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yanderenightmare · 2 months ago

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Yandere Seven Deadly Sins

♡ AN: from the Promptlist

♡ TW: a lot of different stuff today, NSFW, noncon/dubcon, yandere, stalking, gangbang, harsh language, sexual exploitation, bondage, zero holes safe, and more, read at your own risk

♡ FEM reader

Pride is an artist, and you, poor dear, are lucky enough to be his muse.

You’d caught his eye one day simply by coincidence while working your part-time job as a barista.

And though it had been a rather unorthodox request—between balancing school and work and constantly finding yourself both strapped for cash and strapped for time—you’d decided to quit and take him up on his offer—as what he was offering was about twice what you could make at the cafe anyway.

He’s not that much older than you, but he’s old money. And while you're stuck in community college, he goes to an elite art school—which he doesn’t even show up to, 'cause why would he? They can't afford to kick him out anyway, given his father’s donations make up half of their yearly budget.

And so he's free to self-study as much as he wants.

Yeah... he’s a little too used to getting what he wants—exactly how he wants it—without delay. So when you struggle to come to your sessions on time due to having to take the bus to the other side of town, he decides to solve it by buying you a car. And when he doesn’t feel like that’s sufficient enough, he buys you an apartment right above his own studio. And when you try to reject, he only has three concise words for you.

“Don’t be stupid.”

The way he says it leaves very little up for debate. In fact, it leaves you mute each and every time.

It was nice in the beginning—you didn’t protest to anything other than his overpriced gifts. You were flattered and blushy and giddy and more than happy to sit pretty for him for hours at a time while he sketched and sculpted and painted and whatnot. It was essentially nothing in comparison to the luxuries he gave you in return.

But you think, at some point along the way, he must have forgotten that he only owns the artworks he makes of you—not you yourself.

“N-naked?” you stutter, looking at him wide-eyed where he stands in his usual apron—flecked with the proof of your countless sessions. Honestly, it was getting to be a little strange posing for him in a room stuffed with a myriad of sketches, paintings, and statues of yourself. Hadn’t he had enough?

“I can’t capture you correctly when you wear all these rags,” he says—clinically, though with a pinch of impatience just shy of vexation—eyeing you from head to toe, almost with a look of disgust while beholding your clothes, despite being the one who’d bought them. “They obscure everything. So take them off.”

You knew he’d probably had about a hundred models undress for him, and stand here—old, young, men, women—you knew it probably didn’t mean much to him. He probably regarded it the same way he does everything—without even batting an eye. However…

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do that…” You fiddle with your fingers, standing there, still dressed despite him standing ready at his easel, foot-tapping while waiting for you, already with a stick of charcoal between his fingers.

“Why are you making a fuss? You think I haven’t seen a naked body before?” he jokes, but without humor—no, rather strictness as if you’re wasting very precious time. “This is standard practice—don’t make it anything than what it is.”

There he goes again with those very final words that make you feel all in all kind of silly.

You bite your lip and mull it over before ever-so-begrudgingly uttering a weak little, “Okay…”

You suppose he was right. This is a job, and it’s just nudity—just another shape in the eyes of an artist—it doesn’t mean anything—is what you tell yourself while you undress. Still, you can’t help but feel flush—heart pounding in your chest as you fold your clothes all neatly for some other nervous reason.

“Resume the pose,” he says—almost like a drill sergeant. And you jump into place, timidly rushing over to the chaise where you lie down like before.

This does feel like it would be a better painting, you admit. More reminiscent of Renaissance art and such. Not that you know much about it, but thinking back to field trips through the museum, you seem to remember having seen plenty of portraits of naked ladies lying on pretty but uncomfortable sofas just like this.

He seems very invested, at least. A deep furl between his brows, nearly scowling at you while he works—though you’ve come to learn that it’s just his concentration face.

After a while, he sets his charcoal down and wipes his blackened hands on his apron.

You sit up, asking, “Are you done?” All but ready to leap from your seat to your clothes and finally cover yourself again.

“No, keep still,” he all but reprimands—voice intense as he stalks across the floor over to you with determination written plainly across his face.

You draw back in place as he rests his knee on the chaise and leans forward. It wasn’t uncommon for him to come and correct your pose, but you couldn’t help but flinch this time around, feeling just a bit too exposed.

His hands are warm and overworked, both dry and a bit clammy all at the same time. You didn’t mind much when you wore clothes, but it felt a bit too intimate now as he touched your bare skin. But you bear with it despite that.

Eyes closed, you repeat that same line from before—it doesn’t mean anything, this is standard practice, it doesn’t mean anything.

It works in calming your breath for a moment, but then he grabs your tit.

You gasp, jolting back while stuttering, “Wha–what are you doing?”

And yet, he keeps his steal gaze just as fixed and unfazed as before, sighing at you as if you were overreacting, before stating rather simply, “Getting a better understanding of your body.” He then reaches toward you again, showing no concern for how you shrink away. “It’s easier to replicate when I know it by hand.”

Again, you let his voice silence you, and again, you closed your eyes and let his hands wander—around your chest, up your neck, down your belly, and then—

“Wait! That can’t be necessary—” you blurt out, this time with your arms and hands shooting forth to distance him.

“Oh, trust me—it is.” Again, he pays you no mind, simply bearing over you with his entitled hands roaming whatever place he so wishes and chooses. Only clicking his tongue at you when you squirm, “Don’t fuss.”

You don’t exactly push him away, though you don’t exactly make his pursuit easier for him—lying there beneath his touches, wiggling and whimpering, though not really protesting either as he feels your slit.

Your fingers curl into his arms, gripping his messy shirt streaked with paint and coal—as his fingers run through your lips, teasing your entrance and your clit. He twists his hand around and presses his thumb down on the pearl after it perks for attention, then enters you with his pointer finger—drawing out wetness before promptly feeding you another.

You bite your lip as they curl and spread within you, testing you out while rubbing firm circles into your clit.

Gingerly, your hips return it, starting to move in tune with his ministrations. Thighs trembling, keeping your eyes squeezed tightly shut as you start to pant—small moans leaving your lips with every breath, feeling it build within you—a small flame at first, nursed until it fills and all but fights for room within you before finally bursting.

“That’s it—that’s the expression,” he purrs—voice much softer than usual—cupping your face with his other hand, holding you steady while taking in those dopey eyes sparkling with pleasure and those parted lips that never dare speak up—eyeing you like he's the proud owner of a prized possession. “Perfect.”

He hums, sounding pleased, then gets off you shortly after, sauntering back to his easel.

“You can get dressed now. I got what I needed,” he states, picking the stick of charcoal up again, ripping the last sketch off for a fresh sheet before starting anew as if nothing had happened.

And you, still lying there, are left just as mute as usual.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Touya, Hawks, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Megumi ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Oikawa, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae, Baro ♡ AOT – Eren ♡ DS – Muzan, Sanemi

Wrath is your ex-boyfriend who refuses to get it through his thick skull that the two of you are over.

Any time you talk to another guy, he beats him up—to a fucking pulp, no less.

He’s always been that way, and still, it wasn’t always like this…

You started dating each other when you were young. He was rough around the edges, and you liked that about him—tattoos from his neck down to his ankles—the type your parents would have a heart attack if you ever brought home.

He was going to be a professional fighter, he’d say—mixed martial arts. He had all the rage and zero technique, but still, he’d land some of the best on their ass all through pure strength of will alone.

He was near impossible to train, though—always too wired to be able to take any pointers. And that’s why he needed you. You were his reliever. He’d fuck you like it was his last day on earth, and suddenly he’d be able to do anything. Like an enhancement drug, everything would start moving in slow motion, and he could somehow see all the moves of his opponent before they ever made them.

You admit you liked hearing him preach about it. It made you feel important—made you feel as if half the win, or at least some of it, was yours. And when he started raking in the dough as the champion, winning multiple titles across several tournaments, you were more than happy to be his lucky charm and cheer him on from the sidelines.

But then, you had this awful and sudden feeling of being just that—a tool for his success and nothing else. Sure, he’d give you presents—pretty things he thought suited you well—but you hadn’t gone on a date since his career started, nor had you had a proper sit-down dinner together either. He’d stick to his diet regime, be out training at the gym all day, and you’d be home, going about your own business.

And while you were doing that, you’d think—about the nature of your relationship. And what you found is that all it really entails in the end is him demanding a fuck whenever he needed it—before a tournament, before training, before an interview. And then, after coming to that glum conclusion, you can’t help but feel like nothing more than another one of those items he keeps loose in his gym bag.

And those thoughts only got validated when you tried denying him sex for the first time…

You were just curious, really—curious to see what he’d do. If he’d beg, if he’d plead, if he’d say boo, don’t be that way while down on his hands and knees for you.

But of course... he can’t get anything else but angry.

“If you’re not gonna give me the one thing you're useful for, then what the fuck do I keep you around for?” is what he’d said—no, barked. “You think you’re special? If you’re not gonna put out, I might as well go out and find me someone who will.”

He’d fucked off to some other room with a huff and left you standing there.

And you don’t know, amidst the shell shock and the ache of your heart coming undone... suddenly, you had no idea why you were there or with him or what you were supposed to do—and when you found no answer to any of those questions, it made no sense for you to stay. And so you went to your shared bedroom—or his bedroom, as a matter of fact, which you’d stayed in for the last months—quickly grabbed your things—your things specifically, and not all the other stuff he’d thrown at you—and stuffed it all haphazardly in your bag, then gone out to the entryway to put your shoes on.

That’s when he’d reared his head again with the gall of asking, “Where the fuck are you going?”

He hadn’t had that same raised tone as before. No, this time it was lowered—frayed—with a touch of urgency and unease as if balancing on the edge of a knife—as if he knew he'd done something wrong and was reaping the consequences and yet still hadn't the balls to simply apologize and correct it.

And so, you hadn’t answered him.

“It’s the middle of the fucking night,” he’d stated then, coming closer, ready to grab your arm with that hint of alarm in his voice increased. “Hey, I asked you fucking a question—”

That’s when you’d twisted around and slapped him. You’d put all your might into it as well, though you doubt it compared to much of what he’d felt in the ring.

And still, he’d looked at you as if he’d just lost all his titles.

He hadn’t said anything else after that—just stood there with his mouth agape as you opened the door and slammed it shut behind you. In fact, you don't think he even dared do so much as take a breath.

You’d gone and crashed at a friend's and rethought your life. There was no way you could ever go back, after all—not after what he’d said. Treating you like a stay-at-home whore. Who the fuck does he think he is?

What an asshole—you'd tried convincing yourself as you cried yourself to sleep…

The days and weeks after were nothing if not fucked up and toxic, to say the least. You’d go out to have a fun time and try to forget about him, but he’d always show up out of the blue to ruin everything—being his usual douche self.

Though… you can’t exactly claim to be any better than him—not after finding yourself in bed with his number-one up-and-coming rival.

Of course, it ends up all over the news—big headlines plastered on every gossip platform pushing your private affairs for all to see—a real media circus if there ever was one.

You end up back in his apartment. To talk, he’d said—a pretense you had a hard time believing in. He’s never been one to talk much. Honestly, you don’t know why you even bothered coming over when he asked. There might even be a chance he’ll kill you. This is how most homicides start, after all.

The two of you sit in silence for a couple of minutes. You look off to the side, waiting for him to speak because fuck knows you have nothing to say.

Meanwhile, he just stares at you—his big, hulking body leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands braided before his face. It’s the type of posture he’ll have when sitting in the corner of the ring—he’s got that same look in his eyes, too, deadset on you.

It makes you a little nervous, actually—maybe he really does plan on killing you.

“Why’d you do it?” he asks suddenly.

You almost scoff—almost roll your eyes, but you end up simply returning his dead glare. “Is that really what you asked me here for?”

He doesn’t answer that question. He just keeps staring at you.

You huff out a sigh, “I don’t know, maybe I just wondered what it would be like to be fucked like a woman for once and not someone’s toy.”

You don’t know why you decided to take it there when you both know why you’d done it. What other fucking reason would there be other than to get back at him? It’s a stupid question to begin with, and so you give it a stupid answer in return. And you won’t deny it feels fucking good—seeing him like this. Five o’clock shadow, eyebags, and uncut, disheveled hair.

He looks like a wreck, and rightfully so. Fuck knows what a mess you’d been before you finally managed to drag yourself out of bed. Funny what the single simple thought of revenge can do for someone so lost.

He scrapes his thumb down his jawline, over his stubble—a deep sigh running through him as he leans back on the couch. Offering no other reaction as he says, “I can sit here and act threatened, but you and I both know he was shit compared to me.”

He throws his arms up against the headrest, chin tipped up. Thinking he can hide it, thinking you can’t see right through him—to how hard he’s fighting to upkeep the poker face.

He’s forgetting who his opponent is.

“I know you, babe—I know your body. And there's no fucking way some shitstain you just met–”

“His dick was bigger,” you interrupt—face blank because two can play that silly game, and you do it better.

He’s shut up for a moment—you can see a vein pulse, but it’s quickly stifled, and he smirks instead, snickering despite his grit teeth, “Sorry, that must'a hurt given how much you cry with me.”

This time, you don’t refrain from scoffing and rolling your eyes, “That's all you have to say? Thought you were a fighter.”

“You want me to get jealous? Is that it?” he accuses then, starting to crack, throwing your scoff back at you, “Tch—should've fucked somebody important then.”

This time, you skip the eye-roll and flat-out laugh instead, “I'll keep that in mind. Next time, I'll call up your dad-”

That did it—got him out of his seat and everything. “Shut your mouth.” Standing big and hunched, all muscles and fury.

And you react in kind. Glad that you’re finally getting somewhere. “Make me.”

"You're fucking–" He clenched his fist in the air, scrunching his face in frustration, withholding a growl before releasing a heavy sigh instead.

Dropping his arms, shoulders slumping—hanging his head the same way whilst mumbling under his breath, “Fuck this… fuck this entire thing.”

And just as quickly as he’d sprung to his feet, he flopped down on the couch again.

“I don't wanna play games…” He looks up at you—now with the look of a starved and beaten dog. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

He reaches out slowly—big hands cradling your thighs, pulling you towards him gently, and you let him—put off by that strange new look in his eyes.

“You can fuck half the world, and I'd still only want you.”

It’s an odd confession. Unexpected coming from him. You’d anticipated more of a fight, not whatever this is. Looking at you with glossy eyes on the verge of tears. Suddenly, you feel kind of mean, struck with this sense of guilt for having reduced him to such a state.

“Don't take the high road. It doesn't suit you,” you declare, though without much bite.

And he just sighs, “Fuck that, we’re even now.” Pulling you even closer still—into his lap—he makes you straddle him. Forehead to forehead without kissing you yet. “So, are you gonna let me fuck you, or are you really gonna make me beg?”

And though you would kind of like to see what he’d look like on his knees, the sight of him like this was good enough proof that he’d learned his lesson despite it not being an apology.

Besides, he'd been all too right when he’d said the other guy couldn’t fuck you like him.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kyotani, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Shido ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi ♡ HxH – Uvogin

Sloth is a street urchin.

You volunteer at the homeless shelter and can’t help but feel extra sorry for him. He’s only around your age—so young yet with no future to speak of.

This winter, given it’s going to be an especially harsh one, all volunteers have been asked if they have any spare room they can be so kind as to give to those less fortunate. And though you’re not that well off yourself, you still have an extra room you’ve only been using as storage.

So, unable to look the other way, you decide to clean it out, get a bed, and host him.

You took precautions first, naturally—just to be safe. But, from what you could tell, he’s neither a drug addict nor has any criminal record to speak of. No, he’s just another abandoned kid who'd society had failed.

This is the least you can do to correct its wrongs.

And, of course, he falls in love with you for it. Not only do you give him a place of rest—but you make him warm food, give him fresh clothes, do his laundry, draw his bath, watch movies with him every night, and always ask him if he has everything he needs. You even cut his long, shaggy hair for him and give him luxuries such as face-lotion.

You’re a saint, too good for a filthy sinner like him, but he’ll never let you know that... No, your pity feels too nice—taking such good care of him—he’s going to leach off of you and your honeycomb heart for the rest of his life if he can help it.

He doesn't look too bad after he cleans up, and after a few more weeks of eating well and getting enough rest—he stops lurching and starts standing up straight, looking lanky and lean with muscle—at which point you can’t deny he’s even a little hot. You know… in that scrappy sort of way.

You feel weird about it, of course—guilty even. He’s a homeless guy you’re housing—you’d be nothing if not downright evil if you took advantage of him. But after a few weeks of settling in, he starts feeling like more of a normal roommate and not a stranger. And with that familiarity, you both lose the distance and become more lax and loose around each other—wearing less, talking casually, not afraid to brush up against each other, and before you even know it, you find yourself folded in half beneath him on the living room couch.

You don’t know what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into—but his cock’s so big he’s pounding the sense right out of you with every thrust.

He’s not even going fast. No, rather slow, actually—taking his time as if savoring it. But that doesn't take away from the pleasure bubbling up inside of you where his strokes hit so heavy, resting deep within, so fulfilling that it all but replaces your better judgment with the sole need to squeeze him with all you've got.

“Mh, you’re pussy’s so nice and warm—I could stay inside you forever.”

You’re so wet it’s ridiculous—like never before—like you’re the one who’s been starved and neglected and not the other way around. Getting your breath all but knocked out of you, getting fucked so utterly full, he’s making you kick your feet and curl your toes in the air, bucking your hips back into him like you’re desperately begging for more.

He’s got your knees hooked over his arms, keeping you neatly pressed under him. “You’re so good to me—so, so sweet, you must be the sweetest girl in the whole entire world. My guardian angel.”

All you’re able to do is babble and moan in return—misty- and cross-eyed with your dewy face cradled in his hands.

You just hold onto his wrists while he speaks fondly against your lips, “You saved me when no one else even bothered looking. Let me return the favor—give this pretty pussy all the thanks it deserves.”

When he re-angles and hits you in a different spot, the switch in your lower belly is immediate—making your whole body seize up and shiver, breath shuddering in your throat, followed swiftly by a pulse migrating from your core all throughout your body, tasting oversweet on your tongue enough to make you drool.

He locks lips with yours, slurping your spit up sloppily and keeping himself fully sleaved as you peak—feeling your wet, gummy walls tighten and flutter, rippling along his length like a rush of kisses.

Then, right before it fully dies down, he picks up the pace again and rekindles it—because fuck knows he’s well-rested and over-due and the farthest thing from done with you just yet.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Denki, Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Mahito, Gojo, Yuji, Megumi, Yuuta, Choso ♡ HQ – Kuro, Lev, Miya twins, Suna, Tendou ♡ CSM – Denji, Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Nagi ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Togame

Gluttony is a five-star chef.

You start off as a waitress at his restaurant. And yet, he’s the one who developed an appetite—for you and your pleasing smile and that busy-bee swing you have in your hip as you hop around from table to table.

He licks his lips at the sight of you more than he does the food he makes. He even had the uniforms altered in your image—made the skirts shorter and shirts tighter.

He's utterly shameless, but who can blame him? You’re such a little bite-sized treat—he just has to taste you.

And taste you, he most certainly does.

For breakfast and for brunch and lunch and dinner and supper, as well as a midnight snack.

“Your pussy juice is my favorite,” he groans from between your legs.

Fat-muscled chef’s arms, tattooed with all types of silly patches, curled tightly around your thighs, keeping you close despite those times you try and push away when it gets to be a little too much—because fuck knows he doesn’t have the same reservations. Nose and tongue and chin deep in your slit, slurping you down while filling you up with his words, “I want to flavor every meal I make with you.”

You keep a hand over your face, kissing your knuckles, sometimes with a bite—whimpering pitifully, “Gross…”

Of course, you can’t help but cringe when he says things like that. He’s your boss, after all, not a porn actor. Still, you don’t say it with much conviction. It’s just that you get so embarrassed you don’t know what else to say.

He chuckles, still with his face buried. “Don’t be childish.” Words muffled as he doubles down on his efforts of sucking on your clit like a piece of candy.

“I’m not,” you whine. “You're just weird.”

He smacks off of you at that, a refreshing sigh leaving him rugged and raspy, a devilish look in his eyes as if he’s about to eat you for real. “I’m a world-renowned chef—are you implying I don’t know my flavors?”

Everything in your gut coils with anticipation, nearly rumbling with need, while he pulls your lower half up and even closer—face glossy with the way he’d gorged himself already—licking his teeth now as he refocuses on your clit alone.

Flattening his tongue on it while he speaks, sounding like some type of beast, “I’ve tasted everything the world has to offer. And I'm telling you, this pretty little thing between your legs is the best there is.”

You can’t stand looking up at him. Beyond embarrassed, you hide your face with both hands. Mumbling out a weak, “Pervert...”

Again, he snickers, shaking his head as if he’s ripping into flesh when he’s really just got his tongue out—straight motorboating your poor pussy.

When done, he drops you onto the bed again, grinning while replying to your insult, “Can’t argue with that,” before promptly kissing and licking up your belly—with fingers replacing his tongue, pumping you on his knuckles, getting you ready.

He groans when his mouth reaches your chest, lips wrapped around a nipple, “If only these titties had milk. I could feast on you from every position.”

You don’t know if you should giggle or grumble—he’s such a baby—and a spoiled one at that. But really, his fingering is making it difficult to do anything but stammer and try and keep it together, “We talked about this—I’m not taking hormones just to breastfeed you, you weirdo.”

He whines then, “Please—it’s my only wish in the entire world—I need it.”

You struggle to argue, feeling like you’re under siege—an onslaught set out to make you breathless. “Well—” you pant, gritting your teeth and bearing it. “We can’t always get what we want.”

“Oh, I’ll see about that.” He takes it as a challenge, this time really locking his lips around your nipple and suckling—releasing just briefly to say, “I bet if I suck on these babies enough, they’ll give me what I want.”

He keeps his fingers working diligently while at it—used to multitasking—curling and spreading them out within you, pumping you so fast, you barely have the time to beg him to “Stop that—” before you’re already shaking and cumming for what must be the seventh time already.

He laughs breathily, kissing your teat goodbye as he lifts himself up again. Pulling his fingers out of you, he brings them to his lips and blithely sucks them off.

“You know I can’t stop, dear. I’m so hungry—I’m ravenous.”

You watch him from over the tips of your fingers. So hot and mortified you think you’re soon to pass out. Breathing heavily behind your hands, muttering, “You’re a glutton—that’s what you are.”

Again, he just cheerfully snickers, bowing down to your halfway-hidden face with a smile. “I hardly see how it’s my fault I can’t get enough of you.”

He spreads your legs again and finds his place between them.

“You’re the one who got me hooked—so you better take responsibility for it.”

♡ BNHA – Kirishima, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Toji, Todo ♡ HQ – Bokuto, Ukai ♡ BLLK – Baro, Aiku ♡ AOT – Zeke ♡ DS – Doma ♡ HxH – Uvogin ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

Lust is your boss. He's the owner of the strip club where you work, your pimp when money’s tight, as well as the porndirector of all your lovely little films.

Yeah, you might as well have a tramp stamp of his name on your ass, the way he practically owns you…

He's around ten years older and has basically taught you all about sex from when you were only a fledgling in the industry. You live at his studio above the club since he keeps all your money in a bank account under his name, calling you his little sugarbaby and telling you you’ll get an allowance and that you can get more if and when you ask him nicely and tell him what it’s for.

“Don’t be a brat, baby. You know how I hate it when you're a bad girl,” he says when you raise the topic of moving out, treating it as if you’re a child threatening to run away from home.

“I don’t belong to you. Give me what you owe me.”

Honestly, you have no idea where you got the courage.

But is it courage? Or is it just plain stupidity? Because, though you’re increasingly more terrified as you quickly watch him lose his temper, it doesn’t exactly come as a surprise. And so, if you knew this is what was going to happen—why the fuck would you put yourself through it?

Must be madness.

“I give you everything, don't I? Food, clothes, a home,” he chastises, bearing over you while you’re down on scuffed knees, holding your wrist in a bruising grip and your face just as fiercely—nearly tearing the skin off your cheeks with the bite of his nails.

“And still, you have the fucking nerve to act like a goddamn bitch.”

You hiccup on sobs, spluttering out a desperate “Please—I’m sorry–”

"You and your entire slut body belong to me, you understand that?"

"Yes-yes—please—I'm sorry! You're right! I belong to you! I'm sorry!"

