#imagine its like really late into the night

[yandereonepieceimagines]

Do you ever think that Law lays down in his bed on his submarine and thinks about finding the very same devil fruit that belonged to Corazon? Just to keep it with him as a keepsake much like how Luffy wanted Ace’s devil fruit to keep a part of his big brother with him. What do you think would happen if yandere Law ran into a reader with that same devil fruit?

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A Law request! I love it! Honestly, I secretly believe he’s definitely wondered at least once about what happened to Corazon’s Devil Fruit somewhere in the series.

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Trafalgar D. Water Law

The Polar Tang stalked beneath the churning waters of the Grand Line, her lights carving narrow paths through the blue gloom. The constant rumble of the engines and the muted sounds of water pressing against yellow steel were a comfort for Law as he lay on his back atop the thin mattress of his quarters. The room was small and the ceiling was built low, close enough that he could almost touch it if he stretched. Yet it felt more like a shield than a prison, a gentle barrier against the chaos of the world outside. The Grand Line, in this part of Paradise, was relentless and wild. Unpredictable storms, Sea Kings, and the wild ambitions of other pirates made it a sea where a moment’s peace was hard-won. Law managed to avoid much of the open air's dangers by traveling beneath the waves in this submarine. Of course, if something would ever go wrong down here, it would be a sure way to die. But for now, deep in the belly of the vessel, he could somewhat breathe.

Sleep, however, was another matter entirely. It rarely came easy. Especially during nights like this. Nights where his mind wandered back through the years, tracing old wounds that never really faded. Tonight, those thoughts were particularly potent, prickling at him like salt in a fresh cut. He let his eyes drift shut momentarily, and in the darkness behind his lids, memories surfaced: Corazon’s awkward, endearing laugh, the soft hush of his voice, the memory of warmth and kindness, all cut short in a heartbeat. The ache that followed was dull but familiar, never quite overwhelming, but always there, pulsing like a fading bruise deep in his chest. He doubted it would ever truly disappear.

He shifted on his mattress, folding his tattooed arms behind his head and staring up at the pale ceiling. In the gentle hush of the submarine, he eventually let his thoughts drift to the Nagi Nagi no Mi. The Devil Fruit that had once belonged to Corazon. Somewhere out there, that fruit had long since been reborn. Maybe it was sitting in a merchant’s crate, or locked away. More likely, it had already been eaten by someone, its power circulating quietly through some corner of the world. Perhaps the fruit had even passed through more than one life already, reappearing somewhere unexpected after its last user’s death.

Law could picture it roughly in his mind: glossy surface, the swirling patterns, the aura of quiet power. He imagined what it would feel like to hold it in his hands. To know that a piece of Corazon’s legacy was finally within his reach, even if only for a moment.

It would be enough just to have it. To keep as a memory, to feel a little closer to Corazon after all these years. It was a link to the past, a symbol of hope and loss intertwined. There had been so much pain- so much taken from him, ripped away before he had time to truly understand what it had meant. The thought of recovering even a small piece of what he had lost was enough to keep him going.

Sometimes, late at night, Law found himself wondering if fate would ever bring the fruit across his path.

If one day he did find it, maybe it would finally feel like a piece of the past had come… home. Maybe it would remind him that, even in a world so full of danger, there were still things worth holding on to. Things that could bring comfort, and a sense of peace.

Outside his room, the soft whir of the Polar Tang’s machinery blended with the distant, soothing echo of the sea’s undercurrents. In that gentle lull, Law’s eyes grew heavy. He let himself believe, just for a moment, that someday he’d find what he was searching for. That he could do it for Corazon’s sake, as much as for his own.

Tomorrow, as always, the journey would continue. And so would his quiet, hopeful search.

The next island wasn’t anything special. Just another bustling port town in the Grand Line, all unkept docks and worn signs, the sea air thick with noise and life. The streets pulsed with the energy of sailors, traders, and islanders all packed together in the humid, salty evening, laughter spilling out of alleyways and half-lit windows. Law, ever careful, kept his presence quiet. He had a knack for passing through places without leaving much of a trace, and he preferred it that way. It was a habit born from necessity, but also a taste for solitude. Not just from the chaos and danger of the Grand Line, but sometimes even from the relentless company of his own crew. He valued them, of course. Trusted them more than nearly anyone he’d met in his life. But after weeks at sea, even the best crew could become an annoying kind of noise.

Now and then, he craved a moment where he could be invisible, where no one expected anything from him and he could simply observe, unburdened and at ease. Tonight, as he wandered through the town’s busiest street, drawn by shifting shadows and the hum of life leaking from a rickety, yellow-lit bar, he felt something unusual stir in him. Something like curiosity, or perhaps the promise of a new distraction.

He paused just outside the doorway, letting the scent of ale and stir fried food settle over him. Instinct made him wary. Even from here, something about the place felt off. The bar was packed- rowdy, reckless, raucous, but the sound of it didn’t spill into the street. The laughter, the shouts, the crash of a mug: all of it was gone, as if the night itself had greedily swallowed it up. The only voices drifting out were the calm, measured tones of a handful of elderly locals near the window, quietly sipping coffee, somehow untouched by the riot of revelry at their backs. The hush made the hair on Law’s neck prickle, his mind sharpening as he scanned for the source.

His gaze found you almost at once.

You sat a little apart, close to the old folks, a half-empty mug at your elbow and a journal open beside it. When you weren’t answering a gentle question or laughing quietly with the elders, you spun a knife around your fingers, moving with a grace that spoke of years of habit. Every flick of your wrist was casual and unhurried, as if the blade was just another extension of your hand. The bar’s noise folded before you, contained, never escaping the space you’d made in silence.

Law slipped inside, deliberate in his movement, and claimed a seat in the shadowed corner, just outside the strange but familiar hush of your bubble. Setting his nodachi carefully aside. When the waitress drifted over, he ordered without looking at the menu, voice low, smooth and even, already more focused on observing than blending in. He settled in, content to watch and wait, letting the moment unfold around him as it pleased.

The more he watched, the more he noticed the knife glinting in the low light, the precise, playful twirl with each rotation, the comfort you showed with the elders, who seemed to treat you as one of their own. Every so often, you’d pause to jot something in your journal, the pen moving with quick and assured strokes. It was a scene of contrast; chaos expertly tamed, and life quietly unfolding, all within the boundaries of your measured silence.

At first glance, nothing about you reminded him of Corazon. Your posture was poised, your presence sharp, your eyes bright with a kind of self-assured mischief that spoke to experience. You didn’t move with Corazon’s awkward kindness. You weren’t scattered. You were perfectly in control. Of the fruit’s power, of yourself and of this very moment. There was a confidence about you, almost effortless, that made it impossible for Law to look away. For a long moment, he simply observed, the familiar tug of curiosity stirring in his chest, mingled with something softer and harder to name.

And then, for a single heartbeat, you looked right at him.

Your gaze was focused, as if you’d known he was there from the moment he entered. There was a silent strength behind your eyes, a calm certainty he recognized from countless battles and too many nights reading the truth in people’s faces. Law felt his heart thud, unexpectedly caught by the quiet, razor-sharp acknowledgment in your eyes. A meeting of observation Haki that needed no words. When you turned back to your drink, answering another comment from the elders, he realized you must have noticed him with that same surgical precision. It left him more than a little impressed.

He watched you finish your conversation, unable to resist a crooked half-smirk as you drank the last of your beverage and stood to leave. In the same motion, you released your Devil Fruit’s hold on the bar, just as quietly as you’d set it. The riot of the crowd rushed back all at once, wild and oblivious, the room returning to its former storm of sound. No one else seemed to notice the change. But he and the elders did. And when you nearly stumbled on the uneven stone at the threshold, catching yourself with a twist of your wrist and a soft, self-effacing laugh, Law felt a strange warmth stir in his chest. Nostalgia, and something else, too.

He watched as you slipped into the night, knife tucked away and journal under your arm, moving with that same unhurried assurance as before. For a moment, Law lingered in the bar, taking a thoughtful sip, watching the space you’d left behind, the imprint of your presence still vivid in his mind. It was impossible not to think of Corazon, yet you were nothing like him. And perhaps that was what drew Law in all the more. Something new, something sharper, stirring in his chest. And not just for the fruit anymore.

For the first time in a long while, Law felt the beginning of something dangerously close to longing. And this time, it wasn’t entirely for the past. It was for the stranger who had commanded a room with silence and left him behind in the ruckus, wanting more.

[theirishspacehoodie]

Read to Me

A hector smut fic. For my pookie @unpickel

NSFW MDNI

You had asked Hector to read more of his erotica to you. He, of course, happily complied and honestly was a little ecstatic to read more of it to you. He wasn't aware that you had a plan this time. You didn't either until the thought came up right after asking him. 

You laid back on your bed, back against your headboard, staring up at the voice coming from your vent. Whenever he would look at you, you could hear his voice pitch a bit before quickly returning to that deeper, raspy voice he wore.

At one point he began to speak off memory, watching you instead as you begun to slide your hand underneath the clothing that is your pants. Watching as your hand fidgeted behind the fabric. Oh he wanted to see so badly what hid behind the clothing you wore, but now wasn't the time. It was the time to tell you how he imagines running his hands on your body. How he sees your body react to when he plays with the temperature. 

He had drifted off to his thoughts. Picturing the beauty that laid behind the fabric of your clothing. Of how he would cherish your form. The way he would kiss your skin. The way he'd hold you. He wants to be the reason behind those sounds you make whenever its late at night. Goodness the things he would do to hear you call his name while he does everything possible to make you feel good.

"Hector~" Oh its like he can hear it now.

"Hector" He feels like he's about to finish from his thoughts alone.

"Hector!" He's brought out of his thoughts. Met with your face on the other side of the grate.

He shuffles back a bit, very much not wanting you to see how red his skin has become. My he's embarrassed, did he stop talking? Oh did he ruin this??

"Hector, I'm going to come up to the attic, okay?" Before he could even answer you were off.

Oh no you can't see him like this. His erection twitches against his metallic like pants at the thought of you seeing him in this state. It's not that he doesn't want you to, its that he's just wasn't ready yet. This wasn't supposed to happen yet.

Not that it matters as you're already up in the attic. Your hands running along the HVAC unit as you wait for him. Ooo~ can he feel your touch. The ghost of your hands warm on his metal. He shivers as he begins to make his way through the vents, up to where you're currently sitting.

He speaks to you from inside the unit, waiting until he has recollected himself before exiting the system.

"Hector- are you okay?" You question from outside of the unit. Sitting on the floor of the attic, back pressed against one of the doors.

"Y-yes my love. I'm quite alright. I'm sorry that I stopped. I uh- got distracted is all." He leaned against the same door as you, backs separated by the metal.

"Could you continue please?" You picked up on the change in his voice It's more average sounding now, missing that deep tone and rasp he almost always wore, less muffled as well. You notice he sounds much more anxious.

"Oh uh- Yes, right away." He scrambles to find some of his writings. Grabbing some papers he had stashed in the corner of the unit.

He began to read again. Quickly putting back on the voice he uses in the vents when speaking with you. This story different then the last. More about how he imagines you touch would feel on his skin- well metal.

You interrupt. "Can you, come out here and read? I just want to sit next to you while you do."

He hesitates.

"I could hear your voice better too. It's um, to muffled in there." You added. A lie to be truthful, but you really wanted him to come out. You're not quite sure why he didn't anyways. Normally when you're in the attic he comes out to see you.

"Alright- I don't see why not." He sighs before opening the door that was not being leaned on. He crawled out, shutting the door again before leaning against it. Sitting next to you as well. The papers still in his hands.

Without looking at you, he cleared his throat and began reading again. Before you knew it, your plan finally started to come together. Of course you wanted him to read to you, but you wanted to mess with him while he did. And you can't do that with him in the vents.

As he read, your hands found a place on his leg. Resting along the cool metal-like material of his pants. You laid your head on the boxy tin-like shirt he wore. You sat there, running a hand up and down his leg closest to you. Listening as his breath would hitch and he would pause shortly whenever your hand grew close to his inner thigh.

You built up some confidence, and with that confidence you placed a hand on top of his crotch. Applying just a enough pressure to get a mewl from him. He stopped reading for sure now. Eyes quickly finding your face as he wasn't expecting the sudden motions from you. Hiding partially into the cone like part of his shirt. It reminded you of a turtleneck almost.

Once locating the zipper to his pants, you undid it slowly. Running a hand through the opening to get a better feeling of him.

"Well don't stop now. Keep reading my love."

He audibly let out a gulp. Scrambling to compose himself. He held his papers in one had as he did his best to continue reading.

As he attempted to read you toyed with him more. Palming him through the fabric of his underwear. He'd let out gasps and moans whenever you'd apply just the right amount of pressure. Trying his best to hide away in the cone like part of his clothing.

He stopped reading again after you pulled him out of his bottoms entirely. His knees falling to the side as if to give you more access to himself. He'd put an arm around you, resting it on your hip. Squeezing in return whenever you squeezed him ever so slightly.

You had sat up a bit, your body facing toward him. You leaned forward, face so close to his ear.

"Keep reading" You demanded of him. Oh he enjoyed that. His member jumping in your hand when you spoke.

He tried to keep reading, he really did. But he became a mess so very quickly once you started to pump his length. The feeling of your hand on somewhere so private to him drove him crazy. Your hands were so warm, so soft and smooth, so gentle with him.

All you could really hear from him was a bunch of half spoken words and sentences littered with moans and whimpers in between. He may not admit it, but he's sure he wrote about this fantasy at one point.

It wasn't very long before he drew close to his release. As he did his hips started to buck into your hand. He became a bit louder. The papers he was holding had fell. Scattered onto the floor. His hand holding onto the conelike part of his top. Covering as much of his face as he could as he shied away from you.

