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greencircuit · 8 months ago

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Fucking incredible

bright white stars | sirius black x reader

summary sirius wants you to sit on his face, and he’s very convincing

warnings nsfw (18+ please) shy!reader, fem!reader, oral fem receiving, idiots in love, praise, fem!reader, she/her pronouns used for reader [word count: 2.9k]

He convinces you like this.

You’re slouched on the sofa with him, sideways, your leg pulled over his leg, his hands absentminded but devout where they massage your thigh. He’s driving you insane in the way his pinky finger will occasionally brush up against the apex of your thighs because he genuinely doesn’t seem to notice that he’s doing it.

You’re turned on to the point of no return. Luckily, the music he’s playing is enough to hide your rugged panting. It’s all over as soon as he turns his head — Sirius knows you too well. If he sees the look on your face, spots the amorous twisting of your traitorous mouth or the way your eyes are screwed closed, he’s going to tease you within an inch of your life.

His hand pauses a hair's width from your core. You’re not sure if you should be relieved or disappointed. Disappointed, you decide, when he starts to talk like nothing has happened, thought to him nothing has happened.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” he says, voice quiet but firm, more serious than he usually sounds.

“Dangerous,” you say, a little breathless.

“You think you’re so funny,” he says, though he’s smiling. You crane your head to watch him lick his lips. “You can say no, obviously.”

That doesn’t inspire confidence.

“D’you wanna sit on my face?” he asks, finally turning to look at you.

You suppose you’re still a mess from wanting, and though the suggestion horrifies you, you must look pretty turned on by the idea. A grin stretches across his lips, so pleased that you almost go along with it.

“You want to?” he asks, excited.

You wince. “Sirius, I can't.”

“You could.”

“I couldn't.” You shake your head. The idea is tantalising and taboo to you. Letting him eat you out is still new, still scary in its newness, even though you really, really enjoy it.

He pouts. “It’s just like letting me eat you out, but you’re on top.”

“I’ll crush you,” you say with a nervous laugh.

He sighs forlornly but recovers fast, hand pushing up to your slick, clothed cunt as he squeezes your leg tightly. “That’s okay, sweetness. Tell me if you change your mind?”

You nod, biting your lip to stop from moaning aloud. He notices, smug son of a bitch, and squeezes harder. You’re unsurprised when he rubs against your cunt with the flat breadth of his palm and smiles, saying, “I got you so bad. You think I didn’t notice your little noises?”

It’s not long after that when he tries again.

“What part are you afraid of, doll?”

Crushing you. Squishing you. Suffocating you, you think.

You don’t manage to say any of this. You’re in his bed, the two of you freshly showered. There’s been a smattering of sweet goodnight kisses and the lights are off — you hadn’t been expecting to continue this conversation tonight.

“We could practice,” he says. You laugh under your breath at him and he smarts, “I’m serious. You don’t have to undress, just practice sitting on me. It’s not as scary as it sounds.”

He sounds so soft and you’re secretly desperate to try it under all your anxiety. You’re tentative as you say, “I’ll sit on your chest. Your chest.”

“Sounds perfect.”

It’s completely quiet, the only sound’s your breathing and the crinkling of fresh sheets being pushed back as you climb out from under them. Sirius gets comfortable and pats his tummy, voice quiet like he’s afraid to spook you. “You got it. Right here, sweet thing.”

Your legs fold, one on either side, thighs spread out over his ribs. You’re in your underwear and a small vest top, scanty enough to be embarrassed about. Still, it’s better than being naked.

Sirius reaches out and flicks on the bedside lamp. You hold your breath as he takes you in, eyes running down the planes of your face, your chest, lingering on the flesh of your thighs.

“My eyes are up here,” you mumble.

He barks a laugh. “Sorry. How are you feeling? Wobbly?”

Far from it. Sirius has brought his hands to your waist, effectively clamping you down. Not that you’d fall without them, you’re hardly towering over him. This isn’t so different from straddling him.

“Come closer?” he asks softly.

You shift closer, your heartbeat loud in your ears. His hands move to your hips, the very tops of your thighs as you come into range, his mouth striving forward for a quick kiss against your leg. You go a bit blind, the idea that he’s so close to your core sending a rush of heat through you.

Sirius runs his hands down your legs. You brush the long hair from his face carefully, distracted by his pretty face. You’re soft and slow as you go, tucking black kinks behind his ears with the barest touch of your fingertips. When you lean forward, you can feel your cunt press against his chest. You’re so embarrassed by this point you don’t think you'll ever be able to sit on his face, deep in your thoughts as he kisses your wrist, paused above his mouth. You pull it back, looking at your skin like there might be a mark, a kiss print, but of course there isn’t.

Sirius smiles gently. “Get out of your head, pretty.”

“Are you sure I’m not too heavy?” you ask, too loud. Trying to draw away from your obvious arousal.

Your volume gives you away. His soft smile turns knowing, and his hands grow tighter on your thighs. He pulls one towards his searching mouth and you move closer still, sighing when his mouth connects, opens, and he plants big scraping kisses along your inner thigh, making his way slowly inwards.

Your brain melts. You're worried about what he’ll find if he looks, knowing this anticipation is noticeably turning you on. He doesn’t look. He plants small chaste pecks over the lightly bruised flesh he’s left in his wake, your one thigh pulled so close to him that you’re skewed on top of him.

His hand brushes the waistband of your underwear, fingers hooking in the elastic. He pulls them lightly away from your skin, teasing you as he runs his fingers back and forth.

“Sirius,” you whisper, seeking comfort from your boyfriend, who also happens to be the one causing this overwhelming feeling. He nods into your skin to show he’s listening. “Siri, I can’t do this.”

