#cw open flame

[shalgates]

hhhehehehehe ixol stimboard perchance ?? idk if you've already done one yet

Here ye go!

[ cw eyes . ] ;

I have not done one yet btw! This is actually my first. Some of the links to the stimbords i got the stims from didnt save on my clipboard, if people happen to stumble upon some of them and send me a link that'd be great! yay!! (⁠^⁠^⁠)

[dreadbornesaint]

A wistful expression that softens her features graces her visage, a reflection of the ache to return to what is forever lost. The longing she refuses to name, the yearning that makes its bed alongside the dread. Her gloved hand rests on the hilt of her sword, a casual gesture, a reminder of what she is capable of. Though, despite the imposing figure she cuts, she’s not feeling a need to satiate the bloodlust she’s become intimate with. 

She stands before a beautiful sunset; it would not do to spoil such a beautiful scenery with bloodshed. It certainly has not stopped her before, but moments of tranquility are rare for Beryl and she intends to enjoy it. A brief respite. A reminder that there is more to living than the edge of a sword or the ichor that stains her skin. “Times like these call for a drink.” She muses out loud. How fortunate, then, that she has a few bottles of soju on her person. A sigh passes through slightly parted lips. “If only I had some drinking snacks to pair with this…”

[orangetintedglasses]

"That's why I've been trying to think of another way to do it...!" the Plant blurted with a laugh. He knew it was rude! He hadn't considered the possibility of splinters ending up in the WORST possible place to get them when he'd thought about this earlier...!

He turned around and drew his arm back in, towards him, and pulled the undertaker into him, against him, close-- never close enough--

"I've wanted business with you since we sat down in the bar... thought about what you wanted back on the ship, and how I wanted to make that happen when we got back here..."

... and that... would be where his gaze softened. Where something resembling clarity (and what almost looked like guilt) made his eyes that little bit sharper as his free hand came up to cup Wolfwood's face, running a thumb along the line of his jaw.

"... but that should be something you remember. Not something you might end up regretting because it was hazy, or you didn't actually like how it felt."

Vash would never-- could never --forget the nervousness present in his companion's eyes when he'd told him he'd wanted to experience being on the receiving end of things, and that was something they both needed to be present for. At least, moreso than they were now-- maybe earlier in the night, pre-tango with the local gang, he would've felt more comfortable asking for that. But now... Wolfwood needed to be able to know how he actually felt about the blond being on top, and that wasn't something that could happen right now.

"So howzzabout, instead, you sit down, get comfortable... and I do whatever you say for a while. Entertain you that way~." back to that slightly slurred, silky tone, swiping the pad of his thumb over Wolfwood's lower lip.

"Won't move. Won't touch, not without your say so..."

"Youwan'me'wha—?"

Wolfwood looks very confused for a moment, as though he's making sure that Vash said what he said. It takes a bit longer than usual, but the usual fluster finds its way to his face as he allows himself to be pulled.

"Mmm, you wanna ask the guy who just spent an hour pullin' wood outta his knees to get back down on 'em? Rude..."

He does look at his own knees. Something else of his that's waking up catches his attention for a moment, but then he finally makes his way down to his shins and knees...

"Eh, it shouldbe fine s'long as I have pillows. Anything's fine with you, Vash~ Just like I mentioned before... youknow about gettin' inebriated and getting some frisky ideas." He pauses. "Assumin' that's what you're doin' right now. Could be misreadin' but it sounds like you want some business with me...~"

[meganegatari]

You should definitely write for Vi bc oml she’s so fine 😮‍💨

DO U EVEN KNOW THE WAY IM TWEAKIN OVER HER like omfg. my poor moots getting bombarded with fucking piles of edits upon edits of her and my thirsty comments...yeah...i gotchu, you don't needa ask me twice ♡ tbh feel like this is one of the better short smutty thingies i've written, lol. it was really fun.

nsfw drabble—dom!vi + spit kink. originally i was gonna make this three smaller blurbs, but decided to just smash em all into one longer drabble situation. cw: praise, bossy vi, finger sucking (r! receiving), oral (v! receiving), vi bush mention RAHHHH, yapping... yk how it is by now. + 1.1k wc.

you were gazing up at her with watery eyes, kneeling by vi's seated form, trying your hardest to ignore the deafening ache between your thighs.

vi is loving, and she knows how to treat you well. she always provides you with tons of care and happiness, however—she also possesses a dirty side to her.

a bandaged hand swipes at the bottom of your chin, her thumb prodding at your pursed lips. there was a smirk playing on her scarred lips, her powder-blue eyes twinkling with pure lust at the scenario playing out before her.

“open.” she says roughly, and who are you to deny her? you were willing to take anything she'd give you, so you obediently part your lips, allowing her to fully push her digit inside your hot mouth.

almost instinctively, your puffy lips wrap around her thumb and you begin to suck, your eyes rolling ever so slightly at the taste of her salted skin. she hums, “atta girl—keep going. just like that, until i say you can stop, alright?” you open your eyes and nod in approval, wishing to commit her expression to memory.

see, vi wasn't one of those mean, degrading doms with an icy exterior who get off on hurting you an excessive amount, and in moments like this where she's got you in a position of submission under her, her natural “switchiness” peeks through. you see it in the way her throat bobs as she swallows, her unsteady, shallow breathing coming out in rasps, and the distinct furrow in her flaming brows while she struggles to maintain eye contact. regardless, you both enjoy toying around with various dynamics, she makes it fun.

you get lost in a daydream while staring into her eyes, but are startled out of it when she strongly presses down on your wet tongue, and pushes her thumb further inward until you gag.

it surprises you, but you know she would never overdo things. tears well up in your eyes, their presence only widening her voracious grin.

then she soothes, her now-soft voice caressing your ears, “exactly, just like that. good job, baby. you're so perfect f'me—yeahhh.” she continues rolling her thumb around your wet muscle, every so often dragging the pad of her finger over the ridges of your teeth, then pushing experimentally up against the roof of your mouth.

saliva has been gathering all this time, and she hasn't given you a moment to swallow it, so it dribbles out of your mouth and down your chin, decorating your chest as it slides down your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps along its path.

her face gets impossibly redder as she observes the sight, still while playing with—rather, using—your mouth. her movements speed up a touch, and she triggers your gag reflex once more before abruptly stopping. she pulls her hand out of your mouth with a pop, and throws her head back as she tries to steady her breathing. “you're so fuckin’ hot, god—i can't.”

you smile up at her, reveling in her break of character and being pleased with yourself. she's panting, and examines her hand; it's shiny and dripping with your spit, she's mesmerized by the sparkle it emits in the low light. her periwinkle eyes gloss over and suddenly there's a flash of fabric flying by, and you realize she has undressed herself in one fluid motion, throwing everything on her bottom half across the room. she’s so desperate, you can’t help but sneer at her horny distress, even though technically you were the one being overpowered.

your eyes drop, meeting a wild tangle of vermillion and crimson, her muscular thighs separating east and west to make space for you.

she leans back and gently nudges your head towards her tender, drooling core, her chest heaving at the way you're just melting under her touch. turning to jelly, you let her guide you where she wants. needs.

vi groans quietly, her breath hitching, “c'mon angel, you know what to do.” and you very much did. with her assistance, you advance and bury your face in her center, tongue finding her scarlet pearl—twitching and ready for you to obliterate.

you flick, you suck, and you moan at the heavenly taste of her essence, revel in the noises she's producing above you. she pulls you further in, bucking her hips frantically to chase your skilled mouth. you push your tongue inside her quivering hole as far as it'll go, taking as much of her in your mouth as you can, and ignoring the lack of oxygen you're experiencing—you would be more than pleased if you were lucky enough to die this way.

she's watching you intently through half-lidded eyes, chewing on her rosy lips. when you meet her gaze from in between her legs, her face contorts and she releases a guttural whine, more slick leaking from her and filling your hard-at-work mouth.

her grip on your hair tightens and her abs tense, providing you with an image that's worthy of a climax just on its own. her head falls back, her lips parting to allow for pretty, high pitched and pathetic pleas to grace your ears. “ple—please baby, just like that. you're so fuckin' good, don't you dare stop—ah!”

without any warning she makes a vulgar mess of your face, the vice grip on your crown causing you to wince, but just as she requests, you don't dare move.

you tilt your head to get a better angle, practically making out with her swollen pussy. you drink up her cum, the near-sickly sweetness clouding your mind, coating your thoughts in a drunken haze.

the high is rippling through her at such an intensity her loud moans are replaced with pornographic whimpers, the sensations utterly ruining her. she squirms and arches, caging your head between her thighs until she gasps.

"hah—okay, okay, oh—fuck.” she stutters while she pushes you away, the tremor in her body evident. you sit back and examine your work, feeling proud of yourself, her fucked-out condition proving you did a good job.

she's sprawled on the bed like a starfish, still trying to slow her racing heart but manages to chuckle, basking in the aftershocks of a mind-melting session.

her words are slurred, yet satisfied. “did so good, that was so good…love your mouth s'much babe.”

you guffaw, and throw at her through chuckles, “i know, i am the best.” that sends her into a fit of giggles as well, and once she's calmed down she confirms.

“yeah, you really are.”

thanks for reading! comments, reblogs, and asks are appreciated more than you know ♡ if you'd like to be tagged in future works, fill out the form here! until next time ;)

@andersonfilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @littlefallenangel111 @srooch @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ne @pinkcwake @marsworlddd @caszzine @saturnsdrafts @mascdom @ashaynep @angelynn-nicole @wilddrown @aylabv02108 @lonelyfooryouonly @melsmunch @e11williamsgf @spncrrdlvr @flowrmoth

[gladiatorcunt]

father charlie asking you to call him father during sex is making me tweak

cw: 18+ mdni, fem reader, pussy EATING, let him be a little more openly crazy in this one, trope typical dub con and corruption kink but you're just as crazy so you think that you're doing the same thing to him, bible verses as dirty talk, inaccurate religious practices, religious slut shaming/degradation (?)

Your thighs are already shaking and he’s only kissing up your inner thighs, so cute, so sweet. “That’s it, little lamb, lie back for me.”

Your skirt is pushed up to pool around your hips, the wood of the pew you’re sitting on leaving an already uncomfortable ache in your hips.

Father Charlie kneels in front of you, right out in the middle of the open. Sure, it’s after hours and no one is on the premises but the two of you, but God is still here. Isn’t he? Watching in judgment as the man meant to be your spiritual leader sups at the fountain of your cunt.

He smiles when you start squirming and immediately slaps the inside of your thigh, harsh but genuine in its tough love, “Ah ah ah. I thought I told you to lie back and take your Father’s tongue in your pussy like a good girl.”

The candle’s flames flicker as you pant and stare down at him, he looks so handsome in the soft orange glow, like an angel. But isn’t it the demons who sneak down to earth and seduce unsuspecting whorish women into damnation? Father Charlie could never be a demon in your eyes though, and he knows this more than he knows every verse of the good word by heart.

He could desecrate you with a nail gun and you’d bend over and spread your legs, bleeding out on the beige carpet. But you’re his special girl, his darling wife to be and you know better than to do anything that would force his heavy hand.

“I-I’m so sorry, I won’t do it again.” You plead, the thought of losing his favor for even a second causes you genuine distress, "Obey your leaders and submit to them, for they are keeping watch over your souls, as those who will have to give an account.”

“I-i’m so sorry, who?” He mocks, pitching his voice higher and spitting on your clit. “I won’t do it again, who?”

“F-father. I’m so sorry, Father. I’ll be listen you, I swear.”

“You’re going to be a good girl for me anyway, like a real child of God should.”

Your soft sighs turn into even softer moans when he redoubles his efforts and leans forward to kiss your throbbing clit. A crucifix that tastes as electrifying as a star, he moans as your natural musk invades his senses. He’s so happy you’re on an off shaving day too, there’s just enough hair peeking through for some to come off on his tongue with every swipe.

Father Charlie moans into your puffy pussy, speaking in tongues into your folds and sliding his tongue in your sopping hole. He smacks his lips together when he pulls back to breathe, smiling up at you and licking away the sticky string of you that clings to his mouth.

“Maybe I should have this cunt for communion, draft my sermons laying in between your thighs. You should’ve never taken this job, little lamb. Now even God himself couldn’t keep us apart.”

A flash of light, and his nose bleeds onto your pubes. Then the vision’s gone, and Father Charlie’s burying himself back into the heaven that is your sloppy pussy.

You run your fingers through his hair in a frenzy, but you obediently sink into the shooting pain in your pelvis as you slump into the pew.

Father Charlie’s eyes glint like rubies as he eats you like a starving man, your water turning into wine as you flood his taste buds with your juices. His knees strain in the confines of his dark slacks, digging into the church floor, but his precious lamb is worth every twinge of pain. They’d be added bonuses, anyway. He hums a few lines of a hymn, the melodic vibrations give you tingles.

You squirt minutes later when you lock eyes and he nips at your clit, fantasizing about chewing it into a heart. He chastely pecks the bud through your orgasm and into overstimulation, which is always his goal. Father Charlie’s favorite game is to make you come for every sin you confess to in your last confessional.

“You’ve been eating what I’ve recommended, good, you’re fattening up really nicely, dear.” He comments with a quick squeeze to your mound, laughing at your exhaustion.

One down, six to go. You’re blessed with a guilty conscience.

“Go in peace.”

[madamechrissy]

Losing Control Now

Pairings: Mobster Gojo x bartender F!reader

Summary: Something about running the Gojo mafia just makes Satoru so bored. Boring, boring boring. Sure, he loves money, he loves women, he loves snorting snowy powder off their bodies. He loves the power that comes from it- but he's just bored. That is, until he stumbles upon you, the brand new bartender that makes him pause, falter, and then soon he becomes obsessed, with knowing you, in every single way. Paying off your mom's debts and working two jobs, you're exhausted, but something about this pretty Mob boy just makes you... excited again. How far in are you, and how far is Satoru in the mafia world? All he knows, is he must have you.

CW: Sexual content, mafia themes, drug themes, violence, obsessed Satoru Gojo, oral sex, possessive Gojo, drug use and drug dealing, lots of hurt/comfort- This part- Explicit p in v sex, public (kinda!?) sex, oral (f receiving) rough sex, spitting, choking, multiple rounds, lots of feelings, talking you through it, cervix kisses, creampie - WC this part- 8.2k wc

That Gojo art is by michi_ia on X, based on Satoru from Pour it Up (Sukuna's story) You can read it alone, but I think it enhances this

<<<part three - masterlist - playlist- Part five>>>

Part four

Satoru Gojo bought a fucking boat for your first date.

Not some tiny little thing either, it’s a gorgeous gleaming white boat gently bobbing along the dock, your jaws drop open as you look at it, then at him, and he has a bashful little smile, a blush on his perfect cheeks. How a mobster can be just so precious and adorable is still a conundrum you haven’t quite figured out, but here he is, rubbing the back of his neck now.

“I didn’t even ask if you liked boats.” He mumbles, and you burst out into laughter then, shaking your head and standing in front of him, hands sliding up his chest.

“Satoru, this is amazing. I’ve never been on one!”

“Shit, never?” You shake your head and he exhales, as if he was truly worried that a damn boat wouldn’t impress you.

“Never, this is insane, I thought we were going to dinner or something, not you buying a boat!”

“We are still having dinner, think I wouldn’t feed you?” He pulls you against him then, hands warm on your waist, making you tremble.

It feels perfect in his arms.

You two hardly know each other and yet you have never felt more at home or safe than you do with him. It should terrify you more than it actually does, but instead you’re just drawn in to him, like a moth to his pretty, bright flame. You sigh, brushing a hand across his cheek now, thumb on the jut of his cheekbone, while the wind by the water whips up around you two.

“Where did you come from, Satoru?” Your soft words pierce his heart, he leans low and presses a kiss on your forehead, feeling the warmth of your skin as the sunlight gently washes over you both, casting shadows across the soft sand beneath both of your feet.

“C’mon, sweets.” He tugs you along, smiling heartbreakingly boyish at you, and you eagerly follow him, he clearly knows something about boats according to his terminology while he gives you a whole tour. There’s even a pretty little room underneath like a little captain’s chamber, when your fingers brush against the silk of the blankets your tummy clenches.

It’s all too fast with him, you know you should take your time, you know you should maybe wait, have any kind of self preservation, but it’s almost impossible when you’re head over heels since you met him. Love at first sight couldn’t exist - could it? Was it lust or desire at first sight, or are you too afraid to admit that it could be, that you felt as if you’d always known him?

That you felt at home and safe?

That you feel better than you have in years, with someone who barely knows you but truly sees you and cares for you so much, do you even deserve him? You have to keep questioning it, if your happiness is well deserved, or if perhaps you were meant to go through it all. The depression you’ve felt is still there, the self doubt, but every moment with Satoru brings a brightness to your heart.

“Wanna steer the boat, sweetheart?” He asks then, and you nod eagerly, he laughs soft at how you bounce over, your hands nervously gripping the huge wheel, there are a couple attendants on the boat, pushing off now, while you dart through the water, and he comes behind you, arms wrapped around you on either side. “Look, you’re a whole captain.”

“Am I now?” You tease, using his help to gently guide it, it was a bit for show of course, but you feel perfect in this moment.

“Need a sexy captain’s hat. One sec.” Satoru disappears, as the soft spray brushes against your skin, and he returns with one, bright white with a line of navy blue, pretty silver emblem in the middle. “There, so fucking sexy.”

“You’re well prepared!” You giggle again, and your pretty laugh, how it scrunches up your nose, how it lights up your eyes makes every bit of anything worth it.

Satoru should be scared, right, he should hold back when he’s feeling more in moments with you than he has his entire life, but there’s so much to you, since the moment his eyes locked with you, those pretty but tired eyes looking back at him. He knew then he had to know you, you make him feel better than any drink or line could, better than any girl that tries to make him feel good.

It’s like all he can see is you.

“Should just wear that tonight.” His murmur rocks your entire body, humming just for him, while he’s leading you away, and one of the men takes over with a little nod and a smile, the two of you leaning along the rails, lit all across with pretty fairy lights, twinkling like pretty fireflies as the sky fills with colors.

“God it’s beautiful!” You do a little spin, breathless as you do, and he chuckles, hands in the pockets of his slacks as he watches you. “Satoru, can I ask…” you drift off now, back to looking at the sea beneath you two. “Why no date before?”

“Oh, that.” He rubs the back of his neck then, looking away a little now, hair blowing softly with the breeze. “Well, not gonna lie sweets I… kinda just… fuck.”

“Oh. Oh? Oh… oh!” He chuckles at your responses, as you compute it all in your mind, lips pursing. “Like, casual?”

“Yeah. They just come to me? I’ve never tried to get a girl, or tried to be with any of them. It just sort of came with the lifestyle, there are women very devoted to the main families, especially mine. Mob groupies.”

“Oh gosh.” Your cheeks heat up, for some reason, like earlier, the thought of anyone with Satoru makes you unreasonably irritated. You know it should not, but it’s still there, smacking you in the face, a possessive feeling that’s irrational but as tangible as anything.

“Yeah so, I don’t know I just had fun and cruised through life as I could, with so many responsibilities that I don’t fucking want, it just passed the time enjoyably. Though,” he brushes a hand across your jaw now, looking down at you with his brilliant eyes behind those dark shades. “I assure you, nothing feels like you.”

“Satoru…” You bury your face against his chest, he chuckles then, holding you tightly against him. “You don’t know how I feel just yet.”

“I’ll make sure she learns the shape of me, don’t worry.” His whisper brushes against your ear, you shift now, throbbing from his filthy words, he’s such a mix of it - of sweet and filthy - intoxicating as you whine out and he laughs again. “Got you excited, didn’t I?”

“Shush. You know what you’re doing.” You glare a bit, and then bury your face again, letting him hold you on the boat, in the perfect moment.

Too perfect.

For a girl who’s been dead on her feet and terrified for so long, this feels surreal - like a dream you fear you’ll get woken up from at any moment, and will do anything to stay here. Clinging to him, like you’ll lose him, like he’ll dissolve at any given moment - like he’s not even real, but he constantly reassures you with every breath that he is, with his hand slipping down your spine, leaving chills.

“Maybe I love to see your cute little reactions.” You sigh, stepping back and looking up at him, hair falling to the side when he tilts your chin so carefully, thumb brushing over your lower lip.

“I feel like this is some pretty dream, I’ve crashed at work, and my boss is gonna be mad.” He snorts, rolling his eyes at you.

“No you’re very much awake, I would know. You snored on me in the limo.”

“No way!”

“Mhmm.”

“So, Satoru, why… is this different, then? Me and you?” He nods, words stuck in his throat, part fear but also part…

How does he describe the difference?

“It’s different,” his husky words reassure you. “Very.”

“You seem like you hate and love running things, you know.” He walks you towards a pretty table that’s all set up with drinks and plates, you sit right next to him, chair screeching along the planks as he drags you close, a hand on your thigh now while you set down the hat.

“Sukuna runs shit for me mostly, but of course I have a role to play. And yeah, I fucking hate it, it’s not my choice…” Your heart aches as you study him, you still have so much to learn, even though you surely felt as if you’ve known him forever. “My parents died, and I had to take over. I was eighteen.”

“Shit, Satoru, I’m so sorry.” You blink back tears, and he shakes his head, shooting you a sad little smile.

“Don’t be, I didn’t know them well. I kind of knew mom a bit, but they lived a certain lifestyle, while I was raised to be the leader of their family - shit a kid really shouldn’t be dealing with, shoved on me.” He rolls his shoulders a bit, the pout on his pretty face making your heart break. “I knew my role.”

“And there’s no like… getting out of it?” He shakes his head.

“The best I can do is have a good crew of men, and I do. I have my best friend Suguru, you know Sukuna and Toji too already. Choso also seems to be a good dude. Together we handle the shit, we keep people safe in our territory, I don’t mind that. What I mind is all the other shit, I hate fighting, even if I’m really fucking good at it.”

You run a thumb across his knuckles, roughened from likely many fights. “I get what it’s like to feel trapped. Not my whole life, but I get it.”

“I know you do, and I wish you didn’t.” He squeezes your hand now, and you give him a shaky little smile.

“You’ve made things so much better so quickly.” His cheeks tinge a bit pink, as if he’s uncomfortable with the praise.

“I just helped out.”

“No, it’s much more than that.” He sighs now, shrugging a broad shoulder as if all his actions were some mere trifle, and not already life altering. “Satoru, I was in a dark place before I met you.”

“Shit…” He swipes a tear that falls, pressing his lips against your hairline, holding you close against him.

“Very dark. Bad, Satoru, really bad. When I met you… everything brightened for me.” You keep blinking tears that fall off your lashes, he’s kissing them away as he holds you close, and the food starts coming out. Your lips kiss his neck as you hide your face for a moment, overwhelmed.

“Shh, it’s all okay. You’re fucking tired, I know.” You’re nodding, warm tears spilling against his skin, while he holds you even more tightly, before pulling back, the aromas of the delicious smelling food mixing with the salt in the air.

“I’m awake with you.” He sighs at that, smiling a bit.

“Let’s eat, hmm? You live off red bulls and ramen, I’m worried about you.”

“Hey it’s got lots of b vitamins, red bull you know, Mr. Snorts Coke off women.” He sticks his tongue out and you burst into a fit of laughs again, affection makes his heart ache at the sound, as he falls deeper so quickly.

There’s no avoiding the truth.

“I will only snort coke off you from now on. Did you think I would for anyone else?”

“You did off Sukuna’s girl.”

“Well I didn’t meet you yet. You’re so possessive!”

“Maybe.” He sighs now, taking a fork and a bite of food off the plate, placing it between your lips, you chew it thoughtfully, eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

“You’re all mad about Mei, mad I snorted coke off your friend, I’m expecting you to start swatting at the strippers soon.”

“Well, not until you’re actually my boyfriend.” Your voice is light, but then it’s there, the question, and you grow embarrassed quickly at yourself. “Satoru, I’m not rushing you into anything, please, it was just teasing.”

“You’re just staking your claim, it’s pretty hot, pookie.” You sigh in relief at the easy way he winks, unbothered - or so it seems - when in fact Satoru doesn’t think boyfriend really cuts.

He needs to be more than that.

