

But he’s not done. Not even close.

The second his cock slips free—wet and dripping with both of you—he’s flipping you over again. Your body’s limp, arms trembling, blood drying sticky on your thigh. You can barely focus. Barely breathe.

But you feel him. The press of his mouth. The heat of his breath.

“Still bleeding here,” he murmurs, fingers parting your thigh. “And you’re still so warm.”

He doesn’t give you time to answer before he bites again.

Same thigh. New wound.

You scream—not from pain, but from the crash of sensation. The moment his fangs sink in, your body floods with another unbearable wave. You’re twitching, crying, clenching around nothing—your cunt soaked, still dripping his cum—while he drinks, slow and deep.

Every pull of his mouth makes your stomach tighten. Your hands claw at the sheets. You’re delirious—gone—his mouth on your thigh, blood leaving in perfect rhythm with the mess between your legs.

He moans softly against your skin. Then he pulls back. Lips stained. Fangs gleaming. Blood running down your thigh like a love letter written in ruin.

He crawls over your body, eyes dark and hungry still. “I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs, licking the blood from his lips. “But I’ll let you rest…”

One hand strokes your cheek, surprisingly soft.

“For now.”

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐑 𓆪 SEO CHANGBIN // Normal Vampire Made of muscle, menace, and moans..

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Below the ribs or just above the hipbone

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Possessive. Worshipful. ‣ He growls when he drinks, like it's carnal. ‣ Usually feeds during sex. Leaves deep bruises around the wound from how hard he grips.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Breathless moaning. ‣ Clawing, overstimulated orgasms. ‣ Emotional grounding. Heightened intimacy. ‣ High likelihood of imprinting if bitten more than once.

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Feral rut-level fucking. ‣ Bruised hips, shaky legs, blood-drunk sobs. ‣ Bite leaves a phantom heat that spreads like wildfire. ‣ Will absolutely carry you to a bath after and tell you you did so well.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 003 𓆪

You were teasing him. You didn’t mean to—but you were.

The corset was tight. The skirt was short. Your lipstick matched the red of your bite mark from two nights ago. You were only supposed to drop off the file he needed but you knew what the outfit would do to him. What it always did.

And the moment he looked up from his desk and saw you?

All bets were off.

He’s already panting when he slams the door shut behind you. One heartbeat later, you're pinned to the wall—hard. His broad chest flush against your back, his breath already ragged and hot against your ear.

You hear the low, animalistic growl deep in his chest before you feel it—rumbling through you like a warning.

Or a promise.

Because you’re standing there in his office after midnight, wearing nothing but a black lace corset that cups your breasts high, a tiny pleated skirt that barely covers your ass, and delicate panties—thin, sheer, soaked. Stockings, too. Garter belt. Lip gloss still shimmering.

You knew what you were doing.

And so does he.

“Take that shit off,” he growls, voice already thick with bloodlust and need.

You turn—barely—and meet his eyes. They’re black. Fully fucking black.

And you’re soaked.

“Changbin—” you whisper, breath hitching, thighs pressing together. It’s not a protest. It’s a plea.

He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t ask. One sharp tug and your corset jerks loose at the back—ripped. Another growl, and your panties are shredded in his hands, lace in tatters. The air hits your bare skin and you whimper.

“You fucking tease,” he snarls, grabbing a handful of your ass. “Walking in here dressed like this? Like a fucking offering?”

You squeak as he grabs you under the thighs and lifts—one arm. Just one arm and you're airborne, slammed back against the wall like you weigh nothing to him.

Because to him? You’re not fragile. You’re his.

His mouth crashes into yours—hot, brutal, claiming. His tongue is deep before you can breathe. Fangs brush your lower lip and nick the skin just enough for blood to bloom, sweet and fresh, and he moans against your mouth.

“You wore this for me?” he growls between kisses. “Fucking knew it. Knew you were trying to get ruined.”

You nod frantically, breathless. “Please—need it—need you—”

Then he drops. To his knees. Fast. Like gravity yanked him straight down. He’s still fully dressed in black slacks, fitted shirt, sleeves rolled up. Muscles bulging, chest heaving, mouth already parted. And you? You’re bare now—corset loosened, panties gone, skirt hiked up around your waist, legs trembling over his shoulders.

Your back hits the cold wall. Your pussy is right at his eye level. And he looks up at you like he’s about to worship you.

Or destroy you.

“Fucking look at you,” he growls, dragging his thumbs up your inner thighs to spread you wider. “You're soaked. All this for me?”

You can’t speak. You nod. His smirk turns feral. “Good.”

He doesn't waist a second, Changbin devours you.

No teasing. No buildup. His tongue dives in like he’s starving—wide and wet, licking through your folds with a brutal, messy hunger that makes you cry out on impact.

“F-fuck—Changbin—”

He groans. Moans into your pussy like it’s his favorite meal, nose buried, chin soaked, lips dragging up your slit again and again until they’re flushed and swollen with your slick. His tongue curls up to your clit—flicks, circles, sucks. Sloppy and relentless.

Then?

He starts making out with it.

No joke. Full mouth. Open, hot, filthy kisses against your cunt—like he’s Frenching your pussy with every ounce of his desperate need. Tongue moving deep inside, then sliding up to wrap around your clit, sucking hard, then soft, then hard again. Over and over.

Your legs are shaking on his shoulders.

He drags one arm around your ass, pressing you closer to his mouth, while his free hand slides two thick fingers inside—curling, fucking, spreading your walls until you're gasping like you’re being split open.

He’s growling into your cunt, fingers pounding, tongue flicking your clit like he’s trying to drag the orgasm out of you with brute force.

“Come on,” he pants between slurps. “Give it to me. Cum on my tongue, baby—now—”

Your scream tears through the room. It breaks you. Your orgasm hits like a punch to the gut—raw, loud, endless. Your whole body locks. Your thighs clamp around his head. Your vision goes black for a second.

And he fucking loves it.

Keeps sucking through it. Fingers still thrusting. His mouth sealing over your clit again as if your climax is what he’s been waiting for all day.

Only when you’re gasping, limp, twitching—only then does he finally rise.

And fuck, he looks good.

Mouth soaked. Chin gleaming. Eyes still black. Fangs bared.

You barely have time to catch your breath before his hands are moving—fast. Belt undone with a sharp snap, pants shoved down, briefs yanked below his thighs. His cock springs free—thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip. Harder than sin.

You don’t even get a chance. Because suddenly—he lifts you. Again. Effortlessly. Strong arms under your thighs, back slammed against the wall. And this time, he doesn’t wait.

He slams into you.

One thrust—brutal, perfect—and he’s fully inside. Stretching you open. Your head rolls back, mouth open in a soundless scream as your cunt grips him like a vice.

“Fuck—yes,” he snarls against your throat. “That’s it—tight little pussy—knew you could take it.”

He doesn’t stop.

He fucks you into the wall. Rough. Desperate. Fast and deep and relentless. The slap of skin on skin echoes, your moans ricochet off the walls, and his name is the only thing you remember how to say.

“Changbin—Changbin—oh fuck—”

He groans against your skin. “You’re mine.”

And then?

He bites. Hard.

Right into your neck—fangs sinking deep, blood spilling into his mouth like wine from a sacred chalice. You scream, thighs trembling, orgasm threatening again just from the pain, the pressure, the possessive violence of it.

But he’s not done.

He licks the bite. Bites again—your shoulder this time. Then your collarbone. Then your neck again.

Everywhere.

Like he needs you in his mouth, over and over, just to stay grounded. Like drinking you is the only thing keeping him sane. His cock is ruthless inside you—dragging through your soaked walls, pounding harder each time you clench around him.

Your head spins.

He’s drunk on you. Absolutely gone.

“Fucking addictive,” he snarls. “Gonna mark you everywhere. Fill you up. Drain you dry. Fuck—this pussy’s perfect—squeezing me like it wants to bleed.”

Your hands claw at his back. Your nails dig into his shoulders. He loves it. Groans from deep in his chest. Slams into you even harder.

“Take it,” he growls. “Fucking take it. All of it. Don’t you dare stop squeezing me—make me cum, baby.”

You do.

Your orgasm hits again, body seizing, cunt fluttering around his cock like it’s made to wring him dry—and he loses it.

With a guttural snarl, he slams in deep—hips grinding, cock twitching as he spills inside you in heavy, scorching pulses.

But he doesn’t pull out.

Doesn’t move.

Just stays there—cock buried, teeth still scraping your neck, hands fisting in your hair and thigh like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this plane.

He pants. Shudders. Then licks your wounds. Gently. Worshipfully.

“Mine,” he whispers, pressing kisses to every bite mark. “Fucking mine. And I’m never letting go.”

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍 𓆪 HWANG HYUNJIN // Abnormal Vampire Beauty made ruin. Moans like a prayer. Kisses like a curse.

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Pulse points — wrists, neck, inner thighs

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Hypnotic. Addictive. Laced in poetry and pain. ‣ Always bites during orgasm. Sometimes mid-cry. ‣ Tongue traces first. Fangs follow like a kiss you asked for in a dream.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Euphoria-induced sobbing. Clutching, clawing, surrendering. ‣ Heart palpitations, glossy eyes, speech loss ‣ Often left with multiple bite marks in one session—each placed like a secret

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Known to say “You’re mine” while you’re still moaning. ‣ Multiple orgasms expected. Blood + sex high overlap. ‣ Post-bite daze may last hours. Often found still shaking in his arms. ‣ Extreme bond-forming. Danger of becoming his favorite. And never leaving.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 004 𓆪

You feel him before you see him.

That overwhelming stillness, the kind that drowns out thought. Your breath catches—and then there he is, walking in like a vision, black silk shirt half-buttoned, pale chest glistening, golden hair slightly damp like he’s just stepped out of a dream.

Hyunjin doesn't speak at first. He just walks toward you. Barefoot. Soft steps. Eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the world that exists.

And then?

“You wore my favorite,” he murmurs, fingertips brushing the strap of your lace slip. “Ivory. Like fresh canvas.”

His lips ghost over your collarbone. Not a kiss. Not yet.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he whispers, “all night. What color you’ll bleed for me. What sound you’ll make when I make you fall apart.”

You tremble.

He lifts your chin gently, eyes gleaming obsidian. “Lie back, baby. Let me paint.”

You obey, shivering as you settle onto the bed—bare skin against cool silk, thighs pressed together from sheer need. He doesn’t make you wait long. Just climbs over you slowly, like you’re delicate, precious, sacred.

And then his mouth is on your wrist. Kissing. Worshipping.

“I’ll start here,” he breathes. “Where your pulse is softest.”

The bite is slow. Precise. A sharp flash of heat as his fangs pierce your skin, followed by dizzying pleasure—almost like he’s sipping your soul. He groans, low and ruined, as your blood coats his tongue.

“Mmm… divine,” he whispers against your wrist, pulling back only to let the droplets smear along his lips. “But I want more.”

His hands trail down. One over your breast, teasing your nipple, the other slipping between your thighs.

“You’re soaked,” he hums, licking the blood off his fingers. “Did you get this wet just from the bite?”

You nod. He smiles like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

Then—he spreads you.

Kisses down your body, trailing open-mouthed devotion from your chest to your stomach, thighs, then—

“Oh, fuck—Hyunjin—”

He groans as he reaches your cunt, breathing deep. “So pretty,” he murmurs, “and all mine.” Hyunjin leans in to press a kiss over your clit. Soft. Like the place between your legs is a cathedral and he's repenting with every breath.

His lips brush your folds. Once. Twice. Then his tongue flattens against your clit, slow and wide, dragging up until your hips twitch off the bed.

“Sweet,” he breathes, eyes fluttering closed. “So fucking sweet—like nectar, like stars, like sin.”

You moan.

He moans louder.

Because Hyunjin isn’t just eating you out. He’s savoring. Every lick is long and deliberate, every press of his tongue a whispered poem. He swirls around your clit—soft at first, then pointed—then sucks it into his mouth with such aching, focused gentleness you cry out without warning.

“Hyunjin—”

He groans at the sound of his name. The vibration floods through your cunt.

“Say it again,” he whispers against you, then kisses your clit again like it’s your mouth. “Please. Sing for me.”

“Hyunjin—fuck—please—”

You can’t help it. You’re squirming, writhing, lost beneath him. Your thighs tremble around his head but he doesn’t let go. One arm wraps behind your waist, anchoring you to his mouth like he can’t stand the idea of you pulling away.

His tongue starts to move faster—up, down, circle, suck—messy, wet, worshipful.

Slurping sounds fill the air. His own moans grow desperate. He drags you closer, face buried deep, nose pressed against your clit, tongue flicking mercilessly now. Like he’s not kissing anymore—he’s feasting.

You sob.

You’re panting his name like a spell now. Your back arches. Your thighs clamp.

His fingers dig into your skin. His tongue curls up and in. Every noise you make feeds him. Fuels him. Until he’s drunk on it. High on it.

High on you.

When you cum, it’s violent. Like drowning in silk. You clench around nothing, but feel everything. Your body locks. Your mind breaks. Your mouth opens—but nothing comes out.

And Hyunjin just groans. Like your orgasm was inevitable. A masterpiece finished.

He licks you through it. Sucks gently on your clit like he’s coaxing the last bits of your soul out through your cunt. Then another kiss. And another. Until he finally slows, breath ragged, mouth glossy with you.

His eyes rise to meet yours. Black. Dilated. Reverent.

Your breathing’s still erratic. Limbs heavy. The aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you in soft, involuntary flinches. And Hyunjin just watches. Licks his lips, eyes locked on the trembling between your thighs like it’s the final frame of a painting he’s not done signing.

Then? He shifts.

You barely register it until his mouth is on your inner thigh.

Not rushed. Not greedy. Just—gentle. Open-mouthed kisses along the softest part of you. His fangs slide out.

You feel the sharp brush of them ghost over your skin. He drags them softly, so softly, up the inside of your thigh, until your hips twitch from the sheer anticipation.

Then—

The bite.

It’s deep. Precise. His fangs sink into the flesh of your inner thigh like they were made for this—like your body was crafted just for his teeth. The sting is immediate, yes, but it blooms so quickly into pleasure that your head falls back, lips parted in a choked gasp.

Hyunjin groans the moment your blood hits his tongue.

His hands grip your thighs tighter, anchoring you as he drinks. Slow at first. Then deeper. His throat works in soft, rhythmic swallows. You can hear it. The slick sound of him feeding.

And all the while—he moans.

Like he’s tasting divinity. You try to move. He growls. “Stay still.” he breathes against your wound.

He licks the blood as it trails, mouth sticky and stained. Then another kiss. Another bite. This time, just a little higher—closer to where he just worshipped you with his tongue.

You gasp. The pleasure-pain bursts behind your eyes.

“Hyunjin—please—”

He hums your name into your skin. Wipes his mouth on your thigh like a signature. Then finally climbs up your body, hovering above your face. Eyes on your perfect pillowy lips, but he doesn't kiss immediately. He just hovers. Lets you see the blood on his lips—your blood—before whispering: “You’re mine, now. I’ll paint you in bruises and bites."

Then he kisses you.

Tongue deep. Copper-sweet. Blood-warm and you melt. Melt like puddle in his arms. His arms, exactly where you belong.

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑 𓆪 HAN JISUNG // Normal Vampire Chaos incarnate. Bites first, thinks later. Addicted to your blood and your moans—equally.

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Side of the neck ‣ Also: your chest, your fingers, your thighs—he’s not picky. Just rabid.

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Chaotic, breathless, unrestrained. ‣ Often bites mid-fuck or right after you cum. ‣ Will feed and finger you at the same time, panting into your blood. ‣ Tastes you like he’s making out with your pulse.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Overstimulation. Dizziness. Bite-high. ‣ Orgasms feel drugged—like you're floating underwater. ‣ Can trigger full-body shivers, sobbing, giggles, and collapsing. ‣ Irregular heartbeat post-bite. Known to laugh while you cry.

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Bite syncs with his orgasm. ‣ Feeds multiple times in one session—don’t expect to walk. ‣ Cums from your taste. Known to say “I need you again” before he’s even pulled out. ‣ Proceed with caution: addiction is mutual.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 005 𓆪

Han Jisung is already naked.

He wasn’t supposed to be. He was supposed to wait. But the second you walked into his apartment—short skirt, bare thighs, lipgloss still wet—he lost his fucking mind. Clothes gone. Fangs out. The kind of wide, dangerous grin that promised disaster and begged for it, too.

“You’re gonna ride me, yeah?” he pants, back hitting the bed with a thud. “Wanna see your tits bounce while I bite you.”

You swallow. Nod.

“No, no—c’mon,” he grins, already breathless. “Say it. Say you’re gonna ride me like you mean it.”

“I’m gonna ride you, Ji,” you whisper, crawling over him. “So fucking hard.”

“Fuck yes—” His head drops back, eyes fluttering. “My girl.”

You straddle him, feeling his cock hot and thick between your folds. He’s already leaking, already twitching beneath you. Your slick coats him in seconds. But he doesn’t thrust—no, he waits. Lets you drag your hips up and down until you’re both dizzy with it.

And then—you sink down.

“FUCK—” he cries, hands flying to your hips, gripping so tight you’ll bruise. “Shit—so warm—so tight—don’t move—fuck, baby, let me feel you like this—”

But you move anyway.

Start slow. Grinding your hips in circles, milking moans from his throat. He looks wrecked—sweaty, flushed, eyes half-lidded and glowing red. One hand sneaks up to grope your tits. The other stays on your hip, flexing with every grind.

When you start bouncing? He chokes.

“God—fuck—ride me—ride me, baby, please—”

You do.

Faster. Harder. Until your thighs burn and your pussy tightens with each drop. His mouth is everywhere—licking your collarbone, mouthing at your nipples, biting into your neck without warning.

He drinks. Moans into the wound. Licks the blood like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

You scream.

Not from pain—from pleasure so sharp it cuts. He pulls back, blood smeared on his lips, gasping like you just fucked the soul out of him. “You taste like heaven,” he whispers. “Fuck—I’m gonna cum—baby, cum with me, ride me until we break—”

You do. Together.

A shared orgasm that hits like a freight train. Your cunt tightens around him in rhythmic spasms, and he holds you through it—groaning, babbling praise, licking blood from your skin while he cums so hard his whole body shudders beneath you.

But he’s not done.

Because your chest is rising and falling—vulnerable, flushed—and he leans up, presses one last kiss between your tits.

Then bites again.

And again.

And again.

Your body’s still trembling. Muscles twitching. Slick and cum sliding down your thighs where he’s still buried deep inside you, twitching with aftershocks.

But Jisung?

He’s laughing.

Low. Breathless. A little too unhinged to be safe.

“You’re still warm,” he pants, lapping at your collarbone like it’s glazed in sugar. “Still fucking clenching around me. You’re gonna kill me, baby.”

You try to answer. You really do. But your brain has melted. Your mouth just opens—gasping—and that’s when he bites again.