He lets his head fall back into the pillow, looking at you with his face showing no emotion, his hand reassuring on your leg. “‘Cos you don’t like it or ‘cos you’re embarrassed?”

You hate him. “Can’t it be both?”

“Baby, we won’t do anything you don’t want to do,” he says, eyes locked with your eyes, nodding, “yeah? But…” His hands coast down your thighs and pull you in, your weight settled just before his neck. His eyes flick to your underwear and then back to your face, trying to hide his lopsided smile from you. “I can see that you like it.”

The time it takes you to understand his meaning is very small. You don’t mean to, but you bend over him and hide your face in the space to the right and above his head, groaning to yourself, alight with shame. Sirius says, “Oh, bub,” and his hands come up to your back. You can feel his lips and their heat on the slice of uncovered skin at your waist.

This is it. This is the embarrassment you can’t recover from.

“It’s okay,” Sirius says, laughing. You seize up, your arms wrapped around his head. You hide your lips in his hair and grumble, eyes burning. Sirius pulls you closer - and how much room could there possibly be left? - hugging your waist.

It’s not the worst hug you’ve ever had. In fact, it’s a strange position, but it’s nice.

“Is it bad?” you whisper.

“No, my poor girl,” he laughs again, “just a little damp patch. I’ve done worse to you.”

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" he asks. You hear him catch himself, like he's going to leap into comforting you but thinks better of it.

You flounder. "I didn't mean to."

Sirius pats your back and you take it as a symbol to remove yourself, though he seems mildly frustrated when you move onto his ribs again. Too far away to cradle your face when he reaches, his hands find yours. He twines your fingers together, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I like that you like this," he says.

"But it was only supposed to be practice."

"Loving you isn't something I need practice at.” You scowl at him because he's being cheesy for your sake, and he amends, "Okay, turning you on isn't something I need practice at. I'm actually quite good at it, wouldn't you say so?"

You nod, your cheeks burning.

"I meant what I said, I would never have you do something you don't want to do."

"I know that," you say sheepishly.

"I know you know. So we can go back to bed, if you want to. This was a good practice," he says, smiling.

You bite the inside of your bottom lip, breathing harder than you realise. You squirm without thinking, uncomfortably wet.

"Or I can take care of you. Whatever way you want," he says, quieter. "You don't have to-"

"Okay," you say. "Okay."

You use your knees to climb up and take off your underwear. It's difficult to do and you can't look at him as you go, but after a moment you find yourself with your knickers around one calf and your heat pressed to his shirt.

You chance a glance at your boyfriend. He looks surprised and pleased and dark, his eyes smug.

You spread your hands open over his chest. "I love you," you say, though you meant to say something cool, like don't let me fall.

Sirius grins. "I love you," he says. "Kiss?"

You move cautiously down to kiss him, feeling like every brush of fabric is electric. He kisses you once, twice, his lips practiced. He knows everything you like.

"Thanks, bub," he says as you pause, hovering just above him, "but that's not where I meant."

He's a fucking liar but he knows how to get you.

"Sirius-"

"Come on, baby. I won't let you fall, alright? You know I won't."

You take a deep breath, watch your own chest expand and shake your head, thinking, fuck it.

You crawl towards Sirius' face. He smiles with his nose crinkled up, altogether too pleased as his arms slide under your thighs. You let him guide you down.

"Tell me if you don't like it," he says, the heat of his breath on your cunt.

You've just enough wits to say, "Okay," breathlessly.

He starts with a kiss. You're still hovering, refusing to put your full weight down on him, and you really can't look at him or you might burst. You stare at the wall with your eyebrows pushed up at the starts, hugging yourself.

He's very slow. He kisses the skin outside of your clit, his open mouth burning hot as he presses his lips together over your skin. You shudder as he finds your clit, giving it a little kiss and then pulling the bead into his mouth.

Your hands leap for the headboard. Sirius pulls your cunt to his face properly, fingers cruel in the dough of your thighs. You know he's saying relax.

Your breath hitches and you feel his laugh vibrate through you, which causes another hitch.

His tongue appears suddenly and searching, licking hot stripes from the well of slick at your entrance to your clit. He laps your cunt and his hands tighten like he can't get close enough.

You gasp as he suckles on your clit, forcing yourself to look down. His eyes are closed, his face bobbing against you. You scoop the hair from in front of his face and hold it away, pulling a little as he nibbles you lightly.

You make a sound you hate and he adores, his hand searching up your thigh. Your knees are either side of his head at this point, thighs already trembling from his ministrations.

He kisses your skin, the bottom of his face shiny with a clear sheen. His eyes open to find you already staring at him pleadingly.

Sirius grins. "You taste fucking amazing." You shake your head but he doesn't stop there, hand pulling at your arse, licking up a dribble of slick. His voice is husky when he says into your skin, "So fucking wet." More like he's talking to himself than you. "My pretty pussy, dripping all over me."

He gets a glint in his eye, his hand coming up to play with your clit while he talks. While he teases. "Gotta kiss you all clean before you ruin the sheets, sweetheart." He laughs like he's having a really good time and you laugh, too.

"Shush," you say, stroking his hairline.

"Alright, I'll be quiet. Y'make enough noise for the two of us, anyway," he mumbles, pressing his mouth to your heat again.

You really do feel like he's kissing you clean, his mouth searching and licking all over you, sucking at your wet entrance, climbing over your clit. His suckling builds, your hips rock without meaning to and he groans into your heat at the sounds you're making, breathless moans, pleading little sounds for him to keep going.