The wind is gently blowing your hair around your face when he watches you sip on your wine, the soft light of the setting sun casting pinks and golds across your skin, and for a moment his breath catches, seeing your tired eyes light up, your pretty smile. It makes any and everything he’d have to do to protect you worth it, your giggle as you lean forward, a hand brushing across his thigh now, making him ache for you.

“This is beautiful, Satoru. Thank you so much for this.” Your lips press on his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, the salty sea spray mingling in the air with your perfume, heady and intoxicating.

He swallows a bit, arm wrapping around you now as the two of you sit at the table, food plated by the best chefs he could hire, on his own damn boat he bought for a date, but all you can focus on is him. In his pretty blue eyes, and the way the sun is casting shadows from behind him, illuminating his tall figure when he leans low, brushing a thumb across your cheek.

It’s warmed from the sun, but soon hot under his touch, his bright blue gaze that makes your heart pound. “It’s all worth it.” He murmurs quietly, he knows you don’t grasp his meaning fully, but you kiss him softly, drinking in his sighs, while his touch drifts to the small of your back.

Anything is worth your presence.

“This food looks amazing but I doubt I can pronounce it. It’s insane.” You say softly, eyeing the plates then, and he tries to hold back just lifting you on it, swiping every fancy dish across the wood planks beneath you, and eating you instead.

He doubts that will wait much longer, not with the glimpses of thigh from your high cut dress, not with the way that necklace is dangling precariously against your collarbone that he wants to litter with bites. He takes a breath, putting on an easy smile then. “I don’t either, I just asked for super fancy shit.”

You giggle at it, his sincerity, and he grins so boyish and charming, it melts your fucking heart. “I feel like you can’t be real, and it scares me.”

“Not real?” He frowns a bit, while you take a nibble of one of the perfectly set dishes, sighing as it hits your taste buds, nodding a bit. “What’s that mean?”

“Too good for me? More than I deserve? Too amazing-”

“The fuck?” He glares at you, gripping your chin now, snowy lashes lowering as you sit there, fork clattering from your hand.

“Sorry I-”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that. You fucking deserve everything. Okay?” You blink back emotions, words that shouldn’t spill yet but threaten to, taking a shaky breath and nodding.

“I’m just so tired, Satoru. I’m sorry.” He relaxes his grip, long elegant fingers dancing along your jaw, sighing now as the boat gently dashes through the water beneath you two, and for a moment he’d like it to carry you both away. Far the fuck away. “Thank you for everything, for every moment with me.”

“Don’t thank me for it, right now all I can think of is-” Your phone starts going off then, lighting up at the table, he frowns over at the name as you sigh, ignoring the call. “Your mom?”

“She’ll stop after a few, it’s for money.” You’re so used to this, it infuriates Satoru then, the next call he answers, before you can stop him, covering your mouth in shock, eyes wide as he casually answers.

“Your daughter is on a date, Mom. She can’t give you any money I’m afraid,” you hear her yelling and panicking, but he just sips on a glass of wine, winking at you, as if to tell you he’s got it. “I’ll make a deal, leave her alone all day and night, and I’ll give you some instead.”

“Don’t do that!” Your whisper is brushed off, as he smirks, and you can’t hear her voice anymore.

“Your daughter deserves a day where she’s not carrying all your fucking burdens, mmkay? Great, I’ll send that over tomorrow, meet you soon I’m sure.” He hangs up now, eyeing your shocked face with a shrug. “She’ll leave you alone for a bit.”

“You can’t just pay everyone to leave me alone, this is my mess, it’s-”

“It’s not your mess. You got stuck with hers. And baby Imma fix it all, okay?” He cups your face with both hands, and you’re ended, any resolve, or waiting for the right time, it all falls from your brain, replaced with one thing instead-

You need him.

You need him in every way.

You slam your lips on his then, hot and desperate, he exhales and drags your body against him, until he’s picked you up, sliding plates over and stepping between your thighs, feeling the heat of your needy cunt even over the layers of his pants and the dress he’s slipping up. You cry out against him when he bites the lower lip, the one you’ve bitten to hell, the pain sharp and sweet, soothing it with a swipe of his tongue.

“I need you, Satoru,” you whisper now, eyeing him with a dilated, lidded gaze, your little hands grabbing at his dress shirt, feeling the hammering of his heart against your palm. “Please.”

Who was he to deny you anything?

“You sure, because I will fuck you right on this table. That’s how you want our first time together?” He cooes those words like the sweetest taunt, slipping your dress up your thighs as his breath caresses your lips, swollen already and stinging from his kisses.

“Yes, I do. Please.” He moans now, lips back on yours, drinking in your cries while he slips your panties to the side, fingers slipping inside your tight little hole, your cunt pulses around his digits, already so wet and eager, you’re already convulsing, hand yanking on his skinny black tie, pulling him impossibly closer. 

He’s ended by your sweet pleas, the way your mouth melds under his, cock throbbing and leaking precum against his boxers, he is losing control now, trying to wait, to give you time, but how can he anymore? He wants to carry you down to the bed, make love to you, but maybe that can wait, because he also wants to fuck you bent over on this goddamn table.

He does just that, yanking you down and shoving more things aside, bending you over the table so your legs just dangle, he hopes the men he’s paid to keep his boat running are smart enough to go the fuck away - they’re paid enough - as he gets to his knees, lapping you over your soaked panties. “Satoru!”

“Mmm, fuck…” He slides them off now, letting them fall to your ankles, tongue swiping up your sweet flavor, letting it pool on his tongue before standing, undoing his belt buckle, cock hanging heavy when he releases it, shoving your dress up your waist now. “I need you now, sweetheart,” he whispers, leaning over you, lips on your ear. “She ready f’me?”

You look back, as his cock teases your entrance, the tip alone touching your engorged clit and making your cunt just slip down him, along his length and between your soppy folds, pressing just so at your entrance. You both whine out as he does, achingly slow and teasing, as if giving you a moment to adjust, his hands on either side of you on the table, gripping the tablecloth beneath your body.

“Big stretch, sweets, f-fuck you’re so tight,” his breath is hot against your neck as he stretches you, the burn so fucking delicious your ass arches up for more, he’s just a couple inches in and already you’re feeling so full. He moans, softly, easing out and pressing back in, tip dragging your spot and making your eyes roll back. “Can she take me? You sure?”

“I can, I can, mnh! Gimme as s-sec…” He chuckles as if he’s not dying, as if he’s not beyond completely destroyed by the time his cock drags along your walls, gripping him so tight like a vise, trying to milk him before he’s even fucked you. He closes his eyes, long white lashes brushing your skin, drinking up your every cry, feeling every bit of your body.

“Ready for more, then? M’barely in, baby.” You gasp at that fact, not sure just how he’d get much more, his tongue laps up a bead of sweat on the side of your neck, cock sliding back out, your wetness pouring as he does, making the next thrust even deeper. “Hah- f-fuck, there another inch, huh? We’re half there.”

“Half!?” He chuckles again, letting you adjust, plates clattering with delicate and extravagant desserts, the wind blowing gently against your skin while Satoru’s scent hits your nose, his lips brushing against your neck.

“Thought you wanted it now, that you could take it? Can’t even take half my cock in your tiny little cunt, can you?” The duality of him, of his sweet kisses and devoted actions, with him now talking shit with his thick cock stretching you out is too much, your head falls back against him now, whines echoing out while your cunt spasms.

“I can take more, just… gimme a minute.” He sighs now, reaching around finding your engorged clit and running in circles, you scream out at it, not bothering to hide just how good it feels, legs shaking as he sinks deeper, impossibly deeper, and it starts to feel so good then. “Satoru!”

“That’s it, need your pretty little clit played with, don’t you?” He’s figuring your body out like he did that night when he devoured you, pulling back again until he’s just got the tip in, you whine out at it, he pushes all the way inside, slamming into your cervix now. “Oh fuck…”

“Mnh!” You’re done for when his fingers stop momentarily, he’s bottomed out as much as he can fit in your snug little hole, that’s trying to make him cum quick with every quiver, feeling his tip drooling on that cervix. “Satoru… please…”

Fuck, he was just frozen for a moment, he instantly snaps out of it, rolling his slender fingers on the twitchy clit now, pulling back and slamming again, rolling his hips just so and feeling you begin to shatter. “That’s it, let go f’me… lemme feel you cum all over my cock, baby - let go.”

“Ngh!” At his command you do, eyes shut as your head slams down on your own arms, hands clinging and ruining the pretty white cloth while you cum so hard your brain shuts the fuck down, all it is now is pleasure, it’s all Satoru, his cock inside while you’re gushing arousal, the orgasm rushing your body. “Ohmygod ohmy- ah!”

Your screams just urge him on, he lets you ride that out, finally removing his fingers and slipping them in your mouth. “Suck them, that’s it - such a good girl,” his murmurs are met with his cock sliding almost out again, as you suck on his fingers, tasting yourself, tangy and sweet. “Ready for me now?”

Ready for him!?

You want to ask what the fuck he even means when he starts thrusting mean in your cunt, stretching it out as he moves, fucking into you harder, faster, pistoning his hips so that you feel him every fucking where. “S-Satoru!” 

“That’s it, look you’re taking me like you’re fucking made f’me.” He can’t help himself now, lost in you, bent over you and fucking you hard as one hand grips your thigh, lifting it even higher up on the table, hitting deeper, harder. “Feel me everywhere, don’t you?”

All you can do is weakly nod while the aftershocks pulse around the thick length piercing you so deep you can hardly breathe. He yanks out then, leaving you empty and whining out - Satoru flips you so fast you’re breathless, cupping your face and kissing your lips desperately. Your thighs press against either side of his narrow hips, those dark dress slacks slipping down his legs as his cock presses back against you.

“Wanna look at your pretty face,” his words are followed by his cock driving in your squelching cunt, cupping your face, his intense blue eyes devouring every inch of you he can see, yanking your dress down to reveal a breasts just a bit, brushing your nipple with his thumb while he shoves in again, stuffing you full. “Look at you, fuck you’re perfect.”

You want to say he is too, but you can’t form any words, not when he hits some angle that has you cumming again, white hot stars bursting behind your shut eyes when it hits. He watches you as you fall apart, words that shouldn’t be there yet at the tip of his tongue, he wants to explain them away while he watches you, while your hands grip his expensive jacket and your cunt grips his cock.

Your back arches, breasts spilling out of that top, mouth wide open in a slutty O as you scream out for him. “Fucking beautiful…” he murmurs, enamored by you, before shutting his own eyes, feeling how you’re so slick and hot for him, his balls smacking your ass while your panties still dangle off your heel, thrown over his hip.

“Satoru, mnh, s-so good, I… so much…” you’re nonsensical, slurring your words like you’re all fucked up from the finest liquor, and he can’t drag his eyes off you once they open again, the evening sky casting the prettiest glow on every perfect inch, gripping him so tight he can hardly hold out.

“One more time, hmm? Need one more from you, sweetheart, you can do it.” He encourages you, even though you’re already weak, dizzy, drooling from your mouth and your cunt. He slams into your cunt again, the wet messy sounds echoing even outside in the middle of the fucking sea, you’re so loud as you whine out, brows together, two little lines forming between them.

“T-too much,” he moans at your broken words, leaning lower, grabbing you by your hips and slamming his cock inside again, watching as you twitch under him, gasping for a breath. “Oh my g-god, fuck…”

“One more, just for me. M’close, she’s too fucking tight,” he presses a hot kiss to your nipple, sucking the peak into his mouth, feeling your body tense, one hand right on your tummy over your dress. “C’mon, one more for me.”

You nod weakly, overstimulated and falling off the edge, while Satoru groans and buries his face against your neck, inhaling your scent when he bottoms out, tip leaking so much pre it’s filling you with his warmth. His soft white hair right above his cock tickles your clit again when he rolls his hips, teeth sinking into the delicate skin on your neck and urging you on more.

You feel too much when he pulls back, lips glossed from his saliva, his blue eyes just looking at you that way, the way that makes you feel too beautiful, too special, too fucking much. So much your breath catches, you pause and falter, hands slipping up to cup his face, as words of deep feelings threaten to spill for a man you have only known for a short time.

But how can you not feel it?

“Cum inside me, please,” you whisper instead, and he pauses himself, snowy lashes blinking rapidly, exhaling against your kiss swollen lips now, his cock pulsing as he’s at the edge of spilling. “If you want, I’m on the pill s’okay, but if you-”

Satoru cuts you off with a brutal kiss, cumming inside you was something he could only fucking dream of, and you’re begging for it. Once again, who the fuck was he to deny anything you asked for?

“I’ll give you anything, baby,” he knows it’s vulnerable to say, but it falls from his lips. He brushes your hair back, watching two little tears slip as you cry out, while he lifts your hip up with his free hand, slamming into you again, seeing your eyes roll back into your skill. “Anything you ask for.”

His words barely register, when he’s pumping you full of white hot ropes of cum, groaning against your ear, and you’re filled with him then, so intimate in that moment, coating your walls and pooling down his cock with the pressure of your muscles gripping his cock again. He whines out softly, before kissing you again, hands shaking even as he tries to grip you, pumping his still hard cock in and out.

So much cum, it’s already swirling around his veiny cock with your shimmery arousal in strings and drips, messy and filthy, when he leans up and looks at you again, and you both just look, eyes locked, lips parted. He slides in slow, achingly slow, relishing in every bit of how your pretty body writhes on that table, as your hands grip and loosen the grip again, your whimpers filling his mind.

“Fuck,” he exhales, resting his head on yours now, feeling the sweat on your brow, as your aftershocks keep milking him more and more, and he’s fucking spent. He has never felt this, whatever the fuck this is, beyond a perfect, pretty cunt, beyond busting inside you that deep.

It was more, so much more, so much it takes his breath.

Resisting the urge to spill far, far too much too quickly, he kisses you instead, and you meet his lips, brush for brush, kiss for kiss, tongues dancing while he picks your head up gently off the table, resting his hand under it, gripping now messy locks of hair. He keeps littering your neck and collar bone with kisses, keeps gripping your body everywhere he can, keeps whispering your name.

God he can never get enough of you now.

He knew it would be phenomenal, but he didn’t expect to feel all of this, and the worry sets in - would you feel the same? - but your drunk, dilated eyes that fill with tears should be his answer. “Are you okay, was I too rough, sweetheart?”

“No, it was just so intense… I… fuck I’ve never felt anything like…” You’re trailing off too, and he exhales in relief, peppering little kisses as he helps you sit up, sliding his cock out of you with a wet squelch. You eye the aftermath, blushing furiously.

“You’re messy, y’know, so messy, tsk.” Satoru’s long fingers brush against your abused little hole, making you hiss at the contact, a sadistic smile dancing across otherwise sweet lips. “You’re a mess f’me, huh?”

“You’re insane, you know, look at all the mess you made!” You gesture around weakly, and he chuckles again, kissing you and slipping up his boxers and pants, belt unbuckled while he adjusts your dress, helping you down carefully.

“You wanted it right now. Needy little brat.”

“Excuse me, you’re needy!” He glares playfully, helping you onto wobbly legs, you have to wrap an arm around his waist, knowing how sore you’re going to be tomorrow already.

“Can’t even walk, poor baby.”

“You’re kind of an ass, huh?”

“Just figuring that out?” He brushes your hair back, sweet kisses defying his words, you sigh at how good it feels in his arms, as he holds you against him. “I bought some clothes for you, wanna get more comfy?”

“How do you know my size?” He leans back, eyeing your body with vivid blue eyes, like a caress as they move across your skin.

“I’ve observed your body very well,” you get flustered again, burying your face against his chest, and he laughs softly. “You ask me to cum inside and then get nervous I bought some clothes?”

“You’ve spent enough money, jesus, Satoru.” He shrugs, rubbing your back while you hold onto him tightly.

“I’m filthy fucking rich, sweetheart, why not spend some of it on you?”

“But who am I to you - all this is…. Too much and…”

“Shh.” He tilts your chin up with two fingers, your eyes meeting his once more, drowning in him. “I enjoy this, and I haven’t… enjoyed anything in a while.”

His soft words fill you with an ache inside so deep, knowing he too was in a dark place, you can feel it, and you hate it for him, lip trembling as you cup his face, and his eyelashes flutter shut. “I’m here for you too, no I have no boats or money. Not even any cocaine,” he snorts at that, and you smile softly. “But I have me, and I’m here, for however long you want to enjoy me.”

“Don’t promise all of that,” his husky whisper almost plunges you right over that deep end, when he presses you against the table he’d just had you bent over, cunt still throbbing and now it’s leaking his cum. “What if I never let you leave?”

“Then I’ll be your captive,” you tease softly. “You’d look hot in a pirate hat.”

“Oh yeah, would I now?” You nod and giggle again, but the words are out there in the universe - that you have no intentions of leaving his side. Fuck you’d promise forever if you didn’t know that’s batshit insane.

You’ve never felt more right than in Satoru’s arms.

“Maybe I’m like a little pest, you won’t be able to get rid of me.” He shakes his head, throat closing up a bit as he holds you back against him, feeling the rapid beats of your pulse on his thumb as it runs across your neck, hearing your little sigh of pleasure as he repeats the action.

“I think we both know that’s bullshit.” His voice is just a little hoarse, you snuggle closer, little buttons of his dress shirt brushing on your nose.

“Y-you said you had some comfy clothes?”

“Mmhmm,” he’s pulling back now, so much left unspoken as he takes your hand in his. “C’mon, we’ll both get something comfier on. I figured we could just crash here for the night, if you want.”

“Fuck yes I want, god getting out of that house for the night, and with you…” you trail off again, as he smiles just a bit, leading you down the steps again into the little room inside. The bed keeps calling to you as if saying you’re going to sleep in his arms tonight.

That’s something you’ve never done.

But it’s also something Satoru’s never done.

“There’s a bathroom right in there if you wanna freshen up.” You smile thankfully, slipping on the soft shirt and shorts he’d picked out, coming back out to see him dressed casually for the first time.

You’ve literally only seen him in three piece suits, cufflinks worth more than your car, and a watch probably worth your damn house, always sleek and perfect, there’s something sweet about him in a soft gray sweater hanging just a bit off a shoulder, showing a bit of his strong chest and sharp collarbones. Your breath catches a bit, taking him in slowly as he does the same to you.

“Those sweats, they’re slutty.” You tease, and he looks down at the soft white sweats in question, lips quirked up.

“You calling me slutty? Miss - cum in me please-” You smack a hand on his mouth, as if now you care if someone hears, and he just chuckles, grabbing your wrist, thumb rushing across the little veins there.

“You liked it, came so much.” He raises a thin brow then, leaning low, so low, his sweet breath dancing along your lips as you inhale and exhale slowly.

“You’re talking shit, huh? That’s cute.” He picks you up before you can blink, and you’re thrown right on that bed, his fingers slipping the shorts aside, finding you again, soaking already, curling his fingers wickedly. “Are you sore? Aw, poor sweet cunt, can she not take dick?”

“Are you an asshole or not!? Insane ass… mnh, Satoru!” He laughs a bit, easing his fingers out, coated in the remnants of his cum and your slick, sucking the two of you right off - cheeks hollowing while you watch with wide eyes, cunt reacting already, needing more, even though you’re so sore. “Satoru, you’re so freaky.”

“I’ve been very vanilla with you, actually.” His words make you blink in confusion, but before you can process what he means he has his face back down between your thighs, tongue lapping inside you so deep. Your hands tug at his silvery strands, screaming out, hips bucking up against his hot mouth.

“Satoru!” You’re yanking so hard it hurts, and his cock is already pressing against the firm mattress of the big captain’s bed, as he tastes just how perfect his cum is pouring out of your cunt.

“Mmm, fucking taste us, sweets,” he whispers, nipping at your clit with sharp teeth, two fingers opening your mouth for him to spit right inside it, you almost choke from your gasp, and he groans as you do, remembering how you felt choking right on his cock. “Swallow it, be good f’me.”

You do just that, swallowing his spit down, and he’s desperately kissing you again, messy and hungry, yanking your shorts aside as he slips his sweats down, that blushing pink tip already pouring white sticky cum from the slit, feeling your hips jerk as it bumps your engorged clit. You’re whining out hoarsely, body shifting underneath him, your cunt slicker and slicker with every press and tease.

“Hold these to the side.” His gruff order is quickly met, you tug your shorts over, and he’s pressing back in, you whine out at how sore it is, yet the pain just makes it even sweeter, while he sinks inside you. “Fuck, god look at you, you’re all beat up from my cock, aren’t you?”

You just swallow and nod nervously, still tasting him on your tongue, while his eyes darken, pupils blown the fuck out like he’s on the finest powder, he hovers over you, your hands slip under his sweater, feeling his body slowly. He pulls back again, as you’re slipping up his shirt, dying to see more of his body, revealing the lines and divots of his perfect abdomen as you look down at his body.

“Asked you a question, sweetheart.” His commanding tone shoots your eyes back up, his tip just pressing in your tight ring of muscles and staying there, when you’re begging for more, nails pressing against the hard muscles of his back.

“Yes, I am. Sore,” your sweet whisper has him moaning, he leans over you, cock pulling almost fully out once more. “You like me hurting from your cock? Do you want me to hurt?”

“Fucking…” He lets out a shaky breath and you see it, his fingers itching to squeeze your throat, you take his hand and put it right on your neck, gripping his wrist tightly. “Not to really hurt, I still want it to feel good, baby.”

“I do feel good, so good, and… I want to.” He kisses you firmly before he thrusts fully in one stroke, and you struggle to take him even after being stretched out, even being soaking wet, crying out weakly as his hand tightens slowly.

“Tap me if it’s too much, okay?” You nod and he squeezes harder, pulling back and slamming his cock inside you again, your cry blocked and melded into a weak gasp as your mind gets fuzzy. “Look at this pretty little neck, you’re all mine, aren’t you?”

He needs it, you feel it, how he moves, harder thrusts hitting and slapping so deep, all while he pins you down, one hand pressing on the tummy where his cock is bulging, the other on your throat, all that weight on you, making you feel enwrapped by him. Your ears start buzzing, so much better than the teasing in the car, as a drop of sweat falls down his brow onto your cheek.

He moans at the sight, lost in you, inside you, on you, all around you - it’s just Satoru Gojo, shoving in deep and bracing himself on one arm while you feel your orgasm building again. You’re gasping as he chokes harder, pressure increasing until you nearly black out while you cum for him, seeing double and feeling like you’re floating while it rocks through you.

Your hands grip his wrist, riding it out with a desperate squeak when he releases it, and you’re gasping for breaths, greedy for the air to fill your lungs, only for his kisses to sap the rest of the air in the room. “S-Satoru…” Your voice is hoarse, his handprint around his neck, making him harder, more desperate at the sight, losing the last shreds of control he has.

“You good baby?” His soft whisper hits your still ringing ears, and you nod, dragging him down by his loose sweater for another kiss, as he presses so deep, laying on top of you, cock rocking just right against your every spot. “Fuck, m’gonna fill you up so much, gonna have to take a break from work.”

“What? You’re so- ah!” He’s leaned up again, pressing your thighs so high then, kissing along your inner thighs and calves as he holds them up, tugging at your shorts to keep them aside.

“Want it all in you, don’t you? Slutty for me, just me?”

“Just y-you - ah!” Satoru pounds into your cunt, smacks echoing in the room as he does, fucking one load completely out just to pump another, you’re lost in it, consumed by him, cumming right with him until you’re weak, so weak you’re not making noise, just little mewls from your throat.

“Fuck, feel you, so full huh?” He presses your tummy again, wild thoughts rushing through his head - babies inside you - fuck his babies.

He shakes the thought off, he’s certainly a man who is into many kinks, but breed kink was never one - in fact he actively made sure he’d never have kids with any of the many women under him. But you? He can see it now, and it makes his cum spurt out even more, your mouth open wide as you’re clinging to him, cunt milking his cock like she just wants him to put babies in her.

So lost in insane thoughts - in wild love declarations he can’t say.

What if he was too much?

All while you’re so cock drunk you murmur - ‘think I’m in love, shit’

He pauses, blinking then, and you realize your folly, covering your mouth with wide eyes. “You said… what?”

“Nothing, fuck.” He sighs, sliding in with a still hard cock - how was this man just hard after cumming!?

“Nothing?” He teases, stroking again, watching your jaw tense and quiver as your eyes shut, and your head falls back.

“Ignore me please.”

“I’ll never ignore you.” Your eyes open and he’s far too close, blue eyes swirling like storms in the sky, while the cabin darkens completely, you register it must be nightfall now barely. “What’d you say?”