"Look at me love" Your free hand on his shoulder, face scanning his.

He mindlessly turned his face to meet yours. Wanting to listen, as he's always said. He lives to please you. Your wish is his command.

Once his eyes met yours, he finished. After a loud, quite guttural moan escaped from him, he became a panting mess as he came down. Your hand still working him through his orgasm. Soft kiss peppering his forehead as you lean up to him.

When his mind returned from being foggy, he tried to apologize. You didn't understand what for, but he believed he needed to. You cut him short when you leaned over and started lapping up the mess he had made. You made sure that when cleaning off your own hand, to make sure to hold eye contact with him. Watching as he flushed a deep shade of red as he watched you lick up him own fluids off of your hand. He about came again right there.

You covered his face in kisses after. Pecks being left everywhere you could. The temperature of the room becoming increasingly apparent as the heat started to cause you to sweat.

Goodness you got him quiet worked up. He's swears to himself he'll make it up to you. Once he calms down though. He wouldn't be of much service in the state he is in currently.

[elisysd]

Prologue

Summary :

A champion in the spotlight, a man hidden behind his own walls — Max Verstappen is more than just an impressive list of victories. And Katherine? She’s not chasing fame. She’s after what people try to bury. She doesn’t have time for cocky drivers or ego games. She’s loved. She’s lost. She’s learned how to stand on her own, camera in hand and memories etched deep under her skin. This job was never meant to be more than a quick fix. A detour. Nothing else.

But when glances linger, when silence speaks louder than words, and the cracks start to show — something unexpected slips in. A spark. A tension. A fault line.

Between a sleepless night, a ghost from the past, and a moment that should’ve meant nothing, they’ll each have to choose: run from it, or face what stirs when the masks come off.

Masterlist - Next

March 2018 — Brussels

The steady beep of the machine soothes her. A reminder that he’s alive — at least partially. He’s here, but not really. He belongs to her, but only halfway. She belongs to him, but no longer forever. She knows it, yet refuses to fully face the truth. A tear rolls down her cheek, sliding along her neck. She doesn’t bother hiding it. She takes the man’s hand in hers, intertwines their fingers, and the sparkling diamond catches the last rays of the setting sun she’s watching.

She remembers everything: the walk in the park, their bursts of laughter, his teasing about his desire to see life through a camera lens just like she did, his compliments when he said she was perfect, then that knee on the ground — the question she’d dreamed of hearing from his lips. She didn’t hesitate. He was the love of her life.

And just when she thought life couldn’t get any sweeter, he was torn away. Just like that, suddenly.

She feels a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.

“Katherine… you need to let him go… it’s been months…”

She doesn’t know what to say. Her breath catches in her throat, tears threatening to fall. She refuses to believe it. He’s all she’s ever known. High school love. Her best friend. Her everything.

“I… I don’t want to…” she whispers, her voice breaking.

“I know… he’s my son, too. I never thought I’d have to make a choice like this,” his mother fights the emotion tightening her voice. “He’s so young.”

“We had our whole lives ahead of us.”

“You still do. You’re only twenty, Katherine…”

“But what’s the point of a life without him? It’s worthless.”

“He wouldn’t want you to think that.”

“My fiancé is going to die tonight.”

It’s the first time Kat says those words aloud. A strange mix of relief and guilt floods her. Relief because she’s finally facing the truth. Guilt because she feels like she’s betraying him.

“Till death do us part,” they say. She never imagined death would come so soon.

Suddenly, the white walls of the room feel too tight, the air too thin. She needs to get out. To escape. To be anywhere but here.

“Sorry…” she whispers, as her legs carry her out of the room.

Tears blur her vision, but she doesn’t care. She needs air. She pays no attention to her steps and bumps into a solid chest, staggering from the impact. Two hands catch her, steady her. She looks up and sees a blond man, probably her age.

“You okay?” he asks, out of simple politeness.

“Sorry…” she repeats, as if it’s the only sentence she’s managed to say lately. Then she walks away, leaving the boy frozen, struck as if by lightning.

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Author's note : Hello dear readers, it's been a while but I'm back with this story I'mvery excited to share. It's only the prologue but I'm delighted to say that you will be able to discover the first real chapter just after tomorrow's race. I hope you will love Max and Kat's story as much as I do and without giving away anything it's gonna be an emotional ride.

Don't hesitate to leave a comment or an ask, as well as reblogging and leaving a like. Besides the fact that I absolutely love to read you, it helps a lot for the story to find its audience.

taglist : @teamnovalak

If you'd like to be included in the tag list, please let me know!

[humanitysstrongestsoldier1]

𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝟏 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝟐? | 𝑌. 𝐾𝐸𝐸𝐻𝑂 & 𝑌𝐸𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑁 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bestfriend!yechan & bsfolderbro!keeho x reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, fluff

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: "I met two [boys] in this club tonight. Tryna figure out which one I like." - DC The Don, GET NAKED

—————

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): nsfw, smut (threesome, voyeurism, mild degradation, praise, oral m. & f. rec, fingering, unprotected piv sex, masturbation), drinking, NO incest cuz ew wtf

𝐀/𝐍: i'm surprised there is not that many ffs of the yoon brothers together on here, they might be a bit ooc but who cares its fanFICTION for a reason

You’ve known Yechan since middle school, long enough for him to memorize the way your voice deepens when you get bored, or how you stare off into space when you're maladaptive daydreaming. You’re best friends. At least, that’s what you tell people when they ask why he’s always touching your waist or why you steal his hoodies like they’re yours.

But the truth is, friendship never really quite covered it.

There’s always been something simmering just under the surface. With glances that linger too long, late-night calls that stretch past the point of casual, touches that aren’t quite ‘friend-like.’ And for a while, that was enough for you.

But then came Keeho.

At first, he was just Yechan’s older brother; a presence in the background. Charming, loud, always joking but lately, he’s been different around you. His teasing has shifted, his eyes lingering just a little longer than they used to.

And it does something to you.

Because if Yechan is the epitome of comfort, safety and love then Keeho is the complete opposite. He is heat, pressure, lust and gravity.

You didn’t expect to be drawn to both but now you're standing at the edge of something you don’t fully understand. Wanting two people who are already too close, whose blood ties should make this impossible.

You weren’t planning to go. Parties were never the scene for your introverted self but Yechan had asked, all playful smiles and soft eyes, the way he always is when he wants something.

“It’ll be chill,” he promised. “Just come for me?”

So you did.

And for a while, it really is chill. You hang back, sipping on something too sweet, watching him move through the crowd, saying hi to everyone who came to his house. You stay in your little corner, hidden from everyone and turning down every man or woman who tries to hit on you. But it is getting a little boring, and Seokjoon always knows how to make things better. So when he leans in to whisper in your ear about something funny Dogyun did, you can't help but relax and fall into the rhythm of comfort. That is until you make eye contact with Yechan—who is now marching over looking…angry? 

No…jealous.

“Hey Seokjoon, can I borrow Y/N for a moment?” He yells over the loud music.

Seokjoon groans, “Oh come on man I was just getting to the good part, but fine take the pretty girl.”

Yechan pulls you into the hallway, away from the noise, his hand tight around your wrist. His eyes are darker now, and when he leans in, you stop breathing.

“You’ve been driving me insane,” he murmurs, and before you can ask what he means, his mouth is on yours.

Final-fucking-ly.

It’s nothing like you imagined. It’s better.

Hungry, desperate, like he’s been holding back for years and just broke. His hands grip your hips. You melt into it and he groans against your lips, pushing you back against the wall.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he says, kissing down your jaw. “Always looking at me like that… walking around like you’re not mine. And then teasing me by leaning into Seokjoon? I should have done this years ago.”

You’re dizzy with it, your hands in his hair, his mouth on your neck.

And then you see him. Across the room, standing near the kitchen.

Keeho.

His eyes are locked on yours and in his hand is a lowball glass which he slowly, deliberately clenches until it shatters. Glass shards hit the floor and blood beads at his knuckles but he doesn’t look away, he doesn't even flinch.

You freeze. Yechan doesn’t notice because he’s too lost in you, still pressing kisses to your collarbone but you can’t stop looking.

Keeho’s jaw is clenched and his stare is heavy. Something about the way he’s watching you makes your stomach twist; not with fear but with something much worse.

Want.

Yechan meets you at the door with a smile and a zip-up hoodie already in hand. “Knew you’d forget yours,” he teases, pulling you inside like always, like nothing’s changed.

Monthly sleepovers at each other's place is a must between you and Yechan. While you prefer his home due to the size of it and the cool layout of his room, he prefers your apartment which is more domestic and comforting. 

He leads you up the stairs, through the sleek, modern space, and into his world. Yechan’s room is the kind of place that makes you pause every time you walk in. Warm, moody lighting glows from low bedside lamps, casting soft halos against matte black walls. Large framed photographs hang with intentional symmetry, some abstract, some eerily cinematic, like stills from a noir film.

The bed dominates the space, it’s low, wide, draped in soft coffee-colored sheets and plush black pillows, the comforter rumpled like it’s always in use. The Michaelangelo plushie sits at the head of the bed, a gift you got him years ago. A thick fur-like rug spreads across the marble floor, sinking beneath your feet with every step. The staircase cuts diagonally through the room, leading to a mezzanine level above where more books, a second bed and bathroom, and personal touches are tucked away. There is a TV mounted on the wall in front of his bed.

Yechan flops onto the bed, patting the spot beside him. “You want snacks, or are you coming here first?”

You toss your bag to the floor and dive on top of him without hesitation, landing with a soft thud across his chest.

He groans dramatically at the full weight of you. “Ugh! Why are you built like a brick shithouse?”

You just grin. “Shut up, you love it.”

He retaliates immediately, hands finding your sides to tickle without mercy, and you shriek, squirming and laughing as you try to wiggle out of his grip.

“Yechan—stop—I swear to god!”

He finally relents, both of you breathless with laughter and you collapse beside him, head falling onto the pillow, still giggling. He turns to face you, smile softening, his hand coming up to gently fix a strand of hair that fell across your face.

“What do you wanna watch?” he asks, voice low now but still playful.

“Dune: Part Two,” you reply immediately.

He snorts. “Pfft. Nerd.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Hoe last time I sat through two back-to-back Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle movies, Tokyo Drift and White Chicks with you. You better sit yo ass down and watch some peak science fiction.”

Yechan breaks into a full grin, eyes crinkling. “Fine, fine. Get comfy.”

He grabs the remote and starts queuing up the movie, arm draping casually around your shoulder like muscle memory. You lean into him, cheek resting against the warm plane of his chest. His fingers trail lazily up and down your arm while the opening credits roll, slow and soothing. At some point, he shifts to press a kiss to the top of your head.

The movie plays on, but his attention flickers between the screen and you. At one point, you shift to lie fully against his chest, blanket wrapped around both of you now. His fingers trace little circles along your spine.

And when the movie comes to an end, you rise up and stretch your arms out like a cat. Yechan watches you from where he’s sprawled back against the pillows, one arm tucked under his head.

“You gon’ change or just lounge in jeans all night?” he asks, eyes flicking up to yours. “Not that I mind.”

You roll your eyes, heat rising to your cheeks. “I brought stuff to sleep in.”

“Mm-hmm. Wanna gimme a show?” His lips curve into a teasing grin.

“Timothy, you better get your stanky ass in the shower before I whoop you. Laying on your bed after working out—nasty ass.”

He cackles and grabs his towel, heading to the main bathroom for a shower.

You ignore the way his words make your stomach twist, grabbing your overnight clothes and disappearing into the second bathroom upstairs in the mezzanine.

You pull out the “sleepwear” you packed. Soft dark purple lingerie, sheer in the right places, lacy in the dangerous ones. After the heated kiss you two shared, you and Yechan didn’t shy away from getting closer, so you wanted to push the boundaries of intimacy. And tonight was the night.

Your fingers tremble just slightly as you slip into it, pulling the hoodie back on over the top and zipping it, it lands just above your knees due to Yechan’s love for oversize clothes. You look like you're comfortable, safe, homey. 

But under that hoodie, you’re bait.

You go back downstairs, put your jeans and shirt in your backpack and flop onto Yechan’s bed, lazily scrolling on tiktok and waiting for the water to stop running. And when it does, your plan begins.

You wait until you hear the clang of Yechan’s skin care hitting the stand and your hands go to the zipper. One tug, then another. The hoodie is completely unzipped but still hangs on your body. You’re just in the lingerie now, skin bare under the soft room light, your heart pounding harder than it should.

A soft click. You freeze and the door creaks open behind you. You whip around.

Keeho shuts the door softly—too softly. You spin on your heel, instinct kicking in, arms barely moving to cover yourself when you see him. One hand still on the knob, the other slips into his pocket. His gaze drops, slow and shameless, tracing every inch of your body in that sheer purple lace.

“Keeho—” you choke out, voice barely more than a breath.

His lips twitch. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“I—Yechan’s in the shower—he’s gonna be out soon,” you stammer, trying to break the heated tension.

Keeho steps in further, door clicking shut behind him. “Hmm.” His eyes lift to yours, dark and unreadable. “Figured I’d come say goodnight.”

You stare at him, frozen between instinct and indecision. “You can’t just come in here—”

“Why not?” he asks, quiet now. “It’s my brother’s room is it not?”

Your breath catches. You try to back up, but there’s nowhere to go, just the bed behind your knees and him in front of you, every step pulling the air from your lungs.

“I saw the way you kissed him,” Keeho says, stepping closer. “Saw the way you let him touch you like he owned you.”

You swallow hard. “He doesn’t—”

“No?” Keeho smirks, gaze flashing. “Then why do you look at me the same way?”

You gasp and that’s when he grabs you. His hand closes around your waist, pulling you against him. Your body reacts before your mind can, lips parting, heat blooming between your thighs.