That seems to calm him just a bit—at least enough to take the bite away from his voice, now cooing at you in an ugly mocking attempt at sweetness, “Yeah, you do every single little thing I ask. ‘Cause if you’re not gonna behave like a good girl, I have no other choice but to treat you like a bad one.”

He lets your audience be rowdier than usual that night, allowing them to slap and grab, then forces you to have an extra rough shoot afterward—with tighter bondage, more toys, bigger guys making use of you like a piece of meat, smacking and choking you as they find out how many cocks your holes can fit, every last one finishing on your face.

Then, when you’re all done and all used up for the day, he brings you upstairs—home, sweet home—where he treats you to some much-unwanted after-care...

You shiver and shake despite the hot water. Sitting in the bathtub, laying back with your spine against his chest, feeling thin like a sheet of paper, all crumbled up and torn—sniffling and sniveling as the after-shock of the day still ricochets through you like wind through a hollow husk.

“The shoot today was rough, huh?” he drawls, washing you with his own hands. Stroking your poor sore cunt despite how it makes you whimper. “Yeah... was it a little too rough for you, hm?”

You don’t do anything in return—but your body language says enough on its own, and he allows it to be your answer.

Sighing heavily, he wraps you up with both arms and squeezes you tighter, chin resting atop your head.

“You know… if you’d just be my good girl, I’d give you a good girl to-do list. Let you stay here all day, do some house chores while I’m gone, make love when I get home, hm? Doesn’t that sound better?”

He traces a welted bruise on the inside of your thigh, one you got from the shoot—roughly the shape of a hand, and a dozen more others layered on top of it. It makes you suck in a hiss.

“But if you’re gonna be a bad girl, then this is what you get.”

He settles into the grove of your neck, purring against your ear. “Are you gonna be my good girl from now on? Hm?”

You bite your lip, breath shuddering while nodding pitifully.

And still, he insists, “Say it so I can hear it.”

The water’s gone cold around you—just like everything else, as you say, “I’ll be a good girl.”

He seems pleased, at least. Nuzzling against your cheek with chin stubble and a smirk, asking, “Yeah? Whose?”

Your voice is small and pathetic, nearly a wince, “Yours.”

He groans then, “That’s right. My good girl.” Lifting his hand from the water, he takes hold of your chin, fingers pressing into those designated sore spots as he angles your face toward him and gives you a heartless kiss before growling against your lips, “And don’t you ever fucking dare forget it again.”

After he’s finished washing you up, he carries you out to bed. It's one you fear much more than the one down in the studio.

Because in this bed, just like every night in this hellhole… he starts teaching every last one of your holes who they belong to.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ BLLK – Reo, Shido, Aiku ♡ AOT – Zeke ♡ DS – Doma, Muzan, Sanemi

Envy is your enemy.

Or, well, no, he’s not your enemy, but you’re most certainly his enemy.

You’re just not aware of it because of what a ditzy and clueless airhead you are.

But fuck, he can’t stand you—you and your fake personality, acting all bubbly and sweet, cheering him on, always telling him to do his best—condescending little bitch acting like everyone’s friend—like he doesn’t see through you right to your rotten core. You don’t fool him—he knows you’re as bad as the rest of them, so just quit pretending like you’re better or something.

You’re under the false impression that the two of you are friends. You just think he has a strange sense of humor, but you laugh politely even when you don’t always get the joke.

Well, maybe it’s not so much politeness, but the fact that you have a big fat hopeless crush on him.

It infuriates him. He throws your niceties back in your face as insults, and you just laugh. How low do you think of him? Honestly? How tall is that high horse of yours that you have your head constantly in the clouds?

Poor you… you just think he’s so cool—always saying what he feels like, not a lame people-pleasing goodie-two-shoes such as yourself. You can’t help but follow him around like a lost puppy all day long. You’re always making sure you sit next to him during lectures—heart almost beating out of your chest, holding back from squealing when your prayers are answered, and the two of you are finally paired for a project together.

It really feels like the universe is on your side, and so you just can’t stop yourself from going the full mile—making chocolates and preparing him a hand-written love letter. You know he’ll think you’re a little silly, that he’ll make fun of you for it—but you can’t expect to get anywhere without putting your heart on the line, can you? For a chance at love, the risk must be worth it!

Yeah, you’re such a hopeless romantic—you feel it as he punches his fist through your ribs when he rips out your poor heart and stomps all over it.

“I fucking get it already! You’re little miss pretty and popular. Would you quit rubbing it in my face, or do I really have to spell it out for you? I. Don’t. Fucking. Like. You,” he seethes through grit teeth. “Go pick another one of the hundreds dying to be your partner and leave me the fuck alone!”

You shrink where you stand, shocked doe-eyes rapidly welling up like a flood, lips wobbling as you choke on your words, “Oh… okay… I’m sorry… I just… I–”

“You-you-you what?” he barks at your stuttering. “Spit it out already! What the fuck do you want?”

“I just-I-I just always thought you were amazing. So…”

His face contorts, scrunches up in a grimace different from anger, though not without it, as he spits out, “What the fuck are you on about now?”

But his voice is a little diminished now, with confusion usurping the place of his hate, suddenly feeling a little out of sorts because… what did you actually just say?

“I just, I really like you–” you repeat, hanging your head, only barely able to mumble through the tears blocking your throat. “But I guess I’ve just annoyed you all this time—I’m sorry...”

Only now does he notice you’re trying to hand him something—a flat little box with a pink note attached.

“This is for you, but I understand if you don’t want it.” Unable to look up, you just stretch your arms out until it gently bumps into him.

Baffled, he accepts without thinking.

“I’m sorry—I’ll leave you alone from now on.” And then you run off, disappearing with a sob that all but shoots him through the chest.

And slowly bleeding out, he remains standing there, eyes glued to where you'd left—mouthing the word what…

What did you just say?

Like? Him?

Did he mishear you, or did you just confess?

No way—that can’t be it, right?

But what the fuck is this heart-shaped letter, then?

"What the fuck did I just do?"

You look like you’ve been crying your eyes out all night the next day—your usual bubbly personality reduced to a ghost in a shell, walking the hallways like a zombie, slowly and without purpose, eyes on the ground—letting everyone bump into you.

You don't even so much as bat an eye when someone runs straight over you, fully knocking all your books and folders onto the floor.

You just get on your knees and start recollecting them.

A newfound hate flares up within him at the sight. “Hey, you!" He stomps over. "Watch where the fuck you’re going next time, dipshit.”

You look up at the sound of his voice—flinching before you notice it’s not directed at you.

No, rather, he’s got a boy up against the lockers, lifted by his collar onto the tip of his toes. Face only a few inches from his, glaring at him harsher than he’d glared at you yesterday.

“Now apologize to the girl before I punch your ugly face in.”

You stare at the altercation with large eyes, only able to blink as the boy who’d bumped into you starts spluttering on the verge of tears, “I–I’m sorry–I didn’t see you! Sorry!”

You don’t answer. Shocked and speechless, you remain on the floor in confusion, asking yourself why’s he doing this? Didn’t he cuss you out yesterday, or was it all a bad dream like you'd hoped?

He throws the boy on his way, then gets on his knees down alongside you—proceeding to help you gather your things.

You only watch on in wordless bewilderment until he starts muttering something under his breath.

“I’m sorry I made you cry yesterday.” He stacks all your things in a neat pile next to you while continuing his apology. “And for being an asshole. You didn’t deserve that.”

He keeps his eyes fixed to the floor where his hands busily roam around until there was nothing more to retrieve.

He then hesitantly looks up at you—eyes flittering—a little too ashamed to hold your gaze as he says, “Your chocolates were really good.”

That’s when your heart starts fluttering again—as if new life was just breathed in and revived it.

He can see it as well—how you light up like a rekindled candle.

“They were?” you gush, shuffling closer on your knees all excitedly—face brighter than the sun on cloudfree summer day.

It blinds him—nearly stunts him, only able to utter a meager, almost shy, “Yeah.”

He then slings his bag in front of him and pulls something out.

A lunchbox.

“I made you these..." he swallows thickly. "As an apology…”

He’s utterly red—from the tips of his ears to his neck and entire face, even his hands.

“For me?”

“Yeah..." He reaches it over stiffly. “They’re not as good as yours, though...”

You eagerly accept despite his nervousness, popping the lid off where the two of you sit—right there in the middle of the hallway floor, with other students walking around you like water passing two rocks in a stream.

His blush grows ever more intense as you pick one of his crudely made chocolates up, not even examining it before throwing one into your mouth.

It was his first time making anything that required a recipe. And they most certainly did not come out well, but he figured the embarrassment was part of his atonement.

He didn’t actually expect you to try them.

But there you are—lying through your teeth, saying, “I think they’re great!”

He can only scoff out a soft laugh. “Of course you would.”

Turns out, you really are just a nice person after all. You don’t have the heart to be mean at all, do you? Yeah, you don’t even have it in you to feel any of the ugly things he keeps inside. In fact, he bets you don’t even have the means of knowing such ugly things exist.

That must be what he’s envied about you all this time…

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Shinso ♡ JJK – virgin Sukuna, Megumi ♡ HQ – Tsukishima ♡ BLLK – Rin, Sae ♡ DS – Genya

Greed is your clingy childhood friend.

He doesn’t want to share you with anyone and gets viscerally jealous each time you hang out with others. It’s as if he feels boils rising beneath his skin, simmering with a violent need to kill anyone and everyone you ever come into contact with—even if it’s just a passerby who accidentally brushes against you.

He can’t stand other people—how they think they can just come along and be your friend when he’s been your friend since you both were in diapers. What? Do they really expect him to share you with them? Just like that? No way. You’re his best friend. They should all go find themselves their own.

Actually, the term best friend doesn’t even really cut it… It’s a little too childish. You’ve both grown out of it. And besides, it never really fully encompassed what the two of you actually are to each other. You’re so much more than just friends, after all. Yeah, what you really are is soulmates. Yeah, that sounds more right. Soulmates.

And the bond between soulmates is like the bond between an addict and their favorite drug. You wouldn’t ask an addict to share his favorite drug, now would you? No. Not unless you’re prepared to either kill or be killed.

But he can’t say he blames them for wanting you, either. Of course, they’d want you—anyone would.

He pities them, actually. And you make it no better for the poor suckers, stringing them all along—acting as if there’s enough of you to go around. Well, there just isn’t. And even if there was, he shouldn't have to share you with anyone.

Yeah, the problem here is you. You don’t get it, do you? You don’t understand that you’re his.

Well… seems like he’ll just have to teach you once and for all, now, doesn’t it?

“What’s… this?” you mumble groggily once you wake, sluggishly tugging your bound wrists—not yet aware of what they are. Your eyes blow wide once you do—voice turning sharply frantic, “What’s happening?”

“We’re having a play date like we used to.” He comes into view just as the panic sets in—and though his face has all the familiarity to be a sign of comfort, his words evoke no such feeling within you.

“Remember? How we used to play house?" he says. "Granted, we're a little older now… so I thought I’d change it up a bit.”

He stands before the bed you’re currently lying tied down on. But he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s something very wrong about all of him. Seeming way too at ease for the situation.

“Instead of making mud pies…” he continues. “I'm gonna fuck you and give you a creampie.”

Your heart lurches up into your throat at his words, and you choke. Your clothes from the day have been removed, leaving you naked. You spot them lying on the floor in a heap while you spastically look around for clues as to “What the fuck’s going on? This isn’t funny–”

“Shut up,” he says—his demeanor still as nonchalant as he climbs on top of you and pushes something past your lips, nudging it deep down in your throat.

Feeling it as it scrapes your tongue, you can tell it’s your lace panties, and you gag—shaking your head, trying to dislodge both it and his fingers, but he holds you steady.

“I have things to say. So, be a good friend and listen.”

You start crying then—brows cinched as you look up at him in terror, full-tremoring now while struggling under his weight and the all-too-intimate way he starts touching you.

“I'm glad you’re still a virgin…” he suddenly says, running his hands down your breasts, catching your nipples between his fingers.

You twist in disgust, halfway convinced you’re having some godawful fucked up dream—that this just can’t be happening—but somehow, at the same time, something deep in your gut that’s been lying there for a while ignored by your kind heart doesn't find it completely without warning, having felt how strange he'd been acting as of late—always looking at you a certain way and saying certain concerning things—certain concerning things he’s saying right now, “I’d kill all those little toy friends of yours if you were ever so stupid to let them have it.”

He glares at you—looking every bit angry, and yet you can’t describe it exactly. Something about that look in his eyes makes him seem like a complete stranger to you. Then he cracks a smile, and it makes it all the worse. Bowing down until his forehead presses clean against yours, noses rubbing against each other.

“But I think you knew. Didn’t you? Knew how it wouldn’t be right. Knew it was mine to take.”

He shuffles backward until he’s separating your thighs instead of straddling your waist. And you croak with an especially full-chested sob as his touches travel further down along with him—with savage goosebumps running rampant across your body once he rubs his thumb crassly over your slit.

“You see?” his breath shudders in his throat—thick with something mortifying that’s bound to ruin you forever. “It’s so happy to see me.”

You whine and scramble, trying to force your thighs shut—but he has the upper hand—keeping you spread with his body while two of his fingers slip through your lips and bully themselves inside.

He pumps them in and out with zero regard to how you recoil—only sneering at the way you worm in disgust, “At least your pussy understands where its loyalties lie.”

It’s not long before his ministrations draw wetness, and he pulls them out—inspecting them in the dim light he’s left on. Rubbing the digits together before putting them in his mouth.

You close your eyes with a whimper while listening to the sickening sounds of him sucking them clean.

He puts both hands around your neck next. He doesn't squeeze hard, but your breath stops nonetheless. Eyes stinging with both spent and still-welling tears.

“I’m upset with you,” he states, brushing his lips over your parted ones, still stuffed and silenced with your own underwear. “But I’ll forgive you if you apologize and swear to me that you meant it when you said we’d be friends forever.”

That look in his eyes—you still can’t explain it. Desperate, desolate, deranged, and enraged—something downright sick.

“But since you can’t talk right now, you’ll have to prove it some other way...”

One of the hands disappears, and you hear the following sounds of a zipper being undone, then the rustling of his pants being shoved down.

“Cum on my cock, and I’ll know.”

The room tastes of blood and something rotten as he frees his cock and graces your clit.

“Actions speak louder than words anyway, after all, don’t they? So cum on my cock, and I’ll cum in your pussy, so we can seal our friendship again—just like the time we married each other on the playground.”

He enters you, and you think you might just die in the mix of horror and grief.

And yet you remain perfectly alive—even as he rips through you and splits both you and your heart apart.

“You can think of this as the honeymoon,” he whispers. “Always and forever, happily ever after, never apart.”

♡ BNHA – Deku ♡ JJK – Gojo, Yuuta ♡ HQ – Tendou ♡ BLLK – Bachira ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Nirei

♡ HEAVENLY VIRTUES ♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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madamechrissy · 5 months ago

Text

Pour it Up

Pairings: Stripclub Owner Sukuna x Stripper F!reader

Summary:- You are a single mother, your baby daddy is not just worthless, he also is actively trying to sabotoge you, so you go out on your own and raise your kid by yourself. Struggling your ass off, a friend of a friend named Toji decides to offer you a hell of a deal, a few hours a night at a strip club to make BANK. While there, you meet the other owner, Sukuna, and the moment he sees you? You annoy him how beautiful you are, how much he wants you, pushing him to insanity. He knows he must have you- no matter whose ass he needs to beat.

Warnings:- reader is a mom, lowkey/highkey Yandere Sukuna behavior (He's obsessed- down bad) recreational drug use, drug dealing Sukuna (the club lowkey a front lol) Mafia ties, EXPLICIT sexual content, fluff/smut AND light angst- violence, some former trauma of reader. This part- SO MUCH SEX, so much whipped Kuna lol Oral sex (Female receiving) fingering, marathon sex, multiple positions, mating press, creampie, cum eating, shower sex, tummy bulge, spitting, dirty talk (Kuna says slut and whore) - WC-6.9k

Based on Stripclub Owner Sukuna - will be six or more parts-I HIGHLY recommend the playlist (At least on the club scenes) That mobster art in the banner is by Sketch B on X- LINK

<<<Part two - Playlist - Masterlist - Part Four>>>

Part Three

‘You’re getting no sleep tonight’

Sukuna’s big, expensive jacket falls down, pooling at your ankles, before he turns you, unclasping your bra and leaving brutal kisses along your neck, your shoulders, nipping and licking while your head falls to the side, allowing him more access. Your breasts are heaving up and down while his hands slip down your panties, and finally he’s unbuckling your heels.

When he does you’re so ridiculously tiny next to this giant of a man it’s laughable, everyone really is, but the thrill of it just excites you more, as your head falls back to look at him, and your fingers are unbuttoning so fast they shake. He chuckles, “That excited huh?”

“Shush.” Is all you manage, but you are, so curious to the muscle you can feel against you, slipping off his shirt then and biting your lip at how gorgeous his body actually is.

Rippled muscles, tattoos running down his neck to his chest, his abdomen, black lines that just enhance the lines and cuts of his abdomen. Your hands touch his thick chest, well formed pectoral muscles tensing as you trail your fingers down, each rippling abdominal, until you find a line of dark hair under his belly button, and you hear his breath catch.

“Sukuna, you're kind of beautiful.”

“Kinda what now? Did I already lick your lil head dumb?” You laugh softly, shaking your head at him, pressing a kiss on his chest. “Shit…” He moans out, hand enwrapping in your hair.

You expect more taunts or teases, but he’s just watching you intently, sooty pink lashes lowering, as you unzip his pants, sliding them down, and then reach his black boxers and pull the waistband. His thick, heavy cock comes into your view, your pussy is throbbing around literally nothing, picturing just how this will fit.

Precum is smeared along his tip, his piercing, and your eyes shoot up to watch his cheeks dusted pink, you smile just a bit. “Are you blushing, Mr. Sukuna?”

“Blushing? Tch…” He scowls at you now, before you know it you’re swooped up in his arms, as his blushing tip of his cock lines up with your drooling hole, and you’re whining out, pussy soaking him, he feels your heat and damn near cums from rubbing on it. “Pathetic.”

“Hmm?” You mumble.

“You’re pathetic for me, aren’t you?” You just nod weakly, but Sukuna may or may not be talking about himself, he’s pathetic for you.

You’re more than ready from him drinking you up in the car, but you’re so tight, and he’s so thick it’s stupid, those nine inches just barely pressing in as the cool wall is flush on your back, pressing against your shoulder blades, while your front is pressed on Sukuna. You’re trembling as you try to take any of him as all, just the tip has you spasming.

Sukuna thought he could handle you, he thought he’d fuck you so good against this damn wall, slam your cervix as he holds you up against this wall, but the moment he’s inside you? The moment your slick walls suck him in, and your walls are fluttering around just the tip he’s inserted in your sticky, gooey little pussy, the moment your eyes shoot up to his, and your lips part?

Sukuna is ended.

You end him to the point he pauses, used to rough sex and pummeling a pussy, drilling like he’s made for it, instead his breath catches, and he’s resting his forehead on yours for a moment, while you cling to him tightly. He feels your manicured nails pressing into his biceps, your thighs trembling, cunt dripping as you try to take any of him at all.

Your breaths mix, yours is so sweet it intoxicates him, pushing in just a little more, seeing if you can take it, and fuck you try to, but he’s so thick it burns, you can barely cling to him for any sense of reality. You look up at ruby red eyes, your mouth open in a cry as he pulls back, pushing even further in, one hand leaving your ass as he presses you into the wall.

His other hand comes to grip yours, fingers entwining over your head, your hand is engulfed in his huge one, you feel so tiny in his hold, in his arms, wrapped around this thick, veiny cock you’re trying to take. Your breaths come quicker when he holds your hand, when he pauses, when his eyes get lidded, pupils shrunk to pinpoints, making the rubies that are his eyes even more intense.

“Fuck…” Is all he manages, his heart beating in his chest, pounding against the softness of your breasts, as something just clicks, something snaps all at once, swirling his mind, looking at your pretty face, the tears in your eyes. “Too much, brat?” He huffs, trying to act calm, like he’s not losing it for you.

You take a shaky breath, crying out when he presses deeper, you feel him everywhere, his cock so deep inside you, feel him in your tummy, god you feel him in your head. It’s overwhelming, as he clutches your hand so tightly, the things you feel already for this man are far beyond his dick, his hands, his lips, it’s how he’s looking at you, how he’s holding your hand.

You shake your head, reaching one hand to cup his face then, making him feel far too much, so much he swallows, feeling nerves that a man like him shouldn’t, god you make him feel like some high school idiot. If he was a more romantic man he’d write some poems or shit, but he sure wasn’t going that far, but it takes everything to hold in words that are threatening to spill.

Foolish words.

He’s pussy drunk off three thrusts, then by four you’re whining out his name- “Sukuna!” And he’s done for.

He kisses you brutally, hands back on your ass, pounding inside your slick heat as you bite on his neck, making him hiss, your nails scratching at his back when his drooling tip kisses your cervix. “F-fuck… biting me, huh brat?” He manages to huff, and you just whimper, head falling back as he fucks into you more and more, the wet sounds filling his empty penthouse.

He’s maddened by you, how good you feel, as you feel the stretch, feel your pussy trying to accommodate him, and he’s pressing in, rolling his hips just so, pulling back to watch as your face contorted in pleasure. “There you go, cum for me, like a perfect lil’ slut, huh?”

You nod weakly, sniffling as he presses you even closer, you feel the pressure building, as his piercing hits something so good, and you’re tightening around it, screaming out. “Y-yes, yes, I’m gonna- ah!”

“That’s it, f-fuckin’ feel you.” He huffs, strong muscles tensing as you convulse around his cock.

How can he even handle you if in a few thrusts you’re trying to milk his cock for everything!?

“Oh my god, mnh!” He’s pushing off the wall now, carrying you to a sleek leather couch, where he pulls out, cock already dripping precum, mixing with your soaking wet arousal. He turns you and slips a hand to your clit, you’re whining at the loss of his cock, as you drip down his fingers. “Please, back in.”

“So needy already, huh?” He’s needy for you though, as he presses you down, arching your pretty ass up and groaning at the sight. “Fuck, look at that.” He smacks your ass, each cheek bouncing for him, before spreading them, guiding his thick cock back inside.

“Yes, please, please… ah!” You’re shuddering when he’s pulling your hair at the nape of your neck, sinking back in so deep, piercing on his cock hitting just that spot as the tip drags along your walls, and you’re gripping at the couch as he bends you further, arching your ass up for more.

“Feel her, so fuckin’ perfect, pussy is just made f’me, huh?” You nod weakly as he fucks into you, rougher now, acting as if the moment before wasn’t so intimate that he almost cried sliding in for the first time.

Nothing feels as good as you.

You can’t find a coherent word to respond when black painted nails press into your hips, and he’s starting to fuck you, and fuck you harder than you’ve ever had, you’re barely able to take his thickness, his length, as it slams your cervix over and over. You try to catch a breath, drool spilling out of your mouth as heavy balls slap against your clit, as his pelvis smacks your ass over and over.

“Didn’t hear you answer me.” He huffs, smacking an ass cheek now, grinning ferally at your whine, as your pussy clenches him even tighter.

“Wh-what was the q-question?” He’s leaning so his lips press against your ear, tickling you, making your tummy tense as he sinks inside so deep.

“That pussy, is it made f’me?” He asks again, and you nod, earning a gentle slap on the face. “Use those words.”

“Made for you.” Sukuna’s lost in you then, in how good you feel, in your every cry and moan, his own eyes rolling back in the ecstasy that was your slutty, squishy little pussy, before making himself focus, because he can’t miss looking at you like this.

Arched up and perfect, he pauses just a moment, taking a breath as your walls grip him like a vise. “Gripping me so greedy, shit baby.” He mumbles, as you both gasp for a breath.

“Mnh! S’good I- f-fuck, Sukuna…” Sukuna groans out loud, the wet slaps louder and louder as he loses control, loses himself, urged on by how your body shakes, how he sees a little trail of drool right on the side of your jaw, since when did he notice shit like this!?

You’re ruining him with every stroke, all he can think of is making you cum again and again, have you cum so much it makes up for years of you not, and he slams in, rolling his hips again, watching you shudder, thighs shaking as you start gushing around his cock, making a sticky mess. “That’s it, slutty pussy so greedy hmm?”