Right above your heart.

You scream. Loud and broken. His fangs sink into skin like it’s the only place he belongs—like he can claim you from the inside out. He drinks like you’re water and he’s been parched for centuries. Moans like your blood makes him high. His cock twitches inside you, still half-hard and swelling again.

“Fuck—” he breathes, pulling back, his lips coated crimson. “You’re sweeter here. I knew you would be.”

Then he tilts his head. Looks down.

Sees it.

His cum.

Dripping out of your pussy like melted candlewax. A creamy mess of lust and love and loss of control. “Oh my fucking god,” he groans, manic. “I made you drip like this?”

A pause, a sharp inhale.

“Addicted,” he whispers. “Completely fucking addicted. You don’t even know—baby, I need—”

He bites again. Your shoulder this time. Then the other side of your neck. Then the curve of your breast.

He kisses each one after, messy and frantic, tongue smearing blood and spit across your skin like a mad artist painting his masterpiece.

And then?

He flips you. Again.

Pins you down now, hands on either side of your head, his mouth dragging over your body like he can’t choose where to ruin you next. I want to fuck you again,” he confesses, breath shaking. “Want to stay inside forever. Want to drink until I forget my name.”

“You already did,” you whisper, hoarse.

He grins. Wide. Bloody.

“Good.”

And then he bites again. This time? Your mouth.

Kisses you so hard his fangs nick your lip. Blood trickles in. He licks it up like a shot of liquor, hands gripping your thighs, your ass, your tits—anywhere he can touch.

"I love you. Mine, mine, mine forever."

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑 𓆪 LEE FELIX // Abnormal Vampire Soft on the surface, deadly underneath. Sleeps in silk, fucks like a fever dream.

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Over the heart or the curve of your breast

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Gentle at first. Almost shy. Kisses before teeth. ‣ Feeds while holding you close—rocking, murmuring sweet things into your skin. ‣ But when hunger takes over? He gets lost. Mouth drunk. Eyes glazed. Almost feral.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Full-body shivers. Skin hypersensitive. ‣ Overstimulation from prolonged oral + emotional collapse after the bite. ‣ Heightened affection post-bite—clinginess, sobbing, echo-pleasure. ‣ Bite mark often becomes an erogenous zone.

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Dreamwalkers induce trance-like states in partners. Bite can cause mild hallucinations. ‣ Reader may experience floating sensation + blackout orgasms. ‣ Blood-sharing with Felix forms rapid bond. Extremely addictive. ‣ Warning: prolonged exposure may result in crying during aftercare. And begging for more.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 006 𓆪

The penthouse is quiet when you return.

Shoes off. Dress unzipped. Champagne still singing in your veins from the gala. Felix walks in behind you, shrugging off his velvet blazer, golden curls loose around his temples, skin glowing under soft amber lighting.

He looks too good—black silk shirt open at the chest, fangs glinting behind his smile, eyes already darker than they should be. Not hunger. Something else.

Devotion.

"You were perfect tonight," he murmurs, fingers ghosting your waist as he draws you toward the bathroom. “But I didn’t like sharing you.”

Your heartbeat stutters. “You weren’t exactly subtle either,” you whisper, recalling the way his hand had stayed glued to your lower back all evening, lips to your ear at every chance, voice dipped low with possessive undertones. Like you were his prize.

His worship.

His next meal.

Felix chuckles. “No. I wasn’t.”

The tub fills behind you—steaming, lavender-scented, full of white foam and rose petals. His idea, of course. He always did prefer indulgence after restraint.

He helps you in like you’re made of porcelain. Your skin sinks into the warmth with a sigh. Felix climbs in after, settling behind you, legs spread so you’re seated snugly between them. Your back hits his bare chest, and already, you can feel it.

The thrum beneath his skin. The restraint snapping thread by thread.

“You wore that dress to kill me,” he murmurs, mouth against your neck. “Slit up to your hip. No bra. Lace so sheer I could see the curve of your nipples under every chandelier.”

You smile. “And?”

“And now I’m going to take my time with you.”

His hands cup your breasts from behind. Thumbs flicking your nipples. Bubbles cling to his wrists, his forearms. His lips drag up your neck. Soft. Featherlight.

Then sharp.

A kiss first—then a bite.

Fangs sink in, clean and deep, right beneath your jaw. You gasp, head falling back against his shoulder as the pain melts into pleasure. He drinks slow—just a few sips, just enough to make you squirm—and licks the wound clean with a reverent groan.

“So sweet tonight,” he whispers. “You taste like champagne and sin.”

You whimper.

His hands trail lower. One slips down between your thighs, parting you under the water, fingers pressing into your cunt with aching care. The other? Gliding over your thigh, then gripping it, spreading you wider for him.

He doesn’t tease.

Two fingers sink in—slick, hot, stretching you open as the water laps around you. His thumb finds your clit, circles slow and steady. The angle is perfect. Deep. Focused.

"You always take me so well,” he breathes into your skin. “Even when you’re trembling.”

You are. Shaking, helpless, your body already wrung too tight. The bite. The warmth. The way he touches you like he’s composing a symphony.

And then—he pulls you closer.

“Ride me,” he whispers. “Like you did the last time I fed on your heart.”

You whimper. Turn in his arms, straddling him with the water sloshing over the edge. His cock is already hard, flushed, pressed against your stomach as you rise onto your knees.

He watches you. Eyes half-lidded. Blood-drunk.

When you sink down on him—slow, stretching around his thick length—you both moan. Your nails dig into his shoulders. His hands grip your waist like he’s anchoring himself to reality.

“Fuck—baby—you feel like velvet,” he chokes out. “So wet. So fucking warm—”

You start to move.

The rhythm is gentle at first. Slippery skin, heavy breaths, the sound of water shifting with every roll of your hips. Felix bites your shoulder. Then your collarbone. Then lower, tongue lapping blood before it cools, fangs sinking in again like he’s trying to mark every inch.

You're bleeding. You're riding. You're both coming undone.

“Look at you,” he groans. “Dripping for me. Bleeding for me. My perfect little canvas.”

Your orgasm builds like a tide—slow, inevitable. His cock hits all the right places, his hands guiding you faster, his mouth sealing over your throat for one final bite as he moans into your skin.

“Cum for me,” he pants. “Feed me while you fall apart.”

Your whole body tenses—like a wave crashing against fragile glass.

And then it shatters.

You break apart on him with a choked cry, thighs trembling, nails clawing down his back. Your orgasm ripples out in hot, helpless pulses, cunt fluttering around him, blood still seeping slowly from your bitten throat as you collapse forward into his arms.

Felix growls.

The sound vibrates through his chest, deep and guttural—feral with need. His mouth seals tighter around your neck, and he drinks as you shake through your climax. Every pull of his lips sends fresh aftershocks rolling through you. You're twitching, overstimulated, undone.

“That's it,” he whispers, lips stained, eyes fluttering shut in bliss. “That’s my angel. Give me everything.”

He swallows every drop like he needs it to survive. Like your pleasure is the only thing that can keep him sane.

When he finally releases your throat, his tongue traces the wound—gentle now, reverent, like he’s kissing the holiest part of you. Blood paints his chin. His cock still buried inside you, twitching, heavy, throbbing.

Then—he lifts his head.

You see it in his face. The complete loss of control. His pupils blown wide, lips red, hair clinging to his temples in damp, golden waves. His hands clutch your waist again—and he thrusts up once, hard, a broken moan escaping his throat.

“Oh—fuck—” he gasps. “I’m gonna—”

You’re still pulsing around him. Still warm, wet, perfect.

He buries himself deeper, spilling into you with a low, desperate groan. His mouth finds yours mid-release, kissing you like he’s tasting eternity. Tongue slick with blood and love. You’re breathless, trembling, still locked together in the cooling water—and only then does he speak again. Softly. Against your lips.

“You’re divine.”

You smile weakly, forehead to his. “So are you.”

Felix brushes a petal from your shoulder. One last kiss to your jaw. One last whispered truth, low and sacred:

“I’d bleed for you too.”

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 𓆪 KIM SEUNGMIN // Normal Vampire The gentleman with a scalpel smile. Clinical precision. Calculated hunger.

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Inner arm — intimate, exposed, and close to your heart. ‣ Sometimes the chest or side of your ribs

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Calm. Measured. Strategic. ‣ He plans his bites—timed, placed, controlled. ‣ Often feeds during emotional peaks—after soft sobs, laughter, confessions, or sex. ‣ Gentle on the surface, but watch closely: there’s a dangerous edge underneath.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Heart rate spike followed by unusual stillness. ‣ Floating sensation. Hallucination-like euphoria. ‣ Skin hypersensitivity for hours after. ‣ Develops strong dependency on his praise and attention.

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Low-risk externally—but internally, you’ll never forget the way he says your name. ‣ Prolonged feeding can induce dreamlike sedation or emotional bonding states. ‣ Known to leave almost invisible marks—but you feel them for days. ‣ Vulnerability spike: tendency to confess secrets or cry in his arms after.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 007 𓆪

You hadn’t spoken in over an hour.

Not since the fight.

Not since he said, “Maybe if you didn’t run every time we got too close, I wouldn’t have to wonder if you actually want this.”

You’d slammed the door to the bedroom. Now you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in one of his shirts, staring at the wall like it’s going to offer answers. It doesn’t.

The air is tight. Tense. Like everything’s been coiled too long.

Then—you hear his footsteps.

And suddenly, he’s there.

Seungmin doesn’t speak. Doesn’t shout. He just walks over, grabs your jaw with cold fingers, and tilts your head up.

“You want to be left alone?” he asks quietly. “Or do you want me to make you feel something again?”

Your breath stutters. That look in his eyes—sharp, calculating, barely restrained—isn’t the usual teasing calm.

This is something else.

You whisper, “Make me.”

And just like that—he snaps.

You’re pushed back against the bed. His body cages yours, knees on either side of your hips, hands pinning your wrists above your head. You gasp, arching—but he doesn’t give you time to speak.

“I hate fighting with you,” he growls, voice low and lethal. “You know that?”

You nod, breathless.

“But you push me. You always push. And then you run, and I let you. But not tonight.”

His lips crash to yours—angry, desperate, hungry. You kiss back just as hard, teeth clashing, tongues twisting. Seungmin bites your lip—draws blood. Licks it up like you’re wine and he’s parched. “Take it off,” he demands, tugging at the shirt. You pull it over your head, baring yourself to him completely and his eyes darken.

His eyes scan your body like he owns it. Like he's earned it. Then—he lets go.

Just releases your wrists and leans back, chest heaving. You blink, confused, but he only settles onto the mattress, dark hair mussed. One arm folded behind his head. The other gestures lazily down his own body.

“Take your panties off.”

You hesitate.

He raises a brow. “Now.”

You obey.

Silently, you slide the soft lace down your thighs, aware of how his gaze never leaves your center. You think—maybe—he wants you to straddle his face. Let him taste the slick that’s already gathering between your legs.

But Seungmin has other plans.

“Turn around,” he murmurs. “Back to me.”

You do, breath catching.

“On your knees. Over my chest.”

And that’s when it hits you.

You’re not riding his mouth. He’s placing you above him, facing the length of his body, and when you obey—when your hands brace on the bed and your knees sink beside his ribs—he shifts both of you down.

So now he’s under you. And your soaked pussy is right above his mouth. But his cock? Hard. Heavy. Inches from your face.

“Open your mouth, baby,” he growls. “And keep it open while I ruin you.”

You barely have time to whimper before his hands are gripping your hips, dragging your pussy down to his mouth. His tongue licks one long stripe through your folds before his fangs sink into the plush of your thigh with no warning, no restraint.

You cry out.

But then—you moan.

Because his mouth is everywhere. Kissing. Biting. Tongue fucking you while blood still runs hot against his lips. He’s feeding and pleasuring, starving and devout all at once.

And you?

You finally do what he told you.

Shaky hands pulling down his grey sweatpants and his briefs, his cock springing out, hard, leaking, throbbing.

You lean forward. Wrap one hand around the base of his cock. The other balances on his thigh. And then—you sink your mouth over him, slow at first, tongue pressing to the underside of the thick, pulsing length that jerks the moment you moan around it.

He groans.

Deep in his throat. A growl of praise.

“Just like that,” he breathes against your cunt. “Take it all, baby. Feed me while I fuck your throat.”

You do.

Mouth stuffed full of his cock, your hips rocking over his face as he feasts between your thighs like you’re the cure to every craving. His tongue works in circles—then flicks. His fingers dig into your ass, spreading you wider, holding you still when your thighs start shaking.

You’re dripping. Gagging. Gasping for air.

And Seungmin? He never lets up. Every time your mouth slides down over his length, he rewards you with another harsh suck, another bite to your thigh, another moan against your clit that sends you reeling.

Until you’re both right there.

Teetering. Desperate. Drenched in sweat, saliva, and blood.

Then—his cock throbs. Your walls flutter. Your body clenches around nothing as the orgasm explodes from your spine, rolling over you like a wave of fire.

Your juices soak his mouth. He drinks. Groaning. Devouring. Never stopping.

Your body trembles through the high and just as you release his cock from your mouth, gasping, your hand wraps around his base again, stroking him once, twice before he finally cums. All over your chest. Your mouth which you made sure to keep open. Your tongue.

Seungmin is panting, eyes dark, lips red, blood dripping from his mouth like wine and he licks your inner thigh again. "Feel better now?" he asks hoarsely.

You collapse sideways onto the mattress, dizzy and dazed. "Fuck you," you whisper.

He smirks.

"You already did. But unless you want more, I'm happy to oblige~"

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒 𓆪 YANG JEONGIN // Normal (Evolving Abnormal) Vampire The sweet boy with the sharpest bite. Addicted to affection. Dangerous when starved.

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Shoulder blade, inner thigh & lower back

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Emotional. Impulsive. Clingy. ‣ Bites happen mid-kiss, mid-moan, mid-breakdown. ‣ Never feeds clean—always leaves marks. ‣ Mouthy. Sloppy. Overwhelmed. Often doesn’t stop until you pull him off.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Heavy euphoria followed by crashing neediness. ‣ Breathing becomes erratic. Limbs tremble. ‣ Intense emotional projection—feels what you feel, tenfold. ‣ Causes your body to crave touch long after the bite ends.

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Unpredictable: safest when loved, most lethal when rejected. ‣ High risk for overfeeding during sex due to overstimulation. ‣ Known to whimper while drinking. ‣ Will worship you for hours afterward like he’s trying to say sorry with every kiss.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 008 𓆪

You’re still wearing it.

That lingerie set—the one in soft wine-red lace, delicate enough to tear, pretty enough to drive him feral. It’s sheer over your chest, satin at the waist, and trimmed in ribbon. You’d worn it as a surprise. You didn’t expect him to unravel like this.

Jeongin stares at you from the mattress, already shirtless, eyes darkened and jaw clenched. He looks dazed. Hungry. Like he’s been trying not to lose control all night and now he’s at his limit.

“I’m not taking it off,” he says hoarsely, reaching for you. “It’s too perfect. Too hot. Just—ride me like that.”

Your breath catches.

You crawl into his lap slowly, knees bracketing his hips, arms wrapping around his shoulders. His hands grip your thighs, sliding up the sheer lace with reverence and a tremble. Then his mouth is on you—kissing down your neck, biting gently at first, tongue soothing the sting. But that’s not what he really wants.

“I need it,” he whispers. “Please. Let me bite.”

You nod.

He doesn’t hesitate. Sinks his fangs into the swell of your breast just above the lace, groaning low as your blood hits his tongue. You moan at the feeling of the heat rush that floods your body. Your hips grind down on instinct. He grips you tighter, hips twitching beneath yours.

“Fuck,” he gasps, pulling back with blood smeared at the corner of his lips. “You taste so good.”

You rock against him again. He’s hard already, pressing against your center through thin layers. Your pace quickens as you straddle him, grinding down in search of friction, your moans growing louder with every pass.

And then—he thrusts up once, twice, desperately, through his boxers, trying to meet you. It’s messy. Uncontrolled.

“Take me out,” he pants. “I—I need—please—”

You reach between you, freeing him from his briefs. His cock is flushed, heavy, leaking against your hand. He bucks into your touch, then holds your hips steady while you pull your panties aside and lower yourself onto him—inch by inch, lace still clinging to your skin.

His head drops back against the pillow with a moan so wrecked it doesn’t sound human. “You feel… fuck… you feel unreal.”

You start to move.

Slow at first—steady rolls of your hips, his hands roaming every inch of you he can reach. His fangs flash again as he watches you bounce, lace framing your curves, blood still drying on your chest.

“I can’t—can’t hold back,” he grits out. “Need to bite again—need to feel you everywhere.”

You nod, too lost in pleasure to form words.

This time, he bites your shoulder. Then your neck. Then your breast again through the fabric, enough to tear the lace slightly. Each time, his tongue follows, soothing the sting with a worshipful lick before he moans against your skin.

You’re shaking. Close. So close.

“Jeongin—”

“I know, baby," he growls—but this time, there’s a rasp in his throat. A dark edge. A thirst not just for you—but for what’s inside you. What feeds him.

Then—he snaps.

Jeongin bucks up into you with renewed force, rough and desperate, the rhythm turning messy and fast. One hand clutches your hip, guiding your motion, the other lands sharp against your ass—slap.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Take it. Ride it. Don’t you dare stop.”

You try to answer, but your voice breaks. He’s deep, hard, relentless. The blood loss, the overstimulation, the lace chafing just so—it’s too much, and still not enough.

Then he sinks his fangs into you again.

Lower this time—just above your heart. A claim. A feeding. His moan is filthy against your skin as he drinks, hips slamming up with each pull from your vein. His lips seal to the bite like it’s sacred, tongue swiping the spill before it stains.

You feel yourself tipping, unraveling—body jerking, walls fluttering around him. He groans, hands digging into your ass, holding you in place as his thrusts become erratic.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he pants, blood-slicked lips against your breast. “I could drink you dry. Fill you up. Fuck—don’t stop—don’t stop.”

You don’t. Your body moves on instinct—legs trembling, hands clutching at his chest, your moans dissolving into shattered gasps as you ride him harder, faster, deeper.

He fucks up into you like he’s chasing something primal—like he’s on the edge of breaking, of shifting into something unholy. His grip on your hips bruises. His jaw is clenched tight. He’s staring at you like you’re divinity draped in lingerie and blood.

“Fucking—cum,” he snaps, voice cracking. “Let me feel you.”

And then—you do.

It hits like a flood, your whole body locking around him, head thrown back as the orgasm rips through you. You cry out, shaking, grinding down on him as your walls clench and flutter and milk him mercilessly.

Jeongin loses it.

He growls—a sound feral, needy—and slaps your ass again, rougher this time, then grabs your waist and slams up into you with sharp, punishing thrusts. No rhythm now. Just desperation. His cock drags along every swollen, overstimulated nerve inside you as he chases his own climax, jaw clenched, breath ragged.