He hits a long pull of pleasure that has you seeing bright white stars, neck arching as your eyes close. His grip is bruising, keeping you still where every instinct is to squirm, ardent in his exploration.

He hums into you. You keen, instinctively moving away.

"Ah," you say, like you've been burned.

"Come back," he says jokingly, then with a small pout, "come back."

"Don't do that," you admonish.

"Why? Don't like it?"

"No, I'll…"

"S'like that's the whole point!" he says, rolling his eyes. He braces his hands under your thighs and spreads you a little wider, giving your cunt a big kiss as he says, "You gonna cum on my face? Please?"

"I hate you," you say, shuddering as he starts eating you out again.

You whimper as he goes, knowing you're a slick mess and he's likely worse, rivers of pleasure moving all the way from your cunt where he laps to your chest to your throat, eyes slipping closed over and over. You fight the overwhelming pleasure, hand in his hair and hips twitching, cunt grinding against his mouth.

You know what he's doing before he starts, almost singing into your clit. You wobble as his own body moves behind you, his hips searching upwards for you. You want more than anything to make him feel as good as you do right now but know the offer would be met with indignation, having tried before, especially when you're on the precipice of an orgasm and he's trying everything to give it to you.

He pinches your clit between his lips and you feel the barest hint of teeth. You seize up around him, thighs squeezing his face and hips locking down, tugging his curls spitefully as you cum, moaning so loudly you have to bite your index finger to smother it.

You pant over and over, bent, trying not to collapse. "Oh, Siri," you say tearfully.

And then you remember your poor boyfriend underneath you. "Oh!" You flinch and almost throw yourself backwards, a tangle of your legs and his arms as you roll off of him and onto the bed.

“I’m sorry!” you say.

You think he might be dead for the split second he lies there motionless, then he sits up and his face is covered in you, and he wipes his face with the side of his hand and smiles a shark-tooth grin.

You hold your hand to your sensitive cunt without thinking and his eyes follow.

"You sound so fucking hot. You know that? Fuck, I'm gonna ruin you. Come here," he says.

You smile despite yourself and crawl into his open arms, mess pressed over what you can feel is his hard cock in his boxers. You set about wiping his face dry with the end of your shirt.

"You just flashed me," he informs you kindly.

You flush from head to toe and drop the hem though he's laughing loudly, a barking chuckle that you adore.

"No! Don't cover up, I wanna see 'em. They're just as pretty as your lovely cunt."

You slap his chest lightly. "Stop it."

He's smiling as he presses his lips to your warm cheeks, a peppering of kisses. His skin is wet despite your attempts to dry him off, and he smells unmistakably of sex.

"You like it," he murmurs happily.

You wrap your arms around his neck and nestle your nose into his skin. "Nah."

"Shut up. You're a fucking lousy liar."

That makes two of you.

You giggle, the high of being loved and being pleasured mixing into one. You push down into his lap and grin when he hisses, mocking as you say into his throat, "I was promised a ruining."

"Now you're brave? Fine. Remember you asked for it."

𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍

thanks for reading ❤️

mrauders taglist: @marimorena06 @glimmering-darling-dolly @siriuslystfu@thatblackravenclaw @touchdeprivedwh0re @vi0letblu3s @mooncalvin @gaysnowrose @thatonecomfyjumper @set-myself-on-fire @decafcoffew @mischiefmanagers @cordiformity @froggyy06

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greencircuit · 11 months ago

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I wanna watch Jennifer’s body now

darwinism

murdrtober oct 1. luke castellan description. you've always believed in survival of the fittest. but when things change about your nature and you're given extraordinary abilities, you take matters into your own hands. aka jennifer's body au

includes. SMUT 18+, size kink, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampies DARK CONTENT; murder, succubi, unreliable narrator, southern coded reader (hating yankees and all), gore, gaslighting, god complex, bitchy and bratty reader

wc. 6666k

a/n: welcome to kinktober. hopefully you like it

There’s so much you can feel.

The cold summer air against your face and bare legs, wind whipping against your skin. The dull ache in your bones, a feeling similar to growing pains, steadily subsiding minute by minute. It pairs well with the deep, internal fire settled in your stomach, so hot that you feel like you’re fucking burning. You should be cold. You can’t even remember what it feels like to be cold. You can’t remember anything before this moment as you exist in a comatose state with tunnel vision and selective hearing accompanying you like old friends.

There’s a substance coating nearly every inch of visible skin. It pulls your skin taut. It feels like dirt, but it’s so dark out that it could be anything.

It smells metallic.

Then there’s so much you can’t feel. Your toes. Your fingers. The ground beneath your feet. Your intuition. Empathy.

You feel numb. Yet, you feel so alive. It’s addicting.

You continue to march towards the unknown, existing between two planes: one full of something that prickles under your skin, filled with eternal screams and pleads to be spared. The other full of the sun on your skin, hands clasped together to exert some of the giddiness, sore cheeks and even sorer bellies from laughter.

You wobble on your feet as they meet asphalt, moving on autopilot the entire time. You don’t need to think about where you are. You knew these roads by age ten, and drove them by age fifteen. These roads are your home.

They’re usually deserted at this hour, which is why you’re surprised by the sound of a car driving beside you. It goes slow, slow, and slower until it comes to a stop a few feet ahead of you, no more than twenty.

Before you even make it to the vehicle, the driver's side door opens. You don’t see who comes out, but you see a figure. It comes towards you, stopping just off to your side. You don’t look at him, staring straight ahead.

“Hey…” they say, their voice deep, a gentle timber. You turn your head, blinking twice until you can see the stranger as clearly as possible.

A boy, taller than you, with dark hair, and a strong jaw. You tilt your head, taking in everything that you can.