You weakly nod, as he now feels your aftershocks, gripping two of your wrists together behind your back and fucking you harder, propping your ass up even higher on the arm of it so your legs are just dangling there. He props a knee up even high, hitting some angle that blinds you. “Ah!”

“Gonna fuck every worry outta that pretty lil’ fuckin’ head.” He huffs, bending low over you, wrapping an arm around your waist just to sink impossibly deeper, stuffing as much of his cock in you as he can fit, a creamy ring forming at the base of his cock the more he strokes. “F-feel s’good, fuck… perfect pussy, y’know that?” You shake your head weakly, and he sighs, letting go of your wrists then.

You’re like some little ragdoll to him the way he picks you up, the way he moves you, now slipping his cock out of your pussy and carrying you again, all you can do is cling to his naked body, eyes fluttering in and out of focus. He plops you down on that bed of his, you errantly notice it’s huge, a four post bed that’s covered in black and silky sheets and blankets.

You also notice a sex swing, thinking what the fuck, and you also see some crazy X on the wall, there are whips and all sorts of things, he chuckles as you eye them, cupping your face with his big hands, strong body leaning heavy weight over you. “I’m not using any of this shit on you, brat, stop freaking out.”

“I… it’s okay if you do like that, but I don’t know about-”

“Shh.” He kisses you deeply then, you feel too much, far too fucking much for this man. “Ignore the swing, innocent little thing huh?”

“Not even.” You glare at him, but he’s grinning and shaking his head, watching as he rubs that tip between your swollen folds.

“Having more than enough fun with this soaking little pussy, don’t need anything else right now.”

The insanity of his room melts, as he looks at you, really looks at you, and you drag him down for another kiss, pussy already sore and aching but you want so much more of him, you want everything. When he’s pulling back and smirking, a huge hand on your tummy, you look down and see it, this bulge of his cock.

“F-fuck… look at that, fucking you up, huh brat?” He huffs, slowly moving it, so obscene you’re blushing, then gasping out as he presses your legs up high, folding you in half under him, hitting even deeper now, your hips are bucking back at it, how deep he is, how full you are. “Ah-ah, don’t run now.”

“Too much. Too big.” He’s moaning as he eases your thighs down just a bit, instead hooking one over an elbow.

“Brat can’t take dick huh?”

“Sukuna… y-you’re a-”

“I’m a what baby?” He’s slamming his cock so deep you scream, soaking him further, hands gripping the silken material under you, head falling back as he grips your hips bruisingly.

“You’re too much, mmm.” You whimper out, he laughs softly, leaning over you again, pulling out just to slam his length back in, and then your eyes hit his, and he can’t take how beautiful you are.

“Drooling, huh slutty girl?” He cooes, swiping at your face, you just moan, as he slips his thumb between your lips, you’re slobbering all around it as he fucks faster and faster, slamming and pressing you even deeper into the firm mattress, taking over all of your senses, it’s all Sukuna, when he finally slows, kissing down your throat and biting hard.

“Ah!”

“Mmm, ya taste good everywhere.” He’s groaning as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, as one of your hands entangle in his silky hair, and the other grips the taut muscles of his back. “Feel her squeezing me, fuckin’ milking me, f-fuck…”

“Sukuna, m’gonna cum again, ngh!” You’re whining, so overstimulated, when he uses one elbow to brace himself, the other hand slipping between you as pinches your little clit, you scream so loud your voice is hoarse.

“That’s it, can’t help yourself hmm? Gonna cum again, so easy?”

“For you… easy for…” Your vision goes black as you gasp out for any sort of breath, and he’s rolling his rough finger right on it. “S-sensitive!”

“Cum again, lemme feel her, shit- mmm.” You’re gushing and pulsing, you hear the sounds now, how wet you really are, mixed with his moans as he watches your pretty face while you cum, knowing he could never get tired of the sight. “There you go, good girl.”

You’re lost again, clinging to him and crying tears, he thinks how pretty they look coming down your cheeks as he is getting close, your walls clamping down with the force of your orgasms. “C-can’t take m-more…”

“You can, baby, hah don’t tap out yet.” He’s grinning all insane when he leans over you fully, bodies flush, your legs wrapped around his thick waist, squeezing against him as he slows finally, just a bit, letting you catch a breath, both of your eyes locking again. “Do I gotta get a morning after pill?”

You catch his meaning, blushing furiously, as he slides out slowly, almost to the tip, before shoving back in to get your attention. “Wh-what?”

“Birth control, brat, I’m not pulling out. Wanna paint your pretty insides with all my fuckin cum.” His words are filthy, he’s filthy, but you want it then, crave it, he watches how your eyes glitter, how your lips part, smirking down at you. “Ya want it, don’t you? Me to fill up your slutty pussy hah?”

“Please… no need for… a-after pill, m’on the p-pill, f-fuckkt…” It’s impossible to focus when he’s fucking you harder now again, smirking down as he knows he’d bust in you regardless.

“Gonna fill you up s’fucking good, gonna drip my cum out as you’re dancing, for men who can never fucking have you.” You’re just a mess now, incoherent when he shoves your legs over his shoulders and pummels you, the loud slap slap slap echoing in his slutty, freaky ass room, along with your pathetic little cries.

“Please… cum in me…” Your words are it for him, he’s pressing inside, and you hear it then, that whimper you heard sucking him, as his eyelashes flutter and those muscles tense, a drip of sweat slipping down to the base of his cock as he thrusts in once more so deep, in your damn cervix, and he starts to fill you, flooding you with ropes of his hot cum.

“Oh my f-fucking… feel s-so…” Sukuna’s slamming his lips down on yours, something he just doesn’t do, as he busts inside your slick walls, his cock pulsing more and more of that gooey cum all in you, moaning against your lips. “She’s so greedy, she w-wants every drop, mmm.”

You’re just shaking as he fills you, back lifting off the bed as his arm wraps you, yanking you further down his dripping cock, pumping you so full you feel it in your stomach, you’re clinging to him as he drinks your cries. He’s kissing you over and over, messy, sloppy, desperate as your muscles are spasming, pushing his own cum down his cock with the force.

“Never felt something that good, jesus fuck…” He’s groaning, biting at your lower lip, resting his forehead for a moment and feeling far too intimate, even more intimate than his cum filling your warm pussy.

“Mnh… It’s so much…”

He laughs a bit, breathless, kissing you again before easing back finally, looking at the marks from his teeth, his fingers, his hands all over your pretty body. He exhales, running his fingers down your thighs, watching goosebumps rise, watching you twitch and jerk.

“S-sensitive…”

“Are you now?” You nod barely, as he kisses down your neck, tongue lapping at the little drops of perspiration from your skin as you whimper, and he finally pulls his cock out, looking down at it. “What a mess we made, huh pretty little slut?”

“Mnh, d-did we?” Your room is spinning, and he’s grinning as he pulls back, watching the sloppy, sticky mess pour down his perfect bedding. “Oh! Oh…”

“Yeah oh, you’re cute.” He chuckles at your narrowed eyes, leaning up on your elbows as he fingers at the sticky cum all over your cunt. “She’s so puffy, hah look at this.”

“Sukuna… w-what are you doing!?” He’s shoving your thighs up high, grinning.

“Hold em up.”

“Why!? We just… mnh!” Sukuna is lapping his own cum right out of your pussy, you’re so overstimulated you’re crying, hiccuping as you yank at that pink hair, his huge hands taking over your ass, your thighs as they threaten to close.

“Taste us together, god.” He’s groaning as he laps up and scoops his own cum that’s just pouring out of your hole with that long pink tongue, making his cock that was satiated twitch again with need for you, as your thighs are squishing his head, earning his scowl. “I said, keep em open.”

“C-can’t, what even are you Sukuna?” You whisper breathless, thinking he’s some sort of demon as he’s chuckling against a puffy little cunt, leaning and forcefully shoving your thighs apart.

“Wanna taste us, brat?” He whispers, and you pause your squirming, breasts heaving with the effort it takes to take him.

“Yes.”

He moans, scooping more of his own cum out of your pussy, his taste buds brushing on your walls before he leans up, gripping your chin and putting two fingers to your lips, opening your mouth. Your tongue hangs out as he spits then, all his cum mixing with his saliva as it drips down in a filthy string into your open mouth, your eyes widen at it, your pussy clenching again.

“Swallow, now.” He orders, and you eagerly do, making him moan, saliva still dripping just a bit from his plump lips, which turn up, he now kisses you, swapping his cum between your tongues, and you’re gripping him with your little fingers, whining. “Remember I told you to eat?”

“Y-yes…” You manage, swallowing his salty sweet cum down, lashes lowering as you study his tongue swiping across his tongue so lewd and sexy, just making you ready again.

“You’re really gonna wish you listened.” You blink before he’s got you flipped to your hands and knees, and you feel the piercing tickling your slit, your clit, you whine out at it, head falling forward as your body is shaking.

“Again- already!?”

“How pathetic was that lil’ bitch you were with?” He practically growls then, spreading your ass cheeks and pussy lips open to peer at you, all red and beat up, just making his sticky cock harder. “Never went back to back?”

“What even is that, I- oh my god.” Sukuna’s not just easing in this time, no he’s slid all the way in your entrance, bottoming out and stuffing you full, you cry out, head buried in the blankets, as his thumbs press into the dimples of your back.

“You think once is enough for me? Of this? Of you? Oh, fuck no, need more and more of this.” He’s slamming into your cunt, hitting even more angles as your ass archess, one of his hands sliding up to wrap in your hair, pulling it until your back is curved, and your head falls back. “Can’t get enough of you.”

His words along with his cock fuck every thought out of your head, just like he said, as he has you on your knees, one hand now wrapping your throat, and your head turns to look at him, vision fading in and out.

“Want it?” He asks gruffly, as he squeezes your throat. You nod weakly, and his ruby eyes light up. “Trust me?”

“I do trust you.” You whisper, he pauses for a moment, thinking of more words he’d love to hear, to say, but then he’s sinking into your heat, moaning and laying you on your tummy, prone over you.

“Gonna be all me, huh perfect little whore? All me?” You whimper as he takes you over, hooking one leg across yours and sinking impossibly deep, squeezing your throat, you’re lightheaded, you’re floating. He’s whispering in your ear, “All me, all mine, no one’s gonna fuckin’ touch you.”

You can’t imagine wanting anything else, you’re weak as you nod, as he squeezes your oxygen from your little neck with his big hand, his long fingers, sinking into your pussy so deep you can’t tell where you begin and he ends. It is all him, all Sukuna, as he chokes you, as he fucks you, as he kisses you, moaning as you’re cumming all over his cock again.

“Mnh- f-fuck… can’t help yourself, can you?” He’s gruffly talking shit, but as he feels you tighten again he’s close to cumming all over, he releases your throat, seeing your reddened face, kissing you again all sloppy. Your teeth click, tongues dripping down, while he’s crying out. “Want more inside you? Me to fill you till you can’t even fuckin walk?”

“Please!” Your little cry destroys him, he’s cumming in you like this so fucking intimate, kissing you as he fills your pussy again, pushing his cum up and inside your pussy further.

Sukuna was not kidding about no sleep, despite him not putting you in the sex swing or handcuffing you- yes there is an entire cuffing system for his bed- no, he’s having more than enough fun using your pretty body. Every position, several rounds of cum stuffing in your pussy, until he finally allows you a water break, and you truly can’t stand, he has to hold you up.

He’s laughing as you gulp down water, body shaking still, so weak from how much he’s fucked you, more than maybe you’ve ever fucked in a year in the matter of hours. Your hand is so shaky the water slips off the sides, making him have to take the cup from you, his hand cupping your face, putting the glass to your lips.

“Little brat can’t function?” He hums, you sigh, leaning against him, head on his chest, feeling his thrumming heart beat.

“You’re not human, I’m convinced.” He smirks then.

“We’re just getting started.”

“Huh!?”

“I’m giving you a moment.” He leans forward and bends at the waist, pressing you against the counter, completely naked. You should be insecure or embarrassed, shy maybe, because as a stripper you still had certain things covered, but you really couldn’t care about that, not with him. “Look at this body, fuck…”

“You’re sweet to me.”

“Sweet? You should look at those handprints on your ass.” You giggle a bit, but when he’s kissing you again, you’re melting, feeling so much it makes your throat close up, your heart racing, as you lean up, eager for more. “Let’s clean up.”

“Yes please.” He brushes your hair back, all messy from the amount of times he’s pulled it, buried his face in it, ran his fingers through it. It feels…

“Perfect.”

“Hmm?” You murmur, eyes shutting as he kisses your forehead, far too sweet a gesture for a man like Sukuna, but you’re annoyingly turning him into mush, and he really can’t stand it.

“Said perfect.”

“Me?”

“Yes you, annoying brat.” You giggle, shaking your head. “Don’t make me fuck every insecurity out of you dumb little head.”

“Excuse me? I can’t tell if you’re being sweet or an ass.” He just raises his brows, you shove at him, laughing, then he’s picking you up in his arms, you cling to his neck, breathless.

“Gotta carry you all around and shit, huh? Can’t walk?”

“You like to do it, stop lying.” He hides his smile in your messy hair, as he eases you to sit, starting the shower now, the steam rising around you as soon as you step in, looking at just how luxurious it is, multiple shower heads amongst pretty tan marble tiles, little white ones warmed under your feet when he leads you in. “This shower is nicer than my existence.”

He snorts at that, shaking his head, eying your body covered in forming bruises, feral thinking that everyone will now know you’re his. Even if it hasn’t been explicitly stated yet, he already knows it for the both of you. He feels this annoying ass tenderness for you, as he watches the hot droplets cascading off your sexy, pretty little body, your head falling back, eyes closed in enjoyment.

Soon Sukuna is standing behind you, his hands immediately on your shoulders, rubbing the knots out, making you lean into his touch. “This is heaven.” You murmur, his hands slipping down to your hair, brushing it to the side and leaning low, his lips against your ear.

“Mm, it’s just a shower, brat, I can make you feel way better, hmm?” He says, voice low, his cock hardening again for you, poking at your back thick and hot, but he doesn’t move on it yet, just lets the warm water run over the both of you.

“Better than anything.” You feel yourself leaning more on him, as the water is washing away the sticky mess of your love making, the heat making your skin tingle as his thick cock pulses. Your heat in your tummy starts again, and your nipples perk up, he eyes them, his hands gripping them, eliciting a cry from you, your ass arching more against him.

“Better than anything, huh?”

“Anything.” At your whisper he’s got you turning around, your hands slip up his slick chest to his shoulders, watching the water running down his abs, his cock with that reddened tip fully hard again, and he’s just staring at you with those ruby eyes, gulping at how much you make him feel with those words. “What’s that look, Sukuna?”

“Thinking about everything I’m gonna do to you.” You bite your lower lip, as his hands find purchase at the nip of your waist. “I’m gonna fuck you again, and again, until you can’t even think of anyone else but me.”

“Sukuna, there is no one else I think of.” You whisper, leaning up as he leans down, and you kiss him, deep and sloppy and so desperate, and he groans, grabbing your thighs, hoisting you up so you wrap around his waist.

“Only me in that pretty head, only my cock inside your tight lil’ fucking cunt, huh?” Your legs are shaking as you’re pressed against the slippery tile wall, his possessive words just making you wetter. “Say it.”

“Only you.” Sukuna exhales, his grip is firm on your ass, as he starts to fuck you again, his cock sliding in so easily, because of how much you’ve cum already, how much he’s fucked you, stretched your little pussy out.

The water is hot on your skin, but not as hot as his touch, not as warm as his body, as he whispers filthy things that sound like pretty love confessions. “Perfect little slut, made f’me, hah- made to take my cock, yeah?”

You just nod weakly, feeling his cock hit your g-spot with that piercing again, your nails digging into his shoulders and slipping as the water pummels both of you, burning hot. You’re so sore then, but you crave it, crave more, gasping out, toes curling as he shoves in so deep, rolling his hips and pulling back.

“Look at that pretty face, so fucked out.” He murmurs, watching while he lifts and slams you down on his cock, your eyes roll back, mouth open in an O, he knows you’re close again. “That’s it, pathetic slut can’t help cumming, so cock hungry?”

“Mnh!” You are just too fucked out to answer anymore, when he’s got his hand on your neck, his thumbs pressing gently on your pulse point, tilting your chin up.

“Look at me when you cum all over my cock, brat.” You struggle to focus, then you’re shattering again, so lost in his eyes that you don’t even realize when he’s cumming again, until he’s moaning and kissing you brutally, filling you up so hot all in your tummy. “How many loads- hah- you gonna take?”

“Shh- f-fuck!” You’re riding it out, the orgasm him painting your walls gives you, as you’re kissing down his neck, clinging to him weakly.

“Perfect girl, made to be filled by me. Just me.” You sigh, as he eases out of you, then eases you to stand, legs wobbly. “Just me.”

“Sukuna… you’re insane.” He smirks now, shaking his head.

“You really got no idea.”

After the night, you got absolutely no sleep. Aside from literally passing out on him with his cock in you, he woke you up with a not so gentle smack on your ass, as you were bent over in doggy and fading out. You’d sleepily grumbled until he finally decided to cuddle you in his bed, and fuck you feel so good in his arms.

Too good.

Sukuna’s cock was prodding at your entrance, even as you’re in his dress shirt, and you hiss in pain as he touches it, as his tip presses against you, and he’s toying with your puffy little clit. “Need you again.”

“I c-can’t, Kuna…” You whisper, pathetic and weak, half asleep in this man’s strong arms.

He pauses then. “Kuna? The fuck is that?”

You’re loopy, smiling back at him, eyes lidded and barely open, bare faced and beautiful to him, the moonlight glinting through the window now and illuminating your pretty face. “Issa nickname…”

“Stupid.” He huffs, earning another tired giggle, no drug or liquor could ever feel like being fucked out by Sukuna, you’re sure of it. “You’re cockdrunk, tch.”

“S’your fault, Kuna.” You’re giggling as he scowls, cupping your face, the fan whirling softly above you both as you feel the silk against your skin from him shuffling under the blankets.

“Stop the stupid nickname, brat.” He orders, you shake your head then. “You are a brat, not listening for shit.”

“You love it. Shh.” You kiss him so sweetly, he melts against you, pulling you close as he exhales against your lips, drowning in you. “Can I get jus’ a couple hours, I have my kid tomorrow.” You yawn then, and he pulls back, frowning.

“Can’t you stay tomorrow too? I will pay her more.” You blink sleepily, shaking your head.

“No, too much time… I’ll miss Touma.” You’re fading, and Sukuna feels too goddamn much, as he stares at you, as he thinks of the ripping feeling in his heart at you ever leaving.

Would he have to just move in the damn kid!?

Would you even go for this?

It’s too soon and it’s stupid but he cuddles you then, thinking of stupid, stupid things, a girl that makes him question too much just existing. When you snuggle against him, and he holds you, he wants to keep you here so badly it makes him almost sick, your little sleepy smile as you murmur a stupid nickname.

What have you done to him?

*****

“Ow, ow, ow, ow.” You’re hissing as Sukuna is chuckling at you, while you’re wobbling out to his car, wearing his jacket and your pajamas underneath, your hair insane from falling asleep after the second shower.

Six times he fucked you.

Six times he busted inside you.

Six times!?

That’s not counting the amount of times he had his face buried between your thighs, or the times he was fucking your throat. That was just the amount of loads he’d pumped in your pussy. He’s leaned back in his seat, you get to see one of his cars, some fancy sports thing, that purrs as he starts it, chuckling at you.

“Poor baby can’t take all this dick, can she?”

“Sukuna, that's not fair. Tell me this isn’t normal!?” He pauses then, sighing a bit as he drives.

“No, that much isn’t normal for me either.” He murmurs, before his smirk is back, eyeing your pained expression. “Are you doing okay?”

“No, I am not.” Your tummy rumbles then, and you blush in embarrassment.

“Want food on the way home?”

“No, you don’t have to…”

“Let’s just swing through somewhere.” It feels too comfortable, too perfect, his hand on your thigh as he drives, it feels like you’re all his, truly like you’re meant to be there, and that should scare the shit out of him. But he’s too far gone to be scared of it at all.

“Okay, thank you.” You yawn cutely, melting him despite his cocky, arrogant little attitude he presents. He swings through a breakfast place soon, and you lean forward. “Um, Touma likes french toast.”

“What about you, brat?”

“Me… um… in a second.” You’re rattling off things for your kid, irritating him since your tummy is clearly growling again.

“And for you?” He asks again, scowling now, you giggle a bit.

“Protein for recovery needed. Egg and sausage?”

He rolls his eyes, ordering it, slapping at your hand when it goes to your purse. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Kuna, it’s for my kid too.” He frowns once more, smacking your hand again, like you’re some little kid touching what you shouldn’t.

“Don’t call me Kuna, shit. Also, hell no, I’ll pay, it’s literally nothing.” You ease back a bit, as he hands you the bags and drink holder, smiling at him. “Stop that, it’s nothing.”

“It’s sweet. Really sweet.” You tear up a bit by the time you’re home, earning a further look of confusion on his face.

“Don’t cry over some cheap breakfast, shit.”

“No you’re just… Sukuna it’s been all me, everything, just this one little thing… it was sweet.” You murmur, eyes glimmering, and he realizes then, just what you must have been through, at least some of it, if this meant anything to you at all.

“Well, just… just let me do shit for you all the time, then. Stop bitching about it.” He says with narrowed eyes, and you giggle just a bit, the sound tightening his chest far too much when you lean forward, little hand brushing against his jaw as you lean forward.

“Last night was… there are no words. I hope um, it wasn’t once?” You whisper, and Sukuna drags you against him right in front of your house, one hand pressed on your waist as he looks at you.

“I did fuck your brains out, if you think that’s all I want. The fuck? You think I don’t want you every day and night.” You exhale in relief, kissing him then, so sweetly he should make it rough, right? He should grip a titty, your ass, bite your lip, anything but kiss back just as tenderly, inhaling the sweet scent of you filling the car, mixing with the breakfast sitting in your lap.

“Even if it’s just um… sex. I’ll do it, Kuna. I feel so good with you.” He should rejoice in this, a man who just wants that, wants it easy in life, but his jaw clenches when he cups your face.

“I fucked every braincell out.” You laugh, shaking your head. “That’s not… tch, not all I… y’know get out, brat. Annoying.”

You smile at him, knowing what he means as his jaw clenches, pressing a kiss on the cleft of his chin, then nuzzling your nose against his, far too sweet, far too cute, destroying him with every precious moment. Making him a little bitch, soon he’d be ordering fruity drinks like goddamn Gojo, what you do to him, with your cheeks and eyes all bright, your smile.

God, your smile.

He sees then, behind you, a little boy, he looks just like you, along with a blue haired girl, standing on your front porch. You turn your face then, smiling so pretty his stupid heart hurts. “I should go now, will I see you at work tonight?”

“Of course you will.” He says, voice husky, as he leans to un-seatbelt you, curiously looking out again.

Would he ever meet your kid?

Would you all ever really… get that far?

What would Sukuna even say to a damn kid? It’s not like he has been around any, or had thoughts of having his own, but he wants every part of you, and if this is the biggest, he suddenly feels the need to know about it. “You love that kid huh?”

“More than anything. But… someone is occupying my heart kind of fast.” Your breathy whisper is met with his widened ruby eyes, when you kiss him once more, smiling sweetly. “I’ll see you tonight, Kuna.”

“Tch.” Is all you get, but Sukuna watches, as you pick up your little boy in your arms, grinning happily, and your kid is smacking kisses on your cheek, melting him more than he’ll admit when he drives off, missing you already.

You miss him the moment he drives off, sighing happily at Touma then, who is squeezing your neck so tight. “Mama, I had so much fun!”

“Did you!?”

“So much! Miwa made cookies!”

“I saw! I’ve got french toast.”

Touma’s eyes light up. “Yum!” Then when you’re inside, arranging breakfast after Miwa leaves, he tugs at your hair.

“What is it, baby?” You ask, leaning down as he’s got one hand clamped around a french toast stick.

“Mama looks happy.” Your lips tremble at his assessment, eyes tearing up at his next words. “Mama doesn’t smile a lot.”

“I’m so sorry, Touma. Mama gets tired, but you always make me happy.” You’re crying now, as he touches you with sticky french toast fingers, cinnamon brushing across your cheek.