“Fucking—tight—fuck, I’m gonna—”

Another slap. Another thrust. His fangs flash again like he’s tempted to bite one last time, but instead he buries his face in your chest, breathing you in like you’re oxygen. His fingers sink into your thighs, holding you down as he spills into you with a deep, guttural groan.

His entire body jerks.

Once. Twice.

Then stillness.

His grip softens—only a little. His face stays pressed against your skin, your blood still drying against his lips. His cock twitches inside you, aftershocks making your thighs tremble from where you’re still seated on him.

He finally breathes. Hoarse. Like he’d forgotten how.

“…mine,” he whispers. Like a prayer. Like a vow.

🏷️ taglist: @cybergracie , @jupitermarss , @basicginn , @dhvnigvil , @emkvlixsx , @collin-thegreat , @somuchpanicverylittledisco

[trashytracktales]

GIRL DONT HOLD BACK

WRITE THE LANDO NORRIS HELMET SMUT

Finders keepers | LN⁴

🟢 summary ──── A moment of boredom turns into a game of control and restraint, with Lando pushing boundaries neither he nor his girlfriend expected on such a busy day.

🟢 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

🟢 rating ──── explicit

🟢 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, smut, swearing, semi-public setting, soft!dom Lando, fingering & oral ─ (f)receiving, unprotected sex, overstimulation, messy finish, Lando low-key losing it.

🟢 word count ──── 3.3k

🟢 date ──── Mar. 4, 2025

🟢 a/n ──── This one has been HIGHLY requested after one of you guys sent in this ask, so I shall deliver. I hope you enjoy it as much as you imagined & can’t wait to hear your thoughts 🤍

Also, yes. This is the second one-shot of the day, because I ACCIDENTALLY posted this Charles Leclerc piece earlier. It’s very short and I was supposed to post it after this one OOPSIES get greedy & go check it out. Thank you, love you all 💋

THERE IS HARDLY enough room for more than two people in the driver’s room. A physio table is pushed against the wall, a couple of chairs sit tucked under a desk covered in notes, post-its and water bottles, and a row of plastic shelves is holding some race suits, a change of clothes and toiletries, and a spare helmet. There is a faint scent of fresh rubber and overall newness of the place in the air that blends with the smell of rain, and something so distinctly Lando, a mix of his cologne and fabric softener.

She has been waiting for hours now. Day two of testing in Bahrain is dragging, and even though she loves watching her boyfriend hit the track, the long hours spent doing nothing are starting to wear on her. She finished reading three books in two days, rewatched her favorite TV show, and scrolled through her feed until the app informed her that there were no new posts.

She sighs, running a hand over the edge of the desk before deciding to tidy up a little. Not that there’s much to clean, since McLaren keeps these rooms nearly spotless, but at least it gives her something to do. A few minutes later, the post-its are arranged on the wall by color, the documents are organized in chronological order, and the water bottles have found a new home, crammed under the table.

Out of curiosity, her fingers brush over one of Lando’s new helmets, freshly designed for the pre-season testing. It’s sleek, predominantly black with neon streaks and intricate models running along the sides. On impulse, she lifts it, feeling its surprising weight before slipping it over her head. The padding presses snugly against her ears, muffling the distant sounds of mechanics still at work in the garage.

She can’t help but feel a vague claustrophobia surrounding her, but the feeling isn’t necessarily bad. On the contrary, it gives her the impression of safety, even if it inhibits her other senses.

Grinning to herself, she pulls out her phone and angles the camera for a selfie. The reflection in the visor catches the glow of the overhead lights, giving her an futuristic look. She continues to snap a few more photos, adjusting the tilt of her head, until a blurred figure appears in the background of her screen.

“Having fun all by yourself?” Lando’s voice is amused yet he sounds tired, and before she can turn around, she feels his arms wrap around her waist from behind. He leans in, lips ghosting over her shoulder in a lazy kiss.

She huffs out a laugh, nudging at his arms, “I told you to stop sneaking up on me like that. You scared me.”

Lando chuckles, hands splaying over her stomach, thumbs brushing absentminded circles through the fabric of her shirt. “Sorry. Didn’t expect to catch you playing dress-up with my stuff.”

“Finders keepers,” she says in a singing voice, making Lando chuckle again.

“Yeah? You like it?”

“It looks cool,” she admits, “Therefore, it makes you look cool.”

Lando squeezes her a little tighter, “That mouth on you,” he teases.

The girl giggles, “Am I wrong? Also, you should’ve knocked, by the way,” she continues, reaching up to pull at the visor so she can actually see him.

“I should knock on a door that has my name on it?”

“Yeah, you do!” she sounds revolted, “Especially when you know there’s a lady waiting for you inside.”

Lando’s gaze darkens ever so slightly as he takes her in. She looks like a mirage under the dim light of the small room, her curls coming untamed from under his helmet and her eyes so bright and filled with love, looking back at him.

He nods with a boyish smile, “I’ll try to remember that next time.”

Maybe it’s just exhaustion making his eyes so heavy-lidded, the lingering adrenaline from a long day fading into something softer. But when she catches him staring, Lando has the same soft gaze he does whenever they sit on the couch and he’s about to doze off; he looks unintentionally hot like this, worn out but content.

“Alright, racer boy. Can we go now?” she asks, pressing back against him slightly.

Lando sighs, reluctant. “Not yet. I still have a couple of hours to go. Gotta go over the data with the engineers,” his fingers tighten briefly on her hips before he steps back. “You can head back to the hotel if you’re bored. I’ll get you a car.”

She pouts, “It’s not as fun without you.”

That wins her another chuckle, but this time, there’s something else in Lando’s expression. His gaze is shamelessly dragging over her with an intensity that makes her pulse stutter. It’s only now that he really registers that she’s wearing his helmet, his name and number stamped all over.

She’s worn his clothes before — his hoodies, his merch, his team’s attire — but this feels completely different. It makes his mouth dry and head spin, and he might be exhausted, but suddenly, swallowing the lump in his throat, Lando realizes he’s so turned on.

“Then stay,” he encourages her, “I have half an hour to decompress before going to debriefing. I’m sure we can find something fun to do.”

His suit suddenly feels tighter, heat creeping up the back of his neck. He swallows again, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he exhales slowly.

“Is that so?” she challanges him. “Something in mind already?”

He runs a hand through his curls before reaching for her again, “Maybe,” his voice is low, amused but laced with something indulgent. His fingers skim her waist, tracing the hem of her shirt as he tugs her closer. “You’re pretty inspiring.”

She tilts her head slightly, the visor still lifted so he can see the teasing glint in her eyes. “Well, that’s new,” she laughs. “But I was just messing around.”

Lando hums, unconvinced. “Sure you were.”

She moves to take the helmet off, but his hand catches hers mid-motion.

“No, leave it,” says Lando, thumb grazing over her knuckles. His breath is warm when he leans in, his next words spoken directly against its glossy material. “You have no idea how hot you look right now.”

A shiver rolls down her spine, and it quickly goes south, right between her legs. It makes Lando grin subtly, then he reaches for the visor, pulling it down with a definitive, loud click. At that, her world narrows in an instant, and the limited view somehow makes every touch and every breath between them more intense.

Lando walks her back until she’s perched on the edge of the physio table, her pulse hammering as she watches him, excited, but mostly curious about his plans. They have thirty minutes, so his movements aren’t rushed in any way. Quite the opposite. They’re almost lazy, but there’s something precise about the way he reaches for the zipper of his race suit.

He rolls his shoulders, loosening up, then adjusts the height of the table so that when he sinks to his knees in front of her, she’s exactly where he wants her to be. Patiently, his fingers trail up her legs, making slow work of the button on her jeans. There’s no hurry in the way he peels them down, taking her underwear with them in one go, but the moment he gets rid of them, there’s a shift in his demeanor.

Lando exhales sharply, his large hands splaying over her thighs as he looks at her, half-lust and half-serious. “You gotta keep quiet, baby,” he says, a hint of mischief curling around his words. “These walls aren’t real, and anyone passing by the door can hear us blink.”

There was a little giggle stuck in her throat, but now she barely has time to react before his fingers part her, his touch light at first, just exploring while he preps her with the dexterity of a man who did it countless of times before.

Her breath catches at the first slow stroke, her thighs tensing as he traces circles where she’s most sensitive. The first sound she makes is barely a whisper of a whimper, that Lando trained his ears to hear, since is muffled inside the helmet.

He huffs out a quiet laugh, “Is that my cue?”

Before she can answer, Lando leans in.

Initially, his mouth is warm and merciful. He licks into her with a sort of tamed hunger that’s out of his character, savoring every little shift of her hips, every shudder she tries to suppress. Even so, it sends her a clear message: even though his energy is low from the long day, his need to taste her is anything but.

The world outside their room hums with noise — faint conversations, the occasional shuffle of footsteps, the distant whir of power tools in the garage. But all she can focus on is the way he’s lapping at her clit, the slick sound of it embarrassingly loud in the small space, her own whimpers barely contained behind the visor.

Lando chuckles against her, the vibration making her head tilt back slightly; the weight of the helmet forces her to let her head fall against the wall, which positions her even better in front of him.

“Gonna have to be quieter than that,” he teases, slipping his fingers between her folds, pressing just enough to make her squirm.

She barely manages to shake her head, her breath ragged. The visor fogs up as a result, which forces her to close her eyes, since her sense of sight is officially useless.

Lando looks up proudly, fingers pushing deeper as he settles in, more than happy to test her limits. He knows how to curl them just right, the wet sounds obscene in the stillness of the room.

His free hand grips her thigh like he’s starved, holding her open for him, his name echoing softly inside the helmet — muted yet desperate. He feels the way she gets even more aroused with each passing second, coating his fingers with every slick stroke, her body responding to him exactly as it does every single time he takes over.

Startled with new sensations experienced in the dark, she brings a shaky hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the moans threatening to spill out, only to realize, all over again, that she can’t. A frustrated whimper escapes instead, the same hand scrambling for something to support herself. Finally, her fingers clutch at the edge of the table, but it’s useless; her hips are already rolling against Lando, chasing more.

“Mhm,” he hums, his voice shallow. “Getting so wet for me, should’ve done this ages ago. Why didn’t we?”

She gasps, trembling on the edge and so ready to agree with him, but then Lando stops, and the loss of his fingers is almost unbearable. Before she can think, a loud, frustrated moan slips past her lips, making him laugh at her impatience.

She’s too gone now, drunk on the feeling, and the weight of the helmet is definitely not helping. Not when she’s melting under his touch, making it hard to move, and pretty much do anything but stay there, waiting. Aching for more.

Lando watches her for a moment, dark-eyed and smirking, already hard just from seeing her like this, her body so pliant and responsive under his hands. He pulls himself out with one hand, stroking lightly, and with the other, he grips the edge of the helmet, forcing her to look at him.

“Alright, baby, I’m serious. No more of that, okay?” asks Lando. “If someone hears us, it’s gonna be bad. And we don’t want that, do we?” he continues, watching her gathering all her strength only to nod slightly. “That’s right. The second I hear you moan, I’ll have to stop.”

Even Lando knows it’s a lie, but he had to say it, just in case.

She swallows, nodding again as best as she can, her pulse a frantic rhythm against his fingers when he drags his hands down her sides, holding her still. Then, with a precise snap of his hips, he buries himself inside her, stealing the breath from her lungs.

The force of it sends a shudder through the physio table, the legs creaking against the floor. She barely has time to adjust before he thrusts again, deeper this time, pressing her body into the table like he’s trying to mold her into it. Her thighs tighten around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, desperate to keep him there, to keep him buried inside her where she needs him most, the weight of him, the pressure and the friction maddening.

Lando swallows a moan, but some of it manages to slip past gritted teeth, “Fuck, you look—” he cuts himself off, sucking in a sharp breath. He doesn’t even have words for it. The way she feels around him and the heat of her pulling him back in every time he dares to pull away, it’s enough to make his mind go blank.

The table shifts again, inching against the floor with every thrust. She grips at the suit still clinging to his shoulders, trying to hold onto something, but there’s no escape from the way he’s driving into her, every drag of his cock making her shake beneath him.

“Lando…”

He knows. He feels it too. The way they’re teetering on the edge of something dangerously intoxicating, and the way they’re doing that together.

His hands tighten on her, his next thrust shoving the table another inch to the side. “Shit,” he breathes, voice husky with restraint. “Hold on, love. A little more, yeah?” He grips the edges of the table and snaps his hips forward again, watching the way her body reacts to him. “Fucking hell,” he spits, eyes dark as he watches her fall apart under him, little by little. “Keep me in, baby. Like that.”

She clings to him without hesitation, like she was made for this, for him. He’s marking her and he knows it, his fingers moving back to her waist, digging into her soft flesh. Lando’s name is all over her, in ways that only he can see, in places only he gets to touch. And the way she lets him, makes his head spin.

In the haze of it all, a sudden, foreign thought crashes into him like a gut-punch: her name next to his. It’s ridiculous, completely out of place in a moment like this, but it paralyzes him for a second. Until his body reacts on its own, fire spreading through his veins. He leans forward, caging her in, his thrusts becoming sharper, more desperate. His forehead presses against the cool surface of the helmet for just a moment, grounding himself, before he pulls back and looks at her.

He can barely see her eyes, wide and glazed over, but it’s enough. His fingers tighten on her hips as he slams back into her, dragging her flush against him, letting her feel every inch of his length. The sharp noise that the table makes underneath them is lost in the delicious sounds of their bodies moving together, of their heavy breathing, of the desperate way she silently whimpers his name like she wants to keep it on her tongue forever.

He’s spiraling, drowning in the heat of her, in the thought that she lets him take her like this, lets him ruin her for anyone else.

Yet somehow, it’s still not enough.

Her hands fly up instinctively, grasping at the helmet, knuckles turning white as she tries to steady herself against the overwhelming feeling of him.

Outside the room, voices pass by again, too close, and Lando clenches his jaw, fighting his own demons as he’s forcing himself to stay quiet.

Luckily, she’s close. He can feel it in the way she tightens around him, the way her body shakes as she tries her hardest to stay silent. Inside the helmet though, her breathing is shallow, small cries coming out of her parted lips.

“Come on, pretty girl,” says Lando in a demanding yet soft tone. One of his hands clamps around her neck, guiding her into each thrust. “Give it to me. Let me feel you.”

Lando doesn’t slow down one bit, rolling his hips in a way that he knows it drives her wild. As a result, her body tenses, trembling as pleasure overtakes her. A choked gasp echoes inside the helmet, and Lando smirks, watching her unravel. He’s so utterly captivated by the way her walls tighten around him and the way her thighs quiver in his hands, as if she can crumble if he’s won’t be careful. It’s almost too much for him, but Lando manages to pull out just in time, watching as her release coats his throbbing length, as she shudders through the aftershocks.

“Yeah,” he breaths, running a hand up and down her thigh. “Such a good girl, baby. Let it all out.”

She slumps back against the table, panting inside the helmet, her body overly sensitive. Keeping his eyes on her, Lando gives himself a few slow strokes, exhaling hard through his nose; he’s so close it’s painful.

“You okay?” he asks her, his voice as hoarse as if he screamed for hours at a concert.

Slowly coming back to her senses, she exhales sharply, “I’m good,” she manages and, before she gets the chance to ask him the same question, Lando slaps her thigh in order to catch her attention.

“Down on your knees, then. Come on,” he rasps, guiding the girl to her knees, his patience wearing out quickly, as he tilts her chin up with two fingers.

The glow of the light catches on the sleek surface of the helmet, and something about it — about her like this, still catching her breath, still his — makes his stomach flip.

“God, look at you,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the edge of the visor as he grips the helmet gently. “Obedient little thing.”

She doesn’t speak — can’t, really — just watches him through the darkened shield, completely at his mercy.

Lando’s breathing stutters as he pumps himself faster, the tension coiling tight in his core. “Gonna make a mess of you, yeah?” he asks, mostly rhetorically. “Right there on my—”

He barely manages a breath before the orgasm crashes into him, blinding and all-consuming. His grip tightens, a sharp groan breaking free as heat pulses through him, spilling in thick streaks across the dark visor. Each of his breath is shaky, his mind fogged with pleasure and a sudden possessiveness.

She stays still, letting him ruin the helmet just like he ruined her, and the sight leaves him dizzy.

His fingers twitch as he pushes sweat-damp curls from his forehead, exhaling a laugh, wrecked and breathless. The sound of it fills the space, mixing with the muffled hum of voices just beyond the walls. But all Lando can hear is the quiet, pleased sigh that leaves her lips, her fingers scratching against her thighs, as if she wants to touch him, as if she wants to taste him.

His stomach clenches at the thought, the aftershocks leaving him lightheaded, wrecked in a way he’s never felt before. He exhales sharply, looking down at her, at his helmet, at what he’s done.

Then, Lando’s fingers are flexing against her head before he finally loosens his grip, running a slow thumb over the mess he’s made.

“Hell,” he pants, still catching his breath. Then, softer, with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “Might have to fuck you like this more often.”

She exhales a quiet, amused breath, tilting her head slightly. “Guess that means I’m actually keeping it.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[dinogoofymutated]

Plz tell me you’re doing a part 2/continuation of you nsfw nightcrawler(only if you don’t want to of course). I just have got to read about Kurt returning the favor cus I just know he’s going to be a little teaser/pleaser 🤭 ya know. Kurt has been one of my first loves since I was a kid and I’m so glad the nightcrawler fandom has come out of hiding because it feels nice to be in a place that gets you😌

NSFW!Nightcrawler/AFAB!reader - part 2!

Don't forget to read part 1!

Ask and you shall receive!! You and @the-girl-who-walks-with-faeries both requested a part 2 so here it is!! I hope this is okay, I know the original was completely GN but I wasn't sure how to do that with this one!

Also, I know we all love our goofy furball but this is a daily reminder that Kurt has so much depth to his character. It's really easy for us as a Fandom to characterize him as a happy-go-lucky ball of constant sunshine but he's much more than that!- Tis all. Peace ✌️

TW: MDNI!!!! Smut, fingering, PNV sex. Little bit of teasing. Lots of petnames. Sorry for the shitty German translations. Creampie.

Kurt used to be really self conscious about his hands when the two of you first got together. It's not that he thought you found them disgusting, in fact, he knew it was quite the opposite.

He was just worried that he wasn't able to prepare you properly. Especially since they're so wide set on his hand. Going two at a time wouldn't be comfortable for you or him.

Eventually, he did become more confident on himself, especially when he tried other ways of foreplay, making sure you're not only prepared, but fully sated before the main course.

“Please, let me return the favor, my love.”

Kurt's hands teasingly rubbed the crook of your thighs, caressing the sensitive inner skin. You can't help but let out a little whine as he slides his hands closer to your lips, only to slide away again. He chuckles, and you faintly hear his tail swaying back and forth against the bed.