It doesn’t occur to you that you haven’t spoken to him yet until he raises his eyebrows, waving his hand in front of your face.

“Hey, what happened? Are you in shock?”

His eyes scan down your body.

“Shit,” he swears under his breath as he grabs your hands in his. For the first time, you can clearly see just how messy you are. The light from his car illuminates the deep color that coats your skin, the shadows beneath your fingernails. “We gotta get you to the hospital.”

Your hand wraps around his wrist in a quick jerk. You narrow your eyes, uncaring of the force you have behind the way you grab his wrist. “No,” you say.

“No? No hospitals?” He seems shocked at first, but there’s a bit of relief in his eyes as if he’s thankful that you can, in fact, speak.

You don’t say anything else after that.

The boy nods. “Okay. C’mon then.”

He pulls you towards his car by the hand you have around his wrist. He opens the passenger door for you, sets you in the vehicle, and doesn’t leave until he’s leaned over and snapped your seatbelt into place.

You notice how good he smells. If he notices the way you lean in to get a better whiff, he doesn’t mention it.

You are unsure of how much time has passed, but you come to when his car rolls into the driveway of a house you’ve never seen before. It’s new development, obviously. Everything about this neighborhood is too clean, too crisp. You feel out of place here. You wonder if he feels out of place in your town.

“C’mon,” he says, opening the door for you. He leads you up the stairs to his house with a small hand on your back and a reassurance that the two of you will be alone, for his mom is at work.

“Night shift,” he laughs a bit, the pathetic sound dying when you don’t return it. Have you ever known what it is like to laugh? You don’t think you could make the sound right now.

He leads you to the kitchen and tells you to sit on a cushioned barstool at the island. You do as told, but when he tells you to stay still since he’ll be back, you stand up as soon as he leaves.

There’s an unsatiated craving within you, a taste in your molars that’s both completely foreign and as familiar as your own face. The craving controls you, pushing your feet towards the fridge, holding your limbs up and contorting your fingers into a claw as you rifle through the cold contents.

You don’t know exactly what you’re craving until you have a slab of packaged raw meat in your hands.

You waste no time in dropping to your knees and tearing the plastic film off the styrofoam flat. Your fingers dig into the meat and you sigh at the feeling. You wish it were alive. Pulsing around your fingers, warm blood oozing through the punctures, pieces getting stuck beneath your manicured nails.

Closer and closer the slab reaches for your mouth, your teeth bared, your eyes lidded.

“My mom was saving that.”

You turn around, keeping your nails dug into the cold meat. You tilt your head, staring up at a boy. It takes you a second to remember his face, to remember anything past this moment. It’s the wavering smile he gives that reminds you.

He smiles like everything is fine. Like you aren’t crouched in front of cold lighting, covered in blood, ready to devour a piece of raw meat.

At first, you think he isn’t scared. You consider the option that he has seen more shit from whatever big city he’s from, and this small-town nonsense is nothing to him. But then you see the way the first-aid kid he holds in his hand shakes. You think you can distantly hear the fast thrum of his heart. You watch the way he licks his lips as his downturned eyes widen slightly.

You let the meat fall onto the floor, ignoring the sound it makes as it hits the linoleum.

He watches you take one slow step after the other until you stand right in front of him.

Staring up at him, you get your first real look. He’s illuminated now by a combination of lighting from the refrigerator, stove, and the streetlight peeking through the window, and you notice that he really is pretty. And he really does smell good.

This time, you make a show of sniffing him, drawing him in with a hand on either of his cheeks. You press the tip of your nose against his neck and drag it up towards his jaw, taking a dramatic inhale the entire time. His Adam’s apple bobs and you can audibly hear him gulp.

“Are you scared of me?” you ask him, speaking directly in his ear.

You don’t expect his hand to find your waist, but it does, nothing but a light touch at the denim waistband of your skirt.

He takes a second to respond. He breathes, a meticulous inhale and exhale. He swallows. He shakes his head just a bit.

“No. I’m not. You just need help.”

A push and his back hits the wall.

Wide eyes watch you back out through the back door.

You grin the entire time.

“Have the lights in here always been this bright?” You press your fingers into your temples and screw your eyes shut, thankful for the brief reprieve.

“Most people have said it’s too dark in here. We don’t even have fluorescents.”

You peak one eye open, fixing it directly onto Clarisse. She refuses to meet your eye, instead continuing to wipe down an already spotless counter. You open your other eye, cocking your hip to the side and pouting.

“What’s got your panties in such a twist?”

She finally stops, throwing the towel down onto the counter. She stares at you, her face fixed into one you easily recognize as annoyance. Clarisse wears annoyance the way most people wear general happiness.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Clarisse tucks a loose string of curls behind her ear. “You fucking left me last night. I was worried about you. And you just went home without at least telling me if you were okay or something.”

You roll your eyes. Really, she’s making a big deal out of nothing.

“I’m fine, Clarisse. See?” You throw your arms out, spinning around in a circle for Clarisse to freely analyze you. You know there’s not a single scar, not a single spec of blood lingering on your body. You look as pure as a virgin even though evil lurks beneath your skin, unknown to anyone other than yourself. “Nothing’s wrong with me.”

You can see Clarisse acquiesce. She still looks pissed, but that’s her resting face. She picks the towel back up and continues to wipe down the counter.

“What happened to you anyway?”

“Dunno. I kinda blacked out and came to when I got home.”

“You walked?”

Mostly…

“Yeah. My feet are killing me.” Lie. You’ve never felt better.

Clarisse shakes her head but whatever she has to say, she doesn’t say it.

The bell above the door jingles.

“Out of the way, there’s a customer.”