“Crazy shit.” You kiss him instead, and he lets you live your delusion for now, while your pulse flutters so quickly. “Mnh, okay I kinda hurt.”

“Shit,” he eases out and you wince, brows knitting together. “Too rough?”

“No, no I liked it. I’m just not used to… anything like that. At all.” He leans down and presses a kiss as a little apology, his breath alone making you twitch and whine out again.

“Sorry, pretty.” He’s whispering to your cunt, you giggle then, breathless as he eyes you, slipping your shorts back.

“You talking to my pussy?”

“Fuck yeah, she loves me.” You hear the taunt in his voice, feel your flustered self flush under his serious gaze.

Who was Satoru Gojo?

Sweet, silly, fun?

Freaky, filthy, rough?

Devious, teasing, brilliant?

You just know one thing, you’re falling off the deep end - feelings so intense it’s brutal not to spill, but you’re so terrified of letting go and trusting someone completely. But you do trust him, you feel safe, when he kisses across your brow now, murmuring your name so sweetly.

“C’mon, let’s have a drink and go look at the water.”

“I need help.” He chuckles, clearly self pleased, easing you up, he carefully cleans you up first, taking a pony tail and gathering your hair after trying to brush away the mess. “Well now you’ll have to do that all the time.”

“Brush your hair? Of course I will.” He’s so sweet then you melt, something so simple he doesn’t realize how much it means, pressing a little kiss on your head before grabbing one of the fleece blankets and heading up.

Soon the two of you are watching the pretty water, the moon reflecting on the ripples below, the boat is heading back to the dock for the night, you see the city lit up in the distance while he wraps a blanket around you, holding you over the soft fleece. You exhale at the peace, at how perfect it is, just waiting for everything to break or shatter, to wake up.

“You’re quiet,” he muses softly, both of you leaning against the railing now. You look back up at him, and he cups your face, as the cool night air brushes past, and the moonlight casts shadows on the planes of his handsome face. “Everything okay?”

“I’m waiting to wake up from this dream,” your words hurt him, the way your voice breaks, your lip quivering. “It’s too perfect.”

“It’s real, okay?” You nod, turning and letting him hold you, while he rests his chin on your head, staring out into the night, seeing in the distance arcs of dolphins slicing through the water. “Hey, look!”

“Hmm?” You turn and he points, and then you see them closer, their gray fins in the air, making you light up, bouncing up and down. “Oh my god!?”

“There’s a bunch of them too.” He leans forward, big arms wrapped back around you while the two of you study them, enamored.

“I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Never?”

“No. Satoru… I can’t swim.”

“What!?” You just nod and he laughs softly. “You didn’t even tell me and we’re in the middle of the sea.”

“I figured you’ll save me.” He smiles softly, burying his face against your neck, inhaling you then. “You already have.”

“Give me too much credit. I still have work to do on that debt.” His heart hurts at your sigh, peeking back to see the dolphins going further in the distance of the pretty clear water.

“You’ve already done more for me than anyone ever has, and I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you enough.” You turn again, and he sees the streaks of tears on your cheeks glittering in the moonlight, he gently brushes them aside, swallowing down his own emotions at the sight. “But I’ll keep thanking you, in every way I can.”

“You never need to thank me. I just want you to get some fucking sleep and eat a good meal.” You giggle through your tears now.

“You clattered all our food to the floor.”

“Shit. I did.” You both laugh softly, and he kisses you right on the bow of the boat as it gently moves through the night.

You know tomorrow brings reality - the trouble you’re in is helped and halted but far from over, but for now you melt into his arms, losing yourself in him again, again, and again, until the two of you are spent, exhausted. Until you can’t even move, covered in slick sheens of sweat, falling out exhausted into an embrace that feels perfect, when you finally sleep, his last thoughts are prevalent -

How to keep you here, and keep you safe.

And he’ll do whatever he needs to do.

A/N- So sorry this took almost two months! As someone who ALWAYS tries to keep her fics 2-4 wks per, sometimes with a ton of wips one won't click for me for a bit. And this was that one. Thanks for those who waited patiently, the next few chaps should not be so long of a wait now that I have my direction! If you enjoyed I'd love to see your comments and thoughts on our sweet lil Mob Gojo <3

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[freenightfall]

ALL CROSSROADS BOUND TOGETHER

summary: twenty some years ago, you met a mysterious drifter who offered you something you couldn't resist and in return you offered him the only thing you had—your soul. just when you start to believe that he has forgotten you, remmick returns to collect what was owed.

pairing: remmick / f!reader

contents: f!reader, reader in their early 30s, no use of y/n, dark themes, vampirism, feeding/blood drinking, blood, fire, marking/biting, obsession, stalking behavior, yearning, corruption, feelings of hopelessness, religious undertones, selling of ones soul, violence (implied and explicit), abduction, death/murder. sexual content (MINORS DNI): oral (f receiving), p in v sexual intercourse, blood kink. cw: mentions of csa (not described in detail but still yucky—DEAD DOVE DON'T OPEN).

a/n: the title of the fic comes from the lyrics of "In Moonlight" from the Sinners soundtrack and the song included in the fic is "Sister Rosetta Goes Before Us" by Robert Plant and Alison Krauss (the song itself didn't come out during the time period, but it sounds like it could so that was enough for me to justify using it lol)

word count: 14.5 k

You were just a child, no older than ten, when you made that deal with him. 

He came to you in the night, when the nocturnal critters emerged from their dens and amorously praised the stars for their guidance and protection from the dangers that prowled in the daylight.

He looked like any other man you’ve seen in town. Tall and handsome, wearing clean, crisp clothes that seemed far too nice to be sullied by the rotten tree trunk he sat on, strumming on the banjo that was strapped to his shoulders. A musician who found solace in the darkness, like the cicadas and frogs that sang all around you in a calming serenade.

Remmick, that was his name, the one he gave you freely.

You gave him yours, unaware of the power it permitted him over you.

He smiled as he repeated it back, like a response to a Sunday hymn or reciting a song he only had ever hoped to croon. He said it as if it was the most immaculate thing he’d ever heard. 

You remember how his words were laced with a sickly sweetness that tugged on your heartstrings as he spoke with you. His voice was entwined with an accent, or maybe two you think, fusing together to create a dialect unique to a man that could only be him, something no one else would be able to recreate. It rolls off his tongue with ease, as if he had a century to perfect it. 

He offers you something you can’t refuse, something that you had silently prayed for but never dared speak out loud, not if you wanted to come out of this horrendous ordeal unscathed. 

And his eyes—the unforgettable, unnatural glow of them, as hot as embers—looked at you with a tenderness that you hadn’t seen in years, because he knew just by glancing at you that tenderness is what you needed on this night. Not harm, not violence, but tenderness. 

He spoke of a promise to release you of this suffering and all you had to do was offer him something in return, something of equal value. It was simple enough, so you offered the only thing you had to give. 

He accepted your conditions with a grin that stretched from ear to ear and assured you that if you truly agreed with all of your heart that he’d come back the following night.

And he kept that promise.

It was a night where the moon was bold, illuminating that hot, humid Delta night with an eerie glow only reserved for when the veil between this world and the next was thin enough for the wretched and malevolent things that haunted humanity to roam freely without fear of the sun’s divine might.

But the moon’s peaceful luminance was tainted by the blood-red stain of flames that painted the night sky a sickening crimson hue.

Your uncle’s house—the one that you were forced to call your home after losing your parents in that terrible accident some months ago—was now set ablaze by the flick of a single match, and the hand that held it was of the same wickedness that your grandmother always warned you about. 

She told her stories by the warmth of the fireplace, her voice withered by time and the disease that ultimately took her life after spending much of it smoking from the same old pipe that her own grandfather had passed down to her.

You remember the tales she spun, woven with the same kind of fear mongering that spewed from the preacher’s mouth every Sunday, warning the congregation of the evils that corrupted this world, turning the innocent away from God’s graces and His salvation with the invitation of temptation.

Because that’s all what her stories were: warnings laced with images of demons and vengeful spirits and of beasts that stalked the swamps looking for their next meal to keep you on the right path in life in an attempt to save your soul from the eternal damnation that would await you should you not live righteously.

But the lore of ghosts and monsters and witches did not frighten you. Even as a child you knew that this was just a way for the adults around you to scare all the children into listening and obeying them, even when they were wrong. Even when they did wrong but did not have the decency to recognize their own hypocrisies.

No, you did not fear her stories, not at all… not when the only monsters you knew that existed dressed in the same cloth and patterns as you, spoke with the same dialect that fell from your mouth… closed the door of your bedroom late at night when your aunt turned a blind eye and acted as if she didn’t know what your uncle was doing to you. 

The flames that tried desperately to escape from the wooden entombments of the house reflected in your irises. The heat that poured from the broken windows and cracks of the old wood, mixed with the ashen, black smoke that billowed out from the same crevices burned your eyes, tears welting up at the corners of your lashes as if begging you to look away from the devastation that unfolded before you. 

But you could not look away, couldn’t tear your eyes off of it even if you wanted to. Your feet anchored you to the damp earth, keeping you in place as you swayed gently with the cool breeze that swept through, moving with the spanish moss that hung on the trees. 

It was as if the fire had casted a spell on you, entrancing you to keep your gaze upon the smoke and embers that only grew more and more ferociously, climbing higher and higher and higher until it appeared that the flames tickled the star-studded night sky.

You couldn’t help but think that it looked as if they were trying to reach heaven, trying with all of their might to escape the evil that resided in that house.  

Above the roar of the fire, something else permeated through the air. 

A scream—so miserable and bloodcurdling that it pierced your sensitive ears. 

It sounded as if the person at the other end of such a disturbing wail was screaming out to you as a cry for penitence and not just a frantic call for aid all while the fire continued to consume all that it touched. 

But you knew better. 

Your uncle did not cry or scream to ask for your forgiveness. 

He was a man who did not know what the word forgiveness meant, wouldn’t know how to repent if his life depended on it—as it did now—because to men like him, his actions were not seen as sins. He was a man and everything belonged to him by his mere God given existence. There was not one thing that he could desire that he could not obtain purely by the fact that he was born as God intended. And if the almighty created all of his children in his image and some of those children had tendencies to do bad things, then surely they were not bad things at all… at least that was the way your uncle saw things. 

It was how he justified the horrendous things he did; justifications that made it easier for him to sleep at night.  

That’s why your heart felt empty as you sat in the crowded pews of the church house every Sunday morning since moving into that Godforsaken house. That’s why the preacher’s words felt meaningless, falling upon your deaf ears as you purposely turned your back on the God you were raised upon… because why would you give your devotions to a God if He would make vile men like your uncle? Why would you fall to your knees and pray to a deity that created a man who purposely harmed a child, one of His most precious gifts? 

Why did this God not hear your own cries when your uncle preyed upon you? 

Why did this God allow your aunt to let her husband hurt you in such a way, turning away with her head bowed in understanding of what he was doing to you when she should’ve been there to protect you from him?

No, He did not deserve your praise or your prayers, not when he abandoned you when you needed Him the most. When you were the most vulnerable. When you were still innocent.

It’s still night when the screaming finally subsided, fading into the darkness without much of an afterthought and leaving you in the beautiful smolder of the dancing flames and crumbling wood. 

Amidst the thick smoke, something heavy imbued the air—a shift, one that you had never felt before but was undeniably palpable—and a scent, sweeping through the yard on a gentle breeze, carrying the smell of dead earth—wet, damp soil and wood after the rain—mixed with tobacco and copper.

Then, you saw him, a dark figure emerging though the wreckage.

From where you stood across the yard, you couldn’t make out the details of his face, shrouded in the shadows of the doorway that were created by the flames that raged on behind him, casting his intimidating form in a ghastly silhouette. 

The figure looked up suddenly and his eyes glowed a dangerous, chilling shade of red that made your heart skip a beat. His gaze was hypnotizing, watching you diligently, the same way that a predator surveys its prey as it stalks, waiting to strike.

You blink slowly, feeling as if time has slowed, and when they open the man is standing before you, looming just mere inches from where you were planted in the yard, so much larger than your own smaller form. 

He was still casted in that same daunting configuration, his broad shoulders outlined by the malevolent glow that endured endlessly behind him and the only distinguishable feature you could make out was the crimson glimmer of his rapacious stare. 

Remmick doesn’t say a word, content in the silence that pervades around him while he continues to stare down at you. 

He half expects you to tremble in his presence. You may be a child but you were not stupid, you were born in a place where danger lurked where you least expected it if you weren’t careful enough. But your heartbeat didn’t quicken, nor did it falter when he took another step closer. It remained even-paced and calm even when he inched closer and closer until he towered above you like a giant. 

And just as he expected fear, he also expected that perhaps you would look upon him with defiance, to prove something to this stranger, but he doesn’t see it. Not an ounce of it in your large, doe-like eyes. 

Instead what he sees is indifference: a small mortal creature that neither cared or not of what he was or what he was capable of doing. It was evident in the way you just stared at the fire while it destroyed the only roof you had over your head. You did not cry in distraught as you lost everything you had left in the fire nor did you jump up and down with joy as the cage that kept you bound to your abuser burned to the ground. 

The wind picks up and instinctively he sniffs at the air, noticing another scent lingering there, one that doesn’t belong to him or the fire. His nostrils flare at the all too familiar metallic fragrance, his gaze drifting down your nightgown-clad frame to rest at the disheveled hem of it. 

He breathes in slow, deep, when his eyes fall upon the red that muddies the cotton. The breeze tussles the bottom of your nightgown briefly, revealing the same crimson ichor that stains the flesh underneath. 

His expression hardens and the corner of his lips twitch in a scowl as he tries to contain the disgust that eats away in his chest at the sight of the blood that coats your skin, still fresh. You shuffle at the unsettling look on his face, your small hands reaching down to smooth the edges of your nightgown while trying to ignore his dark, unwavering leer.  

It quickly reminds him why he is here and the red glimmer of his stare slowly dims into its natural color at the sight of your uneasiness, but it doesn’t make him any less intimidating, any less frightening.

“My end of the deal is done, little dove,” he says then, voice softer than you expected yet still harboring that same level of menace that radiates off of him like heat. “I will come for you when it is time to hold up yours.”

“When?” You ask simply.

He tilts his head, mouth downturning into a pondering curl before he straights back up, his eyes never leaving your tiny, unmoving form. “When the time is right.”

“But,” the sound of your interjection causes the man to raise his brow in question, “how will you find me?”

There’s no emotion in your voice that Remmick can decipher, no indication that you don’t understand his words or the meaning behind them. You knew exactly what was asked of you and you accepted his bargain and with it every gruesome and horrendous act that he committed to fulfil his end of it without question. 

He smiles, not smirking like you think he would, but genuinely smiles as if you asked the golden question, the one he’s been waiting for with keen ears. 

Slowly he reaches out and patiently bides the time it takes for you to give him your hand. 

His touch is soft as his fingers wrap around your wrist—not forcibly, not with the intention to harm you, but with gentle consideration he turns your hand over. His fingers slip from your wrist, his calloused thumb running down the expanse of your palm. 

A quiet, surprised gasp leaves your mouth, eyes widening at the sight of his nail growing longer, sharper as it scrapes against the skin, causing a dull but angry looking line to blossom beneath his nail and for the first time you feel yourself panic.

He presses the sharp tip of his nail against the soft pad of your finger, causing you to wince at the pain. But even as the crimson ichor oozes from the small wound, you don’t pull away. You don’t turn and run like you know you should. 

He swipes his thumb along the cut he’s made delicately, acting as though reverently handling the most holy of relics that lays in his hands, and coates it in the red warmth before bringing it to his lips and slipping his thumb into his mouth and sucks. 

He inhales deeply, relishing the sweet metallic flavor that dances on his tongue, but then his brows furrowed briefly as another flavor overpowers the sweetness—vaguely sour, putrid almost as if spoiled. 

He grins, knowing all too well of the taste and it forms a delightful pit in his stomach. 

“There,” he says and releases the grip he has on your hand, “now I know. Wherever you go, wherever you end up, I’ll find you.”

It’s all he says and then he’s gone. 

That was some twenty years ago and you haven’t seen him since.

It was quiet at first, no inklings that he was ever around, and that false sense of abandonment made you believe that perhaps it was all some kind of deranged hallucination your mind created as a way to cope with the trauma you endured… but then just a few weeks ago, you started to notice how the air suddenly hangs heavy, shifting with the weight of his presence—always at night, always where the darkness can hide him from you—and always lurking somewhere in the shadows. 

Sometimes you think you catch glimpses of him amongst the treeline and those glowering red eyes of his, watching you from the dark sanctuary of the woods that surround your new home—that of your new home across state lines and miles away from the where you once lived with your parents and that of your uncle’s house, but it’s gone before you can even realize that it might be him. 

The wind carries his smell from time to time, but still he’s nowhere to be found; even when you search and scour every last piece of land that surrounds you until your feet bleed from exhaustion, there’s not a single trace of Remmick anywhere.

It’s in your head, you sometimes think as you stand alone in the darkness. It’s been so long since that fateful night, surely he would’ve come to collect what was owed by now. 

Perhaps he forgot about you, or perhaps he found someone more worthy of fulfilling their end of the bargain, you thought woefully. 

Now in your thirties, you believed yourself past your prime, past any youthful appeal you once held, and reluctantly you doubt that you would ever see him again. 

It was foolish to think that you were the only one he’d ever strike a bargain with. You certainly weren’t the first, not with how fluently he was able to coax the secrets out of your heart with nothing more than a kind look on his handsome face, begging you to speak your sorrows to him, your wishes, and you knew that you couldn’t have been the last. 

Creatures like him don’t tread through the world waiting for one insignificant, lonesome soul to be ripened.

They hide where the sunlight can’t find them—lurking, hunting— never satisfied with the offering some wretched, wayward nobody had presented to them on a silver platter. Ravenous beings such as he were always hungry, always wanting more, and would stop at nothing to chase their immeasurable appetite.

And though you knew better than to hold onto that fleeting sentiment, your mind was only consumed with the thought of him and the covenant you made—ever persistent, ever resolute— and the idea of him not wanting you in return devastated you. 

It hurt more than how your uncle would use you, hurt more than how your aunt did nothing to stop it, hurt more than the passing of your parents and that of your grandmother… but the worst part was you didn’t know why he didn’t seek you out when he promised that he would.

Why didn’t he come back?

Why didn’t he return to you to finish the deal that was made?

Like a disease it ate away at you, purposefully taking its time to rot you from the inside until once again you felt empty, hollow, like that sad little girl at the mercy of your uncle; sinking its claws deeper and deeper as it gradually became a part of you, ensuring that you could never escape from it. 

Still, as you swore that he was there, watching, waiting, he never made himself known to you. He never showed himself, never gave you a glimmer of hope that he hadn’t forgotten about you. 

Besides, your soul was poisoned, blighted by the years of resentment that found its home in your worn out heart.

Even now you can still feel the heat of your uncle’s foul breath on your skin, smell the rancid stench of it invading your nostrils when you speak to other men like him, knowing who they truly are without being told so.

It followed you, clinging to you like a ghost.

Why would he want a soul that was mired, infected with the incapability of letting go of the memories that tortured you?

And you tried forgetting, tried letting go, by everything that was still good in this world you tried, but no matter how much light you let it, you always found an excuse to cast it out. 

And so, you buried that hurt away deep in the caverns of your downtrodden heart and did the only thing you could.

You waited. 

Tonight was like any other and when the sun finally descends past the horizon, you spend your time basking in the solitude you’ve grown to live with.  

The house was quiet, even more so now that you lived in it alone. 

Your mother’s cousin passed away some summers ago, leaving you to tend to the aging house that had cared for you these last couple of years. 

It was easy living with only yourself in that house once she was gone. Everyone in your life had the tendency to either leave or betray you—your parents, your grandmother, your aunt and uncle, even Remmick—so you found yourself embracing the loneliness, the solitude of it all, and you were content in living in the little, two bedroom house on the edge of the Mississippi. 

There were no painful reminders here, no devils prowling in the shadows waiting until your back was turned to strike. Just mundane memories that didn’t fill you with complete disdain and scorn.

The window in the living room was wide open, allowing the fresh, night breeze to sweep in and breathe life into the house. 

Sitting in the rocking chair that once belonged to her, you allowed yourself to sing the ballad that she had taught you.

“Strange things are happening every day, I hear the music up above my head. Though the sight of my heart has left me again, I hear music up above—” 

Outside, the harsh chirp of crickets slowly fades into silence, as does the croaking of toads and cicadas and all the sounds of the night around you until only your voice endures through the uncanny stillness.

“Secrets are written in the sky. Looks like I've lost the love I've never found. Though the sound of hope has left me again, I hear music up above—”

The wind picks up faintly, causing goosebumps to prickle at your skin, but it’s not from the chill of the draft that makes your body react. 

Your rocking stops and so does the song that fell from your lips.

There’s something different, something that was not quite right.

It’s the same shift in the air that signals that his presence is near—not here, but somewhere close by, so close you can almost feel him there in the room with you. 

And then, out in the distance, you hear it—a voice.

His voice.

He calls out to you like a whisper in your dreams, faint and dulcet as he recites the same lyrics that have since died on your tongue.

“Standing in my broken heart, all night long. Darkness held me like a friend when love wore off—”

Somehow your feet have pulled you from the chair, your body reacting solely on it's own accord, leading you out the house as if in some kind of surreal trance and drawing you out into the black Delta night. 

The soft strumming of a banjo hangs in the air, enticing you to venture further and further into the darkness, into the unknown, and far away from the comfort you've built in that little house. 

The earth is soft under your feet, sighing and kissing your skin affectionately with every step that you take. 

Closer to him, closer to the voice that lured you towards him like a siren’s song. 

Your gaze remained on the unpathed road before you, through the fields and grassland and into the swampy woods that separated you from your destiny, the one you sealed to him with a vow as a child. 

It was almost pathetic how you followed his voice without a second thought, as if this was meant to happen… because to you, it was. 

You had waited faithfully and now all of your patience was to be rewarded. 

 “—Looking for the lamb that's hidden in the cross. The finder's lost…”

Through the swampland you tread, turning and wading through it until the ground that once welcomed your journey now spites you; the twigs that litter the ground stab at the soles of your feet, at your ankles, and the prickly branches of the trees snag at the material of your nightgown as if trying to stop you—warning you. 

You could feel the wrenching of your grandmother’s withered hands grabbing at you, silently begging you to reconsider before it was too late—an attempt to save your soul from the covenant you were about to seal with this blasphemous creature. 

Her voice reverberates in your mind, soft and mild yet undeterred to break you of the spell that he had casted on you; for you to understand what was to come should you continue on and that your time on this earth would come to an end should you not turn back now, unable to join her and your parents in the afterlife.

But you didn’t heed that warning. 

You embraced whatever fate you had resigned yourself to long ago and no attempt at saving your soul would prevail.

You found your own voice effortlessly calling back to him, singing gently as your voice carried itself on the wind, hoping that he’d hear you.

And in the echoes of your mind, you hear your grandmother weep.

“I know I loved you too much, I'll go alone to get through—”

That slow, simple yet tantalizing strumming of the banjo leads you through the wood, deep and dark and twisting without the glow of the moon to guide you. 

Still you pursue it, even when logic and reason told you to stop and reconsider what might undeniably be the death of you, but there was no turning back. Not now that you were so close to what you had longed for.   

“I hear Rosetta singing in the night,” you both sing in unison, your voices melding together and becoming one singular, exquisite proclamation into the night. “Echos of light that shines like stars after they're gone. And tonight she's my guide as I go on alone, with the music up above.”

Time has evaded you, unsure of how long you’ve walked along this barren road, but eventually you reach the end. 

Through the thicket and trees of the forest lies a house—worn and old and decaying from years of abandonment, and yet it still stands tall and proud across the clearing, a remnant of another time that has refused to be forgotten. 

This is a place where the cypress trees and oaks have lived far longer than any human has, a place where they’ve planted their roots and refused to leave. Spanish moss hangs from the branches, spinning silvery green-gray threads of garland that sways with the wind, dancing to a melody only known to them, one they lived in harmony with. 

Though distance separates you both, you can see his shape lingering in the darkness, standing in the doorframe with his banjo in hand and strapped across his broad shoulders.

Remmick. 

As you approach you can’t help but think that he still looks the same as you remember, untouched by time. 