"Kurt, don't tease." You softly chide, relaxing further into his chest. He leans over to kiss your cheek, trailing down to your neck sensually. You sigh as he licks and nips at the soft skin.

"Apologies, Schatz. Seems I can't help myself." He muses. You gasp as a fingertip grazes across your clit, teasing at first, before he adds a little more pressure. You let out a noise of pleasure and contentment at the sensation. Kurt's other hand reaches up to caress your breast, thumb gently brushing across your nipple. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip as the finger on your clit dips down, teasing your slit as he gathers the sickness pooling there and drags it back up to your clit.

"All this, for me?" Kurt hums, his canines grazing the crook of your neck. You nodd in response, unable to think clearly enough to respond to him. He chuckles again, turning your head to pull you into a deep kiss. You feel one of his fingers teasing your slit again, sliding in rather smoothly. The action causes you to gasp into his mouth, and Kurt takes the invitation. His tongue caresses the inside of your mouth, keeping you rather occupied as he fingers your cunt. His kiss leave you breathless, gasping for air when you separate. His face is just as flushed as your own as his thumb wipes the spit from your mouth. You stick your tongue out to meet his thumb, licking the pad of the digit before sucking it into your mouth teasingly. Kurt can't take his eyes off of you, cursing quietly at the action. The curl of his finger inside of you causes you to release it, moaning as he touches you just right.

"Kurt?" He sucks in a breath at the sound of your voice.

"Yes, liebling?" The nickname causes a flutter in your chest even now, sprawled out across his lap in the throes of pleasure.

"Fuck me?" He's speechless for a moment, heated gaze keeping your own. He can't kelp but lean in and kiss you again, his tail wrapping around your waist to simply have you fully encompasses in his hold.

"...I will do more than just that, my love." He whispers once he gathers himself enough to speak. He gently turns you around, kissing you over and over as he lays you against the bed. His hands trail down your arms. Gathering your wrists and bringing them upwards to press kisses to both palms. His eyes narrow as he catching a glimpse of the bruise forming on one of your wrists, and a heated gaze turns to concern.

"Did I do this?" He asks, tail unwinding from around your waist, like he's worried he'd squeeze you to tight (again). You don't want to lie to him, but you don't want to tell him either, knowing that the thought of hurting you while caught up in his own pleasure is more than a nightmare for him. Instead you pull him down to kiss you. He sighs into the kiss, caressing the bruise before he moves onto his elbows to hold himself above you in the bed. He’s hard against you when you grind up against his pelvis, the action making him gasp. He separates from the kiss reluctantly as you begin to line him up, notching the head of his cock against your slit. He stops you before you try to take him in.

"You stop me if that ever happens again." Kurt says, a little more strictly than you've heard him speak to you before.

"Okay." You nodd at him. "I promise." He smiles at you, brushing the hair out of your face before he begins to push into you, slowly. You're breath gets caught in your throat as he does so, sinking into you inch by inch. Kurt’s face is scrunched up in pleasure, those beautiful sharp canines biting into his lip before he buries his face in your neck.

Nothing has ever felt as perfect as he does when he's finally bottomed out inside of you. He sits for a moment, letting you adjust to his length before your patting his shoulders, begging him to move. He does so, starting slowly, thrusting deep into you as he pours his love into your body. You're doing your best to keep quiet, but it's hard when Kurt feels so perfect inside of you. Each thrust into you sends another flicker of pleasure to your stomach, already feeling so close.

Kurt himself isn't fairing much better, his whines and noises of pleasure being a sound you want to memorize until the day you die. Every once in a whole he'll murmur words of praise and love and appreciation for you, your body, your soul. He's immersed in the depths of you, sinking into your cushiony walls faster and faster as he begins to reach his own peak once again. One particular thrust is a little shaprer than the others, leading you to call out his name.

"Pssst. wir müssen ruhig sein. Liebe." He shushes you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. His strokes become faster as he gets closer and closer, not too far behind you.

"Kurt! I'm- ah... I..."

"Ich weiß, Schatz. Hah... ich bin bei dir." The knot of pleasure inside you snaps, and snapps hard. Kurt groans as he feels your walls fluttering around him, sucking him in. The sensation is too much. He thrusts inside you a few more times before he's reaches his own peak, cumming inside you in warm spurts. He twitches inside you, letting out small whines as he rides through the waves of pleasure.

Kurt collapses partially on top of you when he's done, pulling out gently and panting as the two of you try to catch your breath. His face is flushed when you look over at him, hair disheveled with his eyes blissfully closed. Your heart skips a few beats at the sight, and you find yourself reaching over to caress his face. His eyes blink open, and he smiles in a way that makes your heart stop. He holds your hand to his face, brushing his thumb across the skin of your knuckles.

"I missed you so much." You murmur, leaning in to rest your forehead against his. His smile would spread wider if it could, nothing but love and adoration in his eyes.

"We should make up for all the lost time then, love. How long do you think it will take for the others to notice us missing?"

[hanasnx]

❝ starlight. ❞

── anakin skywalker x reader

MINORS DNI 18+ WORD COUNT: 1.2k SUMMARY: a happy reunion. NOTES: no spoilers for ahsoka but takes place in an environment seen in ahsoka. force ghost anakin? who knows WARNINGS: f!reader | dom!anakin | pnp | coitus | kinks: size, praise | breath play: choking | attempted: possessiveness | implied: established relationship | doggy style | unprotected sex | hair pulling | body image: “hair long enough to pull.”

“Why am I here?” you question. Your pliant hands open at your sides, inviting him to answer you.

ANAKIN SKYWALKER's lips quirk in a familiar manner, a funny feeling growing in the pit of your stomach at the grave reminder you haven’t seen him in years. “Some might call it ‘unfinished business.’ Shall I enlighten you?”

“Please.”

“You needed closure. You sought me out.” he accused you, even while buried deep inside you to the hilt, as he once did decades ago. Even after all this time, you’re still not used to his size. The sheer sensation of it grips you infallibly, nodding your head in desperation to be heard without the use of your weak voice. Like dogs, you’re tangled together on the floor of this mysterious, unknown place. An environment unnamed, and a situation inexplicable, yet you couldn’t give yourself to him fast enough. “You wouldn’t believe how lonely I’ve been. How long I’ve waited for you.” he exhales into your hair, hot breath fanning over your skin as you cry out. “Finally, you’re open to receiving me.” In more ways than one. you think to say, but the words cannot leave your lips.

“Anakin,” you begin, but you can’t form whatever sentence you’d hoped to find.

His sweet, pleased crooning interrupts you, sending shivers down your spine. “Say it again.” His body weight sinks into you with the request, his hand loving and tender against your throat as it squeezes so candidly.

“Anakin!”

“Yes, star shine? Anything. Anything at all, it’s yours.” he coos as he shifts back and forth on his hip, sinking into your welcoming, wet heat. “Tell me,” That palm on your neck strengthens and you keen. How can you possibly ask him questions while he unravels you as expertly as he’s done a thousand times before?

You sigh, “Harder.”

A pregnant pause as you sense his grin stretch against your scalp, pressing a kiss to it in gratitude. “That’s my girl.” he praises your invitation, obliging you swiftly. The noise of your conjoined bodies heightens with each snap of hips against yours, the slivers of exposed flesh smacking against each other in a delicious sting. When you brace your palm against the ground of this bridge made of light, stars spread from your touch, and you get lost in the wonder of it. You’d had no time to admire the beauty of this “after-life” because of Anakin’s all-consuming nature. How he draws you into his intense gaze, and you’re undeniably under his control. Your refusal always falters. No matter how logical you may be, Anakin will be one step ahead of you. Out-maneuver you until you’re in a position much like this. A bitch in heat as he uses you to his heart’s content.

Apparently, he cared not for your distraction, and his hand brushes from your throat to your jaw. He cranes you neck in a curt motion, and your eyes are back on him. Flexibly, you’re inclined towards him as he captures your lips. As soft as you remember, they mold against yours. When they part, you’re all too eager to plunge your tongue into his willing mouth, receiving you to taste all you have to offer.

Briefly, he breaks it, only to murmur against you, “You missed me?”

“Of course I did, Ani, of course,” you ramble, and his grasp clamps around your cheeks to purse your lips. He leans in to redistribute his kiss and quiet your whimpers. This time, he’s unapologetic in the way he pries your teeth apart to dive his tongue in. As if he missed the most mundane parts of you, the tip lines your molars, the roof of your mouth, under your tongue, anything. You arch away from the pressure of him pressing further, an ache in your jaw as he sticks his tongue down your throat. You can’t hold yourself up against his rigid body weight, and you collapse onto your cheek.

Undeterred, Anakin chases you. Greedy for you, he latches onto your ear, biting down onto it, sucking on the cartilage as he plows you. The way he fills you, you feel so empty when he pulls out, only to bully his path back in.

“How are you here? How are you doing this?” you mumble, the power to speak draining from you with every second he’s inside you. As if he feeds in your very life force. His needy grunts in your ear send you reeling, and threads through your locks with his fingers, gripping the base of your follicles to grant himself leverage. The tingles from the action shimmer throughout your figure, and you curl your toes.

“Are you to question every gift?” he asks with a hint of amusement to his ragged tone. The grace and formality he’d greeted you with at the beginning of this meeting had melted away. Replaced with carnal desire and ache. “I know you, my star, you’re close.” He’s right. Your walls quiver around his formidable member that bruises your insides so delectably. “Ever the glutton for punishment.” he tsks, his knowledge of your desires serving him in this aspect. You’ve never shied away from a large cock, and Anakin’s the biggest you’ve ever taken. You lurch as he hammers in a particularly hard angle, and he chuckles at how you clench around him. “Not the only one who missed me…” he muses as he stares at your swollen folds, swallowing him up. Referencing your pussy as some insatiable entity always drove you mad with lusts.

Your helpless noises spur him on as they spill from your agape mouth. “My love, my love,” you blubber. Overwhelming emotion overtakes your exhausted nervous system, tears welling in your eyes. The sentimentality of something so debauched as sharing your most sacred parts with your long-lost-lover flares in your chest, your throat closing up. “Make me come… please? No one can like you can.” you manage to promise.

The notion you’d tried to get over him had Anakin stepping it up, increasing his pace. “Is that so?” he taunts. His free hand splays against the base of your spine, bouncing you onto his cock to meet his thrusts. You bite your lip in an attempt to silence yourself, and you become acutely aware of how he twitches inside you, signaling his impending release.

“Yes! Yes, I promise,” you insist, hoping to aid him in his endeavor of laying claim to you for the thousandth time.

By your hair alone, he yanks you up, clapping a hand over your throat to pin your back to his chest. The pressure forcing you to reticence. “Anything, my sweet,” he repeats. Anything for you.

The insurmountable wave crashes through the two of you, rippling through you head-to-toe. You pulse in his hold, but he’s steadfast, clutching you through it while your writhe in his grip. Languid kisses pepper where he can reach, his large arms securing you as you come down from you white-hot high. He remains seated inside you, embracing you.

[mrsbarou]

Hello my dearest moxxie <3 is it okay if I request anything with hiori? Love ya

HEADCANONS

YO HIORI EDITION — NSFW & SWF

You asked and you shall receive! This actually made me realize just how little I've been writing about Hiori so this is the perfect way to change things up.

content warning: headcanons, suggestive / nsfw content, mentions of kinks, established relationship, a little bit of angst if you look closely, fluff.

→﹐﹒⟢ HIORI takes a while to open up to you. It's not that he doesn't trust you, he just has a hard time coming to terms with the fact someone is there for him. Your comforting words and the warmth you radiate whenever you hold him against your chest, hand lovingly combing through his hair as you listen so intently are simply unfamiliar territory. Once he comes to terms with it though he has no trouble telling you about anything and everything.

→﹐﹒⟢ HIORI enjoys spending quality time and is especially fond of skin to skin contact. Any chance he gets is spent laying down together, cuddled up against one another as you watch something.

→﹐﹒⟢ HIORI felt very nervous when he met your parents for the first time. He wanted to prove to them that he was the right choice for you, and he couldn't help but dread a disastrous first impression. He kept trying to find excuses to put the meeting off, rescheduling it, pretending to be sick. Ultimately, you realized what was bothering him and did your best to comfort him, letting him know just how perfect he is. The meeting ended up going really well and any bad feelings the male had felt until then dissapeared.

→﹐﹒⟢ HIORI has a mommy kink. While you were slightly taken aback when he called you mommy for the first time, it became endearing as time passed.

→﹐﹒⟢ HIORI feels all giddy inside whenever you take a seat next to him, eyes widened like a kid's in a sweets shop as you watch the screen in front of you with so much awe. He likes the way you ask questions to understand what he's doing, the way you cheer for him whenever he does a good job, but most importantly, he enjoys having you on his lap as he games, feeling your warmth seep into his skin.

→﹐﹒⟢ HIORI becomes very needy and clingy whenever you're gone for too long. The second you set foot into your shared apartment his long arms snake around your waist, dragging you towards the couch or your bed, — depending on how much patience he has — and kissing you sloppily, whispering needy praises into your mouth. He'd desperately grind his hips against you; wanting to be buried inside your tight and warm hole.

"Missed you s'much mommy...." His hands palm your clothed breasts, soft whines escaping his lips as he leaves a trail of open mouth kisses on your neck. "Missed you too Hiori..." "Can I fuck you... please..." "Yes, yes.." He hastily got rid of your clothing, not even caring about ripping them apart and soon enough he was rutting into you like a rabbit in heat, cock twitching inside you with every deep and desperate thrust. "Mm.. so good.. so.. so good.." He'd moan out, face buried into the crook of your neck as he bullied his length into your wet cunt. And he wouldn't stop until he emptied himself inside you, time after time.

→﹐﹒⟢ HIORI believes there is no other place more comforting than your chest and the way he can sneak his hand into your shirt, squeezing and fondling your breasts as he cuddles with you.

[knavesflames]

hiii I really really love your writing and i just read your post about insecure reader x arlecchino ! 🫶 i was wondering if you would be willing to write something similar but with a reader insecure about the opposite, being too feminine/curvy like having wide hips, a tummy and big thighs, it's ok if not tho, thank you for reading 💗

Of course!! As a curvy gal myself I can resonate with this HARD. There aren’t super many who write curvy reader (and the ones who do slay, btw) so I am more than happy to write this. I’ve actually been excited for this ever since I received this ask.

Contents: insecure curvy reader, arlecchino being arlecchino, fluff with a hint of sadness sprinkled in

Word count: 1120

Writing utc!

Having dragged Arlecchino along to a lunch with your friends, you’d think you’d be happier than you are right now. Arlecchino is not like your friends in the slightest, them laughing and talking loudly with playful slaps on each other's arm as they melt in hysterical laughter. You suppose that is why Arlecchino zeroes in you and your behaviour now. Arlecchino is usually the quiet one, cracking a small smirk at a joke or huffing in laughter occasionally, you being the bridge between hysterically happy and Arlecchino’s level of calm. And yet, there you sit, poking the small salad leaves with your fork, a miserable expression on your face.

She frowns, glancing over at the plates of your friends. Pasta, focaccia, a burger.. why on earth do you have a salad? One that doesn’t even look good, of all things. Her foot moves to nudge you under the table.

“Eat. There is almost nothing on your plate and you look miserable. Shall I go and order more for you?”

You’re quick to deny her offer, a little too quick for Arlecchino’s liking, if she’s honest. She watches you for the rest of the lunch, watching how you smile and say you’re too stuffed to get dessert. She gives you a pointed look when you say that. She says nothing, but somehow you know that she’s not about to let this go.

You both walk home at a leisurely pace in comfortable silence. Feeling the slightest of breezes against your skin and listening to the afternoon birds chirping relaxes you, and it’s always a pleasure to walk through the town. Arlecchino’s arm snakes around you, resting gently on your hip. A silent gesture, but one she does often, one you usually enjoy.

“Don’t.”

The word pierces through the air as you shrug her arm off, continuing to walk in silence. Her eyes focus on you again, your face holding the same miserable look, like you’re about to burst into tears. Her brow creases and she folds her arms over her chest, her tone almost accusatory. Almost.

“What has gotten into you, love? You do not wish for my touch, you did not eat, you lied to your friends.”

“No—“

“If you say “nothing”, I swear to the Tsaritsa I will sit you down and not let you move until you tell me.”

You both walk the rest of the way home in tense silence, her words simmering. You know she isn’t joking, she would. She has done it once before, and it was the longest hour of your life. Of course, she only means well, but sometimes her ways of showing it can be a little.. tricky. You’re home before long, sliding the keys into the door and shutting it with a small click. You know you have approximately five seconds before—

“Tell me. You have not eaten except about five salad leaves, it is 4pm, your clothes are unusually baggy for your taste. Unless you plan on turning into a rabbit, you will tell me what is going on inside that pretty little head of yours.”

Her stare is unwavering, piercing through you in a way that would make anyone shudder and run away. You are not afraid, you know how soft she really is, at least around you, but you know you can’t put off telling her any longer.

“They are smaller than I am.”

“What? You are slightly taller than them, yes. What is wrong with that?”

“No. Not like that. They’re just.. smaller. Smaller breasts, smaller hips, smaller thighs. I don’t understand why I have to be this way.”

You mutter, gesturing to your body, hidden under the clothes. They are indeed baggy, chosen quickly when you glanced at yourself in the mirror this morning. She is silent for a while, clearly pondering. Arlecchino has a tendency to be blunt, a little too blunt, and it’s obvious she’s trying to soften her words.

“That is true. That does not make you any less beautiful. You are very feminine. I enjoy that.”

You stare at the floor, sniffling a little. It takes her a few seconds to realise you are crying, albeit trying to hide it to the best of your ability. But she is vigilant, she knows. She always knows.

“It is not a bad thing to have the body you have. You are healthy, you just have curves. Many people have surgery to get what you have naturally.”

“They can have it. I don’t want them.”

“Stop. I do not want to hear this nonsense. It is ridiculous. You..”

She walks behind you, pressing her lips to the nape of her neck. You swat her hand away when it brushes your arm, but she tuts and brings it back, gently caressing the skin.

“You are stunning. Your breasts are perfect. They are full and I can hold them in my hands just right. If I must admit, they are good to lay on. They are soft, and they move with your breathing.”

Her hands move, tracing the outline of your breasts through the baggy shirt. She traces a heart before she moves downwards.

“Your hips are beautiful. They are wonderful to hold, both when I come up behind you while you back, and while you are on top of me doing things only we speak about. And, they will be perfect, should we have a child.”

“Your stomach is wonderful. I enjoy massaging it, kissing it, and it may or may not be a weakness of mine when you wear those lovely dresses I know you own.”

Arlecchino’s hands gently knead the skin of your stomach as your tears slowly come to a stop. You can’t help but feel a little better knowing that the person you love finds you just as attractive as you hope she would.