You slink off to the back of the bakery, sitting in a pulled-out chair beside the window.

“Oh … are y'all open?”

The same stranger from last night stands at the door, staring straight at Clarisse. Today, he’s joined by a little girl at his side.

You can see something not customer-friendly brew behind Clarisse’s eyes, daring to climb down to her mouth and spit itself at him. But she pulls her mouth into a line and nods. Maybe it’s for the little girl’s sake.

“We’re open.”

The stranger walks to the counter, the girl following his footsteps. Clarisse sends you a look over his shoulder. You can read it perfectly, even dulled down and unaccompanied by words.

Why would he ask if we were open when the ‘open’ sign is on and the hours are posted?

You watch his back the entire time, freely listening in on their conversation. He tells Clarisse that he has a pickup under Castellan. Clarisse leaves and goes to the back, leaving the boy to tell the girl that no, he isn’t buying her a cookie. She gets fed up, asks for the keys, and then walks off to the car.

You sit there, staring at your nails, admiring how healthy and strong they look, when he turns around.

“Oh,” he says, “Hey.”

“Hi…?”

The stranger stands straighter. He stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“It’s me … from last night …. Remember?”

You squint, tilting your head as if you’re thinking.

Luke continues. “I gave you a ride back to my house. You were covered in blood. You looked like you had gotten beat up or shot or something.”

“Why would I have been covered in blood?”

The stranger shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t get a chance to ask questions before you were tripping out of the door. You tried to eat my mom's ribeye.”

You hum unconvincingly. “Doesn’t sound like me. I don’t even eat red meat.”

The stranger's mouth drops open, his eyes narrowing as he looks around the bakery. He appears to be looking for something, maybe an answer to whatever question that is brewing behind his head. It’s subtle, but you can tell you’re getting under his skin. It’s fun to see how frazzled he’s getting over this. He starts stuttering, barely getting two words out before he tries again.

You decide to put him out of his misery. “Look …?” you pause, waiting for a name.

“Luke,” he says.

“Luke,” you grin, enjoying the way the syllables feel in your mouth. “I don’t remember any of this. Sorry.” The apology is completely insincere from you. You sound patronizing like you’re talking down to a little kid.

Before Luke can get another word in, Clarisse is back. She places his order on the counter, clicks a few buttons on the register, and presents his total.

You use the time to sneak out, waving to Clarisse as you leave. You pass by the little girl as you leave. She sits in the same seat you sat in the night before. She watches you leave, her eyes calculating like she’s trying to figure something out.

You really need a meal.

Screams as flesh tears. Blood spurting out of puncture wounds. It’s warm on your tongue as it slides down your throat, heating you up from the inside out.

He tastes better than the last one. It didn’t occur to you that they would have different flavors, notes that hit different spots of your tongue and molars. You hum around the flavor of him. You wonder what the next one will taste like.

“You okay?”

Luke watches your body tense and then loosen. He hears you swear under your breath as if the sound of his voice is nothing but a burden to you.

You turn around to face him and Luke could’ve predicted the face you make. He did predict it, actually. The pout on your lips, the slight squint in your eyes, the tilt of your head. You even place your hands over your hips and cock them out.

“Are you stalking me or something?”

Luke would be offended, but he’s come to learn things about you now. He knows you like to do that, throw a half-assed assumption toward whoever is on the other side of your wrath. Luke thinks you do it to deflect from yourself, but it hasn’t worked on him yet. He’s becoming more and more intrigued by you as the days go by.

“It’s a small town, isn’t it?”

You shrug and turn back around to the pump, watching the gas meter count further up.

Luke doesn’t let it go. He clicks the 93-octane level and sticks the nozzle into the fuel tank. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t usually answer dumb questions.”

Luke makes a sound akin to a chuckle, just without much of the humor behind it.

“Just wondering because you’re looking a little sick. You’re paler than you were the last time I saw you. Bags under your eyes … they’re beginning to sink in, by the way. The same goes for your cheeks. If I didn’t know better, I would think you were sick. Maybe something bad.”

The handle of the nozzle clicks and you take it out of your car, sticking it back into the pump. You could leave right now, but you take the time to turn around and look at him.

“Do you know better?”

Luke shrugs. He doesn’t mind this little game of cat and mouse he’s playing with you. It’s much better than the mundane questions he’s had to answer since coming here.

Where are you from? No, where are you really from?

Are you going to the technical school in the city? No? What about state?

What church do you go to?

You haven’t asked a single one of those questions. Granted, he’s only spoken to you thrice, and once was when you were practically comatose. But still, he’ll take it.

The pump clicks behind him and Luke takes that as his cue.

“I don’t know,” he tells you, a grin spreading across his face. “You tell me.”

You’ve adjusted pretty well to your new life. The hours are odd, leaving you wide awake at night with the metallic taste of blood still stuck in your molars. Come morning you’re exhausted, barely able to stand up straight.

Clarisse leaves you messages on the landline. Calling you a recluse, wondering when you two were going to hang out again in the least clingy, most nonchalant way she can manage. She won’t say it outright, but you can tell she’s worried about you. You don’t understand why.

You’re the healthiest you’ve ever been. Your skin shines like it did when you were younger. You haven’t had any aches in your body for the longest. As the weather cools down, everyone prepares themselves for whatever illness will sweep through the air this time, but you don’t have to. Even when your mom had the flu and you nursed her back to health, you didn’t get sick.

You’re immune. You’re a god, and no one else seems to see it.

To everyone else, you’re different, and not in a good way. They don’t see what you’ve been doing for this town, how you’ve been cleansing it one body at a time. If guilt tries to eat away at you, you just remind yourself that you’re doing good with the cards that you’ve been dealt.