“Keeho, stop, what are you doing—?”

His mouth finds your neck, hot, fast and hungry. “I don’t give a fuck if you’re his,” he murmurs against your skin. “Not when you want me too.”

You push at his chest, half-heartedly. “Yechan—he’ll—”

“Let him watch,” Keeho growls, backing you toward the bed. “Maybe then he’ll understand you’re not his alone.”

He sits on the edge and tugs you between his legs, hands sliding up your thighs. His fingers graze the hem of your lace panties, curling around your hips as he kisses down your stomach.

“You’re shaking,” he mutters, lips brushing the waistband. “That for me?”

You’re about to say something — anything — until a presence looms behind you, hot and heavy.

It’s Yechan. Towel slung low on his hips, his body still damp from the shower, jaw tight, eyes locked on yours. He doesn’t look surprised, he doesn't even look angry.

“…You gon tell me to leave now?”

Keeho glances behind you, grinning. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

Yechan pulls you away from Keeho and turns you around to face him.

“I don’t,” he says softly. “Not if she wants both of us.”

“I—” you stammer.

Yechan closes the distance and brushes his fingers along your jaw. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at him?”

Keeho’s hands slide over your hips again from behind. “Why have one,” he murmurs, voice dark, possessive, “when you can have two?”

You’re trembling between them now about to say something but Yechan kisses you and Keeho takes your shoulder, biting softly down your neck. The hoodie hits the floor completely. You try to cover yourself under the heat of their eyes but Keeho stops you. 

He circles you and Yechan takes his place behind you.

“Don’t be shy now,” Keeho murmurs, eyes flicking down to the lacy set barely covering you. “You wore this for him, huh?” He glances at Yechan over your shoulder. “You didn’t tell me she was this eager.”

Yechan’s hands curl around your waist. His voice is calm, but there’s something hungry in it. “I was gonna take my time with her… but I think she wants to be ruined tonight.”

Keeho lets out a low chuckle, the sound rolling through you like smoke. “She definitely does.”

You shake your head, breathless. “I wasn’t expecting… I don’t—”

“You don’t what?” Keeho leans closer, brushing his lips against yours without touching. “Want us?”

Yechan's lips press to your shoulder, slow and warm. “You can say no. We’ll stop.”

But you don’t say no.

You can’t.

Because your body’s already betraying you — heat flooding your core, thighs pressing together.

Keeho steps in again, pulling your head towards him, mouth crashing onto yours this time. It’s all tongue and teeth, bruising and possessive. His hand cups your jaw, angling you just the way he wants. Yechan's mouth is on your neck now, leaving soft open-mouthed kisses as his hands trail down to your thighs. You’re shaking, overwhelmed, breathless and most importantly drenched.

“Shit,” Yechan whispers, slipping a hand beneath your panties. “You’re soaked already?”

Keeho chuckles. “Such a slut for us. And we haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

You whimper, head tilting back against Yechan’s shoulder. “Please…”

“Oh?” Keeho grins darkly. “Please what?”

You whine, words tangled in your throat.

Yechan bites gently at your earlobe. “Don’t play dumb, baby. You wore that little set for me, but you wanted him to see it too, didn’t you?”

Your silence is the answer.

Keeho drops to his knees in front of you, dragging your panties down in one fluid motion. His mouth is on you, tongue lapping up your arousal, taking in every drop. He groans like he’s starved for it, eating you out like you’re his favorite thing in the world. You cry out, hips jerking backwards, but Yechan’s arms wrap around you from behind, holding you still.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he breathes. “Not until you cum all over his face.”

Keeho smirks up at you, licking a stripe through your folds, sharp nose brushing your clit. “Come on, princess. Let go for me.”

It doesn’t take long. Your legs are shaking, hands grasping at Yechan’s arms, head thrown back into his shoulder as your orgasm crashes through you like a wave.

But they don’t stop.

Keeho groans against you, tongue flicking faster now, and Yechan’s hand slides up your body to cup your breast through the lacey material.

Yechan just smirks from behind you, keeping you pinned against his chest, his towel dropped and you can feel his length pressing into your back. He’s letting Keeho go first this time, watching, waiting, palming himself slowly.

“She’s sensitive,” Yechan murmurs.

Keeho glances up from between your thighs, his mouth slick. “Good.” He thrusts two fingers inside you without warning and you cry out, body arching.

Yechan chuckles against your skin. “She looks so fucked out already… look at her.”

But his hands don’t stop moving, his fingers dipping between your legs, spreading you out to see how his brother is ruining you—his best friend.

Keeho watches too, licking his lips. “Fuckk look at that.”

Yechan unhooks your bra from behind and throws it to some random corner of his room, before teasing your sensitive nipples, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. “You like being used by us, don’t you, baby?”

You nod because it’s true, and you can’t hide it anymore.

“She can’t even talk,” Keeho says, grinning. “Oh, you don’t wanna work for it, huh?” His fingers curl just right and your back arches off Yechan’s chest. “You’re a lil pillow princess, aren’t you?”

Yechan grabs your chin, forcing your dazed gaze to meet his. “What do you say, Keeho? Should we give our princess what she needs?”

He pulls his fingers out and sucks them clean with a groan. “She’s not getting a choice after teasing us with her little stunt.”

Keeho flips you over before you can protest; face down, ass up, barely breathing between gasps. You feel his hand on your back, holding you in place.

“You’re gonna take both of us tonight,” Keeho murmurs. “You’re gonna beg for it.���

Yechan is kneeling in front of you on the massive bed, he brushes your hair back gently, voice soft but commanding nonetheless. “Look at me. He’s right, Y/N. Beg.”

You meet his eyes, glassy and wrecked. “Please, Yechan… Keeho… fuck me. I’ll be good, I’ll do anything, just—please—”

Keeho slams into you in one hard stroke, the stretch makes your eyes roll back in ecstasy, he’s so fucking thick and he’s in you so deep.

“Feel that?” he growls into your ear. “That’s what you do to me. All this time I’ve wanted to wreck this sweet pussy.”

Yechan strokes himself in front of your face. “You gonna suck me off like a good girl while my brother fucks you?”

Your eyes flutter and you nod.

“Words,” Yechan says, thumb brushing your lower lip.

“Yes. Please.”

He smiles. “There’s my pretty thing.”

You open your mouth for him, and Yechan groans when you wrap your lips around his tip. Keeho thrusts deep at the same time, and the mix of fullness and heat is almost too much. 

Yechan slides in, groaning when you gag around him. His hands cradle your face as he rocks into your throat, slow but firm. “Good girl… just like that… fuck, who knew my timid little friend could do this.”

“You like this, baby?” Keeho snarls. “Like being passed between brothers like a perfect little toy?”

You whimper around Yechan’s cock.

“Let her answer,” he says. “She needs to say it.”

He pulls out from your mouth. “I love it,” you gasp. “I love it—I want both of you—don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

Keeho grips your hips tighter, snapping into you harder, faster, the sound of skin on skin obscene in the room. You’re shaking again, tears streaming down your cheeks from how full and how overwhelmed you are.

And they love it.

Keeho groans behind you and reaches down, circling your clit. “That’s it. That’s our girl.”

“Cum for us, baby,” Yechan says, stroking your cheek.

And you do. Harder than before. Loud, sobbing, body convulsing between them as waves of pleasure rip through you. Keeho follows with a growl, spilling inside you with a brutal thrust. Yechan doesn’t even wait — he grabs your face, shoves his cock back between your lips, and finishes in your mouth with a broken moan, his release coating your tongue.

Yechan pulls out from your mouth, panting, eyes dark. “Switch.”

Keeho smirks. “She can barely move.”

“I was nice enough to let her have you first, she's my best friend Keeho, remember that.”

Your eyes flutter open. You nod, barely conscious, but completely needy. “Yechan please, I need you, I've been needing you.”

Yechan doesn't waste a second and moves Keeho away from between your legs and flips you over so that you're face-to-face with him.

“I wanna see my pretty girl’s face when fuck her.” He says, while pushing your knees up to your chest. He looks at your fucked out pussy and nearly busts at the sight of yours and his brothers cum seeping out.

Keeho kneels next to you, already hard, already leaking. “God, just fuck her already, she’s writhing for you.”

Yechan laughs and presses a thumb against your clit and you arch, fists clenching into his sheets. “She’s been writing for me for years, what's just a couple minutes more.”

“Yoon Timothy Yechan, I swear on all the damn gods out there if you dont fuck me right now I will strangle you with the Michaelangelo plushie behind me.”

Yechan laughs before grabbing your outer thighs, lining himself up. And then he’s pushing into you and your body arches like it’s been starved for him. He doesn’t rush it, he doesn't thrust hard. He sinks into you, like he wants you to feel every inch, memorize every second.

“You feel that?” he whispers. “That’s me. Only me.”

You nod frantically. “Yechan—fuck—”

He starts to move, hips rolling into you with love, every stroke slow and deep and devastating. His hand finds yours and threads your fingers together, pressing them into the mattress beside your head.

“You’re everything to me,” he breathes.  “Always have been. Ever since we were kids.”

Your eyes flutter open, wide and watery. “Me too. Yechan, I—”

He kisses you before you can say it. Mouth hot, a little desperate, he’s trying to pour everything into you in one breath. His thrusts get rougher then, less patient.

Keeho is still watching silently. Eyes locked on where your bodies are joined. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t interrupt, he just strokes himself with slow, lazy precision, he’s content watching you unravel.

Yechan grips your thigh, pushing it up so he can get even deeper. “Fuck, baby. You take me so well.”

You nod, sobbing out moans. “Yes, Yechan please, dont fucking stop~”

“You want to cum?”

“Please!”

“Then cum. Let Keeho see how pretty you are when you break for me.”

The moment his thumb brushes your clit, you shatter.

Your body convulses beneath him, back arching off the bed as your climax bursts through you with enough force to leave you crying. Your fingers claw at the sheets, his shoulders, his back, your lips trembling as you whimper his name over and over again.

Yechan groans, losing rhythm. “Fuckk you’re milking me baby.”

He slams into you one last time and buries himself deep, spilling inside you with a broken moan, his name on your lips and love in every gasp. When he finally stills, his forehead drops to your shoulder. You lie there, both of you panting, trembling in each other’s arms.

Keeho exhales a quiet, “Shit,” from next to you. His hand is covered in his seed, the sight of you being fucked by his brother was enough to get him off, and you looked so pretty doing it too.

Yechan pulls out slowly, and you whimper from the oversensitivity. He immediately presses a kiss to your hip, to your stomach, to your chest, soothing you.

You don’t even know how long you lie there afterward. Your body is trembling, glowing, spent. Your skin still sings from every kiss, every bite, every place their hands held you down, held you close.

Yechan’s bed is a mess; tangled sheets, kicked pillows. One of your thighs is still twitching involuntarily as your breathing finally begins to steady. You're lying between them, chest rising and falling, your cheek pressed against the lean stretch of Yechan’s shoulder, one hand tangled loosely with his under the covers.

Keeho’s fingers are softly combing through your hair from behind, slow and rhythmic, as if he's lulling you back to earth. His touch is nothing like how he was just moments ago. Now, he’s quiet, gentle, and focused on you.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low.

You nod, looking back at him. He offers a soft smile. “Good.”

Yechan shifts beside you, pulling the blanket up higher over your bare chest. He presses a kiss to your temple, his hand resting protectively on your waist. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he murmurs, it’s the easiest truth he’s ever said.

You hum, flushed and wordless, still floating in the afterglow.

Keeho lets out a breath of a laugh, brushing a knuckle along your cheek. "I think we broke her.”

Yechan chuckles. “You’re one to talk, you broke before she did. You were already losing your mind watching her in my hoodie before we even touched her.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t take her right then,” Keeho mutters, but he’s smiling, tender despite the bite in his words. He leans in and kisses your shoulder gently, letting his lips linger. “Did so good for us, baby.”

Your body curls instinctively into the praise. Yechan reaches for the water bottle on the nightstand and offers it to you, helping you sit up just enough to drink. You blink at him, grateful, and he tucks a damp curl of hair behind your ear.

“We’ll clean you up in a minute,” he says. “Just rest for now.”

Keeho leans against the headboard, one arm draped lazily around your shoulders, and pulls you gently against his broad chest this time. His fingers find your waist, rubbing slow circles trying to memorize you in this softness.

“You’re ours now,” he says casually, like it’s a foregone conclusion. Like it’s always been this way.

You glance between the two of them. Yechan smiled like he’s known it forever. Keeho watches you with that hungry softness.

And maybe it’s the exhaustion, or the heat, or the comfort of their arms around you, but you don’t feel torn anymore.

You don’t have to figure out which one you like because they both claimed you.

And come on seriously, why have one when you can have two?