“Your thighs, my god. They are so plush and you know how I love nipping at them, leaving pretty marks only you can see. I love feeling them next to either side of my head, feeling them clench around my head when.. well, you are aware, are you not? Having curves does not make you any more or less of a woman than someone with less curves than you. You are perfect the way you are.”

A small smile graces your face, a smile that always makes her warm inside, though not once will she admit it. She returns a smile of her own. Rare, but genuine.

“I will make you pasta. You will eat it. There is no argument.”

You groan, following her to the kitchen, though you attempt to hold back a giggle when you speak.

“Arlecchino, you.. you lack in the cooking area.”

“Did I ask?”

[valentine-cafe]

YAYYY rqs are open if possible could we see how the Herrera hubby's deal w a skittish darling? Who knows what they do btw but their skittishness isn't bc of that but bc they're in love w them and are scared that they could get thrown away like all the other subjects once the Herrera's get bored of them ( yes darling has abandonment issues like me. ) so they keep rejecting the husbands™ advances as a result? Yes this can be NSFW if you want some freaky stuff like hypnosis or brainwashing even ahem ahem (sorry I just miss scary Herrera husbands and them being freaky and scary also yes I'm ovulating I'm sorry gang 💔💔)

��� 𓂃 𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑼𝑷 : red velvet croissants !! . . . mad doctor & mad scientist ⊹ skittish gn reader .

. ᘛ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔​​​​​​​﹕verse 209 ꮽ  jingyi herrera & rishen herrera

 𐔌𖹭 ˖ ࣪  who's that ?⠀﹕a charming, snake monster mad doctor and his alluring spider-mantis-moth hybrid, mad scientist husband

ּ  ֗ recepit ℘ ... you really tried to keep away from them, keep yourself safe. but once you fall into their little obssession, there's no way out of their grasp. and if you refuse to become their darling willingly, they may just take actions in other ways. ⊹ cw ٬٬ dark content ahead, tread lightly .  brainwashing . yanderes . obsessive behaviour . possessive behaviour . reader is bound to a chair . mentions of the herrera husband's previous massacres with past darlings . needles and injections of serums .

ps: anon dear, ask for fucked up herrera husbands content and you shall receive TRUST ( I got a bit too invested in the eerie and fucked up freaky deaky parts. I missed getting asks like these, but if I make a smutty nd fucked up part two, would you be just as happy ? )

"You could run forever and we'd find ways to find you, darling."

The sick chuckle sends shivers down your spine. And your gut twists around itself a thousand times before recoiling. If it was possible, you'd vomit. But unfortunately, you'd only be able to dry heave. You've vomited your guts out long since.

"You keep rejecting our little invitations, my love." Doctor Herrera hums, pouting with his brows knitted together slightly. Your skittishness is so adorable, but also is becoming a problem.

What his husband and he wants, they take. And you seem so scared. Of them, or perhaps abandonment? The doctor could smell it on you every time you got close to someone. The way you clung, and distanced. Like a wave going back and forth on the shore. They wanted you to cling to them for dear life.

"I really need to get home," you stutter, flinching when Doctor Jingyi Herrera reaches out to you. His finely manicured nails like claws against your soft skin. Another flinch urges your body to step back and further away from the man.

Alas. You bump into professor Rishen Herrera instead.

You're familiar with their games. They find a darling and favor them until they grow bored. Breaking them. Metaphorically and literally. You bore witness to their last victim. Ribs broken open and heart ripped out for one of their jars to be forever preserved as their pretty past darling.

Slim, gentle but most deceiving hands find purchase on your shoulders. Maroon painted nails grazing your skin gently. "Stay a little while longer, darling. I'm sure you could get home in time even if it's just a few more minutes."

.

.

.

It wasn't just a few minutes. A chair had slid across the floor for you to sit in. Be bound in. Your hands clenched together from the cramps your body was producing out of fear. Every part of you felt like it was going to give out any minute.

Of course you didn't have a chance to run, nor make excuses. The sick and twisted minds that held you captive were well aware of your daily schedules. You didn't have anything to do after work hours.

Blood ran cold, when Doctor Herrera, brought in some sort of odd vial and put it inside of a familiar needle contraption. You've watched the husbands use time after time together when experimenting.

"Don't worry." He croons. "It only hurts for a little second. Then all the pains numb." The croons of twisted reassurance do nothing to stop your jitters and cramps. Neither does the smile that Rishen casts you give you any comfort.

No words come out of your mouth, not even a squeak of noise. Breath held back so tight in your chest you may pass out before they even inject the substance.

"You're adorable when you're this scared, you know." Rishen coos, taking great pleasure in the conflicted fear pooling to from each corner of your body. Perhaps, when all of this is over, it's over and you won't even remember it.

You hope the day they get tired of you that they're swift, more merciful than they have been with the previous darlings. Deep inside of you, there's a light that dies. Your dreams of a peaceful life crumbles to the ground, crash-landing into the dark streets of an ever lasting night in the city lights.

Moments before the needle moves to the back of your neck, you melt into Rishen's hands. They're warm, at the very least. Suffocating, but so warm. Comforting enough to let out a little sob. "I just want it to be swift."

They know exactly what you mean. Not just the injection, but the end of what is inevitable, too. You feel Jingyi lean against the back of the chair and press his cold lips against the shell of your ear in malicious affection.

"Oh I promise, as long as you comply. It won't be as bad as the others."

The pain stung your spine. Seared down section after section. And the two held you close until the serum was fully ejected. The needle gun withdrawn and tossed to the side carelessly. "As long as you remember you were always our little darling."

Fleeting memories of your life pass by your eyes in rapid shapes and colours. You hear your mother call for you, your friends laughing, toasting on your birthdays. The good memories erased, and the bad ones that promised you this moment to come. Until all you can remember, is that you're with your husbands, sitting in a room.

You don't register Jingyi is whispering into your ear: "We're right here, we're comforting you. Just stay with us for a little while. Why don't you?"

Rouge tinted soft lips presses against yours and melds together perfectly. "That's it." Rishen chuckles into the kiss. "Just lean into it darling. You're here with us now."

Their hands are everywhere, but it's a lovely, familiar feeling. What bliss, to forget.

꒰ ۪ ˖ ࣪ 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑢 ... info ꮽ mlist ꮽ verse ꮽ wiki .

[pearlsinmyhair]

please more x reader smut with jake or miles, im starving 😭😭

wrong.

a jake sully x fem!human!reader smut fic.

warnings: smut. pnv sex. cunnilingus. overstimulation/multiple orgasms. reader is in her early twenties. daddy kink. use of pet names. squirting. size difference. virgin reader. dilf!jake sully. possibly dark content, if you squint. no beta we die like neteyam (im sorry-).

words: 2.7k

a.n.: ask and ye shall receive! this has been in the cooker for a hot minute. @eddiemunsonguitar this is also for you.

Eywa, it was so wrong. Unbelievably so. So sinful that it made you burn with embarrassment and borderline self loathing every time you weren’t burning with desire.

Desire for a man old enough to be your damn father.

It was innocent enough at first. He was just so big, and caring, and funny. And as you got older, your mind started wandering away from a silly little crush to full blown fantasies. Fantasies of him coming into your room at night, grabbing onto you and having his way with you. Practically ripping off any clothes just to ravish you until you couldn’t so much as move the next day.

And at the center of all these fantasies were none other than Toruk Makto himself. Jake Sully.

How could you be blamed? The crop of scientists, as much as you loved them, hardly sufficed when it came to what you craved in a man. Besides, not one of them would even go near you in anyway other than platonic and parental; they had practically raised you.

You were isolated and horny, with no one and nothing to take your frustration out on. And the only one other than the scientists that regularly visited was the Olo’eyktan. Who never even really looked at you, frankly.

Then again, you didn’t see him up close and personal for the first eighteen years of your life; the first half of which was spent cowering in your room or behind tech, and the second half spent admiring from a distance.

Watching with greedy eyes how his abdomen flexed when he leaned over to study Norm’s tablet, or how his thighs tensed as he crouched, or how his fingers spread when he pointed to something.

You wanted to eat him. You wanted him to eat you.

It was only the night of your twentieth birthday and after one of the female scientists told you about na’vi mating traditions that you hatched your plan.

Reassured by her statements that na’vi didn’t stick to monogamy nearly as much as the typical human did, you put on the gifted tweng and matching top you got from Kiri and Tuk as a gift, strapped your exo pack over your face, and marched into high camp with your head held high.

Jake barely knew you when he first really saw you walking the perimeter of one of the huge fires in the caves of high camp. He knew of you, from Norm and Max and their off handed comments about the spoiled princess in their mix, but he’d never seen her.

‘Spoiled’ had always been a joke- you were a kid, and you had needs that weren’t always easy for them to provide. But they did their best.

His kids had mentioned you too; Kiri was especially fond of you (“Sometimes she’s the only one who really wants to listen to my thoughts. It’s refreshing.” Kiri had snapped one night not too long ago at dinner), and Tuk thought you made a great playmate. Lo’ak had considerably less to say, mostly because you didn’t come out of the Oxygen-Pods nearly as much as Spider did, and therefore you didn’t explore with them. Neteyam had escorted you to fetch a plant for Max’s research once, and claimed you were polite.

That was the extent that he knew.

And damn, he didn’t know shit if this is what you looked like. All long legs and coy smiles and soft giggles.

It was over the instant that you introduced yourself.

You both knew it.

ִ ࣪𖦹

“Fuck, Jake please-“ you whined, wiggling and bucking your hips in an attempt to get away from his flicking tongue. His massive hands held you in place, making your body sink into the mattress of your bed within your room. The poor thing creaked with each push of his hands and movement of your lower half, and you thanked Eywa that you had requested a private living space when you had turned eighteen. You don’t think you could face anyone with apologies for the noise of your late night escapades with the olo’eyktan.

“Hush… ‘m not done.” Jake mumbled into your folds, and you had to fight the urge to kick his chest as another shot of electricity made your whole body twitch.

Two orgasms and this man still wasn’t done. He had practically ripped off your panties as soon as he was through the door, picking you up and (gently) throwing you down on the bed. How long ago was that? An hour? Two? It felt like you were melting at this point, and the slurps of Jake’s mouth on your dripping pussy made you shiver with embarrassment and overstimulation.

“Y’know what to say if you’re done, yeah?” Jake asked, pulling back just enough to make sure his words were audible. Daring to look down, you were met with the sight of strings of your cum and his saliva clinging to his jaw, his lips nearly shimmering and parted as he watched you. He brought a breathing mask to his face as he waited, rubbing soothing circles into your thigh with his unoccupied hand.

You dropped your head and with a frustrated whine, and he slapped his palm against your leg. With a yelp, you gave him an audible affirmative, restating your safe-word. Satisfied, Jake licked a broad stripe from your fluttering hole to your clit, sucking the throbbing bud into his mouth and rolling it on one of his canines. You cried out, the rush of popping sparks and burning pleasure returning.

“Just one more, sweet thing. One more and i’ll give you what you want.” he cooed, nipping your labia and tonguing your entrance.

“Need it now, Jake. Can’t take it anymore.” you nearly wheezed, huffing as you felt the coil in your gut tighten. Something was different from before, tingling just below the hot waves of pleasure rolling through your body.

Tonight, after months of eating you out and finger fucking you, Jake had finally decided to let you take his dick. Only one problem with that. Itsie bitsie, really. Nothing serious.

Just that you were a virgin. And taking a dick over twice the size of a human’s was gonna practically rip you open.

So that’s what got you here, approaching your third goddamn orgasm so maybe, just maybe, your slick would make it easier for him to slide in.

Fuck, you weren’t gonna walk for a week, dick or not.

A flood of ecstasy overwhelmed you, and you felt some kind of tingling between your legs before you were slammed back, white clouding your vision as you cried out.

When you came to and looked down once more, you watched as Jake lapped at the juices adorning your thighs and lower belly, wiping some kind of liquid from his face.

“Y’squirted, baby girl.” he hummed as he kneeled over you, picking you up and adjusting you so that your head rested against your pillows and he could rest his knees on the mattress, situating himself between your thighs.

“Prideful skxawng.” you whispered back, only to be muffled by his mouth on yours as his hands found the backs of your knees.

He pulled back, looked down at you with worried eyes as his gaze traveled between your bodies back up to your face. “You’re sure you want this? It’s not gonna be easy, or painless.”

You shifted up onto your elbows, brushing his blunted nose with your own. “Since when did you decide to be my daddy?” you asked, voice low.

Jake’s reaction was predictably dominating; he hissed low in his throat, pushing his forehead down against yours so that your head landed back on the pillow. He rutted his hips forward, and you whimpered when his dick brushed your oversensitive clit.

“This isn’t time for jokes kid. Talk to me.” he growled, and you sobered quickly as he moved the head of his cock to your entrance, applying pressure so you felt some semblance of the reality of what was about to happen.

Taking a deep breath, you lifted your hands to his face and pulled him down, trying not to think of just how much he had to crane his neck to lean closer. “Just… slow. If it doesn’t fit, then fine.” you tried, swallowing the lump in your throat as Jake nudged you again.

“Trust me, kid, it’ll fit. Stretched you to hell and back not too long ago.” he assured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Just relax.”

“Oh, and let’s not call me ‘kid’ when you’re about to fuck me, yeah?” you snipped, tightening your thighs around his waist.

Jake chucked, muttered a soft “brat.” into your ear that got you to laugh. While you were distracted, he pushed his hips forward and slid the first inch of his dick in.

You squealed, and Jake had to keep his hold on your thighs tight and you tried to move away. Your hands flew to his shoulders, clawing into his skin deep enough to draw blood.

It should have hurt- he should have noticed the stings of pain.

But all he could register was tight, warm walls wrapped around his dick with a vice so harsh he swore they were gonna snap it clean off.

With breaks and whispered praise from him, he gradually suck inch by inch of his think cock into you tight little cunt, until finally, fucking finally, he bottomed out.

Tight. Tight around his tongue, tight around his fingers, but fuck. This was on another level.

You were so good- such a good girl taking all of that length, swallowing every inch he gave you with a few tears and quiet whimpers. He leaned closer, making sure not to rock into you too soon, and kissed at the tears tracking down your face, before finally pressing his mouth to yours, swallowing your soft cries every time you’d accidentally shift your hips or he his.

“Damn, pretty girl. Gonna cut off my blood circulation.” he grunted into your shoulder, and he was rewarded with a breathy laugh from you. Experimentally, he ran a hand down between your bodies, before having to mentally convince himself not to burst at what he found.

Leaning up, he looked down at the bulge in your tummy, running a hand over it before looking to your eyes. He found you looking down with awe, wide eyed and dropped jaw at the bump.

Jake placed his palm over it, and pressed down.

The moan you let out was sinful, so desperate and pleased that he nearly rammed into you just out of instinct. But he reminded himself to take it slow as he pulled out, feeling the warmth of your pretty pussy leave him, before pushing back in.

Eywa, Jake was huge.

Of course you knew he would be- you’re not delusional. But damnit, it was almost too much. Your legs quivered with each slow thrust of Jake’s hips, and you buried your face into his shoulder to quell some of your noises. It hurt. Hurt more than anything you’d experienced before. You were quite sure Jake would leave a permanent space for himself inside of you with how you were stretching.

Jake stroked his thumb against your skin where his hand still cupped the back of your thighs, pressing your knees up near your shoulders to get more leverage. The cot gave another soft squeak at the shift in weight, and for a moment you and Jake laughed, finding humor in the absurdity of fucking you into a rickety mattress in a room that Jake couldn’t fully stand up in.

The bulge in your tummy was only a physical manifestation of what you felt: fucking full. You could have cum just at the sight of it there, and by the foggy look in Jake’s eyes, so could he.

“Jake-“ you whispered, though it came out as more of a punched-out wheeze. “Move.”

His eyes flicked to yours for a moment, checking for any hesitation. When he found none, he shifted back on the bed, pulling away. You could feel the emptiness he left behind, and you opened your mouth to protest.

Before you could utter a word, Jake’s hands shifted from your thighs to your hips, and promptly rammed his cock back into you.

You screamed, the rush of pleasure and twinge of pain making you throw your head back as your hands flew to his shoulders, grounding yourself as he repeated the motion. You could feel him, deep inside of you, pressing against your cervix, his tip threatening to push past the barrier and straight into your womb.

That should have scared you, but it only made you rock your hips up to meet Jake’s with each thrust, reveling in the slick slide of his dick against your walls.

“Fucking hell, baby-“ he all but hissed, pinning your legs up again. “Taking this dick so well.”

You whined in response, trying and failing to assemble some kind of sentence to give him. Fucked out and cock drunk from just a few thrusts. How pathetic a sight you were. But no matter how humiliated you would feel later, right now you were confronted will all consuming pleasure and fullness.

Jake was confronted with the view of tears leaking from your eyes and drool dripping from the corner of your mouth, whining and moaning weakly as he continued to pound into you. He was sure he wasn’t much better, anyway. Jesus, he thought maybe you’d loosen, only to be met with a tight clench of your tight little cunt around his cock when he hit your g-spot.

Everything was on fire. Your body, your mind, your pussy. Fuck, you needed to cum. You needed to fucking cum.

“Daddy-“ you whined, finally meeting Jake’s eyes as he bent over you, letting his nose brush yours.

“I know, baby girl. Go ahead and cum around daddy’s cock. Make him proud.” he grunted out, feeling his own release pool deep in his stomach as he tucked his face into the space between your shoulder and jaw.

His permission was all it took for something inside to finally snap, and you could feel yourself gush around Jake’s dick as your whole body trembled, thighs shaking even as Jake held them. After a few beats the pleasure turned into overstimulation, and your moaning became sobs, whimpering into Jake’s shoulder for him to cum already-

Jake shuffled closer to press himself as far in as he could as he felt the coil in his stomach tighten one last time, and sunk his teeth into your shoulder, tasting salt and iron as his release filled your core.

You barely even protested, your body jumping slightly under his at the pain, but otherwise you were limp in his arms. Jake pulled back to look at you, letting one of your legs go and bringing his hand to your cheek. “Hey…” he murmured softly, running his tongue over the dribble of blood from the bite mark marring your skin, waiting for you to come down.

“Hey…” you responded after a second, pushing weekly at his shoulder in an attempt to get him to stop prodding at the wound. Jake chuckled and shifted.

“Pulling out.” he warned you, before pulling himself out of you with a wet squelch. If you weren’t thoroughly fuck out, you would have blushed. But right now, all you wanted to do was curl up and sleep.

Jake chuckled once more, curling next to you and cradling your body against his chest as you began to drift off. “Are you alright?” he asked, his tail curling around your thigh as his hand ran over your back.

“Mhm.” you managed, pressing a kiss to his pectoral as he hitched one of your legs around his waist. “Just gonna be sore in the morning.”

He hummed in agreement, glancing at the bruises on your hips and waist from his hands. Jake knew he should have felt bad for it, and yet his chest hummed with pride at the sight of the physical evidence of him on your body.

Mine.