You didn’t ask for this, but you don’t hate it.

When you open your front door, Luke Castellan is standing on your porch, his hand raised towards your doorbell as if he were about to press it.

You aren’t shocked to see him. You’ve been getting too lucky recently, able to go out for hours at a time without running into someone from the Castellan family. Either Luke, his sister with her small group of friends, a kid you used to babysit among them, or Luke’s mom, who smiles at you like you have a thing with her son.

You expected to run into him at least once today. There was a feeling, like the hairs on the back of your neck were preparing to stand up, warning you that fate or God or whatever is out there was trying to mess with you. Putting him in front of your face, taunting you with something so annoying. You don’t know why you don’t get it over with already, seduce him with the ease that you have seduced everyone else. His smell has been haunting you since that first night anyway. You want it, there’s no point in pretending that you don’t.

You’ll do it today. Yes, right now.

It’s still day out, but the sun will be setting soon. Most people are still working, your mom included, and your neighbors shouldn’t be coming home anytime soon. Just to be safe, you’ll take him out back into the woods, towards the treehouse Clarisse’s dad built for you both when you were 10, just six months before he left.

Clarisse is still pissed at you so it’s unlikely that she’ll be there.

You try to scratch the scowl off of your face, propping your hip into the doorframe and trying to look somewhat inviting.

“Hi,” you say.

Luke doesn’t waste any time returning your greeting. “I know it was you.”

God, it’s so hard not to fall into the same routine as usual. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.” He takes a step closer and stares down at you. You’ve never realized how tall he is. You never realized how buff he is, either. He’s wearing a dark short-sleeved shirt. It fits well over his chest and biceps, drawing your attention there as he towers over you.

“Do you wanna know how I know?”

Your eyebrows lift, waiting for him to continue.

“Clarisse told me everything. How you ditched her at a house party just outside of town to hang out with a guy. Some guy you had a big crush on when you were younger, right?” He’s right, but you try not to let it show. He continues, “My little sister helped me look some things up, all of your symptoms starting with the comatose state you were in that first night. Then the raw meat cravings, the mood boosts and drops. At first we thought it was drugs. Not unusual for people in small towns like these.

“Until Annabeth talked to one of her friends, and from word-to-mouth we found out that the guy you hung out with had a friend with him, didn’t he? He got away and he didn’t stop. He ran his mouth, told a few people what they did to you, and then tried to do what they did to you to another girl. So you killed him.”

You suck in a breath, ignoring the twitch in your fingers, the goosebumps on your arms. “What are you getting at? What am I, Luke?”

You expect to hear the words for him. A name that you thought was simply a myth, nothing but supernatural folklore until it happened to you.

“You’re a god.” The way he says it, his face splitting into a grin, a genuine one. Like he’s amazed by you. Like you’re his idol, someone he’s looked up to since a young age.

You’ve never felt so seen, so understood. It’s only natural that you press your lips to his.

Up until now, you’ve lived off of fear. You liked seeing their eyes widen when they realized what you were and what you were going to do to them. You liked to press your hand to their chests and feel the fast thrum of their hearts beneath your palm.

You don’t need that with him.

You like the way Luke’s eyes get heavy, staring down at you between small breaks in moving your lips together. You like how his heart beats fast, but not with fear, beneath your hand when you slide it up his shirt.

He’s so toned beneath your fingers. You bet he’s beautiful beneath this.

“Let’s go outside,” you urge because that’s where you’ve always done it. Outside with nothing but nature to bear witness to the atrocities you commit. You��re more comfortable outside. Your newly inhuman nature seems to fit better in the forest, digging your nails into the dirt, accumulating scratches and scrapes that heal as soon as they’re there. You didn’t have to clean up anything when you were outside, leaving the bodies there to be found by whatever search party was launched this time.

It doesn’t occur to you that you don’t need to do any of this with Luke until he shakes his head, holding your cheeks between two large palms. “No. Upstairs. In your bed.”

You hesitate, taking a moment to figure out which road you want to go down. Will Luke be just like the others? Left as nothing but a body to be found, his family struggling to identify him when so many of his features are skewed and missing? Or could Luke be something different?

He’s new, already unlike the same boys you’ve spent your entire life knowing. He hasn’t hit on you while oozing unwanted vulgarity.

You fist the bottom of Luke’s shirt in one hand and pull him up the stairs. You trip in your hurry and Luke attempts to catch you, giggling under his breath as he holds your hips the rest of the way.

You don’t bother shutting the door when you reach your room. You just turn around, wrap your hands around Luke’s neck, and pull him down to meet your lips. He’s still so much taller than you, even when he’s leaning down.

Your bodies end up curling into each other—chest to chest, your back arched as Luke’s curves. He holds you close with an arm slung around the middle of your back and a hand on the back of your head.

You’ve never been kissed like this, like the person kissing you is doing it for you, and not for themselves. Luke kisses like he means it, like he wants you, and he doesn’t just want you to want him. He doesn’t kiss in that same egotistical way that you’ve been kissed before. Boys who kissed like they thought they were good kissers.

Luke kisses romantically.

He kisses in a way that makes you want this forever.

He’s romantic, but he’s not soft. He doesn’t treat you like you’re going to break. He digs his fingers into the back of your head, pulling your mouth right onto his. Your tongues search for the others, missing each other every so often; poking into the corners of your mouths, sliding over teeth.

You’re fisting his shirt with such intensity that you fear you’ll break it. Your nails dig into the soft fabric, threatening to tear it into pieces. Luke pulls away from you for a moment, heavy breaths coming from between his parted lips. His tongue flicks out over his bottom lip—the flushed color matching the one on his cheeks—and nods his head.