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: uhh yeah....my smut era goes crazy

GET 82Major OUT OF NUGUDOM PLSSSSS

yechan's insta post? he's wearing a damn cowboy hat..... *texan author is currently screeching*

bro 82Major was 20min away from me on the 12th for the houston stop, i was crashing out cuz i couldn't go

Here's some gifts: 🎁 🎁

[willelmikes]

hm. imagining nancy's vecna vision coming true. "he was just trying to scare you." maybe she let herself believe that for a little while. he was just trying to scare her, he was. make her vulnerable so that she couldn't fight back when she needed to. why would he target her family, anyway? what do they have that he needs so desperately?

and holly's just a little kid. henry was a little kid too, once, nancy saw it with her own eyes - he wouldn't. he wouldn't try it, would he? and he only targets teenagers. mike is a teenager but he can protect himself, she knows that. nancy can too. she can protect her mom and holly and they won't need to know. yes, they can suspect something is wrong, but nancy can't - she can't put that burden on them too. she can't let holly experience what she experienced. holly still has her innocence, her childhood. nancy can't snatch that away from her by telling her that monsters are real, actually, and she needs to be careful now. that would be cruel. nancy can protect her from a distance, and henry was just trying to scare her. she tells herself that, over and over. reassures herself at night when the nightmares get a little too realistic.

maybe she's gone for a few short hours. that can't hurt, can it? but she comes back and everything that henry showed her has come true. her dad is dead. her mom is bleeding out on their living room floor. holly is nowhere to be found and she swears, she fucking swears she was only gone for a few hours, she didn't think this would happen to them, they were supposed to be the exception - did she really believe that? why was she so fucking naive? how could she have been so self-centered that she thought that henry would come for her before her family? he literally showed this to her, beamed it into her head until she was pleading for mercy and couldn't take anymore, and she still didn't believe it until it happened. she knows what it feels like now, that loss. it is tangible and real and its emotional impact is so enormous that she can't move. now her house is soaked in blood and loss and there is nothing she can do. she was too late. she had her chance to stop it and she. was. too. late.

[tsarjozinzbazin]

sorry, joplittle mood today

[premamelody]

Despite your ask block rage...

DO DERG UZI X N!!!!!!

ask and u shall receive

[neurunique]

Ramattra & Mercy <3

more info on models and whatnot here (my deviant art)

[triglycercule]

mtt anniversary is on september 1st but i'm already having idess over here in january,,,,,,

[basaltbutch]

being a system is actually so weird. if you think about it.

[autism-corner]

save me.

[inquirenorth]

.

[webism]

pornstar!choso has a curated look that throws off a lot of his costars. strong build, straight-set face, hands made to choke and tear… most of those he film with don’t expect to be doted on the entire time.

people joke that pornstar!choso falls a little bit in love with every costar he fucks or gets fucked by. that glossy look that always pulls at his face by the time a scene ends, how his lip trembles with a need to be kissed raw when he cums. he says it's just the bliss of his orgasm—that he gets emotional in the moment, but it doesn't mean anything. well, until he meets you.

pornstar!choso who looks you up before his shoot because your name sounded vaguely familiar when it left his agents lips. he could have sworn you'd fucked before, because when he rolls the syllables of your name on his tongue they're nostalgic and taste like the sweat and laboured breaths of a long night between satin sheets. had you shot a scene together before? or had it been a one night stand?

pornstar!choso who realises that no, he hadn't slept with you before. but the familiarity of your name isn't a coincidence—he's fucked his fist to your videos more times than he can count. your name hits him like lightning, he had typed it into his search bar late in the night, cock hard and in need of instant relief. it's almost scary how well he knows you, what sounds you make when you get close to cumming, how you often arch your back and try to run from the overwhelming pleasure, how your eyebrows knit together when you're feeling so good it almost hurts.

pornstar!choso who realises with a now-red face that you probably don't have a clue who he is, and yet he's cum in time with you for months now. he's pretty sure he's drained his wallet at least twice on your cam shows... what if you recognise his name and piece it together with his username that he donates under? he debates cancelling the shoot, faking covid to get some time at home to hate himself endlessly.

but pornstar!choso realises that this is his chance to get to know how you really feel. he's imagined it so many times, as he fucked fake pussies or his closed fist using spit or his own cum as lube. you'd be warmer, undoubtedly tighter... so much prettier. and he wants to know more: would you prefer to take control and turn him into the toys he so often pretends are you? would you lay back all pretty and let him ruin you on his cock? how deep could you take him he knows he's big but you seem so eager, would you take him to the base with ease or would he have to force it in? bully your pretty pussy until it stretches to his shape?

pornstar!choso who hates the fact that your first, and possibly only, time together would be in front of a production crew and under the unsympathetic lights of a porn set. but he'd fuck on a stage in front of thousands if it means a taste of you.

pornstar!choso who makes it to the shoot before you do, comes ten minutes early to settle his anxieties and get a feel for the scene ahead. the director tells him its a simple shoot, that choso is meant to let you ride him for a while until you pull off and suck his cock for a nice close-up facial shot. the way the director speaks so clinically about sex with you makes choso grimace, he feels pathetic for feeling like this. like he'll be a changed man after feeling you around his cock, which is already painfully hard.

pornstar!choso who hates himself for stumbling over his words when he meets you. he wishes he had never looked you up, though he doesn't doubt seeing your pretty face like this would have wrecked his confidence regardless. you're kind, greet him with a shy smile as if he isn't about to slip balls deep inside of you.

pornstar!choso who, once he has you sitting on top of him on that bed—cameras pointed dutifully as you start to play your role and hike your skirt up so you can sink down on his cock—he can't handle the thought of fucking you like it's nothing, like it's not been the crux of his fantasies in the dark hours at night.

pornstar!choso who, probably to the detriment of his career, pushes you backwards onto the bed and connects his lips to yours in a kiss that surpasses every single fantasy he's had in his mind. you taste good, and he wants more. he speaks against your lips, asks whines a question that makes your stomach coil. 'can i eat you out first? please?'

pornstar!choso who is chided by the production team as he gets his head under your skirt and laps at your pussy in the most desperate act of need he thinks he's ever displayed. those that claim he falls in love with each shoot would be wholly correct in this case: he is in love with the taste of you, with the way your legs trap him in and ask for more. he could eat you for hours, run his tongue from your clit to dip it inside of you in reverence of the goddess he believes you to be. and you laugh at the absurdity of his hunger, at the courage it takes to run off script, and the pure need in which he eats you out.

pornstar!choso who only stops once the director threatens to cut the scene entirely. his cock hurts with how hard it is though, and he thinks the redirection of blood has made him lightheaded, because when he's made to sit back and let you sink down onto his length he swears he meets god.

pornstar!choso who can't help his whines as you ride him, an addiction already laying down roots in his brain. he has to try and think of anything less godly than you to hold on to his orgasm though, because the combination of your body and having subconsciously trained himself to associate you with climaxing is all too strong, and he's a hairs breadth away from cumming prematurely and ruining the scene.

pornstar!choso who realises as you continue, however, that your moans arent the same as he's heard them before, though the speakers of his phone. you're more breathy with him, your moans are less honeyed, more raw—as if coming from your chest rather than your throat. he wonders for a moment if he's not good enough, if you're having to fake your pleasure to save face for the cameras. but you're soaked, and even above the sounds of your shared pleasure he can still hear the squelch of his cock rutting in and out of you.

but before pornstar!choso can question himself further, your eyes are widening and you're latching a hand onto his throat as your pace increases. he can feel the way you tighten impossibly around him, the way your hips stutter and your pupils blow out with lust—you're cumming. and of course he remembers his instructions, to let you climb off of him and take his load over your face... but you're not climbing off of him.

pornstar!choso who understands the pointed look you manage to give him, that it's your turn to bypass the scene direction. you want to be greedy, to feel him finish inside of you, even through the confines of a condom. your moans arent fake, they're the first real ones you've let sound on a porn set—and choso is pulling them from your lungs like a choir's conductor.

pornstar!choso who can't last a minute longer, now with the way you lean in and coax him to climax with your voice, the soft praise that leaves your lips is an aphrodisiac and all too powerful. he sees stars when he cums, full blown galaxies too complex to imagine. call it an out-of-body experience or not, but choso is lost in his orgasm for long enough to warrant you bringing him back down with a soft kiss to his lips. he looks sinful: his hairs come loose, messy and stuck to his forehead. his eyes, though, are what's going to be the subject of a few screenshots taken by his fans: he looks totally infatuated.

pornstar!choso who, after taking a few minutes to settle himself after the shoot, watches as you walk over to him, a very pretty smile pulling at the corner of your lips before you lean down and peck his lips goodbye. he assumes it's the last he'll see of you, that there's no way he's worthy of every tasting you again. that night, he's scared to brush his teeth, to lose the way you linger on his tongue.

pornstar!choso who debates fucking his fist to the memory of you in bed that night. he thinks you've ruined masturbation for him, or sex in general: nothing could quite be the same. and as if its a sign from god that he's done enough good in his life to deserve some positive karma, his phone dings.

a photo of you, a pretty vibrator laid over your stomach. your laptop open in the background, his porn playing on the screen.

attached, a message that makes the poor boy cum in his pyjama bottoms. 'lets meet up again. i want to tie you up and film how stupid you get with a vibe strapped to your cock—a movie just for us, though. no audience.'

pt 2 in the works :p

[moonlightwritingf1]

A Love You Can’t Escape | LN4 | Masterlist

Status ━━━ On going

Summary ━━━ In a world where everyone is born with a soulmate mark, most people live their entire lives without ever finding the one person it binds them to. Some are lucky enough to discover their match in old age, often in their 70s or 80s. A blessed few find theirs early in life—and when they do, it’s considered a miracle. The universe offers no promises, only the mark itself.

Throughout all of recorded history, not a single person has ever rejected their soulmate. But Y/N believes she will be the first to be rejected.

When Y/N, a shy but fiercely guarded woman haunted by childhood trauma and deep insecurities, discovers that her soulmate is Lando Norris—one of the most famous, charming, and emotionally unreachable men she’s ever met—she makes a decision that changes everything. She tells no one. Not even him.

For fourteen months, she carries this devastating secret while Lando unknowingly breaks her heart over and over again. He flirts with other women in front of her, maintains ties with his ex-girlfriend, and treats Y/N with a casual cruelty that cuts deeper than he could ever imagine.

What Y/N doesn’t know is that Lando feels something too—something that unnerves and confuses him. So he buries it beneath sharp words and cold shoulders, lashes out, and pushes away the one person he can’t seem to get out of his head.

He feels the pull. He just doesn’t understand what it means.

Until one moment, by pure accident, he sees the mark on her body.

The universe stops.

Suddenly, the girl he’s spent over a year pushing away is no longer just another name in his orbit—she’s his. His soulmate. The one fate carved into him before he was ever born.

As realization crashes down on him, Lando finally understands why she always looked at him like he was both everything she wanted and everything she feared.

And Y/N—fragile, angry, and terrified—must face the one thing she’s spent months trying to avoid: the truth that he knows.

But the cruelest truth of all? She still doesn’t believe he could ever want her back.

Because while no one in history has ever rejected their soulmate, Y/N has spent her entire life being rejected by everyone else. And she’s convinced that not even cosmic destiny can make her worthy of love.

Pairing ━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

Overview:

soulmate AU

enemies to lovers trope

loads of angst

loads of sexual tension and frustration

fuck boy Lando

complicated relationship with emotionally abusive parents (Y/N)

hyper-independent and emotionally guarded Y/N

jealous Lando

“I don’t need anyone” Y/N vs “I’d give her everything” Lando

protective Lando once he finds out the truth

unrequited love (but not really)

Y/N hiding her trauma behind success and control

slow burn

Y/N putting up walls Lando desperately tries to break through

yearning and longing

smut (at some point)

mutual pining

idiots fighting fate (mostly Y/N)

Lando falling first and harder

touch-starved but terrified Y/N

moments of softness that wreck them both

“I’m not good enough for you” trope

Each chapter contains its own content warnings.

Chapter 1: Fight

| 10.9k | Summary: A brutal fight erupts between Y/N and Lando at a friends' gathering, where he unknowingly destroys his soulmate in a way no one thought possible. His attack confirms every fear she’s carried alone for years, shattering the last piece of hope she had. That night, overwhelmed by heartbreak and years of buried trauma, Y/N suffers a panic attack more severe than anything she’s ever experienced.

Chapter 2: Breaking

| 4.8k | Summary: After the fight with Y/N, Lando is left reeling in guilt and self-loathing, realizing too late that his cruelty came from fear of how deeply he cared for her. Meanwhile, Y/N suffers a severe panic attack and is hospitalized, feeling irreparably broken and unloved. 

Chapter 3

Coming soon...

[fleurbly]

THE MAN IN THE WOODS

summary: a quiet walk home turns dark when the man who’s been watching finally steps out — blood on his hands, your name on his lips, and no plan to ever let you go.

warnings: non-con (subtle/psychological themes), dub-con, obsessive behaviour, stalking, violence/gore, murder/s, possessive character, blood, threats/intimadation, breeding kink

pairing: dark!remmick x reader 

w/c: 11k+

DNI IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO TAGS, AND ARE UNDER 18

The Mississippi heat was sticking to you in a way that felt like it was just part of you now, like you couldn’t really shake it off. Thick, heavy, like the whole air was holding its breath. You were used to it by now, but that didn’t mean it didn’t get to you some days — like today, when the sweat was rolling down your back, and your dress felt like it was clinging to you like a second skin. It had a way of making everything slow down. You could feel it in the way the hours dragged by. Nothing moved fast when it was this hot, not even the wind.

You had stayed later in town than you meant to, but it wasn’t unusual. You never minded, really. Mrs. Avery had needed your help with the post office, and then you ended up talking with Miss Harriet for a while, listening to her ramble about things that didn’t matter, but you liked listening anyway. It wasn’t until the sun was a sliver on the horizon that you realized how much time had passed. And, sure, you could’ve taken the main road back, but you preferred this one. The back road that led through the edge of the woods, where the trees felt like an old friend, and the sound of the insects buzzing was the only thing that kept you company. It was quieter that way.

The stories had been getting worse lately — things going missing, bodies turning up in strange places. You’d heard the talk. The whispers at the market, the older folks talking in hushed voices, the sudden stares you got when people thought you weren’t paying attention. But you didn’t feel scared, not exactly. You had walked this path for years, had heard the same stories told over and over again. People got lost, sometimes, and some of them never came back, but that was just life around here. Life, death, and everything in between.

You tried not to think about it too much, but as the last bit of daylight started to fade, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Not that it was anything new, really — not in the Delta. The woods were always full of strange sounds at night. Always full of shadows that seemed to stretch longer than they should. And the feeling? It had come before. Maybe just nerves. Maybe nothing at all. It didn’t matter. You kept walking. Your boots pressed into the soft earth, the sound muffled by the dampness in the air.