“No mama, I’m happy. You smile. Pretty.” You grin now, and Touma grins. “Pretty, mama is pretty.”

“And you’re the most handsome boy.” You pull him against you, the love in your heart filling you completely, as you kiss his soft hair. “Touma you always make me happy, even if I don’t show it. Mama gets a little stressed out.”

“S’okay mama.” You kiss his forehead sweetly, then he’s off to playing when you clean up, thinking of Sukuna.

He made you smile.

He makes you feel so good.

Sure, physically, but how his hands entwined with yours? How he looked at you? You don’t know if he’ll get serious, but everything in you craves more of him, to know more of him, than just the physical. Both of you still know so little, but it’s like he’s given this brightness in a dark world, where Touma was all you had for that, but you realize your stress and sadness affected him even.

You absolutely nap with Touma in his little toddler bed, snoring and cuddling, because honestly Sukuna has worn you out. Your phone keeps going off after a couple hours, and Touma hands it to you, smacking on your face to wake you up. “Mama, it’s daddy.”

Your heart stops then, pounding in your chest as you take the phone, holding it to your ear. “What?” You say tersely, earning Naoya’s chuckle.

“I’m outside, sweetheart, wanna let me in?”

This chap absolutely was smut filled, reader needed this okay!?!? The next we will be getting back into the plot- clearly Naoya is here. I planned on six parts but it may go longer bc there's a lot I need to do lol. I hope to hear what you think <3

Taglist #1 @naammiii @naina326 @1worm1 @yenayaps @shokosbunny @sukubusss @msniks @kittyyyyykats @nyxly1412 @trashsuarecan @dumbbunny98 @monster-effer @tojis-ball-sack @tangsakura @friesnkwtchup @uhnosav @lhhlver @attackonnat @moonchhu @mat-mat-mat @cherryjain17 @havkjhdecs @stargirl-mayaa @waterfal-ling @the-dark-creature @lulunx @saitamaswifey @spacefae-x @deitysdream @sorahatake @gojoscumslut @stainednailpolishremover @kidd3ath @clp-84 @rinkomei @catastayy @oneirataxiaa @inthedarkshadows000 @travistheaussie @cold-blooded-girls @emi311 @blublublubby @fluttershyfangs @actuallynarii @7thsthings @ilovemeni @erluu @for-hearthand-home @angellliqua

(rest in reblogsss)

Buy me a glass of wine🍷 - Gen Masterlist

#sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #sukuna x female reader #sukuna x fem!reader #strip club owner sukuna #sukuna ryomen smut #jujustu kaisen #divider by cafekitsune #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #yandere sukuna #soft yandere #whipped jjk men

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karinasbaby · 1 month ago

Text

BREATHE ME IN. ✱ MDNI ❕

synopsis. The ancient bloodline of serpent hybrids was hidden, closed off. Unknown, a mere unconfirmed sighting of them is enough to ring alarms of danger. But here you were, claimed and possessed by a snake that held a voice as smooth as honey and a touch as light as feather— what would happen when your curiosity over his kind gets the best of you and you want to unleash the side of him that was written down in history?

pairing. snake!jake x fem!reader (19+)❕warnings. PURE FLITH, like genuinely disgusting nasty questionable smut. DARK CONTENT, jake is obv a snake, fangs, subspace, blood drinking, mentions of stalking + kidnapping, he has magical venom like an aphrodisiac, venom feeding, unprotected sex, creampies, feeding rituals, supernatural bond formation, belly bulge, tongue sucking + throat fucking, knotting bcs he has a knot, body worship, womb + cervix worship & fucking, Jake has stalkerish tendencies, he bites u multiple times, oviposition like full on eggs cuz hes a reptile, like he lays eggs in u fyi, insane breeding kink like genuinely, soft moments but like just twice in the span of 16k words. word count. 16.7k

a,note. this is by far my nastiest fic i’ve ever written. half of me gen doesn’t want to post this here, it’s my first time ever writing + posting something like this. please read the warnings and minors do not interact. this fic contains dark content and some creepy stuff people might be uncomfortable with, read at your own risk & have a nice day ! + proofread at 9 am with zero hours of sleep (as usual)

The sound of pages turning reverberated through the walls.

You sat on the soft mattress, back pressing against the headboard while a pile of books accompanied your bedside table, fingers flicking from page to page.

A simple warm light dimmed the room, your shared bedroom that almost felt alive, your surroundings felt like they pulsed sometimes. The furniture feeling cold to the touch before turning warmer, this was yours and his sacred place, his nest.

It was where you were most comfortable with being, and he was most satisfied with you being. Engulfed in his warmth, in his pulse that synced with his heartbeat so he connected to you at all times.

The paper in front of you contained drawings, sketches, definitions, explanations. The first few that you skipped revolved around mermaids, wolf hybrids, panther hybrids— till you finally reached the chapter you wanted.

Snake hybrids. The offspring of humans, serpents and vipers.

“Snake hybrids have special characteristics, most of them carry split eyes that dilate at the sighting of a prey. Some have large tongues, dry and barbed. Extending a few inches past what’s considered normal depending on the hybrid bloodline—“

You flipped the page.

“A rare species of serpent crossbreds may be born with multiple different appendages, their tails—“

You flipped another page.

Vision skimming past the words written carefully onto each part, the different anatomies of snakes, their hybrid form and their viper form— you were too indulged in the book to notice the passing glimmer of scales.

Obsidian with a jade iridescence, thick and rough.

Jake slithered towards you quietly, silencing his hissing and the scratch of his scales as he made his way through his nest. Emerald slit eyes that locked in on you. His lover, his mate, his prey.

And before you could turn your wrist to turn the page— you felt it.

The warm, large brushing of his scurry tail. His scales providing a soothing chill before the warmth of his venom pulsed through it. “Entertaining yourself with books about me when I’m right here?” His tone was smooth, deep and hypnotising.

“I was just curious..” you closed the book, the sound of the cover shutting bringing a daunting smile to his sharp features, his eyes raked over you, slits tightening when he tilted his head.

“Hm? About what, love?” His tail circled your ankle before trailing upper, sneaking between the warmth of your inner thighs when you squirmed before wrapping around your waist, fully coiling himself around you as he inched his face closer.

You breathed out shakily, “about your kind..” “what about my kind?” His heartbeat pulsed around the walls in the nest and around you. Tail tensing the slightest bit making you feel the drumming beat that coursed through your viper’s veins.

His question stopped you. A flush warming around your neck at the embarrassment of admitting that you wanted to know about snakes mating. Serpents bonding. Vipers connecting and devoting themselves fully.

Because it’s true— you are curious. So curious as to why Jake has allowed you into his nest, has made you feel the shimmery scales of his tail yet still hasn’t fully claimed you.

The amount of stories you’ve heard of other humans being claimed by their serpent hybrids, the sheer force of their connection, the weight of the love they shared, the way they became biologically altered to accept their mate.. made you feel hollow.

Jake didn’t do any of that with you. Sure, he might’ve told you about his previous mate experiences. You might’ve gained knowledge about a thing or two of a sacred ritual passed down from fanged bloodlines, but you didn’t experience.

You wanted to feel jake connect to you as far as his reptile body allowed him to. You wanted to feel him devote himself completely to you, to mark you, to scent you, to bond to you for life and claim you.

You yearned to be claimed by him.

And Jake could already see the longing in your eyes, he felt it every time your fingers touched his scales. Each time you stared at his long tongue that flicked past his plump lips, he knew. And he wanted to claim you as badly as you wanted him, but he was still scared of hurting you.

Two different kinds, two different species. He had venom coursing through his veins next to his cold blood while yours pumped warmly, he had fangs that ached when he took too long to release while your teeth were half the size of his, even though Jake wanted to claim you— god, he wanted to worship you. There was still an intrusive thought that gnawed his mind that you’ll hurt. That he’ll break you, that you’re not ready for him.

“I could show you what you want to know, satisfy your curiosity..” he trailed off, bringing his clawed finger to trace down your jaw making you nuzzle against his touch. “But I might hurt you.” Jake whispered admittedly, the raise of your eyebrows and the surprise in your eyes almost making him regret telling you.

You wrapped your hand around his, warm. He could feel the unnoticeable tremor in your digits when you laced them through his. Squeezing once. “You’ll never hurt me, Jake.” Reassuring him, you looked straight at him. Allowing him to see the confidence in your gaze. “I know you never will.”

The serpent sighed, inching closer to push his forehead against yours while his tail tightened around your frame. “I’m still worried, but I do want to try.” Lips brushing around yours before he pulled away to let you see him, past his softness, past his worries, past everything.

To see his slit pupils dilate, to see the peek of his fangs that dripped with his nectar-like honey, to fully remind you just what you were asking of him.

God that thought alone made you crave him more.

“I will show you everything.” He purred, “give you anything you want to make you know me. Get your body used to me, to taste me.”

And Jake always kept his promises.

It starts the next day.

You’re in the comfort of his nest, tip of his tail stroking your thigh lazily, he was hovering above your laying frame, close. So close you could feel the swift lick of his tongue whenever it flicked out.

“We have a feeding ritual.” He hisses, voice barely above a whisper as you nod at his words. Concentration fully locked on him, giving him all your attention when he finally gave in to preparing you for him.

He’s inches away from your face, soft breaths fanning your skin as jake continues, “it’s intimate, I will mark your inside with my tongue, and feed you my venom.” You gulped.

Not because you were scared, maybe a small part of you was nervous but you knew about something like this before— a few fleeting articles that were titled with “venom feeding” and if anything, you were anticipating this.

Yet your eyebrows still furrowed, “my inside?” He nodded, “your throat. I’ll mark it with my tongue, claim it as my own.”

“Now let me show you, sweet thing.” And you nodded, he flicked his muscle out slowly this time. The tip passing his lips as his split tongue came into view. Both endings twitching independently as more came out.

His venom infused saliva shined in front of you. The sight of his abnormally long tongue made your mouth water. You suddenly felt a heat rush down your body, settling into your core when Jake showed you just how ready his tongue was to claim you.

Jake smirked at your bewildered expression, the dazed look in your eyes that followed his every move when he retracted his tongue back. “Are you ready?” Without even replying back to another word, your mouth opened for him.

Your innocent obedience making his emerald gaze dilate, your own tongue— sweet and small in comparison to his, lolling out just to show him how ready and prepared you were.

He breathed deeply through his nose, pulling you closer before he hovered his face above yours. And spat.

You gasped at the sight of the wet glob that glistened with his venom. It almost appeared to pulse in your eyes. As if his poison was just as impatient as you were to ruin you.

And when the long string finally landed on your awaiting tongue, you moaned at the flavour. So thick, so warm and sweet. An addictive tingle spreading around your mouth when the venom travelled along your tastebuds.

Your first taste of his nectarine venom, the one he prepared for you, to feed you only.

Jake’s eyes narrowed. A familiar heat awakening in his body when you closed your mouth, humming pleasantly at his venom that your body accepted. He kept trying to focus, reminding himself that something could still go wrong, you could reject his venom, your body could react negatively to it— but you were sloshing it around your mouth like you were tasting your favourite honey.

And Jake knew now that your body didn’t just accept him, it liked him. Enjoyed his taste, the tinge of his claim on your tongue.

“Swallow, sweetheart.” His clawed hands, rough looking but oh so gentle when cradling your face made you have no choice but to keep your eyes locked on his when you swallowed.

Where he stared at your throat, the small gulp of him going down your throat and coating it down on the way— to settle into your stomach, where your body will slowly break it down and he will become a part of you.

That thought alone, of being so close to you that you carry him made him almost lose his mind.

“You took it all so well, angel girl.” You closed your eyes when he caressed your neck, the base of his thumb pressing against your pulse point that sang for him. “You’re ready. Your body accepted me, it’s only fair that I feed it well now.”

And that’s when his tail circled your hips, scales wrapping around you protectively while his index finger tapped your cheek. “Open up again for me.” His demanding tone made you shudder in his hold before you let your mouth fall open again, jaw going slack while jake admired the new nest his tongue will find comfort in.

Your throat tightened around nothing, so wet and warm he couldn’t hold himself back from pushing his tongue out and slipping it inside of you.

His split tips slithered along your tongue. Barbed, wet and divided. You drooled uncontrollably around his muscle when he sank in further, brushing against the back of your throat when you gagged around him, hands gripping at his arms desperately as Jake tried his best to open you up more.

To accept more of him, more of his aching tongue that was about to burst from the amount of venom he held for you, more of his tongue that sent electrifying pulses down his body just from the taste of you.

The taste of your cavern all wrapped around him, trying her best to take more of him in but it felt like he was endless.

“J-Jake..” you mumbled, jaw flexing as it almost began to hurt from the flexion, but Jake was obsessed.

His hair ruffled in all directions, a fusion of your saliva with mixed his dripping down his chin while he kept his eyes closed for a few seconds. Like he was trying to memorise your taste, the feeling of your throat tightening around his tongue. The hot and dripping embrace of your body around his.

“Almost there.” And once he spoke those words— you felt it.

The release. The warm, continuous waves that pumped down your throat. Pure venom.

Poison that swirled straight from his pulsing glands from under his jaw that was altered— it wasn’t lethal, wasn’t dangerous, his body had specifically crafted this venom for a mate.

With the purpose of claiming, of marking, of scenting, of breeding.

It was thicker than the first taste he gave you. Sweeter than the first dribble you felt on your tongue. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when the steady pulses streamed down, you felt the heat radiating off of what you were swallowing, the way it marked its way down your throat all the way to your stomach to tuck itself inside of you. Where it pulsed.

The feeling of being owned from your mouth— your tongue and your throat like this was making a floating sensation swirl around your head. You couldn’t tell if this was from his venom or from the pleasure that you were feeling from having him this close, this connected to you.

But it didn’t matter, because everything felt good.

The forked tips of his tongue stroked down your throat, caressing every warm muscle, every corner and crevice they could reach while your serpent’s venom slipped inside, where you couldn’t help but involuntarily swallow around his tongue.

Jake almost lost it.

You were taking him. A sacred, bonding part of him that he’s never used on anyone like this, he’s never marked anyone like this. Yet here you were, with his barbed tongue so deep down your throat, drool that infused with your spilling tears drizzling down your neck while you sucked him more.

Like you weren’t aware of doing it, like it was your own body’s doing.

And jake continued feeding you. Who else would he feed if not his mate that was taking him in so sweetly? Pretty tight little throat pulsing around him when you gagged before sucking him in more, your muscles trying their best to take him in, to drag him in deeper and to have him continue.

Because Jake knew before you, that this wasn’t just a feeding. This was the start of an addiction.

He didn’t just feed your body his venom to claim you, he did it so your body knows that it’s owned. Knows that it has a viper that will protect it, nourish it, feed it.

And what’s a better way than making you know this by making you addicted to him? By making you crave him. Your throat that he just marked and claimed to need him, his venom becoming the only salvation to your thirst that he awakened. Because you’re his mate.

You’re his other half, you’re his.

It was past midnight when you woke up.

Sweaty, icy cold. Breathing heavily when your entire body tingled, an uncomfortable itch— an uncomfortable burn. A scratch that bled in your throat.

The feeling wasn’t new, you knew you were thirsty, the ache and dryness in your mouth almost made it feel like you were scratching it from the inside when you moved your tongue.

With bleary eyes you reached blindly towards the bedside table, where jake always brought a glass of water for you. Ignoring the shift of scales around your waist when you moved, fingers wrapping around the cooling cup before bringing it up to you.

And swallowing one sip, second sip.

Until you finished the whole glass without even meaning to, but your eyebrows furrowed.

Sleepy confusion clouding your senses when the ache didn’t dull, it continued. It felt like you didn’t even try, the water effectiveless.

Your breathing quickened when the sensation became entirely suffocating. Was the water too little? Was there something wrong with your mouth? You felt yourself almost on the verge of hyperventilating.

Almost, because the tail around you tightened before jake spoke right against your neck.

“Precious?” Voice still laced with sleep, tail unwrapping slightly as you turned around to face him. He could see the slumber slowly fading off your face along with the dampening along your temples. “Is something wrong?”

“My throat..” you sounded hoarse, wincing slightly at the discomfort that came along with moving your mouth, “it feels so dry.. and I just drank water, I think I need more.” You slung your legs down the side of the bed right when his clawed hand held your nightdress.

And then the serpent realised something.

“Baby.. it’s not the water.” Jake coaxed you back into the bed, “what?” You whispered now, the itch intensifying the longer you spent in bed, the longer your mouth stayed dry.

“It’s not the water, you can even test it for yourself.” He quickly reached back and gave you his glass from his side, the liquid sloshing as you brought it to your lips and gulped it in the blink of an eye. Still dry.

Your hand wrapped around your throat in irritation, “then what is it?” “It’s me.”

The serpent sat up on the bed, towering frame hovering above yours as his tail slithered to rest against your hips, “your throat isn't thirsty for water, it’s thirsty for me.” You gulped.

His clawed index ran along your jawline, “you had a taste of my venom, and that’s what your body wants now. It wants me, it knows me. Recognises me as your mate.”

His words, his tone, his slit pupils, his sharp claw— everything felt so territorial. Completely consuming, making you melt against the mattress as he pressed his brawny body to yours. “Your body knows I’m the one that’s supposed to feed it.”

Focused eyes tilted down to where you swallowed nervously, his hand instinctively wrapping around your feverish skin. “So let me feed you.” Jake felt the urge to feed you long before either of you decided to go to sleep, it hasn’t even been half a day since you first tasted him, but he knew you’d crave him again in a few hours.

He still wanted to test it.

To test your body, your senses. To see if you could depend on him, if your body could want him to function. To be hungry for him and his taste. To yearn for him.

Not that he wanted to ever starve you, to deprive you of the one thing his body produced for you. It was quite the opposite. He wanted the bond between you to strengthen, to grow, to make both of you dependent on each other.

He doesn’t waste another minute, don’t want to make either of you suffer because the ache in his fangs is becoming too much.

“Open up.” He demands, fingers gently squeezing your neck when your mouth fell open for him and he sighed. It fuelled him up, awakened an urge inside of him. Whenever your jaw stretched for him, he felt an electrifying excitement bloom in his chest.

A thirst that burned his throat. And just like that he slipped his tongue back inside of your mouth, split ends separating when they reached their home. Slithering in further and further while you both moaned at the feeling.

You gasped at the first drip of venom, so rich, so sweet. Your hands mindlessly reaching to his wrist while he moved to hold yours, interlacing your fingers as he sank deeper.

Going past the back of your throat, relishing in the feeling of you tightening around him before relaxing in acceptance, in recognition before your muscles began to swallow.

He groaned in pleasure when you hummed around his tongue, milking the venom that spilled inside of you for the second time because it was so reliving.

The moment you tasted him again, everything disappeared. The itch, the scratch and discomfort— gone.

Jake was right, it isn’t a thirst for water. It’s for him. The same venom he fed you, the same venom that warmed your insides and infused to your blood in your veins. Accepting him and desiring him.

It felt so intense, so overpowering to have him wrap his cool tail around you, lengthy tongue that fucked your throat shoved in so deep while he still held your hand gently, still kept his other right above your pulse points.

Because that’s where he was now. That’s where his venom pulsed. Right inside of you.

He fed you, nourishing your body and satisfying your thirst as you emptied his glands, falling further into a state of complete euphoria and bliss at being catered for. Limbs feeling heavier with each passing second when you whimpered around his mouth that pulsed more venom down your throat.

“Let go, sweetheart.” Jake whispered, his expression devoted as he memorised the way you looked under him, full of him. “You did amazing for me.. your body responded to me, wanted me. Let go now, little thing. Let me take care of you.” And you were slipping more.

Words enthralling, touch entrancing, tongue feeding. You were completely and utterly bonded.

“Let me fill you up till you sleep again.”

Jake’s scales pulsed around you, once, twice. Each one syncing with the rhythm of his heartbeat that he wrapped around you.

The sleep slipped out of your eyes when you fully registered the familiar warmth, slowly opening your lids to greet his slit pupils that admired you.

“Good morning, little nest.” His accent was more accentuated when his tone was groggy, the slumber still twinkling in his words when he sleepily smiled at you.

“Morning, handsome.” And your big, scary, serpent boyfriend hid his face in the crook of your neck, a specific throb crossing through his tail and your body when his heart fluttered.

He kissed your collarbone while you hummed sleepily, “I wasn’t too rough yesterday, was I?” Your fingers stroked his nape, shaking your head before placing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Not at all.”

Jake breathed out a sigh of relief as the weight on his chest was lifted off, the nagging thoughts of hurting you, injuring you or worse— scaring you. All floating away gently while he cradled you closer to him, flicking his tongue out to taste the air that carried your sweetness and your scent.

“You should stay in bed today, love.” He spoke gently, tip of his tail stroking your lower back with his velvety scales. “Let me take care of you today.” “Don’t you always do that, though?” He smirked.

“You’re my mate now. I am bonding to you, I’m the only one who should take care of you.”

Jake’s tone was low, his passion, devotion and protection blazing in each syllable. He was a hybrid after all, human to some extent but his soul was a serpent. Protective, possessive, fierce, demanding.

His mate came first, bond second and pride third. The bloodline has been sacred for centuries, rare and unknown. Some believed that it was that way intentionally. The vipers always hissed quietly, presence cloaked with their fanged bared out.

And even if the lions, the panthers, the wolves walked around freely, their bloodlines rare but loud, serpents were always silent.

That’s what set them apart, that’s what makes them dangerous.

They don’t seek, their mating ritual is vastly different from others. They choose and then they claim, and then they disappear.

Hiss along the shadows, hide behind corners where no one can find them. Because that’s how it’s always been like. That’s what makes Jake’s species unlike any other one.

That’s why your friends freaked out when you first confessed that you were seeing someone— a hybrid, a snake.

Because they declare their mates. They capture and they slither back to the dark.

That’s what happened to you an entire year ago.

You didn’t know that Jake’s attention was on you, that there was a certain pull, a tug he felt whenever he detected your scent. He chose you before you even knew him.

And when the shadows hissed darker at night in your room, when your skin became addicted to the cool of scales on it, when all the alarm signs were going off in your friends’ and families heads that it’s happening right in front of their eyes— you disappeared.

You didn’t fade, you didn’t get to say a goodbye, you slept at night and woke up in his nest the next morning.

That’s how it’s been for the past year, this is your home, where you enjoy your time and flourish in your bubble around him. He’s taken you far away, not a place you recognise, the language you still learn till this day but there are no prying eyes on you.

There are no more hands reaching to you to pull you away— just scales.

And you love it, you’ve grown to obsess over it with time.

“Then take care of me, always.” You don’t have to tell jake twice.

He’s nuzzling his face into your neck, breathing in your love deeply before lifting his head and tapping your cheek, “open.” His pupils dilate alongside yours automatically, “let me feed you now before you get hungry again.” And you do, you let him.

Pretty plump lips, still swollen from yesterday’s feeding falling open as he sighs in pride. He can spot the fading stickiness of his venom on the back of your throat, it’s almost time then.

Jake balances himself on his arms, face just a few inches apart from yours before he opens his own mouth, tongue falling out with multiple strings of saliva that pulsed with his poison extending down the length of his muscle, so long, so lethal yet it made its way to your mouth carefully.

The split ends softly brushing your lips when he released. Steady, long and thick pulses of his warm venom dripping right from his tongue and into your mouth, where you hummed in pleasure, in delight. At the feeling of relief cascading down your body in waves the more he breathed into you.

“Take it all, love.” He whispered, his tongue now moving just to circle around yours, still pulsing and still giving. While you only took, swallowing each and every drop. “Keep yourself full, always be full of me.” Jake lowered himself, tongue slipping right against yours before his divided tips touched the entrance of your throat again— just to stroke.

His eyes were half lidded when he spoke “feeling better now, sweetheart?” And you nodded, dazed and full. The heat of his venom enveloping you, wrapping around you completely and gently loving you. “Good girl.” Then jake retracted his muscle, placing a quick kiss to your open mouth before he chased your tongue.

Both of you instinctively moaning in pleasure when his forked tongue dragged against yours, eyes closing when your candied, gentle, human flavour bursted in his mouth while he kissed and nipped your tongue.

You felt the sting of tears behind your eyes, a heat pooling down towards your core, a craving awakening making your hips twitch under him, right when jake began to suck on your tongue.