With his sleeves rolled up to his elbow you can see the veins that pulsate beneath his unblemished skin and the lean muscle underneath, a testament of the strength that he undoubtedly has. His dark hair frames the top of his head, catching the shadows that play off the contours of his handsome, angular face. 

He watches as you proceed towards him, those glowing red eyes never leaving the sight of you, drawing you closer and closer like a moth to the flame until you stand before him at the bottom of the few steps that lead up into the old house. 

You’d think that he’d be hardened from all the time that has passed since you've last seen each other, weary of you and unsure that you’re the same girl that he made that unholy promise to all those years ago. 

You trace every curve of his face, mapping the lines that kiss at the corner of his eyes and the relaxed slant of his lips, searching for any inclination that his perception of you is not what it once was. 

But the longer you look, the more you don’t see any uncertainty of your intentions reflecting back at you in those inhuman eyes of his, only adoration, only reverence. 

It makes your heart flutter pitifully inside of your ribcage.

“You found me,” you say finally, breaking the silence between the two of you. 

He smirks, recognizing the steadiness in your voice as you speak. 

Still unafraid, he thinks, still that same unfaltering spirit that he remembers from when he first encountered you just before that blood-stained night that lived in his memories like a keepsake. 

“I told you that I would. Did you doubt me?”

You shake your head, not so much as a response to his question, but more of trying to shake away the disillusion of your own equivocation. 

“I thought…” you start, feeling that familiar, unwanted hollowness in your chest return, “I thought that maybe you’d—”

“Forgotten you?” He answers with a seriousness that makes your heart stop beating for a second, “Forsaken you and the vow we made?” He tilts his head and smiles. Not smirks like he did before, but smiles, genuine and true. “I’m a man of my word, little dove, a man who keeps the promises he makes.”

Little dove, he called you that on the night when he slaughtered your uncle some twenty years ago. Such a fond endearment, one that he spoke as if he reserved it only for you.

“It's been so long, why wouldn’t I think that?”

“You were a child when we made our bargain, I needed you to be prepared when I came to collect what you owed. I needed you to be willing to give it to me without a doubt in your heart. Not taken from you. Not stolen. I wanted you to welcome it, to welcome me. Not fear me.”

“I don’t fear you, I never did.”

He chuckles. “I know you didn’t, not back then at least, but time changes people. Memories change how people perceive things. Maybe as you grew older you would come to resent me and the things I did to your uncle. I wasn't kind. I didn’t spare him one moment to repent for what he did to you… and who knows, maybe you found it in your heart to forgive him.”

“I can’t forgive him," you counter sharply, "don’t think I’ll ever be able to. And I don’t resent you either, not for giving me a second chance to live without knowing if the next time he’d visit me would be my last. Why would I resent you for that?”

He hums in response, your words somewhat convincing him that he was right in believing that you were ready for this, but he still has to ask, even when he already knows the answer. “And you’re still sure? You still want to uphold it?”

“Yes,” the word escapes your lips before you can even register it. 

Remmick nods solemnly, staring at you with those soul-piercing eyes. 

He’s spent the last twenty years waiting for this, letting time and severance come between the two of you and fermenting those memories, those emotions of that night until just the right moment that allowed this reunion to become all the sweeter for him; and for you too.

“That song of yours,” he purrs, inhaling deeply and allowing himself to reminisce about the lyrics, the sentiment behind it, of how it resonates with him just as much as it did with you, “it's beautiful.”

“It was the only thing that gave me comfort for a long time,” you say. “It was something that I could hold onto without fear that someone would try and take it away from me.”

“A beckoning,” he interjects slyly. The points of his fangs peek out from beneath the curl of his lip when he smirks, glistening in the moonlight—the canines and the rest of the teeth behind them are large and elongated and serrated, like a mouth full of knives. “An enticement.”

You nod, “In a way, yes, but not how it might seem. I just needed to know that you were out there somewhere and that you heard me, that you still remembered me. But you never answered—”

“It was never the right time,” he replies, “but I did hear you. Every time you sang out into the night, I heard it.” 

Remmick treads down a step, then two, until only one separates the two of you. He places a hand on your chest, right where the source of your music lies, the same beating mechanism where you kept your memories of him. Your intensity. Your longing.

His hand is cold, just as you remember, but it exudes more warmth than you felt in what feels like a lifetime. 

“Heard the saccharine crooning of your blood, even when you didn’t sing, especially when you didn’t sing… your heart reaching out in an attempt to call me back to you. Aching. Pleading for me to return—but you knew I was there, didn’t you dove?”

“I did, that’s why it hurt so much. Knowing that you were there, close enough to sense you but just far enough away where I couldn’t find you.”

He’s quiet then, eyes wandering over every little detail of you, every line that’s etched in your pretty face, every minute change. 

You’ve grown since he last had a proper glance at you, now taller and with a fuller figure that has filled out every curve of your body that he can see through the silhouette of your nightgown, clinging to the sweat that coates your skin like raindrops from the humid Delta night; not exactly the same thin, sickly looking girl he found decades ago with blood on her thighs and tears in her eyes—cursing silently to herself about all the wrongdoings that had happened to her, ones that should never befall a child as young as you were—but despite the changes, he can see the same spirit sweltering in your heart, untouched by circumstance and time. 

Remmick never let you drift too far from his sight, choosing to keep at a distance in order to preserve the decorum of the arrangement the two of you made, but over the years he noticed how your restraint began to wade and contort into something more zealous. 

He saw the way you searched for him relentlessly when you thought he was there, watching you or not. He felt the way your heart called out to him, felt it when you were in the arms of some long-forgotten lover that you still only ever thought of him, wishing that he would just come back to you, even when time and time again he never did. 

This, what he had, wasn’t an easy life, but it sure as hell was easier than the life you’ve lived thus far. And he just had to be sure, not needing to make a mistake that you would surely regret, a mistake that would make you resent him. 

“I wasn’t completely truthful when I told you that I had fulfilled my end of the bargain.” He says, his glowering eyes never leaving yours. Just as terrifying, just as soft. 

“What do you mean?”

He pulls his hand from your chest and straightens, nodding towards the inside of the house. 

“There’s one last loose end that needs to be taken care of before you can fulfill our deal.”

There’s something sinister that laces his voice and it sends a shiver down your spine. 

He turns and enters the house, leaving you alone once again as you watch the darkness swallow him. 

Without hesitation, you follow. 

Remmick’s already at the top of the stairs when you enter, walking down the short corridor that leads into one of the seemingly empty rooms. He moves seamlessly through the hall and without a sound. Like a ghost that is bound to this place, an apparition that haunts each brick and plank that holds the walls up, holding the nails and cement in place that prevents the house from collapsing in on itself.

Your feet carry you up the steps and the floorboards creak under your weight as you ascend the rotten wood, quietly threatening you with each step that it might be your last.

Still, you venture further into the dying house. 

The wallpaper peels off the walls in captivating spirals downwards, trying to escape the atrocities that this house has seen, of what it’s about to see.  

The air is stale around you, unmoving and void of any life that has not thrived within these walls in decades. Untouched by loving hands or caring souls that should be felt in any house. Instead it was just left to rot from the cancer that dwells in its underbelly until even time has forsaken it.

Pale moonlight seeps through the torn and tattered lace curtains, the glittering of dust hanging in the air as if frozen in time. 

Small paintings decorate the walls, depicting the vast and fertile swamps and wetlands of the only land you’ve ever known, of the dirt roads that lead to the small shacks that people here called home. But their colors had faded from neglect, drenched in the sunlight that filters through the window on the hottest of Southern days. 

Other than the moonlight, there is nothing to guide your way, so you carefully make your way down the hall. 

One of the doors on the right side of the hallway is slightly ajar and you can see the flickering of lamplight from beneath the wooden door, a sign pointing you in the direction of where you needed to go. 

Cautiously, you push it open.

Remmick stands in the center of the room, facing you fully, his face devoid of any emotion yet nothing about him is unnerving, least not to you.

Surely if he wanted to kill you he would’ve done it long ago, back when you were some weak little thing that was unable to protect itself. It was easy for him to kill your uncle, it would no doubt be easy to kill you too, you think.

Remmick seemed like the kind of man that could take life without reservation, not caring for who or what it was that he destroyed as long as he had a reason. If that reason was right or not, you didn’t know. But he didn’t kill you, didn’t touch you without your sanction, nor did he drain you of the one thing that kept you alive, and that was enough to reassure you, even when it was stupid to do so. 

He’s watching you with such intensity simply because he could, because he wanted to—wanted you to know that this was it, the exact point of time that you’ve been anticipating since you were that lost, shattered little girl he met all those summers ago.

This was your salvation. 

Something makes a sound in the room and your eyes linger on him a second longer before they drift to the source of such a pitiful whimper, to the figure that kneels with their head bowed and eyes screwed shut, trembling on the floor just past him at his feet. 

His crimson gaze follows yours, neck craning to glance down at the pathetic excuse of a woman that shakes terribly behind him like a rattled dog. 

The sound of your unwavering footsteps makes the figure look up frantically and your whole body stills, goosebumps princkling at you skin when you come face-to-face with one of the demons that has plagued your nightmares since that fateful night—one that instills a knot of dread to form in your stomach, twisting and churning your insides violently.

It is your aunt who kneels on the ground before you, her graying hair thin and wiry and not at all the same hue of brown that you remember from your youth. It frames her gaunt face, the skin around her eyes sunken in from all the years she spent in fear as guilt festered in her bowels.

Once you thought her beautiful with a face that was round and jovial, her enchanting eyes that caught the splendor of the sunlight in the summer, and a smile that promised nothing but love and warmth, but soon enough you saw that facade wane when the truth came to light. A truth of the horrors that her husband harbored in that godforsaken house of theirs, a truth that she was too cowardly to face. 

Now as she kneeled before you, whimpering and weeping with crystalline tears that smeared down her wrinkled, hollowed cheeks, all you saw was the reflection of her soul staring back at you—Weak. Craven. Spineless.  

Any fear you felt just moments before slowly ebbs into something darker, something more ominous and insidious as it maliciously seeps into your bones. There’s an unspoken itch that tickles at the back of your mind like a vindictive spirit whispering awful, terrible things in your ear.    

Your aunt doesn’t seem to recognize you, her brows furrowed in confusion and squinting in the dim lighting of the room to get a better look at you.

But how could she remember you? 

It has been over two decades since she last saw you, and now you stand before her a grown woman, so vastly different from any recollection she has of the small girl that once lived under her roof. 

To her, you look like any other stranger she’d meet on the street in town. 

But there’s something so familiar about you, something she can’t place. 

It’s unsettling how she can’t put a name to the face that stares down at her with an abhorrence that makes all the color drain from her face and the gnawing ache in the pit of her ribcage intensifies. It invokes memories laced with secrets that she has long since tried to forget, locking them away deep in the recesses of her mind.

Secrets that were buried with her husband—whatever was left of him—hoping that with his untimely passing that they would never resurface. 

The floorboards creak quietly and suddenly Remmick is standing behind you, slightly at your side, his breath fans across the nape of your neck and dragging heat along your jawline. He’s so close that you can feel the measured cadence of his chest heaving against your body with every breath he takes. 

His nostrils flare, filling with that compelling fragrance invading his mind—infiltrating, penetrating. 

You reeked of sin ready to be committed, of retribution yet to be reaped.

It clings to your skin like the finest of perfumes with the same veracity and allure as the blood that coursed through your veins. Just as potent, just as loud, and just as electrifying.

His eyes flutter shut, sensing it pulsate in the heavy thrumming of your nerves as his fingers caress up and down your arm lightly, tracing the path of it under your warm skin. 

With his breath in your ear, Remmick speaks, brushing his nose into your temple with almost tender affection. 

“That night when we met, you asked to be rid of the monsters that caused you harm. You only spoke of your uncle then, but I could hear your heart whispering another name, one last monster to be free of.”

It hits her then, hard and fast as if struck by a train running at a hundred miles an hour. 

Her eyes, now glossy and bloodshot, widened in horror as her mouth falls agape. 

Tears once again trickle down your aunt’s pale face, realizing what all of this was—of who you were and what you were going to do to her, her mind running amuck with the horrible possibilities.

This was no mere act of random violence bestowed on a stranger who was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. 

No…time and patience had crafted this diabolical reunion, carefully and delicately with heinous consideration and all of it orchestrated by Remmick’s sadistic need to corrupt all that was good in this world and make it his. 

And he succeeded, seizing all of the anguish and rage and bitterness that dwelled in the abyss of your heart and manipulated it—manipulated you—with his deceitful promise of freedom, laced with honeyed words and kind smiles. 

But you were too blind to see it, influenced by the wickedness of his black tongue.  

She almost feels sorry for you for being easily tricked by this devilish cretin… almost, if it wasn’t for the fright that ran rampant within her.

Something small presses into your palm and you glance down to see Remmick slipping a box of matches into your hand, followed by the heavy metal handle of the oil lamp.

You glance at him briefly, but he doesn't say a word. 

He doesn’t need to, the depth of his profound, burning eyes tells you all that you need to know; of all that needs to be done and what you had to do to obtain it, and you feel the grip on the items in your grasp tightened. 

Remmick steps back, watching in reprehensible awe as you move fluidly towards the women, his red eyes glowing with nefarious intensity. 

His mouth waters, the thick, vulgar sludge running down the side of his mouth and down his chin but he makes no attempt to wipe it away.  

Your aunt scuffles back, knees tripping over the tattered hem of her dress with her hands up in front of her in a pleading gesture though no words leave her dry and cracked lips, unable to utter even a single word as absolute panic overwhelms her. 

It’s too late to beg anyway, too late to ask for your forgiveness. 

Twenty some years too late, you think ruefully.

Perhaps if she had ever reached out to you in an attempt to rectify what she had done and what she had failed to do, you could find it in your heart to absolve her of her passive sins. She was a woman oppressed by the hand that brought food to her table, indebted through marriage to a man who gave her a roof over her head and the clothes on her back. 

But she could have protected you from the detestable hands of her husband, and yet she didn’t. She allowed that evilness to thrive, allowed it to defile you.

She could only stare in absolute terror as you brought the lamp up to your lips, blowing out the flame and casting the room into shadows, replacing the reddish-orange glow of the lamplight with an eerie hue of blue and silver that drapes over the room.

She finally speaks, calling out your name. The sound of her heartbreaking voice implores you to reconsider, to let her live because she was your aunt, because you were family and she didn’t know any better. She was scared, just as you were, afraid of what her husband would do to her if she were to have interjected. 

She begs you to not be seduced by this devil and all of his false promises, but her pleas are futile. 

You ignore her excuses, just as she ignored all of your cries for help that left your throat raw and dry as your tiny body was desecrated by the fiend that kept you prisoner in that house.

Remmick’s heavy breathing behind you saturates the room as you doused her in the slick oil and light the match with a single flick against the striker strip. 

It does little to light the room and the flickering of the small flame creates shadows that dance across your face. 

Your aunt can't help but think that you look nothing like the little girl she once knew. 

You shared the same name, shared the same pretty features, but beyond the color of your eyes and hair, beyond the birthmarks she remembers, the woman who stands before her is unrecognizable. 

Once you were sweet, and kind, but all of that warmth that she knew you possessed was gone. 

And she was part of the reason why.

The realization of it makes her weep. 

Not because she knew this was the end of her, but because of all of the hurt she inflicted upon you had led you into finding refuge in the darkness, led you into his arms. 

Her eyes find yours and through despair that enrapts her, she musters enough strength not to look away, not daring cast her gaze to the match between your fingers even when you toss it onto her lap. 

Her resolve only lasts so long before her screams penetrate through the room.

The fire that started at her skirts ascended upwards quickly, violently and without hesitation, keen on destroying the last boogeyman that had ever haunted you. 

Her hands frantically try to swat the flames as if it will save her from this terrible fate, one that she had brought upon herself.

The sight of her brings you back to that night, back to when you witnessed your uncle’s demise, taking all of his sin and evil with him.

And just like that night, you simply watch as the flames take her, devouring her whole until there is nothing more of it to take.  

Eventually her flailing stops, as does the screams, and her body falls to the ground with a loud thud. 

The flames continue to grow, reaching out past her lifeless body and sprawling across the floorboards. They climb up the walls, feeding off of the dried out wood and engulfing anything that would satisfy its appetite—one that always burned, one that could never be sated.

Remmick’s hands are on you again, tighter this time and rougher, breaking you from the trance that the flames have placed you under with their deadly hex. 

He lulls your head back to rest on his shoulder, exposing your neck to him and breathes in the delicious aroma that emanates out of every one of your pores—of all the corruption and depravity and wickedness that floods through your veins like the most lethal of poisons, a product of the seed he had planted inside of you. 

This was his plan all along afterall, to fill your head with nothing but thoughts of him— his image burning in your mind until it was all consuming and replenishing the void in your chest with the lachrymose notion that one day the two of you would be reunited. 

That was why he waited so long before he made himself known to you again—through fleeting gazes that made you question your sanity, through the lingering of his scent that wafted in the cool, Mississippi breeze that drove you to the verge of madness—ensuring that you wouldn't forget him so that the yearning that festered inside of you didn’t diminish. That it only grew and grew and grew until it became an obsession you couldn’t break free of.

He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t find it amusing, your infatuation with him, because he too had his own sick fascination with you. 

In the beginning, Remmick’s bargain was just that: a bargain. 

You had something that he wanted, something he craved, and he was willing to linger unseen until he was able to collect what was owed. 

But the more he visited, the more he watched from the obscurity of the treeline that surrounded your home and saw how you pined for the same need for connection that had plagued him for centuries, the deeper his twisted affections grew for you.

Just like you, the time he spent abiding his time was maddening. 

For a creature of his nature, years passed by like hours, making all of the time he spent drifting through the world feel less excruciating, less unbearable. But even the most sensible of minds can lose themselves to the overwhelming spiral of despair that arises as they watch their loved ones perish to the cruel consequences of time, surrendering to the inevitable, over and over again. And Remmick was not far from falling headfirst into that spiral, so he needed to act fast should he lose that fight.

For far too long Remmick has roamed this earth in search of a companion, to find someone who would stay at his side and ease the ache that has cemented itself in his lonely soul. There have been whom Remmick saw promise in, others who’ve sought the same as he, but it never lasted. Some left willingly, others found the other half of their soul in men that weren’t Remmick, and others simply perished. 

Even now Remmick didn’t know if what he felt was genuine or if he was merely projectioning what his soul wanted onto you, but it didn’t matter to him… you were his now, completely and utterly his.

The thrum of your pulse beats against his thumb as he holds your jaw in his palm pulls him out of his wandering thoughts and he sighs with admiration at the surge of your vitality that it courses through your body. 

To him it was more than merely drinking from you, it was about forging a bond that would last in this lifetime and the next, sharing the most vulnerable and intimate parts of you with him, and he you. 

What he craved wasn’t power over you, or control, he didn’t even want your blood as sweet as it tasted, as tempting as it was.

No, what he wanted was your warmth, your depravity, your affection and devotion… he desired the music that your heart curated and sang only for him. 

It reminded him of a time before his turning, back when life was uncomplicated. Back when all he wanted was companionship.

And he found that in you, his fallen angel. His dark muse.   

“This is it, little dove,” he pants, breath scorching and burning hot, unlike the rest of him. 

You feel the scrape of his fangs brush along your pulsepoint dangerously and your breath hitches in your throat. 

“I need to hear you say it, that you want this,” he says, almost begging, almost as if not to you at all and only to silence the doubt that holds him back. He needs to hear the words fall from your lips, to prove that he’s deserving of this—deserving of you.

That’s what Remmick tells himself, trying to convince himself that he’s holding onto a shred of humanity that he still had left dwindling inside of him by offering you a choice in the matter—sure it was choice molded and influenced by his deceitful hand, but it was a choice nonetheless—and making you say it outloud made it tangible. Made it real. 

“Say it.”

“I want this,” you whisper, voice unwavering in your decision. Absolute. You look up at him, “I want you.” 

Remmick swears he sees starlight glimmering in your eyes, full of veneration and fondness and love and it’s exactly what he needed, that push forward.

Your eyelids flutter shut when he leans in, lips brushing ardently in a kiss reserved for the most reverent of lovers despite the blasphemy of it all, despite the sacrilege of it.  

And then he bites, sinking his fangs deep into the tender flesh of your throat and tasting the rush of your blood filling his mouth.

You wince, gasping at the painful pressure of where his teeth were embedded into you, his lips sealing around the wound as he drinks, swallowing hungrily at the metallic nectar. 

It makes him dizzy with exhilaration, his mind fogging over from the euphoria that courses through him. 

There’s an agonizing sting at first, but it’s not nearly as violent as you think it would be. 

You’d imagine Remmick ripping off ribbons of flesh from your throat and tearing your arteries to shreds like some brutish creature devouring its prey. 

He’s not greedily draining you with the intent to kill—he’s tasting every drop of blood that spills into his mouth, savoring the sanguine taste of you on his tongue and memorizing it. 

You aren’t a one-off meal that he’ll tear into and quickly discard. You are now his one prized conquest, marked by his bite. 

Remmick is surprisingly gentle in the way he cradles your cheek in one of his large hands while the other is wrapped around your waist, preventing you from stumbling over from the heavy weight of his body pressed securely against yours.  

A shiver runs through you, feeling the chill of death creeping up your arms like mist, up your chest and neck despite the heat of the fire that rages all around.

You know that you should be frightened knowing that death is right at your doorstep, waiting for you to take that final step through the threshold, but you aren't scared, not when it feels like this—a merciful pull into the darkness, slowly draining you until your body grows weaker and weaker the more he takes. .

Like death itself was comforting you, consoling you, encouraging you not to be afraid and tread into that darkness without fear of the unknown. Apologizing for all the pain you endured, but assuring that there would be no more suffering once you let it in. 

Let him in.

And you do, bearing every part of your soul to Remmick as he drinks. 

Tears form at the corners of your eyes, finally finding the peace you so desperately sought in this grim, dreadful world, washing over you like a Baptismal fountain.

Through the warm ichor, Remmick can see the life that you lived thus far. 

He sees your parents, both grinning ear-to-ear as they walk you up the steps of the church you all attended every Sunday and the hearty meals your mother had prepared after. He sees you standing at the edge of freshly dug up dirt, watching as the gravediggers lower their caskets into the ground. He sees the fireplace where you sat while your grandmother told you stories of her homeland and the origins of the traditions of your people and then the disgraceful excuse of a gravesite where they buried her, nothing more than a plank of wood with her name scratched into the grainy surface; the only thing your family could afford. He sees the last time you smiled before being ushered into your uncle’s house, ignorant to what you would experience at his hands. He sees himself in the threshold of the burning house behind him.

But he isn’t the only one who sees the lingering reflections of a time that have since passed.

Through the darkness that trickles into your vision, there are flashes of a life that don’t belong to you flickering behind your eyelids—a foreign land with vast green countrysides surrounded by treacherous waters, a small village with townsfolk that fill the air with laughter and music so touching you can feel it reverberate in your chest. A place where gods and spirits inhabited each stone, in every tree and in the lakes and rivers that flowed through the land, living side by side with the people who thrived there, undisturbed by marauders from across the sea who would eventually come.  

The rush of images dissipate shortly after drifting into your mind as the world around you is fading, and the sharp, thunderous drawl of Remmick’s bite dulls. 

He can feel it too, how your body slacks in his embrace with every second that passes. How the vigor of your blood’s song steadily begins to dim. 

His tongue runs along the wound of his making on your neck, leaving a thick line of saliva on the skin there and quickly replacing it with an amorous press of his lips.

You groan at the fatigue that infiltrates your mind, your body instinctively pushing away the urge to sever the thread that binds you to this existence. 

Your fingers find purchase on his thick arms, unconsciously trying to shove him off of you, but you have no strength to do so. 

“Don’t fight it,” he whispers into your hair, so soft, so reverent, like a prayer. “Think of it as falling asleep and when you wake, you’ll be anew.” He coos against your temple and places a kiss to your cold forehead, “I’ve got you. Let go.”

And you do, with one final exhale you let go.

Silence greets you. And blackness. The world around you is gone, having ebbed away into absolute nothingness. 