He pressed a kiss to your head as your breathing evened out, feeling his own eyes grow heavy.

“We’ll worry ‘bout it in the morning, baby. Just rest.” he whispered.

And with an ache between your legs and dripping warmth in your core, you did just that, already drifting away into sleep as his body calmed against yours.

[twodogs-twocats]

We Fall Like Stars - A Sleep Token Novella

epilogue: emergence

+ authors note

WFLS Masterlist [READ ME for cw] I chapter 22

Read this chapter on A03

“You call that one Leo?”

“Yes. Like a lion.”

“What is a lion?”

“When we go home, I’ll show you.”

They lay on their backs, a plaid blanket beneath them. Gus curled up at their side. He still bore bandages from his encounter with Sleep in the woods, but he was healing well. Noa ran her fingers through his fur, as she traced out another shape in the sky.

“And this is Ursa Major,” she said. Vessel curled into her, his head resting on her chest. They lay atop the same hill where she stargazed with her mother as a child. The same hill she and Vessel shared their first kiss.

April was nearing its end, but the night still came with a chill. Vessel’s warmth was all she needed, however. The magic waters of Arcadia had allowed him to retain his powers without the need to harm himself. He had turned his body into a portable heater as they lay beneath a vast expanse of stars.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“It’s a bear,” she answered. “It was one of my mom’s favorites.”

“What is a bear?”

Noa laughed. Vessel’s freedom from Sleep had 

come with an unanticipated consequence – an abundance of questions. He had become more curious, more joyful. Noa relished in his newfound freedom, the lightness he now carried. 

She ran her fingers through his hair as she spoke.

“It’s a great big animal, covered in hair, with four 

legs and great big claws and sharp teeth. Cute though.”

“That sounds rather similar to Gus.”

She chuckled again. 

“I’ll also show you a bear when we get home.”

She made a mental note to check out a book about mammals the next time she visited the library.

“I had a few other things in mind for when we got home,” he replied. He rolled over, placing soft kisses along her jaw. Then her neck. Then her collarbone.

Noa swallowed. Vessel had more than one of warming her up. 

She turned so that she was facing him. The constellations above were reflected in his eyes, her own face in the center.

“Do you see the same constellations from your planet?” she asked.

He cupped her cheek, drawing his thumb across her skin.

“One day, I will show you the stars from my planet.”

Ever since Sleep’s death, they had contemplated the state of Vessel’s home. It was clearly in need of healing, Arcadia mere ruins beneath the facade Sleep had created. There was more to Vessel’s story than any of them yet understood, and the answers would only be found a universe away. After so long living his life in service of another, he deserved a chance to know who he truly was.

“But not yet,” he continued. “Something tells me a trip to my home would be anything but easy. Forgive me for saying this, but I could use easy for a little while.”

Noa smiled. His apology was unnecessary, because she understood.

“This,” she said, pointing from her chest to his, “feels easy.”

Now that the gods were defeated, friends won over, bonds formed, no end in sight, she and Vessel were enjoying the simplicity of life together. 

“It does,” he answered. He pointed teeth grazed his lips as he smiled.

“Danika will be happy,” she said.

“And II,” Vessel smirked.

An unlikely pairing, Danika and II. And yet somehow the two had become inseparable. 

“Wonder how that all got started?” Noa mused.

“We certainly shall not receive that answer from II.”

Noa rolled her eyes, smiling.

“I’ll ask Danika during girls’ night tomorrow,” she said. She was looking forward to a night of wine and trashy movies. The thought alone filled Noa with a sense of contentment. She had long given up on having friends, let alone girls’ nights. Now, nearly every spare minute of her day was spent with someone she loved. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I just don’t want you to feel like you can’t go home,” she said, returning to their discussion of Arcadia. “Wherever you go, I want to be by your side.”

Vessel pulled her lips to his. The kiss was soft, tender. 

“Darling Noa, I have walked through the valley of shadows with you, and you never left my side. And I will never leave yours. We will journey through this life together, and many lifetimes more if the universe so wills it.”

He pulled her close, placing a kiss to her head. Arms wrapped around each other, they lay together under a blanket of stars, hearts beating to the rhythm of eternity.

Author’s notes Wow - When I first set out to write a long form fanfiction, I had no idea what to expect, and I certainly did not think I would actually finish it. Yet here we are at the end. I have had a dream of being a published author for so long, but always felt that I lacked both the ideas and the discipline to actually go for it. Sleep Token inspired the idea, and somewhere along the way, I found the discipline.  I’m excited for what this means for me – the very real possibility of actually following my dreams, writing a book, and trying to pursue a career as a writer. Very cliche, but you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take (also cliche lol.) To talk about how much Sleep Token has inspired me would be preaching to the choir. You all are here, so I know this band means a lot to you as well. There is not a day that goes by that I am not grateful for the art they have created. They have inspired me to pursue my dreams, as well as helped get me through one of the most difficult years of my life.  My final words of this nine month project (a literal baby omg): thank you. Thank you so much to those of you who kept up with this story from the beginning, or binge-read it over a weekend, or are just now finding it perhaps months or years later. Every like, every comment, every reblog has been a motivation to keep writing, and a message to me that maybe I can actually do this, and that maybe people will actually like what I write.  Thank you, thank you, thank you. As of the date of this posting, I will be going through the story, cleaning up any basic spelling & grammar errors, rewriting the stuff that I think could flow a bit better, and reposting the clean chapters. There will be no significant plot changes. I do also plan to bind this into an actual physical book, so I will likely post updates of that project as well. I hope you enjoyed the story. Keep on rocking out. - Em Bee

[oneshlut]

Ok, ok ok… Can I request Yandere!Dr. Flug x Fem!Reader, please? You describe the reactions of the characters so interestingly that I wanted to write to you, but already about the yandere doctor. Thank you in advance, you are amazing.

A/N: oooh yesyes!! thank you sooo much for the compliments, they mean so much to me !! yanderes are some of my favs to write, thanks a bunches for requesting! (also, whamo! mitski ref in the title!)

Bag of Bones (Yandere!Dr. Flug x Fem!Reader) [Headcanons]

Rules For Requesting

Characters I Will Write For

Masterlist

WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Mentions of bl0od, d3ath, lethal injections, execution, and t0rture, Subjects like toxic relationships, kidnapp!ng, posessive/obsessive behaviors, and toxic worshipping and degrading(on his part), General dead dove contents.

Summary: Yandere headcanons for Dr. Flug with a Fem!Reader. General hcs for kidnapp!ng, crushing, etc.

Someone like Dr. Flug definitely seems harmless. Pathetic, wimpy, and afraid. Labels that have been given to him all his life. Labels that only you never assigned him. Well, he's never lived up to those names. Not completely. Underneath his trembling form hid a dangerous man, who could kill you at the snap of his fingers if he really wanted to. Not like he would! You do have to remember, though, that he still is a villain. For plenty good reason.

But, yes. I'm sorry, but the moment he realized his murderous lovesick tendencies, you've immediately set yourself up for danger. Flug would never hurt you, but he's not saying he wouldn't hurt anyone to have you.

With the baseline of knowing he is sick, twisted, and much more than he seems--lets dig more into how he behaves, shall we? He's quite tame with you at first. If you didn't know any better, Dr. Flug would be as normal as ever in your eyes. He's pretty good at bottling up his obsession. This definitely comes into play as his obsession with you grows stronger by the day.

He's unsure of his feelings towards you at first. Dr. Flug soon recognizes it as love, and he can't get enough of you. He begins with small signs, such as asking you for help in his lab when he really doesn't need it. You also notice that he just happens to show up in the same room that you'd walk into. You viewed it as nothing but coincidence.

Flug grows increasingly worried for you as weeks pass, him still relishing in this new feeling. Unfortunately, this feeling did come with a bit of.. protectiveness, on his part. He still wanted you to visit his lab, yes, but.. maybe he could make his lab a bit more safe? Dr. Flug didn't want you to get hurt by something of his creation. The only thing worse than that would be if someone else hurt you. Which wouldn't happen. He hopes so, at least.

One day, though, he made a mistake. Flug had let you go on a mission with him, and a hero had hurt you. Whether it was a major or minor injury, he didn't care. Someone hurt you--your soft, delicate skin, your sweet smile, the sparkle in your eyes.. your eyes seemed dull now. And something in him sparked a fire that was trying to burn for weeks now.

Suddenly, the normally panicked mood that hung over his mindset completely disappeared. He didn't have time to overthink ever little thing he does--not now. But he didn't want to.. strike, not.. yet.

When Dr. Flug gets mad, he gets scary. Not in the way he was almost constantly angry with Demencia, no, this was a.. spiteful anger. That's the anger that made him the most dangerous. As mentioned before, he could choose when he wanted to be dangerous at any moment. And that moment was now.

Euthanasia could work, but it was too.. painless. Maybe something a bit more lethal would be better. He decided to create his own serum. If he injected the syringe with it in just the right spot in the neck, the hero would be suffering for hours. Perhaps days.. They would be gasping for air they couldn't receive, practically chugging their own blood, yet forced to stay awake during the whole process. Perfect, was it not?

Okay, he may have gone a little bit overboard. But in the end, he knew it would be worth it. You never found out. Why would you? He was much too careful for that. Dr. Flug simply played along, hearing the hero's name announced dead on the news with you. He played a fool, acting surprised. And it was enough to fool you.

Afterwards, though, he felt amazing. To completely get rid of someone's existence.. it was freeing. And the hero deserved it, anyway. The only obstacle in the way now was the challenge of having you to himself. With Dr. Flug's self-esteem, this goal was made generally impossible.

Though, a new idea came to him. A horrible, new, great idea. If Flug wanted you to himself, there was only one other way that came to him. There's no way you'd like him back, he was probably still pathetic in your eyes. So instead, he chose the more obvious choice of just whisking you away. Chloroform should do the trick, right..?

Waking up in Flug's dimly lit lab, tied to an office chair, not remembering the past 12 hours of your life was.. an experience. A horrifying one, at that. What did you even do to him that would make him want to kill you? You were nothing but nice to him, and.. part of you was actually starting to grow attached to him. You started to regret ever becoming a villain in the first place..

That was, until Dr. Flug tried his best to calm your nerves, explaining how he didn't want to hurt you. You could almost hear the sorrow in his voice, almost like he was hurt that you would even think that he would ever want to harm you. Noticing you were now significantly more calmer than before, he began relishing in the fact that you were now his.

Off the bat, he begins overloading you with compliments. Now that you know he likes you, he starts treating you like some sort of goddess. Ignoring the fact that he's holding you hostage, he treats you pretty well! He brings you in 3 meals a day from outside, gives you a warm bed to sleep in at night, all so that he makes sure you know he loves you. Another thing Flug does is make sure 5.0.5. doesn't see you. This portion is a bit difficult, but he gets by, and 5.0.5. just thinks you must've moved away. How peacefully ignorant.

For now, he intends on keeping you here until you gain some sort of stockholm syndrome, or until he finds a better place to keep you without the risk of you escaping. You find yourself wondering how long you're gonna last here.

[adarssuggestionbox]

Wishes For When I'm With Him

@rivendellwatch

*I lay in bed as I often do, beeatrice the kitty bee I received from a friend, a blanket that holds me, tea, bread, and honey. Though this time my comfort is amplified by the cozy pair of socks I received before this wonderful event.*

*I take a breath and then begin to scribe a daydream I often have about my visits with Celebrimbor.*

-------------------------------------------

-Celebrimbor had spent all day in the forge and promised to spend the rest of the night with me, as was usual upon my arrival for visits. I always arrive at night. Despite the avoidance of battle since my revival, I still remember the carnage of my beloved’s gorgeous city. The guilt is always heavy, even as time has reset.-

Adar- *However, I do my best to avoid these thoughts. Tonight is for us, and I would like desperately to hold him in a cozy place. My mouse is easily overworked without realizing it. So, at the very least, I can be the one to make sure he slows down. Once we are in the guest quarters, Celebrimbor and I lounge together in the coziest place in the room. Though I enjoy the fireplace, I make sure it is unlit and the room is instead lit by candles. The fireplace still evokes a fit of unwanted nostalgia in him for that “thing”. To this day, I am still unsure how he can tolerate working in that forge due to certain events. But, again, I put those thoughts from my mind lest I want to ruin our enchanting mood.*

* Speaking of unsettling thoughts, I notice my elven beauty eyeing the fireplace.* I know that look. Shall I help you forget? * I lay on top of the timid mouse, hoping my weight would ground him. With a sweet trîl in my throat, I nuzzle against his cheek and then lock lips. Then, with gentle fingers, I massage his shoulders. I do my best to mind my claws from digging into his skin.*

Celebrimbor- *He indeed was beginning to feel a growing pain in his chest. This is, of course, interrupted by my act. A grateful giggle escapes his lips.* Yes, uial nin (my twilight), I think I would like that very much. *He wraps his arms around me and kisses my nose, then my lips.* Do I get to hold my darling kitten tonight? *He asked while reaching for the brush he always seemed to lay out for me during my visits.*

Adar- That depends. Will you allow me to hold you in a place without reminders? *I give him a look that is a mix of concern and seriousness.*

Celebrimbor- * He lets out a heavy sigh* Yes, but… I just know you like them. And-

Adar- *I give him a flat, unimpressed expression, cutting him off.* Perhaps I do. That does not mean I will force you to be in the presence of one simply for the sake of my enjoyment. What I enjoy far more is for my mouse to be content with a smile. *I then lift to lick his lips, A very loving gesture in my culture. Then I stand stretching*

Celebrimbor- Adar, what are you- *He lets out a gasp of surprise as I pick him up, carrying him like a bride to a room that we have used before.*

*He crosses his arms with a little huff* Was that truly necessary? I’m fine to wal-

Adar- *I smirk with a chuckle, cutting him off with another lick across his lips when I lay him on the bed. His retort only sends my lovesick heart thumping harder.* Yes, stubborn mouse, it was necessary. *I snicker, licking his nose.*

Celebrimbor- uh! Well- *Before he can playfully get ruffled, he simmers down for me, letting out a sweet little hum. He smiles brightly with rosy cheeks.*

Adar- *I chuckle again with a smile of my own* That is the face I’ve been yearning to see.* Then I crawl on top of him, pûrring to soothe his nerves further. It is loud and likely can be heard from the hall by any guards and staff. I feel myself quickly falling into the mindset that my mouse requested. To move my headspace deeper, I continue to give him urukish licks of love and nuzzle my face and nose against his skin while we snuggle in a blanket. I practically loaf like bread on his strong chest. A warbling soft growl leaves my throat as I nuzzle my face against his hair.*

*Though I may pin him now, I am his pet. He has all the power to remove me if he pleases. We are both aware of this boundary.*

Celebrimbor- * He lets out a relieving sigh, and I feel his tense body finally relax beneath me. His voice softens and his breath soon becomes far more fragile* Thank you uial nin (my twilight)... I’ve missed you so…I’ve missed us… Miue nin (my kitten) * He whimpers with emotion rising in his voice.*

Adar- *I let out a particularly low rumbling trîl in response to his distress. My pûrring soon intensifies, as I’m hoping to soothe him.*

*However, when I hear a knock at the door, I curl myself around him, letting out a defensive uruk growl that most of us are known for. I wrap my arms around him and pull him closer to my chest. The door cracks open, and seeing that it is not a child, another lover, or a personal friend of mine, I let out a vicious hiss and growl, low, ready to shred the stranger out of primal instinct.*

Celebrimbor- Shhhhh darling, it’s ok.* He promptly sits up, running the brush from before through my hair. He leans down to lick and kiss my nose. His voice is that of a coo as he presses my head to his chest.* That’s just one of my staff members who was just leaving. He’ll talk to me in the morning.* shoots the shocked jaw-dropping fellow a glare with a raised eyebrow*

- He shuts the door quickly and leaves us both to our intimacy-

Adar- *Upon hearing the door shut, I simmer from my defense, letting my growl slowly shift back to a soothing pûr as he rocks me in his arms. The brush through my hair causes me to return the gentle favor by nibbling at his neck*

Celebrimbor- That’s my sweet boy. Well done, uial nin (my twilight). *He praises me in the gentlest tone before returning to our cozy spot under the blankets.*

[bunglehead]

PiNNED POST. INTRODUCTION. WHO AM I.

Name's Dean.

18+ Male. I don't like labels but I swing both ways. I'm more drawn towards masculine traits.

HE. HIM. HIS. THEY. THEM. THEIRS. IT. ITS.

A FEW WARNINGS.

I’m crazy. Crazy-crazy. Seeing stuff that isn't there crazy and obsessive. I'm healing the best I can and I promise I'm friendly. Be aware. I will reblog and like stuff that others may not like, such as suggestive content, weapons, blood, guts, men, men without pants, women, and women without shirts. Unfollow if you ain’t a fan.

I post randomly about my interests, and will often range in interests.

Don’t be afraid to talk to me or shoot me a message. I have a lot of things I’m willing to talk about. I'm a sweetheart, I promise. A bit crude, but a sweetheart nonetheless.

LINKS.

TWITTER . . . . . SPOTIFY . . . . . LAST.FM . . . . . STEAM COMMISSION INFO. . . . . PRONOUNS . . . . . . . . . . . . . CARRD (OUTDATED) . . . . . STRAWPAGE* . . . . . . . . . .

*Strawpage asks and drawings will all be reacted to/responded to on my Twitter.

ART TAG: #dean’s art

PERSONAL AESTHETICS: #dean fr

TEXT POSTS/ANSWERS: #deantext

SUGGESTIVE CONTENT: #*

NSFT: #**

STUFF I LIKE: #fav

ASKS: #ask and ye shall receive

TRUTH STATEMENTS: #we hold these truths to be self evident

OTHER CONTENT WARNINGS.

“HARD” : #judge

“SOFT”: #jury

“EXTREMES”: #executioner

#judge will focus on dominance and raunchiness, and general sleaziness. #jury includes suggestive, artful, and relatively low-level and lighter things. #executioner can include anything from boot-worship and leather to extreme sadism and occasional gore.

[littlexscarletxwitch]

── ༊*·˚⋆ 𝗶'𝗺 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗹𝗮𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗲

paring: amy march x fem!reader

tag(s): fluffy angst (if you know what i mean lol), period piece, i love amy so much, sister's best friend (from amy's pov), wlw couple, beth and amy are the best, i love them so much

warning(s): internal homophobia (i guess), grammatical errors, unedited

word count: 1.8k

note: this is kinda like a surprise fic, or at least I hope so lol. I've been thinking about Amy a lot lately and I somehow came up with this fic. It's kinda based on that line from 'girls' by Girl in red ("They're so pretty it hurts | I'm not talking 'bout boys, I'm talking about girls"). I really hope you all like some Amy content. I'm not a native english speaker, so please let me know about any sort of mistake. Lot of love, M <3

requests are open! + check my rules here + masterlist <3

Amy's brows were furrowed, deep in concentration, as the pencil in between her fingers traced the shape of a familiar soft pair of eyes. 