“Fuck.. baby..” he took more, mouth chasing after your sensitive tongue while you whimpered under him, still drunk on his venom and now he was sucking your tongue like it was the source, “tastes so sweet.. so addictive.” His lips wrapped more tightly, he sucked harshly, relishing in the vibrations that trailed down his throat from your mouth.

Jake’s hand gripped your hip, to stop you from rutting into him, and his fingertips almost burned from the heat you were radiating, so needy, so eager, so his.

Then with a final suck to the tip of your tongue, he trailed his kisses lower. Open mouthed with his barbed skin stroking you to mark and to claim. “I’ve got you.. I’ve got your throat.” He whispered, his lips reaching your lower stomach as he nipped your hip bone, just enough to graze it with his peeking fang. “And I’ve got you here.” Jake spoke right when his hand cupped your mound.

You gasped, a shudder tensing through your body at the slight feeling of relief, of having him touch you right where you need him the most, where your body yearned for him the most.

And jake chuckled.

A deep, crazed rumble of his chest that almost sounded like a purr, his slender fingers deftly stroked your sopping cunt, leaking and dripping when he has barely touched you, and the thought of you being so ready for him, your pretty little pussy wanting him so much that she’s salivating for him? Was making him dizzy.

He hissed, feral and possessive when his claw ripped your soaked panties open, the lace dangling off of it while he let out a guttural sound at the sight of you, so wet, glistening and tightening around nothing as if you’re inviting him in, welcoming him in— begging him to touch you.

“Look at you..” his claws disappeared in an instant, trailing down your folds gently just to hear you whimper under him. “She’s so needy for me..” he was stunned.

Infatuated, so so in love with your pretty hole, his hole, his womb and his home.

“Let’s see how she’ll react to me..” he spoke with the tip of his finger circling your entrance, swirling your nectarine spit making your whole body flutter under him. “She should recognise me now..” you didn’t know what he was talking about.

Because jake didn’t tell you that his venom doesn’t only make your throat crave him, it doesn’t only make your mouth thirst for him and your body to settle when he’s around.

The venom that he created for you, that ran in your veins right now and reached your womb— marks you.

From the inside out, wholly and entirely. You didn’t know this, but he owns you now. Your throat, your womb, your entire body.

And he is right. Because the second he kisses your entrance, soft lips nuzzling into your quivering walls, the first flick of his venom laced tongue just inside your entrance— barely in, just a simple poke.

Your back arched in the nest.

A broken sob and moan slipped past your lips at the sheer force, the sheer strength of the contraction that coursed through your body, absolutely and utterly divine.

The tears that aligned your waterline now slipped freely, your walls fluttered— tightening, widening, convulsing restlessly as if they were trying to milk something just at the slightest taste of his venom.

You felt the way a deeper part of you opened up— your tight, unscathed and untouched cervix pulsing right before flickering. As if the gate was entirely unsealed now, cervix swollen, low and ready.

And jake felt all of it, he felt the way your thighs twitched and jerked next to his head, he senses the way your pussy awakened, your womb fluttering open in preparation for him.

Because she recognised him, a single taste— a short, almost nonexistent slip of his venom and she released.

“Of course she does..” he laughed in awe, at the feeling of your body burning under him, at the breathless sounds that escaped your falling chest, at the way more slick poured out of you like it was urging him in.

The sight, the sense and the scent of everything alone made his head spin. The serpent felt the way his tail twitched in desperation, fingers shaking as he tried his best to not allow his claws to slip out, his slit pupils dilating so far his emerald iris is gone.

He felt the carnal urge, the primal pull that stirred inside of him. The need and the desire, the programmed, biological response of his kind to claim, to worship, to breed. The very cunt that’s anticipating him. Dripping in arousal and hunger in hopes of luring him in with his venom still pulsing through your veins, so reactive, so responsive.

But not tonight, not yet.

Jake will just worship you for tonight, please and satisfy your needy pussy in preparation for what’s to come.

That’s when he slipped his tongue inside of you. Lengthy muscle that pulsed within your walls at every contraction that he felt, you cried. Fingers gripping around the sheets so hard your knuckles paled, a sheen, thin layer of sweat illuminating your body while you fell apart above his nest.

You looked divine, something holy, something completely sacred.

And the serpent wanted to do nothing more than to devote himself to you. Mind, body and soul.

His pretty mate, his loving mate that accepted and thrived off of his venom— writhing under him, twitching and shaking as moans spilled out of your body, pure euphoria overflowing within you while jake retracted his tongue— only to thrust it back in entirely.

Movements sloppy, uncoordinated and mindless as he fucked your throbbing cunt on his tongue that dripped and drooled with his saliva and his venom, your walls clamped down on his muscle, the first contact of his poison right against you made you feel delirious.

Your body drank him in, tightening walls that he fucked were wrapping around him, milking his tongue that gave more and more of his flavour, his taste and your womb’s sedative.

Jake’s tail slashed behind him, his hips rutting restlessly against the layers of fabric of his nest under him. He felt his senses sparking when your taste filled him up. Eyes wild, claws peeking before disappearing and jake was just getting started.

His breaths were heavy as he felt himself unable to breathe. Tongue so deep inside of you, the forked edges dragged against your pulsing walls while his split tips nuzzled into your sweetest spots, you tasted so good, so tender.

He wrapped your thighs around his head with no intentions of slipping out anytime soon, his mouth suckled around your folds, drenched when his nose brushed against your puffy clit, needy and neglected that from one single stroke, you came.

You weren’t even able to process the build up of your climax, nor were you able to comprehend the waves of pleasure that crashed upon you, one after the other. Merciless as jake fucked you through it. Tongue piercing you faster, rougher and deeper.

Until you felt him reach your peak.

The one sacred spot inside of you. Hidden and tucked away so deep in safety, in security. The one spot that jake claimed.

The one the serpent wanted and marked. It belongs to him now, your fluttering, dripping cervix that throbbed the moment his poisoned tips reached it.

And you screamed, the sensation so new, so uncomfortable yet soothing— so painful yet pleasant, it made you feel like your mind was melting away, your head being filled with mush while your body went completely limp under him.

Jake was euphoric. High on the taste of you, on the feeling of you pulsing around him, and right when he reached the opening of your cervix, his place, the one he’s going to surrender himself too, he felt feral.

He’s reached his peak, the most precious part of his mate that he caressed with the tips of his tongue, slicking and stroking the tight muscle that twitched for him, called for him. He couldn’t ever think of retracting himself away, of leaving you alone, not when the sensation of your tightening was so addictive.

He could feel you from here, love you from here. He was able to sense the beat of your heart just because his tongue was touching the most intimate part of you, and he felt his body shake in relief. In satisfaction that this is his home.

Your womb, pretty and fluttery, prospered under his venom. The one he keeps feeding you, rolling out of his glands along his tongue and straight to your cervix, where your muscles pulsed like they were taking him in, drinking him up.

“You’re drinking from me..” he mouthed at your sensitive clit, your cunt was so overstimulated, so used but still restless against his tongue. “Your womb.. she’s taking from me. She recognises me..” he’s completely frenzied.

And you were slipping in and out of consciousness, unaware in a bubble of constant bliss, you didn’t know if you were cumming anymore— all you could feel was the consistent thrumming, the consistent pulling and convulsing of your walls around his tongue while the tips swirled and pushed at your cervix, almost like they were cuddling against it.

Jake’s body slumped, engulfed in elation while your figure rested under him, legs occasionally twitching when he caressed too hard, his mouth and tongue locked. This time on your cunt, feeding his venom inside of you to claim you, to leave a mark so deep it’s almost a wound, a scar that you’ll always carry.

A deep connection, a familiarity between his venom and your womb.

So he kept feeding you, even when your awareness floated away, keeping you sealed in a cloud of pure pleasure and surrender. Even when his muscles ached and his tail twitched wildly, and even when his sweatpants felt so warm and sticky from his mindless release right when your womb accepted him.

He was still inside of you, like a good, responsible and possessive mate that will do anything for his other half. He caressed you, he held you and kept you full while your cervix allowed it, welcomed it, loved it.

You were flourishing with his venom flooding you from the inside, and it was just the beginning.

The serpent placed a big porcelain plate in front of you. Vibrant with colours of different fruits and vegetables, the pretty hues from the berries and the chopped pieces of bell peppers alongside the golden glow of the fried eggs he made so early in the morning.

Packed with protein and filling, just what he needed for his mate. “Eat. All of it, angel.” His words were tender, touch even softer in comparison. He hovered behind you, towering frame that glimmered with scattered scales along his tail, Jake’s built was so impressively massive he could cover you with his body completely.

“I need you to be healthy, at all times. Need you to be energetic and strong.” His clawed finger ran along your shoulder blade, careful and featherlight. Teasing the strap of your short, satin nightgown that he picked up when your body was too sensitive to even move. You nodded at his attentiveness, heart swelling in your chest when he placed a soft kiss to your neck. “Eat well, my mate.”

And you did, fingers grabbing the honeyed toast apart as you chewed, strawberries bursting with sweetness in your mouth as you nourished your body the whole time your viper’s tail stroked your thighs, travelling along the dips and curves of your skin gently. Scales velvety soft as if each movement that was caressing you was kissing your body.

You turned around every now and then to pop a piece of fruit into his mouth, pulling apart your toast unevenly to give him the bigger pieces, and he accepted all of them. Flicking his long tongue out to tease your fingertips that held the food to his lips before he let the edge of his fang graze your skin, just to hear you giggle when he finally took the piece in his mouth.

He felt himself falling closer to you, even though there was barely in space between you two physically, he still was lured towards you. No matter how much he kissed you, touched you and breathed you in he always yearned to be closer.

To nuzzle into you, carve a space in your heart just for him and stay there, safe and protected in the spot that he flourished in. He could never feel himself close enough— if possible, he wanted to bore his entire soul to yours.

You fed him when you believed that it was the opposite, you loved and protected him when you thought that he was the one doing everything. But the truth was that he would’ve crumbled apart ages ago if it wasn’t for your kind touch and loving eyes that gazed at him like he hung the stars in your universe, he breathed the air into your lungs and he brought the sun out to your sky.

So devoted, so in love and so mated.

He adored you, his very being was wrapped around you, surrounding you in ways only a serpent could wrap around their mate. He wasn’t just bonding himself to you, eventually making himself just bonded— no, he was fated to you.

The same way you accepted him, the same way you were fated to him.

A fusion of your two souls, laced with warm blood and sweet venom that glowed between your chests, something beyond comprehension skills, beyond the relationships and marriages you were used too, because you weren’t in love with jake. You dedicated every piece of yourself to him.

And he held each piece with care, a teasing yet gentle hold. Just like the way he nipped your finger now.

“Ow! That one hurted.” You huffed, the serpent’s pupils thinned when he let out a sudden breath, a laugh at your endearing expression while you stared at your perfectly fine finger.

Jake quickly engulfed your finger in his hands, cool blooded heart unable to take the slight pout in your face. He pressed his lips right on the spot he grazed, “all better now, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

The serpent kept you close, arm now cradling your side, tail wrapped protectively around your ankle all the while his own hand fed you from the plate since your hand should ‘just rest now’ according to his words.

And he pressed a soft kiss to your overly sweet mouth after each bite. As if to praise you, to seal the bite inside and make sure that you swallow it.

When you’re done with everything, he presses a kiss to your throat.

It felt like a ‘thank you’ rather than a kiss, a small appreciation for nurturing you and keeping you in his arms.

You cuddled closer to him, a habitual heat radiating off his body that pulsed against you. Making you feel every breath, every beat and every pulse. You were a part of him as much as he was a part of you.

“Jake..” your voice was giddy, calling for him as he hummed peacefully behind you, his lips were gently littering kisses along your shoulder, down your arm and right on the faint throb on your wrist.

And then you felt it.

A deep, carnal hunger, the same discomfort, the same itch from two nights ago— it made you shift in your seat, retracting your arm from his hold like you couldn’t fully breathe for a moment, your body was feverish.

Jake’s eyes narrowed, detecting the shift instantly and flicking his tongue out to taste the air— distress, agitation, thirst.

His tail unwrapped from your ankle, “everything okay?” Voice low, attentive and protective. You shook your head, a dryness aching in your throat. “I think .. that thing is happening again.” The serpent’s composure wavered.

It was working. Your body .. was thirsty for him again.

It made jake swoon. A slight tremor in his fingers when he breathed out shakily, his own body trembling in the need to provide, the need to protect and love.

He felt like he was drowning in you.

“Oh baby..” he cooed, muscular arms wrapping around your middle to lift you off and bring you back to the nest, your safe space and his home. He carried you tenderly, claws nowhere to be seen while his soft palms caressed your skin.

Jake laid you down above the fabrics, the cloths and clothes and the blankets that he chose, his own larger body hovering above you while your stomach churned in hunger. The feeling bubbling up and burning your throat, making you whimper in his hold as he shushed you softly.

He leaned down to your neck, pressing his nose right above your pulse point, each thump making his muscles relax as he flicked his tongue out— little beads of poison glittering that he licked down your skin.

The serpent kept moving, nuzzling your skin, kissing your collarbones, licking right above your breasts, nipping along your shoulders while his palm pressed on your lower stomach— right above your uterus where you felt a contraction pulse the moment his skin touched yours.

A gasp slipped out of you at the feeling, a sudden rush of heat washing down your body as you began gushing, folds soaking through your panties while Jake gazed at you in awe. “You’re already calling for me..” he was mesmerised.

“Your womb .. she’s calling for me again. She recognises me even more than I expected.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead right to the heat source, right between your hips, “I still have to prepare you more for me, love.”

“Still need you to be ready for me.. so you can take all of me.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself, words of reassurance and calm spilling past his lips but there trickles of sweat on his temples, the tips of his claws almost fully appearing— and that’s when you noticed that Jake was holding himself back from you.

“Jake .. please.” You whimpered, weak hands curling around him as your hips began to ache in need, a soreness spreading from your throat, to your stomach that felt empty and down between your legs.. where you were practically twitching in desire.

Your nails dug into his muscles, “I need you right now, I need you.” Jake inhaled sharply, his own pants tightening around him, the way you looked at him— with the gentlest twinkle of tears in your eyes, lips wobbling when you begged him to give himself fully to you, to not restrain himself, not now and not ever.

But Jake couldn’t, you weren’t ready for him. He knew this and no matter how much it hurt him— he didn’t want to hurt you.

He’ll take all the needed time to prepare you, to prepare your body for him. So when the time does actually come, you’ll fully accept him instead of being in pain. He could never make you uncomfortable knowing that he was the cause.

“Sweetheart.. you know I can’t. Not yet.” He caressed your jaw, fingers featherlight as they went down your neck, you felt small tears drop slip down your temples that he didn’t hesitate to lick up, the sight of you almost making him whimper with the urge to just fully claim you, adore you and make you his.

“You’re not ready for me yet, little nest.” He mumbled against your skin, tone shaky like his words were hurting him. “but once you are— I promise I’ll never let you go a day without being filled of me. I promise I’ll always let you feel me in any way that you want. You’ll fully breathe me in.”

“But for now, I’ll just keep soothing you with my venom.” His lips were now returning to your neck, fangs peeking past his plump lips that became swollen from the kissing. “Ready, baby?” You nodded your head quickly, tears springing down your eyes fully in anticipation at him finally sedating you.

And then it happened— his fangs sunk right into your pulse point. The sharp tips puncturing your skin, your vein, venom instantly gushing inside of you making your blood flare.

You didn’t even have time to process the pain— the burning wound and sinking of his fangs, didn’t even have time to process the scream that it ripped out from your chest before you fell back to the mattress the moment his poison hit your blood stream directly. No longer being drunk from your throat, it was being injected.

And the feeling was making you intoxicated. Completely drunk in the matter of seconds as you mewled in euphoria, pleasure coursing through you, intensifying with every heart beat inside of you that rushed, picking up the pace when jake growled into your skin.

He moaned when your flavour hit his tongue. The serpent, though not one to crave blood, felt his head spin at yours. The crimson warmth that flushed into his mouth, he was drinking the life of you, the life of his mate.

Then you started to feel it— the more he drank, the more he took, the tighter his hands gripped your hips, the more you floated.

Slowly, faintly slipping out of the embrace of consciousness. Your eyelids became droopy, breaths slow and deep while your entire body relaxed.

Jake noticed all of it. He just venom-fed you into subspace.

The feeling of your body fully surrendering to him, to his scales, to his fangs and to his venom made him groan in satisfaction. You were giving him your complete all.

“That’s right, baby..” he muttered, mouth still so wet of you while you whimpered in his hold, so spent and so high on his poison. The sensation of him flooding you was so electrifying yet so soothing. It was like your entire body was waiting for this again, “go under for me.. just like that.”

Jake didn’t know it yet, but this version of you, so pliant, so unguarded was his favourite. He could protect you all he wanted, kiss you and caress you all he wanted all the while you trusted him just enough to let him do absolutely anything to you.

“Stay there for me, love.. I’ll take care of you.” And he did. His venom pulsed inside of you carefully, filling you up and making ecstasy rush through your entire body that fluttered in his hold. You let go entirely. Not a single thought, a single voice or a single breath in your head. Besides the warmth of his body and the stroke of his scaled tail around your calf. “I always will.”

With his arms wrapped protectively around you and his fangs snug inside of you— you slept in peace. Cradled in the most gentle hold that’s ever touched you, as if you were made of the most divine glass to bless Earth, and in Jake’s eyes of course you were, you were the most precious human he’s ever laid eyes on.

This bite— wasn’t just a simple feeding from him to you, it wasn’t just a bite. It was complete submission, it was dedication and it a confession. All this wasn’t for him, he already knew he had you wrapped around him just like the way he had his tail coiled around you, he knew he had a home in your soul in the same way you owned his.

But this was a mark of love, a promise to the bond that you both created. One that bridged your mortal heart to his serpent one, webbing in between and making them inseparable. And now, each pulse of your heart was connected to his. Each breath that you inhaled to your lungs, he exhaled them for you. Each thought that annoyed your mind, he fought it off for you.

This was past anything that you could’ve shared with another human, and way more exceptional than any mating he could’ve had with another hybrid. Because you were connecting two universe together with each moment you both breathed together— you connected a human to a snake.

A bond that flourished, that bloomed and went beyond any other previous love, relationship or marriage.

You had your soul tied to his now, and you both grew to adore this bond more day by day.

It happens without either of you knowing, without either of you catching on, but the connection grows.

Each night that you spend wrapped in his coils, the taste of his venom still fresh in your tongue and his claws retracted with his hand covering your waist protectively? It blooms.

With every shared breath, it pulses to life. With every exchanged kiss, it stirred like it was awakening— akin to an ancient flame, an ancient dream, a promise. Spoken only between the lips of a human and a serpent, but kept safe. Secure with your love and his scales.

Then it grew, it blossomed. A life formed between the two of you, a new breath that swelled over your relationship, your bond grew. Fully forming, fully developing and connecting you to him, body, mind, soul and heart.

It started off when you were in the den, an open book between your hands while you cuddled up against his hoodie in the nest. Jake was outside, he muttered something about hybrid meetings before disappearing behind the door.

And then you felt a tug— a push at your chest, heat building up but not the good kind, no. You felt angry.

Like something had agitated you, something pissed you off. Something that went wrong.

You sat up right on the bed, brows furrowed at confusion and the way your hands were almost twitching with fury. That’s when the door of your house slammed open, almost getting thrown off of its hinges.

In came Jake. Pupils slit entirely, almost appearing like a thin line as his emerald eyes were dim. Claws full unsheathed while his tail lashed behind him like a whip. He stormed inside of the place, steps heavy and mad.

“Jake..?” You called but his ears were ringing. He didn’t spot your figure walking into the living room, too busy pacing around the area while running his claws through his hair. “Did something happen at the meeting?” When your quiet, calm voice finally registered into his senses, he exhaled.

He breathed for the first time in hours.

An instant relief rushed through him— the same one that you felt as the bond now humming. In satisfaction, in relief at the proximity.

“No.. nothing happened, love. Nothing that you need to worry about.” Jake walked towards you, the anger in his posture fully dissipating when he inched closer and laid his palms on your hips. The touch making him melt against you. “It’s .. nothing serious.” He swallowed heavily.

But you already knew. You felt it.

Shaking your head, “Jake .. I know you’re angry because something went wrong.” Now his eyes were locked on you. “I don’t know what it is.. but it felt like something that you worked hard on was messed up. Like the frustration you get when your effort just goes to waste.” The serpent stilled.

“How did you.. figure all this out?”

“I don’t know, I just felt it.” He tilted his head.

You weren’t a hybrid that could pick up on scent changes, besides the fact that he did storm inside the house with his mannerisms screaming anger, you still knew too much.

“I felt your anger.” You added, your words now making his eyebrow arch while his claws grazed your skin just a tiny bit.

Inching closer, “I felt the way your frustration bloomed in your chest, the way your hands..” you lowered yours to hold onto his, thumb pressing gently against his palm, “the way they shook in anger.”

Jake exhaled shakily.

“I don’t know why, I think it’s this bond thing we have going on. But I truly felt everything like I was the one experiencing.” Your words— you simply didn’t know how much they weighed to jake.

You didn’t know that this was just more confirmation to him that you’re his mate. That the bond is settling in, fully connecting and spreading further into your lives. You felt his emotions when he wasn’t even near you.

Maybe you were unaware, or maybe you weren’t ready to face something like this. But you were already developing a sense of instinct for him. For your mate. This sense, had already existed in jake since he was born, it’s only that now it found its other half.

You were completing him without even knowing.

The bond was flourishing, roaring in love and devotion that only thrummed harder when your mate was close by.

He pressed his forehead to yours, all of his limbs felt relaxed. “It is the bond. You’re not just marked by me anymore, you’re mine and I’m yours. Emotions, thoughts and soul wise.”

“You feel what I feel. That’s how close we are now.” And you only blinked at him in awe, mesmerised by the bond and your creation— this special connection that you formed and developed with Jake with your bare hands, now made you exist within him the same way he will within you.

Over the days, it only blossomed more.

Your thoughts were no longer fully yours, they were sharing a space with Jake’s. And sometimes it was a bit too much.

“I wonder how our kids will look like..” “Jake.” He perked up, tongue flicking out nervously as he looked at you with his eyes widened. “Can you not wonder about our kids when I’m trying to read?” You could’ve sworn you felt just the lightest flush on the tips of his ears. “Sorry..”

“Will i be asking him too much if—“ you’re not even given the chance to continue before you feel a warm tail wrapping around your ankle. Holding you gently as his burly figure slithered behind you. “Never.” He hissed, “you’ll never ask for too much.”

But it was never just your thoughts. Jake started to feel the way you do as well.

Whenever you felt colder than usual, he would cuddle up next to you wordlessly. His scales tangling around you multiple times while he places a gentle kiss on your temple.

The one day you woke up craving something sweet for breakfast, he already had an entire plate of honeyed toast and waffles piling up next to chopped fruits. And he would feed the pieces to you one by one. Glued to your side as he nourished you right in front of his eyes.

With his closeness, the shared attachment and the continuous reaching out for each other, the bond was enchanted. It fluttered whenever the serpent touched a sensitive spot on your skin, buzzed when you kissed his neck.

It bent when he didn’t glance at you in hours. It coiled when you didn’t touch him for a night.

The connection was an indicator and a regulator of everything. Syncing your heartbeats, your thoughts, your souls.

It kept you bounded to jake. In all ways possible, you were his.

That’s why when you woke up one day, with an uncomfortable tightening in your abdomen, a warmth burning your skin and an itch that you couldn’t drink away— jake was by your side before you even called for him.

Because he didn’t need you to be verbal about anything anymore, he felt it before you even spoke it.

The discomfort, the pain and shuddering when your entire body ached. “I don’t know what’s wrong.” Your voice was hushed when you curled in on yourself in the middle of his nest. Jake was on his knees next to you, slit pupils studying your every move— before the realisation dawned on him.

It wasn’t discomfort it was a tug.

It wasn’t pain it was a call.

“My body .. feels so wrong. It feels so odd.” Because it was ready. “Love..” the air from his lungs was knocked out the second you whimpered and he smelt it.

Like a carnal urge awakening, ripping its way to life within him— he picked up your scent, your need. Your arousal, sweet and addictive wafting through the air to his nose.