Growing up hearing the sermons from the preacher upon the pulpit, you’d thought death would be different, more dramatic. Blinding white light that leads to the pearly gates. Or of fire and brimstone that foretold the eternity torture that awaited you after a life of vice. Perhaps even of the muddled gray of a purgatory you’d never leave, condemning you to wander in uncertainty forever, but it wasn’t like that at all. 

Just blackness envelopes you and you feel weightless, like floating on the waters of the Mississippi River just before the sun rises above the horizon.

Time is meaningless in a place like this and you’re unsure of how long you’ve lingered here in death, straying mindlessly in that cold, dark void. Like the passing of seconds into centuries, like surviving through a never-ending winter before a long awaited spring emerges, blossoming into something wondrous and exhilarating.   

Finally, your eyes begin to open and the world around you is bold, vibrant with perfect clarity.  

There are colors and hues that are new to you now and with amazement you watch as the inferno dances around you in splendid destruction. 

You can see every flickering flame that burns deep into the walls and scorches the wood beneath it, like the brushstrokes of a painting of meticulous detail—so rich, so sharp, alive as if every shadow and streak of color had a soul within itself. 

Still in Remmick’s embrace, now cradled ardently in his arms as he carries you out of the burning wreckage of the house you can feel every stitch of his skin on yours, amplified. The once cold hands that held you now radiate a warmth that you never noticed before. 

The night birds and insects that chant their nocturnal melodies sing with sublime coherence. Even the sound of the leaves that sway gently in the night’s breeze sound as loud as the strumming of a blues guitar.

Your hand reaches up to caress his jawline, sharpe with the stubble that frames his chin. Despite the prickle beneath your fingers, the expanse of his skin feels velvety under your touch, taut and smooth like marble, sending electricity through your fingertips.

Remmick leans into the tender stroke of your knuckles along this cheek, trembling slightly as your nails rake down the column of his throat, feeling the hum of his blood dancing below with delight. 

Once outside, Remmick lays you down on the lawn with the crisp air nipping at your skin. The softness of the grass against your back makes you sigh, like laying on sheets of silk.

His mouth is on you suddenly, hot and slick and hungry. 

Your legs part, welcoming Remmick between them without hesitation and he moans when your hands cup his face, slanting your lips perfectly to deepen the kiss. 

You cling to him, causing Remmick to hiss at the sting of your nails clawing into the nape of his neck, creating crescent-shaped into his skin through the fabric of his collar. 

It spurs him on, how unaware you are of your new-found strength, and it stirs something dangerous in his gut. 

His tongue traces your bottom lip, desperately asking you to part for him—an invitation—and when you do, he licks into your mouth like a man starved. 

You can taste the remnants of the irony tang of your blood on this tongue and it eases a whine from your lips. 

Once it would have repulsed you but now it remedies a craving you’ve never experienced before, but only a little; only in the slightest of ways, in a way that teases you, in a way that demands more. 

Your head spins at the feeling of his hands on your body—fondling the swell of your breasts though the thin material of your nightgown and making your nipples pucker beneath his touch.

It has heat and wetness pooling between your legs and you chase the urge by lifting your hips upwards to grind against the hardening of his cock beneath the rough cotton of his trousers.

His tongue pushes deeper into your mouth, matching your eagerness, and he rocks back into you forcefully, enough to render another sound out of you which he does easily.

You should be ashamed at how pliable you are under his touch, at the pathetic and lewd moans that leave your mouth when his lips linger across your face, kissing and nipping at the skin of your jaw, down the expanse of your neck. 

He places searing, wet kisses on each collarbone and between the valley of your breasts as he slides lower and lower down your body. 

You arch into every kiss he lavishes on your clothed skin, desperately needing to feel all of him on you, to feel the heat that exudes off of his body bleed into you. You're so lost in his touch that you don’t even notice that one of his hands snakes under the hem of your nightgown, pushing it up and revealing the temptation of your flesh while the other tugs your underwear down your ankles until he maneuvers it off of you, throwing it aside carelessly.

You writhe against the damp grass, skin burning up. Like a fever you can’t break, kindled by the scorching trail of his tongue down your stomach, the weighted press of his body against yours, feeling the heat spread through your bloodstream and into every part of you from your head to your toes—igniting every cell with heightened pleasure.

Your mind spins haphazardly into a spiraling descent of hedonistic madness. Even the intensity that exudes from the dilapidated house that cries out for merciful release feels cool in comparison to his touch. 

The flames and smoke fades into a smeared mess of orange, red, and black until you don’t recognize it at all. It just becomes a part of the night, like the stars and moon above.    

You feel drunk off of him, mind blurring into enraptured grandeur. 

Remmick leans forward, nuzzling the side of your thigh with his nose as he catches your intoxicating scent and it racks a shudder up his spine when he breathes it in gluttonously. 

His name falls from your lips, full of want and desire, but he hushes your plea quietly.

It almost makes him laugh from the irony of it all—of how easily you traded one monster for another. 

He wonders if the thought ever crossed your mind or if the hatred you harbored in your heart for your uncle and aunt have blinded you of the fact.

It doesn’t matter now, not when he has you right here he wants you and Remmick isn’t going to let you slip through his fingers by revealing the epiphany he had. 

He’s going to indulge in all of the horrors you have hidden inside of you. Coddle it. Exploit it. Foster it.

“It’s alright dove,” he whispers, kissing your inner thigh before draping one over his lean shoulder, then the other, “it’ll all be alright, just gonna make you feel good, real good.” 

Another kiss, closer to the glistening of your cunt.

He shifts his gaze to yours, finding the natural hue of them now glowing a rich tinge of orange, the same shade as the flames that swelter behind the both of you as the house continues to burn in an endless inferno. 

It makes his heart falter at the sight of you, perfectly grotesque. 

Pushing up on your elbows, your mouth parts to object but whatever questionable demur you plan to say dies before it can even form and a drawn out moan replaces it as the sensation of Remmick flicking his tongue over your cunt suddenly overwhelms you. 

It renders you boneless, falling back amongst the grass while hot embers erupt across the sensitive flesh. Using the roughness of his tongue, he sluggishly drags it along the seam of your folds, tasting the wet ambrosia that lays between the sanctuary of your thighs, the only altar he’d ever kneel before. 

One of your hands finds refuge in his hair, fingers threading through the short, curled locks while the other grasps at his forearm for dear life, knuckles turning stark-white from strain as that wicked tongue teases you—slowly sliding over your dripping, heated slit and stroking over your clit in deliberately tedious licks. 

His large hands grip at your thighs firmly, holding you in place to ease the mindless gyrations of your hips towards his sinful mouth as he devours you—the wild, hungry way that he works his tongue against you, over you, inside of you.  

Remmick hums in content, feeling the thin strings of your resolve snapping one by one with every trawl of his devilish tongue against your flesh, unraveling a little more with each needy whine or ragged sigh you breathe out into the night. 

You shudder when he moves his mouth up to find that little bundle of nerves at the apex of your sex and captures it between his lips, flicking over it in slow, teasing manipulations, and you jerk, your body already nearly spasming and you dig your heels into the muscles of his back in a hopeless attempt to keep him rooted against you. 

He moves his mouth lower once more, hands moving around to cup the ample swell of your ass and pressing you even closer as he delves his tongue into the hot, wet depths of your pussy.

And fuck if the strangled cry that tore from your throat wasn’t the most retched, profane sound he’s ever heard, especially when it was accompanied by a violent tug at his hair that pushes his face deeper into your quivering cunt, sending his tongue plunging even further inside of you.

The swollen ache turns into burning and you feel your inner walls tighten, knowing the sensation of your impending orgasm creeping up your spine.

Remmick senses it too, feeling the same coil tightening in his abdomen, but he doesn’t relent in his attention. His moans meld with yours, matching it pitch for pitch and accompanying every sound you make with one of his own like a sordid melody. 

He wishes he could stay like this, tucked deliciously between your legs and drinking from your immaculate cunt until the sun rises beyond the horizon and for the rest of his infernal lifetime, especially as you grind herself against his face shamelessly and keening his name desperately despite the firm grip he had on your thighs, but he can’t ignore the almost painful throb of his hardening cock rubbing against his pants. 

The reverberation of his groans and whimpers make your thighs tremble against the sides of his head, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. His body rocks in sync with the roll of your hips, flowing in the same rhythmic cadence as you both become one through the tormenting ministrations of his mouth.

Never had a man or woman touched you like this, uncaring of how obscene he looks with his head buried between your legs. His hands, calloused and strong, message the delicate flesh of your thighs and ass in soothing motions. He places enough pressure to induce bruising to flourish beneath the supple skin and the pleasure that blossoms under his touch is inebriating. Addictive.

The grip you have on his arm trails up to thread your fingers through his, your nails digging deep into his palm to rouse another elongated moan from him.  

You smirk, satisfied at the sound you pull out of him, but the smugness is wiped clean off your face as the tightening pressure that had been building in your spine and lower belly intensifies, your mouth parting in a sequence of short, breathy sighs when it hits you.

It’s blinding and red-hot, a kaleidoscope of euphoria bursting from inside of you in a flash of liquid fire, and with a broken cry of Remmick’s name on your lips you cum into his eagerly awaiting mouth. 

He slurps at your sweet slickness as it floods his senses, flaring his nostrils to fully bask in the scent of you, and a low, guttural growl rips from deep within his chest. 

He licks and laps at your cunt, fervently catching every drop you offer him to not miss a single drop, not wanting to let any of it go to waste. Not on your thighs, not on the grass below, not even on his chin. No, he had to devour you thoroughly until there was nothing left for you to give. 

And god is his tongue relentless, repeating the same motions over your sensitive bud that has you squirming under his touch, trying hysterically to push him away but he keeps fighting against you, his tongue stroking incessantly and arduously into the sanctity of your cunt.  

You sit up suddenly, causing a glimmer of worry to flicker cross Remmick’s face when he looks up at you, but it quickly subsides when he sees the wanton glint in your glowing orange eyes.

A smirk spreads on his handsome face when you grab at him, pulling him toward you until your mouth clashes with his, lips slanting against mouth. His face is wet, and warm, and tangy sweet. And now as you kiss him, open-mouthed to allow your tongue to dance with his, all you can taste is herself. 

In a swift movement, Remmick pulls you into his lap, mouth never parting from yours as he squeezes and caresses the sweat-glistened skin of your thighs. He guides them to rock your sex against his, still fully clothed, but the friction of his cock through his pants surrenders a moan that seeps from your mouth into his, feeling his pent up desire grind against you. 

Your hands fall to the open collar of his shirt, fingers diligently tracing over the expanse of the exposed skin that lays beneath the fabric, beneath the golden chain that hangs from his neck.

Caressing the taut muscles at the juncture of his throat and chest, you palm the heated flesh and claim it with the drag of your nails down his pecs and then up again, leaving angry red scratches on his pale skin. 

He groans at the pain that arises from your marking—your nails now sharper than ever, sharp like the edge of a blade as they pierce the skin deep enough to cause damage. 

When you pull away, your eyes are drawn to the crimson flow of blood that oozes from the wounds you inflicted and he smiles.

He doesn’t have to say it because the enticement of the crimson ichor instinctively calls to you, whispering and screaming in equal measure to sate the new ache that gnaws and twists in the pit of your stomach. A hunger. One that you didn't know existed as your heightened senses emphasizes the thirst that leaves your throat dry. 

What was once an intrusive thought now becomes a craving, a need to quench the growing impulse to drink. It draws you in like a magnetic force, one that you can’t escape from, one that continues to invade your thoughts until it makes your head throb with excruciating agony. 

You can’t resist the lure, can’t fight the urge that beckons you with welcoming arms like the sweetest of songs. You lean forward, tongue flat against Remmick’s chest and lick the sticky substance up from the droplet at the bottom of his sternum up to the source of the wound at his collarbone. 

Remmick laughs when your body trembles when you taste him, the rich, warm liquid coating your tongue like the most divine of holy wines, but his tone is anything but degrading or mocking—its breathy and sincere, a quintessential jovial sound that teeters on hysteria. 

He laughs because now you are utterly and completely like him, a creature of his making. Corrupted. Perverted. Damned. 

Gently, he cradles the back of your neck and allows you to indulge in the taste of him, his blood, his soul, and watches through hooded eyes with triumph as you drink selfishly from him. 

It’s thick and sweet, igniting a fire that burns as it runs liquid hot down your throat. It's unlike anything you’ve ever sampled in your sad little life. Nothing tastes as delicious as this does, nothing could even compare to it. It engulfs all of your senses simultaneously, quickly soaking into every nerve-ending of your being.   

You groan when the sacred liquor of his body is eventually tapped out, but Remmick hushes you with another vulnerable laugh and places a lingering kiss to the crown of your head, his nose nesting tenderly into your hair. 

When you look up he kisses you again briefly, not as rough as before but you can taste the desire that imbues his lips. 

“There’ll be more of that later, dove,” he whispers, eyes tracing every detail of your disheveled expression, “but for now I need to fuck you good, need to feel that sweet pussy of yours around my cock as I make you scream my name so everyone knows who you belong to now.”

His vulgar words, mixed with the euphoria of his blood coursing through you, make you dizzy, drunk from pure delirium. 

You are his, forever and all eternity. 

The notion of being some unholy bride to this monstrous brute should have scared the living hell out of you, but after experiencing the thrill of his blood dancing in your belly and the absolute bliss of his mouth on your cunt, you couldn’t think of any other place you’d rather be. 

Heaven and hell be damned, you’d make whatever time you had with Remmick at his side your own paradise on earth. 

In a swift, seamless motion Remmick undoes the buttons of his trousers, hissing under his breath when his cock springs free from its confines.

You moan when he pushes his cock against your slick folds, gliding effortlessly due to the wetness between your thighs, and you lift your hips slightly, just enough for the tip to prod against your entrance. 

His hands fall to your hips, yours finding purchase on his broad shoulders to support your trembling body, already alight from the pleasure that ripples up your spine. 

Slowly, Remmick lowers you onto him and you sigh, feeling every pulsation of his thick, needy cock as you sink down inch by inch to take all of him. 

The measured push of him into the most sacred part of you is agonizing, maddening until he bottoms out fully, splitting you with a sadistically pleasurable burn. 

Your mouth falls agape at the sensation of him filling you completely, and he can’t refrain from grinning at the sight of your utterly blissed out expression. 

One of his hands loosens the grip he has on your hip, fingers creeping up from under the hem of your nightgown and fanning out to feel your velvety skin beneath his fingertips, pressing gently into the dip of your spine to press you closer to his body. 

His bright, glowing eyes find yours and Remmick pauses to take in your new appearance wholly. 

Any lines that once decorated your face have disappeared, leaving behind smooth, soft skin in its wake; like a moth breaking from its cocoon to reveal the splendors after a long awaited metamorphosis. 

Your blood-stained fangs peek through from your upper lip when you moan, elongated and razor-sharp. If you wanted you could rip out his throat, he thinks, and make a meal of him right then and there, feeding off his throat like a parched man would suck the nectar from a ripened, summer peach. 

His cock twitches at the image of you, mouth and chin saturated with the slick of his dark, red blood as it coagulates on your pretty face, your throat, and clothes—grotesquely painting you in his cruor and gore.

Your breath catches in your throat, nails digging painfully into his shoulders when he thrusts forcefully up into you, the violation quick and powerful. 

“Oh fuck, Remmick—” you moan, falling forward to press your forehead into the crook of his neck and place sloppy, lingering kisses to his damp skin. Your hot breath fans over his jugular, smelling the saccharine aroma of his pulse thrumming in his veins. 

He groans when your fangs scrape against his throat, teasing the skin dangerously and chases the fleeting sensation of implicit peril with another rough thrust.    

The grass beneath you is damp, causing your knees to slip from under your weight and spreading you unbearably wide so that when you meet his thrusts the tip of his cock prods against the spongy patch of muscle along your upper walls that musters a whine from you.

He feels it too, how you squeeze around him, and wraps his arms around your back to press you impossibly close to him, desperate to feel it again. Your tender nipples brush against his chest and the friction of it is almost too much to handle, but you don’t pull away, don’t push him off of you, and instead you rock your hips to match his pace. 

Quickly you both find your rhythm—harsh, almost cruel thrusts followed by the slow, merciful grinding of his hips meeting the sickly tender cadence of yours. 

The night air was filled with the sounds of your mingled, interwoven moans, muffled slightly as they spill into each other’s mouths, greedily swallowing every groan, whimper and sigh that you both make in shared pleasure.

Your thighs shake uncontrollably, your walls clenching around him in anticipation of your approaching climax, the coil tightening and tightening with every thrust of his powerful hips.

Remmick realizes just how close you were when you continue to pant and whine like a rabid dog in heat and your voice musically invades his ears. He eases his head back to gaze up at you and locks eyes with yours. You stare at him with heavy-lidded eyes, your pupils blown wide and your lips swollen from biting them as you move on top of him like the blasphemous goddess you are. 

One of his hands runs down between the apex of your thighs, pressing his thumb against your clit and rubs a slow, maddening circle over it, causing your hips stutter and your breath catch in the back of your throat.

He presses firmly at the bundle of nerves and reality slips away, begging you to give in. And you do, grabbing at the back of his neck while the other holds onto him hopelessly while your inner walls spasm around his thick cock and voice a desperate, strangled moan.

Remmick's eyes are drawn to the look of absolute elation that adorns your face, a look of awe, of pure amazement. It was like he just couldn’t tear his eyes from you, afraid that he’d miss something, anything, if he were to look away for even a moment. There was nothing in this ungodly world like watching your body respond to him, nothing like knowing that he was the one to pull these responses from you. 

And watching you reach that peak climax, watching you plunge headlong into the throes of this intense orgasm, prompts his own body to respond. His hips thrusts erratically even as one of his hands grasps at your shoulder, curling around it to hold your hips square against his as he pumps his hips violently, his cock twitching as he finally lets go, cumming hard inside of your hot, wet cunt that still grips him mercilessly. 

Remmick grunts as his pelvis jarrs against yours, pressing insistently against your clit with every thrust he gave. Your eyes screw shut and your whole body tenses just before you clench around him once more, throwing you into another intense orgasm. 

His glowing red eyes widen as he stares at you amorously, his mouth hanging open in utter rhapsody. A slow, sure grin stretches clear across his face as he watches your features convey a look of complete and perfect euphoria. 

You collapse on top of him when the initial high is over, your body laying limp against his as you continue to tremble and shake, burying your face into his neck and lazily nuzzle your nose against him, struggling to regain your breath.

He turns his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead and brings his hand up to gently brush your damp hair out of your sweat-soaked face, the other soothingly caresses up and down the length of your back. 

A sigh leaves your lips, your torrid breath fanning against the contour of his throat with every hot inhale and exhale you take, whispering his name. 

The night air is quiet as you and Remmick sit in each other’s embrace and the dull murmur of the crickets and cicadas slowly becoming louder as you ease back into the world, accompanied every so often by the sound of the house falling apart. 

The fire still rages, but it has pacified immensely since it first started. Planks of wood fall to the ground with a muffled thump and most of the fire has died out, now replaced with the smoldering of the thick, grayish smoke that billows into the night sky, muddying the color of it. 

It’s still beautiful, you think with your cheek resting against Remmick’s shoulder, bright eyes watching the smoke as it dances up towards the stars. 

Now after all that you’ve endured you finally allow yourself to breathe, knowing that everything that has ever haunted you is gone, that every monster has been vanquished. 

For once you can live without worry about what may come, you think with a silent chuckle. 

It wouldn’t have mattered if Remmick ended your life instead of turning you because even then he would’ve kept his promise. And that was all that mattered to you—that he kept his word, just as he said he would. And that alone brings you peace.   

It’s a while before he finally moves, shifting in little, anxious movements, and it’s enough for you to glance up at him, eyes scanning his face to find what troubles him. 

His eyes—still that ghoulish, dazzling shade of vermillion—are compelled to the horizon. 

“We need to get movin’,” he says, but you can hear the slight unease in his voice.

Turning your head, you look out to where his gaze remains and although you don’t see it, your blood tingles with astute awareness, knowing that something dangerous awaits should you linger here any longer. 

Though the night sky is still cloaked in shadows, you can see how out in the distance it leisurely changes from that dark, navy blueish-black into lighter hues of magenta and gold with your enhanced vision—bright and shimmering as the sun awakens from its overdue slumber.

Daybreak approaches. 

Seeing how Remmick reacts, you should be worried but you aren’t.

The worst of it all was behind you now and whatever the future had to offer was there for the taking.

Because with Remmick at your side, you were unstoppable. 

tagging: @eddiesvixen

[mggslover]

SWEETER THAN DREAMS — spencer reid

In which Spencer helps you make your wet dream come true.

genre smut (18+) cw established relationship, consensual somnophilia, groping, grinding, male masturbation, kinda perv!spence, tit play, oral (f receiving), p in v wc 3,2k a/n this turned out a lot sweeter and cuter than i expected it to be (still hot though) (hopefully) let me know if you enjoyed it! kinkfest: somnophilia

Spencer wasn’t made for summer weather. He hated how stuffy and thick the air felt. How it seemed to cling onto him, warming his skin like his sweater vests used to do during winter. 

Getting through the day was difficult enough, but the nights? Those were horrendous. 

You had bought him a cooling pillow, knowing how much he struggled in bed. In theory, it should work. They were made of a phase changing material, similar to the ones NASA invented for the temperature fluctuations of astronauts, but it seemed like the one you bought was a total scam. Or maybe he was so hot that he burned right through the fabric. 

He turned his pillow over for the millionth time that night. He kept still as he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling and listening to the peaceful sounds of your sleeping in an attempt to find rest again. 

For a minute, it seemed to work. He even closed his eyes, ready to drift off, but then his eyes shot open when he heard a small noise coming from you.

He tilted his head on the pillow, eyes adjusting to the dark room as your figure slowly materialized. 

“You okay?” He whispered, carefully reaching out to brush a sticky strand of hair from your forehead. 

You responded with another soft whine, followed by a small moan.

Spencer sat up straighter, slightly hovering over your form. “Having a nightmare, baby?”

He leaned in to press a kiss to your face, and that’s when he noticed it: you were burning up. You hadn’t mentioned being bothered by the heat before, probably seeing no use to it after his endless complaints. His stomach churned in guilt. 

“Let’s get these blankets off of you, okay? It’ll help,” he speaks to you, although he doubted you heard him. 

Carefully, so as not to disturb you, he pulls the thick material away. His hand stops mid-motion, swallowing when he reveals your naked upper body. It’s then that he notices your top and pajama pants are thrown in a heap on the floor, probably having taken them off in the middle of the night. 

Enticed by curiosity, he pulls the blanket further down, and indeed, he finds you to be completely naked. The curve of your ass and the length of your legs are bare, covered only in a light layer of sweat. 

For a moment he doesn’t know what to do. He just takes you in, counting every freckle on your skin. It’s not the first time he’s seen you naked, far from it, but he usually sees you naked when having sex. And with sex comes him being too horny to take his time. Sure, he worships you and pays attention to your body. But it’s not like this. Now he has all the time in the world to just look at you. 

Or, well, that was his plan before his cock started stirring in his pants. 

Morning wood isn’t a rare occasion for Spencer. When he’s on his own, he’s a restless sleeper. It’s inevitable that all his moving and turning around leads to the stimulation of rubbing himself against the mattress. Not forgetting to mention the dreams of you. When he’s with you, though, there are other things plaguing him, like the warmth of your body, the sweet scent of your hair. He’s pulled in like a moth to the flame, and it’s only natural that his length stiffens when it’s pressed against the plush curve of your ass.

He’d often wake with your plump lips wrapped around his cock. Tongue swirling around the head before pulling back with a giggle. It was his favorite way to wake up, but he had never returned the favor. You’re so lucky, you know that? I spoil you too much, you had commented after one of your morning sessions. Your tone was playful, but he could tell there was a hidden annoyance. 

It’s not like he didn’t want to return the favor. Jesus, there was nothing he wanted to do more than to wake you by making you come all over his tongue. His cock, even. But his mornings were either a rush to get to Quantico, or he was so fast asleep in your arms that you awoke before him. 

But a situation like this has never occurred. Maybe he could—

Another small sound left your lips. “Spence.”

No. 

You having a nightmare is not the moment.

Still, he could touch himself. Right?

There was not a lot of time to ponder over the decision, his hand already having made its way under his loose pajama pants, gripping his shaft tightly. 

He hissed at the touch, his cock feeling hot and heavy in his fist as he tightened his hold around himself. 