"Hello, dear Amy," she heard your voice before receiving a quick kiss to her cheek. 

"Good morning, Y/n," she said, carefully hiding her drawing from your prying eyes, which didn't go unnoticed by you. 

"What do you have there?" you asked her, raising your brow. 

"I, um, nothing. Well, at least not yet," Amy quickly mumbled, but you had already caught up on her lie. 

"If it is nothing, why are you hiding it from me?" you squinted your eyes at her. 

"Y/n? Is that you?" you heard your best friend, Beth, said, walking down the stairs. "Yes, I knew I had heard you. Shall we go?" 

"Yes, we shall," you said, making your way toward Beth. "This is not over, Ms March. I will come back and I will have answers," you playfully muttered to the blond girl before leaving with the red head. 

Once she made sure you had walked out the door, Amy felt like she could properly breathe again. There it was again, that funny feeling in her tummy she always felt whenever you were around her, whenever you just looked at her way, whenever you complimented her drawings, whenever you made her laugh.

She didn't know what it meant, she had never felt that way before. You were her sister's dearest friend, Amy practically knew you from your whole life, you were always around. But ever since the last couple of months it all felt different. It didn't feel right to call you a friend anymore, friend was like a short word for all the feelings you caused inside her. 

She got back to her drawing, well, your drawing since she was actually drawing you. As the pencil traced the shape of your lips she found herself staring at the paper more than she would like to admit. She blinked, realising how wrong it was. You were a girl, for god’s sake. And not just any girl but her friend, her sister's friend. She shook her head trying to clear up her mind. 

“Amy, is everything okay?” Marmee asked her. 

“What?” Amy said, confused. “Oh, yes, yes. I’m fine, Marmee. I just think I need some air, that’s all,” the blonde smiled at her.

So she went out on a walk, to clear her mind. But she could not do that, you plagued her mind enabling her to think about anything else. Your soft kind eyes, your perfect lips, your loud laugh, your bright smile. And she realised that it was not normal for her to feel that way, that it was wrong and sick and twisted. But she couldn't help herself, not when it came to your warm-hearted soul. 

[...]

“Beth? Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure,” the redhead nodded to her sister, moving to the side to let Amy sit next to her on the divan. 

“I have a confession to make,” Amy breathed in, not actually believing she was about to tell her sister her truth. 

Beth sat up straight, showing her sister she was listening carefully, “I think I know where this is going…” she muttered. 

“You do?” Amy worrily asked as Beth could only nod. “...so pretty it hurts,” Amy said as she huffed, making Beth not understand the first part but it was all clear to her really. 

“Amy,” she kindly placed her hand on her sister’s shoulder. “I know you like Laurie, but you and I both know that he likes Jo,” she felt sorry for her sister, she didn’t deserve to love someone who didn’t love her back. 

“Laurie?” Amy’s brows furrowed. “I’m not talking about Laurie, I’m talking about Y/n.”

“Oh,” she said. “Oh,” she repeated herself as the words sank deep into her brain. 

“I know, it’s wrong, is it not? Y/n, of all people,” Amy sobbed. “A girl, Beth. How can I like a girl? It’s not possible, it’s not natural, it isn’t right,” tears were running down her cheeks. “It’s making me sick you know, everytime I look at her my stomach feels all weird,” she sniffed, and realised her sister hadn’t said a word. “You really think I’m sick, don’t you?” Amy cried. 

“No, no, no, Amy,” Beth was fast to comfort her as she was done processing what her sister had just told her. “You’re not sick Amy,” she said as she wiped away Amy’s tears. “Loving someone can never mean you are sick. That’s what it means, you know?” she wrapped her arms around her sister, afraid she would break into a million pieces. “That funny weird feeling on your stomach means that you love her. You love Y/n, and there’s nothing wrong with that,” she caressed her hair, offering the blonde some comfort. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

The room went quiet as Beth’s words linger around Amy’s mind. She was not sick, she was in love. She smiled to herself, she was in love. 

“I can’t confirm nor deny, but I think she feels the same for you.”

“What?” Amy said, turning her head to Beth.

“She didn’t say anything, but I know her, I can tell,” Beth smiled as Amy’s eyes seemed to brighten up. “She’s constantly asking about you, it tends to be annoying really.”

“Well, I’m your sister. Maybe  she feels obliged to know about your family.”

“But it’s different. She always compliments your drawings, even when you’re not around. She smiles everytime I talk about you, that doesn’t happen when I talk about Meg or Jo,” Beth clarified. “She just nods when I talk about Jo’s stories, but when I tell her about you, her eyes light up and she can’t stop smiling.”

“Maybe because she’s so kind.”

“Or maybe because she’s in love with you, Amy,” Beth chucked. “I see the way she’s around you. She always finds an excuse to be next to you or for her hands to reach out for you.”

“Beth, I… I don’t think—.”

“Fine, then I’ll ask her myself.”

“What?!” Amy sat up straight. “No, you won’t. I forbid it.”

Beth raised her arms in surrender, a smile forming on her lips. “Alright, I won’t,” Amy squinted her eyes at her. “I won’t,” Beth repeated. “I won’t tell her anything about how you feel. I promise.”

And she did keep her promise, until you got in the way.

[...]

You were running as fast as your feet could carry you, the cold had been long forgotten since there was only one thing on your mind. More like someone.

Your loud and consistent knocking startled the four March woman.

“Y/n,” Marmee opened the door. Her face dropped as she realised you were there, banging at her door in the middle of the night, concern written all over your face and her daughter was nowhere to be seen. Her hand clutched at her chest, “Is everything alright? Did something happen to Beth?”

At the mention of her sister’s names the other three March women raised their heads, afraid that something had happened to their little sister. 

“No, I’m sorry,” you cursed yourself for being so careless, you probably had freaked them out. “She’s at home sleeping, she’s fine, I promise. I’m sorry, Marmee. I know it’s late, I shouldn’t have come I—,” you eyes took a look inside and landed on Amy’s. 

“It’s okay, dear. What’s the matter? Are you alright?” she placed a hand on your shoulder drawing your attention back to her. 

“Yes, I am. I just… Would it be okay if I talk to Amy?” Amy’s heart dropped, she feared the worst. “It’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Yes, of course, dear. Come on in,” Marmee warmly smiled at you, somehow reassuring you that everything would be okay. “Amy, there's someone here to see you. Let’s go girl,” she called out for Jo and Meg, who waved at you before leaving the room.

You scratched your neck, looking for the right words. “I, um, I—.”

“She told you, didn't she?” but Amy was quicker than you.

“Not quite. I sort of forced her to,” you admitted. “Please, don’t be mad at her, I—.”

“I’m not mad at her,” Amy scoffed. She sounded bitter, angry even. “I’m mad at myself. How could I let this happen?” and the tears she desperately had been holding back finally started to roll down her cheeks as she let herself fall on the divan.

“What do you mean?” you softly asked her as you took a seat next to her. 

“This is wrong and you know it,” she sobbed. “It’s not natural for a woman to feel like this towards another woman,” she whispered, too scared her family would hear how sick she was inside. “I know Beth said that it was fine, but it’s really not. I—.”

“It could never be wrong to love you, Amy,” you cut her off, letting out the words you have been holding back for years now.

“But Y/n—,” you stopped her once again. 

“I do not want to hear it, Amy. I love you,” you felt like a weight had been lifted up from your shoulder, you felt as if you were finally free to live your truth. “From the moment I saw you drawing that beautiful tree, I…,” you stepped closer, taking her hands in between yours. “I knew that it was you who I wanted, who I want and will want until my last breath on this earth.”

“But Y/n—.”

“Amy!” you wanted her to stop, you couldn’t handle her harsh words anymore, it almost felt like she had taken your heart out of your chest and you were wishing she wouldn’t tear it apart. “Do you love me?”

“I do,” she whispered, still she sounded unsure. She breathed, trying to get her heat beat at a normal pace, “I do,” this time she sounded more convinced of her own words. “I do love you, Y/n,” she repeated herself once more, just to assure the both of you that she really did mean it. 

You finally felt like you could breathe properly and you felt your heart beating inside your chest once again, all it one piece. 

“Good,” you said with a smile on your face before crashing your lips into hers in a much needed kiss. 

Her lips felt exactly how you had imagined they would but still they had that spark of being new to your touch. Her lips were soft and warm, and moved perfectly in sync with yours, as if Amy herself had also imagined this exact moment over and over again and knew exactly what to do. As you slowly pushed your tongue past her lips, a moan escaped from her mouth. She quickly pulled back as soon as she had heard herself. 

“Marmee and my sisters are in the next room,” she whispered to you as she leaned her forehead against yours. 

“I guess we’ll have to reschedule,” you joked, as your nose brushed against hers. 

“I guess so,” she smiled at you pecking your lips one more time.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

-M

[keydekyie]

Could we get a book four snippet? Pleasssseeeee 🥺🥺🥺🥺 Need some Rulin in my life rn

ask and ye shall receive~

[this is still a very early rough draft, but I love it so here you go!]

Winter Dark

Kaelin's winter shelter is damaged, and she must make a choice.

986 words, no content warnings

▶──◆─◈─◇─◈─◆──◀

Snow had collapsed the roof of the hovel.

Kaelin stood downhill of the structure, staring at it with narrowed eyes as she mulled over her circumstances. Not that this was a surprise. It was exactly the kind of luck she’d had all winter. 

With a resigned sigh, Kaelin readjusted the bundle of sticks under her arm and trudged the rest of the way up the hill to the little lean-to’s crooked door. She threw down the kindling, braced herself, and shoved the door open.

A flurry of snow and pine needles came tumbling down from above. The corner to the right of the door had seen the most damage, with a pile of snow and bits of roof thatching gathered on the floor there. At least her bed appeared mostly untouched.

“Could be worse,” Kaelin said aloud, looking around at her stores of food that were slowly being coated in frost. She grabbed a broom from beside the door and went back outside. The snow would need to be cleared from the broken parts of the roof before she could patch the hole.

But as she stepped outside, a flurry of snow blew into her face. She hid behind her arm, waiting for the gust to die down, and when she looked back up, a feeble ray of sun caught in her eyes from under a distant, icy cloud. 

Evening had arrived. Darkness would be creeping across the mountain in mere moments, and there would be no time to fix the roof.

Kaelin muttered a few choice curses into the wind and shuffled back into the hut. With the remaining light, she threw some furs and tarps over her stores of food and weighed them down with whatever heavy objects she could put her hands on, then turned to her bed. She gathered up some of the more plush furs along with her small pillow, bundled them into her arms, and stepped outside.

The wind immediately tried to tear it all away from her, but she gripped her bundle tight and trundled through the snow towards the arched opening to the passage just a few feet from her hut’s door.

The wind and hiss of snow died down as she entered, and the temperature grew noticeably warmer. But it was dark, almost lightless. Kaelin paused, boots sinking into the soft, pine-scented earth, and listened.

The den was like another world: a dark, quiet place, steeped in the stillness of the enormous sleeping creature barely more alive than the stones of the caves he slumbered in. More than a full minute passed before finally a single deep, slow breath could be heard.

Kaelin let out her own breath she’d been holding. She hadn’t gotten used to this yet: the slowness of his breaths, the utter stillness between. But at least it was a little warmer there. Even halfway down the passage where she stood would be a warmer place to sleep this night than her roofless hovel, but the peaty floor was sloped and uneven, a lumpy soup of twigs and rocks and pinecones. 

Well, she could sleep further in, but was that wise? Kaelin had slept close to him before, in his very hands, and many times, at that. But that had been nice normal sleep sleep. This was something else. From the looks of it, depths of wintersleep seemed bottomless.

In any case, the risks of Kaelin’s two options were simple: freeze to death, or be crushed to death. With the storm outside, the former seemed a more certain thing, so Kaelin shifted her bundle of bedding to one arm, held out a hand, and ventured forward.

Her hand met with a wall of dense, shaggy fur. An arm? Leg? Shoulder? 

“Ruyak,” she whispered.

There was a long delay, then something huge moved in the darkness before her. The air shifted in a series of whooshing sniffs, and a single enormous eye opened, just a sliver of deep, reflective blue-green, like black nacre.

Kaelin asked, “Can I sleep here with you?”

Another delay, and the eye slowly blinked. Something moved again, and Kaelin stepped back as the wall she was touching lifted. 

In the lingering gray twilight from the entrance, she could just barely make out the reflections on five claws before her.

Was this a bad idea? Probably. The wind howled outside, and Kaelin stepped forward. 

It wasn’t easy arranging her furs in the dark, so she just quickly threw one over her legs and curled up, clutching her cold pillow. 

Huge, warm fingers enfolded her, and the light from the entrance vanished. It didn’t feel dangerous, though she wasn’t sure how she was going to know when morning arrived. At least she wasn’t going to freeze, that was certain.

Professor Kaminski had once told Kaelin that all Kanai were born in the wintertime, born to wintersleeping mothers. Kaelin didn’t know how big newborn Kanai were, but surely quite small compared to an adult. Perhaps, out of a necessity not to crush their own newborns, sleeping Kanai possessed some natural instinct to be mindful of small creatures near them, or in their hands? It would explain why it had always felt like a remarkably safe place for Kaelin to sleep.

A quiet rumble came from Ruyak’s chest on his next exhale, low enough to be just on the edge of hearing. Smoother than a growl and more musical than speech, but sort of rhythmic, like the turning of some great cog. It went on for a long time, faded as he slowly inhaled, and returned as he exhaled again. 

Kaelin didn’t know what to make of it, but the sound didn’t bother her. Better than the offputting silence, the rumble was soothing somehow, like hearing friendly voices from another room. Perhaps it was some sort of… wintersnore? Kaelin smiled, and let herself be lulled to sleep by the slow, steady rumble in her bones.

[lifesizehysteria]

A Mother's Blessings | A Bridgerton Fic

Part 3: Kate

Fandom: Bridgerton (TV) Rating: Gen Pairing: Violet Bridgerton/Marcus Anderson Characters: Violet Bridgerton, Hyacinth Bridgerton, Kate Bridgerton Summary: A collection of moments through Violet and Marcus’ courtship in which Violet seeks the blessings of her children. AO3 Part 1 Part 2

“May I come in?” Violet stood in the doorway of her youngest child’s room, her head tilted to one side and her eyes smiling. Her hair was loose, tumbling down her back, and she wore her favorite summer dressing gown of forget-me-not blue with white trim over her cotton nightdress. 

Hyacinth, who was perched on the window seat with her legs tucked inside her nightdress, arms wrapped around her knees, nodded. Her curls were brushed out into soft chestnut waves, the candlelight in the room shining against them like rippling gold. As her mother approached, she swiveled to put her feet on the floor facing the bed, her hands coming to rest on the edge of the seat on either side of her. 

“Yes, Mama?”

Violet sat down on the seat beside her, wrapping one arm around her back, tucking her hand around her narrow waist. Hyacinth did not lean into her the way she normally would, her back remaining rather straight as if to maintain distance.

“I just came to say goodnight.” She gazed down at her daughter, noticing the same troubled look in her eye as she had seen at dinner. 

“Goodnight,” Hyacinth said, putting an arm around Violet’s waist and giving her a small squeeze before getting up and crossing to the bed.

“Shall I tuck you in?” 

Hyacinth nearly rolled her eyes, and Violet’s heart squeezed tight for a moment. Her littlest baby was growing so quickly. She was not quite ready, though she was not sure she ever truly would be.

Her feelings must have played across her face because Hyacinth shrugged her shoulders, a placating smile making it onto her face.

“If you want,” she said, pulling back the cover and climbing into the bed.

Violet followed, letting her daughter get comfortable before pulling the blanket up over her and smoothing out some of the creases. Leaning over, she brushed her hair away from her face and pressed a kiss to her temple. Then, instead of leaving, she sat down on the bed beside her, studying her face for a few moments.

“You were rather quiet at dinner,” she said gently.

Hyacinth shrugged again, “Just tired.”

“It was quite a change from this morning,” she said. Then, a teasing smile tugged across Violet’s mouth as she squeezed her daughter’s shoulder. “Too much pall mall, perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” was all she received in return, making her worry her bottom lip between her teeth. This was quite unusual for what was easily her most joyful and spirited child.

“Dearest, are you sure you are well?”

“Mhm,” Hyacinth confirmed, but did not meet her mother’s gaze. Violet pressed her hand to her forehead but felt no sign of fever. Perhaps she really was just tired.

“Well, then, I ought to let you get some rest.” Cupping her cheek, she swept her thumb over its peak, then kissed her forehead. “Goodnight, my darling.”

She was halfway across the room when she heard her quietly call, “Mama?”

Violet turned around, her hands resting over her stomach, her face soft and open. “Yes?”

“Will you come lay with me?” Her voice sounded small and childlike, and Violet had to keep from rushing back across the room to scoop her up into her arms.

“Always,” she said, instead, as she padded back across to the bed and slid in beside her, under the blanket.

Hyacinth scooted into her, nestling her head just below her shoulder while Violet wrapped both arms around her. Pressing a kiss into her hair, Violet let out a contented sigh, appreciating the chance to just hold her baby close. 

Despite an insatiable curiosity, she knew that pressing Hyacinth would result in her clamming up further. So, instead of asking again for an explanation for her mood, Violet sat quietly, listening to the rhythms of their breathing, and allowed the silence to do the work.

A few minutes passed before Hyacinth’s voice finally edged into the quiet. “When you and Lord Anderson get married, will I have to change my name to Anderson?”

Violet blinked in surprise. Directness had always been Hyacinth’s strength, a trait she did not get from her mother.

“Hyacinth, he has not even asked, and I do not know if I would say yes, even if he had.”

“But, if he did ask, and you did say yes, would I have to change my name?” Keeping her ear pressed to Violet’s chest, she tilted her face up towards her mother, her piercing green eyes full of uncertainty.

“You would not,” Violet assured her. “Why do you ask?”

“Gregory told me,” she said. “He said that if you marry Lord Anderson, he and I will have to change our names and move into his house.”

Violet blinked a few more times, stuttering for a moment as she worked to keep any more surprised emotions from her face. Whatever she had been expecting, it had not been this. 

“Well,” she started slowly, “he’s not entirely wrong. If we were to be married, you and your brother would come with me to live with him as you are not yet of age. However, mine would be the only name to change. You will be a Bridgerton until you have a husband of your own.”

“What if we don’t want to leave Bridgerton House?” There was a tremor of anxiety laced into her voice, and Violet closed her eyes for a moment as she pulled her daughter in closer.

“Well, you two are my children, which means you stay with me. Bridgerton House is now your brother’s, and while we shall all consider it our home and be welcome, I am sure, it is truly meant for him to raise his family. It is far more likely the two of you will move with me to a dower house than anything else. We should have already,” she added, more to herself than to Hyacinth.

“But this is our home! Here and Aubrey Hall are the only places we have ever known.”