“Go ahead. Do it.”

You pull his shirt apart into two with one satisfying rip. Luke throws it off the rest of the way, and he’s left shirtless standing in front of you.

He’s unnecessarily buff. Unnecessarily gorgeous standing before you. He must have Greek roots in his blood, there’s no way someone this pretty wouldn’t.

You press your hands into his chest and glide your palms down the ripples of muscle. You let your hand wander further down until you’re cupping the print of his dick, already taking shape beneath the sturdy denim of his jeans. His eyes flutter closed and his frame starts to slump forward a bit. You know you can get more of a reaction out of him with a little more work.

His belt buckle clinks as you undo it, the leather audibly shuffles against itself and the denim as you tug it out of the loops. You throw it to the ground with his torn shirt, a piece of fabric you briefly mourn. You hope he has shirts that fit him even half as well as that one did. But if he does, the fate will likely be the same.

You glance down at the opening you’ve created. You can see the print of Luke’s dick pressing into his checkered briefs, straining against the fabric. You think you can see a dark mark made at the end of him, but you aren’t sure.

You don’t focus on any of that when you wrap your hand around the length of him. Luke sighs at the first feeling of contact, even though there’s a layer between. You sigh at the feeling, too, a fire ignited by the warmth in your hand.

Luke lets you palm him for a short while. His forehead resting against yours, his hand cupping the back of your neck, his frame somehow equal parts lax and rigid as it stands before you.

Just when you go to give him—and yourself—more, Luke stops you. He wraps his free hand around your wrist before you can dig your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, leaving your nails dumbly scratching into the sparse hairs that make up his happy trail.

“Luke?” you ask, mentally begging that he won’t ask you to stop. You can feel that doing this with him will be different, and you want to get that far. You want to give it a shot, introduce something new to your system before you continue down a road you’ll never be able to come back from. Maybe, in some way, Luke can provide a way out for you. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

He breathes deeply, his nostrils moving with the movement. It takes him a moment to look at you, to open his eyes as they’ve been shut ever since you first touched him. But when he does, he just stares at you, dark eyes darker than they were before, deep eyelashes perfectly framing his gaze.

“I’m okay. Just … lemme be the one to do it first, alright?”

His hands spread over your waist, fingers hooking into the belt loops of your skirt. He steers you back towards your bed, letting you sit down on your own without any intervention. You stare up at him, watching him watch you. You notice the soft hunger in his eyes, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, the veins in his arms becoming more prominent as he cracks his knuckles.

For the first time in a while, you feel meek. Staring up at Luke with your hands in your lap, instinctively picking at the remains of dirt beneath your nails, waiting for him to do something, anything. But he just stands, posture straight, arms down by his sides. His eyes trail up your entire body, starting from the heart print socks on your teeth, all the way up to the way your hair sits on your head. Only when he’s gotten a thorough look does his eyes flicker to meet yours.

He smiles, a look that looks more insidious than it does comforting. To the average person, it would probably be alarming. To you it’s thrilling.

He sinks to the ground, knees hitting the floor. You watch the entire time.

He takes your socks off, placing them onto the floor, devoid of any particular order. His hands wrap around your ankles and glide up your legs until he reaches your kneecaps. With one hand over each, Luke waits. You think he’ll pull your legs apart, push your skirt up, and slip your panties off. Instead, he trails his touch up the top of your thighs until he reaches your waist.

“Lay back,” he tells you. You obey without a second thought.

Luke continues to undress you until you lay beneath him in nothing but your underwear. He tells you to move up the bed, and he follows you when you do. He sits between your spread legs, resting on his haunches in nothing but his boxer briefs. He just sits. The two of you just sit together and breathe.

It begins to feel meditative in a way, sitting in a silent room only full of the soft breaths that the two of you need to live. It’s like you’re living together in this brief moment. Like you’re alive together.

You initially expected to feel elevated upon the first touch with real intent that Luke gave you, and you do feel elevated, elated, even, but this moment doesn’t hold more influence than the moment the two of you had before.

Still, you’re grateful for Luke’s fingers moving toward your center. You make more room for him, even though it’s unnecessary, as his fingertips inch closer and closer toward your panties. He moves slowly, but not hesitantly. Instead, he’s savoring his time.

His fingertips reach beneath the waistband of your panties, he tugs them over your hip bones and down your thighs, delivering the same fate that the rest of your clothes had gotten before this. And as soon as you’re bare before him, he doesn’t waste any more time.

He brings his face level with your cunt and licks a long stripe as if he’s testing the taste, and then he devours you in a way that you’ve never experienced before. Luke pleasures you like it’s what he was made to do and he’s finally found his one true purpose.

He hooks his hands under your thighs and hoists your legs over his shoulders. He doesn’t just use his mouth, but the eternity of the bottom half of his face. He’s not afraid of getting messy, the tip of his perky nose and the protruding part of his chin getting involved in it as well. He doesn’t bother coming up for air much, but the couple of times that he does, you see just how much you glisten on his face.

You’re writhing around above him. It’s like you’re having an exorcism, your body contorting, your chest reaching for the sky, your voice cracking, and your throat graveling as you make sounds you’ve never made before, even while you were being turned.

You fist your hands into Luke’s curls with an intended force, but he doesn’t say anything. He groans, his eyebrows pushing together, but the look doesn’t appear to be one of pain. You feel his lips part around your cunt, you feel the gust of air he lets out against you, and then you notice the subtle shift of his hips into the mattress.

He’s getting off from just this.

You’ve never needed a guy more.

“Luke,” you try to get his attention, grabbing his locks and attempting to pull him up. He doesn’t budge. “Luke,” you try again, still to no avail.