His head fell back onto the pillow, tilting his face to take you in. Your lips parted as you breathed softly (a sound Spencer couldn’t hear because of how hard his heart was beating in his chest), your chest rose and fell in the same gentle manner, and Spencer’s gaze fell to your breasts. He let out a grunt, seeing how your nipples stood perfectly peaked despite the warmth of the room. 

With slow strokes, Spencer moved his hand along his length. All the tension and frustrations of the day melted away under his fingertips as he felt himself sink deeper into the mattress.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he muttered to the silence, swiping his thumb over his slit, coating the digit in precum. 

He grew into a rhythm, intently watching you while pumping his cock. Every time you moaned or let out a small whine, he groaned in response, closing his eyes and imagining your moans were ones out of pleasure. It felt like he was dreaming, a dream so real he could almost reach out and touch it. But the only person who was dreaming was you. 

Whatever fantasies were playing in your head, they led you closer to Spencer. He actually shuddered when the bare skin of your back made contact with the expanse of his chest. You hummed, wiggling your ass against his thighs and nudging further into him. Spencer gasped, fisting his hands to keep himself from pulling you flush against where he needed you most. He softly whined, cock aching in desperation now that he had removed his hand. A mirrored sound came from you, and he noticed the frown on your face and the pout on your lips. 

You always wanted to be held, and your body instantly notices when he doesn’t have his arms wrapped around you. In no universe would he be able to deny your needs, so with a small sigh — one that started as resignation but he breathed out in content — he pulled you in. A sweet hum left your chest as he pressed a kiss to your collarbone. 

Momentarily, he believed that he could forget about his situation. But you kept making those sweet, little sounds and rolling your hips into him.

“Baby,” he cried against your neck. “Can’t resist myself when you do that.”

He nipped at the curve of your neck, palm splayed flat across your stomach as he moved his thumb in soothing circles.

You wiggled in his grasp, legs moving around until you locked them around the covers. It was then that he noticed that your restlessness wasn’t a result of the heat, nor a result of needing his closeness, but a move you made out of pure desire. 

With your thighs wrapped around the sheets, you start grinding your pussy. Moans tumbled from your lips each time you rubbed your swollen clit against the fresh cotton.

Spencer watched, slack-jawed, as you got yourself off right in front of him.

“Mhm, Spence—“

His brain finally caught up, and he let out a deep sound of longing, tightening his hold around you. 

His hand trailed up from your stomach to your breast, firmly squeezing the skin. “My sweet girl, is this what you wanted?”

He watched the way you bucked your hips. A shiny, wet spot has formed on the cloth between your thighs. 

Spencer tested the waters, twisting your nipple with his thumb and pointer finger, enticing you to sweetly moan his name.

“That’s right,” he hummed, attaching his pink lips to your neck. “It’s me. Even in your dreams you know that it’s only me who can make you feel this good.”

Spencer rasps his light stubble against you as his kisses make their way down the slope of your neck. He darts his tongue out at your sensitive spots, applying a wet pressure and heightening your senses by blowing gently on the skin. 

You whined, arching your back into him. It was so easy to turn you around, pin you down on your stomach, and slide his throbbing cock into your warmth. But then he’d make the situation about him again, and today was all about pleasing you.

The bed creaked underneath you as Spencer hovered on top of you, placing a knee on each side of your body. He unlocked your legs that were wrapped tightly around the covers, groaning loudly seeing how your pussy glimmered in your wetness. It had dripped down your inner thighs, creating a reflection in the dark room, guiding Spencer precisely to where you needed him most.

Carefully — so not to wake you — he changed positions, lowering himself on his stomach in between your thighs while placing your legs on top of his shoulders. Your body easily obeyed, feeling light in his arms as he held you by your hips and scooted you forward.

He licked his lips, fighting the urge to attach them to your pussy and not stop until you’ve come on his tongue. Twice.

Instead, he diligently trailed a finger over your folds. He watches you clench around nothing, lifting your hips in search of more. 

“Not yet, angel,” he teased. “Let’s warm you up first.”

His words were ironic due to the fact that it was the heat that had gotten you to this point. 

Spencer traced his lips over your inner thighs, mapping out a road and marking his favorite locations by leaving red and purple bites, until he eventually reached his destination.

“Jesus, baby,” he muttered as he spread your folds open with his pointer fingers, revealing your aching cunt. Your clit stood swollen, begging for attention, and your labia looked just as puffy from your earlier ministrations against the blanket. 

Driven by desire, Spencer stuck his tongue out and firmly lapped your clit. You twisted in the sheets, legs pulling up and a whine leaving your mouth.

“It’s okay,” Spencer cooed, placing a soft kiss on the bud. You moaned at that, a sweet, gentle sound, and he repeated the action until your body relaxed under his touch. Spencer drew lazy circles on your hips as his lips kissed you all over, coating his chin in your wetness as you got more and more excited.

Then, he tried again: tongue flicking out to tease your clit. This time a little whimper falls from your throat, and you keep your legs spread open. Spencer hums in satisfaction, circling the nub once more before closing his lips around it, gently sucking. 

There was no sweeter sound than the moans you made. No sweeter taste than the honey that dripped out of your needy hole. With a groan, Spencer curved his knee on the mattress, the other leg still lying flat as he found himself in the perfect position to get off: his cock rubbing against the sheets every time he pulled himself up to drag his tongue over your folds.

“Spencer,” you murmur, your feet locking over his back.

He looked up at your face with hooded eyes, catching the fluttering of your eyelashes. You were waking up.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he spoke ever so softly, as if he wasn’t ravishing your cunt just a second before.

Little by little, you gained consciousness. You blinked. Once. Then twice. And then your lips curved up in the most lovable smile Spencer had ever seen. 

“Good morning to me,” you breathed out in a pleased tone.

Spencer laughed, pressing a chaste kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Good morning, angel.”

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” you groan playfully, your hands tangling into his brown locks and pulling him in as you lift your hips.

“Not gonna,” he whispered, his mouth finding your pussy again.

A warm sensation spreads through your body, the feeling igniting sparks in the places you’re most sensitive. Spencer was so, so good at this, and with your mind still feeling sleepy, there was nothing to overthink. You could just lie down, accept the pleasure, give yourself over to the feeling, and let go.

Your orgasm doesn’t come in one smooth, long wave but in several shakes of your body, each one pulling you under more. Your toes curl around his back, the back of your head presses into the pillow underneath you, and cries of his name leave your lips as you grab fistfuls of his hair. 

“Oh, that was so nice,” you giggle as you catch your breath.

Spencer returns your smile, sitting up on his knees and carefully taking your shaking legs off of his shoulders. Looking at his frame, you catch the length of his cock that’s proudly standing up. His tip shines an angry red, making you imagine how long he’s waited to take you.

With a firm grip, Spencer bends your knees and presses your legs toward your chest. The curve of your ass is slightly lifted off the mattress, and your pussy is on full display as your boyfriend hovers over you. 

“Not done with you yet,” he announces and takes hold of his cock before rubbing the thick head over your folds.

With your cunt still soaking wet, it didn’t surprise you when he accidentally slipped in.

“Oh, angel,” Spencer whined. He folded you double by pressing his hands harder on your knees, giving him access to smoothly thrust into you. 

In an instant, you had your hands on his face, pulling him in and roughly meeting his lips. Spencer didn’t waste any time, invading your mouth with his tongue, quickly dominating yours. Eagerly you returned the kiss. It was sloppy, not only the kiss, but the whole occurrence. Your whines matched the wet slaps of skin against skin, the rustling of the sheets sounded just as soft as the moans that tumbled from his lips, and the creaking of the bed frame added as a background noise to the melody that you created.

He slightly pulls back, his mouth attaching to your neck before a disappointed groan can leave your lips. 

His hot breath tickles your ear. “What did you dream of?” 

In hazy flashes, the memories in your mind returned, showing pictures of dreams where Spencer’s body was entangled with yours. “You.”

Spencer moaned, muffling his own longing sound by grazing his teeth against your ear. “And what did I do?”

Apparently it was possible to get more turned on than you already were. 

“You… hmpf… you woke me up like this. With your mouth on me.”

His eyes searched for yours, hazel irises turned dark. “Yeah?”

You nod your head into the pillow. “And then you fucked me,” you recalled, letting your nails roam over his back. “Fucked me so deep, Spence.”

“Fuck,” he breathed out, and you could feel his cock twitch inside of you. He swallowed, leaning back and adjusting your legs so that they were wrapped around his torso. Then he leaned back in, his cock sinking into you.

“Like this?”

A sharp cry escaped your throat, feeling Spencer fill you up to the hilt. His hot body pressed against yours, your soft breasts embracing his solid chest. 

“Y-yeah, like that. Fuck, that feels good.”  

His thrusts are minimal. He wants to stay inside of you. Can’t even handle the idea of pulling his hips back before he dives back in. Instead, he grinds himself into you, rubbing that sweet spot inside of your pussy over and over again. 

“I touched myself to you,” he admitted sheepishly, eyes locked onto yours as his curls fell over your face. 

“You just— you looked so beautiful. You look so beautiful,” he corrects. “Couldn’t help myself.”

It was easy to picture: his large hand wrapped around his cock, thumb stroking the head in the way he likes so much. Hips bucking into the air. His teeth biting down on his bottom lip, turned pink and plump, trying to swallow his sounds of pleasure. Next time you’ll pretend to be asleep just so you can catch a glimpse of that.

“Did you know you moaned my name?” He asked in a groan, heart fluttering at the memory. 

“Studies proved that dreams show a subconscious reflection of how you feel about a person.” He pressed his forehead to yours, looking at you in full awe. “Means so much to me, angel. That you think so well of me.”

“You are good, Spence,” you affirm. Tears pricked in your eyes because of the intimacy. “You are so good to me.” 

He nodded, believing you, and then locked his lips with yours. You clenched around him in response, resulting in him pounding into you faster. He reached for your hands, intertwining your fingers, and then placed them above your hand, keeping the both of you grounded as you got lost in the heat of the moment.

At some point you had lost your ability to kiss him back, your lips too busy singing a melody of moans. That didn’t stop Spencer from kissing you, though. He had kissed the side of your mouth, his kisses then trailing to your chin and eventually ghosting over your neck. You felt him everywhere. He had enveloped all your senses, and besides that, your mind was fully consumed by him and the growing heat that flamed deep in your core.

Your nails dug into his skin, creating crescent moon indents as a reminder of tonight. 

“Coming,” you gasped. You arched into his grasp, feeling like you were levitating as your orgasm washed over you. 

Your vision was hazy, but you could make out the way Spencer’s mouth opened, the way his eyebrows scrunched. Your hearing was muffled, but you could understand his cries of your name. Your body felt numb, but you could feel his warm release filling you up. 

Spencer’s legs gave out, and he gently let his head fall onto your chest, covering you up with his messy, sweaty curls. 

You detached your fingers from his, wiggling them around to relax them from his tight grasp. When you got some feeling back in them, you used the back of your hand to gently caress his face. 

“Should’ve returned the favor sooner,” he murmured, placing a kiss to the side of your breast.

You let out a breathy chuckle. “Don’t worry about it. This really made up for it.”

He tilted his head to look up at you, his hair tickling your chest. “Oh, we’re not done yet, angel. Just catching my breath.”

[jinxbabys]

cw: sub-bottom vi. pervy fem-reader. masturbation. voyeurism? strap-on referred to as cock. 1k words. men and minors dni.

synopsis: you masturbate to the sounds of vi getting fucked.

you assumed vi would be the one doing the fucking. she has those smoldering blue eyes, bad girl persona, inked skin, domineering and sarcastic humor. so you’re surprised when you get home at half past two, exhausted from a late shift, only to hear the rhythmic creak of vi’s bed frame through thin walls.

frustration flickers first—so much for a good night’s sleep—but beneath it, curiosity stirs. vi never has girls over when you’re home. did she forget what time you said you’d be getting off work? is she so desperate for an orgasm that she just doesn’t care?

that’s when you hear it—soft at first, but unmistakable. vi is whining—breathless, whimpering like a bitch, blubbering about how much her pussy is being stretched.

”unghh! t-too big, holy fuck—it’s too big!”

your stomach tightens, heat coiling low in your belly, and the wind is promptly knocked out of your lungs.

you shouldn’t be listening to this. you should walk away, crawl into bed, put your earbuds in—do anything else—have some respect for your roommate. but your feet move of their own accord, carrying you closer to vi’s bedroom door, slow and heavy. there’s a weightlessness to your steps, like you’re drifting through a dream, disoriented and hazy from exhaustion—or maybe it’s something else entirely. maybe it’s the thought of vi getting her cunt fucked open in the next room over.

”please—fuck, please—slow down, i can’t—!”

vi, begging? you almost don’t believe it. she’s ordinarily so self-assured, so bossy—giving orders, not taking them, and certainly not asking.

there’s a muffled response, low and firm, but you can’t make out the words. whatever’s said only makes vi whine louder, high in her throat, like the bleat of a baby lamb. the sound is impossibly needy—it‘s whorish and raw, so utterly vulnerable, and unlike any noise you’ve heard vi make before—and, guiltily, you realize there’s a sharp pulse of heat ringing through your clit, molten-hot desire buzzing underneath your skin.

”i’m gonna—gonna cum again, unghhh! shit, shit, shit! baby, please—“

belatedly, you realize just how loud vi’s being, and it poses the question; is this why vi never brings girls home when you’re around? maybe it was never about privacy, but instead, so you wouldn’t hear the way they fuck her until she cries? how she squeals like a pig every time their cock bottoms out against her cervix? how she breaks under the right touch?

a sharp slap cuts through the air—skin against skin—and vi yelps. your mind races instantaneously. you picture her hookup smacking their hand against her pert ass, and the thought alone fans the flames of your imagination. is vi on her hands and knees, getting fucked like a dog, while her fat, round ass ripples from how roughly she’s being used? are her ass cheeks covered in red handprints? is she going cross-eyed and brainless from how well her pussy is being filled?

the bed frame slams against the wall, hard enough to rattle a picture frame in the hallway, and you nearly moan aloud at the thought of vi being pounded into the mattress—with zero mercy, at that. the imagery of it all is so vivid, so obscene, that you don’t even think—your hand is already slipping past the waistband of your pants.

fuck, you need this. it’ll be fine. vi will never know.

your hole is already immensely slick where your index finger dips inside. you drag a wet, sticky line up to your clit and apply teasing pressure—enough to make you shudder. 

“hnnggfff—fuck, fuuuuck! ahh, ahh, ahh!”

vi’s keens are like a siren’s call, drawing you closer, until you have your ear pressed against her door like a degenerate. everything is clearer now—the sharp hitch of vi’s breath, the schlick sound her cunt makes as it sucks on their cock, the plap, plap, plap of vi’s ass colliding against their bare skin. it has your cunt leaking like a sieve into your underwear.

and, god—her ass.

you’ve seen the way vi’s ass looks in her airtight jeans, how it jiggles against the cotton fabric of her workout shorts, but you’ve never witnessed it bare. it would be unequivocally pornographic, you imagine—the fatty tissue of her bubble butt rippling as her cunt is repeatedly fucked open. everything in you aches to just crack the door open and gently peak inside, to see it for yourself.

with your head tilted close to the door, you catch the wet, deliberate sounds of vi’s hookup kissing along her neck—most definitely sucking dark marks onto her pale skin. a sick part of you feels unbearably jealous at the prospect of vi being covered in someone else’s claim, but your pussy gets wetter when you hear the way vi whines in response—high and nasally.

she must have such a sensitive neck. you can almost see it—her squirming on their cock, torn between pulling away and pressing closer to the tingly sensation, how she shivers when their tongue traces the love bites.

abruptly, vi squeals like she’s been scorned, all pitchy and girlish, ”ahhh, you’re so—deep! deep in my fucking stomach—hnnghhh!”

every muffled plea she makes burrows deep under your skin like a thorn. your tender clit thrums with a solemn ache, yearning with a quiet, insistent need. your pussy is crying out for vi, desperate for her in a way that almost feels unbearable.

but how will you ever be able to look at vi the same after this? after you know how raspy her whines are while she has her pussy played with? how she gasps like a balloon losing air—staccato and squeaky—while her tiny hole is stuffed to the brim?

every sound she makes stabs right into your core and you finger the little bundle of nerves faster, rubbing your clit with the urgency of a flame flickering in the wind. you feel fuckdrunk and high off their sex, despite being an unbidden listener. 

and, albeit quickly, vi orgasms again—

“i’m—i’m cumming! ohhh, ohhhh, fuck! mmmghhh!”

it’s as if you’re tethered to her, like a switch flipping inside you, because you follow in suit, coming in harsh, overwhelming waves. you’re gasping and squirming like a fish out of water, trying to muffle your noises behind the palm of your hand, while your other hand cups your crying pussy.

your legs tremble, weak and unsteady, like a baby calf’s and you barely manage to stay upright as you ride out the rest of your release. somewhere in the haze, you register the damp heat between your thighs, how utterly soaked your underwear is.

once your orgasm subsides, clarity sets in—how could you do such a thing? you’re standing with your ear pressed against vi’s door, fingers sticky and pruned, realizing you just got off to the sound of your roommate being fucked. shame and exhilaration twist in your chest like a pretzel. 

but even then, vi’s moans linger in your mind like a ghost. shame prickles at the edges of your pleasure, but so does something else—something darker, and your fingers twitch with the urge to do it all over again.

[liquidlycan]

May I request MacCready Fallout Stimboard?

MACCREADY - FALLOUT THEMED STIMBOARD

with themes of machinery, old tech, and deep blues

cw food, open flame, eyes

requested by anon!

x | x | x x | x | x x | x | x

[beloveds-embrace]

the fae animals ask made me kinda have some confidence of the fae boys being able to appreciate and care about even readers soft and more human qualities.

I hope the boys become desperately obsessed with both her strong more far likeness but also have a crisis realizing that they like her softness. I think some panicking is deserved on the boys part. I am still partial to our boys

also I think reader need some others in her corner and the fae animals are such lovely supports.

masterlist || cw: neglect and angst but it’s getting better trust me

It started, as most catastrophes do; with something terribly, innocently mortal.

A scarf, of all things.

It was nothing of note- no glamour woven into the threads, no whispering enchantments stitched along its hem. Just wool, soft and worn, hand-dyed in a shade of pale lavender that clashed horribly with the obsidian and ivy of your usual wardrobe. But you wore it regardless, looped twice around your neck as you wandered barefoot through the frost-touched gardens, your breath blooming into the mist.

Simon saw you first; he’d stepped from one of the doors, summoned by a courtier’s sniveling request, only to stop dead beneath the frostglass archway. The trees were alive with quiet, with fireflies and will-o-wisps watching from between the thorns- but none moved as you crumbled honeyed bread in your palm, scattering it over moss and stone.

He did not expect the birds that came for you.

Iridescent and shimmer-feathered, their glassy eyes gleamed like dew-wet gems. Birds that usually only sang for moonblood offerings or circled above dying kings- Simon remembers seeing them when Queen Mother publicly slaughtered the late King- came when you called, soothed by your voice as you hummed something heartbreakingly human.

And now, you scolded one when it snapped too eagerly at another. “Mind your manners! There’s enough for everyone!”

Simon nearly groaned aloud. Not from annoyance- but from the pressure building in his chest. Like a curse long slumbering. He needed to pull you close, squeeze your soft safe between his hands- ugh.

You were not cloaked in fae glamour. You did not drip moonlight from your lashes or speak in riddles.

And yet… all the old trees leaned subtly toward you; he didn’t tell the others of that, nor of this occasion, and instead cradled in the space between his ribs just for himself.

But things like you- tender, strange, human- don’t stay hidden long. Not when you were the Queen.

The next week, Johnny found you curled into the window seat of the great hall. Sunset painted molten gold across the high walls, catching in the floating motes of pollen-dust that always drifted lazily through the wings of the palace, especially in spring. You were barefoot again, your legs tucked beneath you like a child’s, nose buried in a battered mortal book whose cover had long since faded.

You were snorting with laughter- head tossed back, a hand slapping your knee like you couldn’t help it. The crown you’d worn that morning, spiked with garnets and bone, lay forgotten on a nearby table, half-buried under a folded shawl of spider-silk.

Johnny was halfway across the hall before he realized he was moving. He stopped only when your laughter faded and you turned, eyes crinkled and warm, still in the cozy world within your book.

He fled.

And sulked about it for the rest of the day. He was a creature of battle, of storms and songs sung in blood. A King’s advisor. He was not supposed to be enchanted by the softness of your laugh, the little crinkles in your eyes. Yet it was all he could see whenever he closed his eyes for the new hours.

It got worse when Kyle caught you in the kitchens; the palace’s heart at night was strange- lamplit with flame-flowers that opened only after sundown, their petals flickering like winking eyes. Everything pulsed with magic, every door could lead to a dream or a trap. Yet there you were, barefoot again (why were you always barefoot? Did you maids not ensure your comfort?) sneaking across tiled mosaics made from the bones of long-dead sea beasts, clutching a slice of chocolate cake like it was sacred.

Kyle froze. The moth that lived in your sleeve- the little beast could change its size- blinked sleepily at him. You looked up, wide-eyed, and your sheepish grin dimmed but you still held on and raised your chin.

“… You won’t tell?”

He gave you another piece.

Then sat outside your door later that night, staring up at the star-swallowed sky, and didn’t sleep a wink. Glowy and Thrain kept him company by glowing and growling at him, respectively.

John, then, watched you handle the court with a precision that could slice a man in half. You were everything they’d hoped a human queen wouldn’t be- poised, unreadable, willing to he adorned in thorns and black petals that whispered curses in dead languages, not making enough mistakes for them to consider throwing you back to the human kingdom. The fae bent for you, even when they didn’t want to. Because you were a good Queen- and you were slowly gathering supporters.

And then he found you, days later, curled in an oversized dress by the fireplace in your study.

You weren’t weeping. But your eyes were red, and Thrain, your antlered beast, had curled around you like a fortress, one massive antler tipped toward the fire. Your giant moth rested across your shoulders, wings twitching dreamily as it glowed soft golden light.

You looked up at him and said, in the voice of someone who had not spoken all day- who had no one to speak to all day:

“I didn’t think it would end that way.”

You said no more after that, but it was just enough to crack open the hollowed, ancient stone of his heart.

They all began to spiral after that, unsurprisingly. Curse you and your frustrating, beloved humanity.

Johnny wouldn’t wear anything you hadn’t touched, and even better if it held the scent of your soaps and perfumes. Kyle started leaving small gifts on your desk- tiny, enchanted things, but useful, and he smiled when he saw you using the little quill that liked to dance across parchment. Simon wouldn’t let anyone stand within a breath of you if they weren’t announced, glaring from behind like death incarnate- as if Thrain wasn’t enough.

And Price began to carry your scarf.

Not visibly, never that. But in the inside pocket of his coat, tucked like a relic he didn’t dare speak of. He’d raise it occasionally, when he was left alone-

And simply kiss its soft wool, and imagine to himself it was your forehead. It woukd suffice until he fixed this terrible mistake they’d made in their treatment and seclusion of you.

[calebpups]

May I request dragon Sylus having sex with his mate (reader) for the first time and reader is super nervous cause they need did this before?

PAIRINGS. . . dragon!sylus x dragon!reader

CW. . . smut, mutual virginity loss, praise, softdom!sylus, gentle/slow penetrative sex

you’re already beneath him, breath caught in your throat, wings curled tight to your back like you can make yourself smaller—like maybe the heat rolling off him won’t reach you if you just hide enough.

but he’s not letting you hide.

sylus leans in, one palm braced beside your head, the other tracing the curve of your thigh, slow and patient. his voice is a low purr, threaded with warmth. “you’re shaking.”

“i’m not,” you lie.

he chuckles, lips brushing against your neck. “you are.”

you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. you’ve wanted him—ached for him—for so long. but now that you’re here, bare beneath him, his chest pressed to yours, his maroon eyes dark with hunger, you’re suddenly nothing but nerves.

“it’s just…” you start, voice barely a whisper. “i’ve never—”

“i know.” He cuts you off gently, lifting your chin so you have no choice but to look at him. “me either.”

“what?”

a smirk curves his lips, lazy and teasing. “what, that hard to believe?”