But tonight, the quiet was heavier. The trees seemed to close in a little more, their thick branches blocking out the last of the light, casting shadows that seemed to move when you weren’t looking. It was the kind of quiet that made you wonder if you were the only one walking this path. You couldn’t hear the birds, the usual buzz of crickets. Just silence. The deep kind that settled over everything and made you feel like you weren’t meant to be here.

You shook it off. Told yourself it was just the night playing tricks. You kept moving, turning the corner past the old fence where the wood had started to rot years ago. The same stretch of road you’d passed a hundred times. But as you stepped deeper into the woods, there was a shift in the air. The kind that made your stomach tighten just a little. The kind that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up, like you were being watched, even though you couldn’t see anyone. You didn’t stop walking, but you did slow down, your senses sharp in a way they hadn’t been before.

And then, you saw him.

At first, it was just a figure. Tall. Broad-shouldered. He was standing in the shadows, like he belonged there, his back to you. And for a second, you thought maybe you’d imagined it, maybe you’d caught the wrong glimpse of something in the dimming light. But the longer you stared, the more you felt like there was no way he could’ve been anything but real. His presence didn’t make a sound. Didn’t stir the air around him like it should’ve. It was like he was... waiting. Standing perfectly still.

You almost turned around, almost told yourself you should’ve taken the main road after all. But you didn’t. You stood there for a beat too long, unsure of what to do. He wasn’t moving. Didn’t look like he was about to. But there was something in the way he stood, something about the way the trees almost seemed to part around him, that made you feel like he wasn’t just passing by. Like he was waiting for you to notice.

When he finally turned, you felt the air change, like a sudden shift in pressure. His eyes met yours.

It was like nothing else mattered. Like time stopped for just a second, just long enough for you to notice the way the fading sunlight seemed to catch in his hair, the way the shadows made his face almost too perfect, too sharp to be real. And that smile — not one you’d ever seen before. It wasn’t kind, exactly, but it wasn’t threatening either. Just... knowing. Like he had something figured out, something you weren’t meant to understand yet.

But you felt it, anyway. The tension, the slow, almost magnetic pull.

And then, just like that, the world shifted again.

You didn’t know it, but that moment would be the last time things would ever feel the same.

You should’ve walked away. Every instinct in you screamed to turn around, to leave, to put some distance between you and the man standing just a few steps away, the man whose presence seemed to fill the entire space around you. But still, you stood there, rooted in place, like something—some force—had decided it wasn’t going to let you go.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, and the quiet stretched between you like a taut wire. You didn’t know what you were waiting for, but it felt like the world had paused, holding its breath. His gaze never wavered, steady, almost calculating, like he was trying to read you in a way that made your heart pick up the pace.

Finally, he spoke, his voice smooth with a slow southern drawl. "Tell you what, darlin’... it’s mighty late for someone like you to be wanderin’ out here all alone." He stepped forward, his boots barely making a sound against the dirt, but the small movement felt like it took up more space than it should’ve. Like he was somehow pulling the air closer to him, drawing you into his orbit.

You hesitated, trying not to let the flutter in your chest show. "I’m fine," you said, the words coming out a little too fast. "I’ve done this walk a thousand times before."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. His eyes flickered down to your hands, clenched at your sides, then back up to your face. "A thousand times, huh?" His lips quirked into a half-smile. "Well, darlin’, you sure do make it sound easy."

You shifted on your feet, trying to shake the strange feeling creeping up your spine. "I don’t need anyone walking me home."

He didn’t miss a beat, his grin widening just a touch. "Oh, I reckon that’s your call." He took a slow step closer, his voice lowering just a little. "But I’ve been out here a long time, seen a lot of things. Some of ‘em don’t belong in these woods." His gaze sharpened, just for a second, and there was something else in his tone now. "Not to mention all the strange happenings lately. Folks keep goin’ missin’ around here. Real shame, that."

You froze, your breath catching. "What do you mean, strange happenings?" you asked, though you already knew. The disappearances. The bodies found scattered across these very woods. The whispers. Everyone had heard the rumors, but no one dared to speak too openly about it.

He leaned in just a fraction, like he was about to tell you a secret. "Oh, just... you know. Folks not comin’ home at night. Bodies turnin’ up in places they shouldn’t be. Nothin’ good about that." He paused, eyes narrowing. "Not safe out here these days, darlin’. You sure you’re alright walkin’ alone?"

You swallowed, the chill creeping up your spine. You knew what he was hinting at, what everyone was whispering behind closed doors. "I’m fine," you said, but it came out much less convincing than you intended.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours. "Sure you are, darlin’. But even the toughest of folks could use a little company when things go sideways. You sure you don’t want someone with you? Wouldn’t want you to join the list of folks who got... lost." He flashed a grin, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and there was something dangerous lurking behind the casualness.

You bristled. "I’m good," you shot back, though it sounded more like a plea than a declaration. "I don’t need anyone."

He chuckled, low and dark, but with an ease that didn’t match the words. "Well, darlin’, that’s up to you." He stepped a little closer, eyes glinting with something unreadable. "But I’ve got a feelin’ you might change your mind soon enough. After all, we both know how the story goes around here. Stranger things than gettin' lost happen in these woods." His smile was lazy, but there was an edge to it, something that made your pulse quicken.

A subtle threat hung in the air between you, yet there was still something oddly... comforting about him. Something about the way he was standing, the way he moved with such certainty, made you hesitate, even as every instinct screamed at you to get away.

He took another step closer, his voice dropping lower, almost a whisper now. "I’ll walk you home," he said, as if it were already settled. "Wouldn’t want a lady like you to be out here alone with everything that’s been happenin’ around here lately."

You bit your lip, torn. A part of you wanted to refuse, to walk away from the situation entirely. But another part—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on—made you stay still. He was right, after all. The woods weren’t safe anymore.

Finally, you nodded, barely enough for him to notice. "Alright... fine," you muttered, hating how weak your voice sounded.

His smile widened, but it wasn’t kind. "Good choice, darlin’," he said, his voice soft yet steady, the kind of tone that carried an unspoken assurance. "Let’s get you home safe, then."

And with that, he fell into step beside you, his presence almost... comforting. The woods didn’t feel as suffocating anymore, the shadows not as dark. With him by your side, you felt less like you were walking into the unknown, and more like someone was guiding you through it. The path ahead didn’t seem so threatening, and for the first time tonight, you found yourself easing up just a little.

His steady stride kept time with yours, and even though you weren’t ready to fully trust him, there was something about the way he moved—something sure and quiet—that made it harder to keep your guard up. You had no idea where this would go, but for now, you weren’t alone, and that meant something.

After a few more minutes of walking in silence, you finally saw the familiar outline of your home ahead. The warmth of the night still clung to you, but the oppressive quiet of the woods started to fade as you neared your doorstep. The walk had felt longer than usual, and the air seemed to grow heavier with each step, but you didn’t mind.

Remmick kept pace beside you, his presence a strange mix of comforting and unsettling, until finally, the gate to your yard came into view. He didn’t say anything as you reached it, but just before you stepped through, he spoke, his voice low and steady.

“You be careful out here, darlin’,” he said, his gaze lingering on you for a second too long, like he wanted to make sure you understood.

You nodded, feeling a shiver run down your spine, though you couldn’t tell if it was from the heat or something else. “I will,” you replied quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He gave a half-smile, the same knowing grin from before. “Good,” he said simply, then took a step back into the shadows. “See you ‘round… names Remmick by the way.”

You didn’t say your name— too worried, and it seemed like he noticed that to. You watched him disappear into the night before turning toward your door. With a hand that felt almost numb, you turned the handle and stepped inside, the familiar creak of the door shutting behind you making it feel like the night was over. But the weight of everything that had happened lingered, like it wasn’t really finished at all.

And just like that, you were home.

It started the night he left you at your gate.

You didn’t notice it right away. At first, it was subtle — an odd sensation, like the remnants of a conversation you couldn’t shake off, the kind that clung to you even after the words had ended. It wasn’t something that jumped out at you, not at first. Just the faintest trace of unease. You told yourself it was nothing — just the lingering tension of meeting someone like him in the woods, a man who had the unsettling ability to smile too easily, stand too still, and know just a little too much about you. You thought it was your mind playing tricks, a fleeting discomfort that would disappear with time.

You tried to sleep that night, but the feeling didn’t go away. It settled on your chest, heavy and suffocating, like something was watching you from the shadows. Like something was waiting. Every time you closed your eyes, it was there, lurking at the edges of your consciousness. The memory of his smile. His eyes, so steady, so calculating. It lingered in your mind like a flicker of a memory that hadn’t quite been made yet.

But it wasn’t just the first night that left its mark.

By the second night, it was worse.

The tightness in your chest had grown, a feeling of unease that gnawed at the edges of your mind. You couldn’t sleep, not even in fits. The air in your bedroom had turned thick and suffocating, as though the very walls were closing in around you. It was too hot, too heavy, like trying to breathe through cloth. You tossed and turned, futilely opening windows to let in a breeze that never came, then closing them again when the humidity grew worse. You left the light on, hoping the soft glow would bring comfort, but it only reminded you of how much you wanted to turn it off, to surrender to the dark. You shut your eyes, only to open them again, staring at the shadows in the corners of your room, hoping they would stay still. Hoping the night would pass.

But the quiet was too loud. The stillness felt too alive.

You began checking the locks more frequently. Not just the back door, but the windows too, making sure they were secure. You even double-checked the small, unimportant things, like the kitchen cabinet, the pantry door. Anything that could have been moved. Anything that didn���t feel right. Still, no matter how many times you checked, the discomfort wouldn’t leave. You never saw anything. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

The heat, the oppressive Mississippi heat, didn’t help either. It pressed down on everything; the old wood of your porch, the dampness of your sheets, the sticky sweat that clung to your skin. The air felt like it had taken on a life of its own, moving sluggishly around you, crawling along your neck, down your spine. The weight of it made you feel like your skin was too tight, like there was something inside you, waiting to break free. Something that shouldn’t be there. Something that had crawled under your skin and wouldn’t leave.

You needed to get out.

So you went to town, hoping for the relief of movement, the comfort of people. Just the sound of everyday life. The hustle of the bakery, the familiar gossip at the market. Anything that felt real. Anything that wasn’t this unshakable feeling of being watched.

It was late afternoon when you wandered past the bakery, the warm, golden sun sitting low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the street. The heat was just as bad as it had been the past few days, but you didn’t mind. Not much you could do about it anyway. The town had its usual lazy rhythm, with people moving in slow, deliberate motions, their faces slack with the weight of the air. But there was something in the air today. Something different. The usual hum of life felt muffled, drowned out by a strange stillness.

You didn’t mention your sleepless nights. You didn’t mention how you hadn’t been able to shake that feeling for the past three nights, that prickling sensation that had settled just beneath your skin, like someone was standing just behind you, breathing down your neck. You didn’t tell anyone about the dreams — not quite dreams, more like flickering images of a man standing at the end of your bed, silent, still, always watching, always smiling. But you weren’t ready to say anything. You didn’t want to sound crazy.

Maybe it was the heat. That’s what you told yourself as you stepped into the general store, grateful for the stale, cool air that rushed to meet you. But it didn’t quite reach your skin. Your thoughts kept wandering back to that night. To his smile. To the way his eyes had looked at you. Something about it had stuck. And it gnawed at you, quietly, as you ran your fingers over the shelves, distracted and restless.

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t notice Jesse until you heard his voice.

“Hey. You alright?”

You looked up, startled, and saw him standing there, hands stuffed in his pockets, his brow furrowed with concern.

You hadn’t realized how tense your shoulders were until he spoke. His presence, so casual and familiar, made you realize just how much you’d been on edge all day.

“I’m fine,” you said, exhaling a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. “Just needed a few things.”

He didn’t seem convinced. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying you, as though he could see right through your words. “You sure? You look a little… worn out.”

The comment made you laugh, but it was more out of discomfort than anything else. “Thanks,” you replied, trying to make light of it. “I didn’t realize it was so obvious.”

“I mean it,” he pressed, stepping closer with a frown pulling at the corners of his lips. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

You didn’t respond. He wasn’t wrong. It had been days, maybe longer, since you’d gotten a full night of sleep. Since the night you met him.

“I’ve just been a little… off lately,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You could hear the hesitation in your voice, the way you were avoiding the truth.

Jesse took a step closer, his expression softening. “You know, you can talk to me if something’s bothering you. I don’t mind.”

You forced a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “It’s nothing, really. Just one of those weeks.”

Jesse glanced out the window, squinting at the low-setting sun, its warm rays creeping between the buildings, casting long, golden streaks across the floor. He turned back to you, his gaze lingering on your face, searching for something you weren’t sure you wanted him to find.

“You heading home soon?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more deliberate.

You nodded, shifting on your feet. “Yeah. Just need to grab a few things.”

He glanced down at his watch, then looked up again. “You taking the long way home?”

The question hit you harder than you expected. The long way. The path you’d been avoiding in the past few days. The one you used to walk without a second thought, but now it felt different. Heavy. Haunted. You hesitated, trying to buy time.

“Yeah, I think so,” you said, your voice unsure.

Jesse didn’t push it, but his eyes lingered on you for a moment too long. “Let me walk you,” he said after a beat, his tone firm but not forceful. “It’s getting late. And I don’t think you should be out there alone.”

His offer, simple as it was, sent a strange feeling through you. A part of you wanted to decline, to keep your distance, but another part — the part that had been feeling so exposed lately — welcomed the offer.