His split tongue uncontrollably flicked out to taste it, to taste the tiniest tinge of your nectarine in the air. And he groaned when he realised that you weren’t just ready— you were fertile for him. You tasted fertile.

“It’s not wrong.. or odd.” The serpent hissed, now climbing next to your curled body before his tail and arms engulfed you. “Your body is calling for me, little nest.” You grunted at his words, arousal gushing between your legs like flowing slick. “You’re ready for me.” And at that your legs instinctively opened.

Like a welcoming gesture, the warmth spreading between you both as Jake coiled himself around you, his massive arm wrapping around your waist, holding you close, grounding you. While the other slipped down your hips.

You moaned in relief when he mouthed at your shoulder, fingers dipping past your soaked underwear while the tip of his nose brushed right against your pulse point— and he nuzzled closer. Kissing, nipping, licking at your skin to scent you. Right above your heart beat.

“My pretty mate..” his claws were retracted, rough fingers toying with your folds making you gasp in his hold. “All ready for me.. finally calling for me.” The serpent felt delirious.

He felt the way that the desire that rushed through you, was stemming from the deepest parts of your soul. He was witnessing you naked. Completely bare for his eyes, searching and reaching towards him.

Towards the only person you know that will hold you, soothe you and protect you. Your mate.

Jake moved to hover above you, his tail now circling your hips with the tip stroking your lower stomach where the skin burned him. You looked up at him, pretty eyes glossy with expectancy, waiting when your body blazed with need.

And when you felt a pulse, a contraction blooming in your abdomen in pain— you whimpered his name. So soft, so broken and defenceless.

Jake crumbled entirely. All restraint and plans of being gentle with you in your first time evaporating away.

He needed you, and you need him right now.

“Shh— sweetheart, don’t worry. I’ve got you..” the serpent’s tail coiled around one of your thighs before pulling it towards his hips, opening you. His mouth latched onto your jaw, flicking his divided tongue along your skin while you shuddered under him. Gasps and sighs all falling from your lips as waves of relief washed down on you, the bond humming in satisfaction whenever jake touched you.

“I’ve got you.. your mate’s got you, already so sweet and ready for me..” Jake babbled on the lower his kisses went, plump lips already swollen trailing down your collarbone before he ripped apart your nightgown. Claws shredding the soft satin before settling above your flushed skin gently. So careful. “You’re all ready for me.. I can feel it.” He pressed his palm onto your lower stomach—

And he could’ve sworn he felt a throb. Right under his touch.

Jake couldn’t help the frenzied smile that etched on his features.

You groaned in pleasure when he pressed— applying light pressure, his pupils dilating when your scent sharpened. Sweetened. And the throbbing under his palm continued.

“There she is..” his voice was low, so low it sounded like he was purring. He leaned right next to your ear, akin to a predator taunting their prey, territorial and crazed. “There’s my favourite place.. pulsing for me.” He flicked his tongue out to taste you again. The need, the lust and the desire.

He pressed harder. “Feel that, angel? That’s you wanting me. That’s you being my mate.” Jake breathed in, inhaling your scent like it was his air— like he couldn’t live without it. “That’s where I’m gonna be at all times now. I’m going to keep you full. Here. Always.”

Your limbs were weak, the hunger now burning its way through your veins and lighting you on fire. Like a lava waiting just for the right moment to erupt inside of you, yet you only could whimper under jake. Could only look at him with tears in your eyes in hopes of him doing something.

The serpent then sensed everything.

The burn in your womb, the ache in your body, the warmth pooling between your legs— the bond convulsing with anticipation and jake was left gasping for breath. “Fuck.. baby, this is all for me? This is how you feel for me?” And you nodded because he wasn’t aware of the way he had you suffocating in his love. Wasn’t aware that you were drowning in him.

Now Jake didn’t want to do anything besides the exact same.

To cover and wrap and strangle himself with you. He suddenly lowered himself and finally kissed you.

The gasps and moans fell past your lips effortlessly, the kiss was anything but that. It was the two of you breathing one another in. Biting, licking, sucking with your teeth clashing. His spit instantly dribbled down your throat, the venom bursting in your tongue like it just sprung you back to life and you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around the serpent’s neck to bring him closer, to take more.

Jake’s entire body was pressed against yours. His tail thrumming with his heart beat that pulsed wildly, smooth scales turning warmer by the second, you moaned into his mouth and he swallowed. “So pretty.. every pretty noise you make.. every pretty moan are all mine.” He bit on your lower lip, brushing his split ends while tears aligned your waterline, “just mine. Only mine.”

“Jake.. please,” your voice was barely audible, a small, broken sound between all his hissing. “I need you, really bad. It hurts.” Jake inhaled sharply,

And then he unleashed everything.

His hands, that were so gently caressing your skin, held onto your wrists and pinned them upwards. He pushed his body against yours, his tail pressing at your hips after coiling around once— trapping you under him.

The serpent hissed loudly. A light vibration rumbling in his chest that spread to your body, he began to rut into you. Hips rubbing and grinding mindlessly, you felt a poke— a pressure. Of something massive, warm, throbbing.

The size alone makes you choke a gasp out, jake smiled like he knew that you felt him. “Felt me, little nest? I’m gonna be inside you all the time now.” He whispered hotly into your skin. “Gonna let you crave me so much you’ll want me in all the time, everyday.” And you knew that he meant every word. Because Jake always kept his promises.

He loved the way your wetness seeped through his clothes to coat him. Loved the way you were so soaked and so eager to claim you couldn’t help yourself but do it even without him touching you. He wanted you to claim and mark him just as bad as he wanted to do it to you, and now was his chance to bring all his dreams to life.

While you were shuddering and gasping beneath him, his tail uncoiled.

The tip that once rested on your hip, inched closer to your middle— right before dipping under your panties.

You froze.

“Feel me, baby?” His tail thrusted deeper, your pussy tightened around his scales that soothed your walls. Pulsing, throbbing and so hot it felt like he was leaking inside of you. You sobbed when the stretch settled in, so wide it burned you from the inside out. Yet it felt so good. Especially when he pressed down his palm, feeling right where he was. “I’m right here, angel. I’m home.”

You squealed when his rough tip, now soft and swollen nuzzled right into your cervix opening. The small, pulsating rhythm of the beginning of your uterus throbbing at the contact. You sniffled as you weakly held onto him, body completely open and vulnerable at his mercy. “Jake.. a-are you sure this is okay—?” You sounded so shy. So bewildered at what he was doing to you, to your little pussy that could only stretch and drool around him.

The serpent laughed breathlessly. “Of course, baby. You’re taking me so well.. wrapping around my tail so nicely, look how pretty you look all open for me.” His praises fell off his lips like honey, Jake felt the way you clenched around his scales as he stretched you open. Your cunt dripping more and more each time he pulled back just the slightest bit before pushing his tail all the way back in.

Up until his swollen tip pressed against your cervix, and then began to pulse.

Your body twitched above the nest. Hips jerking forward when Jake didn’t pull back, he only throbbed right into your opening like his tail was kissing your cervix. “J-Jake.. what’s going on—“ “shhh Angel girl. Don’t worry about anything, let your mate prepare your pretty womb.” And then you felt the force, the pull.

The suction right against your tight ring of muscles. Like he was pulling your uterus down and making it bloom open at the same time— you felt the way your womb contracted right before dilating at his command.

And at the sensation of the hot, sticky and wet sucking, you thrashed in his hold. Your entire body felt like it was melting away while Jake wrapped his arms around you roughly, to keep you in place when you sobbed into his neck.

You felt so overwhelmed. The feeling was building up inside of you so rapidly, your heart thundered in your chest, struggling to keep up with everything that was happening.

From his whispered praises, sloppy mouth kissing and licking anywhere he could reach, the peak of his claws appearing every second just to dig and then disappear— and his tail. His tail that felt like it was splitting you as it sucked at your cervix, trembling as if to beg for your womb to let it inside. Everything felt debauched, so cruel yet so blissful.

“Gonna make your needy womb all open for me..” the serpent grunted breathlessly next to your ear, tongue flicking to lick the shell before he spoke again. “Get you all pretty and ready for me.. so you’ll be able to carry my clutch, baby.” You whimpered.

Throat hoarse from the consistent moaning and sobbing, eyelashes heavy from the unshed tears, the nest felt unbearable— yet it was also the only place you wanted to be in right now. The air so thick with his scent, with your slick and his wafting pheromones that floated away from his scales. Sweat clinging to both of your bodies, increasing the more his skin rubbed to yours.

Jake felt his senses slipping through his fingers, nostrils flared as he tried his best to inhale into his suffocating lungs. He could only feel you. Only breathe and sense you. His instincts flaring yet calming down at the same time, his thoughts incoherent as an ancient, a primitive hiss echoed through him. Like the serpent inside of Jake fully awakened this time.

With the intention to arouse, to stake, to coil around what’s his.

That was exactly what his body was moving to do before he was even aware of it. He felt so lost, so drunk and mindless with his hands gripping your hips to anchor himself. Yet nothing helped, he felt himself slipping further into the warmth, the engulfing embrace of lust and mating.

He wanted nothing more than to be connected to you in the most intimate way possible. His tail that cradled your cervix, the opening that fluttered around him like a blooming flower— latched on. Sucking and pulling like your womb was its only lifeline. Jake shuddered above you the more his body desperately pulled.

Your legs folded around his hips, pulling his tail even closer when your entire body yearned for him. Thirst amplifying by the second, your skin was feverish. Blazing with an entire layer of glistening sweat. You could no longer talk or speak— you left all the talking to your weak limbs that gripped onto the serpent like he was the only thing keeping secure, keeping you afloat above the sea of need that you both were drowning in.

It felt too intimate, too close, too much. You couldn’t breathe without his hot mouth touching you in some way, you felt your mind shut down the moment his hands would move from one place to another— and jake was weak.

His hands almost frail while his legs trembled. “Shit sweetheart.. you’re taking me in so well.” His tone airy, barely carrying the usual edge to it when he was melting on top of you. You could only flutter around his tail, your shyness still glowing and it made his heart lurch to his throat.

Then he moved his hand, one stayed anchored next to your head to steady himself while the other dipped low. He lowered himself to litter kisses down your neck, whispers of loving, sweet promises all spoken carefully to your skin only. Like it was a promise between him and your body alone.

Jake’s figure was restless. Twitchy, so sensitive. He felt something unfurling within him— something he wasn’t fully prepared for himself. And it excited him and terrified him at the same time.

The scratch of claws against his ribs, the graze of fangs against his throat. He was holding back his serpent from fully possessing him. Coming out and claiming, marking and hurting. Because that’s what his kind did.

It was driving him insane. But you looked so pretty under him.. writhing just from his tail that suckled on your womb like it was breathing air. A singular moment of break would mean that he would starve. His movements were all steady, stable. continuous.

Yet there was an urge to just dig his claws inside of you. To land his final touch and lay his clutch in your warmth— to fully possess you and change you. Witness the way your body will adapt to him.

The effect of him on you.

Jake tried his hardest to hold back, even if he was thrusting his tail inside of you like he was chasing his own high. Even if he felt the way you gushed and shuddered around him when your climax fluttered through you, he still attempted his best to tame his animalistic side.

But serpents were always stronger than humans. He could only do so much with his humane abilities—

That’s why he slipped his tail out in the blink of an eye, his pupils slitting to thin threads when a cry fell from your lips right before he flipped you over onto your stomach.

The serpent was wild. Claws now fully digging into your skin making you whimper in pain, his muscular chest pressed to your back. Pushing you towards the mattress while he held your hips, shifting them upwards to press against his own.

He was completely slipping. Fangs bared, venom dripping down his throat. A deadly glint in his as his breaths came out shallow. The mortal cuffs he had forced upon himself melting entirely when a painful throb spread right from under his abdomen—

From right below his waistline, where his slit slowly folded open to allow his erect cock to slither from behind his iridescent scales— he was massive. Awakened and excited. Way past the average human size, tip a primal red while his base flushed gently with the same gleaming dark emerald of his scales.

And he was leaking so much you would’ve thought that it was his climax instead. Pretty, opaline with infused venom ropes of cum drizzled past his length. Dripping onto the fabrics of the nest when he pressed the head of his cock to your sopping entrance.

He felt absolutely feral. His hands trembling, attempting his best to keep him steady while he teased your cunt. The serpent’s mouth was unable to detach from your body, “mine mine mine..” he whispered with his eyes half lidded, drowning in desire.

“All mine.. my pretty mate, my little nest.” He spoke, wrapping one of his hands around your neck. Fully thrusting inside of you. “There we go..” and you were panting.

He was so big, so deep. “J-jake.. please slow down—“ he paused.

Length throbbing, flaring between her stretched walls. “You want me to slow down.. when she’s been waiting for me?” Jake mocked.

His grip on your jaw tightened, sharp nails indenting your skin. “How could I possibly do that, baby?” Now his voice was softer. Desperate, wet with the leaking venom from his fangs. He talked like he was guilt tripping you, like he couldn’t believe that you wanted him to slow down. Like it hurt.

“Just a little bit— don’t stop, m’not asking you to..” the serpent exhaled heavily, continuing to sheath himself inside of you. “You don’t get what you do to me, baby..”

“You dont get what I want to do to you right now..” his voice was unlike his. Something dark, something ferocious spoke from within him. Thick with malice, webbed in the impulse to ruin.

And you were the victim. You were the chosen one to take. The thought alone made you shiver beneath him, goosebumps appearing making the animal behind you chuckle in amusement.

“Scared?” Jake snarled right next to your ear. Smiling when more tears slipped past your eyes— from the adrenaline that dug into your heart, the swirled combination of fear and excitement— terror and arousal. “No need to be scared, baby.. I’m just here to take care of you.”

He whispered like he was trying to distract you. Like his words could conceal the burn, the unbearable stretch of his serpent cock that thrusted inside of you.

You gasped wordlessly, back arching when fresh tears aligned along your jaw. Every single inch of your body felt electrified while you felt almost suffocated. “Breathe.” Jake growled.

Fangs brushing your ear. You struggled, you felt consumed. Undertaken by a dizzying fog of pleasure and euphoria— so strong it numbed you. “Breathe baby..” this time his thumbs pressed right above your jugular vein making you choke.

“J-jake—! S’too much— too deep—!” “But baby you’re taking it so well though..” you cried when his hand creeped to close just lightly around your mouth. “Listen to her, angel.” And you did. The wet, noisy and obscene sounds of your pussy clenching around him when he thrusted, pulling his hips back for a slight second— only letting you feel his tip before shoving his cock inside of your cunt that squirted in relief. “How am I supposed to slow down when this is how you sound for me?”

He trembled behind you. Legs twitching with his pelvis pressing flush into you. “You’re taking your mate too good, sweetness..” the pleasure creeped right up his spine, the sensation making him guttered. “Too good, baby.. you’re driving me insane.”

So soft, so warm. Searingly hot. Your entire body flushed under him, womb pulsing as the head of his swollen cock kept kissing it, pulling it and pushing it like it loved toying with your deepest, most sacred part. His favourite part.

All the while his hovering figure leaned down lower and lower. Until he had his front pressed to your back. Each breath that left his lungs fanned around your skin. His tongue flicked out to taste the thick air. It tasted so abundant with your flavours.

“You’re all mine, angel.. only mine. Just mine. My pretty mate that I’ll love and fill forever.” With each word he pushed more. He stayed inside more. Each time making your limbs melt further above the nest. Everything felt so good— a spell that he spoke in an unknown, ancient language that only he knew the gravity of before blowing it towards you.

He had you fully under his control. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t speak. You barely could move. You were unable to do anything— and for some reason it felt nice.

It was comforting to have his weight pinning you down. Comforting to know that no matter how much your needy cervix ached, he’ll always be there to kiss it better.

It made you feel so safe. So protected and cared for when your mate worshipped you like you were the only religion he knew. The only one he believed in and the only one he saw.

With each stroke of his slick cock that spilled heat inside of you, it felt like your walls were hugging him back. So intimately holding him close even the serpent exhaled shakily at being so accepted— so loved.

Jake then picked up the pace, the slow, deep thrusts shifting into more brutal ones— untamed and beast-like. You mewled into the feathery pillow. So weak compared to the uncontrollable hissing behind you.

Your pussy sucked him in, cervix moulding around his tip the more he teased it. “Feel me here, baby? Doesn’t it feel good to have me here?” And he pressed on your lower stomach. Caressing the bulge of his viper cock that massaged your insides, he felt every flutter, every vein and every ridge while you cried, so overwhelmed.

“F-fuck yes—! I love it, I love it so much— I love how deep you are in me, jakey—“ you babbled, drunk. Wholly under the altered cloud of pleasure he always manages to form around your head. Jake growled at your tone, so airy. He could practically taste how high on his love you were. “Yeah, baby? I’m gonna be here all the time now. Gonna keep your greedy cunt stuffed of me.” His claws glowed, fangs almost vibrating in instinct.

Mark. Claim. Bite. Ruin.

And Jake sunk his teeth right into your shoulder blade, the sensation instantly making you unravel around him as you milked his cock that burned. His hips snapping against you wildly while your arousal drizzled down onto the nest, ruining everything just like the way you were right now.

Sobbing, vision spotted with your ears ringing as Jake fucked you through your orgasm before pulling another one out of you. Your womb was convulsing. Contractions washing down on your body so painfully yet the waves of ecstasy were stronger.

The serpent then injected his venom into you again. The flush of the sweetness bursting in your veins from the hidden hunger. The unknown crave that just got settled, Jake groaned at your taste once again. Your blood tasted even more saccharine when it was engulfed by your orgasm.

You crashed. Over and over again. His length relentless as it rammed inside of you, fucking into all of your sweet spots that made your body jerk under Jake. “That’s it, isn’t it angel?” He breathed heavily when you squealed right as his hips pressed to you in a certain angle— “that’s your sweet, baby spot. Isn’t it? I’m going to worship it.” And he did.

His tip nursed from it. Pulling orgasm after orgasm from you. The knot in your abdomen no longer formed— you were stuck in a constant state of falling apart while your womb milked his cock even more.

It felt like your body had a mind of its own. So needy, so desperate that no matter how much your mind practically shut down it didn’t care. It was addicted, attached, dependent.

And Jake loved it. He loved the way your pussy was wrapped around him. Tightly, possessively. Unwilling to let go whenever he pulled back— you were claiming him back. Your body was dragging its marks on him, etching its way into his very own skin with the way his cock was tight with desire. The need to unleash and finally paint your insides with him.

So he kept going, because he couldn’t think. He couldn’t process anything. He only felt the pulses, felt the tugging, felt the constant edging of something ready to release, prepared to snap.

“I’m gonna fill you up so well, sweetheart.” The snake hissed, his hand now moving to cradle your lower belly. Where he was going to make you swell with him. His tail coiled behind him, body building in anticipation while his fangs teased your open wound. Where he could still taste you on his tongue.

“Stuff you so full you’ll be leaking of me for weeks. You’ll feel me every time you move.” You shivered at his words. Not because you were scared— but because of how you felt a drop. The lowering of your cervix as it opened more, like a second starved mouth, like it wanted to be stuffed. It wanted to be filled with your mate’s seed.

And when your muscles fluttered around his cock’s head he cooed. “Oh angel.. your pretty womb is just as needy for me as I am for her.” His hand now pressed harder and he felt your uterus flutter back at his touch. “I’ll soothe her.. I’ll satisfy her. Always.”

You couldn’t help the way your body arched further into the bed— hips shifting to allow him to go even deeper while your face was buried into the pillow now. You were still inviting him in even when he was drowning in you.

“P-please.. don’t let me be empty.” And that sentence alone broke Jake.

Then you heard the aftermath— it wasn’t a moan, it wasn’t a gasp, it wasn’t something human.

It was a vibration. One that started from the tip of his tail to the top of his head— a click and then a rattle. A heavy, snapping noise that came deep from within his guts. He was released.

“You want to be filled up with me?” The voice that spoke from behind you wasn’t Jake. The moment you froze in shock— walls clenching in surprise when you turned around and saw him different.

His pupils were in their thinnest form, emerald irises glowing brightly in the dim nest. Fangs fully dropped and dripping with venom that fell atop your lower back, right before melting and being drunk by your skin. His scales were fluttering, a dusty green covering the tips of the ones that emerged around his shoulders and neck, down to his forearms.

He looked wickedly frightening. He looked monstrous.

And somehow that made you want him even more.

“I’ll break you.” His tone was a fusion between a hiss and a deep, heavy rumbling that came from the depths of his chest. “I’ll ruin you completely. I will crawl inside of you and alter you. Just like I did with my venom, just like how you belong to me now.” His words, his mouth dripped with venom.

It scared you. Fuck, it terrified you. Yet you still couldn’t find it in yourself to move away, to escape from the beast behind you. The one that was buried so deep inside of you while you tightened around him, pouring at every word he growled at you.

You couldn’t help the way you pushed yourself back under him— the way you pushed your pelvis back against his, and he laughed.

A guttural, dangerous laughter that made more poison spill out from his mouth. “You want me to claim you just as bad as I do.. you want me to take your soul.” And you nodded.

You agreed because you couldn’t function anymore. You couldn’t imagine, couldn’t think about any possibility or life that doesn’t revolve around your serpent. You couldn’t do it, your mind refused to conjure up any image of you that didn’t have scales. That didn’t have venom marks. That didn’t have chilling split pupils.

Because your own body depended on him now. It responded to him, it recognised him, it knew him. You were marked, you were owned.

You had already given him your heart and body, it was only a matter of time before he sunk his fangs around your soul as well.

And you would allow it, because you knew you were safe. You knew that your mate would make the sky fall above the grass to keep you warm and protected between his arms.

Even if he had you away from the world, even if his voice became the only one that you knew, his eyes the only ones you saw and his body the only one you felt, you would never pick another over him.

You could never not choose him. You could never live without your mate.

And Jake claimed everything. His thrusts turned animalistic. Like he was ravaging your guts, scarring your insides to only accept him. His claws sunk back into your hips, deep and unforgiving. Any time your figure jerked forward— moved the slightest bit from under him— he would drag you back.

Because under him is where you belonged now. “Don’t try to run from me, pretty.” His tail, still coated with your wetness brushed your calf. “You and I both know you can’t go anywhere.”

The scales circled you, they engulfed you in coils. From around your hips, between your legs, up your waist and finally resting around your neck— right before he squeezed.

“Jake!” You cried, heart ramming into your ribs when you felt your lungs burn with need of air. The serpent kept his coils unmoving, applying the slightest pressure. “Shh, love. You’re safe, I’ll never hurt you.” Your tired hands desperately held onto the cooling scales, where you could sense each breath he took.

With his cock still nestled so deep inside of your weeping womb, he turned your face around with his clawed hand. “If you want air, you can breathe me in.” And before you could utter another word— he shoved his tongue into your parted lips.

Both of you groaned at the familiar taste, the familiar feeling and stretch of his forked split ends that instantly latched onto the back of your throat. He thrusted inside of you again, cock tightening in a way that you felt it from the heavy release he kept pushing back.

Jake hummed when you moaned around his tongue, your eyes closing in euphoria at his venom streaming down your throat while his length split you open. You felt more aches of pleasure branching into your body, endless climaxes and orgasms all knotting together as your mind floated.

“There you go.. keep floating for me, baby. Stay under my venom.” And you did, you took everything he gave you. The warm, filling poison and the hot ropes of precum that he buried inside of you. “Doing so well for me.. you deserve to be filled so good.” He muttered around your mouth before suckling on your muscle like a baby.

The serpent retracted his tongue, he babbled as he felt the heat building up in his cool blooded body, his legs twitching, tail fluttering around you the closer he inched towards his climax before it broke— and it shattered him entirely.

He snarled so loudly, the noise shaking out of his ribs when his limbs tensed, scales vibrating as he came inside of you.

But he didn’t cum like you normally expected, it wasn’t a few ropes of his warm seed— it was a flood.

A blazing hot, endless liquid that bursted inside of you. Making you cry at the feeling of the stream, of the overflow. He kept hissing in pleasure, wrapped up in a storm of mouth watering thrill that coursed through him, intensifying when your womb constricted— like it was drinking him up, filling your uterus with all he gave.

You were sobbing against the pillow now, covered in a sticky pool of wetness, of arousal and his flooding that didn’t decrease— and then you felt a poke. “There it is..” it was a swell.

A consistent rising, a bump that formed right around his base that was being pushed inside of you now.