Violet gently shushed her, smoothing her hand over her hair and holding her a little tighter. 

“If you truly do not wish to leave, we can talk to Anthony and see if he would allow you to stay.” She tugged at the end of a lock of Hyacinth’s hair. “Though, I would miss you terribly.”

Hyacinth’s brows drew together, a pout on her lips as she looked out across the dimly lit room. Violet ran her hand down her arm, taking hold of her hand with a light squeeze. 

“Change is hard, my love,” she told her, her voice soft but sure, “and you have not had a lot of it in your life.” She placed another kiss into her hair, then laid her cheek on top of her head. “But I assure you, no matter what happens, all will be well.”

“How do you know?” she asked. 

“Because I will be with you for all of it.”

Hyacinth let go of her hand to wrap her arm around her mother’s waist, burrowing into her until she was as close as it was possible to be. Violet held her tighter, letting her hand come to her back. She rubbed it down the length of her spine, and then up again, falling into a rhythm that she used as a metronome to accompany the gentle melody she began to hum. They stayed that way for quite some time, until Hyacinth’s grip loosened and her head grew heavy against Violet’s chest, and she was able to cease the soothing movement against her back. She continued humming until she could hear the steady breathing of sleep, then carefully extricated herself. With Hyacinth nestled into her pillow, Violet traced her fingers down her temple and over her cheek, laying one more kiss to her forehead. 

“I will always be with you,” she whispered, the promise sure in her heart as she blew out the candle and tiptoed from the room. 

~

Violet had tried to go to bed, but after her talk with Hyacinth, she had been unable to quiet her mind, resulting in a body that was just as restless. She spent three quarters of an hour trying to settle before giving up. With a huff, she pulled her dressing gown back on, lit a candle, and walked out into the hall.

She did not have a destination in mind, but eventually found herself outside, leaving her candle burning on a table inside the door. The cool night air, tugging gently at the ends of her curls that were still loose around her shoulders, was already helping clear her head by the time she came to sit at one of the small tables on the terrace. Closing her eyes, she focused on her senses, letting the fragrance from the flower garden and the chirping crickets and the hard metal of the chair beneath her help ground her swirling thoughts.

She did not know how long she was out there when she heard the door open and then close, followed by quiet footsteps. Turning her head, she saw Kate walking towards her, her belly protruding slightly from the opening beneath the belt of her purple dressing gown, a teacup in each hand.

“Chai?” she offered, holding out one of the cups for Violet to take. 

“Oh!” Violet said with an appreciative little laugh as she took the offered teacup. “Thank you, my dear.”

Kate smiled down at her. “I was making it when I noticed you sitting out here, and thought you might like something to keep you warm.”

“That is very kind of you.” Touched, she took Kate’s free hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“It is my pleasure,” she said, returning the gesture. “Now, I promise I shall not intrude on your solitude any longer.” 

“Oh, no, please, join me.” Violet motioned toward the seat beside her.

“So long as it is not an imposition.”

“Kate,” Violet raised her eyebrows in affectionate disbelief and spoke with conviction, “you are never an imposition.”

Kate tilted her a look of sincere appreciation. “Very well,” she said, then set down her cup and perched herself on the chair beside her mother-in-law.

Violet took a few sips of her chai, and the spiced liquid coated her throat, creating a gentle warmth that lingered in her chest.

“This is lovely,” she remarked sincerely. She had grown quite fond of Kate’s chai since first introduced to it.  Although, she had found out quickly that none of her staff could make it quite right, so she had missed it while Kate and Anthony were on their honeymoon. She would have to have Kate teach her before moving to a dower house. “I had not realized just how cool it was out here.” As she spoke, she tugged her dressing gown a bit tighter around her. 

“Too preoccupied to notice?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Would you care to discuss it?”

“Hmm.” Violet took another sip, her eyes fixed on the table as she tried to figure out what to say, while also trying not to get lost in her thoughts again. 

“Tonight, when I went to go say goodnight, Hyacinth asked me if she was going to have to change her name.”

Confusion knitted Kate’s brows together. “To what, exactly?” she asked before taking a drink. 

“Hyacinth Anderson.”

Kate’s mouth turned down against an endeared smile. “Oh, no! Poor thing!”

“Yes,” Violet said with a breathy laugh. “It seems she and Gregory had quite a follow up to our conversation this morning, and he stirred up some concerns for her.”

“I see,” Kate nodded, an air of wisdom about her. “And now she has stirred up some concerns for you,” she deduced. 

Violet hiccuped a nervous laugh, looking down into her teacup as she lifted it to her lips, providing herself a moment. When she set it back down on its saucer, her eyes smiled at her daughter-in-law. “My dear girl, I believe you are far too clever for this family.” 

Kate placed her hand over Violet’s on the table. “Violet, what is it that troubles you so?”

Realizing Kate was not going to let her escape, and maybe feeling more relieved by that than she expected, she acquiesced with a heavy sigh, clasping the tips of Kate’s fingers which were curled around her own. 

“Among many other things, I realized that one of the reasons I hesitate at the thought of marrying again is, in fact, losing the Bridgerton name.”

“I see.”

“When I took Edmund’s name, I took it for life. Taking another man’s name now feels, again, like a betrayal. And not just a betrayal of him, but of our children as well.” With one more squeeze, she withdrew her hand, pressing it to her stomach in a protective manner. 

Kate took another drink from her cup, cradling it in her hands atop her belly as she leaned back against her chair. “I, too, struggled with the loss of my name when marrying Anthony.”

Surprise lifted Violet’s eyebrows. “Did you?”

“Oh, yes,” Kate nodded. “My father’s name felt like the last piece I had of him, and the only thing tying me to my sister and to our Mama. To replace it felt akin to giving away the thread that bound us as a family.”

“Yes,” Violet said, breathless as she marveled at how Kate had put into words exactly how she was feeling. “How did you finally accept it?”

Kate shrugged one shoulder. “Of course, love is a powerful motivator,” she said, and Violet hummed in agreement. “But I also realized that I did not stop being a Sharma simply because I took my husband’s name. Just as you did not stop being a Ledger when you took Edmund’s. Our families make us who we are, and adding to our families cannot take any of that away. It can only ever add even more to who we are.”

Violet chewed on the inside of her cheek, staring out into the night. “I suppose you are right. Our names are not what make us a family, really. The history we share, the memories, and the love. That is what creates a family, is it not?” Violet tipped her head to one side, thinking out loud at this point. “My daughters are no less my daughters now that they have taken their husbands’ names.”

“Precisely. No matter what you decide, you will always be a Bridgerton,” Kate said with a gentle conviction. 

Violet bit back a smile, though it could not be masked from her eyes. “Too clever, indeed.”

They sat in the moonlight, drinking their chai, while Violet’s mind ran in circles. Hyacinth’s questions had brought up so many things for her to think about, but there was another that had been perpetually on her mind for weeks which was getting harder to ignore with every passing day. And Kate, who was her daughter in every way but blood, really was not the person with whom she should be discussing it. But she certainly could not discuss it with Agatha, and who else was there, really? Violet set her cup down, chewing on her lip, and smoothing the front of her dressing gown to busy her hands. The silence pressed on her, making her itch to fill it. Kate, in contrast, was still, her air calm as she sipped from her cup. Violet blinked quickly, already feeling heat rising to her cheeks as she fidgeted.

“Violet, are you quite well?”

“Yes, dearest,” she said with a nervous laugh, failing at her attempt to sound nonchalant, “I just… Well, you see…” Violet pressed her lips together, her face hot against the night air. “There is something else I’ve been thinking about… Something else that has been… stirring ,” she cleared her throat, her eyes meeting Kate’s for only a second before darting down to the table. It must have been the late hour, or perhaps the cover of darkness that allowed her to say such things aloud. 

Kate watched Violet with a steady gaze, with just the slightest hint of a smile at the corners of her eyes. “Stirring for Lord Anderson, you mean?”

With a tight-lipped smile, Violet chanced another glance at her. “Yes,” she admitted, the word airy as if trying to swallow it before it could escape. 

Kate’s eyebrows lifted and she tipped her head to one side. With some effort, she leaned forward to set her cup on the table, only to settle back again with a quiet exhale. 

“That is natural, is it not?”

“Well—I-I…” Flustered, she let out a strangled laugh as an awkward smile twitched in her cheeks. “Yes, of course.” She hiccuped another laugh. “But it- it is also… complicated.”

Sensing Violet’s hesitation, Kate smiled at her, tilting her a look of sympathy and encouragement. “It is alright. You can speak openly. I promise I shall not be scandalized, and even if I am, I promise not to show it.”

Violet blinked hard as she looked at her, swallowing against the nervousness creeping up her throat. “Thank you.” Her fingers fidgeted in her lap as she tried to form not only the right words, but words she felt comfortable speaking aloud. “It is just, this… desire ,” she lowered her voice as though that might make it less shocking, “is something I have not felt for anyone else aside from Edmund. I truly thought I would never feel it again, and now that I do, I fear it may…” she paused for a moment searching for words again, “cloud my judgment.”

Kate’s eyebrows drew together. “In what way?”

Violet’s mouth pursed, blinking as she looked away from Kate again. She shifted in her seat, tugging at the sleeve of her dressing gown. 

“I am afraid,” she started slowly, glancing quickly at her again, “that this… desire ,” she whispered again, her eyes darting around suspiciously, as if to find eavesdroppers in the midnight darkness, “will convince me to marry, as a- a means to… satisfy ,” another whispered word, spoken towards her lap, “and that I might end up regretting the decision.”

Violet sipped from her teacup to give herself something to do, somewhere to focus her attention other than on her daughter-in-law because she could not believe she was saying any of this out loud.

“Do you believe Lord Anderson to be a good man?” Kate asked, drawing Violet’s eyes to her at what felt like an unexpected change of subject.

“I-I do, yes,” she nodded, lifting her eyebrows as if to invite clarification.

“Then, what sort of regrets do you fear?”

Violet blinked towards her lap, tilting her chin down as she searched for a way to explain. She had spent hours and hours since the winter, after her talk with Agatha, contemplating the advantages and disadvantages of remarrying. There was much to consider, especially now that there was an actual man in question rather than just hypothetical musings, and yet she kept coming back to one concern that insisted on causing her doubt and confusion.

Violet tapped her fingers against the side of her teacup, shrugging a shoulder up to her ear as she began to explain, “There are a great many advantages I have gained as a widow. A control over my life that I would not have being married to a man, unless he chose to grant it to me. And even if he did, it could be revoked at any time. To lose that… to give that control over to a man now, even one I trust, is…” she trailed off, unsure of how to properly convey the grip of fear that took hold of her stomach whenever she imagined it.

Kate watched her with intent, but she did not interject, instead allowing Violet the quiet space to continue sorting through her thoughts.

She took a steadying breath, pressing her lips together in an attempt to quiet her mind and find the words to explain so Kate could truly understand.

“I know Marcus is a good man,” she finally stated with quiet reverence. If Kate reacted to the informal use of his name, Violet did not see, but she did not bother to correct it. They had already begun to use each other’s names when in private, and the atmosphere of the late night that encouraged openness and honesty allowed for it. “And I want to believe that a future with him would be one of happiness and fulfillment.” A stillness came over her as she spoke, the words flowing effortlessly as her thoughts finally cleared and the heart of her concerns came forth. “But I have already known great love. I have lived it and I have lost it, and I do not take for granted the rare nature of what I have had. Whatever future I may have with another man, whether Marcus or someone else, I do not expect to have another. And so, I must ask myself, am I willing to risk losing everything I have gained for something that may never be more than companionship, simply to satisfy this… desire?”

Kate looked down for a moment, a quiet seriousness drawing her brows together as she considered her mother-in-law’s concerns. Violet began to grow antsy again, shifting in her seat and indecisively picking up her cup and then setting it back down again. When Kate looked back up at her, an understanding smile tilted her lips to one side, and her dark eyes glittered with moonlight and sympathy.

“I see, now, why you hesitate,” Kate said gently. “Although spinsters are not afforded quite the same privileges, before I married Anthony, I had noticed that there was a freedom in being both unattached and unremarkable. Once everyone had decided I was ineligible, they stopped paying attention, and I could get away with much more than I otherwise could have. In fact, perhaps I should have taken more advantage of it than just riding horses alone.”

Kate’s face was bright with amusement, and Violet laughed softly at her teasing before letting it slip into a quiet sigh. 

Kate reached out her hand and Violet took it, finding comfort in the gentle squeeze she received.

“Unfortunately, I cannot tell you what the right choice will be. But I think perhaps the best thing you can do is to follow your instincts regarding Lord Anderson. They have led you in the right direction thus far, it would be wise to continue to trust them.”

“Indeed,” Violet said with another airy laugh, holding Kate’s hand a little tighter to show her appreciation before releasing it. “You are right again, my dear.” There was affection on her face and a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Does my son ever tire of telling you that?”

Kate sat back again, rubbing her hand over her round belly, wearing a brilliant smile. “Oh, every day!”

Delighted by her cheekiness, Violet laughed a full belly laugh, touching her warm cheek with the back of her hand.

After a few moments of contagious laughter that bounced back and forth between them, Violet breathed deeply to calm herself.

“Oh, my goodness,” she said, a smile crinkling her eyes at the corners. “I think I quite needed that.” She leaned back in her chair, her hand coming back to her stomach as she let the mirth settle around her. “I did not expect, after a whirlwind of a season in which I married off not one but two children, to be contemplating a marriage for myself. Not that the question has been asked,” she added. “Still, it has all been quite overwhelming.” She stared through Kate, shaking her head as her thoughts began to swirl again. 

“You know, if you decide marriage is not the right choice for you, you do not have to marry in order to… fulfill your desires.”

Violet’s eyes widened and her gaze returned to the present, staring at Kate with bewilderment. 

“You mean take a… a lover?” she whispered again, her head pivoting as she looked around with a nervous giggle. “Could you imagine?” Though, she had imagined. Vividly. And the memories set her face aflame, making her grateful for the darkness. 

Clearly amused at her mother-in-law’s scandal, Kate shrugged.

“Why not? Men do it all the time.” Her eyebrows rose and a suggestive smirk lifted one corner of her mouth. “Perhaps Lord Anderson would be interested in a less official arrangement?”

Violet shook her head vigorously, her hand coming to her chest, feeling the heat of her blush radiating there as well. “N-No… I could not possibly! How would I— How does one even—” she shook her head again. “Oh, no, I-I simply could not even imagine it!”

More than flustered, Violet picked up her teacup again and noticed her hand was shaking as she took another drink. 

“Well,” Kate said, her voice slightly quieter than it had been thus far, “there are other ways that do not involve a man at all.”

Violet was mid-drink when her understanding of Kate's suggestion registered, and she choked on the chai, coughing as she set the cup back down with a clatter. She sputtered for a moment, her whole body now engulfed in invisible flames. 

“Are you alright?” Kate asked, leaning forward and putting her hand on Violet’s arm. 

Wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand, Violet nodded and cleared her throat before taking in a wet, ragged breath. “Yes, I-I am fine,” she assured her, patting her hand, though her voice was hoarse and she had to clear it again.

“I am so sorry. I do not know why I—”

Violet shook her head. “It is quite alright.” She pressed her lips together, the corners turning up into a tight smile, and she withdrew her arm, bringing her hands back to her stomach.

“I am aware of-of… that,” she admitted quietly, the tips of her ears hot, not quite able to meet Kate’s gaze. “But it is just…” she blinked and bit her lip, “Well. It seems… that that is no longer… sufficient .”

Had she really just said that aloud? What could possibly have possessed her? Perhaps it was the tea. 

Clearing her throat again and tugging at the belt of her dressing gown, Violet’s eyes darted up for a quick glance at her daughter-in-law, who was clearly trying desperately, and failing miserably, to hold in her laughter. 

“I see,” Kate finally managed, her voice strained. Biting her lips, she tried to contain herself, but her shoulders were shaking, and she had to look away. 

It was Violet who cracked first, nearly spitting on Kate as the sound burst its way through her pursed lips, overcome with a mad sort of giddiness. Kate lost her battle as well, and both women erupted into yet another fit of laughter. 

They laughed until their bellies ached. It rolled out across the garden, into the darkness, and over the terrace to the house, reverberating back to them as if in chorus. They took turns shushing each other while clutching their sides and dabbing tears from their eyes. 

When they finally began to settle, Violet took a few deep breaths, letting out a long sigh that bounced with lingering laughter. As awkward as she found this topic of conversation, she felt almost a sense of release at having brought it even further out into the open than she had with Agatha last winter. She was finding that not carrying all of her burdens alone made a lot of them feel much less heavy. 

As she fussed with her hair, pushing it out of her face and patting it back into some semblance of order, she looked over at Kate.  

“You must promise me that you will not tell Anthony.”

“I would not dream of telling him something told to me in confidence. And anyway, I think I would be doing you both a disservice if I did. I do believe he would perish at the very thought.”

“Yes, well, he is much like his mother in that respect, I suppose,” Violet felt a fresh blush rise to her cheeks, then shook her head. “I do not know what possessed me to tell you any of this. But, I thank you for listening, and for being so open and understanding.”

Kate tilted her a smile that was full of warmth and affection. “You have shown me nothing but kindness and love, opening your heart to me as if I were one of your own. I am happy to offer my support to you in any way I can, not just in gratitude, but because you are my family.”

Violet reached across the table to clasp Kate’s hand. For what had to have been the thousandth time since meeting her, she marveled at just how much she enjoyed her company. As all loving mothers would, she had feared her son marrying someone who might try to come between them, who she would have to tolerate through gritted teeth for the sake of politeness and keeping the peace. She felt so fortunate that Kate was not only pleasant and amicable, but someone she had grown to care for dearly. It made relinquishing her role as lady of the house much easier when it was to someone she loved as her own. “I am truly blessed to have yet another wonderful daughter to love.”

After a moment, she patted Kate’s hand before letting it go. 

“It is getting late, I suppose we should get to bed.”

Kate nodded and they both stood, taking their teacups with them. Once in the house, and after returning their cups to the kitchen, they made their way upstairs with what remained of Violet’s candle. They walked in silence to Kate’s bedchamber. 

“Goodnight, dearest,” Violet told her, kissing her on the cheek.

“Goodnight.” Before Violet could walk away, with her hand poised on the doorknob, Kate turned back to her. “I have faith you will figure out exactly what to do in regards to Lord Anderson.” 

Nodding, Violet thanked her, and waited for the door to close before turning toward her own bedchamber. As she padded down the corridor, she felt herself growing drowsy; the hour was late and she was far past her usual bedtime. Once in her room, she slipped into bed and blew out the candle, casting the room into almost pure darkness. She settled in with the blankets pulled up to her chin, and thought about Kate’s parting words. While she still did not know what the future held for her in regards to Marcus, she felt confident that her instincts would guide her, and as she pondered the many possibilities, for the first time in weeks, she drifted into a restful sleep and did not wake until morning.