You wanted to refuse. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t need anyone walking you home. That you could handle it. But when you opened your mouth, the words didn’t come out. Instead, you nodded slowly, your lips parting in a soft sigh. “Alright,” you said, the heaviness of the words settling on you. “I’d appreciate it.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you felt a strange sense of relief mixed with something else, something that lingered at the back of your throat. You hadn’t meant to invite him along, but now that he was here, it felt… necessary. His presence, quiet but steady, seemed to ease the tightness in your chest, even if only just a little.

The sun was already slipping behind the trees by the time you finished your shopping. The storefronts bled amber light onto the sidewalks, but the sky above was fading fast — from hazy gold to bruised purple. Jesse stayed close, trailing quietly beside you as you stepped outside, the air thick with heat and something else — something colder that you couldn’t name.

The walk began in silence.

People had retreated indoors. Porch lights flicked on. Insects buzzed around street lamps. The town folded itself inward for the night, leaving you and Jesse alone with the steady sound of your footsteps.

It didn’t take long for the streets to give way to the quieter, tree-lined path you always took home. Familiar, but not in a comforting way — not anymore. You kept your eyes ahead, not daring to glance too long at the shifting shapes in the woods just off the road.

Jesse walked beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, his gaze occasionally drifting toward you.

“How have you really been?” he asked after a stretch of silence. His tone was softer now, less casual than before — like he wasn’t just making conversation, like he actually wanted to know.

You hesitated. “I’ve had better weeks,” you admitted. It wasn’t a confession, not really, but it was more honest than what you’d been saying to everyone else.

He nodded slightly, like he understood something in your voice. “Thought so.”

You didn’t say anything else. Part of you wanted to, but you weren’t sure how to explain it — the nights spent staring at the ceiling, the feeling of something in the room with you even when it was empty, the way you caught yourself checking over your shoulder like a nervous habit.

“I keep waking up,” you finally said. “Middle of the night. No reason. Just… wide awake and certain someone’s there.”

Jesse’s eyes shifted to you again, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I thought maybe it was just in my head at first. You know, stress or heat or something stupid. But it hasn’t stopped.”

“It started a few nights ago. After I walked home alone.” There it was — out loud. And now that it was, it felt heavier.

Jesse was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. “Why didn’t you say something?”

You shrugged. “I didn’t want to sound crazy.”

His voice came low. “You don’t.”

You gave a small, humorless laugh. “Feels like I do.”

The trees thickened ahead, the stretch of road narrowing as the shadows crept in faster than the fading light. You could feel it again — that pressure at the base of your neck, the one that told you to run even when nothing was behind you. 

It was only another couple of minutes in silence, you walked a little faster without meaning to.

Jesse noticed. “Hey,” he said gently, “we’re almost there.”

You nodded, eyes still forward, heart picking up a beat. The path wasn’t long, but in the dark, it stretched out like something else entirely — like a hallway with no end. The wind stirred the branches above you, and for a second, it sounded too much like whispering.

“I don’t like this road,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

Jesse didn’t answer right away. “I don’t either,” he admitted. “Never have.”

That caught you off guard. You glanced at him. “You used to live near here, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said, then hesitated. “Used to hear things out here at night. Long time ago.”

A shiver crept up your spine. “Like what?”

He paused. “Voices. Footsteps. Once I swore I saw someone just standing in the woods. But when I looked again, there was nothing.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

The last bend came into view — the one that would lead to your driveway. You felt the pull of home, of safety, just out of reach.

You were almost home when Jesse’s voice finally faltered. The familiar turn onto the last stretch of road had come into view, and the trees around it began to lean in closer, their branches curling overhead like fingers. Fireflies blinked in the tall grass by the ditches, but even their glow felt dim against the dark swallowing the horizon.

“I can walk you the rest of the way,” Jesse had offered earlier, his voice low but steady. “It’s not a trouble.”

You’d turned to him, the hem of your sundress brushing your knees as a breeze picked up. You’d really looked at him — his brows furrowed, jaw tense in the fading light. It wasn’t just a polite offer. He meant it.

Still, you had hesitated. He had already stayed longer than he needed to, and he had farther to go. You didn’t want to keep him longer than necessary. Plus, you didn’t want to worry him — not when you weren’t even sure what you were afraid of.

“No,” you’d said softly, offering a faint smile. “That’s alright. You should head back before it gets too dark then it already is. I’m almost there.”

He’d held your gaze a beat longer, like he might argue, but eventually gave a slow nod. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

He’d stepped back, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his figure swallowed slowly by the darkening trees. The silence crept in behind him, not sudden, but steady — like water filling a room.

You’d taken a breath, glanced down the road toward home, and started walking again. The gravel shifted under your shoes, the sound oddly loud in the stillness. Your dress clung a little to your skin in the humid air. Cicadas buzzed in the distance. Somewhere nearby, an owl called once, then fell quiet.

Then, a scream.

It came from behind you, from the woods Jesse had just disappeared into. It wasn’t just a shout, not something startled or careless. It was deep, guttural — raw and sharp with an edge that made your blood run cold.

You froze. Turned. The trees stood still, unmoving, their shadows stretching like long fingers reaching into the dark.

Another scream ripped through the air, even more tortured than the last. It didn’t sound like Jesse, not in any way you’d ever heard him before. It was something else — something full of agony.

“Jesse?” you called, but your voice trembled and was lost in the thick night air. Too soft. Too quiet.

You waited, every second stretching out like hours. But there was nothing. No response.

And then it came again. A scream, this one louder than the others, piercing the silence in a way that felt like it was coming from everywhere. All around you. And then — silence.

The kind of silence that felt wrong. Thick. Heavy.

You stood there, frozen. Your heart hammered in your chest, and your breath came shallow. You didn’t know what to do. You wanted to run, but your feet wouldn’t move. The trees loomed like dark sentinels, the forest closing in on you with the weight of something terrible.

But it was just the night, right?

The sound of the woods shifted, a crack in the dark.

It wasn’t Jesse.

It couldn’t be.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, but eventually, you forced yourself to turn back toward your house. It was only a few more steps, and maybe if you just kept walking, you could ignore whatever was happening behind you.

But that wasn’t possible, was it?

You couldn’t stay out here in the dark. You needed to be inside. You needed safety. The front porch of your house was just a few steps away. Just a few more steps, and you’d be able to shut the door behind you, lock it, and pretend none of this had ever happened.

But as your foot hit the first step of the porch, the sound you had been trying to ignore hit you again. This time it was your name being yelled.

It was Jesse’s voice, unmistakable.

The scream rang out with a desperation that cut through the night air like a blade. And it wasn’t just the tone of it, but the way it broke, jagged and guttural, that sent a wave of panic crashing through your body. The kind of panic that made your blood run cold. The way he said your name made your chest tighten with fear, like he was calling you for help — like he was begging.

You froze on the porch, your heart leaping into your throat. Your hands trembled, the grocery bags now slipping from your fingers and crashing to the floor in a mess of sound. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. All that mattered was that sound. Jesse’s scream. His call.

Your feet moved before your mind could catch up, your legs shaking as you turned and sprinted back toward the woods. The weight of your steps seemed heavier now, the path to the trees long and endless, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when he was still out there — in the dark, in the woods, screaming for you.

The road seemed to stretch on forever, but finally, the trees swallowed you again. The sharp smell of the earth hit you, the wet grass, the cool air between the trunks a relief from the suffocating heat, but none of it felt real. Not anymore. All you could hear was the sound of your own ragged breath and the call of Jesse’s voice echoing through the woods, tearing at your chest.

“Jesse!” you screamed, your voice raw, but it was lost in the thick air, swallowed whole by the trees.

Your heart pounded in your ears, the panic rising like a wave, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Something deep inside you — something that you couldn’t explain, not even to yourself — refused to let you go back to the safety of your house. It was as if the woods were pulling you in, and Jesse’s voice was the only thing that mattered.

You pushed forward, running faster now, the distance between you and the last place you’d heard him scream growing shorter with every step. Every branch that scraped your skin, every twist of the undergrowth beneath your feet, felt like nothing. Nothing compared to the sound of his voice calling for you.

The woods stretched endlessly before you, dark and suffocating, but you didn’t stop running. Branches scratched at your arms, the hem of your sundress catching on underbrush, but the sting didn’t register. Your lungs burned with every breath. All you could hear was the fading echo of your name on Jesse’s voice, still ringing in your ears, raw and pleading.

“Jesse!” you screamed again, but it sounded smaller now, swallowed by the trees, useless.

You pushed deeper.

The dirt beneath your feet was damp, soft with recent rain, and your shoes slipped as you clambered down a slope you hadn’t noticed before. You caught yourself on a tree trunk, breath catching in your throat. The air had shifted — no longer just humid, but colder now. Wrong. You could feel it pressing in around you, thick and still.

And then — something.

A shape, low to the ground. Just ahead in the clearing.

You stumbled forward, one slow step at a time, heart beating like a war drum in your chest. And then the shape resolved. You saw the boots first. Familiar. Mud-caked. Still.

Your stomach dropped.

“Jesse?”

You crept closer, voice trembling.

He was there, lying on his side in the wet grass, the folds of his shirt soaked dark and heavy. His body was twisted, one arm outstretched, fingers curled into the earth as if he’d tried to hold on. But it was the angle of his neck — the way his head had fallen too far back — that told you something was horribly wrong.

You fell to your knees beside him.

“Jesse—” your voice cracked, catching in your throat as your eyes finally took in the full horror of it.

His throat — or what was left of it — had been torn open. Not cleanly. Not like a knife would do. This was rough, brutal. Something had ripped into him with teeth, shredded muscle and sinew, left bone exposed. Blood soaked the grass around him, still wet, still warm.

Your hands hovered uselessly above him, too afraid to touch, as if reaching out would make it real. His face was pale, lips parted slightly, eyes glassy — but open. Staring. Not at you. Not at anything.

A soft sob escaped your lips. The sound didn’t belong to you. None of this did. None of it could be real.

You backed away, slowly standing up. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. Jesse, who had smiled at you only minutes ago. Jesse, who had offered to walk you home. Jesse, who had screamed your name like it was the last thing he’d ever say.

And it was.

You wiped at your face, not realizing you were crying until your hand came away wet. The stillness around you felt heavy now. A silence not of peace, but of something waiting.

Then — the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

Something was here.

You didn’t hear it move. You didn’t see it. But you felt it. A presence. Something wrong. Something watching.

You turned slowly.

The woods behind you were too dark, the tree trunks pressed too closely together. You couldn’t see anything — but that didn’t matter. You knew. The way your gut twisted, the way your skin prickled. You were not alone.

You didn’t move.

The woods held still around you, suffocating in their silence, and the cold that had crept in earlier now settled deep beneath your skin. Your breath hitched in your throat as your gaze swept the trees, searching for whatever had stirred the air behind you. For a long second, there was nothing.

Then, from between the trunks — slow, deliberate — a figure stepped into view.

It was a man.

At first, the shape of him was just shadow and movement. But then the light shifted, and you saw his face.

Remmick.

Your breath left you in a soundless gasp.

It was him — the man who had walked you home just days ago, calm and courteous, his voice low and drawn with that rasp that curled at the edges of his words like smoke. The man who had said your name like it tasted sweet on his tongue. The man who, even then, had looked like he knew more than he let on.

He wasn’t breathing hard. Wasn’t flustered. His movements were slow, easy, almost casual.

Like he’d been here a while.

Watching.

His eyes found yours, and that same, familiar half-smile touched his mouth — the one that had seemed harmless once. Kind, even. Now it felt like a hook just beneath your skin.

“Well now,” he said, voice soft, coated in something you couldn’t name. “Ain’t you a sight.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even will your mouth to move. You felt frozen where you stood, just yards from Jesse’s lifeless body, the scent of blood still thick in your nose.

Remmick’s gaze drifted past you, to the place in the grass where Jesse lay twisted and ruined, and for a heartbeat, his expression didn’t change at all. No surprise. No horror. Nothing.

He already knew.

He took another step, the leaves rustling beneath his boots, you still couldn’t see him clearly.

“Didn’t mean to give you a fright, darlin’,” he said, slow and easy, like you were still back on that quiet walk home, like there wasn’t blood drying under his nails.

You swallowed hard, but the dryness in your mouth made it useless. “Remmick…”

It came out thinner than you wanted. A whisper. A question.

He looked at you again — really looked — and the softness behind his eyes shifted. Not cruel. Not angry. But something darker. Like he was peeling something back. Like whatever mask he wore had been slipping this whole time and he’d finally let it fall.

“I was hopin’ we’d see each other again,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Just didn’t think it’d be quite like this.”

Your knees locked. You couldn’t step back. Couldn’t flee. The woods behind you weren’t safety — they were a cage. You were stuck between Jesse’s body and Remmick’s bloody figure, the air too thick to breathe, your heart thudding so loud you swore he could hear it.

He smiled again — slower this time. Warmer. Like he thought you might smile back.

“C’mon now,” he said, his voice dipping low, nearly fond. “Ain’t nothin’ to be scared of.” But your body knew better. It was screaming. And somewhere deep inside, so did you.

You stumbled backward, your breath hitching in your throat as he fully emerged from the shadows, parting the trees like they were nothing. The moonlight barely touched him, but that little bit was enough. You saw the blood first—thick, dark, and smeared across his shirt, soaking into the collar, dripping down his neck. It clung to him like a second skin, and his chin was streaked with it, as though he hadn’t cared enough to wipe it off.

The blood glistened, fresh and wet, a stark contrast against the black of the night, but it was the way it soaked into him that made you freeze. He looked like something else entirely. Something not quite human.

His eyes met yours, cold and unwavering, as if you were nothing more than a passing thought in his mind, and for the first time, you realized how wrong you were about him.