“kind of,” you admit, flushed.

his smile softens into something deeper. “there’s only one mate i’ve waited centuries for.”

his words strike something low and molten in your stomach.

then his hand slides between your thighs, gentle and reverent, but it still makes you gasp. he watches your face as he touches you, as you twitch and gasp under his fingers, and you swear he looks more in awe of you than he ever has before.

“you’re so soft here,” he murmurs, brushing slow strokes along your slick folds, circling where you’re throbbing. “so warm.”

you let out a trembling sigh, thighs trying to close—but his hips slot between them easily, spreading you open again. “don’t hide from me, little flame,” he says, voice low.

he takes his time. he kisses your neck, your collarbone, your chest. he touches every part of you like you’re sacred. like you’re his. and it eases the nerves, melts the fear into something that hums low and needy.

by the time he lines himself up, your body is aching for him, but your mind’s still fluttering with doubt.

“sylus…”

“it might hurt. a little.” he brushes your cheek with the back of his fingers. “tell me to stop if it gets too much.”

he pushes in carefully, inch by inch, watching your face the whole time. the stretch stings, but he soothes you through it—soft praises, kisses at your temple, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your hip. “that’s it, baby. you’re doing so good for me.”

when he’s finally fully inside, both of you stilled, your breath comes out in a shaky moan. he’s big, and it feels like too much and just right all at once.

“you okay?” he whispers.

you nod, eyes glassy. “yeah. don’t stop.”

he starts to move—slow at first, gentle, dragging every inch of him along your sensitive walls. his pace is tender, controlled, but there’s a fire building behind his eyes like it’s taking everything in him not to let his instincts loose.

you wrap your arms around him, clinging to the heat of his body, your claws just barely digging into his back. “sylus…”

“i got you.” his voice is rough now, cracking with restraint. “you feel so fuckin’ good. like you were made for me.”

every thrust sinks deeper, coaxing your body to open for him, to take him easier, and when you finally moan his name with no fear, only pleasure, sylus growls deep in his chest.

“that’s it, my sweet girl. let go.”

you do—your first time unraveling around him, feeling so full and so claimed you don’t know where you end and he begins. and when he follows, spilling into you with a deep, possessive growl, you realize he’s been holding back for your sake the entire time.

now he’s trembling too. kissing you like you’re the air in his lungs. whispering things in a tongue older than time, sweet and guttural and yours.

masterlist ⋆˚꩜ send me a kofi !

[misaerabl]

Sevika giving you backshots + The cabin shaking from her fucking you

CW : cabin shaking from sevika fucking you, strap on sex, strap referred to as cock and dick, established relationship, not proofread, PURE SMUT CONTEXT : okay I'm at an outing right now and there's these small triangular cabins that fits only a mattress and I'm sleeping in one. It moves when there's like huge movements and of course my mind went THERE immediately.

After a long, exhausting month, you and Sevika finally treated yourselves to a well-deserved getaway. The small private resort was quiet, with a pool glistening under the night sky and a small, cozy cabin and campfire just for the two of you.

You spent the evening by the campfire, sharing quiet laughter and trading sweet nothings, the warmth of the flames mirroring the glow in her eyes. When the fire died down and the night stretched deeper, you slipped inside the tiny cabin.

Of course, your sweet conversations soon melted into something more. Soft kisses grew heated, hands wandering as you found yourself straddling her hips, your body pressed to hers while your lips moved together with growing hunger.

She breaks the kiss, her breath hitching as she looks up at you with heavy lidded eyes. A small smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, her hands still gripping your hips tightly. "Your clothes, baby. Take them off" Sevika tugged at your pants.

Her hands slide up your chest, pushing your shirt up and off, her calloused fingers tracing the contours of your stomach. She leans in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone and up your neck, nipping gently.

As she kisses and bites at your neck, her other hand reaches between your legs, rubbing at your clit through your pants. After a moment, she pulls back, looking up at you with a possessive gleam in her eye.

Her hands moving quickly to undo her pants. She pushes them down her legs along with her underwear, revealing a black strap-on harness and her thick purple rubber cock.

You whimpered at the sight, and her smile only grew. "You want this, sweet girl?" she purred, though she already knew the answer.

Without waiting for a response, she shifted your position, pinning you beneath her with effortless strength, her pants down to her knees as she pulled down on yours.

She lifts your shirt, and you bite down on the fabric, muffling a gasp as you watch her trail soft, lingering kisses down your stomach — each one tender, gentle, and laced with love.

She brings her fingers to your lips, voice low and commanding. "Spit, baby," she whispers, eyes locked on yours. You obey without hesitation, and she smirks, using your saliva to prepare your cunt with deliberate, torturous care.

Her touch is slow, intentional — dragging out every second as she watches your body respond to her. "Look at you," she coos, her fingers gliding over sensitive skin, "so good for me..."

Her fingers curl inside you, finding your g-spot and pressing firmly against it. "You're so wet for me baby girl." She withdraws her fingers and stands up, pulling the strap-on into place and adjusting it over her hips. "Turn over."

You turn over, presenting your ass to her, and she lets out a satisfied hum, giving the base of the strap-on a firm tug. "Such a pretty little ass,"

You arch your back, sticking your bottom out further, and she gives your ass a firm slap, making you yelp. She chuckles, dark and low in her throat, before reaching between your legs again. "Open for me, sweetheart."

You spread your thighs wider, giving her better access, and she slowly pushes two fingers inside you, curling them up to hit that spot she knows drives you crazy. She works her fingers in and out, stretching you slowly, her other hand resting on your lower back to keep you arched.

Your body pushes back against her fingers, greedy and needy. She withdraws them suddenly, making you whimper. She spits on her palm once, twice, coating the thick shaft of the strap-on. She places one hand on your hip possessively, lining herself up with your entrance.

With a slow, steady pressure, she pushes against you, the head of the strap-on slipping inside inch by inch.

She gives you time to adjust, her hand squeezing your hip, before pushing in another inch. You gasp. "Good girl," she pauses. "Take it like a good girl."

You're taking it deeper now, her thick rubber length filling you up completely. She starts to thrust slower, deeper, hitting your sweet-spot with each push. The cabin starts to rattle around you, feeling the walls shaking as she picks up speed, slamming into you harder and harder.

As she gets deeper, she starts to move her hips slowly, pulling out slightly before thrusting back in, filling you completely. She wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you back onto her as she drives into you over and over, the white mattress banging against the wall. "You like that?”

Sevika's thrusts grow faster and more powerful, each one sending a shockwave through your body. The cabin shakes vigorously, the mattress shaking beneath you. She leans over your back, biting your shoulder as she fucks you intensely. The scent of sex and sweat fills the small space.

Your nails clawed at the sheets as she pounds into you mercilessly. The cabin squeaks. You watched the mattress moving on the floor with each powerful thrust. “F-Fuck… Mmmph!”

Sevika's breathing becomes heavier, her arm tightening around your waist as she lifts your bottom higher, angling the strap-on to hit that spot over and over with every thrust. "Shit, baby!”

You can feel the vibrations of the cabin's shaking deep in your core, matching the rhythm of Sevika's merciless pounding. Your protests become muffled screams as she hits you deep.

The small triangular cabin trembled, its windowpanes rattling with each jolt. The door creaked on its hinges, slipping open just enough to let the cool night air seep inside — a quiet witness to the relentless shaking.

"Can you feel it? The whole damn cabin shaking just from me fucking your perfect pussy" Each thrust is calculated, deep, hitting exactly the right spot to send sparks shooting through your vision.

"Touch yourself, baby.”

You manage to get one hand down between your legs, rubbing your clit desperately as she pounds into you. The cabin is filled with the sounds of slapping flesh, your moans, and the creaking of it's own material. She sees your body tensing, your whimpers getting higher pitched.

"You’re so close, aren’t you?" she breathes, her voice dripping with hunger. Her pace quickens, thrusts hitting deeper, more relentless — the mattress sliding across the cabin floor with every movement.

She leans over your back, her body pressing into yours, and covers your hand with hers, fingers working your clit in tandem. "Come for me, baby," she whispers, lips brushing against your ear like a promise.

As her fingers cover yours, pressing down on your clit with just the right amount of pressure, you shatter. Your entire body convulses, your pussy clamping down on the strap-on inside you.

When it’s over, you both collapse onto the mattress, bodies tangled and chests heaving as you catch your breath. The air is thick with warmth, skin sticky with sweat, but neither of you care.

You turn to face her, cheeks flushed, and she mirrors you, a lazy grin spreading across her lips. The room is quiet now, save for the distant chirp of crickets and the rhythmic pounding of your heart.

Then, almost at the same time, you both start giggling, the sound light and breathless. "I swear the whole cabin was shaking," you laugh, wiping sweat from your brow.

Sevika chuckles, running a hand down your side. "Yeah? Maybe we should test how sturdy it really is," she teases, her voice still rough around the edges, eyes dark with lingering want.

A/N: i literally just wrote it and hit post, i WILL be re-reading this later cuz yk damn well I'm drunk af

[suhkusa]

THE KISS BET.

PAIRING. Bakugou Katsuki x f!Reader

SUMMARY. Your friends bet you to kiss Katsuki Bakugou. Fortunately for you, they’re offering you $500 for it. Unfortunately for you, the two of you absolutely hate each other.

CW. third year, angst to fluff, light hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, mature humor, feelings, language

WC. ~2.8k

A/N. enjoy :3

You and your group of friends had a running gig. Bets. 

The group would bet one person to do something, on a scale from normal to outrageous, and that person’s turn wouldn’t end until they complete that bet. Of course, depending on how crazy the bet is, everyone would put in some amount of money. 

The most you’d gotten was $100 total from accepting a date from creep in the business class. Worst date of your life, but Jirou felt bad so she gave you an extra $50. 

As the lot of you gather around the campfire, everyone offers up their money to Mina who had just done her bet to put laxatives in Kirishima’s drink. There were a lot of questions about the morality of it, but you ignored it and gave her a crisp $20. 

“Y/N~ it’s your turn!” Ochako gleed. 

You roll your eyes, “I feel like I just did my other bet, which by the way was shit,” the girls laugh at your words. “I feel like all of you get the easier ones,”

“Easy? I had to kiss Monoma, do you know how hard that was? He knows I’m lesbian so imagine how hard that was for me to convince him,” Yaoyorozu sighs with a palm to her face.

“Oh, whatever,” Mina says with a clap of her hands, “You want a hard one, Y/N?”

“I mean that’s the whole point of paying each other to do bets, they’re supposed to be hard,” 

“Be careful what you wish for,” Mina smirks before standing up and pointing at you. 

“I bet you $100,” your ears perk up.

“-to kiss–,” your eyes widen but listen nonetheless.

“Katsuki Bakugou,” your world falls apart.

“Mina, no,” 

“Y/N, yes,” she jumps up and down, “It’s too late, I already said it,”

All the other girls are hooting and hollering, but you just sit there in silence as you stare at the flames. Are you really going to try this?

As you consider your options the other girls start placing their bet offerings.

“$75 from me,” Tsuyu calls out.

Then from Hagakure, “$50,”

“$150,” from none other than Yaoyorozu. 

“I guess I’ll put in $80,” Jirou smiles at your misery.

“Hmm, I’ll even it out with $45, so $500 flat for you, Y/N,” Ochako smiles.

$500?!? You’d be outright stupid to deny such a big amount of money. But you’d even stupider to think Katsuki Bakugou would kiss you of all people. 

“I think that’s impossible,” you whine as the other girls poke fun at you.

“I guess only time will tell,” Mina grabs your hands and smiles, “Good luck, Y/N,”

—

You can hear the rambunctiousness of your class before you walk in. When you walk through the doors, your eyes scan the class before your eyes lock in on Katsuki Bakugou. You groan with a roll of your eyes before stomping your way towards him. 

“Hey, Katsuki,” you stare down at him, “You want to do me a favor,”

“For you? I rather eat shit,” he grumbles as he meets your gaze.

“You’re a freak,” you already knew this was going to be hard, “Please,”

“Mm, depends, what’s in it for me?” 

“I guess you’ll find out,” you say. “Kiss me,”

It feels like the class goes silent as the two of you continue to just stare at each other. He opens his mouth then closes it. 

“You– The fuck?” His eyes are scattering as the words continue to process through his mind, “What a weirdo, hell no,” then he’s pushing himself out of his seat and making his way to the door.

“You know class starts in 5 minutes right?” you call to him.

“Fuck off,” he grunts as he shuts the door behind him.

Yep, definitely hard. 

—

The next time you bother Bakugou for a kiss is when the two of you are paired up for combat training. Much against his will. 

“Katsuki~” you call out as you dodge another blow from him. “You can’t avoid me forever,”

“Yes-” another explosion, “I can,”

You go on the offense as you continue, “Just a peck, please. I’m a good kisser, I promise,” 

“You’re shit,” he’s grumbling between dodges of your attacks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you send him a wink before getting a hit on him. 

Bakugou groans, about to send another remark, when the training ends with a blow of a whistle.

The two of you meet eyes one last time, “Think it over, kay?” you smile before walking away.

—

Knock, knock. 

You stand at Bakugou’s door.

“Go away, perv,”

“Aw, how did you know it was me? You missed me?”

“I can just tell by the stench,” 

You laugh a little at his words, “Please, let me explain to you and maybe you’ll reconsider,” 

You can hear footsteps, and you smile. When he opens the door he’s adorned in his classic black tank and some sweats.

“You should put some clothes on, perv,” you mock. “Anyways, it was a bet from my friends and there’s $500 on the line, so if you would just–”

“I don’t kiss just anyone, princess,” the nickname causes you to fluster, but you shake it off as he continues, “You gotta earn it,”

He’s got a stupid smirk on his face, and you didn’t even realize it but he’s definitely leaning closer to you. It’s sending butterflies– well maybe more like moths– into your stomach. 

“What the– You’re definitely the pervert. I’m just going to ask to call it off,” you fake gag, “Later, loser,” 

“You’ll be back, nerd,”

You internally groan as you hear him shut the door, ignoring the intense heartbeat in your chest.

—

“No,” Mina says.

“What?! I told you it’s impossible,” you argue, all of your friends on the other side of the argument. 

“No it’s not, he said you had to earn it right?” Mina retorts, “So obviously there’s a way, you’re just stubborn,”

“You’re really not asking me to… You guys are crazy. Please, please, I’ll take anyone else, anything else,” 

“Sorry, Y/N, it’s the rules,” Tsuyu looks at you with pity.

“He hates me and I hate him! That’s all there is to it. It’s not going to happen,”

“Why do you guys even hate each other? It’s our third year, get over it already,” Jirou teases. 

“Because he’s a dick and I refuse to let him walk all over me! I just cursed him out one time for calling me weak. He’s the one who holds grudges because of his fragile, little heart,” 

“You should’ve known he’d hold that against you, but I honestly doubt he hates you because of that,” Mina says. “He probably thought you looked hot,” she laughs.

Heat rushes to the tips of your eyes, “Whatever, all of you are weirdos. But anyways-”

“No, Y/N,” Mina states, end of subject.

“You all just want me to kill myself,” you groan as you sink into the couch. “Whatever, but I’m going to force all of you to double your offering if I actually do this shit,”

The girls cheer. You cry inside. Anything for money, you guess.

—

It seems like the universe heard about the predicament you were in, because it felt like you were suddenly around him more often ever since the bet had been set.

“You know, I don’t want to be on patrol with you either,” you grumble, kicking at rocks as the two of you walk up and down the roads of the dorms.

“Glad we agree,”

Silence washes over you both. 

“Why don’t you want to kiss me? Am I ugly or something?” you ask, but it definitely comes off sadder than you intend.

“Don’t get all insecure because you don’t get a stupid kiss,” he looks the opposite direction of yours, “You know damn well you’re not ugly, so don’t piss me off,” 

He had a strange way of saying stuff.

“Aw, you love me, don’t you?” you tease, poking at his arm.

“Ah you dumbass, pay attention,” you snap back into place with a laugh, “‘M just saying you’re better looking than some of these extras,” 

You don’t know what to say in response to his words. Because they were surprisingly very sweet. 

Realizing he had said too much, he changes the subject. “Let’s go this way,”

You follow him with a nod.

There was definitely a certain type of tension lingering that the two of you walked in near silence for the rest of the patrol. 

You definitely were not repeating back his words in your head over and over again for the rest of the patrol. And Katsuki Bakugou was definitely not turning red because of what he said earlier. Definitely not. 

—

After that patrol, things seemed to sort of shift between the two of you. And to say it was scary was an understatement. 

Conversations wouldn’t always start off with the two of you insulting or cursing each other out. There’d be a hey or hello. If you guys saw each other in passing, he’d greet you with a nod of his head. Him being anything but passive aggressive towards you was terrifying because it was so not him. 

“Y/N,” a familiar voice calls out to you, you groan as you put your pencil down.

“I’m studying, what do you want, Katsuki?” 

“Come with me to the movies after school today,” it’s not really a question, more like a command. 

You put your hands to your mouth in fake(?) excitement, “You’re asking me on a date?! So kind, Katsuki,” 

“It’s not a date, idiot. I’m going with Ei and Denki later, they’re bringing Jirou and Mina. They were teasing me for not bringing anyone, so come,”

“If I don’t?” you muse.

“Be there or be square, nerd,” he doesn’t take your bait, but you can tell he’d prefer it if you go. He walks away before you can respond. 

Well, you guess you have plans later.

;;;

You meet up with the lot of them at the allotted time. The group walks together, and you thank God your friends have a questionable taste in men so you wouldn’t be stuck with some randos. But you also have half a mind to curse them out for leaving you to fend for yourself when you all arrive at the theater. 

They left you with no choice but to sit with Bakugou. Part of you really hates it, but not as much as you hate the rate at which your heart beats. 

For the most part, the two of you just sit there in awkwardness. The other couples indulge in that lovey dovey shit, and it makes you feel out of place. You zone out and get into your head. Was there a motive in asking you to come out here? He could’ve invited like… Midoriya… or Ochako… Or anyone, really. But, you? Does he like you? Or were you his last option to invite? Your head hurts from overthinking.

Your hand rests in your lap, picking at the material of your pants. At least that’s what it was doing. Until it happened. 

From the corner of your eye, you watch as Bakugou slid his hand into yours. His fingers finding a comfortable place between your own. You release a deep breath when you realize you were holding your breath. Is he out of his fucking mind?

Despite your efforts to try and justify how much you absolutely hate it. You didn’t even try to stop him. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t let his hand go. And even as the movie ended, you actually felt sad when he slid his hand away. 

The cool air of the night shocked you a bit when all of you made it outside. 

“We were thinking of grabbing a bite, did you guys want to come?” Mina exclaims. 

“Ooh, that sounds good, are you down, Jirou?”

“Sure, and you guys?” they all look at you.

“I- I have a stomach ache… Butter fucks with my stomach really bad,” the excuse is kind of weak, but still holds up as they all nod in understanding. 

“I can walk you to the dorm,” Bakugou offers, and you don’t really give him a yes or no, he just follows you.

Kirishima and Mina whistle and holler as the two of you part ways with the rest of them. 

Part of you regrets making up some stupid lie to go home. Because this was way more awkward than getting free pizza. 

The two of you are right by each other as you walk in silence towards the dorm. You wait. And wait. Wait for him to bring it up. Why did he do that? Why did he grab your hand? Was it all a front?

Why is he treating you so well?

Even as he drops you off at your room, he says nothing. Just a simple “Goodnight,” before he’s making his way to the elevator.

What an asshole.

—

So you take the initiative. The initiative in ignoring him. You weren’t some casual fling. Fuck the bet, fuck him.

When you saw him making his way towards you, you were quick to get up and rush out of the classroom. When he nodded your directions in passing, it was easy to just walk past and not acknowledge him. Whatever there was between you and him, was gone. Whatever “it” was, exactly. 

But you were okay. You guess. You were down $500 or $1000, but whatever. That game was bullshit anyways. You always got the worst bets. You kind of felt bad that you were the end of it, though. 

It was easy to avoid him. That’s what you thought. At least until one week later, you found yourself cornered by your dorm room with nowhere to go.

“What the fuck is up with you?” he’s angry, you’d be stupid if you thought otherwise.

You cross your arms and avoid his intense gaze, “Whatever do you mean?” 

He’s getting closer, and a tiny, like miniscule, part of you finds angry-him hot. “You know what the hell I mean, you’ve been avoiding me,” 

“Nuh uh,” you retort, still avoiding the subject at hand. “I’ve just been busy, sorry,”

“Like hell, Racoon Eyes said you’ve been in your dorm room everyday, so try again, asshat,”

Fucking Mina.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” you poke at his chest, “Now get out of my way before I beat your ass,”

“Yeah? I’d like to see you try,” he’s smiling with mockery.

“Oh, I’m sure you’d like to be touched by me, you little virgin,” you inspect your nails in nonchalance, “Too bad, so sad, now move,”

“No, not until you answer me,” he’s a bit more serious now, you can sense it in his tone. 

You groan, “Fine, not until you answer me, though. Why the fuck did you hold my hand and act like it didn’t happen? Am I like a joke to you?”

He straightens up and his eyes widen. He looks to the side, then back at you.

“You’re fuckin’ smart, why don’t you take a guess?”

“You’re not a baby, why don’t you use your words?” 

You got him there.

“Maybe ‘cuz I like you, or something, idiot,”

You laugh. Laugh. Because he really thought you’d believe a stupid joke like that.

“You’re funny, but seriously, why did–”

A kiss. Katsuki Bakugou has always been known for his speed and his wit. But now you see it more than ever. As he steals a kiss from you. It happens faster than you’re able to even realize you’re leaning into it. 

When the two of you part, it’s tense again. You don’t know if you should say something but he takes that choice from you.

“You think that was funny?” he asks.

“Well- no, but–”

“No buts, that’s that,”

“I didn’t even say I like you back! What if I didn’t-”

“Oh, so you do?” you jump up in realization you fumbled your words. “Good to know, princess,”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying. How was I supposed to know you liked me? You’re such an asshole, you know?”

“Really? Because this asshole just got you some cash,” he laughs referring to the bet, “But y’know, I don’t let just anyone call me Katsuki,”

You grit your teeth before throwing a punch at his arm, “Annoying! Annoying, so annoying,” 

Another hearty laugh escapes from his lips as he pulls you into a hug. You didn’t even know Bakugou gave hugs. But you don’t mind it. 

“You’re such a pervert, I bet you’ve been looking forward to that kiss,” he teases.

“Yeah? Well you’re a pervert for even kissing me in the first place,”

—

YOU: pay up bitches

YOU: i’m talking double btw

[164 new notifications]

You were rich and in love. What more could you ask for?

© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.

[comatosebunny09]

vēnor | sylus

— summary: sylus must’ve gleaned all the info he needed during your exchange and dipped. figures. you’ve played your role well, and it seems he no longer requires your services. unbeknownst to you, crimson eyes narrow in the lowlight, watching the elevator doors swish shut as your target has his way with you. — cw: female reader, marking, biting, unprotected intercourse, creampie, rough sex, size kink, praise kink, cevix f-king, explicit language, jealousy, knife fight, alcohol use, mentions of blood and viscera, self-indulgent, not proofread, mdni — wc: ~4k — notes: you can prolly tell i was inspired by his new secret times, *fans self* thank you for reading, lovely! — now playing: wasted eyes - amaarae u, lost - jeremy pope

Your mission is simple.

Saunter in. Seduce your target. Extract as much information as you can concerning the whereabouts of a particular artifact. Smile pretty. Flutter your lashes. Lure him away with the promise of pleasure. Snuff him out like a candle’s flame when the moment allows.

The setup is flawless. Routine. Until it isn’t. 

The figure clad in black, oozing smugness and sex appeal beside you, complicates things. 

Typically, you complete your missions alone. You’ve played the role of seductress so long that it’s second nature. You’re more than capable of fending for yourself if shit hits the fan. You’re a menace with a blade and just as formidable without one. 

Besides, you live for the thrill of a good fight. A few bruises and broken bones have never deterred you. According to your intel, your target came stacked with security, so you anticipate possibly getting your hands dirty. 

But he insisted on accompanying you this time around—Sylus. Reasoned he didn’t want his diamond falling into the wrong hands, whatever the hell that meant. You figure it was an excuse to micromanage you. He’d been doing it a lot lately, ever-looming like a shadow, trained to your every move. 

So, here you are—standing beside your employer as the elevator lazily descends, fretting over your hair and the occasional slip of your blouse off your shoulder. 