Inside of your gushing entrance that clenched in surprise— in shock when you screamed at the ceaseless stretch. The fresh burn, the boiling warmth of his knot as it sunk into you. All the while Jake kept kissing you through it, shushing you and mumbling words into your ear.

“You can take it.. you’re almost there.” His voice was tender now, after his release the viper somewhat softened. You shook under him as your cunt drooled around the new intrusion, much similar to the saliva that dripped out of your mouth.

And then a final pop! That signalled him fully sheathing himself in. Locking him to you with his seed almost sloshing inside of your swollen stomach. The skin on your belly tight and stretched just the slightest bit at the flood.

Jake was in awe.

His clawed hands that were covered in your drool and your indents hovered around your belly, you were so full of him.. so stuffed just from carrying his seed. “You look divine, love.” He kissed right into the wound he had his fangs in just a few minutes ago.

You shuddered at his featherlight touch. A whirling contrast from his predatory hold. Yet you still melted under his fingertips, still floating and relaxed for him.

“Looking so pretty.. just from my seed alone.” His palm pressed against the swell, “wonder how you’ll look like when you carry my clutch.” At those words, you whimpered—

“I want it..” the serpent stiffened. “I want to carry your clutch, Jake.” Jake’s expression changed.

It became unreadable, you were too embarrassed to look at him, your face still covered by the pillowcase, still sensitive. “Baby.. do you realise what you’re asking for?” And before you could even answer, he felt a throb.

Much similar to the one before he bred you, much similar to the one he already memorised— the one of your womb.

Calling for him once again, even when he had just flooded her. She was still greedy. Still wanted more.

Jake smiled.

“Is that so..” he purred, knot swelling down, the bulge slowly slipping out of you. Allowing his gaze to take in the sight of your gaping pussy— still tightening around nothing, still pulsing, still hungry even when she was dripping in him.

You whined at the emptiness, the coldness that wrapped around your womb now that Jake’s cock wasn’t cradling it— the neediness from your body made the serpent sigh in love. “Still want me so bad.. still wanting my clutch.” His hands trailed down your sides that twitched beautifully under his touch.

He then carefully moved you, laying you gently on your back. His tail unfurled from around you slightly, it still hovered next to your hips. He distanced himself just enough to let you breathe.

“I’ll give you my clutch.” Jake whispered right as he looked into your eyes. Half lidded and sparkling with unshed tears that prickled at his heart. “I’ll give you everything that I have.” He leaned down to press the lightest kiss on your lips. Mouths barely touching when his plump lips brushed your swollen ones.

His claws had fully vanished, hands carefully steadying your thighs to wrap around him once more as he slid in between your legs, this time his cock appeared thicker— erect and leaking but swollen. Heavy, loaded.

The sight alone made you salivate. “You’re so.. full,”

“I’ll let it out. I will let it out inside of you.. I’ll make it easy for you.. I’ll make it feel good.” The serpent hissed into your lips, breath hot and heavy as the steam in the nest practically bubbled. The windows were foggy, the room thick and layered with his scent, his pheromones and your arousal.

And then he sank into you once more— this time easier, this time sliding between your slippery walls that gushed around him in welcome. Jake shivered above you, mouth agape while you moaned right into his lips.

The sounds that formed from his cock nudging inside of you were filthy. So nasty, so wet it made your whole body burn. Your hands finally finding the strength to wrap around his wrists on either side of your head just to stabilise yourself.

“She’s so greedy.. she’s sucking me in so well, baby. You’re so needy for me.” Jake whined as his hips worked restlessly, chasing his high when his swollen cock— filled with his clutch caressed your inside, their new home. “I’m gonna give you my babies.. you’ll carry and protect them. You’ll be such a great mama to our babies.” He muttered before dipping his head into the curve of your neck, right where your blood still drizzled in thick droplets.

Your womb quivered with each thrust, every stroke pulling a breath out of your lungs before he sank in so deep his head latched onto your cervix again. “There we go..” Jake’s words were slurred, you were limp above the nest. Slumped under him while he almost evaporated. So intoxicated on the feeling of your walls milking him, so obsessed with how warm your body felt because of him.

And then Jake felt the first drop.. the first swell that indicated his egg lowering. He pressed his hips flush against yours, the head of his cock fully nursing onto your cervix when you felt the shift— the weight, the round sphere that was moving to be inside of you.

“Just like that.. take it, love. Take it and keep it safe.” It finally sunk inside of you, round and weighted. The sensation so new, so intimate as it slipped past him— right into the opening of your cervix that sucked the egg in. Shielding and protecting it in your womb, making you sigh in relief at the sheer relief of carrying his weight— of carrying him.

But then there was another swell.. another drop. “I-is that another—?” “Yes— fuck i have more to give, I always have more to give when it comes to you.” His pelvis jerked into yours, saliva dripping out of his mouth like water as his slit pupils rolled into the back of his head, the feeling burned him from the inside out, blazed his abdomen in ecstatic fire. “Take it, baby. Take all of them from me.”

This time you cried when it pressed into your cervix, the muscles fluttering softly before sucking the egg right next to the other one. The weight increasing in your womb made your legs shake, another release building up even when your body felt so sore. Your pussy still twitching with Jake deep inside of you.

“Last one, little nest. You can take it, I know you can.” The serpent mouthed at your skin, tongue flicking to lick along your cheek, to catch the slipping tears that fell when your stomach felt so full. So heavy and tight already but he was still giving you more.

His palm pressed against the swell, the forming bump of his clutch being protected by you. Being nourished and nurtured inside of you. His instincts flared, the final egg slipping slowly, the heaviest and largest of the bunch— “f-fuck.. we’re almost there, sweetheart. You’re almost full of me.” Jake sobbed into your neck.

His serpent body overwhelmed by the sheer intimacy, by the intensity of the love he held for you. The weight of acceptance, of you wanting him back. All crashing down on him as he stuffed you with his final egg, the bulge of it making you both gasp as the stretch ripped a release from you, so deep, so carnal.

“That’s it baby.. you did it. You’re carrying my soul now.” He spoke tearfully into your mouth, still so close to you. Still buried deep inside of you, his tip remained nuzzled against your cervix that fully closed now. Fulfilled and satisfied.

The serpent’s palm rested against your stomach, it felt warm. Soft with you now holding him, nestling his babies inside the most precious part of you. “You look so beautiful.. all mine. Just mine, so full of me.” Jake worshipped your body.

Tail caressing the underside of your belly while the snake moved towards you, laying next to your body before cradling you against him. All his instincts telling him to protect. To shield.

You hummed in content. So spent, so tired and so bred. Your heart’s pace finally calming down when you cuddled closer to Jake’s warmth. The serpent’s tongue flicked out to touch your neck, your shoulders, just to scent you again. To surround you with him completely while you carry his clutch.

“Sleep now my little nest. I’ll protect you and our babies.” His whisper fluttered with love, your eyes already closing the second he began to purr for you. Soft vibrations calming your nerves while his scales coiled around you protectively, his palm resting above your lower stomach.

“All mine.” The serpent hissed quietly before closing his eyes.

a,n. holy fucking shit it’s finally done. thanks for reading this fever dream 🫶🏼 & feedback is greatly appreciated ! ♡

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whisperedmeg · 9 days ago

Text

ADJOINING ROOMS ⋆˚꩜｡ spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

summary: you and reid are just colleagues. and hookup partners. and fake lovers for a case in a swinger’s club. but it’s fine. until it really, really isn’t.

genre: smut, angst | w/c: 8.5k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, situationship/fwb, coworkers to lovers, brief references to alcohol consumption, emotional avoidance/lack of communication, mentions of the swinger lifestyle (case related) (probably full of inaccuracies & stereotypes so apologies in advance for that lol), canon-typical case/violence, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, multiple orgasms + a lil overstimulation, soft dom!spencer if you squint, spencer calls reader good girl/baby/sweet girl, slight praise kink, aftercare, no use of y/n

a/n: never written a case-centric fic before (although idk if I’d call this case-centric — more like case-adjacent) and zooo weee mama the hours upon hours I put into this 😮‍💨 but I’m very pleased with how it turned out, so I hope someone enjoys it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I know it’s long but fingers crossed it’s worth it. (p.s. fourth pic is not indicative of reader’s appearance!! it just had the right dress + vibes)

The roundtable room always feels colder than it should. Maybe it’s the fluorescent lights, or maybe it’s the weight of what gets said in here — every case, every file, every name. Sometimes you think the walls remember too much.

Hotch is talking. His voice cuts through the stillness in that crisp, efficient way it always does. Words like “victimology” and “behavioral escalation” stack on top of each other, building the scaffolding of a case you’re supposed to be paying attention to. But your mind is already drifting — across the table, past the file folders and scattered pens, to where Spencer is sitting.

He’s chewing the inside of his cheek again. Not nervous, exactly — more like restless. His gaze flickers from the files to the floor to the case board, anywhere but you. He hasn’t looked at you once all morning.

You wonder if anyone else notices.

Last week, you kissed him. Again. Or rather, he kissed you.

It was late. You were both a little tipsy from post-case beers, tiptoeing down the hotel hallway like teenagers who missed curfew. You’d said something about how quiet it was — how strange it felt after so much chaos that day. He’d nodded. Then there was a long, loaded pause, and suddenly your back was against the wallpaper and his mouth was on yours, hot and searching and almost rough.

“We shouldn’t,” you’d whispered, even as your fingers curled into his shirt.

“I know,” he’d breathed back against your lips.

And still, neither of you stopped.

You think about that now — his hands framing your jaw, the way he touched you like he’d been dying to all day — and it makes your palms itch. You press your nails into your skin, leaving little crescent-shaped indents, and force your gaze back to the board.

On it: photos of the bodies of three women. All strangled. All posed ritualistically. All in their late twenties to mid-thirties, all married or in serious relationships. All affiliated with the swinger lifestyle in the greater Chicago area.

“Preliminary theory,” Hotch says, “is that the unsub attends these parties, separates the woman from her male partner, and kills her in private. He’s not targeting them at random — he’s studying their interactions with their partners first. Police pulled together a sketch of the unsub from witnesses, but the locals haven’t been able to identify him yet.”

Spencer finally speaks. “It’s possible he’s embedding himself in the community. Not just observing, but actively participating in swinging.”

You swallow hard. His voice sounds normal. Clinical. Almost bored. You wonder how he does that — compartmentalizes so easily when you’re in the room like nothing ever happened between you.

You, meanwhile, are still trying to forget the taste of his mouth.

“Wheels up in an hour,” Hotch says, flipping the file closed. “We’ll get briefed by local PD and the Chicago field office when we land.”

He pauses and glances around the table.

“We’re also going to need to send two of you in undercover at the next club night.”

As soon as he says it, you already know what’s coming. Hotch focuses his eyes on you before he continues speaking.

“You’ve got the most experience working undercover,” he says. “And you fit the victimology. Reid, you’ll go with her. You make a believable pairing.”

You feel it. Not just the sharp jolt in your own chest, but the way Spencer tenses. A small shift in posture, like someone bracing for impact. His eyes stay fixed on the table. You just nod.

“If the unsub is targeting women in stable relationships,” Spencer begins, voice measured, “we need to appear convincingly connected — not just physically, but emotionally. Studies show that up to 10 % of American married couples have experimented with swinging, and many report that emotional intimacy drives their participation more than the physical variety. If he’s looking for that connection when seeking out victims, we’ll need to sell both.”

You almost laugh. Not because it’s funny — but because this is how he protects himself. With facts. With rationality. Like if he says the right words in the right order, it won’t matter that your mouths have already memorized each other.

“Exactly. And you two will blend in best with the age group at these clubs. We’ll do more prep on the plane,” Hotch says.

You nod. Spencer nods.

And then, finally, he looks at you.

It’s barely for a second, but it’s long enough to see the thing he’s trying to hide:

Want. Fear. Something brittle and unspeakable pressed tight beneath his ribs.

You look away first. You have to.

—

The jet hums around you. You’ve always found something oddly comforting about the sound — the steady thrum of the engine, the muted clink of coffee mugs, the gentle rustle of case files and paper.

Spencer is sitting across from you, the way he always does on the jet. Close enough to keep an eye on you if he wants to, but far enough away for plausible deniability. He’s got a file open in his lap, one leg crossed over the other, pen tapping absently at the margin. But he hasn’t turned the page in eight minutes.

You’re pretending to read, too. Words blur. You underline things at random just to look busy. The profile you and the team have already built is solid — mid- to late-thirties, white male, organized, narcissistic injury around female sexuality, history of escalating violence against women starting from a young age, currently or formerly involved in the swinger community himself.

But all you can think about is the fact that Spencer isn't looking at you again, and it’s starting to eat at you.

“God,” Morgan mutters from behind you. “This case is wild. Sex parties, swinging, murder.”

“People have all kinds of lifestyles,” JJ says, gentle and unbothered, flipping through photos. “That doesn’t make them deserving of this.”

“Not saying that,” Morgan replies. “Just… can you imagine Hotch at one of those clubs?”

A collective groan-laugh moves through the jet. Rossi makes a deadpan comment about leather harnesses. Even Hotch cracks a grin.

But Spencer doesn’t. He’s still staring at his file, unmoving, jaw tight.

The last time you were alone with him, he was on his knees.

You remember the way he looked up at you, hair falling into his eyes. His mouth was reverent. Careful. Like you were a puzzle he desperately needed to solve with his tongue.

“Please,” you’d whispered. “Don’t be so gentle.”

But he was. He always is. Even when he’s needy, even when you’re shaking — he’s still soft. Still murmuring little praises like, “You’re doing so well for me,” and “Good girl.”

And when it was over, you got dressed, said a quiet goodnight, and tiptoed back down the hall to your room alone, same as you always did. Even after countless nights together, you never slept beside him. One of you always left. It was the one boundary you hadn’t crossed. There was a seemingly impenetrable wall between the two of you, and you weren’t even sure which one of you had built it. Maybe it was him, maybe it was you, or maybe it was a joint effort.

Back in the present, the jet hits a small patch of turbulence. You jolt, fingers tightening around your pen. Spencer looks up instinctively, and your eyes meet.

He blinks once, then looks back down.

You wonder if he’s thinking about the same things you are. If the silence between you is just his version of restraint, or if he’s decided it’s easier to forget.

“Here’s some background on the club,” Hotch says, sliding a printout across the table. “Invitation-only, but you two,” he nods at you and Spencer, “are already on the guest list.”

Spencer shifts slightly. “Did they send a floorplan?”

JJ passes him a sheet with the building layout. You watch the way his fingers curl around the edge of the paper.

You want to say something. You want to joke, to ease the tension, to break the silence before it breaks you. All you can manage is:

“So. You ready to pretend to be my boyfriend, Reid?”

It comes out lighter than you feel.

Spencer’s mouth twitches. Not quite a smile, though.

“I’ve pretended to be worse,” he says softly. And for a moment, it almost feels like the past six months didn’t happen.

Then Rossi clears his throat, and Spencer looks away again.

You stare at the grain in the tabletop and trace it like a fault line, wondering how you’re supposed to fake wanting all of him when that’s already too close to reality.

—

The hotel room you’ve just checked into is a bit dated, with a king bed, fake art, heavy curtains, and neutral tones. Standard, by every definition of the word. But your eyes keep flicking to the left — where a second door sits flush with the wall you share with the adjacent room. It feels like the universe is laughing at you when you realize who’s staying in the suite next door — Spencer, naturally. And maybe it’s not a big deal. Maybe two FBI agents sharing a door between rooms isn’t a scandal. Maybe it’s even practical, since you’ll be working so closely on this case.

Still.

It feels too absurdly romantic for a murder investigation. Like the setup to a bad workplace rom-com that ends in a wedding montage and a corny piano medley. The thought makes you snort. You’ve got a deadpan sense of humor, especially when you’re tired or scared or two seconds away from thinking about the taste of his mouth again.

You groan and drop your go-bag at the foot of the bed. Your boots are already off. You’re about to get up and shower when you hear a rattle of movement on the other side of the wall.

Then: a knock.

Not at the main door, but the other one. The one that’s supposed to stay shut.

Of course.

You pad over and unlatch it.

Spencer’s standing there in mismatched socks, tie loosened, hair slightly mussed like he’s been running his hands through it for the last twenty minutes.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

You both hover for a second. There’s something soft in his eyes — like guilt, or maybe just caution.

“I, uh, thought we should talk through tomorrow. Get our story straight before we go in.”

You arch a brow. “Our story?”

He swallows. “Cover story. Our… relationship history. As a couple. So we’re believable.”

You blink. Then you laugh — short, surprised. “Right. Gotta make sure our fake relationship is fully fleshed out.”

His expression doesn’t change, but you see the muscle in his jaw jump. Like he’s trying very hard not to say something he’ll regret.

You step back. “Come on in, then. Let’s build a backstory.”

He enters cautiously, and the adjoining door swings closed behind him with a click.

You’re the kind of person who flirts when you’re uncomfortable. Who masks tension with sarcasm. Who doesn’t let people in until it’s already too late. And deep down, you hate that you’ve been soft with him. He’s seen the version of you who doesn’t deflect — the quiet version. The real one. You spent years learning how not to feel things too deeply, but now one look from Spencer and it’s like a dam breaking.

“So,” you say, cocking your head, “how long have we been together?”

He glances up to the ceiling. “A year?”

“Bold of you to assume I’d put up with you that long.”

His mouth twitches. “Six months?”

“Try four and a half. Tops.”

“Fine,” he murmurs. “Four and a half months.”

You bite your lip, a smirk teasing the corner. “And how did we meet? Office romance?”

He gives you a look of exasperation and says your name with a groan. Clearly, that hit a nerve.

You chuckle. “Fine. Come up with something better.”

There’s a beat. Then: “You spilled coffee on me in a bookstore. I insisted it was fine, you apologized profusely and offered to buy me a new shirt. Turned into a whole scene,” he decides.

You laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s believable.”

“Because I’m clumsy, or because you’re uptight?”

“Both,” he says, almost smiling.

The air shifts.

There it is again — that familiar tilt of the atmosphere. The way everything around him bends just slightly, like gravity favors his orbit.

He crosses the room and perches on the edge of the desk chair, spinning it half toward you.

You watch him from the bed, legs folded underneath you, pretending this is the most intimate moment you’ve ever shared. Which is, frankly, ridiculous. You’ve had your mouth on every inch of him. He’s said things in your ear that still make your toes curl when you think about them late at night.

“Tomorrow,” he says slowly, “we’ll need to act familiar. Emotionally and… physically.”

You nod. “We’re supposed to be in love, after all.”

That gets him. His eyes flick to yours, sharp and unreadable.

You tilt your head. “Or maybe just horny. That’s easier to fake, right?”

Silence.

Then, softly: “You’re not helping.”

“No,” you admit. “I’m not.”

You’ve always been like this — deflective to the point of recklessness when you’re backed into an emotional corner. It’s easier to make a joke than to say what you really mean. Easier to prod him than to admit you want something to give.

There’s a beat of quiet. You shift, pulling the blanket up over your legs, suddenly chilly despite the warmth of the room. The joke has worn off.

He clears his throat. “I should go, let you get some sleep.”

You nod, even though you know you’ll be restless for hours. The moment he’s gone, you’ll feel his absence echo like ringing in your ears after a fire alarm.

He stands. You stand, too. You walk together to the adjoining door like a real couple might, and that alone feels like cruelty.

For a second, neither of you moves. Then, you speak, voice quieter than it had been a few moments ago:

“Spence?”

He stops, glances back. His nickname in your mouth always does that — stalls him mid-step, like he’s never truly ready for it.

“If we’re going to be convincing,” you say, trying to sound casual, “you’re gonna have to at least look at me tomorrow.”

His gaze drops to the floor before finally lifting and meeting yours again, albeit briefly. “I’ll look at you,” he promises quietly, after a long beat.

And then he’s gone.

You lock the door, press your forehead to the wood frame, and exhale. You debate a shower again.

And that’s when it hits you — the memory, sudden and sharp, sparking bright in your mind like a match catching:

Three months ago. It was late. You’d just gotten back to the hotel one night in the middle of a case that left you feeling hollow, and you’d turned the shower on to heat up while you undid your ponytail with tired fingers.

The knock at your door came soft, almost guilty. You spotted Spencer through the peephole and let him in. You didn’t need to ask why he was there — you could see it in the way his shoulders slumped from the weight he was carrying, in the way his hand kneaded at the tension in the back of his neck, in the way he looked at you with those honey brown eyes like you were the only thing in this universe that could make him feel human again.

His mouth crashed into yours before you could even register it. Urgent. Consuming. The kind of kiss that didn’t care what came after, only what needed to happen right now.

You pulled him into the bathroom by his collar, lips parted and hungry. Clothes came off swiftly into a messy heap by the base of the sink. He lifted you into the shower then, water cascading around your tangled limbs, and braced you against the wall, tiles cool against your back.

You let him take everything he needed that night. Every thrust a release, every gasp a plea. He murmured little things against the warm skin of your neck — you don’t remember what they were, but you do remember the sound of his voice: low and wrecked and achingly tender. You came with your head tipped back, body trembling under the hot spray, thighs tightening around his waist, and he came harder. Like he couldn’t stop it — like your body had pulled it out of him, with a stifled groan and a shudder that rolled through his entire frame.

You stayed like that for a moment — both of you breathing hard, the sound of the water the only thing steady.

Eventually, your thighs loosened around him and he set you gently back down to the ground. You half-expected him to lean down and kiss you, to keep the moment going, but instead, he just studied your face and softly brushed your wet hair away from your cheek. Something quiet passed between you, fragile and echoing.

Then, without a word, he stepped out.

You watched through the fogged glass as he toweled off. Pulled his shirt back on over damp skin. Buttoned it unevenly, stepped into his slacks. His hands shook a little.

You were still standing under the water when he paused at the door.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, barely audible over the rush of the shower. You nodded in reply.

Just as quickly as he’d showed up, he was gone again.

You blink back into the present, your skin prickling with goosebumps.

You hate that your body remembers him like that. You hate even more that your heart does, too.

—

The club doesn’t look like a potential murder spot.

It looks like money. Like velvet and champagne and curated decadence. Everything about it is just a little too sleek — brushed brass door handles, scented candles tucked into corners, red-tinted lights that paint everything in crimson and shadows.

Spencer’s arm is around your waist.

It’s not the first time he’s touched you like this, but it is the first time he’s pretending you belong to him.

And you’re pretending not to like it.

“You’re sure you’re okay in that?” he asks, voice low.

You glance down at the dress you’d picked out with Garcia’s help via video call — sleek, black, open back. It felt like a good idea when you tried it on at her suggestion — something sexy that would blend in with the rest of the club’s clientele. But now, with Spencer’s hand resting on the exposed curve of your spine, you think Garcia might’ve known exactly what she was doing when she encouraged it.

“I’m fine,” you murmur. “You’re the one who looks like he’s seen a ghost.”

He exhales through his nose. “I just… I can’t help it. It’s you. You look—”

“Spence,” you interrupt gently. You mouth the words: “We’re wired.”

The reminder shuts him up. Somewhere in an unmarked surveillance van, your colleagues are sipping stale coffee and listening to every breath you take. Every fake laugh. Every flirtation. Watching your every move via the security cameras Garcia hacked into.

You lean in close, brushing your lips just near the shell of his ear.

“Smile, sweetheart. You’re in love, remember?”

He does smile then, a crooked thing, tight around the edges. His hand dips a little lower, warm against your exposed skin. You wonder if it’s for show or if it’s just for him.

In front of you, the club scene unfolds. Couples swirl around the open space like slow-moving constellations, orbiting each other in wine-dark booths and shadowed alcoves. The music is low enough to be sexy but loud enough to muffle secrets. There’s a large bar near the back, a velvet rope section with private rooms upstairs, and at least two couples openly making out on chaise lounges.

You pass a bowl of condoms by the entrance and stifle a snort.

You try not to think about how this place is meant to seduce. That it’s built for sex and permission and skin. And tonight, you’re supposed to be playing the part.

Spencer’s fingers brush your hip. You glance up at him, and he leans in like a man in love.

“Back wall,” he says softly. “Let me handle the couple, figure out if they’ve seen anything. You work the man in the charcoal jacket.”

You split apart in practiced sync. He heads to the couple and you drift left, letting your eyes catch on the man Spencer mentioned. He’s older than you expected, but clean-shaven, wearing an expensive watch. His gaze skims over you, then lingers. You tilt your head, sip your drink.