“What…” Your voice trembled, the word barely leaving your lips as you took a step back. Your hands were shaking, but you couldn’t look away from the blood that stained his clothes and most definitely staining him. “What are you?”

He stepped forward slowly, one foot in front of the other, parting the branches around him like he was walking through a world that had bent to his will.

And when he spoke, his voice was calm. Too calm. Thick, like honey pouring over you, suffocating you.

“You ain’t askin’ the right question, dove,” he drawled, his Southern accent curling around every word, wrapping them up in something dangerous. “But I suppose you wouldn’t know how to yet.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps as you struggled to form a coherent thought.

“What did you do to Jesse?” You finally forced the words out, though they came out choked, angry. “What the hell did you do to him?”

Remmick’s gaze drifted behind you, toward the clearing, where Jesse’s body lay lifeless in the grass. His blood had soaked the ground, leaving a dark stain that was already beginning to sink into the earth. But Remmick didn’t seem to care. His eyes didn’t flicker toward the body with any kind of guilt.

He only looked back at you, and his voice was disturbingly quiet, though it was no less menacing.

“Somethin’ tried to take what’s mine,” he said, the words slow and deliberate. “And I don’t take kindly to that.”

You shook your head, the weight of his words pressing in on you like a heavy stone. “He didn’t try anything,” you spat, trying to back away, but your legs felt like they were made of jelly.

Remmick took another step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours. “Didn’t matter. He touched you. Walked you home. Spoke your name like it belonged to him.”

Your heart stopped. You had a sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach, like something cold and dark was wrapping around you, slowly choking the breath from your lungs.

“That ain’t how this works.”

You swallowed hard. “You killed him,” you said, the words tasting like ash in your mouth, but it was a truth you couldn’t ignore. The horror of it swirled inside you, threatening to consume everything you knew.

Remmick didn’t deny it. His lips curled upward in a slow, almost affectionate smile.

“You’re a monster,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him, but it was enough to make his smile falter, if only for a fraction of a second.

He took a step closer, the blood on his shirt now darkened to a sickening rust color. His hands were covered too, but they were still steady, his posture calm as if he hadn’t just committed an atrocity.

“I ain’t like the things out here,” he said, his voice low and rough, his drawl thicker now, like he was speaking through smoke. “But I ain’t human, neither. Not in the way you think.”

You stepped back again, your chest heaving, the panic rising within you like a tidal wave. You had to get away. You had to run, but your feet wouldn’t obey you. Your legs felt like they were cemented to the ground.

“But I meant it when I called you mine,” he added, his voice almost reverent.

A chill ran through your spine as you tried to process his words. “You’re crazy,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him, but the words felt heavy. “You don’t even know me.”

He tilted his head slightly, and for a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes. Maybe regret. Maybe something else. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“I know you better than anyone ever could,” he said softly, stepping closer still. “Better than the man who thought he could take you home. Better than anyone who thought they could walk beside you. I was watchin’ over you long before he ever came around, long before you even known it.”

You recoiled from his words, his presence, everything about him. This wasn’t protection. This wasn’t love. This was obsession. The kind that made your blood run cold and your skin crawl.

“I saw you,” he continued, his voice lower now, like he was telling a secret only you were meant to hear. “When you were walkin’ home from town, your eyes down, not a soul beside you. I saw you. I was there. I always was.”

He took another step closer, his gaze moving lower, his eyes lingering on the hem of your sundress, the curve of your trembling hands.

“You don’t know how hard it was,” he murmured. “Seein’ you, walkin’ in those woods, all alone. You smelled like summer, like innocence. And I had to fight every instinct not to touch you. Not to ruin you right then and there. But I thought to myself, ‘It’s okay Remmick, you can wait abit longer, you’ve always been waiting for her’.”

You felt a sickening twist in your stomach. The weight of his words hit you like a punch, but the most horrifying part wasn’t what he said. It was the way he said it — as if this had been a slow, inevitable fate, and you were always meant to be his.

“You’re not—” You choked on the words, trying to push back against the terror crawling up your throat. “You’re not in love with me. You’re obsessed. There’s a difference.”

He smirked, the corners of his mouth curving upward in something twisted. It wasn’t affection. It wasn’t love. It was something far darker, more primal.

“That’s right,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m obsessed with you. And I always will be. You don’t get to walk away from this. Not now. Not ever.”

You backed away, the sickening feeling of his presence pressing in on you, suffocating you. But the moment you did, he stepped closer again, the distance between you closing like the jaws of a trap.

“Once something belongs to me,” he murmured, his voice dark with an unholy promise, “it stays mine.”

Something inside you snapped at that moment, causing you to run. The woods swallowed your footsteps the way a mouth swallows breath — quiet and final. Your legs screamed to keep running, but the moment your foot snagged on a root slick with mud, the world tilted sideways. You hit the ground hard, palms slapping the earth, the breath knocked clean from your lungs.

You turned over, gasping, scrambling backward on your hands. Bark bit into your spine as you hit a tree.

And he was already there.

Remmick stepped into view with the slow ease of something that had never needed to run. The moon cast a dull sheen on the blood across his throat, his chest, soaking deep into the collar of his shirt. It clung to him like it belonged there. His eyes caught the light in a way that didn’t look real.

You tried to speak, “Remmick—” but he didn’t let you.

“I was always there,” he said, voice low and almost reverent. “You just didn’t look.”

He stepped closer. The crunch of his boots against leaves felt louder than your breath.

“Every night you took that path, I was in the trees. When the sun dipped low and you walked with your head down, hummin’ those little nothin’ songs to yourself, I was already watchin’. Behind the brush. Under the dark.”

You shook your head. “I never—”

“You didn’t see me,” he cut you off sharply. “Couldn’t. Not in the day. I ain’t allowed in the morning. That’s not when I exist.”

He said it like a fact. Like a rule carved into his bones.

“But night?” His voice deepened, and his gaze swept over you. “Night belongs to me.”

You pushed back farther against the bark, digging your nails into the dirt, into anything. “You’re sick.”

He smiled. It wasn’t human.

“I watched you sleep,” he whispered. “Window cracked just enough. Dreamless, like you were waitin’ for somethin’. For me.”

“No—”

“You left the light on some nights. Like you wanted someone to see. All that bare skin under those thin blankets—”

“Stop.”

He crouched then, too close. His knees sank into the wet ground inches from your feet. His voice dropped into something hushed and awful.

“You finally saw me, that day in the woods. First time our eyes met, I could’ve torn the world open right then. You in that little dress, do you know how hard it was not to touch you? Not to drag you off the trail and make you understand what you were?”

You stared at him, horror swelling thick in your throat.

“You don’t know me,” you said, voice shaking.

His smile widened, teeth a little too sharp. “But I do. You don’t get it yet — what we are. But you will.”

“I’ll never be yours,” you hissed.

He leaned in until his bloodstained collar nearly brushed your knees. His breath was warm — wrong — as he spoke.

“You already were,” he murmured. “From the first time I I saw you while ago, under moonlight. I ain’t let anything touch you since.”

You tried to push yourself up — tried to find space, air, anything — but he rose when you did. Not fast. Just… deliberate.

“You think Jesse died ‘cause he was bad?” he asked, tilting his head. “He died ‘cause he thought he had a right to you. Thought speakin’ your name made it his to say.”

He stepped toward you again.

“But that name?” His voice was a blade now. “That name only ever sounded right in my mouth.”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream.

Somehow, your feet found the ground beneath you. Somehow, you scrambled up from the roots and mud, your palms bleeding, your knees buckling. But you ran — faster than before, your breath ragged, every heartbeat screaming get away, get away, get away.

The trees blurred around you, branches whipping at your face and arms, but nothing could slow you down now. Not the cold sweat that soaked your dress. Not the taste of blood in your mouth from where you’d bitten your tongue.

Not even his voice behind you.

“Run, dove,” he called, smooth and syrup-thick. “Go on. I like when you run.”

You didn’t dare look back. Every fiber of your being pulsed with one command: move.

But he was faster.

You didn’t hear him coming. You didn’t even feel the ground change — one second you were upright, the next you were jerked backward so hard your scream died in your throat.

Pain bloomed hot across your scalp.

His hand was tangled in your hair, yanking you off balance. You hit the earth again, your knees skidding against gravel and moss as he pulled you back into him, the back of your head nearly colliding with his chest.

He crouched behind you now, crouched low like a wolf over a carcass, his breath brushing your cheek.

“I said run, didn’t I?” he murmured, voice mock-gentle as his grip tightened. “But we both know you were never gonna make it back to that little porch light. That door was never gonna open for you again.”

You struggled, clawed at his arm, but he only laughed — low and breathy and too calm.

“Don’t,” he warned, his lips grazing your ear now. “You’re gonna make me hurt you, and I don’t want to do that.”

His other hand slid to your throat — not squeezing, not yet — just resting there. Like he was measuring something. Like he owned it.

“I’ve been good,” he went on, voice fraying at the edges now. “So good. Watching. Waiting. Keeping things away from you. But you keep runnin’ from me like I’m the danger.”

He yanked your head back again, forcing you to look up at the trees, at the stars barely visible between them.

“I’m the reason you’re still breathin’. Ain’t no one else ever gonna love you like I do, dove. They don’t even see you. Not really.”

“I’m not yours,” you choked out, voice raw.

He growled — a low, inhuman sound that vibrated against your back.

“You are,” he snapped, fingers tightening in your hair. “You been mine. From the minute you stepped into my woods. From the second you smiled at the trees like they were friends.”

You twisted beneath him, trying to throw him off, but his body was all heat and weight and blood.

“You’re sick,” you spat, and this time, it shook him. He went quiet. Still.

Then, quietly, coldly; “So be it.”

The air crackled with a sudden shift. The playful menace in his voice vanished, replaced by something sharp and dangerous. His hand tightened in your hair, not just holding you, but possessively, painfully. The fingers at your throat flexed, a subtle warning that sent a fresh wave of panic through you.

He shifted, his weight pressing more fully against your back, pinning you to the rough ground. The scent of damp earth and pine needles mingled with his own darker, muskier smell, overwhelming you. You could feel the tremor that ran through his body, a tightly leashed fury that threatened to break free.

"Sick?" he repeated, the word a low growl against your ear. "Is that what you think?"

He released your hair, and for a desperate moment, you thought you might be free. But then his hands were on your shoulders, his grip like iron as he rolled you over onto your back. The sudden movement stole your breath, and you stared up at him, his face a shadow against the faint starlight. His eyes, though, burned with an intensity that pierced the darkness.

He loomed over you, his knees bracketing your hips, effectively trapping you. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the raw power that emanated from his still form. Your chest heaved, and the taste of blood in your mouth seemed to intensify with your fear.

One of his hands left your shoulder, tracing a slow, deliberate path down your arm. His touch, despite the underlying threat, sent a shiver down your spine. It was possessive, claiming, like he was mapping the contours of his territory.

"You think this is sickness?" he murmured, his voice low and rough, like stone scraping against stone. His fingers reached your wrist, his thumb pressing against your racing pulse. "This…need? This hunger I feel when I look at you?"

His gaze dropped to your mouth, lingering there for a long, breathless moment. You tried to pull away, to twist beneath him, but his weight held you firmly in place. The gravel dug into your back, a stark reminder of your vulnerability.

"Tell me," he breathed, his face dipping closer, his breath ghosting over your lips. "Tell me you don't feel it too. Even a little flicker?"

His eyes searched yours, demanding a truth you were terrified to acknowledge. The fear was still there, a cold knot in your stomach, but beneath it, something else stirred – a primal awareness of his nearness, the undeniable intensity in his gaze. The woods, the cold, the fear, all seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in the suffocating darkness.

His words hung in the air, a challenge and a confession. You didn't answer, couldn't answer, trapped between fear and a strange, unwelcome curiosity. His eyes, dark and intense, held yours captive. He lowered his head, his breath warm against your lips. You could feel the subtle shift in his body, a tightening of muscles, a coiled energy that promised a release you both dreaded and, perhaps, secretly craved.

His hand, still on your wrist, tightened again, his thumb tracing the delicate bones. It was a possessive gesture, a claim. The air thrummed with unspoken desires, a silent battle waged between predator and prey, between fear and a burgeoning, forbidden attraction.

He paused, a hair's breadth from your mouth, giving you one last chance to speak, to deny the connection that seemed to crackle between you. But the words wouldn't come. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the oppressive silence.

"No?" he whispered, his voice rough with a barely contained passion. "Then I'll show you."

His lips brushed against yours, a feather-light touch that sent a jolt of electricity through you. It was a tentative beginning, a question asked with skin instead of words. He waited, as if gauging your reaction, giving you a chance to pull away, to end it. But you didn't.

His hand, having found the hem of your dress, continued its slow ascent. The fabric whispered against your skin, each inch a deliberate exploration. His breath grew warm against your neck as his touch finally reached the top of your thigh.

He paused there, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of your inner thigh, sending a shiver down your spine. You clenched your legs slightly, a reflexive attempt to guard yourself, but his touch remained, a possessive claim.

His mouth left your neck, and you felt his breath moving lower, tracing a hot path down your throat. He lingered at the hollow of your collarbone, pressing a soft kiss there before continuing his descent.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body as he shifted, his weight pressing more firmly against yours. The hard ridge of his arousal against your thigh was an undeniable reminder of his intent.

His lips continued their downward journey, past your stomach, lower still, until you felt his breath hot against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, just inches from where your underwear began. A gasp escaped your lips, a mixture of fear and a strange, unsettling anticipation.

His hands, which had been on your thighs, now moved to the hem of your dress once again, bunching the fabric higher to allow him more access. You felt the cool night air on your exposed skin as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the inside of your thigh, his lips lingering there, sending a wave of heat through you.