You’re enveloped in an unbearably tense silence. Shift your weight between your feet, trying to keep your gaze on the gilded elevator doors ahead. Even that is a task within itself, scarlet eyes occasionally capturing yours in your reflection, coupled with an omniscient smirk that causes your chest and cheeks to swell with heat.

He stands in good form beside you, hand stuffed in his pocket, hair coiffed, dressed to the nines. He’s infuriatingly calm in contrast to the maelstrom brewing inside you. 

You feel much like a child about to perform at a piano recital in front of their parents for the first time. Insane, given you’ve never been this anxious around him before. But things are…

Well, things are different now.  

Lately, your relationship with your boss has shifted on its axis, making way for tender words and disarming touches where there were once indifferent looks and tedious banter. 

You’re not entirely sure when, but at some point under his tutelage, you’ve developed a fondness for him. A part of you wonders if he feels the same pull, his recent treatment towards you slowly dismantling that carefully constructed wall between you.

The elevator pings and dips, disrupting your thoughts once it reaches its destination. 

You release a breath you were unaware of holding. Square your shoulders, mentally preparing yourself for your mission. The doors slide open, a crisp breeze fanning over your inflamed skin, ruffling your floor-length skirt. You move to dismount the lift, but slender fingers encircling your wrist halt your exit. 

They’re like a brand on your skin, searing straight to your heart. You’re stock-still as Sylus nears you, swaddling you in the warmth and enthralling scent of scorched cedarwood and cracked vanilla beans he carries. He rounds you, the tips of his shoes staining your vision. You’re wordless as worn fingertips graze your temple, sweeping errant curls behind your ear.

He chuckles something low, his other set of fingers easing beneath your chin to tilt your head back. Your breath corks in your lungs when your gazes interlock.

It’s like he’s peering into your soul, the way he studies you with a reverent shine to his eyes despite the ever-present smirk twitching his lips. You swallow thickly past the barbs in your throat. Enraptured by his gaze, you hardly notice him pushing something into your ear. Not until a sharp pitch of feedback causes you to wince until it levels out.

“Stunning,” he lauds, brushing the flat of his nails over your earpiece, outlining the curve of your cartilage. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

You vibrate internally from the praise. He smooths back your hair, ghosting over your neck and shoulder. Slides a thumb over the space just shy of your bottom lip, and he tracks its movement, irises darkening into a mysterious shade of garnet. 

You’re wearing his favorite color of lipstick–a dangerous shade of rouge reminiscent of wine shared over passionate nights. Your stomach pinches with something foreign. For a moment, your surroundings fall away, and only the pair of you exist in this world of pheromones and shrouded intentions. 

Briefly, you entertain the thought of conquering the gap between you. Entertain grabbing his shirt and tugging him into a kiss. Based on the flutter of his lashes as he studies your mouth, you don’t think he would be opposed to it. 

But fate has other plans for you tonight, another invasive ding from the elevator disrupting your reprieve. 

So caught up in your own little world, you hadn’t noticed that the doors closed in your idleness until someone outside called for the lift. 

“Oh shit! My bad,” says a sheepish voice from the hallway. With Sylus’ fingers still curved around your chin, the pair of you look at the intruder outside, Sylus’ expression reading annoyance, and yours, dreaminess. 

—

It helps that you’ve already had a drink—a glass of bourbon in your hotel room to take the edge off, loosening your inhibitions.

The music is good, too. Something sultry and ambient as you wend through the envious gazes and intrigued whispering of the bar’s other patrons in pursuit of your target. 

You feel his eyes on you, too. A familiar wash of scarlet trained on the space between your shoulder blades and the sway of your hips. The notion of him watching you so intensely sets your insides alight. 

You banish the memories of his breath on your skin—of his ghostly touches along your flesh—to the furthest reaches of your mind. It’s showtime. You’ll have plenty of time to confront these complicated feelings for your boss later. 

For now, you home in on your target. He’s dressed in something tailored and expensive, the material of his suit crisp as you slide a hand over his shoulder with a sultry smile rounding your lips. 

The gentleman looks up from the whiskey glass in his hands. Dons a smile of his own, straightening when you pour yourself onto the stool beside him. He signals to the bartender, then turns to face you, skimming over your visage with his brows lifted in intrigue. 

“Well now. What’s a pretty thing like you doing here all by yourself?” he queries, tone murky like the liquor in his glass. 

You tilt your head, your hair falling over your features just right. Cross your legs, offering him your hand to kiss. Your voice is husky. Disarming as you counter, “Handsome fella like you looked like you could use some company.” 

He drags his lips over the notches and grooves of your knuckles, whiskey-colored eyes fastened to you. Smiling, you pluck his glass from betwixt his fingers. Throw back what remains in it, the acrid sting warming your innards whilst you set it down on the sticky counter with a definitive clack.

The man whistles, clearly impressed. “Pretty and a drinker. I like you already.”

You laugh something rehearsed. Toy with the red-gemmed pendant between your collarbones. He’s charming. Good-looking. Maybe you’ll have a little fun before you take his life. You haven’t had your desires sated in a while, too busy tamping down your own needs for the love of your boss.

On cue, scarlet twinkles in your periphery. Sylus. He’s seated not too far off, nursing a glass of something viscous. Quietly biding his time, poised to step in if he deems it necessary. A part of you is spurred on by his attention. You play up the theatrics of your flirtations if only to get a rise out of him.

It’s relatively easy to fall into femme fatale mode thereafter. You chat up your target, inquiring about his profession and complimenting his taste in liquor, guided by Sylus via earpiece. 

You don’t miss the vexed clip in your boss’ voice whenever you get a little too handsy, laugh a little too bewitchingly, and bite back a smile at how envious he sounds in your ear. The gentleman is putty in your hands, a grinning, chuckling fool when you squeeze his thigh and stroke his ego. 

You pull out all the stops, feeding him alcohol until he’s red-faced with a loosened tongue, unwittingly spewing out the information you seek. He touches you as the night blurs, worn fingers smoothing over your thighs, cresting down the slope of your arm, brushing your cheek, dragging over your shoulder. 

You let him have his fill. It’s not like you aren’t enjoying yourself, too, the alcohol warming in your veins, heightening your need for physical stimulation. 

Finally, you sweep in for the kill. Angle yourself closer to your prey, your breasts pressing temptingly against his arm whilst your hands roost on his quad.

“Wanna take this party elsewhere?” you whisper, brushing the outer shell of his ear with your lips. He chuckles like the enamored fool you molded him into, dragging his mouth across your cheek in a kiss as you pull back.

“Got a room upstairs,” he husks in what little space dwells between your faces. “We could have some real fun there.”

Hook. Line. Sinker.

He takes your hand in his, drawing you from the stool. Twirls you ‘round to get a good look at you, the dangerous contours of your body accentuated by your outfit. 

Your target clicks his tongue, inwardly patting himself on the back for bagging such a beauty. He guides you through the crowd towards the elevator. And as he whisks you away, you survey your surroundings in search of a familiar shock of white. 

Disappointment spumes through you when you don’t find him through the bar's furling smoke and sultry lighting. He must’ve gleaned all the info he needed during your exchange and dipped. Figures. You’ve played your role well, and it seems he no longer requires your services for the time being. 

Where before, you felt guilty for seeking a little fun, the feeling sloughs off, replaced by disdain and spite spooling in your gut.

Your target draws you to him by your waist as the elevator doors slide shut, the pair of you flanked by two of his bodyguards. You succumb to his ministrations, his lips on a shameless excursion over your throat, drawing the sultriest little laugh from betwixt your lips. 

Unbeknownst to you, crimson eyes narrow in the lowlight, watching the elevator doors swish shut.

—

The hallway of the sixth floor is barren. Eerily quiet, the fluorescent lights above dancing over four figures moving over the carpeted floors. 

You toddle behind your prey, guided by interlaced fingers, swathed in the imposing aura of his bodyguards on either side of you. You feel for the blades cinched to your thigh, tucked beneath the veil of your skirt. Easing one from your garter belt, you conceal the knife in your palm, and the guards seem none-the-wiser.

Suddenly, muffled sounds erupt on either side of you. You glance back, alarmed to see the bodyguards wiped from existence. The only clue revealing their fate is a familiar, wispy coil of dark red left in their place. You narrow your eyes, jaw set in a rigid line. 

Sylus. 

Your target seems undeterred, continuing to prattle on ahead as he herds you to his room. Sylus must’ve assumed you couldn’t handle your own, which makes you buzz with irritation. 

Fine. He thinks you’re incapable? You’ll prove him wrong. 

With the blade held firm between your forefingers, you prepare to thrust it into your target’s neck. So much for having a bit of fun.

However, before you can complete the thought, something ensnares your wrist, snatching you from the hallway into the arms of an inky darkness. Your spine collides with something rigid and cold, the air siphoned from your lungs.

Your fight or flight senses kick into overdrive, and with the moonlight highlighting your assailant's silhouette, you swing your blade where you assume their head is. They release a brief sound of exertion, ducking beneath your attack. You cleave through the air again, coupling the swing with a series of kicks to put some space between you and land a hit. 

Your aggressor, seemingly familiar with your move set, catches your ankle, shoving it down to derail your attacks, and a dark chuckle vibrates the air. 

“That all you got?” they provoke, the timbre of their voice reminiscent of thunder rolling over the horizon.

You stumble back a few paces, righting yourself before charging with another slew of punches, swipes, and kicks. It’s a futile endeavor, scuffling in low visibility like this against an opponent who seems to be using the darkness to their advantage.

But you’ll be damned if you go down without a fight.

“Too slow,” tsks your foe, egging you on.

Suddenly, your attacker traps your hand clutching the blade, and you dumbly blink as they use your momentum to swing you ‘round, manacling both your wrists together at the small of your back. Your cheek squished against a glacial surface, your assailant shoves their weight against you, trapping you between a wall and the hardened slope of their body. 

Faint wisps of vanilla invade your scenes, yet the hot rush of adrenaline seeping through you blots out all logic and reason. You struggle against their hold, your labored breaths intermingling with their husky laughter. 

You grit your teeth when a hand eases down the curve of your hip, sliding over your thigh with practiced ease. You grit your teeth against the feel of it as it dips beneath your skirt’s slit to tug your remaining knives free of your garter belt.

You listen with pinched breaths as the crisp steel plunges into a far-off surface. How the hell did they know where you kept your knives?

In a ditch effort to free yourself, you thrust your hips back, momentarily throwing your attacker off-kilter. Their grip on your wrists slackens, and you spin around, planting your foot against their chest to create some distance. Twirling your knife, you thrust it towards the outline of a neck. It’s to no avail, those searing fingers once again taking possession of your wrist before you can land a blow. 

You release a frustrated cry, your hand twisting painfully until the blade plummets to the ground, sinking into the floor with a resounding thwack! Employing your other hand, you try to pry your wrist free, aiming an onslaught of kicks at your aggressor’s ribs. They effortlessly block them with the hard edge of their forearm, and your moot efforts seem to amuse them further. 

The severity of your situation settling in, soft light suddenly floods the narrow space, pouring down from overhead to reveal the contours of a familiar face.

“Sylus?” you gasp, bleary-eyed and chest heaving.

He uses your surprise to his advantage, surging forward to capture your lips. The air punched from your lungs, you trade your alarm for a bitten-off moan, fingers instinctively seeking out the silken glide of his hair. 

He pushes his tongue into the warm cavern of your mouth, swallowing your groans whilst his hands make frantic expeditions over your sides, bunching up your blouse and skirt in pursuit of the supple glide of your skin. 

Fingers curl around your thighs where they pinch and knead the flesh there, Sylus notching himself between your legs. And fuck, he’s hard, your scuffle awakening things in him he thought himself dead to.

He lifts you into his arms, and your legs intuitively wind about his waist. The hotel door rattles behind you when he slams you against it, his hands greedily sprawling over your body, burning through the layers of your skin.

“What the fuck,” you breathe when he releases your mouth, and you crane your neck to the side, granting him more access whilst he brands your throat with the languid drag of his lips. 

He nips and sucks in a way that borders pain, his breaths sweltering and ragged, matching the roll of his hips. The rough stitching of his slacks acquaints itself with your center, and you sigh all hot and wanton, your spine scrubbing against the door whilst he grinds into you.

“Did you really think I’d let him have his way with you?” he pants through the lust-ladened haze, dragging his lips over your shoulder and collarbones, down to the ample swell of your breasts. He rakes his teeth over the skin there, sure to leave pretty blooms of purple and blue in their wake.

You huff a laugh, the back of your head colliding with the door. “Oh, Sylus. Don’t tell me you were jealous.” 

Of course, you were banking on it, playing your role too well. 

You yip when he bites you in warning, the predatory gleam of his eyes trained on your face. “How could I be jealous if you’re already mine?”

You scoff at that, a wave of ecstasy surging through you when his fingers ease between your thighs, grazing your labia, rucking your panties to one side to reveal your own desire. Your back bows when he prods your puckering sex with two fingers, and he chuckles against your neck, the sound of it making your pussy flutter with excitement.

“Seems I’m not the only one affected by our little spat.” With a few more strokes up the span of your cunt, he sinks his digits inside you, and you share a pleased exhale as you greedily suck him in down to the hilt. 

“Look at you. So ready for me. And to think you were so eager to give this away to another man.”

“Do you always talk this much,” you breathe, draping your arms around his shoulders. Screw your eyes shut, humping against his fingers, chasing that sweet coiling sensation building in your tummy.

“Are you always this impatient,” counters Sylus, open-mouthed against your chin, his thumb sifting through the thick folds of your sex in search of your clit. He presses down, and you shudder, the sound of his name curling around your tongue, making his dick jump.

“Only with you. Unh, fuck. Just with—just with you.”

“Tell me you want this,” he rasps into the hollow of your neck. Scissors his fingers inside you, slowly unraveling those bundles of nerves inside, the vulgar squelch of your cunt intermingling with your labored breaths. “Beg me to fuck you, or I’ll stop.”

To punctuate his words, he slows the pleasurable drag of his fingers, and you whine, clinging to his shoulders for dear life. 

The heat of embarrassment washes over you. You’re too far gone to care. Too enraptured to give a damn about your facade or pride. Need him inside you, otherwise, you might just die.

“Your words, sweetheart. Use them,” he coaxes on a rasp.

“Fuck me,” you relent, baring down on his digits curling inside you. “Fuck me, Sylus, please.”

“Good girl,” he praises, already freeing himself from the restrictive pull of his slacks and briefs. 

You’ve no time to admire his size in the dimness. Too clouded by lust, your eyes fixated on his while he rubs the swollen head against the seam of your pussy. He prods your sticky opening, and your mouth waters with anticipation, the sheer size of his head alone enough to stretch you nice and open for him.

“Deep breaths, darling,” he coos against your hinged-open mouth. And your thighs crater between his fingers as he sinks you onto his cock, the strain of pushing into you stealing the air from his chest. 

“Oh fuck,” you gasp. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.” You’re halfway sobbing, gritting your teeth, your fingers buried in the collar of his shirt, and your face falls into the crook of his shoulder, where you bite and suck, seeking a little respite from the painful stretch. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. Breathe for me.” He isn’t intentionally being pompous. Knows he’s thicker than the average bear, and as much as he burns to be buried inside you, he doesn’t want to hurt you more than necessary.

Soon, the pain subsides, making way for little flutters of pleasure when he’s fully eased home, his swollen cockhead kissing your cervix. When he’s sure you’ve adjusted to his girth, he fucks into you with shallow thrusts at first, watching your face for any signs of discomfort. 

Despite the moment, he’s a patient lover. Taking his time moving inside you, invoking pretty sounds from your lips. A thick ring of cream forms around the base of his cock as he ruts into you, your intermingled fluids scorching down the inner cut of your thigh. 

As time passes, your moans crescendo, spurring him on, and he fucks into you a little harder, your nails forming angry crescents in his traps through the fabric of his shirt. One of your heels falls off and clatters against the floor, he’s fucking you so good. So deep, battering against your cervix.

“You take me so well, sweetheart,” he dotes into the junction of your neck and shoulder, bouncing you on his cock a little faster. “So deep. It’s like you were made to be my precious little cock sleeve.”

You can do nothing but gasp at the delicious friction, blanketed in the throes of passion, in the feel of him nestled deep inside you, filling you to the brim. 

You feel like you’re in a dream, being fucked by your boss like this. The object of your desires, the focal point of your fantasies and affections. Your clit scrubs against his pelvic bone with each thrust, and that sparkling rush of ecstasy begins to bloom in your tummy.

“Gonna cum?” he husks, your walls clenching around him.

You nod, your voice lodged in your throat, and you tangle your fingers in the delicate sweep of hair at his nape, pulling him in for a kiss, pouring every pent-up feeling into the warm chasm of his mouth. 

Spurred by the delicious drag of his cock inside you, by his tongue licking into your mouth, and by your puckered nipples grazing against the hardened lines of his shirt, you cum. God, you cum.

And the world slides into white, your mouth opening with a moan seemingly dragged from the bowels of your chest, your toes curling against the divots of his buttocks. He fucks you through it, pulled over the edge with you, hot spurts of cum flooding the searing clench of your pussy.

He holds you like this against the door, swathed in the symphony of your quickened heartbeats and breaths. Gulps down air, his forehead nestled against your shoulder, a fine sheen of sweat covering your bodies whilst you pet through locks of powder white, drawing him down from the sky. 

He hums against your lips, drawing you into a sticky kiss that lingers and etches a smile onto your face. He plucks you from the door, tenderly gathering you into his hands to walk you into the bathroom. 

He sets you down on the crisp countertop, the marble cold beneath your inflamed skin. And you paw from him like a needy kitten whilst he divests himself of his clothing, chuckling when he steps between your thighs to rid you of your wrinkled attire.

“Sylus,” you query, blinking lazily up at him whilst he draws you into his arms, turning you toward the shower. He hums in reply, a boyish gleam to his eyes and a smile rounding his lips. “What about the target?”

Sylus snorts, depositing you beneath the warm spray of the shower, the water already working to ease the strain on your muscles. 

“I already took care of it.” And with his hands perched on your hips, he angles himself to kiss you, full-bodied on the lips, never wanting to hear another man’s name touch your tongue again.

—

Meanwhile, Luke and Kieran meander through the quiet halls of the sixth floor, their masks spattered with blood and viscera as they whistle a wistful tune.

[jaylaxies]

TEASER: A REUNION TO REMEMBER

PAIRING: sunghoon x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, unprotected sex, fingering, cunnilingus, public sex, car sex, shower sex, degradation and praising, mentions of drinking, mentions of jay and karina (aespa), and other idols, mentions of nicknames (baby, kitten), more to be added.

WC: 12k words (estimated).

TEASER WC: 1167 words.

SYNOPSIS: You last met Park Sunghoon when you were attending high school, more precisely, when he had gained enough courage to ask you out, not knowing that the most popular girl of the school was already taken by the senior who was equally as popular. Four years later, your batch decided to hold a reunion back in your town, where you meet Sunghoon again. Only, the problem is that he's hotter than ever and you can't, for the life of you, keep your eyes off him.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni (the full fic will include smut).

A/N: hihi, angels! revamping a hoon fic rn! taglist is open, send an ask or comment to be added! <33 (make sure to have your age visible on your blog! blank blogs will not be added to the tl).

“There’s absolutely no fucking way he didn’t know!”

You exclaimed, frustration clear on your face, recalling how things went down back in tenth grade to prove your point.

Karina only sighed on the other end of the call, “listen, babe, I love you but you have to take into account how oblivious the poor boy was back then! He studied and skated, that’s literally all he did, that was him,” she spoke, emphasizing on the but part.

You huffed, sitting down on the edge of your bed, nodding to yourself slowly as you let it sink that her point was actually a valid one for once.

“It’s still awkward though,” you mumbled, playing with a loose thread of your sweater.

“It’ll be fine, okay? It’s been four full years, and it’s not like you have to talk to him.” Her words were true yet again, and this is why you loved her.

Karina had been your best friend since you were in middle school, she’d always been honest and the social butterfly everyone loved, but at the same time, she was humble and kind, always taking care of the ones around her, not to mention how she was possibly the prettiest girl you’d ever met.

You were relieved to know that she would be with you for the school reunion—an event which was planned thoroughly, it was a big deal.

It wasn’t just a meet up, it was a three day trip back to your hometown, the whole itinerary was planned, as per the usual ritual:

The first day being the reunion dinner night—the most important one out of the three days, a day where everyone shows up clad in their best outfits, a day where they flaunt every bit of success and achievements they’ve accomplished.

The second being the beach day, to make sure no one is left out on the fun factor, also

The last being the night out at the newest club of your city, a night to let loose, especially when it concerns rekindling the old flames (happens more often than not).

The idea itself was thrilling, not to mention how desperately you needed this break, Karina was even quicker to express her excitement by booking two hotel rooms, non refundable at that, for you both as your parents now lived in Seoul, and not in your hometown.

Another sigh left your mouth as you plopped down on your bed, staring at the ceiling while wondering why you even bothered to check the guest list, to check whether Park Sunghoon was invited or not.

It was no surprise when you saw his name in the list, gulping as you recalled the embarrassing incident which took place between you both, the one in which you never got the opportunity to confront him, or explain yourself by any means.

You closed your eyes, revisiting the ever so embarrassing memory.

It was the last day of the tenth grade, your exams had just gotten over and the student crowd was elated, throwing notes everywhere to celebrate the fact that they were not chained to their textbooks anymore, not for a month at least; which caused you to scrunch your nose at the sight of paper wastage, not to mention, the meaningless litter all over.

“Uh—Hey,” a sweet voice called your name at the exact second, succeeding in grabbing your attention.

You recognized him as your classmate, Sunghoon, who was also a good friend of your own friend, Jay.

“Hey! Hoon, right?” You smiled at him, a slight red colour spread on his cheeks at the sight of you.

He nodded, also politely saying ‘hello’ to Karina, who was right next to you before his gaze fell to his fingers as he fiddled with them, his fang-like teeth biting down on his plush bottom lip with anxiety as he worked on mustering enough courage to look into your eyes, only to find your own ones staring at him with curiosity.

“I just—I wanted to ask if you’d like to, you know, go out with me sometime?” He let out the question, unsure of what words he had used and cringing at how shaky his tone was.

He had completely forgotten what he practiced in front of the mirror a thousand times, but he knows for sure that the result was not supposed to come out as horrendous as this one.

Your eyes widened as you looked at Karina with pleading eyes, asking for help. It was no secret that you were one of the popular girls at your school; sweet, hardworking, and humble.

Getting a confession such as this one was nothing new to you, declining politely always worked, however, that was when you were single and not in a relationship with the most popular guy in the school (as cliché as it was), who was also your senior. It was almost like a fanfiction with how the ace of the school, Lee Heeseung, had ended up falling for you.

The news was quick to spread, fast enough for your group chat to go crazy, asking you questions so diabolical which almost made you throw your phone away with embarrassment.

In the span of three days, the whole school was aware of the new ‘it couple’. Except for Sunghoon, that is.

“As, uh, friends?” You winced at how pathetic your question was, which certainly made things ten times more awkward than they were supposed to be.

“N—no, as something more?” Sunghoon helpfully explained, looking everywhere but at your face now.

“Sunghoon,” Karina spoke up, causing you to release your breath, thankful that she was here to control the situation when you could say nothing and feel uncomfortable looking at his disappointed face.

“She’s taken, love! Sorry,” she informed him, his eyes widening and mouth agape.

You wondered if he was genuinely clueless about this, he did look lost to you.

You gasped, suddenly feeling an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you closer as you stared at Heeseung in surprise, who was already looking down at you with a smirk.

“Hey, baby. I missed you,” he spoke up, kissing you right on the mouth, more exaggerated than usual.

Sunghoon witnessed the whole scene, a frown settling on his face, embarrassment clear on his face which was now red and showed clear signs of sadness as he softly said, “e—excuse me,” leaving as soon the words left his mouth, shoulders slumped.

You never met him again, only seeing him with Jay at times.

He was quick to change his school soon after it, knowing that he’d be able to do so easily since the finals were over.

You were going to meet him now.

Your eyes snapped open at the thought of that, you just wished for the trip to be a pleasant one. Furthermore, from your side, you’d make sure to not be awkward around him, pretending as if the whole situation didn’t happen in the first place.

If you’d even get to talk to him, that is.

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