He bites. Of course he does. Within minutes, he’s walking you to the bar for a refill.

You lean against the edge of the bar, feign laughter, touch his wrist when he says something passably clever.

It’s an act. You’ve done this before. You know how to fake a smile like you mean it.

But you also know Spencer is watching.

You don’t look for him, but you feel it. The way you always feel it — his attention, boring deep into your skin. You imagine his jaw twitching. His hand curling into a fist inside his pocket.

He’s not an outwardly jealous person — not usually. But you’ve learned that jealousy doesn’t always wear teeth. Sometimes, it just lives quietly in the way someone stops breathing when they look at you.

You think back to the first time you saw that look after finishing up a case in Boston six months ago and letting a handsome stranger buy all of your drinks. Spencer had peeled you away from the man and the bar and back to the hotel under the guise of exhaustion and an early flight home, but you’d noticed the way he’d been discreetly watching you all night. So you’d kissed him in the hotel elevator — just to see how he’d react. Just to test how it’d feel. He’d melted into you after a few moments of your lips against his, and all of the sudden, the rest of your world faded into nothing. He tasted like whiskey and peppermint and something warmer that made your entire body ache.

You didn’t go your separate ways when the elevator dinged on your floor. And you didn’t talk about it the next day. Or the time after that. Or the one after that.

You’re still not talking about it now.

You shift your body, laughing at something the man says, and trail your fingers lightly up his forearm — flirtation, just enough to maintain your cover. It’s nothing.

But the second you do it, Spencer’s voice crackles in your ear.

“You there?”

You don’t react. Just cross your legs slowly, let your gaze slide over the crowd like you’re looking for a third. The man you’ve been flirting with is distracted by the bartender, ordering another round.

“Mhmm,” you murmur.

There’s a pause. A rustle of breath. Then:

“Eyes right. Column near the leather bench. White shirt, sleeves rolled. That’s gotta be him.”

You let your gaze drift lazily to the right, like you’re just admiring the architecture.

And then you spot the man Spencer’s referring to.

You catalog the similarities between this man and the police sketch hanging on the case board back at the precinct. His face is symmetrical, forgettable in a way that makes your skin crawl. Like someone who’s practiced looking normal. His eyes skim the room like a hunter watching a watering hole. He’s still — too still.

You can feel it, the same way Spencer can. It’s more than a hunch or a guess— it’s an instinct, a read, a real-time application of the profile living inside your brain. That man is the unsub.

“Copy,” you say lightly, but your smile is gone now.

You dip your head towards the man beside you, murmur something about needing a bathroom break, and move towards the back of the room. Once you’re out of view from the bar, you catch up with Spencer.

His fingers close over yours.

“Everything okay?”

“Peachy,” you lie.

But the word tastes like sand in your mouth. You can feel how close danger is.

Spencer’s hand releases yours and moves to rest firmly on the small of your back. His thumb rubs slow circles against your skin, barely there. It could be part of your cover, or it could be genuine affection. Regardless, it’s a silent message: I’ve got you.

You’re standing near the fringe of the crowd now, a cluster of couples trading flirty glances and low-toned jokes about partner swapping. Someone’s making conversation about a weekend retreat. A woman in a sequined dress laughs too loud. You nod along, sipping your drink, body tilting naturally toward Spencer.

And then he walks up — the unsub.

White shirt, sleeves rolled. Watchful but charming. Forgettable face, memorable eyes.

You feel the breath catch in Spencer’s chest beside you.

“Evening,” the man says easily. “You new here?”

You smile like your skin isn’t crawling, like you don’t know he’s already killed at least three women with his bare hands and left their bodies displayed like offerings.

“We are,” you say, glancing up at Spencer. “Still figuring out the vibe.”

The unsub chuckles. “Well, you’re blending in just fine.”

He’s talking to you, but he’s looking at both of you, measuring. It’s not interest — it’s a test. A subtle prod to see what kind of relationship you and Spencer have. To see how easy it might be to wedge his way in.

Spencer answers before you can. “We’re curious,” he says. “Just observing for now.”

His voice is calm, but you feel the steel in it. His hand is still at your back. He pulls you in a little closer.

“Nothing wrong with watching,” the unsub says, his mouth twitching. “Sometimes that’s the best part.”

He takes a slow sip of his drink, and his gaze settles fully on you.

You don’t flinch.

“I’m Marcus,” he says. “You two have names?”

You give a soft laugh and glance at Spencer. “We’re trying to stay mysterious tonight.”

“Suit yourself.” Another sip. “Just thought I’d say hello. Let you know there are a few playrooms open upstairs if you’re feeling adventurous.”

Playrooms. Right. You’d seen them in the floorplan — semi-private spaces for couples or groups, monitored lightly by staff but otherwise left alone.

“Thanks,” you say, casual, “we’ll keep it in mind.”

“Maybe I’ll see you up there,” he says before walking away with a wink.

Your pulse spikes, and you try to suppress it. Try to breathe around it. Spencer shifts slightly, steps closer, like he’s reading your vitals through his fingertips.

“Did you see his hand?” he murmurs, only for you. “There was blood under his nails.”

You nod once. “And a crescent-shaped scratch on his hand.”

“He’s escalating. He wants to be noticed.”

You don’t say it, but you both know what that means:

The unsub is spiraling. He’s deviating from his own profile. He’s been organized and methodical this whole time, but now, he hasn’t even washed days-old evidence off his hands. He’s losing control. And that makes him even more dangerous.

“Hotch, did you catch that?” you murmur under your breath.

“Affirmative,” comes the reply in your ear. “Garcia picked him up with facial recognition. Name’s Marcus Blackwood. His wife left him and moved in with another man three months ago. Surveillance confirms he was at the same clubs as all three victims. Do not engage until backup is in place — we’re on the way. Just keep an eye on him if you can.”

“Copy,” you and Spencer say together.

You glance toward the far end of the club and realize Blackwood is heading up the stairs that lead up to the playrooms.

“Shit,” Spencer mutters.

Blackwood is baiting you.

He wants you to follow him.

You scan the crowd — an endless pool of potential victims. The rest of the team is en route. Five minutes, tops. But that’s too long.

“Hotch said we should keep an eye on him. I can stall,” you say softly.

Spencer looks at you, and for a split second, his composure falters. It’s not fear for himself. It’s fear for you.

You touch his hand.

“I’ll be fine.”

You step away before he can stop you and move toward the stairs slowly, wine glass still in hand. You feel the heat of Spencer’s gaze the whole time.

You don’t look back.

Blackwood greets you at the top of the stairs with that same bland smile. The hallway beyond is dim, quiet, lined with half-cracked doors. You glance at one and see the vague blur of movement — flashes of skin, moans, laughter.

“I figured you might be curious,” he says.

You plaster on a sultry smile. “Curious is one way to put it.”

He leans casually against a doorframe.

“You strike me as someone who likes attention,” he says. “Like you enjoy being wanted by people who don’t belong to you.”

You tilt your head. “What makes you say that?”

His eyes flick over your body. “Just a hunch. And you dress like it.”

You laugh.

He doesn’t laugh back.

Instead, he steps in.

You step back. He steps forward. The wall is against your spine now.

“You know what I hate?” he says, voice tightening. “When women pretend it’s all for fun. Like none of this means anything. Like they’re not breaking something sacred.”

There it is: the projection. The motive. The pathology.

You keep your voice even, your smile fixed. “Or maybe they just don’t owe you anything,” you say, hand drifting toward the distress button hidden in your bracelet. Click.

And then he grabs you.

It’s fast. One hand to your throat — not squeezing, just holding, controlling. His other hand catches your wrist, hard. Pain blooms instantly. You gasp, squirm—

And that’s when the hallway explodes.

“Marcus Blackwood, FBI!” Hotch’s voice, sharp and authoritative, cuts through the air.

Blackwood spins toward the sound just as Morgan slams into him like a freight train, pinning him to the ground. You hear the clatter of handcuffs and Emily’s voice confirming: “Unsub is secured.”

It’s over.

But you’re still frozen.

You hadn’t realized how fast your heart was pounding, or that Spencer had run in and pulled you to safety before Morgan could even reach the unsub. He doesn’t ask permission — just gathers you into him.

His arms are tight, all instinct and adrenaline. You let your forehead press to his shoulder. Let yourself breathe.

“You okay?” he asks, voice wrecked.

You nod against him, but you can’t hide the fact you’re shaking.

“You came,” you whisper. “You got here.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you.

“I always will.”

You don’t let go.

—

The hotel lobby is too bright.

Artificial light washes over upholstered chairs and glass-topped tables, and the scent of something overly citrusy hangs in the air. You hate it. You hate how it feels to sit still after something like that. You hate how normal it all looks.

The team has regrouped, huddled around a seating area tucked away from the elevators. Garcia is patched in through a tablet set up on the table, video call flickering just slightly.

“DNA under Blackwood’s nails matches the last victim,” she confirms. “And there’s timestamped security footage of him leaving the same club as the second victim the night of her murder. We’re solid.”

Everyone exhales. JJ leans back against the sofa. Emily’s got a paper cup of coffee she’s holding like it might anchor her to the planet. Derek’s pacing. Rossi’s talking softly to Hotch a few feet away.

You’re curled in an armchair, wearing an FBI windbreaker jacket over your slinky dress, legs tucked under you, fingers still brushing where he grabbed your wrist. The pressure’s gone, but the shape of it lingers.

Spencer’s across from you. Elbows on his knees, hands folded together. He hasn’t looked at you once since you separated from him to give your statement back at the scene.

You’re not surprised.

That’s always the case with him: once safe, he pulls away. Retreats into himself, into the comfort of something he can control. You’ve seen him do it before, but tonight it feels personal. Tonight, you’re mad about it.

“Thanks for the assist in there,” you say softly, desperate to pull him back to you.

He nods, still not meeting your eyes. “Of course.”

You fold your arms across your chest and pretend you don’t feel cold blooming again behind your ribs.

You don’t expect a grand gesture. You’re not someone who needs to be rescued. But you wish — god, you wish — that he’d stop trying to shrink the thing between you into something that doesn’t matter.

Because it does matter. You know that now. He looked at you in that club like it does. He held you like it does. And it sure as hell feels like it does, especially now.

No one else notices the tension between you. They’re all distracted, all coming down off the adrenaline high in their own ways. You wish you had something to do with your hands.

“Alright,” Hotch says, checking his watch. “Everyone get some rest. We’ll regroup in the morning before we fly home.”

The team heads to the elevators in quiet pairs, and you hang back a moment so you can ride up alone.

You’re barely through the door to your room when there’s a knock at the adjoining one. You unlock it before your brain can convince you otherwise, and once you’ve got it open, Spencer’s standing there with one hand raised like he was about to knock again. You don’t let him speak.

“You here to debrief, or to ignore me some more?”

He freezes.

“Because if it’s the first,” you continue, “we already did that in the lobby. If it’s the second, I’ve had enough of that for one night.”

His hand drops.

“I’m not here to debrief. Or to ignore you.”

There’s a beat of silence, then he steps into your room like it hurts to cross the threshold.

“I just wanted to talk,” he says. “To explain why I got weird after—”

“You don’t need to explain anything.”

You say it too fast. Too sharp. And you know he hears the lie in it.

Spencer closes the door behind him gently. Then he turns.

“I hated it,” he says quietly.

You blink. “What?”

“I hated watching you flirt with those men tonight.”

You stare at him for a long beat. Something inside you twists.

“You were fifteen feet away, Spencer.”

“I know.”

“I was undercover.”

“I know.”

“The unsub didn’t touch me until the very end, and even then—”

“I know,” he says again. “But I still hated it.”

You fold your arms across your chest, like that will keep everything caged inside. “Why?”

He looks at you like he can’t even believe you’re asking.

You press him anyway. “Why did you hate it, Spencer?”

His brow furrows. “Because you were in danger.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “That’s not it.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No,” you repeat. “That’s why you were afraid. I’m asking why you hated it. I’m asking about jealousy. I’m asking about the part where you couldn’t even look at me.”

His mouth opens, then closes.

You cross the room and stop in front of him, close enough to see the flicker in his eyes. “Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? Being there, with you? Pretending? Letting you touch me like any of this means something? And then you just… abandoned me after it was over and avoided making eye contact as if I’m fucking Medusa or something.”

“I didn’t know how to act,” he admits. “Or what to say.”

“I’m not asking for poetry,” you say, exasperated. “I’m asking for something. Anything. Because I felt like I was going to die in that club, but the worst part wasn’t even his hand on my throat. It was wondering if you’d still pretend none of this matters.”

The words hit. Spencer flinches like you’ve slapped him.

“I’m not pretending,” he says, voice hoarse. “I was scared. I’ve been scared for months.”

“Of what?” Your voice rises. “Of me?”

“No,” he says. “Of losing you.”

You laugh once, short and sharp. “You’ve never had me.”

He steps back like the words burned him. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“It’s not.”

You stare at him. Your heart is racing. You’re exhausted. You can still feel the pressure of the unsub’s hands on your skin, and Spencer’s arms around you, and the fact that neither of you seem capable of telling the truth until it’s too late.

“I’m not some fantasy, Spencer,” you say, quieter now. “I’m not just always going to be here when you want attention or sex or someone to lean on after a bad case. And I can’t keep being whatever you need if you’re going to keep pretending we’re just… coworkers who fuck sometimes.”

“I don’t think that,” he says, stepping closer. “You know I don’t.”

“Do I?” you whisper.

He looks at you - really looks, and takes another step to close the distance.

“I don’t want to keep acting like this is meaningless,” he finally says. “Or like I don’t think about you constantly when you’re not around.”

He pauses, gulps, steadies himself before he adds:

“Or like I haven’t been falling in love with you since you kissed me in that elevator in Boston.”

That knocks the wind out of you.

You say nothing. You can’t. You’re too busy holding your breath like if you let it out, your heart will tumble out with it. He looks so sincere, so raw, so threadbare.

“I don’t want temporary. Not with you. With you, I want everything,” he says softly.

And that’s when you fall into him.

It’s not graceful. It’s not soft. It’s a collision of everything you’ve both been holding back — anger and relief and love and ache, all packed into the same breath, into the greediness of your lips against his.

His hands find your waist like they’re finally accepting it’s where they belong. Yours curl into the fabric of his shirt and tug.

You move together without thinking, stumbling toward the bed.

“You should’ve said something sooner,” you murmur between kisses.

“I didn’t know how.”

You push him back onto the mattress and crawl over him, breath heaving. “You do now.”

And then your mouth is on his again.

It’s messy. Not rushed, but a little frantic — like the both of you are trying to find your way back to something you never really had to begin with.

His hands are on your hips, then your ass, pulling you down against him as your thighs straddle his waist. Your dress comes off. His belt is unbuckled. Everything about the moment feels slightly unmade yet still overwhelmingly perfect.

“I’ve thought about you every night since Boston,” he murmurs against your throat. “Every single time I’m around you, it’s all I can think about. Even when I’m not around you, you’re all I think about.”

You grind down against the shape of him through his pants and he groans, hips flexing. His mouth grazes your collarbone, then your shoulder, as if he’s tracing the map of you in reverse — starting from memory, finishing with fact.

And then — he looks at you. Really looks.

It doesn’t happen often. But when it does, it’s always like this:

Like he’s watching a sunrise unfurl from the inside. Like it’s almost too much for him to bear.

“I love the way you look at me,” you whisper.

“I’ve never looked at anyone else like this,” he replies. His voice is low, and it makes your knees go weak.

You reach for the button on his pants and he stills you with a hand on your wrist.

“Not yet,” he murmurs.

He shifts the weight, flipping the two of you and guiding you gently to lie back against the pillows. His hands trail over your chest, your stomach, your hipbones — not teasing, but anchoring. He tugs at the waistband of your lacy black underwear, and you lift your hips to aid him in taking them off.

When his mouth dips between your thighs, you nearly sob.

Because it’s not just about getting you off — not right away. It’s about presence. About reverence. He kisses the inside of your knee. Your inner thigh. Trails his nose up the side of your leg like he’s cataloging your scent. When his tongue finally makes contact with your center, it’s slow. Devout, almost. Like your entire existence is something holy he’s come to worship.

You bury your hands in his hair and exhale something like a prayer.

His tongue flicks. Sucks. Circles. Presses flat. You moan his name, and his groan vibrates through you.

Then, two fingers, slow and certain, slide in deep.

You gasp. Arch. He murmurs something soft against your thigh, but you barely catch it over the sound of your own breathing.

“That’s it,” he says, lifting his head just enough to look at you. His voice is low, frayed. “You’re so beautiful like this. All open and needy for me.”

You whimper. “Spence—fuck—”

His jaw clenches. You can almost see it before you hear him say it:

“Good girl.”

God, how those words ruin you.

Your whole body pulses.

Your orgasm hits low and hot — a deep, dragging pull in your gut that spreads outward in waves. Your thighs clamp around his shoulders. Your head tips back. You make a sound you didn’t know you were capable of — something between a sob and a moan — as it crests and crests and crests again.

But he doesn’t stop.

You whine. “Spencer. Too much—”

“I know baby,” he murmurs, voice molten. “But you can give me one more. Just one more for me. Please?”

How could you ever deny him?

Your body bows without permission — back arching, thighs twitching, another cry tearing from your throat. It rolls through you like heat lightning, wild and blinding, buzzing like static electricity.

By the time he finally pulls back, you’re gasping, wrecked, flushed all over.

He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. Then another. Then your hipbone, your stomach, your breasts, your sternum.

You pull him up into a slow, grateful kiss and roll him beneath you, fingers curling around the buttons of his shirt.

“Off,” you murmur.

He lets you undress him, never breaking eye contact. When he’s bare under you, you settle against him, chest to chest.

You reach down and stroke him slowly, watching the way his lips part and his brows knit together.

He catches your wrist before you can do more.

“I’m gonna lose it if you keep that up.”

You smile and shift against him, lining up your hips.

“Maybe I want you to lose it a little.”

But he doesn’t. Not yet.

He flips you gently onto your back again and slides between your thighs, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other guiding himself into you.

The stretch makes you gasp, but the moment is slow. Steady.

He sinks in deep — inch by inch, until you’re full, until your nails are digging into his shoulders.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “You feel…”

“Like you’ve been falling in love with me since Boston?” you whisper, almost teasingly.

His eyes flick to yours, dark and unguarded.

“Something like that,” he murmurs with a soft smile.

He pulls out almost all the way, then thrusts back in, long and slow. You hook your thigh around his waist, giving him deeper access to every part of you. The rhythm builds — deliberate, relentless — hips grinding just right, his forehead dropping to yours.

“Open your eyes, baby.”

You do, just barely.

“Look at me.”

You do, and he holds your gaze like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

“You’re mine,” he says roughly. “Say it.”

You breathe out the words, partially for the sake of obedience but mostly because you mean them wholeheartedly. “I’m yours.”

Something cracks behind his eyes. “That’s right. That’s right, sweet girl. You’re mine.”

The praise and possessiveness tear through you. You clench around him and he stutters, breath breaking.

Your body starts to spiral again, tension building almost too fast. “I can’t—Spence, I’m gonna—it’s so much, I—”

His hand cups your jaw, grounding you.

“Yes, you can,” he says, tone dripping in sweetness. “You can. Let go. I want to feel all of it.”

He slips a hand between you and presses soft circles where you’re already pulsing. The overload is immediate — your back arches, your legs lock around his waist, and you sob his name as you fall apart for the third time, body shaking, salty tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. Spencer kisses them away, one by one.

When you finally come back to yourself, he’s still moving. Faster now, messier. His rhythm stutters as your body clenches around him, drawing him in deeper.

He curses into your neck, his voice low and a little helpless.

You press your lips to his ear. “Don’t stop, Spence. Need you to come for me.”

The tension in him coils tighter, his thrusts shallower now, more erratic, like he’s negotiating with his own body for just a few more seconds. You watch it happen — his mouth parting, lashes fluttering, that soft gasp he always makes right before—

His hips stutter. He drives in deep, one final time.

And then he shatters.

He comes hard, gasping your name into the side of your neck, arms trembling as he tries not to collapse. You hold him to you, breath shaking as you feel the aftershocks ripple through him.

It’s not clean or composed. It’s full-body and bone-deep, the kind of release that empties something unnamed. His whole weight sinks into you, like his body finally gave up pretending it could survive without yours.

Neither of you say anything at first. It’s all just shared breath and the heat of skin on skin, a heart beating against your ribs that might be his or yours — at this point, you’re no longer able to tell the difference.

Eventually, he shifts, just barely, enough to press a kiss to your collarbone.

You turn your head and kiss his temple, fingers in his hair.

His voice is soft when it comes:

“I’m yours, you know.”

And that’s the moment it hits you — quiet and certain. Like your body already knew, and your mind is finally catching up:

You love him. Of course you love him. You’ve been falling for him since Boston, just like he’s been falling for you.

You close your eyes and smile into his skin. “I know,” you murmur back. “And I was always yours.”

—

You don’t know how long you lay like that — tangled together, skin damp, hearts still syncing. The room is dark, save for the thin bar of light spilling in under the hotel curtains. The bedsheets are bunched around your thighs. One of his hands is resting on your hip, the other curled into your hair like he never plans to let go.

You stroke his back slowly, the way you’ve always wanted to — not as a way to coax or distract or ground him, but simply because you can.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly.

You nod against his shoulder. “Yeah. Are you?”

He huffs a breath — not quite a laugh. “Getting there.”

After a few more moments of comfortable silence, you speak again:

“Stay.”

He lifts his head, eyes glassy and soft.

“You sure?”

You nod again, slower this time. “I want you to.”

There’s a long pause, but then he kisses you — not rushed like before, not like something he’s afraid of losing. Just a kiss, plain and true.

He shifts off you carefully, murmuring a soft “hang on,” and grabs a tissue from the nightstand to clean you up. It’s quiet, almost instinctive. He doesn’t make a show of it — just does it gently, like it’s wired into him to want to take care of you like this.

Then he reaches down and pulls the comforter over your bodies, nudging you to lie on your side so he can curl himself around you. His chest to your back, one arm snug around your waist. You settle against him like you were designed for it — and maybe you really were.

After a while, you feel him press his lips to your shoulder.

“I wasn’t going to leave anyways,” he whispers.

—

You wake to the sound of a watch alarm beeping on the side table. For a second, you forget where you are.

Then you feel it — the warmth pressed along your back, the steady rise and fall of Spencer’s chest against you. His arm still draped around your waist. Sleepy kisses at the top of your spine, like he’s been waiting for you to stir.

“Morning,” Spencer mumbles against your skin.

You smile without opening your eyes. “Hi,” you whisper. He kisses your neck again, and you giggle. “Is this the part where you tell me it was all just a heat-of-the-moment thing and go back to calling me ‘agent’?”

He huffs a sleepy laugh and tightens his grip. “Not unless you want me to.”

You wait a beat. Let the silence stretch.

“I don’t want you to,” you finally murmur.

His voice softens. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He presses another kiss to your back, and you feel him smile into it.

—

The flight back to Quantico appears normal from the outside, but inside, you’re buzzing.

Morgan is asleep with his arms crossed. Emily has her headphones in. JJ is half-reading, half-daydreaming. Rossi and Hotch are reviewing something on a tablet in the back.

No one notices the way Spencer chooses the seat next to you instead of across. Or how his knee keeps brushing yours — casual, insistent, like an inside joke only the two of you are in on.

Your phone buzzes in your lap and you glance down, already smiling.

Spencer’s phone is in his hand and he’s looking at you, cheeks pink.

Spencer Reid: Would you maybe want to come over tonight after we land, if you’re not too tired?

You bite your lip and smile as you type back.

You: You asking me out, Dr. Reid?

There’s a pause. Then:

Spencer Reid: I’m asking you in, actually.

But next time I’ll take you out. Promise.

You glance sideways at him, trying not to grin too hard. He’s wearing that smile you love — the boyish, slightly shy one he only ever breaks out when he’s attempting to play it cool. You give him a wink and a nod in lieu of a written response, and his smile grows.

It’s in that moment — in the glow of his grin and the comfort of his knee pressed softly against yours — when you realize that maybe there was never a wall between the two of you at all.

Just a door, waiting for one of you to knock and leave it open.

ᝰ.ᐟ

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