He moved again, his kisses tracing a path closer to the edge of your underwear, each touch a deliberate tease. You could feel the tension building within you, a confusing mix of apprehension and a burgeoning, forbidden awareness. His breath was hot and ragged against your skin as he nuzzled closer, the anticipation becoming almost unbearable.

His fingers slipped beneath the elastic of your underwear. The thin fabric offered little resistance as he slowly, deliberately, eased them down.

The sensation was jarring, exposing a part of you that felt intensely vulnerable under his predatory gaze. You squeezed your eyes shut, your hands clenching into fists against the damp earth. The sounds of the forest seemed to fade, replaced by the frantic pounding of your own heart.

He paused in his task, as if sensing your heightened distress. You could feel his gaze on you, a heavy, possessive weight. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken tension and the raw anticipation of what was to come.

Then, with a final, gentle tug, the last barrier was gone. You felt the cool air envelop you completely, a stark and undeniable exposure. His breath hitched again, a low, guttural sound that vibrated against your thigh.

He lowered his head further, and you braced yourself, every nerve ending screaming in a mixture of fear and a terrifying, undeniable curiosity. You felt the brush of his lips against your bare skin, a soft, tentative exploration that sent a shiver through your entire body.

His kisses became more insistent, tracing a slow deliberate path, once again to your inner thigh, closer and closer to the most vulnerable part of you. Each touch was a brand, a claim, stripping away not just the physical barrier but also your sense of control. 

The anticipation alone was a brutal kind of pleasure, a tightening coil in your belly that had nothing to do with wanting. Then, the invasion. Slow, deliberate, and impossibly intimate as he slid his tongue inside.

A sound escaped you, a delicate moan ripped from your throat against your will. It wasn't a sound of pleasure, not the soft sigh you might offer in a moment of genuine intimacy. This was something else entirely – a strangled gasp of shock, a raw expression of vulnerability laid bare. It echoed in the stillness of the woods, a testament to his violation. Your body betrayed you with its involuntary response, a stark reminder of your helplessness under his relentless advance. 

His tongue continued its relentless exploration, and he finally lifted his head, his eyes dark and possessive as he stared down at you. A slow, knowing smirk stretched across his lips, a cruel anticipation that made your stomach clench.

"Your sweet little cunt tastes like pure heaven, darlin'." He lowered his head again, his breath hot and wet against your most sensitive flesh. "Sweeter than any blood I ever craved, honey."

He pressed closer, his tongue delving deeper, and a strangled sound was torn from your throat, a mortifying mix of revulsion and a shameful flicker of sensation you couldn't control. "You got no idea what you do to me, dove," he murmured against you, his voice thick with desire. "Makes a man… wanna forget his own damn name."

His fingers digged into your hips, holding you captive as his mouth continued its brutal assault. "Every little taste of you is drivin' me wild," he groaned, the words punctuated by wet, insistent sounds that echoed in the stillness of the woods. "You're gonna be screamin' my name before this night's through, you hear me?"

He shifted his angle, his tongue finding a particularly sensitive spot, and a sharp gasp escaped you, a sound that disgusted you even as it seemed to please him. "That's it, sugar," he breathed, his voice low and guttural. "Beg for it. Say my name when you’re comin’. " 

"Remmick—" The sound that tore from your throat was a raw, involuntary plea, a shameful testament to the sensations he was dragging from you. Your hands, clenched moments ago in protest, now fisted in dark hair, your grip tightening as a wave of heat washed through you. 

Your hips lifted slightly off the cold earth, a movement you couldn't control, a sickening surrender to the intimacy he was forcing upon you. The wood sounds faded, replaced by the wet, insistent rhythm of his mouth and your own ragged breaths. A strange, dizzying lightness bloomed in your head, a horrifying disconnect between the violation and the undeniable physical response blooming within you.

"That's it, dove," he rasped against you, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Feel it, don't you? Feel what you do to me." His fingers dug deeper into your hips, anchoring you as his ministrations grew more demanding, more relentless. The delicate dance of his tongue was now a possessive claiming, stripping away the last vestiges of your resistance. 

A moan, deeper and more resonant this time, escaped your lips, a sound that horrified you even as it seemed to fuel him. It wasn't a moan of desire, but one of pure, unadulterated sensation, a body reacting against your will. The high, as you called it, was a dizzying loss of control, a shameful betrayal of your own boundaries.

He finally lifted his head, the wet sounds ceasing, and a thick, carnal quiet filled the woods. His dark eyes, pupils blown with desire, he looked at your flushed face, a look of pure lust. A slow, wicked smirk stretched across his lips as he watched the lingering shudders that still wracked your body.

“Sweet little cunt got you all worked up, ain’t it dove?” he rasped, his voice a low, heavy with lust. 

He suddenly shifted, his hands beneath your thighs, lifting you higher, “Gonna feel me stretch you open and fill you up proper. You gonna be milkin’ my shaft so nice, darlin’.”

The head of his erection pressed insistently against your slick folds, a thick, undeniable presence. His eyes were burning into you as he fully shifted you, slowly and deliberately stretching you open, so you were sitting atop him— his back against a tree, supporting him.

“That’s it.” His eyes were feral, demanding, and the raw, possessive hunger in his gaze was a palpable thing.

The stretching sensation was intense, an unfamiliar pressure that made you gasp. "Remmick—it's… it's too much," you choked out, your hands gripping his shoulders, your knuckles white. The unfamiliar fullness was overwhelming, bordering on painful.

He stilled for a moment, his dark eyes locking onto yours, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. "Tight little thing, ain't you?" he murmured, his voice a low, almost impressed rumble. His hands tightened on your hips, his thumbs pressing into your flesh. "You're okay, darlin'. Just gotta relax for me."

Despite your choked plea, he didn't withdraw. Instead, he began to guide you, his hands firm on your hips, initiating a slow, rocking motion. "Easy now," he instructed, his voice softening slightly, though the possessive edge remained. "Just follow my lead."

The movement was awkward at first, the unfamiliar friction and fullness making you tense. You could feel him deep inside you with each downward slide, a stark and undeniable invasion. "It hurts," you whispered, your breath catching in your throat.

"Shhh," he soothed, his gaze unwavering. "Just gotta get you used to me, sweet thing. You'll open up. Trust me, dove. This is gonna feel real good soon." He continued to guide your hips, the rhythm becoming slightly faster, more insistent. You could feel the heat building between your bodies, a strange and unwelcome warmth spreading through you despite your discomfort. His low groans filled the night air, a stark contrast to your own shallow, unsteady breaths.

The awkward, uncomfortable rhythm continued, each downward slide a raw reminder of the unwelcome intrusion. You clenched your jaw, trying to breathe through the ache, your hands still tight on his shoulders. "Remmick," you gasped, the word catching in your throat, "it still—"

He cut you off with a low growl, his hands tight on your hips, pushing you down a little further. "Gotta ride it out," he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. "Just gotta loosen up for me. Feel how good this could be if you just let go."

The rubbing began to burn, a rough feeling mixed with the deep ache inside. You tried to slow him down, to find a way that hurt less, but his hands on your hips called the shots, a steady push and pull that left you gasping for air.

But then, little by little, something started to change. As that initial tightness started to give way, a different feeling poked through. The deep ache started to shift, the rubbing making a strange, almost hypnotic beat. A small sound slipped from your lips, not quite a cry anymore.

He seemed to feel it, his movements getting a little smoother, like he knew what he was doing. His low groans got louder, and you could feel his body shaking a little underneath you. A weird heat started low in your belly, still mixed with that ache, but with a tiny spark of something else.

Towards the end of his guiding, when the rhythm felt more steady, a different kind of breath caught in your throat. The hurt hadn't gone away completely, but it was tangled up with a strange, almost overwhelming feeling in your body. A soft moan slipped out, surprising even you. The tightness in your shoulders started to ease, your hands in his hair weren't so tight anymore. The night air still felt cold on your skin, but the heat between you was real now, a slow, unwelcome fire starting to burn.

His breath hitched in his throat, a rough sound against your ear. "That's it, dove," he growled, his hands still firm on your hips, guiding your movements. "Feel that heat building? Feel me gettin' nice and deep inside you."

He shifted beneath you, his hips bucking harder now, meeting your rhythm. "That's right," he rasped, his voice thick with a raw hunger. "That sweet little pussy is grippin' me good."

His hands slid up your sides, "You feel me pumpin' inside you, baby?" he murmured, his eyes locked on yours, dark and intense. "Gonna fill you up real good. Gonna breed you nice and deep, make you all round with my baby."

He leaned up slightly, his lips grazing your ear. "You gonna be screamin' my name, breathin' heavy, wantin' nothin' but this," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "Gonna plant my seed deep inside you, make you carry my mark."

His hands squeezed your sides, urging you to move faster. "Beg for it," he urged, his voice rough with lust. 

A moan escaped your lips, a sound you barely recognized as your own. The heat between your bodies intensified, a suffocating pressure that demanded release. Your head fell forward, your hair falling over your face as a wave of intense sensation washed over you.

"Please…" The word was barely a whisper, a broken plea torn from your throat.

"Please what, darlin'?" he urged, his voice low and demanding. 

Tears welled in your eyes, a confusing mix of shame and a desperate need for the relentless pressure to cease, yet also… to continue. "Please… more," you choked out, the words tasting like ash in your mouth.

A triumphant smirk stretched across his lips. "More of this, sweet thing?" he growled, his hips bucking harder, deeper. "You want me to fill you up good? You want my seed inside you?"

Another groan escaped you, followed by a soft, broken sob. The line between fear and a terrifying, undeniable desire blurred, leaving you adrift in a sea of overwhelming sensation. "Yes," you finally whispered, the word a shameful admission of the power he held over your body. 

As the intense waves of sensation began to crest within you, your grip on his shoulders tightened, your body instinctively clenching around him. A series of involuntary gasps escaped your lips, each one a testament to the overwhelming pleasure that was now intertwined with the lingering fear.

"Yeah, that's it, darlin'," he grunted, his voice thick with exertion. His hands gripped your hips even tighter, his own movements becoming more frantic, more urgent. "Milk me good, sweet thing. Squeeze me tight."

He bucked his hips upwards with a deep groan, his head falling back, his jaw clenched. "Feel that, dove?" he rasped, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Feel how close I am? You're gonna pull it all outta me."

The pressure inside you intensified, building to an almost unbearable peak. Soon after he followed you, after a few more harsh and deep thrusts, you felt the hot, thick pulse of his release deep inside you, a claim.

As you both finally came down after a few minutes, you still stayed sat atop him, chest rising, the warmth of your skin clashing with the cold bite of the earth beneath you.

Remmick didn’t speak at first. He just looked at you.

Then, slowly, he leaned in close — so close his breath brushed your cheek — and whispered, low and calm:

“I should’ve taken you the first time I saw you.”

He brushed your hair back away from your face, lips barely grazing your temple.

“But I waited. Now you’ll never leave me again.”

His words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be. You felt them settle in your bones — heavy, inescapable.

Because truly, he was inescapable. 

[freakied]

if you asked me what i want most in life i would say world peace, and then if you asked me what i really want most in life i would say fiancé!satoru being so obsessed with your engagement ring that he only wants handjobs for a week!!!!

its the pretty jewels moving up and down on his cock with your hand, of course, its mesmerizing! he's always thought your hands were so pretty, but now that your left one is decorated with a (ridiculously expensive) ring that he had brought, just the sight alone makes his dick jump...

so, once you get home from a late night out together one night, you had put satoru to sleep one time with a handjob. and as he was laying back and watching through his pretty lashes as your ring moved up and down with his building pleasure, he got a taste for your touch in a way he hasn't known before.

he was so obsessed with your ringed fingers wrapped around his cock that he wasn't even embarrassed when he came within minutes.if nothing else, the sight of his sticky cum dripping down over your ring was enough to turn this into a thing.

you don't know whether to be offended or not when the next night, you're kneeling down between his spread legs and itching for a taste of him, when he asks very sweetly if you could use your hand instead.

but you oblige, because he whines even louder now when you're stroking his thick, veiny length. he moans like he's in heat, because it's not only the sight of your ring that gets him going, it's what it represents. that he has access to you like this, to the intimate sides of you that no one else will ever see, for the rest of his life!

he's also the type of man to buy himself a matching engagement ring, so he has his own little decoration to symbolise his commitment to you. and once he learns that he can enjoy your engagement bands in other ways, sex progresses from handjobs to a whole new horizon of pleasure that didn't exist before you got engaged.

like when he has you on your back, legs locked around his waist to prevent him from going anywhere as he pistons into you, he's able to watch his ringed finger wrap around your neck and press down ever so gently. the glint of light that his ring catches when he's playing with your breath makes him twitch inside of you: and the look on your face tells him that you enjoy it just as much as him.

or when you're riding him, setting the pace as his fingers dig into your waist to ground himself. you reach up and troke the side of his face with your left hand, just to push your ring and middle finger into his mouth and press down on his tongue. his lips wrap around the ring on your finger and your poor fiancé can't help but reach orgasm there and then!

even when you're not having sex, it stays a thing. like when he's busy and missing you while he's away for work. and you send him a video that he opens in private to be met with the sight of your ringed-finger pushing deep into your cunt in a desperate attempt to emulate what he feels like inside of you. of course he ends up stroking himself in the nearest toilet or locked room, recording his own ring literally blurring from how fast he's jerking his cock to the thought of you needy and missing your fiancé at home.

everything sexual has to involve your rings, one way or another. he's taking nudes with his hand holding your tits together to show off his ring. he's holding onto your thighs so tight when tasting you that you're left with an indentation of his ring in your skin when he's done.

imagine how bad it gets when you actually get married.

thank u for all the love and welcoming me to tumblr i luv it here awww hopefully this was okay !! if ur reading this you're officially a resident of avivanation and its MY turn to welcome YOU! so welcome ^.^