“Luke. I want you in me,” you tell him between gasps and moans, trying desperately to pull yourself off of him. He does it for you, taking his lips away from your pussy to stare up at you.

He licks his lips clean without hesitance. “No.”

“No?” And suddenly he’s pissing you off once more.

Luke repeats himself. “No. Not yet. Not until I make you cum like this.”

And then he goes back to it without any further comment. He doesn’t leave room for arguing, no room for conversation. He just eats you out with more vigor, more determination.

He quickly gets what he wants and he sucks up every drop of it appreciatively.

Just after that, you get what you want.

Luke doesn’t say anything when you maneuver him to lie on his back. He doesn’t protest when you pull his boxers down to the middle of his thighs and then straddle his hips. He doesn’t suggest the use of a condom, he doesn’t tell you to slow down, he just lays back with one hand tucked under his head and the other resting on your hip.

He watches you guide yourself down onto his cock, held still with a firm hand from you. His jaw clenches and his nostrils flare at the first feeling of the tip of his dick spearheading the journey into you.

His eyes flicker between watching himself disappear into you and watching your face as you take it like a champ. There’s barely any hesitation from you, likely because you’ve been so eager to have this. You hadn’t necessarily thought about this much before, nothing but subconscious want that you refused to spare a thought on. But ever since you allowed room for those thoughts to exist, you’ve longed for just this very moment, the feeling of Luke filling you up with unexpected satisfaction.

Luke’s in you to the hilt for all of a second before you’re moving. Falling into a role you know well, you lift and sink your hips, grinding from deep in the pelvis whenever you can. Leadership comes to you naturally, there’s no second-guessing yourself in these movements. You know what to do, you know what Luke will like, and you know it well.

You keep your hands on his abdomen, feeling the breaths he takes beneath your capable hands, taking into account his muscles tensing when you clench around him.

You know it feels good for him, but you still ask, “Does that feel good, Luke?”

He lolls his head to the side and lazily watches you work. He doesn’t answer for a while, but you give him time, continuing to do exactly what you’re doing in the meantime. Eventually, he nods.

“Uh-huh.”

He sounds fucked out. A little dumb, too. It’s hot.

You speed up, decide not to waste any time finishing Luke off, and hopefully yourself too.

Luke’s hand ends up on your cunt, his thumb pressed into your clit, swirling circles in time with the speed of your hips.

It suddenly occurs to you that the two of you have conflicting interests. Luke wants to make you come, while you want to make him come. You’re sure deep down the two of you have the same goal, but the forefront of motivation differs. You’re not backing down, even if it’ll work in your favor. Selflessness possesses you for the first time in years and you pull Luke’s hand away, leaning forward and pressing your weight into it until his hand sticks to the bed. You don’t say anything, you just stare at him while you continue to ride him like your already-ended-life depends on it.

When Luke cums, he’s looking you right in the eye, allowing you to see every single thought as it flashes through his mind.

You can’t focus on it for too long, though, because you’re following suit directly after.

You’re twitching on top of him, your cunt spasming, your head thrown back, your abdomen tensing and relaxing.

This feeling is different.

It’s euphoric. It’s more than an orgasm, more than being stuffed full of Luke’s cum, plugged by his cock.

You feel fulfilled in a way you never have before. When you consumed the others, the satisfaction was superficial, never deep enough to complete you. With Luke, you feel complete. You want more.

You start rocking your hips back and forth.

“Woah.” Luke’s voice is rough, vibrating in his throat as it comes up to meet your ears. “Slow down,” he tells you, his hands on your hips. His grip isn’t as strong as it was earlier, but you still place your hands on top of his, fearing that he’ll make you stop.

You stare down at him, your eyebrows pinched together. You whine his name.

He nods, sucking in a sharp breath when you raise yourself up, just to lower back down. “I know, I know. Just … I’m gonna need a minute, alright? Here,” he sits up, beginning to tug you up. When you don’t cooperate, he lifts his eyebrows, a warning clearly right there on his face. You don’t want to, but you get off of him.

He flips you both over, hovering over your body for all of a second before he kisses down your torso.

“No, no, Luke, not again. ‘s not what I want. I want you.”

“And you’re getting me, aren’t you?” He cocks an eyebrow, tilting his head and giving you a look that dares you to test him. You really want to, but this fog in your head is keeping you submissive, keeping you at his mercy.

“Not in the ways that I want. You know what I mean, don't be an ass about it.”

He snickers but doesn’t change his course. “I promise you, baby, I’ll give you what you want. Just on my terms too, okay? We’re a team now, you got that?”

You stare down at him as your heart blooms in your chest with a feeling you’ve never felt before.

“Yeah. Okay.”

You’re a team.

There’s blood coating you, drying your skin, pulling it taut. You sit in the passenger seat of Luke’s jeep, much about this similar to the first night.

The freezing cold temperature both inside the car and out, the destruction done to your body and outfit, the carnage left behind for someone to find. But things are different about this, too. The hand you hold over the center console, the control you have over the music that plays, the fullness you feel, completely unrelated to the feeding you’ve had to partake in. It was the first in months, necessary for your survival, but no longer the main contributor. Not since you’ve been getting something completely different from Luke.

You’re addicted to him, constantly overindulging until he’s spent and you’re just entering that same territory. But he’s begun to expect it, your insatiable qualities as integral to your person as your favorite artist. Luke knows your quirks now. He knows what it means when you turn down the music, look over at him, and grin with a twinkle in your eyes.

He pulls over into an empty parking lot and lets you climb into the backseat while he walks around.

There’s nothing wrong with feeding twice in one night.

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